Well, I’m absolutely amazed that I remain alive. How about you? How are you feeling?

Goddamn, man, things have been crazy these past few months. I’ve lost count of the “I’ll never do that…” broken promises to myself that I’ve casually stepped over. And, you know, it’s turned out to be a positive step. New is good. New is what life’s about, after all. If you experience nothing new, how can you truly experience life? How can you even be alive?

I still have real issues with kicking aside that pesky laziness that plagues my progress as a person. Here I am, listening to music and staring off in space – sometimes for hours – just thinking, reflecting, but doing nothing, and ultimately accomplishing nothing. How can I be a writer who doesn’t write anything? I’ve often asked myself the question. I have to be the most unproductive aspiring writer ever to walk this planet. I can count on one hand the number of quality, finished fiction projects I’ve finished in the past, oh, six years – and only one of them even scales 10k words. I am in love, in love with my ideas, and yet I seem incapable of bringing them to fruition. This is frustrating, and entirely my fault. I mean, sure, Civilization IV is fun and all, but do I really need to conquer the world again? Jesus, how many hours have I pissed away in front of a computer screen? Sometimes, I think I would be better served with an old fashioned pen and notebook. Back when I was in high school, and before, I would write entire novels – hundreds of pages of material. And, never mind that most of it was absolute shit, at least I produced something. Each time, I improved, I progressed. Now, I can’t even seem to write a coherent story anymore – it’s all about snapshots, where’s the plot, where’s the narrative arch? Despair, despair! Again, I admit, I readily acknowledge that I am fully responsible for everything – all of this – and am probably capable of alleviating these concerns. But will I? Will I? That’s something I aim to shortly discover, my friends.

I often fantasize about being this quirky intellectual type, this renaissance man of sorts, and never mind that this fantasy is completely adolescent and possibly unrealistic, I still hold out hope that I can achieve some semblance of this goal.

For God’s sake, I’m still taking people their food after – what – more than 6 years? How am I any different than I was at 18 years? Sure, I have this piece of paper that people say is valuable. Okay, so I can point out a few more places on a globe than most – I know many names, dates, and isms. Maybe I’m a pretty good writer, but so what? Where does this take me? Why am I still sitting here in the town I grew up in? What the hell is wrong with me? Operationally, I am no different than anyone else.

These last few months, I think I’ve taken some important steps. But it’s time I cast down the bucket and truly improve into something more meaningful – something I can appreciate more.

I think, now more than ever, what I need to do is quit planning, quit dreaming, quit thinking, and start doing. So what if Microsoft Word has spell check? It’s time to resurrect the old pen and paper. Cast down the laptop – open a book, read, improve. I become more uncomfortable with myself each day. Time to get started.

Oh shit man, what the hell is this bellyaching bullshit?  I really like the word shit today.  It’s times like these when, you know, Leonard Cohen and..and a glass of tea can really do wonders.  Jesus, I’m controversial.  Hey, guess what?  So this blog post is totally contradictory and unfocused – Fuck you, man, it’s delightful.  I’m going to go deliver food to about a dozen people tonight – every one of them will love me.  You know why?  Because I’m a bad motherfucker, that’s why.  I mean it.  And for God’s sake, they don’t call it bipolar anymore, they call it…

…you know, it’s really time I started that long-delayed project of writing a novel about the seedy underworld of pizza delivery.  It’s frightening stuff, folks.  I’ve always dreamed of writing the next Goodfellas script, but with pizza.  You don’t think I can do it, do you?  Pizza makes lots of things better.

I’m not one of those people who thinks being dead would be very interesting.  That’s why I’m alive.  That’s it.  Let’s go to work, then.

