Converting to Evangelical Christianity
These last few weeks, I’ve listened to the words of Illinois Governor J.B. Pritzker and the hosts of NPR and PBS news programs. Shit is bad. Things are fucking fucked up. And we’re doing the best we can based off of the shitty truth this coronavirus COVID-19 forces our leaders and exhausted experts bring us. And I’m no dummy. I can read writing on the wall. These are end times. And that’s why I’ve made the very hard, very serious decision to convert to Christianity.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of March 22, 2020
My son, like so many other two-year-olds, loves ambulances and firetrucks. To occupy him, I’ll sometimes let him watch 9/11 news reports on YouTube.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of March 15, 2020
This COVID-19 pandemic is worse than 9/11 because we can’t hug each other.
The Primary Reason I Didn’t Vote in the Illinois Primary
The primary reason I didn’t vote in the Illinois Primary yesterday—Rachel Maddow’s third best orgasm of 2020—is simple: It wasn’t important.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of March 9, 2020
Slowly but surely, if the U.S. doesn’t get its hands and head around this pandemic, it will consume us. It will destroy the markets because of fear, quarantines, and no one spending. We’ll crumble before we come out of it. And our leader is so unbelievably clueless to it. The health officials have to contradict him with the facts at every turn. Everyone thought it was a joke. Nope. Idiots. All of us. And Tom Hanks is going to die. That is our ultimate punishment.
Enjoying the Perks of Novel Coronavirus COVID-19
COVID-19 is coming for our favorite food, our favorite professional sports league that doesn’t have cheating champion teams, and the one Baby Boomer white man of all America can get behind. Things seem bleak. But after spending forty years in this body and several thousands of dollars on therapy, I am well-equipped to find the silver lining in any situation. I’d tell you that I’m a positive person in moments of crisis, but I feel that telling you I’m positive in this climate would only scare you off.
Sailors Grow Weary of the Wind
Therapists get tired of listening
Sailors grow weary of the wind
Parents are exhausted by their children
Losers become bored with trying to win.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of March 1, 2020
POTUS matters. But nothing matters more than the Senate. No president—not Sanders, Biden, or Trump—can do all the good or ill they want if the Senate does its job right. If Trump wins, which he probably will, he’ll be rendered almost powerless if we can get the barnacles sucking at his disfigured taint out of office. Policy is law, law comes from legislators. Put the majority of your focus on the Capitol, not the White House.
Any Fiction Can Be Written By Anyone
Who has a right to tell what pretend stories? The answer is simple: Anyone who doesn’t suck at writing.
Cummins’ American Dirt doesn’t take the story of immigrants away from actual immigrants. They have their stories. They should tell them. And here’s where the rub is: they must have the platform to tell those stories. That is, publishers ought to be looking for diverse voices. Not simply to fill a skin color or gender quota, but because diversity is a great thing for creativity. I don’t know what the publishing industry is like for a person of color. I do know that I’ve come across a lot of agents and publishers who are looking specifically for women and people of color, which rules me out. Which is why I think the diversity should be about the stories. What’s good? What’s got a new approach to a familiar tale? Perhaps that comes from fewer white men. Sure, I don’t care. That just makes me have to work harder to be better. Feels like a good challenge to have.
Suicides and Saxophones
I went to junior high with this kid Ben Jameson*. We played saxophone together. He was always one chair ahead of me. I liked Ben. We goofed off together. He had great hair. His mom was hot, just like mine.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of February 23, 2020
Purity is a fallacy.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of February 17, 2020
I’m in Waco for work today. And you know what they say: “When in Waco, do as the Branch Davidians do.” So I’ll be making a stop at the Silos to have a cupcake and buy a candle. The candle will then be used to burn down a compound.
Two Cab Rides in Trump’s America
“I see so many white folks freaking out. That’s because they’ve never heard this kind of talk this way before. They’re finally hearing what black folks have been hearing since the beginning. This is nothing new. Don’t worry about it. Just do what’s best for you and your family. We’ll all be fine.
The Sound of Clanging and Indoor Soccer Games
There’s far too much noise
and I can’t tell if it’s coming from the neighbors upstairs
or just the usual clanging in my head.
I don’t hear the clanging as often or as loudly as I used to.
I suppose that’s a good thing.
But right now, with the baby put down, the puppy mellow and asleep on the warm mountain of clean clothes on the couch, and the wife off visiting a friend, the familiar clanging is as loud as it once was.
And I feel like a bachelor.
That means now is the perfect time to clean.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Valentine's Day Edition
Valentine’s Day is a lot like getting asked to tell a joke on demand. There’s a lot of pressure to perform perfectly and usually you come up short.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of February 2, 2020
The Republican Party has unquestionably revealed itself to be criminals and cowards while the Democratic Party has unquestionably revealed itself to be grossly incompetent cowards.
Holding My Son as We’re Violently Burned to Death
But, son, I was not lying when I said I’d do anything to protect you.
Anything to keep you safe.
Sometimes that meant watching you put yourself in harm’s way.
Life is pointless without risk.
Sometimes it meant watching you get your heart broken
or hearing your bones break from the bleacher seats on the sidelines.
Harm and hurt, you see, are unfortunately, required of us.
The Universe demands it.
They are two of the many ways we learn and become stronger, better people.
Or so I always tried to be better
and I hope that I instilled that desire in you.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of January 26, 2020
Failure is necessary. It helps us learn and grow. It keeps us humble. But there exists one unredeemable failure, which is having untied shoelaces past the age of seven.
Hope Idiotic | Part 44
And there’s the biggest difference between us, Michelle. There’s the difference that should have kept us from maybe ever even becoming friends to begin with. Hope doesn’t mean anything. Hope is what people have or do when they can’t have or do anything else. Hope is inaction. It’s sitting back and just waiting for what you want to come. It’s hoping for everything to work out. It’s what we have when we feel we have nothing else. I don’t ever want to hope. I want to have. I want to try. And I’m okay if I fail. Hope won’t get anyone a goddamn thing. It never has, and it never will.”
Hope Idiotic | Part 43
A year had passed since Chuck died. I had quit Tigris and put my dusty PhD to good use as an adjunct professor at Nevada State University where I taught uninterested twenty-somethings the finer points of Beowulf and the Epic of Gilgamesh. The schedule allowed me to work on my novel, and the pay was enough that any freelancing I did was out of choice, rather than need. My nights were void of death-metal concerts, replaced by bath time with my boys.
Andy disassembled his weapon with lighting speed. He packed it away in the black backpack made specifically for a weapon of this sort. He bolted to the roof access door as fast as his little, chubby legs would carry him. He made his way through the condo/office building stairwell without being noticed just as he had done on his way up. Andy was good at his job. And for a nine-month-old baby, he was really good at it.