Fuck ICE and Me
"You okay, bro?"
Maybe it’s okay to stay off Instagram when bad things happen in the world, I tell myself. Stay offline, don’t look at anything, you’ll feel angry, helpless, you will not be present with your children. But then I think, I should be angry, it’s normal to feel helpless, my kids can watch three more episodes of We Bare Bears (great show) while I doomscroll.
I’m amazed by those who hear about the ICE killings and jump online to record themselves talking in an effort to place these events in a wider historical context. I am as envious of their intellect as I am horrified by their belief that they’re helping. Then there are those who record themselves reacting to videos of other people talking. A lot of heavy sighing and solemn head-nodding.
“We can’t be outraged when white people die in the fight against racism,” some red-headed white lady says, while a Black man nods in the lower right corner and points at her talking face. Okay, thanks for that, and sign my white ass up! You know, for the dying!
Then I get on Instagram and here’s how my feed looks like now:
A band promoting a festival.
Squarespace ad.
A comedy show in Melbourne was cancelled.
Movie theatre ad.
New York Times story about snow.
SNL sketch.
American Express Ad.
Rotten Tomatoes unveils movie poster.
Exercise bike ad.
NBC New York clip of Trump expressing mild sadness over murder of Renee Good because her father was a huge Trump fan.
Skincare ad.
Eleven posts, six if you don’t count ads. Only one of these has anything to do with ICE, and zero of them were by individual humans I follow. And here I was thinking that posting a new reel from my podcast would distract from the important issues! I’m kidding, I haven’t recorded a new podcast. I don’t have a good reason why. I thought I would be disciplined with the podcast and make sure one comes out every two weeks, but this would require interviewing a lot of white male comedians and I think we’ve all had enough.
Life goes on, I almost wrote, but does it? Does anyone else feel like their lives are not going on? That things cannot move forward for some reason? At times I want to get on social media and say, “Hey, yes, FUCK ICE in the face forever, but also can I get some reassurance that I’m not unique in my loneliness and despair? Is this a being 40 thing, does anyone know? Is it normal to hang out with your kids and that’s literally everybody you hang out with?” Probably bad timing for that.
I have been looking for connection lately, wondering if a new love interest might do the trick. I’ve gone on a handful of meh-to-decent dates. I seem unable or unwilling to make any connection. Or it’s just an unlucky streak.
She is French-Turkish, 43, newly separated but not separated at all. Still sleeping in the same bed as her ex. After the date you drive her to her house in the middle of nowhere and she has you drive up past the house where her husband won’t see her kiss you.
She is Filipina, 42, and has never been to IKEA, will not go there. You take a long walk in the heat, commenting on the dead brown grass everywhere and tell her IKEA has a lot of nice things in it. You decide a thirty-minute drive is too far for this.
She is Chinese-Australian, 42, she is funny and thoughtful and pretty. Even her admission that she loves Tom Segura’s sketch show is not a fatal error. You kiss outside her vehicle and text that night, and the next day she does not respond to you and unmatches you on the app.
She is African-American, 38, has lived in Australia for almost twenty years and gets defensive when you tell her that she absolutely has an Australian accent now. You wonder if her having the accent is a sign of a weak will. She has to end the date to go watch tennis by herself and you wonder why you thought being from the same country would have been enough common ground.
She is Chinese, 44, fresh out of a relationship with a cheating partner. She cries on the date then laughs about the crying, apologizes. You sit together on a park bench and let her put her head on your shoulder and she cries some more. A couple nights later she invites you to her place because her son’s at a movie and you sit on her couch and look at her and can’t stop thinking mistake…mistake…leave, must leave. You leave after 45 minutes and neither of you contact the other again.
She is Malaysian, 38. You met on Bumble in April 2024 and it went very well so then you dated for a year and a half and it was wonderful. But you ended it, you can’t really say why. Was it that you had two kids and she had two kids and it was difficult to imagine sharing a life with her and your four kids? Was it that she watched you do standup and afterward you asked her how she felt about your new bit and she plainly told you she didn’t find it funny and even though you knew it was better to be with someone unafraid to be honest you wished that she’d lied? Did you think that your poor self-esteem, your feelings of isolation, your negative thoughts about Australia were supposed to be cured by this individual? Now it’s three months post-breakup and you miss her, you want her back, and ChatGPT advised “Do NOT reach out” but you reached out because fuck that robot-ass bitch.
She lets you know that she’s in a good place and wishes you well and you think okay at least now I know then you call yourself many cruel names before going to sleep. Maybe you can date other people now without wishing you were with her instead.
Do you have to be okay alone before you can be with someone? My therapist said that’s not so. We are wired for connection. To have connection helps us feel more okay, gives us a foundation from which we can build toward okayness. And in this very not okay world, I’m beginning to think human connection is all there is. But you have to be at least kind of okay with yourself before you can connect, right? Does anyone want to connect with a 40 year old man who still does open mics and wishes he wasn’t in this country and is a mopey bastard, generally? And how do you get there?
I am picturing you, if you’re still reading this, thinking, “God, I hope this guy sorts his shit out. Yeesh!” But there’s a chance you feel your shit is far from sorted too, and you feel both too old to achieve anything and too young to stop trying and you’re coming up with zero answers on how to move forward with this weird life that seems to be yours.
You don’t have to tell me if that describes you. All I ask is that you please start a Substack of your own and write about your misery so I can subscribe and read every post and think, “Holy shit, I thought I had problems.”
Anyway love you, miss you, and fuck ICE.