Lazybones

The other day, dear reader, one of the senior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—found himself lying on his couch, taking in the feculent film 10 Things I Hate About You. Wretched, isn’t it? Indeed, when “Chip” realized that he’d just suffered through around 15 minutes of the picture in addition to 47 minutes of accompanying commercials without so much as a yearning to shut off the television, he realized that, in typical Alcoholics Anonymous parlance, he had a problem.

We mean, come on: It was a gorgeous weekend day, the sort that simply begs for a walk in the park, or at least around the block. The sun was shining, there was a delightful breeze, and the local ne’er-do-wells were nowhere to be found. What the heck was “Chip” doing watching a wretched teen pseudo-comedy starring the preternaturally talentless Julia Styles? Talk about the antithesis of carpe diem, eh?

It is a bit upsetting, is it not? But wait: It gets worse. For “Chip” had already seen 10 Things I Hate About You before—in fact, he’d probably seen bits of it dozens of times. All on bright sunny days, he’d wager.

What in the good Lord’s name, he wondered, compelled him to gander at this horrid spectacle? Odysseus had the Sirens: “Chip” has 10 Things I Hate About You. At least the Sirens could carry a tune.

Sickening—that’s the only word for it. Well, one other comes to mind: Lazy. And, quite frankly, this description fit “Chip” more than he would care to admit.

It’s sad but true: Like many members of the crack young staff, “Chip” fashions himself as something of an intellectual. Yet how can he call himself by such a title when he spends far more time with Heath Ledger than Marcel Proust? “Chip” has yet to finish A Remembrance of Things Past, but he’s kept up with nearly all the lame teeny-bopper flicks Comedy Central can re-run. Priorities, priorities.

But surely “Chip” isn’t alone. The Third World may have its own hurdles—AIDS, an outrageously high infant mortality rate, starvation—but we in the First World must have a lock on laziness. After all, say all the bad things you want about Zimbabwe, but its residents aren’t vexed by John Hughes films. They’ve got Robert Mugabe; we’ve got Mary Stuart Masterson.

Pick your poison.