Teach a Cynic to Cope

Or, All the Reasons that You Should Stop Encouraging My Pitiful existence

Holy Hostile Wednesday...except that it's Thursday now. Guess what. The sentiment can last as long as I remain sober past midnight (it's the newest rule of Weinism). So, following the tradition that I have laid out in HWs of yore, I'm here to tell you that life should be so much shorter than it is--at least my life should be. So, you taught me how to cope, with such nuggets of wisdom (aphorisms, says Professor Adams) as: Dr. Rut's Rules for Coping with Modern Sexuality: Ensure your partner's comfort; no Mohawk styles for pubic hair, and many more.

Wow. Now, was that really a good idea? Did it really facilitate the sentiments that the world needs to live as peaceably as possible? Pfft. All the pacifists are dead or powerless anyway. So, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and come up with some excellent reasons for teaching this cynic to cope:

1. You love me. Admit it. I'm lovable. You may not want to, but you can't help it.
2. By teaching me to cope as a cynic, you can still laugh at my self-deprecating jokes (Oh, goody).
3. You thrive on my sarcasm. Not to mention my overflow of spontaneous feelings. Most of those feelings aren't that fun for me. But anything to make the rest of the world a happier place...
4. You would forget to be hostile on Wednesdays without my leadership. In case you forgot why HWs are so important, you can quickly remind yourself by reading the rest of this blog. I can also sum it up in a few words: Because I like them and they end with rum. NB: I said end with rum not end with "rum". I am actually opposed to most words that end that way.
5. Your life would be so pleasant without my demeaning comments that you would be bored out of your skull. And that would hurt. Hurt is bad.
6. The book only cost one person one dollar, and was printed before I was out of diapers. Plus, it's good nighttime reading for me. Gives me a really bright outlook that leads to a wholesome night's sleep. I awaken inspired by the dawn of a new day. Actually, there is so much more to this coping business than the book, but who has the time? Not I, says the pig.

Oh, but wait. The subscript says that I'm not going to conclude that I should not be encouraged to keep breathing. You know what that means. Here are the reasons that I should just quit:

1. I always say I'm going to quit and never do. Actually, I found a book called "Quitting for Non-quitters", maybe someone should buy that for me to counteract all this coping I've been doing.
2. The world loves a loser and shuns a winner. Just think about how American Idol runner-ups do in comparison to the winners. There's no difference. Pop stars suck. But I'm still right. I'm infallible after all.
3. I always wanted to publish something post-humously. So, here's the plan: I'll write a whole bunch of insightful things, and "hide" them. Then I'll die. I'll give the directions to my hidden insights to one person who I trust more than anyone in the whole world, and that person will have them published. Got it? Good, you're that person. If you steal my insights I'll haunt the hell out of you and once I've obtained that hell from inside you I'll torture you with it. Now that's a plan.
4. It's late and I'm tired. Something tells me that should be reason enough.
5. People are worthless. That is to say, life has no meaning. We're just specks, right? Stupid, insignificant specks. Well, not according to Emerson. To him we are the centre of everything. Go, Emerson. Woot. What an idiot. Nietzsche was right-- people are pompous.
6. It's all going to end horribly. Let's get this over with as soon as possible. Actually, for the sake of saving time, I prefer the acronym: Let's get this over with ASAP. Better yet: now.
7. The big circle that isn't that big. If this makes sense, you're on your way to ruin with me. The theory of history that predominated before modernization took place and the linear progress model was adapted (holy way to oversimplify, but stick with me) suggested that history was bound to repeat itself because time was cyclical. Moreover, the social makeup was based on the same cyclical model, and the people on the bottom eventually rose to the top, so the people on the top inevitably fell to the bottom (If you want to understand this better read some Frye. He's a "good" Canadian literary theorist who says that all relevant plots are based on this movement. Most people talk about this stuff in terms of "the Wheel of Fate/Fortune". Not the game show. Don't get me started on Vanna). Well, I think that the circle of time isn't all that big, so certain people spend more time on the bottom, even if they rise to the top, especially if they started on the bottom. Literature conveniently focuses on the uprising of an oppressed group (in comedy) or the downfall of a self-righteous upperclass (in tragedy) but forgets that there tends to be a whole lot of time on either side of the span of the plot. Literature gets to forget. I can't. Either the circle isn't that big, or it's really huge so I'll always be stuck to the bottom...crushed. Poor, poor me.
8. I really want to be part of the group that proves the linear progress model is wrong. If I don't cope, I won't progress. If I don't progress then the model doesn't apply to me. If the model doesn't apply to me, then clearly the whole thing is stupid. I am the centre of everything, so I am a force to be reckoned with. I love inductive reasoning. The sky's the limit when you can reach the conclusion by any means necessary.

