If you know where to look, there’s a hidden field along Green Acres Road. And if you’re out early enough walking in the magical hour before dawn, you can stop and watch the bats frolic. If you stand next to the beautiful decaying tree and look up, the bats will perform for you. Although the approaching morning sun diminishes their visibility, you can look up and see the moon and Venus twinkling. I don’t go watch the bats often enough.
It’s not that most people truly believe that news is fake or not.
It’s identity.
You can’t put all your eggs into a basket and have contradictory information presented to you.
It’s an assult on your sense of identity. That’s uncomfortable for people.
If you are demonstrably wrong, you have only two real options: acknowledge the information, accept it, and incorporate it into changes of belief and opinion. The other option, one we see all the time, is to become defensive and reject both the information and the need to adapt to it.
Information isn’t dangerous. Rejecting anyting that doesn’t conform to objective reality, however, creates a majojr problem for rationality and reason, both of which allegedly drive most of ur lives. This tendency to reject information has significantly warped our ability to live in society. Appeals to reason aren’t revered as they once were.
It can be religion, politics, science, or behavior.
Even though I’m not explaing myself thoroughly, something simliar came up earlier in the week. Someone was incredulous about weather prediction, doubting the way it is done, etc. They lacked a significant grasp of basic science. Among those things were not understanding the proximity of Doppler radar or how the curvature of the earth affects rapid detection of dangerous storms. While I didn’t have to spell it out, I watched in real-time as the person struggled to find a way to admit they didn’t understand what they were complaining about. From that inablity came further assertions that aren’t sustainable. There is no harm in admitting we don’t know. All of us are ignorant about different things. But all too often people double down. I respect people more if they say, “I don’t know” or “I don’t understand.”
Science is the best example to use that creates the least anger. Its very nature is to suggest an explanation and then test it. Conclusions must change with new evidence. It’s how we have medicine, technology, and industry. All progress depends on it.
If you ask science, “Is there a god?” it can say, “I don’t know.” The ability to say “I don’t know” is a hallmark of genius. It doesn’t say, “There is no god,” because negatives can’t be proven. It says, “Tell me more,” because information doesn’t threaten the scientific process. Uncertainty brings investigation and thought. Certainty brings rejection and stagnation.
Any system of thought or ideology that precludes questioning is, by its nature, close-minded. Any answer that is supposedly obvious would mean that most people would agree. Observation proves that to be false.
If you’re not a “tell me more” person, you’ve cut yourself off from knowledge and growth. Saying “tell me more” doesn’t weaken your theology or faith. It doesn’t have to dilute your politics. As I like to say, when we look at our past, we shake her head at some of the things we believed. It’s easy to admit you’re wrong with enough time. But somehow we all too often like to think we’re not wrong, even though our own lives prove we have been multiple times.
I think most of us prefer “tell me more” people.
I know that the bean soup people might read this and completely miss my point. Or focus on one small aspect of what I’ve written. If you don’t know what bean soup people are, that’s a discussion for another day.
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If you’re interested in the wisdom of experience, I’ve got some words for you. I did the peculiar thing that I sometimes do and asked an older man to hit me with some important things he had learned.
“Who we are is who we are going to be,” the older man said, his face rigid with the wrinkles of certainty and experience.
“These lips are mine and are the same lips I used to excuse how I wasted my youth. Putting off things I should have done. Listening to what people say instead of watching what they do. ‘I’m gonna’ is for sure one of the dumbest things we say to convince ourselves that talking about it is the same as doing it. And when we hear other people say it, most of the time we know they’re not gonna. Stop drinking. Stop smoking. Not waste money. Get out and enjoy life where they can. How do I know? Because if they wanted to, they would be doing it now instead of talking about what they’re going to do. If we ain’t doing it today, we ain’t gonna. You gotta work with what you have and stop waiting for the perfect day. You might not get another sunrise. Nobody never got anything done by waiting for it. Don’t waste your time arguing with people or the world. Likely you can’t change them. Wanting things to be another way is like trying to get full by smelling what’s cooking on the stove. The fewer things you want or think you need will get you pretty far.”
“Anything else?” I wanted to give him the chance to add if he wanted to.
“Nah. If somebody can take two or three things out of all that and do them, they don’t need much else.”
