A few random thoughts...

You have to admit "String Cheese Incident" is a pretty good name for a band.

I asked my husband if he would love me if I became a flesh eating monster. We realized we don't really have unconditional love...We have one condition: That our unconditional love have no conditions. So...yes. We have monoconditional love and he would continue to love me in my flesh-eater state.

Excuses To Self

Lots of people who have mastered the art of making excuses to others fail to grasp the subtle craft involved in making excuses to oneself. This is tragic because in fact making excuses to yourself and believing them is the way not only to peace of mind and joy but to absolute and total credibility with others.

Hobbes (or it may have been Mr. T) claimed that the fool sayeth in his heart he can get away with everything. That's why he's a fool. As smart as Hobbes is, he just didn't get it...Or maybe the things is if you aren't a fool then credibility is within your grasp because you are smart enough to make good excuses and stick to them.

The thing is...later, I'll explain why making excuses is not lying but at the moment I just want to illustrate an explanation of one reason why excuses to yourself are necessary and how they work.

One of the major reason excuses to yourself are necessary is unless you are a sociopath (Lucky you! Just disregard everything I say here then. You don't need any help at all. In fact, you could probably teach us a thing or two.) you probably feel a lot of guilt. Most people have this guilt around the edges. For some of us guilt permeates our whole existence. We just aren't doing what we are supposed to be doing. Some of us never do or have done what we are supposed to do. We're just a little bit bad, a little bit pathetic aren't we?

Sure, we try sometimes but for some odd reason trying just doesn't count as much as you think it should. If we were just measuring what we can be responsible for making excuses might even become unnecessary. Since it is quite possible we aren't responsible for much.

But I digress. Essentially, making excuses to yourself becomes necessary when there is something that is quite lovely and there are no serious moral objections to it but mere puritanical prohibitions. Eating rich food, having sex all day instead of doing any of the chores or errands, masturbating in nearly every free moment, spending too much money acquiring things of beauty.

Now you may be asking yourself...What if there are serious moral prohibitions? What if I want to hurt someone for example? Obvious case that springs to mind where people rarely need any help making excuses: Adultery, Sexual Infidelity, etc.

Look, I can't make you good. If you are going to believe your own excuses when doing something bad to someone else then frankly you just haven't thought the thing through. The reason excuses aren't lying is that excuses--especially those you make to yourself--are true...in a manner of speaking, in a sense. Well, I'll explain it later. I want to get to examples now.

Example: You feel guilty because you spent too much money. You feel guilty for enjoying yourself...for eating delicious food, for buying things of beauty, for indulging your senses, for travelling to foreign countries where life is exciting.

First: You have to ask yourself--Why do I feel guilty? If the answer isn't because you really hurt someone but is because you are supposed to do something different...you are supposed to be a certain way...there is a certain boring norm you can't psychically dodge...Then it's time for a good excuse.

Historical examples are always effective, although they often require a certain amount of research. There are just too many to go into but frankly...let's talk about the Romans. How much do you think they spent on home decor. Oh ho my friend. Do you think mosaics come cheaply. You think they didn't go into debt. They went into debt pal, far into debt.

And our best dressed (but perhaps most tragically hypocritcal) president. Yes, I'm talking about the great Thomas Jefferson. Died in debt. Massive debt. But was his house cool. Yeah, way cool. Have you compared Mt. Vernon to Jefferson's house. Washington didn't die in debt and let's face it--his house sucked. (OK, he did free his slaves at death and Jefferson's were sold to pay off his debts. But you won't have that problem.)

I have this picture in my study. And I didn't even realize that this can be my final, decisive salvo in the argument to avoid the terrible war with the French. Thus, I end the argument with this.

Explanation of Prior Satire...

It has come to my attention that certain French people have made their way to my little satire about the war with France.

Ordinarily, I'd be confident in the ability of anyone living in France to recognize satire. (This is based solely on my reading of Balzac--for I was telling the truth when I said I know little about the mores and folkways of the French.) However, the comment from the guy from New Zealand has shaken my confidence.

