The last President to visit Cuba was Calvin Coolridge!


This blowhard fat shrill chick I work with was wetting her size 18’s today on this announcement.


Obama is going to Cuba!


President Obama will be visiting Cuba within the next month. The visit will be part of a Latin America trip in March and will mark the first time a sitting U.S. President has visited the island nation in more than 80 years.


This beast actually did some Googling and discovered the last POTUS to visit that island was Calvin Coolridge.


That’s not a misspelling. That is what this SJW blimp kept saying, even after I corrected her.


“I’m no good at this stuff,” she giggled in that adipose-inflamed airy bark of a laugh.


Obama is a great President, he’s going to Cuba. The first one since Calvin Coolridge! Yet again through those cushion-like cheeks.


She’s Mexican-American, but one step up from the typical ghetto trash ignorantsia that praises and Hallelujah-izes all Obama whoring plans to garner subhuman votes.


But he can’t be troubled to travel to a funeral…



Jeb Bush, the stranger in a strange, extroverted land.


Jeb, and me.


We are alike.


I could have told you this without learning officially that he self-identifies as an introvert from an interview with Anderson Cooper.


Just because you share a quality with someone does not necessarily endear you to them. In fact, it might actual repel you a bit. Introverts, by nature, do not seek kinship or “communion” with others. They like to join online introverts forums in which the disconnected nature of cyber communication is isolated and only triggered upon command. When you belong to an online introvert forum, none of the other morons can come knocking on your door or call you on the telephone at the worst time (which for an introvert is just about all the time).


My “introvert radar (introdar)” told me Jeb was an introvert. Anybody can sense it. This Presidential contest has become, on one level, the battle of the extrovert and the introvert, although, to be honest, Jeb’s position in the race hardly warrants “contender” status.



Jeb boasts that he “overcame” his introversion, as if it’s a battle with one’s innate character, as if it’s a battle with something distasteful about oneself. I don’t respect the introvert who speaks in such terms. Introversion is not something you overcome. Introversion is not a drug habit, it is not an addiction or a phobia. It is a core substance of your personality which dictates how you interact with the external world. It is not something you turn off and on. Many public figures are introverts but they do not turn the demons of introversion away simply by excluding them. An introvert learns to accept his introversion, and in so doing, releases the facile battle against an imaginary enemy. In accepting introversion, in welcoming it as part of our persona, we do not fight it or display artificial counteractive personality traits that seek to extinguish it. Acceptance is the first step to being an introvert in an extroverted world.


If Jeb truly overcame his introversion, why is it so easy to spot that he is one?


His fumbling, halting, awkward manner is much my own. I would never choose to run for public office for my public presentation is self-conscious, repressed and monotonous. I do not stir emotion in others. I’m not running for President, however. Tell me how Jeb reached this position other than through the assistance of his familial legacy? I am Jeb Bush but you would never find me “commanding” a town hall meeting during this campaign cycle, or any campaign cycle.


At the 62 second mark, there is the undeniable Jeb-Jab against Donald Trump in which he refers to people who talk all the time, the “blowhards,” those who are decidedly not introverts; he’s obviously referring to Donald Trump, the antithesis to introversion. He brings up an irrefutable point: of course extroverts are so busy talking that they frequently spend all their interactive time doing that instead of absorbing. But in politics, in business, in interpersonal relationships, in America, this is what it takes to “move ahead.” The listener is discarded while the “explainer” is handed the microphone.


In my department, I work with a female Donald Trump. She rarely works, she is lazy, but she occasionally and strategically inserts  herself into sporadic incidents of work, and during these times, talks loudly and profusely about how busy she is while insinuating how she is doing everyone’s job and making things work. She is blatantly full of shit, to me, the introvert. She is a blowhard, and you know what? People listen to her more than me, the hard-working introvert.


If Jeb believes his introversion stands a chance against Trump’s extroversion, I want him to explain the latest poll figures, for they are a poor testament to the efficacy of introversion in political discourse.


Jeb Bush’s introversion makes him a stranger in strange land. He is out of his element. He has no fire. Perhaps he’s better off leading a less impressionable group than the American public.



My untenable life.


I suspect that, living your day in, day out, especially if you’re a hyper-introverted recluse who only comes out to earn a living, you get to the repetitive point where your shit becomes very normal, so normal you don’t realize how abnormal it is. That you’re really pretty unhinged and most others are actually “normal” and not particularly notorious.  Their mundane, predictable, ignorant existence is as it should be.


There is no solace, no pride, nothing remarkable about my abnormality, but recognizing it beyond my existential myopia does provide a good source of amusement and intellectual awakening. And it can be a little scary perhaps, to realize, my life, the way I live my day, each day, is of such an “elevated” (I don’t like this word for it’s presumptuous; I mean it in a non-physical hierarchical context here) state, my existence, that it is vastly untenable for the majority of normal people. Am I overreaching, aggravating that which should remain unperturbed?


My life, calculated, meticulous, rigorous, militaristic, regimented…all this. Each day like a march of death. For instance, this morning:


  • I awoke about 2:45. Got up, surfed a little, went back to sleep about 3:10, woke up at 3:50. Lay in bed until 4:30. Another 4-5 hour night of sleep. Not ideal, this insomnia sucks, but still, I function fine.


  • Prepared breakfast. Measured each item in order to calculate my calories. Today a 40-gram bowl of cereal, half a cup of whole milk, 60 grams of sourdough toast, 1 teaspoon of butter, 5 cups of black coffee, 1.4 ounces of turkey sausage and 2.3 fluid ounces of Blueberry-flavored Kefir. On track for another 1,600 calorie day.


  • Day 2 of my weightlifting routine. Deadlifts day, 5×5.  Gotta lift to stay in normal weight range.  If it wasn’t for weightlifting, I suspect my BMI would fall below 18.5 from the present 18.8.  In other words, I owe about .3-.5 BMI “points” to deliberate muscle building.


  • Will make sure my backpack is ready and all items are in their respective pouches/pockets for another day of public commuting. I will continue reading a Joyce Carol Oates novel and listen to music on my mp3 player since I do not have, nor desire, a smart phone.


  • My shirt is ironed and ready to go as are my pants; the shirt noted in my daily log for I have a shirt rotation that lasts about 4 weeks and I don’t like to repeat-wear a shirt within the cycle. In order to maximize the life of my shirts. My shirts are named according to a private nomenclature only I understand.


  • Will take my shower. Start off with normal/hot temperature water. Once I’ve cleaned, I shift to a fully cold stream for about 2 or 3 minutes, regardless of time of year, and the bathroom window must remain open for optimum exhilaration effect.


I could go on, but enough madness.


My untenable life.