Republicans are bordering on self-parody with their latest performance during last night’s healthcare address.  I suppose, in some circles, calling a (still popular) sitting US President a liar (in a joint session of Congress, no less) would be courageous.  All the paper thrusting and neck signs really made for good television, but it would seem their uncivil disobedience turned out to be wholly ineffective.  Seriously, Republicans.  Must you act like children?  How can there be any hope of a bipartisan bill when Democrats and moderate Republicans have to work with these characters?  Sure, bipartisanship sounds nice.  I mean, I guess it sounds nice.  But in my view, bipartisan has become a euphemism for watered-down.  Seriously, when Congress created Social Security on FDR’s watch, did they do it with Republican support?  Or did the Republicans heckle the Democrats, calling them communists? 

If you don’t want Healthcare reform to collapse into a heap of name-calling, resulting in a neutered bill masquerading as reform, leave the old boys behind.  When the dust clears, they’ll either adapt or die.  It’s that simple.

Well, being suddenly abandoned by the one you care about most – it’s a funny thing what that does to you.  But as you all well know, opportunities come from strange places.  Suddenly, I find myself in graduate school a year earlier than I expected.  I find myself yearning to satisfy the perceived void in my life, I mean the missing female, but on that note I must face a few tragic realities. 

For one, I don’t exactly look my best these days.  I was with a beautiful woman for six years, and I took full advantage of the (now expired) fact that she loved me by completely ignoring my health.  Consequently, I have a lot of work to do before I can again find a woman of comparable physical assets – a nice body, for you non-machines out there. 

On another note, I’ve spent the last six years ignoring other women – not entirely, obviously, but I avoided any conversation beyond pointless small talk.  Why?  I don’t altogether know, honestly, but you can probably muster some caveman logic out of it.  Well, let me qualify that.  I’ve been one of those “girlfriend guys.”  You know, the type that always turns down the night out with friends because he wants to go home and watch Law & Order re-runs with his chick – that was me.    At any rate, let’s just say I’m not the best communicator. 

Thirdly, I just got out of a six year relationship.  So, I’m apparently emitting some sort of “Don’t date me, I’m just looking for a rebound” aroma.  And truthfully, I don’t blame them.  That probably is what I’m looking for.  I don’t think that’s what I’m looking for, but I don’t exactly have a firm grasp on my emotions these days.  So there.  Not really sure where I’m going with this. 

My advice to you is, if you think it’s going to go wrong – it probably is.  I guess I’ll just focus on graduate school for the time being.  That, and perhaps my health.  But there are so many beautiful women out there!  And, they all have boobs.  I like those.  Being with a completely new woman after six years of the same is an incredibly exhilerating thought.  So, if we’re being honest, which we are, that’s how I feel.  So there.

It’s a funny thing, really.  But you know, I feel a little more alive each day.  Eventually, I imagine I’ll be back – independently happy for the first time in my life.  In the mean time, it’s a lot of struggle, a lot of boredom, a lot of feeling sorry for yourself.  But like everything, it ends too.

I care about the you underneath this persona you’ve adopted. You can keep it up for awhile, but eventually the mask will have to come off. I know who you are. I’ve always known. You believe you can escape yourself, but you can’t. None of us can.

Go get lost in your doomed dreams. Go get drunk with regret and shame, go get wasted in loneliness in a room full of people you don’t quite recognize. Do it. I can’t stop you.

I imagine I’m holding you in my arms, I tell you it’s forever, and one last time you believe. A moment passes and you’re gone, and I’m standing in an empty bathroom wondering if I’m going crazy. I am, you know. But like everything, it’s temporary. It will pass one way or another. You’re a beautiful person. No matter what happens, you’ll always be beautiful. Some people are just made that way.

Last night was the first time I knew I would be okay. It’s going to be a difficult journey without you, but I can make it on my own. I have to. I have things in this life I need to do. I’ll get them done. Know always that I will care about you deeply. Wherever I am, whoever I’m with, if I’m anywhere in the world and you need anything, find me and I will deliver you. I will save you. But you won’t do that, will you? You’re too proud. Who am I kidding? I’ll probably never see you again.

