I made this point a couple of weeks ago. The number of conservatives complaining about high-profile celebrity endorsements of Harris has, of course, skyrocketed. If only their candidate had followed the advice they so eagerly give. I seem to remember him being a huge TV star. Not to mention that beloved Hollywood Walk of Fame star that he’s so proud of. If celebrities can’t endorse a candidate, then it certainly follows that celebrities can’t BECOME candidates. This is dissonance on the most unimaginable scale. I would call it satire, except the people spouting this crazyness do so in all seriousness.
I’ve scratched my head so much over this that I only have two hairs remaining on my cranium.
I need a list of all occupations that are prohibited from expressing their political views. See how ridiculous that sounds? A person’s choice of career in no way negates their opinion or the ability to express it. It’s our fault that celebrities have so much voice to begin with.
So when we accuse them of undue influence, we are undermining the ideals that are the underpinning of our democracy. Freedom of expression counts as highest among them.
I voted against him for the 6th time in my adult life. It’s amusing that his presence in the political arena pushed such a blatant liberal as me into the conservative primaries.
He’s not even the problem.
The problem is now that many of us realize that no matter how many gains we make, such a person ill-suited for political office can subvert the political process.
It’s not my job to convince anyone that he’s dangerous. If his closest allies and advisors, combined with his encyclopedic list of flaws can’t present the clear and present danger he is to our democracy, there’s certainly nothing I can add.
When I left the voting center, I’m certain I experienced one of the most beautiful views possible.
Above me, the blue sky.
Behind me? Hopefully the last populist narcissist.
But I know he can’t be. Because the people who will overlook the kind of character and behavior he represents will still be voting.
It’s all perspective. The custom painting in my kitchen alcove expresses it well: “Black Hole Sun-The same sun, yet filtered by negligent eyes, renders darkly all that shines.”
I can worry about the moronic changes in my professional life or look at the parking lot below and consider all the recent ill-advised shenanigans from those who traverse it. I can also turn and look through my large screenless windows into the living room and watch my cat shoot across the uneven levels of the massive cat castle like a feline projectile. Güino doesn’t concern himself with the outside world. His perspective is limited. Given the massive amount of information and bustle I experience on a given day, I think he’s winning in a way that I can’t.
I had infinite energy this morning. So I burned it off like useless gas derivatives being lit at the top of oil refineries.
A lot of our lives are like the burned gasses. We spend so much time and energy wanting to control or direct the world around us. We’d be better off focusing on the immediacy of things and people around us.
“Trump is right about one thing. He spent more time in the courtroom than Kamala Harris. As a defendant.”
X
.
.
PS It’s fun to write jokes. There is an element of truth in every joke that strikes a chord of recognition. Even if it stings. We are supposed to recognize that that stinging urge to defend should tell us something. If an opinion or joke is meaningless and invalid, we’re supposed to roll our eyes and come up with something better.
I felt clever because somebody challenged me to define enthusiasm.
I fake-stroked my beard and answered, “Imagine you’ve asked a friend to come over Friday or Saturday for dinner. If they say, ‘Of course. Let’s talk about what day or time,’ you get a definite feeling. If they say, ‘We’ll see’ or ‘Maybe,’ you get another feeling. The gap between those two is enthusiasm.”
Communication is key, or so they say. It’s comprehension that’s the objective. People’s minds often don’t speak the same language. If you can see a color that others can’t, it takes incredible simplicity to describe it. The Dunning-Kruger affect adds levels of complexity because the other person is unaware of what they don’t know – and overestimates their grasp of what they think they do. I walk around in the world and observe people not only oversimplify the complex, but double down by erroneously speaking as if they understand. It’s like walking around with glasses that add a yellow tinge to everything. They won’t be open to new information or to the idea that they might be wrong because the first step is to take the glasses off and objectively take a second look. Most of us are stuck because we are damn sure reluctant to realize the limits of our understanding. Our brains are organic filters that have their own self-imposed limits. I still caution people to start with the premise that they might be mistaken. Anyone spending any time around people in the world or on the internet knows the folly of assuming that people will willingly change what they believe to be true. Even against a mountain of evidence or their inability to express what they believe or why they believe it. It’s both fascinating and horrifying at times. It doesn’t matter if it’s politics, religion, humor, or even the best way to load the dishwasher.
I’ve shared stories about the relative unsafety of crosswalks. Especially ones at the bottom of a hill. I routinely see people going more than twice the speed limit. Earlier, I opted to use the crosswalk.
A bit of trivia that most people don’t know is that crosswalks are so named because you need to make a sign of the cross prior to attempting to engage one. I’m pretty fearless with crosswalks. It’s ridiculous to worry about being run over when physics clearly teaches us that it’s way more likely to be run under and thrown over the hood of the car.
I had more than enough time to cross before causing traffic to slow on their way to purchase more knickknacks for their bathroom. Or whatever insanely hurried people seem to be doing. I did a pirouette and waved my arms as I started across. Of course I jogged across. The driver must have been going 60 or 70 because even though I made it across the road in plenty of time, he blared the horn. Without looking back, I lifted my right arm and gave him the opportunity to inspect one of my straightened fingers. I won’t mention the name of the company emblazoned on the side of the car. He must have immediately put down his driver window because I heard him either shouting gibberish or management jargon. They are indistinguishable, after all.
