The Dumbass Trifecta

First, let’s get one thing straight. I call this The Dumbass Trifecta because I’m very hard on myself. If I engage in this behavior – in any element of it – I’m being a dumbass. I don’t care what you call it. Call it whatever you like. Call it “The Unfortunate Triangle.” Whatever it takes. Just read and see it and take note of it and please do your best to not let it ruin precious things for you. Don’t let the name of my container interfere with the message. Or, go ahead and use the name. After all, it helps me, so maybe it’ll help you.

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The “Problem” With Love

The problem with love is this: love is wonderful, beautiful, terrifying, debilitating, painful, glorious, and a joy.

The reason that’s such a problem is because people often mistake wonderful things, beautiful things, terrifying things, debilitating things, painful things, glorious things, and joyful things for love.

That’s the problem.

“It’s a PR problem” is the problem.

There is a value. It is a numerical value.

It is the number of children who have been abused. It is the number of incidents of an organization covering it up. It is the number of times a priest has been moved to a parish to avoid dealing with pedophilia. It is the number of times a priest who tries to stop these incidents or begs the Vatican to stop and change their course is told to shut the hell up and pray and reflect upon what they are trying to do. It is the number of times people are willing to look the other way before they can no longer look the other way.

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We are the cops. You and me.

I read an amusing list online a few days ago. It was a list of how not to be “creepy.” It was all the usual things, such as “don’t touch people without their permission,” and “don’t corner people when they’re alone,” and “pay attention to subtle little things like how we lift our pinkies on Thursday nights when the buffalo calls out to determine whether or not we might or might not be approachable,” and so forth.

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Tapping the Glass

You’ve been in a pet store. You’ve seen the signs: “Please don’t tap on the glass.” I try to imagine what tapping on the glass of an aquarium must be like for a fish. I imagine it’s a bit like three or four cars exploding near me, maybe with an airhorn or two to destroy the high end of my hearing, too. I imagine it’s quite traumatizing.

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