A Half Century Plus Two: Lessons of my 52nd Year on the Planet
The sheer number of lessons learned from 52 is kind of ridiculous. Some years yield a few solid rules of thumb as I hitchhike down the road of life, others hand me a stream of unending guideposts to keep in check like a consistent smack in the back of the head. It leaves a five-inch section of my skull numb and bleeding and a headache in my left eye from my brain being bounced around.
While I feel a bit like a Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robot with the head sprung up, I’m still standing and thus the categorization of lessons learned and heeded for the future begins.
Notes from the Post-it Wall — Week of January 28, 2018
• I know a guy who sported a man bun for several years including years long after it was (miraculously) considered cool. He recently cut his hair and holy shit! He was bald under all of that long filthy hair. There’s nothing wrong with being bald but there is something really funny about growing your own toupee.
The End of the World Is Fictional… For Now
Post-apocalyptic fiction is one of my not-so-guilty pleasures. I recently read Year One by Nora Roberts. The story really jives with my dystopian-loving heart. Most of us have sat in our safe little societies and daydreamt about what our world would be like if it all came unglued. It’s a casual study of humanity under the ultimate duress. What would we really do if the world were ending?
American Shithole #2 — How Deep Is Our Shithole?
Ugh, what a week already.
I have entertained adding the occasional silver lining/ray of sunshine to a column that could likely depress more often than elate. This would require a subheading. American Shithole: Turds of Wisdom, or American Shithole: Kernels of Truth, perhaps.
Or, American Shithole: I Just Can’t, Today.
A Frenemy's Kind Words and Last Laugh
They were all from Michigan. Detroit area but not the city proper because they were white women, and white women don’t live in Detroit city proper. They were in Las Vegas for a girls’ weekend. Weezy and I got past the pleasantries. I asked the question she was always asked: “Is Weezy your real name?” Her real name was Linda. But she hated that name so she went by Weezy. I don’t remember where the Weezy name came from. I may have asked her if she was asthmatic. I don’t know. It was a long time ago and there was a lot of free vodka making the rounds. The name fit her. She was short — “fun size,” she told me — with short brunette hair. She was silly and smart. I liked Weezy. And I dug her polka dot skirt.
The Minutes of Our Last Meeting – Beautiful Clean Coal!
Trump Coal-Powered Rocket Ships – We’ll put Elon Musk out of business!
The Indelible Brand of Shame | A Society of Scarlet Letters
Not long ago, a woman reached out to Literate Ape about a picture of her on our site. She claimed she had been abused by a boyfriend and had been coerced into going to Neo-Nazi rally. There was a photo. After a short ethics wrestle, we took the photo down.
The Daily Banter, on the other, hand, not only left it up but exposed the woman's name, uploaded a provided recent photo (we were sent a few of these selfies but refused to run them) and ran a story about it entitled Dressing Up Like a Nazi is Forever.
Don't Be A Biff
Regardless of what the actual reality is, all generations need to see the error in thinking this way and speak up to people that express sentiments such as these. Break the mold. Change the future. Create examples of compassion and kindness for younger generations, who may then escape unmarred by such outdated thinking.
I Believe.. [Nikki Haley was Humping a Bag of Maggots]
…that the only must-see event that eclipses The Greatest Showman as revisionist make 'em up but hysterical historical fiction is the Trumpster's State of the Union Address on Tuesday. I'll be watching it with The Greatest Hits of the Tijuana Brass playing in the background.
Callout THIS Culture: Femme Fatales, Don't Unite
If we are ever to get out from under this “fairer sex/nurturer” stereotype, desperate measures are perhaps required. I see you marchin’ so I know you know how to get out into the streets.
Act now while the initial investment can pay in dividends. Concealed carry isn’t just for bros anymore. This means you too, Mom.
The Lies We Tell To Just Get Out of Bed Every Morning
"If only [this thing] were true, my life would be so much better."
Man, are we all full of shit.
Setting up expectations and promisary notes of happiness or fulfillment or peace is natural but we, the Essential Human, fuck it up every single time.
What’s Your Obsession With That Word, Whitey?
My issue is this: why do you have this obsession with that word? Why do you want to be allowed to say it?
Notes from the Post-it Wall — Week of January 21, 2018
• Vince McMahon is bringing back the XFL. I attended an XFL game in Las Vegas back in 2001. It was the third saddest thing I’ve ever seen. The first saddest thing was my dead dog. The second was the last time I had sex with an ex-girlfriend and her naked body reminded me of her father in a bathing suit.
Natural Causes — Part II
On the ninth month after Joe had died of natural causes, Mary was in St. Francis reciting her novena for the dead, quiet like, lips moving, nothing coming out, holding her rosary. A shadow crossed her sightline to Jesus. She looked up, lips still moving, thumbing the beads.
"God bless you."
American Shithole #1 — Stephen Miller: Spork Amongst Cutlery
The talking heads are discussing today, with great enthusiasm, if it's Stephen Miller (and not the president) that’s running the show on immigration — which should mean we’ll have Miller’s resignation sometime in the next few months.
It is a remarkable feat to be the “most-despised” member of this administration, but I loathe Stephen Miller on such a visceral, base-level, that my neurons fire erratically as soon as I see his churlish, sourpuss visage. His countenance on television brings about the emotions you might expect when cleaning dog diarrhea.
Who Are You, CSI?
From Vegas to New York. From Miami to Cyberspace, the CSI franchise is responsible for nearly 800 episodes and countless DNA swabs. Not a fan of the show, though am a fan of the band responsible for all four CSI's theme music: The Who.
The Minutes of Our Last Meeting – Building and Paying for the Wall
Me-hee-ko? They’ll pay. We’ll charge a cover charge at the border crossing. Or, even better, a membership fee! Want to enjoy the greatest country in the world? It’s going to cost you $100k a year. Love it. Call the Democrats! There’s your DACA! Now, seriously, leave.
“I Don’t Regret My Past but I Do Regret That There is Proof of It...”
“I don’t regret my past but I do regret that there is proof it.”
That statement says an awful lot about where we are in the ongoing evolution of modern society. I can hear Weinstein, Spacey and even Trump saying the same thing. I can imagine certain police officers saying it. Politicians saying it. Internet trolls saying it.
Christ, that statement could be the lasting meme that defines this particular era of social media, call out culture and unrelenting intolerance for disagreement on moralistic grounds.
Reasons I Went Home with Them: an Alphabet of One-Night Stands
A seemed tormented and sad and was into history and Existentialism and porn and played basketball and piano.
B was planning on going to nursing school, and he saved me from the guy at the bar I didn't want to talk to.
C could talk about Foucault, philosophy, and sociology at length. I guess you could say he had me at "Foucault." And he played in a band.
I Believe… [Affirmative Consent Is the Way To Go]
…that Affirmative Consent Laws this are the exact and necessary step to take nationwide. Yeah, it’ll be a huge learning curve for all sexual beings but I think we can sacrifice a tad of the spontaneity and danger of hook ups for a better standard of how to do it safely.
“Journey will survive the apocalypse. Cockroaches, radiation, and some asshole singing “Don't Stop Believin'” over the ruins of Cincinnati.”
“Why Cincinnati?”
“Seems like the kind of place where the apocalypse would start.”