 The Day of Depression salute can be learned by young and old alike |
While Arnall's warm and fuzzy math looks like it involves calculus and the square root of beer, the conclusion is impossible to deny. Sometime, somewhere, in the early part of the year, life totally sucks.
Which makes me wonder if such an important date as "The Most Depressing Day of the Year" has gone by without enough celebration. I'm sure that many of us were celebrating already, just by being depressed, but such a momentous day deserves a real, honest celebration.
It's about time, too. We've already forgotten the forced smiles of Christmastide, where the only real things to hold on to were those precious, precious receipts. We're well used to writing '07 on our checks to the credit card companies. Not even Groundhog Day could cheer us up. Since there are no groundhogs in Central Park all we could do was watch to see if a subway rat saw its shadow in the lights of an oncoming train. Oops, looks like another six weeks of winter.
Therefore, I hereby declare, by the power of Grayskull, the introduction of International Day of Depression. Occurring next week.
The IDOD will be a whole day dedicated to being miserable. See, most people can only find the time to be miserable for a few hours each day, the rest of the time being spent asleep, playing video games or plotting revenge. But on IDOD, you can pull out all the stops. Stop wearing makeup (it's gonna run). Stop making sense (no one listens to you anyway). Start looking up synonyms for "inadequacy." You'll be too bleary-eyed to check your thesaurus later.
The first of many events will be the Parade of Loneliness. Participants will each find a random street corner of their choosing and from there proceed in no particular direction, muttering to themselves and giving all passer-by the official Day of Depression salute. Along the way, they may stop off at a drugstore for fudgesicles or a pack of smokes.
After that, we can exchange Depression Gifts. We're like secret ninja Santas of sadness, spreading joy in the form of anonymous e-mails, flaming "mystery bags" and accusatory suicide notes.
Then will be the world-famous Depressing Poem Contest. This is where the celebrant, in a drunken or other such stupor begins to extemporize their innermost feelings in free verse. These will be placed directly into their favorite outlet, be it their blog, Facebook, MySpace, Livejournal or open-mic night (extra points if all five), and delivered without a second glance, second thought or spell-check.
Winner is he or she who gets the least amount of replies/applause, with zero being the starting point. Good progress is shown if the poem is immediately removed or cut off by admins; something inexplicably catching fire, such as your hair or a server, is also a promising sign. Last year's winner was murdered in his sleep by a horde of chipmunks, who, after the bloody work was done, each committed seppuku.
All of this is culminated by watching the Depression Ball drop at midnight. There is no actual ball, nor does it drop at midnight, but sometime during the night you must stop, look around, and wonder if you've already missed something, and did everyone else notice it but you, and would it have been all that great anyway.
I hereby declare these events to be scheduled for Wednesday the 14th, the first International Day of Depression. Nothing else is going on that day. If you already have plans for this evening - one, you suck, and two, that's fine, bring them along. Believe me, there's no better contributor to the International Day of Depression than your significant other. Bring your family too.
Remember, you can take the power of positive thinking and let it channel your energies all the way to the inevitable breakdown, incarceration and extensive media coverage due to the horrific nature of your crimes. Or, you can embrace depression now, while you're young enough to fit comfortably into the fetal position.
So my friends, rise up for being down! Make a stand for staying in bed!
I salute you all!