I cannot help but stand with the brave protesters of Iran, who are risking their lives in dissenting their government. Pictures of the Iranian bravery from Tehran and elsewhere are moving and inspiring. Never mind the question of the election’s legitimacy. The right of people to peacefully assemble in dissent of their government is something we should all support. The Ayatollah and his President stand against the protesters, threatening to crush the movement. The people’s President now faces a tough reality: Should he disperse his supporters, return to normalcy, or continue the struggle and risk thousands of lives? Are the Ayatollah’s words simply idle threats? It’s easy for us to say to the Iranians, go! Continue your protests! Be brave Iranians, the world is with you! Give us liberty or give us death, and all that. But our lives are not at risk. I do now know what I would do.

If the Ayatollah were to put down the protests with brutal force, it may backfire, leading to further unrest, maybe even some sort of civil war. At any rate, Ayatollah or not, one day the Iranian people will have what they desire.

I was there, incidentally. I was there observing displays of Nazi propaganda on the fourth floor of the museum. I was there in the dark, cool room. Nazi-era video trumpeted in the background. Hitler’s distinctive voice roused crowds as he pounded on a podium and shook his fist – but that was decades ago, a lifetime ago for many. On a clear day in June, 2009, at least one elderly extremist was still listening. I was there.

“There’s been a disturbance! There’s…a situation at the front of the building. Shots were fired at the front of the building,” the panicked security officer exclaimed as he herded people away from the platform which overlooked the lobby.

Another guard tried to console us, and alleviate our concerns. “Everything is going to be okay. If you would like, you can continue looking at the displays on this floor. We should have the situation resolved shortly.”

But soon after, we were backed against the far side of the building. “Proceed very carefully and quietly down the emergency exit stairway.” Sounds of a Nazi parade prevented absolute silence. One of the guard’s two-way radios crackled and spoke in fragments about “securing the basement.” Behind me, an elevator stirred to life.

Did the guards have weapons, I recall thinking. Have they detained the gunman (I never doubted it was a man)? Are we sitting ducks in here?

Down the stairs, quickly, quietly. We emerged to see helicopters circling in the sky, with snipers hanging from their sides. Police sirens wailed. Car engines roared as emergency vehicles bolted from intersection to intersection. More and more police cars arrived.

“Take cover!” I heard someone shout. Police were forcing us back, back across the street, back into the field, farther and farther from the building. I saw panicked school teachers urging their children to stay together. I saw families separated in the chaos, searching desperately. Nearly everyone had some sort of recording device, camera phones, camcorders, capturing the scene. Others smiled nervously, confused. “This is like a movie,” someone exclaimed. Fear struggled with curiosity. Some tourists left the area, some stayed. “I want to see what happens.” Police blocked the streets. Two officers forced an eighteen wheeler truck to turn around. The annoyed driver U-turned the truck at an impossible angle, but pulled it off somehow. “I taught him that,” one of the officers said. The other grinned.

Blood spilled that day, at a memorial designed to appeal to our common humanity. Blood spilled, for reasons unimaginable to most- but to some, all too reasonable. Blood spilled for a way of thinking said to be dead, dying – in its “last throes,” if you will.  In two weeks, three people acted independently, decided to take lives in separate incidents to make a political statement. In a matter of hours, millions are made witness to their ugly ideology. Most turn away. But some take another look. They don’t represent America – not all of it, anyway. But they don’t have to. With a gunshot, they’re made famous. America stares, stares at the grotesque, appalled, mortified, yet curious – too curious to look away.

“I believe that marriage should be between a man and a woman.  No offense to anybody out there, but that’s how I was raised.” – Carrie Prejean, Miss California

Did you hear, despite being in a state of threatened collapse, the Pakistani government is currently going forward with plans to build a new generation of nuclear bombs?

No, of course not.  But I bet you did hear about this little side-story:  A hot chick says she’s against gay marriage.  Cue political pundits, give it a couple days, and you have a full-blown media blitzkrieg.  On the right, Miss California is brave and principled.  Enter stage right:  Morning talk show appearances and reiterations of stuff we’ve already heard.  On the left, Prejean is a hypocrite.  Enter stage left:  Shameful photos of a topless Prejean (complete with stars to obscure that most intolerable part of the body:  the human nipple).  Then, Donald Trump has to decide whether she keeps her crown.

