“Who am I to get fed up with your temper? I’m your husband. You can’t throw tantrums at me. You can’t silently sulk. You can’t be such a goddamned asshole over nothing at all. Look, if I can control mine, you’re going to have to control yours, you irrational spoiled little twat.”

Wikipedia says:

Psychopathy is currently defined in psychiatry and clinical psychology as a condition characterized by lack of empathy ^{[1] [2]} or conscience, and poor impulse control ^{[3] [4]} or manipulative behaviors.^[5] It is a term derived from the Greek psyche (soul, breath hence mind) and pathos (to suffer), and was once used to denote any form of mental illness, often being confused with psychosis. The term is often used interchangeably with sociopathy and antisocial personality disorder^[6], but many authorities in the fields have argued that there are important differences among the three (see sect. 6 below).

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 I heard something about something or other yesterday on my drive home, and the discussion about a psychopath struck me; I only had a vague understanding of the true meaning of the term.

Do you know anyone like this?

Wikipedia continues, of course, and it is fascinating. I excerpt:

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[edit] What is a psychopath?

The prototypical psychopath has deficits or deviances in several areas: interpersonal relationships, emotion, and self-control. Psychopaths lack a sense of guilt or remorse for any harm they may have caused others, instead rationalizing the behavior, blaming someone else, or denying it outright. Psychopaths also lack empathy towards others in general, resulting in tactlessness, insensitivity, and contemptuousness. All of this belies their tendency to make a good, likable first impression. Psychopaths have a superficial charm about them, enabled by their low self-consciousness, a willingness to say anything without concern for accuracy or truth. This extends into their pathological lying and willingness to con and manipulate others for personal gain or amusement. The prototypical psychopath’s emotions are described as a shallow affect, meaning their overall way of relating is characterized by mere displays of friendliness and other emotion for personal gain; the displayed emotion need not correlate with felt emotion, in other words. Shallow affect also describes the psychopath’s tendency for genuine emotion to be short lived and egocentric with an overall cold demeanor. Their behavior impulsive and irresponsible, often failing to keep a job or defaulting on debts.^[25]

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Wow. Most people could probably identify with a piece of this here or there, but the whole just sounds superhuman, in a way.}

Harry Potter Sucks

I am speechless at the mania that surrounds a middling prose piece. I should be happy that a work of fiction - in print – attracts such an audience; but I’m stunned by a kind of double standard.  I am practically disturbed about an apparent dichotomy: Some of my accquaintances display untrammeled Potter love - to the point of dressing up in garb to wait in line for the premiere of a film that will very very soon be EVERYWHERE (I don’t use “all caps” lightly), and yet profess undying disdain for rabid sports fans. Of a sudden, it was all made clear to me by some snippet I heard on some NPR show or other as I was correcting the oversight of others, cleaning decades of god-knows-what from the drip-thingy of that evaporative-A/C unit thingy in my new condo unit-thingy. Apparently we (by we I mean, trammeling my brief NYC-PHL past, us U-Mans) have some kind of mimicry-nerouny-thingy. Meaning: we (Umans) are apparently hard-wired to fit in. It’s our camouflage; Dr. So-and-so says we even adapt our toe-tapping rhythm to those immediately around us. Whew! I thought it was just my weakend self-control!

In the interest of full disclosure, I took insane irrational pleasure in “my” Indianapolis Colts winning the Super Bowl in February, and of course those White Sox breaking a “curse” (fucking idiot sports fans, superstitious bastards) and winning the World Series in 2005. I’ve never, and “god” willing, will never, paint my face in any team colors. Perhaps this comes from my frustrated prep school past, in which I was a member of a football team that finally won A (1) game, then progressing to an urban university whose real estate restrictions left them with somthing of a basketball tradition, and little else – fraternities on “campus” had little doll houses in the cafeteria. I begged off. At parties as an undregrad, we drank horrid red wine from a disreputible shop near Lincoln/Fullerton that seems to have been reincarnated as a yuppie boutique of some sort. Such is life, and the passage of time, and gentrification.

No. I’m not merely snide. I’m nostalgic, and pensive. There is a prose strain brewing within me which will attempt to deal with the eerie similarities between H. Potter and S. Holmes.

For fuck’s sake, at least I didn’t give away the ending.

Ok. Everyone dies. How else to really end it? What else is Rowling going to do, enjoy her billions? Fat chance…

And if there are any misspellings or grammatical errors, blame it on my lack of self-control – I mean will power. Everyone I know was drinking while I wrote this.

