My blog posts are usually related to things that go on in my life, but I don't really want to write about what has gone on in my life recently. So, today, "From a Concerned Friend" offers you a mystery-guest blog post! What a pity that it is more interesting than what I write, but I am satisfied to BIRG for now.
Life is pretty good, Deborahblogfans! As I sit here in sunny [location withheld], sipping a [cocktail withheld] and gazing at the lovely clouds, I feel a remarkable sense of peace, and an amicable brotherhood with nature, the universe, and mankind. It would be easy for me to declare that I simply enjoy everything.
However, any good writer must leave the confines of his own emotions and attempt to experience unfamiliar ones. And we shouldn't forget that -- despite how wonderful this day seems -- the world is full, O Concerned Friends, of hate. Human beings are capable of hating nearly anything, and their ability to do so drives many of the events that define their lives. We cannot ignore the remarkable amount of hate on planet Earth. Therefore, I have decided that as a creative exercise, each day for the next week I will hate something innocuous, in order to better understand the mind of a hateful person. Deborah has graciously allowed me to publish my first effort here. Here goes:
I hate oranges. I loathe them, I abhor them. I detest the way they look, those bright intrusive blotches of gaudy, clashing color on the landscape of a tastefully painted Nature. Every time I see one, let alone notice their scent or (god forbid) accidentally eat something orange-flavored, I feel like vomiting or lashing out in rage. Their interior is just as ugly as their exterior; the sharp, regular angles of the sections seem unnatural, too mathematical to find in my garden, and the way they bulge reminds me of the internal organs of some diseased animal. And it's so obnoxious that the edible part is hidden behind a thick skin! Is the orange some kind of elitist? Is the outside world too good for it? I despise the finicky, difficult process of eating an orange. Even the first step - the peeling - is a lose-lose situation. If you peel it using a knife and fork, you appear fastidious and fussy to your eating companions; if you pick off the skin with your fingernails, it takes ages, it's messy, and your hands retain the repulsive smell for days. That's before you even begin to eat the orange. At the least pressure, the meat of the orange squirts out the revolting juice, getting your (already smelly) hands sticky, ensuring that you can't use the plate for anything else, and ruining your enjoyment of the meal because you know you'll need to clean up the juice afterwards. I am not a man given to profanity, but fuck oranges. With so many other appetizing fruits, like bananas and grapes, available to us in this privileged Western society, it is a source of continual amazement and consternation to me that anyone continues to eat oranges. I'll die happy if I never have to taste a single one of these fruit-lepers ever again.
Well, that was pretty successful! Next time: hating the word "tennis"!
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