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
Showing posts with label practical. Show all posts
Showing posts with label practical. Show all posts
Monday, October 26, 2009
Orange Juice? or....?
Doctor:
What kind of person throws a half full gallon of orange juice out on the highway? I saw this around 8:30 am today on 75 North and felt curious. I have some ideas....
A) The type of person that would take a bite out of a burrito and chuck it out a car window on the highway because "it is filling".
B) Someone on a serious acid binge.
C) Some kind of douchebag that is not satisfied with ordering a large orange juice with his McGriddle.
What do you think?
--Stupefied on 75
Dear Stupefied,
Those are all excellent possibilities. Finding items in strange places does set the mind to wandering. I once found half of a Taco Bell burrito in a dressing room at Macy's, for example, and thought "you could wait long enough to go from Taco Bell to the mall, and on into Macy's, before you started eating, but you couldn't wait until you were done trying on clothes?" My immediate hypothesis there was something along the order of some strange nigh-superhuman, whose metabolism runs well faster than anyone's ever should-- and thus must consume food in strange places and in strange amounts.
Regarding your orange juice conundrum, I could of course speculate, but instead will regale you with an instance from my own personal life that might shed another sort of light on the matter. As many of my readers know, I'm also a musician-- and during various times in my life, must travel for my art. In younger years, I've spent that time in a van, with a group of whatever gentlemen I'd enlisted to my cause in the context of a van. What many people may not realize, is that guys travelling and sleeping in a van may not always be the most mature or well-mannered, and that the rules and customs of the road are not always the rules and customs of civilized people.
My story, which I assure you will rapidly become relevant, begins with one of the many amusements with which we would wile away empty hours. It was a game with no name, and only one implement-- an egg. Just a plain, ordinary egg, which made its way into our van through a complicated series of dares and bets, but became the focus of several hundred miles of the American Midwest. The rules of the game were simple: if you had the egg, you had to pass it off to someone else, without them realizing it. Break the egg, and you lose-- be the one to place the egg last, and you win. *PROTIP: If you want to play this game at home, drawing faces, phalluses, the Batman logo, or the profanity of your choice on the shell of the egg is OPTIONAL.
During the course of this travel, the egg aged and passed many ordeals-- being hidden in pockets, hoodies, shoes, lunchbags, and hats. Unfortunately for me, it came to its final resting place in my pillow. I discovered it upon laying down to rest, somewhere east of Cleveland, it being my night to be too drunk to drive the van. Of course I felt the strange sensation of the well-placed object, under my pillowcase yet above the pillow, as my heavy and heavily-intoxicated head came to break it, but I was too tired to care. In fact, it was the complaints of my bandmates, who could not abide the stench, that awoke me and alerted me to the issue, an hour or so later... when we pulled over to throw the pillow out in a gas station trashcan. Unfortunately, I realized that my hair now smelled of the distinctive sulfur of rotten egg.
Instantly sober and stinking to the high heavens, I vowed my bitter revenge. And, in the custom of Young Men Travelling in Band Vans Across States, it was to be vulgar in its own right.
We went inside to gather supplies, including sodas for the trip and ice for the cooler. Only two of us were Mountain Dew drinkers (one being myself, and the other being the winner of the egg game). This, I would use to my advantage. Procuring two Mountain Dew BIG SLAMS (the one liter-size, a term no longer used on the packaging, but familiar to many), one for myself and one for my quarry, my trap was soon to be set.
Once back in the van, I neglected to go back to sleep, but rather to drink every drop of my soda right then and there. I concealed this fact from my quarry (who was fast asleep in the passenger seat, and due to take over driving in a few hours), keeping the empty close by me. Now, per the customs of the road, had I not finished mine, I was to write my name on it, before slipping it in the cooler. I did neither. In fact, I took my quarry's soda from the cooler and drank a couple gulps of it, wrote my name on it, and put it back in the cooler.
I didn't sleep for the next long while. I used the time, instead, to void my bladder into the empty Mountain Dew bottle-- first a couple of long, tiresome "beer pisses" and then the logical outcome of guzzling an entire liter of Mountain Dew in a matter of minutes. The bottle, unsurprisingly, was nearly full, and thanks to the green color of the bottle, wasn't that far off from what one might expect to see. I wrote my quarry's name on the bottle, placed it in the cooler, and went to sleep.
