A Promise Kept

The title isn't meant to suggest anything deep and meaningful, Gentle Reader(s), but a promise is a promise and I intend to keep mine. I've been busy in ways that I can't even begin to describe yet (or maybe I'm just not ready to), but remember how all those weeks (okay, months) ago I promised to post a link to my essay on the development of artist Mare Tralla's Protected series? Well better late than never, so here you go if you're interested in artsy fartsy jazz or if you're just curious to see how long it takes you to start zoning out while reading academic material. Allow me to present, The Cultural Amalgamation Which Produced Mare Tralla's Protected.

Weyland-Yutani Corporation: Building Better Worlds

Hi Gentle Reader(s), I'm a HUGE Alien franchise fan (though I detest calling it a franchise even if technically it is, and it has actually become). Anyway, if you are too, then check this out if you haven't already:


Peter Weyland at TED 2023

Change the world... and then the next thing you know you've got a milk-leaking android stuffing a rolled up magazine down your throat and aliens cutting the power then gestating you :( FAIL. To quote Astro from the Jetsons, Wrut wro, Wrorge.

But on the critical tip, I think the delivery is a little too overtly sinister. In my opinion, the interest of mass market appeal is usually best served through the selling of a concept, corporation, or project in a friendly, self-effacing, unassuming manner - a wolf in sheep's clothing approach seems to work best on the contemporary market and I'm assuming that would still hold water in 2023. The last thing you want to grandiosely proclaim is that we've become gods - it makes you look arrogant and reckless, if not a bit delusional - and though Weyland and others like him may very well be delusional, their gift is usually marked by the soft selling of potentially disasterous endeavors. This approach to Weyland lacks the subtlety required to envision people signing on with him to take a trip to the corner store, much less a trip to terraform LV-426 and the continued funding towards the development of advanced cybernetic organisms. In laymen's terms, he just comes off too intense and scary. And by the way, I don't blame Guy Pearce, I blame the writer and Ridley Scott (though I'm flinching as I admit this). But I really like the TED spin. I think that was a great idea, seeing as I'm a big fan of TED presentations and have been known to furrow my brow in concern over some of the shaky ethical implications I've gleaned through some of these talks... which again (and in reality) have been presented with a sort of harmless, self-effacing spin designed to gain mass support. What are your thoughts?

News Flash and stuff

I'm just checking in, Oh Most Luscious Reader(s), not staying for the night - I'm making my Witch's Wicked Ass Chili, so in typical witchy fashion, I gotta go stand over the bubbling, steaming cauldron stirring and cackling, y'all. I just wanted to jot a few things down before I forget, however, and so here we go:

1) Remind me to give you my Square, Square Business Chicken Pot Pie recipe that I came up with. Mind you, I don't know how well it works with vegetarian chicken substitute (or tofu) and vegetable stock for those of you who don't eat things that once had eyes, but considering how many veggies I crammed into this recipe, it should work out for you guys too.

2) Remind me to provide a link to my Creative Digital Technology final essay on Mare Tralla's Protected series because it's down with the sickness and I earned one serious A, lovers.

3) I wanted to run this by you very quickly. Read it, then come back here. Someone mentioned, to paraphrase it, something about the brainwashed and the dangers of religion construing the 'natural' as “sinful”. Here's my response (because I can't bother to reinvent the wheel tonight, thanks):

When did Victoria Secret fashion shows and padded bras with frills all over them become ‘natural’? Now mind you, I love me some lingerie – I wear it every night, including right now. But let’s not kid ourselves into a discourse of the ‘sinful’ juxtaposed against the ‘natural’… in a Victoria Secret context. Really, now. I’m not religious and I’m definitely not Christian in spiritual orientation but I definitely think that if our society is going to hold very, very young women [read girls] up as icons; sexual, cultural, or otherwise which it frequently does, we’re going to have to learn to accept that many of these TEENAGERS are not particularly too bright in making decisions regarding their entire futures or their religious convictions. Were you? I mean, just because someone wears a DD doesn’t make them an adult, folks. But I digress, the point is, given her age and the ages of many of the other girls we proudly knight as celebrities and sex symbols, we shouldn’t be surprised when some of these sexual or cultural icons actually experience intellectual, or in this case, spiritual growth spurts while in the limelight. She was just a kid – sorry to put it so bluntly, but that’s the reality – and we should learn to contextualize realistic factors like lack of maturity when considering why she opted out of lingerie modelling. Not to mention, these are confusing times. Consider the hegemonic context which fostered this girl’s development: we (in the West) live in such hypocritical societies where 19 year olds are supposedly so grown, grown ass men lust after them and some of these girls aren’t even university age yet, the far right (usually Christian identified) host, judge, and encourage female pageantry all over the world and masquerade it as ‘wholesome’ and supporting ‘traditional values’. How they hell would she know what was right or wrong for herself? It’s confusing as hell. If she’s suddenly realized that she’s not living in alignment with her values, then good-got-dam for her.

4) One last thing, I am not usually interested in the art of the overt but I think The Great Wall of Vagina is really interesting.

That's it. That's my quick update. Nighty night, Gentle Reader(s).

Critic Going Off: A Critique of Cory Arcangel’s Speakers Going Hammer at the Lisson Gallery, October 12 – November 12, 2011

Did I mention that I'm working on my MA? I guess not. That's why I've neglected you, Gentle Reader. Apologies. Anyway, here's a rough copy of a review I haddado for class in early November 2011. Thought I might show it to you, change things up a bit in the subject matter department:

In broaching an attempt to write a review, or better yet, critique of Cory Arcangel's Speakers Going Hammer at the Lisson Gallery, this critic opted to allow the contents of the exhibition to sink in and wash over the psyche in order to compile a fresh, objective approach. Frankly, I had my worries as I found myself ruminating between a brutally honest approach and one based upon my tutor's presumed respect for the artist.

There always exists in my mind two or three worlds of art analysis; the world of the high brow, stately, thoughtful chin scratching analysis, the world of legitimate awe and wonder analysis originating from the depths of my inner child to teen artist who worshipped the greats ("the greats" of course being totally subjective), and the world of the I-love-art-and-everything-but-this-is-bullshit-and-I'm-outta-here analysis. Existing outside of the professional and/or academic art sphere(s) for such a long time has afforded this critic the unchallenging luxury of remaining in those median or latter worlds of art analysis without every having to worry about maintaining diplomatic appearances. Admittedly, as I left Cory Arcangel's exhibition, worries over the possibilities of a need for false diplomacy rose like a bad case of heartburn.