I thanked him and told him I hoped he would have a good afternoon.
“I will. I’m going to sit down and do nothing. It’s amazing how far doing that can get you most of the time.”
I laughed. He was right.
About all of it.
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Phil Robertson’s previous fame is an interesting example of someone being used as an anchor to glamorize controversial beliefs. I’m constantly confused by fame whitewashing behavior that violates the precepts of the religion being espoused. It is hypocrisy, one that money conveniently dispels.
Duck Dynasty was marketing genius when it started. The right people at the right time, to get viewers. I don’t fault anyone involved in the project for taking a simple idea and running with it. We tend to reward oversimplification.
Many people don’t know Phil fathered a daughter by having an affair. The family welcomed the newly-discovered daughter despite her origins. That’s a good thing. Regardless of how she came to be, she holds no accountability for the actions of her father. Or her mother. People are complex and where sexuality treads, you can be certain that misbehavior will happen. It always has. I love watching people moan about what others do in the bedroom. I’ve seen too many people do the same thing and then attempt to allege they’ve never behaved that way. It’s the same mindset that allows far too many people to disparage the younger generation, who aren’t straying far from the blueprint we created when we were younger.
In too many ways, my own dad echoed the pattern of Phil Robertson. He was a troublemaker fueled by alcoholism and anger. He too fathered a daughter that we didn’t know about for decades. Like Phil, my dad had affairs, especially when he was younger. I know that Phil had family members to love him. That part of his story makes me happy, happy, happy. He got to know the daughter from his wilder days. That’s the kind of acceptance that I always wish for for everyone involved.
My family comes from Southern roots just as Phil’s did. Both benefited from growing up in a society that legally denied equality to much of the population. It preached superiority and encouraged bigotry, all backed by the alleged support of their relgious beliefs. That stain takes generations to remove, if at all. It’s how we end up with people venerating the flags of defeated ideology and insisting that the cause was something more noble. God must have been wrong about slavery; otherwise, the side suppporting it would have prevailed. (Or so some people say, incorrectly asserting that universal right always prevails. It doesn’t.) The same is true for bigotry associated with being gay. If any book can be used to justify both sides, there’s either a problem with the book, the people interpreting it, or both.
Had a film crew documented everything my dad did and said, he too would have faced a backlash. The only difference is that Phil Robertson had the fame to use his limelight to spout. I’m not saying he was wrong about everything. He wasn’t. But if you look closely, you’ll see that his beliefs coincided with the values and things that supported his small circle’s way of life. His worldview didn’t allow for inclusion of people not like him.
Yesterday, I delved into the complexity of celebrities who believe nonnense. Elizabeth Moss and Tom Cruise of course entered the mix. We can engage with them as celebrities. That same celebrity gives them the money and means to disguise what lies behind their ideologies.
What bothers me most about the example of Phil Robertson is it leads to nonsense like the State of Texas attempting to mandate the commandments in public schools. It hasn’t worked in churches – and it won’t work in schools, either. It’s always about control and the imposition of people’s religious beliefs onto others. I can’t help that saying this pisses off those who follow an authoritarian version of religion.
What does work? Living the message of compassion. Education. Helping others. Prioritizing policies that improve people’s lives instead of starving them, denying them healthcare, or subjecting them to exclusionary behavior. Stop trying to condemn or control people. If you embody the message, you don’t need coercion or control. People gravitate toward authenticity. Loving behavior is demonstrably loving. That’s why we should value actions over words.
If you’re voting against giving people food, education, housing, or healthcare, but actively funding machinery of war and destruction, you’re not doing it right. If you’re rewarding the wealthy at the expense of those with less, I would say greed and corruption have infected you.
We constantly struggle against the narrow-mindedness of fear and prejudice disguised as both politics and religion.
That’s what got us to where we are. Phil was an integral part of the backlash that allowed an imposter to reinvent himself from a misogynist, failed businessman, and bigoted television star into a leader whose biggest contribution is anger and divisiveness.
It’s what gave us the powerful ficitonal example of those in Gilead, with one side using the name of God to insist they have the right to do almost anything to further their cause. The difference is that one side argues for equality and compassion, whereas the other fights for dominance, subjugation, and control.
