Hate, the Internet, Brokencyde and Michael Jackson.

Hi, I was just wondering why everyone makes such a deal about the band 'Brokencyde'? I, personally, love the band. And, of course, I know that many people don't. Everyone's entitled to their opinion, but I just don't understand why everyone ridicule and degrade them so badly. I just find it cruel. They don't rape, kill or anything.. they just produce music for our entertainment. Why can't these people just back off? It's downright disrespectful.. and frankly over the top. Haters threatening to boycott the band if they play at the warp tour? Death threats? The insults are just horrendous. Everyone's different. Some like screamo, some like pop, classical, rock, etc. Some people think music is useless and a waste of time. So stating your opinion (i.e. Brokencyde sucks, they have no talent) and passing it off as FACT is just stupidity. What's with all the hate? Isn't hate the reason for suicide, depression, war, etc? Isn't it the reason for Michael Jackson's death? I know for sure that hate is the reason for my depression and my sister's death.
I'd like to hear what you have to say to all this. --S.L.

Dear S.L.,

Thanks for giving me some room to work with on this one. If it was just another question about that band, I wouldn't have even bothered to answer it, but you were good enough to have more than just that to say, so thank you for it.

Should I assume that you read my previous entry regarding Brokencyde? To summarize, I was asked why a man in his early thirties might enjoy their music, and further, what my thoughts on the band were. Needless to say, I'm not a fan, and while I did withhold from unloading hate from both barrels, so to speak, I posited that part of the band's appeal to their audience is the polarizing power of hate-- that the band shrewdly exploits this in order to better market their music, by making themselves targets of the uncensored hate all over the internet here.

It's great (for you) that you love them, but there are plenty of folks out there who just find the music terrible, or the fashion sense deplorable, etc, considering it mere fodder for the lowest common denominator, whatever. But I think your question has more to do with hate than it does Brokencyde, am I right?

Here's the thing about hate and the internet: the internet gives everyone a voice, regardless of message, spelling/grammar skills, presumptive social values, or purpose. Have you ever read the comments section on any youtube page? ESPECIALLY the popular ones. Pick one. Any. For every "oh dude that's awesome" or "OMG i <3 ____'s (music/face/body/whatever) so much!!!!!111!!!," there are plenty of barely articulate rants and gibes, as rife with spite as spelling errors, and all about as necessary as a condom in a convent. It's everywhere. Visit your favorite websites, especially ones where the content has a comments section-- same rules apply. Maybe it's moderated, maybe it isn't-- but if it's not, you can bet your ass it's full of serious garbage.

And why is that? Why do people find the need to vent like that? It's easy-- because people CAN vent like that. Any public forum, unmoderated, if visited enough, will ultimately degrade to the worst of things, because the anonymity of the internet makes it easy. Some people do it because it's funny-- and you know what? Sometimes, it is funny-- especially if it's well-crafted. There are entire websites out there dedicated solely to cutting down things that the authors of the sites despise. Personally, I can get behind that, because I believe speech SHOULD be free and uncensored. I'm willing to put up with the bullshit to be able to say whatever I want to say. Yes, it does sometimes get out of hand, and yes, that's a shame, but these are the risks we as a society have decided to accept in favor of being able to say and think whatever we want.

I could sit here right now and tell you why I think the band Coldplay is God's way of punishing us for NOT executing the members of U2 (for the crime of continuing to put out increasingly terrible records after blowing their collective wad on their artistic zenith in "Achtung Baby"), and I could think of all sorts of clever metaphors. I could use the phrase "languish forever, consigned to the horse-phallus forced-sodomy ring of hell." I might think that was funny, and you know what? I probably have some friends and readers who would laugh, as well. Does that make me right, or just an opinionated asshole? Does it matter? I'm making use of my freedom to speak as I will.

But obviously, there's more to it than that. And there's a difference between internet hate and legitimate, real-life hate. The difference is, people aren't killing people because someone calls your favorite band a bunch of diarrhea-flavored eunuchs. You could write a blog criticizing Brokencyde, for example, and not a single member of that band is going to dive into the Grand Canyon. I'll concur with you far enough to say that "hate" gets out of hand on the internet, but there's personal hate, and then there's spitting for spit's sake.

Hate, internet or otherwise, didn't kill Michael Jackson-- pills killed Michael Jackson. A hard life killed Michael Jackson, and a few decades of bad choices. Personally, for the record, I think he did some fucked-up shit, made a mess of his life, and is probably better off now, but it wasn't bloggers, comment-section ninjas, or internet trolls that killed him. Personal responsibility, you know?

