What do we do, and who do we blame?

That's the ultimate question to every conflict, isn't it? What do we do? Who do we throw into the burning pit of culpability? There are some cases where the answer is quite simple. Who is responsible for...say...the Holocaust? It was Hitler and his cronies. Right? Well, wrong. I mean, right, but also wrong. Take a look at the only blog post that doesn't have an English title. I forgot how to say it and am not feeling motivated enough to find out. Anyway, let's go on to another more complicated, more abstract topic: bigotry. So, most of us reading this are not (or at least we'd like to think we're not) bigots. We don't care about the color of someone's skin or their gender or their sexual orientation or their religion. No, we judge them by the content of their character. Or at least, let's pretend that that's the case. I know that many people don't behave this way. For those of you who do not feel that you belong in these groups, I understand, but let's pretend for argument's sake that this is morally right. We need some sort of starting point.
So here we are, absolutely disgusted by people who are bigoted. Oh? You don't like gay people? Fuck yourself! You're a terrible human being! Right? Well, let's step back for a moment. Where does the culpability really lie? En masse, the majority of the people who get so offended are people who reside in fairly liberal-minded places like New York, Seattle, and San Francisco. They live in theses ivory towers of acceptance and tolerance. I mean, I live in Los Angeles, CA. I understand this. I used to be this way, but then I started to thinking. There's a whole world out there beyond our city, and not everyone has the same ideas as us. Not everyone thinks the same way as us. Still, we're used to our Los Angeles-confined world. When we hear someone say something insensitive, we think "Oh god, what a backwards prick! Doesn't he know?" Well, no. It doesn't even have to be on such a big scale. Even within our families! If we live in different families, it's difficult to forget that different people do different things in different ways.
So, on both levels, both macro and micro, we have this world set up. The point I'm trying to take a long time to get to is simple. If a person is taught something their entire life, both by their family and by their surroundings, can they really be held culpable for thinking what they think? I mean, you were taught tolerance. Trust me, I really don't think that if you were taught things a different way by your family and surroundings, you'd be different. Ideas need to be spread around and shared.
So, say we accept that this person is not culpable for thinking something (note, I said thinking, not doing) by virtue of the fact that they were taught it their whole lives and it was beaten into their brains. So, who do we blame? The parents? It was probably the same with them. The media? Well,  it is made by people who were taught to think these things. Mind you, hate is a very learned thing. So, I guess we go way back to the time when the first person introduced (successfully) their ideas into social doctrine. I mean, can we even judge that person? They were responding to a vastly different time. Things were very different for everyone in every way. Even if it ended badly, it was well intentioned. So who do we blame?
Uh...how about no one? How about we start practicing what we preach about tolerance? You cannot be considered tolerant if you summarily denounce everyone who has a different opinion than you, simply because your opinions are considered to be progressive. I think we should stop fighting and just accept that people do not agree with us? How about we just get along because you know, that's just, like, your opinion, man.

Something to get you into the Christmas mood, courtesy of Tom Waits

Christmas Card From a Hooker in Minneapolis

Charlie, I'm pregnant and living on 9th St. above a dirty bookstore off Euclid Ave. I stopped taking dope. I quit drinking whiskey and my old man plays the trombone and works out at the tracks. He says that he loves me and though it's not his baby, he says that he'll raise him up  like he would his own son.
He gave me a ring that was worn by his mother. He takes me out dancing every Saturday night. Hey, Charlie, I think about you  every time I pass the filling station on account of all the grease you used to wear in your hair. I still have that record, Little Anthony and the Imperials, but someone stole my record player. Now, how'd you like that? Charlie, I almost went crazy  after Mario got busted.
I went back to Omaha to live with my folks. Everyone I used to know was either dead or in prison, so I came back to Minneapolis. This time I think I'm gonna stay. Charlie, I think I'm happy for the first time since my accident. I wish I had all that money we used to spend on dope. I'd buy me a used car lot and I wouldn't sell any of 'em. I'd just drive me a different car every day depending on how I feel. Hey, Charlie, for Christ's sake, if you want to know the truth of it. I don't have a husband. He don't play the trombone. I need to borrow money to pay this lawyer. Charlie, hey!  I'll be eligible for parole come Valentine's Day.

Too Much Love Will Kill You.

Freddie Mercury and Luciano Pavarotti sang those words and I was never really able to understand what those words meant until recently. "How does this even work," I would ask myself. Love is wonderful. It's a wonderful feeling to know that people love you and want to be with you. It's so great when people take an interest in your wellbeing and do all they can to make you feel better...to a point. I recently came to discover that sometimes, being smothered in someone's love can lead you to your wit's end.

