Stuff That Just Irks You
Ever have one of those mornings, where seemingly innocuous things just rubbed you the wrong way? Today began as a day like that for me, although I must thankfully admit, it’s since gotten quite a bit better than it was when it started.
For a change, none of my complaints today had anything to do with driving, cars, or traffic. Which is a surprise, coming from me, since usually I can find at least one thing to bitch about from one of those subjects. But today, the irritation began when I got to the office.
First off, I walk in the door and our receptionist asks me in a very condescending, “fourth grade teacher who hates you” sort of voice, “When you signed that birthday card yesterday, was there anything else with it?” (Yesterday a birthday card was passed around for our CEO for everyone to sign. Later on we had cake. It was like the scene from Office Space.)
This question was pretty strange, but I thought back to that moment in time. I was handed a manilla folder with the card inside and a pen attached to it. “Uh, no,” I replied. “Just a pen.”
“Who did you give it to after you signed it?” the receptionist demanded. I told her. “All right,” answered the woman, ending the conversation in a way that only a very angry person would.
Christ, I thought. Who shat in your cornflakes this morning?
Later on, while this woman asked the same question of some other employees, I overheard more details—apparently she was looking for the pen that was attached to the manilla folder, probably because it was her pen or something. Wow. I had no idea an ink pen meant so much. And if it did, why ship it around the office with the card? I think it’s safe to say that every employee in an office building is going to have their own writing utensil on their desk, ne? Not only that, but we have some people here who chronically pick things up that aren’t theirs, and at the same time, they absent-mindedly leave their own stuff behind in airports, client offices and other places. I’d imagine one of them probably copped the pen by accident. Eh, it just seemed a bit rude to be given the third degree about a goddamn pen the minute I walked in the door. But then, maybe I’m hyper-sensitive.
Seems like it’s been a shit-tastic day for everyone around me, too, because everybody seems to be in a mood today. (Much like myself, it seems—maybe it’s something in the air.) Some big whoop-de-duck client is coming in today, and I forgot to “dress a little nicer” for the occasion—although I’m wearing one of my nicer polo shirts and certainly not looking like a slob, I would have chosen to wear some nicer pants than a pair of jeans if I had remembered. This incident reminded me of the “you can wear jeans but ONLY if we like you” dress codes made popular by my high school, and as you know, anything that reminds me of my high school sends the day’s Spinchter Factor soaring at least three points higher than the norm.
Then I got a fax from my investment advisor. I needed some cost basis data from him so we could do our income taxes, so I called and asked if he could look it up. He was able to find some of it, but 500 of the 600-odd shares I sold last year were purchased so long ago, there aren’t any records. The best the guy could do was find the oldest date in his records for which that stock was listed, and tell me the closing price on it that day. We don’t even know if that’s the day I bought the stock. I’m betting that the IRS won’t either, since when I once asked my old advisor the same question a couple years ago, he told me to “make a number up”. Given the figures, it looks like I took about a 50% loss on this sale anyway, so I doubt the government is going to give a flying fuck. They better not, because nobody on earth has that data as far as I’m aware.
The only upside is that we have now sold all of our stock, so I would have to fuck with this retarded investment shit again until I’m ready, at which point I will be keeping all of my own records from day one. It boils my blood when I hear and see commercial after commercial touting “investment firms” and “retirement this” and “stock that” and “mutual fund this thing” and “certificate of deposit” the other thing. I sometimes wonder if people down here ever think of anything but money? Instead of Playboy, the men down here probably take a copy of Fortune magazine into the bathroom when they’re looking for a wank! Jeeeeeee-zuhs Christo!
Anyway, the thing that most got my goat today (what kind of expression is that, anyhow?) was the continual, non-stop, never-ending preaching banter on the newsradio station about how ungodly fat Americans are. Oh my God, we’re all dying of fat disease. Holy shit, Batman. Fat’s poised to kill more of us than cigarettes. I really feel bad for the trail lawyers if this is true (wait…no I don’t), because if it is, then there’s no clear defendant to sue silly like there was in the tabacco company trials. I’ll admit that I enjoyed seeing the tabacco companies getting socked a few years ago when all those lawsuits were facing them, but now it’s interesting to see the same thing play out with the restaurant industry, and to witness my own partially contradictory opinion.
That’s right—Americans are fat. Including myself. Many of them are fatter than me, although many are not. But I don’t really care. While it’s completely ridiculous that some people would allow themseles to reach upward of 400-500 pounds or more, turning into humongous tubs that can’t even fit through a doorway much less into an airplane seat, all the “fatty rhetoric” in the national media means that if you’re not 100% fit and healthy, you’re going to be labeled as a fatass who’s bringing down the national healthcare system and polluting our culture. Oh, thanks! That’s real encouraging!
The more I see of the American news media, the more I hate them. The more actual facts I ingest from independent sources, the more disgusting the mainstream media becomes in my eyes. They’re a bunch of sensationalist pigs! If the only story on the face of the planet was “Uncle Jesse’s Pig Wilbur Dies of Edema”, then the media could make it seem as though this event foretold the destruction of Earth, the downfall of the United States of America, or a sign that coffee is, once again, bad for you (or good for you). There is only one thing the media cares about: spreading FUD.
So now that the tobacco industry, the media’s former Satan-of-the-moment, is passe, it’s time to focus on the fatties and make sure we make their lives miserable. Holy crap, people—if you don’t eat perfect food, you’re not gonna live to be 150 years old! Whatever will we do then? Frankly, I don’t know why people are so fixated with living forever. Who wants to live to be that age? You’ll hardly be able to get around, you’ll be up to your ass in medical bills…what kind of quality of life is that? One of the beliefs of the Buddhist faith is that when people die, it means they’ve paid all the dues required of them for their sins in past lives, and now they’re finally being allowed to depart from the problems of this world and move on to the next. If Christians believe that heaven is such a wonderful place to be, how come we keep pouring everything we have into staying out of it until the last possible moment? We’ve already seen that the social security department can’t handle people living as long as they do today.
Hey, life can be a bitch. So why not enjoy it while you’re here? How many times have you heard people say, “Live each day as if it was your last?” If you did that, I doubt you’d be counting carbohydrates in your stupid-ass sham Atkins diet. I believe in a simple mantra of “everything in moderation”—eat what you want, just don’t gorge yourself on it. And this is all within reason, of course—if all you want is McDonald’s hamburgers, you’re still likely to get fat, so mix it up a bit. Include some variety. Eat some good stuff too. There’s gotta be some semi-healthy food you like too, right? So eat some.
I once saw a shirt that said “Exercise Daily…Get Fit…Eat Right…Die Anyway.” So don’t let yourself go to pot, but Christ, don’t listen to the goddamn media either. They’ve already taken enough enjoyment out of our lives with all their FUDing, taxes, laws, regulations, and God knows what all else in the last twenty or thirty years. At least we can still enjoy a good steak without getting thrown in jail, right?
And I’m done ranting for now.
Categorized as Rants