January 11th, 2018

I’ve recently started reading, “Theft by Finding” by David Sedaris. It’s a book containing his diary entries from 1977-2002 and it’s a wonderful piece of literature. I love David Sedaris, and he was already my favorite author before this book was published. The new novel just reiterates my decision.

I’ve found myself really stumped lately when it comes to my writing. It’s like, as soon as my fingers rest on the keyboard I have absolutely nothing to say. And then, just as soon as I was about to give up, David released that book and I realized I’d really been trying too hard. He’s inspired me to just write down whatever thought comes whizzing through my brain. It may seem like a jumbled mess, but isn’t that what thoughts are? Never in my life have I had thoughts that come across organized and labeled. My first entry is proof.

Today I came across a person named “Person”. How did the naming of that kid come about. That has to be the laziest name I’ve ever heard. Let’s name this person, Person. Poor kid.

I was looking at my weather app today and it read 57 degrees. The ‘feels like’ was 56. How could they possibly differentiate between one degree? Weather kind of fascinates me. I thought about it all the way to work this morning. Like, shouldn’t the ‘feels like’ be the most important. This could never happen, but let’s just say that one day it’s 70 degrees. But you walk outside, it’s freezing, you look at the ‘feels like’ and it reads 32. In that instance, the 32 should definitely take precedence.

Another thing that amazes me is how meteorologist still have jobs. They’re wrong 90% of the time. No other job in America could allow you to be wrong that often and you’d still be employed. Not only are they wrong, people treat them like celebrities. When people see Ed Piatrowski out, they freak out like it’s Brad Pitt and I’m like, ‘no motherfucker I don’t wanna meet you, do you know how many times I’ve been caught in the rain without an umbrella because of you’. Then I’d kick him in the nads. That’s just a fantasy of mine. Kicking Ed in the nads.

I once had a friend in high school who started putting stars in her planner for every day she had sex. It was cute at first, but then she became a real slut and her planner started looking like the American flag.

 

Oh aging, thou art a heartless bitch

At 27 years young, my mornings are pretty consistent. I wake up between 6 and 7:30am, pee, feed my cat, and head downstairs for my morning regimen which consist of taking my Celexa, an apple cider vinegar pill, and my daily vitamin. I wash those down with a Dannon yogurt smoothie that is a perfect shot. I grab my lunch, shoo my cat away from the door, and head to work. At work I say my expected good mornings, pour myself a cup of coffee, and head to the bathroom for my second morning pee. It is here that I finally notice the inevitable staring back at me while I’m washing my hands. A white hair.

I dig through my hair to discover a colony of white hairs, laughing at me. I walk to my desk and plop down at my chair and comb through emails. Noon rolls around, and I saunter to the kitchen to pull out a tupperware container filled with the same meal I will eat all week. A sensible meal consisting of all the essential nutrients. After I eat, I walk to my car, if it’s nice outside, to lay down and relax a moment before returning to work at 1. I sit for a while until my back starts to ache. Then I stand for a while before my knees start to ache. 5 o’clock rolls around and I head home to shoo my cat away from the door again before entering.

It’s so easy to get bogged down in the aging. So easy to see all those white hairs and feel frail. So easy to take the white hair and aching bones for granted. But then I remember a good friend who passed away at 20. Or the news article about the 18-year-old kid that was killed in an accident. Or the baby who was stillborn and never even got the chance to know what touch felt like. Never knew what skin felt like against his skin. When I do reflect on that, I beam at my white hair. I gleefully take my supplements. And I am filled with gratitute that I am alive. And I can feel the achy knees but I can also feel the kiss from a lover. A baby wrapping its tiny hand around my finger. And for that, I am grateful.

 

Get It Together, Science

I am pretty fortunate in that I have quite a few book stores very close to my home. It is not uncommon for me to spend a Saturday bumbling around in one. I’ve come across some pretty interesting genres and titles in my bumbling but one thing always sticks out to me like a sore thumb: the religious section. More specifically, the Christian section.

