Friday, July 31, 2009

Independence

I think the word is lost on many people. We think of Independence Day, both the film and the actual day, we think of freedom, we think of liberty... but none of these things actually have to do with independence.

Let's take a look at the word: In-, the prefix that negates the following: -dependence, as in being dependent. Those are pretty awful definitions, but you can see my point. Independence is not about telling people to fuck off because you can do what you please. Independence Day is about fighting off tyranny and oppression or some shit like that. For Americans, this is about beating the bad guys and standing up for what's right. For people who know the meaning of the word "independence" it is about no longer being dependent on another party to help you function.

To this respect, there is no Independence Day. It is a false holiday. America gained its sovereignty, but it is largely dependent on even more of the world than when it started as a colony. So the next time you think about blowing something up to symbolize your nation's "independence" ask yourself just what part of China those fireworks came from.

The One

You know, the idea that there is just one perfect person out there for you, while romantic on the surface, is a just a sign of one's inability to commit.

Commitment isn't being with the perfect person; that's just logic. Commitment is being with someone who is imperfect and there always being a possibility of someone out there being more. Commitment is making a choice and standing by it. After all, what happens when you meet that perfect person the day after your wedding? What happens when you meet them twenty years later and you have kids with someone else?

If you believe in "the one," then you either have to cut and run, or live the rest of your life in the misery of knowing that you'll never be with "the one."

Personally, I just want a good one.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

The Oracle at Wendy's

So, I went to Wendy's for dinner tonight. The girl at the till was cute, efficient, and very friendly. That in and of itself made the visit memorable.

I sat down in one of the lonesome corners of the restaurant to eat. From across the restaurant I heard a voice say, "I know him. I know him."

I was amused and wondered if perhaps I was known by someone in the dining area. I didn't know anyone, but maybe someone knew me. Perhaps, I thought, someone knew me without ever meeting me before. Perhaps someone was telepathic.

I always liked the idea of someone being telepathic. The idea that someone can know you inside and out and you have no control over it is both scary and refreshing. Secrets are like life in that sense. Sure, you should protect them, but you can't stop a telepath any more than you can stop the Grim Reaper. So why not think your thoughts? Why not communicate via your brain. It's not like it's embarrassing, because either no one is telepathic and you're just thinking, or someone is telepathic and you're communicating with them.

So I thought to myself,'What if he knew my name? Maybe he could be telepathic. Maybe that's how he knows me. Give me a signal if you know me. Give me a message that you understand. Give me some sort of sign.'

Nothing. We all continued to eat.

My mind moved on. I was texting around and having some laughs. And in the middle of a text, I hear a child nearby say 'goodbye.' It was the voice who knew me. Right there at the edge of my table was this 6-year old child who walked across the restaurant away from his family to say goodbye to me and no one else. I smiled and said goodbye to him too. He said to me, "My friend is in black car," in the way that children tell you the important things in their life, like "I'm real good at soccer," or "I have a Batman;" they have the calmest enthusiasm ever. I didn't understand, so I asked him where his friend was again.

"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"He's in black car."

That's when his slightly older sister came to collect him. The boy refused to leave, his tiny hands locked onto the edge of the table. He just looked at me. As brief as the moment had been the moment ended when his mother called from the aisle that it was time to stop bothering the nice man.

"Bye."

I know it sounds ominoius and eerie, but it didn't sound like that at the time. He was just talking in the wonderfully happy, matter-of-fact kind of way that young children do. But why me? Why from all the way across the room? I never even acknowledged him when he said he knew me.

I don't know who is in the black car, but that's the sign.

Monday, July 20, 2009

How did you manage to do that?

Love is like getting your head stuck in the back of a chair. It's always easier to get into it than out of it. You also never know exactly how it happened.

We're a stupid lot

Regret is like a hangover. You wake up after what you feel was a wonderful night and you ache. You vow never to drink again, never to fall into the folly of what was once your ways. You never want to hurt like that ever again. But the opportunity arises once again to feel something wonderful and before you know it, it's the next morning and you feel regret once again.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Alive

Goodness gracious me. That was one drunk blog last night. I'm lucky to be alive.

A night out.

My brother got married today.

We drank, we laughed, we drank some more.



I want to work at the bank. We went down to the Met afterwards and I tried dancing, but I couldn't get into it. I don't want to dance with some stranger at a bar. What's the point. I looked out the window and saw the bank. I though to myself, "I want to drink me drink because it is Friday, but I want to got to work on Monday morning in my suit and tell people the way that I think the world should be run.

It's weird that the prelude to a marriage if fraught with me thinking that love is above all else in my life and that I wish that I could believe in something more. Yet after the marriage I went out and thought that there was something beyond love that I could want out of life; and that love and a career can occur at the same time... but not tonight.

