Motivational Quote of the Day
“There isn’t a day go by that I don’t thank my mother for teaching me how to put my pants on.” - Lord Hambersham, DDS
Cereal of the Day
A definitively British cereal, Weetabix is sold in the United States and Canada, but let’s be honest, North Americans are not entirely keen on several giant wheat biscuits occupying the space that could be filled with two cups of sugared cereal instead. The British however, have a strange fascination with anything biscuit related, even if it attempts to pass itself off as cereal. How is this cereal consumed? Is it broken into chunks after a few minutes of softening? Is it lifted by hand and eaten like a proper biscuit immediately after hitting milk (as to not be too soggy to lift)? Regardless, it’s a good source of fiber.
Regularity is a selling point of many cereals, a point illustrated by the fiber content alongside low sugar content. Even sugared cereals love to highlight fiber content. Are we, as a human species, so entranced by timing out our poops that we search for breakfast cereal that assists with the process? We could take a fiber pill daily, but we don’t like pills. We like crunchy cereal in milk, even if that cereal is the size of a Hot Pocket. Once again though, without much effort, a paragraph turns to shit and Weetabix just happened to be along for the ride.
News From Earth
Most of us are not economically viable. There is constant talk of wages not increasing with the cost of living, with home prices, rental prices, groceries, and so on. This while the top one percent continues to grow richer by the day. There are stats, explaining wealth divide and costs of living, but we can see it everyday without a chart. We can feel it in our wallets, a pain point everyone loves to complain about. But what we fail to realize, especially in the United States, is that this is how the system is designed. It’s designed to keep the rich, rich and the poor, poor. As soon as the middle class (whatever that is) started to catch up, a recession knocked them back and the cycle was able to right itself.
The ultra wealthy love to tout hard work as a marker of monetary success, but that’s horseshit. Inherited wealth is the real marker of financial success, everything else is just luck. If you aren’t born into it, or you don’t get extremely lucky, you will toil along for your working days, until you wither and die. That’s a hard truth we know, but are generally unwilling to face. We would rather dream of riches we may never have, not realizing the real riches were the friends we made along the way. Just kidding, it’s money. The real riches is money. So we enter a new year on the edge of a recession (this time caused by the auto loan industry), dreaming of getting rich, not realizing the financial system is working every angle to keep us as poor as possible. At least cereal is still cheap.
Sandwich of the Day
From the proprietary sandwich generation tool:
Beef Hotdogs & Mozzarella With Streaky Bacon On Cornetto Bread.
Ephemeral Erosion
We are all living final notice to final notice, with nothing ever being actually final (until finality itself claims our mortality). The constant reminder of our continuous past due status does little to motivate us beyond creating more trash. Finding motivation is difficult enough, another piece of paper reminding us of our socioeconomic status simply does not help. Yet, these reminders of our financial mortality do more than press the boot on our necks, they remind us that we exist in some form other than vessels for blood and deli meats. Some faceless corporation has our name in a database along with some points of data that identify us and our delinquent accounts. We exist!
Tying our existence to something tied to other aspects of our existence might not be the best way to define our time in the plane of the living. It’s all very circular. As much as we crave validation for our existence, we crave to be forgotten and ignored, left to live our lives unnoticed, while craving attention for doing so. We find comfort in the paperwork of life, signing our name or just throwing away collection letters. For as much stress as we claim to have been received in the mail, it’s a strange sort of joy dealing with the printed proof of our existence. We just haven’t realized that it’s all sent to us postage due upon delivery. Someday we’ll have to pay that bill.