I wrote a longer piece today (that's what she said! -no, "wrote," not "rode"). It's a guest post scheduled to run on Citizen of the Month on Friday. But seriously, it's kinda long. So I figured I'd put up some of it now. And here's how the rules go: as soon as five people say "where's the next part?" or "put the next part up!" I'll put the next part up. There are four parts total, I guess, and I definitely will save at least the fourth and final part for Friday on Citizen of the Month... But for anyone who wants to, here's a special preview. Five people say they want more, we do more. Clear on the rules? OK. Here we go.
My First Day as the Chicago Cubs New Mascot to Attract More Gay Men to the Park – the Chicago Red Hot
It was one of those times in a young, impetuous man’s life when he mortgages the love of his family for the pursuit of an ignoble passion.
Philosophically, technically, I believe in the dominion of the intellect over the will and the will over the passions. If you ask me the order, that’s how I’ll answer: intellect over will, will over passions – that is, your passions impel you, but your will controls your submission to those passions; and your intellect determines the resolution of the will.
I’ve learned that from an early age, from 18 years of Catholic School. Yes, that’s right, eighteen years. But also, I believe in that pecking order of the personality (intellect, will, passions – repeat it like a mantra). It makes sense to me – that it should be true.
As a matter of course, as a matter of empirical reality, I know that sometimes things don’t work that way. I know this because I have an intensely addictive personality. I am addicted to drinking, smoking, sex and gambling. The only reason I’m not hooked on more serious drugs is because, thank God, I’ve never tried them. But don’t worry – addiction to drinking, smoking, sex and gambling is quite enough.
People have told me that a lesser man would have broken by now. I know that being a lesser man is the only thing that’s kept me sane. The reason I haven’t broken is because I bend. And it feels so good when I bend, stretch like a sapling under strong weight, and it hurts so bad when I snap back upright. The weight of addiction has bent me like an old man’s years bend him.
When I was younger, I wondered why old men didn’t just stand up! I wanted to straighten them out myself, flatten them on a table – lay them on their backs and push against pelvis and clavicle until they unfolded under my hands like a road map. I imagined that then they would breathe, freely, deeply, for the first time since their first Social Security check slipped through the mail slot in 1981.
Now I know it doesn’t work that way. Which is why I don’t try to unkink my own hunched back, just manage it; just make sure my shoulders aren’t banging on my knees, my forehead between my calves. Manage the bend, that’s my motto. Control my handicap.
It was gambling that got me into this mess, smoking and drinking that had made it worse. God knows where the sex would take me.