I used to have a really difficult time reading the paper. Not because I’m illiterate but because I simply couldn’t handle the bad news. My bleeding heart was such a pansy liberal back then! Remember the time when I said, “Aw. Poor Lions” at the MGM Casino in Vegas and you all laughed at me and said, “Oh yeah, poor lions. Wish my biggest problems involved laying around scratching my ass all day with nothing else to do but eat, fuck, and sleep!” ??

Remember that?

And then you threw your heads back and collectively laughed at the stupid frivolity of such a statement and I laughed too, but deep down, I still kinda felt bad for the lions. Cause being behind glass all day, never seeing anything new or even feeling the soft sunlight, the fresh night air —nothing but tourist after tourist day in and day out. Drunken fights. Shady drug deals. Vomit on the carpet and the desperation of Sin City permeating everything in sight— I dunno. That kinda seems like a bullshit existence to me. Free food and fucking notwithstanding.

I keep losing track, I’m sorry. I’ll try to get to the point.The point is, Daniel used to tell me I wasn’t allowed to read the paper or listen to the news. He had come home one too many times to me sitting on the floor with a wad of used Kleenex tossed all around me, my eyes swollen shut to nothing more than mere slits from bawling like an idiot. An actual idiot. Someone soft in the head. Through heaving sobs and hysterical, nonsensical ramblings he would piece together that I had seen some tragic bit of drama play itself out on the evening news. There’s never any shortage, is there?

Man. This is a crazy world we live in.

So enough of those little experiences and we quickly agreed it was in everyone’s best interest that I not expose myself to that kind of emotional turmoil. Clearly I was brain damaged and unable to process and detach myself from sad news items.

I wish I could say I am exaggerating. But I’m not. I would hear stories about kids being kidnapped and I would obsess about it, day after day. I would hold my breath, so to speak, until the word finally came. And the word was never “found” but only always “dead” and it was doing my head in. I couldn’t follow it anymore. I couldn’t keep doing that to myself. It was a real and true version of self-imposed hell on earth.

We made the deal and I refrained from clicking the links, tuning in or, basically, paying attention. I would of course occasionally stumble on some sad bit of news, but had become fairly adept at diversionary tactics. Sometimes it was something so silly as running around the house in circles chanting something stupid to myself until I had forgotten the offending story.

Yeah. I know. I can’t believe I made it to adulthood on my own either.

One of the stories that made it through my defenses was a particularly gnarly one. Do you remember the story about the Russian submarine, Kursk? They sailed out to sea to test some torpedoes, had an explosion on board and then sank and then died. All of them.

Man, it was everywhere. They had it on all the networks and I couldn’t avoid it, no matter where I looked it was there. I couldn’t stand it. I’d try to keep it together and things would get quiet for one minute and I would think about those men down there and knowing they were never going to come up again and their families sitting at home, watching it all unfold on television and knowing they were never going to see their father/brother/son/lover alive again. And nothing could be done. Nothing, nothing.

That was the hardest part of it for me, thinking about that. It’s always okay, as long as there is still something to be done– as long as all possible avenues haven’t yet been exhausted. It’s when there is nothing left to try that it kills me. Giving up is not something I can do easily. Even when it might be the best thing for me.

Daniel, of course, had to pick up the pieces again. But I don’t want you to think he was a dick about it. He wasn’t. He was actually very kind and gentle and he made me feel like I was perfectly sane, even though we both knew that ship had long since sailed. Is anyone sane at 23, 24? Sanity is on vacation throughout much of a person’s twenties.

He would “Aw, baby” me while I cried on his shoulder and he would try so hard not to let me see that he was laughing. There was this one headline, it read, “118 Men, Dead at the bottom of the Sea” I saw it on the front page of some newspaper and I repeated it to him while sobbing uncontrollably. Of course he couldn’t figure out what the hell I was trying to say so I had to keep repeating it over and over again until it became some form of perverse self-flagellation that made zero sense to me — then or now. Each pathetic attempt at spitting out the headline only made me cry harder and try as he might, he couldn’t help but laugh. And each time he laughed I would get mad and indignant and I would try to say it again…convinced if he could just hear the whole thing he would see the tragedy of the situation and he, too, would burst into tears and weep for a weary world and all her troubles.

Good hell. I’m exhausted just typing about it. No wonder we didn’t make it. That is just too much work for ANYBODY.

From then on, if he was feeling frisky and a touch sadistic all he had to do was look at me with a faux look of sincerity and say, “118 Men — Dead. At the bottom of the sea.” And I would lose it. I would just lose my shit and he would nearly fall over laughing and I would lash out at him for being such a cruel asshole. And those men. Ah, God those poor men!

Ah, those were the days.

