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Seven Cures for Procrastination to Try Someday

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An Editorial by Faith DaBrooke

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If you’ve decided to make significant use of your time by attempting to read this article, I’m certain that you are eager to be led toward a straight-forward, painless solution to your procrastination dilemma. This assumption, however, leads me to believe that your impatience has prevented you from following through with any previous step-by-step solution. Therefore, do not stop reading, for this article has so far put you on the verge of overcoming your addiction to delaying progress. You are now partially on your way to abolishing the procrastination which has held you firmly in bondage.

Your friends and family are probably fed up with your excuses and justifications and are most likely frustrated by your apparent lack of mental capacity. Perhaps they wonder why they’ve been forced to take a part in the drama that is your self-perpetuating failure. Indeed, you’ve come to regard yourself as a failure and are depressed my the misassumption that life is beyond your control.

Always remember, work begun is half done, and now I shall unquestionably be in jam for ripping off Mary Poppins. If you read the previous sentence, then you have just progressed half-way towards finding the solution to your unwillingness to lead a life of productive activity.

First of all, before you continue reading, you must confront your denial. Put aside your pitiful excuses and say out loud “I have a problem.” Retreat from blaming external sources, such as alcoholism or a lack of electricity. Did that work? Good. Soon, you will learn how to demolish the problem that complicates your life and causes stress and anxiety, leading inevitably, to sickness and death. But do not despair, for you are on your way to resolving what is universally deemed the most anxiety-provoking situation since the beginning of time.

Statistics show that individuals do not like stress, specifically work-related stress. How often have you been depressed by thoughts such as “there’s always tomorrow” directly followed by “there’s never any time!” These thoughts lead to feelings of dread and indifference towards accomplishing anything meaningful. In turn, you will procrastinate and drown yourself in more dismay. The cycle of anxiety and procrastination is infinite and was unstoppable, at least until the creation of this article.

Therefore, my advice to you is as follows: never procrastinate! For if you do, you may end up composing solutions to procrastination and will never arrive at any solution because you’ve simply run out of time.

By reading this article, you have struck procrastination to the ground as soon as it has reared its ugly head. Congratulations! You have now conquered your inconvenient behavioral pattern. So don’t despair, you have just succeeded in your pursuit by completing this insightful composition and by not allowing your impatience to provoke you into destroying this article in a fit of anger. Huzzah!

With Special Thanks to Irene Baras

Rock and/or Roll

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When I was fifteen-years-old, I traded the last of my Warhammer 40K miniatures for a copy of the Smashing Pumpkins’ Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. A handful of dusty and neglected Ork and Spacemarine models were a small price to pay for one of the most significant albums of my time. Yes, I had been a geek, but I gave it all away for the joy and depression found in what the shadowy marketers of music called alternative rock.

It takes an exceptional person to be able to say the words “rock and roll” seriously, with reverence. During my teenage years, I was one of those people, though none of us added “and roll.” I just wanted music that rocked. I’ve met fans of every genre under the sun, but only rock seems to function as a religion, eliciting awed, sometimes whispered tones of exaltation. For fans of hip-hop, country, or pop, music appears to be merely soundtrack. Something to listen to.

For rock fans, music is something else: the Library of Alexandria full of secret knowledge to absorb and study; The Pharos lighthouse showing us the way; the Pyramids that stand forever as the greatest of human achievements. This was rock. It made sense at the time.

My walls were a shrine; a 350 square foot collage of posters, pictures and postcards representing music’s pantheon. Hours were spent reading liner notes, searching for hidden clues or mysterious messages, analyzing lyrics, compiling information for study and enlightenment. Like the Crusaders of old, I bore upon my chest the T-shirts declaring my true cause and allegiance.

Conversations with friends were Socratic dialogs on bands, singers, engineers, albums, lyrics, songs, liner notes and videos. My provincial town was too small for good acts, and so concerts became pilgrimages; journeys whose reward was a few hours of basking in the glory of bands. Moshing was a rite. The obligatory T-shirt showed those back in the sticks you had made the journey, that you had marched around the sacred black stone on the hajj of rock. Truly, everlasting glory and honor were ours, at least for several years.

We needed that as teenagers. It was not rebellion. It was not a hobby. It was the pivot around which lives turned. What else was there? We were forced into school and it certainly wasn’t interesting. Sports were divisive and competitive; only the physically gifted succeeded. Rock was all inclusive, all ages. Anyone could join and share in the glory if they were devoted.

Rock stars weren’t superheroes, gods or idols then as before or now. We believed in them because they were ordinary people of greatness. They wore our clothes on stage, yes they did. No matter how geeky, or uncoordinated, or unpopular, you were part of a family. Music gave us what religion gave to others. It gave us meaning, identity and a way of life.

A decade has passed and luckily I’ve forged something of an identity, a meaning, and way life apart from my favorite albums. The sad truth is there isn’t any secret message in the liner notes. There certainly aren’t any hidden meaning to lyrics like Mickey Mouse has grown up a cow; the wrong side of the quicksand and dark flashlight destiny; Graceful swans of never topple to the earth, and you can make it last forever; doll steak, test meat; or feeling like a hand in rusted shame. Nor do I have any solid concept of what exactly a “seether” is, except perhaps that it is a she, she is medium sized, and she seethes.

Those of us who spent our teen years marching to the beat of a drum kit weren’t any better than our fellow teens who couldn’t spend hours debating the production skills of Butch Vig versus those of Steve Albini. We just needed to fill those tumultuous years between fourteen and twenty and, well, there wasn’t any thing else around. School, church, philatelics, tropical fish; none of those gave us that sense of hope, rapture and barely-controlled violence that rock provided. Now, sadly, we all have jobs, our favorite bands have broken up, and the Alternative Nation has been annexed; its territory divided amongst emo, progressive rock, and indie. No, I can no longer seriously say the words “rock and roll” with reverence or awe, but I can say that it was fun while it lasted. Spin the silver circle, spin spin.

