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3:17 pm | 31 July 2003 | whatev Listening to music about how there's nothing to do and everything is boring when there really is not a damn thing going on in Christendom (and beyond, to anti-Christendom, even, i'd wager) that holds any more appeal than the prospect of sitting at my desk with a mouthful of clean sand is not a good idea, the listening-to of such music, since it's just another indelible reminder of a) how bored i am; b) the inherent, eternal boringness of the world in a general sense; c) how my mom used to chirpily spout "you can't be bored unless you're boring!" to childhood plaints of said affliction; d) how i blew that off as just another shitty parenting clich� of the late 1980s-early 1990s at the time ; and e) yet how, whenever i find myself bored lately, i become afraid that it is true, that she was right, and that i am, in fact, the boring-est person ever. Eventually i reassure myself with the idea that if that's the case, then the bands singing about boredom, such as Iggy Pop and/or the Legendary Pink Dots and/or The Brain Farm, must also be boring too, and since they are not, then, empirically, my mom was wrong, and the mere fact of my extreme boredom does not a priori make me boring, similar to the manner in which i can insouciantly sport J.Crew without being a yuppie, preppie, or dick; additionally, someone as good at writing feasible/correct run-on sentences as me can't possibly be boring, because my only real competition in this field is Dickens, and he's riveting, right? Right? I AM SO BORED. clm. unless otherwise noted, all work contained herein is � claudia sherman, 2002-04. |