Young Contrarian

Per suggestion of one B.Pyle, last weekend I read Christopher Hitchen’s book “Letters to a Young Contrarian.”  There is much to discuss in the fantastic text, but his concluding summarized advice strikes me as fantastic:

Beware the irrational, however seductive.  Shun the “transcendent” and all who invite you to subordinate or annihilate yourself and others.  Distrust compassion; prefer dignity for yourself and others.  Don’t be afraid to be thought arrogant or selfish.  Picture all experts as if they were mammals.  Never be a spectator of unfairness or stupidity.  Seek out argument and disputation for their own sake; the grave will supply plenty of time for silence.  Suspect your own motives, and all excuses.  Do not live for others any more than you would expect others to live for you.

MLIA

Most people now know all there is to know about “F* My Life.”  Yet, fewer know about its sister site “My Life is Average.”  A few funny ones below:

Today I logged out of facebook chat so it wouldn’t look like I was sitting at home on a Saturday night. I then realized that everyone who saw that I was logged on was at home on a Saturday night too. I stayed logged off so I would seem cooler then them. MLIA

Today, my friend gave me the link to a Youtube video. I waited 5 minutes and told her it was good. MLIA

Today I was supposed to clean the house. At 11:11, I wished for magical cleaning fairies to come do it for me. My wish did not come true. MLIA.

Whitney Comeback

Ms. Houston released a new song.  Comeback?  What do you think?

Personally I find it pleasant, though my gut says this isn’t a breaking back into the industry kind of song.

Baseball Slurs

After a lucky Cubs-Sox trivia contest in the office on Friday, I won tickets to Sunday’s game at the Cell.  The roommate and I went.  He’s a big Sox fan.  I’m the opposite.  It was a horrible day to be a Cubs fan.  We played terrible.  We took our licks from the Sox fans as a consequence.  In the long walk out of the stadium with the fans giving each other a hard time, I saw this poster waved constantly.

I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel uncomfortable.  I kept telling myself that the sign was the exact reason why I could never be a Sox fan.

I try not to be Mr. Politically Correct.  I find it counterproductive.  Yet, these types of displays (and the thousands of off-shoots) leave many people worse off.   They aren’t very harmful to me. But they can be  devastating to the countless individuals who are scared stiff every single day about actually being honest about their sexuality to the world.  Many will spend their entire lives in hiding, and trust me, living in hiding is a tragedy.  I didn’t realize how much of a tragedy until I was lucky enough to break out of it myself.  These posters kick those nameless strugglers even further into the closet.

Also, Roeper penned a little ditty about his experience at the Cubs/Sox game last weekend.  He criticized the sign as well.

This stuff should slowly fizzle away.  It’s overdue.

Still Kicken’

To those still checking this site on a random basis in hopes of finding news of my demise in order to collect the insurance money, Think Again.

Contrary to popular belief, I am still very much alive, well, and dancing.  My latest hiatus was the result of getting my bearings on the new summer job and (mostly) dealing with the agony of moving to another Chicago apartment.  However, I am finally finished with the repetitive ‘rinse and repeat’ process of single-handedly taking all of my belongings and (1)packing them, (2) moving them from the old place to the truck, (3)driving the truck twelve blocks north, (4)moving them from the truck into the new place, (5)and unpacking them into their perfect spot in the new apartment.

But now, sitting in a studio apartment that finally feels like an actual dwelling, I am ready to begin again.  The Fourth of July holiday weekend seems to be a perfect time for new beginnings.  Scary? Yes.  Exciting?  Yes.  Monumental? Yes. Poised to change the world over the next two centures? Yes.