There was a side, a very predominant side, of myself which considered the probablility that I simply hadn't the right, or better yet, the chops to critique any professional "hot shit" artist mainly because I had existed outside of the professional and academic art sphere(s) for so long. Just to cross-check, and possibly broaden my perspective I asked each of my fellow students who had accompanied me to this show what they thought of it. One of them shrugged, another smiled, shook her head, then admitted that she had no idea what the artist was trying to say to her, and another grimaced, shrugged, and then launched into a fragmented and uninspired soliloquy about alleged meaning of the Photoshop CS (2011) series being a criticism of the use of primary colours according to something someone else had said; and then her face drew a blank.

Cory Arcangel's Photoshop CS (2011), Timeless Standards (2011) , and Regular Flex (2011)

Lisson Gallery, London

Many seem to have a fear of admitting when publically sanctioned or popularly endorsed art work doesn't speak to us, particularly if it posesses the combined qualities of minimalism, dubious or ambiguous tone, and especially if the work represents a departure from traditional high art. Often, we feel as though we're missing something; some intellectual or sophistication chip that one needs to posess in order to comprehend works of art whose meanings escape us. Along these lines I can speculate as far as considering the possibility that having been fairly unfamiliar with Cory Arcangel's larger body of work, it is possible that I seem have missed the punch line at the very least, and missed the whole visual language at the very worst - and I do not say this casually; being unfamiliar with an artist's larger body of work can present a significant element of confusion. But I will also admit to feeling slightly ambivilant about works of art which are apt to leave the viewer puzzled and/or uninspired should they happen to be viewed outside of the context of the artist's larger body of work. I tend to be drawn more towards work which stands as strongly on its own as much as it does within the context of the artist's overall body of work.

There are valid questions somewhere therein along the lines of levels of required viewer continuity, ‘good’ art being able to effect a person on a visceral level outside the intellectual minutia and explanations attached to it via authorities and the artist's general body of work, and insider and outsider identities with respect to art viewing; questions which defy definitive answers, especially for a novice. But having mentioned all of the above, permit me to draw nearer to the point and take the proverbial plunge by saying that I found Arcangel's exhibition overall to be uninspiring and lacking a certain depth. 

 

Cory Arcangel's Research in Motion (2011)

Lisson Gallery, London

To begin, the curatory approach felt fragmented. Arcangel's dancing homage to Sol Lewitt, Research in Motion (2011), bears little aesthetic relationship to anything else in the show. Not that it is of real importance that art objects contained in one show be totally matched up, but this show seemed like such a mishmash that there was a tendency to latch onto that thing which was large and significant enough in physical presence to exist independently and long for some sort of continuation of its aesthetic somewhere else in the exhibition. It is a somewhat interesting piece on its own because of the mesmerizing effect of the motion, if not marked for slight laziness on Arcangel's part for basically commandeering a pre-existing gadget and not really constructing something more original. Of course it could, and will be argued over and over years beyond my existence, that post-post-modern art is marked up and down the road with the presence of readymade art (or ready-bought art). But the common presence of so much readymade art actually enhances the possibility of coming off as unoriginal, pretentious, and flat out lazy, which translates into uninspiring at best, and anger inducing at worst. And that sentiment also goes for the pair of purple Ugg boots (lead ingots or not) featured in A Few Casuals (2011), and the Diet Sprite spraying humidifier, Real Taste (2011) (which emitted a mist which smelled like something found near the bottom of a public toilet). Not to digress, those two pieces were presented in such a way that they appeared to have little to no relationship with each other or with several other (visually anaemic) works, Three Palms, Taurus, Clinton (2011) with which they share a space. 

Cory Arcangel's A Few Casuals (2011)

Lisson Gallery, London

On the subject of Three Palms, Taurus, and Clinton, presumably the viewer is encouraged to consider that these works were produced by the obsolete pencil plotter machine programmed by Arcangel and view them within that context. But they’re flat, depressing, and soulless. Perhaps the evocation of those feelings pinpoints Arcangel’s intention, or perhaps he would just take that sort of response with a good deal of humour over disconcerting viewers. I have read about the theme of delineation of authorship attached to these works, but the interesting thematic goal does not translate into an interesting visual representation; certainly it is possible to accept that it might not be meant to, but if there’s little to no visual interest, no matter how great the ‘concept’, people will end up disappointed, pissed off, and feeling like they’ve been conned.

Cory Arcangel's Clinton (2011)

Lisson Gallery, London

Forward Attitudes (2011) much like A Few Casuals and Real Taste, is another almost ready made pop cultural object with a pair of earbuds outfitted through the drawstrings of a hoodie and some Steely Dan just to tweak it, but that too fell pretty flat. Perhaps the solution would have been to draw these three objects closer together to gain some sort of grasp on them as a collection of passé pop cultural artefacts, if that was his intention (an intention we’ve actually seen over and over at least since mid-Twentieth Century). As they are presented, these objects just feel like lost, half-hearted efforts towards an already exhausted theme – The presence of a passé quality concerning the theme itself is ironic, as the thematic core of this exhibition, at least in part, appears to be asking the viewer to view and consider the presence of objects which are soon to be passé.

Since U Been Gone (2011) reads like a game of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon with a cringe-worthy former American Idol contestant as its original subject. Was it designed to make highbrow art people cringe because of its subject, Kelly Clarkson? Perhaps, but it felt vacuous and dull, though the execution by way of screenprinting and metallic foil on paper is well executed.

Cory Arcangel's  Since U Been Gone (2011)

Lisson Gallery, London

The room containing Self Playing Nintendo 64 NBA Courtside 2 (2011) the Photoshop CS series, the Timeless Standards (2011) series, and Regular Flex (2011) obviously houses works which have a vibrant colour relationship with each other – yellow is the tie in. The color field mimicry is generated with a simple gradient tool, and the pop art mimicry is made via scanning and it seems clear that the simplicity in recreating or mimicking well established mid Twentieth Century art movements is the point. But his color field and pop art mimicry thrown together with the golf clubs and the self playing Shaq game read almost like a spoiled, rich bad lad’s room – and again, perhaps this was his intention overall, especially when one considers the fact that Arcangel’s goals tend to include the exploration of trends and fading trends of pop culture (which one would certainly find in a spoiled bad lad’s room). But is this exploration exciting and punctuated? As far as I’m concerned, no.

Finally, many still draw the distinction between mainstream pop culture and African American pop culture. This distinction is drawn because of the particularly sensitive nature of the African American existence within the dominant culture as a stratified, estranged group who routinely have their art forms (especially music) and colloquialisms appropriated, distorted, and ridiculed on one hand, and popularized and capitalized off of on the other for the benefit of the dominant culture. I find Arcangel's use of the colloquialism, Speakers Going Hammer, to be disturbing. By using an African American colloquialism likely to be unfamiliar to his audience, Arcangel can easily borrow - read appropriate - and capitalize off of the "coolness" of black American culture while standing behind the sheild of polarization which will keep him from ever really being challenged on the authenticity of his use of the figure of speech by the cultural source of the figure of speech.

