A how to depicting how to use newspapers to make a fire. A better use of our all our reading time.

Friday Roundup: C For Effort

On September 23rd, 2016 in Quibbles

Hey y’all. Another Friday and another week we’re the lucky ones getting to read a dumb round up on the internet.

Keith Lamont Scott was shot while getting out of his car earlier this week, sparking protests in North Carolina. Please remember to be kind to yourself, and empathetic to those in grief when you can.

There is still so much to do to work towards equality and a safer world for all, and unfortunately, as with most social change, a lot of that work is going to inadvertently end up on women’s shoulders. Their work is never done.

Despite what the New York Times says. Yes, we should be proud of the progress we’ve made, but we must also remember making progress means we’re still working towards a solution.

It is the year of our lord twenty sixteen and gay marriage is legal, but I am still reading about gay teenagers being denied prom dates.  If I wanted to experience nothing but mind numbing repeats I’d pay for a cable subscription.

Besides, no over-the-pants hand jobs they decided to give each other at school is going to be more explicitly hot than August, the 16th record breakingly hot month in a row.

I’m almost inclined to agree with Gary Johnson and say we should just let the sun consume us.

I get it, it’s hard: the glass is already broken, our favorite shows are already cancelled, our children ruin our nice wooden stairs, and we are going to wake up one day, 72 years old and go to sleep for the last time in our meaningless lives.

But you’ve got to carry on. Love and cherish the time you get, y’all. Don’t squander it.

Creating meaning can be difficult, but we can probably rule out finding purpose at a million dollar beach house, so that’s a start.

Maybe, weddings are a better place to look. Just try not to drown in promises.

You could always try Google, which is creating new chatbots to capture or essence. Can’t wait to be shackled to this plane as weary digital ghosts until the heat death of the universe.

I will be sitting in the pocket of someone 1000 years ago with a collection of chattering ancestor-bots waiting to give vague advice to my great great great great grandchild.

Actually, it’ll be pretty clear advice: writing isn’t a job.

Happy weekend. I’m going to go make intense eye contact with people while gently stroking their eyebrows and whispering, “I like your forehead mustache”. As one does.