How Full Of Shit Are You?

Posted: August 24, 2014 by S. Trevor Swenson in General, Life
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Not without several years of training I’m not!

There are these tests on Facebook and probably throughout the internet. “Are you going to Heaven?” or “Are you more street smart or book smart”…They’re silly things that help pass the time, and that we can post in Facebook to look more interesting….as long as we’re not meeting anyone in person.

I got to thinking about some good ideas for tests. Important info for people to know, and important to know about yourself….Not as important as “What True-Blood Character Are You?”, but pertinent info nonetheless.

How about…

How Full Of Shit Are You?” I asked my best friend how full of shit I was tonight and she told me “Average I guess”. I suppose I was hoping for a “Not very” I told her I’m sorry, and I’ll work on it. I appreciate her honesty. This would make her not so full of shit, which is a good thing, and probably an excellent choice to ask these important questions of.

How Annoying Are You?” I don’t think people think they’re very annoying or annoying at all. I can be annoying, but I also think I’m slightly more self aware than the average bear. I’m also one of those who is entertained by annoying others… subtly of course. Tiny torments can amuse me for hours if not days. There are also different types and levels of annoyance.

I find subway "entertainers" very annoying. Feel free to judge.

I find subway “entertainers” very annoying. Feel free to judge.

How about, “Do You Generally Know What You’re Talking About?“. I suppose that could also possibly be filed under the “How Full Of Shit Are You.

I think there are subtle differences. I think I am more ‘full of shit’ than going through life not knowing what I am talking about. I certainly don’t know everything, and I try to be certain when I speak on various subjects. I think my “full of shit” comes into play in(hopefully) a somewhat harmless manner. I make comments or chime in on discussions where I know a little, but I probably make it seem like I know more than I do. I like to talk, and I have a gift for gab. I hope I’m not “full of shit” in an eye-rolling “Oh God Here we go” kind of way. I have worked in bars for several years, and I see this kind of thing often. I see when certain patrons walk in and others mutter to themselves or whomever is next to them. They groan and the whisper comments. I’d hate to be thought of like that. I know everyone doesn’t like me. I know it’s impossible to be liked by everyone ( Or it’s pretty damned difficult)

I have been thinking recently that one of the biggest problems with assholes, is that they not only have no idea that they’re assholes, but they wouldn’t and wont believe others when they tell them. Sorry for all the potty-mouth in this essay…”Full of Shit” and “Assholes”. I’m trying to reel in my swearing, I just feel for the sake and feel of this piece that these are the best words or expressions.

I think it’s important to try to be aware of how full of shit we are. It’s also important to try to keep that in check or improve upon it…ie trying to be less full of shit. I wonder if I were to be followed around with a camera for a full day or week if I would cringe at some of my more full of shit moments. I probably would, but that’s a good thing. One should cringe at such behavior.

I have been writing a great deal of haiku recently. They’re not great, but my friends and family seem to enjoy reading and commenting on them. A couple weeks ago, the middle line of one of my haiku was ‘Try not to be an asshole”. This is sound advice and a good philosophy.

In closing, I’d like to say to those who know me, that I’m sorry if I’m an average level of “full of shit” and I will try to be more aware and address this. Maybe I can improve my batting average, My best friend is a kind person, and she’d never say that I’m average in the full of shit department out of malice. Hell, she wouldn’t hang out with me if it was a major issue I suppose. Like a true best friend, she wants me to be my best, while still loving me for who I am… However, I do think the average person is quite full of shit, and not terribly bright. I know that doesn’t sound very nice, but it’s honestly how I feel…Therefore, I don’t want to be part of that gang. I want my full of shit tank gauge to be pointing closer to “Empty”

Thanks For Reading By the way…I scored more book smart than street smart ( I disagree) and the chances of my going to Heaven are pretty solid. I never took the True Blood quiz.

Hot For Teacher

Posted: June 28, 2014 by S. Trevor Swenson in Uncategorized
“They say “Those who can’t do, teach, and those who can’t teach…teach gym”- Woody Allen Annie Hall
After submitting two articles to 3 magazines for publication and being rejected I feel I have spent far too long and more than enough time in chasing my elusive fantasy of being a writer  . I’m going to do what I do best in times of difficulty.  I’m going to quit.    It’s time to get serious and utilize my talents.  I’m going to teach creative writing.  I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. I need a career, and I’m entirely too awesome for anything as mundane as going to school, grad school and working my way up at some profession. I am a child of the 80s.  We have a warped sense of entitlement, and those of my generation who don’t…well people like me more than make up for it.  I love writing, and even more than that I love feeling smarter than others and dashing their hopes.   Being paid for doing this?  Even better than my all time favorite job of being a roadie for a garage band,
Today there are all kinds of learning annexs and community centers that offer night classes.  This is a bonus for me as I am quite nocturnal…blame it on TV Land, Nick At Nite and Turner Classic Movies.   These learning centers and night classes charge big bucks and I am convinced that many of  the instructors all have fictitious degrees.   I can put together fake qualifications with ease. I have friends in England and Germany who would love nothing more than to give me an extensive contrived work history. Hint:  Accents and bogus qualifications from foreign countries are great.  Who checks on these things?  I could have my friend Silvia write me a glowing recommendation…in German.  Very few of us are strangers to the little white lies that have become mandatory with job histories.  Hell, my current resume has been praised as one of the great works of American fiction of our time. I’ll study some pretentious and obscure words for an interview, invest in a tweed jacket, grow a beard, buy a pipe and voila…I am now Professor Swenson your creative writing teacher.
I have rather pronounced problems with my attention span.  Experts have called it ADD or ADHD, but “disorder” is too mild a word for what I am afflicted with.  I have petitioned the psychiatry and neurology community to come up with a new ailment based soley on me.  “ADC”  Attention Deficit Catastrophe or ADM Attention Deficit Meltdown.  I have even volunteered to be a case study.  I pictured myself contentedly living in a nice clean laboratory with my own tire swing, fresh shredded newspaper, and pretty college co-eds giving me fun experimental drugs, watching me play with colored blocks, etch-a-sketches and trying to teach me sign language. My point I am demonstrating( rather well if you read the last paragraph) is that I have trouble staying on topic.  How in the world could I expect to read and grade 25 or 30 creative writing assignments.?   Well I have thought of this.  I’ll just ask that all assignments to be turned in as a word file so I can just hit the spell check feature, which also corrects grammar.   Then I will print up the papers, grab a red pencil and commence in dashing the hopes of young writers.  Surely no one can fault me for wanting a bitter outlet for my failed writing career.  You can’t keep too much bitterness bottled up inside or you begin to exhibit a  socially unacceptable level of mumbling to yourself or wackaloon persecution theories.  Case in point?  Mr Donald J Trump.
I want to print the papers as one of my many teaching fantasies involves storming up and down rows of desks and publicly humiliating students by throwing their papers at them and announcing their grade to the entire class coupled with biting commentary
“Mr Blatt….F”
“Ms Chestworthy….C minus”
“Ms Corsette…D”
“Mis-ter Mar-Za-lek….D minus…maybe if you spend more time on your work and less time drawing little scribbles in your notebook you might get a better grade”
and so on.
I’m sure I’ll read, or more accurately skim (because that’s how we ADDer’s read) some of my student’s papers.  If I have enough love or hate for a person or a thing, I can muster enough attention to dissect every milligram of minutia.  I’d love to discover a passionate new writer and inspire them.  I would just as passionately assassinate the self esteem of a student who sauntered into my class 3 minutes late, or sends text messages during my brilliant lecture on why George Orwell is the greatest author of all time and anyone who disagrees with me are mistaken.  One of my last English teachers told me that my college banned the use of the dreaded red pencil used by teachers to correct papers since the dawn of time.  She told me that the red pencil was banned because the college had made the decision that it was detrimental to students self esteem.  Upon hearing this, I died a little bit inside, rolled my eyes and blurted out  “But how do you let students know their stupid?  Stickers?”  Like countless teachers before her she glared at me and hissed “Shhh”.
Speaking of stickers, that is one trend in teaching I was sad to see go in first grade.  I loved getting stickers on my papers.  Gold stars, red stars, little Sesame Street characters like Grover giving a thumbs up sign with a big “Great Job” caption.  Teachers had to edit themselves a little back then too as I noticed that Karl Kane our school’s less intelligent version of Forrest Gump never got the Oscar the Grouch sticker with Oscar yelling “Scram” and flashing a green furred middle finger.  I collect stickers now and have some terrifically appropriate ones for  term papers.  I got a sheet of stickers with the “Elmo Goes To The Potty” activity book that sits in my bathroom this very minute.  I bought it for the Cookie Monster images which I collect as well as to combat occasional irregularity.  The “Going to the Potty” sticker set would be perfect for correcting adult ed papers.  There were plenty featuring a smiling Ernie and Bert with a caption reading “Great Job”  or “You learn fast!!” for my favorite students, as well as some with a less than happy  Cookie Monster and the words “Don’t Forget To Flush” for my less than stellar students.   Of course If I wanted to be cryptic and make a student think, I could adorn their paper with a Guy Smiley sticker that reads “Make Sure To Wash Your Hands”.
Yes, stickers will definitely be a part of the curriculum.
Now if you’ll all excuse me, I have a fictional resume to work on.

