It has just occurred to me that I spend a great deal of my time reading vast reams of articles and magazines and books on whatever subject has currently got my white, heterosexual, middle-class goat so I can some how evidence my arguments to a high standard and therefore withstand the withering gaze of ignorant asshats.
Why frankly, do I bother? There is something alarmingly pompous in my quest for truth and evidence to pump up my inflated arguments on a wide variety of issues (well, maybe not so wide), when I can hear the gallery scream: “WE PREFERRED IT WHEN YOU WERE FUNNY!”
This addiction to research has started to bleed over in every area of my life, assisted mainly by the joy of the Internet, for example it was with some regret that I turned down the opportunity today to spend a good few hours locating a collection of pre-Modern p0rn. A casual mention by a friend of a desire to study in New York meant I embarked on a long, thorough and utterly unnecessary quest for the finest educational options. I can no longer buy a book or CD without fully exploring all the purchasing options and equating the best deal.
Any causal mention in the news, let’s say of Kenny Rogers (no, not that one) and his stained hand (is it pine tar or is it dirty spit?), leads to a massive Wikipedia research adventure, that stops off at Kenny himself, pine tar (and its uses) and dirty spit.
Yesterday, I plumbed new depths of my Wikipedia addiction to facts, or Wikiphilia as I have coined it, by spending 3 hours looking at the Panama Canal, the world’s biggest ship and rogue waves.
I think I need some penis soup…