I walked into a woodworking workshop today. The sound of clanging and banging intruded my personal paradise: my headphones. I walked into see a bunch of kids, one might say retarded, but that’s not politically correct, so I wont. I’ll just call them special, because they are; they really are. They spent 12 years on their asses staring at wall. So they can’t be blamed for becoming…so…special… I blame their special parents.
Special parents like to have special children, they like it that way. After all that’s basically how the hypothetical cookie crumbles in nature. These special children, like their special parents are very educated, on the subject of walls. That in itself is no vice, but perhaps a bastardized Hemmingway quote; “stare at anything for long enough and it becomes a wall”, might help in conveying my approach to walls. If sitting in a box is the duty of the day, knowing about walls and such might be very very important. But if the day calls for a walk in the park, then walls wont stand. Is the creek a wall of irregular bricks? Or is it an irregular wall of boxy bricks? Quite the conundrum, unless the creek isn’t a wall but a stream of water.
The special kids had decided to build bat nests, out of wood[en planks(that were bought at store…for 2200 cents; twenty two whole dollars)]. Apparently the treacherous weather (overcast, 5 deg, gentle breeze) prevented the honorable president of the club from going out back and getting some planks from the dumpster. That’s when you know the world is fucked; when global warming won’t even let you step outside. Then there’s the economy; after the great meltdown of 08, the bats wont be getting the exquisite bat caves of Frank Ghery. The bats must hate us now. I’d be pissed too if I had to shit in a wooden box.
They offered me food for bashing a metal rod into a block. I only got one pizza slice from their party platter because I nailed the nails too fast. I later understood that the trick was to make an art out of nailing. I guess patting a nail was more aesthetically pleasing than driving it in with a hammer. This led me to the revelation that I was an idiot. They were playing pretend, how foolish of me.
The game was only for those that were too special for social engagement. That’s why I sucked; I’m normal, average fucking Joe. So the eminent guests arrive and are paired up with a partner of their liking. Then they are presented with a few fragments of a dead tree. The objective of the game is, to touch the wood, then pat nails, and then an eternity later precut planks attack themselves with nails. Then comes the climax of the game. The president walks around with a camera, the guests pose with their boxes. They smile; proud of their creation that so resembles them. Then they swap picks to preserve the memory of third great achievement. That is how society ought to be: individuals occasionally coagulating into a mass of narcissism. I hope they succeed, I hope they graduate and go forth into the world, to fix the environment, end poverty, and save the tuna, ensure that we will forever have that most cultured and exotic of foods; fishy rice.
I wish could be like them, someone.
