Aspiration

SOMEBODY, ANYBODY: “...And I´m fed up with seeing you going through life like this - - I can so picture you on a Saturday night, slouching on your living room couch, doing nothing, wasting away your entire weekend in front of the TV - - When you could be out doing so much more, and the worst part of it is that you probably know it all too well. You know of the potential people see in you, you know you could get better jobs, live in bigger apartments, lead people instead of just going with the flow. Then there´s this I-don´t-care attitude to boot, which was already outdated by the time you were what, sixteen? Point is, I see you move only when it really suits you, always skimming at the bottom then going up and burning so bright but only for a second or two, then back to the sofa - - Always with this arrogant sneer in contempt of everyone else sweating out blood to get an inch above mediocrity, all because you think you could do so much better if at least you tried, and you don´t regardless of the fact you´re indeed probably right, which is so sad because most people would kill to be able to do pull stuff like you do with such ease. All this to feed that massive ego of yours.”

ME: “Yeah, yeah, all that. Or maybe I really like watching TV.”

Q: Why did the Cylon cross the road? A: "By your command," of course!

I.
This is probably the very best I could come up with, so sorry, but with pretty much most of the South Cone countries in Latin America kicking off their respective DSTs and 17 new employees coming over for onboarding last Wednesday, the last couple of weeks have been particularly crazy.

That of course never exempted me from the sudden epiphany that was, I´ve been blogging for what? Three years now? And not once Battlestar Galactica´s been referred to. Let´s see: I´ve done Darth Vader, I´ve done the Spear of Destiny and god knows I´ve done Batman. But how that fertile, fertile ground for so much bantering and jesting has gone with its potential untapped so far, it´s a mystery to me.
Son of a daggit...!


II.
From this you´ll correctly surmise two things:
First, that the re-runs have started once again, and second, that seeing those old Stormtrooper-wannabes shimmering in all their late-1970s chromed glory, trudging about their spinning plastic model-like Basestars, still gives me a kick even after all those years.

Point is, as lame as Cylons might´ve seemed to you even back then, they´ll always be a force to be reckoned with nonetheless:
I mean, they´ve outfought both 20th Century Fox and Dirk Bennedict if you really think about it, and today you turn on the TV and wham!, holy estrogen, Batman!, Starbuck is a freaking girl!
That´s the Faceman for chrissakes, c´mon! The Faceman beds girls before and after borrowing their farm implements for BA to convert them into makeshift battle tanks in order to free innocent villagers from oppression and tiranny from the local law-gone corrupt!


If that´s not proof of the Cylon Empire´s blatant superiority over the 12 Colonies, then hey, what is?

Super-villain team-up: Jesus Christ & Honoré de Balzac!

The following piece of dialogue is a summary of pretty much every interesting, non-work-related conversation I´ve had with women for the last couple of months or so:

ME: Do you wanna go to that R.E.M. concert with me? We could even grab a bite to eat afterwards and chat and stuff.
ANY GIRL: Not really. Since I´m a Christian I had to get [married/engaged] before I turned thirty, otherwise my arms would turn to dust and fall off, and giant fire ants would eat the flesh off my skullcap while I was sleeping.



Point is...
Regardless of the I-told-you-so´s and They-are-gonna-call-you-mad´s this subject´s eventually bound to attract, have you ever felt as if you were the only person at the museum store looking for a Patrick Nigel print amid the Monet, Cézanne, Degas and the rest of that crap...?

(He revels in Hypomania)

I.
By the time we got to my parents´ place for the weekend I realized I´d been talking incessantly the entire trip about my job: A two hour-long sentence with barely any punctuation in it, not stopping once for a drink of water or taking a breath, and that had merely been an aftershock from the previous hours at the office.

As with most manic episodes go I crashed for half a day in bed aftewards then woke up mum and taciturn as if god himself had died. I picked up pen & paper and started doodling little irregular, jagged lightning bolts on it, for no special reason whatsoever.


II.
(do you remember what you told me about my lightning bolt-fixation, that time at that pizza place with the crayons...? It´s stuck with me ever since, and I think you were right all along.)


III.
Swear on a stack of bibles man, one of these days I´ll just break...