You know how it goes. Every morning you get up and as you go through your morning ritual (this bit is obviously for my gentle readers who actually practice some form of daily hygiene – those of you who remain unwashed can probably skip ahead lest you become confused) you are confronted with your reflection in the bathroom mirror. In my case this never fails to startle me.

We all carry around a mental image of ourselves. My mental image stopped aging and changing when I was 26 or 27. What that means is that my conception of what I look like is at least 11 years off the mark. To be more precise, it’s about 45 lbs and thousands of hairs off the mark. When I was in my mid-twenties if I had hit 115 lbs it would have been time to alert the media. And my standard line about my hair is that I’m paying dearly for hair-crimes past. So you can see how I might be a bit startled to find a 160 – 165 lb guy with a receding hairline staring back at me in the mirror each day.

This is not to say I’m at all unhappy about that guy looking back at me. He looks healthier and happier than the picture of myself I carry around inside my noggin. And this new guy could definitely hold his own in a barfight a lot better than that scrawny 26 year old dork I see when I conjure up a picture of myself in my head. It’s just that he’s really different. That’s all.

Naturally when we produce pictures of ourselves in our heads we’re not limiting ourselves to just the physical. This is where it gets really interesting. While my image of my physical self is pretty removed from reality it is at least a version of myself that did once walk the earth. I suspect this is not the case when I start to conceive of the less tangible parts of my person. While I’m not severely deluded enough to believe that when I walk into a room I command attention like Batman might, I’m pretty sure I’m not as witty as I think I am. How am I sure of this? Simple – in my head I’m damned funny. In fact, in my head I’m Patton Oswalt funny. The reason I know this is really at odds with reality is that I can’t actually remember causing anyone to fall out of their chair laughing. Patton has caused me to do this three or four times.

And this is all merely a long introduction to Patton Oswalt’s blog, Spew. I’ve never had the problems with Parisiens that Patton recounts in his latest entry, but I love the way he puts his discovery that, yes, even though Mr. Bush is a dumbshit, he’s probably right about the French being assholes. I also agree with him that Live8 is a moronic, hippie-like waste of time.

Don’t agree? Fine. Please name the last major foreign policy decision of a major nation that was influenced in even the slightest degree by a rock concert or the comments of some self-important rock star (Bono anyone?)? You can’t. Why? Because it has never, repeat, never happened. If politicians are ignoring the desires and concerns of their regular, every-day, run-of-the-mill citizens they are super-ignoring anything put in front of them by stunted adolescents (i.e. rock stars) who haven’t realized that wearing sunglasses indoors makes you look like a choad, not to mention the oblivious, TV-addled, horomonally-confused youths in attendance at the Live8 shows who (a) care way too much what dimwitted rock stars think and (b) don’t vote.

Actually, I’ll go even further. The Live8 organizers should be put up in front of a wall and shot one at a time (preferably on TV, so that we could sell ads for it – and you know that would be some high-priced ad space since there’s no way John Q. Tivo is going to miss one second of televised murder – and take that money and use it to actually do something constructive for the cause of global poverty) for creating such a monstrous multi-media gang-bang that no-doubt led millions of kids to spend an entire gorgeous summer day in front of a friggin’ video display of some kind instead of outside socializing, playing sports or doing something else more worthwhile than vegetating in front of (pick one) a TV, a computer, a PDA or a cellphone screen.

That’s probably nowhere near as funny as I think it is.

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