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Happy Thanksgiving (Or Whatever)!

  This is that time of year, that time when we gather ‘round the hearth and give thanks for everything we have. The time of year to recognize that we are not an island, but rather an archipelago of interconnected support and community. And, sure, there’s sometimes sharks and volcanos and tidal events and Cthulhu, but we’re still there for each other.

  Rather than strain this silly metaphor any further, I’m just going to stop it now and say this isn’t one of those posts. The posts that crop up around this time of year to show how much people really mean to us and all that. Not to be disparaging, as I’ve done a few of those types of blog-type things in the past, but I’m going for something slightly different now.

  Since Thanksgiving leads to introspection, I’m tweaking the formula for a the holiday post. Instead of informing everyone of what they mean to me, inevitably forgetting someone and leading to a horrible grudge being held, I’m using the opportunity to divest myself of some of my unreasonable life expectations. Why? Because I can, that’s why – I mean, I already shot my chance to be a voice actor square in the face, it makes sense to take some more ideas to the morgue. Why do I have these expectations in the first place? I blame television, mostly – namely so I don’t have to admit to any fault of my own.

  “But Jonathan, you hardy steadfast sharp-dressing rogue,” you shout – apparently still unwilling to recognize that I can’t hear you – “shouldn’t this be a birthday or Christmas-type thing?” To which I reply, yes, but since they all fall within three months of each other, I will mix up the order of sentiments as I damn well see fit.

I Will Probably Never Be Someone’s Best Man

  If movies and television are to be believed, weddings are apparently a thing. Not only are they a thing, but they usually involve upward of like a trillion people. Also, Australians are involved.

Aussies Again
I think I found the secret ingredient. To the Outback!

  I’ve only attended a handful of weddings in my time. They’re fun parties with dancing, cake, and drunk cousins spilling red wine down your beige suit (wee!). But I’ve lately started to notice some patterns. The amount of weddings other people are being invited to really outnumber my invites. I tend to be the plus one rather than the first name listed. And I’m rapidly becoming aware of the fact that I’m definitely losing my opportunities to be someone’s best man.

  When I first realized this, I was pretty bummed out. Was I not fun to be around? Was I not a loyal companion, a faithful side kick? Was I not capable of planning a bachelor party, hiring entertainment, and then subsequently burying said entertainment when the inevitable occurred?

Bachelor Party!

  This is the kind of thing you can write off fairly easily early on. But as more and more of one’s old friends get married, it becomes less and less possible to ignore it. It’s especially soul-searing because you literally can’t get mad. Seriously, think about it. Only a total prick of the highest magnitude tries to usurp any emotions from a wedding. Resenting anything turns right around into guilt, which then backs up back into resentment. It’s seriously the most effective guilting tool outside of parenting and Orthodoxy.

The Guilt Cycle
Now, if only we can weaponize it...

  See, the thing about being a best man/maid of honor is confirmation that you’ve done something right. You were an instrumental part of someone’s life and they want you to know it. And, yes, being invited to a wedding functions like this, but it depends. If your Twilight-obsessed cousin Mervin and Uncle Pedo-Moustache are invited too, it’s more out of obligation than affection.

  Back on point, it would be really nice to know I was a fundamental part of someone’s life. I know it’s selfish and all, but I can still be disappointed by this fact. I suppose I was trained by media that we’re all supposed to have best friends that stick with each other through thick and thin, but my experience is that people (myself included) are a fickle lot. A ton of damage can be done with decisions that are made on a whim, a fuckload of bridges burned, and a many of people made really angry.

  This isn’t a call to change anything – I fully realize that my own behavior and decisions brought me to this point, and overall, I’m pleased with how everything has turned out. But it still sucks to know that I won’t be called upon to make a speech on someone’s behalf anytime soon.

  In closing, I hope every single person who wrote a television show about unrealistic and clingy best friends gets a pubic hair lodged in the back of their throat. Let’s see the power of friendship get that shit out, assholes.

I Will Probably Never be Asked to be a Childless Couple’s Donor

  This one is a bit esoteric, so I suppose some clarification is in order.

  I got it in my head that, at some point, I was going to be asked by a childless couple to provide half the genetic material to make a baby. The specific people changed – gay, straight, whatever – as long as they’re loving people and not addicted to gambling or crack, I’d be happy to provide.

  Okay, not in that way, ya perv. In the way that it would be an honor having someone say “You. Yes, you – the nearsighted, possibly psychotic kinda-intellectual with the unreasonable obsession with super heroes punching each other – we’d like to make a baby with your specific genetics.” To be fair, that’s odd if anyone said that to you. It makes much more sense if they’re pointing at me.

  Bad eyesight aside, this goes back to that pesky “Not being close enough to people” thing and then makes matters infinitely more difficult by adding inability to have children to the mix. I mean, how exactly are we going to find people that 1) tolerate me; 2) tolerate me enough to actually like my presence; 3) wouldn’t mind if there’s another one of me running around; 4) would be willing to go through the horrible trauma of childbirth with the knowledge that the result would be similar to my particular brand of crazy?

  This is probably some bizarre mixture of biological imperative and fundamental dislike of children. Take Village of the Damned and multiply it by the general dopiness of television geared to that demographic and I think you’ll appreciate my general distrust of them. They are loud and cry and a good proportion of them are probably sociopaths and there isn’t a single image the Internet can disgorge that will prove I enjoy the company of the little mutant proto-humans.

There are no words.

Oh, fine, they’re alright, I guess. But couple that antipathy with my general fear that I will be a terrible father and I think this is the better alternative.

  Although this is probably just some silly subconscious plot to flood the world with my spawn so as to take over (I’m betting lesbian-raised Jonathan would be unstoppable), I seem to vaguely recall that this serves as a plot point in at least a handful of television series. The United States’s version of Queer as Folk had something similar between a few of the characters. Just like the best man thing, I think it would be a tremendous honor to have a couple choose me to be a unique (kind of awkward, truth be told) part of the family. As long as I don’t have to change the thing, the kid will be okay in my book.

  Long story short, I think it’s time to shelve this idea. Meh. It’s not like I even like the damn things anyway.


  I know what you’re thinking – I must be incredibly vain. Well, you’re kind of right. You are, after all, reading my thoughts on a website with my silhouette across the top of it. Said website is dedicated to my relationship advice, love of cultural history, pictures I find amusing, and a book about super heroes punching each other (which I wrote, in case you’re not picking up on the theme here). Of course I’m somewhat vain. Not cripplingly so, but enough to warrant self-reflection. And just like everyone, I have unrealistic desires and goals along with my fully achievable ones.

  It’s all a part of growing up. It kind of sucks, but it will lead to bigger and better things.

  Like that rocket ship I plan on building one day.

Purchase Project Northwoods at Amazon.com.   Purchase Washed Hands at Amazon.com   Purchase Improbables at Amazon.com.


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