***Editorial note: For the record, urinating in a plastic bottle while on the road may SEEM vulgar, but if you think it is, you've never traveled long distances overland with males, where the rule of the road is, always, that the strongest bladder is the one calling the "piss stop."***
Some time later, we pulled over to change spots-- my quarry in the driver's seat, myself in the passenger, the rest of our part in the back. Of course, the quarry instantly wanted to crack open his Dew to get started, and thanks to the cooler, it was nice and cold for him. Ice cold, like the revenge I was to have.
It took exactly one deep, thirsty guzzle before he spat most of his "soda" all over himself before closing the bottle and throwing it out the window. "Fucking awful, I must have gotten a bad one," he would splutter later, never once knowing what he had willingly taken into his body. To this day, he doesn't know, and in the off-chance he's reading this, I've spared his name.
Did someone later, though, wonder why an almost completely full bottle of Mountain Dew was discarded? Did someone, perhaps, years later, pull a similar prank with a gallon of orange juice?
We may never know. I hope this has helped you.
Always listening,
Dr. Sunday
What kind of person throws a half full gallon of orange juice out on the highway? I saw this around 8:30 am today on 75 North and felt curious. I have some ideas....
A) The type of person that would take a bite out of a burrito and chuck it out a car window on the highway because "it is filling".
B) Someone on a serious acid binge.
C) Some kind of douchebag that is not satisfied with ordering a large orange juice with his McGriddle.
What do you think?
--Stupefied on 75
Dear Stupefied,
Those are all excellent possibilities. Finding items in strange places does set the mind to wandering. I once found half of a Taco Bell burrito in a dressing room at Macy's, for example, and thought "you could wait long enough to go from Taco Bell to the mall, and on into Macy's, before you started eating, but you couldn't wait until you were done trying on clothes?" My immediate hypothesis there was something along the order of some strange nigh-superhuman, whose metabolism runs well faster than anyone's ever should-- and thus must consume food in strange places and in strange amounts.
Regarding your orange juice conundrum, I could of course speculate, but instead will regale you with an instance from my own personal life that might shed another sort of light on the matter. As many of my readers know, I'm also a musician-- and during various times in my life, must travel for my art. In younger years, I've spent that time in a van, with a group of whatever gentlemen I'd enlisted to my cause in the context of a van. What many people may not realize, is that guys travelling and sleeping in a van may not always be the most mature or well-mannered, and that the rules and customs of the road are not always the rules and customs of civilized people.
My story, which I assure you will rapidly become relevant, begins with one of the many amusements with which we would wile away empty hours. It was a game with no name, and only one implement-- an egg. Just a plain, ordinary egg, which made its way into our van through a complicated series of dares and bets, but became the focus of several hundred miles of the American Midwest. The rules of the game were simple: if you had the egg, you had to pass it off to someone else, without them realizing it. Break the egg, and you lose-- be the one to place the egg last, and you win. *PROTIP: If you want to play this game at home, drawing faces, phalluses, the Batman logo, or the profanity of your choice on the shell of the egg is OPTIONAL.
During the course of this travel, the egg aged and passed many ordeals-- being hidden in pockets, hoodies, shoes, lunchbags, and hats. Unfortunately for me, it came to its final resting place in my pillow. I discovered it upon laying down to rest, somewhere east of Cleveland, it being my night to be too drunk to drive the van. Of course I felt the strange sensation of the well-placed object, under my pillowcase yet above the pillow, as my heavy and heavily-intoxicated head came to break it, but I was too tired to care. In fact, it was the complaints of my bandmates, who could not abide the stench, that awoke me and alerted me to the issue, an hour or so later... when we pulled over to throw the pillow out in a gas station trashcan. Unfortunately, I realized that my hair now smelled of the distinctive sulfur of rotten egg.
Instantly sober and stinking to the high heavens, I vowed my bitter revenge. And, in the custom of Young Men Travelling in Band Vans Across States, it was to be vulgar in its own right.
We went inside to gather supplies, including sodas for the trip and ice for the cooler. Only two of us were Mountain Dew drinkers (one being myself, and the other being the winner of the egg game). This, I would use to my advantage. Procuring two Mountain Dew BIG SLAMS (the one liter-size, a term no longer used on the packaging, but familiar to many), one for myself and one for my quarry, my trap was soon to be set.
