"Think I need to kill someone."

"God, I love you."

"You're the best."

"You're the worst."

"Everyone hates you, please leave."

"Oh God, that makes me die."

Then I'll hear it and say, "What the hell were you just thinking about?" I usually can't trace it. For the more negative ones, it's usually me remembering something I screwed up recently. Tiny mistakes. The type of things that someone would tweet about, like "Ugh, forgot to get eggs, fuck me." But in the shower it comes out extreme and crazy. Like most things I do. So. AM I CRAZY?

Well, the Internet Says ...

No. Now, you might not trust mental health decisions to unqualified Internet answers, but what if I told you that this response was considered "Best Answer"? Yeah, I thought that would shut you up. According to an unnamed dude, talking to yourself is only a problem if you hear responses or if you think you're talking to someone else. Now frankly, that sounds stupid to me, because if I were talking to imaginary friends, I would have Googled that, I mean Yahooed that, but I searched talking to "yourself." But what do I know? No one ever told me I had the "Best Answer." I'm just some guy talking to himself in the shower while he poops into his own hands. Oh wait, I didn't include that in my search. Whatever. Probably not a sign of anything.

I'm talking about what I do. I engage in a nonstop, politically incorrect litany of hatred as I'm stuck behind someone in a vehicular or public sidewalk traffic situation. It's not even funny. Just a nonstop tirade of junior high school contempt. And when I say junior high school, you have no idea. You cannot comprehend the number of pedestrians I have mentally addressed as "Douchey McFuckface" as I laser-bore my contempt into the back of their skull. So. AM I CRAZY?

Well, the Internet Says ...

No. In truth, I had to do a bunch of searches, but ultimately I came to this site, which wanted me to take a whole bunch of tests. And although the tests did have things about yelling and being verbally abusive, I didn't see ANYTHING about silently calling pedestrians "Douchey McFuckface," so apparently I'm as right as rain. Mentally, verbally abusive rain that calls you "Douchey McFuckface" if you scurry in front of me when I'm in a rush and then suddenly slow down once I'm trapped.

Well, the Internet Says ...

OK, I was a little worried about this one. Because checking something obsessively over and over again? Yep, sounds like a telltale sign of claustrophobia, right? But I checked. Apparently, being obsessed with details and repeating actions compulsively are not the signs of a claustrophobia disorder! Yep, and I was so worried. Just like I am after I touch a public restroom door and I have to wash my hands 300 times to prevent illness.

When I heard that James Gandolfini died, my first thought was heart attack. Each time I'd seen pictures or footage of him over the last decade, he seemed to be heavier, and I remember being worried and thinking it would be a shame for him to die earlier. He passed, and I was sorry to hear the news. Steven Van Zandt, who worked with him for years, tweeted his sadness about the loss of a man whom he considered a brother. I got that. I was touched. It was personal.

I have no problem with this, obviously.

But then came an outpouring of condolences online and for reasons that weren't immediately clear to me. I got vaguely annoyed. Then I realized, I usually get annoyed by public displays of grief for celebrities. Mind you, not just in the cases of the Cobains and Winehouses, who played such an integral role in their own demise. I've written about that before. Just generally, there's just something irritating to me about people's public displays of grief for someone they don't know.

The more I thought about it, the more important I realized the "don't know" part was. After all, Stephen Colbert lost his mother the same week Gandolfini died, and his public display of emotion had me in tears. He was honoring his mother, just as Van Zandt was honoring the memory of his dearly departed personal friend.

But most of the stuff filling my Internet feed? I don't know. I can't shake the feeling that so much of it has a subtext of "Dig me! I'm caring! I'm grieving here." Why not tweet about people we don't know?

Around the time of a celebrity death, people hungry for good-guy points swarm to the corpse, dropping platitudes. It makes me think of every good man, woman, and child who died, perhaps under more horrific circumstances, that didn't create a massive outpouring of public grief. It just seems somehow disrespectful to their memories to lose your shit over someone else because they had a job that came with fame.

Of course, people can miss the work even if they don't know an artist. They can pay their respects to what that artist has accomplished and lay condolences for the family. I'm not saying it's wrong to publicly grieve for celebrities under any circumstances or in any way, but I don't know. I know false shitty sympathy when I see it. It's the condolences delivered publicly with an eye for doing more for the speaker than the bereaved. And it bugs me.

So. AM I CRAZY?

Well, the Internet Says ...

Not checking. Who cares. It's the Internet.

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