People Matter

Posted: June 27, 2014 by S. Trevor Swenson in Uncategorized

Today I was browsing through my inbox and happened across this old piece of mine.  It was written over a year ago when I was in the midst of a soul-sucking job hunt.  I hope my readers will enjoy it.  It is slightly Orwellian and depressing, but hopefully I’ll manage to garner a few laughs too.  Thanks for reading.

Today while browsing the want ads I happened across an ad for servers, bartenders and other staff for a brand new Ruby Tuesdays set to open in Times Square.  During this particularly horrifying and lengthy job hunt I have moved well beyond applying where I’d like to work. In fact, I’ve moved well beyond total and complete desperation…I’m actually a few days short of coming up with a clever sign to hold while begging on subway platforms ( maybe something cute “Please Help” with a backwards letter “S”…  “Aw he’s illiterate honey, give him a quarter”).  So, suffice to say I really don’t want to work for Ruby Tuesdays, and especially not at a Ruby Tuesday’s in Times Square which is a homing beacon for the most annoying, idiotic and cheapest tourists in the universe. However I am not, as my friend Boring Brian used to say, “Too proud to be unemployed”. A job is a job.
So I followed the link to the online application that Ruby Tuesday’s  had set up via a company beautifully ironic name “People Matter”.   I started filling out all the questions…Name, address, references both professional and personal…No, I haven’t been convicted of a felony etc ( at least none that Ruby Tuesdays would ever find out about heheheheh). After 20 minutes of basic info I came to a personality test that according to People Matter should take 40-60 minutes.  Apparently the folks at People Matter assembled a team of sadistic feebs with degrees in psychology and business to assemble the single most idiotic, mundane and redundant hour long questionaire… ever .One could pull more useful information from my ex-girlfriends old Cosmopolitan magazine quizzes that I used to fill out while in the bathroom. “Hey honey, do I satisfy your inner goddess?”   Predictably, most of the  questions  People Matter came up with dealt with honesty, morality and viewpoints on team work.  I happen to love team work except for the other people ( ie The TEAM) involved.  Did the geniuses at People Matter or Ruby Tuesday’s really expect people to answer that they have always found most of their co-workers do be more useless than tits on a bull. Back when RTs had paper applications was there an avalanche of too many applicants who claimed to hate being part of a team. “Hey there is no “I” in “Team”, but there sure as Hell is a there is an M and an E…  ME”
In regards to honesty, had they found that dishonest people generally answer their little survey truthfully? If they wanted accuracy, they should have employed my step mother.  She had 9 kids ( 10 with me) and could always tell when someone was lying. At the very least she could narrow things down to 2 or 3 of her children and punish those culprits.  It prepared us for the justice of adulthood.  I’ll bet she works cheaper than the drones at People Matter .  All of the answers to these questions had vague replies to choose from,”Strongly Agree, Somewhat Agree, Occasionally Agree, Somewhat Disagree, Strongly Disagree”  After the first half an hour of this incredibly redundant stupidity, I started to get annoyed…but hey, I needed the job. Finally I had a minor meltdown at the question: “I obey the law more often if there is a chance I will be caught.” Huh?  Let me see if I understand this question correctly given the answers I am allowed to use.  “I strongly agree that I obey the law more often if there is a chance I will be caught?”  So, if I think I can get away with something I will break the law? Then there is a other end of the  answer spectrum. ” I strongly disagree that I obey the law if there is a chance I will be caught”..I have to be honest here, I  just wrote that last sentence, but I don’t know what it means.
“Have you ever taken anything from work that didn’t belong to you?”  “You mean besides those $50 bills and the wet naps…no, oh wait, I did steal lots of urinal cakes and several gallons of low fat Italian dressing and 6 , no…wait  7 toothpicks, but I can honestly say I have reformed since then…Oh sorry, I mean  Uh  ‘Somewhat Agree”  no… no, scratch that…I mean “Occasionally Agree”
Remember, perspective dishwashers have to go through this rigmarole too.
I want to pause here and say that I have only dined at RTs a couple times in my life. The food was average American chain restaurant fare. If you were to line up the burgers, fries, the chicken stir fry,or buffalo wings from Ruby Tuesday’s, Applebees or TGIFridays, nobody could tell the difference.   RT’s  did have a salad bar complete with…Jello? The only memorable experience I had at RTs was when my moms and I were at a mall and stopped in for a couple burgers. I vividly recall the waitress, a perfectly pleasant young lady, who was overly attentive, bordering on being a pest.  Now this becomes an awkward situation. On one hand I’d like to be able to manage 2 bites of my burger without being asked how everything is 3 or 4 times. On the other hand, one can’t very well get angry with a person who is both trying to be pleasant and attentive as well as doing what their employer tells them. So our options as diners was to be annoyed or be a little rude to a working person doing their best at a difficult job.  Think about it, there is no polite way to tell someone to back off, or leave you alone.  “Can I get you folks anything else?”  “Yeah sweety…20 feet of distance and half an hour free of you…thanks, you’re a dove”
