Berkeley Breathed, �Opus: 25 Years of His Sunday Best�
A few people tell me that I�m funny in these entries, but that it�s a bitter kind of funny. The reason this gets brought up is that I don�t come across as bitter in person and some people, after meeting me, seem surprised.
It was a surprise for me as well because I don�t think of myself as bitter or jaded. As a matter of fact, I�m really just... well... a dork. Or a total goofball. Or perhaps a spaz. Above all, though, I�m really well adjusted, easily excited, and I laugh a lot. As a whole, I like my life. I don�t think, however, that is clear from this site.
I don�t know. It�s rather hard to explain. I suppose there�s a reason why most of the things that I write deal with the awful synchronism to make my life horrible and bothersome. But now, especially after having to re-post a lot of older entries while still writing new ones, it almost feels like a theme. �Here�s another example,� I write, �about how God hates me, and I�m a bad person.�
It�s funny because it�s true. But it�s really not my total existence.
I think part of it comes from learning all the reporter skills. I�m watching things that happen with a more careful eye than others might, and, like some sort of cheap grifter, I�m always looking for an angle. Since the only things I�ve written lately are for this site or the �actual� book reviews I do for Maximum RockNRoll, the only angle I have to concentrate on, is me.
I�m also a fan of self-depreciating humor. There�s a kindness in it that I respect. There are plenty of times where I do poke fun or speak cruelly of other people but it usually still comes back to me with some flippant comment about how they�re breathing perfectly good air that could be mine. It�s really just a grown up version of Winnie the Pooh saying, �Oh, bother,� except I'm saying, �Oh, fucking Christ caught in a beartrap.� But I�m simply not interested in being callous to others. Besides, it�s really too easy.
It�s also hard on yourself to act in such a manner. I�m not trying to get all New Age-y about positive affirmations and if you suggest that, I�m positively going to hit you with a brick. What I am saying is that it takes concentration to remain mired in an extreme emotional state like sadness or anger. I have emotional A.D.D. and find myself being mopey for one reason or another, only to catch myself making race car noises as I shelve books twenty minutes later, walking up and down the aisles with a huge grin on my face.
It�s that second part that I think hasn�t really come across.
As much as I love Bloom County, seeing a collection centered around Opus the Penguin didn�t totally excite me. He, in comparison with the other characters, is too blas�. Compared with the caustic Steve Dallas, the neurotic Binkley, The jaded Milo, the eternally questioning Oliver, and the totally absurd and wicked cool Bill the Cat, Opus� manner only seemed to be a kind na�vet�.
Booooooorrrrrring.
But now, after some moments of self-reflection, and reading this collection without the bells and whistles and distractions from the other characters, it�s easy to see how important he is. I actually relate most to him. And that�s rather cool.
Ok. Now back to the funny.
So, trying to keep a positive spin on things, this recent breaking of the collarbone has given me great ideas. I will soon be rich, rich as Nazi�s, I tell you!
I know how to cook. Actually, I know how to cook rather well. But having an arm full of broken has made the last month impossible to do anything that involved washing, cutting, chopping or stirring. What this means is that I�ve eaten nothing but fast food and things out of cans. Taco Bell. Pizza three nights a week. Chinese food. Eggs and sausage and a side of toast. Hashbrowns over-easy. Chili in a bowl. Burgers and fries, what kinda pies? Ala mode. You get the point.
And I was losing weight.
In fact, I was losing too much weight. When I went under 160 pounds I started to get worried. I�m 6�1� and can reach 6�2� if I don�t slouch, which never happens. Being over six feet tall and under 160 pounds moves dangerously close into Goth culture, and I don�t have any foundation makeup. So I upped the ante. I started buying quarts of Butterfinger ice cream. And by quarts, I mean four in the last week and a half.
Yes, I know, many of you hate me right now.
But see, this is where the riches pour in. I�m ready to share my weight lost secrets with you. You know how you see personal trainers screaming at people trying to get in shape about how they need to feel the pain in those bad sports movies? No? Actually, I haven�t seen any either, as movies about sports generally suck. (Slap Shot excluded.) But I�m pretty sure that�s what those scenes look like. In any case, the theory is the same � what I call pain sweats.
So I�m opening a clinic. Need to lose weight? Come on over to my house, and I�ll hit you in the collarbone with a hammer.
�If I had a hammer � I�d hammer on your clavicle...�
CRACK!
�Hmmm, actually, you�re a big one aren�t you? Yes you are? Who�s a big one? Is it you? I think it is! Now hold still!�
CRACKCRACKCRACK!!!
Wow, total job satisfaction, and I�m helping people!
I told you I was kind.
