Hating the Haters: A Spiteful Plea for World Peace

On the radio this morning, some dude was quoted as saying he was ready for the viciousness that had defined the Republican primaries to end.

I was like, yeah, man, right on. I'm sick of hearing about how awful politicians are, too!

Then he went on to explain that he was eager for the viciousness of the Obama vs. Romney race to begin.

Bullshit, old man! You just want to blame someone with whom you don't identify. I hope the candidates end up being super polite and courteous, purely out of spite for your hate-lust. Hmph.

This shouldn't come as a surprise.

This Saturday, Ezra Furman will be at Schubas. So will I. Why? Because he makes songs like this:

The poetry of ugly things.

Since January, I've gotten up at 5am to workout six days a week, for at least an hour at a time. I've pushed up, pulled down, squatted, lunged, jumped, hopped, leaped, kicked, blocked, punched, and vinyasa-ed to the point of nearly vomiting. As a result, I have seen noticeable improvements in my flexibility, balance, energy and strength.
And still, I look in the mirror, contemplate the approach of bathing suit season, and watch my self-esteem crumple before me. The berating begins. My least favorite of voices cry worthless! cry weak! cry repulsive, cry vile!

What language these warriors employ. Warriors without bodies themselves, who are they to judge?

For as long as I've been not-a-child, I've waged war upon my body. Because I'm a fat kid at heart. My passions are numberless and overpowering, and there are not enough outlets to vent the pressure they apply to my spirit. I refrain from chemicals, even nicotine and alcohol. Caffeine is one exception, and tragically limited in its power to placate the almighty appetite. I find refuge in food, and I eat like it's the only way to escape the claustrophobic corners of self-loathing, anxiety, and defeat. Like every bite is a twig in the dam, which I vainly hope will curb the flood of emotional intensity and spiritual struggle.

Everything I feel is heightened by my artistic vision, which others mistakenly call my melodramatic nature.

So forgive me if this is insane to you. I readily acknowledge it is so. But these words are the iron bars of a prison, to which I will now sentence my contempt and vanity and jealousy. And I'm asking you to take the key, because I'm easily persuaded by the voices of my delusions. I'd really like to leave them behind now.

I want to wrap myself in seaweed, all perfectly contained, and paint it beautiful bronze. 

Post-Traumatic Descriptive Disorder

In my job, there are certain phrases, like "strong demand is expected," that I use on such a consistent basis that I sometimes resort to desperate measures in order to maintain the illusion of my originality. Today, I described the demand that we were expecting as frantic. Compelling, right?  My boss told me to pick a "less traumatic" word. Touche.

What Makes Me Think My Office Is Designed to Prevent Pregnancy

They post the most interesting announcements directly above the microwaves, which are exactly womb-high.

I Think We Should Fight.

Last night, I finally finished the John Grisham nonfiction book The Innocent Man, which has been sending me off to bed with despair for the atrocities that occur in America's police stations, courtrooms, and prisons. Just when I'd all but entirely lost faith in humanity and our legal system, things started turning around for Ron Williamson and Dennis Fritz, thanks to the efforts of some honest and upstanding citizens (they do exist!).

Ultimately, the book left me with two realizations.

1. In the face of overwhelming adversity and what seems like a hopelessly unjust situation, even one person struggling for what's right can make a difference. It is imperative that we fight for freedom, whether it is our own, or someone else's, even if it seems futile. And it is even more imperative that we continue to fight, until we have realized our goal. There will always be injustice and hatred and pain, but that doesn't mean we should accept it. I think that the most important thing we can do with our lives is to fight.


2. John Grisham is not only one of the two popular writers I adore, but he is also a good looking man.

An Inappropriate Inequity

We all know that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. But it's one of life's lesser-known inequities that inappropriate touching is in the beauty of the toucher. 

So gentlemen , before touching a lady in any way, please verify that she finds you attractive, charming, or at least endearing. Lest she cries creep.

P.S. I am hereby claiming all rights to the phrase "Lest she cries creep."