It dawns on me that many of the policy makers at RT’s probably have very little hands on restaurant or service industry experience. They are suits who may have studied restaurants, but probably never worked in one.  These are the people who throw all encompassing statements around like “The customer is always right” .  Oh really?  So, if Customer A drinks 3 or 4 martinis and harasses Customer B at the bar and loudly calls her a “stuck up bitch” when he is rebuffed…then Customer A is always right? Gotcha.  I wish this was a bad example, but things like this happen on a weekly ,if not daily basis in restaurants and bars. Interesting that the brainiacs at People Matter didn’t have any situational or contextual questions like this.That test would have a great deal of validity.  They did, however want to know how many nickels there are in $17.  Does this situation frequently arise at Ruby Tuesdays?  ” I’d like the surf and turf with the fake lobster, the salad bar, but only if the jello is fresh. and a Coors light…and I have this bag of nickels here…” Let me get the manager.  As I continued with the test, I began to wonder what kind of damage a sock full of $17 worth of nickels might cause if brought down repeatedly upon the CEO of People Matter’s pointy little head.
Online applications are a waste of time. Conceptually speaking they sound good  like online dating sites, but all too often they miss the mark, and produce a bad match. “Oh hey this guy sounds great, he likes the opera, he’s a devout Christian and is a New York Rangers fan”  What his little questionnaire probably didn’t cover was how much he delighted in blackening the eyes of his past 3 girlfriends when they burnt his toast or put too much half and half in his coffee.
 People lie, people embellish, people exaggerate and most frequently people just aren’t that self aware.  Online applications punish the honest and self aware and reward liars and the seriously deluded.( If working at Ruby Tuesdays in Times Square could be seen as rewarding) This experienced reminded me of something  I learned  many years ago and that is to immediately cease and desist all conversations with someone who utters the phrase “But, the computer says…”  This person is incapable of complex thought and it is a fools errand, or perhaps more accurately a tools errand.
I am guessing I am not the only person who sees the delicious irony in the company’s name “People Matter“.  The very fact that you designed this exercise in idiocy for a multinational corporation that treats it’s staff like dried dogshit goes to show that people really don’t matter so much… I suppose in fairness “People Don’t Matter” isn’t really a corporate name that inspires interest and trust, unless perhaps if it is an advanced robotics company. One would think if people mattered then they’d have, oh I don’t know, a person doing the interviewing. According to my mother and my best friend, I am both a nice boy and a special, unique little snowflake…and I strongly agree.
 I’m a firm believer in letting punishments fit the crime.  I would love for the people who designed these tests to be locked in a stuffy and humid room and told to fill out their own questionnaires with broken pencils and to have a violent gun totaling amphetamine addict twitching while pacing back and forth and keeping time for them.  The real pity was the meltdown I experienced 40 minutes into the questionnaire causing me to quit….According to People Matter, this makes me what is known in the industry as a  “Quitter”. It’s probably also a little sad to note that 40 minutes is my meltdown point with such things.  Maybe the folks at People Matter know this and that anyone who can manage to plow through and finish will actually be hired.  I wish I was a little more sad at the prospect of not being Ruby Tuesday’s material.
In addition to People Matter, I am having a small spat  with a recruiting company called “Harri”.  Over the past 3 weeks I have received responses to the resumes I have sent out.  I see the mail in my in- box and instantly cheer up a little.  Finally someone is responding, finally a potential job, only to be denied. simply wants my resume and application to pad their numbers.  I resent the deceit.  I resent my situation being exploited.  I resent pretending that I will have a job if I just fill out their questionnaire.   I tried to be a well adjusted and wrote a couple nice emails to and asked them that while I understand that they are trying to grow their business, but would it be possible to not do this at my expense?  I expressed very clearly that I had no interest in dealing with Harri ( Short for Harried I’m guessing).  Harri wrote back and expressed sorrow, but, no they were not going to leave me alone.  Then they signed me up for their mailing list..  Sites like Harri make me understand why people design computer viruses.
I just want a damn job. I have an extensive resume filled with a solid work history and great references.  Furthermore I am a good worker.  I am reliable, hardworking and I take a lot of initiative to go above and beyond the call of duty regularly. Being unemployed, I am already jumping through plenty of hoops in the hopes of landing a new job.  I spend time, effort and money to dress nicely, to travel to and from interviews and open calls, to print up copies of my resume etc.  I’m an honest person. With the exception of the occasional stray buffalo wing, I don’t steal.  With the exception of needing to take a personal day or two every year, I don’t lie to my employers either, and i wouldn’t have to lie if I was given 2 personal days a year.  
People looking for work in today’s job market have more than enough flaming hoops to jump through without adding more hoops or applying more lighter fluid.

