Dreams

Hey. Lots of directions you could go with this (because I like to be more versatile than that British boy band), but I guess you could divide dreams into two categories. “Ones where you move out and ones where you find a girlfriend?” No, mom. The literal ones and the metaphorical ones.

ASLEEP: There’s no other place to start than by describing to you the strangest dream I’ve ever had. I’ve had a dream where I gave Greg Oden a hug because he was too hurt to play basketball. And I’ve dreamed of being chased around an octagonal, South African snack hut by a killer bee the size/shape of a football, which eventually deathstung me in the face. And I’ve dreamed that I clenched my teeth so hard that I crushed my own head and bled to death out of my brain, all because I didn’t want to do math anymore. And I’ve dreamed that I killed a woman with a key so that Batman could steal her bike, despite having driven to her house in a Chrysler. And I’ve dreamed that Master Hand from Super Smash Bros. pulled a trampoline out from under me after I jumped a physically impossible amount of feet into the air, leaving me to fall to my doom somewhere near the Grand Canyon, but not actually in the Grand Canyon. And I’ve dreamed that Drake could rap. But this one topped them all.

The dream starts at summer camp, where all the kids are hanging out sans counselors. There was nothing strange happening, but maybe a small buzz of anticipation in the air. Then, some kids started to get up and look out the window of our cabin. Someone had pulled into the parking lot in a silver Pontiac Grand Am with tinted windows. We all knew who it was, so we rushed outside. The door opens and out steps none other than a seven-foot-tall Eminem with a thick, golden, chinstrap beard. He didn’t make eye contact with us because we were shorter than him, and he walked into our cabin. We followed him because we all knew he was looking for Dre, and we all knew that a rap battle was happening. It was going to blow our minds. Eminem didn’t say anything as he searched our entire summer camp cabin for Dr. Dre. Eventually, he gave up looking and got back into his car. My dream ended softly as he drove his silver Grand Am into the sunset in reverse.

The point I’m making is that everything is bullshit. Those all sound insane, but really? Those dreams are collections of things that actually exist, and also a talented Drake. There’s a lot of science to suggest that different types of dreams have different real-world meanings and implications. And some of the information online is actually fun and semi-informative. But let’s not make too much of what our brains like to do when we’re not paying attention to them.

AWAKE: These kinds of dreams are more like the “I want to be a singer like Avril Lavigne!” stuff that went through girls’ heads in the tie aisle of JCPenney’s during the summer of 2003. Still bullshit, but more in a you-don’t-get-to-decide-if-you’ll-become-famous sense. Yeah, Simon Cowell grants a wish or two every year, making someone’s dream come true. But what about the people who wanted to be in that person’s place, but can’t? They might not be talented enough, but if we’re being honest, fame hardly ever reflects talent. They might not have the personality to handle the fame, but if we’re continuing to be honest, there are some *pretty* douchey celebs out there. It definitely boils down to whether or not you can be sexualized; there are exceptions, but if you’re average-looking, you’ve got plenty of speed bumps on the road to fame. We’re only allowed one Adele at a time.

But the good news is that some people do what they do simply for the love of doing it. The number of letters in the last sentence equals the number of *albums* released by this guy. Albums. He’s known for wearing a mask and using a guitar to make you feel sexual feelingsThat mask is important because it lets us know that it’s possible to follow what excites you without regard for the world’s opinion. The fact that Every. Single. Reality. Show. involves a group of people getting judged for their talents and being eliminated one by one every week says that we’ve created a society that turns life/happiness into a competition. But if you follow the Constitution’s suggestion and pursue some got-dang happiness every once in a while, you’ll win every competition ever.

What point am I even making? I guess just like sleep dreams, awake dreams are barely realistic amalgamations of things we’ve seen or experienced before. Understand why they’re there, and give them some thought, but also understand that you can live a fulfilling life without following them. We saw what happened to Leo when he got too involved with his dreams. BRRAWWWMMRMRRRMRMM

Thus, the pursuit of trivia continues.

Water

Transparency is definitely crucial when putting your thoughts out there, so I thought I’d let you guys know that I considered making a super-relevant meteor shower joke, but I decided to not shame my immediate family. Instead, I’m filling the space that joke would have occupied with a short story. I was looking for random wildlife pics and stumbled across a website dedicated entirely to hippos yawning. If you replaced my skin with saran wrap, I’d still be like “Well, at least that site exists.”