Hence, I believe it is now necessary for me to explain the satirical elements of the essay, editorial, what have you. Since I am quite disturbed by the thought of anyone taking this literally. I think of the Simpson's episode where the Simpson's went to Brazil and were attacked by monkeys, etc.
The Simpsons is a show that only ridicules the United States. It amazes me that non-Americans could even enjoy it. It is so culturally specific to the U.S. The Brazilians didn't see it as a satire ridiculing what Americans would think of Brazil and thus ridiculing Americans..They thought: They are making fun of Brazil!

This was in fact ridiculing the stereotype (occasionally true) that Americans go to foreign countries and then are disturbed by the fact they are not like the United States. No one spoke English! They had strange animals! It was dirty, etc.

So unsatirically, let me explain a few of the ideas which lie in the background of my satire:

The U.S., oh, the U.S. Where does one start? This crazy country! How do you even explain it? Whew!

(1) When people claim the U.S. is an imperialistic hegemon...I have to say they are right. Except we aren't a successful hegemon. A talented hegemonic imperialist produces attitudes, desires, beliefs in those it hopes to dominate without also making them feel resentment. I'm afraid the U.S. is a cloddish hegemon--like a lover you think would be good to show off but who then embarrasses you at parties. If he just kept his mouth shut you might continue to want him. But he opens it and reveals his agenda and then your disdain is impossible to squelch.

Yet, like all ambitious hegemons, the desire to produce certain loyalty, love, gratitude, etc. on the part of others is there. Thus, for those who fully embrace a vision of a U.S. dominated world order examples of disloyalty, criticism, and so forth just rankle.

I'd like to think it was only limited to the President. The president is actually bothered by the fact that citizens of other nations do not regard the United States with the loyalty one would think is only appropriate to citizens of the United States. (Not recently, I'm afraid. But if it is appropriate to anyone...it is appropriate to U.S. citizens.) No...Wherever you are, and whatever you do...You are expected to be a patriot. A patriot of another nation. One you don't live in and perhaps have never even visited. If you cannot find it in your heart to be a patriot, then the least you can do is be grateful for the interest we've taken in you!

We know that our national anthem isn't all that great. But we are hoping you will learn it and sing it with fervor...starting now.

I hope you are starting to see that this all has the potentially to be very, very funny. In fact, most of us would laugh until we were sick every day except for the fact that all these amusingly absurd beliefs seem to lend themselves to actions which cause the suffering and death of other people. Still, as you see, there is occasionally the temptation to amusement to maintain one's fragile grip on sanity. I succumbed to this temptation when writing the satire, below.

(2) The French are among those who continue to prefer and value their own national culture and interest over those of that of the U.S. I think there are many explanations for the surprising antipathy to France I've come across in surfing the web. But this certainly seems to be one of them. A second one might be explained by the fact that only members of a stereotyped ethnic group are allowed to criticize or joke about that group. As appalled as we are, it is annoying when someone who fails to fully understand what's really going on points out all the appalling things.

Now...a few explanations of specific elements of the satire

QUOTE: Now what's this all about? Watching those with nuclear weapons, etc. we forgot those who have an even more powerful and more deadly weapon. A weapon that makes us want to do away with them without pity. For it is impossible to pity them such as they are. We cannot mourn their deaths or care for their welfare. Why? Because they have this one deadly ability. An ability that sucks all the empathy from our hearts. I'm talking about the ability to be really, really snide." END QUOTE

Points: (1) Pity requires superiority. (2) But when you have vast technological and economic superiority (such as that the U.S. has over Iraq) over someone it is discomfiting to exercise power over them. Given this logic, only the French are appropriate targets of our superior military power. Please note I do not think the French are appropriate targets. In fact, I think no one is. The whole thing is madness.

QUOTE: We just need a war, any war. It doesn't really matter who with. Once everyone sees our weaponry...They sure as heck won't mess with us...Uh, at least not directly. They might mess with us in a really sneaky way. Like by blowing up something we all hold dear. But not directly they wouldn't! ENDQUOTE

This is just obvious...I'm simply pointing out that the expression of mighty power does nothing to stop those saboteurs from within.

As for the rest of my 'reasons to go to war with France' I'm hoping the power/pity/French not succumbing to our seductive ways fully explains them.