Could Duck Dynasty entertain? Yes, of course. But it also masks our perceptions of what lay beneath it. It makes me think of another family member, one admired in his small pond of like-minded people. He despised minorities, gay people, and anyone different. He used his influence to ruin people’s lives if they attempted to ascend to his level. Not figuratively. Literally. And he did those things with God on his lips.
You can’t ignore the smirk and snarl behind the curtain. You get both when you entertwine celebrity and belief, just as you do with the people you know.
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I watched the lightning and thunderstorms roll in earlier this morning, though it seems like ten hours ago. Because I was restless, I went out and made my way to one of the parks with an assortment of bird seed and tossed it where the menagerie of birds congregate. Even though I could hear rolling thunder in the distance, I trudged out in the woods in the dark. Great blue herons congregated back there. It was a stolen moment, standing alone in the dark among the trees, listening to the bird dinosaurs call out.
The picture I took is much brighter than the reality I watched.
I took a moment to stop myself from being resentful of all the missed opportunities. This morning wasn’t one of those, but each time I have a lemon moment experience of something new and interesting, it reminds me.
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Life is driven by coincidence at times. For example, the highly useful word “wanker” keeps popping up in my life. I had the opportunity to use it perfectly.
Because I’m out and about frequently, I’ve become accustomed to seeing certain people and knowing their behavior and eccentricities. Sometimes I see an older man who has difficulty walking fast. It doesn’t stop him from going out and enjoying the trails. He’s cautious.
I watched as he waited in the grass near the crosswalk, looking both ways multiple times and doing the math of velocity in his head so that he wouldn’t be a needless encumbrance on traffic. This particular crosswalk is at the bottom of the hill and people frequently drive 70 mph down it.
As I approached from the other direction, he started walking. A low flying plane disguised as a sedan flew down the hill. The pilot of the car began honking his horn quite a distance from the crosswalk. Which of course startled the elderly man crossing it. He froze and turned. Anyone who understands mobility issues knows that it’s difficult for some to turn quickly because it increases the risk of a fall. The airplane sedan slowed some in response. Instead of coming to a halt, he crossed over into the wrong lane and sped toward the traffic light as the older man stood a couple of feet away from the center of the crosswalk.
Sometimes I do things before I realize my feet are moving. I turned and sprinted toward the light. Standing on the sidewalk I made the international symbol for “roll down your window.”
The man did so. At which point I screamed, “Wanker!”
The man knew he was being insulted but didn’t understand how.
“Eff you, buddy!” His eloquence should be noted.
“I’m going to take a picture of your license when you go through the light.”
He continued his eloquence, cursing and what I would describe as True Alabaman. I watched as the light turned green and the man struggled to decide what to do. In perfect synchronicity, the light turned green.
I was delighted when the car behind the man honked furiously for him to move it.
As he pulled away, I pretended to take a picture of his license plate.
I’m hoping he’s stresses badly for the rest of the day. That he expects a call or a knock on his door asking why he’s flying his plane at more than twice the speed limit and failing to yield at a crosswalk.
Wanker.
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Another good example of misadventure… I could change the language to not be so onerous, but why?
I had a couple of interesting social interactions before heading toward the creek. Good ones. I kicked off my shoes and left them in the car. I stood a couple of feet away from the trail edge. You’d have to be drunk and riding a bicycle with 2 ft handlebar extensions to make contact with any part of my body.
I was putting my phone in my pocket as a man dressed as a summer sausage pedalled toward me. I won’t explain the comparison. Suffice it to say, it’s more than apt.
“Get out of the effing way,” he shouted. I looked behind me confusedly and then turned my head as he passed me.
“Johnsonville,” I said, and laughed. It couldn’t be offensive to him because there’s no way he could have understood the thoughts going through my head when I first saw him with that angry look on his face.
He came to a precarious stop. “What did you say to me?” He half-shouted.
“I recommended both a hearing aid and an optometrist.” I couldn’t stop myself. Even though he did not understand my wit, I did. It seems fair if someone’s going to be out in public with anger issues, they better be prepared to eat the plate of creative sarcasm and buffoonery that I love serving.
“Stay off the trail!” He sounded so unreasonable that I wondered why he didn’t have a part-time job with the White House as a peace negotiator.
I had a flash of movie inspiration. “He’s already pulled over!” I tried mimic the dude from Super Troopers. For those who’ve seen the movie, you can picture the absurdity that I was experiencing.