Anyway. You may be wondering how the most necessary chemical compound in the world could be viewed as trivial. Let’s start with some fun facts: Water makes up around 60% of our bodies, 70% of the earth’s surface, and 100% of Dawson’s creek. It’s as ever-present as orange fingertips during 6th grade lunch, and as devastating to white t-shirts as orange fingertips during 6th grade lunch. Yeah, I get that we’ll die if we don’t drink something, and I get that we’ll die if the food we eat doesn’t drink something, but let’s take this a different route and look at all the ways water *exits* us. Hopefully, it’ll make you exhale a puff of air from your nose and think something like “I’m not that furious with myself for wasting my time reading this” before you get right back to whatever you were doing, which was probably eating out of boredom.

EYEBALLS: A lot of the stuff we cry about is kind of lame, but only lame because of the world we live in. Yes, there’s death and famine and denim vests, but I’ll tell you what. When I was about 4, I went to go see Sesame Street Live and I sat there with my jaw dropped the whole time. What a night. But when it was over? I cried for a legitimate 2 hours in a row, from the theater to the car to home to sleep. The end of Sesame Street Live affected me more negatively at the time than anything ever has since. The world we live in says we can have all the things, and when we only get some of the things, the world says it’s all right to pee out of your face. The world SHOULD say something like “You will not get all of the things you want, and that’s exactly why you need to enjoy what you have.” Crying gets you nothing except awesome abs.

SKIN: According to a study I performed by thinking about my own life over the past week, most of the sweat we sweat comes from working out, and that’s usually done to impress girls. Guys work out to impress girls, which is obvious. But I think girls work out to impress girls, too. Seems counter-intuitive, but you’ll never hear a guy say “LOL DAMN GIRL THEM CALVES BE FIRM AS HECK THO”. But when a girl looks through other girls’ facebook pages, you BET the words “That bitch is so skinny and perfect” are running through her mind. Luckily, love conquers all and none of that matters. Also? Let’s talk about how there are hundreds of companies dedicated to trivializing water, like Gatorade with their ad campaign that basically said “Our product is better than water” because it replaces the minerals you lose when you sweat. Hey, why not put a little piece of a hot dog in there, too? That’ll balance out the food you digest during your workout. Maybe you could also throw a couple of unbroken dreams in each bottle to replace the dreams broken by realizing that drinking Gatorade won’t turn you into Derek Jeter, baseball player and noted bi-racial cherub from heaven.

MOUTH: I don’t know about you, but I feel my most useless when I barf. My children could be lighting each other on fire and eating poison, but it would still be a second priority to hugging the torlet. Third priority if there’s a bunny in the backyard, too. Wait. I think I feel my second most useless when I barf; drooling is probably #1. Like, how do I not have the muscular awareness to keep random liquids from falling out of my mouth? I *should* have more developed facial motor skills than a stroke victim, but alas.

NO-NO PLACE: There’s such a strong taboo on piddling, and I’m not sure if I understand it. I get that being pissed on makes people pissed off, but what about whizzing a little in public? It never hurt anyone, it would make frat parties a little simpler, logistically, and would help out the pregnant ladies who have to stand in line at Six Flags for two hours on their way to a ride that they’re not going to get to ride. Big Daddy was WRONG. Do any of that stuff in real life, and urine jail.

VEINS: Well… actually, your blood should stay in you. That’s kind of a big deal.

Did we even learn anything today? Did I even talk about Purple Rain, Frank Ocean, Brook Lopez, or Johnny Tsunami? I guess not, but what about that hippo website?? It’s a website filled with hippos yawning. My god.

Thus, the pursuit of trivia continues.

Windows

I’ve been told I should make my posts more topical, so royal baby Zimmerman Anthony Weiner immigration reform North West July 26th R.I.P. Clay Aiken (literally JUST happened). There. Am I cool now?

They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. Pretty dumb, right? It’s no wonder we’ve never seen a soul before; the eyes are always crashing and installing new updates. And how sweet is it that a guy named Gates helped develop Windows? I bet he listens to The Doors (I’m sorry).

You know who loves windows even more than Billy G (which sounds like Billie Jean, sung by a guy who dangled a baby from a… you guessed it… window)? William Shakespeare. That guy loves himself a good window, especially of the chamber variety. Basically everything he’s ever written refers to a fella tryna holla at a lady through her chamber window. It’s 2013, bro. Snapchat her a pic of ya bizness or find a new trick.