QUOTE: Not nice... What better justification could we have for a war? In fact, isn't this the real reason we always go to war? To make everyone just a little bit nicer? ENDQUOTE

Let's face it. This is a rough summary of all the reasons we have been given for going to war against Iraq OK, it's not really. But there is a kind of peculiar personalization of politics occurring now. Putin is a 'nice guy' but Hussein is 'not a nice guy.'

The rest is just absurd--I'm ridiculing myself for the most part. I don't think Ann Coulter is a prophetess. Bla, bla, bla.

The true parts: No French friends. Hated the movie Un coeur en hiver. Baffled about why people utilize Lacan to explain social reality, understand why they use Foucault to do the same. My American friends in Paris do only date Algerians.

What did I tell you?!

Stop The War In France!

Listen, this guy lives in France.

In the 3rd grade, I once convinced a girl in school that we should follow a religion I made up. I based the religion on Greek mythology. She didn't know any Greek mythology and so I guess my grasp of the complex details really swayed her. I told her that we were actually the daughters of gods and that we had these special magical powers that would manifest themselves any time now. I think I picked Cory Merkel because she looked the most like a fairy princess.

We began to worship Zeus. We would ask Zeus for things and then see if we got them. We worshipped the whole pantheon--Zeus, Athena, Hera, Demeter.

We wrote each other fervent letters working out the complex doctrines of our secret faith. We were true believers.

Then I guess one day...I don't remember this part exactly...It sort of came out that this was sort of made up. She was very angry.

I ran into her many years later at a high school party. She actually told me that she was disappointed for years after that...mourning the loss of the only religion she had ever believed in. (Her parents were atheists.)

I tried to explain to her how I wasn't really LYING. That even though I knew it wasn't true, literally true, I believed it too in a certain way. I wanted it to be true and thus made it semi-true to myself. She didn't buy it and probably hates me to this day.

But isn't that always the way it is? It's always better if you can make yourself believe the thing you are putting over on someone. And how is that you can really truly believe something and at the same time know it isn't actually true? I sometimes do this to make life more fun for me and sometimes to get out of trouble. That's the problem with being a deceitful person with too much imagination--All you have to do is lie and it can seem to you like you've actually changed reality.

Why The World Can Fail To Meet Our Expectations

"There's this one girl on the project who really scares me."
"Why?"
"Well, for one thing her name is incongruous. Her name is Krystal."
"What, is she like some big bruiser or something?"
"No. She's just washed out and pale and looks like one of these farm people around here."
"But that's what Krystals look like."
"Oh. Really? Hmmm. Well, I guess that's what I get for reading Playboy so much."

The American People Are Just ITCHING to Go To War

To go to war with France, that is.

Now what's this all about? Watching those with nuclear weapons, etc. we forgot those who have an even more powerful and more deadly weapon. A weapon that makes us want to do away with them without pity. For it is impossible to pity them such as they are. We cannot mourn their deaths or care for their welfare.

Why? Because they have this one deadly ability. An ability that sucks all the empathy from our hearts.

I'm talking about the ability to be really, really snide.

This guy wants a war with France
QUOTE: "I believe that this nation will only go to war with "Brown People". Who was the last "white" country we fought? Germany? How many "brown people" have we fought since? (We need a good old fashioned war with the French or English again. Like back in the old days. Bloody british, with their silly accents, and their silly tea. Ooh! Ooh! How about Canada! Yeah...) Ahem. Sorry."

More evidence for the growing hostility.

They might have been kidding...But Ann Coulter just comes right out and says it...What we all think, way deep inside.

And we have to understand why...Here are some reasons hard to argue against:

(1) We just need a war, any war. It doesn't really matter who with. Once everyone sees our weaponry...They sure as heck won't mess with us...Uh, at least not directly. They might mess with us in a really sneaky way. Like by blowing up something we all hold dear. But not directly they wouldn't!

Yes, the Iraquis have some cherry bomb/pipe bomb like piddly thing hidden away that we can blow totally out of proportion. Smashing them to bits in a heartless and unjustified way would show we mean business!

But the French are UPPITY. We'll see how much they complain about the encroachment of English into colloquial French after we've hit them with a few of those daisy cutters.

(2) Deep in our hearts we know that all of Iraq will happily come to the land of the free and the home of the brave. They will weep with joy to eat Top Ramen, sob with gratitude for the gift of one single pat of butter.