It should be noted that Soulja Boy may be a “pop star” but he’s still an African American and nothing evidences this more than his music video to Speakers Going Hammer, where he presents the familiar scenario of infiltrating a white, wealthy neighbourhood and winning them over with the power of his beats and ability to party. It’s essentially a fantasy about acceptance and inclusion, both social and economic, which still remain fantasy for many African Americans. Arcangel doesn’t seem to be addressing these sorts of issues with his commandeering of Speakers Going Hammer, he seems to be using the colloquialism to represent pop culture and kitsch. If Arcangel’s overall artistic goal is to explore the relationship between technology and culture, I sure would like to see him explore the concept of appropriation of materials from subcultures and minority groups in the technological age. That would certainly be interesting.

Work like Arcangel’s, while there’s certainly a place for it in the wide world of art, strikes me as part of what I like to call the Anti-Ofili. Chris Ofili can be respected because of his tireless craftsmanship, his technique, his bizarre choice of mediums, his visual originality, his biting, honest, and emotional themes which balance on joy and angst of being the other and being the artist. If I’m being honest, it’s safe to say that I also get the sense of this balance from many other artists from many walks of life, but for simplicity’s sake, I tend to reference the likes of Ofili. What is at hand, for the sake of this examination, is the sort of work which doesn’t require a curator or catalogue to parse the visual language, takes no short cuts (and I’m not referring to the use of new media versus old here – I’m talking about originality), and creates some political tension or deep discomfort. Maybe my trouble is that I need some angst and I don’t get any angst from Arcangel’s work. Maybe Arcangel’s work has created some political tension, but if so, it’s the sort of political tension that I’m tired of experiencing; that which emanates from a privileged class of people making art for the viewing pleasure of a privileged class of people and relies on its ‘edgy’ status because of the fact that it wasn’t traditionally constructed. That simply isn’t enough for me.

I'm baaaa-aaaack

Susan G. Komen Planned Parenthood Funding Decision Sparks Donation Spike, Strong Reactions

Good. I'm just beside myself over this whole thing. These so-called conservatives are just big, fat hypocrites and very hateful people. Those at the top do so much infamous dirt for which they frequently get busted: embezzlement, insider trading, supporting the sex trade industry (associated with HUMAN TRAFFICKING) though let's just politely call it 'personal donations' , exploit  immigrant labour (cos, you know, who's going to change the rich old man's bed pan, do the laundry, and mow the lawn?), and you know good and well when their daughters and nieces require terminations for their unplanned pregnancies all of a sudden morality becomes a remote consideration, if a consideration at all. Incidentally there are so many links on these subjects that I could spend the remainder of my blogging life posting links, but I digress; the far right is rife with morality orientated scandal.

Bottom line? Like most far right crusades, this lastest shit storm has very little to do with morality and boils down to suppressing the rights of working class populations; see hegemonic actualization. And as usual, this hegemonic actualization is cleverly disguised as the morality fairy poised to beat down 'baby killers' with her magic wand. When you weigh in abortion services provided by private health care providers against those provided by public health care, and also weigh the plethora of other, more commonly performed health care services other than abortion provided by Planned Parenthood, like routine breast examinations (which help prevent cancer), and most often pap screenings (which help prevent cancer), you're inevitably forced to consider the dawning suspicion that perhaps a handful of conservatives with the financial resources to control the social tide are legitimately against abortion, but something more is at play. Permit me to boldly suggest that outside of the aforementioned handful, the rest of the powerful far right constituency may be simply be holding to the basic belief that poor and working class people shouldn't have the right to affordable or free healthcare services in the first place... especially if they're poor women. Wouldn't want them to gain any advantages of any kind. Somebody's gotta work at Wal-Mart, scrub the toilets of the rich and be wage slaves. So let's break this down a bit. Have a look at what Planned Parenthood actually does.

 Source: http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=view_all&address=433x648468

Plese note the three percent on the pie chart. Who is providing the rest of these abortion services? Mostly, private health care providers according to a midwife I spoke with who wished to remain anonymous. People with money can and do often go to their private health care providers for abortions, and certain members of the monied social class are interested in making sure that people without resources have no recourse when faced with unplanned and unwanted pregnancies, much needed breast screenings, or other services associated with public health facilities... which subsequently would go to suggest that they should be allowed to suffer and die.

This isn't just a women's issue or a feminist issue; this is a class issue and I wholeheartedly suggest that second-class citizenry is an phenomenon which requires that average people start noticing the patterns. In the U.S. second-class citizenry (or poverty) has (A) been mythologized, as self-inflicted because myths surrounding choosing to become successful have predominated popular American culture through the American Dream rhetoric and (B) second-class citizenry has strategically been bound to race and mostly race by design so that struggling and impoverished white people will mentally fall back on race privilege to feel better about themselves or blame ethnic minorities for their economic woes. The realities and nuences of second-class citizenry where traditionally, for example, the likes of John McCain's ancestors might have hired the likes of Sarah Palin's ancestors to oversee their slaves but not marry their children or sit at their table for Sunday supper have been largely ignored by the majority of average people affected by these class stratifications. It's easier to ignore your lot as a second class citizen and focus on what small crumbs of racial privilege those in charge throw at you; it's all very glass half full. This is also why Tea Partiers refuse to accept that they have, economically and socially, more in common with the family who raised Obama than they do with the family that raised McCain - because we're trained to think that superficial genetic appearance (race) trumps class commonalities. And hegemony likes it that way and trains people that way.

We've been duped on how massive class oppression actually is because those at the top 10 economic percent don't need for all of us to figure out how much the wealthy conservative right hates all of us. I'm not saying anything new; read Althusser's writings on how ISAs operate then go watch some Sut Jhally  and get back to me. And, no, I'm not a socialist. I'm a realist whose eyes are open enough to consider that problems and their answers usually lie somewhere between the critical examination of society and a variety of proposed theoretical solutions. People had better stop calling this a feminist issue or an abortion issue and start focusing on the fact that in a country of soaring health care costs it is horrific that some charity foundation, under the guise of morality, could snatch that level of health care support away from Americans who really need it. What a pack of liars. They just want anyone who isn't rich to be totally desolate. What's next? Ask yourself, those of you who work a regular job and make less than $50,000 a year, if the people with resources on the far right are going to help you pay for your girlfriend's cancer treatment because Planned Parenthood got shut down and she couldn't afford to pay to go to a private physician for early detection. Maybe that's not your situation, but just think about it for a minute: how will more of these sorts of antics affect you? Don't get caught up in the morality spin; there is something more behind this.