Bus Trip, Halitosis, and NYPD Hyjinx

Posted: May 27, 2014 by S. Trevor Swenson in Uncategorized

Before we get started…

I can just hear my best friend and editrix extraordinaire; Ms Gow telling me “That title has got to go” after I read this piece to her.  I will probably have to use my literary line item veto unless she can come up with a more clever name for this essay.  The Gow makes me read every piece aloud prior to her reading and putting the editorial scalpel to my brain child.  This is both a good and bad practice.  It’s good, in that by reading my work aloud I can catch my own grammatical and spelling mistakes.  Plus I am able to mimic little voices and accents for her, slip in comedic timing and emphasis…both of which I do a fair job at.  Of course, this is the double edged sword, as potential readers don’t have the benefit of my various voices or timing. Regardless, The Gow is my best friend and I love to make her laugh.
Today was my last day off prior to a new work-week and I had some errands to run.  Being a world class procrastinator, I generally end up shifting my to-do list to my last day of freedom.  This is one of the  many reasons my home is in a state, my bills are often late and I’m generally pretty stressed out.  What can I say?  A nap almost always sounds infinitely more inviting than getting a money order and stamp for my credit card bill.  Yet every month as I put that payment into a postal receptacle and pray that it arrives on or before the due date, I promise myself that next month I will mail it earlier.
So, as I said, I had some errands to do today.   I boarded the M60 bus to make a payment and fill a prescription, and as always Murphy’s Law of Public Transportation was in full effect.  Actually, Murphy has a few laws where public transportation is concerned.  The two most common are:
1. If a person is late, ill or needs to use the bathroom the subway or bus will take longer to arrive, and there will doubtlessly be some dramedy in traveling from Points A to B
2. If the weather is especially uncomfortable…poring rain, freezing cold, oppressive heat and humidity…the bus or train will take approximately twice as long to arrive
Since I wasn’t late, didn’t need to pee and it wasn’t particularly cold out, the bus came rather quickly.  I boarded and grabbed a seat facing forward.  (The NYC buses and trains have their seats facing in all directions to ensure that everyone gets an unpleasant view or motion sickness.)  Twenty seconds after taking my seat a horrifying scent reached my nostrils.  My brain did a Google search of particularly unpleasant odors and came up with “bad breath”.  I don’t know why, but I seem to be exceptionally sensitive to objectionable bodily scents.  B.O., Ass-Gas and Bad Breath effect me like kryptonite. 
I quickly pegged the fellow sitting in front of me as the culprit.  What was interesting was that this passenger was also facing forward in his seat and mumbling in to his cell phone (or talking to himself…it has become more difficult to differentiate in this age of mobile phones)  What this meant was his breath was SO repugnant and powerful, that it was leaving his mouth, making a hairpin turn and hitting my nose like a prize fighters Sunday punch.   I turned my head to avoid the onslaught, but it was no good.   This wasn’t a run-of-the-mill yucky breath…this guy needed surgery and a Haz-Mat team. My breakfast was looking to make a break for it. I was amazed that his phone hadn’t melted or imploded. I pulled my scarf over my mouth and nose and looked around for another seat.  Finally after a couple stops someone vacated a seat 10 feet away from The Halitosis Kid.  I pounced, shoving an old woman with a cane out of the way.  Sorry Granny, survival of the fittest.  I took the seat and then the whole thing became amusing. 

I never realized before today that watching others react to objectionable smells is really entertaining.  A middle aged fellow took my former seat first and opened up a newspaper.  I watched as he first caught a whiff, he made an expression like Robert De Niro before he laughs and then looked around for an escape.  I swear he started to read the emergency exit instructions of how to pull the handle below the window, push the pane out and crawl out of the bus.  I couldn’t say I blamed him.  This guy opted to refold his newspaper and move 20 feet into the back of the bus and stand.  I caught his eye on the way back, and in the camaraderie of the NYC commuter, I said softly  “Nasty breath huh?”  He grimaced and mumbled “Je-sus Christ” in agreement. The next victim was a big and brassy inner city black lady. She sat down and sure enough within 20 seconds uttered “God-DAMN” and started waving her hand in front of her mouth. 

Just before my stop I passed the local police station; the 114th Precinct.  Across from the station is a bridge and there was an accident scene.  I don’t know how, but this guy’s car had leapt the curb and smashed head first into the side of the bridge.  From the angle or the accident and the road that it happened on, this guy must have been the world’s worst driver or he’d decided that it was prudent to imbibe 5 or 6 martinis before embarking on Mr Toad’s Wild Ride.  Right in front of the police station….  That is something my New England father would call a “Pisser”.  I’m willing to bet that given the proximity to the cop shop that the NYPD cut their response time in half and probably attended to this accident in under 40 minutes.  As the bus slowed to pass by the accident I noticed that some cop had put a boot on another cops Honda Accord parked right in front of the station for a goof.  I actually smiled and envied the cops.  The potential for practical jokes as a law enforcement officer must be great.
I arrived at my destination and took care of business.  The traffic light in front of my pharmacy was broken and was blinking yellow.  I should note here that drivers in my neighborhood are generally confused as to the meaning of the different color traffic lights.  Green seems to mean slow down, Red is generally optional if you catch it in it’s first 45 seconds and yellow signifies confusion.   A police car approached the lights driving very rapidly.  It’s lights and siren were having a Grand Mal seizure.  The other commuters made way for the Blue Meanies.  The police car sped by me at what I guessed was around 80 MPH and came to an abrupt halt at a bank two blocks down the street.  Hmmm  a bank robbery?  This might be entertaining.  This was not the case however.  One of the officers got out of the car slowly, went in an used the ATM.  I grinned.
Maybe I should have applied to be a police officer like I had planned when I was 7.
Those of you who know me and read my nuggets of wit and wisdom on facebook are all too aware that I have little to no patience for oblivious and self important text messagers plodding along on public sidewalks, paying no attention to anyone or anything else and forcing the rest of us to play an involuntary game of Marco Polo or Blindman’s Bluff.  I am also easily annoyed by people who feel the need to inflict their banal cell phone conversations upon the rest of us at a publicly unacceptable volume in places like bars, busses, subways, coffee shops and doctors offices.  You know, the rest of us don’t need to hear your break up. your anger toward your children or significant other…In fact, there is little to nothing that you’re saying on your Samsung life-support system that the rest if us need or want to hear. 
Thanks to my friend Ralph, I have come up with a positive and hopefully effective counter tactic for this behavior. Ralph just turned 90 years old, and I count my accessibility to his wit and wisdom among my many blessings.
So, from now on I shall open up whatever book I am reading at the moment, start to read and plow into whatever texter is hogging the sidewalk without bothering to look up and share with the rest of us.  Upon impact I will look up at them and apologize. “I’m SO very sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going or what I was doing, and on a busy sidewalk no less.  Will you please forgive me?”
For those inflicting their conversation on the rest of us, I will simply crack open my book and start reading aloud…in an ever so slightly irritating and unacceptable volume.  When they inevitably stop and glare at me, I will again apologize.  “Oh, I’m sorry, you didn’t really want to listen to me rambling on did you?  Sorry, I will bring it down to a volume that doesn’t bother others.”  The only trouble with this is that I have a good voice and great taste in reading material,  so people might actually want me to continue reading them a story.
It’s great to have found a positive and non violent solution to this issue.

