Meditations on a Cat (By Way of an Incoherent Rant) * * * I recently had occasion to ridicule that classic image of a cat hanging onto a tree branch with the caption, "Hang in There". I won't go into the nature of the comedy wellspring that that image became (other than to say it was groin-grabbingly hilarious, and those of you who don't know me should feel bad about that) but I will tell you that as I lay drunk on my bed many hours later trying to figure out why I couldn't get my pants off I began to think about what a little shit that cat is. I'm willing to bet that most anybody who went to a suburban school (and a lot of folks who didn't) know that poster. If it wasn't hanging somewhere in the school's main office it was definitely in the guidance counselor's room. Perhaps I just over think things here, but it seems to me that if I were hanging from a branch and about to plummet to my death the last thing I'd need is somebody standing at the bottom of the tree yelling 'hang in there' at me. Where's the practical advice, like cheating for dummies or how to get a bra off with one hand while drunk on sloe gin in the back of a Camero? And then, of course, there's the kitten poster's close cousin, the lemon poster. You know, the one that tells you to make lemonade when life gives you lemons (unlike the kitten poster, this one depicts sodomy or some such thing). How the fuck does somebody make lemonade out of wrapping their dad's car around a lamppost or getting busted for being stoned out of their mind while trying to use a fake ID to buy beer at Safeway at 2am? If that wasn't bad enough, it's all smothered in a secret sauce of the ol' "you can do anything you want if you put your mind to it" crap. This may be the biggest crime perpetrated by our public educational system. Not one God damned person on this planet can do "anything they want". In high school, if all it took to achieve something was me putting my mind to it, I would have been touring with the Rolling Stones and having sex with washed up supermodels. As it was I couldn't even keep from getting caught smoking behind the bleachers for fuck's sake...And those were the easy days. Now it's paying rent, hoping you won't get stabbed by some guy who runs around calling himself Dr. Stabby McPoke, and trying to muster the strength on a daily basis to not tell 98% of the people you meet to go fuck themselves. Let's see you make lemonade for your cat out of that shit poster manufacturers of America! |
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