Or, for the grouchy:

“Meh.”

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“Left, right, middle – politicians and citizens – sane and insane. This morning in Arizona, this age in which this country would accept “targeting” of political opponents and putting bullseyes over their faces and of the dangerous blurring between political rallies and gun shows, ended.”

My blood pressure was normal for the first time in months.

A good sign for the return of the groove…

• Hot dogs: any combination of mustard, relish, onions, chili and cheese. Never ketchup or avocado or any other cute bullshit.
• If you sign up for a website that publishes your attempts at fiction, you cannot post a new first draft every five fucking minutes and expect me to ooh and ahh over it like you’re bloody Shakespeare.
• Learn to spell or use your damn spell check while you’re at it.
• Hey, if there’s a red light 500 yards ahead, why the hell are you racing to get ahead of me only to stop at the freaking light? You know what kind of gas mileage you get at a stoplight? ZERO.
• If you drive a Hummer, massive pickup or some other large vehicle and you are not in the infantry, a farmer, a landscaper or someone who otherwise requires a large “fuck you” vehicle: I say you deserve to pay a big tax–and not just at the gas pump. You get a dumb-ass tax, to be exact. And everyone else gets the right to give you the finger.
• If you watch “professional wrestling” don’t whine to me that your kids are ill-behaved, poorly-read and prone to broken bones.
• If you vote Republican and make less than $500,000 per year, you’re a dumb ass. Why? Because they don’t give a shit about you unless you have money. And if you vote Republican because you think they are morally superior then you have been fully hoodwinked and deserve whatever kick in the ass they give you.
• Sarah Palin is a mendacious idiot. But crafty at taking advantage of other idiots, I must say.
• If you vote Democrat and expect them to be anything more than ‘Republican Lite’ these days, you’re in for a lot of disappointments. FDR’s been dead a long time. BHO is a good man but ain’t no Roosevelt.
• I know a gay white man who hates all black people. Just goes to show you there’s no unity between groups which suffer discrimination.
• Think climate change is a hoax? You’re wrong and on behalf of my children I want to say fuck you for making it that much harder for them.
• You want a hoax? Trickle down economics.
• “Two and a Half Men” is terrible dreck. Read a book.
• Nepotism sucks, especially when it imbues the untalented with wealth and success. I’m talking to you Charlie Sheen, Colin Hanks, Donny Trump, Jr., Gwyneth Paltrow and many others too infuriating to mention.
• Would it kill you to shut up during the movie?
• Please don’t try to tell me who God is. You have no idea and neither do I.
• If you are lucky enough to get away with something you shouldn’t, please don’t tell me about it. You know who you are.
• Fat? Exercise and watch what you eat. Every day. Don’t give up.
• Smoking. I don’t smoke, but it’s none of my business if you want to open a joint that caters to smokers. I won’t patronize it, but knock yourself out.
• Want to ride a motorcycle without a helmet? Fine, just make sure you have proof of insurance so I don’t have to pay to reattach your limbs after you eat asphalt.
• That said, people who are against universal healthcare should never proclaim to follow the teachings of Jesus, unless they are cool with being openly hypocritical.
• If you get your history from “Glenn Beck U” then perhaps you deserve it when history repeats itself all over your ass a few years from now.
• Would it kill you to be nice to people?
• Would it kill you to keep your swearing to a minimum in public?
• Would it kill you to wear some actual shoes at the supermarket?
• Removing heavy back hair is just the decent thing to do prior to your attendance of a public pool or at the beach. Ladies, you too.
• After a red light turns green, you should wait about two seconds and look both ways to avoid the jackass who will inevitably run the red light that kills or maims you or someone you love.
• If you have a blood relative who is trying to do what he/she thinks is right by running for office and you openly crap all over him/her because he’s not in the same Party as you, then you’re a jerk. You should keep your mouth shut, not actively attack him/her. Unless you’re a jerk, then go ahead and slam him/her to everyone you know. (Maybe you’re actually just jealous that him/her has the guts to try, and you never did. I dunno.)
• That guy playing music at the bar, the one working for tips? If he can’t have your full attention surely he could have a dollar or two in his tip jar from you.
• A man who pleases his wife first is a great guy. A woman who occasionally returns the favor is rare in my experience.
• People who make lists like this are often self-important jerks. (Myself excluded, of course.)