God’s Questionable Sense of Humor

Posted: May 24, 2014 by S. Trevor Swenson in General, Life, Me & Mine
God has a funny sense of humor.  Ever had a friend who laughs when you’re getting pissed off about something, or at some small yet entertaining misfortune?  That’s my relationship with Heavy G…The Almighty. 
I left home for the second day in a row, slightly late for work…Only 5-10 minutes, but late nonetheless. Now I am generally a prompt person and prompt people take being on time rather seriously.  I have internal nightmares of my employers discussing my termination for being late 2 days in a row.  For those of you who are kind enough to read my blog regularly a lot of this will seem familiar to you, so please bear with me.
I arrived at Dunkin Donuts as I was running too late for my ever important second cough of cuppy.  Inevitably I got the DD’s staff member with the lazy eye and the severe case of coffee order dyslexia.  The name on her tag is “Minuti”  which in her native India means “Vengeful Goddess of Incompetence”
Me: “Hi.. Small…coffee,  a little milk  and two Splenda” I said clearly, and enunciated the important bits.  I don’t know why I bother.
She looked up at me…or perhaps to the woman to my left given her lazy eye’s direction and got every…single…part…of my coffee order wrong.
“Large coffee, cream and 3 sugars” she told the staff member serving the hot joe.
“N-o-o-o-o” I said emphatically. I repeated my order and afterwards muttered “You know…the same thing I have been ordering from you for over 7 years”
I’ll spare you the 5 minutes of getting my difficult coffee order to resemble what I wanted.  My friend Ruprecht has a theory that they see me approaching daily and perform the Marx Brothers routine on purpose.  At this point I wouldn’t be surprised.
I boarded my train and according to the clock in the car I was 6 minutes late….OK…this is acceptable.
Sure enough Heavy G was conspiring with Mr Murphy, that fun fellow with that funny law.  The station I get off at to work to work is 49th St.  There was an announcement at the station before this that my train would be “Going Express” and “Skipping 49th St station”   OK.  I exited at 57th and waited.  5 minutes later another train pulled into the station and I boarded it.  “This train will be making express stops…the next stop will be Times Sq-42nd St”.  I exited again.   Four more trains…the same thing.  I started to become dubious.
Finally I boarded a train which announced “Next Stop….49th St”   Now we’re cooking with gas.   The doors closed and an announcement came over the intercom…you guessed it….”We will be bypassing 49th street due to signal problems”  Well, now I was committed to a trip to the ninth ring of Hell…42nd St.
I saw as we passed by 49th street station that HUNDREDS of people were awaiting a train to come their way.  It made me wish that there was some kind of …oh I don’t know..some kind of futuristic “tele-phonic” device to “call” the station at 49th street and make an announcement to the commuters waiting there that they might want to make other arrangements.  Wouldn’t it be nice if we had that kind of technology at our disposal?  If only…
I got to Times Sq Station and luckily the MTA ( Metropolitan Transit Authority) was all over this situation with over 50 employees standing around in hard hats and orange vests looking annoyed and doing…bupkis .
Oh God…you silly motherfucker.

Day Off

Posted: May 24, 2014 by S. Trevor Swenson in General, Home, Life, Me & Mine


Today was my day off…and it was a good one. One important factor involved in this was that my best friend  ( The World Famous Gow) was in town visitinv  I slept late with my BFF; The Gow and my cat Bella and leisurely drank two cups of coffee while thinking about how to squander the day.  Staring me in the face in my chamber of filth was a pile of laundry that the EPA was stating to take an interest in.  “I need to do fluffy-foldy today,” I told The Gow, and she was game to help me, which is one of the reasons I adore her so much.  The Gow wanted Indian food.  During her visits to NYC I have turned her on to both Thai and Indian cuisine.  For a person who has a low spice tolerance, she is quite the trooper about trying new things. We had a quick huddle and decided to have Indian food ( “and get your own Nan bread…” the Gow informed me prior to ordering) delivered.
I called our local Curry Castle and managed to refrain from doing my Ghandi impression while ordering lunch… Having an unamused restaurant host or waiter blow his nose in my chicken vindaloo isn’t worth the poor-impulse-control-and-slightly-racist chuckle.   I shoved my laundry into two machines.  For once I didn’t overstuff the washers.  Sometimes I jam so many clothes into a washing machine that they came out dry after the wash cycle.  I even separated my whites and colors as Bella decided last week that an expensive white bed-spread was a great place to ralph up a hairball.  Thanks Kitty.
My roommate came home with a Toys R Us bag in tow as I was heading out to throw my wash into the dryer. My eyes lit up immediately and I asked hopefully, ” Didja get me a toy?  Huh?  Huh?  didja?”  She smiled and answered in the negative.  She had bought a toy for her nephew in Brazil when she visits next month. I smiled back muttering “Fuck your nephew you selfish cunt” and stomped off to the laundramat. I wanted a toy goddamnit. Luckily the Indian food arrived after I got home and we had an amazing meal. We’d ordered lamb, lamb, chicken and two nan breads.  One for each of us.  Gow picked up one of the nans and smelled it exclaiming “Whew!!”  “Is that the garlic nan I ordered”  She said “yes” and sure enough it smelled so strong of garlic that I had no doubt there were Counts in Transylvania who were reaching for the air freshener.  The meal was delicious.
After lunch we ran back to the Laundromat and folded everything up neat as a pin.  The Gow was of the opinion that my standard procedure of washing my laundry and dumping it on my bed afterwards is not particularly conducive to a tidy bedroom.  “But, it’s clean” I explained. “Honey, you exhaust me” she replied with a patient sigh for the first of what would surely be hundreds of times during her visit.  I smiled and said “I know”
We fluffed and folded everything while I pointed out various articles from the Scotty Collection and made commentary about which were my favorites. “Like these undies”….”I don’t like these…can’t wait til they wear out”.   Gow smiled and nodded much in the fashion of a parent or guardian indulging the non-stop ramblings of a small child.
After laundry and lunchie came the day off tradition of the afternoon nap….and it was good.

I had enough of the media saturation of this by yesterday afternoon. This may be unpopular, but I’m going to say it anyway.

Sterling is a racist pig and scumbag, now he’s going to be gone for it. Done deal. Let him dig his heels in litigiously, he’ll lose money. He should have sold the team yesterday if you ask me.

As for the sappy “We need to start the “Healing Process” bullshit I am hearing on the news now I start to throw up a little in my mouth. Really? Healing process? I am reminded of a young woman on the Rutgers basketball team after the Imus “tragedy” going on Oprah’s show and saying how “she felt scarred for life”. Because Don-fucking-Imus said something stupid? Scarred for life? Did Oprah’s people prep them on the most maudlin thing to say that tests well, as the make up people added fake tear drops during the commercial break. We have a world class athlete and college graduate pandering to the nicey-nicey Oprah’s issue du jour, and crying on cue?

