My Lenten Resolve: Devotions for Douchebags
I know what you’re thinking. How horrid to connect Lent and Douchebaggery.
Or maybe you’re taking the opposite view: how wonderful.
In both cases, you may be right, you may be wrong. Who am I to control your discourse? I’m no fascist (using the term loosely since discourse control is endemic to both the right and left and well, centre).
My Lenten Praxis
My Lenten praxis is to write more of my stuff rather than just clients’ and friends’ material. Aside from my Novel Which Never Will Happen (The Paper Bag Party), my pet project is Devotions for Douchebags.
I read a lot of devotions and like anyone of our era, I am on FaceBook where the pictographic meme reigns supreme (dadgum that rhymed) and I realized: making memes is not enough. I needed to build a site and write at least a few chapbooks (and of course design the requisite posters, mugs, t-shirts) devoted to helping some of the people I know best: douchebags.
It was to this end, kinda, that I met with Bueller a few weeks ago. Actually, she wanted to meet with me because she has a pet project too but I won’t post it here because she’s still ankle-deep in plotting it out. But it will be a doozy.
Bueller didn’t realize that I’m a bit like Oscar Wilde: we may have been talking about her, but I was really thinking about myself.
As she went on about her content all of which is purposeful, beautifully written, and focussed on helping others better their condition, I was struck by the dichotomy of our relationship and my own personal Weltanschauung as disparate from hers.
In brief (and summed up nicely by my first psychiatrist whom I hated): I operate best under negative transference.
So the more I hang out with positive people filled with purpose and love and joy, the more I hate and thus thrive.
But I wanted to use my super powers for good, not evil, so I focussed on the obvious: for some people, being a douche is the pinnacle of what they can and will achieve in this mortal coil. Who am I to take my douchey knowledge, garnered from years (still ongoing) of working in the corporate sphere? Indeed, I have learned that douchebaggery is not limited to the corporate sphere. Who am I to deprive the world of the necessary knowledge of how to be a better douchebag?
And the material writes itself. And when I’m stuck, I turn to someone like Bueller who is a better (wo)man than I. Whatever she’s writing, I put the word “no” in front, reduce it all to a tagline, add a photo (or better yet, a vector drawing because of its scalability) and I’m cooking with petrol.
For those looking for some sort of redemption in my project, there is none unless you read everything with a sense of humour and a pinch of salt substitute (btw, potassium will do you a treat too, so don’t get too smug on the fake stuff). Douchebags are (apparently) people too. And like the rest of us, they need a little help. Douchebaggery transcends gender, sexuality, creed, nationality. It is rampant where’er one goes.
Give a douche a hug. You’ll be glad you did … and at least you can see what they’re doing.
UPDATE: February 25, 2017:
Post Scriptum … These are the last days of my (now) 2017 Heart & Stroke Foundation campaign. Don’t be a douche, throw a couple of quaatloos their way.