domenica, luglio 23, 2006

The Red Dragon mildly whinges

Last night Mr. S and I had an argument about Lebanon. I felt tight inside while I spoke because I’m ready to burst into tears any time I think of Miss E.G., but I also felt like the argument was more of a search for common ground than a pissing competition. All this as exposition to the fact that he didn’t piss me off at all, but some other guy who shared my attitude and kept interrupting with non-sequiturs did. Boo. I would rather argue sensibly with someone who disagrees with me than sit around whipping myself into a frenzy over a barely-connected de-contextualized series of facts with someone who agrees with me. That’s what dim people who like Noam Chomsky and Mark Steyn do and then there's no dialogue or education.

Of course, I was so shitfaced it’s possible all the wonderful sense I thought Mr. S and I was speaking was dribbling slurring, that we were rudely hogging the conversation, and that what sounded like non-sequiturs were genius on legs. But that doesn’t change the fact that Noam Chomsky/Mark Steyn fans suck.

Yeah, so, last night I was absolutely shitfaced and people either had no idea or else knew just by looking at me the depth of the shitfacedness. Also, men kept trying to kiss me. Well, not ‘kept’. Just two within twenty minutes. What they had in common was that I had no idea who they were. What the fuck is with that? Why the fuck did they think I’d be interested in kissing some total fucking stranger who I hadn’t even had the chance to smell yet? And how the fuck was I sober enough to swiftly reduce them both to craven apologies by analyzing aloud the quality of their emotional states if willing to foist themselves on girls with no reason to be interested in them, but not sober enough to realize when I’d drunk enough that I should stop fucking drinking?

Fuck, I’m still drunk. Otherwise I feel okay. Slightly poisoned, but okay. I think I need food now.

8 commenti:

Melbine ha detto...

I'm curious about the details of your and Mr. S' argument!

I like Noam Chomsky, why does that make me suck?? To be honest, I've never read any of his work but I have seen the documentary about him and I liked it. He's funny. That's my qualifier for liking someone or not liking someone. :) Maybe that's why I suck!

Mistress La Spliffe ha detto...

Mr. S thought Israel's military actions were measured, and I didn't. There you are.

Noam Chomsky fans suck the way Mark Steyn fans suck because they read his stuff and listen to his lectures just to have thier own prejudices re-enforced. At least I assume that's why they read and listen, because a quick peek through the bibliographies shows how self-referential and skewed his material is. There's no dialogue or progression involved in the work of people like that.

But I'm glad he's funny!

Melbine ha detto...

I can totally see your point about people listening to him to have their own opinions reinforced...I do that with lots of things myself...it's pretty easy to do I think?

Interesting argument, was this at J*Fish's good-bye party?

Mistress La Spliffe ha detto...

Sure it's easy, I do it all the time. Usually about things that aren't an immediate politic of international life and death, you know? With those it's fun to have a dialogue instead of bunch of pulpits preaching to a bunch of choirs.

Yeah, just before that party. That party - I believe it was fun. It seemed fun. Yeah, I'm drunk again.

Jiri ha detto...

J*Fish's good-bye party? Where's J*Fish going? On his birthday? Can you say happy belated birthday for me? The email I sent him bounced.

Mistress La Spliffe ha detto...

He's moving to North Bay for teacher's college, so not far as far as I'm concerned. But geez . . . North Bay.

Jiri ha detto...

North Bay rocks! Ummm, maybe it doesn't rock, but it's a nice town nevertheless.

Mistress La Spliffe ha detto...

It is what it is. I'm trying to spend more time there with my family so I'm not 100% sad J*Fish is moving there. But I think he likes the music too much to be happy out of the tour circuit for long.