mr-onion's Diaryland Diary

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Do Not Enter - Beware of Dog

If this city was an animal, it would be one of those rich lady poodles dyed pink. Miniscule parcels of peevishness.

This city is like that poodle - all flash and no brain. When I hear these downtown men blathering on to me about their car/boat/vacation property, in my head I'm hearing that Ewan MacGregor "Choose Life" speech at the end of Trainspotting.

"Choose a job. Choose a starter home. Choose dental insurance, leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose your future."

Again, life becomes more about stuff and less about things.

Why are so many people here obsessed with accumulating STUFF? Money apparently makes you: well-read, a witty raconteur, educated, a person of discriminating tastes, a bon vivant and smokin' hot attractive too!

I don't want to be part of that money grubbing majority - I don't want to fit in here. I turned down that chance at a promotion so I could continue being the laid-back, untroubled person in the office.

Moaning aside for a moment, I really can't complain about my life. I have a well-paid job; I have a home; I have wonderful friends; I'm not ugly enough to frighten off small children; angst-free really.

I value a simple life far more than bags of money.

I love lots of things that all these rushing people don't see the fun in:

* seeing that black hole spray-painted on the pavement and convincing myself that it really DOES lead into the bowels of hell

* imagining a mini Carmen Miranda sitting on my shoulder at work, instructing me on the finer points of cha cha music

* watching Belle's cats lick their asses on the sofa, then jump up and try to kiss her on the lips

* the neighbourhood dogs watching me quizzically, as if to say "we know you're a vegetarian but have you ever tried kidney? It's a real treat when they're still fresh and juicy."

* my friend(s) trying to do "the robot" dance

* trying to understand what the hell they're talking about on Deutsche Velle German tv. While room mate watches and understands, I have to make up my own dialogue:

Bank Teller: What can I fucking do for you today, Fraulein?

Customer: I'd like to withdraw twenty thousand cunting Euros from my Savings Account, please.

Bank Teller: May I ask why you're making such a large withdrawal today - that's an awful lot of sausages that your arse couldn't use more of.

Customer: I'm fucking withdrawing all this money to feed my crack habit, thankyouverymuch Herr Bankteller!

* using my super powers: last week I believed that I could control someone else's body by re-tracing over their handwriting. "Chuck, you want to scratch your balls right now - go on".

2:36 p.m. - 2004-11-11

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