Fun and Games Dept

So I had a thought regarding today’s technology and what “real” communication is. I was thinking, when the telephone and telegraph were coming to fruition back in the 1800-whatever, did a segment of society have some sort of hissy fit about it? Were there people saying, “If Mrs. Alabaster was really my friend, she’d taken the time to come out here and drop a card instead of calling me on this new doo-dad.”

Perhaps this is the way I should be looking at our new communication tools like Facebook and Twitter today.

Now, I know that Facebook and Twitter and every other communication network we have today monitors what’s said, who we’re saying it to, when we’re saying it, and where it’s being said. Technology has advanced in, my opinion, an unfortunate direction in this area, however, how different is this than the operators listening in on every long-distance phone call back in the day? Of course, the operators weren’t making money but I’m sure they were sharing your data in the form of gossip, especially if you lived in a small town.

Let’s face it, the majority of people you want to communicate with are probably on Facebook, Twitter, and/or one of the other popular social media platforms. Instead of burning down the house, maybe we should fight to make these platforms as safe and productive as possible.

By striving to make these platforms a more secure, friendly, and truthful experience for all, perhaps we can all really make the world a better connected place.

When did I become so serious? I read my blog entries from 10 years ago and back then I wrote like the gay, male Erma Bombeck. Hell, if I thought it would get a laugh I’d throw on a wig and a dress and start in with a Dayton, Ohio accent. I’d sound like Emma Thompson on “Ellen”.

But Earl and I are sitting here watching “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel” (we’re still on season one, so no spoilers) and the fact of the matter is, I’ve become dreadfully serious. And in becoming dreadfully serious I’ve become withdrawn. Granted, I was rated an INFJ not too long ago, I do like my time alone to recharge, but I’ve always been able to fake something beginning with an “E”, at least for a little while. I go out, chat up a storm like I’m some sort of comedian, and then I get home and spend some time alone looking at porn on the computer in the middle of the night, because after all, that’s why the smart ones made the Internet, for porn.

Looking through my old blog entries I realize that my hilarity (that’s quite an air of grandiosity I have there) stated to fade a bit when George W. Bush was President. After 9/11, I felt like I should be more invested in the state of the country, hell the whole world, so I started paying attention to what was going on in the news and I got all serious about it. Then someone told me I wasn’t militant enough as a gay man. I should stop eating Chick-Fil-A and I should become indignant when someone does something I probably haven’t even noticed, but everyone else in “the community” clutches their pearls and makes a gasping noise. I know, we’re suppose to do things for each other as members of the LGBTQQI (did I get it all?) community, but the fact of the matter is, I’m a really bad gay man. Getting back to the porn thing, I don’t like things in my pooper, I don’t really like playing with other poopers, and I don’t really feel any sort of thrill watching two guys play with poopers. I think Barbra Streisand seems talented but her songs don’t really take my breath away, the only thing I feel is a sinus headache when Mariah Carey makes that whistling sound, and I sure as shit can’t stand it when Christina Aguilera is trilling and yodeling the word “yeah” all over a simple melody that my 8th grade chorus could sing back in 1982.

I like the cows and I like waffle fries and I like Polynesian sauce and I’m seriously not going to feel guilty if I indulge in these things once in a while.

Things really changed when my Dad died. This is the part of the blog entry where it gets heavy. After that happened I felt like it was time for me to grow up and be more responsible, invest in the world in around me, and do what I can to take care of my family. And that’s what I’ve been doing since 2011, doing my best to be serious about taking care of my family. I take care of my husband, and I take care of our “Cub”, and now I do my best to take care of our Cub’s fiancé. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with this, but I don’t know that I have to lose my sense of humor to do this.

The other thing that’s really taken the wind out of my funny bone is the election of this stupid, ignorant, piece of trash of a human being currently in the Oval Office. Seeing who supports such a horrible person, regardless of what he does, has quite frankly scared me. I’ve always known that there are stupid people in the world, it’s just that I didn’t know there were so many of them and that so many of them were so close to my inner circle. Trumpians like to say that we’re angry that “we lost”. First of all, I’m not as leftist on some things as one would think. Second of all, I don’t believe the country should be made up of teams. Thirdly, the last I knew we were calling ourselves “The United States of America” but there’s hardly anything ‘united’ about us anymore. And it’s these realizations that make me feel very serious. But how am I changing the world by losing my sense of humor?

The truth is, I’m not.

This afternoon when Flaming Cheeto appeared at a Press Briefing, surrounded by bald men, proclaiming the grave situation about the southern border, I couldn’t help but laugh.

I made several snarky comments on Twitter about how I wasn’t going to shave my head anymore because I didn’t want to be perceived as one of “those guys”. I also commented how the one on Trump’s right looked quite sad because he was upset that the others had shaved his head right before he went out into the Press Room. I mocked Lord Orange Whippy Whip over his unbelievably shitty tan and honestly, I screeched at CNN for giving this guy even two minutes of air time so he could broadcast another publicity stunt obviously designed to steal thunder from Nancy Pelosi returning to House Majority Speaker and the swearing in of an incredibly diverse House of Representatives.

You know what’s funny? That people actually take this Day-Glo Flea Dipped Asshole seriously. You know what’s not funny, and quite frankly, incredibly horrifying?

That people still take this Day-Glo Flea Dipped Asshole seriously.

I’m sad that I can’t ask my Dad what he thinks about today’s Republican Party. My dad and I talked about politics once, and that’s when he told me I should register as a Republican so I could get somewhere in business in Upstate New York. (I was planning to register as an Independent). He ran his hand across the “R” levers in the voting booth without hesitation. But in my heart of hearts I can’t believe that my father support would support what the GOP has become today. Maybe it’s wishful thinking of a 50-year old kid at heart reminiscing about his dead dad.

Wow, so somber again.

I guess I find it hard to laugh when I’m worried about the state of the country. There’s a funny grandma in Alamance County in North Carolina who doesn’t cuss in public like I do. Her name is Jeanne Robertson and she tells everyone at every one of her speeches, “find the humor in every situation”.

I need to do more of that again. Long live the name Day-Glo, Flea Dipped Asshole.

It’s the little things that make the holiday season special. It’s not about mauling other shoppers for the cheapest 55-inch television, or trying to impress with the latest, most expensive, soon-to-be-obsolete gadget.

It’s about holding the door. Running the vacuum. A pair of gloves. A love note written with a Sharpie on the remains of a notepad. It’s about making new traditions, reveling in memories, sharing warm tidings.

No one should dictate how you convey these thoughts. Any glad tiding should be received as the gift was offered. The words don’t matter, it’s the intent that should make an impression.

Be of good cheer. Share warmth, not judgment. And make this holiday, no matter how or when you choose to celebrate, if you celebrate at all, one to remember with pleasant memories.