Saturday, August 16, 2008

Oldie, but a good 'un.

This was part of an email written in July 2006. It is possibly my favorite rant of all time. Unfortunately, it's also true. Just look at the freaking Collingwood Drew Wright/Canadian Idol craze, and tell me that TV doesn't diminish imagination, intelligence, and a social life.

I've gotten into a terrible habit this week.

This morning I suffered from a dose of morbidity. That's right, morbidity. I don't recall what triggered it, but something happened to send me off. So, I'm shingling away, feeling about 84% with a touch of illness, when out of the blue I make a noise like a jet going down. Since that didn't make any sense on its own...

"We're going down! We're going down!"
"Oh, my wife. I'll never see my wife again!"

I then looked over at Steve --because I sounded insane-- and said, "I'm very morbid this morning. Out of 300 passengers on the plane I pick the guy who just had a fight with his wife and will never have the chance to make it up to her." Steve gave me a weak smile, the sort of smile you give when you are afraid, and shook his head. He seemed to grip his nail gun a little tighter after that.

Outside of Steve being worried --he's well past that point-- I am not making any of this up. Those words just seemed to come out of nowhere. I suspect that it might have something to do with less TV in my life. Damn the studies and stats, television jellies the brain. How could it not? You sit, you vegetate. I once read that your IQ diminishes by something stupid like 20% when you vacation for two weeks. It comes rushing back when you re-engage your noggin, but it's a fascinating thought. Of course, in my case I stop watching the Almighty Television for a couple months, and strange things start happening.

Right. I did mention a bad habit. I've been getting to work later than usual, and consequently working later than usual. In other words, I'm in a meanish cycle. I get to work later because I'm beat from working late, and then I work late because I want the hours. Dammit! I'm trapped. I'm going to try to reset myself on Sunday.

Back to the telly. You should see the reaction from people who suddenly, unexpectedly, and temporarily lose their satellite TV due to roofing. It's scary. At least 90% of them behave as if you just said, "I'm sorry. Your best friend just leaped into a river." We wouldn't even dream of leaving someone without their hookup (drug analogy absolutely intended) over the weekend. It's very likely that Monday would find them dead on their couch curled in the fetal position with uneaten popcorn, chips, and rancid dip lying untouched beside them. The coroner would have to pry the remote from their clenched fingers, and a scrawled note would read: "The TV won't work." The sadder cases would likely have written a little haiku.

Never-ending snow.
Fleeting ghostly images.
Only death remains.

This email has been brought to you by the percent symbol and sardonic humour.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Do it, do it! Leave that glowing comment while your mind reels with the portent of what you just read.