Once back in the van, I neglected to go back to sleep, but rather to drink every drop of my soda right then and there. I concealed this fact from my quarry (who was fast asleep in the passenger seat, and due to take over driving in a few hours), keeping the empty close by me. Now, per the customs of the road, had I not finished mine, I was to write my name on it, before slipping it in the cooler. I did neither. In fact, I took my quarry's soda from the cooler and drank a couple gulps of it, wrote my name on it, and put it back in the cooler.
I didn't sleep for the next long while. I used the time, instead, to void my bladder into the empty Mountain Dew bottle-- first a couple of long, tiresome "beer pisses" and then the logical outcome of guzzling an entire liter of Mountain Dew in a matter of minutes. The bottle, unsurprisingly, was nearly full, and thanks to the green color of the bottle, wasn't that far off from what one might expect to see. I wrote my quarry's name on the bottle, placed it in the cooler, and went to sleep.
***Editorial note: For the record, urinating in a plastic bottle while on the road may SEEM vulgar, but if you think it is, you've never traveled long distances overland with males, where the rule of the road is, always, that the strongest bladder is the one calling the "piss stop."***
Some time later, we pulled over to change spots-- my quarry in the driver's seat, myself in the passenger, the rest of our part in the back. Of course, the quarry instantly wanted to crack open his Dew to get started, and thanks to the cooler, it was nice and cold for him. Ice cold, like the revenge I was to have.
It took exactly one deep, thirsty guzzle before he spat most of his "soda" all over himself before closing the bottle and throwing it out the window. "Fucking awful, I must have gotten a bad one," he would splutter later, never once knowing what he had willingly taken into his body. To this day, he doesn't know, and in the off-chance he's reading this, I've spared his name.
Did someone later, though, wonder why an almost completely full bottle of Mountain Dew was discarded? Did someone, perhaps, years later, pull a similar prank with a gallon of orange juice?
We may never know. I hope this has helped you.
Always listening,
Dr. Sunday
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Shorties, Anonymous, and Facebook: a collection of the brief.
*****Dear Readers-- what you are about to read is a list of random short questions asked of me, whether via anonymous emails (some nice, some fake, some douchey), or comments left on my facebook page. Thought I'd share, because, well, I want to, and this is MY blog. If you don't like it, you're probably not reading this anyway. So enjoy, friends. --The Doctor.*****
#1- Doctor: Itchy head.. Do I have lice? And if so, Will you pick them out? --T.
Dear T: Getting checked for lice is fun and easy-- those popsicle stick things they run through your hair kind of feel good on the scalp.
Lice-picking is a premium service, not included within the Dr. Sunday free project, but I could probably offer you a coupon or something. I'd also advise not wearing the other kids' hats. Love, Dr. Sunday
#2- Doctor Sunday: My question for you is... My boyfriend is turning 28 in August and I have no idea what to do for him. I know I want to do something very creative and adventurous but I'm running low on ideas. Any thoughts??? --M.
Dear M: Might I suggest, firstly, a surprise party, on a date at least one week prior to his birthday? I successfully caught my dear Claudia with a great surprise party by enlisting (without her knowledge) the help of a couple of her friends (whom she didn't know I had contact with; I used facebook and was VERY tricky). A surprise party ON the birthday would be too easily deduced.
Are we discussing a gift, an event, or a combination thereof? In my experience (as in, being a guy), I will tell you that nothing moves me more than an experience I can remember forever, or something I can hold onto and look back on repeatedly, whether it be a poem, a hand-made gift or hand-made card, or simply a letter on clever stationary. I'm the sentimental type, so a keepsake is a lot more meaningful to me than say, that video game I've been dying to play, which I'll play through once and then never again. I don't know if your man falls into that category, but that would certainly make your job easier.
Using your wits, you can guarantee the kind of birthday surprise for your boyfriend that he'll never forget.
Always listening,
Dr. Sunday
#3-- Doctor Sunday- Why are you such a homo? --Goat-Sodomizing Fuckbottle [identity edited by the editor because I fucking CAN]
Dear GSF,
It's 2009, why not? Dr. Sunday just loves people. Plus, you're really cute. Piss off, my dear Goat-Sodomizing Fuckbottle, and if you feel again like speaking to me, at least be funny. Keep reaching for that rainbow! --Dr. Sunday
#4-- Dr. Sunday, Where the hell did my pants go??????!@? --K.