I am reminded of small children who look around to see if mommy’s looking before they start to cry when they fall down. I’d be willing to bet a week’s pay that none of the young women on the Rutger’s basketball team had even heard of Don Imus prior to him belching out a comment calling them “Nappy Headed Hoes”. While we’re at it, Don…you’re an old man, you have no business even trying to use the current Hip-Hop vernacular. Knock that shit off aiiight?

You know, we need a healing process after small children get shot en masse at a school, we need a healing process for our veterans who got screwed and are still being screwed after a war of choice…Not when a disgusting old man behaves in a disgusting manner and spews ignorant racist nonsense. I haven’t seen anywhere near this much outrage and media coverage over the 20 billion in fines that JP Morgan Chase paid in fines for breaking the law…BUT NO ONE WENT TO JAIL. Hell, that’s more of a racial issue if you ask me. Ask the incarcerated black people in jail for lesser crimes about how fair that is.

Want to know what’s really going on in the world? Open the paper past the front cover stories on Sterling, turn to page three or four and read about the mass killings in Africa, the skyrocketing poverty rate in our own country over the past 15 years…Let’s not be such shills and pawns for media corporations.

Addressing racial equality, attacking racism, promoting diversity are all admirable causes and causes I support. We’ve come a long way in this country, and we have a long way to go. Many of these issues, like affirmative action are a slippery slope, and deserve debate, compromise and revisiting. Maudlin and saccharine sentiment takes away from real sentiment. Media saturation of nonsense like this diminishes journalistic integrity.

As for Sterling’s gold-digger mistress who started this idiocy’s snowballing…She released a statement that she feels the media has been unfair and she wants to be left alone. I’d also be willing to bet a week’s pay that she already has a publicist and agent, and they’re trying to arrange a reality TV show for her while she’s within her 15 minutes of fame. You’re essentially a high priced hooker sweety pie who slept with Grandpa from The Munsters. Get over it, you’re going to cash in.


“Stupid” is an over and misused word. All too often we throw the word ‘stupid’ around when we actually mean things like ‘oblivious’, ‘lacking in common sense’,’or lacking in manners or propriety’. The word ‘stupid’ can even mean funny and silly in a complimentary manner today in an inner-city vernacular. I had to check in with my friend Miriam Webster to see what the most basic definition of this word is.
Ah, here we are. “Not intelligent” “Not sensible or logical”. So, for simplicity’s sake and the exact circumstances of this piece let’s stick with Mimsy Webster’s definition of stupid.

The other night I was coming home from work, and had decided to duck into my local burger and chicken joint for some health food. I was feeling tired, lazy and not up for cooking. I entered Chicken Lickin’ and placed my order. Next to me at the counter was a middle aged woman trying to decide what she wanted. While I was waiting for my order to be prepared I heard this woman ask what was quite possibly the stupidest question ever. Who ever said “There are no stupid questions” had obviously never encountered this woman. She asked ( and I’m not making this up ) “How many come in the 10 piece?” She-asked-how many-come-in-a-10-piece. I shook my head to clear it and then looked more closely at this woman. She had somehow managed to put her shoes on the correct feet. Maybe someone helped her get dressed.

Now, we all say the occasional stupid thing. We all speak without thinking. Luckily I only seem to do this when trying to impress women, or during important job interviews. So, in fairness, maybe the “How many come in a 10 piece” inquiry was a fluke.

Nope. Her next statements and actions confirmed that she was a member of the room temp IQ club. She asked the nice (and patient) man behind the counter how much the 10 piece was. Oh, and in case you’re wondering; Yes the nice (and patient) man behind the counter answered her previous inquiry (“Um, 10. 10…pieces”). He managed to answer without slapping his forehead or making any sarcastic remarks. I was impressed. To be even more helpful, the counterman pointed up to the huge, illuminated menu and price list above him and less than 6 feet from this woman’s eyes. It should also be noted that every chain restaurant, pizzeria etc has this huge, menu and price list in their establishment…and yet we never seem to be at a loss for inane questions from those who don’t want to or possibly can’t read. Since the chances of her being illiterate were fair, he also vocalized the answer. “$6.99″. She slowly looked up at the menu, her mouth agape and said “Oh…you ummm have all the prices up there.” The man behind the counter nodded that, yes-indeedy all goods and their prices were right in front of the widescreen dimensions of her forehead. However, she had to double down on stupid. Not more than 2 seconds after her verbal confirmation that the prices were listed, she asked “So, how much is a 20 piece?”


I grabbed my food and bid a hasty retreat from the “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Chicken” Palace.

Unlike my fellow chicken consumer, I found my mind racing. How does a person so stupid survive in the world? How does she get dressed, cross the street, pay her bills or hold down a job, if, she was indeed employed? Who had taught her to speak…and perhaps more importantly, how? Was it a scene like something out of “The Miracle Worker” where Helen Keller finally makes a breakthrough and mental connection with water. Did some wonderful teacher with the patience of a saint have some kind of breakthrough with this women where she began shrieking “TEN PIECE…TENNN PIECE” and embracing the saintly teacher?

Although I don’t make these type of determinations, it seems to me that if she is genuinely this slow then she should probably be eligible for some kind of public assistance or disability. Is there some kind of doctors note that can be taken to a public assistance office ( or perhaps safety-pinned to the person in question ) that states their IQ is too low to telemarket or any other kind of employment? Back in my Western Massachusetts hometown the local supermarkets hire the mentally retarded (or cerebrally challenged, or whatever feel-good euphemistic phrase is en vogue) to bag groceries and retrieve shopping carts. I have mentioned it several times because frankly, I have always been in awe of their work ethic and their attitudes while doing their job. They have become my go-to example in regards to the chronically stupid or lazy. Hell, they have a better attitude than I do when it comes to work and dealing with the general public. Interesting to note that my job is to deal with the general public.

I seriously doubt this woman could get a job much less hold on to one. She might fill out an application in finger paint or crayon. Anything requiring a degree or certification is out. Maybe she could move boxes from Point A to Point B, but she’d need regular supervision or she’d get lost, or forget to put the boxes down. People are fond of saying “Go work at McDonald’s” or they make fast food references to denote an overall lack of skills, drive and intelligence. Yes, it would be a lovely poetic irony if this woman were to work in a chicken or rib joint…but let’s be real here for a moment. How long would it take her to reach into the hot oil to grab a wing? I’m sure the DMV might take her if they had an executive position open. Then there is always congress or the senate. But, she might be over-qualified.