Additionally, every teen movie in the ’90s has some sort of male teen throwing pebbles at a female teen’s window to get her teen attention. As if in the real world, she’d be flattered by some kid ruining her precious teen sleep. Again, Snapchat > window damage.

Even more additionally, let’s talk about sad movies, and how it’s impossible to make one without the protagonist looking longingly out of a window while it’s raining. House windows for sad, normal people, and train windows for sad hipsters. I think if the inventor of the window knew how much of an emo metaphor his creation would become, he’d be like “Ehhhh, I’ll invent something else, like a Pringles can wide enough for an adult human hand.” No, you know what I do when I’m sad? I eat a volumetrically impossible amount of cookie dough while crying in the bathtub with the lights off like a NORMAL person.

And if you’re a budding photographer who thinks you’ve got an original idea for a shot involving a person looking out of a window, you are not correct.

HUGE shoutout to windows for being the difference between me singing in the car and being too embarrassed to sing in the car.

The ultimate saving grace for the window happened to me in 5th grade, when a bird flew straight into a closed window and I watched the whole thing unfold before me. More like “Darwindow”, amirite? More like “losedow”, amirite? More like “windon’t”, amirite? More like “window pain”, amirite? More like “winDOH!”, amirite? More li

One more thing. I looked up words that rhyme with window because that’s the person I am, and I only found a few, maybe 5 or 6. But one intrigued me. That is a Korean jindo puppy, and that is what I want to be when I grow up.

It seems windows are pretty well-represented; one of the richest men in the world, the master of English literature, and that cute puppy. But if you read through the lyrics of “Window Shopper” by 50 Cent, you’ll understand why he belongs in the discussion, too. So poignant. So refined. So similar to something I could have written as a 10-year-old.

I start spitting G at a bitch like a pimp man
Tell her meet me at The Mondrian so we can do our thing
She can bring the lingerie with her I suppose
And we can go from fully dressed to just having no clothes
She can run and tell her best friend bout my sex game
Her best friend could potentially be next man

Thus, the pursuit of trivia continues.

Guns 2

Hey, one of my least favorite things is an entitled kid with no credentials spouting out his moot political opinions on the internet, so let me squat down and gently rest my moot political opinions onto your unsuspecting forehead. You only live one time, except aliens, Buddha, and ghosts. #YOLOTEABAG

Guns are everywhere. Go to the movies: guns. Go to a Walmart: guns. Be a dyslexic person looking at gnus at the zoo: guns. Wear a “snug life” t-shirt and look in the mirror: efil guns. This is made even more evident by the fact that American civilians own a total of 300,000,000 guns, or one per person. But why?

Well, it turns out that the stereotype is true because polls suggest that 47% of males own guns, compared to 13% of females. Also, 41% of Republicans own guns, compared to 23% of Democrats. The political stereotype might be a little surprising, considering the affiliations of people in urban, high-crime areas, but picture this: A man comes home from working at Home Depot and steps out of his Silverado with a green polo tucked into a pair of Dungarees that his wife TRIED to get rid of, but these fit perfectly and comfort matters, okay? He’s got a little belly hanging over because cornbread is basically the only thing to eat in Des Moines. He’s 53 years old, has three kids, and laments things like Facebook and emotions. Larry isn’t a bad guy, but won’t go out of his way for anyone, so he isn’t much of a good guy, either. Larry is a guy. He is also your typical gun owner, and statistically, owns a gun to 1) protect his family 2) shoot targets and 3) hunt.

In Des Moines, which I imagine is the Canada of America, none of those three reasons *actually* matter. Protecting your family is a noble cause, but I think the Jeepers Creepers movies are done, so there’s really nothing to worry about, even if you live in a cornfield-prone area. Shooting targets is probably fun, but I’d be willing to bet that most people go target shooting to practice for the real deal, which is kind of alarming. And I think that people who enjoy hunting for sport secretly have psychological issues, as tasty as venison is. So yes, those are the main reasons why people own guns, but I think they’re all cover-ups.

The common thread is that people own guns for the fantasy of owning a gun. They daydream about gunning down someone breaking into their home, or being the next action hero, or using its manly aura to score some ‘gina. It’s a power symbol. If you’re thinking “No, I genuinely own a gun because shooting is a hobby of mine,” then might I suggest switching out your gun for a bow and arrows? It’s still a weapon and you still get to shoot a target. No? Hm, I guess there’s a reason why Hawkeye is the worst Avenger, according to a recent poll of everyone who ever lived.

