What a time to be alive. Black is white, up is down, truth is false and nothing makes sense anymore. On top of everything, The Supreme Court did two infuriating things recently: it allowed Trump to reinstate parts of his awful ban-which-is-actually-a-ban and it agreed to hear the case of the Christian Colorado baker who refused his services to a gay couple. SCOTUS will attend to both cases after their summer recess, during which time hopefully none of them will die.
(Note: I originally posted the following on Facebook, but I liked it so much that I thought total strangers deserved to see it as much as casual acquaintances and intimate relations. I apologize to all in my Facebook community who no longer feel special. You are all still special, but not “this post”-special.)
…you have breathed deep the heady opiate fumes of Pokémon Go and have given into the glorious hunt. At present, you are struggling with a Caterpie (it is always the Caterpie that give you the most trouble.) Your battery is low and the battle is tense, but you finally manage get him (her?) trapped in a pristine Pokéball. It busts out, for Caterpies are underestimated for their strength and tenacity, and ready your arm for another face-off…but something is wrong. This Caterpie, it does not leap back into its sanctioned battle stance as is customary Pokémon etiquette. This Caterpie, it does not retreat. It will not back down. It boldly posits itself as close to the screen as possible, eyes locked with yours, body swaying like a cobra. Is this…is this Caterpie challenging you? Is it looking into your soul, seeing all your sins laid bare and judging you for them? You don’t know. How could you know? All that you know, as you frantically power off your phone is that you are going to die. Maybe not today, maybe not for weeks or months or even years, but one day, when your guard is finally at ease, when you lay yourself down waiting for the secure cloud of sleep to envelop you…you will see those same dead, bulbous black eyes one more time. And they will be the last things you ever see…
You’re on your way to your first day of Basic Pickling Techniques at the local adult education center, when a time-traveling Ayn Rand gives you an important message.
You are teaching your first class in Time-Travelling at the local adult education center when you are interrupted by Ayn Rand, who can’t find her way to Basic Pickling Techniques and has an important message.
Ayn Rand is about to write her great manifesto on Basic Pickling Techniques when she is interrupted by you, a time-traveller, with an important message.
You have an important message about time-travelling, but Ayn Rand won’t stop talking to you about Basic Pickling Techniques.
At the Battle of The Bands, your band, Basic Pickling Techniques, is about to face off against crowd favorite Time-Traveling Ayn Rand. Write the lyrics to your smash hit “Important Message.”
In a dystopian future, where mankind worships Basic Pickling Techniques, you and Ayn Rand are the only ones who can save mankind with your important message about time-traveling.
A group of Basic Picklings are discussing the finer points of Ayn Rand Techniques when a time-traveling message arrives with an important you.
Ayn Rand something something Basic Pickling Techniques blah blah time-traveling blee important message.
You walk in on your father making love to Ayn Rand as they are engaged in a series of a sexual maneuvers known as Time-Traveling Basic Pickling Techniques. Describe what you are seeing. Include an important message.
I think one of my follies as a writer- and as an actor and probably as a person as well- is my insatiable need to make everything big and perfect. Everything. Like this blog is not just a blog: this a canvas on which I must smear the bloodpaints of my soul and offer humbly to the Gods of Creativity and their various consorts.
And that is why I have not updated since September. Bloodpaintings on a regular basis are harrrrd.
So, no more perfection. Perfection is nice every now and then, but let’s be real. Perfection is not an accessible weekly goal. I’m not saying my past work has been beyond reproach. I think what I do is quite close to reproach. Adjacent, really. It’s the striving for perfection that fucks me up. It hinders all creative conquests. It’s like saying to a month-old baby “GET UP! GET THE FUCK UP! WHY AREN’T YOU RUNNING MARATHONS, YOU LAZY SACK OF SHIT?” Babies can’t run marathons, no matter how much you yell at them. Babies need to learn how to walk, and then walk without falling, and then run, and then run without falling, and then run for a long time, and then run for an even longer time, and so on and so forth. At some point, the baby will also have to learn not to poop in his or her pants. Or maybe diaper dependency is actually a good thing thing when you are running 26 miles. What I’m trying to say is, I’ve never run a marathon, but if I had I would not have been a baby.