Convinced? Well, the final reason is the simplest to accept. Teaching me to cope means listening to me complain...at least for a few extra days. There's a strange irony in winning this one: Either you don't let me have my way and I am forced to keep on coping, or my victory is my demise. Tricky, eh? That's me. Always thinking. Way too much. Hope I didn't throw you for too much of a loop with that Frye junk. More tasteless banter to come. I'll leave you with a short poem to sum up:

Grumpty Dumpty:

Grumpty Dumpty sat on a wall

Grumpty Dumpty had a great fall

All of the day

And all through the night

He bitched!

--Courtesy of The Cynics Guide to Coping with Life. Copyright Eden Press 1987. Notorious for making the whole world feel better about the horrible gifts they've given and received.

The Rules of Weinism

These rules were created during grade 12 sociology, and presented to me as a 20th birthday gift by my second in command. Here they are, the fundamentals of my proverbial religion (oh, religions themselves CAN be proverbial):

• Dodge all Dodges.
• Wein owns life.
• Practise ultimate independance: We don't need no body to be happy! (Or basic grammar for that matter)
• Jean is wrong if she's arguing with Wein.
• Jean is second in command.
• Don't listen if you don't want to hear it...run away! Screaming obscenities! AHHHHHH!
• Welch's grape juice does taste like there's a party in my mouth and only the people I invite are allowed to come.
• One hour is "2 minutes" long by other international standards (this must be observed on Wein Day). What this means is essentially there is such thing as a long day. Every day but Wein Day is long because Wein Day is so awesome.
• If you run out of space, make more!
• Convert others to Weinism like there is no tomorrow.
• There is no tomorrow.
• All Danishes should be stabbed repeatedly with a rusty fork.
• Vector bars have an unseen magnetic attraction to Dodge vehicles.
• Saturn vehicles CAN dent! The drivers are clueless and we should avoid all contact.
• In fact, let's make an island for only Saturn and Dodge drivers, and they can hit eachother and we will be safe.
• Christmas lights are for Christmas...NOT Groundhog Day.
• Fist shaking is always necessary.
• Kyle's house should be egged once every hour.
• We are all nermal.
• Incredibly nermal.
• YOU BETTER READ THIS!

And remember, "History is like a hand holding a pen, writing itself in the books of time." Now that's deep.

I'm killing myself from the inside out, and all your fears have pushed me out.--Goo

Here Comes Trouble

As you may have noticed from past entries, I am not entirely committed to anything that I write on here. That said, if you actually expected me to follow through on my promises to rant in an organized fashion, kick yourself in the face for me. Instead of ranting about the things that I planned on ranting about, I'm going to do a complete one eighty and talk about something different. Something exciting. Something so mind-blowingly fascinating, that you will come back to this blog religiously from now on to hear more of my fabulous insights.

The only problem? I don't know what that something is yet...

So, let's play the "You Know You're in Trouble When..." game. Rivetting, I know.

YOU KNOW YOU'RE IN TROUBLE WHEN...

• You resolve to only drink Coca-Cola if it is mixed with rum.
• You start mixing your coke with rum because you wanted some coke.
• You're sitting in the Dairy Queen parking lot lamenting the fact that no one is playing with every button in your car...including the four-way flashers and the heated seats.
• You have a full-fledged panic attack over the bumper bed being too full for you to put your bumper in it. Hyperventilating and everything...
• You get worked up whenever you tell that story about the time the bumper bed was full.
• You believe that Sidekick noodles and pickles is a well-balanced meal.
• You decide to drink a rum and coke with your Sidekicks and pickles because you can't do too much good for your body in one day or it will never toughen up.
• You burst into tears in the movie theatre.
• The movie you're crying over at the movie theatre is Wedding Crashers.
• It makes you sad to know that life is more than who we are.
• You start thinking and talking in lyrics.
• People around you know the song that you are thinking and talking in. (But everything IS wrong. I know, Erin, and it's alright.)
• You went to the store for M&Ms and came back with a freezie. In January.
• You're so drunk that before going tubing you tell your dad to take it easy because you don't want to have to have your tampon surgically removed. (I had to put at least one on here that didn't apply to me. Creative, huh?)
• You have a sulk party at least once a month and the only people invited are Ben and Jerry.

