Things that make me sad but shouldn’t & things that don’t but maybe should
This isn’t about the usual shit. Yes, road kill is sad. Child abuse is sad. Animal abuse is sad, especially when made into commercials set to Sarah McLachlan. Starvation and natural disasters and war and Fargo, ND fashion — all of it, sad.
But then there’s random shit that inexplicably makes us sad for “no” reason. And shit that maybe “should” but doesn’t.
Random things that make me sad
Even though they probably “shouldn’t.”
“The Price is Right.” And Bob Barker.
Man, I don’t know… maybe I have some repressed memory or something, because I’m pretty sure some daycare provider used to watch it, but the whole show just makes me sad and I can’t explain why. Every time someone gets excited about The Price is Right — especially the contestants who “come on down!” — I’m overcome with this sad, sinking feeling, like “god, isn’t it horrible they died later that day?” and it makes me feel like crying a little. It’s weird, I know.
And that one episode of HIMYM definitely didn’t help.
To be entirely clear, my issue with Chicago is my issue, not Chicago’s. Chicago is like a golden retriever —and who hates a golden retriever?
It’s just that with Chicago, there’s so much to subscribe to, and all of it’s so fucking old. They’ve had the same, unchanged attractions since the 70s, the same stupid inside jokes since the early 90s, the same (popular!) bars since pre-prohibition. I mean, the Cubs hadn’t won a World Series in over 100 years and yet fans somehow still had “traditions” during playoffs. Not to mention the goat.
And this nostalgia is, of course, part of Chicago’s “charm” — but only for people who find nostalgia charming.
Those of us who don’t are just left standing there with our ̶ d̶i̶c̶k̶ hot dog in our hand like, “oh. We’re still doing this?”
And everyone else is like “uh, yeah. This is forever. Because everything is.”
Classic rock and the people who still listen to it. Young and old alike.
The 60s I’m okay with. Everything before that is okay, too, and even the 80s and 90s sneak by. But man, “70s classic rock people.” Specifically, the people who only listen to classic rock, or hold classic rock as the upper echelon.
Like, god, have the last forty-odd years of our lives been that hard for you?
I know, I know — it’s timeless. And yeah, maybe it is. But there’s a difference between appreciating classic rock for what it was — what it meant at the time — and still rocking out to it as though your sad, solo air guitar will ensure things always stay the same.
The Breakfast Club. And “The Breakfast Club song.”
I couldn’t even get on board when Pitch Perfect tried to perk it up a bit with a remix (and I am shameless Pitch Perfect fangirl.) The whole thing, melody and lyrics alike, is so saturated in sadness I all but drown just hearing those first two notes.
Milton from Office Space — and anyone that reminds me of him
And there are a lot.
One time I was visiting an office and saw a similar-looking dude walking to take his break, clutching a bag of Funyuns in hand, and I thought, “if anyone ruins this for him, so-help-me I will end them.”
The scene with the cake breaks my heart. Every time I think about it or see something similar happen in real life, it high-key makes me wanna light shit on fire too. On their behalf.
High rise condos
Me and me alone, I guess — I’ve never met anyone else who thinks they’re sad. It’s something about being so far, far removed from everything that’s alive — all that’s pulsing and breathing and vibrating on the ground below. One, two, even four floors, I can totally do. Anything double digits, we’re just stacking up sadness. Once we’re in the 30s and 40s and above, we might as well be in outer space; we’re as good as dead.
Similarly, hotel rooms
It’s the sterility. I know part of the appeal is to give the impression that no living thing has ever been in the room before — ever. But every time I’m in one, I also get the impression there’s nothing alive in it at the current moment, either. Me included.
Funerals when it’s sunny
There’s nothing quite like the cruelty of a funeral when it’s sunny. It’s like some screwy uncle strolling in telling knock-knock jokes and laughing too loud and smiling just a lot too much. Not cool, man.
Rain on a wedding day? Bring it. Ain’t nobody gonna rain on this parade! The happy couple cannot, will not be held down. But sunshine for a funeral? Heartbreaking. I was once cruising along on a gorgeous summer day — windows down, hair in the wind, radio turned way up — when I came across a funeral procession, and the juxtaposition of my day and theirs straight-up made me cry.
I have been fortunate enough to have snow and rain for the funerals of my loved ones. With the exception of my grandma, who had sunshine all the way — and would’ve wanted it that way.
Like, I couldn’t sleep at night after watching it too close to my bedtime. What a heart-wrenching storyline, that.
Random things that don’t make me sad but maybe should(?)
When Christmas is over
Guyyyys! Everyone! It’s a new year! A fresh start! January — what a time to be alive 🙂 Man, I do love me a new year.
Honestly, this is just, like, mini-New Years Day! But with a better night’s rest and without the monster hang-over. Plus, a lot of people are dragging ass on Monday mornings, so if you wake up a smidgen earlier than normal, the world feels like your literal oyster.
The end of summer
Just means the beginning of sweater weather — and autumn leaves and boots and scarves and sneaking your freezing cold hands up the back of your partner’s shirt to warm them up!
Uh, I mean… apple cider.
Guys, John Cusack. Need I say more?
This firsthand account is so endearingly genuine, it’s hard not to love it a little bit, despite all the brooding Cusack brings so hard.
When Wilson drifted off in Cast Away
I mean, don’t get me wrong, I cried — but then I rationalized and was like “oh, wait. Yeah, okay.”
Because guys, come on. What did you think — he was gonna bring Wilson back with him? They were gonna bunk up together; build a happy home? Would he be reduced to “just some dirty-ass volleyball” for the sake of Hank’s re-acclimation? I mean, for real — how was that gonna go down? Wilson had to go.
I have totally romanticized this city and that’s almost as sad as the city itself. Man, I dig Detroit — when I lived in Chicago, I made the occasional trek over there (once on motorcycle) just to see the place again. There’s just something deliciously genuine about it all — this rich industrial hub, backbone to a major part of US history, now just sitting there in tatters for the world to see. Fucking fascinating.
Riding my motorcycle in the rain
Riding my motorcycle always — always — brings me immense amounts of joy, and I’ll take riding it in the rain (or heat, or cold, or traffic, or whatever) over not riding almost any day.
Rain in general
Eating a meal of microwave-ramen for one
Some consider this the saddest meal out there.
*shrugs and shovels noods*
Eating alone in restaurants
Haha, I literally don’t care — in fact, most of the time, I would really rather not fuck with “coordination” and “compromise” and “herding cats” and “waiting on you to figure out your shoe situation.” I eat alone all the time while traveling for work (the night I wrote this included!) and could not care less.
I don’t need the “buddy system” to get my chow on. None of us really do.
Getting to the end
Of a Netflix series. A vacation. A box of cookies. Anything, really.
Because, like, thank god that’s done. Now I can get to what’s next.