Who wants cake? Anybody? Cake? No? Just me?
About Me
- Name: Pops
- Location: The 951, California, United States
I'm very interesting. I would describe myself as witty and insightful, but that wouldn't make either true. I have two degrees in history from the least prestigious University of California campuses. As a result, I stay home full time with my kids. If anyone can think of anything useful to do with a history MA, please don't hesitate to share.
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The Movies I Have No Intention Of Seeing Series
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Liberalia: Places I Go To Reinforce Opinions I Already Have
Pops' Bucket Hall of Minimal Suckitude
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Friday, October 22, 2004
The Sickness Unto Death
Out of a sense of both guilt and blogger responsibility, I feel it is incumbent upon me to write something shorter and less deadly dull than my last post to tide you over, my loyal Bucketeers, for the long, desolate, post-less days of the coming weekend.
First of all, I'm taking my youngest boy in today to get his flu shot. In light of the current crisis involving the availability of the vaccine and the genuine health risks to the population, I'd like to take a minute to say: Ha ha! Suffer, beotches! When all of you are covered over in festering boils, bleeding from your eyes, being eaten alive from the inside out by ravenous virus my boy will be resting comfortably, protected by the sweet, sweet embrace of attenuated viral therapy. Survival is for the strong. I would feel bad if I didn't know for a fact that the human gene pool will be infinitely better off with robust young Pops offspring running around. God help the rest of you.
No seriously, I never got flu shots when I was a kid. Never. Maybe that was because we were broke, but we did have some kind of really crappy government (state? I don't remember) health care, so it wasn't out of the question. But if you watch the news, it's as though everyone really old or really young who doesn't get inoculated is absolutely certain to die.
Remember back in the summer before 9/11 when we were all going to be eaten by sharks? Even if you lived a thousand miles from the closest salt-water source? Even though the flu virus is slightly more mobile over land than sharks, something tells me that maybe--just maybe--there is some kind of media complicity in all the hair-pulling and tooth-gnashing over this.
Unless it really is George Bush's fault, in which case I'm suddenly not feeling too well. Stupid president...
WARNING: Incongruous Subject Change In Progress. Processing. Stand by...
Lots of blogs are written by writers, Failed (like me) and Otherwise. Some of these are poets, the most insidious, loathsome and despicable subset of an already insidious, loathsome and despicable group.
Inspired by one of many comments over on SJ's blog the other day, I gritted my teeth and dug up my old doc files from back when I was still mentally damaged enough to partake in the writing of "poetry" such as it is.
This was high school and early college days, back when I took myself seriously enough to be a complete social cripple, which meant lots of sitting alone in dark rooms on rainy days, the perfect environment for the creation of poetry. It is also, incidentally, the perfect environment for the spontaneous cultivation of several strains of molds and fungi.
As I read my old poems (there are just over two dozen), I came to a realization: it's possible to be completely humiliated while sitting all by yourself.
The only good thing I take from them is that the magazines and journals I had submitted to all had the good sense to reject them so there is no public record of their existence.
In all the stinking piles of florid verbosity, there are only two little blurbs that are worth reproducing in any fashion. They come from longer poems which in all other ways, if they had heads, would deserve to be taken out and shot.
The first one is embarrassing in its earnest awkwardness (look for the pun!), but I liked the image.
My wearied gait swings open and I stumble through manicured gardens with fatal-looking berry-bushes aching to be tasted
Oh lord, the pain.
The second is a quatrain from my "Rhyming Period", which lasted from Spring quarter of 1995 until Winter quarter of 1996. The rhyme itself is embarrassing, but at least it's less cheese-ball gung-ho than the last one.
From this view I envy you
To see unlovely faces
Imagine what I'm privy to
Beneath six heavy paces
Yes, I'd done the obligatory poem from the point of view of a dead guy. It's just something you do.
So there, I've done my penance for subjecting the world to my Brothers Karamazov summation. I accept your mockery. I deserve it. Come and get me.
This post on the Narcissus Scale: 0.6 (the closest I'll ever get to pure public service)
Pops
- posted by Pops @ 9:09 AM
Comments:
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I'd rather not get into the whole flu-shot-thing. It boils my blood.
Rather, I'd like to rag on something. Terminology is excedingly, painfully appropriate.
I've got a problem with your Narcissus rating for this post. You're talking about your child, your feelings on the flu vaccination, and talking about your angsty poetry, and yet you give yourself a 0.6?
Come ON! As if I'd buy that.
Rather, I'd like to rag on something. Terminology is excedingly, painfully appropriate.
I've got a problem with your Narcissus rating for this post. You're talking about your child, your feelings on the flu vaccination, and talking about your angsty poetry, and yet you give yourself a 0.6?
