It's Monday, and that means you're likely miffed at the prospect of ending your weekend and emptily oozing into your workweek with the fluidity of toothpaste remnants being forced and squeezed out.
It's OK, I've got you covered, Brah!
If you're anything like me (which you're not ... unless your name is thrown around social circles with excessive joy) then you're likely taking pleasure in the fine art of wasting time.
Procrastination is a lot like magic. Not the lame type of magic where David Blane announces that he's locking himself in some Ivy League business school for four years and will not leave until he's satisfied all degree requirements for graduation but the kind that mysteriously makes time vanish with no trace.
So prepare to slap yourself with a disappointing line of inquiry that begs the question, 'what happened to the last five minutes of my life?' I will know I was wildly successful at that point.
In Bruce Lee like fashion, Enter the Dragon of awesome snap-kicking procrastination. Enjoy, young-grasshopper-martial-art-time-wasters.
Before my time here at News 8 expires, I will sneak into the girl's bathroom to write a brief ode to squatting and pushup bras and even include my phone number on the bathroom stalls. I don't suggest doing this unless you are a highly dope individual who will not be deterred if girls walk by you and scoff like you're running a seminar on jock itch, but the next best thing is opening the door and flicking the light switch off while people are using it.
That got me through 1 minute of my morning.
I then arrived at my desk and attempted to replicate the cadence of the vulgar melody associated with gaseous emissions. People may refer to this commonly known act of wasting time as "farting around."
In order to satiate my need for guffaws, I grabbed a clip from Flight of the Conchords and laughed out loud. If you fail to chuckle when watching this, scientific evidence points to psychologically disturbing facts that you are attracted to the same sex.
That was an additional two minutes.
Immediately thereafter, I noticed at my desk were many photos of my brooding mug posted EVERYWHERE! placards and mini pics of me were taped to my phone, monitor, headphones, beneath the mouse, over the face of Ms. July on my calendar of burly women firefighters of Austin. It was absurd and sickening.
Some people snagged some pictures of me off a major news site (the photo to the right was not it, but it's on the site too ... sucks being so dope).
They asked me why I was being seen everywhere in Austin. If we consider ubiquitously landing myself in ridiculous situations, then yes, I am a formidable figure in that regard. But more or less, it simply involves strategic social presentation and a knack for being the butt of jokes. (I secretly printed the hordes of pictures myself and posted them around the newsroom to seem semi-important). ha, Yea right ... give me some credit please.
***Please, do not be mislead in thinking I'm not in any way shape or form anything short of devastatingly lame after posting my picture (seen above) to drill a point. No one has a greater level of self-deprecation than I, so I cordially invite everyone to screen print a pastel colored T-shirt that says "Douchebag," urinate on it, and include one of those immature little Valentine cards circa the 5th grade that says "you're cool ... NOT!" and send it to me, please.***
My mind wanders all the time. Even if you are absolutely convinced that you own 100 percent of my undivided attention, I am likely thinking about how non-threatening a bear riding a unicycle and wearing a tutu really seems. But in spirit of general attentiveness, I just completed my first work task this morning. I found some new music to sink my teeth into.
Here's a video Tokyo Police Club's new video from their latest album Elephant Shell. I like this video because it's not everyday you see some indie rock kids playing inside an antique store with lights and lamps everywhere.
No comments:
Post a Comment