I realize this is not going to come as a huge shock to some of you...but I hate people.
No, really.
I hate. People.
OK, technically not all people...but the alternative is definitely the exception.
Put aside the growing political trend of not just tolerating ignorance, but embracing it and holding it up as something to be admired (while vilifying the educated). Put aside the "everyone's special" diseased mentality that psychologically adolescent parents instill in their kids (sorry kids, but you're not born special, you have to EARN it through hard work). Put aside the "we're all winners and there are no losers!" cesspool of fecundity that permeats our society, with every kids sports team receiving "participant trophies" and the absolutely baffling elimination of slaughter ball and smear the queer from school playgrounds.
Too many people think their shit doesn't stink, and I'm not afraid to say that I hate them.
Recently it seems like I've been placed right in the crosshairs of numerous people that deserve to be hated, because in the past few weeks I've encountered a triumverate of these human blights.
On a plane from Los Angeles to Sacramento, I found myself seated next to a guy in his late 20s. The plane was parked at the gate as everyone boarded, and I took the opporutnity to build my bubbleboy cone of silence in window seat 5A, reading quietly and making as little impact to those around me as possible. Soon, this guys takes seat 5B, and he's got no bags, no books, no iPod - no nothing - just himself. Literally three seconds after he buckles in, his knee starts vibrating non-stop in a manic display of OCD that I know will not subside for the impending 60 minute flight.
"Don't say a word, don't say a word..." I tell myself, convinced that if I can just last out the next hour, I will avoid an unpleasant scene that would likely result in me screaming obscenities at him... But as I try to maintain my focus on my book, the seat vibrations were so severe that I literally couldn't focus on the words. It was like I was sitting on a cushioned jackhammer.
I think I deserve some credit for lasting the six minutes that I did, but just as I screamed to myself in my mind, "YOU CAN DO THIS! YOU'RE NOT GOING TO SAY A WORD!" I watched outside my own body as I suddenly and unexpectedly turned to him and spat, "ARE YOU OK?!"
He looked at me completely confused. "Huh...?"
"Are you OK? You're shaking - I didn't know if...there was a problem."
He was offended. He scoffed. "That's what I do."
"You shake? That's what you do?" I gave myself permission to get pissed. "All our chairs are connected; I can hardly keep hold of my book - can you not shake your leg?"
Now he was pissed, "We're on a plane, PLANES SHAKE."
"NOT WHILE PARKED AT THE GATE THEY DON'T!" I replied.
Thankfully (for both him and me - more for me, because I'm not sure what I would have done otherwise), he stopped shaking and ignored me for the remainder of the flight.
The next week I was in the San Francisco airport with about 90 minutes before my next flight. I headed to the food court, but quickly realized that every table was taken. I looped around twice before a table opened up and I grabbed it. Halfway through my lunch, I heard an older guy behind me ask the next table if he could join them as there weren't any open tables. But nope - he was denied. He turned his attention to me and I quickly invited him to join me - I had space and (usually) I'm not an asshole.
As I turned back to my Sports Illustrated and sushi, the guy parked his luggage, set down his lunch, sat down across from me at the small, 2 person table, and...pulled out his f-in phone. With his face two feet away from mine, he then proceded to call three separate people and loudly drone on one-sided about absolutely nothing.
Little flecks of spittle dusted my spicy tuna roll.
Visions of Larry David encoutering the same situation...but rather than stage a whole scene (ballsy and brilliant), I intead tucked my testes back in my underbelly, scarfed my hamachi and blew the joint.
The final straw happened at the most unexpected moment.
I run most mornings before sunrise on the stunning American River Parkway. It's the only time of day that I can get out for an hour or so without it disrupting my family, and besides - I love the solitude, the peace, the still beauty...the hypnotic silence down by the river with only a trail and the wilderness to keep me company.
On this particular day I was having a particularly good run - I had pushed myself, was sweating freely, feeling alive...I was fully immersed in the very real "runner's high." With just a mile remaining, I started thinking to myself how great this was for my health; not just my physical health, but moreso for my mental health. With all my vitriol and hatred for the preponderance of assholes out there, I was surely heading down the path to an early cardiac arrest...but sweating out my toxins was my cure. I could literally feel my mental health healing its scars with each pounding footstep.