Come ON! As if I'd buy that.
No no no, the Narcissus ratings are not up for review. This one was arrived at relative to the last post, which was a strong 10.0. Compared to that one, this is "Kids, eat your vegetables." You're right, on any other day it would have rated higher, but the vast sets of figures, factors and statistics I have to run through my computer in order to arrive at the Narcissus Scale rating cannot be tampered with and are completely infallible.
I've never had a flu shot in my life, and I'm still alive (famous last words?). And I was only really poor for a quarter of the time, and an unassimilated heathen for another quarter. That left me with half a life to voluntarily get a flu shot, which I did not do. What's the big deal about getting the flu, anyway? It's not Ebola.
--Rita
--Rita
# posted by 
: 10/22/2004 12:43 PM
: 10/22/2004 12:43 PM
First it's Russian boremyasstodeath literature, now poetry. You hate me, don't you, Pops? If I see a cat photo on this blog, I will slit my wrists, I swear to god.
(okay, I know you won't post a cat photo. and it was your own poetry and you made me laughMAO by saying "it's possible to be completely humiliated when sitting all by yourself") I'd just like to request that the next 10.0 rated post does not contain any references to Minsk.
(okay, I know you won't post a cat photo. and it was your own poetry and you made me laughMAO by saying "it's possible to be completely humiliated when sitting all by yourself") I'd just like to request that the next 10.0 rated post does not contain any references to Minsk.
Person Who May Or May Not Be Rita: The flu has killed way, way more people than ebola and not always just old people gradually over time (see: Spanish Flu pandemic, 1918).
But even then, getting a flu shot only inoculates you against one strain that doctors think is going to be prominent this year, so you take your chances.
But my youngest is a) under 24 months and b) asthmatic, so he's in the highest risk group. Can't be too careful.
SJ: In my defense, it was your mention of poetry that made me think about it. And besides, don't I always give my readers ample warning? Whether it's baseball or literature or poetry, I give you a chance to opt out. I'm really really thoughtful that way. I don't give myself nearly enough credit. Way to go, me.
But even then, getting a flu shot only inoculates you against one strain that doctors think is going to be prominent this year, so you take your chances.
But my youngest is a) under 24 months and b) asthmatic, so he's in the highest risk group. Can't be too careful.
SJ: In my defense, it was your mention of poetry that made me think about it. And besides, don't I always give my readers ample warning? Whether it's baseball or literature or poetry, I give you a chance to opt out. I'm really really thoughtful that way. I don't give myself nearly enough credit. Way to go, me.
I think I've just realized something. Pops. You have 3 boys, don't you? Goodness gracious. I think tomorrow I may do a post about moms who have only boys and their superiority complex...(you, as the dad, do not share this tendency. It is only something the XX have.)
I'm not a fan of poetry, but I have to say that I don't think I've given it a decent chance. I think the Poetry unit I had in the freshman year of high school scarred me for life. I would like to know who your favorite poets are, though, and maybe someday I might be able to appreciate it :)
# posted by : 10/22/2004 4:47 PM
: 10/22/2004 4:47 PM
Ok, well, getting vaccinated for Spanish flu in 1918 is understandable, but is Spanish flu going around this year?
Steph: I know nothing about poetry and mostly abhor it myself. So I don't have any favorite poets, but I do have one favorite poem. Shakespeare's Sonnet #130, an ode to an ugly girl which can be found at this link.
Rita: The point is, nobody really knows which strain of the flu is going around, so it's a good idea to get at-risk segments of the population inoculated. We'll have to wait and see a few more weeks/months if it's Spanish flu (or some other nasty, deadly variant) or not or if the vaccine of choice this year was even worth it. Nobody knows.
MPH: I wasn't saying poetry cures the flu, I was saying that reading poetry leads to several similar symptoms: body ache, headache, respiratory distress, nausea, vomiting, etc.
Rita: The point is, nobody really knows which strain of the flu is going around, so it's a good idea to get at-risk segments of the population inoculated. We'll have to wait and see a few more weeks/months if it's Spanish flu (or some other nasty, deadly variant) or not or if the vaccine of choice this year was even worth it. Nobody knows.
MPH: I wasn't saying poetry cures the flu, I was saying that reading poetry leads to several similar symptoms: body ache, headache, respiratory distress, nausea, vomiting, etc.
Well, if you're so adamant about protecting your children and all that cliche parental nonsense, then I suppose it's acceptable.
Mostly I'm interested in protecting my children from cliché parental nonsense. For instance, from sentences that begin with the phrase "When I was your age..." or from the unfair transfer of all my failed and unrealized hopes onto their slender shoulders. Next to things like that, the flu is nothing.
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