Hammer Time

If I wrote everything I felt, I would have a lot of explaining to do. Instead, I carefully choose my words. I try to stick to politics and social issues, but since real life is so firmly tied to those things, it all becomes political and social.

I've been in this weird mental space the past few days. Started with an e-mail. These words on the screen made me question a few things I was already questioning anyway. Ran these things by some people I trust (as I had been anyway). I don't think that's a bad thing, but it was a confusing thing. Heard a lot of truth. Heard a lot that made me unhappy. Heard a lot that made me think.

How unpleasant.

"Where do you see me in ten years?" I asked.

"Lonely."

That struck me. It wasn't exactly unexpected, though. It seemed to make sense. That word was followed by a lot of rational thinking. Thinking that startled me by how accurate it was.

I suppose if I wasn't so damn tired and in physical pain right now, I would make some observation and all would be well. I don't have it in me right now. I'm drained. Everything feels odd. Nothing feels quite right. It's not the best time to be making observations.

By now I should be asleep. I'm tired. I didn't get much sleep last night. Don't expect to get much tonight. Instead, I write because if I edit the manuscript I'm afraid I'll screw that up. I have the news on in the background. (Economy update coming up!) My back has a twitch in it that feels kind of new. It definitely doesn't feel good.

A commercial for Dr. Phil's show comes on. Dr. Phil. Now there's a guy I could hit with a hammer and feel damn good about it. Not once. Not twice. Three sharp blows right in the mouth. He's a smug cock of a man who tries to hold people accountable not for their own well being but for ratings. If he had an ounce of integrity he wouldn't do this in a public forum. He would do it behind closed doors (where that hammer could come out if he acted like he does on his show). I'm all for people being responsible. I am not into the idea of humilating them so you can raise the price of your ad space. He's a sideshow and far too many people are paying for admission.

I think of how Dr. Phil would deal with me. "You've got choices, boy! Make them! Stop dickering around and really think about how you deal with other people."

"Well, doc," I'd say. "I don't make emotional choices anymore. That doesn't work well for me. Instead, I kind of go the rational route. When you do that, you'd think things would be black and white, but there's a problem."

"And what would that be, boy?"

"People. People are far from black and white. They are these fucked up creatures -- can I say 'fucked up' on NBC? -- who have little agendas, who can't handle their own affairs, who lie to themselves every day. They make it so you can't deal in black and white because those colors don't exist there."

"Don't you lie to yourself every day, boy?"

"I do, doc. But I know I'm doing it, and I know why. I'm trying to keep my head about me, but I'll tell you what. You impress me. You try to get right to the heart of the matter."

"Why thank you."

And then I bring the hammer out. "Let's get to the heart. Let's get to the truth."

Whack. Whack. Whack. Audience is freaking. A woman passes out. Phil's got a few teeth in his hand. He's looking at his palm as if he can't believe this is really happening. "What the hell?" he asks. It sounds like "Whush da hellsh?"

"That's my truth. A hammer to the teeth. Ain't nothin' truer these days."

Who am I kidding, though? Dr. Phil is an adorable teddy bear. He's the kind of guy you cuddle up with and share a lollipop. He's rock solid.

Hey, thanks to everyone for the birthday videos, well-wishes, gifts and whatnot. Very kind of everyone, and don't think I don't appreciate it. I know I've been distant lately. I've had a lot on my mind. It's the holidays or something. Either way, I thank you. I know I don't always show it, but those of you who are my friends know I mean it.

Off to bed. I won't sleep. But I will think. Lord, will I think. My mind will race. I want this manuscript published.

Bernanke is on television getting grilled as to why he didn't do more. He should have. Could have. Frankly, our representatives shouldn't be asking him questions and telling him he needs to go back to Princeton. They need to do a pay-per-view special where one lucky lottery winner gets to eviscerate him and hang him by his own intestines.

That I would pay to watch. Hey, some people like wrestling. Some like romantic comedies. I like televised executions of public figures who fell asleep at the wheel ... or in Bernanke's case -- looked the other way.

The only thing this guy should be in charge of is picking up his teeth.

Hammer time.