This blog is temporarily closed due to extreme laziness. No, this is not a joke.

justin (web master and perpetrator)

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Day ? <something or other>

Well, hey everyone, I’m back from the Bahamas, or I should say “chilly” Bahamas, and eek! do I have some catching up to do. A quick aside about my trip, however: a cruise, for its money, is the best expense I have–and will ever have–incurred for seven blissful nights of sleep. The gentle to-and-fro of the ocean as you lie recumbent on the bed is like being rocked into a coma by Poseidon himself. You are so full and fat on the delicious food–beef bourguignon, stuffed lobster tail, prime rib, escargot–that the extra energy used for carrying around all those new pounds throughout the day has you exhausted by the time you lay your head against the pillow anyway. The sheets, so soft and warm, and smoothly pressed, make going to sleep the best part of your day. And everything is so relaxing. Just so long as you don’t take part in any of the cruise ship’s overpriced excursions, say taking a rickety bus to the seedy side of an island to a little-known resort that was recently ravaged by a hurricane ($89.99), or taking a ferry to a waterpark with only three slides, one of which thrusts you through an open shark tank ($149.99), or–my favorite–observing the dolphins from an unsocial distance of 150 yards ($199.99), or taking a glass-bottom boat through murky water ($39.99), and during all of which the daunting reminder that if you are not back to the boat by dinner time you will likely remain in that port for the rest of eternity is a nagging encumbrance like being on a leash, tethered to the ship. Bottom line: as long as you stay on the ship, eat the food, smile a lot at the waiters, and go to the shows, a cruise is a relaxing, wonderful experience.

Now, for my latest Indicator of Extreme Laziness: every cruise ship is equipped with so many conveniences. For example, stairs that go to all the floors. Imagine that! you could get from the lido deck (deck 9) to the pool (deck 8) to your room (deck 7) simply by walking a few flights of ordinary stairs. In the reverse, you could go from steerage, say (deck 1, also called the Riviera Deck) to the Dining Hall (deck 10) via the convenience of a glass elevator. But you might not get there for a long, long time using the latter, because the elevator is generally too busy bouncing around between the lido deck and the pool and the seventh floor. No one is walking the stairs!

Indicator of Extreme Laziness #26 – taking an elevator up three floors or less

more tomorrow…eh, maybe

No Indicators of Extreme Laziness today. No Indicators of Extreme Laziness all week, in fact. My lazy ass will be in the Bahamas being much too lazy to blog. Rest assured, though, faithful reader, while I’m gone I’ll be on the lookout for any out-of-the-ordinary extreme laziness over seas to report when I get back. Ta-ta all!

Day 28:

Human beings have an amazing rate of consumption. Between the paper and the cigarettes, and the microwaveable meals. Between the thousands of pounds a day of potatos. The billions of grains of rice. By sheer weight, we consume more than every other living creature combined and more than any other creature that has ever lived. We consume by land (gasoline), by air (jet fuel), by sea (diesel). In the last one hundred years, we’ve hunted to extinction, depleted reservoirs, and filled our landfills so high they can be seen from outer space. In fact, some of our garbage has piled up there too. We are the black hole of consumption and the Big Bang of production. It’s just too bad they don’t cancel each other out.

You kind of get the feeling that if we could go back to the Jurassic Era, we would eat the dinosaurs out of house and home. We’d be shoving them head-first into the tar pits to help make room for a store that sold, well, nothing but stone tires, and–in no time at all–some cruel bastard would figure out how to yoke a stegosaurus. So would begin the Stone Age of forced animal labor. Let’s be honest, the Town of Bedrock–convivial home of the Flintstones–was not a glimpse of a symbiotic relationship between humans and animals–it was a dino concentration camp. Yeah, giant meteorite my ass!

But that–in a roundabout way–is how we come to today’s Indicator of Extreme Laziness (or IXL, as I’ve come to term it): garbage.And, in particular, not taking it out.

Ugh. Trash. Granola wrappers, pizza boxes, six two-liter bottles of Cola. So much garbage. And where does it all come from? Us. This is very disturbing. I realize–with mild consternation–that there is more garbage in my kitchen than possessions in my bedroom. Which really says more about the quality of my life than the growing state of my trash. And whom do you suppose is going to take all this garbage out?

