the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Tag: hate

The Joy of Being Hated


I knew this day would come. I’ve been dreading it all my life.

Not that I wasn’t prepared. From childhood, I readied the weaponry and armor. I built a protective and sturdy fort as high as a mountain. I became a soldier always on guard, and for decades, I kept the danger at a distance. But in my heart, I knew the door would one day break down, or like a river rapid racing to the precipice of the Great Falls, I would fall, helpless to the current.

Today, despite all my efforts to be as likable as possible, I discovered that someone didn’t like me.  How could this happen?   Every action and response was always so carefully balanced on the scale with my need to be liked.

Who cannot like me?

“Brian doesn’t like you.” said Roger on the phone.


“I think it’s better we go to the game without him.”

“How can he not like me?  I mean, I don’t really like him that much. But why would he not like me?”

“I don’t know. He told me once that he didn’t like you.”

“Then we should bring him to game, so I can have a chance to talk to him and win him over again.”

“There’s no again. He never liked you.”

“Never?  But he only met me twice!”

“And he didn’t like you the first time.”

“What if I called him and asked him out for a beer…”

“Give it up, Neil. I didn’t want to tell you this.  I know you are sensitive. But he didn’t just say he doesn’t like you.  He said he HATES you!”


So, that’s how it ends.

hate - verb

feel intense or passionate dislike for (someone).

synonyms: loathe, detest, despise, dislike, abhor

I’m sure somewhere in my past, others have HATED me.   I’m sure some of  you hate me.   But this is the first time that I have found an eyewitness with legitimate PROOF that another human being on this planet… despises me.  It would even stand in court.

“Guilty as charged. Brian hates your guts.” the judge would say as he slammed the gavel, after hearing all the evidence.

Some people don’t believe in Bigfoot until they see him with their own eyes. I have now seen Bigfoot. I KNOW that someone hates me.

After the initial shock to the system, I took a walk, heading out to Dunkin’ Donuts for a cup of coffee. It was a beautiful, sunny day in New York City. An ice cream truck passed by, chiming away. I expected myself to be depressed, anxious, or even sobbing over the news of being a hated man.   Instead, I found myself walking briskly, almost with a rock and roll swagger, as if a burden had been lifted off my shoulders.

“Someone doesn’t like me,” I said to myself. “Worse. Someone hates me. Someone really hates me!”

I was like the anti-Sally Field, energized by this news of hate. I felt emboldened, empowered.

Why did Brian hate me? I don’t know.   Perhaps I will never know.   But he wasn’t bored with me, or didn’t remember my name.  No, he HATED ME!  Clearly,  I had made a strong impact on him, even if was complete revulsion.  I was SOMEBODY!

When I entered Dunkin Donuts, I  ordered my usual small coffee and plain donut.

“No, wait!” I yelled at cashier, a high school girl. “I’ll have a large coffee with a jelly donut. And I want REAL milk, none of that creamer!”

Sure, my special request could have pissed her off   She might even dislike me for being pushy. But then again,  I already know someone who HATES ME.  What’s the big deal having one more?  Bring it on!

Can Anybody Find Me Somebody to Hate?


I’ve always wanted to hate another ethnic or racial group.  Hatred gives a person a lot of inner power and focus.  My biggest problem in my quest for hating others is that I’m not that political.  My main interests tend to be music, food, and fantasizing about women.

I’ve tried hating black people.  After all, so much of urban crime is caused by blacks.  But then I remember that scene in “Do the Right Thing” where John Turturro admits to Spike Lee that all his favorite singers and athletes were African-American.  Where would American music be without black musicians?  We’d still be stuck listening to wimpy Jewish guys named Neil (Sedaka and Diamond).  I’m not a big fan of soul food, so that’s not a big plus for me.   But I’ve always found black women very sexy.   So, blacks are out for me.

I should hate Mexicans.  Look how illegal aliens are taking over California.  But I love Mexican food and I have a fondness for Mariachi music.  And this Mexican-born woman on the third floor of my apartment building is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

Do I need to bother bringing up Asians?   First of all, they have the food thing down pat.   Is there any cuisines better than the Chinese and Japanese?  I can’t stay angry at the Japanese for World War II when I think about sushi and green tea ice cream.  I don’t know much about their Asian music, but let’s just say Jewish men have a certain fondness for Asian women.

Jewish women are extremely sexy.  And Jewish food is great.  Why do so many people hate us?

I really want to hate Arabs.  Some of them really deserve to be hated.  But Middle Eastern food is delicious.  Even Israelis have to admit that much of their own food is modified Arabic food.  I predict that peace will come to the Middle East because of the food.  Arabic music is a little whiny for my taste.  But I would like to know more about Arab women.  So many of them are still stuck behind their burkas.  It makes me think that Arab women must be the hottest of them all, or else why would their men want to hide them from the rest of us?

Ethiopians:   food — yuch.  Music — so-so.  Women — gorgeous.

Indians:  food — yummy.  Music — annoying.  Women — amazing.

Italians:  food, opera, and great-looking women.  A trifecta.

the British:  bad food, the Beatles, the fabulous Kate Winslet

the French:  good food, bad disco-type music, chic women!

I was losing hope in my search for someone to hate.  But last week, there was a glimmer of hope.   I went with Sophia to dinner at the house of a co-worker, a Latvian interpreter.  This Latvian woman was the ugliest woman I’d ever seen.  The authentic Latvian dishes were absolutely awful.  Getting excited by the prospect of finding someone to hate, I asked the hostess if she had any Latvian music to play.   She put on a CD of a popular Latvian singer who sounded like a Slavic falsetto version of American Idol reject William Hung.  I was getting positively ecstatic – finally, I found a people to hate — LATVIANS!

I rushed home to Google to learn as much as possible about these petty little, pug-nosed Latvians.  I wanted to hate everything about them.  Then I found myself going to this link showing Olympic jumper Ineta Radevica posing in Playboy.  Damn it!


Social media & sharing icons powered by UltimatelySocial