I only mention this anecdote because a few minutes ago when I left the apartment, I looked in my rearview mirror to see that someone was going at least 70 down Gregg. I was waiting to make a left turn. Needing to turn must have offended that driver as he flew down the road. He blared his horn non-stop and miraculously avoided rear-ending me. No pun intended. He swerved to my right and then decided to be clever and swerve back into the left lane. Only to discover that the car in front of me was now only about 70 ft in front. I’m pretty sure everyone clenched in anticipation of the inevitable crash as he hit the brakes as hard as he could. How he got the car slowed enough to avoid hitting the car in front of me is a question for the muses. Though I was still full of adrenaline from almost being rear-ended, I had the presence of mind to lay on my horn and laugh as I made a left turn.
Too many people in a hurry to meet Jesus. I’m fine with them being in a hurry to meet him. I’d rather them not take me with them just yet.
Even though the phrase “como agua para chocolate” (like water for chocolate) has a culinary meaning, I adopted and adapted it to my own meaning when I read the book in Spanish for the first time. Regardless of its intended meaning, which I understood, it anchored my frustration with the way we tend to accept poor substitutes for authentic living.
If we’re stressed or feeling floorless or unanchored, we distract ourselves. We fill our minutes with things that don’t satisfy us. It’s a series of late-night snacks with the door fridge held open. We know we’re not satisfying our cravings, yet we continue to eat pieces of cheese or anything visible. Ten pieces of cheese and a cold hot dog won’t satisfy us. But neither will another glass of wine or three seasons of our favorite binge show.
If we’re craving intimacy and connection, we accept poor substitutes that probably cause us more discomfort than simply being alone. We open bottles or cans and down the numbing contents. We light fires in our faces that flood our bodies with false dopamine. We focus our attention on tiny screens and large, hoping that the content gives us relief.
All of these things are distractions – and we know it when we’re doing it. But what’s the viable alternative? The gurus in life tell us to avoid anything that creates distance between us and the people and the world around us. It’s too much, though. And though days fly by, the individual minutes scream at us to be filled.
Chocolate itself was originally considered to be a gift from the gods. Now? We love it but also look at it as a mundane treat. We tend to devalue what’s readily available. Often, I catch myself thinking that we do the same thing with the people, places, and things around us.
It doesn’t matter how full your garage is. The things in it won’t add further happiness to your life, even though you continue to acquire, upgrade, or store the previous things that you obtained to be more satisfied.
When people wax nostalgic, most of the memories are comprised of moments with people from their past: eating, doing things together, and usually without distraction. For a brief moment, the focus is mindless and simply enjoying the experience.
If you’re making an authentic chocolate drink, you must be mindful of the boiling point of the water you’re using.
If you’re looking for peace and satisfaction, you have to enjoy the process and bother of taking the time to enjoy the things you’re doing.
The joy of a brand-new seventy-inch TV will fade. The foods you love will soon enough oversaturate you and fade into the background.
What am I trying to say?
You tell me.
I’m just another among billions, secretly wondering why I can’t avoid the false dopamine and poor substitutes for what matters.
The older man was standing outside the inconvenience store. He animatedly gestured to another man I see frequently. I’ll call the first man Steve and the man I recognized Paul.
I didn’t catch the first part of the conversation. As I exited the store, Steve said, “I just don’t understand how they’re blaming the folks below the border for the drug crisis.”
“Well they’re not controlling the border. Anyone can come in here.” Paul stated the obvious.
Steve nodded. “Okay, okay, okay, okay,” he said in a staccato rapid-fire reply. “Assume every one of these people comes in with a kilo of fentanyl, heroin, or meth.”
Paul looked at Steve like he was crazy. “I don’t think that’s true.”
Steve nodded. “Yeah but for the purpose of my argument let’s just say everyone comes in with a kilo.”
“Okay dude,” Paul replied.
“It’s like popcorn flavored with urine.” Steve smiled, knowing that Paul was going to either think he was crazy or ask a follow-up question.
“No one wants popcorn with pee on it!”
Steve smiled. “Exactly.”
“Exactly what,” Paul asked.
“Imagine that I’ve made the ugliest car in the world and manufacture 2 million of them. They’re going to rust because nobody wants to buy them.”
Paul was still confused. I listened in fascination because I could tell that Steve had told this anecdote before. Probably many times.
“The problem ain’t who is getting in the country. The problem is the people who actively want and use the drugs that you say are coming over the border. I’ve not seen anyone be forced to buy an ugly car or to use hard drugs. They go looking for it.”
Paul realized that Steve had a point.
Steve kept talking. “The problem is never the supply. It’s that people want it. Heck, way over 10,000 people a year die from alcohol accidents driving. And 20 times that die from drinking alcohol every year.”
“What does that have to do with popcorn and urine?” Paul asked the question like he really needed to know the answer.
“Nothing. It’s just a way to phrase the question in such a weird way that it makes you reset your brain a little bit to listen.”
Paul laughed.
Steve added, “And while we look to where the people are pointing the finger at the border, we are kind of forgetting that the drugs that are really hurting people are made by the drug companies. The ones making alcohol and cigarettes are right up there with them.”
“It didn’t used to stop you,” Paul told him.
“Exactly. Drugs are everywhere. We can go next door and get them from several different people. They wouldn’t be selling them if people weren’t lining up to buy them.”
It’s not that Steve said anything particularly novel. It was the urine-flavored popcorn that stuck in my head. I sometimes engage in this type of nonsensical reference when I’m talking to people. In case you didn’t notice. Now I have a ridiculous name for the habit.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 