Friday, September 03, 2004
My Ridiculous Life
Last night, I got home at around 9 pm, exhausted, had some of my delicious chicken soup (yummy) and got on the phone with Stella (best friend from grad school). We decided to have a relaxing long-distance glass of wine together before Bush spoke, and this relaxing long-distance glass of wine turned into multiple glasses of wine while we stayed on the phone throughout the speech, one or the other of us hurling obscenities sporadically, because neither of us could face it alone. (Incidentally, in order to watch speeches on the phone it is apparently necessary to synchronize tv's because every channel broadcasts at a slightly different time, and it's really hard to have one person about 3 seconds ahead of the other person with whom one is watching said speech.) Before the speech came on, Freud had called me but I told him I was on the phone and would have to call him back. I had decided that I would not call him back last night, as I hadn't heard from him since I left his place Sunday morning and, let's face it, I was in no shape to talk to him by the time Bush's speech was over.
So, I get off the phone with Stella (but before I will let her get off the phone I force her to tell me that I cannot and should not return Freud's call) when Bush is done speaking, and settle in to wait for the Larry King post-game show (with my convention boyfriends Gideon Yago and Tucker Carlson) to come on. Remember, I have to teach at 9 AM, but in the state that I was in, I could not resist the punditry. Well, Larry King didn't come on right at midnight because of Kerry's rebuttal speech (awesome), and just when Larry King did come on, my phone rings. It is Freud.
I cannot reprise the conversation here in its entirety, as I was on the phone with that freak for over an hour. Until almost 2 am. Here are the facts of the conversation:
1. Freud watched none of the convention and hasn't bothered to keep himself up on the latest political news.
- To this, I told him he was anti-intellectual. Not nice, but come the fuck on! Have some sense of the rights and responsibilities of being a citizen of this country!
- I was, as you might imagine, speechless.
- Over, and over and over, I - sometimes in a screaming banshee sort of way - asked (to no response): "But what is your morality? What does that even mean?" And, alternatively when that line of questioning got no response: "What do you believe in? Do you believe in anything at all?"
- I also feel compelled to note that I'm not entirely certain about how one lives in one's own morality. One can be moral, yes, but isn't morality, by very definition, based on culturally accepted standards for good behavior? If one's morality is distinct from everyone else's is it really morality at all? Also, aren't morals something one lives by or subscribes to - not just sort of exists within?
- As far as I can tell, Freud's "own morality" is not unlike the morality of other closed-minded people (e.g., many of the Republicans shaking their asses at the RNC).
My favorite things that came out of my mouth in a kind of primal rage during last night's conversation:
"Don't kid yourself. You're not a Buddhist; you're a tourist." (The conversation turned to religion, and he tried to claim that he was a Buddhist. How do I always fall in with the ones who think they're fucking Buddhists?)
"I would have more respect for you if you passionately believed that George Bush should be re-elected than I do for you with these pathetic excuses for your apathy."
"You're not stupid, Freud. How can you possibly believe that it's not important who becomes our president?"
"Ooh, it's my boyfriend Tucker Carlson!" (I got distracted from his illogical, irrational musings.)
So, after all of this - and I was pretty insulting and confrontational and dogmatic throughout the conversation, as you can probably tell - that asshole wants me to come over! He knows my teaching schedule, and he knew that I'd been drinking wine and was pretty loopy. And that asshole wants me to get into my car, at 2 am, and go to his fucking place. Even though I know that I will not get laid if I do so. I think that dear, sweet Freud might be a) retarded or b) on some serious drugs.
At that point I basically told him he was insane, told him he could call me today if he wanted to keep talking to me about his idiotic beliefs, and went to bed. Still angry this morning, I decided to go into my classes, take attendance, ask how many have been following the campaign (very, very few), and send them off to go read a fucking newspaper.
(Incidentally, when I woke up this morning I had been having a dream in which Dr. Earnest came up behind me while I was teaching a class and kissed my neck and started making out with me. It doesn't take a psychologist to figure out where that came from. Dr. E. may annoy the fuck out of me with all of his protesting, but at least he's not the kind of idiot that Freud appears to be.)