WORD ON THE STREET: VIVA HATE

I believe that hate is a good thing. Well, not exactly a good thing in and of itself, like nice weather or free food, but it definitely serves its purpose. I guess hate's main selling point is that people like it. Face it, we love to hate. Whether it's Jeffrey Dahmer, Adolf Hitler, or Darth Vader, we love to have our enemies clearly labeled and at a safe distance. And between us and them lies a great, spiky Berlin Wall of hatred. Obviously there is hate and there is HATE. The dark-alley beatings, epithets, and vivid discrimination remain completely deplorable. But I'm talking about the 'I hate my sister, she's such a bitch' variety, the platonic, media-friendly 'Joanie hates Chachi' type of anathema -- nice guilt-free, non-toxic, friendly hate. We all indulge in it?hell, if you think about them one by one, you'd probably admit you hate your friends. But that's what makes them so interesting to watch and, of course, discuss. Hate is the bitter potion that makes the world go round. Sit awhile in any public gathering place, or, more specifically, one of the many proverbial salons featured in our culture's films and television shows. You hear gossip -- and none of that 'Ricky got accepted into Yale, he's such a sweet boy' kind. I'm talking the actual dark, vicious, character assassination that comprises friendly conversation. Any situation in anyone's life, any triumph, any medal, any achievement has a dirty side to it. And those discussing these glitches get so much pleasure out of pointing these dark spots out that the whole process must have some redeeming quality. Maybe it's reducing the milestones of others closer to our own, rather meager, levels of achievement. Maybe it's a herding instinct to condemn the deviations from the mean. I will not even pretend to explain why this occurs, whether it's some adenine-adenine-guanine sequence that prompts the vituperative neuron to fire, or if it's because our fathers never accepted us the way we would have liked. The truth is, hate is out there, and we're all slaves to the drug. But, as I was originally saying, it ain't so bad. Hate is, at the same time, big business and cutting-edge culture. The whole alternative surly-youth phenomenon is grounded more in bratty harder-than-you smugness than legitimate disattachment. Trent Reznor growled his "You know me, I hate everyone," all the way to the Billboard charts and launched a thousand grumpy impostors. But, of course, that was before he sold out and became so trendy. Hate is a never-ending fossil-fuel supply of creativity. Just think how many more works of art were spawned by repression and rejection than blissful acceptance. All of your Sonnets from the Portuguese and 14,000 Things To Be Happy About pale both in volume and in force before the growing numbers of Heart of Darkness, Catcher in the Rye, and Mein Kampf. Kurt Cobain and his sullen grunge brethren put smarmy old one-hit wonder Bobby "Don't Worry, Be Happy" McFerrin in his place with the blanket statement, "I wish I was like you / easily amused." From Geraldo and Morton Downey Jr. to Rush Limbaugh and Pat Buchanan, hate is in our collective faces everyday. And we just plain like to talk about the things we hate -- for one thing, it's a hell of a lot less wussy-like than expanding on the things we simply adore. But hatred is, above all else, the creator of self-esteem. Forget about self-nurturing and soul- searching; people are prouder of not being like a particular someone than they are of their own persona. No matter how bad it gets, you may know that at least you're not like him. Case in point: just think of this triumphant work of literature you hold in your hands, 34th Street. The brainless and usually factually-flawed Street Society is, was, and shall always be the most popular little segment, and the reason is evident. We want to laugh at the exploits of our enemies, the idiots and jerks. And our hatred permits us a distance between our enemies and ourselves. But I have seen the enemy, and it is ourselves.

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