This section of the site
is dedicated to the heartbreak of everyday life. The heroic little acts that we
all perform every day, in connection with some false hope that we are making our
lives better. That we are improving our chances somehow. That our gesture of
kindness might win someone's heart. That our neatened desk might secure that
promotion. Also touching are the completely unfair little tragedies that we all
endure every day. Or the way we fail to live up to our own small expectations.
Or why we attach great importance to completely insignificant events. In short,
the small behaviors of man as he occupies his world and pretends he means
something. As sad as the outcomes may be, these small gestures demonstrate the
indomitable spirit of humanity. For every tiny, unnoticed failure, there is also
a victory in man's ability to pull himself together and try again.
Updated: 10/20/2005
|
new as of 5/6/04 The Girl who Cried "Fat"
"Los Angeles is the most shallow fucking place on earth and certain
things that people feel out here - or think they should feel - are truly
touching. I came upon this posting on craigslist LA by a self-styled fattie
who needs help. Make sure to read to the part where she talks about her
terrible weight fluctuation issues. This truly touched me. -Los Angeles Editor: Does anyone's weight fluctuate by less than 6 lbs.? And, obviously, unless she's three feet tall, she's got no weight problem. And if she's three feet tall, she's got a height problem that's just as pressing as her weight problem. Poor soul. Let's hope she gets that weight under control. new as of 3/22/04 File Sharing revisited "Remember the guy with the comprehensive "Life Goals" document? (see 11/19 entry below) I was at his house this weekend, along with our mutual friend. In the ten or so years since drawing up that list he seems to have checked off quite a few items on that list: he's got a wife, three kids, a giant house, a minivan, expensive-looking golf clubs, etc. He's my age (32), and at every turn I was reminded how much more of an adult he is than me. He even drinks overpriced scotch, like my dad. I drink the cheapest beer and bourbon I can find. Anyway, that's not the touching part. What was touching was how freaking happy he was to have a male "peer" in his house to get drunk with. We had NOTHING in common (I hate golf, I don't watch "March Madness," I don't have the new James Taylor live album) and he still treated me like I was his best friend from Boy Scout days. He hugged me like a brother when I left. I had an ok time, swimming in his pool, eating delicious food from his shiny gas grill, but after a few hours I was ready to get out of there. He, on the other hand, basically admitted that it was the most fun he'd had in months. His life is all 9-5, meetings, diapers, pre-school, Shrek, etc. so an afternoon drinking scotch with a complete stranger seemed like a vacation in Tahiti to him. He talked about his wild college days and that trip he made to Europe when he was 21 and was so wistful (and schnockered on 12-year-old single malt) that I thought he was going to weep. That touched me, and reminded me to prolong my already extended adolescence even further." -Los Angeles Editor: What touches me about this, beyond what the touchee himself observed, is how five years ago I'd be the one being touched, now I'd be the one doing the touching. It's always touching when you see that your own life is touching. And I never even got to backpack through Europe. Also, as someone who does watch "March Madness," I would die before calling it that. new as of 2/25/04 dad, unlock the door. I need to check my email. "My father is not very tech savvy. He doesn't even use an ATM card because he doesn't trust the technology with his hard-earned money. So, when my family got a new computer for Christmas, I was touched that he took an interest in the ability to download music. Recently, I noticed on an email I was cc'd on, that he obtained an email address, as well. I spoke to my brother about Dad's venture into the world wide web. He said that my father had recently asked him how to "get" (I'm sure he doesn't know the term download.) the Paris Hilton video. My brother dissuaded him from downloading the video. I'm sure my brother was showing his loyalty to my mother. My parents have been married for over 30 years, but have been sleeping in separate rooms for I'd say the last 10. Last week, my brother found porn in the recycle bin." -New York, NY Editor: I think this one speaks for itself. There are about eight separate touching touch points in here. I'll name a couple: 1) that the dad is so out of the masturbatory loop that he decides to get back on board by viewing the one thing that everybody's talking about. It reminds me of when my dad reads something in the New York Times Arts and Leisure section and then asks me about it, like "What do you think about this Norah Jones?" 2) Is there anything sadder than a father asking his son to procure pornography for him? I would rather buy my dad crack. 3) The fact that he knows nothing about technology, but managed to find some porn anyway, suggests that he spent untold frustrating hours trying to get it. He was able to, but he hasn't learned about the Recycle Bin yet. There are probably ten more. new as of 2/1/04 ...then, maybe, we'll play charades