The French don't WANT to come here. And they wouldn't deign to eat our food. They would walk through our glistening Safeway/Costco/Sam's Club with a sneer on their face. The butter would make them gasp in horror. Even Land O' Lakes isn't good enough for the French.

They've defied us far more than Iraq ever has or ever will.

(3) It's depressing to attack the Iraquis. They are starving to death and living under the yoke of a brutal regime combined with a brutal embargo--after being one of the most developed and well-educated countries in the Middle East. After having an extraordinary cultural history going back thousands of years, they are beat. We see it in their eyes. We know if we bomb some formula making factory thousands of babies might die of hunger (although we can conveniently ignore this fact...it does sort of gnaw at the edges of one's conscience).

The French on the other hand think they are the shit. They think they are on top of their game. They are well-fed, smug, self-satisfied. We won't have to feel depressed and guilty when we bomb their foie gras factories or whatever

(4) The Iraqis will make us feel superior. We'll break them down, then build them back up. We'll show everyone just what 700 billion dollars can do.

The French make us feel inferior...They are such ingrates. We save their butts in WWII and what do we get for it? Just a bunch of cultural critiques, moral critiques and ridicule. Ridicule that is easy to translate into English. Plus, we already KNOW they have nuclear weapons!

(If you do ever feel inferior to the French...for real...I suggest you go here.)

I'm against war. I want to stop this war. The way things are going, it's is going to be incredibly difficult. We all know what a prophetess Ann Coulter is.



Besides being a major babe who can get many men to fall helpless at her feet. If she wants it, I tell ya...it's going to happen.

I'm trying so hard to think of reasons to defend the French. I want to say "but some of my best friends are French." Then I realize: I have had friends from virtually every European country and most of the 'big' Asian, South American and lots of African countries.

(Thanks to a kindly person who I presume is from one of these countries who commented below I will edit to say I also have friends who hail from: Australia, French Polynesia, Iceland and New Zealand. None of these countries are in Africa However, I do believe one can visit Africa from any of these countries. But I don't know if there are direct flights or what. You'll have to figure that out for yourself.)

Seriously. It's like a real U.N. when I give a party at my house.

Even with all this intercultural contact, I have never, ever had a single French friend.

Once I met this really nice girl from France. I said "Wow. You're just so nice! I didn't know French people could be that nice." She said: "I'm not really French. I grew up in France but my family is Hungarian." In fact, she told me the French really aren't nice! Not even to her! A native French speaker.

Not nice... What better justification could we have for a war? In fact, isn't this the real reason we always go to war? To make everyone just a little bit nicer?

I kept meeting wonderful, kind people in Paris.
They always turned out to be from Afghanistan or something.

Oh, dear.

Then I remembered: My best friend's stepmother is French and her dad is a real Francophile.
But then I remembered again how my husband and my favorite activity around them is to amuse them with our American stupidity...We say just those things that will evoke snideness and then pretend to be utterly unaware of it.
So they won't be a good example to save France with.

Oh! There's this other friend of mine...actually two friends--they both live in France!
Except they only date Algerians.

There was the French New Wave.
But there is also the movie Un Coeur en hiver .

And then there is Balzac, Stendahl, Rousseau, Voltaire.
But there's also Lacan, Derrida, DeMan, and Helene Cixous.

Well, there's still Foucault. Maybe only Foucault can save them now. I hope so.

I tricked the gender tester

Thus, this is me.



Rather than doubting their absurd test...They have decided that I am a freak of nature.

The test guessed with 93% confidence that I am a man...It said "you are definitely a man."

The thing that seemed to flip out the test was the way I guessed a question about a male porn star's name. "Jack Black" or "The Slot Machine." But Jack Black is already someone's name. And 'The Slot Machine.' What a good porn star name!

Duh. Oh, and I want a white rather than a blue bedroom. I hate blue!

Johnny Cash would be so happy to know--- I walk the line...the scary line

They said:

"You know, for every question, we track very carefully what each gender answers. This allows us to guess with the utmost accuracy what you are. And in the rare case where we guess incorrectly (like now), we have the opportunity to learn from nature's mistake. You.
People like you, who walk the scary line between man and woman, are *very* helpful in understanding exactly what it means to be human. Thanks, and good luck."

