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| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #44

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

HANGMAN

There was a classmate playing a game of Hangman in front of one of my classes and I hated him immediately.

            Which isn’t fair to write about this kid, but I’ll explain my reaction:

            Usually, the professor strolls into class as the bell rings (a metaphorical one—there isn’t a classroom bell on a college campus), which means that the punctual among us sit in silence before he walks through the door. It’s dead silent before class, either because no one is familiar with each other, hesitant to start conversations that would be obviously eavesdropped upon should they start, or that everyone is on a phone perusing social media apps in place of real-life experiences (as we all do). 

            This isn’t uncommon practice. Most of my classes feature this lack of conversational atmosphere. It’s deathly silent in the preceding minutes before class starts.

            Except for when I walked into my class last Friday.

            There, stationed at the whiteboard was a sandy-haired, twig-thin literature type adding the last limb to a stick figure dangling from a crookedly drawn gallows, signifying that he had just won a game of Hangman. I perused the words that had so stumped the two or three other participants that played (the rest of the class had their heads down and didn’t give a shit).

O B F U S C A T I O N

M A L F E A S A N C E

“T O  D R E A M  I S  T O  D I E”

             I made the last quote up, but he had something just as obscure and niche. The point is: where there was silence – despondent, antisocial, un-spirited silence – now there was a game of Hangman hosted by a literature fan showing off his vocabulary and knowledge of little-known quotes.

            And I thought, “Oh, f*** you.”

            Here’s why:

            There’s a difference between enthusiasm and ego. Regarding this game of Hangman, were the words chosen to loosen up the class, to get people talking? No. Did this guy choose words or phrases that might draw a laugh or cue some recognition? No. The words were obnoxiously chosen and the quote was obscure and meant nothing to anyone else. This was a game of vanity, of ego. This guy was showing off how smart he was and to get a little attention by playacting cavalier at the front of the class.

            Not only was the game an eye roll, but then this guy took pride in winning the game! Of f***ing Hangman! I know this is true because he laughed with glee when the two or three other classmates offered up guesses (with the same enthusiasm as an employee reluctantly volunteering to clean out the toilets at a grimy diner, “I guess I’ll do it. Is there an ‘A’?”). This game of Hangman was proof of wit.

            Which incurred another silent, “Oh,  f*** you,” as I took my seat.

            I then felt guilty. How old was this literature enthusiast: 18, 19-years-old? Why was I responding so harshly? Was it because I secretly wanted to rile the class, to spread my influence as a seasoned 33-year-old who understood how to NOT be like a pompous academic? And, honestly, if I had tried ANYTHING like this classmate of mine, it would have backfired anyway. I would have been like a parent that “tries to be cool” and my efforts would have tanked just as hard.

            So, maybe I needed to let up. Let this classmate be pompous and gleeful. He’ll grow out of it. After all, wasn’t he trying to break the ice? He’ll learn how to NOT be a tightwad in the future, I thought.

            The next thing I knew, the metaphorical bell rang for class and in walked the professor. He examined the whiteboard, which still had the game of Hangman on it for some reason (all the better to have the professor admire your prowess of recalling English words longer than 8 letters, I guess).

            “Obfuscation, malfeasance,” listed off the professor, rubbing his chin and considering the terms. “I’m going to leave this up, today. I’ll write things on the other whiteboard. Looks like a great game of Hangman was had here. Great vocabulary, whoever was playing.”

            All my previous patience and understanding went out the window. “Well, f*** you, too,” I thought.

            Therein was the cause of my classmate’s misplaced enthusiasm: a professor that enabled academic pageantry.

            For the next minute, the professor and twiggy classmate bantered back and forth, pitching even more obnoxious words to stump future players with.

            And I, with a herculean effort to resist groaning, sat in the back of the class, content with my omniscient view of the world, knowing how truly cringy the past five minutes of class had been.

            At least I wouldn’t ever degrade myself like my classmate had, I thought.

            I, after all, had dignity.

            “Alright, let’s take attendance,” said the professor. “Bertie? Where’s Bertie…ah! There you are. How’s it going Bertie?”

            The professor was still calling me Bertie. (Read more about it here.)

            “Good,” I answered the professor with a sigh. I proceeded to draw my own game of Hangman on a fresh sheet of paper. I couldn’t figure out the last letter of my own game, though.

            Maybe you can help me fill it in?

***

WATER WITCHES

            This was irresistible to write about.

            There’s a family neighbor in northern Michigan with a truck drilling a water well that is still in the front yard. The truck has been there several months, the well digging deeper and deeper without any luck. Either water has been undrinkable or there hasn’t been enough to act as a well for an entire household.

            My mother adds to this piece of news, “They should hire a Water Witch.”

            “A what?” I asked.

            “That’s not what they’re called, but that’s who used to find spots to dig wells.”

            “Explain,” I said. I couldn’t wait to hear this.

            “If you were looking to dig a well out by a farm, you’d hire a Water Witch. The Water Witch would look around for a tree branch, shaped like a Y, and when he found a good one, he’d wander around the grounds and wait for the tree branch to start shaking.”

            (It turns out you can use just about anything, but most modern Water Witches – yes, this is still a thing –  prefer using two metal rods.)

            “Go on,” I said, almost drooling with anticipation.

            My mother shrugged. “Once the stick is shaking, that’s the spot you started digging a well.”

            “And this worked? People really dug wells like this?”

            “Oh, sure. They were hired all the time.”

            “These people were hired?!”

            “Well, yes. They were never wrong,” said my mother.

            My father put down his mug of coffee. “Of course they weren’t wrong! It’s Michigan; if you dig deep enough, you’ll find water no matter where the branch starts shaking.”

            “Oh come on,” said my mother, egging him on, “Those tree branches really shook.”

            “Because the guy was shaking it himself!”

            “You don’t believe that do you?” asked my mother with a coy smile.

            And while the merits of the Water Witch were playfully debated by my parents, I had a renewed sense of hope in humanity. If a Water Witch was really a paid position in the history of American farming, then I can see no better future for a people who were creative enough to shake a stick and say, “Dig your well here, Farmer John.”

            Entire neighborhoods had wells dug on such foundations.

            Kind of gives you a tingly feeling of pride in grassroots American history, doesn’t it?

            For your viewing pleasure, I’ve attached an article about Water Witches from Time Magazine. Apparently, they are still sought after during droughts, particularly the dry season in California. I won’t spoil the end of the article; it isn’t a very long read.

https://time.com/11462/california-farmers-are-using-water-witches-to-make-your-two-buck-chuck/

***

  1. “Earth Worship” by Rubblebucket
  2. “Seize The Power” by Yonaka
  3. “Bird Sing” by Anna of the North

***

Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,

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| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #42

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

42

How could you not write about the Ultimate Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything in Weekly Post-Ed #42? 

            Perhaps some context:

            Long ago on the distant planet of Magrathea, the greatest computer ever built, Default, was tasked to find an answer to the ultimate question of Life, the Universe, and Everything. For millions of years Default calculated all that it knew about existence and millions of years later, it was finally ready to reveal the answer.

            “42,” said Default.

            It’s a wonderful piece of comedy that comes from Douglas Adam’s The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Over the weekend, I rewatched the 2005 movie adaptation starring Martin Freeman, Zoey Deschanel, Mos Def, and Sam Rockwell. From the opening musical number about dolphins leaving the planet earth from impending doom (the musical theater ballad, “So Long and Thanks for All the Fish”), I reverted back to being 14 again and why the movie meant so much.

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy DVD Box Art, 2005

            Up until that first viewing, I had known about the comedy of Monty Python, Mel Brooks, the Marx Brothers and so many others, but The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy opened up the entire cosmos of what could be funny. Whereas a Mel Brooks film delved into the world of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (Young Frankenstein), or a saga of the wild west (Blazing Saddles), the jokes were related to the story’s characters, never central to moving the plot forward itself. Hitchhiker’s not only had outlandish comedy, but it was the reason the story existed at all.

  • Planet earth being demolished to make room for a hyperspace expressway? Yes, that’s the incident that begins the story!
  • A paperwork-obsessed, bureaucratic race of aliens with the stinginess of an elitist British Parliament? Why yes, they’re the villains of the movie!

            Anything was possible in the vast universe of Douglas Adam’s The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (which I soon discovered were also a series of novels). You could poke fun of a religion’s odd celebrations and rituals, answer philosophical questions in meaningful but obtuse ways (the answer of 42 for example), and show that planets are really manufactured like any other product bought at a department store. All of this was possible to cram into a single narrative.

            “You can write things like this?” I thought, and suddenly I felt like I had been given the freedom to make whatever I wanted.

            After watching the film again, I also recalled that it was the major reason why I wanted to write fiction in the first place. Suddenly, it made sense to write big ideas into a concise, comedic packaging. There was a wider universe out there and I couldn’t wait to write all about it. 

            And I would go on to keep writing forever after.

            (Psst: more on those stories in the future!)

***

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT

            I find that as I grow older, I watch my favorite movies from a different perspective. Nowhere in my personal experience has this been more the case than rewatching old Looney Tunes shorts. Packed inside those ten-minute episodes were layers of adult humor amidst the antics of Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck.

            Rewatching favorite movies and television shows after many years is like eating a favorite meal once in a while: you remember why it was so damn good to begin with.

