Thursday, October 16, 2008

I wanted a bed. You gave me air quotes.

Irony is sublime. It can be anyway. In film, in visual art, in fiction – in all those places, irony deftly applied can’t be beat. I EAT that shit up.

But in a hotel, at 10:00, when you’re checking in after six hours sitting in coach next to a chatty three year old, Irony is a big fat asshole maneuver. Upon reaching my room, I am not looking for an opportunity to begrudgingly say "Ah, hotel. You win. Well done. Yes, ha, the room is mismatched and wittily uncomfortable. I see what you did there. I get it, funny hotel. The price per night itself is ever so jolly, but the crappy mismatched bullshit you are peddling really brings it home. Wasn't expecting jejune, you scoundrel. I get it. Heh. You magnificent self-indulgent bastard of a hotel. And I can tell that it's just going to get funnier every time I walk in."

It's not even irony, though. That’s more like mean-spirited, hair trigger sarcasm.

I am staying at a sarcastic hotel.

(I’m also really, really tired today.)

Kid on the plane story:

Kid: Do you have any kids?
Me: I have a daughter and a son.
Kid: Do you like your daughter?
Me: Yeah, I love my daughter.
Kid: That nasty.

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Blogger said...

Sarcastic hotel= bad
Man eating hotel with nasty disposition that's feeling peckish and hasn't had a thing since dinner and it's nearing midnight= terrifying
I fear for you.

9:32 AM  
Blogger Greg Mills said...

I first read that as "man eating hotel", vs "man-eating hotel" and that's a whole different visual.

10:52 AM  
Blogger said...

Ha! You do stay in interesting places Mr. Mills!

11:20 AM  

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