So, this is happening:
(photo credit)

It’s gettin’ real in the middle east right about now. And it’s all very well and good to hold your head under the sand if you need it to just get by. But maybe it’s not such a good idea to stay down there for quite so long. It’s important to pay attention. History is being made all around us. Important things are happening. Idealist hippie or not, people are in harm’s way and fed up and ready to fight their way out. I am scared for them. And I am scared for me. I am scared for all of us. And yeah, a little sad, too. I had such high hopes for our lot.

I don’t pretend to know all the details. I’ve been refusing to pay attention for so long now. But I’m reading up on it. And it’s interesting to me how this thing is playing out on Facebook and Twitter. The revolution may not be televised, but it is certainly being socially networked. This minute-by-minute update by the Guardian makes for some fascinating reading. Between YouTube uploads and Twitter feeds, it’s really and truly amazing if you really and truly make yourself stop a minute and think about it. Think about it though it hurts and is scary. Cause eventually everybody has to grow up and stop being 23 and scared of feelings that seem too big to feel.

@mfatta7 Tear gas
@mfatta7 I’m suffocating
@mfatta7 We r trapped inside a building
@mfatta7 Armored vehicles outside
@mfatta7 Help we r suffocating
@mfatta7 I will be arrested
@mfatta7 Help !!!
@mfatta7 Arrested
@mfatta7 Ikve been beaten alot

Meanwhile, in America, Idol is just revving back up and Oprah is getting ready to tell us what to buy next.

118 Men, Dead at the Bottom of the Sea.

RUDE!

and they don’t even stop what they’re doing. Ever. They act like the cops are UPS delivery men in their way so they just step around them while they talk; they keep right on working, keep right on walking, moving, unpacking boxes, mowing lawns, packing getaway bags — whatever.

Me? If a cop walks up to me with questions about a murder I’m all ears. He’s got all my attention. I’ll sit in his lap, lock my arms around his neck and never let our eyes lose contact. Such is my devotion to proving my innocence in this and all future possible crimes.

Plus? They tell the cops to leave! Can you even do that? Maybe it’s cause I have an unhealthy fear of authority but I didn’t know you could do that. I was watching an episode today and this lady was being questioned about a murder and one of the cops was all like, “Blah blah blah something incendiary.”

And the woman was all like “Hhnnh! What? You can’t talk to me like that. I’m all indignant now and I’m just going to demand that you leave.”

And they left!

What?? What about the murder? Uh, did you forget something, guys? So, what? They’re just all like, “Oh, we’re sorry. We know you probably killed that guy and chopped him up and put him in the freezer to feed your pigs in small doses over the course of the next year, but we were waaaaaay out of line to insinuate that you might be a slut, preying on men, their bank accounts and their meaty haunches. We’ll just be going now. No, no, don’t get up. We’ll show ourselves out.”

Oh. Your. God. I don’t get it so much. I thought television was just like real life. Otherwise, why are there so many reality shows?

me and matt, right? we’re sitting here watching t.v while he rubs my feet. and then, he gets up. and he grabs the bag of chips. right? seriously. and he’s eating them. like literally right NOW. so i’m all “uh, your hands were just on my feet!” and he’s all “uh. yeah. so what? i put your feet directly in my mouth.” and i’m just all….right. that makes perfect sense. so i’m all, “carry on.” then he says to me: “baby, you know what goes good with plain potato chips? TWIX!” and then he just ran in there to grab some more of both. seriously.

anyway. i digress. so the thing with those people. what’s on tv is, it’s this show. it’s called — oh we’re watching adult swim, by the way. on cartoon network. it’s a ritual. don’t ask. and don’t even start with me. we dig it. so the show that’s on, it’s called “perfect hair forever” and it’s like. it’s lsd and pcp and x all rolled into one. it’s like visiting some alternate reality. some place where, somehow, this whole thing makes perfect sense. it’s all so clear to you now. how could you have not seen it before? the shit those people come up with can not possibly be the result of any reasonable level of sanity. or sobriety. in fact, those humpers haven’t been sober and clean since 1943. what we’re seeing now. right in front of our eyes on the tv? this is the result. this is the byproduct of years of repression in a strict totalitarian society coupled with wild and reckless drug use. there’s a flying hot dog. it flies and smiles and talks in a really high voice. and he’s called “super action hotdog!” like that. you have to say the exclamation mark in the way you say his name. it’s a law or something. and there’s this guy who looks like a deadhead, only asian, and –oh. i guess an asian can also be a deadhead. that just occurred to me. they’re not mutually exclusive. — anyway. bah! i just lost my train of thought. the deadhead, right? he wears shades and he’s got hair like one of those troll dolls but only his glows in several different fluorescent colors and he sings and he’s dreadfully horny and inappropriate. and there’s all this innuendo and that lasts for about two minutes and then they just drop all pretense and have this girl on a turning stage on her hands and knees with little white panties showing her little white snatch under her little schoolgirl skirt. and there’s an audience. cut to, hell, i can’t even begin to explain this. it defies explanation. it freaks me right out.

