if you are a writer or an artist, where do you get your bile from? What makes you vent spleen? People find it odd sometimes that you can have a happy life and be angry about anything.
Being an American and watching hopelessly as the Super Rich and Super Connected drive my country into third world status while adding a layer of fucking Fascism.
Well, there's the obvious public BS narcissism and political ugliness that, honestly, probably isn't much worse than it ever was before-- it's just easier to see, far more visible. Thanks, technology.
Then there's the less obvious, like when friends drop the N bomb and really mean it, or when I feel like I'm going to have to create an alternate personality to get through Christmas with the extended family, or when I have to wait weeks for Microsoft to process a return on a defective Zune player that almost certainly won't return in time for me to be able to watch in the airport for the inevitable five to twelve hour wait over Christmas.
Proofreading the university newspaper. Is it too much to expect that university students (for that matter, not just students but students who want to write for a living) should at least be able to tell the difference between there / their / they're, to / too, lose / loose, etc?
I'm fully aware that my own abilities as a writer leave much to be desired, but really.
The housing market, neo-cons, Volcom stickers, 2WD "offroad" vehicles, piss beer, Michael Bay, modern country music, Beavis and Butt-head on DVD sans video commentary segments, ignorance of foreign cultures, and other things that I clearly hate about America.
Reading the Daily Mail, which I have to, for my job. Also, visiting my home town, filled as it is with cheerful racists and ignorami blaming their unhappiness on those awful foreigners, who obviously just sit in their lairs trying to figure out how to abduct our children and turn them into suicide bombers instead of doing all those menial tasks we don't want to do.
Mediocrity in art, pretentiousness, the font Papyrus, ignorance of basic humanity, general rudeness, cheap sci-fi TV, cruelty to children, domestic abuse and illogic.
people who pamphlet my museum with religious bs; reality tv; women who are at the museum so that other people can see how bloody brilliant their little brat is (completely different from the people who come to the museum to learn or to instill a love of science and history in their children, and you can tell at a glance who is who); coworkers who don't fact-check before they tell visitors information; Dan Brown; creationists who come to the museum to try to upset the new youth volunteers...
I should probably stop before I work myself into a frothing rage.
It used to be reading the Associated Press wire, but about a year ago I burned out, got outrage fatigue and I couldn't get angry about anything. As I put it at the time to a friend of mine around the time U.S. soldiers who killed Iraqi civilians started getting ridiculously light sentences , "Upset? I'm barely surprised."
Recently I've started dealing with things on a less macroscopic level, my job provides me with more than enough to be outraged about, like the manifest unfairness of true violence and the startling disonnect between truth and justice. Truth and justice being like love and fucking, cousins of only the most tenuous relation.
For true inspiration though, there's nothing like self loathing, and I will always be able to summon outrage by knowing I will never be as smart or talented as I want to be.
Social injustices would probably be the right thing to say, but usually all the small stuff. Like triping, ripped grocery bags and a complete lack of respect. Self loathing is a good one too.