Old ladies, wasted lives

Something that really sticks in my craw, is when I hear a particular phrase being used by some of a certain age, a phrase that I only seem to catch out of context but to me casts that person in a light exposing that they have completely and utterly wasted their life. It’s usually in a restaurant, from a table of ladies, usually in their late sixties to early seventies, people I would never in my life attempt a conversation with- there were old people liked AT ONE POINT, they were relatives and they are dead now so Im done with that demographic- and these ladies are clearly old friends who get together from time to time to eat soup and ponder what a long strange trip its been, when on e of them says this.
“I never cared for MASH.”
And suddenly the entire conversation becomes the story of an old decrepid woman who must now face that her life has been utterly and tragically unlived.
Now I understand that these are not her dying words. She has not chosen to engrave them into any substantial rock of monument type structure. But the fact that after decades of life experience and time to reflect on those experiences, that in that moment the only pearl of wisdom she could conjure up was,
“I never cared for MASH.”
It sends shivers down my spine and paralyzes me with a fear that this journey toward self discovery called life can be so utterly misspent.

I tend to speak exclusively in clever aphorisms, just to make sure that I do not conceal even a fragment of the wisdom I have accrued in my 26 years of living to the motherfucking max. Granted, I am often drunk and surrounded by people who are not so, like at work. I realize that when I express thoughts like “Boxing is the workst sport, but boozing movies are the best sports movies.” It is foolish of me to expect a slow build of applause, followed by someone gently placing their hand on my shoulder and whispering and whispering the sweet vanilla scented nothing “They truly are Brendan, and now you have taught us what it is to be human.”

But seriously “I never cared for MASH” should never be said. I am not a MASH fan persay, I actually think Alan Alda’s political leanings make him highly suspect, it is not the lack of love for this TV institution that offends me. It is the finality of the statement, the implication that everything else this woman could possibly say has been laid on the table, and all future communications will relate to minor grievances with things that are otherwise beloved elements of the public conscience. I said earlier that the insipidity of a person’s words should not be held against them as they are not intended as their dying words, but seriously, when you are that old it probably should at least be a consideration. Do these women so regularly eat soup because they understand the reduced risk of choking?
So, out of fear that I will one day find myself at the end of life’s road, still tossing out glib pop cultural references that fall on indifferent ears, I just want to get something off my chest today.

I have beef with Frasier.

I state this now knowing that if I don’t not let the world know that I considered Frasier to be overrated and coasting from the day in 1993 that it debuted, I may find myself uttering it at an advanced age when the statements with transcend insipidity and make me into a tragic figure of negated passion and only shallow self knowledge.

I have beef with Frasier.

Yes, I said it twice, incase it was still rattling around there in my psyche, sending messages to my gut to start building a tumor out of the surplus of hate I was storing.
I figure with the way I drink and take poor care of myself, I may have less time on this earth than others. These things shouldn’t be rushed, but I still hope I am able to find a depth of humanity inside myself that makes me a worthwhile being.
Shit, I’ll probably fail, but it wont be because I am stuck working through my distaste for Frasier.

It's been a while since I gave up on this thing. My prediction that the internet was about to go under was only partially right, and I figured I would cut my losses early.
That being said, lets blog some shit up again. I'm still a waiter at an unnamed corporate chain restaurant and think more of simply jumping a boxcar everyday. Barring that, I could just find a job that isn't essentially the peddling of C grade cheese.
Problem is, my highly unprofessional attitude and alcohol addled brain can't quite get it together to self myself in any useful way. I spent a lot of time in the woods this week and came up with this, 100% true to myself, cover letter. Anybody reading this?
Dear Hiring person,
I am writing to apply for the position of XXXXX. XXXX is a fast moving company and an outstanding communications pioneer, now poised to redefine the current format of, I'm just fucking with you, I don't know what your company does.

As a recent graduate from the University of Southern Maine, I bring a strong understanding of media dynamics, public relations, and organizational skills to know you on your ass. All this combined with my bad boy with a heart of gold persona makes me a perfect fit to aid you in the overthrow of the current regime.

As a waiter at an unnamed corporate franchise, I endure my own personal hell daily and would lick your boots for a shot at doing anything else. And I mean anything.

This desperation, combined with a spacey and theoretically based understanding of media, put me in a prime disposition to rock your socks off and throw a lot of shit in the air for you to sort out when it lands.
What I am applying for.
Please note that this has all been very clear and concise.