I Should Be Grateful, I Suppose, And Compare You To A Summer's Rose.

One of the most appealing aspects of religion is the way that shitty events get explained away as "God's will," or "the Universe trying to teach us a lesson," or whatever.

It's kinda true, though. Well, I'm not going to go on record either way on the whole is-He-or-isn't-He (or She or It or Them) question, but I have found that shitty events can be made to serve us. Buddhist thought, for instance, finds reasons to be grateful for failure, persecution and violent tragedy, and not just because those experiences help to burn away bad Karma (or sin, if you will). They help individuals to reflect on themselves, their past and the Universe in general. Pretty neat, huh? Most of your non-Odin-based religions have similar tenets, and I'm honestly torn from day to day as to whether or not the lemonade is real or just a means to keep chumps under control.

I got a chance to test it out last week, though. It was Wednesday, and I was on my way to the Loony Bin for the evening show. It's my first time hosting a normal Loony Bin show, and I want it to be great. Part of my ritual, when I can do so, is to feast upon a falafel and hummus from Gyro's Etc. in the shopping center across Rockwell from the Loony Bin. Best falafel ever.

Seriously.

Only sometimes they have trouble with my debit card, and I'm left with no way to pay for said delicious falafel, as I usually don't carry cash (note to muggers: I'm not worth it!). So, I decide to stop at a nearby ATM to get some cash. Now, I'm not going to name the financial institution, so let's just say that their name rhymes with "CHASE RANK." I pull up to their outdoor ATM, put my card into the green blinking card slot, and wait. For those of you curious about what blinking green lights mean, let just tell you, they don't mean "happy to serve you, sir!" The actual meaning is closer to "I'm hungry! Give me your fucking debit card now, asshole! Mmm... yummy debit card! It's mine now, fucker! HA HA HA HA HA!" Some of that is a little idiomatic, but you get the drift.

I am now sans card. I have already established I have no cash. So, I'm left with my checkbook. I might as well be paying people in fucking Confederate Dollars, because the thing has an address from two homes and one city ago. So, great. Thanks CHASE RANK! You guys "rock!"

By the way, if a machine grabs your card and won't give it back, that shit is GONE! No way you will get it back, it gets shredded immediately.

So, I drive to Wal-Mart, where I bank ('cause I'm a high-fuckin' roller!) to cash a check so I can, you know, pay for food and gasoline. I order a new card while I'm there, expecting that I'll have it by the end of the week. No, 5 to 7 days I am told. No, wait, 5 to 7 BUSINESS days. Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?! How hard is it to stamp out a damn card and put it in the mail? Are these things hand-crafted by a one-eyed master back in the Ozarks somewhere? Like, it's just him, a whittlin' knife and a big 'ol block o' plastic, perhaps? Because why else in the world would it take one of the biggest banks in the area a fucking week and a half to replace one lousy DEBIT CARD?!

But I digress.

I get the cash, I get the information, and more importantly, I get a nice dose of hate. It pushes out the nervous, the anxious, the oh-boy-I-gotta-do-good-tonight vibe in my head and replaces it with icy hot anger. I turned in a great performance that night, and like a good little method actor I had that nugget of hate at my disposal for the rest of the week, just smoldering in my back pocket where my debit card used to be.

So thanks, CHASE RANK ATM, you malfunctioning piece of shit. I hope you get struck by lightning.

And I Can't, Can't Get That The Future Might Depend A Bit On These Mistakes I Keep Making Over

Walking to work yesterday morning I slipped and fell on the ice again, not 20 feet away from where I fell on Friday. My favorite part of the whole experience was watching a station wagon drive past me without stopping to check and see if I was hurt. I can only imagine that it must have looked pretty funny to the driver. I felt angry that they didn't stop to see if I was hurt, but for all I know they could have been dealing with something far worse, so I won't judge too harshly. We all have our own burdens, and it is a rare person indeed who would stop to help a stranger. I realized, as I lay twitching on the sidewalk, that human kindness should never be taken for granted. It is the simplest, most beautiful, and sadly, the most rare gift we can give each other. I felt blessed, actually, to relearn that lesson.

I didn't feel so fucking blessed when I fell again walking home from work that afternoon. Yeah, twice in one fucking day. Three fucking times in four fucking days, and I should point out that I didn't even leave the house on Saturday. So, I'm averaging one fall per day. If I was your fucking grandma, I would be fucking dead by now. How fucking hard is it to put some fucking salt on the fucking sidewalk? Understand, people, that we are a fucking family, all right, and that we have to fucking look out for each other. If you own a fucking building with a fucking public sidewalk, and it fucking freezes, throw some fucking salt on the fucking ice, you lazy fucking bastards! Society depends on people living up to their fucking responsibilities to other members of society. This breakdown of order is un-fucking-acceptable, largely because it directly affects me, but also because it speaks to a growing inability or unwillingness on the part of certain fucking individuals to accept that with power and possessions come duties and obligations.

Anyway, I guess I'm just saying be careful out there, and try to look out for each other. Oh, and I fucking hate ice.