Earnestness is the antidote to irony and sarcasm. Read it again: Earnestness is a remedy for irony.
Just try to be sarcastic to someone who is completely earnest...it's totally wowowubzie impossible. If I have a new year's resolution, it is to be more earnest (not dingbatty, not playing dumb)---to ditch my sarcastic and shitty ironic ways and be more honest and straight-forward. Good humor can also be incredibly honest and not just some sarcastic schtick. (God, every time I listen to too much Bill Hicks, I start getting super agitated and pissed off---he is like 95% sarcasm and 5% funny. It's painful. He is a genius, though, so don't throw the baby out with the bath water, okay?)
We mock what we crave. I (historically) mock what I really want. Why did I pick on girls who didn't care what they looked like at school? Because I hated the trappings of image and peer pressure and my inner critic was so harsh that I had to look a certain way to feel safe. I tortured those girls because they could just be themselves without the pressures of upholding an image (my image.) I had to have an image (smart, slightly masculine, edgy) to exist, otherwise I wasn't sure who to be (and being "myself" whatever the fuck that means, was 100% out of the question growing up--what kind of girl without any self-esteem is okay with being a nerd?...I loved to read and write so much more than I ever let on. I wished I could have worn pigtails in 9th grade and a sweatshirt and not cared.) I became a parody, a personification of slacker teen-aganst. Someone without much drive or without many braincells. Someone who loved drugs over thinking and who was wild and crazy and cool and overly composed/controlled.
[I hate to admit it still, but I hate drugs. I hate druggies. I've never been a fan of people who abuse and use drugs on the regular. It's so, so lame to me. I have hung out with the addicts and retards of my day, babysitting and making sure that they didn't kill themselves, but secretly I resented it, resented them. I thought that major drug use was such a waste of time and brains and energy and money--a huge copout. I'm less judgmental about it now, but still prefer to drink a little (ok, on occasion, I drink a lot) but that's about it. I don't crave numbness or stupidity or "expansion"--I'm fucking expanded enough. When my friends are super high, I think they're BORING and super dumb (maybe just happy....)] P.S., I think the pot should be legal everywhere. Let's make some good old fashion sin tax off that shit and make this country some moolah lalala. Weed is good. And some people are better on it than off. It's all cool.
ANYFUCKINGWAY: Those girls in school who never gave a shit what they looked like--I envied them and then, picked on them, and made sarcastic comments and would ironically dress like them for Halloween. Mean and shitty and totally self-righteous. It wasn't just me though. The whole world operates like that sometimes. We mock and get all sarcastic about shit that we don't get or that we can't be.
Hang in There
We've all seen the poster
So, if you are a nice woman and you have this hanging in your office/house because it's a good reminder to hold on and hang in there when times are tough, and you meet some ironic hipster fuck from the city-city who has that silkscreened on a t-shirt because she/he thinks it's hilarious...who wins? The earnest woman does for sure. The hipster just got called on the bluff. The hipster wishes that he/she could be innocent enough again to get some inspiration from a cat poster. Don't you wish that too? Don't you wish that you would let yourself feel inspired by the little cute kitten hanging on up there? Yes, you do. If you said no, you might not be high enough, so smoke up.
If I could take 50% of it back, I would. I'm sorry that I forced myself into being an ironic shithead hipster fuck who thinks everything is funny and nothing is real and that there is nothing honest and earnest and true. I was wrong wrong wrong. I'm sorry for making fun of everything that I didn't understand and that I was too jealous of to acknowledge as worthy. I am an asshole. Being sarcastic is only funny 5% of the time (see Bill Hicks) and otherwise it's detrimental and usually super mean.
So, more earnestness with real humor (that is not just hard-boiled sarcasm) and let me strip the need to be ironic and all angsty--let's get real, I am way way way too old for that shit anyhow. You dig?
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Life is short. I need to keep reminding myself of that. You’d think that after all the grief and death in my life that I would know how short it is, but it just slips from my mind so easily. Even really long lives are short inside the scope of our minds.
Would you ever have enough time with your child? Could I get enough of S on her first birthday? Her chubby half-baby/half-toddler body…the way she wobble-walked and shook her diapered bottom to every song on the radio? Could I ever have enough time in that moment? There is never enough time.
Without asking too many rhetorical questions, let me ask one more: do you know how many years of my life I’ve wasted? I spent so much time worrying (what a waste!) And time burnt letting other people drag me down—caring too much what they think or not caring enough how they feel. Too much time thinking and not doing. Thinking myself into paralysis. I missed those opportunities because I thought about it too much. I heard too many critics and not enough encouragement. You can talk yourself out of anything.
Let’s shake that off.
I want to talk myself into this: I am amazing. I am beautiful. I am brave. And strong, and funny, and fun, and fast, and smart (as a whip) and deep, and powerful and soft and quiet and loud and all things (mostly) good and (a few) bad. I feel love and have great potential and great actuality.
Here is what I want for Christmas: Let’s be brave. Let’s show each other and ourselves just how incredible we are! And sad and funny and perfect just the way we are!
Let’s be brave enough to seize up every second of joy and happiness and hold on to each other. We feel and fail and have great promising capacity to love and forgive and heal. We are so lucky and blessed to have health and to have each other.
Have some love and inspiration and joy for the holidays this year. Fuck shopping. Just make cookies and spend some time. Give out love and smiles and hugs. (I know I sound like a hippie, but so what? I’m feeling all of this today.) Give time to your family and time to your friends. Listen to them. Listen to yourself—the quiet self that you always tamp down. This little light of mine….
Monday, December 10, 2012
How disappointingly quiet I’ve been. I’ve just been having my life to myself and not sharing.
So, how am I? What’s going on?
I am very well. I have been eating green and getting more exercise. Working from home has allowed me to have a little more time for myself. Eating well and exercise suits me. I look better and feel great. How’s that for a report?
I am reading books and watching shows and going places, doing stuff, seeing friends, playing with S, playing Wii with DD. Life is good. I am full of gratitude and love for my family and my life. I have not one complaint.
Without causing drama or seeming ungrateful, happiness is boring sometimes. (Remember that story you read about the completely happy people living their nice, fun little lives? No? That’s right you don’t.)
Here’s a quote: “In Paradise there are no stories, because there are no journeys. It's loss and regret and misery and yearning that drive the story forward, along its twisted road.”
― Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin
Here's to more boredom and happiness. See you later.