I don’t like enjoying things anymore.
Don’t misread that sentence, I still enjoy things all the time. I just don’t like it.
Let me explain… I love Halloween. It is a great holiday. All its variations that are celebrated are super interesting, each with their own flair. Reverence for the dead, calling up or thwarting evil, and even just celebrating dressing up. It is great, plus the season is the best one for comfort…it isn’t hot as balls & it isn’t covered in sheets of ice. Plus, it has its own flavors that embody it.
The problem is when I was growing up some people loved, some hated it. You would have the kid who had an elaborate costume who obviously loved Halloween. Then there was that douche bag who tied a shitty towel around his neck…his heart wasn’t even in it.
There was a clear line between fanatic & reluctant participant.
Now? Now, everyone fucking LOVES Halloween. Not a lot of people enjoy it. Everyone by their own online admission fucking lives & breathes pumpkin spice from their Jack O’Lantern faces that are bobbing to Thriller, while cruising about town in their refurbished hearse. There is no clear line…the is NO line. Everyone was born sucking candy corn from their mother’s teats.
Everyone wants to deep throat a jug of warm cider while walking with their beloved through a graveyard.
It pisses me off.
Not the fanaticism, but the fact that there is ONLY fanaticism. Not just with Halloween… everything. Holidays. Movies. TV shows. Music.
Speaking of music, think about how everyone is heartbroken when some musician(or celebrity) dies. I am not saying they shouldn’t or cannot be heartbroken, but your over emotional bullshit rings false.
I mean I cried at the end of Puff the Magic Dragon when he left at the end. I bawled. I mean honestly, I don’t think I would’ve made it through first grade without him. He made me into the man I am today. Every year on the anniversary of his departure back to his magical homeland I crack open a Capri-Sun and wear my custom Puff the Magic Dragon memorial shirt…crying and angry that the closest we ever got to getting him back was Spyro…fucking Spyro.
This is why I don’t like enjoying things anymore. I can enjoy them, but there is nothing special about it. It is as if everyone is making a concerted effort to make everything i enjoy plain old vanilla bullshit.
All the weird shit I liked is now nothing but lukewarm tofu seasoned with tap water.
Do I still consume it? FUCK YES… but now I tend to do it out of spite of all the homogenized bastards hooting and hollering about how amazing it is.
We need a secret handshake or some symbol so true fans know how to identify each other. I appreciate your enthusiasm Karen, but I think I will hang over here with the people who wear fishnet arm sleeves in July.
Now I gotta go dig through truly obscure shit just so Harold & Laura over there don’t fucking ruin it with their suburban excitement.