Cheese and syrup

Kim Kardashian
In the future, scholars will study and hypothesize the downfall of the United States.

Was it stretching themselves too thin, in military endeavors around the world? Or was it the Federal Reserve, which encouraged careless spending and unstable growth in our market?

It may be many causes, but at root they will find two main culprits…

Cheese and corn syrup.

It was them that dulled minds and bodies. With bellies fed, the fire was quenched, and others who were more hungry would take over the world.

“Go look it up,” she told me.


“The top 10% have hundreds of billions in wealth, but it would only take hundreds of millions to cover the health insurance of all the uninsured,” she told me. She was grading papers. She was an instructor at Antioch College. She had told me the plagiarism of ideas in the papers was abhorrent.

“Wow,” I said, “if that’s true, I’d support moving that wealth around somehow.”  I went on, “I would like to see the breakdown though…Who has how much of the wealth in the top 10%. And where is their wealth…”

She got an impatient look on her face, “You can look this stuff up. It’s out there. Do some research.”

My irritation flared up, and I grew impatient, too… but I checked it, reminding myself she was an academic and her experience was probably more from published data, and less from real-world data.  And anyway, what good would my impatience get? I wanted to learn, not get into an argument.

“Shoot me some links on that,” I said. “Ok,” she said, but sounded more bothered by my ignorance.

I soldiered on, wanting to share my inclinations, “I’d rather focus on helping people, to empower them to be able to pay for health insurance themselves.”

“That’s kind of naive,” she said.

The comment did not cut deep, since by this point I was getting accustomed to her authoritative style. In addition, I was on my third beer.

She left after a few minutes. I gave her my contact info, to get the data from her.

Then I sat thinking for awhile. She was cute. I liked her passion. I wish I had steered the conversation away from the generalities of politics and sociology, and more about her.

I finished the last of my beer and thought, “There are really two kinds of people in the world. There are the ones who want to focus more on empowering people. And there are others who want to focus more on empowering the institution to help people. One is about giving power to the individual, while the other is about taking power and decision-making from the individual.”

Satisfied in my conclusion, I got the attention of the bartender, “Cash me out please.”

I gathered my things to go home, and found myself feeling regret.

Although I had solidified my philosophy, I had missed an opportunity to truly get to know another human being. And that misplay went against the very essence of my philosophy.

We Learn Nothing

calvin arguing

“Obviously, some part of us loves feeling 1) right and 2) wronged.

But outrage is like a lot of other things that feel good but, over time, devour us from the inside out. Except it’s even more insidious than most vices because we don’t even consciously acknowledge it’s a pleasure.

We prefer to think of it as a disagreeable but fundamentally healthy reaction to negative stimuli, like pain or nausea, rather than admit that it’s a shameful kick we eagerly indulge again and again, like compulsive masturbation.”

Tim Kreider



The Male Religion

This is an article for the men. So ladies, you can stop reading now.

I’m going to talk about the Male religion. You may not believe in religion. I don’t…except this one. But there’s nothing spiritual about it. It’s fact. But it’s dogmatic, like religion. The dogma is:

Men love women.

All us men do…to some degree or another. Except for gay boys. And that’s fine. I should’ve told you gay boys to stop reading, too, but, anyway…I’m talking about straight guys. We’re not better, we just are who we are. And what we are is lovers of women. Very obvious, I know. But not so obvious to women…and why?Because we don’t act like it.I mean, we act like it when we talk with other guys, “Did you see her?”…Or when we stare at her as if sizing up a chunk of beef. But why don’t we show it to our women?

We’ve become insulated in, and at the same time, alienated from, our manhood.

And in the process, we’ve forgotten about her.

It’s time we realize that our manhood is something to be proud of. It’s something to be shared.  It’s always there, wanting to be expressed, needing to be expressed. Sometimes hidden behind all the other obstacles to our true nature, but it’s there.

The male drive is divinely given, from somewhere beyond our recognition and beyond our control (Just see how hundreds of years of trying to control it turned out with Catholic priests.)

The first step in understanding our relationship to women is accepting we have no control over our desires for women. No more control than anyone that gets hungry when they pass a restaurant that’s cooking up food.

Accept it. We are helpless for women. Mark Manson, in the opening of his book, The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, explains the underlying method to expressing yourself:

Stop trying.

We love women. Stop trying to love women and love them. It’s that simple. The outcome of expressing our love is unavoidable, so stop worrying about it. Stop trying to be anything but your loving self.

Don’t think about it, because it makes no logical sense. There’s her beautiful smile, flashing eyes, round breasts, smooth legs…and all of us are triggered.

But what is our reaction? We might show it in our glance…but most don’t. This does depend on culture. American culture is particularly conservative in showing sexual nature and attraction. The feelings are hidden away…they are made impersonal, directed into porn, and sexual characters and scenarios on tv, in movies, and advertisements. Why?
Because we haven’t surrendered to our nature.
It’s time for us to give up. It’s time to get simple, get back to our masculine source…that masculine edge to express how we feel. Damn the female or male who thinks we shouldn’t.
Our divine birthright, maybe not from a god, but from somewhere…it’s so primal that our denial of it is self-destructive.  And destructive to society, as our energies are directed into behaviors based on anxiety, consumption, and anger… instead of love.

There is shame in our love when there need not be. Shame in wanting to be in the presence of those lyrical voices, to engage those energetic spirits, to bend her waist and to touch her hips.

But what they deserve from us they seldom get. They need our appreciative smile, our genuine compliments, the invitation to come with us and not worry because they see a confident guy who knows what he wants.

The male religion is not one of male dominance or manipulation or dishonesty. It is one of helpless, shameless attraction to females. And expressing this is what makes us whole, it is what gives our lives meaning.

Without recognizing our place, standing across from our females, in coupled connection, we are denying ourselves our birthright. And shamefully, we are denying the females the experience of a man who loves them.

Why I don’t swallow unicorn poo


It’s not about being happy.

It’s about finding importance in your unhappy times.

When I get down, it’s time to figure out why. That’s the only way to get better. But when I get better, it’s not the end. There’s always better than that better.

Realize there will never be a happy life. It’s not about being happy.

It’s about finding significance in everything. This is a life of gratitude. And gratitude in the land of privilege is a hard thing to generate.



“Can I borrow your board?” I asked. “For just one lap?”

The older man in the lane beside had left his board unused by the edge of the pool.

He thought a minute. “Leave it down at the other end after you’re done. I’ll pick it up after I do my next laps.”

I thanked him and finished my swim. Leaving later after my sauna, I saw him huffing his last lap.

“You look like you’re doing good,” I said.

He gave a tired half-smile, “I can’t swim, but I can exercise. That’s why I do this.”

“It’s just a matter of putting in the time,” I said.

He told me about his playing handball. I told him I’d never played, but I had done racket ball.

“I can’t raise my right arm, shoulder got hurt from all the playing. Now I’m learning how to play with my left. And doing this swimming for the exercise.”

“Funny,” I said, “I’m starting to feel old. Just today I was stretching and hurt myself a little just from that!…before I’d even done any of my workout.”

He gave me a look. “How old are you?”

“Forty,” I said.

He shook his head, “I was born in 1939.”