So there’s a power aspect to firearm ownership, probably filled with some alpha-male fantasies that will never bear any fruit. And that would be totally fine if we didn’t have such ridiculous arguments against gun control. Honestly, this blows my mind. A bunch of kids get shot in Connecticut and how do people react? Aside from grief, I’d argue that the top three reactions were “The government did it”, “Don’t take my guns away”, and “We should arm everyone so that this doesn’t happen again.” 4 real, girl? I can’t think of any more sickening evidence that America is a “me first” society, that the mentality of fighting for your rights to own a gun would supersede fighting for the right children have to attend elementary school without being shot to death. Priorities, man.

Sorry for the politics, but I can’t make this point without dividing the left and right. After this shooting, one side looked for a gun control solution and the other side fought for their own gun rights. The choice is clear for me.

Also, one side has used some interesting tactics to advocate for gun ownership. A recent endeavor included using rape as a vessel for gun rights. They say “If a woman owns a gun, her chances of being raped or assaulted will go down.” To me, this more than just a talking point, as this falls perfectly in line with the vomit-worthy rape apology that has leaked into our politician’s brains. It basically says “Well, rapes are gonna happen, so why not protect yourself?” I’ll tell you why not, person who would rather give everyone a gun than teach guys how to not rape people. Again with the fantasies, there seems to be a notion that rapes happen when a woman is walking alone at night in an alley, and then the rape guy just runs up and gets her. NO. A majority of rape victims were attacked AT OR NEAR THEIR HOME by people they know and trust. Friends, boyfriends, etc. Can you imagine how difficult it would be to, in the moment of an attack, turn a gun on someone you know? Especially considering that most sexual assault victims are MINORS. I’m sorry for the solemnity of this topic, but the vast misunderstanding of sexual assault by people who have actual opportunities to prevent assault from happening is egregiously upsetting.

Speaking of vast misunderstandings, check out the Second Amendment:

“A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.”

I understand that this amendment has some confusing text. Luckily, we have District of Columbia v. Heller, which essentially states that you can have a gun, but you can’t go waving it around, willy nilly. And that’s essentially where I stand. Personally, I don’t see a need for a gun in my life right now, but most people use them responsibly, and should be allowed to carry/own them safely. And when it comes to protecting against the people who *don’t* use them safely, the answer is not “Well, crime happens. We just have to do our best.” If a simple psychological screening keeps even a few weapons out of the hands of violent people, then the extra few minutes you spend purchasing one should be worth it. Secretly, I bet that a lot of people who are against background checks are afraid that they wouldn’t pass one. LOLOLOL

Wow, that… was interesting. Are you okay? I know America’s birthday was yesterday, so this might be in poor taste, but I needed that. Also, some people call arms guns.

EDIT: I already posted about guns a while ago, almost exactly a year before this post. Read it if you want. Transparency is important to me, even if it costs me an election some day.

Thus, the pursuit of trivia continues.

Cats

Alphabetically, this is a very sensible post because it follows “Bats”, but socially? This is probably a bad move because several of my 45 trillion daily readers own cats and I don’t have many positive things to say about them. The only possible move I can make is convincing cat owners that they aren’t actually cat owners, THEN I can explain why cats are as useless as Rob Schneider’s guest house.

Let’s be honest with ourselves, cats don’t need you. “…but I feed my cats! They need me to live!” Get a grip, dumbpants. Cats are predators who can literally survive off of garbage, so the only real service you provide is a laptop for them to walk onfaHHIOHnlfkoi904 034  o. pe034g  88880nq

Damnit, let’s try that again. They don’t need you. But! Your lonely ass sure needs them, doesn’t it? They provide friendship, lap warmth, mouse hunting services, and hair to decorate your clothes, so really? It sounds like the cat owns you. It just sits there like an allergen-laced monarch while you kiss its little feet. Egypt is ——> thattaway.

If you ask a cat owner why they prefer cats over dogs, a lot of them will say something like “Dogs just love you right away, but you have to build a relationship with a cat. It’s more gratifying.” Sorry, spinster-in-training, but insta-love is much more gratifying to me. If I want to build a relationship, I’m going to try a different animal, like a human. A feline friendship, albeit fuzzy, is laborious and worth nothing. Harumph.