Dear K.,
They are under my bed, in my box of keepsakes, because your love means so much to me that I can't imagine being able to part with them. I regret the necessity of sneaking up behind you with a chloroform soaked rag, just to steal your pants, but to be honest, after the roller coaster/whirlwind madness we shared, I simply didn't believe that you'd be willing to part with even such a simple keepsake.
Or maybe that was a joke. I'd advise looking through your laundry hamper aggressively, or looking under your bed. Normally, when I can't find an article of clothing, it has either been misfiled in my closet/dresser/etc, or buried somehow in my laundry, if not appropriated by my beloved cat as part of his fortress under my bed.
Hope this helps you.
Love,
Dr. Sunday
#5 Dr Sunday-- (*editor's note, spelling in this query has been corrected, and rather extensively at that): what is your problem with BC13? I read your post and you're just running your mouth like an asshole. no one asked you. --the dank knight
Dear "The Dank Knight,"
First off, yes, someone DID ask me. Secondly, you clearly didn't read the post thoroughly enough, but I'd blame that on the apparently severe level of cognitive disability you displayed so memorably across your email. Tell your mother or special needs provider that I told you to "write back when puberty hits, or functional literacy-- whichever comes first." Twat. Sincerely, Dr. Sunday.
PS- the "DANK KNIGHT?" seriously? dude. Wow.
*****And I'll close there. I've got more, but I'll save those for a future date. I'd once again like to remind you to feel free to ASK ME ANYTHING, and thank you, my dear readers, for making this blog such a fun and successful project.
Much love, and always listening,
Dr. Sunday*****
#1- Doctor: Itchy head.. Do I have lice? And if so, Will you pick them out? --T.
Dear T: Getting checked for lice is fun and easy-- those popsicle stick things they run through your hair kind of feel good on the scalp.
Lice-picking is a premium service, not included within the Dr. Sunday free project, but I could probably offer you a coupon or something. I'd also advise not wearing the other kids' hats. Love, Dr. Sunday
#2- Doctor Sunday: My question for you is... My boyfriend is turning 28 in August and I have no idea what to do for him. I know I want to do something very creative and adventurous but I'm running low on ideas. Any thoughts??? --M.
Dear M: Might I suggest, firstly, a surprise party, on a date at least one week prior to his birthday? I successfully caught my dear Claudia with a great surprise party by enlisting (without her knowledge) the help of a couple of her friends (whom she didn't know I had contact with; I used facebook and was VERY tricky). A surprise party ON the birthday would be too easily deduced.
Are we discussing a gift, an event, or a combination thereof? In my experience (as in, being a guy), I will tell you that nothing moves me more than an experience I can remember forever, or something I can hold onto and look back on repeatedly, whether it be a poem, a hand-made gift or hand-made card, or simply a letter on clever stationary. I'm the sentimental type, so a keepsake is a lot more meaningful to me than say, that video game I've been dying to play, which I'll play through once and then never again. I don't know if your man falls into that category, but that would certainly make your job easier.
Using your wits, you can guarantee the kind of birthday surprise for your boyfriend that he'll never forget.
Always listening,
Dr. Sunday
#3-- Doctor Sunday- Why are you such a homo? --Goat-Sodomizing Fuckbottle [identity edited by the editor because I fucking CAN]
Dear GSF,
It's 2009, why not? Dr. Sunday just loves people. Plus, you're really cute. Piss off, my dear Goat-Sodomizing Fuckbottle, and if you feel again like speaking to me, at least be funny. Keep reaching for that rainbow! --Dr. Sunday
#4-- Dr. Sunday, Where the hell did my pants go??????!@? --K.
Dear K.,
They are under my bed, in my box of keepsakes, because your love means so much to me that I can't imagine being able to part with them. I regret the necessity of sneaking up behind you with a chloroform soaked rag, just to steal your pants, but to be honest, after the roller coaster/whirlwind madness we shared, I simply didn't believe that you'd be willing to part with even such a simple keepsake.
