Somehow, I know this is going to boil someone’s potatoes, even though it is an honest observation that rings ‘truth’ like a massive bell for me. (PS: I don’t care about the Super Bowl, or about the endless loops of commentary, or whether Cam Newton or Peyton Manning are good or bad people. That I know who these goofs are is a bad sign in itself, at least to me.)
This post opens softly and as with a strange movie, please stick around for the plot twist… It is true that social media often gives us a false feeling of knowing everything about someone, especially when we jump to hurtful conclusions. Most of the time, it is because we see truth in the words or pictures of our friends and family, uncomfortable truths which prick at our own certainty. We recognize our doubt as treason toward whatever we believe and that doubt often manifests as derision toward others.
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(PS: but if more people at least t-r-i-e-d to use social media like I do, as an outlet for who I am and for expressive purposes instead of innocuous links and memes, we might indeed know who people are. Social media is a wondrous creation, if used creatively.)
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I’ve written about this topic at least a dozen times, because it seems to come back from the dead in new and queasy ways. John Pavlovitz runs across the same things I have, albeit from a different perspective as a progressive Christian pastor. (He recently reminded us about the “Iceberg Perspective” of human interaction.)
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If you are a liberal whose idea of rightness is the ability to change one’s mind, a skeptic with the default position of ‘we should examine this closer,’ or simply someone with the idea that the best or most pragmatic idea gets the most attention, you probably think about these things more than most people.
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For many, they recoil at the idea that we can live in a secular society, one that embraces multiple religions and expressions of faith, as long as none seek dominance, hurt people, or limit others free expression. Some don’t want to hear that their friends believe health care is a right, one which of course should be provided by society as a whole without regard to such subjective concepts as ‘laziness’ or ‘worthiness.’ That prophets such as Jesus were revolutionary precisely because the ‘other guy’ was placed foremost in our priorities, without qualification. For most major religions, there are no pre-qualifications for compassion. Being was sufficient. “Pure meritocracies are for asses,” to coin a new phrase.
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There are so many smart and compassionate people in our world, all with both great ideas and horrendous ones. (Someone thought putting fish on pizza was a great concept, so we can’t always trust even the geniuses running around loose among us.) We can’t judge people too harshly for sometimes believing that aliens kidnap us, that carbon emissions don’t impact our environment, or even when they go crazy and insist that either Bush was a good president; sometimes, they have stupendous and uplifting ideas, too.
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But…
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But, if you post that you hate all members of a particular religion, just ‘know’ that gays and lesbians choose their ‘lifestyle,’ or refuse to listen to any contrary – or new – information and reasoning about life, politics or religion, then I do know you.
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If you say the “N-word” out of hate or even passive superiority (even in quiet moments behind closed doors), don’t want women to be pastors, priests or clergy, think war is often the answer, won’t consider that birth control is often good for humanity, or want your brand of religion to be the only one with a voice, I do know you.
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If you look the to the imperfect past as a roadmap instead of a cautionary guidebook, revere our all-too-human ancestors who thought killing people because of color, religion or manifest destiny was the only answer and wish desperately to return to whatever your version of the good old days might be, I do know you.
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If you think people are lazier, dumber or worse than they ever been, or that the world isn’t improving in multiple ways – and your outlook above life and everything in it reflects that strange belief, then I do know you.
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If you look to the future and see dark shadows instead of the chance at greatness for all of us, I do know you.
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You are the collective ‘us,’ and we can all learn to be ‘the other.’
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But it is uncomfortable to recognize that we are often telling people who we are, incrementally, minute by minute, word by word. As I’m doing now, hopefully while not breaking too many toes.
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It is this revelation and sharing that makes the word ‘alive’ bristle with promise and expectation. Thanks
Dr. Oz. Does anyone else think he is the 2nd creepiest guy in the world? I keep looking online on Interpol to see if I can match his picture to known offenders around the world. I feel like that French detective in “Hannibal.”
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I’m going to start posing with my cans of tuna and bbq potato chips in the parking lot. Give these deer hunters a run for their money. PS: Don’t go in the store in full camo and face meshnet. They think you are there for something else entirely. Even if you are ‘hunting’ chips.
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Not all advice is good – and no truth applies to all people: Someone who didn’t know me said “Do what your mom would do.” After the high-speed chase and meeting all those police officers, they gave me a set of steel bracelets and insisted on putting me up for the night. They even asked for my autograph and asked me a bunch of questions, like they were interested in me. Thanks, mom.
