Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Death of the Sassy Curmudgeon?

I was making dinner with my mom the other night (well, drinking wine, eating hors d'oeuvres, and watching her make dinner, to be fair) when she brought up this blog.

"Honey," she said, chopping tomatoes, "I've been getting concerned about your subway posts. Life is too short! You've got to love your fellow man." I wish I could call her a hypocrite, but the only time I've heard my mother really curse someone is when she called a fellow driver a cocksucker while navigating the BQE, and that was sometime in the mid-90s. My mom stresses out, to be sure, but she has never openly expressed the urge to kick someone in the ass just because they walk slowly. I have never understood this about her.

She's probably right, though. All of the stress and rage that I channel towards my fellow New Yorkers is taking a toll on my health. I often realize that I am clenching my jaw without realizing it. I grind my teeth at night. My shoulders are perpetually creeping up towards my ears; I think the muscles might actually be stuck that way, like a late-stage fulfillment of that childhood fear of making ugly faces.

To appease my mother and save some small part of my sanity, I am going to attempt to stop wishing death and dismemberment on my fellow men. It is not going to be easy, but I am going to try. I will never become one of those people who loves everyone on God's green earth like a touchy-feely soul brother, or who signs emails with the words "Peace" or (worse!) "Namaste"*, but I might just stop wanting to flip off conductors as trains pull into subway stations. Maybe.

*The new girlfriend of an ex of mine signed her emails "Namaste". Isn't it nice when someone just gives you a reason to hate them? I barely had to do any work at all.
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