According to the Mayan calendar, today marks exactly five years until the end of the world. While I don’t particularly believe any of that, I do find it refreshing in an odd way.
Photo credit: me in 5 years, onboard a wicked-ass spaceship.
I’m not trying to be a Debbie Downer, but I do enjoy the idea of only having five years left to live. It’s a wake-up call, right? And it makes me think of how I would live my life differently if that’s going down.
Miss Cybil would work harder, travel more, and be nicer. She might also take up methso I wouldn’t have to sleep as much. So Jimmy, what I’m saying is that Mayans have given us all a perfectly valid, possibly legal, excuse to do meth, and it would be awful to think otherwise.
Gladys, listen up: I’m doing a bit of writing for work. Imagine that! Me, a reviewer! On account of my glamorous job writing for other sites, too, Miss Cybil has spent a lot of time in her apartment this week. And you want to know what?
Her upstairs neighbor works from home, too! As a music instructor! As a talentless, talentless music instructor! You’d think that hearing the acoustic version of Radiohead’s “Karma Police” would just be something you’d do in Portland, Ore. Maybe some post-apocalyptic hippy farm. But not Buenos Aires.
But that’s obviously bull crap. Because music is like a virus: it spreads, just like the clap, and even faster if it’s catchy. Unfortunately, you can’t say the same thing about talent. Because this half-assed no-good hack is on hour 12 of scales and butchering Radiohead today. But you know what, Gladys? No one can butcher my dear sweet Radiohead. No one!
Hey, all of you chic kids! I know I’ve been away for a bit, but… well, what can I say? Sometimes, I miss America. For one, the delicacies are recognizable, the palates are well-formed, even amongst the local youth.
Photo credit: a sick bastard who let someone else force-feed this helpless kid into oblivion.
I mean, a culture that knows the meaning of the words patience, tolerance, and moderation has a lot to teach, and give, the world at large. And I’m just not getting this sort of lesson in Argentina.
A “friend” of mine recently came out with a book. And finally, a reviewer got it right. It was like PJ O’Rourke knew the kid! Or some kid. Maybe even this one:
Sometimes, it’s good to get away every now and then!
Especially if the New Jersey Department of Child Welfare is hounding your ass. Or when, upon your return, you end up in some hobbit hole in Uruguay with your mother.
Or, perhaps, if it’s because you’ve been spending lots of time with a hottie.
Alas, hotties aren’t everything. (You heard Miss Cybil right!) So more, soon… I swear, Gladys! Don’t you just hate these cliffhangers!?!?!?
