One of my first posts was titled Beginnings and Endings so it only makes sense that, two years later, I should write a post called Endings and Beginnings – it would be sort of like David Spade not making Joe Dirt 2: Beautiful Loser, leaving the piece of “Art” that was the first Joe Dirt would somehow seem incomplete. Also like Joe Dirt 2: Beautiful Loser, it’s hard to comprehend what more could possibly be said that wasn’t said in my first post. While this could be seen as a real problem by some, I have been blessed with an amazing ability to totally ignore my problems and place the blame on others – such as David Spade.
Over the last two years I’ve learned a lot about myself and have come to this realization: I am getting old. With this unfortunate realization of my ever-advancing age has also come the realization that I understand life even less than I did when I started typing this post. Maybe it’s an issue with memory. Maybe it’s an issue of being stuck in our way of thinking. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism that we humans have formed over the years in order to forget the fact that not only did we see Joe Dirt 2: Beautiful Loser, but we also saw the equally bad Dickie Roberts: Former Child Star – twice. Whether it’s a defense mechanism or just a trick of human genetics, I’m not sure, but I am sure that there is one aspect of life that I can’t seem to forget about – The End.
For those of you who haven’t seen The End, it’s a movie about a man who finds out that he doesn’t have much longer to live and so tries to kill himself by watching David Spade movies. It’s not a great movie and, like most thing I would like to forget, I remember it distinctly. I tend to remember a lot of things that I would rather not – things I may have said, people I may have hurt, actions that I would like to take back and other things that I can do little to nothing to change at this point in my life – yet they continue to flash through my memory at such regular intervals that, at times at least, it makes me wonder why my mind won’t flash the good things like Tommy Boy, through my memory instead. One answer might be that, like Bees, our minds are jerks. Another answer could be that David Spade is actually a genius and we all are secretly trying to become like him. Or, the answer could be that I remember all of this stuff because there is a lesson to be learned from it; a lesson I haven’t learned yet.
This last answer scares me.
It doesn’t scare me in the sense that I’m afraid I won’t ever learn whatever lesson I need to learn; it scares me that I will learn it but my advancing age will prevent me from remembering that I learned it. If you’ve ever seen the movie Memento then you know why this is a fear of mine. If you haven’t seen it yet, I’ll wait patiently while you watch it now………………………………………………………………………..
See what I mean? Not only do I not want to not remember learning lessons but I also really don’t want to get any more tattoos. They hurt and will inevitably appear to be misspelled so that when I tattoo something like “Man of Action”, in order to remember that I need to be nice to a friend and appreciate them, the tattoo will say something like “Man of Asston” which will not only not help me remember to be a better friend but will instead lead to some very awkward conversations. In all seriousness though, tattoos really hurt. What also hurts, though in a different way, is making the same mistakes again and again.
I think I read once that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting that Joe Dirt 3: The Sammy Jankis Connection will actually be a good movie. I don’t know if that’s the actual definition of insanity but I think that sometimes, so long as we don’t dwell on them, it’s best to remember our own Sammy Jankis’s in order to remember the feeling of regret and to help us not repeat in it in the future. Regardless of whether there are endings that have occurred that you wish hadn’t or beginnings that haven’t happened when you wish they had, just keep in mind that it could be worse: you could be a person who has to tattoo themselves to remember where they were the night before and is then forced to act in a series of increasingly worse films (a.k.a. David Spade).
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