Saturday, March 19, 2011

A Discussion on Roses

Greetings, Evildoers.

I have a secret.

I was never big into roses.

I've never gotten much from them.

They seem too much like overused, pompous, self-centered flowers with delusions of grandeur that think they can capture a woman's heart with their mere presence! Buying a woman a rose (or eleven roses and one counterfeit rose) is so clichéd that it literally takes LESS THAN no effort or creativity. However, women seem to like overused, pompous, self-centered clichés, so, by all means, get your girlfriend a rose! Get her a dozen roses! A dozen lovely smelling roses!

Not that I've ever gotten much scent from roses.

I really haven't.

Granted I've haven't shoved my nostrils cheek-deep into the fumiest of rosebuds and whiffed like there was no tomorrow, but I have "stopped to smell the roses." It was fairly close to odorless. Perhaps there's something wrong with my nose, (in the smelling department not the size and/or shape department) or perhaps there was something wrong with that flower, (mutant roses?) but perhaps the analogy just sucks.

What does it really mean to "stop and smell the roses"? The literalist in me wants to describe keeling down on a muddy path and sniffing flowers of the genus Rosa. The metaphorist (not a real word) in me wants to say that it means we should take time out of our busy schedules to appreciate life, beauty, and... well... roses.

But I was never big into roses.

Besides, sometimes we need more than a snort of rose-scented, pompous, clichéd pollen. (Sometimes we're literally sick of pollen.) Sometimes we need to take a break from our completely whacked-out, crazy-ass routines and do something totally uncalled-for!!! …or at least something spontaneous and strange. Something akin to going to the local overpass and taking a gander at the work of our modern-day Michaelangelos.

So next time you're feeling stressed, depressed, overworked or borderline schizophrenic, I want you to do yourself a favor and stop…

Stop and read the graffiti.


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