In which I talk endlessly of my own novelty

I have a new hero. The website is simple and clean, the essays are informative (if a bit dry), and it is, first and foremost, about delicious meat. Meat is of particular interest to me, because today is (still) Mardi Gras or Carnival, two terms whose names almost literally mean "prepare to suffer" when translated. Which means that tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, and beyond that, forty days of self denial and contemplation and looking down my nose at people who ignore their Lenten vows on Sundays (even though they're technically fine for doing so).

Oh, right, hey, did I mention I'm Catholic? I totally am! EW GROSS I KNOW RIGHT? And Lent? It is a crazy semi-pagan holiday (because there aren't a lot of those in Catholocism) where we Cat-a-holics give up something we enjoy to, uh, kind of mimic Jesus and also to kind of just live lives of quiet and dutiful self-denial, since we are all basically just piles of sparking, gooey ash anyway. But what really ends up happening (at least to me) is a weird mental hierarchy of suffering - I like to give up things for Lent that are more fantastic than just plain ol' desserts or coffee or swearing. This is because I view Lent as a competition, and it is also why I am a very bad Catholic.

I RLY RLY don't mean to bludgeon you over the head with this (because honestly, who really likes hearing about religion? YAWN), but bear with me (hee hee! Bear! With me! Send help!). Some years ago, I gave up all traces of sarcasm from what I did and what I said, vowing to remain completely genuine and true in my actions for the whole of lent, like some kind of monk or paladin or other suitable character class. It seemed like such a great idea, but in the end, I turned into an evil-minded troll of a man, because I had to just tell people that I thought their ideas were stupid and that they should be ashamed for having them. I didn't joke around, I didn't get invited to go along anywhere. I began to grow hunched and crooked and hateful and pale. Forty days of hardcore honesty almost ruined me, body and soul.

But it was still kind of enlightening. For starters, it reveals the necessity of polite lies or begrudging courtesies in dealing with other people. What are thank-you notes, after all, other than a way to just stay in someone's mind? The whole idea is that gifts themselves, humble or extravagant, (extravagancy being its own kettle of fish) are seldom delivered just for fun; more often they are tokens of courtier-like devotion to placate a host (I BROUGHT POTATO SALAD FUCK YEAH) or just to fulfill a grim duty. Christmas mornings everywhere seem to be hopelessly cluttered with hated duty gifts - we can't always get exactly what we want, after all. As children, we learn early on how to lie to our elders, how to put on fake smiles and tell some out-of-touch aunt or uncle how much we appreciate their once-yearly efforts to remind us of how much they really know nothing about us.

You thought I wasn't going anywhere near lies we tell to children with this, didn't you? HA HA JUST AS PLANNED.

The truth seems to be that Western society (okay, American society. On the East Coast. I acknowledge our foreign visitors! There, are you happy? NOW SUPPORT OUR SPONSORS) deception is necessary. Our social interactions and political systems all depend on lies to function at almost every level. I'm simply supposing that we learn the skill early on to placate our superiors - after all, why lie to an inferior - and that deception is not so much enacted out of self interest as it is out of respect. We shoulder the burdens of our friends and families, and try to lighten their load with a little fiction.