For the record, I now live abroad in a country which is sufficiently capitalist, but ALSO has a very well functioning national health service - I'm here to remind those of you who are so worried about socialized health care creating socialism in general in America that there is a middle ground. Believe me, I had no complaints over being able to grieve over a recent miscarriage without having to consider paying a $3000 or $4000 hospitalization bill at the same time. But then again, I'm also living in a country where those with financial resources by and large do not have a secret agenda to leave working class people completely out in the cold, then blame them for not pulling themselves up by the bootstraps and seizing the American Dream.

...And while I was writing this blog, this just came in, and I'm filing it under Oh REALLY?

OK, it's time for me to go do my pedicure and get prettied up for the weekend; a weekend of studying cultural and critical subject matter, but a weekend nonetheless, and that always requires hotness and beauty, people.

Addiction is Addiction is Addiction

It's difficult to talk about, Gentle Reader(s). Anonymity is supposed to be protected, right? But it's also difficult because when addiction (or recovery) is really in your life because it's carried by a loved one, you do feel shameful and embarrassed. Oh, all the experts tell you that it's not your shame to shoulder, but that's a bunch a crap. You do feel shame and embarrassment, and the lowlier the addiction by social standards, the deeper the shame. I won't go into too many more details other than to say that it sucks. It really sucks and I've only told you this much so that I can qualify the fact that I'm not speaking from some lofty location untouched and untarnished by the stain of addiction. Of course I'd been familiar with addiction and recovery before this period; in fact, a very cherished friend of mine has been clean and sober for about 14 years, so I've been familiar with the process for quite some time. I also have a cousin who I love like a little brother, who's still suffering from addiction, and it's broken my heart to see him struggle. But in the last couple of  years I gotta tell you, I've researched enough about addiction and recovery to write my own book and develop my own treatment program, for Christ's sake. That's what happens when you fall in love with someone who then surprises you with an addiction... then, the long arduous path of recovery. I just thought you should know this before I proceed.

Ok, I'm proceeding. I have lost a friend due to addiction, and I'm sad about it. There, I said it out loud (sort of). Today it is what it is. No, he didn't overdose or commit suicide. He's very much alive. But nonetheless he's been lost to addiction. Here's the tricky part. He doesn't know he's an addict. Ok, yeah, yeah you say, a lot of people don't know they're addicts - that's called denial, duh. And yes, you'd be correct. But the really painful thing about this particular case is that my friend had already been an addict. He used to be a drunk. A stone cold drunk. Truth be told, I never knew him when he was an alcoholic. I met him once he'd reached sobriety.

We met at a social gathering through a mutual friend and I liked him right away. He was worldly, down to earth, lively and fiercely intelligent. Because of his work (which I'll not mention here) he'd become familiarized with an amazing cross section of people, cultures, languages, and religions. He had a wealth of knowledge, shared interesting stories with an ease that was free of arrogance, but was laced with a hint of whimsy as if he could scarcely believe his own past experiences. I thought he was great. We got to be good friends and started a ritual of all night coffee and chocolate convo-fests, complete with any variety of music you could imagine. I really loved our times together; they were a combination of light entertainment, decadence, deep discussion, with a touch of sexual tension.

He did talk quite a bit about his former life as an alcoholic. He spoke about how he'd ruined things with his ex, almost died, and had such blurry patches in his life as a drunk that he'd woken up in places he didn't remember going to. Apparently one day, after nearly dying and being told that he was taking his life into his own hands if he continued to drink, he stopped; stopped drinking cold turkey, the whole enchilada. It was from that point onward that he moved towards becoming the person I knew him to be (for a while). He didn't drink, he didn't do drugs, and I found it refreshing to be around a totally sober person in a city full of pub dwellers. Without all that alcohol, our discussions were frank and lucid. We often talked about his past, particularly during times when he would have to reunite with old friends who hadn't seen him since he'd been an alcoholic. I knew these times were stressful for him, though he didn't come right out and say it.

During this time golden period, I also talked with him a lot about a major relationship transition that was going down in my life, and he was always straight forward, frank, and open in his communication with me - he helped me through a lot of stuff during that time. Sensing the romantic tension, I always felt that he was incredibly unselfish when it came down to it, and he ultimately encouraged me to do what was truly right, which made me really adore him.

We also talked about current friends and the phenomenon of having several different groups of friends with different expectations. He often alluded to one group of friends who flew high and hung out late, and looked to always be having fun, but also made him feel sucked into chaos every time he was around them. He seemed to dislike the chaos these friends brought, but had a difficult time distancing himself from them. We ended up having heavy discussions about the dangerously seductive relationship between recovering from addiction and thrill seeking... while congratulating one's self on abstaining from one's drug of choice. I broached this subject because even though he wasn't drinking at all, I could sense that he was floating in and out of various danger zones.

It's difficult to explain, but for those of you not familiar with addiction, let it serve to say that even when the drug of choice (in this case, alcohol) gets eliminated from a person's life, the shadow of wanting to escape reality and painful emotions remains. This shadow, if not kept in check, can guide a fragile recovering person right into the slimy arms of other problems like chaotic social circles, destructive patterns, and new addictions, like porn addiction or gambling addiction. Unless a person really tackles the pain and flawed thinking underneath the primary drug of choice, they are likely to find something new to be addicted to and be deep into it before they realize what's happened. At the time I could see that my friend was flirting with unhealthy elements in life, but his story of kicking alcohol was so amazing, that I didn't think that he would succumb to any other addictive elements. I thought he could see the forest for the trees.

Ironically, it was my getting sucked into my own life struggles; financial issues, deaths in the family; relationship woes, which put distance between me and my friend. I suppose that with all that I had going on, I assumed that everyone else around me, including my friend, was ok and stabilized. But truth be told, he probably wasn't alright. He always made it seem like he had so many friends and he was on top of things, that I didn't think I'd be missed if I took some time to deal with the catastrophic events unfolding in my own backyard. I did try to stay in touch with him from time to time, but I have to admit, certain things started to discourage me.

Once I randomly called to check on my friend and found him in crisis, saying things like "I can't take it anymore" and "I'm hanging on by a thread," which was pretty worrying. Apparently, he'd been up all night and just walking the streets on his own; even more worrying. I called another good friend who lived much closer to him and asked her to please call him, try to meet up with him if need be, and that I'd be over a bit later to help out. Well, long story short, not long after the mutual friend had spoken with him, I got a call from her telling me that it was all a false alarm, that he was fine, and that he'd told her that I was "just being dramatic." I was floored. Here he had been, on the phone using quintessential doom and gloom phrases, had been wandering around in the middle of the night, and reduced my aid and assistance to me just being dramatic? That was when I sensed something was very wrong. It felt like he'd let his guard down for a while, and then felt so embarrassed about opening up, that he was willing to make me look stupid for reaching out. That was a bad sign. And truthfully, I was surprised because up until this point, he always seemed to be unashamed about his feelings, whatever they were.

