Inasmuch as I love stuff, I tend to hate with equal passion. I’ve noticed that folks feel compelled to dispense with gentle chiding about my utterances of the word “hate.” You don’t mean that; hate is such a strong word, they say. And to them, I offer this: You are correct. This is precisely why I used it.
Hate in it’s most innocuous form — absent violence, discrimination, and intimidation — is an extremely useful emotion. How else are we to register pure disdain for a person or thing? One who has worked diligently to get on your last nerve deserves the most ardent expression of your dissatisfaction. And in life, oftentimes “disliking” a bitch doesn’t quite cut it.
In this spirit, I mean to make-like the late, great lamenter, Mr. Andy Rooney, exploring what grinds my gears. What follows below are 10 persons, things, and coincidences that I loathe. If ever we end up on a game show together, it might be helpful in some way. Let us proceed.
- I hate passive-aggressive behavior. A co-worker gets agitated with you because you asked her politely not to warm her cabbage and mullet fish in the main office microwave. Does she express her distaste for your directness with you? Of course not. She goes OFF — to everyone but you. She makes certain, however, that she’s loud enough to make sure that everyone including you gets the earful. You know the type – loud as a motorbike, but wouldn’t buss a grape in a fruit fight. Cause if she was really a g, she’d warm that booboo casserole in the main kitchen and eat it in the lobby. And then dare a bitch to look at her sideways. But that’s only if she was really a g — which, given her passive aggressive behavior, convincingly suggests otherwise;
- I hate bad breath that’s been allowed to fester and ferment. Nobody’s perfect. Morning breath, meal breath (you might love red onion sandwiches), quiet breath (not speaking for considerable time leaves one stale up about mouth), coffee and cigarette breath — these are understandable, if not permissible, within reasonable time frames. Time may in fact heal wounds and thangs. But when it comes to oral hygiene, time exists for the sole purpose of incubating the funk swimming around your pie hole. Carry mints and gums like you carry your I.D. If you’re ever caught slipping and a good Samaritan offers you gum, err on the side of caution and just take it. No need to be modest. Take it;
- I hate dudes who think that because it’s easy for them to just whip it out and pee, then peeing any-old-where is all good. You know how many garage corners, and trees I’ve passed that smell like urinals?! Animals pee in parks and up against trees, dude. They also don’t use tissue or wash their hands, or have opposable thumbs. The point is that you’re higher up the evolution and intelligence chain; you should at least consider acting accordingly. Besides, they say the dogs are growing increasingly frustrated with having to compete with your lazy-human-can-go-to-a-restroom-facility-ass for territory. That’s a damn shame…you and the dog actively choosing to pee on the same tree;
- I hate cats who can’t watch a movie without needing to know, forecast, or tell what happens next. They gon get him, aint they? I know they gon get him. He gon die, aint he? You know he lives in the end. I betcha he hidin in the attic… My father is such an offender. One Christmas, I made the mistake of watching American Gangster for the first time with him. He spoiled all the surprises — who lived and died, who got caught and who got off. And he lived with absolutely no remorse. He is the world’s worst movie date. We’ve since broken up in that regard. He needs to get himself together movie-wise;
- I hate the “yeah, but what are you going to do about it” debate guy. Are we not allowed to discuss ideas? Can we not quibble for a short time over details? Perhaps many so-called solutions to problems are inadequate precisely because the problems themselves are not fully understood. I appreciate the time to deliberate, let concepts marinate, to draw the poison all the way out of a wound, instead of treating symptoms over and over in the interest of expediency;
- I hate the presumption that marijuana, in terms of criminality and social perception, is in any way similar to life-ruiner drugs like crack, heroin, or meth. In fact, one can effectively argue that marijuana — absent the drug game — is even less dangerous than cigarettes, alcohol, and prescription drugs. Do you ever really consider the hypocrisy of arguments against the legalization of pot? Folks don’t mind if their sons binge drink all the way through college, but if they find out he smoked a j with a few of his homies, then all bets are off. Moreover, folks feel safe when some cat in a stethoscope whose bread is buttered on the good side by the pharmaceutical industry decides your son has ADHD and anxiety. Now little Timmy’s got a prescription pill-box that rival’s my 83 year-old Granny’s, and a 21st century drug habit where Dr. Pushington, not RayRay from ’round the street, is the dealer. It’s cool though — at least he’s not “on” weed (not that your 12 year old smoking a j or sipping an herbal tea is preferable to him being addicted to prescription drugs
, but maybe.);
- I hate old people who refuse to age gracefully. It’s cooler to just be hip…for your age. After 50, cursory knowledge of hip-hop’s “greatest” of the moment is sufficient, Sir. You needn’t prove your street cred over dinner, with the seductive sounds of Young Jeezy providing the soundtrack. Moreover, after 50, shave off the braids and retire the jersey. These grooming and clothing decisions don’t inspire much confidence in your decision-making. And isn’t that your role, Man, in hetero-normative universe? Lastly, excessive botox and collagen injections still make you look like you’re 70. You just look like you’ve failed at trying not to look 70 — which is worse;
- I hate the 6 people in a bar that’s not a sport’s bar who’ve managed to coerce someone into changing the channel to “da game!” They get all riled up, cheering and high-fiving and carrying on like everyone’s signed on for this ridiculous display of testosterone. I don’t give a shit whose team wins. SHUT UP! …can’t even enjoy my wings;
- I hate cats that sag. For the life of me, I don’t get the allure. So you get dressed, and spend the rest of the day resolved to not give a shit about whether your pants actually stay up? Why is the entire ass out of the jeans though? What’s the belt for? Why are you playin’?
- (this one’s extry) You know who I hate more than them though? The girls that love ’em. Everything about these little boys screams I WILL CAUSE YOU TROUBLE. But the girls, upon popping their gum and patting their weave, ride right along, either impervious to obviously bad decisions or complicit in making them. Raggedy dudes + hoodrats = stupid, crazy love at its finest and most disillusioned;
- And finally, I hate over-sensitivity. Minorities — mostly Blacks, gays, and women — get tagged with being oversensitive about the absurdly dumb shit that folks fix their mouths to say. In many cases, the sensitivity has merit, but not always. Sometimes, you gotta chalk it up to a cat really just not “getting it,” or being so much of an asshole that your attempts at reformation are fruitless anyway. For example, in discussing President Obama’s proposed outreach to Black voters, Bill O’Reilly recently queried, “what does that entail? Are they gonna be on Soul Train?” Hilarious. Click the link and watch the video. Marc Lamont Hill’s response at :32 is everything.
So there. Now you know where I stand. Feel free to comment and add your own. Unite with me in shared hatred of trivial things.