            It must have been three or four years since I’ve seen 2005’s The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, which meant another round of life experiences acting as the lens through which I watched it. The biggest change over the course of the past few years has been my going on numerous dates, which I suspect has changed how I’ve viewed romance in movies. 

            Certainly, I have a much more prevalent sense of skepticism when it comes to the romantic “Love at First Sight” motif.

            The romantic spine of the 2005 adaptation of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (the books are much different) follows Arthur Dent (Martin Freeman) regretting his missed opportunity to capture the heart of Trillion McMillan (Zoey Deschanel). At a costume party, they meet awkwardly, but sweetly, and soon get to chatting. Then, Trillion says, “We should go to Madagascar.” Arthur is confused and thinks this means a new swanky club, but Trillion means the country off the coast of Africa. Arthur realizes she is serious and says he can’t just go to Madagascar. Trillion is let down when he offers somewhere local instead. Then along comes a man with flowing blonde locks, a faux Elvis Presley accent, and futuristic wardrobe.

            “Is this man boring you?” he says. “I’m from a different planet. Want to see my spaceship?”

            Trillion goes with spaceman, leaving Arthur behind, and that’s the extent of their meeting.

            Before, I never blinked an eye at this initial meeting. It works in the movie and I get it: Arthur likes her, she likes him, but along the way came a more interesting and adventurous man that swept Trillion away. 

            Cool, right?

            Not really.

            When thinking about the logistics of meeting someone at a party, I assume Arthur and Trillion knew one another for about two or three hours in total. This means that Arthur is convinced Trillion is someone significant over that short time. So much so, in fact, that he comes to think of her as “The One That Got Away”.

            I’m amazed at the confidence required to make Arthur think so. Either Arthur doesn’t get out and date very much (which is likely), or there was something wonderful about Trillion that quietly disposed of any other potential love interests he had. Since Trillion up and leaves him at a party for another man, I can’t imagine she showed him the affection he was looking for. So, what was the appeal at the party?

            I’m skeptical a man would be love-drunk over a woman like this who has experienced more dates. It’s unclear the amount of time that passes between this first meeting at the party and when the earth is destroyed for a hyperspace expressway (spoilers), but I think most would have moved on from the girl at the party after a certain length of time. As someone who has gone on many dates and has been ghosted for less interesting reasons, it’s amazing to think Arthur would remain hung up on this girl when she leaves with another man from the same party.

            This is why I’m concerned about Arthur’s mental state during this viewing of the movie–he’s willing to endure the thought of a girl running off with another man as karma for his not jumping on a plane immediately to travel with her to Madagascar.

            It’s a little sad, honestly.

            Later, Trillion and Arthur are reunited on a spaceship that improbably passed by the exact coordinates he was thrown off another ship into the vacuum of space. Aboard the ship, Arthur comes across the spaceman from the party, who turned out to be President of the Galaxy Zaphod Beeblebrox. Arthur’s first actions upon being on a spaceship after surviving the ether of outer space? He immediately inquires what became of Trillion after the party.

            If I’m Trillion, I’d be on my guard with this guy. Perhaps it’s the improbability of the two of them meeting on the same spaceship, but Trillion doesn’t blink when this guy immediately starts demanding “why didn’t you fall in love with me instead?” 

            Uh, what?

            The correct response for Trillion should have been: “Hey, we hung out for a while at that party, which was really great, but I CLEARLY left with someone else, remember? You were really nice, Arthur, but it’s not going to work out. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

            That’s it, problem solved!

            But that doesn’t happen. Instead, she hints that they shouldn’t talk about it in front of Zaphod Beeblebrox in order not to upset him.

            Not to be deterred, Arthur’s motive is to bring up their brief courtship whenever possible throughout the movie. He’s pleading his case that they were something special and should pick up where they left off.

            It’s downright creepy to assume that anything marginally approaching romance should exist between these two people. Couples who have sex have less incentive to think romance or a relationship is taking place! Why does Arthur’s reluctance to give up on Trillion mean that she’ll ever return his affections?

            I think the reason for their eventual romance is interwoven with the meaning of the film.

            Why Arthur loses out on Trillion at the party is because he refuses to give up his usual comforts and spontaneously travel with her across the world. He has a rational point—they’ve just met, he has a job to go to in the morning…it’s not realistic to do something so drastic. However, Trillion sees this as another sign of another disappointing man who isn’t adventurous and willing to see the wider world.

            What Trillion is asking of Arthur is if he’ll put in the effort for her. Yes, she wants the trip because she wants affirmation that the world has more to offer, but she’s also watching to see if he’s willing to fight for her.

            When Arthur joins Zaphod and Trillion aboard the ship to zip around the galaxy in search of the ultimate answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything, Trillion gets into all the danger. It’s up to Arthur to save her. Zaphod, the mysterious spaceman from the party, does not. While Zaphod Beeblebrox won Trillion over with a willingness to travel the universe on a whim, he also didn’t think of her anything more than collected cargo. Zaphod was only interested in fame, recognition, and Trillion was always an afterthought.

            Even when Trillion was imprisoned on another planet by the Vogons, he doesn’t think to go rescue her (although, his brain is technically being run on lemons at that point in the movie, so maybe a little leniency in his case). Couple along the reveal that Zaphod was the one who signed the order to demolish the earth in the first place, and Trillion really grew to dislike him.

            This left Trillion to ponder why the aimlessness of her life on earth has followed her through the cosmos. By going somewhere else, be it Madagascar or the vastness of space, she was seeking greater meaning.

            What she discovered is that there wasn’t an answer to her life, the universe, and everything (even if it ended up being 42). Bereft in space, she was without a home planet, without anyone. 

            She was done looking outward for answers and instead looked around. It’s then that she realizes she just wants to be loved by someone who wants her.

            Trillion now sees Arthur’s journey. He has learned how to fight for what he wants. His life is about embracing adventure so that he can be present for someone else.

            Now there may be romance between the two of them. He sees her, and she sees him.

            And they can roll around with their towels.

            But there’s one question that still bothers me: why her? With only a few hours of talking at a party, why did Arthur maintain that he missed out on Trillion this entire time?

            In my limited experience with truly remarkable women (since romance is the angle I’m writing this from), I can say there’s no logical reason. Once you see someone great, you just know it. It’s a recognition of something within them, perhaps something you can’t quite explain. And once recognized, there’s no going back to the way things were.

            Ironically, this is how I felt upon first watching The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. I couldn’t tell you why it meant so much to see this movie, but it did.

            I’ll just call it Love at First Sight.

***

THAT MCTAVISH SAVE

            Usually, I’d stray away from posting a hockey highlight, but the final moments of Team Canada winning gold at the 2022 World Junior Hockey Championships was one of the greatest moments I’ve ever seen in hockey. I’ll include the highlights below but be sure to watch the goal-line save by Mason McTavish who literally kept his team alive in Overtime by an inch.

https://youtu.be/N1F_1IbJNxw

***

  1. “Sweet (Single Edit)” by Jon Batiste, Pentatonix & Diane Warren
  2. “BDSM” by corook
  3. “Up” by Cardi B

***

Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,

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| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #41

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

LIVING THE DREAM

A few weeks after graduating from high school, I went up to my varsity goalie coach to talk about where I could play next season. He was standing by the glass at the ice rink, watching another up-and-coming goalie, a sophomore who could potentially make the varsity team next year. He saw me in the corner of his eye, and I awkwardly put my hands into my pocket and approached.

            “Hey coach,” I said. “Got a second?”

            “Sure,” he said, still watching the sophomore practice. “What’s on your mind?”

            “I was just wondering if…you know…you had any suggestions of where I could play next year?”

            My former goalie coach turned away from the glass and looked to see if I was kidding. Pitifully, he saw I wasn’t. “You can always try the community college team. I hear they’re bringing the program back around.”

            “I mean, I can go anywhere, right? What teams should I try out for?”

            He turned back to watching the sophomore. “You played four games last year, Robert. Not a lot of teams had a good look at you, or even know who you are. I’d say the beer leagues are a great place to start.”

            At the time, I thought that his answer was dismissive. However, from the vantage of my mid-thirties and looking back at my 18-year-old self that had just completed his first year of competitive hockey, this answer was gracious in hindsight. My former coach knew my story. He knew I started playing ice hockey three years before and started taking goalie lessons only a year after I had begun. He knew my knowledge about travel hockey was next to nil.

            It was a gracious answer because he didn’t tell me the truth—which was that I was a dreamer who had no idea what the road to pro hockey looked like.

            My former goalie coach was Carl Howell, a former pro goaltender who played minor league hockey. Carl played goalie in an era when wearing a thin layer of molded fiberglass over your face was the best protection available—you know, the “Jason” mask from the film Friday the 13th.

            His career ended when scrambling in his goal crease for a loose puck, and a stick struck him in the eye, plucking it out of the socket. This was also the era where dirty tactics were the norm. Many forwards pounded a nail into the top of the blade of their hockey sticks, which made it all the easier to hook a guy and cut him open in the process (because if you’re going to get a 2-minute penalty for hooking, you might as well cut an incision big enough for a surgeon on your way to the penalty box). 

            Scrambling in the crease, a nail stuck into his eye and pulled the eye clean out of his face.

            The eye was saved and reinserted into the socket, but my former coach lost most of his depth perception, which made stopping pucks nearly impossible, thereby ending his career. He might have played in the NHL full time had he had better fortune.

