Well, when Steve Nizer recruited me as both a drinking buddy and fellow blog poster, we rose a glass, and swore that we wouldn't make this political. Even if tanks rolled right on through the pristine byways of our rural American towns, this wasn't political. Even if Sarah Palin started wrestling alligators, you got it, this wasn't f****** political. Unfortunately, everyone in America from Rush to the guy listening to Rush at the local indie Record store made it political. So, how do I have a choice but to make it political? I haven't wanted to do this. I never wanted to even know what politics were. I wanted to be a guy. Just a guy. A guy with a dream; a dream that doesn't include nattering radios and twinkees with health advisory warnings. If I wanted to go hunting, as my grand pappy didn't teach me, nor his father before him, I could have done it. But not now. So is this about Arizona? Nah. This is about more than a border state that gets more than its share of headlines. I'm just tired of the politics. Like a Junior Mint lodged in your throat, I'm just tired of it and want it to go away. This is about just being tired. Tired of being mad. Tired of being tired. Tired of thinking about being tired. Tired of using the word tired. Tired of a tired metaphor.
So am I mad about any of this? Not really. I am just indifferent. I am but a small clam in a big sea. A football player on a playing field bigger than himself. A opera singer without an audience. We are in a state of Sean Penn nuance and O'Bama Care. Humor is not as funny anymore, so I must resort to self parody and mocking Steve Nizer. Bread and butter, for sure. But where is the fun? Where are the thrills? I could pull out rednecks. Prostitutes. Clam cakes. More Steve Nizer jokes. But these one liners are only funny in the childish way You've Got Mail pokes fun at Baby Gaps. These jokes were funny in the 90s. When humor was embraced and Bill still had a sex life. And then, LeBron left Cleveland. And the innocence left my heart. My vanilla sundae had melted.
Alright, before everyone thinks this post is designed to be sad: it's not. But honestly, can we all please, please get over being depressed about ourselves? The rich always fear they lead vain lives. The poor always worry about NASCAR and that they are poorer than their neighbor. And you? Well, you're reading this blog, which immediately qualifies you for the psych ward or a carton of Ben and Jerry's. By nature, we are all worried, cynical, and malcontents from time to time. And that is what makes us human. And those of us who can laugh at all of it, figure the dumb shit is, well, dumb? They find the auld lang syne, the days of glory: the 90s and a pint of Chunky Monkey. The days when Pulp Fiction and Con Air were a staple, not a dying breed. The days when being a fat ass eating ice cream, was OKAY. And with our Travolta and Cage Face Off complete and our BJ reference taken care of, let's have a pleasant chuckle. A guffaw. We'll get through the dumb shit. I guarantee it. This nation needs to chill out, raise a glass, and fu-get-about-it. And in the name of taking the first step towards this lofty goal of not giving a shit, I take back what I said: just like when Steve Nizer and I raised our glasses, this still isn't political. This is life. Enjoy it. And watch 90s movies with a pint. Or beer or ice cream. Your choice.
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