Tonight, I was a man divided. Though I am always there for my brother, I may also always be caught up wondering about my own life. I wonder, though I don't envision a day like today being held in my honour, if we have a future. I wonder if I can let myself share this, and if you can share this with me. I wonder why tonight no other girl, not in all of their makeup, not in their fanciest dress, not with copious amounts of liquor, and not in the loverly mood of a wedding, I wonder why not one girl could compete with a simple phone call.


Not one.




But, alas, here's to the bride and groom. I hope that I will find my way as you did yours.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Beards: The Public Pubic Hair?

Okay, okay, I know you're all thinking "but you have a beard. And more importantly, I have a beard!"

This is largely true (some of you may not be able to grow beards). But let's look at the facts, shall we?
  1. Beards and pubic hair both start growing at puberty.
  2. Beard hair is unlike head hair, much like pubic hair is unlike head hair.
  3. Both yield a very good scratch when you have an itch.
  4. You can experiment with making fun designs in them.
  5. Proper maintenance is important.
Now you're thinking "yeah, okay, maybe, I guess. But it still doesn't sound very good." And, if you're a woman, you- I'm sorry, first let me welcome you to the blog - if you're a woman you're possibly thinking "but I don't like beards."

Here's what the problem is. A man grows a beard at puberty and separates himself from the boys. A woman grows pubic hair at puberty and separates herself from the girls. By removing the hair of our puberty we only attempt to emulate our childhood. First off, how sick is that?! We all know that every man is some percentage of a paedophile. If you say you've never looked at an underaged girl you're lying or a woman. But what about the women that desire men to emulate prepubescent boys? If a woman said that she shaved her pubic hair because it was expected of her we would be outraged, right? Who is a man to expect a woman to shave to look like a prepubescent girl? Yet women have conjured up this social expectation that men should have to remove their beards. What's worse is that some men reinforce this idea!

Now, I'm not saying that I'm opposed to anyone's removal of any of their hair (other than entire eyebrows... I just don't get that) but no one, man or woman, should feel obligated to remove a natural part of their adulthood, nor should anyone be told that they need to, or even that they should.

Now, I know what you women are thinking. First of all, I'd like to thank you for reading this far. Not only am I excited to have your readership, but look forward to seeing some feedback in the comments.

But like I was saying, I know you women are thinking "but we put our faces on your face and it's itchy/scratchy/krusty etc. You don't put your f-"


Oh really?

Friday, July 3, 2009

Racism: It's Not Black and White

I try really really hard not to be racist. When you come into my store and stick a bottle of whiskey in your pants, I try really hard to believe you when you say you put it back while I was walking from the security camera to the liquor aisle. But when you ask "is it policy to search every black guy who comes in here?" I think "no, it's my policy to stop petty thieving fuckwits while I'm busy earning a living."

Oh, and when you get your two latino goons to come help suckerpunch a store clerk, I'm not judging you by the colour of your skin, but by your complete lack of character.

The whole experience got me thinking, though. Perhaps racism is part of healthy discrimination. On the outside, that looks bad, but it's important to understand what discrimination is. Discrimination is eating sealed candy at Halloween opposed to the free candied apples from the man on the street with the trenchcoat. Discrimination is sticking to the well lit streets than the dark alleys. Discrimination is hanging out with your friends in a crowd. Discrimination is voting one political candidate over another. Discrimination is the very foundation of our way of life. So, when you're punched in the gut for trying to stop a black guy from leaving with the bottle of whiskey stashed in his drawers, the hindsight reads that you should have been a little more discriminatory.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that racism is the only way in which we should discriminate. Far from it. One of my favourite customers is black. I love that guy! But he's an older, more respectable, and all around less suspicious guy. So upon judgement of his clothes, his age, his social standing, being black doesn't even factor into the equation. But when some teenage asshole comes in with pants off his ass and a hoodie two sizes too big, being black factors in. White assholes with big hoods and low pants are just trying to look cool when in truth they are just idiots; not to mention if they are stealing, they give up when you catch them.

I hate having to say that racial stereotypes are true, but they can be when combined with the right circumstances. Just the same, you can tell all the white kids who are bootlegging, drunk, on drugs, and/or trying to pass off fake IDs to some extend by virtue of their whiteness. I assume this because the only drunks, drug users, (obvious) bootleggers and (again, obvious) fake ID users are whiter than a 10 piece McNugget meal.

So, this is the part of the blog where I'd normally try and suggest ways to end racism or steer it in a more positive direction. But until the numbers balance out, I think racism is here to stay. I'm sure I'm discriminated against for the clothes I wear, the people I associate with, the car I drive, the things I pay for, and the blogs I write. But if I had a problem with it I could take actions to change the way people look at me.

My first change to deconstruct racism would be to not steal shit or punch store clerks.