            “Ok,” I answered my goalie coach after he told me to play in the beer leagues. “Do you know which one I should join?”

            He smiled, a brimming, knowing smile full of hockey knowledge I could never know or understand. “They’ll find you if they want you. Keep your phone on.”            

            It took years to realize that, no, I wasn’t going to be scouted to play pro hockey. I had a dream when I started playing, and only years after that did the bigger picture of the pro hockey life start to dawn on me.

            All I had was a dream and I thought it was enough to make the NHL.

            I’ve always pondered the phrase “Living the Dream”. To me, the phrase meant to have the ideal life where one was doing the work they loved, the kind where real struggle and toil were nonexistent. While watching the 2022 World Junior Hockey Championship over the last week, I discovered a vastly different view form what it means to live the dream. 

            Many of the players participating in the 2022 World Junior Hockey Championship are living the dream. To be chosen to represent your country is indication that you are the best of your age group. You see the names that have made previous Canadian or US World Junior teams and many have become stars in the NHL. To assume these young players are on a path to greatness seems logical. Aren’t these players living the dream?

            Not exactly. 

            To have arrived at the World Junior stage, these players have grown up with a constant pressure to perform since they’ve put on a pair of skates and shown superior skills compared to everyone else their age. With these superior skills came a caravan of interested parties: parents, coaches, scouts, former pros, and everyone else who saw the potential of someone who, one day, could have his name on the back of a NHL jersey. All these young players had to leave their families to play in the top Junior Leagues in the country, living with host families in place of their own, devoting their whole life to playing the game they hope will lead to becoming a professional. 

            The 2022 World Junior Championship is just a steppingstone along the way to being a professional. It’s another measuring station to prove that these prospects are on task and exceeding even greater expectations. There’s no downtime. These players are still required to produce, to keep separating themselves from the competition, to put up the best numbers of their careers in their draft year just to move up a few spots into the coveted Top 5 of the NHL Draft.

            These players know the road to pro hockey by 17-years-old because it has been instilled into their belief system since they started. They are the future, and they play every shift like it, too.

            And after watching a few games of these future stars, I thought back to when I was 17-years-old with the dream of becoming one of them.

            I can laugh at how absurd that dream was.

            A year before talking with my varsity goalie coach, I was at my neighborhood park on a cement rink with a painted goalie crease and undersized net, donning plastic-shelled street hockey goalie gear. I spent nights duct-taping the goalie pads back together after they had disintegrated from the last time of sliding across the cement crease. A group of five of us played along with whichever neighborhood kids came around, ranging from elementary to high schoolers. Most everyone ran in tennis shoes or didn’t own a pair of rollerblades. Hardly any wore hockey gloves and had blisters on their hands after a few hours of shooting with old wooden hockey sticks.

            We played in 90-degree heat. All of us wearing a replica jersey of our favorite NHL teams we had bid on eBay for cheap. We were the neighborhood all-stars without a clue about what it meant to play the pro game, but it didn’t much matter.

            I was never going to play at a level remotely close to what the best players in the world could play at age 17. It still doesn’t much matter. I still play hockey even with a worsening arthritic wrist and pinched nerve near a hip flexor that feels like absolute agony after playing all these years. 

            I’ll keep playing because I’ve decided the dream is to keep it going for as long as possible.

            That’s what I share with those 2022 World Junior players—the will to keep living the dream.

            It’s not worth losing an eye over, maybe, but for a sore wrist and stiff hip?

            I’ll keep my phone on.

***

GOODY TWO-SHOES

            I struggle to write about movies because they inevitably morph into mini reviews. And truthfully, I don’t want to write reviews on this website. Reviews, and criticism for that matter, revolve around an air of expertise, that because a thing has flaws or was masterful in some way, it means that the reviewer had the pedigree to point out why. A good critic is a fine thing to have in the world (allegedly), but overall, I think an audience knows how they feel about entertainment without someone defining terms.

            In the world of entertainment, I’ve seldom found a review useful before experiencing something first. 

            So, if you haven’t seen Luck, don’t worry—I won’t be reviewing the movie. Instead, I’m interested in the ramifications of the hero of the movie, the aged-out orphan, Sam.

            Sam is fascinating because there isn’t much to her character other than the fact that she was an orphan with bad luck and was never adopted. She is good to a fault and wants nothing more than for others to succeed in life. Samrepresents the ideal kind and selfless person, someone willing to sacrifice her own wellbeing for the sake of others. Of course, this goodness leads to her saving the day and everyone lives happily ever after by the end.

            Hey, this is a kid’s movie after all—why would everything not work out?

            However, it’s the subject matter of the movie that further complicates the character of Sam. The movie is about “bad luck” and its value in the world. Can someone with bad luck still strive to be a good person despite how things have turned out? What would be different about our lives if we had had “good luck” instead of “bad luck”? 

            These are fun concepts to debate, but let’s think about it in terms of Sam’s character as the ideal selfless giver. 

            In Luck, the question the film wants us to ask of Sam is, “Will she ever get rid of her bad luck?”

            And this was my problem with Sam: I didn’t really care if she got rid of bad luck or not.

            Here’s the thing: I want to believe in the characters of the movie. I want to follow and cheer for them when they get what they need. With characters like Sam, however, I found myself rolling my eyes at her selfless acts and goodwill. She was SO GOOD that I began to see this as annoying. I started to feel the gimmick of bad luck following her around all the time was JUSTIFIED.

            There’s a name for this wanting someone to have misfortune. No, it’s not schadenfreude, which is pleasure we derive from others’ pain. No, this was more of a feeling of wanting bad things to happen to someone attempting to do “too much” good.

            We’ve heard the term before. We call these people who do good without reciprocity a Goody Two-Shoes.

            We want a Goody Two-Shoes to fail. They’re the ones who always raise their hand in class because they have the right answer, the ones who always have a compliment or positive thing to say about someone, the ones who pitch in and help clean up a mess they didn’t make. While these are all wonderful qualities, we want terrible things to befall this person.

            Why?

            Because none of it is justified without acknowledgment of a dark side. Goodness is impressive with 3-dimensional characters, not as a moral set of instructions.

            Sam is good for goodness sake (yes, like the Christmas song) and for no other reason that’s given. Perhaps there wasn’t time to further flesh out why she behaves this way, but I had a hard time empathizing with someone passed over for adoption, who certainly suffers from some history of childhood trauma or abandonment issues with no symptoms at age 18. This is someone I’m not rooting for because I don’t understand her.

            I’d argue this choice of character doesn’t work. I like goodness, but like love, I want to see it earned. In a romantic comedy, the audience knows the leading man and lady are going to end up together in the end…but the fun of the story is the style and stakes of the obstacles that prevent this.

            In Luck, without consequences to Sam’s “bad luck” other than the universe backfiring on her every waking move, there’s very little reason to care.

            (Unless you feel the idea of a “good person” is enough…in which case, good for you—two enthusiastic thumbs up.)

            Sam isn’t responsible for her misfortune; the universe is.

            In other words, Deus Ex Machina, which is why I think the story all falls apart.

            Something else influences Sam’s destiny, not her choices.

            It’s difficult to root for someone who isn’t in control of their destiny. With Sam, I felt neutral about her misfortunes coming to an end. I liked her, but what else was there?

            I wanted to know more about Sam.

            I just didn’t get it.

            Which is just my luck!

***

MY FIRST ESSAY IS OUT NOW!

            That’s right, my first full essay was posted last Sunday! It’s about EVO, the Evolution Championship Seriesor the premiere fighting game tournament held in Las Vegas every summer. The tournament has undergone quite a storied couple of years and I wanted to write about my history following the fighting game community during that time. I’m happy with how the essay turned out and will link it below.

            I plan on writing more essays like the EVO piece more often. I have a few in the pipeline but I haven’t much else to share right now, so to stay tuned!

            Please give EVO: Reunion a read! I’m always looking for feedback and would love to read your thoughts!

***

  1. “Wonderful Life” by Two Door Cinema Club
  2. “Breathe Me In” by Strabe
  3. “it’s ok!” by corook

***

Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,

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| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #40

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

CLUELESS ABOUT CLUELESS

            Apple Fitness has this masterful way of thematically curating music during workouts—and as it turns out a stint of Pilates (yup, not ashamed to admit it—Pilates kicks my ass) was rocking to the soundtrack greats from 90s romantic comedies, most notably 10 Things I Hate About You and Clueless. Since it has been a decade since I’ve seen the latter film, I loaded up my movie library Monday night and watched the cult comedy written and directed by Amy Heckerling.

            After the first ten minutes of the movie, I realized I had undergone a time warp. Watching Clueless today was nothing like when I first saw it at 10-years-old (yes, on television, those dark days before on-demand streaming services). What I was watching today was masterful moviemaking; but this wasn’t how I thought of Clueless as a kid. In fact, I don’t think I knew what to think of movies back then.

            At ten, I remember being aware of adult relationships but unsure of how they worked. Movies were the framework that I based my earliest experiences with girls on—a practice that landed me a 100% failure rate.

            When I first saw The American President starring Michael Douglas, for example, the first “flirtatious” move I learned was to compliment girls on their shoes—a famous Aaron Sorkin line from the film. This confused many girls who wore dated Nikes and grass-stained Adidas sneakers, as rightfully they should have been. The compliment was meant for dressing up at fancy State Dinners at the White House, not for footwear that befell the wear and tear of Michigan winters.

