Thursday, March 26, 2009
I have a shitty habit of comparing myself to great historical figures and measuring my achievements against theirs. It’s a losing game! Who needs to hear that by the time he was 16, Alexander the Great had already conquered a city and named it after himself? When I was sixteen, a bully renamed me after himself and convinced my parents to go along with it. Shameful.
Things look even worse when I size myself up against female pop singer Pink. When she was 16, she’d already sung on the soundtrack for Shaquille O’Neal’s paganistic genie-comedy Kazaam. I didn’t even know what a Kazaam was when I was 16—I wasn’t brought up that way. The worst thing is, even if I dedicated the rest of my life to getting a song on the Kazaam soundtrack, I’d still never catch up to Pink.
The list of people I’m officially inferior to is endless: Joan of Arc, Orson Welles, Donovan, Nelson Mandela, Anna Paquin, the cast of YouTube, etc. My problem is that I don’t put these great lives in context; until 1973, no one lived past the age of 25, so if you wanted to achieve anything in life you had to start as soon as you escaped from your mother’s Guantanamo-like womb. There were also fewer distractions back then. Just think of what we could all achieve without timewasters like the internet, cell phones and condoms. Living in the olden times must have been like being a citizen of Paradise (except for all the polio and race hate).
Maybe the key is to aim a bit lower. Instead of measuring myself against great achievers, I should switch tactics and compare myself to thieves, jerks and gigantic perverts. Once I do that, my inaction suddenly begins to look virtuous. For instance, I can hold my head high knowing that I, unlike a certain Charles Manson, wasn’t pimping young girls in L.A. when I was 24. I consider this a moral victory.
What else haven’t I done? I’ve never worn a big jacket to school and opened fire on my classmates before—surely this reflects well on my noble character and sound judgment. The way I see it, the government owes me some sort of medal (or, failing that, it can simply declare a national feast day in my honour).
As for my dubious work-ethic, I look pretty industrious when you consider that some people live in comas for decades. What do those lazybones do during that time? Nothin’ for nobody! I on the other hand am always chipping away at one project or another, waiting for the perfect moment to strike and become a billionaire.
So, starting today, I’m going to stop driving Michael Balazo crazy. Instead of gazing wistfully up at Heaven, I’m going to start smirking down at Hell. Because no matter what happens, I’m a better person than Josef Fritzl. Or Dane Cook.