So I’m sitting up last nite watching a movie (Happy Feet- cute, fun, but looong) and I start hearing voices from outside, so naturally I get up and check it out. Now, I am one of those mean old-lady types who sees the neighborhood kids and wants to scare them so bad they become afraid to walk near my grass, much less on it. –The lady that lives there is an evil witch and if you go on her lawn or near her house she’ll catch you and eat you!!– I am all about that. So I think it’s stupid kids on a Friday night hanging around in front of my place, and I’m checking it out to see if they need scaring, and I hear this couple from up the street having a domestic. Y’know, I know everybody has issues, but honestly, unless I’m close to you– I don’t fucking want to hear it. Especially if one of the people in question is (judging by his behavior) a complete shite, and I know I can do nothing to help. (Like hit him with a frying pan, or better yet offer her more help than a ball bat.) Where did we get the idea that this kind of behavior was ok? Screaming at someone in the street solves nothing and makes you look stupid and your neighbors hate you. This is not how mature adults should handle things is it? (If it is, I’ve been going about this all wrong for a long time here.) And I have heard more from the 20-28ish age group of males about being a man than I have ever heard from any other age group. “I’m a grown-ass man!” What the fuck is that? What -exactly- does this really mean? And who are you trying to convince, cause it must not be me. Not acting like that. “Baby, I AM a man.” Whatever. If you have to tell people, you must not be doing it right. It would show, and not just in looks, either. I have decided to practice Radical Honesty with these boys. You think you’re a man, just cause your balls finally dropped and you (might) know what to do with your gear? Cause you made a baby with someone equally immature? Get real, that is just a side -note, a fact of physical maturity and poor planning. It has nothing to do with who you are or will be, and it does not make you mentally, or emotionally mature enough to call yourself a man. Eventually, if you meet the responsibility and challenge of parenthood head- on and survive, then maybe you will be able to call yourself mature. When you get there, you won’t have to brag about it, either. We’ll know. Really. And hopefully you will meet that challenge well. Better yet, wear a condom and don’t get her pregnant til you both have enough experience to handle the situation well. Hopefully my neighbors will see sense and either split up (probably the best choice given what I heard) or get counseling. I guess if I don’t hear anything more, they’ll have gotten it straightened out.
Speaking of radical honesty, have you heard of this stuff? No lying, in any form, at all, ever. Think about that for a moment.
“Do these jeans make my ass look fat?”
“Yes, and I resent that you asked me that question when you’re probably fairly certain my answer would piss you off.”
“Why don’t you want to go to dinner with my friends?”
“Your friends are all drunken assholes and I’m embarassed to be around them.”
“Was it good for you, baby?”
“Not really, you’re just not that good.”
I mean, sure, you’d never wonder what other people really thought. But you’d probably have to find new friends and go through hell with your family. I’m more of an almost entirely honest person. If I was straight out with everyone who asked what I thought, I’d probably get fired from my job and compleat strangers would want to beat me up all the time. The folks who know me best know I’ll be straight with them, and for the most part that’s all I concern myself with. I found this concept in the latest issue of esquire magazine– a rag I just assumed was compleat chauvinistic crap, cause I’d never really looked inside since usually the cover is some half naked woman. But I read through the most recent one and actually it was pretty interesting. I enjoyed Stephen King’s novella “The Gingerbread Girl”, even though the print was tiny and it was a little longish. But I think the print had more to do with my fatigue than the story. Course I’m biased just cause I like him and, as far as I’m concerned, it’s hard for him to fuck up a story. (Even though he does occasionally– see Tommyknockers, for one.) I wish they’d make a real movie of It. I know they did one once, with some good/great actors (I like Tim Curry’s style), but they killed the story. Have you seen the book? It’s like a million pages. All that backstory, all those characters, and the movie wasn’t even half of it as far as I’m concerned. Sure, it’s fun, but it’s not really the same story without all the info. It’s like the Potter flicks of late. I know the books have gotten longer, but some things should just stay in the story. You miss out otherwise and the story lacks the same kind of punch. But I digress. I’ve entirely lost my original point (if there was one). So have a nice night, don’t fight with each other, do something you like, and don’t lie. At least not about the important stuff. Especially not the important stuff.