I despise them. I mean that sincerely.
Lighthouses are lame, and if you work in one, chances are that you’re a parasite.
Consider that all lighthouses are built where? In a harbor.
Chances are, that this harbor isn’t exactly uncharted territory. It’s probably been sailed in and out of more times than a Bangkok hooker on “Shore Week”. I’d bet that all ships coming in have tools to tell them “rocks ahead!” Perhaps even, and I’m going out on a limb here: a guy on watch? A map? Maybe even a light on the boat? I really can’t imagine a sea-worthy vessel clamoring towards port and the captain saying “Wow, shore. Maybe the coast here is made of marshmallows. Full speed ahead!” …unless, of course, he previously piloted either Titanic, or it’s Billy Joel on a ship that resembles a motorcycle, or any Acura driver closing-in on a four-way stop sign.
I guess I just don’t get the purpose anymore. It all seems so back-dated. Aside from giving birth to an entire industry of lighthouse miniature manufacturers, and subject matter for shitty paintings, they just seem worthless and antiquated to me. Perhaps I’m jumping the gun, and allowing emotion to rule any opinion on them, need to learn more about lighthouses. Let’s go one better: Rather than crack a book or put actual tissue-burning time into it, I’ll take the modern route, and make some dough on my theory.
I’m going to create a reality show based on lighthouses and the people who live and work in them. Excitement galore! Feel the excitement, and smell the decaying kelp and seaweed and black mold.
“Tonight on Lighthouse: Fog rolls in… Tempers flare as the bulb goes out, and all that’s left in the supply room are some three-way soft-light units and a blinking Christmas tree light. Meanwhile, the crew is busy shucking clams in preparation for ‘Uncharted Harbor Week’ in Cape Scurvy. Will they have enough cocktail sauce? Will they sell enough miniature lighthouses to cover Captain Jim’s new wooden leg? Stay tuned…”
“Well, we replaced the bulb with the flashing Christmas tree light, but, it appears it’s flashing something pretty obscene at the neighboring harbor town, and they sent over the garbage barge. We had something similar happen when we temporarily used a black light for a week back in ’92, and Phish moved in, and played a twenty-seven hour version of the Hokey Pokey. We built a bell tower soon after… mostly as a precaution.”
It’s the equivalent of owning a windmill. “Yeah, we run a wind farm.” What in the fuck do you need to MAKE wind for? “Calm day, son. Crank up the windmills!” Meanwhile, it’s absolute terror in the neighboring trailer park as the gusts start whipping in… (oh, I know… windmills harness the wind for energy. But imagine if they simply created it instead. I’ve been working on short story with this same theme. It’s Kafka meets Bradbury, but with melting polar ice caps and lasers. And a conspiracy to sell more hairspray. It would make a killer musical. Speaking of musicals: I am going to write a Broadway musical that is a tribute to the finest TV show about nothing: Seinfeld. And what better to say “nothing”, than by, quite literally, saying NOTHING?! Take a moment to mull that over. Absorb the genius. And prepare yourself for the greatest part of this genius-like, shining example of a fine education gone horribly wrong. See, what really fucks up a good musical for me, anyway, is all that damn singing. Remember the show “Cop Rock”? Yup… that sucked, too. Cops don’t sing, they yell a lot. And who can follow a plot with all of that singing (or yelling) going on? Thus, by eliminating the plot and the singing, I’ve created a show that all can enjoy. There will be music, but in the background… like an old cartoon, or a porno, perhaps. But with banjos. If you know my alternate-dimension theory on Funk Music, that all makes sense. But that’s not even the summit of genius here. You better sit down for this. It will be performed entirely by (dig this shit) MIMES. Brilliant, I know. This where you insert the mental image of mime bowing and collecting imaginary roses. I plan on calling it “SIGNfeld”.)
Thus, with windmills providing a service, and having purpose other than something for crazy-ass Spaniards to joust, Dutch people a place to live, and a logo for an after shave that smells like either your strange Uncle Rick, or maybe that priest who talks a little too long about soccer sometimes, that makes it official:
Lighthouses are the lamest thing on Earth, officially surpassing fake tans, Olympic Games opening ceremonies, and almost any reality TV show based in Jersey. But not by much.