Tuesday, April 27, 2010

An April Day or the Unbearable Darkness of Being

A nice April day can affect my disposition in a positive way, turning my inherent melancholy and self-inflicted Calvinist outlook into an appreciation for people and life experiences. Would that I always had such respite from my lugubrious nature. Would that I didn’t use subjunctive auxiliary verbs like would.

Take today for instance. The weather was great. I went out for a six-mile run about 10am this morning at a large park down the road. The soccer fields looked like a bright green and yellow blanket, as the dandelions are at their peak. In probably less than a month they’ll turn white and ugly and become a nuisance to people with allergies. This observation made me think of the ephemeral nature of our existence. Inevitably I reflected yet again on the meaninglessness of life. Here today and gone tomorrow, right? Fortunately I managed to shake this thought off as I powered my rotting carcass up “Suicide Hill,” a steep and long grassy embankment that in the wintertime provides a sledder’s delight.

After the run, as I’m wont to do, I stopped in at Starbucks and flirted with the baristas. Just seeing if you’re paying attention! Der Viator flirting? Actually what I do is stare at these gals with glossy eyes, grabbing my crotch and speaking in a low guttural voice. I like to scare people, you see, sometimes intentionally, as in this instance, but usually it just happens unintentionally.  But it’s difficult to come across like a psychopath when you’re ordering an iced cinnamon dolce latte with skim and a pinch of vanilla.   Later on in my car I pondered the number of serial killers who have ordered this particular drink.  I estimated the number 32, but that's total speculation.  I supposed they'd go for more potent stuff, though, like an Americano with an extra shot, say.   I also wondered how many serial killers were currently sitting in a Starbucks throughout the United States while I was ordering my drink—a lot, I'm sure.  I don't begrudge them frequenting a coffee shop, for they need their caffeinated beverage like anyone else.  Besides, as long as they're sitting in Starbucks, I figured, they're not slashing the throat of a bound victim in a remote desert area or torturing prostitutes in a makeshift underground bunker.  Again, chalk it up to April for helping me see the positive side of things.

I still had a couple of hours before work so I went home and sat outside with the cats to finish The Red Badge of Courage. Again, my mind veered in the direction of death and dying. It’s the cats’ fault. The other morning around 4am I let Auggie, Ulrik and Ursula out the sliding glass door; I had had enough of their bitching and moaning.  They immediately proceeded to pounce on a hapless bunny who happened to be near the door as they exited.  The squeaking was deafening.  Finally my wife went out there to put a stop to it.  I did nothing about it, however, for I know it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, or cat-torture-bunny world, as the case may be.

This evening I've now turned introspective.  I don’t know what’s got into me lately. I mean, I used to be tough and mean. I’m still somewhat misanthropic and standoffish, but I’ve softened a bit, and such sentimentality disturbs me. First of all, I bought a Michael BublĂ© CD at Sam’s Club yesterday. I couldn’t leave the house today without spraying on my neck and arms Mango Mandarin body splash from Bath & Body Works.  An Air Supply song came on the car radio and I didn’t change the station. Indeed, I was on a station that would play such music. I uttered Thank you so much! a number of times this week, despite the presence of so indicating womanliness.  I think I even used the word cute.  I’ve become that which I hate: an effeminized dandy.  Anyway, thank you so much for listening.