Sometimes, it’s good to be sane

Posted on January 14, 2007


I’ve just discovered an excellent cure for despondency over one’s inability to successfully manage one’s love life (in layman’s terms, one’s messing shit up). It is to read the wedding page of the New York Times. The number – and quality – of nutjobs who manage to get it together and marry is astounding. And it’s not even that crime against Darwin that makes me take hope it’s the indisputable realization that I will never ever splash my shit about, probably at some expense, in a national newspaper. This makes me feel pleasantly smug, even though it brings me no closer to any sort of satisfactory union. Also, the knowledge that no story of mine will ever even be this newsworthy is in itself comforting. Check it:

Mr. Mandel’s response was to write “a ‘Seinfeld’ episode about her,” he said. “It’s the modern equivalent of a Shakespeare sonnet.”

He explained that in the episode, called “Bizarro Jerry,” Jerry Seinfeld dates a woman with “man hands.” Dr. Whitney, who winces when he mentions it, chimed in, “I would like to clarify that my hands are farm hands and not man hands.”

You know what would happen if someone were to decide that a fitting tribute to me on the Shakespearean level! would be to liken my hands to those of a man’s on a syndicated TV show that would run FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE? That someone would be testiclefree, early on in the proceedings, not to mention single. The groom also has chins numbering in the double digits.

Or this business:

“She put her thumb on my forehead, right on the third eye, and literally I felt something I’d never felt before,” Mr. Yee remembered. “It was almost like: ‘Who are you? What just happened?’ That was the turning point. There was something between us that was unavoidable.”

This passage made me feel faint, for soooo many reasons. For one thing they were in a hot tub, probably naked, and that’s what happens first? Maybe I should run around placing extremities on people’s “third eyes, instead of on the more popular, traditional targets. After all, what woman doesn’t want to catch a much shorter and less attractive man than herself whodoesn’t allow her to become overspiritual, imprecise or Pollyannalike“? The very aim of any successful union, surely?

Posted in: humour, nutjobs