Not A Blog™

[This Classic Not A Blog™ article was originally published on January 8, 2005.]

The Curse is a traditional and useful way of demeaning something which bothers you. Whether it be people, situations, or nature, the Curse can always be counted on to lower something to unthinkable depths, while simultaneously giving you the false pretense of being greater than it all. There is no better way to pretend to be in charge.

With that in mind, I shall take the time to curse some vices of mine.

Procrastination: Curse you, Procrastination! You promise entertainment in exchange for time which should be spent on more pressing things. Not only that, but you make the entertainment that much more exciting for the very reason that I know I should be working on something more important. It is this twinge of evil which excites me—and it’s all your doing. For this I curse you thus: may you be forever forgotten for more immediate things. May people never quite get around to enjoying your sinful pleasures because they keep putting you off.

Television Shows and Movies on DVD: Curse you, Television Shows and Movies on DVD! You serve up course after course of commercial free entertainment on miniature platters, each with their own little case. Just when one episode ends, another beckons with its blinking menu icons, a never-ending wave of delicious quality. Your temptations are made worse by the fact that the films one really wants on DVD are never released until months after they originally came out. For this I curse you thus: may you quickly become forgotten in the tide of popular culture, but only if you are replaced by superior material.

Computer Games: Curse you, Computer Games. Your interactivity inspires me to ever greater lengths of unproductiveness. Trapped in a mock universe of demons or agents or sports cars or space ships, I battle foes a thousand-fold more thrilling than those of my mundane life. Each mission completed is but a small victory, as each is eclipsed by a slightly more dire undertaking. Behold, yet another ill-fated universe requires my assistance and I am the only entity capable of saving them from certain annihilation! Nevermind the projects of real which require my attention when virtual denizens face evil. For this I curse you thus: may you never become so real as to be indistinguishable from reality. May you always be trapped inside a box, subject to the rules of this world, rather than vice versa.

Dark Chocolate: Curse you, Dark Chocolate! Your smooth bittersweet texture is nothing short of erotic, and yet the aphrodisiacal effects of your substance have yet to be conclusively proven. You are the real-life equivalent of Narnia’s Turkish Delight; the more I consume, the more I must consume and the hungrier which I become. Furthermore, I acquire you in convenient bite-sized drops. They fill the bag so fully in numbers, but disappear like so many will-o-the-wisps, leaving one with an empty sack which previously contained multiple pounds of your essence. For this I curse you thus: may you turn despicable to my brothers that they spit you out in hatred, thereby leaving more for me.

Graphic Design: Curse you, Graphic Design! It is not enough that I simply learn your ways, but now I am forever doomed to critique you in every venue in which I encounter your presence. Fonts which are so transparent to the typographically ignorant laymen suddenly take on new meaning, as I point out flaws in kerning and recite to my friends ad nauseam their history and development. No more can I glance upon a billboard and see the intended message; verily shall I complain about its compositional layout forevermore. For this I curse you thus: may you never become a traditional art form. Never shall you hang on gallery walls as a fine piece of art, but always shall you wallow in the filth of commission, your true purpose always slave to the fickle will of a thousand board meetings.

There. At the very least, I can now act like I am above these problems. Of course they still control me, but I can laugh at them in much the same manner that Custer laughed at the Indians on that fateful June day.

-Ted