I can't explain it, but I find the act of destruction to be incredibly fulfilling.  That sounds weird, and it makes me seem like a violent, angry person.  But I'm not.  I just like destroying things, not for the sake of destroying them, but for the feeling of empowerment it gives me.  Empowerment is sort of a sissy word, so I'll explain some more. 

I wrote a while ago about my love for the weed whacker.  So much destructive power in such a small package.  There's just nothing better than obliterating grass and weeds with a spinning plastic string.  It sounds stupid, but I know I'm not the only one.  Maybe it's the gasoline fumes and the smell of exhaust from a 2-stroke engine.  Maybe it's the finger-controlled throttle reminiscent of a gun trigger.  Maybe it's the bits of grass and rock that get kicked up and flung everywhere.  Whatever it is, it's my favorite thing to do around the yard.  I just love destroying things with the weed whacker. 

In another moment of destruction, I cut down a tree last weekend.  Not just because I felt like it or because I hate nature.  It was very dead and likely to fall at any time, with a good chance of hitting my house or a neighbor's.  So I executed a preemptive strike.  I tied some ropes to it to guide it where I wanted it to fall, then I chopped away at the trunk (I don't need no chainsaw ... actually, I wouldn't mind one since it's probably as destructive as 10 weed whackers put together).  When it hit the ground, I almost squealed with delight like a little girl, but I quickly remembered the "manliness" of the situation and merely gave a nod of agreement as a sign of my dominance over that dead piece of wood.  It was one of the best moments of my life. 

I've been doing kickboxing for the past several months, and for lack of a better way of saying it, I absolutely love hitting things.  I didn't get into fights growing up, and I've never really been big on physical violence, but I can't deny that I've developed a love for hitting things.  At its core, I think it's all about destruction.  I'm not angry when I'm punching and kicking things; I don't think about my enemies or that dude who cut me off in traffic.  I just go in and destroy a punching bag.  For something so simple and almost primitive, it surprises even me that so much enjoyment can be had. 

I guess destruction makes me feel powerful.  It makes me feel like I'm in control.  Do I feel powerless and out of control at other times in life?  Not really.  Psychoanalysis has never really produced any legitimate results for me in the past, so I don't know if there's an underlying meaning or motivation behind my love of destruction.  I just know I like destroying things.  Simple as that. #psychology

I don't like people who wink at me.  I probably wouldn't mind if it was a girl, but it's usually a guy.  It's not a romantic or flirty thing, and I know that.  But it still feels romantic and flirty, which makes me feel gross.  It usually happens when somebody says something that has an implied sarcasm or falseness to it.  They give me a little wink to let me know it's sarcastic or intentionally false.  If you need to depend on physical language to convey your sarcasm, you should get better at delivering sarcasm.  Stop winking at me. #psychology

It's oddly interesting to notice two people doing the same thing differently.  To get into work, I have to pass through a gate where people check my ID.  I don't mean this in a bad way, but the people who check my ID are like robots:  They just do what they're told.  They sometimes know why they're doing it, but sometimes they don't.  It's interesting to watch this being played out.  Some guys take a quick look at my ID and pass me through.  Other guys look more closely.  And still other guys look at my ID, turn it over, and hold it up to my face to make sure the picture matches my face.  I find it hard to believe that any of these guys got their instructions from a different person.  They were all told to do the same thing, but some guys took it literally while other guys took it slightly less literally.  It's like a psychological experiment. #psychology

I'm an ageist.  I discriminate based on age.  Everybody does.  Old people and their AARP.  Young people and their loud music.  Stereotypes wouldn't exist if they weren't true. 

I got my blood tested on Tuesday.  In order to make it to work on time, I showed up at the blood test center as soon as it opened, which was 7am.  To my surprise, there was already a line of 10 people ahead of me, and it was exactly 7am.  Guess who these people were?  Old people.  There was the old guy with his young daughter.  There was the old guy with big sideburns like he still thought it was 1972.  There was the old guy in the leisure suit with the top unzipped and nothing underneath (I wish I was kidding about that, but I'm not).  No less than 75% of the room was old people.  Now I understand that old people have health problems, and the best way to cure health problems is bloodletting (that's still all the rage, right?).  All I'm trying to say is this:  Old people, you have nothing else to do.  No schedule.  No obligations.  No nothing.  So would it be possible for you to stay out of my way?  I understand you wake up before dawn because that's what old people do.  I understand you want to get your doctor stuff out of the way to free up your schedule.  I understand you don't want to wait in line, so you try to do things first thing in the morning.  But guess what?  You're interfering with the way the world works.  The world has a job.  The world has a schedule.  The world pays for your social security and Medicare benefits.  So let's get this straight:  We agree to turn our heads when you accidentally think the gas pedal is the brake, and you get your blood tested sometime around 10:30.  Thanks. #psychology

Sometimes I laugh at the wrong stuff.  Not like murder or cancer or anything, but just things that aren't supposed to be funny but sound funny in my head. 

