Keyboard Commando, you’ve been promoted.

Thought I would share a response I made to a guy who decided to make a completely off-topic post to attack my liberalism even though the posting was about my aversion to Facebook and had nothing to do with politics. A character who calls himself “bw” commented: “Wow, a whiny liberal consumed with himself. How typical.”

To which I responded:

Dear BW,

This is Bill O’Reilly from Fox News. I just wanted to congratulate you and bestow upon you the coveted Keyboard Commando of the Week Award, given to angry white men who have nothing better to do with their time than to make random, off-topic attacks of “liberals” on the internet, whenever and wherever they can.

All you have to do to get your award is to put down your Cheetos, lift your overweight ass off your chair, step away from the computer, and come out from your keyboard command central HQ in the basement of your mother’s house. Although it will be hard to do, you will have to identify yourself and come out from behind the keyboard commando anonymity that protects you from the people you anonymously and randomly attack. Surely, being a good right-thinking American, you have the courage to do that.

In any case, mission accomplished and well done. We will have you photographed on the deck of an aircraft carrier in a leather airman’s jacket with a big “Mission Accomplished” sign behind you, just like our former great leader, GW.

And now, we have another assignment for you, since you are so eager to wage war for the good of America.

We know that you will do this without hesitation, because, as a good American, you always heed the call of your country when it needs you. Our country is waging a war on terror still in the mountains of Afghanistan and elsewhere. We know that you have–and continue to–vigorously defend the United States’ invasion of countries around the world in the war on terror. Since you have so often and loudly opened your big mouth and pounded your fat fingers on the keyboard defending these policies and attacking “liberals” who’ve been against them, we believe it is your duty to become a real commando and volunteer to fight on the real front lines. It is your duty to prove you are not a hypocrite and will actually yourself fight in the wars that you have no trouble sending others to die in.

What’s that you say?

You think our country is better served by you continuing to sit on your obese ass and eating cheetos and sitting in your mother’s basement and attacking liberals randomly and at will on the internet?

OK, we understand. We’re Fox News. We can’t argue with anyone fighting the good fight in polarizing the populace. Just keep drinking our Kool-Aid like you have, and please don’t pay any attention to that study that showed that people who listen to Fox News are less informed than people who listen to no news at all. I’m sure it’s all liberal propaganda, probably started by that Gravybread character.

a million doesn’t mean much

Sometime in the last few months this blog logged a million hits. I was not here to see this milestone, a marker that should have excited me. I couldn’t have cared any less than if it had been an Entertainment Tonight report on Kim Kardashian’s shoe collection. I would like to make the time to work more on the site. To scribe thoughtful musings and observations about the world, from my own skewed and presumably unique perspective. To regularly update the woefully neglected and yet somehow still popular Mega Super Mammoth music blog list–which is the real hit-puller on this blog. But, I just don’t have the heart for it. I started this thing with great enthusiasm and energy but things radically shifted; my priorities were upended, my sense of things passing too fast heightened, and thus my panic at the growing feeling of powerlessness and the realization of myriad regrets became too overwhelming to ignore. I had been toying with time, was still toying with time, and still am toying with time, and time is laughing at my arrogant devaluation of it, and now I can hear the laughter but can only tap dance and hope I’m not making myself too much a fool in the performance. Anyway, this is all a subterfuge and a diversionary way of saying that I have no idea if I’ll ever really be back here, in spite of what I may have said over at Mega Super Mammoth. I spend about 100 percent of my online time now over at Goodreads, where I engage with mostly intelligent people whose tastes for books and for knowledge help to sustain me and fill all the online socializing needs I will likely ever need. But, I’m keeping this place open. I still have all of my good poetry posted here, and maybe I’ll post a thought or two here, now and again.

the same person you knew

Despite how I’ve been no doubt characterized by people who haven’t a clue, I never stopped being me. I’m still the person who thinks about time multidimensionally. I’m still of the same heart. I’m still open to those who extend their trust. I’m still all of that. It never changed. No lies or brainwashing changed that.

In the trash you go

If you think you are going to use my comments area to push your products (eg., your username is a product or product type and your address links back to your business site) — and I don’t care how personalized your message is — then think again. You go straight in my trash — unapproved.