As I complimented myeself on my meditative prowess, I half-noticed a bike light coming toward me on the trail ahead. It had rained the night before, and I was approaching a section of the trail that had no shoulder, and with my dog on a leash with me, and it being still pitch dark (even though I too had a headlamp), I moved out on to the grass and weeds, navigating the puddles and mud rather than battle the biker for space (the trail can accomodate two going in either direction, and I actually had right of way with no shoulder).
But the biker, a morning commuter, was having none of it, and as he approached, he actually swerved toward me and muttered, "Goddamn asshole, get out of my way..."
You've never seen someone in such a deeply meditative trance go from zero to a billion on the heart attack scale so quickly - less than a milisecond. I had, "MOTHERFUCKER," "PIECE OF SHIT" and "COCKSUCKER" out of my mouth before his rear tire had passed my heals.
Look, I'm not proud of it - heck, I barely had anything to do with it. It happened beyond my control. My asshole tolerance levels had peaked and brimmed, and they needed a release. Thankfully, they rained on someone who most definitely deserved it.
And as we kick off the 24th season of Survivor, I have to admit, I have learned to revel in the abandon of assholes. No longer does Mark Burnett staff these things with people from all ages and all walks of life. He has a quota of assholes to fill, and by god, he fills 'em. After just one episode, it's apparent that this season is brimming with assholes.
And as we all know, watching assholes is light years more rewarding than dealing with them face-to-asshole.
We hardly get any real drama in this first hour, but the promise of asshole-spewing is ominously tremendous. Alicia with her universe-revolving-around-her mentality, drips with "you owe me respect" assumptiveness. Colton with his "no straight guy is worth my time" attitude, uses uncomfortable, venomous humor to construct flimsy relationship bridges.
It's unlikely I'll encounter any of these self-promoting dolts in an airport restaurant or on the bike trail at 4:45am, but if I do...watch out.
Of course all those bikini-clad hotties are all just fine the way they are...
God, I'm such an asshole.
Until next week...
No, really.
I hate. People.
OK, technically not all people...but the alternative is definitely the exception.
Put aside the growing political trend of not just tolerating ignorance, but embracing it and holding it up as something to be admired (while vilifying the educated). Put aside the "everyone's special" diseased mentality that psychologically adolescent parents instill in their kids (sorry kids, but you're not born special, you have to EARN it through hard work). Put aside the "we're all winners and there are no losers!" cesspool of fecundity that permeats our society, with every kids sports team receiving "participant trophies" and the absolutely baffling elimination of slaughter ball and smear the queer from school playgrounds.
Too many people think their shit doesn't stink, and I'm not afraid to say that I hate them.
Recently it seems like I've been placed right in the crosshairs of numerous people that deserve to be hated, because in the past few weeks I've encountered a triumverate of these human blights.
On a plane from Los Angeles to Sacramento, I found myself seated next to a guy in his late 20s. The plane was parked at the gate as everyone boarded, and I took the opporutnity to build my bubbleboy cone of silence in window seat 5A, reading quietly and making as little impact to those around me as possible. Soon, this guys takes seat 5B, and he's got no bags, no books, no iPod - no nothing - just himself. Literally three seconds after he buckles in, his knee starts vibrating non-stop in a manic display of OCD that I know will not subside for the impending 60 minute flight.
"Don't say a word, don't say a word..." I tell myself, convinced that if I can just last out the next hour, I will avoid an unpleasant scene that would likely result in me screaming obscenities at him... But as I try to maintain my focus on my book, the seat vibrations were so severe that I literally couldn't focus on the words. It was like I was sitting on a cushioned jackhammer.
I think I deserve some credit for lasting the six minutes that I did, but just as I screamed to myself in my mind, "YOU CAN DO THIS! YOU'RE NOT GOING TO SAY A WORD!" I watched outside my own body as I suddenly and unexpectedly turned to him and spat, "ARE YOU OK?!"