One particular book store, Books-A-Million, has 3 entire rows of Christian novels, one of those rows being nothing but bibles. And one entire section devoted to just Joel Osteen. Comparably, the science section was the same exact size as the Joel Osteen section. What. The. Fuck. Can it really be true that Joel Osteen, a single man, has more to say and teach than the entire field of science? I can’t believe that. So, what is going on here?

Walking through the religious section, I can’t help but notice the titles of many of the books. “The Perfect You”, “Become a Better You”, Broken Open: How Difficult Times Can Help Us Grow”. All these books suggest quick fixes to a universal problem: Unhappiness. The science books, however, offer no catchy titles to grab the attention of passerbyers. Sometimes, the titles are so cumbersome people intentionally walk by, feeling patronized.

I am a firm believer that science can truly answer all the questions that religion claims it can. Unhappiness for example. I am a firm believer that the social media addiction coupled with the easy accessibility to smartphones that has struck our generation is the root of much unhappiness. Strolling through pages upon pages of posts that make you compare yourself to this person and that celebrity is bound to cause unhappiness. I challenge everyone to do an experiment. Stay off of social media for a month and see how happy you are. Notice how addicted you were to your phone in the first place.

Religion in this country has turned into a very profitable business. And a business’ objective is one thing: to make money. I imagine there meetings are very similar to meetings in a Fortune 500 company. A marketing department charged with the task of roping people in. That marketing technique bleeds right into the book aisles. They make titles that sucker punch Americans right in their gut of insecurities.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Americans are very insecure in themselves. An hour’s worth of television makes that abundantly clear. Weight loss commercials, acne commercials, online dating commercials. These products are on the rise because people feel too fat, too pimply, too alone, too insecure. So as you are bumbling through the aisles of your local book store, feeling fat, pimply, and alone, of course these titles jump off the shelf and practically slap you. If only science writers could offer some counterpart.

My argument is this: Science writers should title their books differently. Marketing exist for a reason, and the insecurities of America are not going away. Of course, in a perfect world everyone would feel as beautiful as they really are, but that simply isn’t the case, yet. Until then, their should be an equally appealing scientific option to help with self-esteem. In my mind, right or wrong, science and religion cannot go hand in hand. They are at war with one another, and science has to play all the tricks that religion does to gain followers, only better.

My Spot

It’s 8:30 at night, and I am wide awake. I have been staring at the ceiling fan throwing shadows on the wall for hours. It’s already pitch black outside thanks to Winter knocking at the door. To stay here staring, or head to my spot on 3rd? That is the question.

I stand to my feet, jerk on my jeans, grab my keys, and head to the car. The Cobalt has a layer of ice on it that has accumulated in just a few hours. I turn the defrost on high and put my wiper blades to work squealing against the windshield. I am now in autopilot as I coast down the highway to my favorite spot.

I pull onto the avenue and as always, I have my choice of any parking spot I want. For years, this place has managed to stay open with as little patrons as possible but I’m not complaining. My mind is chatty enough without being in a coffee shop full of talkers. As I’m walking down the alleyway, I chuckle at the irony of the location. If a stranger had taken me here, I would have been terrified zigging and zagging down this dark alley. I would never believe anything of substance could be found behind the facade of this dingy street. Luckily, I found the place by happenstance years ago when the night air makes you feel invincible and adventurous.

I know I’m close when I smell the coffee beans roasting and the day old danishes. I walk into the unsuspecting door, down seven steps and into my haven. Everything is just how I left it. The smell hasn’t changed here in years. You can still smell the old cigars smoked by the city’s underground elite decades ago. The nicotine is still soaked into the mismatched arm chairs but nobody really minds. I’m not greeted with any “hello’s” or “how are ya’s”, just the understanding look from fellow mismatched patrons who know exactly why I’m here. I’m here for the same reason they are. For some peace and quiet in a room full of strangers.

