About that boozin’ “higher power.”


I continue reading “Infinite Jest” with pure sadomasochistic abandon!


And in this novel is an Alcoholics Anonymous chapter in Boston and its Wallace-ian cast of absurdist characters ground from the desiccated remnants of human dreamology.


It’s an acid trip.


David Foster Wallace, the mad scientist authorial genius, touches upon the concept of AA’s “higher power.”


Much controversy surrounds this phrase. People automatically assume it infers a deity, a god, and thus stated, elicits antagonism. Most people of the atheist variety (which seems to compose a plurality of drinkers) succumb to the instinctive reaction that an almighty god is somehow involved in this AA plot to sate wayward drinking habits.


One of the oldest battles (which Wallace touches upon) is exactly how atheists can possibly reconcile their drive to dryness with AA’s repeated castigation that “God” must be involved in the Cure.


However, by the same token, God is also inferred to involve a “higher power” and this is what it seems people lack the nuanced definition that would help them come to terms with such religious babble.


A higher power is misleading in that it implies a hierarchy, a ranking, a vertical relinquishment.


I don’t think of  a “higher” in that respect.


“Higher” is merely a measure that gauges how close we are the the center concentric circle of self-awareness and personal evolution. The closer you get to the maelstrom of your own personal madness, the higher your power.


A higher power is relinquishment to control and absolute autonomy. Which implies surrender of control, and if there’s one unhealthy, pathological trait alcoholics share, it’s addiction to control, an ironic condition given than inebriation is typified by lack of anything approaching “control.”


Still, the alcoholic’s contrarian downfall is the inability to welcome raw existence, and thus seeking to overcome it, subsume it, instead seeks a distance and conscious disconnect which only booze can supply.



I didn’t know May Day was so festive in England. This is not the word that comes to mind for Sunday in L.A.


Much hilarity ensued after I read this headline from The Guardian in gleeful anticipation of May Day weekend.


Family-friendly festivals, fun and adventures for the May Day weekend


That jaunt across the Pond must be a long one because the folks from The Guardian have never seen Los Angeles on May Day and all the attendant riffraff that comes out of the woodwork to use the day as an excuse to act like hoodlums and politically aggrieved revolutionaries.



The (¡motherfucken!) finest that Mexican-Americans have to offer on display in Orange County.


Ah yes!


As I watched footage of “protesters” outside the Donald Trump rally in Orange County last night, my heart was filled with pride.


Mexican-Americans, especially the younger generations, have historically been the ethnic group most prone to political apathy and withdrawal from civic-minded involvement. This is changing!


Listen to these bright, sincere young Chicanos taking an avid interest in their future and displaying a collective ethnic effort toward demolishing stereotypes as they assiduously assert a studied assimilation into American culture.


Fills me with such ethnic pride. My people have come such a long way. The passion, the articulate, reasoned expression of political disagreement.  It’s too much to take.



Sound of old vinyl record screeching to an abrupt, scratched end


Oh hell, who am I kidding.


If these moronic jerk-offs represent the future of Mexican-Americans, we’d best start working the fields again.