Or maybe that was a joke. I'd advise looking through your laundry hamper aggressively, or looking under your bed. Normally, when I can't find an article of clothing, it has either been misfiled in my closet/dresser/etc, or buried somehow in my laundry, if not appropriated by my beloved cat as part of his fortress under my bed.
Hope this helps you.
Love,
Dr. Sunday
#5 Dr Sunday-- (*editor's note, spelling in this query has been corrected, and rather extensively at that): what is your problem with BC13? I read your post and you're just running your mouth like an asshole. no one asked you. --the dank knight
Dear "The Dank Knight,"
First off, yes, someone DID ask me. Secondly, you clearly didn't read the post thoroughly enough, but I'd blame that on the apparently severe level of cognitive disability you displayed so memorably across your email. Tell your mother or special needs provider that I told you to "write back when puberty hits, or functional literacy-- whichever comes first." Twat. Sincerely, Dr. Sunday.
PS- the "DANK KNIGHT?" seriously? dude. Wow.
*****And I'll close there. I've got more, but I'll save those for a future date. I'd once again like to remind you to feel free to ASK ME ANYTHING, and thank you, my dear readers, for making this blog such a fun and successful project.
Much love, and always listening,
Dr. Sunday*****
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Betrayed
Doctor Sunday:
A very good friend (metaphorically) threw me under the bus today, and I am having trouble letting it go. I don't really want to go into the details, but I'll say that we were involved in a somewhat stressful decision-situation, in which many of the other people involved were overreacting, and I was trying to be reasonable and convince everyone to stop and think before we acted in a reactionary way. This is not an unusual scenario with this group. Usually, I can count on him to be with me and help chill everyone out, but today, instead, he mocked me in front of all of them. (Essentially, "she's bitching and moaning so I guess we'll just have to wait till she stops crying") I already told him that I didn't appreciate this remark, and he sort of apologized, but I am still very bothered. How do I let this go? Much of this is the fact that I am disappointed in him, I expected more and now I feel as though I can't count on him anymore.
Betrayed
Dear Betrayed,
This is a very unpleasant experience indeed. Trust is the most important factor in any relationship, be it platonic, collaborative, romantic, or any combination thereof, and when that trust feels violated, it can be very difficult to regain, let alone to merely forgive/forget. Without knowing the full details of the situation, I can still perhaps suggest a couple of possibilities as to the "why," which may help you to let this go.
The first possible solution would involve, however, Dr. Sunday taking on the role of devil's advocate, so please bear with me and understand that I am in no ways trying to downplay the validity of your feelings. (Furthermore, let me apologize for utilizing both the third and first person in the prior sentence; this is not a habit of mine, but rather a narrative device meant under no circumstances to bely any sort of pretension in my nature above and beyond that which can be expected).
The thought here would be, given that this person has, in the past been a party upon which you could consistently rely in such straits, is it not possible that there are extenuating circumstances that led him to behave in a manner divergent from his norms? Not to excuse his behavior, but rather to explain it as rather the byproduct of something external and not to be taken personally? Either way, he owes you an apology, but consider: perhaps said party had one of those mornings that seems a modern remake of the Book of Job; rises to find that his spacious and reasonable apartment has become flooded from a backup in the plumbing, leading to black water, ankle deep, which has ruined his collection of novels and caused an electrical fire which, among other things, destroyed his computer, suffocated his dog, immolated his Playstation, and caused his alarm clock to fail catastrophically.
Of course I exaggerate, but the point meant to be illustrated here is thus: if a person acts contrary to their nature, or to your expectations of their nature (given past circumstances), is it not reasonable to posit that there may be factors present of which you simply know little, or nothing? The course of action here is plain, if this hypothesis is correct: allow this person time to collect himself, and perhaps inquire, on a friendly level, of his well-being. Unless seriously dire forces are at work, it is entirely reasonable to assume that the individual will realize his mistake and perhaps even offer a well-deserved apology. If this is a friend, you have a right to ask of his well-being, and indeed to push further still, if you deem it necessary or appropriate, wherein you confront him directly and state that you found his attitude and comments inappropriate.
Speaking personally, I find such attitudes to be reprehensible, and borderline misogynist. This may not necessarily be the case, but you have every right to feel as you do, and the important thing to take with you from this (which would also lead into my second suggestion) is that you have a different, and perhaps broader perspective on the way this person deals with situations where stress is a factor.
