Month: January 2012

Life isn’t Fair … to the other guy!

Somewhere between the point of impact and the bloody nose, some back-fence philosopher will invariably tell you life isn’t fair.  Not very witty and not very original but true all the same.  We all know life isn’t fair.  For example, the San Diego Chargers have never won the Super Bowl and the Dallas Cowboys have won it like two hundred times.  NFL parity be damned; that’s just not fair.  Nor are the long lines at the DMV, the amount of sodium in a Big Mac™ or the odds of winning in Vegas.  I have a friend who used to say, “Life is a series of long shots and then you die.”  I never agreed with him, but he’s got a point.  The fact is life isn’t fair.  The problem is we all know that’s true, but nobody believes it – not really.

We believe life isn’t fair … to the other guy.  We think the random bumps and bruises Mother Nature dishes out on a daily basis should be reserved for somebody else.  We’re willing to take our lumps too but we want a reason for them.  We also want our personal attributes recognized by the universe, and we want rewards and punishments meted out accordingly.  When that doesn’t happen, we think we’re getting screwed.

This wasn’t always the case.  In the late 19th century, novelist Thomas Hardy made a career out of ruining fictional lives with innocent acts of chance: an appointment missed or a letter misplaced meant his characters lost out on happily ever after and went straight to abject misery.  These days, we pooh-pooh Hardy`s ùse of coincidence as a literary device, but the Victorians thought it quite acceptable.  (They were more concerned about the sex.)  Our recent ancestors realized that life was hazardous and you had to be very careful because happenstance did happen – with dire consequences.  Our benevolent universe is a recent invention.  It`s less than sixty years old.

For the last three generations, we`ve been working under the delusion that we can build a risk-free society.  Actually, we`ve done a relatively good job.  Life — as we know it — has come a long way from what 17th century philosopher Thomas Hobbes described as “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short.”  Our institutions give us a level of protection against random acts of misfortune.  They provide a certain amount of certainty to our lives, and offer slight guarantees against disaster.  Unfortunately, because we’ve been living under these minimal safeguards for so long — and they have worked so well — we now not only believe in a benevolent universe; we demand it.  In short, “life isn’t fair” might apply to the generic universe, but nobody takes it personally.

The real problem is, as our society’s cocoon wraps itself around us, we simply don’t take life seriously anymore.  We don’t believe it can hurt us, and when it does, we’re shocked.  I’m not talking about life-threatening diseases or major disasters like earthquakes; you’re not going to win those babies.  I’m talking about everyday trouble that comes whipping out of nowhere and kicks us in the teeth — stuff that just happens.  It’s nothing personal.  There’s no giant ledger of debits and credits, and you didn’t get your share of credits.  Nobody’s trying to thwart your attempts at a good life.  There’s no need to rage against the machine, get angry or threaten to sue.  And it’s not going to do you any good to cry or sulk or go back into therapy.

Here’s the deal.  Sometimes, the owner doesn’t clean up after the dog. It’s that simple. There’s nothing you can do about it — except, maybe remember: despite our best intentions, life isn’t fair and you need to wear shoes.

Conversation: A Dying Art

We all know people whose primary skill is to be annoying.  They may be nice folks, and we may even genuinely like them but invariably, in conversation, they always have to pull out the sandpaper.  Nothing seriously personal — no insults to your mother or major ideological differences just — nitpicky crap that rubs you the wrong way.  These are the folks who always have something to say, and, when they don’t, weasel the conversation around until they do.  Actually, it’s mostly the tone; just a note or two above superior but not quite nasal enough to be pompous ass.  They’re the ones who roll their eyes skyward when you start the conversation with, “I was at McDonald’s the other day…” as who should say “I’ve never tasted a Quarter Pounder.”  We all know they have, but we never say so.  We never stop the story and say, “Hey! Wait a minute, I knew you in college and you used to eat Ronny Mac eight times a week.”  And that’s the most annoying part of it all.  We let them get away with this stuff, and two days later, we’re still pissed off and rewriting the mental conversation.

We let these folks trample all over us is because it’s just too much trouble to stop everything and call them out.  We know if we do say, “Hey! Wait a minute!” we’re going to get a diatribe on the icky bits that go into the Chicken McNuggets or how the Shakes don’t melt in the blazing August sun.  (As if we didn’t know that already.)  Either that or it’s a forty minute travelogue of some quaint little hamburger place over in Funkytown where the chef/owner raises her own cows organically in the backyard, sprouts her own mustard and hand blends the secret sauce.  (Probably, ketchup and Thousand Islands!)  It’s not quite as bad as the vegetarian tirade but close.  Anyway, it’s just not worth it, and that’s what these people bank on.  They think they’re safe because the rest of us aren’t willing to stop cold and take them to task every time they open their mouths.

These people are ruining the world.

Once upon a time, it was perfectly acceptable to have an ordinary conversation: just a few people hanging out with each other.  We all heard what the other person had to say — like it or not — made the right noises in the right places and waited our turn to trot out our own semi-interesting stories.  It was great fun and how we got to know each other: the Golden Age of small talk.  These days, however, the irritating people have taken centre stage and we can’t get away from them.  They’re constantly trying to enlighten us to the perils of the world, the inequities of life and the finer things that only they have the inside track on.  They’ve turned the fine art of inane conversation into some sort of verbal tennis match where every innocent lob is returned with a Roger Federer drive to the net and overhand smash.  It’s like getting trapped in an elevator with a socially aware insurance salesman: eventually, everything gets back to “Serious” without ever having paused at “Who Cares.”

