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 IND
 OREVER
LOUNDERING
January 13, 2003
I'm trying to think back now and figure out what was so different about me back then that I could be so prolific for such an extended period of time. The first thing that occurs to me is that I had a job then, and as any software developer worth his salt (Kosher salt, for the Jewish developers) will tell you, the primary responsibility of anyone in the employ of a software company is to find ways to not work while at your desk. Writing these little ditties filled up a lot of that time quite nicely. But now, here I sit, unemployed for the past two and a half months, with nothing remotely resembling a job coming up anywhere in the near future. I could spend time writing stuff now, but then rather than killing time from the drudgery of the job which I am being paid for, I am killing time from all of the wonderful activities that this freedom from the rat race now affords me (specifically: playing Yahoo Pool and staring out the window). In fact, I find myself doing anything to avoid writing this stuff now. In the past week that I've been postponing this article, I've cooked up a storm, meticulously cleaned the apartment several times, written and recorded more music than I'd done in the previous five years combined, and don't even get me started on all the masturbation! Anything, to put this off. It's not just the job, though. I think the main reason I was so adept with the written word back then, and fear it so much now, is the process I used to have for writing these things. The first thing I would do is: come up with an idea. For example, "I suck at poker." There, right there, there's a column. And I used to have ideas all the time. Contrast this with how we stand today, which is: I have no ideas, ever. Well, that's not exactly true. For the past few months of unemployment, I've had three ideas, which consume my every waking moment:
That pretty much covers the mosaic of brilliant colors with which I am currently equipped to paint you a funny, entertaining column. And that doesn't leave us much. Which reminds me, it's 4:58 PM. Only an hour and two minutes to go! So, if I'm going to stick by my promise to bring the content and start writing this crap more often, I am definitely going to have to come up with some ideas. If only there was some sort of machine, preferably named the Idea-O-Tron 5001, that I could purchase, and then use, to help me out with this. Unfortunately, though, the closest thing I have to this are the 12 cans of Miller "Genuine" Draft I currently have chilling in the refrigerator, and since there are 57 minutes left until 6:00 PM, they are unavailable to me. Unless I start typing slower, or go clean the kitchen or start surfing porn or... No! No, I must do this. I must come up with an idea, and then write about it in a fashion which is both amusing, as well as not blatantly reminiscent of humor columns you might find on other websites. Or, as I have done so many times before, I can just keep prattling on about how I can't think of anything to write long enough that this file will be large enough to count as an entire column all on its own. Fifty-four minutes. Well, let's start off with this. As most of you already know by now, the past week and a half has been quite emotionally troubling for me, due mostly to the fact that this man, who is my father, decided stupidly to up and die on me, and also partly due to the fact that two of my local sports stations recently "combined" into one station, and in the 12-3 timeslot, they decided to not carry the show that I liked, and put on instead the show that I hate, because one of the hosts sounds like he has a small, diseased beagle in his mouth. But mostly that death thing. This has also stilted my ability to be creative here for you people, because in some small (or possibly medium-small) way, everything I ever did was done with the hope that my dad would be proud of me for it. So now I get up and I think, "hey, let's write a column", or "hey, let's go fly a plane", or "hey, let's not try to peek in my neighbor's window with a telescope when she's getting dressed in the morning", and then almost immediately after I think: "Ah, fuck it, what's the point." Then it's straight to the window with the telescope, all over again. Combine all of these things working against me here, and there's really only one conclusion you can come to: Forty-four minutes left. I guess I could talk about how all I've had to eat today was a pot of coffee and a glass of orange juice, and now the caffiene from the coffee is making me shake, and the acid from the orange juice is tearing me a new asshole right in my stomach, which as any doctor will tell you, is not the optimal place for a second asshole. But that's not really all that interesting or appetizing, and besides, how much more can I say about it? Maybe I could talk about why I am so interested in sports radio, when in fact I'm not particularly all that interested in sports, unless it has to do with certain athletes, or exotic combat. In fact, I just started to actually write about that, but then I immediately backspaced over the entire sentence, because who the hell cares? Alright, I'll give you the basic idea: I listen to sports talk radio because all other radio sucks worse. There. Fascinating, isn't it? Aren't you glad you're a loyal reader of the PWC3? There will be plenty more of this good stuff in the coming weeks, I promise you. I have never felt so pathetic as an author as I do right now. And chances are I'm going to continue to feel pathetic for the next thirty-seven minutes. But I'm doing it. Not for him, or even her, but for ME! Please, whatever you do, don't hate me because I'm beautiful. Well, this column is getting reasonably long now, plus it contains lots of hyperlinks which are sure to keep you occupied for hours on end, or at least for twenty-six more minutes. But no, I won't stop now. You know, those Perimeter columns of mine way back when are really amazing. For one thing, they tend to be extremely funny. Even better than that, though, they are very long. That probably explains why when I'm being interviewed for a new job and they ask me what I did at Daleen Technologies, I usually fake a stroke. That's the kind of quality content I want to start bringing on a weekly basis to you lovely people. Or person.
Or, as I've done several times before, I can just make shit up. I'd really like to get started, too, but this column is starting to get excessively long, and I don't want to set the bar too high too soon. Plus, there's only twelve minutes left, and that sounds like just enough time to prepare for the evening ahead, so let me just put this little beauty to rest right now and get it out to the fans. Don't forget to join us next week, though, when you'll hear me say, "I can't believe I had a whole week to come up with something to write about, and I've got nothing. God, do I suck."
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| Copyright 2003 by Ben Parrish | |
ou know, there was a time that I could pound out these little columns, not only once a week, but once a day. Sitting here now with this empty HTML file staring me in the face, this seems inconceivable. I considered last year a good writing year, and I barely managed to keep up the rigorous pace of one column a quarter.