Now, I won't say that NO ONE has ever been killed or driven to suicide by harassment on the internet or even in real life. I won't say that no one has ever cried from some hurtful words, virtual or spoken. I'd go far enough as to say that there are plenty of people who suffer from depression, and getting picked on or hated on, regardless of venue, is a serious problem. I won't offer to excuse the behavior of bullies and assholes-- even when I've been a bully or an asshole. What I will, and emphatically, here, state, is that people suck. Always have, always will. You can't change that, and you can't stop it. Let me tell you, I've tried. It doesn't work, at least not until my Empathy Bomb (patent pending) goes off and teaches the world the real price of every action.

So what can you do? The same thing anyone can. If you can't change the world, you have to be strong enough in yourself to stand against it. Keep things in perspective. You're articulate enough to ask an intelligent question, so I'm sure you're smart enough to realize that there's nothing anyone can SAY to you that, as mere words, will actually alter the fundamental nature of who you are-- unless you choose to let it affect you. Your skin is as thick as you choose. Someone could make fun of you for liking Brokencyde, or the Twilight books, dogs over cats, or McDonald's cheeseburgers or Jesus or the color orange-- but does that make you any less than who you are? People say shit to me ALL THE TIME, because I have a tendency to make myself a target by being free with my opinions. I don't mind admitting that I hate things you may like, or like things you may hate-- but I don't care what your opinion is about it. If you like something I do, or something about me? Awesome. That's cool. It won't make me be your friend, though-- you have to earn that by less superficial means. By the same token, do you hate MY favorite bands? The music I write? This blog? The color of my hair, my cat, my blue eyes, my ethnic heritage, or how clean I keep my toilet? I don't care. Hell, you can hate me PERSONALLY, and it doesn't really affect me because I choose not to let it do so. That's your watch, not mine. If you live your life based on what other people think or believe, you're going to be sad. There's enough sadness and strife in one life that there's hardly any reason to start adding to the pile, you know?

I don't know what factors in your life are tearing you down or making you depressed, but I'm willing to bet that you have the power, inside you already, to be better and stronger than that, or to get whatever help you need to take charge of your life. Seriously.

I don't know if this was the answer you were looking for, but I hope it helps, one way or another. Take care of yourself.
Always Listening,
Dr. Sunday

Culinary Conundrum, or What Will I Be When I Grow Up?

Dear Dr. Sunday,

There are certain times of the year when I'm very satisfied with and challenged by my career--times when I'd go so far as to say I get that peace-filled and remarkable feeling that I'm doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing, when I'm supposed to be doing it. This, I believe, makes me very lucky, and I truly appreciate my employment. There was a time when I was sure I had my dream job.

But:

There are also certain times when my mind is overwhelmingly distracted from my work, and it's mostly to think about cooking. It's considering recipes, researching techniques, planning menus and reasons to entertain, constructing shopping lists in my mind, wishing I had more money so I could cook more things.

I love food, but I love cooking so much more. It's challenging and frustrating and satisfying to a degree I've only experienced elsewhere in personal romantic relationships.

So I wonder: am I in the wrong profession? Should I be cooking? Should I go to culinary school and have the chance to cook so much more than I do now? Or am I too old (almost 27, sheesh) already to consider such a thing? And do I not have enough natural talent? I'm really not that confident in my cooking, even though I manage to do a lot of it. I'm never quite happy with what I make, but the experience is always satisfying.

I guess I'm worried that: a) I'm pressing my luck--I already have a kickass job, b) I'm too old, and c) I'd end up being even worse than the trainwrecks that are eliminated in the first few weeks of every season of Top Chef. Plus I have a real and true and highly irrational fear of cracking eggs (terrified of the possibility of a partially developed chick inside).

I'm feeling delusional, but also kind of excited. Am I crazy?

Curious,

not-a-chef

Dear Not-A-Chef,

Finding one's true calling in life isn't always easy. There are people I've known personally from childhood, schoolmates, family friends, who always seemed to know where they would be going-- and simply fell into line, lived the life, and are thriving or at the very least comfortably surviving in their own little niches, never really having had to question their routes. In some of my more somber hours, I envy them the simplicity of their lives, the ease with which they appear to travel the paths of life, and wonder if they've ever spent the anguished and exhausting sleepless nights that some of us (like myself) still endure to this day.

And just as your story relates, I know people who work jobs that are very fulfilling, yet want for more, or perhaps simply wonder what else there could be. On a personal note, there is a man I know, a close blood relative of mine, who works a very honorable job which he loves-- yet he too, dreams of other things, at times, knowing that he possesses a passion (and honestly, even with my personal connection to him, I can state OBJECTIVELY, a true talent as well) for something else. Still the passion he desires to pursue is a bit less practical and immediate, for the needs of his life and his family, so he devotes himself to that which he must do to provide, while occasionally dabbling or even diving into the passion which haunts the quiet places of his soul.

