Death-Blogging the Ephemeral

Ok, so now all of your just-trying-to-make-it-in-NYC dreams and barely-scraping-by-but-yes-its-romantic dreams collide violently and explosively, and smoldering like that Troll that Willow zapped in Willow, and, just when you turn your back from the smoking meat heap that was your workaday-but-gosh-I'm-gonna-make-it-someday tableau emerges the THING I FUCKING WORK WITH RIGHT NOW.

It's four-headed, four-bodied, it loooooooves comedy (esp. hearting Joe Rogan and motherfucking Lloyd Bridges [his later work, natch]), it talks to itself incessantly and it is the only thing in the room with me besides computers and your mp3 player. It has red hair, brown hair, a goatee, chops, a giggle and a chortle and something like a chiggle, and it is desperate to reenact scenes from Hot Shots, Part Deaux for me. Between being flattered and trying to stab it to death with my mind, I deal with the fact that I am now being underpaid to work for probably one of the more monstrous of Big Fucking American Corporations, so I have the sweat of America's sub-poverty night-shifters on my conscience. Not that I'm complaining - I could have walked away from the job. I didn't, so goodnight punk rockers, one more white wine spritzer and I'll be hell in the morning. I could miscode very important data!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But really, you know more psychical violence has been justified with Shakespeare's "All the world's a stage" than real violence has been with Nietzsche's quaint little chestnut:

"A declaration of war on the masses by Higher Men is needed!...Everything that makes soft and effeminate, that serves the end of the People or the Feminine, works in favor of Universal Suffrage, i.e. the domination of the Inferior Men. But we should take reprisal and bring this whole affair to light and the bar of judgment."

Seriously, all the world is not literally a stage. That shit is an extended metaphor (and, incidentally, a rewriting of the Riddle of the Sphinx). Accordingly, not everybody actually wants to see a performance at all times. So when you, my four-headed friend, go around like a fucking TiVo stuck on the Spike channel, or "just can't stop" quoting Seinfeld (inaccurately, I might add), I'm not inclined to applaud, or laugh. All I can do is sit and wonder, awestruck by the sprawl.