            I made a similar mistake after watching The Fast and the Furious when I thought a good move was to compliment a cute girl on her mother’s beat up red 1998 Grand Prix. “Your mom’s got a nice car,” I told her. She asked why I said this and I didn’t really know—I wanted to look knowledgeable about cars because that was impressive to girls in the movie.

            My rule was that if a movie said it, I should probably say it, too. Why else would these things be in movies if it wasn’t a cool thing to talk about?

            I don’t remember taking many social cues from Clueless, however. The relationships in the movie mystified me. For example, when Alicia Silverstone’s character, Cher, has a romantic fling with Christian, the new boy in school, I was COMPLETELY unaware of why the relationship didn’t work out and he abruptly left after their date. He seemed like everything she ever wanted, they seemed compatible…what more was there to it?

            I just assumed he was too cool for her…even though he didn’t compliment her shoes or her father’s make and model of car.

            Even after Donald Faison’s character, Murray, explains in the next scene during a disastrous car ride along a LA freeway, “He’s a cake eater!…He’s gay!” I still didn’t understand. I paused the movie trying to determine what “gay” meant at ten-years-old. I just knew people made fun of you for being it, but that wasn’t Christian in the movie. That guy was cool. He stood up for Brittany Murphy’s character, Tai, when she was held over the ledge of the upstairs railing at a mall. He gallantly pushed the two jerk guys who thought it funny. 

            If Christian was “gay”, gay seemed like the way to go.

            Coincidentally, a few years later, before the advent of my first girlfriend, there was a period of about two weeks when I seriously considered if I was gay or not. There was no evidence to speak of, but because I didn’t think all men looked yucky (think Brad Pitt or George Clooney at the time), I debated if other penises were in my romantic future. I guess I thought of being gay as a conscious commitment, like buying those orange/baggy cargo pants with a million little pockets down the sides. No one bought them unless they really wanted them.

            For the record, I wanted those orange/baggy cargo pants but never ended up purchasing them.

            I felt similarly about my choice with being gay—just didn’t make the purchase.

            (Go easy on me, I’m joking—I was 10-12 when I thought things worked this way.)

            Now, in the year 2022, I understand that Christian’s character from Clueless was a parody of 1950’s movie stars. He was a combination of members of the Rat Pack, with the wardrobe and slicked back hair donned by Marlon Brando. He even drove around in an old Nash Metropolitan, a car sold in 1953. All his lines are faux gangster, something that might have been said in the musical “Guys and Dolls“.

            I also understand now that Clueless is a sharp piece of satire and an homage to another literary work. The film is based on Emma, the famous Jane Austin novel about a young matchmaker proud of her ability to match up close friends and relatives with what she feels is best for them (except, she falls prey to the monsters she makes of them, leading to betrayals, etc). She must become humble, which mostly comes from the subtly flirtatious encounters of an older gentleman in her life (Paul Rudd’s character Josh in the Clueless) who wins her heart and ends her single-hood, as all romantic comedies must.

            The only thing that wasn’t lost on me at 10-years-old was that everyone in the movie didn’t look like sophomores in high school. They looked much older, much more mature than they ought to have been.

            Oh yeah! That, and the item donated to Cher during the canned good drive was pretty obvious. Some have said it was a bong, but I know that it was, in fact, a potato shredder (similar to a pencil sharpener, but for potatoes). They existed in the 90s (it did not) and were a dangerous kitchen utensil.

            Of that, I was correct at 10-years-old and still maintain that’s what the tinny device sorted as “Kitchen wear” was used for.

            Why else keep it in the kitchen?

***

EVO 2022

            I’ll be brief: this past weekend was EVO 2022, the premiere fighting game tournament held in Las Vegas, Nevada every year. It’s a storied tournament that was particularly eventful this year for several reasons, many of which deserve its own post on this website. So, this Saturday Sunday at 8 PM, I’ll be posting an essay of this year’s event and the storylines that unfolded.

            Look out for that Saturday Sunday @ 8PM EST (Sorry all, put the wrong day! Sunday instead of Saturday)

***

  1. “Tomorrow” by Young the Giant
  2. “Too Dramatic” by Ra Ra Riot
  3. “About Damn Time” by Lizzo

***

Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,

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| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #39

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

ROCK GODS

            Why is music today so terrible? 

            It’s an argument I hear from anyone older (my generation included) who turns on any modern FM radio station: “Music isn’t like it used to be,” and “They aren’t even playing instruments now,” or, most frequently, “What do you call this crap, anyway?”

            And I tend to agree. My golden age of music was from a post-punk UK indie movement where Bloc Party, Foals, Interpol, Kaiser Chiefs and the like were my Rock Gods and wrote the anthems that defined my adolescent years. They ruled the stage, sold out arenas, and changed the music landscape with a sound and attitude that still resonates.

            My dad’s generation had The Beatles, Elton John, Chicago. The guys I play hockey with laud anything Rush, Led Zeplin, AC/DC, perhaps straying into the cheeseburger rock paradise of Jimmy Buffett. My generation likened teen angst to screamo ballads and frantic guitar strumming: Green Day, Foo Fighters, Paramore. 

            And on and on it goes, bygone eras where the music brought together droves of people and has lasted throughout our lives on Spotify playlists, blasting around campfires on JBL speakers the neighborhood over. 

            But not the music of today, it feels like. Why does it seem like today’s music lacks such defining bands and songs?

            Where have all the Rock Gods gone?

            That’s where it started for me this week. While at a friend’s house, I found an old instrument stashed away in a box in his basement. It wasn’t an old electric guitar, or the hard-shell case of an abandoned marching band instrument unused since graduation day. What I found was a miniaturized plastic guitar, shaped like a Fender Stratocaster, with six rectangular, rainbow-colored buttons assorted down the neck, one occupying each of the farthest frets. A large switch, maybe three inches long, clicked up and down, spring-loaded back into position where the strings would normally be strummed. 

            This was the controller of the game Guitar Hero and was instrument to some of the greatest Rock Gods that ever played.

            Oh, I can see the grin of skepticism on all your faces. Don’t worry, I used to laugh at them, too. Why would anyone put all their efforts into fake learning “Sweet Home Alabama?” or “Thunder”? If they were so good at the game, why didn’t they just learn a real instrument?

            And yet, everyone stopped to watch these Rock Gods play. The superhighway of colored rectangles flashed on the screen at breakneck speed, and these Rock Gods kept in rhythm with every chord progression, every solo riff, and we all watched in wonder while all the hits were played—Black Sabbath, Mötley Crüe, DragonForce. We couldn’t help ourselves. 

            We watched because music isn’t concerned about what is real or earned (like an actual guitar versus as a two-foot-long plastic one), it was all about being involved.

            It’s the same reason we love the Rock Gods that we do. They make us feel alive with their music, with their swagger, and we channel that into our lives. There’s nothing like seeing a live band perform the shit out of the songs they’ve made. Even cover bands qualify. The same goes for players of Guitar Hero and Rock Band who hit 100% accuracy after a session of “Through the Fire Flames” and “The Pretender”.

            “Hey, remember Guitar Hero?” I asked my friend after dusting off the old controller.

            “Yeah, I don’t play anymore,” he said.

            “No one does. We should play it, though.”

            So we did, pretending we were the same Rock Gods that hadn’t aged a day past 16-years-old. And the joy of playing those old tracks came flooding back, all from a guitar-shaped piece of plastic and six colorful buttons.

            “Music is anything but math,” Andrew Bird, perhaps on the greatest musicians of the last decade, once said.

            I believe that goes for why we love the music we do, even if it comes from the Guitar Hero catalogue, or from the auto-tuning synth-lords of this generation. 

            We all pay tribute to our own Rock Gods because they move us. They make our lives meaningful, perhaps in a way that only music ever could.

            And as long as there is music, even if we don’t like it, there will always be its Rock Gods.

            That’s what I thought about driving home from playing an hour of Guitar Hero. I turned off my Apple Music playlist in the car, switched to a non-static FM station, and listened to something from today.

            And immediately shut it off after a minute.

            I tried. These aren’t my Rock Gods; but I know now that they are somebody’s.

            Even those who listen to Jack Harlow.

***

I’M HALLUCINATING, YOU’RE HALLUCINATING…

            Here’s a thought to unsettle you for the rest of your life: everything you perceive, from sunshine beaming in through the window, to the sounds of people bustling around you, to the smell of the coffee steaming from the mug at your desk…all of it is made up in the mind as a glorious, biochemical hallucination.

            Yes, this is the Matrix.

            So, would you like the Red or Blue pill?

            I’m joking, of course, but the premise of being plugged into our senses strikes closer to home when it comes to understanding consciousness than previously thought.

            In Anil Seth’s TED Talk, he explains that what we perceive the world to be is really the body’s sensory system finely tuned over millions of years of evolution to calculate an accurate depiction of reality. We see color and shadow because it helps us identify contrast or danger (brightly colored berries, insects, reptiles usually signaled ‘danger’ in primitive man); we distinguish noises from loud to silent as we’re able to understand if danger is approaching. It became useful, through our evolution, to identify the world around us. Most humans interpret sensory signals in the same ways: grass is green, the sky is blue, a splash of water feels wet, etc, etc.