I was raised to believe that in any circumstance, one treats one's peers with respect, wherever possible; and REacting based on base emotional state (i.e. blowing up at, or ridiculing another because you're "in a shitty mood") is simply inappropriate. In my own personal and professional life, I've striven to avoid such reactive attitudes and actions, but it's far easier said than done.
My second suggestion is the more difficult, but ultimately the more pragmatic; it is simply that knowing now what you know of this person, accept the knowledge for what it is, acknowledge the way it makes you feel, and deal with it in the fashion you deem least destructive. To give you an example, were I in your shoes, I'd wait exactly twenty-four hours, and if an apology or some extenuating circumstance has not come to light, I'd confront this person directly and state my feelings on the matter. I'd take that twenty-four hours to remind myself that nothing in this world is ever certain, and that the nature of trust is that it is tenuous-- this is both its beauty and its curse. Trust is a soap bubble from a plastic wand; beautiful as it floats, iridescent as the light strikes, a thing of magic for the entirety of its existence-- but to carry the metaphor further, bubbles eventually pop, at one point or another, and you can always blow another, I suppose. The conceit sort of loses momentum at this point, because I can't figure out how to tie in that orange plastic bottle, sticky to your fingers, with the fact that you have to strike a balance between trust and observation. You can easily let go of a broken trust by saying "fuck it, I'm on my own, people suck," thus giving up all expectations of other humans, for now, for a time, or forever-- but you'd be wrong in this, and selling yourself short on the human experience. You can also forgive anything and everything, but eventually that leads to you being taken advantage of by even those nearest and dearest-- which sort of defeats the purpose of letting anyone become near, let alone dear.
I suppose the best I can say here is this, and I hope it helps: listen to your heart. Rely on yourself, and smile when others back you up. You've been wronged-- what would make YOU feel better about it? You can confront a person who has wronged you without causing further trouble, but your heart is, regardless, going to desire an answer, a reason, a rationale for this behavior. Think about what would satisfy you, and make a plan. Again, in your shoes, I'd wait that time, try to find my calm and rational center, and compose my manner for approaching the person in question should he fail to take action within those twenty-four hours.
How a person behaves in the most trying times, is the true test of a person's character. While this may not console your disappointment in full, it at least gives you the time to reflect, and perhaps to consider of your own self: how do I behave in trying times? We've all failed, we've all spoken harshly when we didn't mean to, and we've all said things we wish hadn't (whether immediately or some time later). I always give the benefit of the doubt, but my compassion is pro-rated based on 1) how well I regard the person, 2) how long I've known them, and lastly 3) how regularly I'm going to have to deal with them.
I hope this helps, and if you need further advice, or want to discuss this further, you know how to reach me.
Always Listening,
Dr. Sunday
A very good friend (metaphorically) threw me under the bus today, and I am having trouble letting it go. I don't really want to go into the details, but I'll say that we were involved in a somewhat stressful decision-situation, in which many of the other people involved were overreacting, and I was trying to be reasonable and convince everyone to stop and think before we acted in a reactionary way. This is not an unusual scenario with this group. Usually, I can count on him to be with me and help chill everyone out, but today, instead, he mocked me in front of all of them. (Essentially, "she's bitching and moaning so I guess we'll just have to wait till she stops crying") I already told him that I didn't appreciate this remark, and he sort of apologized, but I am still very bothered. How do I let this go? Much of this is the fact that I am disappointed in him, I expected more and now I feel as though I can't count on him anymore.
Betrayed
Dear Betrayed,
This is a very unpleasant experience indeed. Trust is the most important factor in any relationship, be it platonic, collaborative, romantic, or any combination thereof, and when that trust feels violated, it can be very difficult to regain, let alone to merely forgive/forget. Without knowing the full details of the situation, I can still perhaps suggest a couple of possibilities as to the "why," which may help you to let this go.
The first possible solution would involve, however, Dr. Sunday taking on the role of devil's advocate, so please bear with me and understand that I am in no ways trying to downplay the validity of your feelings. (Furthermore, let me apologize for utilizing both the third and first person in the prior sentence; this is not a habit of mine, but rather a narrative device meant under no circumstances to bely any sort of pretension in my nature above and beyond that which can be expected).
