Maybe the world is beautiful. But I, like the fat kid in Willy Wonka, have gotten myself stuck in the chocolaty refuse river of my own inhibitions and am thus unable to reach out and join the joy. I find myself surrounded by beautiful things and yet unable to reach them, to interact with them, in theory even to mate with them. I am a diabetic in Candyland.
This morning I rode the bus to class as I usually do. I don’t do this to save gas or protect the environment or anything like that (I wouldn’t be to hurt if the world got a chance to experience my misery) but rather because the bus stop is in the sun and is thus warmer than my apartment, and because the bus doesn’t take time to warm up while my fingers become ice-welded to the steering wheel.
Apparently the bus one cycle before the one I rode left a bit early because mine ended up being overwhelmingly crowded. I was one of the last to climb aboard and so ended up forced to sit in the back and… next to someone. She was attractive too, which only made it worse. I hate sitting next to attractive people because I start to think too hard about how I act when I’m not sitting next to an attractive person, and then I become self-conscious and then I blush and then I glance to see if they’ve noticed and then they notice my glance.
As expected, this girl notices my glance, but not before I learn several things from it. Though probably originally attractive, this girl had marred her face with piercings which, generally, I hate. She proved a weird exception to the rule though because there was so much metal on her face that she actually kind of reminded me of Seven of Nine from Star Trek Voyager, an association which is never a bad thing. Then she starts chatting.
No one else on the bus talks, but she does. To her credit, she was exceptionally friendly, fairly intelligent and even seemed somewhat flirty. I tried to be witty with my answer and what resulted was a sentence completely devoid of vowels. Very embarrassing. Seven interpreted this pathetic attempt at conversation as a sign of nerdiness and, with characteristic kindness, she shifted the topic to something that she must have assumed I would like better. She asked what I thought of Avatar, and I plunged instantly into a state of silent depression.
You see, earlier, when I said the world was beautiful, I didn’t mean Earth, but rather the alien world of Pandora. The gorgeous blue-green leaves and adorable umbrella bugs more than make up for the six legged beasties that want to kill you. And it’s all rendered in such seemingly tangible 3-D. It’s all so much better than this steaming cesspit of rats and roaches in which we pass our lives. And yet, it is all fictitious, doctored and created and totally unattainable. Of course, if I were any character in Avatar, it would be the tree, bull-dozed and brushed aside (except of course for the fact that the tree in Avatar seemed to be having a good deal of sex). Yes, my life is inadequate, but maybe it isn’t my fault. Maybe I should blame God, if he is, for making the world the way he did instead of listening to James Cameron.
So I did not respond to Seven of Nine, but rather sat, staring out at the dull world of reality through saddened eyes while, I assume, she continued to talk for a bit before giving up and staring forward like everybody else. Of course, later I realized the stupidity of my reaction. Perhaps I should wear an Ed Hardy shirt so that everyone can know how stupid I am and just steer clear. No. If I have to tolerate this planet, then it has to tolerate me. Bring it, world! Pandora’s box is open!
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