"My wife and I made friends with another couple in the area. That couple
is getting married next month, and the guy asked me if I wanted to be
invited to his bachelor party. Since the guy parties harder than I do, I
jumped at the chance. -Long Branch, NJ Editor: One man's pathetic junior high party is another man's Super Bowl. It's a good reminder not to let a man with grey hair plan your bachelor party. My favorite part is the inability to commit fully to the eggs. new as of 1/5/04 smallcox "Among other things, I bought a box of condoms today. The ones I wanted - regular old Lifestyles - were in a hanging display behind several boxes of X-Tra Large condoms. To get to the ones I wanted - non X-Tra Large - I was forced to remove five of the X-Tra Large boxes and then bobble them while I grabbed my box then put all the X-Tra Large boxes back. It was a crowded aisle so now everyone knows I don't require X-Tra Large prophylactics. I haven't been so self-conscious buying rubbers since 10th grade." -Scroton on Hudson, NY Editor: I also think it's touching that the store had so many available boxes of the X-Tra Large condoms. Apparently most of us have small to middling dicks and know it. It's doubly sad when you think of the fact that half of the guys who buy the big ones probably don't need 'em, they do it to impress their conquests or boost their own self-esteem. In addition to painting a moving visual image, I also like this entry because it involves someone touching himself (no lame pun intended). It's always a deeper blow to the heart when we are able to step outside our bodies for a moment and view ourselves as we must appear to others: sad, fumbling, and inconsequential -- yet struggling endlessly on upstream, never giving up. It makes us want to go somewhere private so we can squeeze ourselves tight and tell ourselves everything's going to be just fine. new as of 12/4/03 smokeheads "Today was one of them witch's-tit-in-a-brass-bra cold days. I was walking down the street and hiding my small patches of exposed skin, and I saw a woman walking towards me, holding a cigarette in her gloved hand. I mean huge bulky gloves. It touched me that she was so good at smoking that she could do it in all conditions. What's next, mittens?" -NYC Editor: Anytime you see someone trapped in an addiction, your heart goes out to them. Even when it's kinda funny. new as of 11/20/03 sweet chariot "I drove past a second-hand store today that had a used wheelchair for sale out on the sidewalk. Something tells me the original owner didn't trade up to a newer model. That touched me." -Los Angeles Adds sensitive reader Michael Jizzum: "I too saw a wheel chair the other day that touched me . It was locked to the fence in front of an apartment, like a bike might be in another state. My instinct was to steal the tires. I know that's horrible but you gots to admit if you saw a wheelchair locked to a fence with it's tires stolen you would laugh a little bit, at least if you were alone." Editor: Anytime we see a reminder of death in our everyday journeys it wakes us up a little. In this case, it's worse because the wheelchair indicates a life spent in a diminished state, a life filled with innumerable heartbreaking obstacles to overcome, with opportunities destroyed, with courage and longing and eventually acceptance. And then finally death. While they generally don't give you one unless you're gonna be in there forever, I am going to choose to think that this particular wheelchair owner made a miraculous recovery from a terrible accident and no longer needed his chair. This is still touching, but in an inspiring, life-affirming way. The alternative, to think of a handicapped person dying, and his family selling his wheelchair, possibly to offset medical bills or funeral expenses, is just too much. The other sad thing is that the store assumes that there will be a customer who is not only handicapped but unable to afford a brand new wheelchair. And they're probably right. new as of 11/19/03 file sharing
"A friend of mine was given an old computer by her friend's new husband.
