By Craig P. Dixon, southcoast247.com correspondent Social Commentary 101
March 6, 2007
Note: The views and opinions of Craig P. Dixon do not necessarily reflect
those of southcoast247.com, southcoasttoday.com, The Standard-Times, Ottaway
Newspapers or related affiliates. Reader and parental discretion is
advised.
I was having a conversation with a friend the other day when we
came to similar conclusions: We're bored out of our fucking wits.
It's the
ass-end of winter. Spring is merely the rare CH away. We're rushing to the
proverbial light at tunnel's end. And, I'll admit. I'm happy for that.
For
spring brings summer, summer brings Martha's Vineyard, and Martha's Vineyard
brings bikini-clad ladies of questionable morality. And questionable
morality brings... The Continuing Cycle.
But winter's extension into the
month of March has nothing to do with my boredom. However, my digression
into the topic of seasons has everything to do with boredom.
My personal
boredom stems from hanging around the same place far too long. Wearing thin
one's welcome, as it were.
Why, you ask? Because I'm a goddamned nomad. Has
to do with my Mongolian blood. Besides, let me tell ya fucking honestly. One
can do the Catwalk only so many times before you're over it.
It goes
something like this. One second, you're out having drinks with friends. Good
times. Suddenly, everything's thrown off. Maybe it's something in the
conversation. Something all too familiar. Perhaps a tale you'd heard last
week at the same place and probably at the same time. DŽjˆ vu. And creepily
so.
All of a sudden, like a clusterfuck carpetbombing of doubt upon your
mind, you're having an existentialist breakdown. The Catwalk. Again. Why am
I here? Why are we here? Just what the fuck does it all mean?
Pushing
through crowds of people to a four deep bar to wait twenty minutes for a
drink gets fucking old real quick. Take it from a man who knows.
And the
crowds: It's the same goddamned slit-eyed faces ad nauseum. Almost like
whores faces. As if they've seen too much.
Even if you aren't acquainted
with the people around you, you've seen them before. They've the same bored
visages; same frustrated, deathly-pale knuckles wrapped round lukewarm
beverages, as everyone else in that and every other fucking place you've
visited for the past two months. All the same. And all dangerous as
straight-razor brandishing five-dollar whores.
So, maybe you get a little
desperate. Maybe you decide to mix things up, take a walk on the weird and
dangerous side, and, say, drop by The National for a few chardonnays. Stick
your dick in the proverbial bees nest and hope to get stung. So to
speak.
But even THAT does nothing for ya. Because, the badgers can't be
baited. There's no honey worth fighting for. All you get are the same
vacant, leery looks from the regulars, those loons wondering just what the
fuck has brought some somewhat sane fool like you into their midst.
Hell,
it's gotten to such a point that crack cocaine looks attractive as Pam
Anderson right now. Speaking of Pam Anderson, contracting a case of Hep B
sounds like good news. At least a foaming addiction to crack rocks and a
jaundice-inducing case of the Hep would mix things up a bit.
I've gotten so
goddamned bored that I'm thinking of taking my brandy new, 100 dollar Global
chef's knife to my left pinky, Yakuza style. That's right. Chop my bony
pinky off. Wrap it in gauze and toss it into a small manila envelope.
Enclose the envelope in a plastic Ziploc bag. Emblazon in Sharpie upon the
package: Not to be opened until 3/4/08. And hide it way back in the
freezer.
When I open it next year, I'll bring that freezer burned finger to
the hospital and see if the docs can reattach it. It's amazing what they can
do these days. And if they can't do anything for it, ohh well. At least the
hospital trip will be a change of pace.
Then again, I could take a
vacation.
Hmmm....
Note: The views and opinions of Craig P. Dixon do not necessarily reflect
those of southcoast247.com, southcoasttoday.com, The Standard-Times, Ottaway
Newspapers or related affiliates. Reader and parental discretion is
advised.
