How to Avoid Tedium

Eschew Politics, the Affiliated Yahoos, and any associated Html Coding

Most informed people in the United States agree things could be going a whole lot better in Iraq. If you are not one of these people, you may want to lay off the Fox News Kool Aid, 'cause your brain is clearly being washed by Murdoch MindControl Inc.

In the 1400s, Merry Old England had not yet got around to peopling Australia with their criminal and multi-media megalomaniac elements, so there was no Fox News to make people think the Hundred Years' War was going well for Henry VI and company. And just in case folks did see some glimmer of good news in the offing, the trusty Duke of Exeter always seemed to show up just in time to share a gloomy little prophesy, sufficiently dashing hope once again. Some in my hometown of Washington, DC would probably view National Public Radio as the modern Exeter.

Given this train of thought in this intellectual train wreck of a town, it seemed natural to look for some Insightful Parallels between Henry VI, Part One, and The Current War in Iraq. Which just goes to show you that what seems natural isn't always a good idea. Like unprotected teenage sex or American "cheese". The former is natural and very rarely a good idea. The latter seems natural only to those who haven't thought about it, and is only a good idea on Grilled Cheese Sandwiches.

It's not that I haven't thought of a few amusing links between the two situations. It is just that I can't write them without being very political. And damnitall! I'm the last remaining non-political blog in DC! It is a point of pride for me, a badge of honor in a city that is generally pretty indifferent to honor, if not badges.

It isn't as if I couldn't be political if I wanted. But, you see, I'm an all-or-nothing sort of person, and if I went political, I'd have to go all the way. I'd have to write about the Politics of Shakespeare, and make sly allusions to Halliburton, Al Sharpton's hair and Senate Pages all the time. The very thought of it makes me incredibly weary, like a too-sleek sophisticate bored with gay Paree. I'd have to cultivate bon mots like Noel Coward and start drinking gin and tonics and champagne cocktails (possibly at the same time). My liver would suffer.

Plus, my personal politics are not particularly mainstream (insofar as they are not captured by the planks of either major party's political platform). This means all my regular readers would be replaced by insane yahoos who agreed or disagreed violently with me. They would leave long, tedious comments replete with spelling errors and naïveté. I probably couldn't tolerate the spelling errors, and would want to correct the more egregious ones. But that in turn would require a radical revamping of the comment system, which would in turn require many, many hours of studying html coding, which would be almost as tedious as the comments themselves.

And forget what they tell you about mean people. Tedium - now that sucks. What's more, I'm pretty sure tediousness is contagious. You can't just be tedious in one aspect of your life and expect it not to spread, weed-like, choking out the interesting bits of your personality. Take Ralph Nader. When he had that Unsafe at Any Speed thing going, he was not a 100% tedious individual. We were interested in him; perhaps even intrigued. But now, just look at him: a self-righteous megalomaniac with all the dynamism of a Soviet bean-counter.*

But enough about our great Green Party-reject presidential self-nominee. As I was saying, tediousness is the great infectious disease of the early twenty-first century. I just can't give in to it. If I do, next thing you know I'll be IRONING (gasp), the world's most tedious household act. I'll start off just pressing shirts, but slowly gravitate to underwear and sheets and The Spouse's prolific collection of hankies. Then it will get worse; my mind will rot and I'll start watching - worse, actually listening to - the talking head windbags on Sunday political gab shows. And my life will be composed purely of the boring and the pointless. The Spouse (who relies on me to keep the household lively) will forget what carefree joy is, and resort to reckless, daredevil driving in our MINI Cooper in an attempt to recapture any sense of exuberance. The Cat will be disappointed, and look at me accusingly from his perch on the heating pad.

Besides, what good can possibly come of pointing out similarities between the 1400s debacle in France and the US's current travails in Iraq? What good for me, that is. I am no Michael Moore; I am not full of that indignant, self-righteous sort of ardor that requires a noisy public outlet. More importantly, my blog entry won't rake in $21 million dollars in its opening weekend. My blog entries don't even get opening weekends. Maybe if I could create some red carpet buzz for each new essay, the Bardblog might become a wee bit more profitable. Frankly, my ping email feature isn't getting it done, from an income-generation point of view. And poverty is almost as tedious as ironing.

Shakespeare seemed to get by pretty well with his kiss-up-to-the-monarch routine. Maybe I should try a spot of mindless Bush Administration sycophancy in my blog, since I can't compete with Moore on self-promoting outrage. Then, if I can just get W's attention, I'll receive used manila envelopes full of unmarked $100 bills, dropped off by mysterious messengers.

Naturally these messengers will arrive in threes, and distract all onlookers from our little exchange with proclamations containing really bad news, thus generating an insightful parallel between Henry VI, Part I and the current war in Iraq without any sort of creative intervention from me. I can almost hear them now: "Vice President Cheney called Senator Leahy a 'Base Walloon' on the floor of the Senate!" "Karl Rove's fiends aren't talking to him any more, and he's afraid the quality of his political advice is starting to suffer." "Dude, were we looking for some guy named Bin Laden? Cause if we're not looking for him anymore, I guess you don't need me coming to tell you we still haven't found him".

Yeah. I could be a sycophant. I hear there's nothing like a little dirty money to take the tedium out of ass-kissing. I could tell you who told me that, but then I would be getting political.



*(Note the subtle political balance I strike in my blog, making fun of a megalomaniac from the right AND the left in the same entry. What objectivity! I bet I could singlehandedly write those 'Point and Counterpoint' opinion pieces. Just like they do it in The Washington Times.)