The next stage of the fall came in the form of the women. He and I got more and more distant, but when we did talk, he spoke almost obsessively about these weird hookups and game playing sessions that he'd started engaging in with various women. Either they were women from out of town, with whom he hoped to create something - and those visits would never go well - or they seemed to be local women with dodgy stories, like the one who was a stripper, or the one who was a "hostess" (a prostitute basically). There were all these weird unhealthy sort of connections that he was making, but I was too ashamed to really delve into it with him because, if you remember, he and I had a bit of romantic tension. I didn't want to seem as if I was getting overly involved in his love life. He seemed to get very embittered about women very easily - and this seemed so unlike him. I felt guilty because I knew he cared for me and the most I could offer was friendship; I began to sense some bitterness even towards me, and wanted to say something about all of it, but I feared that he would simply accuse me of being "crazy" like all the other women of the world. He'd started becoming fond of calling all women crazy, which again, seemed unlike him. I once went out on a limb and simply told him that maybe the women he was choosing were crazy and perhaps he needed to tighten up his choices - he just glared at me, then said "Ohhhh, no. ALL women are crazy." It was at that point that I put a little more distance between us.

I did speak to him after the holidays that year and was terribly saddened to hear that he'd spent Christmas dinner with a bunch of dysfunctional strippers - I swear, you couldn't make this up - and that he'd spent the whole time listening to their miserable life talk and argumentative telephone calls. The altruistic me kicked myself for not inviting him over to my place for Christmas, I felt so bad. But the sensible me got stuck wondering what in the fresh blue hell would make someone want to spend Christmas with a bunch of depressed, squabbling strippers? It just sounds like something from a film. The fact that I'm even writing this is just full of wrongness, somehow. Total wrongness. I didn't even know what to say to him at the time.

The last stage was the pot stage. My friend started smoking pot. It's a no brainer to figure out that pot is a drug. If you've been an alcoholic, you'll want to stay away from drugs, right? Wrong, I guess in this case. I don't know when he started, I don't know how, but it was a real shocker. He just stepped onto the scene with a fresh new drug of choice. And if you're about to tell me how mild pot is, save it. I know a mild pot habit when I see one, and leaving a friend's house in the middle of a gathering to go halfway across town by public transport so that you can replenish your stash is not a mild habit. I think the thing that was so amazing to us all, was how he had absolutely nothing to say about his new habit. It was weird. He seemed so off kilter, I think everyone was afraid to say anything for fear that he'd go off. I tried to rationalize for a while, justify things by telling myself that he was now just adjusting to life by being moderate; after all, there are some people who practice moderation even when they've had substance abuse problems in the past. Maybe that was his new, moderate life, yes?

But then, I knew something was way off when I called him last Christmas to ask if he wanted to come over and spend it with us and he hastily and, I might add, huffily said "No thank you [NewGirl], I'm spending Christmas where I spent it last year." I wanted to cry out, With the strippers?! The strippers that you hated spending last Christmas with? But I didn't. I just said ok and hung up. Some time later he did come over, along with some other friends, and let it serve to say that his behavior was atrocious.

He behaved like a shell of his former self. He was snippy, he was angry - I could scarcely understand why he bothered to show up, he was so aggressive with me. At one point he asked how things were going with me and I admitted that things were tough in my relationship still, and he replied by saying, "Yeah, well some people just love drama, I've got my own problems." I was like, well why the fuck did you ask then? I reminded him that some people don't simply love drama, but rather, sometimes bad shit happens all at once, for example the three deaths in my family last year, to which he replied "Oh yeah." Amazingly, he'd forgotten or at least pretended to. Not to mention, he was argumentative, and spoke in a patronizing tone. It was if he just didn't give a shit at all. Again, I couldn't see why he came over, if we were all such poor company. He strutted around, sucking down one joint after the next, talking about how he was "Outta this town for good" as he'd apparently made plans to move out of the country. He spoke bitterly about the city we live in, and all I could say in my head was that he'd be surprised to find that bitterness would somehow follow him wherever he went. It was at this point when I realized he'd been lost to addiction again. I could finally see first-hand why his wife left him - and remember, this is from the supposedly 'mellow' drug, not even hard liquor. I can't imagine what he must have been like as drunk.

During these next few times I saw him, he also made out like he was interested in a female friend of mine. Ironically it was nearly two years ago when I first told this same female friend about him, boasting about his virtues and hoping that I could do some match-making for them. I'd thought it was a brilliant idea to hook them up. He used to talk about being lonely and wanting to find love again. He used to say that he'd gotten tired of introducing his reformed playboy friends to their future wives and that he'd grown tired of being a best man at everyone else's weddings. He used to talk about wanting to be a father. I wanted those things for him. But he's blowing it, and the situation with my female friend is a prime example. By the time she got a chance to spend any real time with him, I didn't want to encourage her interest in him at all. I could see that he was engaging in all the tell-tale signs of addiction denial, including distancing himself from friends who knew him when he was healthy and latching on to new acquaintances since they wouldn't notice that he wasn't being himself. But in the end, it didn't take long for my female friend to figure out that he was out of control; the more time she spent with him, the more he seemed to rattle her inner calm. Now she wants nothing to do with him, and it's sad really, because I used to wish for a great woman to come into his life. He's so deep in, he has no idea that he shot himself in the foot, what with loud talking about other conquests in front of her, and displaying generally unsettling behavior. And he has no idea that he did it to himself.

I don't know where I'm going with the end of this blog. Really, there is no official ending because my contact with my friend has trailed off, I think he still intends to leave town, and frankly I don't have the emotional strength to confront him about his addiction. As I mentioned in another blog the other day, I have quite a bit on my plate, so I'm all tapped out. But I guess I could end this blog by saying that I'll just keep some hope. I hope he gets better. I hope he recovers again. He was an amazing guy and ultimately, I hope he returns to a healthy life. Addiction is a mofo, but there's always hope. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

What's Bad for Me and the Art of 'Bad People' Removal

I've got a lot on my plate, Gentle Reader(s). Tasks that I can't avoid, and deadlines that need to be met pronto. I really don't even have time to be blogging - but you know how it is; when something's nagging at you, it can be difficult to focus on more pressing matters. I have something that I feel like I need to get off my chest, which also happens to be something that I think you might be able to relate to, so here I am.

