What follows is an amalgamation of approximately one dozen half-started blog posts, curated and cut up- then purged- for a fresh start to what amounts to a “dear diary” six of my friends read.
As I get older, I find myself drifting in and out of social consciousness, selectively and deliberately removing myself from the news cycle for weeks at a time. I state this without an ounce of self-importance: I am not advocating this, or even propositioning that willing-ignorance is a good idea.
A hundred people far more intelligent than I have written a number of essays, articles and books about the wealth of information we’re exposed to daily- and the correlation with stagnant violent crime statistics- suggesting than current times are no more dangerous than 10, 100 or 1000 thousand years ago- we just hear about the bad stuff sooner, and our brains aren’t meant to process near-constant tragedy and terror. I’m over-simplifying- or maybe I’m not and just really hit my fucking stride when I get to summarize an interpretation of someone else’s shit. Often times it’s a hell of a lot easier than coming up with your own stuff.
I feel like I could write a really great self-help book for 30-something non-visible minority males from a similar economic class who followed roughly the same career and relationship paths as I did. Everyone else would be left to their own devices (you’ll be fine).
“If we drained the ocean–” Warren had a habit of blurting out hypotheticals in moments that simply did not call for them.
“What?! Where would all the water go?” Sarah asked.
“That’s not important, in the bigger picture of this analogy!” he snapped. “If we drained the ocean,” Warren slurped a sip of his beer, “All the fish, sharks, whales, plankton- all that shit will just pile up at the bottom. And make this weird, sticky flapping sound. They’d be damp- the sand, ground I guess- would be like sludge, right? The whales would moan as they took their last breaths. They’re all dying right? The animals–”
“Mammals,” she asserted.
“Fuck off, Sarah. I’m telling a story!”
She crinkled the pamphlet between two clenched fists.
“The life down there,” pausing and with a turn of his wrist, Warren swirls his beer around. He stares at it, then takes a drink and then another drink, “They’re dead without water. So if we drained the ocean, for like, and hour, two hours after, all these dead fish and whales and shit are dying. And we have to listen to this hollow roar of death, that we caused cause we drained the ocean. Just for kicks.”
“Well, Warren,” she paused, “That’s a very interesting thought. I just have to ask why you chose to share it with me at my nephew’s briss? And also to request that you proceed with the ceremony- we’ve only got this synagogue until 10:30, then the cake walk starts.”