All things being equal, I usually don’t title my dispatches of verbal brilliance to an otherwise dull internet with the names of former firefighters.
Okay scratch that in favor of a little bit of pedantry.
To this date, I haven’t titled any of my dispatches of verbal brilliance to an otherwise dull internet with the names of former firefighters.
Specificity is the soul of narrative, and a problem well stated is half solved.
Steve Buscemi is now an actor, and has put forth an enjoyable effort in a variety of roles throughout his career.
Here’s the sad thing about Steve Buscemi.
As a keeper of a whole lot of odd knowledge which could keep me alive and kicking well into the advanced rounds of a spirited game of ‘Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon‘, I can never remember Steve Buscemi’s name whenever I see him in something.
I can tell you about the more memorable roles which resonated. More often than not, I describe him as that Peter Lorre looking dude who met his end in a wood chipper in the movie Fargo. I’m pretty sure the guy that killed him was played by the same guy who played the Russian astronaut in the movie Armageddon, but I’ll leave that open to a fact check for now.
It’s rare that I’ll say “Oh, that’s Donny from The Big Lebowski. Poor guy left one pin standing and saw his imminent demise. After dying shortly thereafter of a heart attack, his friends argued with the proprietor of the funeral home about the cost of the urn in which his ashes would be placed.”
After watching that movie again recently, I made the note to include the term “modestly priced receptacle” in the instructions I leave for my Executor when it comes to cremating me.
Okay, I took that scenic route to make that joke. In the grand scheme of things, the only reason I told that story was in hopes of creating a neural pathway for me to remember the name ‘Steve Buscemi’ whenever I see him without having to look it up.
Let’s move on to the real reason we’re here today.
What can be said about the year 2020 that hasn’t already been said?
The interesting thing about that question is this.
Who really cares?
For the last day or two as I finished up the extrication of carpet from the master suite in favor of laminate flooring, I entertained the idea of how I would construct my send-off to 2020. The initial idea was to make it one epic run-on sentence listing all the things I did, all the things I didn’t do, and all of the things in between.
As I stand here at my blogging station with my sit/stand desk in the stand position, I nearly lost consciousness at the premise of typing such a boring piece.
That being said, I’ll leave it at this.
During 2020, I did some stuff, and the stuff was good.
All of the painguish which others experienced during this last calendar year apparently interpreted the shade of exterior high gloss on the front door as lamb’s blood and left us unscathed.
I suspect that some of the contributory factors include existing behaviors, genetics, and my refusal to surrender to all of the bullshit that’s been thrust upon us in conjunction with the pandemic.
The cool thing about my suspicions is that they’re like Schrödinger’s cat in the sense that they cannot be directly confirmed or denied as long as the box is closed up.
So let’s wrap this thing up with an inadvertent prophecy I made on this day in 2020.
Each day of each month of the year 2020, while firmly ensconced in the middle of my social media chamber where I marinated in odors of my own doing, I gazed upon a calendar on the wall which featured a brilliant picture of a dog dropping trou in the middle of nature and all its glory in order to give a little something back to our beloved planet.
It should be noted that among some of the stuff I did this year was to replace the throne in there.
Now this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve blamed all of the problems of 2020 on something innocuous like bad story telling in the Star Wars universe.
I’ve just got to wonder at this point if it had anything to do with my choice of calendars for the water closet.
TharpSter Abides.
