the secret to happiness

I can honestly say I've found the secret to happiness.

The secret to happiness is cake batter ice cream mixed with caramel and brownie from Coldstone Creamery.

Please realize that the secret to happiness is totally true. I say "is" literally. I say "is" presently. When you read this, "is" will be "then" and cake batter ice cream mixed with caramel and brownie from Coldstone Creamery may not be the secret to happiness anymore.

Right now I'm glad it is though, because I was aching and panicking because I was unhappy and I had no idea why. Fortunately I saw Coldstone Creamery out of the corner of my eye and knew I could presently have happiness.

It's embarrassing how often this happens to me. I remember distinctly on a specific day a year ago the secret to happiness was beef so I got a Westerner from Carl's Jr. About six months ago the secret to happiness was watching the specific episode of Cowboy Bebop called "The Ballad of Fallen Angels." Three months ago it was hearing "Open Your Heart" by Madonna.

I'm a genius. I'm a really really smart guy. More so than it appears. The thing is, 90% of my brain capacity isn't working on smart guy things, but actually trying to figure out what the secret of happiness is at that given moment. I've developed a very very intense inner network of television episodes sorted by season, music sorted by decade, restaurant menus, sugary liquids, movie lines, comic strips, comic books, wi-fi hotspots and strange URLs.

I'm reminded of a very touching Futurama episode where Fry checks his bank account after being cryogenically frozen for 1,000 years and discovers he's a billionaire. He purchases everything he's ever wanted and becomes a hermit of sorts. When his friends tell him to come to his senses, he says: "I've finally discovered the secret to happiness, and it's not people -- it's things."

Often, I'll have a panic attack and go hours before I realize what happiness is all about. That time increment will likely only go up if I continue to maintain the current database while adding new data.

(Also, eventually I'll finally come to realize that eating animals is wrong and I'll be forced to abstain from that happiness when it manifests itself)

Is this what the Buddhists are talking about when they emphasize the only way to heaven is actually wanting nothing? Hell is too many good things. Of course nothing is still nothing.

You know what? Cake batter ice cream mixed with caramel and brownie from Coldstone Creamery actually isn't all that great.

rise of the planet of the douchebags

Sometimes my favorite movie ever is Highlander. Most of my favorite movies ever have a soundtrack by Queen. Highlander is about some individual immortals who live hundreds of years and can only be killed by each other. Eventually, "there can only be one" (a phrase repeated throughout the movie). The last immortal left gets "the prize" which can be used to save the world or rule it.

The final two immortals are the hero (the "Highlander" of the title) and one of my favorite bad guys in movie history: The Kurgan. Kurgan is played by Clancy Brown, a very magnetic actor and a joy to watch especially as this villain.

At one point, Kurgan meets Highlander in a church (neutral ground so they can't kill each other there) in order to aggravate him. After their machismo words, Kurgan sticks around to disrupt nearby worshipers. A very brave priest comes up to him and begins this bit of dialogue:

Priest: This is the house of God. People are trying to pray. You're disturbing them.

Kurgan: He cares about these helpless mortals?

Priest: Of course he cares. He died for our sins.

Kurgan: That shall be his undoing.

****************

I'm not a nice person.

There are a lot of people who may disagree. They can cite evidence because I do nice things -- or at least I'm not overtly cruel like The Kurgan. But the nice things I do aren't because they're a natural part of me. I do nice things because logically, I feel that people need to do nice things in order to have a working and evolved society. It's ideals in humanity and not the desires of my heart that compel me to be good.

My perfect society comes at a sacrifice. I may not live in this society -- but maybe I'll have the honor of making a tiny influence on others who may make an influence on others who may produce the society.

Those people reading this now are probably thinking I think I'm actually a better person than I am. But that's the point, see? I'm not good at all. Hardly anybody is.

I should probably re-define though. I'm not so much good as I'm someone who sort of abstains from evil. I specifically try my hardest not to be cruel or obnoxious or a negative influence on people. I don't specifically look out for number one because I don't believe "there can be only one." If we're getting there, we're doing it together. We have our freedom to choose to get there, but if I influence someone negatively, I'm horrified.

Anyway, not being evil is more of a job than a habit.