Without any exchanging of words, my usual order is waiting for me at the end of the bar. I sign my receipt, scoop up my items, and walk to the corner table. Thank God it’s empty. As always, I wipe the crumbs off the table from the customers before. The table is a bit dirty and the chairs a bit dusty, but this isn’t the place people come to for the environment, or the service for that matter. Your coffee cup would remain empty all night if you waited for a server to refill it. No, nobody comes here for those things.

In the corner directly across from me is what I’ve come for. The music. I’m in luck, my favorite singer is performing tonight. No mics, no amps. Just her voice and a single guitar. She sings so quietly that people speak in hushed tones. Most communication here is nonverbal, another reason people come. I finish my last sip of coffee and like clockwork, the wind picks up outside. It wouldn’t matter if we were anywhere else, any place else. But here, the wind seeps through the old windows and hits you right in your bones.

A few years ago, they put in a fireplace. Some complained that they should just fix the old rundown windows, but the shabbiness of it gives the place a kind of familiar charm. I make my way towards the fire to warm up a bit and notice some new faces huddled around. It’s Tuesday. So usually the woman with the bright red lipstick and the man in the grey petticoat are here. I don’t see them tonight. Maybe they broke up. I’ve noticed them arguing quietly the last few Tuesdays. Two  new people stand in their usual spots around the fire, and I cross my fingers that they understand the unspoken rules here.

To my surprise and relief, they do. I walk up to the fire, we all greet each other with a nod and a side smile, and continue on with our own lives. No exchange of names, no small talk. Nothing. Maybe someone filled them in. Or maybe they picked up on it as soon as they walked in. Whatever the case, I am grateful. I warm my hands by the fire, and can feel my mind slowing down with each lyric.

In the Land of Milk and Hitlers

My hands are finally beginning to play catch up to the bombardment of thoughts pinging around my brain all hours of the day and night. Fortunately, or ‘un’ depending on if you like this blog, this has resulted in two blogs in one day. Lucky you…ha!

During a late night, drunken discussion with friends at the local watering hole, the topic of the afterlife came up. I, as usual, had very differing opinions on the topic but luckily had the ability and the buzz to express them. Here are the highlights of that conversation.

I do not know the origin of the belief in an afterlife however, I have heard many theories. The one that makes the most sense to me is that the idea of an afterlife was invented by the same people/structure that invented faith-based religions. What better way to perpetuate an ideology than to also perpetuate the idea of an afterlife that damns you to hell if you do not believe in that ideology. How convenient.

Putting the somewhat suspicious origins aside, the fact remains that the idea of an afterlife is very prevalent in society. It is here, so now we must deal with it. Different religions have their own versions of heaven or hell, but they mostly have the same premise. There is a good afterlife and a bad. Disclaimer: I was raised Free Will Baptist, so many of my opinions and statements are derived from that specific denomination of Christianity. I was raised to believe that simply having faith in God would permit me to heaven. My good deeds would make no difference if I did not believe in this supreme being. More importantly, if I didn’t believe that a man named Jesus who was 100% God and 100% man sacrificed himself for my sins.

To put that in perspective, the forces-that-be have created a structure where good deeds, or bad deeds, make no difference so long as that person has faith. Now I know that you are probably saying, no no no, bad deeds are sins and sins will send you to hell. However, let’s consider this thought experiment to challenge the absurdity of this belief.

Thought experiments are made to poke holes into theories, structures, ideas, etc. With that in mind, think of this little revision to world history. It’s the end of WWII and the ally forces catch up to Adolf Hitler, perhaps the most evil man in history. There they are, guns pointed at his head and right before they pull the trigger, he falls to his knees and ask for forgiveness. According to most Christian belief, Hitler would go to heaven. One huge objection I already hear stirring is that the Lord would have to convict his heart for him to be truly saved but again, let’s imagine this happened. Hitler’s terrible acts of evil would be instantly washed away and he would be able to have an afterlife full of bliss by simply uttering, “forgive me”. I cannot believe in an afterlife or a pathway to that afterlife that can allow something like this to even have the possibility of happening.

