Thursday, December 18, 2003

Cleaning Up Eddie Murphy's Mess

There was a short interview with Buzz Aldrin this morning on NPR (which will stand for National Pretentious-a-holes Radio until they stop boasting Veuve Cliquot Champagnes as a proud sponsor), and thought about how Buzz is an amazing name for a space-fighter. Then I thought it had been turned kind of gay by Toy Story, because toys are gay and there is a toy named Buzz Lightyear, which is a gay name for a space-fighter even if it wasn't a gay toy, which it is. Then this got me thinking about John Glenn, and how somehow that name, too, in its simplicity, denotes a certain white, upper-middle-class heroism to it. So, now, I must ask the question: has a black man ever been on the moon?

You know, white people, eventually we are going to have to realize that we cannot hold an entire race of people responsible for Pluto Nash. Moreover, we cannot assume that this is how black people will act in space. It's just unfair.

Also, would someone please tell Eddie Murphy that comparing the old, funny Eddie Murphy to the new, what-the-fuck-was-his-agent-thinking Eddie Murphy is a lot like comparing the old, black Michael Jackson to the new, scary-alien-white, childfucker Michael Jackson. Sad, and not funny. Indeed, if the funniest thing you've done in the past 10 years is provide the voice for a computer-generated donkey, then perhaps it's time to call it quits, Old Man River! He's liable to break a hip with his tired ass jokes. (Also, for those of you who are wondering where I got the ten-year figure, that is assuming that the last funny movie Eddie Murphy made was Beverly Hills Cop III, a specious claim at best.)

Anyway. Today we have the office holiday potluck. I brought tortilla chips. Two bags! I'm very excited, because my particular department forms part of a larger office, and it is this greater conglomerate of socially inept dropouts that will be gathering together for lunch. I'm just so curious to see what it will be like. My guess: rip-your-balls-off-put-them-in-the-freezer-overnight-and-use-them-as-novelty-icecubes-uncomfortable. The thing about working in the administrative offices of a medical school is that all day long you are dealing with people who are younger and more accomplished than you are, who are working towards careers in saving lives, and overcharging insurance providers. So all of the people here are like nerds at the cool kids party, trying to prove that somehow having a mint-condition Captain America #2 makes you a worthwhile person, while everyone else is too busy getting laid to notice. To make matters worse, med-school students are actually nerds, so it's like being the kid that even the nerds don't want to hang out with, and there's only one kind of kid like that: the smelly kid. An office of smelly kids, getting together to eat pasta salad and drink Tab. My god, I don't think I can wait.

Seriously, though, write to NASA and tell them to put a black man on the moon. I want to see what soft-shoe looks like in zero gravity.

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