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Monday, May 10, 2010

Subverting Darwin

In the olden days, they would have taken me out back and shot me.

That's what I thought one day last week when I was getting dressed to greet another soul-free day of non-profit strife and I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror before I put on my trousers.

My hips, I observed, were lopsided. My left leg was turned completely inwards at an absurdly acute angle while the right leg, though toothpick-like in girth at least stayed ramrod straight. My feet, desperately flat and practically caving in, resembled two dead fish encased in a pair of argyle socks.

I won't even get started on my shoulders and my pigeon chest, covered in sporadic tufts of hair resembling broccoli that's gone past its prime.

As I regarded my grotesque form in the mirror, I thought to myself, "Damn, there's a body that has subverted Darwin."

If Darwin had his way, I never would have lost my virginity or found a forever-mate, and, really, if it weren't for lemur-like leaps in fiberoptic technology, I probably wouldn't have accomplished the latter. For the former, I have only college to thank and, really, almost everybody gets laid in college. On those glossy, full-color brochures, they should dispense with the lush photo of the auburn-haired co-ed reading a book underneath an autumnal oak tree and replace it with a picture of a twin-sized bed with the sheets askew, blotted with tell-tale stains, perhaps with some wadded-up tissues scattered around the cheap Ikea rug for good measure.

Getting back, though, to Darwin, that bearded bastard could not possibly conceive of a world where somebody like me doing anything other than dry-humping the sofa was a good idea. What could somebody like me possibly have to contribute to the idea of strengthening the gene pool? My outlandish bone structure? How about my elephantine-proportioned proboscis? No, it's the annoyingly Jewish propensity to possess post-nasal drip, allergies, asthma and the incongruous inability to enjoy eating sandwiches made with mayonnaise.

If Darwin were in charge of the Mating Game, he would give me a big FAIL. And, really, in the golden olden days, I would have failed. I would have been relegated to some depressing "seashore house" for "invalids," my flat feet confining me to a wheelchair, my asthma confining me to an iron lung, my dry wit confining me to a lifetime of exchanging pornographic letters with Oscar Wilde. And, really, that's all there would have been of me.

Enter: The Internet.

That's right, Darwin, you hairy, funny fuckhead. You didn't count on the internet, did you? It's how I get to be a writer. It's how I got to be a husband, too.

And, God willing, it's how I'm going to be a father.

No-- we're not buying a Chinese baby-- I just mean, like, it started the series of events that will hopefully culminate in me being a father. You know, because I met my wife online. And, like, we do it sometimes, and, I mean, hopefully, one of those times will result in my squiggle-wiggles attacking her ovumesque thing and then blorpie-doo baby time.


There's lots of people out there who probably shouldn't be having kids. I mean, look at Max Headroom. I doubt Darwin would have been into that particular arrangement. But we're all imperfect beings in one way or another. Sure, my skeleton is probably dangerously close to a medical oddity, and, after I die, my wife will probably sell it to the University of Pennsylvania Medical School so she can fund her undying lust for clothes from Anthropologie, but that's okay. I don't mind. My osteoquirks help make me special. I remember going to the podiatrist once when I was eighteen to get fitted for my first pair of orthotics. I took off my shoes and socks and stood there in front of him and he wrinkled up his brow and said,

"Jesus Christ-- I don't even understand how you're able to stand up!"

I mean, the fact that I'm able to do that obviously means that I'm pretty fucking cool, right? I mean, if I weren't married-- you'd totally be into that, right? I'm like a walking, talking miracle. The fact that I live, breathe, am mobile and on a mission to procreate and make awkward babies is just a total face-fuck to Darwin, every day that I'm alive.

Take that, Motherfucker. In your beard.


  1. I'm pretty turned on right now. That description was hawt.

  2. anthropologie and target are the only stores i go into just to walk around and have fun looking at stuff.

    thankfully for me and your readers, we have things like cars, alarm systems, police, supermarket, salaries, and as you mentioned, the internet. darwin did well for his time, but nowadays, surviving and thriving =/= physical prowess. now we also need humor, sarcasm, and random facts. think of yourself as a prototype for a New Society.

  3. Aw, a 'forever-mate'! I think that's the cutest thing I've ever read on this blog.

    My neighbour is screeching "wwwuuuUUAAAAGH FUCKING BITCH" over and over again as I try to concentrate on what I wanted to say about this post, so I'm getting all sorts of distracted...

    Oh, now I remember.

    Thank you for this post - it tells me there's hope for everybody. HA!

  4. "There's lots of people out there who probably shouldn't be having kids."

    hi there, i'm ericka. nice to meet you!

    let me know when there's a baby apron in the house so i can observe someone's else's youth being sucked dry for once.

    but nah, she's a cool kid. really.


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