Weekend Plans

I made a list of things to do this weekend. Buy a goldfish that looks like someone I don’t trust. Download something I’ll delete without opening. Write a musician asking if he can hook me up with his dealer. Go to the underwear party—actually, no, I’ve seen myself naked. Play Super Mario World badly on purpose. Use cash at Starbucks and wait to see if anyone takes me seriously as a threat.

The appeal of these lists used to be obvious: shock, transgression, the anarchic energy of saying the unsayable. But that’s not really it anymore. The actual appeal is simpler—it’s admitting that the weekend comes and you do nothing, and that’s fine, that’s normal, that’s all anyone really does.

So you make a stupid list and feel better about wasting two days.