I allude to the presence of stress and the pressure of important matters hanging in the balance because times like these can actually provide you with clarity. It's tantamount to the proverbial sink or swim metaphor where you become psychically aware that you aren't going to be able to swim with a whole bunch of cumbersome items strapped to your back. At some point, one might come to the conclusion that some of these items need to be removed to free up one's breast stroke, if you follow me.

In more literal terms, you may ask, what are these cumbersome items that need to be untethered? Well they can be a variety of things, but for the purposes of this discussion, I'm just going to say 'certain people'. I think many of us have our own personal branch of  Bad People Storage Inc. You know the place and I know the place. It's the emotionally based facility where we keep people in our lives who are... well... bad. So then you may ask, what is bad? Please define bad, you may demand. Bad in this instance isn't really defined as fundamentally evil (although it could include evil deeds in a bad person in question) and it isn't a moral application (although it could involve a shaky moral compass in a bad person in question). Bad, in this instance, is fairly subjective and suggestive of the negative affects which certain people have on you and your life. Years ago Dr. Lillian Glass coined the phrase 'Toxic People" in reference to these types of people. And many of us are more than a little guilty of keeping a bushel or even a stable full of people who are bad for us around in our lives; hence Bad People Storage Inc. gets born.

Many of us never really put our fingers on why some of these people are bad for us and we keep them around; many of us inadvertently fall out with the bad people in our lives, but we never really learn the lesson of why and how they were bad for us in the first place and so we replace them with more bad people; and then some of us, in the midst of navigating the more difficult waters of life, come to realize that we aren't going to be able to swim with all these toxic mofos strapped to our backs. We gain clarity. We may come to realize that it isn't about having an argument with one of our bad people, or even a specifically evil transgression exacted against us by one of our bad people . It is at this point when we come to realize that the person (or persons) are just bad for us. When you are able to realize or proclaim that someone is bad for you, understand that that realization or proclamation is unique to your experiences and expectations of fellow beings. It's obvious that what one person considers to be bad or toxic, may not be defined as such by another. But still, I maintain that there are a few common themes in what falls into the bad for you category; SN (sleazy and negative), V (vacuous), UNT (unstable and not trustworthy) and I'll get to those - but before I do, I want to make a distinction.

What Bad People Inc. Isn't

I'd like to point out right now that although that some of the people you call your real friends can certainly be toxic or bad for you, I'm really referring to are the people you're not likely to have a strong bond with or want to level with to work out your differences with as you would real friends. I get that sometimes friends have drama and baggage you can't handle- and for the record I know I've actually been one of those friends to my friends, and then in a role reversal, some of my friends have been those kinds of friends to me. Real friendship involves tough times, whining, getting stuck in ruts, having misunderstandings, battling personality glitches, as well as all the good stuff. Those negative elements can be overcome with communication where both parties have love and good intentions at their core and strive towards mutual understanding. Issues like self absorption and emotional sapping can be overcome with communication. That's what real friends do. People who are bad for you, for the purposes of this discussion, fall into another category altogether.

So What or Who is Bad For You?

Again, it's all subjective. For me, before we even get into any labels, I'd like to clarify my notion that that the people who are bad for me tend to have a general profile; they seem to be the people who aren't around in my life enough to even know what's going on, and visa versa - and I'm not talking about good friends who become so busy that you have to update each other when you see each other again - I'm talking about people who have been unavailable during the sticky or traumatic times, and don't ever seem to want to reveal sticky or traumatic times to others. Some people might simply call these people fair weather friends. But it usually goes a bit deeper.

I've come to recognize that along with the fair weather factor, these people who are bad for me also carry some sort of dark element, or draw to the dark side which they carry at their forefront and they desire to suck you into their crazy way of coping. They commonly engage in destructive behavior and self harming behavior to cope with their problems rather than spending time working their problems out - in other words, instead of having grounded, solid interactions with them, or having deep reflective discussions with them, I always seem to get stuck negotiating with, or dabbling with their dark bullshit. I have found myself doing the dance with them, as I like to call it.

What exactly is doing the dance? It involves convincing myself that if I could just get to their authentic place, we'd be great friends. It involves 'trying not to judge' when I know good and well that what they're mixed up in is bad news for them and eventually me, but still convince myself that I can bypass that muck to locate authenticity within them. WRONG. Some people are just bad for you, and it's pretty codependent to convince yourself that you can make that much of a difference for someone who hasn't actually shown you any good faith or loyalty. Why not make a difference reaching deeper levels with established friends? I've decided to spend less time allowing myself to be suckered and tending to my own personal Bad People Storage Inc. and more time turning my business into Bad People Removal Services. I'm going to give you three examples. Interestingly enough, these three individuals have contacted me in the last 48 hours and I have finally come to a turning point, which is how I've come to write this blog in the first place.

Poly-Boy

I met Poly-Boy (not his real name) over the Internet about four years ago. I reached out to him because he and his partner were supposedly part of the local polyamory community and my (then) partner and I had questions about polyamory (if you're unfamiliar with polyamory: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Polyamory). We had no interest in anything more than fact finding and discussion with like-minded people, so I got in touch with Poly-Boy.

From the onset, it was clear to me that Poly-Boy was looking for any and all romantic encounters he could get. That was the first red flag. He claimed to be polyamorous but functioned more like a swinger. I ignored the red flag. I think I was being arrogant, truth be told. I made it clear that nothing romantic (or sexual) was going to happen, and that I really just wanted to pick his brain on polyamory. I thought that would be enough; be direct, be friendly. Hell, he was an interesting person, after all. A writer, a person interested in politics... what would be the harm in just sidestepping his romantic interests and developing a friendship? The long story short is that the 'friendship' resulted in numerous long phone conversations with a Machiavellian individual, who was hell bent on grooming me as if I were a 16 year old ingenue, even if it meant creating devil's advocate style debates on every issue every time we spoke so that he could impress me with his superior intelligence. I would find myself hanging up from these 'conversations' utterly exhausted, asking myself why I was talking to this guy. In my gut I felt that there was an air of aggression that I couldn't quite pinpoint, but I questioned myself. What was the harm in someone not agreeing with my point of view? Why did his differences of opinions bother me so much? I tried to silence my own warning system by using conventional logic on myself even though conversations with him just made me feel bad and worn out - a good debate should make you come to some sort of understanding of another point of view or philosophy, but instead my interactions with Poly-Boy just made me feel more confused and distant.

Then came the time when I broke the news to him that I had decided to eliminate polyamory from my romantic life. The disappointment radiated right through the phone. I figured that would be it. If his intentions were to groom me for some swingers' deal, he'd bug off at this point, right? WRONG. He appeared to want to maintain a friendship and even meet up. At first this was encouraging, but soon thereafter, the same sort of weird, stressful discussions began to creep back into my interactions with this fellow. I decided to distance myself from him a bit, avoid meeting up for a time, and get on with things. There was no need to make a big fuss, right? WRONG.