It’s sad and scary that so many people don’t want to or simply wont think. It seems to me with regard to people who can‘t think are at least giving it the old (community) college try.

Furthermore, rather than allowing for natural selection to smarten up the species; we as human beings spend time and money to cater to these people, when really the most natural and perhaps merciful thing to do would be to leave them behind to smarten up or die.

It never ceases to amaze me the many different attitudes that people have regarding nature, having a humane mind set in regards to animals and other people. If someone was watching a nature program on Discovery, PBS, Animal Planet or any other educational show, and there was an animal who got killed and eaten because it was incredibly stupid, we wouldn’t bat an eye. If we were watching with a small child, and said child got upset because the cute little antelope or baby hippo got killed and eaten by the hyenas, lions or some other predator, we’d stop and explain the natural process to the child. “I know honey, it is sad that the cute little deer got killed and eaten…but you see, that deer in particular kept walking into a tree over and over again while trying to go to the river for a drink of water, rather than going around the tree…well that’s nature sweety. That’s how nature or God gets rid of the weak and the stupid, so there is enough food and water for everyone else.”

Years ago, the TV show ‘Seinfeld’ made a famous episode called “The Soup Nazi” which was based on Al Yeganeh’s restaurant “The Soup Kitchen” here in NYC. The episode was a big hit and a cult classic which coined the phrase “No soup for you!!” Jerry Seinfeld, writer-producer Larry David, and David’s former next door neighbor ; Kenny Kramer all experienced Al Yeganeh’s unique manner of dealing with customers who routinely lined up for his delicious soups and chili. Mr. Al would simply expedite the out- the- door- and- around -the- corner lines of people who had come for his soup. If you didn’t know what you wanted, or hadn’t figured it out by reading (gasp) the huge menu overhead while in line, Al would tell you to step aside. If you asked questions that could have been answered by reading the clearly printed and centrally posted menu, he’d frown and point. I never went to the Soup Man “back in the day” as it wasn’t in my neighborhood, and the Seinfeld episode apparently made the place a tourist trap nightmare. It even caused Al to close, sell his name and image to another company, and reopen under a different name years later. I remember there was an article about how he (Al) was upset that Seinfeld and the show had ruined his life and business. Many people had the knee-jerk reaction that Seinfeld and the show had helped him in terms of popularity…but I suspect this isn’t what the soup man had in mind. He was already doing a booming business prior to the episode, and hadn’t been branded a “Nazi” except, perhaps by some customers who don’t like to be told to step aside. My friend Herbie used to go to his place for lunch all the time. “Was he really a Nazi?” I once asked Herbie. “No” Herbie exclaimed rather passionately. “He was right. Who wants to wait in line behind someone who can’t be bothered to read the menu? He just kept the line moving and told people to step aside if they didn’t know what they want”.

This raises an interesting issue. Should it be socially acceptable to be dismissive of those who aren’t paying attention. As it stands now in society, we cannot. That person who has been standing in front of you at Starbucks, blabbing away on their cell phone until finally it’s their turn to order…socially speaking they can hem and haw for 10 or 20 minutes and think about what they want. Yet, it’s painfully obvious to me that they are in the wrong here. They damn well should have made up their mind while waiting in line, and then taken care of their cell phone addiction. Now, some people are considerate. They know they don’t know what they want and let others go ahead of them. It’s the right thing to do. I’d venture to say that most people, if on their cell phone, or who simply don’t know what they want, and the counter person bypassed them to attend to the person behind them who is ready to order, pay, pick up and move along…then that person would get angry with the staff member and think they were being rude. I have even experienced this first hand, so I know of what I speak. I’ve worked many a busy weekend night at a bar or restaurant where it’s 3 deep at the bar. You ask “Can I help you?” The person stands directly in front of the taps and asks what you have on draft. Or they simply don’t know what they want…OR the crème- de la crème of busy bar douchebaggery …they wait for the bartender or server to ask how they can help them, only to turn to 5-20 friends scattered throughout the establishment and ask them what they want. This is when they decided to have a little pow wow.

“You guys want shots?”
“What kinda shots?”
“I just wanna glass a wine.”
“What kinda wine?
“Are we getting shots?”

And so on and so on… The person conducting this impromptu survey will become angry if the bartender attempts to serve someone else who has been waiting patiently, has their money out and just wants a bottle of beer.

It also dawns on me that people who go into a McDonald’s, chicken shack, Starbucks or what have you, should have a basic idea of what they want to begin with. You don’t go into a Starbucks hoping they might finally have fish tacos do you?

I understand that people don’t like to be told what to do, or to be told that they’re in the way or holding things up. But sometimes it’s necessary. When I have visited London, my friend Ruprecht had to tell me a couple time to step aside on subway escalators so others could get by me if they wanted or needed to. I think he even pulled me to one side once or twice. I didn’t like it, but it GOT it. I understood.

I suppose the 10 piece queen does provide a small service. She makes others feel more secure in their intelligence. So, she’s got that going for her . . . which is nice.

No One Cares

Posted: January 26, 2014 by S. Trevor Swenson in General, Life, Me & Mine, You & Yours
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,
Really, no one is listening to The Conversation you're having.

Really, no one is listening to The Conversation you’re having.

We probably wouldn’t worry about what other people think of us if we could know how seldom they do- Olin Miller

A few years ago while I was being tested in college for Attention Deficit Disorder and other learning disabilities, my mother sent me a book with the above quote in it. The book was called The Most Brilliant Thoughts Of All Time ( In two lines or less ) The reason she sent the book was because I think she started to recall my attention level as a child and teen, and the many difficulties it caused she and I. Being a romantic I like to think that she felt a little bad about the years of fights and dramedy that were a result of my inability to focus, pay attention or…Oh there’s my remote control…. Oooooo… a Happy Days marathon…that sounds promising…. That Fonzie is such a card…Now ,where were we?

