Thursday, April 19, 2007
Hulk Out
My wife's second favorite thing about me is the fact that I rarely get angry. I mean really really angry. Mostly what happens when I get all charged up about something is that I just get kind of... dizzy. I know it sounds very Scarlett O'Hara, but there is a medical reason for it. I found out several years ago that I am allergic to my own adrenaline. It's totally true. I have a violent auto-immune reaction whenever I am stimulated to a fear, anger or any other kind of intense response. There's a great deal of falling down, some compromise of the excretory function control, maybe even the occasional seizure. I'm not sure about the last one, but I've been trying to pre-emptively swallow my tongue while awake and lucid for safety's sake. No luck yet.

Even though I am uncommonly gifted in the coordination and athletic departments, I never succeeded in high school sports. In game-time situations of any kind of pressure, the adrenaline would hit and down I'd go, all spastic and flailing, which got tricky while pitching a baseball game. I'm pretty sure my record for Batters Hospitalized will never be approached, let alone broken.

Like anyone with any kind of health-issue to navigate, I've learned to cope. I my case, I do it by being a generally serene, together, with it dude. Sometimes my laid-back attitude other people mistake for disdain or pompousness. The fact that they are right about both those things more than half the time are just handy coincidences. Other times people will mistake my Zen-like impermeability to perturb as some kind of latent post-dirty hippie-ism, which I profoundly (but calmly) protest. Love of peace does not make one a hippie. I have never and will never wear moccasins nor have I listened to a Joan Baez record. The last place you are going to find me is in some goddamn field having sex. That's just asking for Lyme disease, in my opinion. At least for me, I can claim my passivity on a medical condition.

So while I should be angry that a) Crazy McShooty made a video tape of himself and b) had time to make a video of himself, drive it to the local post office, mail it out, maybe stop at the liquor store for some smokes and lotto scratchers, get bantered at by Jay and Silent Bob after he had already killed two people and c) that NBC has released any of this shit over public airwaves, setting a really awesome precedent for the next fucking kicked-dog whose inability to get laid drives him (and it will be a "him") to bloodshed.

Ha, but the jokes on him, the dickhead. Nobody fucking watches NBC.

See? Still not angry. I can express myself colorfully with a certain level of detached bemusement other people find both inspiring and intolerable.

But now I have to go because I am having all kinds of DSL issues this morning and I'm not sure this will even go out. I'm in the process of transitioning carriers, so I don't know if that's the issue or what, but man, all I want is to get my weather report, maybe check some e-mail and download a little bit of the lesbian clown porn that I find so soothing. But for fuck's sake, it just sits there and is loading, loading, loading... You know, I paid good money for "Ringmaster"-level access to and I can't even get onto it when I need--I mean NEED--to. You know, this fucking blank white screen doesn't really do for me what I need done for me and if it doesn't fucking start fucking working right fucaollllijweffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff



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