Now, cats aren’t simply limited to the domesticated little shits that do nothing but vomit and drain you of $15,000 over the course of their lives (do you want a cat, or a car?). We can also talk about jaguars, ocelots, lions, etc., but do they even matter? They’re pretty to look at and you’d probably only mourn their extinction during your trip to the zoo every 5 years. The lion jail would be empty and you’d just be like “That’s sad.” and move onto the elephant jail, or the giraffe jail.

Think of the internet space that would be available if all cats disintegrated. Especially Youtube, since the world has apparently deemed it necessary to upload a video of their cat every time it coughs in kind of a funny way. I think the general population would be less depressed because for every cat that regularly does something cute/funny, there are 50 cats who just point their b-hole at you and walk away like you’re supposed to do something about it. Without cats, we no longer have to bemoan the fact that ours isn’t as funny as that Youtube one.

Perhaps as a tie-in to last post’s theme, the uselessness of cats is absolutely epitomized with Halle Berry’s interpretation of Batman’s feline adversary. I wish that movie had nine less lives.

Thus, the pursuit of trivia continues.

Bats

Ah, baseball season is upon us. The Miami Heat Basketball League’s season is winding down and we can finally enjoy the purest of sports, led by athletes with the impurest of hormone reserves. Baseball is a love/hate sport, in that I want to make love to Megan Fox on a baseball field, even though I hate her. There’s something about the atmosphere of a baseball field that I love; maybe it’s the wide-open venue, maybe the smells, maybe the fact that I’ve played so much baseball in my life. Or MAYBE I just love the way the crack of the bat sounds in the open air.

Pretty gay paragraph, huh? Don’t worry, readers, one of whom is probably my brand new girlfriend, Jennifer Lawrence, who is an angel for taking time out of her busy day to read my blog, and is definitely dating me, no matter what you or she says; it gets worse.

A lot of people think baseball is terrible and dull, and I think that may have to do with how primitive the sport is. For over a hundred years, we’ve been watching balls being thrown and hit with wooden clubs by thick, meaty men who can’t form complete sentences, even in Spanish. It’s the official athletic activity of Cro-Magnons and they couldn’t be more proud. I think. I can never tell the difference between a proud grunt and a hungry grunt.

So a lot of people don’t like baseball because it’s boring. I imagine these are the same people who are so stressed out because they don’t have time to get caught up on all their shows. Baseball is a cerebral sport with gobs of strategy and statistics, and that bestows upon me the most petrified of brain boners. So I don’t really trust the opinion of someone who can’t appreciate the sport, or at least the fact that this sport has produced the weapon of choice for mobsters and enraged housewives everywhere (this is why you never tell your wife to put a cork in it).

I told you it was gonna get worse, didn’t I? Well, strap in. This is bad. There’s another kind of bat. You anticipated this, I’m sure. But the only segue I have between the two types is Twilight. There’s a baseball scene and… damnit. I ONLY WATCHED A LITTLE BIT.

Let me redeem myself. A big gripe I have with Twilight is the inauthenticity of its vampires. BATS. VAMPIRES CAN TURN INTO BATS. IF THEY DON’T TURN INTO BATS, THEY’RE JUST CREEPS WHO COMPETE WITH THE RED CROSS. THE SPARKLING IS FINE, I CAN DEAL WITH SPARKLES NO PROB. BUT IT NEEDS TO BE A SPARKLY BAT. NOW I WANNA MAKE 4 SHITTY BOOKS AND 5 SHITTY MOVIES ABOUT SPARKLY BATS AS RETALIATION.

Upon further review, I am not overreacting. “Twilight is over. What’s your beef, chief?” Hey rhyme guy, I’ve got a lot of qualms, so listen up. You really think that literary shitvolcano has run its course? Look at the teen section of a bookstore, look at TV, and look at moms stuffing their 50 Shades of Grey audiobooks under the seat when they pick up their kids from Kelly’s house, where they inevitably watched Kristen Stewart successfully crease her lips into a straight line for the 23rd year in a row as she inexplicably accepts ANOTHER Teen Choice award for her dazzling performance in Mumbling at the Sight of Abs: Part 2.

Twohourslater

Stephenie Meyer has poisoned the well and we may be feeling the effects until humanity crumbles, probably under the failure to incorporate bats in a vampire story, which is more unacceptable than failing to incorporate Adam Lambert in a list of America’s most beleaguered goth women. What’s next? A werewolf who doesn’t need to transform during a full moon? OH WAIT HOW COULD I FORGET TWILIGHT LOL.

