It has been a week of digital corruption and physical comedy, mostly at my own expense. Since Technologies decided to eat my Dropbox folder and leave me staring at a “Folder Empty” screen like a tragic protagonist in a tech-noir film, I’ve had some downtime to reflect on the absurdities of life.
The Denim Ring Toss
Let’s talk about the absolute lack of glamour in the “getting ready” process when you’re in a wheelchair. There is a very specific, high-stakes game I play every morning called “The Denim Ring Toss.”
Here is the move: You grab your pants and essentially hurl them at your feet, praying to the gods of cotton and zippers that your foot miraculously slides into the correct hole on the first try. It is a game of physics, luck, and inevitable failure. Half the time, I end up putting both legs into a single pant leg. Do you know how hard it is to maintain the “Prince of Darkness” persona when you’re sitting in a chair, essentially trapped in a denim mermaid tail? You just sit there, contemplating the structural impossibility of what you’ve just achieved, wondering if this is how your legend finally ends—defeated by a pair of Levi’s.
Ian the Shark: Behavioral Analyst
When I’m not playing Ring Toss with my wardrobe, I’ve been binge-watching Criminal Minds. It is a dark, twisted, and thoroughly fucked-up show, but I am currently suffering from a massive case of Cognitive Dissonance.
One of the lead profilers, David Rossi, is played by Joe Mantegna. Now, the world sees a serious, seasoned FBI veteran who can profile a serial killer by the way they fold their laundry. But all I see is Ian the Shark, the DJ from the movie Airheads.
I’m sitting there, watching him look at a gruesome crime scene with that intense, “I’ve seen too much” stare, and all I can think is: “Keep with me… keep with me, man!” I keep waiting for him to break character, pull out a cellular phone the size of a brick, and start demanding a football helmet full of cottage cheese or arguing that The Lone Rangers can’t be plural.
You can’t tell me he’s “analyzing the unsub’s signature” when I know for a fact he should be playing Galactic Cowboys and holding a radio station hostage with water pistols filled with pepper sauce. It has ruined the show for me. I can’t take a psychological profile seriously when I’m half-expecting Lemmy to show up and reveal he was the editor of the school newspaper.
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