Now in my early forties, I find loud noise–particularly sharp, quick clatters– generally objectionable, and not just because I suffer a congenital hearing loss. It’s because loud noises can shatter my thoughts, rob me of my peace.  Sometimes even my wife’s innocent footfall on the stairs after her long day annoy me–though not nearly as much as the way she sounds as if she is breaking dishes rather than loading them into the dishwasher.

I walk with a quiet step–learned it in acting training years ago and never lost it. I put the dishes in the dishwasher or the cupboard deliberately, efficiently and often almost silently. Economy of movement equals quiet.

A ringing phone irritates me before I even know who’s calling.

My toddler’s cries are generally music to my ears, but there are times when her plaintive whining and screaming for cookies is a feeling akin to pain between my ears.

My wife and child have done nothing wrong, they are merely doing what comes naturally. It’s my unnatural sensitivity that is out of the ordinary. I have to deal with it.

Sensitivity to sound can also be a symptom of depression or anxiety, which I have lived with most of my life. Though not in a depressive mode now, I still lapse into severe sensitivity to sound several times a month. It makes me irritable and jumpy. Unsettled.

There’s really no cure for my issue with loud noise.  There are times–usually alone in my car–when I crank the stereo way up–so perhaps it is sound that is not created on my terms is the problem? Perhaps it is my lack of control over the sound? Ooph.

Right now, as I type this alone in my house I can hear the cars passing outside, a generator running across the street and a slight ringing in my ears.

It is not silence, but it is actually pleasant.

One of those moves is to take stock of what’s going right for me, which is why I’m glad I still have hair.

Call me shallow, but I just think it would be tough for me to get the groove back if it all fell out.

Sure, Patrick Stewart, Bruce Willis and a host of others make that look work. Me, not so much. I think I’d look like Uncle Fester on a bad day; and the people who make hair paste would suffer a serious decline in their stock price.

So: I’m not fat, I have most of my marbles, no sign of old man smell and most of my hair is on my head. Not too bad.

On with the groove.

I struggled for years to contain my anger. I was raised by generally decent people who–through indifference on one parent’s part and more than occasional cruelty on another’s–managed to produce a very depressed, angry and emotionally stunted child. That child was a target. He was sensitive and brutalized about his intelligence, appearance and future. No child should ever have to hear that their mother’s life would “have been so much better without you” or that they are “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” A father should never say “We never liked you that much.”

I survived it as best I could and the emotionally battered child is inside me now. I have forgiven my parents their failings. But the memories still linger, like tape recordings from a phone tap on my childhood. Those hideous tapes get played when things go south: a mean or unreasonable boss, liars, two-faced backbiters, people who try to take advantage of me, people I perceive as a threat to my family, etc.

You are stupid, stupid, stupid. The tape is played at half volume; just loud enough for me to hear.

The past is the past, but the echoes of that past are with me, despite therapy and the understanding that only the distance of years can provide.

I think that’s why often when I feel grievously wronged or on the defensive, I get physically sick. Not because I am frightened, mind you, but because I have swallowed something sickening.

I have swallowed platters of anger and a banquet of resentment. My guts roil not because I fear the people who wronged me, but what I would do to them if I ever vomited up that anger. Would I release a verbal torrent as deadly as the “smoke monster” on Lost? I say verbal because I’m basically pacifistic by nature. I wouldn’t harm anyone physically, though my inner smoke monster has been known to kick a trashcan or knock a few things over as it escaped the environs of my personality.

I have figuratively destroyed people in my past: unleashed a grotesque treatise on their every fault, flaw and lack of worth as I saw it. I’ve menaced those in business who have tried to screw with me–and some who have not. I’ve reduced friends and lovers to tears. I have wounded friends who to this day seem wary of my anger. It has cost me. I am my mother’s son.

In my heart, I’m defending myself. I’m protecting something– perhaps that little kid who got the short end of the stick from his parents.

By God, I couldn’t fight back then, but I will now and I will win.

I fear the sickening feeling. I fear the smoke. And fear is as bad as anger sometimes.

Now that I am a father, I am determined to keep this in check. I will win out over this. Therapy, yoga, whatever. I will channel this.

My kid will never smell the smoke.