Happy Thoughts

I was happy once. It lasted for, oh, about two weeks. Scared the shit out of me.

Contest

This is a futile attempt to see if any of my three friends actually reads this blog. I had named my most recent post "Liberal Guy Talk." But that seemed really lame, and since I'm too lazy to try to think of another, I figured I'd get one of you three to name it. The current name for the post is Name This Post.

Submit your suggestions via comments. (And no, it doesn't need to be relevant -- god knows I don't expect you to read this stuff.) If I get any responses, I'll put them up to a vote.

And, as always, if you have any suggestions, praise, comments, or criticism -- you are encouraged to submit a comment. For instance, if you wanted to tell everyone that you laughed so hard at Check the Weather in Hades, that you spewed coke out your nose, let me know. I'll try to write more, and I'll add warnings.

Life in the flatlands

A couple of years ago I had this horrible job. It wasn't really terrible, It just had certain elements that made it horrible. It wasn't dangerous, I wasn't exposed to harmful chemicals, or forced to perform degrading acts of sexual depravity. It wasn't even a dirty or smelly job. In fact it was such an easy and laid back job, it was kind of ridiculous that they paid me an hourly wage. And I would have been happy except for one thing (yes, that is clearly hyperbole on my part) -- the job required interacting with that unwashed mass of idiot rabble called the general public. To make matters worse, the majority of these brainiacs were students at a private (and of course disgustingly over-priced) party school that has been coasting on its reputation for about twenty years.

So, my expectations were low. Hearing these kids complain about finding a parking space for their Cadillac Escalades, or watching them bounce past my office in their designer sweats and leased tans grated on my nerves. Listening to them talk about philosophy or literature as if they had discovered something no one else had heard about or could understand was simply embarrassing. But I persevered, and found a certain joy in relating some of the more ridiculous episodes to my quickly shrinking circle of friends.

Still, one day I found out what writers mean when they say a person is dumbfounded. "Shocked," "surprised," "astonished," not even "flabbergasted," could describe my amazement to discover someone dumber than the dumbest thundering dunderhead I had ever met.

Perhaps I've oversold this story.

Let me back up and preface this story by saying that I live in a very flat state. The building I worked in does not sit on rolling hills. It does not overlook a lake, or a canyon. In fact, I would bet there is no change in elevation within 20 miles of this site, if you don't count the concrete canyon cut through the middle of the city for the interstate highway.

We are talking about a lot of flat flat farmland. Let me make myself absolutely clear, I want to stress to you, gentle reader, that there is no hill or hummock or steep grade or meandering staircase up which a person must climb to enter the front doors of this building.

On this particular afternoon a student entered the front door of our establishment. He stepped up to the worker at the front desk and asked, "Is this the second floor?"

When he was informed that no, this was not the second floor, and would not be considered the second floor in Britain, or any other backwards culture, he asked, "Where is the second floor?" The stairs behind the worker were, perhaps, too obvious a clue.

I must admit that there is a slight, very slight rise, as one strolls up the Ashley Taylor* Promenade (courtesy of her loving husband, a famous war-criminal) in front of the building. But in no way would a normal person believe he or she was entering a split-level ranch house overlooking the Pacific Ocean, or that perhaps we had a hidden network of terraces dropping down the slope of a dormant volcano on the opposite, hidden, side of the building.

So, no, the worker told him, this is not the second floor.

I sometimes wonder about this poor lost soul and ponder on what kind of world he must live in. It reminds me of my own days in the heady world of academia where I was introduced to the strange and mystical world of certain eastern philosophical schools of thought. Apparently there was a group of Indians, I think they were called Charvaka Materialists (I'm sure that spelling is wrong), who held the odd belief that one cannot make inferences about the world around them. I guess they had to experience anything for it to be considered real. So, for instance, if they were off in the woods collecting mushrooms and saw a giant cloud of smoke rising from the vicinity of the temple, the would simply consider that they were seeing a giant cloud of smoke. Just because every time they saw large billowing clouds of smoke a fire of not inconsiderable size was found under it, a Charvaka Materialist could not infer that a fire was the source of this black cloud, or that every time a fire burned it would produce smoke

So, their answer to some of the more tricky philosophical questions that have plagued liberal arts majors for decades, were actually quite simple. A falling tree does not make a noise in the forest unless they are there to hear it. In fact, how can you know that the tree actually fell? -- Maybe aliens placed it on its side for unknowable aesthetic alien reasons. Just because it's on it's side doesn't mean it fell. Perhaps it got tired. I like to think the Charvaka Materialist, faced with a glass containing water near its midpoint, would simply drink it. It's not a glass of water until it is drunk, is it?