The thought here would be, given that this person has, in the past been a party upon which you could consistently rely in such straits, is it not possible that there are extenuating circumstances that led him to behave in a manner divergent from his norms? Not to excuse his behavior, but rather to explain it as rather the byproduct of something external and not to be taken personally? Either way, he owes you an apology, but consider: perhaps said party had one of those mornings that seems a modern remake of the Book of Job; rises to find that his spacious and reasonable apartment has become flooded from a backup in the plumbing, leading to black water, ankle deep, which has ruined his collection of novels and caused an electrical fire which, among other things, destroyed his computer, suffocated his dog, immolated his Playstation, and caused his alarm clock to fail catastrophically.
Of course I exaggerate, but the point meant to be illustrated here is thus: if a person acts contrary to their nature, or to your expectations of their nature (given past circumstances), is it not reasonable to posit that there may be factors present of which you simply know little, or nothing? The course of action here is plain, if this hypothesis is correct: allow this person time to collect himself, and perhaps inquire, on a friendly level, of his well-being. Unless seriously dire forces are at work, it is entirely reasonable to assume that the individual will realize his mistake and perhaps even offer a well-deserved apology. If this is a friend, you have a right to ask of his well-being, and indeed to push further still, if you deem it necessary or appropriate, wherein you confront him directly and state that you found his attitude and comments inappropriate.
Speaking personally, I find such attitudes to be reprehensible, and borderline misogynist. This may not necessarily be the case, but you have every right to feel as you do, and the important thing to take with you from this (which would also lead into my second suggestion) is that you have a different, and perhaps broader perspective on the way this person deals with situations where stress is a factor.
I was raised to believe that in any circumstance, one treats one's peers with respect, wherever possible; and REacting based on base emotional state (i.e. blowing up at, or ridiculing another because you're "in a shitty mood") is simply inappropriate. In my own personal and professional life, I've striven to avoid such reactive attitudes and actions, but it's far easier said than done.
My second suggestion is the more difficult, but ultimately the more pragmatic; it is simply that knowing now what you know of this person, accept the knowledge for what it is, acknowledge the way it makes you feel, and deal with it in the fashion you deem least destructive. To give you an example, were I in your shoes, I'd wait exactly twenty-four hours, and if an apology or some extenuating circumstance has not come to light, I'd confront this person directly and state my feelings on the matter. I'd take that twenty-four hours to remind myself that nothing in this world is ever certain, and that the nature of trust is that it is tenuous-- this is both its beauty and its curse. Trust is a soap bubble from a plastic wand; beautiful as it floats, iridescent as the light strikes, a thing of magic for the entirety of its existence-- but to carry the metaphor further, bubbles eventually pop, at one point or another, and you can always blow another, I suppose. The conceit sort of loses momentum at this point, because I can't figure out how to tie in that orange plastic bottle, sticky to your fingers, with the fact that you have to strike a balance between trust and observation. You can easily let go of a broken trust by saying "fuck it, I'm on my own, people suck," thus giving up all expectations of other humans, for now, for a time, or forever-- but you'd be wrong in this, and selling yourself short on the human experience. You can also forgive anything and everything, but eventually that leads to you being taken advantage of by even those nearest and dearest-- which sort of defeats the purpose of letting anyone become near, let alone dear.
I suppose the best I can say here is this, and I hope it helps: listen to your heart. Rely on yourself, and smile when others back you up. You've been wronged-- what would make YOU feel better about it? You can confront a person who has wronged you without causing further trouble, but your heart is, regardless, going to desire an answer, a reason, a rationale for this behavior. Think about what would satisfy you, and make a plan. Again, in your shoes, I'd wait that time, try to find my calm and rational center, and compose my manner for approaching the person in question should he fail to take action within those twenty-four hours.
How a person behaves in the most trying times, is the true test of a person's character. While this may not console your disappointment in full, it at least gives you the time to reflect, and perhaps to consider of your own self: how do I behave in trying times? We've all failed, we've all spoken harshly when we didn't mean to, and we've all said things we wish hadn't (whether immediately or some time later). I always give the benefit of the doubt, but my compassion is pro-rated based on 1) how well I regard the person, 2) how long I've known them, and lastly 3) how regularly I'm going to have to deal with them.
I hope this helps, and if you need further advice, or want to discuss this further, you know how to reach me.