            But within the finer points of our sensory organs, we are making approximations based on our own experiences and personal abilities to understand what is real around us. Even though we understand that grass is green (well, maybe not in your neighbor’s yard), the eye cannot actually “see” anything; rather, it is a bodily organ that translates wavelength frequencies to the mind, and the occipital lobe “determines” what is being seen.

            And in some cases, the mind can be wrong about what it sees.

            Take this famous optical illusion shown below:

Edward H. Adelson

            The darkness of the checkered boxes outside of the pillar’s shadow seem to be darker in the checkered Box A than the checkered Box B, but this is only our mind’s approximation of what seems to be correct in terms of what we know of light and shadow. In reality, the two boxes are the same color:

            So, who is to say our senses are to be totally trusted?

            As Anil Seth says in his TED Talk: “Reality is the hallucination we all agree on.”

            It’s a wonderful notion, isn’t it? To think this is why animals see things differently, like how dogs can only perceive different color spectra. We all see things in our own way…so long as we all agree that Jack Harlow is just ok.

            I’m kidding. I have nothing against that guy, I just like his name as a punchline.

            All of this and more is covered in the Anil Seth’s TED Talk below. It’s a cathartic 20-minutes and worth the watch:

***

  1. “Hang Around” by Echosmith
  2. “Symphony” by Imagine Dragons
  3. “Weak Teeth” by gglum

***

Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,

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| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #37

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

A TALE OF MILWAUKEE

I took a two-day trip to Milwaukee for two reasons: to get away from West Michigan and experience someplace else for a short while, and to meet a girl. I did both. And while writing this Weekly Post-Ed and describing my experiences, I felt that what I wrote wasn’t quite as true as the journals I kept during my time there. I was writing in a way that portrayed Milwaukee as mundane or uninteresting, which was far from the truth. There were mundane aspects about the trip: the drive was fine, the hotel was fine, the girl was – to put it nicely – fine. So, what gives? I traveled to some place I’ve never seen before, enamored with its architecture and history, a culture that was bustling and interwoven between every race, class, shape, and construct, like a fine soup streaming through the busy sidewalks of the city.

            And yet, I was writing about these experiences with a certain expectation after the fact;

            I was hoping for something cathartic to happen to me while I was there.

            Maybe I was supposed to run into an interesting group of people who would invite me to a party and offset how I saw the world up until that point, or that I might bump into someone in a coffee shop that was intrigued by me. No such things happened, of course, and I’ve sat at my computer for the past few days pondering what exactly to make of my time in Milwaukee.

            But maybe this isn’t such a complicated problem. I journaled all of my experiences on the road. The problem is that the length of these writings, even cut and pasted together, is a bit long for a Weekly Post-Ed. So, I’m going to compile these entries into a travelogue about what happened in Milwaukee.

            If you can’t wait for the juicy details, here’s a rundown of what happened:

  1. Drove for 4.5 hours straight until arriving in Milwaukee.
  2. Checked into the Drury Plaza Hotel
  3. Walked the streets downtown, saw the river, saw Lake Michigan from the other side (looked similar, really).
  4. Had a date that evening with someone I’ve talked with sparsely from a dating app.
  5. Went to bed.
  6. Spent most of the following day in my hotel, exhausted from a variety of factors (the lingering fatigue of my previous bout with Covid as one of them).
  7. Walked the streets of Milwaukee on a Monday—fun fact, most everything is closed on Mondays in Milwaukee
  8. Had a second date with the same girl; regretted not kissing her when I should have.
  9. Slept early.
  10.  Had brunch with this same date. No kiss, again. Regretted it, again.
  11.  Drove 4.5 hours home.

            And somewhere in there was supposed to be this grand, ubiquitous breakthrough that would provide the foundation for a summer I’ve deemed as a fresh start, a way of cleansing the old for the new.

            What I found was that all of this did unfold on the trip, just not in the way I expected.

            In fact, I wrote it during my time in the hotel:

“I wouldn’t call it boredom, but there is a feeling of, “Is this all?” And, yes, I think that’s right. This is likely all, and the fun travelers have is the fun they make for themselves.”

            The Milwaukee 2022 Travelogue will be posted this weekend. Keep an eye out for that!

***

PHOTOBOMBING

            There was a social experiment done at the University of Florida with a photography class. The class was split into two groups: the first group was told they were to be graded on QUANTITY—meaning, they were to take as many photos as possible for the best grade. The second group was told their grade would be based on QUALITY—or deciding upon a select group of photos that best exhibited their skills.

            The results of the experiment showed two things: first, that the QUANTITY group not only produced more photos, but that the quality of their photos was better. This was because the pressure to produce a select number of photos to be excellent didn’t exist. The QUANTITY group could take as many photos as they liked and the freedom to experiment led to considerably better results.

            The QUALITY group, by contrast, produced a significantly smaller number of photographs. Since the grade was about excellence, the students in this group did not take excess photos that would, as a result, push the boundaries of what they knew currently about photography. In short, the QUALITY group played it safe in order to appease the professor, which led to a stunting of growth with their photography skills and the photographs suffered as a result.

            The lesson that has been derived from this social experiment is that with more QUANTITY, it follows there will also be more QUALITY.

            Now, I wrote all of that to say that my experiences with dating apps DOES NOT FOLLOW these findings whatsoever.

            I’ve been online dating for 13 months (on and off, of course). Over that period, I’ve been on dates with 22 different women. Before this era of dating, I went on a grand total of 3 dates as a teenager and into my early college years, two of these dates developed into serious, long-term relationships (one a brief marriage), and I thought I was doing fairly well in terms of finding romantic partners that connected and resonated with me.

            By contrast, the past year has introduced me to dates with such staggering backgrounds and belief systems that I’m often left speechless by stories that I could never fathom to make up as a writer (believe me, I have tried—these stories are much more complex and surprising).

            My ultimate goal with dating is to find a meaningful, long-term relationship. And after 13 months, I have to ask: what’s been going wrong over the past year? Why haven’t I found a serious connection?

            In short: I don’t know.

            And after reading books, articles, and constantly introspecting on the matter…I don’t think anyone does.

            It appears we’re living in an era where genuine connection is a trial in and of itself.

            But I’ve certainly had a QUANTITY of dates (22 women in just over 52 weeks is a potent sample size in the greater dating world). So why hasn’t this led to better QUALITY in dates?

            First, I think bad luck plays a bigger role in the dating world than it does with a skill that can be improved over time like, say, photography. Dating certainly depends on many elements not in your control: natural chemistry, a person’s background/belief system/social ability, which leads to how open and communicative they are as dates, as well as a willingness to keep curious and want to know more about another person. This listing doesn’t account for other social conventions such as access to to instant gratification that has become available – oh, I don’t know – EVERYWHERE in the modern age (streaming services, social media, the internet and the never-ending wealth of information available instantly and from wherever to name a few).

            Since all of these variables are ever-shifting, it makes the practice of dating something impossible to master since you aren’t playing with a full deck of cards most nights.

            To take the photography example from above a bit further: it’s the equivalent of snapping a photo, but the resulting image is either distorted or that objects shifted in the background without warning. Can you imagine? A tree branch moves in the way of a crimson sunset, a sandhill appears blurry – not because of the camera settings, but just – you know – because it can. 

            Essentially, everything in the image can “PhotoBomb”—the act of jumping in front, garnering attention, or taking away from the intended intention of the photo by some means.

            That about wraps up what online dating feels like—a giant Photobomb that gets in the way of a genuine connection. Oh, things might have gone well except for (and I’ve experienced all of these and more):

  • “I have a close relationship with my ex, I hope it’s not weird that I sometimes go to his house to spend the night when I need to get things off my chest. He’s such a great listener…”
  • “I’m sorry, but I’m looking for someone that is seeking a relationship with Jesus like I am. It doesn’t seem like you go to church three nights a week like I do…”
  • “I don’t trust men. I’ve had a string of bad relationships, the last guy cheated on me with three different girls, and I just don’t see the good in them anymore. Anyway, I’m glad we’re on this date; how was your day?”
  • And on and on and on it goes…

            How does it feel to be on the dating scene for just over a year without the ultimate goal of a serious relationship?

            Picture that scene from the original Jumanji when Robin William’s character emerges from the board game and looks like a wild man who has survived the wilderness of a jungle that should have killed him since he was a kid.

            Yeah, that’s the psyche of someone who has online dated for too long.

            That’s why I take breaks. If not for my own sanity, but to remind myself that the results do not necessarily reflect the person. Will more practice lead to better results? Not really, but I like to think I gain something else with the more dates I go on.

            I have Twenty-Two unique stories to tell, each one of them more unique than the last. Each felt promising but was inevitably photobombed by something unexpected. If you think about it, 22 dates without coming close to a functional fit is quite the streak to be on.

            I should put together a photo album someday of all these experiences. Then, after this journey is said and done, I’ll pull out the album show a friend who wonders why I would ever keep such old, ugly things.

            “Why would you keep any of this?” she would ask as I flipped the plastic pages to the next story.

            And I’d shrug.

            Because I didn’t know what else to do with them.

***

“Wonderful Life” by Two Door Cinema Club

“Ramona” by Jukebox the Ghost

“Out of Style” by The Wrecks

***

Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,

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| Playlists |

Q2 – 2022 Playlist

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

It’s that time! Another 3 months of new music and this is the compiled playlist of everything that was a step above the rest (according to DJ Robert Hyma…not a real DJ name, just trying to get the point across that I catered this list). In Q2 of 2022, lots of new releases came from seminal favorites like Arcade Fire, Foals, and even a new album from my favorite band Bloc Party.

