So I found a ball of rubber bands lying around. My father made it; Its likely nearly as old as I am. I noticed some frayed pieces sticking out, and I was bored, so I started removing layers of rubber bands so that the broken ones would fall out; something I'd been thinking of doing for a while. Just about every band I removed caused some broken rubber to fall to the floor. Time after time it would seem like I'd reached the end of the broken elastics and it would so happen that one of the removed bands let another broken one into view.
At some point I decided that I couldn't possibly remove all of the broken bands without completely deconstructing the ball. So I got it down to the point where the frayed bits were barely noticable and would be rendered invisible when I put the intact rubber bands back on. I looked at the two piles of rubber bands; one broken, one intact. They were about the same size. I discarded the broken ones, and proceeded to wrap the intact bands back around the ball. When I was done I was looking at a ball that looked clean and neat and completely undamaged, but still showed its age, as was natural seeing as it was still made of the same material.
I looked at it, and I thought of myself. Over ninteen years I've developed as a human being, there are certainly some weak strands. And they could, in theory, be remedied. But at what expense of time? And how many layers before I've been completely deconstructed?
Just one of those things you contemplate when you're bored and alone.
I saw the Forty Year Old Virgin today with some high school friends. It marks the second movie that I thought I'd dislike that I went to with them just for the hell of it and enjoyed, the first of which was Anchorman. The fact that both involved Steve Carell can hardly be seen as a coincidence.