like, there’s this whole sub culture that most people don’t even know exist. but it’s there. and it’s poking and smoking and snorting its way right out on your living room floors. and we laugh. we’re all like, “whoa that’s weird.” and just go on not even guessing for a minute that, and i kid you not, those people are sitting in a pool of their own vomit with a belt tied around their arm and eyes that don’t go anywhere. just pumping this shit out.

i don’t know, but i can tell you this ain’t no bugs bunny. … or IS it?

check it: come on. seriously. sign it.
and also: cat man will eff you up

(and also, i was going through all music earlier and i saw this video and mark used to be the front man for queens of the stone age but this is something new. and hot. it’s him. only, he’s doing Hank Williams’ Ramblin’ Man. and there’s this chick, isobel williams singing with him. it’s goooooood. but kinda naughty.)

and also, also, matt was my researcher for this particular entry and demanded! that i credit him as such. so here you go.

but then i moved out to the crunchy. out here in the crunchy if you want internet service you have two choices: dial-up or cable. i’d sooner stick hot needles in my eyes than go back to dial-up. the results would be much more satisfying, i’m sure. i expect to die soon and i’d just as well not die while waiting for achewood to load. if it’s all the same to you. i could die having missed something important and that would never do! so cable it is. but with cable broadband comes cable television. there was no choice in the matter. of course, i could refuse to hook up the tv, but i was curious. i’m the cat that curiosity did in. that’s who i am.

so i started watching. and do you know what i discovered? i hate it. i loathe it. i despise it with the intensity of a thousand, million, kabillion burning suns.

ha! if you thought i was going to say it’s not so bad, really, boy were you wrong. cause i was right. and you, you were wrong. wrong! television is so full of evil. it just zaps you of any coherent, independent thought. you see all these beautiful ugly stupid smart people doing all these beautiful ugly stupid smart things and it just…well it just makes you shake your head in disgust is what it does. i just love how every advert for every show says something along the lines of, “all new never been done before groundbreaking television” when really everything looks so much like everything else. it’s all the same thing but in different clothes. on a different night. at a different time on a different channel. originality is dead. and we killed it.

we killed it because we buy into this garbage. we keep it on the air with our rabid viewing. our need to find out who killed JR. or is that dating myself? is that so second grade? i guess now we just need to know who the bachelorette is going to marry. or who was voted off the island and/or house this week. or whatever passes for entertainment. i guess even that’s dating myself. cause those shows aren’t even fresh anymore. we’ve moved on. newer, fresher reality shows have taken their place now. i don’t even know what they are. they move forward so fast, at such a frenetic pace i can’t even keep up.

me, personally, i’d rather see something truly original. but i don’t even know what that is. does anyone? i can’t define it. my senses have been dulled by corybantic infomercial hostesses who shriek that they can’t BELIEVE they are being allowed to offer these low, low prices. they promise to go into cardiac arrest at any moment. and so i watch. but they never do. they never do. they just keep kickin’. they don’t even have palpitations. the paramedics have never even been called. i tune out. i feel so robbed. what good is a cubic zirconia mood ring if not purchased from a screaming banshee on a stretcher? that‘s a keeper. that i’d tune in for.

neh. so i’m going to sell out to the man, man. i’m going to discuss current events and bring you the hard hitting stories that rocked our world. see here:

today, when i got to work they were all huddled around the radio because apparently there were a lot of important! things! happening! someone solved world hunger! hooray! someone found a cure for cancer! awesome! someone discovered another species of man living deep in the amazon rain forest who hadn’t ever heard of michael jackson and didn’t even know they were going to announce the verdict in the michael jackson trial. crazy! the former two news items are buried somewhere in your local news, between obituaries and bad reviews of Mr. & Mrs. Smith. all we crazy americans *really* care about is the latter. natch.

so anyway, i remember on 9/11 it was the same way. everyone was all huddled around the one radio in the office listening intently. we’re like a throwback to the stone ages in that office. i left the radio party and looked it up on streaming video on my computer because i’m a glutton for punishment and every once in a while i like to play this game called, “what new thing is it this week that makes me wish i could revoke my membership in the human race and go join a colony on Mars?” i know. the title needs work or Milton Bradley will never go for it.

so i’m watching and waiting even though i knew what it was going to be. and ha! i so called that one. if i was on Fox, i’d be all like, “in your face, basket case! i knew they’d let the nutter off!” i’d be all doing the funky chicken on the air and dissing everybody on camera and sticking my tongue out and wagging it at all the “correspondents” who were saying he was going down and i’d be all like, “you’re the one going DOWN, CLOWN.” then i’d spin them really hard in their chair until they got dizzy and had to call hair and makeup because their hairpieces fell off into their water pitchers…

uhm, so back to my report. the verdicts were read, the nutter left the courtroom, the jurors were debriefed and given silkwood showers or whatever it is they do to jurors and then released. then they were going blah blah blah and someone said the jurors might speak, but are reluctant to do so. which, when translated for people who aren’t hard-hitting journalists like me, that means: they are reluctant to speak unless they get paid a healthy sum of money for it.

