Now that I’ve thoroughly evaluated the situation I have realized I am better at writing about Nakio than most other topics.

It never ends.

I remember, roundabout 2000ish, reading a print article about some younger-than-me child who had the same brain problem as I thought I did, and me taking issue at one specific thing he was quoted as saying, “I like to monologue a lot.” I remember thinking who even says that? Besides him? How do you talk about yourself in such a way? I do not accept monologue as a verb! Arrrgh, I hate that kid! He thinks he’s so smart! I also thought I was so smart at his age, and at my age then, but since I thought I was smart it didn’t occur to me that I just thought I was. These days I realize that I also “monologue” a lot, but I often do not like it. If I knew how to stop it I would. I think that kid in the article was proud of himself. However, I also struggle with people misinterpreting or misrepresenting my horrible explanations of things so maybe that happened to him and he hated the end result as much as I did. And yet we still will “monologue,” bringing shagrins to all around us. It is even possible that I used to like my monologues but the pain of others has rubbed itself upon me. It is odd, I think, that I have near-immunity to the interests, priorities and ballyhoo of persons who aren’t me, but indifference, skepticism and general nay-saying linger in my mind. I hope I do not do that to you. Please, do like whatever you want. Just don’t think you’re so smart. That’s almost as bad as thinking you all that.

I have noticed that almost every sentence I write contains “I” or “me.” Have you noticed that I do this? I have. I can never say “that’s good!” Or “that is too bad.” I must say “this reminds me of my…” or “i used to…” or “my copy of the meepleheim hamburgling companion states…” If there’s no unique thought to share, why say anything? And so in those cases I say nothing. This has the effect of making me appear as a self-centered blowhard with no compassion or appreciation for others. And this may even be true in a befuddling majority of cases, but I think it’s true of many other people as well and they have just learned to fake it without feeling icky.

I have seen the end of Mind of Mencia and worried I’d laugh at something. And then he says “if you’re not laughing, kill yourself” and is succeeded by a preview for next week’s show in which he spoofs Scarface and gets beat up by a dwarf. Good times.
Between Carlos and Chelsea Handler, who has outed herself as a GIRL BEHAVING BADLY, I’m noticing a definite link to scummy jerky confrontational basic cable show comedians and midget reliance. I bet if they had deviantart pages they would be covered with stamps and drawings of themselves, yelling at people.
So this really doesn’t go with what I was saying, and almost convinces me I was right all along to be introverted and such. But don’t you see, I know that I was not right all along, and I don’t need this sort of thing justifying my isolation from and distrust of everyone. The cowards.

With the addition of comment-form almost a year ago, I felt compelled more than ever to not waste people’s time with nonsense⁽¹⁾. Because the comment field is always there, I don’t want to appear as if I demand attention for every minimal thing, and so all things are long, and painful if they don’t totally “work.” But if I disable the comments by default ⁽²⁾ I look like I’m pouting and having A Feud with someone. I do have lots of feuds, but they’re usually silent and the other people don’t know about them. And so minimal things become long and sordiddery affairs, even if I have no serious interest in the proceedings. “So is Mike Myers the new Eddie Murphy or what?” bloats out to this unbearable monstrosity. With just that remark I can make a silly comparison and be done with it. But now I risk looking like a total banana if any one of the three mentioned films made/makes good money or got/gets significant non-twit approval. I don’t want to wish for more Norbits and Epic Movies to make this job easier. The genie always laughs at me. I actually had to un-mute ads for those movies for a while to make sure that the jokes were hacky and that nothing funny was happening. Yes! Mike holding a short person and thanking The Academy! SCORE! Significant portion of clip suggesting critical cornmuffin Stephen Colbert has a major part when in fact he does not! Hooray! Adam Sandler making child cry at him in uncomfortable phony Mad-TV style that real children do not cry in! Rub a dumb duck! Trendy, irrelevant Beyonce-ey song playing beneath length of ad! Turducken!
Unfortunately, it’s not quite Don’t you wish yuh guhfrend was… hot likeme and there’s not a middle-aged man who possibly is Martin Lawrence singing it suddenly without music like in the ads for Wild Hogs. I always regretted not claiming to have a problem with that. See, it’s funny because he’s a real man who rides a wild hog and this makes him look like a buffoon, or worse, a gay pooftah! The only way to improve it is to make the man fatter and only wearing an underpants. That’s the way gay people dress. I know, I read it in Weekly World News. It really is a pity we can’t buy that anymore.

Still, in retrospecs, I don’t know why I worried The Love Guru would disappoint me by not being disappointing enough. I don’t want to see a Mike Myers movie about the Toronto Maple Leaves any more than I desire to endure a Jiminy Fallon movie about the Bawston Red Sachs⁽³⁾ (hopefully he’ll save me an hour a weeknight in his coming job placement). I get enough indulgent, obedient sport reverence from real people for free which I can walk away from. Ehhh, I witnessed a televised interview in which Myers, with sincerity, explained how the movie was a spiritual journey relating to the deaths of people close to him and then threw to a clip of himself tossing Verne Troyer into a hockey goal, a scene not half as amusing as the context it appeared in. It made me long for the good old minutes of the first part of the interview in which Mook compared his appearance to that of a Nintendo whee character and lamented the infantalization of society which had brought him to that point. I don’t see why we can’t be friends. I mean, in the event I knew how to make and/or maintain friendships and I was ever likely to be in a situation where we’d meet.⁽⁴⁾

⁽¹⁾which is not to suggest I think I succeed, just that the intention exists.

⁽²⁾

⁽³⁾I had thought “why would someone make countless Boston themed Saturday Night Special sketches and then appear in a Boston themed movie if he were not himself from Boston and obsessed with punching a Massachusetts shaped crater through the top of my skull and smearing Boston roundabout my neocortex if he himself was not from there?” And yet supposedly he actually originated in the New York city, which has a different overpaid, overpromoted, media-saturating baseball team(s), and by federal law people can only like the one closest to where their birth-place is, regardless of who plays on it or how well, so Mr. Falloon’s commitment to Boston and its colorful foot insulation must be strictly business based. I still will not see his stupid baseball movie. I won’t even see baseball movies that aren’t predictable, smirky, Barrymorey romantic comedies. So watch out.

⁽⁴⁾I like to think this makes things easier to read than constant parenthesisical notes, but I just feel like I’m writing a choose-your-own-adventure book. Perhaps I should. It’s not as if I could possibly tarnish their reputation. I should stop trying to be like people that do things well and exclusively pursue pursuits which I know were designed to be paid for, experienced only in part and forgotten. You write a book with only 100 pages which ideally a person reads less than thirty of. No one will ever know the full extent of my failure!