Why Facebook can eat my ass

There was a hellish place in the dim past I called high school where large chickens clucked around and plucked out my eyeballs, such was the clique-ish pecking order. The day I left it was like the removal of a weighty millstone chained to my leg. Then a year or so ago I joined this “place” called Facebook and I started noticing that people I hardly knew started acting like large chickens pecking out my eyeballs again and the old popularity contest/hierarchical social, peacock-feather-sporting, attention-whoring crap I remember from 30 years ago was again under way. Somehow I had voluntarily re-joined a high school clique of 20-somethings and much older supposedly grown people who barely knew one another, and I noticed how horny guys in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, me included, started hitting on all the women/girls and it was like a fucking horse race (or high school) with everyone jockeying for position (yeah, I “LIKE THIS” that you did some unremarkable mundane thing, and liked it only because you’re a hot chick) and me again realizing that I’ve never been popular and never will be and don’t need to be within yet another context that emphasizes it — being reminded of the greater popularity of others who, when feeling charitable, throw crumbs of validation my way — and I said enough of this fucking shit. And I bolted for good. If you can’t meet me for real, or call me for real, I don’t fucking want to have anything to do with you. If I’m not worth your time to call and really relate to, then to hell with it.
(Next: Why texting can eat my ass…)

Incinerating Facebook

Facebook is a pernicious polluting pox on the Earth, and I will be deleting my account there. Perhaps I will explain why in my next posting.

Downsized

So, this is the short story of why I haven’t been here much.

I fell in love with a girl last fall. Left the wife for a couple of months. The girl dumped me. I went back to the wife. We got along for awhile but were soon at each other’s throats again. I’ve left her three times since. Last week I lost my job of 22 years. My position and that of another colleague was slashed. My bosses had for budgetary and marketing re-positioning “new media” reasons cut the hard copy magazine that my editorial position had been created for back in 1987. So in recent months I’ve been an editor and writer on other things, but ultimately the organization couldn’t justify the salary they were paying me, which was one of the highest on the staff. So now I’m re-energizing and getting ready to pound the pavement. It was not a great surprise, which is why I’m not taking it so badly. They have to pay me for six weeks of unused vacation. I kept my vacation at max just in case they pulled this very shit. Anyway, I’m optimistic, but it probably means little time for blogging. In the meantime, check out my movie top 10’s list up there atop the bar on this page. The list is the result of a sickness I’ve harbored since I was a kid. Sorry I haven’t been able to check the comments and messages here; there are hundreds pending. But you know, I have to live outside the cyber realm. Soon. -EG

Something vaguely Bard-like, in honor of spring

Cometh I bearing cocke and cumme…

Avail me not of it, Ignacio. ‘Tis no more the flowers of that bud in want of it, now that good Cecila is off to nunnery.

Cecilia’s memory burns but the fire is containeth and the ladle fit for any hand…

So call you then for her sister, Beatrice?

Indeed, as she buddeth on the spring, tis evident…

Ah but the bulls all laden in finery puff and huff the dust on their heels thus in the heat of the season. Thou ist not lonely in the pursuit, though lone of solitary bursting heart, tis the way of the chase … bullish sputum all round sows seeds of the land.

Aye, seems the path to Beatrice is laden full of’t.

Containeth not that which burns hotly as thy passion, goodly Ignacio.

Aye, for certain, dip’t of’t it must be soon or tis what you say is true, and mine heart and balles be fit of bursting.

I fear thy must contain’t sirrah, for Beatrice returneth not til on the morrow, and barring that may not be seen but for a full fortnight. She does not rise and fall like the sun; she is liketh more the hurricano in her manner. Thus, harken on the morrow and thereafter if need be. And keepeth thy temper even and true, and engageth not in duels with raging bulls of same-said fire.

I will, wise John. Till that breeze bloweth, I shall be but a sheet to’t.

As it must be, goodly Christian.

——-

(c. 2009, E)

I am so so sorry to everyone

I apologize. Haul me before the blogosphere court of justice and shoot me for dereliction of duty as blogmeister. Life has required my full attention. It got it, and it got me. Hard. So I will be back here soon, trying to make this a viable blog again, trying to go through and approve all the unread comments, trying to update the Mega Super Mammoth listing, and so on. Work duties call. Must run. -E

