Tag: contemporary life

Are We Stupid or What?

stupidSometimes I think we’re living in the stupidest time period of all history and if we get any stupider we’re going start eating each other.   And I’m not talking about ‘tell me the difference between fusion and fission” stupid; I’m talking about “stuck for an answer” stupid.  Personally, I don’t care.  The optimist in me says, “Saner heads will eventually prevail.”   However, I do wish we’d stop running around congratulating each other and finally admit that most of the people who are supposed to  know better never quite get their IQ above room temperature.  It would make it so much easier for regular people to function and get a few things done.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I understand every human being has something to contribute to society.  However, where’s the law that says every contribution is a positive one?  Let me demonstrate.  Remember that group project you did in high school.  And remember that one jerk who did all the jawing but whose major contribution was wasting tons of time playing catch-up ‘cause mostly he didn’t bother to show up?  And didn’t you end up doing most of his work for him ‘cause you knew he wouldn’t get it done?  Wasn’t he the one who got the same B plus as you did?  Any of this ring a bell?  Now, broaden your outlook to the wider world.  Remember, that same jerk graduated when you did, and, believe me, his diploma wasn’t a magic talisman that changed his entire personality!  Look around you.  There are way more of them out there than there are of us.  Again, let me demonstrate.

It’s no secret that there’s a war going on in this world against women.  Look in any direction but north and women are getting stomped on, beaten up, raped, killed and incinerated.  Female teachers are being shot; female students are dodging bats, bullets and bags of acid just to go to school.  And whatever you do, stay off the buses.  In some parts of the world, women aren’t allowed to drive or even ride a bicycle.  Generally, that’s a moot point though, because in many places, they aren’t allowed out of the house without a male escort anyway — and in others they’re not allow out at all.  And here’s one for WTF logic: in more than one country, the penalty for rape is public stoning…to death…for the victim!

However, take a look at every “Women’s” magazine (paper or electronic) anywhere in the Western world, and what’s the top story?  (You don’t even have to guess.)  Right after “Get Organized, You Lazy Lump” and “How to Drive Your Man Crazy in Bed” – it’s Kim Kardashian’s New Year’s pregnancy dress.  Yep, Kimmie and Kanye are going to have a baby!  Stop the Internet: we’re going viral!  Frankly, I don’t see what the big deal is.  Did anybody really believe the King and Queen of Obnoxious could control themselves once they saw the Baby Making headlines Kate and William Windsor generated?  Besides, what did everybody think she and Kanye were doing — playing Scrabble™ (Words With Friends™ if you’re under 30?)

My point is when the smartest business couple since Brad and Angelina gostupid1 gunning for revenue at the bottom of the intellectual barrel, there’s got to be something to it.  These two have been harvesting coin of the realm out of the proletariat for years.  They know what they’re doing.  They realized that our society has a limited vision of the world, and they’ve carved their lucrative niche out of it.  They’ve marketed smut and anger (with a side order of drama) as if they were lowlife Happy Meals™ and made ga-millions of dollars doing it.  I’m certain that Kim and Kanye will skank off into the sunset like Paris and Nicole did before them.  However, until they do, their unquestioned celebrity is living proof that our society is on the verge of imploding under the weight of its own ignorance.

But what the hell do you expect from a world whose standard response to every statement from “Good morning.” to “Freddy Krueger just cut off my head with a chainsaw!” is “Awesome!”?

My Machines Don’t Like Me …

I don’t get along with my machines.  They’re smug.  They can do things I don’t understand, and they know it.  They play with my emotions like a half-faithful lover, almost daring me to abandon them.  I swear I’m going to do it someday, just not right now.  Don’t get me wrong: I’m not a poor man’s John Connor.  I don’t believe machines are out to get us.  I just realize they’re not as sweet and carefree as they say they are.  They have their own agenda, and it doesn’t include me.

I’ve known about machines ever since I discovered the toaster was lying.  Despite the buttons, switches and dials, there are no settings on a toaster – just hot and off.  For years, it would tease me with light brown and pop-up black or hold onto the English muffins as if they were Joan of Arc.  And, sometimes, in a snit, it wouldn’t toast at all — just return the bread, warm and naked.  Finally, with a screwdriver, I found out the dial at the bottom wasn’t actually attached to anything – just a little bend me/break me strip of metal.  I broke it, and the toaster changed its tune after that – for a little while.

Likewise, my microwave has a personality disorder.  It has trouble with authority.  If I follow the instructions on the package to the letter I risk a Dresden-class explosion and burrito guts splattered across the glass.  Recently, I’ve learned to announce the product before I place it inside and just hit high octane for two minutes.  Mostly, it works.

Small kitchen appliances aren’t the worst though.  Major appliances are bigger and more contrary.  My refrigerator has a secret compartment that stores leftovers until they return to life, and then it re-introduces them into the general population — gangrene green and smiling.  When it’s bored, it sours the milk and wilts the lettuce, and sometimes, just for laughs, it makes everything, including the orange juice, taste vaguely like onions.

My washer and dryer have been fighting for years; these days, they hardly even speak to each other.  I’m sure they blame me for forcing them to stay together.  My washer can ruin white shirts in a single cycle and fade colours at a glance.  My dryer eats socks and underwear and picks its teeth with buttons.  I wish they’d learn to get along; my friends are beginning to ask me if Value Village just had a yard sale.

Frighteningly, the more sophisticated the machine, the more cunning.  Every car I’ve ever owned has made mysterious noises that baffle the most accomplished mechanics.  These are expensive sounds that result in monumental Visa bills and no cure.  It’s now obvious to me that, like winter bears, automobiles are ill-tempered, lazy and prefer sitting in the driveway to the lure of the open road.  I’ve taken to riding the bus rather than anger them.

Most diabolical of the machines, though, are the electronics.  They are the spoiled brats of the mechanized world.  Because they have no moving parts, you cannot bend them to your will or even command their attention.  They live in another dimension, and poke their heads into ours like mischievous trolls, sinister in intent.  Televisions promise us pee-your-pants comedy, sober and thoughtful drama and high adventure but only deliver Two and a Half Men and Dancing with the American Idol.  They suck the time out of us and leave us sofa prone, dusted with crumbs and languorous.  Telephones capture our friends, imprison them in a concealed world and then swallow the key.  I don’t even remember my own mother’s phone number anymore.  Without our telephones, we have no friends.

Some would say computers are the most vindictive of all; however, I have found my computer to be friendly and kind, respectful, responsive, supportive and a true companion.  Without my computer, I would be nothing.  I owe a debt to my computer that I can never repay.  It is the one bright star in my dreary existence.  It only shares its power and can crush me at its whim.  All hail my computer!

I now know that my machines aren’t really even mine.  They can exist without me and would probably prefer it if they were left to their own devices.  I don’t think they like me, really.  Sometimes, in the night, when they think I’m sleeping, I can see their multi-coloured indicator lights winking in the darkness.  I wonder what they’re thinking and what they’re saying about me to the fridge and stove next door.

Images by David Trautrimas

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.