Banal Hemorrhage

Before any reader casts me into the fiery depths of a hell that's unlikely to exist, let it be known that I harbor no personal grudge against Buddhism. From the fragments I’ve gleaned, it appears to be a pragmatic religion, offering practical insights, such as the art of meditation. My persistent unease with religion lies in the belief that it can serve as a moral compass. History suggests otherwise. A significant reason for this is the nature of interpretation; humans often perceive teachings through a kaleidoscope of self-serving lenses. This is why one often encounters Christians who seem to overlook the essence of the words and actions attributed to Jesus. Another troubling notion is the belief that one requires ancient texts and clerical figures to discern right from wrong. This is a bit unsettling, because those who depend on scriptures penned 2000 years ago to realize that acts of murder, deceit, and theft are wrong; these are not the kind of people I wish to surround myself

When I was a child, instead of paying attention to anything that would’ve helped me later in my life, I day-dreamed. Or is it day-dreamt? If I had paid attention in class I’d know. Anyway, I’d imagine portals opening up and sending me out to a land in which I could be a lot of help somehow. I vastly overestimated what I could bring to the table as an asthmatic, introverted, anxious, near sighted dweeb.  The thing is, none of those fantasies were about helping people around me under realistic situations. It was always the Japanese isekai trope, before I even knew such a trope existed. It was always either fake enemies or fake people in need. It was never Pedro, the soccer prodigy in the first row that needed my help. Or the bus lady. Just new people in new places.  As an adult, it’s the people who throw themselves at others in need that capture my admiration. Nurses, doctors, social workers, non-profit workers. One of our nurse friends, Hayley, recently casually mentioned how she saved

I’ve always associated complaining with old people. One of my parents was a serial complainer and I always wanted to rebel against that. Sometimes you are weird because of what your parents model, sometimes you’re weird because of what you tried to break from. In my case, I obsessively avoid complaining. 'Oh, you messed up my blood draw? No worries I have plenty more where that came from'. It takes a lot for me to get angry at a company, a person or a thing. One ex-girlfriend found this infuriating, my lack of reaction was offensive to her. Yet, there are times… In my small city, for some reason, they’ve decided to repair many of our main roads in the year of our lord 2024. For most of the year, I was chill about it. The detours showed me parts of the city I’ve never seen, and I’m really never in that much of a hurry. But lately, it’s making me snap. Why does it have to be everything, everywhere all at once? Businesses are understandably upset. One such business even started ma

Roxanne and I just came from a great vacation in the south of Germany. When someone comes from visiting a new country, one of the most tactless things they can do is to come up with broad generalizations about an entire group of people. So here we go! BROAD GENERALIZATIONS ABOUT THE GERMAN PEOPLE AND LANGUAGE The south German people weren’t warm. They weren’t cold either. They were perfectly neutral. But, when you mention their tattoos, pets or beer, they beam up! The south German people seem to have an above average inclination to have dogs. Dogs were everywhere, we saw a Chihuahua in a cold cave in Austria (30 minutes from Germany so it counts).  The word for cook (Koch) is troublesome. When I awkwardly tried to tell a male server “Compliments to your cook / Komplimente an den Koch ” my wife laughed hysterically. A phrase I learned early on was "Sehr Nett", which means "very nice". Halfway on the trip I realized that this made me sound like Borat. Subsequently

Most times, Rox and I are on the same wavelength. No, not when it comes to the desired level of pulchritude and order; but for most other things. Social battery is one such example. We both get the low battery notification at roughly the same time. Perhaps more importantly, we seem to giggle at the same things; like sequential, synchronized post-dinner-walk farts or the Operatic crescendo of our rapidly increasing old-people noises. I have a Rad wife, not a Trad wife! The little I read about Buddhism focused on the transient property of things. Impermanence is something I have, I believe, a firm grasp on. The moment I adopt a pet, I’m fully aware of the deferred sorrow that comes with it. Nothing lasts, including love. I fully accept this self-evident truth, but I also feel like Rox and I are killing it on the brief blip we are existing together. By the way, if you weren’t expecting images of dead pets and sophomoric Buddhist interpretations of love, why are you reading a humor blog?

Many of you know that drawing is a source of mental health wellbeing. Almost six years ago, I started drawing and sharing my comics, and it was a way to process the many phases of adulthood. It was during that time that my gorgeous, caring, adventurous wife moved in with me. Before then, we both lived in our separate houses and we loved it. Then came cohabitation. Almost all of my initial comics were about  cohabitation . Then came Trump tearing through the fabric of the United States. Then a layoff , then COVID , becoming Chihuahua people and now just the typical middle agey “what’s it all for?” vibes. All through these times, besides my wife, the PlayStation, and the Chihuahuas, there’s been drawing. I’ve never had a creative hobby in my life, and here I am… drawing for 6 years.  So, this comic loops around and checks back in on my progress since I started drawing: is Eduardo becoming more domestic? The answer is Yes! This house is getting to be as clean and uncluttered as whateve

The rural and urban divide has plagued humanity since before the actual great plague. Rural people did atrocities to foreigners, like blaming the Jews for the plague and murdering them. However, even in all their fears of others, they were always pro-monarchy. During the French Revolution, the feudal rural peasants wanted a revolution but also wanted to keep the monarchy. For some reason, being in the countryside has always rhymed with xenophobia and authoritarianist beliefs.  I know why urban voters are different, they're different because they live alongside minorities and immigrants and other people in a higher density. As I've said before, being around different cultures is a cure for hate.  What I don't understand is what makes rural folk the way they are. Why are they afraid of people they may never meet? Why do they want a strong daddy to tell them what to do? Most rural people I know pride themselves in their know-how and independence... why is that correlated with

I visited my mom last week. I asked my mom if she ever nods knowingly without a clue about what people are talking about. She said no. She said that she would always say “I have no idea what you are talking about”. You know what? I believe her. She would keep it simple and stop the conversation and ask for more details. But then, I thought a little harder and distinctly recall her nodding as I was explaining to her the junction system in Final Fantasy VIII and I know for a fact that she can’t tell her blizzarra from her blizzaga. Perhaps she does care about us and wants to make us feel like we're interesting. Other people I consulted with said that they have in fact, nodded along in ignorance. Those are my people. Acting like you are following along to avoid long interactions and explanations is my jam. If you’re curious enough you can google later without the whiff of social anxiety hanging in the air.  Of course, at work it's another matter. You can't George Constanza you

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