Heh, heh. Yeah man. I hate blue and I'm a gender outlaw.

Winter is upon us. Thus, I've stopped going outside. It seems like such a waste of time and involves a certain amount of physical discomfort. Everything I need is inside anyway. At least for the time being. I have enough canned goods to get me through to January. I think I'll just wait for a thaw and stock up again. Oh...I forgot! The internet.

Never have to leave the house again.

From the Random Personal Picture Finder

I HOPE this is just a case of someone taking their Halloween costume a little too seriously...

Things That I Expected To Happen But Never Did

1. I expected that one time I would be unconscious and I would wake up and everyone would be standing around me looking concerned and I would ask: "Where Am I?"



2. I expected that I would drive a man (one I liked of course) so wild with lust he would rip my shirt off and the buttons would go flying.

3. I expected that I would get to make some kind of pivotal, climactic speech like:

Stanley Kowalski to Blanche DuBois
"Take a look at yourself here in a worn-out Mardi Gras outfit, rented for 50 cents from some rag-picker. And with a crazy crown on. Now what kind of a queen do you think you are? Do you know that I've been on to you from the start, and not once did you pull the wool over this boy's eyes? You come in here and you sprinkle the place with powder and you spray perfume and you stick a paper lantern over the light bulb - and, lo and behold, the place has turned to Egypt and you are the Queen of the Nile, sitting on your throne, swilling down my liquor. And do you know what I say? Ha ha! Do you hear me? Ha ha ha!"


Terry Malloy to Charley Malloy
Charley Malloy (Rod Steiger): Look, kid, I -- how much you weigh, Slick? When you weighed one hundred and sixty-eight pounds you were beautiful. You coulda been another Billy Conn, and that skunk we got you for a manager, he brought you along too fast.
Terry Malloy: It wasn't him, Charley, it was you. Remember that night in the Garden you came down to my dressing room and you said, "Kid, this ain't your night. We're going for the price on Wilson." You remember that? "This ain't your night"! My night! I coulda taken Wilson apart! So what happens? He gets the title shot outdoors on the ballpark and what do I get? A one-way ticket to Palooka-ville! You was my brother, Charley, you shoulda looked out for me a little bit. You shoulda taken care of me just a little bit so I wouldn't have to take them dives for the short-end money.
Charley Malloy: Oh I had some bets down for you. You saw some money.
Terry Malloy: You don't understand. I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am, let's face it. It was you, Charley.

Terry Malloy: You think you're God Almighty, but you know what you are? You're a cheap, lousy, dirty, stinkin' mug! And I'm glad what I done to you, ya hear that? I'm glad what I done!

Jimmy Stewart in Mr. Smith Goes To Washington

Now, you're not gonna have a country that can make these kind of rules work, if you haven't got men that have learned to tell human rights from a punch in the nose. (The Senate applauds) It's a funny thing about men, you know. They all start life being boys. I wouldn't be a bit suprised if some of these Senators were boys once. And that's why it seemed like a pretty good idea for me to get boys out of crowded cities and stuffy basements for a couple of months out of the year. And build their bodies and minds for a man-sized job, because those boys are gonna be behind these desks some of these days. And it seemed like a pretty good idea, getting boys from all over the country, boys of all nationalities and ways of living. Getting them together. Let them find out what makes different people tick the way they do. Because I wouldn't give you two cents for all your fancy rules if, behind them, they didn't have a little bit of plain, ordinary, everyday kindness and a - a little lookin' out for the other fella, too...That's pretty important, all that. It's just the blood and bone and sinew of this democracy that some great men handed down to the human race, that's all. But of course, if you've got to build a dam where that boys camp ought to be, to get some graft to pay off some political army or something, well that's a different thing. Oh no! If you think I'm going back there and tell those boys in my state and say: 'Look. Now fellas. Forget about it. Forget all this stuff I've been tellin' you about this land you live in is a lot of hooey. This isn't your country. It belongs to a lot of James Taylors.' Oh no! Not me! And anybody here that thinks I'm gonna do that, they've got another thing comin'. (He whistles loudly with his fingers in his mouth, startling Senators who are dozing or reading other materials) That's all right. I just wanted to find out if you still had faces. I'm sorry gentlemen. I-I know I'm being disrespectful to this honorable body, I know that. I- A guy like me should never be allowed to get in here in the first place. I know that! And I hate to stand here and try your patience like this, but EITHER I'M DEAD RIGHT OR I'M CRAZY.


