Monday, May 3, 2010

Face in a Hole


Oh, lecherous philistine, you thought this post would be about a different face in a different kind of hole, didn't you? How very dare you! You offend my delicate sensibilities with such salacious assumptions about the content of this heartbreaking work of staggering genius. Had we known each other better, you would know that I am a WASP, so the topic will most certainly not about sex. I can talk about not- sex for days! Rather, this is about something I view with rivaling fear- procrastination.

There is no excuse for procrastination. None whatsoever. As a daughter of steely New England puritans, I am still haunted by the schoolmarmish proverb that hung prominently displayed above the blackboard in third grade- "Never put off til tomorrow what you can do today." I took that advice from the teacher Mrs. Clifford, who always stepped away from the blackboard with a white stripe of chalk on her boobs or butt, and I never put off laughing about that. If Catholics are haunted by guilt, then Yankess are charged with bearing the cross of the Protestant work ethic. The Nazis echoed this sentiment with their epigram "Abreit macht frei," or "Work sets you free."

And we know how that turned out.

Well, procrastination needs a new PR person. Let me be clear, I am the consummate procrastinator. And due to the shrill echo of Mrs. Clifford admonishing me to "make good mahks," my stolen moments have been marked by guilt and shame. So I guess that makes me a dyslexic procrastinator, putting off onerous tasks with other equally onerous tasks. I wash the windows so I don't have to write, I write this opus so I don't have to write anything worthwhile, I write this blog so I don't have to engage in life. Of course, amateur philosophers speak at length on the relative merits of procrastination. One must let one's fields go fallow occasionally, or "marinade in one's own juices," as my friend Eric once surmised. Productivity has been at an all time low at the Zenaida Brilliance Factory, because I learned the greatest lesson of all. That you and your friends can be anything you want to be. And here's how...

You can be trannies, neé the Plastics! But I'M the Regina George, obviously- the Head Tranny In Charge.





Or if you're feeling patriotic, like Old Man Mullin here, you can be Uncle Sam. Patriotic for the other side, that is!




And here's my wife! We can do it wife! We can waste the whole day creating humorous avatars of ourselves and friends! Oh my how we laugh!




And why waste all that time at the gym and money on human growth hormone when you can build hulking muscles with a few simple keystrokes? I think I see a new Match.com profile pic...




So when working doesn't particularly appeal to you and experimenting with your identity in a safe way sounds like a nice thing, go ahead! Like most things, it sounds worse than it is, and is even more fun when you're the one doing it. So go forth! Seize the day! Put your face in every hole!

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