2006-12-06 - 1:00 a.m.
I read today that McDonalds is going to be opening up gyms in their restaurants, so that you can work out a few minutes on a treadmill or use a soloflex machine before you waddle up to the front counter to oink your order of two Big Macs and a jumbo fries.
Isn’t that the most ludicrous thing you have ever heard? I don’t know anything more ridiculous. Really, the cynicism of it is almost jaw-droppingly astonishinging. Do they actually think that folks are going to start thinking that Big Macs and Chicken McNuggets are health food? Why do we have to sit here and think that McDonalds is INTERESTED in our health? I mean, for God sakes, a Big Mac is a Big Mac is a Big Mac. People don’t go to those places to have the Chickory McSalad, do they? Or to have the Alfalfa Wheatgrass McPuree?
No, if they want that crap, they will go somewhere else. When someone goes to McDonalds, they are investing in a unique and particular part of the American dream – a part of the dream which states you can gorge on mediocre food without guilt, with the understanding that you can have as much as you want, as gluttonously as you want, with no tears or shame. It may not be very good – but such portions! Now THAT’S America.
God, am I tired. No, not tired. I am weary. Nothing seems to be able to pierce the cloud of gloom that hovers above me. For some reason, I woke up today feeling like crap on a warmed over biscuit. Nothing is going to please me! What is to be done about this moodiness of mine? It’s like a chronic condition, but not one which gets any particular attention or empathy.
This morning, I woke up and staggered to the mirror – and this ghoulish old man stared back out at me! Have you ever had this experience? It is most daunting to suddenly wake up and realize that you are middle aged. And some could argue that I am PAST middle aged – I mean, can I reasonably expect to live to the age of 84? I don’t think so. By the book, I would have to suggest that I attained middle age when I was 30. If I am lucky.
There is something else I have noticed about myself in the mirror – aside from the increasing decrepitude, astonishing wrinkles, and bulbous triple chins. And that is this – when I forget to shave, which I am prone to do every few days, my beard comes in white! Not blazing white, like some kind of a lovely rabbi, but a hideous Jewish psychoanalyst’s salt and pepper whiskers.
Worse, they are these sort of creepy, dirty, dusty-looking whiskers that strongly resemble a bum’s beard – it’s like I should be pushing a shopping cart or wearing a tin foil hat. Most disconcerting! What, with my shaggy whiskers, droopy eye-bags, increasingly ruddy-colored cheeks, it makes me realize that I am merely two or three steps above being a bum myself. And it isn’t like there’s anything to be done about it.
As if I need to amp up my melancholy, I have of late been re-reading early parts of this blog -- like the stuff I wrote in the very beginning, back in 2002, when I just started out. If you have a yen, and you are reading this on my Myspace page, the archives can be read at http://jonnydarling.diaryland.com.
My goodness – I really am a very different person from what I was back then. And I am not talking about being happier! Quite the opposite. It’s almost bizarre. I admit that I think my literary style is more assured now – but that’s a result of having written upwards of 2000 pages since when I started out. But back then I just seemed a lot more cheerful than I am now. If you look back, you will see that I used to be so busy, even with pointless tasks – I was always darting here, darting there. And even though I have always maintained that my blog was always a product of despair, I seemed to be much less despairing THEN than I am now. I do think I was more likable back then, too. Now – well, now. Now I have become a hateful old crank. You could almost fit me out with a tin foil hat, really you could.
But it appears that this blog is a metaphor for the idea that life itself is tragedy. And you can sit around and joke about hope and the future. The truth is, though, that everything ends in tears. And no one gets out alive! The story of a long period of time is inevitably the story of tragedy. Truly, I can’t help but think that there are some terrible things coming up in the years ahead. I dread them.
My purpose in re-reading the blog is the re-examination of that ancient project I had in mind years ago – the idea of creating a little book from the comparatively funnier entries. I still think that’s an entertaining idea, though I think you can be certain that this particular entry isn’t going to be included within the collection.
But you see, earlier tonight, I went out to dinner with my parents. It is/was mom’s birthday – a year ago today, to celebrate her last birthday, we were in Venice. But this year, we just went to a very nice Chinese restaurant, where we had a delightful dinner of lobster in black bean sauce, rock cod (sizzling with onions and green peppers), and salt-encrusted fried shrimp, along with assorted dumplings and dim sum. It was very pleasant to go out to dinner as a family – I don’t think we have actually done a “family” thing since that ill fated holiday in Wyoming during late summer.
Anyway, my stepfather is still intent on his idea of self publishing a collection of his poetry. And why not? This is America and everyone can pursue his dream, no matter how potentially unprofitable. But even though he has yet to publish a single poem, his plans appear to have expanded, like an origami snake in a pool of water. From publishing a single book of poems, my stepdad has stepped up to wanting to publish a whole line of poetry books. And a desk calendar with one little poem per page, and a little picture to illustrate each poem.
But my stepdad has also decided that he wants to publish my blog, such as it is, though in a version that is more modest, in both theme and presentation. I dunno, though, I find that it’s an extremely unpleasant experience to reread the past entries, particularly those from long ago. So, we’ll see how it turns out.