Under the surface, we have an argument about what the idealized American woman should be.  And to me, that makes all of this a little more important than your average left/right he said/she said bullshit fest.  Maybe I don’t have any business delving into this territory, but what can I say, I’m interested.  So give me a chance.  If I did have a stake, I would say something like, “You know, if we want our Miss Americas to be all pious and virginal, why do we take most of their clothes off and parade them across a stage for our entertainment?  Isn’t that a bit creepy?”  If I weren’t paying so much attention to Pakistan, I would add, “Seriously, you take a topless photo and you’re a filthy whore.  You take a bikini photo and you’re a role model for millions of budding American girls.”  I might say, “Okay, so she broke the rules.  But maybe the rules are fundamentally flawed.  We’re sexualizing our American women while simultaneously insisting that they remain chaste and unscathed.”  We ask their opinions and expect a prepared, scripted answer?  There are plenty of intelligent women out there – women who rival Ms. Prejean in beauty and absolutely kick her ass in intellect.  So, we trot out fifty bimbos who aren’t exactly stock, implore them to prance around and insist on boring, parroted answers to simple questions.  Seriously, this is our idealized American woman?   So when one says something different, something unexpected, something unpopular, she is reprimanded, threatened, crucified, and disrobed before the entire country – in a frightening display of intolerance from the the all-inclusive, live-and-let-live left.  She didn’t say what they wanted her to say, so they destroyed her.  And from the intolerant right, she is pardoned, uplifted, deified.  Never mind that she took some scantily-clad photos that they would normally find objectionable – they can use her.  She’s useful.

Never mind the politics – cast that aside for a moment and realize this is about more than that.  She may have whored herself out to Right-wing media in the midst of the storm, and she espouses a belief which I personally object to, and she may be a bit of a hypocrite (give me a break, who isn’t?).  This is about more than her.  It’s about the hers out there, who are perpetually confused about what’s expected of them in this dualistic whore/virgin society that we live in.  And political views?  Our idealized woman isn’t interested in such things.  We inform her of the correct answer, and she dittos it back to us with an awkwardly choreographed delivery – but with a smile (you’re a doll, babe).  What does it mean to be a woman in American society, what should our girls strive for?  Is it this?  A beauty pageant complete with a question-and-answer charade?  Oh Jesus, someone went off-script.  She doesn’t agree with you, she’s a “stupid bitch.”  But what if she answered correctly?  What if all went as planned?  What is she then?  And is this “she” what we want our “shes” striving to be?  Likable – not intellectual.  Sweet – not argumentative.  Complacent – not independent.  Detached – not engaged. Beautiful – but hollow.  Do we want our girls to be any of these women?

Carrie Prejean:  Sure, she’s probably not familiar with all the nuances of the gay marriage issue, but she gave her opinion – the real one.  And now, she’s swept into the firestorm.  It’s too late for her now.  We all know what follows.  The tabloids, the Entertainment magazine, the prime time interview – then the downward spiral, the meltdown, the vanquished gladiator lying beaten in the dusts of the arena.

I bet she’ll write a book.

“This is a person who is one of the most anti-American leaders in the entire world. He is a brutal dictator, human rights violations are very, very prevalent in Venezuela. And you have to be careful. When you’re talking about the prestige of the United States and the presidency of the United States, you have to be careful who you’re seeing joking around with. And I think it was irresponsible for the president to be seen kind of laughing and joking with Hugo Chavez.” – John Ensign, Nevada Senator, as reported by Politico.com

Hold on a second there, Senator.  When you say “brutal dictator,” I think you mean the foreign leader who some officials have some very notable concerns about in regards to his commitment to freedom of the press and other essentials of a free society, but who otherwise is the democratically elected President of Venezuela.  I would not characterize Chavez as strictly “anti-American,” but he was certainly “anti-Bush,” particularly in the area of foreign policy.   And can you really chastise President Obama for shaking the hand of Chavez and smiling for the camera when the former President had a particularly puzzling and well-documented first-term bro-mance (God forgive me) with a foreign leader that is as bad (and probably worse) than Chavez (Last name Putin, first name Vladimir)?

