COLUMNS by Ryan Ayukawa - What does not kill us only makes us more cynical. - Jokes

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COLUMNS
by
Ryan Ayukawa

What does not kill us only makes us more cynical.

I am pleased and honored to have Ryan as regular contributor to our weekly e-zine. His columns will be archived here, every two weeks. I know 3 things about the author of these columns. 1)He is a young male. 2)He hails from Canada. 3) He writes with the kind of humor and intellect that I can only dream of. Braisco

You can read Ryan every other week in your e-mail. Sign up for the Weekly Mind Picker

That said...It seems like a whole Millennium has passed since I lastwrote.
Bad puns aside, last week's Millennium celebration was all
of ho-hum.

For me, the apex of excitement was watching
the clock roll over like Old Yeller.

And where was the extravaganza? The hoopla?

Not to mention the survivalists.

In my fanatic, far too early attempts to Apocalypse-proof
my home last April I ended up switching all the clocks in
my house to analog. I still wake up every morning to my
alarm and think my eggs are done.

The only two things in my house that still work on digital
time are my VCR and microwave. Oh wait, make that three things.
My girlfriend's biological clock. It's quartz crystal I think.
I'll have to ask her if it's Y2K compliant though.

We've been discussing having children, and right now she's
working on ovulating in spans of precisely 4 minutes34 seconds.
So we can sell the microwave and still have popcorn.
And what would we name our Millennium-born baby?
"Millie" if it's a girl. And if it's a boy... he'll just get beat up a lot.

Now some may call me sexist (or gender preferential for
the p.c.), in regards to those last three remarks. From
behind the e-curtain it may indeed seem that way. In
reality, I'm far from it. I cook. The radius of my biceps
is considerably less than that of my neck. I'd be more
likely to guess the precise date of immaculate conception
than Superbowl Sunday. And no, I don't cringe or channel
surf whenever a feminine product ad airs on TV. Okay, actually I do surf,
but that's just force of habit.

It's a new year, and time for reflection and change. Resolutions.
The past is the past, I say. Never look back except to
look forward. Unless you hear a bus coming.
Seriously though, the one still sore stigma scarred across
the face of all our New Years' is the broken resolution.

We resolve to quit smoking, to stick to that diet, be more
tolerant of others, and to visit family. Then we break the
resolutions. Not all too often all at once - by beating
your next neighbor within an inch of his life because he
threatened to blackmail you after catching you having an
affair with your sister-in-law. A quick drag and you
find yourself gorging on a midnight snack. It's only
moments later that you curse aloud after failing to
realize you actually kept the last resolution.

But let's face it, the door to human self-improvement is
locked up tighter than Martha Stewart's bedroom. In many
contexts, the change we all yearn, the "resolution" is
one from outside, not within. That's the happiness weseek.
From now on, let's resolve to change other people.

Our stubborn nature and ingrained human need to cheat
On all things inclusive in the phrase "resolution" will
always prevail. With the New Millennium let's all agree to redirect that energy.
A world where the betterment of mankind begins by
enlightening the guy on the bus next to you the actual
dictionary definition of hygiene - which incidentally
is not merely a greeting Ebert used to say to Siskel.
By passing along of simple fashion sensibility to thedistressed co-worker.
Or sending money to the following address...
copyright 2000 Ryan Ayukawa

That said, "Who wants to be the millionth critic?"

With the last statutory holiday of the year having passed,
the three-day weekend is replaced by the Award Ceremony
Weekend. And it's started already. The American Music
Awards. Next the Golden Globe Awards. Blockbuster
Awards, Grammys, Emmys, Oscars, it's a veritable season
of recognition of excellence in the fields in music,
acting, performance arts, and yes, fashion sensibility.

The only difference between a Parisian fashion show and
being a presenter at an awards show is, the models at a
fashion show are smart enough not to attempt witty banter.

The night is never about who takes home the gold.
It's not about who won, who lost, or even who had
the best acceptance speeches. It's about voyeurism.
I've done more star watching on Oscar night than on
my five grade school trips to the Planetarium.

And watching one of these award shows is like entering
one of those Star Trek parallel universes where the laws
of physics have about as much relevance as the word
"integrity". Where giving an award to the popular and
not the deserving recipient is like mixing matter and
anti-matter. Where the actual selection process for
picking the "Best Actor" is about as fair as a ruling
on the Judge Judy Show.

Now some may think I'm being harsh or even cynical.
Exuding only a superficial surface.

So call me James Cameron.

Let's just say when Titanic won best picture I did have
that terrible sinking feeling. Bad puns aside that moment
in time will be forever frozen in memory for three reasons:

1. I was the only time I ever got seasick in my living room.
2. I immediately reassessed my opinion of Joseph Hazelwood
(at least he could have sunk the ship in an hour.
3. I'm the king of the world, not James Cameron.

But maybe the evenings are about more than being simply
fashion conscious and the big bucks. They're about...
They're about... About... What?

The "R" Word. No, not recognition. "Redemption". Every
year at every awards show there's that one brief, shining
orgasmic moment where someone from the industry is
recognized for their true value.

Think Mr. Supernatural this year.

Hell, until I saw that microsecond camera shot of him in
the rear left balcony at the Grammy's I thought Jimmy
Buffett was a guy who worked at the car wash.

So let's just say the twenty year wait for the industry
to finally redeem itself and acknowledge their standout
talent of John Travolta with a nomination was like the
twenty year wait for the industry to finally redeem
itself and acknowledge the standout talent of Susan
Lucci with a win.

And I'd just like suggest the addition of new category
to the Academy voting process called, "It's about time."

Copyright Ryan Ayukawa 2000

For more columns by Ryan check out:
Ryan's archives 2
Ryan's archives 3
~humorcorner/ryan4, Ryan's archives 4

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