A Goal

I assume that everything in moderation is the best path to a healthy, rewarding life, so I am moderately intoxicated. However, everyone needs an excess. If I had to choose an excess, I would choose an excess of happiness. What would I look like if I were excessively happy? I would probably do a lot of giggling and waving my hands in the air. I might drool or poop myself at times. That wouldn't matter. Hell, I wouldn't care what I looked like or smelled like. I would be submerged in a constant bath of pleasure, and angry people would secretly like me. That's a goal,

a ¡GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL!
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Introduction

Ashamed of the recent rash of nonsense that has been spilling out of me, I thought I might try a coherent post. I live in Chicago. I am from the suburbs of Chicago. I tend to despise New York for being too self-absorbed. I tend to despise Los Angeles for the same reason. I like to think that Chicago, and the Midwest in general, provides a framework to be self-absorbed without losing focus of the problems of society as a whole, and the role of yourself in those problems.

I love the Cubs. I hate the Cubs. I could never envision a World Series on the North Side of Chicago. To have a World Series would disorient me badly. I am good at dealing with disappointments because I expect the Cubs to disappoint. Life is mostly disappointments. I am good at dealing with life. A Cubs World Series would drive me insane, driven insane like a ball off of Derrek Lee's bat into the right-center field gap, scoring the runner from first.
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