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Monday, October 27, 2003
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UH OH!
I've always admired George Will. Mostly because he knows so much more than I do, which as most people will tell you isn't a huge achievement. He's incredibly well versed in virtually everything. He can write about baseball (which I know nothing about) as well as he writes about presidential primary political maneuvering (which I know a little bit about.) He's written about the Anglican Church nominating a gay Bishop and its ramifications on the Church citing the Reformation at length. In discussing Donald Rumsfeld's tenure as Secretary of Defense he will reference the challenges that faced William Seward (Lincoln's Secretary of War) with ease. So when George Will has something to say, I generally listen. I may not agree with it but I'll almost certainly learn something. Learning stuff is good, it keeps you making stupid mistakes. And since I appear to be making more and more stupid mistakes as I get older I appear to need a lot of learning.
In a commentary published yesterday, Will commented on the increasing importance of aesthetics in modern life. Will's argument is predicated on the idea that having a good product, idea and so on is no longer enough. It must also be a pleasing one. It must appeal to one's senses more than one's sensibility.
I then realized that if this is true, I am doomed.
It probably won't come to a crushing shock to any of you that I'm a desperately unattractive man. The reaction of small children to my appearance is either to laugh mockingly or flee. Have you ever been mocked by someone in a diaper becauseyou look funny? It's demoralizing. The greatest unspoken secret in the male lexicon is that we will be seen in public with babies as a means of meeting and hopefully, engaging in sweaty, promiscuous sex with strange women. Guess how successful that tactic is when said baby is either pointing at you and laughing or screaming in terror.
This means I probably won't be solving the conflict in the Middle East anytime soon. My ideas are meaningless without pretty packaging. I figured that I could use my Jerry Lewis-like voice and incredible powers of phone sex as my in with the Security Council. Instead, it looks like Brad Pitt is going to get the job. It's probably all for the best anyway. How could I possibly compete with the ripped physiques of Ariel Sharon and whoever the Palestinian Prime Minister is this week? And this hurts me because I really wanted to know how much poontang a Nobel Prize can get you. I understand Shimon Peres gets more trim than a barber shop.
Okay, maybe my problems are deeper than my face. Maybe I should reconsider the use of such phrases as "poontang" and "more trim than a barber shop."
Or maybe I'll be an ugly, single, failure unskilled at even suicide for the rest of my life. There's a lot to be said for sticking with what you know.
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