But I wander. Personally, when it's 2:00 AM and I've been imbibing alcoholic beverages for a considerable amount of time, I find myself remembering the stranger who didn't know what floor he was on. Perhaps he was the last surviving member of this confused tribe of people who couldn't understand that sex brings babies any more than a gorilla (and I don't mean to be unkind to gorillas here) can understand quantum physics.

Good luck young man. Good luck.

I Don't Even Have To Try

Grab your guns boys and girls. The red menace has finally made its move. Well, at least they were smart enough to start at our weakest point -- Georgia.

One can never underestimate the ignorance of the people on this planet. The internet was invented to prove this. Out of 1,000,000 people, three might know what the hell is going on and can spot the joke.

Personally, I think only one out of the 3 actually gets it and the other two agree with him to sound smart. And to illustrate stoopidity in the world I offer two items today. The first is found here -- Yahoo Answers, where Yahoo proves that Wikipedia is an anamoly -- Web sites that allow the masses to post and edit information only rarely provide intelligent and accurate information. Most of the people here are either too smart for their own good, or completely clueless.

Attack of the Russkies

My second illustration of the ignorance afflicting this planet -- My sister worked in the travel industry for years. Back when she was taking reservations for Gamma Airlines someone in her office got a call from a young serviceman who had just received his deployment orders. Being a good soldier, he called Gamma Airlines to book his reservation. Only problem was that he didn't know where he was going. He'd never heard of Maconga. No one in the reservation office had heard of it either. Folks were pulling atlases out and poring over World Encyclopedia maps. No one could figure out where Maconga was.

Could it be some small former soviet-bloc province? Maybe some tiny city in South Africa? Or perhaps a tiny island near Grenada?

Finally, a light bulb went off, and my sister asked the young man, "Could that possibly be Macon, GEORGIA, sir?"

It's great to see the military mind at work.

Job Questing 1

Not surprisingly, I am on the job hunt quest. Again.

In an effort to avoid saying those things that always seem to pop into my head during interviews, I've decided to start an ongoing feature detailing some of the stupid questions I get, some of the idiotic answers I give, and those things I'd really, really like to say, but am too desperate to utter.

Of course, I will also share some of the hole-digging tactics I seem to excel in, as well as when not to use the word "fuck."

And that is my first bit of advice. When asked to give an example of how you handled working with a difficult co-worker, do not say, "I remained calm and tried to strike a conciliatory tone, although almost anyone else would probably have told the guy to fuck-off."

This will not score you points, and may lead to a hasty end to any hope you may have had to work for slave wages (in a city with the highest cost-of-living on the eastern seaboard) at a small prestigious publishing house.

So, you are now forewarned.

Word Choice

A friend (my sister, to be precise) was bemoaning the fact that when the battle lines were drawn at the beginning of the right to choose debate, pro-choice advocates did not stomp out attempts by conservatives to label their anti-abortion movement as "Pro-Life."

"How can you argue with that?" she asked. "No one is 'Pro-Death' but that's what is implied. And the worst part is you can't argue with these labels -- once you are labeled, you lose the chance to make the case for your own position."

I paused for a minute, considering my response. "Well," I said, "I might be Pro-Death. But really I guess Pro-Pandemic might be closer to the truth."

---

I can explain, but you're not going to like my explanation any more than you like the idea of someone being "Pro-Death."

There are just too many damn people on this planet. I mean way too many people. I'm not talking about the simple cramped quarters of everyday life. Nor, is this a rant that traffic is a 24-hour problem now, or that I have to get to the theater 45 minutes before a movie starts, or it will be sold out. A simple winnowing of the populace in my general geographic area (somewhere on the Northern Hemisphere). No, I think that if this planet is going to survive (while sustaining a human-centric populace) for even just another 1,000 years some radical changes must take place.

If you keep reading this blog (and if I keep writing), you will probably discover that I am something of a fan of the Dark Knight (you know -- the protector of Gotham City, the Caped Crusader, the big man -- none other than Batman). Bruce Wayne's alter ego is a big hero of mine, However, on this subject I have to agree with his major nemesis Ra's Al Ghul. In the very good recent adaptation, Batman Begins, Ra's Al Ghul has this to say about destroying Gotham City:

Anarchy and chaos will spread, mankind will ravage itself, the species will be culled and the balance of nature restored. The planet will be saved for all species.

You can't argue with logic like that.