In the show, a group of similarly-termed idiots leave home, and join similar idiots, to live together. I guess some of them look for jobs, some of them watch tv, most of them have sex and spread syphilis, and presumably, they all ruin their families' opinions of themselves.
While there are some realistic elements, such as the inclusion of breathing human beings and oxygen, very little of it is "the real world". The real world does not often provide stipends, pool tables, and Jacuzzis to idiots. Actually, I'm pretty sure Michael Moore owns a Jacuzzi and probably a pool table, so I might be wrong.
From the moment I graduated about two weeks ago, my Mom has mentioned this nebulous idea of the real world to me. "Mentioned," perhaps, is not the best word for it. She's been harping on it. But she's right. However, it finally hit me today when I checked my bank account and saw how much money I have left in it, just how screwed I am. Here, let me show you what it was like.
Quick thought: I think ATMs should ask you for an estimate when they check to see how much money you don't have (which in my case is "almost all of the money"). If you guess too high, it will play the fail sound from The Price Is Right. And, much like The Price Is Right, if you do end up guessing too high, the ATM will not allow you to make any further transactions.
The safe bet is always $1.
The point of this whole post is that I just felt like writing something, because I'm sitting up, thinking about money. Not in a vain, greedy sort of way. Rather, I'm thinking such things as "I'm going to be living at home forever" and "I bet I'd be good at flipping burgers".
Of course, I have a few things on my mind, including looking into teaching abroad for a year, trying to get a job at the Almanac, and continuing to draw bad pictures and write aimlessly on this very blog. Two of these will result in money, and the third will get me nowhere, though my friends seem to enjoy it, which makes me happy.
But as I lament about my financial sorrows at the moment, I find solace in the story of two beloved culinary idols, known simply as Mike and Ike. You see, last year, Mike and Ike had a divorce.
|And it appears that Mike got the rights to "and".|
The official website described it as a split due to "creative differences," but in this day and age of marriage equality, I find it disheartening that Messrs. Mike and Ike did not take a stand for divorce equality. They could have been the first major public figures to bring the demise of holy matrimony in same-sex relationships to the forefront of the public eye, but they failed to do so. One can only hope that Johnson and Johnson will endure their own relationship issues in the near future.
After the split, it is rumored that Ike took half of Mike's stuff, as Mike had the higher net worth, due to his name coming first in the candy's title. When one thinks of Mike and Ike candy, alleged Ike's attorneys (ironically the same as Ike Turner's attorneys), the first name is the one which sticks with consumers, thus entitling Ike to half of Mike's belongings. So much for the justice system.
Mike, dismayed at the loss of his mansion and 1983 Ferrari, was driven to drugs and alcohol, eventually hitting his low point amidst binging on crack with Toronto mayor Rob Ford.
But what gives me hope for my future is this: in 2013, Mike checked himself into the Betty Ford Center, to seek help for his substance-abuse issues. There were many hard days in the Betty Ford Clinic for young Mike, as he went through the pains of withdrawal and wondered aloud why people can remember more about Betty Ford than Gerald Ford. About a month into his stay, Ike came to visit and the two quickly reconciled their previously-irreconcilable differences.
The two have sense restarted their whirlwind love, though business has taken a back seat to family. They adopted two children, Lem and Mel, whose delicious lemon and watermelon flavored candies I am currently eating. Things are looking up for Mike and Ike.
When all seemed lost, and the end appeared near for everyone's favorite semi-cylindrical fruit-flavored confectionery couple, crack addiction reared its ugly head, and through matrimonial and personal turmoil, the duo found new life. It is my new found belief that if Mike can overcome crippling addiction and reunite with his true love amidst great public pressure and scrutiny, I can certainly get The Almanac to publish something I wrote.
See? There was a point to all of that.