[Complete sidenote: I love Poe's "Not a Virgin," because it has just the right amount of anger in it. Other perfect angry songs? Ani DiFranco's "Untouchable Face," Carly Simon's "You're So Vain," Alanis Morisette's "You Oughta Know," and Bif Naked's "I Love Myself Today." If you're feeling angry and weepy, Jann Arden's "Insensitive." I'm sure men have angry songs too, but none really resonate when I'm truly pissed off.]
I had one of those weeks. Whatever.
The opening line of Douglas Coupland's Hey Nostradamus! argues:
I believe that what separates humanity from everything else in this world -- spaghetti, binder paper, deep-sea creatures, edelweiss and Mount McKinley -- is that humanity alone has the capacity at any given moment to commit all possible sins.
This is probably true. But the ability to commit sin, or evil, or whatever, isn't the only thing that separates us from everything else. It's also our obsession with happiness, or sadness, or the pursuit of happiness, or whatever.
Take a spin along the self-help aisle at any bookstore, and Happy! screams at you so bloody obnoxiously. I guess I'm just not cut out for self-help books. Although in high school, when I got really down about things, a quick read through a selection of Chicken Soup for the Soul books could really brighten my day.
Today, I was disturbed to see the franchise has its own entire section. And it's been hi-jacked by causes and name brands. What the hell?