A Feverish, Selfish Little Clod of Ailments and Grievances

A Study in Gratitude

“Hot takes” are one of the more annoying aspects of social media. For the uninitiated, a hot take is every other article on the internet. They are generally created a few days after someone has an original idea that most people like. What makes them cheap and formulaic is that there will always be plenty of people that don’t agree with—well, you can fill in the blank with virtually anything. It doesn’t matter if it’s being kind to children and octogenarians, what the color of the sky is or whether breathing is an involuntary process. Someone doesn’t agree. Someone takes exception. Someone is tired of everyone saying—-

A clear indication that you are in the presence of a hot take is that your more contrarian friends are reposting the article with the caption “This!” Your friends that cross the line from contrarian to obnoxious, might even caption it “So much this!” (Because sometimes it’s not good enough to be a putz, some people need to butcher the English language, as an added bonus.) 

I was once the victim of one of the most nauseating hot takes the world had ever seen. Goody-goody writer, Walter Woke from Willemstad, took my humorous explanation of how the world generally works (Why Women Don’t F*ck Nice Guys”) and decided to make me look like a superficial pariah while simultaneously making himself look like the man all women have been waiting for for centuries. “Why Men Should Stop Worrying About Whether or Not They Get Laid,” made no qualms about referencing me, my article and my deplorable behavior and illustrating a path that all men should go down–the path of cheerfully accepting celibacy until magic presents you with the girl of your dreams. Essentially, this was the inevitable reward for not thinking about sex for years. Walter even included a compelling anecdote from his own life where this very outcome took place.

The whole incident was likely the catalyst for my leaving Elephant Journal altogether. It made me angrier than most anything else in the entire world. Especially the multitudes of comments by every woman from Krakow to Kalamazoo lauding this fine advocate of women’s rights for putting mean old Billy in his place.

I digress. As usual.

This long preface was created for the sole purpose of explaining what I have experienced in the last 48 hours. I have decided to take the lies that my brain keeps trying to believe and offer a hot take on reality.

First of all, I am a fortunate guy. On New Year’s Eve, I had the priceless experience of making a lot of intoxicated people very happy. How happy? My tip bucket exceeded…well, it was a three digit number. I received countless fist bumps from dudes, wide eyed stares from toddlers and compliments from the management. 

And even though braggarts make me cringe, I am only allowing myself to tell this story because it is the absolute and literal truth. It also happens more often than you might think. Practically every other gig. 

In fact, one very attractive woman took a selfie with me and, although she said she’d send me a copy she never did. She likely didn’t forget. The older musician dude, he may be good and all, but how do you know he’s not some stalker? This is what I imagine the logic might have been. And I get it. I watch true crime. If she was my kid, I would expect her to act with the same caution.

Emotionally though, it does hurt my feelings. You want so bad to be like “I’m Billy,” not some rando stalker. But instead, I just packed up my equipment and went home alone, just as I have been doing for longer than I want to think about right now. The garden variety sad clown.

But a lot of the time, heartbreak and heartache are a matter of perspective. George Bernard Shaw once said, “This is the true joy in life, being used for a purpose, recognized by yourself as a mighty one. Being a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances, complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.

The larger truth is that I have had many more experiences than a lot of guys my age. And many more partners. I accepted resources from dudes whenever they offered and intimacy from women whenever that was offered. To the average person, my life, when scrutinized, has been a study in taking.

If it turns out that karma has pushed me into a corner where now I must give and give to even things out, it only makes sense that I should accept this gracefully and not be a “feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances.” I mean, who wants to be anything like that? 

And if it seems like I’m only saying what Walter Woke said two years ago, I won’t disagree. I don’t think public humiliation has ever changed anyone for the better. Realizations do. Therapy does. Silent meditation also helps. All an internet hot take does is piss people off. Besides, according to Elephant Journal, I have 15,500 followers and that number has increased by 100 a week since I stopped writing for them. Walter Woke has 759. 

(That was a very petty way to conclude this piece.)

Enjoyable, but very petty.