I got a call from Poly-Boy the other day.  Months ago, he put me on a social networking invite list of people he hoped would come and visit him and his wife while they're in Greece for three months over this summer. So conveniently, this call coincided with his leaving town for Greece. He was obviously fishing around, hoping to meet me before breaking camp but instead of stating his business, he opened the conversation right away with a debate regarding a social network comment I'd made regarding the weather. Before I knew what was happening, I found myself on the phone for an additional 30 minutes, looking at the clock because I had to take my dog for a walk, as he explained to me that the best way to deal with a loved one recovering from an addiction would be to let that person go out and engage in addictive behavior. He closed this 'conversation' with insisting that we finally meet up "after all this time". I gave in. I agreed to meet him. Why? I think I agreed due to a combination of exhaustion and frankly eagerness to get together with him for what? To see just how much I disliked him in person? I don't know. Somehow I wanted him out of my social life, but wasn't sure how to go about it.

At that moment I knew I disliked him as a person, so why agree to get together? Here I was, talking to a person who clearly had ulterior motives and carried negative energy. I hadn't spoken to him in what, months? Almost a year? And why the hell was I trying to have an earnest discussion with him about what had been going on in my life? Had he called me when times were tough for me or him? No. Had he called to wish me happy holidays last year? No. I was allowing myself to get sucked in again. Why would I waste even a single afternoon on someone like this? I'd found myself doing the dance again and I knew I had to stop.

So I did. I gave myself a couple of days to mellow out and then I called him back this morning. I told him that I wasn't going to meet him on the day we discussed. I told him that I wasn't, in fact, going to ever meet him. I explained to him that, for the last time, I wasn't interested in engaging in any sort of romantic relationship with him, that I wasn't interested in being groomed for his purposes like an ingenue since I'm not a teenager. It was at that point when he told me that he thought that I "got the wrong end of the stick". I assured him that I disagreed entirely and simply put, that I wasn't interested in friendship with him because if he'd been interested in friendship with me he would have been in touch after I had several deaths in my family last year like my other friends were. I also told him that I disliked his argumentative tone because it made me feel tense, not friendly. The bottom line, once I put my finger on it, is that Poly-Boy falls squarely in the SN camp. Sleazy and Negative, and therefore bad for me. There's no need to engage in tense discussions, there's no need to keep his crotch sniffing tendencies at bay. Ultimately, I wished him all the best, and hung up. I simply stopped doing the dance. It was so much easier than I imagined it would be.
(scroll way down for the update as of 13/04/11)

Scene Girl

I met Scene Girl at a film festival a couple of years ago. We happened to strike up a random conversation by way of complimenting each other on our outfits - clearly we had a similar style - both kind of rockabilly, both with jet black hair and red lipstick, the whole getup. It was almost eerie in the fact that we're also both from the same country, living abroad, and even share the same profession. How cool, right? What has transpired since has been a truly bizarre interaction and a totally fruitless association.

We were meant to get together several times, and never did - she basically flaked every time. And then even more strangely, not long after I'd lost my sister, I came to discover that she'd lost her mother. This news came in the form of a social network comment which said something like "My mother has just died, and no one even seems to care." This broke my heart. I stepped in right away to lend my support. We met that one time and came to find out that we were both not only suffering from grief, but that we were also having similar relationship issues. Surely this was a sign, right? So much in common, even common struggles, right? Ok, so she was in deep mourning but showed up wearing a full, camera ready face of makeup mentioning that she was late because she kept drawing on her eyebrow incorrectly, but that doesn't mean anything right? That's what I told myself at the time.

As the weeks, then months drew on, I would get these random texts from her about how we needed to get together, how horrible her boyfriend was being, how she had no one in her life as a support system since her mother passed away, and how amazing that day we'd gotten together had been. But there was one problem. Each and every time I carved out time to get together with her, she flaked. She cancelled so much I was beginning to lose count. These cancellations were always followed by texts proclaiming how sorry she was for being such a "bad friend" but that she was feeling so anxiety ridden about her mother that she was prone to cancel and didn't like going places alone - she was so anxiety ridden. And for a while I understood. I could relate.

There is something about being in mourning that totally destabilizes you to the degree that sometimes you can't make it out. I have been there, really I have. I have been there to the degree that I was balancing three deaths of loved ones and a partner in recovery from addiction. Believe me, I've had to apologize to many a good friend about not turning up somewhere I said I'd be - all based on pure anxiety. There were days that I made it out, then other days where I could barely get up to take a shower. But once it gets to the point that you find yourself talking yourself out of your own anxieties to get out there and support someone else who then flakes on you repeatedly, it starts to get a bit old; really emotionally exhausting actually. Couple that with the fact that the other person also keeps mentioning great places (on the rockabilly scene of course) that she's been to and places that "we should hang out at, cos I was there last week" in between flaking sessions with you and you begin to suspect the big V. V is for Vacuous. And guess what I realized? Here's a gem. Are you ready for the big reveal? Vacuous people are still vacuous, even when bad things happen in their lives.

The romantic concept that people suddenly become all grounded and steady when tragedy strikes is a big fat lie propagated by The Man... or maybe TV and film. At any rate it's a lie. Usually people just go on being as shitty as they ever were. Ask one of my family members who felt it was a good idea to talk badly about my mixed race relationship behind my back while she was in my parents' house after my sister died. Ask my partner who continued to struggle in recovery even after my good friend died. So really, the case of Scene Girl is no different. The difference is I got tired of doing the dance with her. I mean, she'd never been over to my place, I'd never been over to hers; she didn't even know that I had a cat and a dog, and yet here I was doing this exhausting back and forth with her to lend my support... all the while sacrificing my stability. To this day, I still haven't figured out if it was an emotional crutch she needed (all for herself only) or if she just thought I looked like a cool looking friend to have on the books. Whatever the reason, I came to realize that Scene Girl is vacuous, saps my energy, provides no mutual support, and therefore bad for me. She texted me last night. I don't intend to answer.