I’m mad. How do we tie this all together? Bats are misunderstood creatures, especially by me. I respect the flying mammal business; very unique. And I’ve donated blood before, so their meals don’t frighten me so much. But they represent evil and terror, and if I can’t give the word “moist” a chance, then I can’t give bats a chance. If I see one flying at me, I’m reaching for my preferred weapon to knock it out of the sky: You guessed it! Kindness. And then a baseball bat. Full circle.

Don’t thank me. I’m the hero WordPress deserves, but not the one it needs right now. (You didn’t think I’d forget that, did you?)

Thus, the pursuit of trivia continues.

Babies

Maybe this post isn’t fair because the people I’m writing about can’t read. But I’ve got a bone to pick with babies, and the bone I pick is their spines because without spines, babies can’t grow up to form Creed tribute bands. NO NEED TO THANK ME, I’M JUST YOUR EVERY DAY SUPERHERO.

Babies are like sponges because they absorb everything you teach them and they suck at math. They actually suck at everything, when you think about it. The only area in which they truly excel is being the middle man between your money and their poop. There’s a reason “Gerber” rhymes with “questionable investment.” I’ve read that turning an embryo into an adult costs a million dollars. You know what you can buy with a million dollars? 223,214 pounds of Nutella. Just helping you weigh your options is all.

My main gripe with babies is that they’re a bunch of goddamn liberal freeloaders. Baby horses are on their feet within MINUTES, but I’ve gotta wait MONTHS for you Obamaphone commies to get on your feet and start making your own living? That’s a buncha malarkey. And don’t get me started on how us hard-working, self-sufficient folk are supposed to carry you around, rock you to sleep, stroll you through the park, feed you, dress you, and wipe your Marxist asses. Just lay around all day expecting a handout, huh? Well, NOT FROM ME. You know who else was once a baby? Hitler. YOU’RE SCARED OF GUNS AND YOU’RE RUINING THIS GREAT NATION.

It’s to the point where I don’t even veil my political metaphors anymore.

A lot of people say babies are gifts from God, which makes unprotected sex… a gift card from God? And that also makes God a stork? If God is a stork, how in the world will he able to wield a sword? Someone explain this to me.

If I’ve watched the amount of TV I think I’ve watched, I know that babies are miracles and toddlers are annoying little shits, which makes a lot of sense; you live with someone for more than a couple of years and they really start to get on your nerves.

So I don’t like babies. That should be clear now. They’re basically hairless pets until they learn English, they get more boob than me, and they make your whole house sticky. I mean, even toddlers kind of suck because yes, they know how to talk, but all they talk about is Caillou, which is basically Charlie Brown for gringos. Teenagers suck because they can’t buy beer. Adults suck because they can buy beer. I guess, really, babies suck the least out of all people, which is amazing because sucking is how they eat. People could learn from babies. We wouldn’t have to put so much effort into relationships if we just cried every time something inconvenienced or irritated us. You could also just shit your pants to get out of stuff you don’t want to do. AND say hello to 5,000,000 hits on Youtube just for laughing on camera. I guess my baby hate stems from jealousy.

Nope. Some of it stems from people who call their significant other “baby”. Why people like that is beyond me. I’m so much stronger/smarter than a baby. I can own property and I can almost rent a car. I will not share an echelon with those food stamp mongering, Lenin worshiping, drum circle starting okay that’s enough.

Let it be known that “Baby Boy” by Beyonce is one of my all-time favorite songs. Sean Paul has a particularly eloquent line where he says “aweesobyaba fodalay girl whetagetchafona soyagobala ponaway girl.” So poignant.

Wait. I think I figured it out. We’ve got it all backwards and it makes me so angsty. We cherish people the most when they’re babies, correct? We love them, care for them, correct every wrong step, keep them perfectly well-fed and clothed. But every baby is the same. I mean, the bi-racial ones are adorable, but in general, babies are all the same. Then, they grow up and we forget about them. This is especially evident in middle school and high school, where kids are starting to develop actual personalities and crave validation for said personalities. And then, adults lose friends as they get older. How sad is that? The amount of care and attention you receive will never amount to what you received during infancy, a time none of us even remember.

I guess… I guess that’s it. Maybe I should have done a post about puppies first to see if I was ready. Also, shoutout to people who had babies in the facebook era without posting a single sonogram pic. Respect.

Thus, the pursuit of trivia continues.