I don't know these by heart, by the way...

4. I expected to be made dictator of my own country...or possibly dictator of the world.



Why did these things never happen (or not yet)? They seemed so reasonable at certain times...

Finally I feel like I can talk safely about Death and Plastic...the trauma is over

Wow. After I sounded kind of jaded about blogging (really...I'm not...I just have this need to categorize things--ask Immanuel Kant...he can explain it).

Here I was led to the most incredible animated cartoon which I believe is an ad for Kikoman soy sauce. OK, perhaps it is not the most artistic thing but it is just so tremendously strange

The last idiot blogthought you can freely allow yourself to make: The most fascinating thing is how lonely this makes me when I am never lonely when away from it...As soon as I step away from the keyboard the feeling of loneliness dissipates. I can't tell if the spatial metaphor is responsible for this: An infinite web of which I am less than the link between the strands...Or if it is too message-in-a-bottle like. Giant ocean. Little me. On island. All alone. Send bottle. No one finds. Die of scurvy.

The act of sending my signals out into the internet is always reaffirming my own transience and insignificance at every moment.The fact that I sit here alone. And yet it somehow deludes me momentarily into thinking that I am making some sort of connection.

It's so much like cheating at quitting smoking...I have this vision of how delicious a cigarette will be...How it will connect me with the eternal now, quell my inner demons and provide eternal nirvana. Then I smoke it. It tastes (a) awful or (b) just OK but does nothing that I imagined. Yet because the imaginary pleasure was so compelling really all I can do is smoke anyway...If that's a letdown then not even trying to smoke right then is an even a bigger letdown.

The prospect of getting cancer is such a buzzkill, let's face it.

Well, it's not true that blogging is the only time I ever feel lonely. I remember the time that I got my finger caught in the hole for one of those wetcloth dispensers. It was an existential moment of agonizing pain. I saw that each man is alone in the universe. I faced my own death. I believed that my finger would never be free and yet my injury was so ridiculous that I could not seek help. Thus, I would die because I didn't read the (really small!) warning not to stick your finger through the hole.

Yes, I felt lonely then. I knew there was no one I could turn to. No one who wouldn't make fun of me, that is.

Metablog

Freakin' hell...I said I would never write a metablog. 'Cause such things could be dangerous. You'd start blogging about blogging. Pretty soon you'd be blogging about blogging about blogging about blogging about blogging.

Think it isn't possible. There...up there I just blogged about blogging about bloggin. Right now I'm bloggin about bloggin about bloggin about bloggin.

Be careful man. I mean it!

When I first found out about blogs...well, let's just say it seemed like an idea whose time had to come--a genius idea. I used to dream as a child of calling up strangers on the phone and asking them what they were doing. (Luckily, I refrained from doing that. Um. I think I did.) I've always wanted to spy on people (Luckily I also refrained from doing that...well, mostly.) Once we found the key to someone's house. I was about 12. We just went in and looked at all their stuff all day. Then we locked the door, dropped the key in the mailbox and left. That's what blogging reminds me of.

But this is what I hate the most about this little 'hobby': God, the boredom that arises at times! Telling the truth about my life, saying one damn thing about my life. So boring! Yawn. That's the last time I'm doing that.

Like watching TV, reading blogs can make me cranky. If I were a man, crankiness would make me go out and shoot my coworkers or something. Since I am a woman I...what? Take a long hot bath, forget to call my husband.

There are 5 main blog genres that I have come across so far
1. The Angry Young/Middleaged Man: Political....Left or Right--doesn't quite matter for level of content alone because the kind I am thinking of lack evidence, arguments, information. If you agree with them you'll say "fuck yeah!" and get angry...If you disagree you'll want to put 40 bullets into the computer screen...and get angry.

The ones on the right drive me insane, the ones on the left give me useful links. Rarely does one find arguments in either. That's how I'm defining the genre, in fact: mere polemics. The one that makes me want so filled with rage I think my head might explode is Yale pundit. The thing that amazed me the most about Yale was how dumb so many students there were. I sometimes think: Maybe it was just ressentiment? They mostly came from rich families, were destined for a life of privilege I would never have, wanted it all to come easy anyway. Unfortunately, this blog confirms some of them really were as stupid as I thought.. No arguments, mere slander.

Diagnosis of these boys: They aren't cool. They know the leftists get more chicks, have more fun, better sex. Filled with resentment at their unpopularity, they feel alienated inside (yes, conformity is a response to alienation) and they want to make the hate within appear externally as hate without. Thus, they say things that horrify and disturb their fellow students. When finding everyone hates them for their political beliefs, they can avoid recognizing those character flaws which might make them confront their own self-hatred. Then, when they spew vitriol all over everyone and those who are splashed with it react with horror, they get together in a little group and discuss how 'the left' controls the university and affirm one another's persecuted status.

I'm not sure what to say about the middle aged ones. I think it is roughly the same problem. Cognitive disfunction caused by some deep social/psychic wounding.

I understand the anger of the left. I had that anger. I'm working on a new thing now. What is it? I wouldn't call it 'not caring.' It's something else--something??? hmmmm. It's like emotional detachment. I'm depersonalizing politics. Thinking about it from the outside. Avoiding it as an 'identity statement.'

You think I don't know we are living in evil times? Reading the newspaper is like looking in that globe that lets you see the eye of Mordor.

It seems like there should be a better response to evil than pissiness, that's all I'm saying.

Whew! Got a little sidetracked there.That's what the 'mere polemics' blogs do to you.

Genre #2: My funny, whacky life. Self-explanatory.

Example: I realized today that I am living entirely on peanut butter. Peanut butter is the source for all my celular and metabolic processes. Note: I really did make this up. I'm not making fun of anyone.

Like those OK. Some of them are good, some are great. Whether I like them depends on how well written they are. My blog is a version of whacky life, I suppose. The sub-genre where some shit is made up. I avoid whenever possible writing about my life in an accurate way. I don't lie, I just exaggerate.

Sometimes it is: My horrible terrible life. I think these belong in the same genre. The "What Happened To Me Today" genre. I don't want to do an imitation of those. They make me sad.

Genre #3: Tormented teenager. These are heartbreaking sometimes. I read one guys blog about how his parents went out drinking again, his mom fell down the stairs and then his dad fell down trying to help his mom up.

Genre #4: Happy little girly teenager. Paw prints, pink. Anime. Cute. Can't read those. I never understand what is going on there.

Genre #5: Guess what I found on the internet? Mostly links. This site says this, that one says that. Like these too. Always think: Crazy world we live in! One blogger (shucks, forgot his name) compared the internet to an ocean full of 'dead ships.' Floating aimlessly, pilotlessly through an endless sea.

Naturally, there are some that defy description...I don't list these because not everything written is written within a genre.

Oh, I'm sure there are more. I just can't...Well, I'm getting sort of tired. I search and search. The problem is that the first blog I really read carefully was "I, Asshole." And it was too brilliant and caused me to search for more like it. I spend so much time searching (time I don't have) but there is only one "I, Asshole."

My Quest...

I tell myself I am on a quest...Rationalizing things is a skill I greatly value. Perhaps my incredible ability to rationalize anything is the thing I most admire about myself.

(Stay tuned for Volume 3 of Excuses: Excuses To Oneself).

Thus...the quest. To find the thing...the genius thing. The thing that will change my life. The blog of reality, the secret magical blog...the blog of truth.

The blog with all the answers. The blog of God...

This is my rationalization for why I spend so much time looking at blogs in the last few months. Good, eh? Feel free to borrow it for your own self.

Finally...To the side are some blogs du genius. The Best of I Asshole, Magnificent Obsessions and Defective Yeti are my current favorites. Yes, they are good. But they are not holy. And until I find the holy blog my quest goes on.

When I'm writing this I get this strange illusions that I am 'making something.' There seem to be infinite ways one can make and remake this thing. In effect, it is close to making nothing...it is the closest you can get to making nothing and really not make nothing.