Ask Montezuma: Mapril 2007

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It’s The Answer Man from Tenochtitlan!

montezuma
Montezuma is a collector of Meno Corporation macaroni and cheese
products and maintains an almost-complete collection in his home.
He is missing only the #5 rotini style from the summer of 1956.

Dear Montezuma,
My aunt is 56 years old and dresses inappropriately for her age. She wears very short dresses and skirts, usually in a floral print. She also likes to bake, so we unfortunately get ample view of her procedural cop show-themed thongs. She is also at least 300 pounds. Do you think it’s possible to find a way to make her change her personal style for everyone’s personal comfort without hurting her feelings?
Tiger Tanaka
Kobe, Japan

TT, I would be incredibly interested to know your aunt’s choice of thong. I am, in actuality, quite a fan of procedural policeman television shows. My favourite this season is Crime Haven Belgique which is all about the intricacies of tax investigators in Antwerp. Last week’s show involved the assessment of a fee against a man who left his government ceiling repair assistance remuneration off of page four of form 35a. It was quite exciting.

Hi Montezuma,
Every fall I get depressed. It’s not a deep depression. It’s just sort of a general feeling of sadness that pervades my psyche when the temperatures and colors change. Which is better: the catamaran or the canoe?
Jason Vitali
Habberdasher, WI

Mr. Vitali, have you perhaps considered a super tanker or super carrier? Both have super in their name, so they must be better than any other type of ship. Of course, choosing between those two might present one with an incredible challenge. Never fear, though, for I believe I’ve solved the conundrum. You see, a carrier implies moving things around, whilst the tanker reminds one of tanks, which are mighty powerful.

Dear Montezuma,
I heard that tobacco is bad for you. Is this true?
Louis C. Camilleri
New York, NY

To me visiting Australia sounds terrifically bad for anyone. The sheer number of poisonous shellfish, insects, arachnids, snakes and other reptiles, and even mammals would turn anyone off to visiting such a continent. Australia is also rather out of the way, you see, so were you to become empoisoned by one of these creatures, you would be leagues and leagues away from medical treatment. Avoid Australia altogether.

Montezuma,
What’s a Rorschach test?
Robert Pollard
Dayton, OH

Bobby, I cannot say with certainty. Once I received a “TB” test, but with surety I also cannot respond in its regard. Children supposedly take what is called an AP test, however these at least sound dirty and likely are, due to the fact that they involve children. The HIV test is quite popular, or so I hear. I am quite positive that has something to do with allergens. Tests are often administered to cars in states such as California, New York, and New Jersey for something called smog, though I am not sure how an object of mechanical manufacture could contract a disease. The only other test I know of is the DNA test, but I can only guess this has something to do with whether or not one is able to properly alphabetize files.

Dear Montezuma,
My fiancé has just told me that he is bisexual. He said that he has never told anyone else and has hidden it from me until now. I cried all night. I have many self-esteem problems. He also said that if he were in my shoes, he would end the relationship. However, he is glad that I haven’t. He promises me he will be true. What should I do?
Viviane Travin
Ramstein Air Base, Germany

Why are you such a cry baby? Some men simply enjoy the sound of four testicles slapping against each other.
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Katie Stalin goes to the Grand Canyon

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canyon

Grand Canyon, AZ – So, here it is. I’ve come to the most well-known geological feature in the United States and I’m looking over the edge. There’s a river down there at the bottom. There’s some very high canyon walls. It’s most impressive. But, you know what? I’ve got a problem with it. All the stupid families.

I’m visiting one of the things in nature which holds the most impact for visitors, and there’s a bunch of snot-nosed, whiny little brats running around. How the hell am I supposed to enjoy this grand, natural beauty with these rug rats everywhere?

Earlier in the day I paid for a mule ride tour and hike of the canyon. Things were okay for about the first ten minutes, but then this noise kept bothering me. Finally I looked around for it and it turns out a kid two mules behind was playing some handheld game. That was the noise. Okay, I can deal. I’ve been a bored kid before. But then we get to the bottom and these two elementary school kids start whining. They’re tired. They have to pee. It’s no fun for them. One of them kicked their mule, which was great because the thing totally kicked him back. That kid got knocked right into the Colorado River. It was hilarious. So hilarious it made up for all his crying.

Then I took a whitewater rafting trip down the river. This was so awesome, I couldn’t believe it. Yeah, no nachos, but it was really exciting and the guide was so cute. Of course one of those stupid kids had to ruin all the fun. We stopped near some of these awesome Navajo adobe ruins and camped out in front of them. While me and the guide are having some adult fun in one of the upper storeys of the Navajo city, this little bastard starts up crying about his lost cards. They were from some cartoon show and he wouldn’t shut up. So of course Jeb, the guide, had to go down and help out. And I didn’t get any action!

They couldn’t find his cards, so the kid had a huge tantrum. He’s whining into the night, throwing smores at his parents. Then, all of sudden, he runs off towards the adobe structures. We didn’t pay him any mind, but ten minutes later we hear some crackling. As we look over, we notice that stupid kid kicking the city and beating it with a huge branch. That whole building came down.

Well, about ten miles down the river the next day, I got him back. My raft came up right next to his, and I sent it tipping over with my oar. They couldn’t find that little pissant for two hours. He got stuck between to boulders in the river about a mile downstream. It was awesome. Made up for the whole trip.

So, yeah, I would recommend the Grand Canyon. It’s beautiful. Just go in the winter when there aren’t any families around and you won’t have to deal with all the crap that I did.