This is simply insane

In a few hours, I will fly to Boston to meet my love. We just spent the night of the 3rd and the 4th together, and yet somehow I feel that’s not enough. I feel nothing is enough. And yet, and yet… 24 hours in Boston? What can that be worth?

July, now

My dad was in town this weekend for a conference, and I had a great time being his chauffeur. Spur of the moment, I harrangued my best friends into making the trek to the far west side where I’m living until my condo closes (second time the charm?) and I made ribs with my dad’s old soul-food sauce, Italian sausages, and roasted red peppers. A totally random menu for a quasi-impromptu get-together.

 

The time has flown so quickly. I can’t believe it’s already July. I really wish I could slow the rush of seconds, minutes, hours and days, because I want to savor it all. I remember talking with my dad about that sensation of the acceleration of time as we get older, and we both decided someone needs to get on researching a pharmaceutical product that will slow the perception of time warp. All the existing “treatments” I can think of are illegal and have horrible side effects!

Summer

June has flashed past in an alcoholic haze. One martini lead to a month’s worth, and I spent most evenings in the back yard, under the sun, reading, writing, thinking, and falling in love. I never thought that would happen again, but it has; and it’s pretty consuming. This may not be THE one, but it it’s definitely worth a chance! Every single second is completely occupied with love thoughts, and I would believe I was going completely insane, if it wasn’t so beautifully summery and felt so good – even mornings after too many martinis (I’ve learned through trial and error that 3 is my safe limit – and I feel a bit wimpy about that.) I’ve been doing some stupid things – staying up late to talk, flying out to Phoenix for a night on the spur of the moment (and getting stranded for an extra 2 wonderful nights), driving to O’Hare at 2:30 this morning to meet and collect my love… I may be insane, in fact, but this feels better than anything I’ve experienced, so bring on the straitjacket.

Fire

Anything anyone could ever write about romantic love has become a time-worn cliche. Nevertheless, it is stunning how quickly and devastatingly it can hit. All of your rationality simply vanishes. It is completely involuntary and illogical. Why this person? Why am I so insanely drawn to – even obsessed – with this individual, out of all the people in the world? What was the spark that lit this inferno of utter silliness? In many ways it is painful, as you find yourself washed away in a torrent of emotion, practically unable to control your thoughts and actions – it’s really an awful sensation. Only a masochist could wish for this kind of torture.

It’s also an exquisitely wonderful experience when it is mutual, when you’re falling for someone and that someone wants to catch you, though reciprocity of feeling makes it all the more incomprehensible.

I’m scared nearly to death, I’m hurting in places that don’t exist, and I don’t want this to ever end. I’m trying to savor every single second.

Oh, dear…

The Art Institute was no consolation today. Yes, even the moist must of ages did little to calm me. Clear proof that I’m near losing control of my reason and senses.

I fear you’ve trapped me, wittingly or un; much as I have always wanted to resist such irrationalities, especially given my recent history, I am enjoying this.

At least we’re forced to take our time. What is the point in wasting the delicious unknown?

To my former infatuation/obsession/love:

This is about the time I’d be almost ready to consider starting over.

You asked, so many months ago, when/if I would know for sure.

Sorry it took so long.

Glad we moved on.

Could the average schmo get this kind of result?

I find the following little blurb – from the SunTimes, just below news of a Rembrandt etching stolen from a Michigan avenue shop (stolen, in fact, the same day that I purchase an Art Institute membership and admire a few Rembrandts in that particular inimitable institution) – interesting because, living in the Austin neighborhood for the past few weeks, I know most crimes of this sort go unsolved. I just wonder how the managed to track the thug down.  

But seriously folks, how dumb and disconnected do you have to be to try to rob a very recognizable former senator and presidential candidate?

SUNDAY | 8 P.M. WOODLAWN:

Man charged in mugging of ex-Sen. Moseley Braun

A 38-year-old Woodlawn man was charged Sunday in the mugging of former U.S. Sen. Carol Moseley Braun last month. Joseph A. Dixon, of the 6100 block of South Drexel, faces one count each of attempted armed robbery and aggravated battery, Chicago Police News Affairs said. Moseley Braun was mugged in front of her Hyde Park home about 12:30 a.m. April 28. Her wrist was broken in the incident.

Whew! I’m glad I got to shake that hand in traffic court before it was damaged!