Man Martin's Blog, page 144

You Need Not Fear Me Just Because I am Awesome

Although I am Awesome, I Only Want to Live
Among You in PeaceYou need not fear me just because I am awesome.

I have been awesome since childhood; my mother used to tell me, "Son, you can do anything you set your mind to."  A terrifying power, I know, a power I have only begun to tap into, but do not fear me.

My basement is filled with T-Ball trophies.  I got a trophy every year, which is pretty awesome, but I'll let you in on a little secret.  I wasn't even trying.

For Fathers Day, I once got a mug reading "World's Greatest Dad."  A sublime accomplishment, but this by no means diminishes what you yourself have accomplished, though laughably small by comparison.

I have been chosen "Employee of the Month" four times.  But do not fear me.  I mean no harm.

I get regular emails from businesses I once patronized, begging me to come back.  Personal emails from big-name companies such as Netflix, with heartfelt pleas because they miss me.  They even offer special deals if I return, deals unavailable to the general public.  Yes, even mighty corporations long for my approval, is it partly out of fear of my awesomeness?  I hope not.

I am awesome, yes, but do not fear me.  I only want to live among you in peace as one of you.

Television Shows for the Twenty-First Century

In order to reflect more accurately life as it is actually lived, I propose the following TV pilots.

A family sitcom, named something like, "Family Unit" or "Family, Whazzup!" or just "Fam."  The pilot episode centers around Tracy, a gender neutral child, who wants to download adorable kitten videos or adorable puppy videos over the objection of "Mom" and "Dad."  "Dad," who has adorable video allergies, complains in a comical way, "Next she'll want to download pony videos!"  (Tracy: Can I?  Mom: That's "may" I.  Cue laugh track.)   The episode ends with a compromise: Tracy downloads adorable goldfish videos and the whole family learns an important lesson about getting along and responsibility.

A crime drama, named something like, "Oh, A Wiseguy, Huh?" or "Shut Yer Flapper" or "Montpelier."  A homophobic mob boss must marry one of his button men to forestall a pending subpoena.  (According to legal precedent, a person may not be required to testify against a spouse.)  Sexual tension crackles as we see the two begin irresistibly to fall in love.

Adult drama named "We're Grownups Now" or "I Hate Mondays" or "Get Over It."  Office manager Pete Winkle sends picture of penis to his wife BUT mistakenly sends it to ex-girlfriend instead, leading to entire imbroglio as hostile text messages and tweets fly back and forth across the internet and former friends callously "unlike" each other on Facebook.  Pete's ex-girlfriend acts like a complete jerk about the whole situation, until confronted via text by Pete himself, who points out what a jerk she's acting like, and how many people she's hurting, and though he'll always care for her, it's over now and time to move on.  She cries, then relents, and posts conciliatory tweet.

Our Childhood Fears

I cannot explain why this artist's depiction shows me
in striped pajamas. I never in my life have worn striped
pajamas.  The creature under the bed, however, is rendered
with excruciating accuracy.Who among us can honestly report he was not afraid of what was under his own bed?  Many is the night I spend cowering under the cover, my bladder filled to bursting like a water balloon, too terrified to set foot on the floor because I knew, just knew, that something was waiting under there to get me.  This thing, I knew, played by certain rules which it was unable or unwilling to break.  For example, although it was as aware of my presence above the bed as I of its below, and although its appetite for little boys was as urgent as my need to pee, it would not, under any circumstance, slither out from under and just grab me on top.  It could only wait.  And its patience was terrible.  Terrible.

Looking back, I realize that it could only extend from under the bed as much as I extended out of it.  For example, if I stuck my foot over the edge as far as my ankle, it could, indeed could do nothing but, stick out a corresponding length of claw, tentacle, or mandible.

Obviously I never encountered this thing, otherwise I would not be writing this blog today, but I surmised rather conflicting things about its phenotype.  For example, it had both the oozy gelatinous quality of an under-cooked egg and the hard shiny carapace of a black stag beetle.  How both are possible, I can't say, unless it were some bedroom-dwelling relative of a soft-shell crab.

Its body, though amorphous, corresponded rigidly to the bed's dimensions, filling the space as thoroughly and precisely as if it had been a shadow.  The shadow comparison is an apt one, because being photophobic, it scuttled to whatever alternate dimension such creatures scuttle when the sun rose.  In fact, had I been able to turn on the light, I could have thumbed my nose at it with a carefree tra-la-la, but owing to some malevolent electrician's whim, the light switch had been placed on the wall by the door, diabolically out of reach of the bed, with several feet of no-man's-land hardwood flooring, intervening.

