Seeing as how I have absolutely no work to do at work, and haven’t had any work to do at work for the last four business days, I guess now is as good as time as any to do my own rendition of a year in review kind of post. The good thing about being such a dedicated and studious brogger as myself is that it’s easy for me to take a glance back through the year, and see what I wrote to refresh myself of the happenings of the entire year, and not just limit my entire judgment of a substantial period of time based on the events of just the last six to eight weeks.
When I look over the general pace and tone of my posts throughout the year, and just my basic perception of the year as a whole, I have to say that overall, 2012 wasn’t really that bad to me at all. Dare I say, it slightly erred on the positive side of the spectrum. I did a good bit of activities throughout the year, went to many places, had some decent experiences, and consumed a lot of unhealthy crap on the way. I like to think of myself as a pretty easy-going person, and I don’t particularly ask for a gargantuan amount of stuff each year, so I suppose I can believe that my year was filled out pretty nicely without that much negative crap mixed in.
I guess I’ll do this in a highlight reel kind of style, of the things that stood out the most to me throughout the year:
The story: It’s Christmas Eve, and Santa Claus has a poor, achy back from his arduous job of turning a gigantic crank for apparently all year long, while a workshop full of slave labor elves actually seem like they’re the ones doing all the making of the toys. Addled Santa endures pain while putting on his outfit, delivering toys, and traversing snow-covered rooftops.
In one particular home, a father’s late-night masturbation session is interrupted by Santa’s home invasion, but seeing him in obvious pain, he discreetly slips onto the table the bottle of Aleve® that he was using to help desensitize himself and last longer (paraphrased). Surprised, Santa does not hesitate to wolf down some over-the-counter drugs that some stranger left for him to take, but fortunately his trust is rewarded with fast, effective pain relief.
The commercial ends with Santa back at his sweatshop in the North Pole, and with his back pain numbed, he begins studiously working for next year’s Christmas as the countdown ticker in the background resets to 365 days away.
The takeaway: Santa Claus is now addicted to Aleve pain pills.
I was listening to the 2012 Best of the Howard Stern show, and there was a segment about a kid who put out a video on YouTube that sort of went viral earlier in the year, about how he would jack off to the Facebook pictures of all the girls he knew. Because clearly all the girls that bothered to friend him had, or had their privacy settings set to where he could creep to the slutty pictures that all teenage girls seem incapable of not uploading. It’s a catchy tune to be honest, and the lyrics are funny, but yeah in the end, the underlying message is still pretty creepy.
When the Stern Show managed to get the kid on the air, it turns out that he’s some dumb teenage black weeaboo into anime, has no friends, and is more or less completely oblivious to the fact that he’s 17 with no inkling of idea what he’s going to do with his future, and absolutely no preparation for what the adult world is going to be like when it comes crashing down on him when he’s done with high school. And no genuine understanding of that something like this video is never going to be fully erased from the internet no matter if he takes it down or not, and that if the right (or wrong) people find it, it could seriously jeopardize his future prospects in so many varying ways.
Not to sound like too typical of a pessimistic Debbie-downing wet blanket, but it’s not often that I’m actually “happy” happy. Happiness is more or less pretty fleeting to me; things make me happy, but it’s like getting the star in Mario; it lasts for a little bit, but eventually fades away, and then I’m just in a place slightly above neutral. Eating a really good meal makes me happy. Having an invigorating and productive workout makes me happy. Seeing someone actually get pulled over in the HOV lane makes me happy. Bettering a Varus/Blitz duo played by douchebags makes me happy. And so forth; none of these things are genuinely major events, but for what they’re worth they all make me happy.
Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I was genuinely happy-all-smiles-uncharacteristically-generous kind of happy for any prolonged period of time, but I’m not entirely sure that many people are generally disposed for that kind of behavior.
Anyway, I’ve found something that I can add to the list: Parks and Recreation. In the past, I’ve seen a few fleeting episodes here and there, but mostly because people I know were already fans, and were trying to get me into it by playing a random episode late into the series. It wasn’t bad, but not having seen the show from the start and having an understanding of the character dynamics, it wasn’t something I got into. I didn’t hate it by any means, but until I took the time to sit down and watch from the start, I probably would never really like it.
Another year, another Christmas. Once again, I stayed home for Christmas this year, and it was nice to stay at home and sleep in, watch Parks and Recreation, eat like crap, stay up late and watch more Parks and Rec, for the better part of a four-day weekend.
I gave some gifts and received some gifts, to which I’m thankful for.
There’s really not a whole lot I have to say about Christmas this year, not that it’s really different from any other Christmas in the past, I suppose. But for what it’s worth, I hope everyone reading this is enjoying their own holiday seasons, and that their lives are going well enough. And on that note, I leave you all with pictures of the dog, in his seasonal Santa gear.
No better way than ending it on a high note, slaughtering the crap out of a bunch of attempted pub-stompers, with the girl that started it all, my one first true LoL love, Miss Fortune.
Not that I believe for a second that it’s the end of the world, but if it were, I can’t say that I really have many substantial regrets. Maybe that I didn’t accomplish my goal of visiting every single Major League Baseball ballpark, or visiting Astoria, Oregon, and when I didn’t have the sense to ask out the hot girl with the blue hair at Dragon*Con that one year.
Otherwise, I think I’ve lived my life pretty full and decently.
When I was sitting at a red light this morning, I saw this car pull into the left turn lane. “Nice blue color there, I didn’t know the Hyundai Accent came in that color,” I thought. And then my eyes noticed that it wasn’t wearing a Hyundai badge, but a Subaru badge. My eyebrows furrowed upon noticing this, and then I was thinking “what the hell car is this?” Upon scanning the rest of the vehicle, I saw the badge that I didn’t think was possible to be on such an unimpressive, mundane looking vehicle: WRX.
I’m aware that I’ve been talking about cars a lot lately, or at least making car-related analogies, but that’s how the brog works, I write about the things that trigger the impulse to write, and seeing this piece of shit this morning made me feel like writing about how pathetic and sad the Subaru Impreza WRX has become.