Today is definitely gearing itself to be a contender in the top ten slowest days ever. I think I’ve been here at my desk for just about an eternity, clearly longer than a workday, yet it isn’t even four yet. Amazing. I think I’ve aged markedly in what the clock claims to be the last three hours. More like three days, if you ask me. Actually, this rate of aging is pretty good, because I’ll be able to swing by the post office on my way home to drop of my application for Medicare as I will clearly be past retirement age by five o’clock this evening.

Last night I saw a local commercial for a restaurant in a neighboring suburb. It wasn’t bad, as local spots go (though I still stand firmly against the entire practice of people writing and producing their own ads) until they aired the name of the restaurant: “The Potatoe Patch.” It’s been about 18 hours and I’m still speechless. Yet another sign that I should really get the lead out on launching my CompetencyNow! campaign.

You know what I’m really sick of? White male privilege. Or perhaps, more specifically, the sense of entitlement our society has bestowed upon men, mainly white men but not exclusively, for centuries. To be fair, I should probably note that this isn’t a problem limited exclusively to Western society—take a looksie at really every major civilization since, well, ever and you’ll find a bevy of problems that are essentially rooted in the struggles of men whose sense of entitlement has been infringed upon. The short version of this phenomenon can generally be termed “Boys Are Stupid,” because that’s pretty much what it comes down to. I guess I wouldn’t take such issue with this whole problem if the typical response pattern didn’t involve a) expressing oneself through violence and/or vandalism, b) pouting, moodiness, and general obstinacy, c) moral indecency such as theft, adultery, and other sundry corruption, and d) the transferring of blame and responsibility for the issue in question to whatever woman happens to be in range. Though I adamantly contend that women can be unseasonably obnoxious to deal with in times of ire, I have to say that I really prefer the self-loathing/take things personally approach to the male invective. I guess it’s a personal preference thing, really. What exactly is it that has prompted men from the dawn of time to prove about themselves? I just don’t get it. Relax, guys—the neurotically domineering thing is far less attractive than you think. And misogyny? I don’t think so.

Totally unrelated, my dad is coming to town tomorrow.