These irrational fears, thank the Lord, were only a phase, and I haven't suffered from them since my early 30s.  Now I have much more sensible fears: sinking foundations, old age, work.  I'm no longer scared of the dark; I actually find it comforting.  It's daytime that terrifies me.

Getting the Most from Your New Kinkajou

(This is an oldie but hopefully goodie from a little over a year ago.)
One of the Many Surprises in Store for You as the Owner
of a Kinkajou is Just How Long Their Tongues Are!
Congratulations on your purchase of an adorable, playful KINKAJOU!  You will find this pet is just the thing to improve your self-esteem after that bitch-goddess Belinda left you for Barry.  Although its prehensile tail and wonderful dexterous "hands" make it resemble a monkey, a kinkajou is actually more closely related to a raccoon.  Its fondness for nectar has earned it the nickname "honey bear."

These are just a couple of the interesting facts you'll be able to smugly share with friends, acquaintances, and even random strangers now that you have a kinkajou of your very own.  Having this wonderful, exotic pet will certainly make Belinda realize what an interesting person you are and worry about "what she is missing."

In captivity, unlike Belinda, your kinkakou will be with you a long time; twenty-three years is the average life expectancy, with some as long-lived as forty, so while your kinkajou won't be with you as long as that unfortunate tattoo you decided to get on your left shoulder, it'll be around plenty long enough for the novelty to wear off, everyone around you to know it's more closely related to a raccoon than a primate, the drudgery of feeding and cleaning up after it to wear on you like the incessant drip of water on a stone, and to fully realize that in spite of having an exotic pet, you are no more interesting and worthwhile to be around than you ever were and that Belinda was probably right to leave you for Barry.

The kinkajou only reaches seven pounds, but still has adorable sharp teeth and is prone to bite, so be careful.  They also have lovable claws, with which to attack, not to mention an endearing high-pitched shriek when alarmed.  They are nocturnal, which means you have to be quiet during the day when they are asleep for risk of waking them and making them shriek and attack you with their cute little claws and teeth.  Needless to say, they will also be active keeping you awake at night, scurrying around searching through your pantry for insects and plastic jars of honey.  It is recommended you either get a night job or develop insomnia.  Some kinkajous also carry a certain kind of roundworm than can cause extreme illness or in rare cases death of its owner, which is all a part of the fun of owning one!

Remember, no matter how many regrets you may have about bad decisions in the past, the kinkajou is guaranteed to be near the top of the list.

Again, congratulations, have fun, and watch out for those claws!

Enough Is Enough

I've Reached a Stage Where I Don't Need Anything More I've reached a stage where I don't need anything more.

I need food, and clothes, and shelter, and these things have to be replaced or repaired as they wear out, but I no longer need anything else.  In fact, I don't need a lot of what I already have.  in the basement - which, by the way, is an entire room I don't need - we still have a VCR rewinder.  Yes, a special machine made just to rewind VHS tapes which no longer exist.

Oh, wait a minute.  We still have some VHS tapes, too.
For the first time in my life, I don't even need more books.  I have stacks and stacks of them that I want to read that I haven't gotten around to reading yet.  Why would I want more?
Nancy says I really need to get an I-Phone, that if I had it, for example, I could get on the internet anytime I wanted.  Perhaps my position is an extreme one, but I feel the eight hours a day I already spend on the internet are sufficient.  My buddy Chris Bundy was demonstrating a great new app for his I-Phone the other night.  Instead of typing a text message to his wife Jennie, he could speak into the phone.  Amazing.  A phone you can speak into; what will they think of next? 
I think I'm about as happy as I'll ever be, which is pretty darn happy, although admittedly I have my share of frustrations and anxieties.  I do not see one other object on the horizon capable of increasing my happiness or reducing my anxieties.
I'm reading over this blog, and it sounds like raw bragging, but I think it's just the truth.  I'm at the opposite end of Oliver Twist; I've finished my bowl of high-end, high-priced, high-tech gruel, and I'm saying, "Please, sir.  No more."

Celeb Couples Riven By Strange Beliefs

(This is a repost of an oldie-but-hopefully-goodie blog from a couple of years ago.)

Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes called it quits, because Katie couldn't hack one more lecture on body Thetans.  Other famous couples can sympathize with the way bizarre personal beliefs can challenge a relationship


Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta Jones

"Mike believes there are twelve Supreme Court Justices.  I've tried explaining to him there are only nine.  Otherwise what would you do in case of a tie?  It only makes sense.  I tried asking him how he thinks a five-four decision is possible with twelve justices, but he won't listen.  I mean, how can you reason with someone who can't even get arithmetic?"






Russell Crowe and Danielle Spencer

"I swear, every time Danielle uses the bathroom, she talks about how in Australia, the water swirls the other way around.  It makes me CRAZY!  I'm from Australia, damn it.  The water goes the same way around.  I've seen it!  But.  She.  Just.  Won't.  Listen.  I start to see why Mel [Gibson] cracked."





Donald Trump and Melania Knauss-Trump

"Donald thinks the expression is 'just desserts,' as in, 'The would-be bank robber got his just desserts.'  That doesn't even make sense!  The expression is 'just deserts,' as in getting what you deserve.  What the hell, does Donald think you get ice cream in prison?  Ivana and Marla tried telling me this would drive me crazy, but I thought it wasn't that big a deal.  But after a while, it really starts to wear on you.  When he says, 'just desserts,' I can tell he's pronouncing it with two s's just to provoke me.  I mean, how hard can this be.  I'm from freaking Slovenia and I know that."

Why It's Hard Admitting I'm Wrong

The problem with being wrong is that whenever I'm wrong, you feel like I'm right.  And I feel just as right as I do when I really am right, only this time I'm wrong.  Let's admit it, being right isn't a matter of evidence or proof or anything boring like that; it's a feeling, and a very nice feeling, too, a much better feeling than feeling wrong which feels pretty lousy.

Facts and evidence are mostly just a way of reminding me how right I am.  There's nothing like the cozy glow of seeing something that confirms that I already knew, and saying to yourself, "Uh-huh.  I knew it.  I was right."

People who point out I'm wrong aren't better than me, just ruder.  How does it hurt them if I want to believe what I want to believe?  It is very unpleasant to find out I'm wrong.  That cozy feeling of being right goes away, and it makes me worry a little about all the other stuff I'm so sure about.

Fortunately, being wrong doesn't last.  Almost immediately, I can go right back to being right again, with the added bonus of a pleasant feeling of condescension for all the people who thought the way I once did.

Too Good

I suffer from a strange condition I hate to bring up in public: I am too good.  I don't like saying it because it makes people feel sorry for me, which is just another manifestation of my kindness that I have way too much of.

My friends try to make me feel better about this.  "You're not all that good," they say.  My wife playfully adds, "Actually, I'd be more likely to call you selfish."

I know they're trying to reassure me, and I appreciate it because that's the way I am.  I can't help being such a good person, and I take no particular credit for it.  You see, added to all my other good qualities is my towering humility.

For example, when I see on Facebook someone's donated to the relief effort, I click "like" every time.  Every time.  Think of all the "likes" people would get if everyone were as considerate as I.  When Nancy told me she'd donated to the relief effort in the Philippines, I told her that was nice.  That's the kind of guy I am.

And when I leave a store, I always tell the cashier, "Have a nice day."  Sometimes I just say, "Have a good one."  Keep in mind, I'm not doing this for some life-long friend, but a complete stranger.  How good can one guy get?

By this time you're thinking, Man, you need to dial it back a bit.  You can't go on giving, giving, giving this way, you need to take care of yourself as well.  I know, but I just can't help it.

I'm too good.

All The Great Love Sonnets of All the Great Love Poets Condensed into One Handy Flowchart

Gangsta Philosophy

Confucius: A wise man is filial, tranquil, and skilled in all things.  But if anyone mess with him, he puts a cap in their ass.

Benjamin Franklin: Do not be disturbed at trifles or accidents common or unavoidable, but if it's something really big, like being disrespected, bam!  Let 'em have it.

Gandhi: My religion is based on truth and nonviolence.  If you can't get behind that, I've got a big can of whup-ass waiting for you.

Seneca: Anger is an acid which does more harm to the vessel that contains it than anything on which it is poured, but I'd do it if I have to, bustin' caps like my amps be bustin' beats.

Jesus: If anyone slaps your right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also, then say, "I came here to get my cheeks slapped and to kick ass, and I'm all out of cheeks."

Marcus Aurelius: How much more grievous are the consequences of anger than the causes of it like when I blow a hole through your ribs just for runnin' your lips.