For example, I was listening to a co-worker tell a story a few weeks ago.  In the story, he was casually mowing his lawn when he got hit on the head by a golf ball, which sent him to the ground.  He got up swinging and yelling because he thought somebody had attacked him from behind.  It turned out it was his stupid neighbor who didn't realize golf balls shouldn't be hit in the direction of people. 

Right as he said the part about the ball hitting his head, I laughed.  On the one hand, I can't even fathom how much it would hurt to get hit by a golf ball, especially on the head.  I would imagine it would rank up there with a concussion, giving birth, or breaking a bone.  I have no doubt that this guy felt some serious pain, that it was a serious situation, and that serious situations don't include laughing. 

On the other hand, I got a funny picture in my head.  The picture was actually more of a movie, and it involved two separate funny things:  The sound the ball could've potentially made as it hit this guy's head, and the distance it likely traveled post-ricochet.  The sound I imagined was like knocking on a hollow tree:  *clock*.  Weeks later, I'm still laughing at this sound in my head.  It helps that I've heard a similar sound, though thankfully not from a golf ball impacting a person's skull.  The ricochet is a whole other funny thing.  If you've ever witnessed a speeding golf ball hitting a solid object, you'd know that those things can fly.  I've seen golf balls fly off trees, pavement, and rocks.  It's truly breathtaking.  So the picture of a golf ball hitting a solid object called "this dude's cranium" is just too good to not laugh at. 

Thankfully I'm pretty good at making people think I'm a nice, civilized person, so I recovered my laugh into a "ha ha hh-wow that's unbelievable."  The guy went on to say he didn't suffer any permanent damage, so no harm, no foul. 

Update:  This Dilbert comic agrees. #psychology

It's funny how whenever I see people from a certain time period of my life, we only talk about that time period.  After the obligatory "Where do you work?" and "What's new?", conversations inevitably head towards "Remember that time..."  These conversations don't happen nearly as much with people who've been a larger part of my life.  And while there's nothing inherently wrong with talking about the past, I feel like it brings up two problems:  For one, the past never changes, so you end up talking about the same things over and over again.  You can't add anything new to the past, so depending on the length of the time period, rehashed conversations can get old pretty quick.  Second, I'm no longer a 19-year-old college student.  My interests, beliefs, and lifestyle have changed at least slightly, if not drastically.  It's one thing to reminisce about how things used to be; it's another thing to expect me to be the same person I was several years ago. #psychology

Old person's advice to me:  "Don't get old." 
My response:  "Ok." #psychology

My pastor cried during his sermon yesterday.  It wasn't the "please give generously" or "we need more Sunday school teachers" type of crying.  It was legitimate "I'm hurt and this is what hurt people do" crying.  Nothing wrong with crying.  Nevertheless, I can't stand being around crying people.  It makes me want to jump out of my skin and run away.  It's so intensely awkward that it raises my heart rate and makes me squirm in my seat.  I guess I feel like crying is a personal thing that should be done in your personal time (that sounds meaner than it was meant).  And if a certain topic inevitably makes you cry, don't talk about it, especially in front of a group of people.  I'm under the mistaken belief that crying is an error in the system; the release of built-up emotions in an uncontrollable way.  In my opinion, crying should be avoided at all costs.  This probably says quite a bit about me. #psychology

On principle, I will not: 

1. Accept a credit card offer, consider a new car insurance or home owner's insurance provider, or change my cable plan if you send me something in the mail.
2. Vote for a particular candidate, donate to your athletic league, or spend a moment taking a quick survey if you call me at home.
3. Buy something from you, listen to your spiel, or even make eye contact with you if you shout at me from your booth in the center aisle of the mall.

Even if you have a great product or service that I'm very interested in, I won't accept your offer on principle.  I don't approve of your scammy tactics and your unwelcome intrusion into my life. 

For the people who accept these offers, vote for these people, and buy these things, realize that you're the problem.  You're legitimizing the practices of these junk mailers, spammers, and harassers.  So, thanks, you buncha jerks. #psychology

Two recently heard answers to the question of "How are you": 

1. Better than you.
2. I'm awesome*.

*When said out loud, it implies the answerer is more awesome than the asker.  Just brilliant. #psychology