then this one man who, really let’s be honest, i have no clue who he was but he must have been someone important because he was giving a press conference and there were all these microphones shoved in his face and they broke into their coverage of MJ’s SUV driving slowly, oh so slowly on the freeway to show him speaking into the microphone, but that doesn’t matter because i still didn’t catch who he was…and i missed most of what he said because it was pretty boring. but he did say that now the nation can move on. again, i’ll translate for you in layman’s terms. what he meant was: we, as a nation, can move on after every man, woman, child, and pet has the opportunity to blog about it, be interviewed about it, make a tv movie, big-screen movie, internet movie, ipod movie, satire movie, and book deal about it, and/or milk it in some form or fashion for the next 6 mos to a year or until the next big thing or something stupid and/or sensationalistic comes along to grab our attentions ala terri schiavo or popewatch…whichever comes first. (did you note the hypocrisy there as i blog about this? you did? good!)

then there were some interviews with jesse jackson. he said something about something. hell if i know. he was all, “we don’t need anymore of that inye-endoh floatin’ around heah. and nowah the hilling process must beginah.” translation: wtf? how do i know? it’s jesse jackson for pete sake.

then jesse said he’s known michael since MJ was just eight years old. oh yeah? something you want to tell us there, jesse? i don’t know about you, but lights came on for me everywhere. wink wink, nudge nudge, what what.

then i got bored and stopped watching for awhile. i’m not that dedicated, really. still. i think the anchor offers will start rolling in any day now…

i then invited a legal expert for his take on the whole thing. if you’re wondering what makes him an expert (because i’m always wondering what makes those people expert correspondents and they never tell me. they just say, “joining us now is expert legal correspondent blah blah blah and how do i know? they could very well just be burger flippers at mcdonalds for all i freaking know) i’ll tell you it’s because he goes to the courthouse to pay for his license tabs every year. so he’s been to a courthouse. also, i think he might have been arrested. maybe more than once. he’s a thug. so he knows a thing or two about the legal system.

Kim: we were talking about the jackson verdict
Matt: im actually in support of the verdicts. i thought the case was weak at best and the accuser was obviously a scammer tainted by his scammer mother
Kim: obviously
Matt: most thought the alcohol/minors thing would fly though. out of 10 charges the odds were that one would stick
Matt: i was surprised he got off completely
Kim: it’s ridiculous.
Kim: some guy is holding up a sign that says, “michael, on behalf of mankind. we’re sorry.”
Kim: don’t apologize for me. i didn’t do anything wrong.
Matt: right, like he didnt deserve the scrutiny or ask for scammers to target him. he practically begged to be called on it
Kim: WE didn’t deserve to foot the bill for a costly legal battle to be drawn out like this. we didn’t deserve the fucking media circus it’s become.
Kim: we are own worse goddamn enemy
Matt: yeah, and also charge that mom with endangering a child if its that obvious he was a molester.
Matt: and can that DA too, wasting 4 mil and 2 years plus trying this weakass case
Matt: and also we have to listen to jesse jackson whore himself on newsmedia shows now
Kim: oh god. don’t get me started. and the fucking jurors who will now go on to suckle at the teat that is their god-given fifteen minutes of fame? kill me now.
Kim: a book deal here. a movie of the week there. reality show contestant of the minute over there.
Matt: right…and now we’re on the lookout for the next story
Matt: the next runaway bride, the next indignity on display
Kim: “how i survived as juror number 3 on the OJ jur– i mean Jackson trial”
Matt: lol
Matt: at least there would have been no riots. white weirdos dont riot
Kim: oh god. this guy i saw when they read the verdict. he was all over there with his arms in the air waving em around like he just don’t care.
Kim: but he was wearing a three piece business suit.
Kim: he was the whitest cracker i’ve ever seen.
Kim: and i’m thinking, this guy. this fucking guy. he did it in the backseat of his parent’s yugo to “pretty young thing” or something and now he’s just having this deeply religious experience right out here in front of god and everybody and shouldn’t he be embarrassed? cause, you know. i’m kind of embarrassed for him.
Kim: either that or he’s a kiddie toucher too and he thinks a win for mike is a win for kiddie touchers everywhere.
Kim: but maybe i’m just bitter. what do you think? over to you, matt.
Matt: oh, bitter’s not the word. these people could at least state the obvious and admit that he’s a freak
Matt: yeah these people are like the crazed fans that get spit on by motley crue and dont wash their face for two weeks. touch me, michael! I can pretend im a young boy!