Saturday, June 4, 2011

Relatively Unappreciative


It’s been a minute since my last post, so I think I’m going to mix it up a little bit. Keep things not so long-winded, and hopefully adding the slightest element of spontaneity to my otherwise overly-calculated day-to-day.
           
Ushering in the first days of June, the Chicago humidity diffuses (from where I can only assume is Hades itself) and sits oppressively, us suburbanites personae non gratae of the Great Lakes breezy respites. The heat settles in interminably like an unwanted relative, of whose unforgiving suitcase brims with stuffy car-air, crimson plumages of sunburn, and sweaty nether-regions. And this is all kicked of with perverse pomp and circumstance by high school graduations, and their dreaded commencements. Packed like cattle into troublingly-malleable folding chairs- I spent a good chunk of the ceremony staring, spellbound, at their creaking support of the most corpulent grandparents- I’m forced to celebrate something that 8 out of every 10 Americans accomplish, the kind of ubiquity rivaled only by relative obesity and porn consumption. Anyone who truly feels that they’ve merited something more than a handshake or pat on the back by making it through high school is about to get a rude awakening by the long, uncircumcised dick of the real world.

I started Super Sad True Love Story today, the first book of the Odd Future Book Club Kill Them All (title pending finalization), and got a good third through during the A-Z’s. Not crazy about it yet, but I’m starting to get drawn into it. Immortality is a torture I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, especially after sitting next to the senility and varicosity that essentially comprises my mother’s mother. At one point, said grandmother, a staunch fundamentalist/prohibitionist/racist/awful person, leans over to me and ask if the crosses next to some of the graduates names in the program* (denoting Nation Honor Status) signify their religious affiliation as a Christian. I wish I could simply ignore the heaping scoop of crazy** sitting next to me, but she helps foot the bill for my college education, so I have to answer her unbelievably condescending and ignorant statements with I dunno Nanny, maybe so. Is it selling out? Because I feel dirtier than a crack whore


* Which she of course cannot read because she refuses any sort of optical assistance, risking the lives of any vehicle passengers or fellow drivers- or pedestrians and houses without significant parkways for that matter- for the sound rationale that glasses are for ”old people”, says she of eighty-two years.

** Also important to mention is her conversation with me the day prior, in which she felt it necessary to describe to me (with not one, but two examples) the concept of Time Zones, as in Collin, you see, if it is 12 here, that means that it is 10 on the west coast
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