Another Pink Dinosaur for Breast Cancer. I don't know what it is about charitable work that brings out the mischief in me. "Oh, it's free -- but it'll cost you."
There are two entities who I wish to address in this blog post. First, society considered as a whole. Congratulations, Society. You are now a proper noun.
Let us be honest. We have an adversarial relationship, and that fundamental fact is unlikely to change. However, you've recently made some concessions that show a generosity and open-heartedness that has taken me by surprise. I must apologize; my judgments of you have unquestionably been harsh to an unwarranted degree.
I would like to do something to show you that I am willing to meet you halfway. I cannot claim that I feel entirely at ease with the course of action on which I'm setting out. It involves the abandonment of principles that have guided me throughout my life. But, Society, given the changes in our relationship, it behooves me to do something that is more than a gesture. Something that will unequivocally state that I am no longer an active opponent of yours, that I am willing to accept my place in your greater being.
So here it is, Society. From now on, I will try and put more of an effort into judging people on the basis of their appearance.
(Yes, Society, I did actually type in 'opinions' instead of 'appearance' just now. Yes, it was a total Freudian slip. But if you keep fucking giggling like that the whole thing's off.)
Now this represents a challenge. First off, I've got a hardcore bias for the underdog. I always assume that underneath a unique, eccentric, or appalling exterior lurks a gem of humanity.
Society, you must grant that this has led me to wonderful experiences with wonderful people. But I must admit to you that my assumptions as to the presumed value of other outsiders has also led me to spend hours, days, years in the company of jackoffs of both the sullen and giggling varieties, human vapors ranging from the thick to the vague, defect collections, self-cutting utensils with bladed handles (my handle is padded, thank you very much), and any number of other sick tools.
I will also admit that some of the attractive people I've known have been very pleasant in their way.
Society, you're the boss. From now on, the amount of slack I cut people will be based entirely on your standards of attractiveness.
This is going to be tricky, though. There are two obvious issues here; I don't get your tastes, and I am almost totally blind.
These are some pretty serious hurdles. But if you are as interested in my participation as you've indicated, then I hope you'll extend a little effort on my behalf.
I think the best, most practical way of handling this is to simply have me only cut slack to people who are celebrities, or whose personal attractiveness -- your standards, not mine, no smart people, no fat people, no weirdos, no slobs, only Benneton-style non-whites, I got you, I got you -- is so overwhelming as to guarantee eventual celebrity.
Here's where I'm going to have to ask for help. And here is where I address the second entity, which is You. You, reading this now. You, a real person who may at some point interact with me.
I will judge you strictly based on your appearance. I promise. But since I seem to have terrible taste in human beings and my vision is isn't a sense so much as a concept, you will have to tell me what your appearance is.
And if I already know you, and you're funny-looking, then stay the hell away from me. But tell me why, so my feelings aren't hurt. If you just duck out of my life I'll assume I did something horrible, so let's keep everything clear and aboveboard.
This is for you, not for me, so don't go acting all weird and defensive. Be clear and concise in your description of yourself. Don't say, "I look like Brad Pitt," because so far as I'm concerned Brad Pitt is a blur only distinguishable from Jennifer Anniston (sic) by pitch. Tell me what you look like and how attractive you are to your desired gender/s.
Don't tell me how attractive I am because I do not want to know. No matter what the answer, it will demolish my sense of self. Just let me figure it out by how mean people are to me. That's how the rest of you do it, right? I'm not asking for anything special that I don't absolutely need.
Oh. This part is important.
(Follow-up note -- I checked with the missus, and it turns out she's gorgeous. I figured as much, but it's still a relief. Could have been awkward, you know?)