My friend has had the machine for a few years and just this week found a
directory with some files belonging to the previous owner. She couldn't
resist opening a Word doc called "Life Goals," and she couldn't resist
showing it to me. -Los Angeles Editor: I think what touches me about this one is, well, everything. Of course I feel some affectionate sadness for the guy with the list and I am moved by the meager items that actually make up the list. But it also reminds me how much so many of us have lives that could be compartmentalized and organized in a similar way, with a lot of the same items. Instead of forcing me to realize how much of a cookie-cutter existence I am really living, I am going to use it as a reminder to pursue my own individuality. I figure as long as I suck at putting, I'm OK. The lesson I'll take from his list is: wipe hard drive clean before passing computer on to others. Anyway, if I could get a copy of the entire list, I could forward it to the editors of the lists page for publication... new as of 10/22/03 "Company-wide email: > From: AC -New York Editor: This one is one of those that hits you in like four different places. One, the woman would clearly rather keep the guinea pig than the husband, but she either doesn't have the energy or doesn't want to break up the family. When people choose animals over people, even in their thoughts, it is some kind of a small tragedy. Two, it points out the randomness of our relationship with animals: the term 'guinea pig' refers not only to the animal itself, but now to any creature that is the subject of life-threatening experimentation. Of course, this second usage came around because in general man places no emotional value on the life of a guinea pig, even if it means the animal dies a horrid painful death choking to death on fumes so your grandma can have a new phony looking hair dye. But then there are people like this woman, people who see every life as sacred, and assume that there are other caring souls in the office. I'm sure she got no responses. After all, it's a guinea pig. Three, it's gross that this family is so starved for affection that they let a guinea pig lick their faces. Again, it points back to the joyless husband. Four, and most importantly, I am touched by the spirit of this sweet little animal, abandoned by one family, adopted by another, and maintaining its positive outlook and kindheartedness. It probably has no idea that the mean old bastard husband is plotting to have it killed. I wonder if it will make it. New as of 8/21/03 a dog's life "What makes me sad is how dogs (and to a lesser extent, babies) will find some useless, scummy object on the street and carry it around as if it's worth a million dollars. The other day, I saw this big retriever walk up to a torn-open garbage bag and grab a dirty old water bottle out of there. The dog was carrying it in his mouth so proudly -- and of course if you try to tell the poor idiotic thing to drop it because it's a filthy piece of junk, he's like, "Yeah, right, so you can take my precious water bottle? Fat chance!" Dogs are so earnest in their stupidity. I'm sure he carried it all the way home." -New York Editor: Yeah, I'd like to say how we could all learn something from dogs about the mindlessness of our pursuit of material goods. Maybe something about how the dog's seemingly random assigning of value to the objects it finds in our garbage shows us how arbitrary our own opinions are about the worth of our possessions. But truly, all I feel is sympathy for the poor stupid animals who will never know the difference between nice stuff and crap.
New as of 7/8/03 life sentence "Can a scene from a movie make the “Touching” page? For me, the most heartbreaking scene in any movie I’ve seen is the one in “Escape from Alcatraz” when they’re making their actual escape. They get to one part of the prison where they have to jump up to a bar and pull themselves up, so that they can crawl through some ceiling area on their way to freedom. They’ve planned this whole thing for months in advance, and they’ve been incredibly meticulous and patient, waiting for this moment. In addition to the uneasiness you feel for the inmates (who you are definitely pulling for), there is a palpable sense of excitement. It’s like, holy shit, this is working. Let’s go! Anyway, there is one guy, sort of the most gentle and nerdy of the bunch, who’s been instrumental in setting up the plan, and when he gets to the part where he has to jump up, he can’t do it. The other guys are already up there, and they’re like, “Come on! Let’s go, dude!” And he just can’t do it. They have to leave without him, and he has to return to his cell. Oh God, it’s almost too much to think about. It reminds me of my worst fears in life: falling behind. Being left out. Not being able to measure up. Being the one loser who can’t color within the lines. All the childhood tests that shape us and make us generals or make us timid, lonely middle managers are encapsulated in that scene. Only in this case, it’s not just the psychological damage inflicted on the poor guy (who clearly wasn’t able to do the rope climb in junior high and has already been mentally destroyed by a lifetime filled with such shortcomings), but also the sense that this particular failure means he’s going to spend the rest of his life in prison. He’ll also be unable to conceal his chopped up prison cell wall, and the warden is gonna make him suffer big time. It’s like he was sneaking out of the house in his dad’s car to go meet his girlfriend for his first sexual experience, and he ends up running over his dad’s dog and totaling the car. There is no mercy in sight." -Joliet, IL Editor: Oh, I had forgotten about that scene, but lord, you are absolutely right. The only thing I'd like to add is this question. If this guy was the wimpiest and least athletic of the group, why did they make him go last? Why didn't he go second (there were four guys total), and two other guys could help hoist him to the bar, and the first guy could help pull him up from above? You could say that it was just one small detail of the plan that they didn't think of (which still makes it a tragedy), but I have a more disturbing thought: Maybe the other guys knew he was a liability, and they purposely found a way to leave him behind, after months of using him for his connections in the woodshop or raincoat room (do prisons have raincoat rooms?) or wherever he worked. After all, these guys were hardened criminals. They weren't about to let their last chance at freedom be shot out of the sky by this poor schmendrick.