So, are you in trouble? Or is it just me? Maybe the list needs to be longer. Or maybe the real problem is society's definition of trouble. Because, you know, if I changed the title of the game to "You know you're cool when" then I would actually be cool. And probably a little sarcastic. But at least I gave you something new to mull over. Just remember that boredom is the last resort of the unimaginative. And I'm nothing if I'm not imaginative. Or is it bored? Too much thinking. Let's have a coke. You bring the rum. I'm down in all my fears but I ain't crying no tears over you.

Holy Ford Phobia and the Reunion of Ranting Weinists

Did you really think that after 4 months, I'd be so broken I wouldn't have any strength left to rant? Silly kids...I won't go gentle into any nights (good, bad, or ugly). Ford fuelled my rage and I am here now to set up the schedule of rants for days to come. Bear in mine, spontaneous outbursts are fully qualified in Weinism as long as they can be related (however obscurely) to an incident taking place in, on, or around a Hostile Wednesday. Excited yet?? You better be! Here's the line-up as I see it shaping up:

• Holy Ford Phobia--First order of business is spreading the bitterness bestowed upon me by my gracious and evil ( not to mention schadenfreude) employer. With the aching hostility granted to me by the recent airing of The Corporation in my living room, we'll try to wrap that one up by the end of the day, if my head doesn't explode first.
• DQ Disasters--subtitled "Lyndsay just get a freakin job at DQ so I can have free ice cream! You could be their leader!!" Look forward to such gem-like quotes as "Mmm, Dennis, your blizzard looks like it tastes better than mine..." and "There is no way this thing is upsidedown thick."
• Road Rage--Dennis has inspired me to enroll myself in an anger management course. Or was it the scratchy feeling I have in my throat from the larangitus (how in the hell do you spell that affliction?) I developed from screaming at all those Intrepid Drunks.
• Drinking Team Disbandment--What a shameful array of pettiness and cold-hearted cruelty. Jerks.
• Fantastic Fan--An ode to 5% and laziness. (So, technically this is another Ford rant, but it needs to be a separate one, okay?)
• Blossom City Baby--Good news...General Chicken is back as the lunch special. So dry your tears, Dennis, there is hope left in the world for you yet.
• Second Cup Sass--A tale of tragic and comedic appeal--ON ICE for the love of Peter and his starving children!
• Anti-Eminem--This one's all for you, Brendan. If you actually want to see it come to fruition, tell me. Otherwise, I'm saving it for those nights you think that all we need is a good theological debate to chase our boredom blues away.
• Ad-mania must die--Holy crap, they've stooped to posting ads for auto lending on as comments for this piece of crap blog. What is the world coming to?

Without a lot of further ado (because I have nothing if I don't my ado) we'll get started on the Ford ranting.

Ford was a joke. Just one giant joke. From the time we got there until the time we left, I never stopped laughing (silently, in my heart of hearts). Jeff says it was like Groundhog Day...and it was, even more than he knows. I think I said it best in my sleepless stupor the first day they made me switch to the 6 am shift: "It's like I live at Ford. Or with Ford. Like Ford is an abusive husband and I am being beaten to an inch of my sanity by it, and I can't leave because I have no where to go. Except I don't think abusive husbands pay their wives this much. That would make them whores. Oh god, I'm Ford's whore." And most of that was silent and in my heart of hearts too where I was laughing, but it wasn't that funny then either. And you're probably terrified now. No? Well then let's continue...

Have you ever had a shock absorber drop on your head? No, but I fell through my share of unsafe beds, and got pinned between two pieces of sheet metal...Oh, the excitement.

Turns out I'm rather tired, ladies and gents. But I will say this: I am so over Ford that if Ford was the moon, I would be over it in another galaxy. I hate analogies too. Fucking apples. Fucking corporate psychopaths. Fucking movie got me so riled I'm not gonna sleep for days..."Oh, wait til the water part, that'll really piss you off."

On that note...some goo for your trouble? You and I got something but it's all and then it's nothing to meYEA...yea. And I got my defenses when it comes to your intentions for meYEA...yea. And we wake up in the breakdown of the things we never thought we could beYEA...yea. I'm not the one who broke you. I'm not the one you should fear. What have you got to move you, darling? I thought I lost you somewhere but you were never really ever there at all.