A new feature will be incorporated into the Empire: Fuck You Fridays. In which I will unleash on a couple of people/items/issues/noises that are currently aggravating me, and then I encourage people to stop in and drain their own personal boils all over the comment thread. I expect it to be ugly, contentious, vicious and therapeutic, and I canNOT think of a better purpose for this stupid blog, short of posting unbearably cute pictures of cats, or Mekons videos.
While I'm all for letting it all out, I've also come to realize it's no place to stay... so I'm seeing this as a good way to purge and move on. Another good way to purge and move on??
As Rotten says:
Johnny Lydon once sang, "anger is an energy" and it does seem to work for him. So, next Friday, stop back for hate and anger and energy and spit and bile. Happy Times!!
Apparently Lydon wasn't the only one. This commentary reminded me of a letter received loooooong ago when I was still relatively green in what would be my college career. I was vacillating between majoring in science, art, and a few other majors I can't quite recall. I was doing some cartooning on the side and for some reason, felt compelled to write Edward Koren a letter, asking him for his insights. Why I did this, I have no idea. I've always felt free to write anyone, and strangely enough, most of those people usually wrote back. People were often amazed at this. I was often amazed at this. Mr. Koren was no exception. I'll never forget the day I dragged myself back to my college dorm, checking the mail before heading back upstair to the Virgin Vault. I spied a letter with horrible handwriting. Seeing what looked like a large, mishapen K, I assumed it was from my sister. Imagine my surprise when I saw that it was a letter from Mr. Koren, on wonderful New Yorker stationary. Say what you will about the New Yorker, but I was thrilled.
Inside the envelope was a lovely letter... a two-sided, handwritten letter, with thoughtful commentary, along with a few comments I didn't quite yet understand. I think at the time I was expecting a list of what to do's. Add A, mix in B, end up with C... or was hoping for that. That would be so much easier. Yes, there was some of that, but after that he added that the other object lesson he could pass on was anger- the "other" ingredient (see letter to the left.)
Yes, I still have the letter. I remember reading it and thinking, crap. I'm going to have to figure this out myself. Many, many years later, after happening upon the letter again, I reread it and it made sense.
Thank you Edward Koren.
Hey Rotten! Here's to our anger... and to us prosessing it into something beautiful... and maybe having a little fun along the way.
And as Mr. Koren so wisely stated: "With wishes for you discovering your own mistakes-"
Sometimes I hate being a mother and the reason is, it’s taken away my edge. Ok, I’ve always has a soft spot and can cry at the drop of a hat, but I have also always had a sharp tongue that often worked faster than my Emily Post filters. And then I became a mother… and yes, I’m still a pain in the ass, and yes, I can still rip someone up and down faster than I should, but there’s also that part of me that will always see the part that only a mother can love. And I hate it. I hate having to care about someone who’s being a pain. I hate having to look beyond the bad, the bitchy, and see the unmined gold that is you… and then make you soup… and build you up, even if you’ve torn me down…
Last night, while watching Top Chef, with Grizzled next to me, reading something more important than watching Top Chef, I heard one contestant say something about the Italian family having that important matriarch and how so much of that was tied up with the importance of a meal. I instinctively reached over, rubbed and patted Grizzled’s head. He understood the gesture and he thanked me for being nice. His mother was a pain… a huge CHALLENGE… especially to me… but she was Grizzled’s mother… and even in my hard ass times, I realize she had a mother… someone who loved her without question, and someone who probably would have ripped your eyes out if you have even suggested what a pain in the ass her daughter had been… would be.
We all came from mothers. We all have something only mothers can see… even if they were a pain and only saw it for a second… it’s still there. Maybe we should all head out with mother glasses, just for a day. It might make a difference.