Imagine sitting in a car with an overbearing Jewish grandmother for about an hour, listening to her calling you baby names and asking questions to keep you engaged while your mouth is wired shut. My entire existence hinges on being able to make a witty comeback or say something smart to disarm the situation. Whenever my grandmother used to start doing that, I'd simply say something or answer or just say that I really have to go do something or think about something. I mean, don't get me wrong. I love my grandmother and I know she loves me. I understand that she means well and is only trying to help, but it's not. It's doing the opposite. My main defense mechanism has been taken away from me.

Our world is built around communication. If we cannot satisfactorily answer a question or if we feel that we did not get the point across well enough (unless that's the point), we feel this urge to explain it better. We need to be understood. Everyone wants to be understood. Oh lord, please don't let me be misunderstood...or something like that. Anyway, it's uncivil, to say the least, when someone starts asking questions that require actual responses. Who? What? When? Where? How? Why? How can such a question be answered with a mouth wired shut. So, being civil, I start to try to explain with my inaudible moans (that's my best mode of communication) and when I cannot get the point across, she simply says "Don't worry about it. Just don't get nervous" and continues on to the next question which will inevitably rustle my Jimmies.

Then there is my sister who is like that child who wants to be with you out of love, but when you don't want her there...when you want to be alone, she takes it personally and storms out crying. She's like a deity. It's far too much to handle.

Sing it, Luciano!

Wisdom to live by

In the not-so-distant past (about a few months ago), I would spend my Friday evenings with my friend, watching and analyzing the ever loving shit out of Monty Python films. They made lots of great points on camera. I don't even know where to start. Their show did not offer too much insight on life, politics, religion, love and whatever else, but I always felt that if I need some cultural insight, I would go to Python. Their humor was so democratic, appealing to everyone. From lowest, most wretched fools of cockney society, to the most educated and cultured of Britons, to the relatively intelligent American teenagers, Monty Python has been able to stimulate...well...something with those darling little skits that we watch on our television, computer, cellphone and tablet screens.

Even still, with their genius on stage, the most powerful point that they ever made was done during an interview. Graham Chapman, bless his soul, as many of you probably already know, was gay. When word got out, some people were upset. During the interview, one of the people in the audience members (it was one of those interviews) said that she knew that one of the members of Python was gay, and it upset her because the bible says that it's wrong. Eric, in his infinite wisdom, then proceeded to saying very well be one of the most important things anyone has ever said...or at least one of the most important things I have ever heard anyone say.

He said, "We've found out who it was and we've taken him out and had him killed." That probably shut her up.

Think about that for a moment. That's pretty fucking good. What does it mean? It means that he used comedy for its most powerful purpose. He did not yell at her. He did not say something boring. He did not insult her back and he most certainly did not physically attack her. 

No, he told a joke. He told a powerful joke. He told a joke that disarmed the situation. He told a joke that demonstrated how to deal with bigotry. He showed the world how to look at hate and win. The only other joke I can think of that is as powerful is the one Bill Hicks told about how he offended some rednecks. They said "We're Christians," to which he replied, "Then forgive me." He got mercilessly beat up after that...or so the joke goes, but that was still an incredibly powerful joke with more in those three little words than I have the energy to even start discussing. I'm sure there are other powerful jokes like that, but that's the only one I can think of on the fly like that. 

Graham, rest in peace. Eric, no. Right no. John, I guess...uh...you're really tall. Michael, you'd make a great lumberjack. Terry, great cartoons, bro. Other Terry...yeah, you were there. Good on you.

And on a completely unrelated note, the 5 living Pythons will have a show at the O2 arena in London on July 1st, 2014. So see it and tell me how it goes.

See no bullshit, hear no bullshit.

So, world. I know I have been away for a while. I know, I know...you miss me so much. Well, I miss you, too! But I have been absolutely incapacitated for the past while and I'm a bit more free right now, so I decided to regale you all with a short story that happened to me.
I was at college, my mouth wired shut with wires snaking about my teeth that make it impossible to open my mouth (I mean, literally). Anyway, as you can imagine, talking to me would be a challenge; especially for someone who could not see. So anyway, I was walking to my class and was stopped by a blind man giving some sort of survey. He bumped into me with his seeing cane (I am not quite sure if that is the proper way to call it) and he started to ask me questions about how I feel about everything. He did not even ask me if he I would allow him. He simply started asking his memorized list of questions while holding on to my shoulder. I was in a hurry. I had to go to class. I could not be bothered with this. With my mouth wired shut, I started moving my hands around and trying to gently nudge him away from me, but he was not responding. I said "MMMM! MMMMMMMM! MMMMMMMMMMM!" But that was not working, as you can imagine. So eventually, someone came up to him and said "His mouth is wired shut, what are you? Blind?"
Feeling embarrassed, he simply said "Oh, my. I'm sorry about that." And he walked away. I came up to the other man who informed him of my impediment and showed him a piece of paper that read "He really was blind. He had a seeing cane."
He looked at me, just as embarrassed as the blind gentleman must have felt, and just walked away. See no bullshit, hear no bullshit."