Death and chores unite!

There's talk of showing the video of Saddam being hanged on TV. I must admit, I'd probably watch it, even while feeling conflicted about it. There's a morbid curiosity I think we all have when it comes to watching someone die or get hurt. It wouldn't matter if it was Saddam Hussein or Clay Aiken: people would watch it, either way. Now, if it was Rachel Ray hanging from the gallows......Sorry, wishful thinking.

A few years ago, someone at work was online and asked me if I wanted to watch a beheading. I gave it about three seconds thought and told I would. The beheading in question was performed by Iraqi insurgents on an American civilian. You probably remember it. Anyway, a few of us gathered around the monitor and watched as men with bandannas covering their faces stood behind the American, who was blindfolded and on his knees, his hands tied behind his back. One of the masked men pulls out a serious looking knife and proceeds to cut their hostage's head of. It was a grisly sight, to be sure. I'd seen some horrific footage before without it affecting me, but watching this left me feeling bleak for hours after.

I remember driving home a couple of hours later and feeling like I was on a bad Robitussin high. I couldn't rid myself of the image of the man slowly having his head sliced off. Needless to say, I had regrets about watching it. Since then, before I watch anything that involves pain being inflicted on someone, I give it more than three seconds thought. I have to ask myself how I benefit from watching stuff like that. Do I come out of it a better person? Am I enlightened somehow? No and no. It doesn't matter though, because we're spellbound by the dark underbelly of life. Look at our myths, our fairy tales; our fascination with death is everywhere. As well it should be: it might be different if only a percentage of us die, but the fact that all of us owe a life, makes the topic of death central to our concerns. And since it's a bummer having death at the forefront of our live, we bury it a bit so that we can continue living.
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I came home from the gym today and looked at the messy condition my apartment is in. I was tempted to roll up my sleeves and go to town on the place, but thought better of it. Why should I always be the one cleaning up the place, especially since most of the mess is not mine? I think the situation is ironic, considering I'm more Oscar Madison than Felix Unger, but I don't like living in filth. I've lived here over six months and I've done most of the cleaning. Spira's done some--- more than Bob TV, who by my count, has cleaned the bathroom maybe once and given the top of the stove the once over last week---but nothing is done consistently, meaning hardly ever.

When I moved in, my only request as far as general upkeep goes, was that we keep the common areas of the house clean. Do whatever you want in your bedrooms, but out of respect to each other, keep the rest of the house clean. Both agreed with me, but nothing came out of it. Near the end of the summer, frustrated and looking for a solution, I sat them both down and once again stated my request that we all chip in and keep the house clean. And this time I suggested we make a chore list to make it easier delegating responsibilities. They agreed. Spira stuck to it for a couple of weeks, and Bob TV didn't do anything. I even did some of their chores to help things along, but to no avail. So no more chore list.

As it stands, I prefer staying in my room and not hanging out downstairs, and a good part of that is because I don't like seeing the mess all around me. It's actually pretty humorous because I'm the guy who used to hate cleaning my room when I was younger, hated cleaning in general. And now I'm the one fed up at the squalor that's around me. You know, it just occurred to me that much of this blog is like a Dear Abby letter. Hey, that's an idea.