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No more Natural Food Stores. Henceforth, only Super-Natural Food Stores for me.
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Really, you can start a martial arts studio anywhere. Just rent a room, then start punching and kicking people while talking in a smooth, even macho voice. Judo is just fancy slapping and some legwork. With a monthly fee. And goofy pants.
I imagine the World’s Worst Air Guitar Band would play actual instruments. And they’d probably sound like Jason Aldean, the vocal equivalent to some pissed off and startled crows.
Speaking of which, I can imagine blind people hearing Jason Aldean and wondering if they were being pranked.
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“Ted Cruz is that guy you would love to get to know and then read in the newspaper that he mysteriously disappeared. I would love to donate to his ‘Stay Lost’ fund.” -x
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For those who say that the people who make the phone book don’t have a sense of humor, I disagree: they listed both ‘Joses’ & ‘Buffalo Wild Wings ‘ in the Restaurant category.
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I really like that lady who is the lead singer of Aerosmith, especially since he starting doing country. (I love seeing artists doing different things. Life is too short to not go nuts.)
I don’t like most of Aerosmith’s music, but Tyler’s voice is both broken and powerful and well-suited to country, regardless of what the snooty experts might opine.
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Here’s a picture I made, with the inspiration of “Heaven: A Return to Family.”
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Imagine your life as a branched road map, each nexus signifying a choice veering your life into a new direction. If you could look back as your life ends and see the complex strands of life’s options, would you weep for joy or sigh in dismay at those wasted and unseen opportunities?
If, if, if – and not to change the route, merely to walk the infinite complexity of the unseen roads, to live a million lives as versions of ‘me’ hurling through time.
Imagine your life as a branched and mysterious road map, each nexus signifying a choice veering your life into a new direction. If you could look back as your life ends and see the complex strands of life’s options, would you weep for joy or sign in dismay at those wasted and unseen opportunities?
Yes, I would choose to see the paths that did not happen instead of a retelling of a story whose road I’ve already traveled.
Seeing my life flash would mask the reality that all those other freshly paved and unknown exotic roads were there for me.
I surprised Dawn yesterday with a magical fairy door from someone in Quebec who makes them. It came with a corked vial of fairy dust and a magic key allowing the pixies/fairies to come and go as the whim suits them. Even our cat Güino knew that magic had entered the house. Dawn would have never guessed in a million years that I had ordered her such a whimsical gift. I think we both grew 10 years younger in spirit laughing about it. (I can think of 100 ways one of these would make a child’s life a lot more imaginative and interesting, with the right crazy adult leading the charge.)
(PS: The portrait of my wife and I in the above picture is still probably my favorite. It confounds people to this day when they see it.)
The websites are on this instructional card, both the Etsy and regular website.
The vial of fairy dust is corked and has a fairy emblem on the side. I can imagine just how inspirational one of these would be in the hands of the right kid.
This simple graphic reminds me that it is both unwise and illegal to settle customer complaints with a skillet or garden shovel, as popularized by Wile E. Coyote and Roadrunner.
I made another stack of reminders that I can keep in my wallet and then hand to people who are obliterating the boundary separating reasonable & petulant. Years ago, I had similarly-themed business cards made with such a logo and words. They were a big hit with everyone – except those who found no humor in being reminded that not all complaints deserve the same level of attention or remediation. But it is wondrous to hand someone one of these and watch the surprised and horrified realization of the note applying to them crawl across their face.
PS. I love creative whining. If you’re going to complain, strive for doing it in a way that probably hasn’t been done before. I will listen to interesting complaints all day. With a smile.
It is totally unrelated to my post, of course, but the expectation of relevance bores me. smile emoticon
A few things to bear in mind: it’s very warm, very windy, and gas is less than $1.50 today. Those conditions are necessary to help explain why it wasn’t solely my innate stupidity that was at fault. (This time.) I was standing facing the gas pump, with the nozzle to my back and right. As the total cost went over $15, I thought, “Man, that wind is COLD” as the air felt like it was blowing up my right pants leg. Really – it suddenly felt super cold. It didn’t occur to me that it wasn’t the wind. I’m a genius like that.
