Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Living at home at the age of twenty-five finally led to a violent outburst a few days ago. Believe it or not, the fury unleashed wasn't mine. A good friend of mine, who, unlike me, is stuck living at home instead of choosing to be there, finally released some of his festering rage.
One of my earliest memories is being stuck in the nursery at church while my parents performed their ecclesiastical duties, and that's where I first met this guy, when we were both three years old and still in diapers. We suffered through school together until we finally parted ways for a few years; with me at college and him on a mission in Connecticut. After we reunited, he headed off to St. George/Las Vegas to strike it rich, finally coming home a few months ago deeply in debt and weary from a few sun-baked years.
So now we're both twenty-five year old losers living at home, much to our parents' frustration and shame. The only difference between us is that he's been out there, tasted freedom, and yearns to suckle at its fattening teat again. For me, living at home is all I know, and my ignorance is blissful.
The other day, my friend got a voice message from his dad, asking him to get off his lazy butt and put the snow tires on the car before it snows again. Included was a reminder of how much money he still owes and the fact that he's basically unemployed and sleeps too much and needs to get married and...SMASH. Before the message ended, he threw his cell phone against a cement wall in the basement. It exploded into about fifty pieces, an embodiment of the collective anger our generation is entitled to. Then (from what he told me) he stomped on the pieces that remained, crushing the jagged shards into even more pathetic bits.
It obviously wasn't the smartest move for someone desperately in need of money, but he said he doesn't regret it. I heard the whole story while we were at Best Buy looking for new cell phones the other night.
He's thinking about writing a personal narration of the incident and gluing the remains of the phone together into some sort of sculpture and then selling it on Ebay, entitled "Nokia Rage." It's not a bad title, and weird stuff like that sells every day. At the very worst, he'll make a few bucks from some creepy person out there, some aging pervert excited to own a piece of someone's raw human emotion.
If my frustrations ever get to the phone-smashing point, I give anyone reading this permission to put me out of my misery, swiftly and painlessly. I'm sure my lifeless body would lure at least a few Ebay bidders.
One of my earliest memories is being stuck in the nursery at church while my parents performed their ecclesiastical duties, and that's where I first met this guy, when we were both three years old and still in diapers. We suffered through school together until we finally parted ways for a few years; with me at college and him on a mission in Connecticut. After we reunited, he headed off to St. George/Las Vegas to strike it rich, finally coming home a few months ago deeply in debt and weary from a few sun-baked years.
So now we're both twenty-five year old losers living at home, much to our parents' frustration and shame. The only difference between us is that he's been out there, tasted freedom, and yearns to suckle at its fattening teat again. For me, living at home is all I know, and my ignorance is blissful.
The other day, my friend got a voice message from his dad, asking him to get off his lazy butt and put the snow tires on the car before it snows again. Included was a reminder of how much money he still owes and the fact that he's basically unemployed and sleeps too much and needs to get married and...SMASH. Before the message ended, he threw his cell phone against a cement wall in the basement. It exploded into about fifty pieces, an embodiment of the collective anger our generation is entitled to. Then (from what he told me) he stomped on the pieces that remained, crushing the jagged shards into even more pathetic bits.
It obviously wasn't the smartest move for someone desperately in need of money, but he said he doesn't regret it. I heard the whole story while we were at Best Buy looking for new cell phones the other night.
He's thinking about writing a personal narration of the incident and gluing the remains of the phone together into some sort of sculpture and then selling it on Ebay, entitled "Nokia Rage." It's not a bad title, and weird stuff like that sells every day. At the very worst, he'll make a few bucks from some creepy person out there, some aging pervert excited to own a piece of someone's raw human emotion.
If my frustrations ever get to the phone-smashing point, I give anyone reading this permission to put me out of my misery, swiftly and painlessly. I'm sure my lifeless body would lure at least a few Ebay bidders.
# posted by RBW @ 8:59 AM 
