It’s nice to be back. Nice is my “mot de jour”; whether it’s “nice to see you”, “nice one” or “you look nice”, I’m all about the euphemism. My argument for this is simple; far from an unimaginative spineless, or naïve, modus operandi, it enables me to don my pink spectacles, down my half-full glass of rum and coke and feel just a touch less pithy about my surroundings and its dubious inhabitants.
And aren’t we all about the euphemism? After a week of quiet reflection interrupted only momentarily by a few invasions of my personal space, I can happily inform you that no, we are not. I’ve come up with a kind of group classification method, based loosely on biological nomenclature, and maybe when I have a little bit more time on my hands I’ll write a book about it.
For starters, there’s that group of people who live in blissful ignorance of the sorry state of their lives: the “vacuous Deluded-arus”. Then the ones who have perfected the art of self-involvement with such dedication and determination that they have, in fact, earned my profound respect: the “narcissistic Dull-arium”.
And finally, those breaths of fresh air I like to call non-entities, entirely inoffensive and unconcerned with making anything seem better, or worse, than it really is: the “carefree Inebriated-orum” . They are my favourite. So no, we’re not all about the euphemism. Nice to know that I’m in good company.
So, it’s Wednesday. Surreal, horrid monotony demands our presence, and who are we to challenge the social timetable and plan that York, in its infinite wisdom, has for our state of mind and liver?
Swimming in the same treacherous circle of upstairs, basement, Champagne Room for what seems an eternity and the most wretched superheroes of this world and any fictitious ones besides have passed me by.
A pair of smouldering eyes, a makeshift mask and greasy locks alerted me to a former beau, perfect non-entity, and it was with heavy heart and shuddering mind’s eye that I took my leave.
Nice to see you. At some stage, as a thinking community, should we come to terms with the unfortunate reality that this phenomenon presents?
That, 30 years from now, these strapping specimens of athletic young men are going to be deeply troubled, deeply misogynistic, lecherous fat men who lurk in seedy bars in a vain attempt to recapture their glorious youth with 17, maybe 18 year old girls.
And tell their friends, maybe put the pictures on Facebook. The Ziggy’s glass really is half empty. Another state of affairs that perhaps requires a make-under is this mmcat contingent. Forget the “drugs aren’t big or clever” slant; there is nothing glamorous about the question: “do you understand you are buying plant food, not for human consumption?” It would seem that quite a number of guys and gals have opted to put down roots and suck this stuff up, and it definitely isn’t a good look.
Dangerous and life-threatening side affects aside (because it’s never cool to care), it’s making pretty people not so pretty. I’m not sure that even I could stretch to a “you look nice” when faced with one particular mmcat kitty; things could be growing there, for all I know.
Then there’s the crowd who don’t have to sprinkle anything with sugar; they, like Goldilocks’ porridge take 3, are juuuuust right. Their burden is, and has been for centuries, appearing humble enough to the common man.
Because whilst superiority is sexy, arrogance isn’t. “I’ve been asked to do some modeling (insert faux-inquisitive look here)… I just don’t know if I can pull it off (insert faux-modest pout here)”.
Queue much hurried and flustered word vomit to the tune of “Ohmygoddontbesosillyyouhavereallywelldefinedfeaturesandamaaaaazingthisandamazingthis…” which is then, of course, met by the triumphant stare that says, “Oh believe me, I know. But I just made you tell me.” There is another possibility, although not favoured by the doctrine, which I may or may not have used when dealing with a certain inflated individual: “Mmm. Could be interesting. You have quite an unusual nose.” Nice one.
In other news, in case it hadn’t yet dawned on all of you, it is in fact Week 3… of Term 2. We all know this time of year to be the worst on all fronts; it’s cold, dark, miserable and lonely. Also it is home to the 14th of February. No amount of sugarcoating and ambient lighting will make this term pleasant for anyone, save the lucky few who are privileged enough to be in a happy and stable relationship.
You’ll all know one- it’s the person who makes you want to stick pins in their eyes. I have a really good relationship with M&S; I suggest you all work on cultivating a similar game plan.
Thai green curries and the odd bottle of wine for the week, and when you’re feeling reckless and naughty, throw on a negligee and make that booty call- take away. Alternatively, quit whining, get a life and go on a couple of dates. One of them might like you enough to say they’ve had a really nice time.