Not only does the belief in this path to heaven create horrific what-ifs like the Hitler possibility, it totally negates the importance of the present, the impact we have on the earth, and the here-and-now. No wonder the streets are littered with trash and the oceans have floating islands of litter. Most humans see this world as temporary, a brief stopping point on the way to wherever they think they will spend eternity. It sets up a dichotomy where nobody who believes in an afterlife feels accountable for the impact they have on earth or the other people having to share this planet with them.

I read an excellent quote that I believe fits well with this blog. It reads, “I wish people cared as much about the earth as they do in who created it” or better yet, I wish people cared as much about the present as they do about the future.

 

‘Blind’ Faith

Hello Readers… all two of you :). Let me apologize in advance at how lengthy this blog may be. Usually, I can narrow my thoughts and convey them in a very direct, brief blog. However, with this topic, I cannot seem to find that window of inspired writing but I feel like I must write about it.

Recently, I’ve met a wonderful man who has become a dear friend to me. His story reads like a fiction novel, but sadly it’s non. I’ve never thought too highly of institutionalized religion, and after meeting him it has left an even bitter taste in my mouth. To be brief and conscious of his privacy, he was raised in a Christian ‘cult’ that subjected him to terrible things. It’s unfortunate that when he tells some his story, the reaction is, “Well why didn’t you just leave?”, or, “How could you believe in something so crazy?”. Some of you should ask yourself the same question in regards to your beliefs, but that is for a different day.

Instead of attacking the institution and infallible structure (religion) that allows these cult like environments to thrive, they attack the victims when the real problem lies in the fact that religion is the most powerful force on earth with the least amount of evidence. Just think about the premise of religion for a moment.

The very core of religion lies in the fact that there is no evidence for it. It’s called ‘faith’. At the center of almost all religions is an infallible, all-powerful being. Because that is so widely believed, there are so many people who take advantage of that power and portray themselves as messengers or interpreters of that power, i.e. priests, rabbis, imams, etc. That is why the saying, “Called to preach”, is so common. It subtly suggests that God himself called this person to preach. That in itself gives that person a sort of power and influence over believers of that faith.

I don’t think there is any denying that because religion exists at all, it gives power and influence to people who are sometimes good and sometimes bad. The good people are not the problem, obviously. It’s the bad people who go on to create these cult-like environments mentioned earlier whose actions are never questioned by the people they have brainwashed because when questioned, they’re answer is, “just have faith”. “Get married at 14 to a complete stranger, why you ask, because God told ME that is best”.

I would love to conclude this blog by suggesting a solution to this problem. I think the solution is pretty simple in theory, not so simple in practice. Question everything. Your mind has the ability to think and evaluate in ways that no other species can. Use it, appreciate it. Take nothing on faith alone. Think about people’s motives, and never be afraid to ask why. If you are EVER in a situation where asking why is discouraged, then that is when you should REALLY ask why.

 

 

The “L” Word IRL

Recently, I’ve been railroaded with the reality of how powerful the will of one person can be. It is amazing how a single person can come through your life completely unannounced, and certainly uninvited, and rip up every foundation you’ve laid. But, I am a firm believer in trying to learn something from every situation, unfortunate or otherwise, which is the inspiration for this blog.

I’m not sure how familiar the audience will be with the television show, “The ‘L’ Word”, but it is a show centered around a group of lesbians living in a very liberal California. It is perhaps the first time lesbians were showcased on major television. It follows the lives and relationships of a group of lesbians that culminates in ‘the chart’. ‘The chart’ is a diagram in the show depicting ‘hook ups’ among the group members and people outside the group.

While watching the show, I thought to myself, ‘there is no way people are this indiscriminate about their partners’. There seems to be no types, not certain characteristics longed for. The show depicts lesbians as being attracted to women solely based on if they are a lesbian as well. Obviously, it was a tad offensive, but a great show none the less. However, the longer I live in the lesbian-deprived south, the more I understand how true this is for some lesbians. Let me explain.

