Utopia Beckons

Fingerlings:
     As weeks turn into months and months into seasons, each passing day since being jettisoned from the workforce finds me curling tighter and tighter into the fetal position. It seems the further I find myself sliding off the gleaming Highway of Happiness, the more inclined I am to indulge my personal demons - increasingly ceding control to the bacchanalian forces residing within.

     While all this may sound unsavory, I assure you it is not without its shiny side. In fact, the introspection these raging forces generate is quite often productive. It beckons me to a place wherein I'm able to identify that which I care for, and that which I do not, with previously unimaginable clarity. For example, once all the positive aspects of my previous life circumstance - employed, worthwhile, productive, self reliant, etc. - have been weeded out, I find it much easier to identify those unpleasant portions of my universe that need excised; and in so doing, returning balance and harmony to my soul. 
     It is this borderline insane cogent, thoughtful reasoning that has always driven me to great heights. So enamored am I with the results, that I'm compelled to share with you my logisms. Hopefully, by identifying those pop-culture creatures unnecessary in my universe, you dear readers will be inspired to take similar life-improving measures in you own lives. As such, the following is an (admittedly) incomplete listing of celebrity flotsam that I intend to exile from my consciousness, thereby freeing up valuable cranial space for more worthy inhabitants.
     Let's start with my favorite whipping boy:
JUSTIN BIEBER - I know, I know; by now even I'm tired of my harangues about the Biebs. His lofty pole position <snicker> is due to his uncanny ability to make an ass of himself in hitherto unimagined ways. His latest: in a supersonic display of both cultural ignorance and pretention, he had his bodyguards carry him up the Great Wall of China! Only good form and my Christian ethos prevent me from further piling on <more snickers> this POS.

DIANNE SAWYER - I'm not quite sure why Lady D annoys me as much as she does; maybe it's her breathless delivery of every contrived narrative. Maybe it's her shameless shill of all things Disney/ABC/ESPN/Touchstone/Miramax. Maybe it's the forced ingénue image. Maybe it's just the collagen. 

CAM NEWTON/TERRELE PRYOR -  I'm incapable of separating these two self-smitten, albeit freakishly athletic pigskin squeezers. I'm viscerally repulsed by those who regard themselves as God's gift to anything. These two are the poster boys for self-absorbed, over-hyped, it's all about me athletes.  <Editor's Note: Seriously? Are there no mirrors in Speed's house? Physician, heal thyself.>

MUMFORD & SONS -  Their music can most charitably described as the day insipid met Deliverance. Included in this genre that celebrates toothlessness are the Avett Brothers, Dawes and Conor Oberst. All this makes me miss Slim Whitman.

CHRIS BERMAN - The apparent love child of Howard Cosell and Ethel Merman, Boomer (listen for 10 seconds, and you'll understand the nickname) is the audial equivalence of felony assault. This one trick pony has parlayed an otherwise unremarkable shtick into an inexplicably successful career - somehow, spinning straw into gold. Were it not for the high regard I accord chicanery of this ilk, I would have voted this buffoon off the island years ago.  

     These are but the tip of the iceberg; there are others, of course. I've banished Seth Rogan, Vince Vaughn, Adam Sandler, et al (players of the same character in every film), Donald Trump, Alex Rodriguez, Miley Cyrus, Ty Pennington, O. J., Barbara Walters (another favorite target of mine), and Ginger Z. They certainly annoy me, and I begrudge the space they occupy in my mind, but they represent those for whom further valuable editorial space shan't be further wasted.

     I urge you dear ones, to similarly sort out the junk drawers of your minds - purging those small, precious spaces to clear room for more erudite cargo, such as my next post, wherein I'll return to the blatantly populist "Mailbag Edition". There, at least now you have something to look forward to.  Sicut calidum non vis mihi boyfriend?