I rest my case.

I say, there’s nothing more entertaining than a mutually contradictory story coming from liberals, who believe Obama’s centrist appointments indicate he isn’t as left-leaning as advertised, and conservatives, who still insist Obama is probably the most radical leftist President in our history.  Hilarious, to be sure.  I’m enjoying the hell out of it all.  The Left is sweating, believing the only “truly progressive” appointment they’ve gotten to be Susan Rice, the freakin’ UN ambassador.  All of those recycled Clintonites are, apparently, a shade away from DINO territory.  And the Right!  Oh, the right!  How they puff with anger and worry at the thought of the looming Obama presidency!  Worse than Carter, they declare, assuming failure from the beginning.  Seriously, the most left-wing President in history?  When are you guys going to realize that Obama was never as far-left as believed, but he isn’t exactly William F. Buckley either.  Hell, I think Nixon was probably about as far to the left as Obama, what with proposing universal healthcare in the 1970s, talking with dictators, and instituting price controls.  Do you fellows even know the history of your own party?  Really, do you?

This comes as the Governor of Illinois finds himself in the custody of federal agents for allegedly trying to sell a Senate seat.  Christ!  It’s like something out of a movie.  But, don’t be so pessimistic people.  This could be Zimbabwe.

What we have here is, failure to communicate.  That’s right, friends. 

Poof, up in smoke went gays’ right to marry.  A majority of Californians voted to overturn localized measures allowing gays to marry, snatching a right from homosexuals that they had just begun to enjoy.  This is as fine an example as I’ve ever seen of what the founders called “the violence of the majority,” or majority tyranny.  A majority of people cannot be allowed to take from the rights of minorities as they please if we are to foster a healthy republic, those long dead would say.  Those too long alive, the elderly, turned out in droves to outlaw gay marriage in California.  In Arkansas, gays can no longer adopt children.  To say the least, these are giant steps backwards for the gay rights movement.  Pundits are crowing about how higher black turnout was the deciding factor – and terrifyingly, that may be true.  70% of African-Americans voted for the ban in California, as compared with a minority of Whites and a slim majority of Hispanics. 

Surely, this isn’t the end of the gay rights movement.  Right, they’ll continue on as always, hold protests, make demands, and perhaps they should.  But is this the best approach?  Acceptance of gays has taken a remarkable turn from the 1992 survey which showed a majority of US Congressmen believed homosexuality to be immoral.  But how has it come about?  Protests?  Rallies?  Or through more subtle means?  It’s up to them to decide the best approach, and they can treat this as a defeat, which it certainly is, or they can treat it as an opportunity, which I believe it could be.  For one, clearly gays need to reach out to minority communities, especially blacks.  Gay and Gay-friendly minorities should lead the effort.  Most homosexuals realize that holding protests outside black churches would probably be counterproductive.  Likewise, mass protests across the country will result in little, if any, change.  The effort has to be subtle, through entertainment, support groups, soft diplomacy, alongside court battles. 

Republicans may already be divising strategies to uproot some minorities from the Democratic party, on the basis of this issue alone.  When 70% of a population, which is ever-so-important to the success of a political party, votes against a measure most Democrats and many Democratic officials are openly supportive or at least silently sympathetic to, you should hear alarm bells.  There is no bravery in politics, to be sure, and you won’t see many high-level Democratic officials coming out in direct support of gay marriage until this segment of the population gets on board.  You don’t have to get all, and you won’t, just get most.  I assure you, however farfetched it may seem, Republicans are paying attention, and for good reason.  They don’t necessarily have to gain the support of African Americans, all they have to do is cause a schism. 

Hang in there, and dare to hope.