Instructions for a Ruined Day
The weather outside is an insult. It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing—you’re wrong either way. Too hot, too cold, one minute torrential, the next that particular grey signaling neither rain nor sun, just a sky that’s checked out. Meteorologists will keep explaining this. Here instead are nine things you could do that would be marginally more constructive than refreshing the forecast.
One: attend the Hipster Olympics in Berlin, a competitive event built around the aesthetics of people who claim not to compete at anything. Participate. Finish third in ironic mustache grooming. Afterwards, stand somewhere and count the years you may have accidentally devoted to a lifestyle that is, at its core, a pose. Two: go to bed with Selena Gomez. I mean it—who exactly is stopping you? Three: take a bike ride. Once around the block. If it bores you after thirty seconds, do it three more times. The repetition will either induce something like enlightenment or remind you that you’ve been meaning to go somewhere new for years without ever doing it.
Four: see Rise of the Planet of the Apes and let the primates radicalize you on their behalf. You’ll leave wanting to release something into the wild. Five: form a band with the social rejects from your school days and name it Stoned Thai Girls. You’ll never rehearse. That’s fine. The name is the entire project. Six: find a sand pit and fuck it. Nobody gets pregnant. Almost nobody gets hurt. It’s more honest than most of what constitutes Saturday afternoon intimacy.
Seven: at midnight, take your best friend to the nearest lake, strip to the waist, and jump in together. The voyeurs lurking in the bushes will be grateful and may even applaud. Eight: sing "California Girls" on public transit at eight in the morning. At full volume. People deserve to know what’s happening. Nine: locate the most recently departed member of your extended family, exhume them with appropriate solemnity, and throw a necrophilia party at the nearest all-night supermarket. Dairy products until midnight, half price. Dress code: festive.
You’re welcome.