Really Glenn Beck?
I was driving between my first job of care-taking for an Alzheimer’s patient to my second job at a local gym, thinking about my third and lowest paying yet favorite job of writing when I came over exhausted. I felt the kind of tired that makes one dream of death, not in a suicidal way but in an “it’s going to be sweet, all that resting in peace. I’ll bet they even give you Xanax” kind of way.
I did the thing I do when I get that tired and I’m in the car, I reached for my rage. Anytime I need a quick pick-me-up in the form of a blast of straight adrenaline to the old central nervous system, I turn the radio dial to AM 970 the home of right wing paranoia. As Glenn Beck’s voice shot through my auditory channels into my brain I clenched the steering wheel with white-knuckled apoplexy and my sphincter contracted as if to prepare for battle. I could feel the white-hot anger of righteous indignation bubbling just below the surface. I was about to come alive!
I heard him laughing and assumed they were making fun of the working poor or kittens with cancer but Beck and his lackey were simply being… jovial. In my experience his humor is as dark as the burnt charcoal of cancer kittens. So when he began making fun of his weight in the kind of self-deprecating defacement I’ve always respected, I was dejected. My shoulders unclenched and I felt the kind of disappointment one must feel when their S&M master calls off sick.
Beck then mentioned something he’d seen on The Daily Show and proceeded to proclaim his love of “the funny and talented Jon Stewart” and I knew I had lost. I knew I’d have to buy a Five Hour Energy or slug down a double espresso if I wanted to wake up. He was no longer playing a satirical role of a megalomaniacal, fear-mongering, hate-miser, now he was going to just play it straight and be normal.
I’m just kidding he’s still crazy as fuck
There was a kid I never got along with back in my neighborhood. He was fat and ugly yet somehow superior. By the time we all graduated from high school and were free to move out of the ghetto we’d all been trapped in, he and I had exchanged enough words that I accepted his friend request on Facebook. I saw he became a lawyer so I knew I had to make more of an effort to be nice. I always need lawyers. When I saw him post about how Eminem’s new album reminded him of the Beastie Boys and that he misses Breaking Bad I felt the familiar warmness in my belly that signifies the beginnings of love. Plus? Lawyer!
The thing is though that I feel more than mere kinship with people who have common interests, I feel an inappropriate pride. It’s like my fully embracing an artist, or show or movie or book gives me a sort of minority ownership in that thing. As if I’m somehow responsible, not for its creation perhaps, but for its success. By this line of reasoning I can almost understand previously inconceivable notions like Tea Party Patriotism or Oakland Raider fan fanaticism even though they’ve been so terrible for so long.
Then I had a life-changing thought, an epiphany that would change the world. We can focus on the many, vast differences that isolate us into tiny, desperate, lonely flesh islands of solitude like we do now, or we can concentrate on our uniting commonalities that bring us together and live in perfect harmony like in a Coca-Cola commercial except that in my version nobody is going to die of diabetes or from animated polar bear mauling.
Another takeaway is that when you’re passionate about an entertainment, it becomes a part of who you are. So if other people love that thing, then they must also love you. So what I’m rambling on about here is that despite my sustained and vehement hatred towards Glenn Beck, I think he’s in love with me. Yay?
See? We’re already closer to a free loving utopia where Raider fans make sweet love to animated polar bears in a pool of high fructose corn syrup while Glenn Beck blows me to the tune of a Coca Cola advert from the 90’s. Oh yea, remind me to call that lawyer.