|
new as of 6/14/03 crappy birthday to you
So last night I take the Metro over to Capitol Hill for a birthday party
and it's in the basement of this run-down tiki bar, which basically was your
standard drinking hole except for some 10-year-old shabby palm fronds, and
some fake polynesian masks that probably were purchased in some wholesaler's
basement nearby. -Washington, DC Editor: This one is sad in a number of ways. Parties in general always have a certain bittersweet quality to them -- the whole excited "getting ready, buying the booze, dressing up" air of anticipation is a great peek into mankind's undrenchable optimism. We all know the party will probably suck, but we fool ourselves into thinking this will be the magic night when all our crushes tell us they've always loved us too, when we dance like professionals, when we look so good that people stop and stare at us. Tonight we're gonna be the celebrity. This woman's party sounds particularly sad. The location, for one. The fact that she stacked the deck with men, for another. She was determined to make out with somebody that night, hoping that it would make her feel special, like she deserved to feel on this day. Instead, she got drunk and made out with the wrong guy, which only made her feel cheap. Worse, Prince Charming witnessed it. The fact that she doesn't have any female friends close enough to invite is also sad -- or maybe she just didn't want any competition, so she didn't invite even her good female friends. Sad as well. Sad sad sad. The fact that the guys didn't really interact is pretty typical. One, they all probably felt a little weird about the lack of women there, and they made the best of it by watching high-quality television events. Instant awkwardness remedy. The fight is also pretty annoying -- there is always that do-gooder guy who has charged himself with protecting someone's honor or something, and he starts yelling at somebody, and then everybody gets all Neanderthal. Of course all these mini-tragedies are encapsulated in the final image of the crying birthday girl, stranded and alone, feeling sorry for herself. The real question shouldn't be "Why does this always happen to me?" but "What else did you expect?" I also don't know what "decolletage" is, but I think it must have something to do with dressing up all fancy, which makes things even more poignant. P.S. The author of this observation showed up at a party I once threw, and he brought a bevy of attractive women to that, too. Which means that maybe he really is "stud of the year." New as of 6/4/03 voice mail deceit "What always breaks my heart a little is when you call someone's work number, someone who you know works in a machine shop, or an ice cream store, or a strip club or something, and their voice mail says, "You've reached the office of so and so." Who do they think they're fooling, we all know they don't have an office. I mean, I guess you can use "office" as a generic term for a place of work, but to me it sounds like they're trying to dress up their job as something it's not. That makes me sad." -Bettendorf, IA Editor: I know what you mean, and this one goes pretty deep, beyond even the obvious class implications. When someone does this, they're assuming there is inherently something better about having an office job than a non-office job. It makes you realize that people are always aware of perceptions of who they are based on what they wear, where they work, what kind of a car they drive, how attractive their wife is, etc. We all know that we're constantly being evaluated by others based on completely unfair criteria, and instead of choosing to rise above it, we buy right into it. We lie on our outgoing work voice mail, or we walk past our shabby house when we're with someone from school (or maybe that only happens in bad teen movies) so people think we are something we're not, when what we really are might be completely honorable and decent. For the record, the following people didn't have "offices": Willie Mays, Jesus, Wooderson. And the following people probably did/do: Hitler, John Ashcroft, P. Diddy. So there is nothing to be ashamed of, oh officeless legions. Be proud of getting your hands dirty and keeping your head clear and your conscience clean. Let's all be honest and announce with pride who we are and what we do. New as of 5/1/03 Blue Cab "To me, there's nothing quite as sad as a small-town taxicab: The way they wait at the bus or train station, rarely getting more than a couple of passengers a day. The way they tell you all the exciting details about their little town. And how they've already finished telling you those stories before you get to your destination. The "official" cab-like decals that they affix to their chariots, trying to showcase their authenticity." Editor: Well, I agree with you, but I have one addendum. Sadder than a small-town cab waiting hopefully at the railroad station is when one of those small-town cabs finds its way into the big city. When you see a white cab driving through mid-town traffic, surrounded by all the yellow, official New York City cabs, it's hard not to stare. You look at the lettering on the front door and its says something like "Passaic Cab Co." You know he can't get a passenger while he's in the city. He knows it, too -- I get the feeling the cab even knows it. New as of 4/17/03 The Letter