Lots of us realize this -- and as a result, lots of us become douchebags. I guess people can define douchebags lots of different ways. Some define them strictly by wardrobe. For the purposes of this writing, I'll define douchebags as consumed with the solipsistic pleasures of the self. A douchebag sees society as a means to benefit himself solely and not something to be improved upon through idealistic communal effort.

With the psychology that other peoples' feelings don't exist, the burden of society is lifted for the douchebag. He's learned that since only the "one" is what matters, he can open himself up to happiness.

We sometimes fool ourselves into feeling sorry for them, but if they had the capability, it would be they who feel sorry for us (I say "us" here assuming that no douchebags are reading). We think they're unhappy, but they're unencumbered, free and joyous.

More and more people are realizing this. The more who realize this, the more obvious it is to the rest that this is how things actually work. You can just take what you want.

I don't say this to change your mind about the way you're living or to have some kind of sympathy for douchebags. Don't. I say this to put the cards on the table about how real this is. Those who deserve comeuppance won't receive it unless they ask for it. You can become evil and have and feel anything you want. That's exactly why it's so important to not be evil -- to not find virtue in selfishness.

Often, lower creatures discover quickly that that evilness is a marvelous path because it has no detriment. This is true. And this is our sacrifice.

reignition

It's strangely come to my attention that people read this thing sometimes. Not often, but sometimes and that's better than nothing.

Do you know what would be really awesome though? What if tons of people read my blog? But that's only a tiny part of what I need to be awesome. What if tons of people read my blog -- but I was still anonymous? Can you imagine how great it would be to lay out all the dirt on everybody I knew; sought for advice without the people I needed advice for finding out and also telling the dirtiest, most miserable stuff ever with no way of Mom finding out? But most of all I could legitimately crowd source all of my problems to an unbiased reservoir of semi-experts.

Or maybe that whole idea is screwed up. What kind of person seeks the advice of strangers when there are so many friends and family who ought to be more willing to step up to the job? They also have the added bonus of really knowing me.

The more I know people, the more fallible they are. That's the thing. True character development mostly shows weakness, not strength. That may be why all my favorite movie characters are the ones most unseen and mysterious (hello there, Boba Fett). If you've ever seen the show Babylon 5, Lennier will be your favorite character until he develops feelings. I challenge everybody to try out Babyon 5. I just endured the whole series (rewarding, but laborious).

Anyway, it's good to be back in therapy (writing this blog) again. You may have noticed I took a long break. The reason, I suppose, is because I didn't need to anymore. 2011 was pretty rough -- internally. It was nearly as cruel as the summer of '98. If you remember, that summer Ace of Base released a cover of "Cruel Summer" by Bananarama (only more horrible). It really was a cruel summer though, both times.

I had a lot of feeling to vent out. I vented and I managed. If you look back and read what I said, you probably wouldn't get much of a glimpse of what was actually putting me out so bad. And I won't actually say because I'm not as honest a person as I should be and this blog's not anonymous. It fulfilled its position at the time and as a result I'm less of a raving maniac than maybe I would have been otherwise.

I'm not gonna put the thing away though. The therapy is always welcome. I think I'll call it "angst-ridden 14-year-old girl bloggy therapy for gross men over twice that age."

*****

Memories make me feel guilty presently.

I don't know why I thought of it, but many many years ago I was driving in a car with girl and we played a game where we'd flip a coin every other intersection to determine which way we'd go (oh wait, I remember why I thought of it -- in Babylon 5 Captain Sheridan sort of did the same thing just before he died -- except he was on a starship). Anyway, this chick and I were laughing and flirting and just really full of life. It made me feel guilty, because if I ever get married, I don't presently have the energy or youth to give that much enjoyment to my wife. It's totally unfair to her.

*****

"Stairway to Heaven" came on the radio today. I've heard it a million times, but I'm currently going through my "Zeppelin phase." Klosterman says that every male in America goes through the Zeppelin phase at some point, but it's different for everybody. Somehow I missed mine in my teens or twenties. That meant that tonight's listening of "Stairway" was the best hearing of it I've ever heard.

Remember in The Simpsons when the school bus somehow got lost at sea? Otto swam to get help, but was carried away in the current. As this happened, he yelled what I'm sure he presumed to be his last words: "Zeppelin rules!" At this point, I would be honored if those were my last words.

Okay. Fine. Maybe I do have some enjoyment left. She probably better like Zeppelin.

peace and queues, thinking and driving

I watch a lot of television.

A lot.

I guess it's not really TV, it's Netflix. I don't have cable in my room. Not much difference though. It's just like I'm watching TV a year ago or something.

Anyway, I come home from work and watch Netflix until I go to bed.

Every day.

Is it an addiction? Maybe. It may certainly seem that way from the outside. Do I have to do it? Certainly not. Do I actually force myself to do it? Yes. Why? because it is better than the alternative. The alternative is simply being alone with my thoughts for more than a half hour at once.

I was thinking while driving today. Thinking is almost as dangerous as drinking (while drinking is a lot like Netflix, actually). I was thinking about romance and how I've let it escape so many times. I was thinking about that charge you get when you meet someone interesting. I've gotten that charge so many times. Now, I'm so out of fuel that I'd be surprised if a spark ever ignites again. I think the reason I never really latched onto love the way I should have is because I thought love was all those little charges and sparks -- and not what came after them.

Anyway, lately I've been watching a lot of Hyperdrive. It's a British sci-fi comedy starring Nick Frost. I would love to make a show just like it. The third season of Parks and Rec is actually pretty funny. Rob Lowe and Adam Scott help tremendously. Of course there's always Deep Space Nine -- but that's mostly obligation.

that show is funny

One month straight, then one month gone.

I needed something to watch just now while I was doing the laundry. Chappelle's Show was on. The show's hilarious, but I feel a little guilty watching it.

They apparently gave the guy like half a billion dollars to do the show and he walked away from it. Most people will tell you that the guy simply couldn't take the pressure of such a contract -- that nothing that was eventually produced could live up to such a number. I don't think that was the case.

The guy made a show that wasn't so much shocking as it was subversive. The guy had things to say. I think he not only wanted to make people laugh, but he wanted to use the show as a forum. I think he wanted to empower (hopefully I don't sound foolish as I tread carefully here) the black community in America.

The show got big enough that it went beyond empowerment, though. I think he had a hard time seeing progress made when 90% of all white kids used "I'm Rick James, bitch!" as their catchphrase.

Remember that sketch that had something to do with slavery reparations suddenly happening? If I remember correctly, the joke was that many of the people who got the reparations spent the money in extremely frivolous ways rather than building a better society for themselves. While he was trying to send a message to black America, the rest of the country was laughing at the joke a little too hard.

I wanted to write just now and just wing it, but I went to Wikipedia to verify that there actually was a reparations sketch. While there, I came across a peculiar quote from the guy during a stand-up performance in the final days of the show:

"You know why my show is good? Because the network officials say you're not smart enough to get what I'm doing, and every day I fight for you. I tell them how smart you are. Turns out, I was wrong. You people are stupid."

(Apparently he said this after so many people in the audience said "I'm Rick James, bitch!" over and over again).

It wasn't about the pressure of the money that made the guy quit, but I think the money had something to do with it. I think it further emphasized, in his mind anyway, that he wasn't changing the world for the better. His show was doing the opposite of what he set out to do. Rather than educating through comedy, it was helping enforce the stereotypes he was trying to break down. And on top of it all -- to add to that guilt -- Chappelle was bought at a very large price. Millions and millions of dollars to keep boarding a train that had all the momentum but was going in the wrong direction.

Now every time I watch the show I'm afraid I'm laughing a little too hard.

things go right too often

I only caught the last half hour of the Emmys.

When Downton Abbey won the award for best mini-series, Julian Fellowes remarked in his speech, "We don't know why sometimes things go right; but tonight, they've gone right." Hopefully I typed it accurately enough to justify putting it in quotes.

He said this in the context that his joy at being in that position was a result of struggle, suffering and doubt up to that point. Things going right didn't seem natural, but ultimately that's what happened -- even after everything else going wrong.

I sat there watching, thinking about how everything goes right most of the time, but that doesn't mean I'm ultimately where I want to be now. Even worse, I haven't paid for it.

I've always had it too easy. Now I'm not at the Emmys.

psychedelic youth aged to perfection

Last night I went to a concert by myself. It's a common occurrence. Second only to going to movies by myself.

The show was the Psychedelic Furs and I felt it was a good opportunity to catch some 80s vibe before all my idols die (and even though apparently Weird Al was playing at the state fair at the same time)

The Psychedelic Furs are unusual. I can't place them well. They're unique enough to not be "mainstream 80s nostalgia" if that even makes sense. They're probably best known for lead singer Richard Butler unofficially winning the prize for the Britishest accent while singing. I always found their songs to be dripping with cynicism while sort of trying to be romantic.

I wondered if after all these years, he'd look sort of pathetic.

He looked far less pathetic than he sounded if that's even a compliment in any way.

He looked giddy. Giddier than any of his songs. He looked like he went through pain and confusion in his youth, expressed his emotions and is now reaping a cathartic reward for his past suffering. It's actually inspiring. It doesn't hurt that the guy is still 80s skinny. I hope I'm always 80s skinny.

Strangely every time I go to The Depot to see a show I get a wonderful dose of 80s sax. 80s sax is so joyful. Does anybody even play the saxophone anymore? If they play it, is it just to be ironic? It seems like there's an emotional, almost dreamlike (I almost typed "almost fictional" there, but I'm not sure you'd understand what I meant by that -- obviously I don't mean it doesn't exist -- I mean more otherworldly than music actually is) quality to it that we're missing now. This euphoria is lost today. We need 80s sax equivalent.

Strangely, more inspiring was the opening band Tom Tom Club, which I knew very little about before the show.

Tom Tom Club is composed of two Talking Heads members, one of which is singer and bassist Tina Weymouth. They have another chick singer named Victoria I believe. Tina and Victoria must be grandmothers. They look like grandmothers. That did not stop the both of them from wearing tiny black dresses and dancing like teenagers while on stage. At first it was sort of embarrassing. Grandmothers have no right to do that -- that's the involuntary knee jerk. Of course, who are we to tell grandmothers what to do?

I hope I'm that cool when I'm a grandmother.

Hey, I know it's not likely that I'll ever become a grandmother, but I like to dream big, okay?

The girls in Tom Tom Club certainly looked old, but their voices really sounded 20ish. Sort of like punk angels.

I think our voices are younger than our looks in many ways. I've always said (well, ever since I got old anyway) that the worst thing about getting old is actually feeling young, but being old. Voice is a double meaning. It's the audible sound from our throat, but it's also an expression of feeling. Usually our feelings struggle to catch up to our chronology.

breakin' the chains of love

I bought a great CD yesterday.

I had to drive to two Graywhales to get it. It's called Pickin' Up the Pieces by Fitz & the Tantrums.

I think I like it even more than my Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings album which was the last CD I bought and that was a couple of months ago (also after driving to two separate Graywhales). Both CDs are a throwback to soul records of 40 years ago. It's exhilarating really.

I'm listening to Pickin' Up the Pieces right now and chair dancing to the music is absolutely involuntary. Like all pop songs, the material on the record is about heartbreak. This time, however, it's sincere and soulful. You need to listen to it. You deserve to listen to it.

I hate liking new music. I feel guilty enough not listening to all the music I have. Now, getting into new genres, I feel bad for not becoming a further expert in the 80s British New Romantic movement (probably my specialty).

There is too much music on earth. There's simply too much good music for me to be happy. If there were only 100 good songs in the world. I'd know those. I'd know there was nothing else, and I'd be happy. The sheer amount of pop music I'm not familiar with is simply overwhelming. I've been moved to tears by incredible songs, but the best songs out there -- the ones that would leave me in a shuddering heap -- I'll never hear.

There's misery and then there's the sublime. Both are similar. Both hurt in a lot of ways.

Back when I was depresseder than I am now, my therapist actually told me that some kind of labor is actually essential for happiness. He couldn't explain it. He just said that studies have concluded it. I suppose that explains why retired people get so blue. A reward isn't worth it unless there is a constant struggle involved.

This knowledge freaks me out. Life is painful, but there's no rest from it. The absence of pain leads to unhappiness. We work hard to get rid of our pain in order to earn different pain. That continues, I assume, long after our lives are over in some form of existence.

My late father actually coined a sort of motto: "happiness 'till it hurts." I'm not sure I get it completely. I'll have to listen to him give that speech and then get back to you.

sexual harassment video script

SEXUAL HARASSMENT VIDEO

INT. Side shot of a man sitting at a desk. Goofy cheap vintage training video Atari 2600 music plays. Title card reads: “The Official Graffito Enterprises Training Video: Sexual Harassment and YOU!” Cut to front view of the man at the desk. He is wearing a hideous toupee.

MAN AT DESK

Good day. My name is George

Swoobner. I work for the Human

Resources department here

at Graffito Enterprises.

I’m here to guide you

through the hopefully unexciting

world of SEXUAL HARASSMENT

Possible change of camera to side view. The man at the desk turns to face the camera

SWOOBNER

You know, many people will tell

you that abiding a company’s

sexual harassment policies is

as easy as using common

sense and considering other

people’s feelings.

This is incorrect.

Camera view change to the side.

Let’s observe our first

example shall we?

CUT TO: A woman (Miranda) walking up to a cubicle. She stops and addresses the party inside the cubicle.

MIRANDA

Excuse me James, I’m

going to need that Simmons

report immediately. Can you

manage that?

CUT TO: The man in the cubicle. He is wearing a robe that’s slightly open and wearing a speedo or something. He’s also somehow lying down and holding a wine glass. Somehow his cubicle has a softer lighting scheme than the previous cut where we saw Miranda. His cubicle also has lit candles prominently displayed.

JAMES

Sure baby. How

about right after some

happy fun time?

CUT TO: Slow zoom on Miranda. She looks down and slightly ashamed. STILL FRAME

SWOOBNER (Voice Over)

Obviously this kind of

harassment will not be

tolerated. And... just as

an unofficial word of advice,

if you are going to harass

somebody, it helps if you’re

NOT the subordinate.

CUT TO: FRONT OF SWOOBNER

SWOOBNER

In this example, James

made Miranda feel very

uncomfortable -- especially

later when she fired him.

CUT TO: side shot.

SWOOBNER

Let’s look at another example

of an uncomfortable situation

that should be avoided.

CUT TO: scene with a man (ROY) interviewing a young woman (BETTY) for a promotion.

ROY

Well, Betty, your quarterly

reports are on task. I do

have several other employees

to interview, however and...

BETTY

Roy -- I need you to know

something.

CUT TO: She puts her hand on his arm.
CUT BACK TO:

BETTY

I’m a go-getter. I’m wiling to

do anything...

CUT TO: She puts her hand on his thigh.
CUT BACK TO: CU ON BETTY

BETTY

(ctn’d)

… ANYTHING to get

this promotion.

CUT TO: WIDE
Roy stands up.

ROY

Betty. I’m stopping this

interview right now. I

will not allow things to

escalate in the direction

they’re going.

CUT TO: Slow zoom on Betty. She looks down and slightly ashamed.

CUT TO: FRONT VIEW OF SWOOBNER

SWOOBNER

Here at Graffito Enterprises

we’re committed to respecting

whatever type of sexual

orientation our employees

identify themselves with.

Keep in mind that many types

of sexual orientation aren’t as

obvious as gay/straight/bi/bestial.

In the previous example,

Roy was not very respective

of Betty’s obvious orientation

of fooling around with her

work superiors for a promotion.

Roy was fired shortly after

the filming of this video.

CUT TO: SIDE OF SWOOBNER

Remember to be mindful

of potential sexual harassment

situations beyond sexual

orientation. Sometimes someone’s

normal daily routine may spark a

potential incident.

CUT TO: An office party. A man (DAVE) is eating chips behind the party table. He is (assumed to be) completely naked (we see him from the waist up). A couple of guys come up to him. The first comes up behind him and starts rubbing his shoulders.

GUY 1

Daaaaave! How ya been man?

DAVE

Alright.

GUY 1

Boy, you’re pretty tight, buddy.

Workin’ too hard maybe? You

Ought to relax, ya think?

Guy 2 comes up to Dave and spar-punches with him a little -- ending his combination with a fake kick in the crotch.

GUY 2

Yeah, Dave. Loosen up. We’re

headin’ to the club after work,

you should come along. I’m driving.

Got a new beaded seat cover.

Think about it!

The two men walk away. A woman (JOYCE) approaches the dip timidly.

DAVE

Hi.

JOYCE

Hello. Uh... so you...

uh... are you married?

She cringes her face a little as she says this.

CUT TO: Slow zoom on Dave. He looks down and slightly ashamed. STILL FRAME

SWOOBNER (VO)

Sometimes people have

unusual routines. Remember,

just because someone is the

office nudist, it doesn’t mean

they want you to open the door

to filthy harassment talk.

You may as well open the

door to a room with a lawsuit

in it.

CUT TO: FRONT OF SWOOBNER

So far, we’ve talked a lot

about direct one-on-one

conflict.

CUT TO: SIDE OF SWOOBNER

SWOOBNER

But what about third-party

harassment? Even if the

party isn’t directly addressed

in the conversation, they

still have a case for harassment

if they see or hear something

of a harassing nature.

CUT TO: Interior of the women’s bathroom. The camera pans from left to right down low in front of the stalls. We see two different sets of women’s feet. They are in conversation.

WOMAN 1

Hey, I hate to bother you,

but do you happen to have

a tampax with you?

WOMAN 2

Oh! Um... I might I...

WOMAN 1

I’m so sorry! I left my purse

at my desk and I REALLY need

one.

WOMAN 2

Oh, that’s alright! Here! I’ll just pass

one underneath the stall.

WOMAN 1

Thank you! Lemme, just reach it...

The women grunt a little as they try to maneuver the tampon to the right place. By this time, the camera has panned all the way to the end of the stall bank where there is a man with his ear pressed up against the stalls. He has the most appalled look on his face ever. The camera zooms slightly in on his aghast face.

CUT TO: SIDE VIEW OF SWOOBNER

SWOOBNER

But what about Robots?!?

CUT TO: a silver robot (a guy wrapped in silver boxes and foil with a motorcycle helmet and a chest display -- which is an iPad) is collating some forms. A woman comes in.

WOMAN

Hey, R4-189! Nice can!

The woman slaps the robot on its robot butt. It makes a hollow sound like she punched a garbage can. The robot’s front display blinks with a beeping sound effect “SHAME! SHAME! SHAME!” The robot looks down. The woman laughs maniacally. STILL FRAME

SWOOBNER (VO)

As I mentioned earlier,

I represent Human Resources

for this company. Presently,

Graffito Enterprises does not

actually have a Robot Resources.

Therefore, sexual harassment

against robots is permitted.

The title “FAIR GAME” is stamped on the screen over the still shot of the shamed robot with the woman laughing at it.

CUT TO: FRONT OF SWOOBNER

SWOOBNER

This concludes your instruction

regarding the sexual harassment

policies of this company.

Please, remember to take these

policies into your head, but not

your heart. Thank you.

The cheesy Atari 2600 music plays.

CUT TO: Side view of Swoobner, but a wider shot.
TITLE: “Copyright 2011 Graffito Enterprises”

Swoobner gets up to leave. We see that he is obviously wearing no pants. He walks out of the shot.

FADE OUT.

anger slide away

I think I didn't get a post in last night.

I think I'm free.

Maybe I don't have to post every day.

Still though. I'm gonna finish that dang college romance story. It's almost done. I swear.

fake college romance story pt. 5

Math 235.

After high school Clara swore she'd never take another math class again. Now here she was. This time she actually snuck in to this class. In! The ideals she was now compromising now needed to be counted on more than one hand.

Clara picked Math 235 because it was Dustin's last class for the day and if she was able to make contact with him she could work something out with him over the course of several hours. Of course she could have just planned on the ten minute break between economics and Math 235. Getting a scandalous polaroid with him at that time would have been public, difficult and stressful, but at least it would be over with. Now, with all the time on her hands she's guaranteed a few hours of excruciation.

She shouldn't have picked Math 235.

The class contained 15 people and she was the only girl. Surely in the 21st century girls were learning math by now? Apparently not. College math classes must be like our present-day Elk's Club. She didn't think it would be an issue in these enlightened times, but she wasn't being very low-key. Perhaps glasses would help. At least nobody minded she was there (or all the math skills in the world can't help anyone kick someone out of a math class).

She spotted him shortly before class started. That left 50 minutes of looking down into a math book while the professor supposedly spoke about what lies therein. The only thing left to do would be to wait until he walked out and make a very distinct observation as to whether he wandered out to the right or to the left.