I was reading through some of my past stuff the other day, if not only to wallow in my own brilliance, like a pig in a genius shit puddle, and I realized that for all my rants on life, people and touching, I’ve been missing out on my favorite subject.
Why? Because I’m lazy.
I’m probably the laziest person you’ll ever meet, and what’s worse, I hate lazy people, they make me so angry. I’d totally whoop my own ass, but shit man, I’m too lazy to do that.
When I look back on it, I’ve always been super lazy. I can actually trace my laziness to one day in third grade. I was being taught fractions and I learned the term, “lowest common denominator.” I instantly took it to mean, “Do the least amount of work possible in order to get by.” Third grade, fractions and the eventual doom of my character.
From that day forward I strove to unstrive, made it my business to have no business. Here come the mildly amusing anecdotes!
In Mrs. Sten’s class we got to make Christmas ornaments. This was a much simpler time, when everyone was Christian and we got to do stuff like that. When the Jew finally came to Chatham, I think they made him make dreidels in the corner out of macaroni or something.
Not us! We got the whole craft set down out from the coat closet and got to make whatever we wanted to give to our parents on this holy of holy winter festivals. I mean, we had it all, construction paper, gold foil, ribbons, paste (for eating), glue (for putting on you, peeling off, eventually eating) and of course, those rubber handled scissors that you always got stuck picking the one retarded left handed version of and your fucking snow flake would come out looking like you’d made it rectally.
But I digress. The point of this very simple story is that while the other kids worked feverishly on what would surely be their most prized gifts to their parents this year, I grabbed the downe-syndrom only (left handed) scissors, a piece of red paper and cut out a circle. I wrote my name on it, in pencil, on red construction paper.
My parents loved it and I spent the rest of the day playing Oregon Trail, word.
This was the summer when my room was such a mess that we assumed the smell was from just my general lack of hygene and not in fact from the mouse that had passed away in the wall some three weeks earlier.
It took me three more weeks to get up the motivation to knock a hole in the wall to get it out.
Develop a nasty smoking habit. While fake ID’s are plentiful, I refuse to drive out to Clifton Park to get one, instead I make semi-daily trip forty five minutes in the other direction to go to a store where my friend works.
Develop a social drinking habit. While fake ID’s are plentiful, I refuse to walk out to West 8th Street to get one, instead I make a semi-weekly trip to the only bar I know I’ll get into.
Instead of attending a class I conquer the world repeatedly in Civilization III. I fail, and retake. The course? Basketweaving.
Not really, but it might as well have been. I spend most of the time during the retake drawing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and get an A.
Nowadays I’m still living on the LCD. *pops gang sign* I routinely walk by garbage that I’ve bagged up and left next to the door to be taken out. I live on the second floor. I skip picking up my mail all the time because there’s a back door to my apartment that means I walk five less steps. I live on the second floor. I haven’t cooked a meal for myself in almost five years, the guys at the deli start making my sandwich when they see my train come by.
I only shave when forced to at gun point by my long suffering girlfriend.
I watch network because having a satelite installed seems one hell of a fucking hassle, right?
I play video games because they’re the only activity that lets you sit absolutely still for period of eight hours at a time.
Get the picture here?
Laziness is one of my biggest pet peeves. It fucking kills me when I see people not living up to their potential and settling for ordering the medium value meal when I know deep in my heart they could have super sized it.
I guess I hate it so much because I see it so much in me. I know every time I look into that cupboard and think to myself how much I’d be saving if only I’d learn how to make canned soup, I want to hit myself.
It’s usually around then that I call for Chinese.