There were some great new finds as well. Jalle and Saint Kochi were surprises and I found myself listening to them quite often. instant crush has a great range and angst behind their sound, as well as a much more jam-based, saxophone centric band Loose Fit.

Sure Sure, one of my favorite bands from the last two years, has new EP out that is absolutely worth the listen. New tracks by Max Frost and Pomplamoose rounded out the playlist into something exciting but familiar. And, of course, a new track sung by Lin-Manuel Miranda about mothers was the musical theater cherry on top.

There’s something in this playlist for everyone and I’m curious to hear what you’ve found as well!

Below is the track listing as well as links to Apple Music and Spotify playlists.

Enjoy!

  1. “Playlist” by Besphrenz
  2. “Picture” by dee holt & Chris James
  3. “Dreams” by MisterWives
  4. “All I need” by Sir Woman
  5. “Downers (feat. Issey Cross)” by Jalle
  6. “Almost Lost” by Saint Kochi
  7. “T” by 88rising, Hikaru Utada & Warren Hue
  8. “Nightmare” by instant crush
  9. “In Situ” by Bloc Party
  10. “This Time” by Sure Sure
  11. “CHAMPAGNE” by Valley
  12. “Honey” by Abhi The Nomad
  13. “Rain On Me” by Lady Gaga, Ariana Grande & Purple Disco Machine
  14. “Ringo Starr” by Max Frost
  15. “Disposable Friends” by AVIV
  16. “Meteorite” by Anna of the North & Gus Dapperton
  17. “Stupid Drama” by Loose Fit
  18. “Unconditional I (Lookout Kid)” by Arcade Fire
  19. “Break the Rules” by Charlie XCX
  20. “Then It All Goes Away” by Dayglow
  21. “Life Was Easier When I Only Cared About Me” by Bad Suns
  22. “As It Was (feat. Sarah Dugas)” by Pomplamoose
  23. “Always Got The Love” by Cub Sport
  24. “Muthers R Speshel (Wen Yer Sad)” by Lin-Manuel Miranda & Joe Iconis & Family
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| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #36

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

LONELY ON THE FOURTH OF JULY

Writing about America today is much like trying to message an ex-girlfriend. And if you haven’t written an ex-girlfriend in a state of desperation, perhaps on the eve of a meaningful anniversary that provokes feelings of only the good times (*cough* July Fourth *cough*)—congratulations, you’ve saved yourself the trouble doing something incredibly stupid.

But upon reflecting on this year’s Fourth of July and the ambivalence the country feels towards celebrating its day of Independence, it feels like a tale of broken love. So, if you’re struggling with how to feel this Fourth of July, might I invite you to indulge in an episode of writing your ex a message.

Please enjoy:

**

            Yes, it’s tempting to send HER a message. You’ve spent draft after draft writing your heart into the text, explaining everything as you saw it. Now, all that’s left to do is send the message, digitally, in a world where there are no take backs (Ha ha!). After all, why shouldn’t you send it? You want to still like this person, even love them, but you also understand that with all your differences and the storied history of how it all went wrong between the two of you…there’s no healing those old wounds.

            Some things should be left to scab up and become ugly scar tissue as a reminder of why things go so horribly wrong to begin with.

            So, let’s take a moment and explore just why, on this Fourth of July, you are writing HER (America, if you haven’t caught on with the symbolism here yet).

            Well, isn’t it obvious? SHE’s still pretty hot, even after all these years. Plus, SHE’s single and, well, you’re single…so why can’t you two just, you know, work it out and relive some of those great years the two of you had together?

            Ok, not all the years were great. SHE did have a fling with that guy Terry when you thought SHE needed a break to sort herself out. Why did SHE ever go for a guy like Terry? Everyone knew he was loud and obnoxious. He told enormous lies about how great he was, lies about business ventures that were major successes (they were not), and how he was a savvy real-estate tycoon, which, sorry, has anyone ever bought a house from Terry? Would you buy a house from Terry? Because NO ONE buys a house from a guy like Terry.

            Ugh.

            But you’re understanding. You could still see the appeal of why SHE would go for a guy like that. He was the opposite of what you were: confident, brash, outspoken, and lots of people loved him…yes, so very annoyingly so. But eventually SHE saw Terry wasn’t the end-all-be-all. He was terrible boyfriend material and should have never been elected to boyfriend status. Four years later, SHE finally rounded the corner and dumped him. Thank God!

            (Well, Terry claims he dumped HER, but EVERYONE knows it was really the other way around. Sorry Terry, you’re not fooling anyone.)

            So here you are on the Fourth of July and things are better, right? SHE’s single, you’re new and improved, having grown so much since the old days. Just send HER the great message you wrote about how it can work out again. You just need HER to join you and work as a team. How could SHE say no to all of that?

            Then you remember: it isn’t just HER any longer. There’s also Todd, HER 2-year-old son.

            Yes, Terry’s son. Turns out, there were consequences with Terry being in the picture–you don’t just escape from Terrys of the world.

            SHE had Todd with Terry just after SHE was done with you. And even though you washed your hands of HER, you heard through the grapevine that SHE was pregnant. The betrayal! SHE said SHE would only have a kid with someone SHE truly loved! And SHE had a child with Terry of all people?!

            Terry???

            You’re double the man Terry ever was. Just about any man is double the man that Terry is.

            So, now you’re hesitating to send the heartfelt message that would win HER heart back. Maybe it isn’t worth reconciling with someone like that, the type of person to have a Todd with a Terry (the absolute worst).

            Yeah, that’s right! You remember it all, now! You remember the last fight and all the terrible things SHE said about you before she left.

            “I just feel like we’re going in different directions,” SHE had said that night. “I want to get things back on track, and the only way to do that is through my Supreme Court commandeering a constitutional agenda with zero oversight. It’s the only hope our relationship has, don’t you get it? We have to throw away our bipartisan objectivity and start ruling on legislative agendas that derail the entire democratic process if we’re ever going to get anywhere. We all want this.”

            “Where is this coming from? I thought we were happy,” you tell HER, with scoff followed by confused, hopeless scoff.

            SHE quickly dries a tear from HER eye, as though this speech is hurting HER more than it is hurting you. “I wish you would have just supported me when I needed it. If you had approved of the direction my court was taking us in supplanting its responsibilities and taking the reins of whatever jurisdiction is being awarded by a passive congress and picketing White House, we might had had a chance. But I have to do what’s right for me, and that’s supporting the RIGHT team so that they win. I’m sorry…if you’re not with me, you’re against me.”

            “What is this, 9/11? Like I haven’t heard that before!” You tell HER. But SHE’s already gone to the bedroom to pack up a suitcase.

            And you stood there. You stood there wondering how SHE could say such nonsense. Where did SHE learn any of this? From that one cable news network? Why is it shown in restaurants like that? Scaring kids and adults, and apparently ruining relationships!

            SHE couldn’t have been serious. What did courts have to do with your love? You were both BIGGER than any court in the land, right? Did SHE mean something else instead? No, no, SHE really did change. This isn’t the same person you fell in love with. Something happened to HER. SHE wasn’t always this excluding and cruel, conforming to the “right” team winning (who was SHE even referring to? Tell me it wasn’t TERRY!!).

            Now you’re riled up. You’re pacing the room. This is all HER fault!

            It’s clear what you have to do: delete the message. 

            There’s no reconciliation. There’s no “friends with benefits” between the two of you. SHE has clearly gone crazy! It’s not like you said anything hurtful.

            …well, that’s not entirely true. 

            You did get your say that night as you followed HER to the bedroom where SHE packed the suitcase. You stood in the doorway and said:

            “What kind of backwards and dystopian world being gerrymandered by troll-looking white men with no other currency than fat bank accounts, hedge funds, and insider trading for investments given to them by their rich Troll fathers are you talking about?” 

            You might have shouted this, doesn’t matter. SHE deserved to finally hear what’s been on your mind. 

            “What? You want us to be like all the other white elitists parading intellectually empty minds around like its a badge of honor, who claim religious superiority and values as a skimpy disguise for textbook patriarchy and a Machiavellian pursuit to rule everyone else for no other reason than to hide a crippling and intense sense of insecurity? Am I getting this right? You want us to flaunt that change is BAD and we will all rue the day when new policy helps evolve and leave the world a different place, which will upend the inevitable power struggle of – and I’ll say it again – FAT, PASTY white men who look EXACTLY like storybook TROLLS?? Seriously, who would ever fuck these guys?”

            SHE was oddly quiet when you said this. Little did you know that Terry was already back in the picture even before you two officially ended.

            “Since when did you become a parasitic, weak woman subservient to the patriarchal hierarchy, painted red, white, and blue with the period blood of your canceled reproductive rights, along with a laundry list of other liberties they will invariably take from you next!”

            “You just don’t get it,” SHE said. “You never have.”

            That’s when SHE walked out. Without the suitcase.

            SHE didn’t even have the decency to say it was over. And maybe that was a hip, Hollywood way of saying it was really over anyway, kind of like characters who don’t need to say obvious lines in a movie if there’s a better way of relaying the information through imagery or symbolism. But still! It was classless to just walk out.