Thoughts as I scan the bus for sex

Chinese lady I vacillate on; she slides in the seat in front of me; sits. Asian, Chinese, a plus right off the bat. She wiggles out of a dark gray coat, fringed on neck with sharp gray fake fur. The body, rail thin, nice. Very nice. Peach sweater; creamy, hugging her boniness. Her thighs must be exquisite; the tendon must poke through the skin high up the thigh. An extreme turn on. The face, though; rather protruded mouth and teeth, too boyish; androgynous, but not in the way I like. Too much of my mother in that face, somehow. Could not make love to that body staring into that face. She’s a non-starter.
Her Chinese friend boards. Far more rounded face, mouth recessed. This is better. She smiles at the other and makes straight for the seat. She is directly in front of me. Black braided ponytail flaps over seat, inches from me. My face catches the breeze. Curiously I smell nothing, not even a light oiliness. Middle-aged, still retains some youth. Soft face fighting wrinkles, mostly winning except high on the neck. I know this problem. Some freckling. Some weariness. Average body. Could be good. Friendly, slightly addled maybe. Spoke to this woman for the first time last Friday (it is Monday now); a rainy morning. Rain starts conversations. Place was a bus station shelter; both of us waiting on transfer ride. “You ride your bike?” Not in the cold rain, I say. Summer rain, yes. She works where I do, she confirms. Enthusiasm seems overshadowed by preoccupation; or maybe a communication gap. She struggles with English. I struggle to hear. I nod as if understanding. I don’t. Don’t know if there’s a vibe. She spoke to me first, so maybe there is. Don’t care much, I guess.
Older red-headed lady boards; always sits near front in perpendicular row of seats. Catty-corner to me today; affords nice view of her. Tallish, lanky. Bony. Not old, per se; a hint of Desperate Housewives in her. Always provocative shoes with her. She likes shoes, I know; remarked last week on the leopard print pattern on the ancient woman’s shoes. She liked them. So did I. The ancient woman did not ride today; very erratic appearances by her. Too bad, I like her, smeared lipstick, greasy face and all. Could be her gigolo if she had the cash. So the redhead’s shoes today are pointed black boots; very hot. Really tiny points, long tapering. Red hair, darkish, slightly unruly, matted with spray; hardish. Business-like bearing. Black skirt. Dark red nail polish. Thin, lovely fingers. Not long, not wrinkled, soft. Hand model hands. Face thin, nose thin, lips average atop slightly jutting chin. Blue eyes; blue eyes and red hair. Unusual, fascinating. Balding a bit at the parted hair, white scalp drowns out the lingering strands. Betrays age. She reads through delicate frames; blueish-tinted frames, complements her eyes. Jowlish on neck, though. Could lose this; probably unable. Can’t be helped.
Would I? With her? Probably.
Men in back, the usual group, talking loudly. Well, just one—the opinion leader. Thinnish man with golden wire specks, light voice projects well. 60, 50; he counts down the likely trajectory of oil barrel cost. AIG, rated triple A, he exclaims, who saw that coming? He wonders. Manly talk. Very important.
Much blowing of noses today. Curiously, I haven’t this problem.
Last stop before the expressway. The big boned tall brunette. The one with the baggy tired eyes she tries to cement over with makeup. Hands and face made of Styrofoam. Odd complexion, texture. Not appealing. But her sadness draws me. Hair brownish with red hints, medium length. Smart enough, doted over, but accidental enough to appeal. Pudginess hinted all over, but mostly in hands and face. Solidly built lady, not overweight though. Face canine somehow, St. Bernardish, There’s a jowl but it’s solid, not turkeyish. Seems natural with her face, somehow. Not unattractive, this lady, but something transvestite-like about her. Mannish; the beefy jaws and hands emphasize… Much eyeliner on brow to emphasize femininity. Everything on the face slightly mannish somehow, yet unmistakably feminine. I wonder if she knows? Smartly dressed. Turtleneck sweater top, black. Pearlish necklace (more than one?) A lapel pin or delicate broach, perhaps, affixed over breastplate. Can’t tell, obscured by pearls. Large ring on left hand, a blueish stone in a hefty gold mount. She clasps a tissue in those stubby, mannish Styrofoam hands. She sits next to the redhead. They do not speak; they are not friends. Both business-like ladies. Both weary. I feel for them. I want to let them know it’s OK. Maybe they know better.
She rests her left arm on a smart little black purse. Can I see a gator-skin texture on it? Not sure. The handle rests down on her hard light tan skirt. The skirt stops above large knees. Her knees out, and below the bend a tantalizing few inches of a muscular, tannish lower leg. They rise out of high black boots. Stiletto-type heels, pointed toes. All of this very intoxicating. Could stare at this for the whole trip, and longer.
She grasps a metal rail with her right hand while the other rests on the purse. She crosses her legs. Too much. Skirt hikes up on beefy hard thigh. She knows, yanks it down a bit. She thinks, stares at nothing but her thoughts. Looks up, then down. Seems dissatisfied. Her mouth seems lazy, lips pursed. Have never seen her smile, I realize. I feel for her.
I vacillate on her. Would I? Probably.
I now think of a Venus-like quality to her face; stalwart, like something on a coin or bill, or Brigitte Helm. But looser, flabbier. That Styrofoam quality undoes it. She rouges over it, slightly too much.
-Evan