After a few seconds, the gasoline smell was overwhelming. I looked around and gas was spewing out of my gas tank, even though the nozzle was completely inserted. Naturally, my brain froze, as did my hand. I stood there with a Monroe County look of idiocy on my face – a very common look for me, I’m told. Instinct finally took control and I grabbed the nozzle and shut the gas off. At the same time, I realized my shoe was indeed full of gasoline, and my pants were soaked.
I went inside and waited patiently as the clerk rolled her eyes in irritation at the two younger guys in front of me, who were bickering. Incidentally, they had pulled up to the pump to the East of me and were bickering as they exited their own vehicle. I watched them closely, as they both put on their hoodies, which I find isn’t very smart when entering a store. Honestly, I was wondering if they were going to rob the place. That’s my final excuse for being distracted, by the way: I was imagining robbery scenarios. One’s mind wanders when pumping gas.
When the 2 yahoos were done arguing with one another and paying, I told the clerk that the shut-off wasn’t working properly and a LOT of gasoline had spewed all over me and into the parking lot. Given the eye roll and the way she was sneering at the two gentlemen, I figured it was going to be a real treat to interact with her. I told her in succinct yet precise detail exactly what had happened and that both the parking lot and I were covered in gas. Her response: “Oh great, I guess I will have to go out and put down some cat litter.” That’s it. I gave her a moment, waiting for her customer service skills and training to kick in. When she said nothing else, I told her that I had checked my car and the nozzle and that the shut-off on that pump could not be trusted.
She didn’t have any comment, just a sigh of exasperation, so I departed, reeking of gasoline and my right shoe sloshing from being filled with gas. I took pictures of the spill and told the lady on the other side that the shut-off hadn’t engaged. I took pictures because sometimes the things I do or say are not exactly credible, given my penchant for either exaggeration or outright fabrication.
I stood there trying to decide whether to shed my shoes and socks and leave them there. It didn’t seem like a good option to throw my pants out, either, given the lengthy explanation that would be required by the Springdale police if they stopped me sans socks, shoes AND pants, regardless of how warm the day might be. I knew my car was going to be fume-filled, even though I live very close. I opted to keep my shoes on and to drive home. As I was about to leave, it occurred to me that it might be interesting to watch to see if a clerk would come out to throw chat and/or disable the pump pending it being checked for safety. No one came out while I waited, so I left, my eyes watering from gasoline.
I wondered how big the fireball would be if someone errantly discarded a lit cigarette out their window and into mine as I drove home and whether my wife would see the fireball from the office window.
I called Corporate Offices after experiencing a pang of guilt. I knew I couldn’t trust the clerk and be certain the pump would be put out of commission. The person I talked to was nothing short of exceptional and assured me she was dealing with every aspect of the situation. She and I were both laughing and I lied, saying I didn’t know the name of the clerk. The clerk was undoubtedly having a rough day, made worse by the 2 yahoos who preceded me at her register. If I could tell her, though, I would assure her that my shoe full of gasoline had been the perfect ending to an atypical Monday.
(The picture shows how much gas onto the parking lot, but doesn’t show how much went onto me. The aforementioned yahoos are still bickering before getting into their car, on my right.)
Keep in mind – this is satire, although if they want to pay me $150,000 for it, I’ll take a check. (I’ll donate it all to scholarships benefiting students…)
After the recent tribulations of Springdale’s new logo, I tasked myself with the goal of making something both representative AND humorous. It needed to indicate progress & history, as well as being topical and polychromatic. If I can make something ridiculous, surely the brainpower in Springdale can devise something better Pick-Up Sticks of our childhood across a stale slogan. I’m happy to see all the progress here in Springdale, but in case anyone missed it, I loathe the logo design chosen.
Maybe I just had “Guy On a Buffalo” stuck in my head?
Fruit chews. I can imagine some of the snarled sneers of distaste. I’ve heard many people complain about this candy, saying it tastes like ear wax yanked from unsuspecting people’s ears and lightly flavored with fruits from another planet. But I love it. It’s as good as salted black licorice, Tab soda or pico de gallo with extra cilantro.
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No offense toward any specific eatery, but what a mess some of these places have named themselves. I can’t tell if they are places to eat, where to buy hand grenades, or food poisoning control centers. (I think I might name a diner “McDonald’s Canteen Tearoom” to appeal to both foodies and regular folks.)
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P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 