            …and back into Terry’s arms. Probably. You haven’t checked HER Facebook photos recently…

            (You can’t state enough how much you hate Terry…)

            And now there’s little Todd, who might as well be the next Terry.

            You sit down, not knowing what to do.

            Is it worth messaging HER? Was any of this worth fussing over? Things were great, once, but can it ever be again with HER?

            That’s when it hits you:

            Maybe not this year.

            Save a draft of the message, stash it in a folder somewhere in the cloud, and reread it next year.

            Maybe it will make more sense later on. Give it some more time.

            Bang.

            Boom.

            Red, white, and blue in the windowpanes.

            Fireworks light up the treetops of the neighbor’s property. They’ve bought the good stuff again this year. At least there’s that.

            How pretty, you think.

            Kind of like how SHE used to be…

***

SO, I CURRENTLY HAVE COVID…

            As I write all this, I’m currently quarantined in a room recovering from Covid-19. It’s my first positive test, which is a strange feeling. To many of us, a Covid test is like a viral pregnancy test (which sounds like a pregnancy test that “everyone must see to believe!”, but that’s not what I mean—I mean “viral” as in “virus-based”. Duh). You swab your nose, put the swab in the tube, swish it around, put on the cap, pinch four drops onto the testing dial, and then wait twenty minutes for results.

            If there’s one line, it means negative.

            If two lines, IT MEANS YOU ARE GOING TO BE A NEW DAD!!

            **Stadium cheers**

            (I’m kidding. And the scope of that joke is even shallower than usual considering the abysmal decision of the Supreme Court’s re-ruling on Roe v. Wade—seriously, fuck that institution and it’s geriatric need to revert back to the “good ol’ days” of an imaginary “perfect” White, patriarchal America.)

            But much like any positive testing, there is a moment when you realize that your life was one way, and, after the test, it is now another. There was a conscious understanding of, “Oh, now I can’t go out and see people if I want to,” and “Oh, now I have to stay in a room for a week and keep to myself”.

            And if you’re a creative introvert (like me) who thrives with being alone and would have loved to take a week away from everyone and everything anyway…

I can happily report it was a much needed vacation!

            As I’m coming to the tail-end of my quarantine, the biggest thing I’ve learned about myself is how much shaving I should start doing on a regular basis. Honestly, a shave every 3-4 days just isn’t enough.

            And if this wasn’t the life lesson that a potentially debilitating virus was trying to teach me in my 33rd year of living, then I don’t know what is. Maybe I should have thought more about prioritizing my health and relationships, but that’s just not how it played out. I can’t help it, life isn’t pretty—and the lesson I gleaned from this time of solitude was PLEASE SHAVE MORE OFTEN.

            Thank you, Covid, I will follow thy sage lesson and remind myself to shave more.

            …and will totally forget to apply said lesson when life becomes busy again.

            Maybe on the next mutation I catch I will finally apply it.

            Speaking of, when’s that third booster coming out? Soonish?

***

OOO! THAT NEW BIOSHOCK INFINITE LOOK…

            Hey, the answer was in the section title: I’ve redesigned my website in the style of Bioshock Infinite. You guessed it, another one of my favorite video games. 

            I’ll save on the spoilers in case you haven’t seen/played/heard of Bioshock Infinite, but it is a game that I feel strongly encompasses the current mood of this American cultural climate. As such, it felt like the perfect design to accompany this website through the summer months of 2022 as we try – VERY HARD – to not devolve into a dystopian state.

            I’m mostly kidding. Dystopia is a strong word. But if I were currently playing America: The Game (set to release on PC in 2025), I’m not sure how I would avoid the word “Dystopia” in describing the game…see what I mean?

            Hmm, maybe I’m looking for a different “Dys” word, just a step before a Dystopia.

            Dysfunctional. Hey, that’s a better word!

            We’ll go with Dysfunctional.

            Anyway, attached below is the art I’ve made for the background and header. If you look closely behind the torn American flag of the background image, you might see the menacing copper eye of the Songbird.

            **Shivers**

            And serious question: is the Songbird a machine, a mutated man, or just a really big bird? There’s lore behind it, I’m sure, but I was always too terrified to check it out personally.

            But now that I’m nearly recovered from Covid, maybe I am now brave enough to look up the answer myself?

            Nah.

            Best not tempt Covid to overhear and come back even stronger. Some things are best kept secret.

            That’s right, easily-lookup-able-information, you win this round…

***

  1. “Meteorite” by Anna of the North & Gus Dapperton
  2. “Unconditional I (Lookout Kid)” by Arcade Fire
  3. “Break the Rules” by Charli XCX

***

Wishing everyone as well as they can be. You’re not alone out there,

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| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #35

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

IS IT MAD OR MADNESS?

            Isn’t it exciting to write about the latest Marvel thing on a weekly basis? You gotta hand it to the scheduling and release partners at Disney: they know how to keep everyone talking about the latest superhero centerpiece (that goes for Star Wars, too).

            Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness did an incredible job in its promotional material. Throughout the trailers, there were hints that Wanda Maximoff (the Scarlett Witch) was going to accompany Doctor Strange on a Multiversal adventure. This ends up being true, but Wanda is the antagonist of the film, which paved a way for a horror/superhero mashup (thanks to Director Sam Raimi and his expertise of the genre) that explores the ideas of just how powerful someone in the MCU can be. Turns out with great power comes great potentiality for horror and gore.

            And also: just a ton of fun.

            Spoilers aside, this is another MCU movie that explores the larger idea of the Multiverse. And, I’m beginning to see a concern:

            If there are an infinite number of replacements that can fill in for any given hero dying, what does it matter if someone actually tragically gets killed? Can’t we just, you know, replace them with another variant from another universe?

            I immediately thought about Avengers: Endgame when Tony Stark (I suppose spoilers for those who have not seen it…but I’d also ask: what are you even reading this for?) sacrifices himself in order to use the Infinity Stones to stop Thanos. This moment kills Iron Man, as it did Robert Downey Jr.’s portrayal of the beloved snarky genius/billionaire. Well, by the nature of the Multiverse, what’s to stop another Tony Stark (another that looked exactly like Robert Downey Jr.) to transplant into the current MCU timeline? Does it all mean nothing if we can replace the death of Iron Man with a brand new, fresh-off-the-shelf Multiversal variant?

            What about Captain America and his “retirement” to a life with his true love from WW2, Peggie Carter? Do we simply pluck another Captain America (specifically a Chris Evans portrayal of Steve Rogers) from the shelf and continue as though nothing happened?

            I think toying with the ideas of loss in this way is dangerous for how we feel about characters. If there are no consequences, why care about death and loss and stakes at all?

            And yet, I think this plays out much like the nature of playing video games. In a game, you get infinite lives, infinite chances to complete the level/story/playthrough.There are games that are more brutal than others, that punish the player for dying (any Souls-like game, really), but does that make them more satisfying to beat or meaningful to play if the penalty for losing a life costs that much more?

            I think the answer here is no.

            If the point is to see the conclusion of the game, perhaps there’s little value in placing strict punishment on the player for dying. 

            After all, we just want to see what happens next.

            And I think this is why we accept the notion of a MCU Multiverse: we care about the characters and respect who they were in any given story. Just because there’s a Tony Stark nearly identical to Robert Downey Jr.’s portrayal somewhere out there who could just take over the role…I don’t think that means the original fate of the original Iron Man meant nothing. I think it means just as much because Iron Man isn’t a commodity, he was a beloved character we built a relationship with. 

            Without that connection, without those key moments, it doesn’t matter how identical a character appears to be, they will never be the same thing as before. So, naturally, we care about BOTH.

            And we, the audience, understand the difference.

            I think this is encouraging in terms of story evolution. Will we like new properties that have yet to appear such as the Young Avengers and the Illuminati? Yes, I think so. If Marvel has done one thing with the MCU, they have kept things interesting. I want to know what happens next. I don’t know why, but I like what I’ve seen and I want to see more.

            If there’s anything a strong story has at its core it is the ability to make the audience want to turn the page and see what happens next.

            So, after having watched Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness, I say:

            “Cool. What’s next?”

***

THE BEST TIMELINE OF ROBERTHYMAWRITES.COM

            Speaking of multiple universes, is it not likely that this reality (yup, the one you’re reading this from) is not going so well? It’s hard to look around in the year 2022 and think that everything is going swimmingly. It feels like an ancient Egyptian tomb was desecrated and a curse was placed over the land (a never-ending Pandemic, a political landscape close to implosion because of outright zany ideas about racial superiority and those that deserve more than others). 

            I mean, what’s going on? It feels like opposite world: yes means no, no means yes, and somehow everyone finds it ok to pay for internet when it should be free.

            This universe has gone sour.

            Naturally, I can only wonder if there’s a reality out there where Robert Hyma (me) is happy and successful with being a writer and owns a similarly titled website (perhaps called something snarkier like “RobertHymaCreates.com, a much more accurate depiction of someone who does more than just write). Maybe in this other universe, I’ve conquered my fear of possible success and showing people the creative works I make and have no problem accepting a compliment or criticism. Maybe I’ve ridden himself of the anxiety of perfectionism and wanting to make everything as great as possible before showing someone.

            Yes, in that reality, I would be happily married, with delightful children (who adore and respect me, of course—none of that, “Oh, your kids won’t appreciate you or what you do because MINE sure will…in this reality, that is). I will have found financial stability in a way that lets me give back to my parents and community that has been supportive and paramount in shaping me into the competent writer (creator) I eventually became.

