On Discourse: Why We Need It, and Nationalism: Why We Don’t

Photo: Like Success

Before I get into the body of this piece, I would like to ruminate on the fact that I am just now venturing into the realm of political commentary, after many years of containing my writing to the realms of the arts, personal reflection, comedy, and once in a great while, social commentary. That’s not by coincidence, it’s by commitment.

Keep in mind that I, beginning from a younger age than most, expressed in deep interest in politics. I devoted much of my collegiate studies to them, and have never been afraid to steer a conversation in a political direction, be it with close confidants or present company. But writing about them in a public medium, I’ve learned to resist the temptation.

Running From Trump: America Calls Its Own Bluff

Photo: freedomsphoenix.com

I had a bit in my stand up routine where I mocked all those who vowed to evacuate the United States following the presidential election. When I performed it, I said it applied to people fearing both Hilary and Trump, but in writing it, I really only had the Trump opposition in mind.

It went along the lines of, “To everyone planning on packing up and getting out for the next four years, wherever you go, I hope you realize that at some point you’re going to have to explain that you are an American political refugee.”

A Different Kind of Super Bowl Tradition, Involving Frigid Fingers and Muddy Pants

For me up until about a few years ago, Super Bowl Sunday was not about the exuberant party, the million dollar advertisements, or even the game, unless it involved the New England Patriots (shut up, I’m from there). It was certainly about a game of football, but not the one the free world made a makeshift holiday over.

If you want to the gauge the maturity of an assortment of kids, ask them to play a game of touch football. It will give you a more accurate assessment than any bubble-sheet examination in a psychologist’s office.

For any generation of American suburbanites, touch football (along with Wiffle Ball) is as much of a pastime as trick-or-treating or fireworks on the Fourth of July. It was the activity of choice for innumerable summer afternoons, weekends in autumns before the first snowfall, and in springtime once lawns had transformed back from mud to grass.

You And I Are Not The Story, The Fine Line Between Sympathy And Self-Aggrandization

Photo: Telegraph

The world is still reeling from the horrific terrorist attacks in Paris, France that have left over 130 people dead and 350 injured. Like every incident of this sort, it reminds us just how serious the war against radical militants is, even though the fight continues in a part of the world most of us will never see first hand.

At this time I would like to express my sincerest condolences to the families of all those affected by this tragedy; and to France as a nation as they collectively grieve and look toward the future as they work to prevent another attack of any scale from occurring ever again.

Now, regarding the above paragraph, is it something that you really needed to read? Does it matter at all that I, a drop in the endless ocean of Internet bloggers, say I that I mourn in solidarity with the French?

Isn’t that also something that we should all just assume? Since I, like you, am a reasonable person that recognizes the savagery in the slaughtering of innocents and am emotionally capable of feeling and expressing sorrow in the wake of such an event.

Luke Gatti’s Adventure With Alcohol, A Mac and Cheese Craving, The Police and The Internet. Why He Does and Doesn’t Deserve Every Reprecussion.

Photo: heavy.com

Something odd occurred this week: my alma matter made national news for something other than basketball.

Unfortunately, it was for a heavily intoxicated idiot was made an ass of himself in public and ended up walking away in handcuffs.

Below is a video that you’ve probably already seen. 19-year-old Luke Gatti, an undergrad at the University of Connecticut, demands bacon-jalapeno mac and cheese from the food court in the Student Union and is refused service by the manager for carrying an open container of alcohol.

I Think I’m Dying. Wait, No, I’m Just Crazy. That’s A Relief.

My good friend Ray and I were once having a conversation about paranoia, which has had a loose leash on me for the last few years. He told me something that was both comforting and disconcerting. “The worst thing about paranoia is that it’s completely rational.”

It meant that I wasn’t bonkers for acknowledging the constant dangers looming in the blind spots of the human habitat and subsequently worrying about them. People say the biggest folly of young people is their feeling of invincibility; I definitely don’t have that. At the same time, pharmacies don’t carry medication for rationalism.

The phase of prodding fear that I was going through at that time was highway crashes. Not being able to drive, thanks to albinism, I’m forever relegated to the passenger seat; the most dangerous spot in the car. Not only that, I’m never the one in control. I would stare out the window at the passing sedans and tractor trailers and wonder: how much sleep did you get last night, is there a phone in your hand, what would you do if a sneezing fit were to strike?

The Double Edged Sword of Wealth Or: The Unexpected Virtue of Discount Hotels

We have all heard the proverb, “Money doesn’t buy happiness.”

We all know it holds as much water as that “sticks and stones” nonsense.

You know what makes me happy? Good food, entertainment both live and at-home, a place to live that I can make my own, and the knowledge that should I be stricken by any ailments or injuries, I can get myself treated without creating a debt that will last until I’m in a convalescent home.