Splishing and splashing on the Red Line


Now, I’ve been taking the train about 2-3 times per week for my work commute since 2004.


During a span of time from January, 2006, through July, 2007, I took it every day due to some, ahem, “alcoholic misadventures” which resulted in my not having a driver’s license at all (as in utterly revoked, bastard), but the rest of the time I’ve elected to use it in lieu of driving my car. Deliberately choosing public transportation as a way of getting around is somewhat a marginalizing activity in this city’s car culture, but there are those of us who simply hate driving in bumper to bumper traffic for hours each day. And look at it this way: public commuting in a big city is a great lab experiment in human nature and has provided me much spectacle which I’ve translated into sporadic bloggery of mine.


Yesterday was no exception.


As noted, I’ve taken the train for about 13 years. I have yet to encounter an event such as I did yesterday morning. I know it happens, but I’ve never witnessed it, thankfully. It is one of those horrible potential happenings you must consider when taking the train through such populated areas of this city, but you stick your (my) head in the sand a don’t think about such things. With any luck…


Yesterday, on the Red Line, heading North, the morning commute. The train is pretty packed by the time I board it upstream so I invariably end up having to stand amid a flock of perfumed and/or sweaty greasy people. I stare down and avoid meeting eyes in the best autist manner possible. I was “blessed” in the respect that I was able to stand against the sliding doors; this is a good thing when you have no choice but to stand. You abut the doors and thus, are not pressed, sardined by other people, and it’s a more “private” manner of standing. So I was having a good commute, standing, staring blankly as one must do during a commute on the Red Line in Los Angeles.


Minding my own business, narrowed field of vision, waiting for my exit to creep up in a few minutes. Waiting. Zoning out.


Then, at the left corner of my eye, a large patch of white liquid, interspersed with ungodly chunks of sumting, violently tidal waved into my field of vision; it coated the subway floor near the area reserved for bicycles. The emetophobe that I am took only a millisecond to realize that someone had tossed their cookies here in the fucking train. Inside the motherfucking train, vomited all over the floor.


I fled like my life was in danger. Fled!


I ran far to the middle of the long car, far from the scene of the revulsion. I firmly planted myself at the door and looked out the window, frozen, holding my breath as much as possible, for the the most vile aspect of vomit is the odor. The stench. A group of people who were surrounding me earlier started flocking to my new area as well, but they, most likely not emetophobes, did not feel impelled to literally “run” from the scene, but merely to walk away calmly because really, no one, even those unafflicted by emetophobia, like to be in the vicinity of vomit.


Us emetophobes, though: it is the end of the world when something like this happens. Encountering a vomit situation anywhere is horrible, but on a train it is aboslutely a nightmare. There is nowhere to go, nowhere to run. You are in this tin can and now you’re sharing space with a big puddle of stomach hurl. I waited out the rest of the commute affixed to that door, that escape hatch. At each stop, when the doors slid open, I would stick my head out to breathe deeply since I was allowing myself minimal breaths when the door was closed just to avoid having to…smell…that…vomit. Which is a fate worse than death for some of us.




Dinner time!




More than anything, at such moments, an emetophobe fixates on one thing: who did done puke??? The “victim” represents a mesmerizing dark lure, for that is half the phobic adventure.


Who puked?


I ran away so quickly, I didn’t stick around to note whose mouth that pond of abdominal spew issued from. The only person I could think of was the strange askew Black dude who was walking around the area with his hands arms tucked/hidden inside his t-shirt. He was mental, to be sure; he might have been homeless, maybe not. At one point, he spit on the floor and wiped it down with his foot. Maybe he was the puker.


And maybe not.


The mystery continues and the image is burned in my mind.



I’m dreaming of a [any color but White] Christmas…the Left rakes its petty claws across another tradition.


What will be left after the Leftist Purge? A brave new world of unprecedented, virgin foolishness. A sterile world, immaculately scrubbed of offense, but despite the cleanliness, untouched by the hideous revulsion of the color white.


One by one, traditional motifs tumble, the great liberal putsch enabled by the elitist information gatekeepers.


Even Bing Crosby is wrecked.



Some college students agree radio stations should stop playing “White Christmas,” because the holiday classic is said to be “a racially-charged micro-aggression.”
Media Research Center’s Dan Joseph asked students on a college campus to sign a petition against the song “because the song only focuses on ‘White’ Christmases.”


Joseph asks, “We think that the song ‘White Christmas’ is insulting to people of color because it says snow is white and therefore it is good.”