I believe in the south lesbians are so desperate for a connection with another lesbian, the ritual of dating gets lost. The joke, “What does a lesbian bring on a 2nd date? A U Haul”has so much truth to it because being raised around virtually no lesbians makes you almost desperate when you do find one you have the slightest connection with. It also makes it harder to have a group of friends who are lesbians because it makes you feel like you have to keep an eye on them in a way. I’m not saying that straight people don’t have these same challenges but I obviously don’t have the same insight into the straight world. I do believe they have more choices so the challenges are different.

There has been so much progress lately with equal rights and that is undeniable. I do hope the atmosphere continues to evolve making more closeted men and women feel comfortable to come out. I think in some parts of the country, the dating ritual is still very much a part of straight privilege. It is rare that at 16 a lesbian has the chance to pick up their date and go to the movies and be sure to return home by curfew. More often than not, one or both of them have to sneak around due to disapproving parents, friends,  or society in general. It is a privilege that is taken for granted by those who do not know what it’s like to have their relationship so strongly opposed.

 

 

The Death Ritual

It occurred to me tonight just how odd we treat death in our culture. I went to a visitation tonight, the morbid practice of viewing someone’s corpse long after they’ve died. I hesitated inside the lobby for a bit, hoping nobody would force me into the room where the body rest but alas, I was pushed into the viewing room to perform the ritual of looking at my dead aunt. It was not her at which I was looking, but some painted up handy work of some funeral worker to make her look somewhat alive. That was not the aunt I remembered nor do I want to remember her that way. I was robbed tonight, and every other night I’ve gone to a visitation, of the opportunity to remember her as she was. Everyone was robbed of that. The older I get, the more I despise the practice altogether.

Mom is one of eight, so naturally when one of the eight passes, I think of her death. If all goes like it should, I will one day put her to rest and more and more I cannot imagine me allowing so many people, family or otherwise, to gawk at her decaying body. She wants to be cremated and honestly, until tonight I could never imagine myself allowing that. But cremation seems so much less morbid after years of visitations and funerals.

People make the argument that visitations and funerals allow grieving family members to say goodbye but I call bull shit. If you’ve waited until a funeral to make things right with a person, you’ve waited too long. Honestly, it’s almost unfair to the dead to allow people to spend two hours at a visitation and think whatever wrongs occurred during that person’s time here are suddenly made right. What is also unfair is not only putting a body on some sort of display but putting the immediate family in a position where they have to almost present that body to the people. How cruel to make the family stand by a casket all night long while mustering every strength they have to keep a smile on for the sake of others. And if you’re reading this and thinking, “Well nobody makes them do that”, or “They want to do that”, then I would have to kindly disagree and argue that our culture demands this of them.

Death By Small Talk

I’m sure most every individual with internet knows about the Myers and Briggs personality quiz. I, like so many, found it intriguing that a test could tell me things about myself that I didn’t quite understand, so I took it. I am, according to Myers and Briggs, an INTJ.

Of course, I researched all the characteristics of an INTJ and the most spot on description was, “Hates small talk”. It was like an epiphany because yes, yes I do hate small talk! And I hate “political correctness”.

The reason those two things go hand in hand for me personally is because I like talking about the big issues, and when I say big issues, I mean shit that actually matters. I like talking about racism, and religion, and politics, and how the hell gay marriage affects anyone other than gay people (sorry, had to).

Political correctness seriously impedes these discussions. The biggest and most obvious example, I think, is racism.

When it comes to talking about something as important as racism, the conversation has so many hesitations because you have to be so aware of even what adjectives you use. Recently, I was in a conversation about racism and used the term black people. OMG you would have thought I said the ‘N’ word with how quickly somebody came back with, “African-American!!”. And that is fine. If you prefer to be called “African-American”, I totally respect that. But don’t let something that I deem insignificant hinder the big picture and the big conversation about racism. Being called black is not the big issue here, it’s police brutality, white privilege, etc etc.