Miss Shaky Boundaries

When people tell you that they're mentally ill, you should believe them. Granted most people have suffered from some mental instability or depression at some point, or several points in their lives. But when people break out the BP; Bi-Polar, and they want you to know right away, it's probably a good idea to take heed. A lot of people are also misdiagnosed, and who knows what's really up with them. The negative sphere of Miss Shaky Boundaries has been something which has built up gradually over some time, mainly because she was never around enough for me to really cotton onto what she'd been up to. We met one night at a small concert venue, where one of her friends was playing and a friend of one of mine was also playing. She was very forwardly friendly towards me, which is always appreciated in a big city. We exchanged information and vowed to get together, and so it went. We'd get together every once in a while, often on a sunny day, usually over cocktails. Our conversations would range from everything from spirituality, to our family woes. Innocuous girl talk, really, though she seemed to subject flip quite a bit. I sometimes found her difficult to follow, as she'd often trail off in a vague manner when it came to details. I didn't let that bother me, she just seemed a bit spacey - she seemed to be a nice person nonetheless.

As our talks got deeper, she would often mention how much she wanted a boyfriend. She began to share details about men she was interested in. She seemed to fall for people very quickly, wished to define those relationships very quickly, and often what she described led me to believe that these love interests were usually men who weren't particularly interested in anything deep with her. Each time I spoke with her there seemed to be a new guy, one with whom she hoped to build a relationship. I encouraged her to go slower in building potential relationships so that she could avoid feeling used and getting repeatedly hurt. She seemed to appreciate this advice, if nothing else.

Further along, I started inviting her to cocktail parties I'd throw. My parties tend to delineate into a flurry of drunken dancing and loud talking deep into the night. It's a free-for-all, and it's great. But the thing I began to notice about Miss Shaky Boundaries was that every time she came to one of my parties there would be some drama with a man. Once she showed up with a shy fellow who was clearly with her as a date (or at least that's what he thought). She basically blew him off in the middle of the night to give her attentions to another (especially drunk) fellow.

Another night Miss Shaky Boundaries became the center of an argument between two drunk men, one of whom she eventually left with around 5 in the morning. This man, apparently with a partner and a child out of town (I later learned), happily slept with Miss Shaky Boundaries. They were very drunk. It was a bad situation that should never be repeated. No harm done, right? WRONG. Miss Shaky Boundaries left his house without getting his telephone number, admitted that it seemed that he had no interest in seeing her again, but spent the next month pestering me about getting his number and pumping me for information about him. She simply couldn't accept that she was a drunken one night stand and wanted to involve me in gaining further Intel. I refused, said he was spoken for, and left it at that.

The next party came along and, lo and behold, on this occasion, Miss Shaky Boundaries spent half of the night asking me about one of the sleaziest male guests at the party because he was by himself, and the other half of the night observing the romantic verbal banter between two of my other friends. She basically waited for my female buddy to leave the party, then descended on my male buddy like a vulture on roadkill. In the end, she spent the end of the night making out with the male buddy in front of another friend who was trying to sleep, and then eventually went home with the male buddy in the morning. That was bad enough, but I must tell you, my inner peace became sufficiently more disturbed when I reviewed the details of that night and seemed to recall observing Miss Shaky Boundaries serving my boyfriend a cup of tea and parking herself right next to him. That did it for me. Look, I may be modern but I still follow my dear grandmother's old fashioned advice, and she would have told me: anybody that desperate, with such shaky boundaries is not a person you want around you and yours - and I don't care how trustworthy you think your man is. Yep, that's what Grandma would've said.

The female buddy who left the party early, only to have Miss Shaky Boundaries descend on her romantic interest, has graciously asked me not to confront Miss Shaky Boundaries. And up until yesterday I was inclined not to because I assumed that the reason why I hadn't heard from her was because she was embarrassed by her own conduct. But since getting a text from her, I'm beginning to wonder if I should confront her. I mean, I am on a roll these days, slaying sucker MCs left and right. The bottom line is that Miss Shaky Boundaries is UNT; Unstable and Not Trustworthy which puts her squarely in the category of bad for me. I intend to stop doing the dance, one way or another. Another one bites the dust.

All in all, I am now actively electing to remove people who are bad for me from my life and learning to recognize the patterns so that I can keep them out. But you know, in recognizing the patterns I'm discovering that the thing that can be so seductive about people who are bad for you, at least in my case, is that their dark side has some sort of draw of interest to you. My beloved university professor Winston Kennedy once told me to always remember "the success of the Con is based upon the greed of the Mark." And it's true. If you think you're sophisticated and worldly, why wouldn't you be tempted by an exiting lifestyle like polyamory? And if you're intellectual, you tell yourself that you're always up for a debate (and let yourself suffer through the agony of dealing with passive aggressive people). Or if you're fashionable, why wouldn't you want to be around cool and fashionable people who are all into the scene of your choosing? Or, if you're open minded, why wouldn't you want to be around a friend who throws caution to the wind? This is how you get sucked into chaos. At the end of the day we all have a limited amount of time to be productive and live life well. Why keep peripheral people around who are unreliable, untrustworthy, or have chaotic motives? Life is hard enough with family, lovers, and real friends. Why choose to fight that fight, when there are so many other interpersonal, economic, and social battles which are worthwhile and require your attention? Why not learn to practice the art of bad people removal and clear some of that cumbersome weight off your back while you swim? Just some food for thought Gentle Reader(s).

Update: Wednesday, April 13, 2011, early in the freakin mornin

The name of this update is Trust Your Instincts, Gentle Reader(s). Because although it's always good to engage in self-examination when making decisions about totally cutting people off, sometimes you've got to bypass all the intellectual noise telling you that you shouldn't jump to conclusions or make assumptions even though your instincts tell you otherwise. I went into my email this morning and discovered an email that I'd somehow missed over the last few days - I swear this is true - and I don't know how I missed it. Maybe it was a good thing that I did miss it, because then I would've really gone Toby N. Tucker, TNT, kaboom, off. Wouldn't you know it was from Poly-Boy, obviously sent soon after he'd asked me to get together with him (but clearly before I confronted him). This email contained a very simple message: "Here are a few pictures of [Suzie] and me.xx" and the pictures consisted of one naked photo of him (from behind), a couple of candid photos of "Suzie" looking coy with messy hair and clothes sliding off her shoulders, a photo of "Suzie" in a red and white furry cowboy hat and red bra and underwear, and one close-up of "Suzie's" flat pancake butt in boy-shorts and fishnets. Oh I'm sorry. Maybe I was wrong. And here I thought Poly-Boy was passive aggressively trying to groom me for some weird swingers' thing, but obviously I "got the wrong end of the stick" because sending intimate nude photos of you and your spouse to someone you have yet to meet in person isn't necessarily a sexual invitation. It's just friendly, right? Anyone would do that as a friendly gesture - it's just polite. But really, what sort of person argues with you for sport, verbally accepts that you have no interest in swinging with him and his crew, but sends you intimate photos anyway, then tells you that you've obviously got the wrong idea when you confront him about his intentions? A sleazy and negative person. Trust your instincts. What more can I say? Ewww, wish I hadn't seen that photo of him, though.