            And on and on and on it goes…

            Yeah, doesn’t sound half bad.

            To be fair, though, I should give myself ONE debilitating attribute. No reality is perfect, so let’s say in the best timeline of Roberthymawrites.com I have a horrible fear of mice. I don’t in this universe, but in the other universe, I’m as afraid as Scooby-Doo and Shaggy are of g-g-g-ghosts! From my fame and name, there are those that still hate my work (which, even in the best universe is ridiculous to me, but hey, it is statistically likely that I’m going to be despised by about 33% of people who know of my work). So, they send package after package of live mice to my rather humble home (probably just outside a major city). Someone graffities a whimsical mouse character on my mailbox, my car, even tossing fake mice at my children as they walk to school (yes, in this universe walking to school is still a thing).

            The mice are getting out of hand, and I try to plead with these people to stop harassing my family and home with all the mice. But these mice terrorists are malicious. There’s no convincing them that firing mouse after mouse from home-made catapults is not only a violation of PETA, but causing a huge uptick in maggots and rodents in the area.

            I’m still happy, in this other universe, but the mice are a huge problem. Especially for my nerves.

            Anyway, that’s another timeline. In THIS timeline, I’m just an anonymous, small-town writer named Robert Hyma attempting to write another Weekly Post-Ed and this was my best idea.

            (In many ways, I think I’d take this material over the mice.)

            Still, through it all, I remember as the great philosopher René Descartes once said:

            “I think (I exist in other universes), therefore I am (probably happier there…minus the rodents).”

***

  1. “Rain On Me” (Purple Disco Machine Remix – Edit) by Lady Gaga, Ariana Grande, and Purple Disco Machine
  2. “Ring Starr” by Max Frost
  3. “Disposable Friends” by AVIV

***

Wishing everyone as well as you can be. You’re not alone out there,

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| Weekly Post-Eds |

Weekly Post-Ed #34

by Robert Hyma
written by Robert Hyma

MOONLIGHTING

            Watching the latest Marvel Disney+ series has become a weekly staple. WandaVision and Loki were experimental in ways that helped bolster the Marvel Cinematic Universe and expanded upon ideas that helps set up movies in ways that, perhaps, were not going to go over well if entirely introduced through films alone. Every little bit helps, especially with a concept like the Multiverse, and a rendition of explanations for how it all stems together (time travel, multiple selves, multiple realities, and the consequences of traveling from one to the other) makes it all a bit easier to swallow.

            If your head is spinning from that paragraph alone, then wait, there’s more.

            Moon Knight is a show that follows the superhero exploits of a man suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) or commonly known as multiple personalities. Oscar Isaac plays two completely different characters mashed into one: the English-speaking Steven Grant, and the former mercenary Marc Spector who is responsible for donning the cape and cowl of the Moon Knight avatar in the first place.

            Oh, and not to mention that Moon Knight is endowed with the powers of the Egyptian god Khonshu, a 10-foot tall skeletal bird wrapped in mummy cloth and wielding a giant crescent staff.

            What floored me about the show was Oscar Isaac’s versatility. It was easy to care for Steven Grant, the personality imbued with goodness and someone down on his luck, the character we begin the show following. And when the supernatural occurs (Egyptian creatures chasing after the unlucky Steven Grant) it was easy to like Marc Spector, the typical hero type with a messy, violent skillset and scarred past to heal from. Both sets of characters complimented the other and were eventually forced to work together in order to defeat a bigger threat—yet another Egyptian god shaped like a anthropomorphic crocodile/lady named Ammit and her biggest follower, Arthur Harrow (as played by the great Ethan Hawk).

            The show builds around the mystery of how one personality (Steven Grand and Marc Spector) of hides from the other and just what happens when the two are forced to confront one another. In the greatest episode of the series, Marc and Steven are two separate entities attempting to escape death (or, really, an asylum designed by either Steven and Marc in order to cope with the realities of sharing a body between two completely separate personalities). It’s the deepest dive yet into the idea of self love, that even a made-up coping mechanism such as a personality (Steven Grant, it turns out) can be just as formidable and important as our original self, and that there can be love shared between the two. 

            My biggest gripe with the show is that the final episode felt rushed. A climax needed to take place with lots of action – and there was plenty with more Moon Knight fight scenes, giant kaiju battles between Egyptian gods, and another superhero borne from the action (whom I will not spoil) – and it felt like forty minutes was devoted to raising the ante. Maybe there was a question if the show could rebound with the previous episode being entirely devoted to the uncovering of backstory and the origins of Marc Specter and Steven Grant, but I think more trust needed to be placed in the two coming out of that headspace. Also, it was a heartbreaker that Ethan Hawk’s character, Harrow, was essentially tossed aside once the “true ” villain of the show emerged–a bit of an antithetical Dias Ex Machima in my opinion–I would have liked to see Harrow in the driver’s seat of his own actions and dealing with the consequences.

            It just felt like the show was over and quickly. I wish there had been another act to put everything to rest.

            But I suppose there will be a Moon Knight Season 2, so why give away all the tricks in a single run of the show? This certainly accounts for the twist ending in which [REDACTED] happens. Crazy, I know.

            Moon Knight was a very enjoyable watch. I’m always surprised and delighted at the subject matter Marvel explores with every new show, each new character. It truly is a big universe out there with the MCU, one that seems to never stop expanding.

***

DATES AND DETAILS #3

The Online Irish Goodbye

            Since dating apps bear no real consequences when it comes to messaging someone, there’s often a lot of ghosting (people who suddenly stop responding). Can you really blame anyone, though? Most ghosting isn’t malicious or intended to hurt anyone; it is just the result of too much volume. When matching with others, you aren’t waiting around for ONE specific person to reply. No, you’re casting a wide net and trying to get as many bites back as you can. This inevitably leads to many conversations going on at once, and in many cases, you just don’t have the conversational bandwidth to keep up.

            Some people get left behind. Or, that too much effort is required to keep the conversation going in the first place (ie. People who don’t ask questions, who don’t offer up details about their lives, and it makes it hard to comment–yeah, a little help on the other end would be nice).

            Conversations trail away and that’s just the way of online dating. Hey, people lead busy lives, what do you expect?

            But there’s another form of ghosting that’s unilaterally nasty in my opinion—and that’s un-matching someone without notice.

            In my experience, here are the only times to un-match with someone:

  1. After a consistent record of offensive comments has been said and the most viable option is to disconnect.
  2. It’s been a long time since any interaction has taken place, which likely means no date is imminent anyway.
  3. Ghosting by the other person and it’s been more than a week.

These scenarios make sense to drop someone.

            However, there are conversations I’ve had where someone un-matches MID-CONVERSATION. As in the three bubbles of someone typing their reply is on screen and suddenly…

            POOF!

            Un-Matched.

            So, why is this happening?

            Since people are not altogether menacing (in my experiences), I don’t think the intention is to hurt anyone. Rather, un-matching is probably about circumstances rather than the person (maybe she realized you live far away and didn’t realize it before, or he has a political/religious view or job that doesn’t mesh well with your lifestyle, etc). 

            Either way, the conversation ends the same way and that’s with a complete lack of saying goodbye.

            …which is kind of a rotten thing to do to someone, even by online standards.

            No one is obligated in the modern age to be cordial or kind on the internet. You don’t have to “officially” end anything with a line-in-the-sand statement to say it is over, but I think it does say something about the person who DOES the considerate thing and braves a little honesty. I think it speaks to how upstanding and aware of boundaries the person is, and I often come away respecting those who would say a brief, “Hey, sorry, but it’s not going to work out between us.”

            Of course, it’s easier NOT TO DO ANY OF THAT and, instead, give the ol’ Online Irish Goodbye where people just leave mid-conversation.

            But it is a bit strange. Even in real life.

            Have you ever experienced the Irish Goodbye? At party, say? Maybe you’ve been talking to someone, even platonically, and it’s going pretty well. You’re laughing. They’re laughing. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. And then this person just up and leaves??? You wonder what was wrong with that person. Why would leave without saying goodbye or having the decency to come up with a convincing lie?

            EVEN THE LIE IS MORE CONSIDERATE THAN JUST DISAPPEARING!

            Which is why, whenever I get the Ol’ Online Irish Goodbye, I come up with my own cover stories for those that suddenly disappear.

            So, Erin, let me just say this:

            “It’s ok, I get it. You’ve got a long history of OCD and when you see a stray dog from your cheap apartment window, you have to race after it, even at the cost of running into traffic and causing major accidents on rural roads (there were a fair few reported last week in the Grand Rapids area, please be forward and say you caused them, ok?). I know you wanted to check in with our pretty great conversation we were having, but the Sergeant in charge at the police station realized someone like you shouldn’t be dating, and immediately Un-Matched with me. He said it was for my own good. And you know? I have to agree.

            “So, Erin, this comes from the bottom of my heart (so you know it’s true): I am definitely too good for you and it was the right decision to disappear without a trace. Best of luck, and may all dogs escape your psychopathic need to chase after them into oncoming traffic.

            “Keep well (and properly medicated going forward).”

            Robert

***

  1. “This Time” by Sure Sure
  2. “CHAMPAGNE” by Valley
  3. “Honey” by Abhi The Nomad

***

Wishing everyone as well as you can. You’re not alone out there,

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