Always Listening,
Dr. Sunday
Friday, August 14, 2009
Squirrel Problem
Dear Dr. Sunday,
How do I keep the squirrels from running around in my heating and air conditioning vents in my apartment?
Thanks,
Squirrely
Dear Squirrely,
I had to consult a few experts on this one, but I believe I had a series of thoughts and suggestions that might prove useful.
Firstly, the thing you need to ascertain is the point of ingress. How are the squirrels getting into your vents? Presumably, the squirrels are entering from the exhaust vents on the outside of your building? According to my father, the wisest man I know, the simple solution is to file a complaint/maintenance request with your landlord or superintendent. You're paying rent, so it's their watch to keep the building in proper order. That should solve the problem, in a perfect world.
But of course, we don't live in a perfect world. In fact, we live in a world where oftentimes buildings fall into disrepair and/or are maintained by the kinds of people who wear velcro shoes not for fashion or function, but rather because the motor skills required to tie shoelaces would greatly exceed their intellectual faculties. Should this prove to be the case in your circumstance, as it is in many, there are a few more suggestions that I acquired along the way.
My father said that failing the assistance of the landlord, you could pay a quick visit to the Home Depot, where, for just a few dollars, you could acquire pieces of screen that could be easily cut to shape and affixed to the outer vents where the squirrels are entering. That should keep them out pretty easily.
Beyond that, two alternatives were suggested to me by an acquaintance who I asked merely because I know him to be super practical and handy. The one suggestion involved killing the squirrels and "leaving a dead one up 'ere, as a message to the rest of 'em," so we'll just not talk about that one. The other, however odd, he swore worked for him in a different but similar situation in the past.
Apparently, you can acquire, from any store that sells hunting supplies, or predator pee dot com (not making this up, I swear) in a plastic jug, the urine of a fox or a coyote. Yeah, fox piss, by the gallon. Apparently, judiciously applied, it will keep away any number of small animals by making it seem that predators are in the area. The gentleman who suggested this to me said to dispense it around the base of the building, or soak a small sponge in it and stick that in the outside exhaust vent, or wherever the squirrels are getting in.
I'd advise, either way, that you wash your hands afterwards.
I hope that this helps.
Always Listening,
Dr. Sunday
How do I keep the squirrels from running around in my heating and air conditioning vents in my apartment?
Thanks,
Squirrely
Dear Squirrely,
I had to consult a few experts on this one, but I believe I had a series of thoughts and suggestions that might prove useful.
Firstly, the thing you need to ascertain is the point of ingress. How are the squirrels getting into your vents? Presumably, the squirrels are entering from the exhaust vents on the outside of your building? According to my father, the wisest man I know, the simple solution is to file a complaint/maintenance request with your landlord or superintendent. You're paying rent, so it's their watch to keep the building in proper order. That should solve the problem, in a perfect world.
But of course, we don't live in a perfect world. In fact, we live in a world where oftentimes buildings fall into disrepair and/or are maintained by the kinds of people who wear velcro shoes not for fashion or function, but rather because the motor skills required to tie shoelaces would greatly exceed their intellectual faculties. Should this prove to be the case in your circumstance, as it is in many, there are a few more suggestions that I acquired along the way.
My father said that failing the assistance of the landlord, you could pay a quick visit to the Home Depot, where, for just a few dollars, you could acquire pieces of screen that could be easily cut to shape and affixed to the outer vents where the squirrels are entering. That should keep them out pretty easily.
Beyond that, two alternatives were suggested to me by an acquaintance who I asked merely because I know him to be super practical and handy. The one suggestion involved killing the squirrels and "leaving a dead one up 'ere, as a message to the rest of 'em," so we'll just not talk about that one. The other, however odd, he swore worked for him in a different but similar situation in the past.
Apparently, you can acquire, from any store that sells hunting supplies, or predator pee dot com (not making this up, I swear) in a plastic jug, the urine of a fox or a coyote. Yeah, fox piss, by the gallon. Apparently, judiciously applied, it will keep away any number of small animals by making it seem that predators are in the area. The gentleman who suggested this to me said to dispense it around the base of the building, or soak a small sponge in it and stick that in the outside exhaust vent, or wherever the squirrels are getting in.
I'd advise, either way, that you wash your hands afterwards.
I hope that this helps.
Always Listening,
Dr. Sunday
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