This is one of those instances where Mallory fully rejoices in the grand, bosomly joy of being female. “When are you going to take the garbage out?” she asks, in her subtle, suggestive way.

“Garbage?” I pry my head away from the fridge where, for the last ten minutes, I had been looking for something suitable to go on the top of a pop tart.

“You don’t smell it?” Mallory offers, incredulously. Her hands on her hips, I am proud to think that she is going to make a great matriarch for our family one day.

“That’s garbage?” I say with genuine surprise. “I thought maybe there was a dead animal under the sink or something.”

“Honey, stop joking. You really need to take the garbage out.” She looks at me as if to say ‘Now.’

“But, it’s so cold out,” I groan. I give a shiver too and rub my arms for effect. “I’ll take it out tomorrow.”

Pop tarts and cheese? Pop tarts and potato salad?

Ugh, it’s hard to concentrate with that dead animal smell finding its way up my nose.

Why, I ask, does it seem that man’s only occupation is forever displacing garbage from one place to another? Consider this M & M wrapper I’ve tracked after finding in my bed the other day:

The Life-Cycle of an M & M Wrapper I Found in My Bed:

stage 1: M & M wrapper found amongst the covers

stage 2: M & M wrapper displaced to nightstand

stage 3: M & M wrapper found on floor near nightstand

stage 4: M & M wrapper displaced to bedroom dresser

stage 5: M & M wrapper inexplicably displaced to bathroom vanity

stage 6: M & M wrapper starting to metamorphose (biodegrade); displaced to bathroom trash can

stage 7: bathroom garbage displaced to kitchen

stage 8: finally, kitchen garbage displaced into nice neat displaced-garbage pile

I pull out a tub of miracle whip. A drop left. Yes! My miracle whip-pop tart sandwich is complete. The only thing left to do is throw away–displace–this tub in the garbage, which, frankly, is towering precariously.

“Whoa! How did this get so high!?” I shrieked.

Maybe I could nestle the tub against the side of the trash tower, propped up by a milk carton. Or perhaps I should get a step-ladder and gently set it on top of the cereal boxes, by the left over spaghetti…

“I think I’ll take the trash out now,” I said to Mallory, who was beaming at me from the doorway.

stage 9: inside garbage displaced to the outside garbage (AKA, the dumpster, AKA out of my sight!)

Indicator of Extreme Laziness #25 – the garbage is piled so high that it’s about to topple like a game of Jenga.

P.S. The upside, I was right about the dead animal. The down side, so was Mallory. It was in the garbage.

More hilarious–if disturbing–extreme laziness tomorrow…

No Indicators of Extreme Laziness today!

No Indicators of Extreme Laziness today

Day 25:

I have a hidden fantasy to be a hobo. In this fantasy, I would pile all my belongings–my books, my clothes, my drums of 80’s board games–into an oversized green garbage bag and walk out to the big trash bin behind my apartment. With a heave ho, I’d launch all that shit up over the side, slam the lid, and take off for the road. I figure: once you get to the road–all your things are left behind, you just leave them right there in the dust–there’s no turning back. I’d go half a mile down the road to our grocery store, steal a cart, and head west. I have this theory that once you start walking, you can keep on going as far as the horizon (if you really want  to).

Everyday, I’d wake up in a new place, in someone else’s backyard. It’d be a real journey. I’d make new friends, other hobos I met along the way, and we’d share coffee that we would drink out of aluminum soup cans. I’d do all the same things you see hobos do in the movies (perhaps vagabond is the more appropriate term): I’d hop a slow-moving train without destination, strum out “What if God Was One of Us?” on a three-string guitar in a subway, build houses and shit out of pennies and display them on street corners.

I really like this. It is one of my favorite fantasies–well that and the one where I’m playing the part of the yellow camaro in the Transformers movie while Megan Fox is lying across my hood. But I figure the hobo fantasy is far more  realistic, even doable, not much of a fantasy at all, truth be told. I could definitely do this! The lack of agenda, the obviation of clocks and watches. Yes! I’m drawn to the insouciance of it all. And when I got bored, or scared, or hungry, I could just turn around and come back home again. Brilliant! I think the term for it is “social slumming.” I really might do this. Someday…

For now, I’ll just keep the idea in my back pocket though. For I have a blog to write.

Indicator of Extreme Laziness #24 – fantasizing about being a hobo.

More tomorrow (that is, if I’m still here and not out on the road)…