Apparently, if this collegiate proposal gathers momentum of legitimacy, we can thus infer that snow is racist.


If I piss on snow, does that remain racist?




Materialists “you might know.”


It was with utter dismay, surprise and alarm, that I read this short piece which cited a study which makes the assertion that materialistic people tend to have more Facebook friends than do non-materialistic people.


OK, that was mostly hyperbole on my part. The article and study are real, but my reaction, not so much. Despite the fact I have never consciously articulated such a notion about materialism’s correlation with quantity of one’s Facebook friends, the idea is not entirely counterintuitive. It’s not exactly a shocking notion, but I simply never thought of it in those terms. If a person has a plethora of Facebook “friends,” I tend to assign many implied traits, some perhaps unfairly, to this cyber-popular person. Superficial, shallow, phony, etc…it’s no stretch of the imagination. If materialistic people consciously inflate their Facebook friend rosters, perhaps we can postulate that the inverse is true. I am reminded of my pitiful Facebook profile.




Quality over quantity



My galactic friend count is grossly inflated because I never speak with, or see, most of them. Conversely, I do not send out friend requests like a cyber-whore either. Most of my “friendships” were initiated by the other person.  I am not bold that way.


The article begins,


If you don’t have a lot of friends on social media, it may mean that you are just a little less concerned with material possessions in your everyday life.


Yes!  That’s the damned truth. If exaggerated legions of Facebook friends signifies pathological materialism, my remarkable lack of them points to an abundant lack of materialism on my part. I am the anti-materialist, the scumbag ascetic.



According to a new study, materialistic people tend to have a lot more Facebook friends than non-materialistic people, collecting them like they would physical objects. They also spend a lot more time on Facebook than non-materialistic people, and are more likely to compare their lives to the lives of others on the social network.


The authors of the paper, led by Phillip Ozimek of Ruhr-University Bochum in Germany, have created a new theory to explain why this occurs. They call it the Social Online Self-Regulation Theory.


“Materialistic people use Facebook more frequently because they tend to objectify their Facebook friends – they acquire Facebook friends to increase their possessions,” Ozimek said.


“Facebook provides the perfect platform for social comparisons, with millions of profiles and information about people. And it’s free – materialists love tools that do not cost money!”


The authors conducted their research on 531 Facebook users, divided into two groups. The first group of 242 was a pilot study; the second aimed to replicate the first group’s results.


Both groups were given a Likert scale questionnaire to gauge how they use Facebook, how much they compare themselves to others, level of materialism, how much they think of Facebook friends as objects, and how much status or other benefits they can gain from their Facebook friends.



Very telling was this cursory description of the questionnaire:



Options included statements with which the participants had to agree or disagree, such as “I admire people who own expensive homes, cars, and clothes,” “I often compare how I am doing socially,” and “Having many Facebook friends contributes more success in my personal and professional life.”



…because it made me re-consider the term, materialist.


In fact, I thought about that word as it applied to the Facebook friend phenomena.  I considered people I know who have many “Fakebook” friends, and peculiarly, a lot of these people are not typically materialistic in the way we think of the term.  Most of these folks live within their means, and many might  be viewed as frugal, and I found it difficult to reconcile materialism, as the common perception of the concept, with these people who boast tons of Facebook friends.  But upon reading that paragraph which listed several examples of statements grabbed from the questionnaire to measure levels of materialism, it was quite apparent to me that materialism, as a personality trait, does not imply that materialism will consistently devolve into a behavioral manifestation.  Many people are materialistic in character, but good sense and a strong sense of delayed gratification hides that from public view, for they do not live out ostentatious materialism for the world to see.


Materialism is both expressed and latent, but it’s the expressed form which we connote with the word.  We fail to consider that in many cases, materialism is an internalized sickness of longing and emptiness of spirit which is overruled by restraint.  How would we answer, within the private realm of our own existence, the 3 questions?


I admire people who own expensive homes, cars, and clothes.  Do we admire the result or do we admire the hard work and dedication that allows some people to attain such wealth?


I often compare how I am doing socially.  Absolutely, fuck this.  Perhaps it is insightful to have an honest self-appraisal if one seeks a path to humility, but there should be no sense of “comparison” when we are measuring our social performance.  Accept there is no right, no wrong;   there simply is.


Having many Facebook friends contributes more success in my personal and professional life.  To reiterate an earlier point:  absolutely fuck this.  If Facebook is your measure of “success” of any sort, it’s time to slow that roll and indulge in a slice of piercing self-examination.  Don’t put the carriage before the horse.  If anything, Facebook friends are a result of personal and professional success.  You can garner all the Facebook friends in the world, but this will not propel you anywhere  beyond that keyboard.  You have to do that on your own.


