Hollywood, California, is my spiritual hometown. I actually grew up in three other communities in California, but it hardly seems to matter which three. How could my heart take root anywhere under the tyranny of American public schooling?
I don’t have to work for a living. After my father died in December 1997, my family and I won a legal settlement.
The Blog About
Nothing: Sudheer of Hyderabad, India, is a big fan of Playboy and an
even bigger fan of Seinfeld. In this blog, he composes humorous
dialogues for the show’s characters.
Hit & Run: the official
blog of my other favorite magazine, Reason: Free Minds and Free
Markets; winner
of the 2005 Weblog Award for Best Group Blog; “the best
libertarian blog” according to the October 2005 issue of
Playboy.
Scoobie Davis Online: a self-described “filmmaker, surfer, and party crasher” in southern California. He’s also a Playboy fan, a left-leaning political gadfly, and a connoisseur of Jack T. Chick religious tracts.
The Search for
Health in Decadence: poetry and philosophical writings of Will, who has
engaged me in lengthy, good-natured debate through comments on my
blog.
Up the Tao Staircase: self-deprecating wit and wisdom from a Taoist perspective.
The Blank Slate: The Modern Denial of Human Nature by Steven
Pinker. With stylistic flair, a Harvard cognitive scientist
refutes myths about human nature underlying a multitude of political
beliefs—including many of those that would either favor or
oppose the sexual revolution.
God in Popular Culture by Andrew M. Greeley. A liberal Catholic
priest sees quasi-Christian messages of grace abounding in the
allegedly soulless realm of commercial pop culture. For all I know,
Greeley is not necessarily a Playboy fan. But his
interpretation of Madonna’s song “Like a Virgin”—more plausible than the interpretation in Reservoir Dogs—has
influenced my impression of Playboy. (In case anyone wonders, my religious heritage is German-Hungarian Lutheran on my father’s side and Anglo-Scots-Irish secularist on my mother’s.)
“Right-to-lifers” never satisfactorily explain their reluctance to charge women who have abortions with first-degree murder, even though that’s the necessary conclusion to their premise. This leads me to support the pro-choice side of the debate. (More controversially, I support full reproductive choice for men, too.) But despite my political disagreement with the killer of abortion provider George Tiller, I can’t judge him too harshly for having a political reason to wish to kill someone. There but for the grace of God go I.
Even while I accept my mother’s hospitality for a few days out of every month, I fantasize about beating her to death with a baseball bat. An obsequious coward, she aided and abetted the authoritarian headfucking of my father at home and the numerous petty dictators at school. When I was eight, Stockholm syndrome led me to misidentify myself as a good little schoolboy. At puberty, this distorted self-image made me a worthless chickenshit. Now, in my late thirties, I constantly fear for my ability to take care of myself as a grownup. Every day, I’m tortured by a sense of personal inadequacy. It seems to be a matter of psychic survival to find someone else to blame for what the hell happened to me.
Naturally, I keep looking for a less drastic option than murder. If I run out of money before I can make therapy work, I might just have to blackmail Mom into filing a restraining order against me. Maybe I can regain my self-respect if I make my hatred of her a matter of public record. Since teenagers are the new niggers, I might just have to become the new Rosa Parks.