You know, in my positive moments, like when the shyest, sweetest, cutest, and stubbornnest person I’ve ever met (namely my daughter–we’ll call her “9”, after her age, because that’s what successful bloggers seem to do) is here, and brings sunshine and “accomplished fart-sound-making-with-lips-and-tongue” to my little mobile mansion (I’m more of an “accompished-fart-sound-maker-with-cheeks-and-air” type of person, but I realize she won’t always follow in my footsteps; I just thank my lucky stars that she follows them sometimes–literally follows in my footsteps, at the swimming pool), I then think of nice things like the fact that if I wrote more I’d be engaging in a hobby that I like, and the demons (mental, that is–I’m no Stephen King) would be kept more at bay. And maybe someday I’d be successful and maybe someday people would go apeshit over 122-word run-on beginning sentences like the first one in this paragraph, and I’d achieve my dream of being a wealthy writer wallowing in money, fame, addictions, and, of course, whores. Dissipated whores.
I have other subjects in mind, if I ever start writing on a regular basis, but this AM (whoops, it’s after 12 here and I’m still in my robe, you know like rich people do), I mean this Saturday afternoon, I wish to discuss what’s on everyone’s mind (and in everyone’s face), namely: eye boogers, Zuckerberg, and Amazon.
I don’t typically put my contacts in till I come home from lunch during the workweek, because my eyes just aren’t awake enough and aren’t ready for them yet. (Slightly gross thing alert): I do that because my eye boogers haven’t been washed out or liquified yet, till I’ve been awake a few hours. I have to get up at the ungodly hour of 6am during the week to get to work at 7, but on the weekends I sleep in. This morning I had to get up at 9:30, pretty early for a Saturday, but I woke to my little one poking me in the nose and saying “Get up!!” (“Start frying the bacon” is implied, but “Get up” is what the refrain is.) So I finally get up at the cruel hour of 9:35 or so and go wash a little of the “upper-middle-aged” morning scariness out of my face and hair (not a shower mind you–that’s for Saturday afternoons–just some water in the face and a wet comb through the hair so that I look a bit less homeless) and get ready to fry the bacon. Waffles were on the menu today rather than pancakes. Anyway, the eye boogers, or more truthfully, the general dryness and itchiness, were relentless today. I splashed handful after handful of water on my face, doused ’em with contact lens saline, resisted scratching them as much as I could, but they were still filmy and dryish. I was wondering if I was going to have to look up a YT clip of “Old Yeller” dying or something, or go into my reading/junk room and see if I had one of Mom and Dad’s old Reader’s Digests on the bookshelf, thinking maybe I could find a “cat rescues family by detecting a fire and scratching the sign of the beast into the baby’s belly, causing the baby to cry and the household to wake up and escape the fire” story, to bawl like a little baby over and moisten my dry eyes. But finally my eyes seemed to clear up a bit; not sure if it was time or coffee that did it. Caffeine cures a lot of ills, doesn’t it?
So, speaking of eye boogers, Zuckerberg is now the world’s 16th richest person in the world, on paper at least, and Amazon stock is tanking because of huge quarterly losses. Apparently, people actually expect them to make money from their enormous sales volume, rather than plow all of it into other things that they don’t actually have capital for. Who knew, right? Apparently getting people who never dated back in high school to act like old friends together, and getting me to accept “friend requests” from ex-coworkers who I wouldn’t bother to say hello to in the grocery store, and getting people to “like” videos of baby seals jumping into a boat for a rest and some playful interspecies foreplay in a human guy’s lap, and getting a few of us to click on ads there, is a big moneymaker, but sending actual things to people isn’t. The world is, as they say, more “silly-putty” than the minds of Peewee Herman or George W. Bush.
If I were Zuckerberg (well, I’m not, because at times I have an actual personality, whereas he’s a dweeb who had or stole a great idea), I’d reduce my share of FB stock from my (well, HIS, dammit) current 22% to 20%. I’d take one percent in cash, put it in the bank, and have enough to live on and have medical insurance and pizza delivery for me and my future descendants till the end of time. I’d buy Amazon stock with the other one percent (a rich bastard could probably buy a lot of Amazon shares when the markets open this coming Monday) and wait for Bezos to actually figure anything out. Like how to quit ripping off authors and publishing houses, how to quit making the work environment in his warehouses be so incredibly hateful and soul-sucking, and how to actually make money. The link I’ve included here doesn’t have much detail like other sites do which are listed under “Amazon warehouse conditions”, but it comes up right away. Maybe, in an ideal world, websites will pull their heads “out they asses” and figure out how to load ads quickly. I don’t mind seeing internet ads. I really don’t; I figure they are a necessary evil. I just hate that they take So. God. Damn. Long. To. Finally. Get. Around. To. Loading. Up. On. My. Computer. Dammit. I figure, if my download speed from my internet connection is fast enough that we can watch My Little Pony on Netflix and have two computers also going at the same time, then I should be able to (quickly) go to Business Week’s or Forbes’ website for their stories about this, and not have to wait forever for the stupid ads to load. Sadly, if I were to turn the TV off and unplug the laptop that “9” is using, I doubt the websites would load much faster. I’ve been at home alone, with only the “over-the-air” tv going, and gone to HuffPost before (though I should know better by now) and, let’s just say, marriages last less time than it takes for the interesting-sounding story to download for me. I don’t care about you any more, Huffington.
If only I could give up Facebook that easily. Or Amazon or other eye-boogers, for that matter.
There, I wrote something. Break out the party balloons. Thanks for reading.
Oh, and in deference to a successful humorist, Dave Barry: Wouldn’t “Dissipated Whores” be a great name for a rock band?