He looked at me completely confused. "Huh...?"
"Are you OK? You're shaking - I didn't know if...there was a problem."
He was offended. He scoffed. "That's what I do."
"You shake? That's what you do?" I gave myself permission to get pissed. "All our chairs are connected; I can hardly keep hold of my book - can you not shake your leg?"
Now he was pissed, "We're on a plane, PLANES SHAKE."
"NOT WHILE PARKED AT THE GATE THEY DON'T!" I replied.
Thankfully (for both him and me - more for me, because I'm not sure what I would have done otherwise), he stopped shaking and ignored me for the remainder of the flight.
The next week I was in the San Francisco airport with about 90 minutes before my next flight. I headed to the food court, but quickly realized that every table was taken. I looped around twice before a table opened up and I grabbed it. Halfway through my lunch, I heard an older guy behind me ask the next table if he could join them as there weren't any open tables. But nope - he was denied. He turned his attention to me and I quickly invited him to join me - I had space and (usually) I'm not an asshole.
As I turned back to my Sports Illustrated and sushi, the guy parked his luggage, set down his lunch, sat down across from me at the small, 2 person table, and...pulled out his f-in phone. With his face two feet away from mine, he then proceded to call three separate people and loudly drone on one-sided about absolutely nothing.
Little flecks of spittle dusted my spicy tuna roll.
Visions of Larry David encoutering the same situation...but rather than stage a whole scene (ballsy and brilliant), I intead tucked my testes back in my underbelly, scarfed my hamachi and blew the joint.
The final straw happened at the most unexpected moment.
I run most mornings before sunrise on the stunning American River Parkway. It's the only time of day that I can get out for an hour or so without it disrupting my family, and besides - I love the solitude, the peace, the still beauty...the hypnotic silence down by the river with only a trail and the wilderness to keep me company.
On this particular day I was having a particularly good run - I had pushed myself, was sweating freely, feeling alive...I was fully immersed in the very real "runner's high." With just a mile remaining, I started thinking to myself how great this was for my health; not just my physical health, but moreso for my mental health. With all my vitriol and hatred for the preponderance of assholes out there, I was surely heading down the path to an early cardiac arrest...but sweating out my toxins was my cure. I could literally feel my mental health healing its scars with each pounding footstep.
As I complimented myeself on my meditative prowess, I half-noticed a bike light coming toward me on the trail ahead. It had rained the night before, and I was approaching a section of the trail that had no shoulder, and with my dog on a leash with me, and it being still pitch dark (even though I too had a headlamp), I moved out on to the grass and weeds, navigating the puddles and mud rather than battle the biker for space (the trail can accomodate two going in either direction, and I actually had right of way with no shoulder).
You've never seen someone in such a deeply meditative trance go from zero to a billion on the heart attack scale so quickly - less than a milisecond. I had, "MOTHERFUCKER," "PIECE OF SHIT" and "COCKSUCKER" out of my mouth before his rear tire had passed my heals.
Look, I'm not proud of it - heck, I barely had anything to do with it. It happened beyond my control. My asshole tolerance levels had peaked and brimmed, and they needed a release. Thankfully, they rained on someone who most definitely deserved it.
And as we kick off the 24th season of Survivor, I have to admit, I have learned to revel in the abandon of assholes. No longer does Mark Burnett staff these things with people from all ages and all walks of life. He has a quota of assholes to fill, and by god, he fills 'em. After just one episode, it's apparent that this season is brimming with assholes.
And as we all know, watching assholes is light years more rewarding than dealing with them face-to-asshole.
We hardly get any real drama in this first hour, but the promise of asshole-spewing is ominously tremendous. Alicia with her universe-revolving-around-her mentality, drips with "you owe me respect" assumptiveness. Colton with his "no straight guy is worth my time" attitude, uses uncomfortable, venomous humor to construct flimsy relationship bridges.
It's unlikely I'll encounter any of these self-promoting dolts in an airport restaurant or on the bike trail at 4:45am, but if I do...watch out.
Of course all those bikini-clad hotties are all just fine the way they are...
God, I'm such an asshole.
Until next week...