This quote stuck out as I had been pondering a piece titled “No One Cares”, which coincidentally is remarkably similar to the essay I’m typing up at this very moment. I became inspired to write this as a result of my anger and frustration toward a couple of regulars who drink in the bar where I am employed. When people frustrate us, yet we are unable to confront them for various reasons; (we work with them, we work for them, they are bigger than we are,they’re attractive and might sleep with us, they have a badge and gun, they are elderly, they are small children…the list goes on and on) we often spend a great deal of time thinking about what we’d like to say to them if the dynamic of the situation were somehow different. As a bartender,like anyone who’s job it is to deal with a rude and disrespectful general public, I have to contend with a fair number of assholes regularly. In the interest of building and maintaining customers and keeping my job, I have to find ways to hold my tongue, paste a smile on my face and interact with these people. I must find a way to do so in a reasonably pleasant and professional manner. So, I find myself rehearsing in my mind various cutting remarks that would make them flee from the watering hole in shame, or apologize to me and hand me hundreds or thousands of dollars in retroactive tips, or commit suicide. Keep in mind, I can’t really utter these well rehearsed and justly deserved dressing downs. Chances are it wouldn’t do any good. People don’t change after a stern talking to like in TV shows and movies…regardless of how clever, true and deserving the dressing down might be. Plus, I’d probably get in trouble and possibly lose my job. To put it bluntly and succinctly, we all have to take bites of the shit sandwich that is life.

One of the aforementioned customers is a rather dour man who never tips. Tips are my livelihood, and are therefore extremely important to me. They are yet another reason why I try to refrain from having verbal meltdowns with customers. Adding to the frustration of this customer’s stiffing me daily is his personal and socio-political philosophy, He is a self described Marxist. This is a man who goes on and on ( and on) about the plight of the working man. He obviously fancies himself some kind of working class hero. Now it has been a while since I have read Marx and Engels The Communist Manifesto, but I don’t recall the chapter on gratuities and the running dog capitalist waiters and bartenders who suppress the proletariat and keep them down. Like most tipped workers, I am also taxed on my gratuities…This means if and when I am not tipped, I am essentially paying to serve people drinks.


In addition to being stiffed daily by this man as I pour pint after pint of Guinness for him, I resent his slight air of smugness about his never tipping me. It’s almost as if he believes that he is doing something noble and virtuous by screwing me. Furthermore, he probably feels superior to me and more enlightened that I simply can’t grasp his strict policy of not tipping for services rendered. Of course, this is the general attitude of tipped workers whenever they encounter cheap, petty and trifling customers. We have a long memory of who doesn’t tip us.

The particular telling off of this man that I go over and over again in my mind would be to point out that no one, repeat, No one gives a shit about his political theories. No one, repeat No one discusses at great length, or any length for that matter what a working class hero he is. Despite what he may think, No One Cares.

Now these sorts of statements could potentially cut a person to the bone. It also made me realize something . 99% of us have strong perceptions and beliefs that are immensely important..but only to us. Again, No One Cares.

Just like Trotsky-Tipless, I have strong perceptions of myself that are varying degrees of truth, fiction and everything in-between. However, with very few exceptions, No one really gives a damn. Now this is not a pity trip. It’s simple reality. I’m just as guilty of this apathy. Hell, as a former punk rocker, a current New Yorker and lifelong cynic…I’m probably more apathetic than the average bear. If ‘No One Cares” can be said about most people, then I would somehow manage to care less. It’s a warped point of pride with me. Probably similar to the point of pride I imagine Mr Persona- Non- Gratuity has about being a cheap bastard.

Perhaps this inane little observation goes much further than I ever could have imagined. Maybe, just maybe it’s a huge part in the very meaning of life. Is it possible that getting others to care about us or issues is the key to happiness, health, wealth and self actualization? It is also interesting to note that even people who are deemed interesting or important to care about by the media often fall victim to the curse of “No One Cares”. Isn’t it safe to say that many of us roll our eyes at the daily and hourly reportings on Justin Bieber, Kanye West, Professional Athletes, The Kardasians and their ilk? And what is our first and most primal reaction to them? That’s right. “Who Cares?”

Just eat your food. There is no need to Instagram it first.

Just eat your food. There is no need to Instagram it first.

Other people’s favorite hobby seems to involve a shift in focus from “No One Cares” to a “You shouldn’t care about that, but rather focus on this”. Often these people are well meaning and trying to garner interest and awareness in worthy causes…. or perhaps more accurately, causes they feel strongly about. We’ve all met these people. You’ll be cheerfully discussing something or someone, and they will tut tut and inform you of something infinitely more important.

In my refraining from going off on the working class zero who never tips me, I have started to focus on things that are important to or about me that fall securely into the “No One Cares” file. I’m a writer, or at least that’s what I tell women I’m trying to impress. The fact of the matter is that. A: I have never been published. B: I have a blog that approximately 4 people read with any regularity and C: Being a writer isn’t all that impressive, unique or interesting. You can’t swing a dead wino in NYC and not hit someone who thinks they’re a writer. So, just as my never-tipping regular feels that he is somehow a noble and fascinating warrior of the proletariat…nobody gives a shit about my literary observations of cell phone etiquette or how people who try to get 12 items through a 10 items or less line at the supermarket should be tried and executed for crimes against humanity.

“No One Cares” for all it’s apathy can be a very powerful thing. People take medications and go to therapy because of “No One Cares”. People go on shooting rampages, and even commit or attempt suicide because of those three, single syllable words. What is a major cause of suicide? The very perception that no one cares. There are even “Cry for help” suicides which is the tragic, yet desperate attempt to get others to give a flying fuck, if only for a little while.

Technology has been driven by “No One Cares” predating recorded history. I’d be willing to bet that it took all of 30 seconds for some Neanderthal hipster to roll their eyes and say “Whatev’s” after a fellow caveman drew some stick men and stick animals in the Lascaux caves in France. Haters gonna hate.

Twitter. The ultimate (currently) in “Pay Attention To Me” narcissism. But can’t we safely say that 99.7% of tweets fall under that “Who cares” category. I know on a very personal level that I only pay attention to ” I plan to have sex with Scott Swenson” tweets from Dolly Parton. Interestingly, while researching Ms Dolly’s twitter account for this piece I found out thatshe had a fender bender on Oct 21st of last year, she was fine and was resting comfortably at home when she tweeted this. I’m guessing she was spared serious injury by “airbags” Nyuk Nyuk.

The genius or geniuses who created Twitter were very aware of human nature and how so many of us are under the misconception that we have something of note to say that the rest of the world gives a damn about.


Twitter was invented because so many are think others care about what we’re thinking or doing… unaware of how few really give a damn. I don’t tweet. I’m not part of the Twitterverse ( even that term makes me want to vomit), but I can safely say that if I was, there are very few bits of info from others that I’d stop and pay attention to….alien abduction, Armageddon and the aforementioned Ms Parton wanting a booty call from yours truly.

So, although I am fairly certain that very few people care about what I say, even fewer care about what I write, and no one cares about what I think…I just want to say, that the world would be a much better place if we’d put a little more effort into caring…and we can start by caring more about MY writing, getting my contact info to Dolly Parton and leaving me better tips.