I've been spending way too much time lately at this site, which is basically just a forum for "to-do" type lists to be posted, without all the "inspirational" (or, alternately, "confining") implications of a bucket list. I don't know why it's so addicting to me; I can only read so many "top ten postmodern movies you've never heard of" lists before I know every unheard-of postmodern film, ever.
My results are, to be sure, mixed. I've seen a full 52% of all Edward Norton movies ever produced; but I've only read 2% of "50 Self-Help Classics." I've seen most of "The Greatest Cartoons of all Time;" but remain woefully unversed in the area of "Top 100 Crime Novels of All Time," having read a paltry three percent.
Whether the open-endedness of the website is appealing; or the hyperbole appeals to my ironic nature, I can't be sure. All I know is I've spent many hours in the last couple of weeks, trolling for new and exciting lists about books I haven't read, movies I haven't seen, genres I'm not familiar with, places I'm less for not having visited, music I'm woefully ignorant of, and experiences that will expand my mind in ways that simply cannot be comprehended by the unitiate.
I like to imagine that I will throw a tremendous party when I finish reading "Boxalls' 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die." But it will be an ironic party, a direct reaction to the breathless tone of the title and the general pretension in putting Expression in a box like that. It'll be a postmodern celebration of a gargantuan feat; or whatever.
There will be a cake, but instead of "Congratulations!" it will say, "Hope This Makes You Happy... Was It Worth It, Poindexter?" People will bring presents, but at the last moment, they'll decide not to give them to me, since I already know everything anyway. There will be a snarky undertone, and people will question my motives for having actually read all 1001 of those books. Of course, we'll bring in some attractive, vacant people and have them say things like, "Wow! That's great!" and smile the smile they smile when they're thinking of a slinky slowly making its way down a staircase. I'll vacillate between overblown pomposity and intellectual disattachment. Then, when the time is right, Crystal Waters' "Gypsy Woman" will come on the loudspeaker, everybody will laugh the laugh of the sane, we'll all throw off our fetters, and everyone will dance the night away. Then I'll forget about lists, until the next time I'm bored and need something to do.
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