Another example is talking about religion. If you cannot tell me at least a basic history of your beliefs, then in my mind the conversation is over before it begins. For example, how many practicing Christians, Jews, and Muslims do you think are aware that all 3 of those religions stem from the same person, Abraham. Look it up if you don’t believe me. All 3 religions have the same ‘father’ and yet, they are always feuding. They have been since their invention. But, try to have an academic conversation with a religious person and they all but throw holy water on you before walking away. You have to be so sensitive to what you say and how you say it when having religious conversations but why? Everything has a history. Wars, inventions, ideas. So why can’t we have those same conversations about religion, and talk about them in the cultural context of the time. There is a reason this religion or that religion expanded so rapidly during its beginnings. There is a cultural reason why it was relevant during that time and why so many people jumped on that particular religious bandwagon. But giving an actual history to something demystifies it doesn’t it? And we simply can’t have that.

I wish so badly that we would become more curious about our surroundings. Don’t ponder how something works or why it works, research it. Become educated beyond reading, writing and arithmetic.

Masters of Control

It is a very strange mindset that people have towards mental illness in this country. When I have a broken limb, I see a doctor. When I have blood sugar spikes, I see a doctor. But when I have an onslaught of thoughts that I cannot control, or have a panic attack in the middle of Big Lots because there are too many people on the toilet paper aisle, I do nothing. Why is that?

I believe that people, not just Americans, fear mental illness because it is something we have no control over. If I have a broken limb, I put a cast around it. If I have blood sugar spikes, I take some insulin. However, if I have uncontrollable thoughts or panic attacks, what can I do? I can’t put a band aid on my brain.

Homo sapiens have done an excellent job of controlling everything in our environment. We have weather controlled shelter all year long, and even weather controlled shelter when we travel. We have domesticated wild animals to serve our needs and manipulated crops to feed the billions of people now inhabiting this ever shrinking planet. We have cross-bred both plant and animal species either out of necessity or for pure pleasure.

So here I am, a homo sapien who has completely mastered my environment. But I can’t sleep at night. There are, at times, so many thoughts racing through my mind that I cannot even grab one long enough to process it. It feels like all at once a million bees have been set loose in my mind and trying to catch one is an impossibility. I am bouncing around the office like a spring loaded Tasmanian Devil one minute and then suddenly, I’m sitting at my desk for 3 hours completely silent. My mood swings are so abrupt, even I am caught off guard at the sudden urge to scream to the top of my lungs. That feeling quickly leaves and I find myself hiding in the bathroom crying. Why? I have no idea.

Of course I realize that something must be happening. Something physical inside my brain that is out of my control. The chemicals in my brain just don’t work like they should at times. The brain is, after all, a physical organ just like any other physical organ in the human body. I believe the main reason people have such a stigma about mental illness is because people believe that the mind and brain or two separate entities. They believe in the physical brain, but also in the mind that is not physical. This is the reason why movies like “Freaky Friday” are so successful. People want to believe that within them is a soul like mind that transcends the body.  I believe this is why mental illness is especially taboo in the south, where religion is such a staple.

I’m not sure that any one theory can explain why mental illness is associated with shame. Like most things, I am sure the issue and reasoning is very complex. It is odd to me that something that is so abounding as mental illness in this country is still so taboo. Look how many people are affected by cancer each year, a very physical disease that sadly ends in death without treatment. Now, look at the statistics on depression in this country, also a physical disease that sadly ends in death without treatment. Think about how you would react if you started seeing signs of cancer. How fast would you be at the doctor for treatment? Now think about how you would react if you started seeing signs of depression. Would you run to the doctor as quickly as you did when the signs of cancer emerged? Or would you chalk it up to a bad day? Say that things will be better tomorrow, or the day after? People fool themselves into thinking they can ward off depression with pure will power, but I can guarantee they don’t think they can ward off cancer with will power. Why are these two diseases viewed so differently?