justnick's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I would have gone with a verb, personally Every once and a while the universe likes to throw a proverbial banana peel into our paths, just to keep us humble. Nothing devastating, just enough to remind you who's in charge, you know? In that regard, I was in the pharmacy today looking for some pain killers, as I recently threw out my back somehow. Now, as a man, I can tell you that throwing your back out, while unpleasant, isn't that bad, all things considered. Sure, the pain sucks, but it's a perfectly manly injury. It's the sort of thing you can talk to your father about over beers, you know? It's the sort of conversation that might require grunting, which is always satisfying in some elemental kind of way. I mean, it's better if you threw it out playing rugby or fighting crime or something, but even if you're as inactive as me and "slept on it funny" is as close as you're going to come to an explanation, it's still an injury that you can feel vaguely proud of. And as such, I wandered off to the pharmacy today to pick up some pain killers. Preferably something military grade. I'm usually the kind of person who only takes medication if he has no other choice, pills feel like cheating, but when sitting hurts, you have to swallow your morals, you know? So I head to the pharmacy, and I notice that they've put all of the back pain pills on the bottom shelf. As a man who has worked stock for six years, I can tell you beyond a shadow of a doubt that there's a stock man somewhere in my neighborhood who thinks he's just hilarious for that one. So, not immune to the sting of pride, I'll be damned if I, Nicholas, son of Randy before him, is going to ask the cute girl at the cash if she wouldn't mind bending over to pick up that bottle of mother's little helper for him. So I do what any red blooded male would do: I do a forward military squat, pray I don't fall over, and grab the first box that my fingers touch. I head to the cash, glad to have overcome the day's obstacles, and the cute cashier smiles a very big smile at me. Well alright, I think to myself with a smug grin, The kid's still got it. I'm about halfway home, feeling rather proud of myself, when I finally read the label. In big, bold, yellow letters, the box proclaims "for fast, effective relief of menstrual cramps." And my ego deflates. And suddenly the smile the cashier gave me makes way more sense. I took a couple anyway, cause hey, my back still hurt, and I wasn't about to go back there. I made myself a cosmo and had a good cry about it, though, so now I feel much better. OK, I can't avoid it any more. I figure it's about time I weigh in on this whole 'Jersey Shore' fiasco. The basic problem with this show is that it's like mid nineties dance mixes and hitting on your friends' sisters: everybody likes it, but no one is comfortable with what that says about them as a person. The phenomenon, obviously, is just that people without shame are endlessly fascinating. They are a horrible, shallow, vapid collection of human beings who are a greasy orange monument to everything that's wrong with capitalism, yes, but here's the thing (and I'll say it so none of you have to), I still kind of want to bang them. Now, I wouldn't necessarily admit it, and I certainly wouldn't feel very good about myself afterward, but the way they parade around like heavily sedated cats in heat activates some weird center in my lizard brain I like to pretend doesn't exist. I mean, say what you want about the morality of the whole thing, but those modelingn shots of Jwow are goddamn hot. It makes you hate yourself to admit it, but it's true. Hell, if I had abs like the Situation, I'd be an abrasive asshole too. Because I could get away with it. And I'd still get laid! 'Cause sure, I may be an empty-headed dick, but my stomach is a goddamn state of being. So there's the real issue here with why this show gets so much media attention: the adult in us is disgusted, but the pubescent hormonal thirteen year old in us is frankly a little jealous. Excelsior. 12:58 a.m. - 2010-03-16 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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