If I am trying to say anything with this little bit of word-mess is that it is okay to fuck up. In fact, it is necessary and inevitable. If you try to make everything perfect or even exceptional you are going to end up frustrated and disappointed with a blog that has only five posts in the last year.
So no more perfection for me. No more bloodpaintings, no more soul-canvases no more crying out to the Muses for validation. I’m just going to make stuff. Making stuff feels pretty good.
15. Paul, of TwaughtHammer fame
14. Lewis, Walter Jr.’s best/only friend
13. Jesse’s little brother
12. German Dipping Sauce Scientist
11. Remote Control Car Kid
10. Fake Heisenberg
9. Mistake Fake Heisenberg
8. That Lady That Works at Los Pollos
7. Charlie Rose
6. That One Lazy-ass Student (“I think I may have ADD…”)
5. Ken Wins
4. Walter White’s Mom
3. That Woman Who Freaked Out About The Candles At Ted Beneke’s Birthday
2. Marie’s Toaster
1. This Guy
I think we can all agree that summertime as an adult is the absolute balls. What was once a welcome respite from academic drudgery becomes a waking nightmare of sweaty fatigue. No day at the pool for you, adult. You’re an adult. You should be doing adult things. Take those swimmies off.
So, you get sad. You are not alone.
SAD typically causes depression as the days get shorter and colder. But about 10% of people with SAD get it in the reverse — the onset of summer triggers their depression symptoms… Why do seasonal changes cause depression? Experts aren’t sure, but the longer days, and increasing heat and humidity may play a role.
Independent studies have also noted:
Yeah, no shit they play a role! No one gets an automatic vacation once the temperature hits eighty. We’re adults, and we have to go to fucking work no matter how much underboob sweat accumulates. The beach? Fuck you, I live in Ohio!
People with a history of depression are more likely to suffer from summertime ennui. I know that my first serious bout of depression occurred during the summer following my college graduation. Of course, at the time my hearty dose of summery listlessness was served with a side order of dear God, what happens now??? The latter may have influenced the former, but my body still remembers that summer was when The Sad Times began. I deal with it the best I can, and so can you!
Here is a short list of proven methods that help alleviate summer depression. Try one or five today!
Yes. Eat the ice cream. Do it. This is the entire reason summer exists. Stop worrying about your “swimsuit body”. No one is going to see you in a swimsuit when you’re in your pajamas playing Robot Unicorn Attack for eleven hours. Go out, eat a delicious frozen treat. If not now, then when? Columbus Day? Ice cream is for the living. Prove to yourself that you are alive.
No pleasure, no rapture, no exquisite sin greater than central air. You would make love to it if you could.
Just listen to this song! It’s impossible to listen to this song and feel depressed. Just listen to the trumpets! As soon as the brass kicks in you’re back in 1997 driving to the 7-11 with your friends (you lived in South Jersey at the time and that’s all there was to do). Good times. And look at this guy. Look at him dance. He has one job in the band and that job is to dance! How can you not feel better thinking that someone literally lives to dance? You can’t! Take that sadness and skank it out in your slushie-fueled time machine. Skank it out!
This show is like ten minutes of Effexor in cartoon form. It seemed specifically tailored to the hearts and minds of an entire generation that has only known accumulating disappointment. This show has adventure. It has time. It’s short and sweet and it’s a cartoon you can watch without having those weird pants feelings you get from My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic (while we’re talking about that…why did you have to take a delightful cartoon like My Little Pony and turn it into porn? Can you leave us one thing childlike and innocent? Oh, I’m sorry. You’re depressed right now. Sorry, I forgot about that. But, seriously. Dude.)
Well, there you have it. If you try all these things and your summer is still at the bottom of a depression well, I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe try therapy. Or drugs. Or both.