Even for myself, I can state that I've walked this line. I'll go ahead and admit for the readers, as I have to my close friends, that I dropped out of college, walking out on a rather substantial scholarship to a very reputable institution, for the sake of pursuing careers in music and writing. I've spent my years since high school alternately supporting myself, sometimes in part, and sometimes in full, with my passions-- writing, recording and performing music, or various aspects of free-lance writing, not to mention the occasional art commission/sale, audio production, or event promotional role. While this is lovely, I also know that as an independent artist, I don't get health care or a 401K, and I'm lucky to have a savings account or even a place to rest my brilliant and beautiful head, so I've also made damned sure that, as needed, I've kept day jobs.

I promise this personal, expository narrative will soon become quite relevant to your circumstances, and I appreciate your patience, which you will find rewarded in a matter of a few brief paragraphs.

In the early days of leaving college, and the years that followed, I was a teen, or a lad in his early 20's, arrogant enough to believe that no harm would ever come that would require, say, the need to visit a hospital. Thanks to my upbringing (very folksy and rural, coming from a long line of bold and stoic people very close to the earth, with a liberal helping of German stamina, Irish courage, and Native American wisdom), I've been able to heal myself and keep myself well-preserved, despite years of very hard living. However, periodically, I've sustained injuries beyond my own abilities, such as when I broke my knee a couple of years ago (onstage, while playing a guitar solo--I'll spare you the details here), which once more revealed to me the benefit of having a very good "day job" which paid my bills and provided me with the high-level health care that allows me to walk, run, climb trees, fuck, fight, and maintain my yoga regimen to this very day. Even now, I work two jobs (one in finance, one in public relations) while continuing to make music (beautifully, I might add) and pursue all of my other ambitions (some more serious than others), which often actually make me some money-- a nice thing, to be sure, but more importantly, satisfies my desire for adventure, passion, and magic.

When I was recovering from the aforementioned knee injury, my father drove me to and from the surgery that was required. In an opiate haze, I recall resting on my bed in my apartment, while my Dad ran to McDonald's to get a fish sandwich for himself (it was a Friday during Lent, and he's Catholic enough to be like, forty-third in line for the next Pope). Dad came back, and asked again exactly what had transpired, and I told him. We had a discussion very similar to that which I have already mentioned to you, and he said it was good that I was wise enough to keep my day job while pursuing my passion. I agreed with him, and he told me this: "Sometimes, there is value in taking risks-- living life without a net. But if you can have what you want WHILE MAKING SURE that the basic needs of your life are cared for, you'd be a fool not to do so. Everyone wants to have a cake and eat it too-- that's the best of all possible worlds, son." Now, while he did tell me afterwards to cut my hair, stop wearing makeup, and to start eating meat again, since the vegetarian thing is probably why I got hurt, since I was already halfway to being a girl and when the fuck was I going to snap out of that hippie bullshit already, seriously, etc, I still consider him, in most respects to be perhaps the wisest person I know, and almost as smart as I am. Almost.

This is my advice for you, my dear: You should follow your dream. I do think, however, that you should do it in such a way that you do not sacrifice the life you have, at least for the moment. Sure, there's romance in the idea that you drop everything to flee to some far-off city to learn the culinary arts at the hands of venerable masters, but the truth is, you can have your cake and eat it, too-- and in the process, learn how to make the kinds of proverbial cakes that astound and astonish, that are as much a joy to prepare and devise as they are to eat and to share. Work with your schedule-- make some sacrifices for yourself and for your art. Figure out how to attend cooking school while still maintaining the job that you have. You will, then, have quite a bit of time to ascertain which life suits you best. Maybe you end up becoming a chef, and loving it-- and maybe you keep doing what you're doing, but go even further towards astounding the people who love you most by preparing meals of such amazing depth that your passions are sated, desires met, and your happiness is assured. The fact that you're willing to ask yourself this question, rather than dismissing it as some foolish dream, tells me that you're onto something worth pursuing.

I've given this question a lot of thought, and every time I look at it, I realize how totally right and very fucking smart I am. I think you're ready to take this step-- maybe you just need the impetus of hearing from someone on the outside. Follow your dreams, but save yourself the peace of mind that your "day job" will offer. You'll stay satisfied and you'll learn a lot about yourself. That's the kind of education that only life itself can provide.

I hope this has helped you. If you need further consultation, you know where to reach me.

Always Listening,

Dr. Sunday

PS-- You're never too old to follow your dreams. Betting on yourself is NEVER pressing your luck, and reality television is about as far from reality as you can get.

And for the record, the eggs that you purchase from the store are not ever fertilized, and thus will not contain any sort of embryonic chicken babies. I can state this categorically. Unless you're buying your eggs from a man on the side of the road, or driving to a farm to get them right out from under a hen, you've nothing to worry over, I assure you.