LJ Idol - Week 11 - Recency Bias
I dunno when it first occurred to me that it would be something I would enjoy. I guess the idea, the desire, had always been there in the background. The doctor here seems awful interested in ´backgrounds` and why and so on, so I´ve been thinking it over.
It really got going when I was sitting in a diner one time and the TV was on so I sort of watched it. Dangerous thing, TV. They were talking about this guy, real respectable yuppie type on the surface of it. Don´t it grind your gears how folks judge you by surfaces? I mean, stick me in a fancy suit and get me a shave and a haircut from one of those places with a French name and, chances are, I wouldn´t be sitting here now.
Anyways, this guy had done some real fascinating stuff and got caught out in it, the fool. That was when they said the name for what it was he had done and that stuck with me somehow. They were explaining more about why and how come when the bitch of a waitress turned off the set and told me to order something else or get out. Bitch.
Then not so long later I found this magazine in a car. Not sure why I took it, but there it was, an article about the same thing. Not about the yuppie guy who didn´t look half as suave in his orange jumpsuit as he did in his Armani. I had all but forgotten that schlub until I sat down with the magazine.
There was the word again, spelled different from how I had thought, but then I was never good at spelling. I ain´t stupid. Just left school real early and didn´t spend too much time there when I was down to go. What chance did I have with a home like mine, a sow of a mother like mine? You know, my father died when I was 13 and I thought it would make it all easier. Turned out he was the one stopping my mother from being even worse. I had to be smart to survive long enough to leave.
It was a good article, full of bits of history and religion. People had been doing it since the dawn of time. They even explained where the word came from, from Ancient Greek. `Philia´. It means `a fondness for´. You can bet I used that part a lot in conversation, when I got to have conversation. Tickled me.
Then, rule of threes, I was in a motel room when I found a whole other kind of magazine. Pretty crumby place all told and it did not surprise me in the least that the place hadn´t been cleaned properly. Don´t believe it had been cleaned at all since God was a pup. Kind of place you might find a body in the box frame and not be overly surprised. It was a roof over my head, anyhow.
There were these photos of real pale girls, the kind with too much eye-liner, and they were just lying there or hanging there as this guy.... well, you know. And there was that word again, written across the top in writing made to look like it was dripping blood.
A sign. Three times in a short while it came up and I had never heard of it before, just... felt it. It was like God wanted to bring it to my attention. Or the Devil maybe. Then again, I have never had any reason to pass up ideas from the Old Scratch. Always so much more fun than the other kind in my experience.
So next time I had to deal with someone, well I decided to give it a try and it was great. Terrific. Like I had been missing out all of that time. They didn´t resist nor threaten to leave or tell. Fuck of a lot less mouthy too. It was... like, why had I not done this before? All the signs were there and I had passed up opportunities.
Nope, I don´t do it to everyone I kill. There isn´t always time and besides, it ain´t like I want to do it to everybody I meet. For instance, after that first time, remember the waitress who threw me out of the diner when I first heard the word? Well, she was far more pleasant when she wasn´t able to cuss me out any more.
Most people are, in my experience.
It really got going when I was sitting in a diner one time and the TV was on so I sort of watched it. Dangerous thing, TV. They were talking about this guy, real respectable yuppie type on the surface of it. Don´t it grind your gears how folks judge you by surfaces? I mean, stick me in a fancy suit and get me a shave and a haircut from one of those places with a French name and, chances are, I wouldn´t be sitting here now.
Anyways, this guy had done some real fascinating stuff and got caught out in it, the fool. That was when they said the name for what it was he had done and that stuck with me somehow. They were explaining more about why and how come when the bitch of a waitress turned off the set and told me to order something else or get out. Bitch.
Then not so long later I found this magazine in a car. Not sure why I took it, but there it was, an article about the same thing. Not about the yuppie guy who didn´t look half as suave in his orange jumpsuit as he did in his Armani. I had all but forgotten that schlub until I sat down with the magazine.
There was the word again, spelled different from how I had thought, but then I was never good at spelling. I ain´t stupid. Just left school real early and didn´t spend too much time there when I was down to go. What chance did I have with a home like mine, a sow of a mother like mine? You know, my father died when I was 13 and I thought it would make it all easier. Turned out he was the one stopping my mother from being even worse. I had to be smart to survive long enough to leave.
It was a good article, full of bits of history and religion. People had been doing it since the dawn of time. They even explained where the word came from, from Ancient Greek. `Philia´. It means `a fondness for´. You can bet I used that part a lot in conversation, when I got to have conversation. Tickled me.
Then, rule of threes, I was in a motel room when I found a whole other kind of magazine. Pretty crumby place all told and it did not surprise me in the least that the place hadn´t been cleaned properly. Don´t believe it had been cleaned at all since God was a pup. Kind of place you might find a body in the box frame and not be overly surprised. It was a roof over my head, anyhow.
There were these photos of real pale girls, the kind with too much eye-liner, and they were just lying there or hanging there as this guy.... well, you know. And there was that word again, written across the top in writing made to look like it was dripping blood.
A sign. Three times in a short while it came up and I had never heard of it before, just... felt it. It was like God wanted to bring it to my attention. Or the Devil maybe. Then again, I have never had any reason to pass up ideas from the Old Scratch. Always so much more fun than the other kind in my experience.
So next time I had to deal with someone, well I decided to give it a try and it was great. Terrific. Like I had been missing out all of that time. They didn´t resist nor threaten to leave or tell. Fuck of a lot less mouthy too. It was... like, why had I not done this before? All the signs were there and I had passed up opportunities.
Nope, I don´t do it to everyone I kill. There isn´t always time and besides, it ain´t like I want to do it to everybody I meet. For instance, after that first time, remember the waitress who threw me out of the diner when I first heard the word? Well, she was far more pleasant when she wasn´t able to cuss me out any more.
Most people are, in my experience.