"A young friend of mine was living in Brooklyn with a guy who he had met
through a mutual friend. Like most roommates, they found it hard to
see eye to eye. More accurately, my friend hated the bastard he was
living with. So he typed him the following note: -New York Editor: This one basically stands alone. But if I had to comment, I would say something about the way it illustrates the challenge of dealing with others. Living together with another human is nigh-impossible, and the fact that the author expressed himself with a note shows that once a relationship (even just a roommate to roommate co-existence relationship) fails, it is just absolutely gone. Communication becomes a hopeless struggle. What might seem like petty, solvable disputes to an outsider are really blood-boiling impasses. I think my favorite parts of the letter are the parts I put in red type --each one a secret, moving glimpse into a world all of us know too well. I also like the last line and how it expresses the hope that this matter can never see the light of day in terms of a verbal discussion. New as of 4/15/03 To Be A Dog With Dignity "I saw a dog sh1tting in the street today. He looked sad. Sometimes I feel sorry for them (dogs) because they get no privacy whatsoever. I bet they'd like some." -New York Editor: I just think this is one of those truly keen observations -- we've all seen the dog looking around as it empties its bowels, clearly ashamed. There is a famous quote: "Man is the only animal that blushes...or needs to." Even though dogs aren't people, and should rightly not care about where they go to the bathroom, it's just so obvious that they do. Maybe it's that they sense how gross we find their shit, and it makes them feel bad. They also just look so stuck there on the leash. The poop dilemma reminds them that they have no choices whatsoever in life. I also left in the number 1 in the word "sh1tting" because it was put there as a protective measure against someone's office language filters. Fearing the loss of your job enough to worry about what you type in a personal email is also somehow touching. It makes us feel weak. In this case, the submitter put the "1" in as a favor to the recipient, understanding the precariousness of the recipient's job. Opening Band Blues "There's nothing quite so consistently sad as opening bands. They are up there to play their hearts out and nobody gives a shit. It's particularly sad when the opening act is on the downside of their career. I remember seeing a huge tour in like 1992. U2 was playing stadiums and I saw them in Madison, WI with Public Enemy and B.A.D. II opening for them. Seeing Mick Jones, a guy who to me was a million times more authentic than Bono and his traveling d-bags, struggle and pour his guts out onstage as a completely disinterested audience trickled in around him truly wrenched my heart. I thought about that "Should I Stay or Should I Go" video, where the Clash are playing in some huge place and the audience is basically hanging on their every move, and then it's like 10 years later, same type of setting, and NOBODY is paying attention. How can you not become bitter when you're in that situation? How can you continue to play with passion?" -San Verdu, CA
Editor: So true, so true. There's nothing sadder than unwanted
art. The opening band is exactly that. It must take courage and
a strong will to get up there, be professional and do your job. Beyond
that is getting up there and really playing your balls off. I guess
you have to focus on the three people in the crowd who are probably there to
see you. You can also try to win people over with the power of your
performance. It's nice when a band chooses an opening band with a
similar fan base, allowing some crossover among the fans. U2 were much
more calculated, booking PE because they thought that might give them a
little cred with the college kids. It probably worked, but poor Mick
Jones got caught in the middle. Here is a living example of what
we're talking about. It's 1989, the Replacements have been making
great music and carrying on like madmen for like 10 years. They're
finally trying to settle down and make a career for themselves, and their
label offers them an opening slot on Tom Petty's huge-ass tour.
After playing for their allotted half hour or so, they rip through a
heartfelt if sloppy version of "Bastards of Young," and that's the end of
their set. Then Paul Westerberg gathers himself and gives a
professional, wistful, heartbreaking introduction to the headlining act.
