Monthly Archives: January 2009
If both choices are ethically correct, is it better to be a good businessman and an asshole or a bad businessman and a mensch?
N.B.: For this post you have to know that I am trying to break E.S. of a tendency to take excessive care of me. I’m not quite awake enough to make the obvious joke, but perhaps you could do me the favor of considering it, like Nanki-Poo’s execution, already accomplished.
This weekend I had to go to Los Angeles for the funeral of an elderly cousin. The funeral was at noon on Friday; because I teach Thursday nights, this meant I had to wake up at an hour that shouldn’t even exist to take a very early flight. Rather than pack my bag the night before leaving, I waited, as is my wont, until the morning of my departure. Though there was no call for him to do so, E.S. woke up and kept me company while I packed.
I got back late last night. Earlier this evening, E.S. and I had the following conversation:
E.S.: Sweetheart, next time you have to take a trip early in the morning, I would really appreciate it if you packed the night before you leave.
FAUSTUS: Oh? Why?
E.S.: Because it makes me anxious.
FAUSTUS: About what?
E.S.: That you’ll miss your flight.
FAUSTUS: And how is it your problem if I miss my flight?
E.S.: Well, then I’m stuck with you.
FAUSTUS: Get away from me.
I am trying to figure out what it could possibly mean that when, sleepless, I turned on the television and ended up actually watching a movie actually called Urban Legends 3: Bloody Mary, I thought it was kind of brilliant.
I am failing.
I am also failing to figure out whether I find this more or less disturbing than the last time this happened.
From my conversation last night with E.S.:
FAUSTUS: Is that a cold sore on your nose?
FAUSTUS: Have you been using cream?
E.S.: Yes, but it hasn’t done anything. It’s probably viral. It’ll just go away on its own.
FAUSTUS: And then I’ll get it.
E.S.: It would only be fair.
E.S.: Actually, if life were fair you’d get like ten of them.
FAUSTUS: If life were fair a lot of things would be very different.
E.S.: If life were fair you would be one giant, festering wound.
FAUSTUS: If life were fair I would be a multi-billionaire lounging around a pool eating bon-bons.
E.S.: As a giant, festering wound.
FAUSTUS: I hate you.
As of this morning, I am officially
dead in my mid-to-late thirties.
I am wondering whether to use this occasion as the impetus to get a tattoo, as I have been threatening to do for, depressingly, years.
For a while my plan was to get the Doubtful Guest tattooed on part of my body easily visible to men performing a certain action upon me. (I generally prefer to perform the action in question upon others rather than to have it performed upon me; this description will more than suffice, however, for the theoretical purpose of elucidation.)
However, now that I am
dead in my mid-to-late thirties I figure I really don’t have time to be coy, so I’m considering something more extensive, along the lines of the following images, in a location that is, if sadly less louche, at least more generally visible.
I remember that when I was nineteen, after giving the matter a great deal of thought, I decided that it would be within the bounds of propriety for a man to wear earrings until he was thirty but not afterward.
I’m glad I don’t know me when I was nineteen, because I would hate me. By which I mean I would feel incredibly insecure and self-loathing in my presence.
Then again, I’m having trouble thinking of anybody in whose presence I’m not incredibly insecure and self-loathing, so maybe I should just go and get the damn tattoo.