The problem is there’s nothing we can do about it.  Unless we want to turn every conversation into a low-level firefight we just have to stand there and take it.  Polite society dictates polite conversation.  Personally, however, I’m tired of the monologue on microbreweries, films with subtitles and anyone who has travelled anywhere.  I no longer admit I have a passport, occasionally drink soda pop or know how to read.  Nor do I celebrate major Western holidays, know where Africa is or understand the nuances of the LCD/LED TV.  (That last one’s true, by the way.)  I’ve discovered that it’s impossible to deal with these people.  They hold the floor like some 19th century slumlord — with just about as much benefit to the common good.

Unfortunately, since our society frowns on unleashing predators like me on these people, they are multiplying exponentially.  Eventually, all conversations will consist of a number of comatose heads, bobbing in unison, while several long-winded gasbags hold forth, ad infinitum.  No one will be able to hear (or care) what the other person is saying, and eventually, in polite good time, they’ll all just wander back to their smartphones, emails and text messages.

It’s a bleak future, but until we declare open season on these perpetual pains in the posterior, we’re doomed.

 

Hiya, 2012! How are ya?

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At the risk of clinging to a dead horse, I’m not finished with 2011 yet.  I think it was such a cool year we should extend it for a month or two.  I’ve got nothing against 2012.  I hardly know it, actually.  In fact, we’re barely acquainted, so I’m not going to rush to pass judgement.  I’m willing to give it a chance but at this point, all 2012 has to offer is the reality show “Who Wants To Be The President?” and the Mayan End of the World.  Tres boring!  Meanwhile, 2011 had so much stuff going on it’s hard to imagine it’s over.  It’s like when the rollercoaster comes sliding into the flat part at the end – you’re crying, your heart’s racing, you just about threw up and you’re going to need the Jaws of Life to deal with your underwear — but you’re kinda not finished yet, even though the ride is, and you want to go around again.  That’s the way I feel about 2011.  I’m like Oliver Twist, “Please sir, I want some more.”

The media echo chamber has done The Year in Review ad naseum and besides if you’re reading this you were obviously there, so it’s not like there are any surprises from last year.  However, if we cast a more critical eye over it, I think you’ll agree 2012 is going to have to be one kick-ass year to top 2011.

First of all, we got rid of some bad guys.  Ben Ali and Mubarak got tossed out of North Africa.  Muammar and his kids didn’t take the hint in Libya and they got the boot, too – with extreme prejudice, I might add.  In December, according to the local media, Kim Jung –il invented death in North Korea.  However, the brightest black star on the In Memoriam calendar was Osama Bin Laden who got double-tapped in Pakistan in May.  Too bad 2011 ran out before the people of Syria could turn Bashar al-Assad into a piñata and it’s going to take more than twelve months to adios what’s-his-name (I’m a dinner jacket?  Ahmadinejad?) out of Iran.  The same goes for Chavez in Venezuela, although ….  Meanwhile, it looks like a remake of The Lion King in North Korea where a weird wicked uncle is running the show until all-powerful adolescent Kim Jung-un grows into his daddy’s jackboots.  All in all, not a good year for villains.

The debt crisis in the United States proved that Republicans are just about as stupid as Barack Obama — which is going some — but it’s a great lead-up to 2012’s ultimate game of Survivor.  The various tribal councils (read state primaries) will determine who is voted off the election island but the real question on the Republican side is whether tired ideology will beat out pragmatic reality.  Stay tuned!

Across the Atlantic, in what was once the post Cold War European dinner party, the credit cards are starting to come back declined.  The purveyors of the feast, Papandreou, Berlusconi and Zapatero have all conveniently found the exits and Frau Merkel is getting the sinking feeling she’ll be stuck with the bill.  Good luck, Angela, and keep in mind, your date, Monsieur Sarkozy, might not be around long enough himself to help you cover the tab.  The question in 2012 may very well be: how many Deutsche Marks does it take to cover a Euro-failure?

However, even though the Western monetary crisis isn’t global – yet — it’s already showing some positive results.  There has been a serious cull in the herd of pretentious wine snobs that have plagued us for the last decade, and people are beginning to worry more about what they’re going to have for dinner than what Snooki ate.  Every dark cloud has a silver lining.

Fortunately, the biggest load of crap from 2011 seems to be dying a natural death, although a few hangers-on still believe they can resurrect the corpse.  The Occupy Whatever! Movement, which started out as a marketing campaign from Adbusters Magazine and ballooned into a half-inflated media beach ball has fizzled out.  The onset of cold weather cooled the ardour of even the most passionate proponent of social change.  Shivering for one’s ideals was just too much to ask of this generation’s activists.  They tend to run more towards social media and sun screen than a sustained attention span.  With any luck at all, the Occupier will continue to fade away and the whole thing will turn into a 2011 version of Woodstock: a “wasn’t that a time” nostalgic lie to tell the grandchildren.  If not, the summer of 2012 is going to be another pain in the ass for the people who are actually working on changing our social structures.

However, time marches on.  There’s no use living in the past even if it was only a couple of days ago.

Okay, 2012, show me what you’ve got!