It is precisely because Facebook friends are free and abundant in no-strings-tied tiers of idolatry, that they provide the measure of one’s genuine materialism for they allow latent materialists, who normally practice restraint against the siren song of their own natures, to act out their baser drives to appease peer pressure when no monetary commitment is on the line.  And Facebook also allows the anti-materialist to proclaim his lack of desire for possessions in a most fruitful manner of anti-conformist opting out.








Colin Kaepernick (aka, “Sitting Bullshit”) continues to appropriate the cult of victimology.


This tired, uninspired clown.


How utterly shameless can a person be? Are there any marginalized Official Victim Groups which Colin Kaepernick doesn’t feel indebted to pay his own ostentatious brand of homage?



Former San Francisco 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick traveled to Alcatraz Island to participate in the Indigenous People’s Sunrise Gathering for Thanksgiving Thursday.


The event, also called “Un-Thanksgiving Day,” took place on Alcatraz to remember the group of American Indians who took control of the island prison between 1969-1971 in an attempt to claim the island for their people, reports KTLA.


“Today, I was on Alcatraz Island at the Indigenous People’s Sunrise Gathering, in solidarity with those celebrating their culture and paying respects to those that participated in the 19 month occupation of Alcatraz in an effort to force to honor the Treaty of Fort Laramie,” Kaepernick said in a tweet.


An American Indian elder also gave Kaepernick two eagle feathers, after which the former quarterback gave a speech declaring they were all fighting the same battle.


“I’m very humbled to share this space with all of you. Our fight is the same fight. We’re all fighting for our justice, for our freedom. And realizing that we’re in this fight together makes us all the more powerful,” Kaepernick said in a Twitter video.




Colin Kaepernick…between his BLM (the quasi-“B,” that he is) virtue signaling, NFL knee-groveling, and his newest affectation involving the “rights” of indigenous Americans, is in danger of catapulting his tiresome beak into “peak Kaepernick” territory.  His self-righteous preaching from the mantle of professionally overpaid athletes exhausts common sense and decency.  His habitual appropriation of the culture of victimization defies boundaries.




Sitting Bullshit’s Last Stand



The stage is set for do-goody-two-shoes Kaepernick  and fellow reservation traveler, Elizabeth.








The path to Manhood: pick your battles.


This fucking life, this fucking world.


Our daily lives are populated by idiots and opinionated dolts and they all have their own smug, self-righteous agendas which invariably clash with ours.


Tension and disagreement are innate human characteristics. Fights lasciviously wait for us to set afire every moment of the cluttered day. In fact, I would say that fights and tensions are so easy to become embroiled in, that it is the measure of a man to avoid most because they are largely trivial and mundane and not worth squandering your time or mental energy over.


You are a man and a man is discerning on many levels. One of the levels is knowing when to fight, and more importantly, when not to. This is the true measure of a man. Any weak, sensitive, hyper-touchy guy can be drawn into an argument. Big fucking deal.  Today’s pop culture-fed female considers it a sign of “strength” to speak one’s mind and argue every single point perceived as rooted in disagreement, but this is weakness. One does not need to express anger incessantly throughout the day like some disagreeable puppet.  There are enough battles tempting and beckoning in this modern life; each potential conflict is just another emotional bitch waiting to get the best of you, the Man. Niggling arguments are best ignored, for winning and participating in such stupidity is not beneficial to your gravity or emotional strength. They are the junk food of emotive haggling and are best left to shrill cunts who sit in circles on reality shows and talk shit about the other cunts. A Man does not quibble.






Strength is not about knowing when a battle is trivial; the strength is resisting the sugar-coated immersion into such immature, weak stupidity. A Man picks his battles.  He recognizes when an argument cannot be ignored. At such a juncture, the Man dives into battle for it requires his staid presence and bold refutation. Only by minimally participating in the emotional, argumentative quackery, will a man’s gravity grow. In resisting the lure of cheap tensions and hyper-emotional drunkenness, many other stoic behaviors are called upon which further a Man’s emotional and intellectual strength. Patience, equanimity, individuality…skills that must be sharpened and exercised in the quest to sagely pick the important battles in life.


Tension and disharmony are a cheap drug in today’s world of cyber-communication. The globe congregates in the span of a few liquid crystallized inches and the bitching chambers calls us like a siren. The world is more rife with antagonistic temptation than ever.


Be a Man, choose your path, and eschew petty sublimation to emotion.