His subdued tone captures the essence of the opening band. If you
don't like the song, at least listen to the bit at the end. The lonely immigrant "In 3rd grade, there was a kid named Ali whose family had just moved to America from Lebanon. I can't even imagine what he went through during those years. He had a lot of emotional problems. He looked like he was about 12, he was huge and fat and strong, and he liked to bully people around. Underneath that, there was definitely a soft soul, but he was constantly getting in trouble. In 3rd grade, kids can be pretty mean, and nobody really seemed to care about his problems. People picked on him and made fun of him, and he responded with violence. The combination of that and all the other problems a new student and a new citizen faces made him somewhat of an outcast. One day, our class was walking down the stairs to the gym, double file. Ali's underwear was sticking up about two inches above his pants. A kid I knew removed the gum he was chewing, and then managed to stick it to Ali's underwear without Ali noticing. Cruel little bastards that we were, we laughed hysterically, but quietly enough that Ali didn't hear us. We thought it was just a riot. Wait, it gets worse. The next day, Ali showed up for school, and again his drawers were riding up over his pants. To our delight, there was a little mark where the gum had been. They were the same underwear, and it looked like it had taken a lot of work to remove the gum. Of course, since we were little shits, we only took more glee in this discovery. It was years that went by before I really thought about the cruelty and sadness of the moment. I still feel guilty 25 years later. My only redeeming contribution that I made to his life is that I later taught him how to play baseball. He had been striking out every time, and after I gave him a quick batting lesson, he hit three home runs in a game. Somehow, I don't feel forgiven. I can't help but wonder what happened in his house that night -- the shame of his parents, the punishment he may have faced, his humiliation and loneliness, and the entire immigrant's struggle that is embodied by his gum stained underwear." -New York Editor: The cruelty of children can never be underestimated. Thinking about the random malicious acts that we all endure as we grow up, and how much these little devastations impact who we eventually become, is heartbreaking. There is something truly evil in the way children band together to humiliate and abuse others. Still, I can't help but feel some pride for Ali, the way he came back to school the next day and just carried on with dignity. The lesson is that no matter how bad things get, life does not give you a free pass. You just have to go right back into the fray and keep plugging. It is also sad how the author keeps trying to qualify his actions, rather than just delving into his own legacy of cruelty and racism.
The Loose
Tuck -New York Editor: This one falls under the category of appearance...the little things we do to try to make ourselves more appealing to the opposite (or same) sex. Rarely does anyone notice the tiny physical details of another person, and most likely our efforts in this regard only make us look worse anyway. Also, this points out how people would rather cover up a problem than solve it, a touchingly human tendency. The Cotton Candy Man "(The concert) is at the Universal Studios Ampitheater, which means we have to slog through the entire theme park/terrorist target to get to the show. I saw David Lee Roth/Sucky Hagar there over the summer and they were selling cotton candy at the show. I talked to the cotton candy vendor because I felt sorry for him; he said he hadn't had one sale. The beer guy was doing ok though." -Los Angeles Editor: I like this one because it's an example of how few us are where we want to be, but how we tough it out anyway. It also shows how management is constantly out of touch with both their employees and their clientele. And there is nothing sadder than a business without customers...an empty restaurant where the waiters gather outside, looking at passersby and hoping to drum up business, always gives me a pit in my stomach. The obvious doom of the business somehow reminds me of the transience of all things. The Tragic Hipster "Here's a 100% true heartbreaking moment for your site: Last summer I was waiting at a crosswalk to cross Sunset and pretty young girl stopped next to me. She was wearing the hipster uni (old corduroys, ironic t, probably a ski hat too, I don't remember) that's standard in this neighborhood, but she had a sort of innocence about her. Vulnerability even. She was intently reading a pamphlet and since the light was still red I sort of inched over to see what it was. All I could make out were the bold words at the top of the page: LIVING WITH HEPATITIS C." -Los Angeles Editor: This is almost too sad, just a really unfortunate tale of an individual. But it's touching in the sense that the girl is first seen as so very attractive, and then the minute her condition is revealed, the whole ball game is over...it reminds us that we are all just one stroke of bad luck away from being disqualified in someone else's eyes.
Turd Polishing, pt. 1 "When people with terrible handwriting put the little dash through their sevens." Editor: Anytime someone dresses up something ugly, it's touching.
|
All-time Members of Congress who had the ability to fellate themselves: