Do As I Say...

I have come to believe that one of the keys to a happy life (or at least to eliminating a submerged but powerful source of stress in one's life) is coming to grips with the various hypocrisies that make us who we are.

Yes, we are all hypocrites. The problem is, somewhere along the line, we came to associate hypocrisy with some sort of moral or ethical turpitude. And that's a shame, because every one of us harbors several of them within us, like spiritual hazards we have to navigate around and past each day.

This overly-PC wave under which we find ourselves swamped has further pushed the concept of hypocrisy deeper into the moral muck. And we really need to get past this limp, lame, counter-humanist perception of what has always been a very real part of mankind, like it or not. Simply, we need to stop couching our hypocrisies as something they are not. They are not, and never will be, conflicting judgments, paradoxical choices, or moral conundrums. Those are bullshit PC labels. It's called hypocrisy, Mr. and Mrs. Doublethink.

I love animals and support their ethical treatment, to the point of abhorring fur, but I wear leather and eat the shit out of meat: red, white, and seafood.

I want the parents of criminals to stop whining about how the system is oppressing their criminal children, but know damned well I'd likely feel the same if it was my son in that system.

I look askance at parents who raise their voice to their kids in public, while being quite aware I've done the same myself, and likely will again one day.

I know, they're not heavyweight examples, but they are the kinds of things we all hold inside us. They are the things with which we struggle during our more introspective moments (or with which we don't if we're too insensate to give two shits), and as such vital parts of our compositions, we need to accept them as what they are: hypocrisies, pure and simple.

And if you don't like them, change them. Take a shot at more consistency. But you're never going to eliminate them all, so give yourselves a break and take solace in the fact that, despite what the PC pussies would have you believe, we all have them, we always will have them, and accepting them is half the battle in making them less the drains in our lives. In other words, you're a hypocrite, get used to it.

Facebookosis

Now I'm confused, because I see all these people on Facebook constantly, telling me how they feel, what they're doing, what they ate, what they want, and here I thought that's what blogs are for. Silly me. But of course, some people are so bent on self-promotion that they will spend inordinate amounts of their days advertising their every thought, or whatever it is they process that passes for thoughts in their brain-worlds.
Maybe there should be more for people to actually LIVE and less for them to POST about.
And yes, again, with my simplistic hypocrisy. I'm nothing if not consistent.

Twitter?

So today I finally got the scoop on this phenomenon called Twitter.

I gave in to the Facebook peer pressure, creating my own page, and actually interacting with people. It's been fun. It's been different. And catching up with folks from my distant past has been intriguing and surprisingly satisfying.

But this Twitter shit just baffles the hell out of me.
There is NOBODY with whom I am so fascinated that I feel compelled to maintain a running tab on their whereabouts and activities.
And you know what? I hope like hell there's nobody out there that wants to know what I'm doing, not only because the whole idea is frightfully pathetic, but because they'd be disappointed with just how boring and unmotivated I am when it comes to informing people that, hey, guess what, that sauerkraut I ate just twenty minutes ago? Well, it's out of me now baby, and I spray painted me a porcelain-based masterpiece!

So while it may seem ironic to read coming from a relatively narcissistic blogger and Facebook participant, you can lose that Twitter shit, post-haste. Unless you're a celebrity, which renders you dismissible in my eyes, you're very likely boring, and if you're not, you're likely lying about not being boring. And if I want lies, bullshit, deceit, and self-righteous self-importance, I can listen to Rush Limbaugh.

Warm This

It's December 28, and it's a breezy, windy 65 degrees.
Sure, it's grey and damp, but it still feels too damned warm.

I say fuck the tree-huggers and their global warming horseshit, but I still don't like this unseasonable weather. It should be in the 30's, or at least the 40's, and any gusts should feel like icy razors drawn across exposed flesh. Instead it feels like temperate mid-winter tropical breezes out there.

This is not the kind of weather that compels me to stick up for New Jersey when outlanders comment on what a dungheap it is. I want the four seasons. I want the easy access to big cities and coastal playgrounds. I want smothering snow and I want blistering heatwaves. But I want them when they're supposed to be here, not as temporally displaced aberrations.

Oh, and fuck Hurricane Schwartz too. He said this should be a colder, icier, snowier winter than we've had in some time. Look into my eye, Glenn. You're a dork and a scam-artist like all the rest of the weather-clowns. Now go get your fucking shine box.

Resolution #2

I'm losing weight.
No, really, I am. I figure about forty pounds should do it.
I'm not committing to any particular fitness regimen, but I'm going to do it by Labor Day. Maybe even sooner.

And I'll likely talk to my boy Rob about some running guidance. Yes, I hate running, but I love the occasional patch of solitude. That makes running an alliance between the bitter and sweet. I like the sounds of that. For today at least.

Order Now

I'm curious, actually, if I'm the only person who has an automatic prejudice against any product packaged with the red and white logo bragging "As Seen On TV!"?

And how about the Snuggie? I mean, don't we all want to look like Friar Tuck in the comfort of our own homes?
But really, as soon as there's one available with the Eagles logo, I'm ordering up so I can wear it to the next game I attend. I shouldn't get too many comments on that from the upper-level thugs.

Resolution #1

I've come to the conclusion that I'm a bad blogger.
I'm so erratic and so irregular, that even if someone wanted to read what I have to say, they could go months without anything new to ingest. And that's me failing to hold to my part of the Blogger's Compact.

And so, going forward, as of January 1, 2009, I resolve to blog more regularly. And yes, it's a very subjective concept, this regularity thing, but rest assured it will be more often than once every five or six months or so.

And Resolution #1A is my vow to become considerably less wordy.

Believe that I will find #1 much more accessible and viable than #1A. But I will do my level best.

Thank you for your patience.