I had no idea that spam subjects poem would be such a hit! I’m glad some of you enjoyed it. It’s one of those strange things I do to relax. When I saw the subject line “Anthony Hopkins” I just had to go for it.

Yesterday, the MSG and I ended up making a series of assumptions which landed us on a very long and strenuous hike, which couldn’t have been a better metaphor if it had gone to Metaphor School and really, really applied itself. Today we are extremely sore, and have been hobbling around as a result. While we were hobbling across the street earlier, someone waiting at the stop sign grew so fed up with us that she yelled out her car window, “Move your FAT ASSES!” It was so strange and un-San-Franciscan that it confounded me for a few minutes. Then I decided to write about it later, and immediately felt better.

It’s quite freeing, this “expressing one’s feelings” thing.

For example, when people call someone a “wuss” for not wanting to tack on an additional insanely steep hill on an already crazy hike, those people must feel much better about themselves, because they have proven that they are somehow superior, just like when someone yells at people limping across a crosswalk, or when someone posts an unsolicited and particularly snarky critique of a website on the aforementioned website.

This is why I am writing this post: I, too, wish to express my feelings with a sense of smug entitlement. After all, now that we all have blogs and Twitter accounts and mobile phones, now that we are all able to communicate our special and unique feelings at all times, shouldn’t we? I mean, really: shouldn’t we? Is there any downside to this level of communication, this incessant emotional vomit?

As long as you’re not the receptacle, I suppose there isn’t. After all, it’s the receptacle’s fault for taking it.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.