Complainish

I write a lot of happy stuff in here, which is the way I like it. But there's a time for this and also for that and whatnot. So here are some of the things I don't like.

I don't like it when someone magnifies an aspect of a person (one event, one characteristic, one behavior) until it eclipses everything else about that person-- especially when they successfully misrepresent that person to a gullible third party. Obviously I don't like it when people do it to me; I also get defensive when I see it happening to someone else.

I don't like it when someone uses a joke to humiliate, disparage, expose, or otherwise cut someone else down. Jokes are useful that way. You can use one to make your point, then disown it. It gives you the upper hand. The object of the joke knows that if he objects or tries to clarify, several people will turn to him with reasonable expressions on their faces, and they will tell him not to be so serious. And whether or not you mean a joke to harm someone, you can't undo it.

I don't like highly sexualized Latin pop/hip hop. Shakira. Fergie. I know it's weird to be so specific, but this one type of music seems to personify almost everything I grieve, regret, or fear in my life. It is to me perhaps what a giant ketchup-filled blender is to my mom... to George W, a huge walking military thesaurus... to Augustine, a throng of Manichaean students making out in a pear tree. And I don't even like the way the music sounds.

Personal preferences are natural, but I don't like it when men think they know how women "should" look, what they "should" wear, what "should" interest them (also applies to women with regard to men). That is idiocy at a tall and glorious peak.

I don't like sensing that someone is worried about me, or angry, irritated, or bothered about me-- and they say nothing. It's even worse when they start implying.

I don't like shopping for clothes. It takes a long time; it's complicated; it's disheartening; it's expensive and tiresome and I come out sweaty, my eyes red with what must be huge, boulder-like particles of dust.

And while I'm on the topic, I have a confession to make: When I'm around a man who is gay, I may feel (very uncomfortably) that my choice of clothing is under a harsh critical eye. Beastly of me? Yes. Stereotyping? Yes. I don't like stereotyping and it's even worse to realize that I've done it.

I don't like being a hypocrite. At times I criticize something and don't realize the irony until later. Other times I just sit miserably, under a cloud of obligation, and I condemn, fully aware that I'm condemning myself and that few others know about it.

I still don't like idle radio talk. It depresses the crap outta me.