Hopeless Bromantic

Hello again,

Happy Valentine’s Day everybody. I have not blogged in a month, so this should be a good release. As always, read at your own peril. A lot has happened since I last posted, and because I have not been working on new material, I am just going to cobble together a bunch of random thoughts and pretend it is a cohesive blog entry. In other words – business as usual. My readership had been waning last month, and I became sort of indifferent for a little while. I think it was because I was talking about politicians and world events too much. I am going to stop that…right after one final observation: Isn’t it funny that Mitt Romney is the Mormon, but Newt Gingrich had multiple wives?

You know, Valentine’s Day is probably my favorite holiday, right after all the other ones. It is not that I don’t like rabid commercialism and singing bears, it is just that my love life is always so screwed up. I am not trying to say I am bad with relationships, but if relationships were like race car driving, I would be Dale Earnhardt.  I would say it isn’t so much that I am bad with romance as it is that girls are good at figuring out who the idiots are. Consequently, the last time I was naked in bed with a lady was my birth. Just kidding – I was born on a pool table. It could be raining boobs and I’d probably get hit in the head with a dick. I suppose that says more about my luck than romance…though it probably gives you an idea of how deep into the sewer my brain descends. Deeper than most ladies care to promenade, I declare. But hey, don’t get too down, it won’t matter one day when we’re all dead

You know that old expression, “the heart wants what the heart wants”?  Well, between the Superbowl and my recent misadventures with the fairer sex, my heart wants me to be drinking Jack and Coke with a funnel and spraying wrist blood in the bathtub. Sadly, the heart and brain are often at odds with each other, and can never quite get on the same page. When they can’t agree, things go awry, and then Mr. Liver ends up being the one to suffer most. Mr. Liver is usually pretty cool, but he just threatened me with his two weeks notice – something about Foie Gras getting better treatment than he does. It is times like these, when you are mired in despair, that you don’t know quite what to do. I’ve just been so sad that I had to make a change, and I let Jesus come into my life. Jesus is a Puerto Rican guy that sells drugs in Downtown Crossing.

Meanwhile, in other events, I had a couple more observations about recent occurrences. Before you return to the wilds of the internet, I hope you will read on.

They struck down Proposition 8 in California, about a week ago or so, which is a huge victory for gay rights, and a giant defeat for gay relationships. I never understood why gay people lobbied so hard to lift the ban on gay marriage. I thought of it as a legal protection. I know many men who had girlfriends on their backs  as they approached their late 20′s, hell bent on matrimony. Imagine if you could just say, “Hey baby, sorry, the law is the law. Let’s watch TV and not talk about this again.”  Some folks don’t like the idea of gay people getting married because of the sanctity of marriage. I think marriage is roughly as sanctified as registering a car nowadays. The primary difference being that registering a car is more difficult. They let that ghoulish Kim Kardashian get hitched, what could possibly desecrate the sacrament any more than that freak show wedding hoax? I was surprised by how many people were “shocked”  to learn that the marriage was a fraud until the short-order divorce. I think I was more shocked than anybody, having grossly underestimated the number of stupid people in society who will apparently believe anything.

The Costa Concordia ran aground and killed a lot of vacationers. Nothing funny about that, except, maybe, the poltroon captain’s futile claims that he fell off the boat into a pile of life jackets on an escape raft while trying to evacuate the passengers. It is nice to see Italy giving France a little competition when it comes to producing world class cowards. The Captain, Francesco Schettino, is in deep shit. Coincidentally, Schettino means “tuna” in Italian – perfect for the chicken of the sea. It doesn’t really mean that, but wouldn’t that be awesome if it did? He claimed the reef/rock he hit (while trying to impress some tart) was uncharted, even though it had been there for centuries and is probably mentioned in The Bible.

Lastly, Whitney Houston overdosed and died this past weekend. She had one of the best singing voices in music history, and her death was a terrible loss…except to Amy Winehouse, who now has a drinking buddy in hell somewhere. I thought maybe they could re-record some of her classics, like Elton John did when Princess Diana died. He changed the lyrics from “Candle in the Wind” to reflect the life of Diana, rather than the death of Marilyn Monroe, for whom the song was originally penned. I thought maybe somebody could record The Bodyguard soundtrack. Instead of “I will always Love You”, maybe it could be “I will always Turn Blue”.  If I could lower the bar any further, I’d be halfway up a Chinese person’s ass by now, or I’d have at least struck oil. Probably not in their ass, though. That is just gross.

Enjoy the romance tonight.

MJG