Summer sausage was about to say something.
But I had another flash of inspiration. I tossed my headphones to the grass and then began running.
Summer sausage tried to pedal forward so fast that he was going nowhere, like a cartoon character hanging over a cliff with his feet frantically pistoning.
When I said I took off running, I actually ran in place by frantically flailing my arms as if I were running the hundred yard dash without moving.
Summer sausage did not look back as he finally started riding on the trail at an appropriate speed for exercise. In a way, you could say I had become his personal trainer by motivating him to speed up.
My suspicion is that for the remainder of today’s bicycle ride, he kept his anger to himself.
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There’s magic where you look for it.
And despair, too, often even if you’re not.
Just in case there’s vitality in nature, I walked barefoot and talked to the thousand birds that surrounded me. Most were unseen, but few went unheard.
Unlike us, who mostly stay silent for fear of our voices being ridiculed. You’ll be mocked whether you’re silent or singing. Your words and letters will be judged, mostly by people who can neither aptly wield a pen or dare to hold a note.
A crow followed me across the area I refer to as the alien meadow due to the strange vertical plants that secretly grow there each year. I hated to leave it behind because it was cawing for my benefit.
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I love writing about positive interactions. But I remind people that not all of them are. A few minutes ago, I managed to make myself laugh after running into someone who thinks the world was created just for her.
Wandering the park, I was listening and watching for birds. Not people.
“What are you doing?” The woman’s voice surprised me. I looked up to see a woman standing a few feet away. She held a leash attached to a beautiful dog.
“I’m enjoying the morning. How are you doing?” I smiled as I looked away from my bird app for a second.
“No, I meant, what are YOU doing?” There was a tone to her voice, one which implied that she was both the gatekeeper of the area and had the right to ask anyone at any time how dare they be where they are.
“Right now, I’m wondering how cleverly I can indirectly insult you so that you’ll go about your morning and enjoy it so that I can do the same.”
“There’s no reason to talk to me that way,” she said, as she pulled on the dog leash. The dog wanted me to pet it. Or perhaps rescue it from the clutches of its owner. She looked the kind of dog owner who would individually count every pebble of food before feeding the dog. I had an aunt like that.
“Well, I hope you enjoy the rest of your day,” I said as I smiled.
The woman grunted and mumbled to herself as she marched away. I’m 100% sure that she wished she had a hard marble surface to stomp on so that I would have to listen to her heels clicking as she high stepped.
When she reached a point about 20 yards away from me and across the steel bridge, I couldn’t resist. Some of the people who know me know I do one hell of a pterodactyl scream. I let loose.
I watched as the woman froze and looked around. Not seeing anything, she returned to her disapproving high step walk. At which point, I let out an even louder pterodactyl scream. She froze again for a second and then walked as fast as anyone can without breaking into a run.
Because of the early hour and the magical absence of traffic or mundane sounds, you might be surprised how far a pterodactyl scream carries in the beautiful misty morning.
I let out five shriekingly loud pterodactyl screams before letting the morning return to its normal quiet state. Just in case someone else is using the Merlin app. They’ll have one hell of a story trying to explain the noise they heard on an early Saturday morning.
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It was a rough day today, much like trying to explain the first amendment without flash cards to a cabal of conservative voters.
When I exited the inconvenience store, loud obnoxious music filled the air, as if a tone deaf demon were playing a violin and singing garbled Korean folk music.
I casually looked into the car producing the nightmarish music. A rather menacing-looking man sat in the driver’s seat while smoking a cigar.
Before thinking better of it, I reached into my car and pulled out one of my sets of headphones.
I turned around and asked him if he needed some headphones.
“No, but that was kind of you to offer.” He smiled really big.
“I wasn’t offering them out of kindness. I’m not very fond of my ears bleeding.” Keep in mind that I didn’t smile or give me any indication as to whether I was joking.
The man took a second the process my complaint. Thankfully, he laughed.
“You’re not a fan of Sleazy Milktoast MC?” He asked me. (That’s not what he actually said, but the string of syllables he cited as the name of the alleged singer might as well have been that.)
“I bet it’s good for clearing crowds,” I immediately answered.
“You got jokes! That’s good. Hit me with another one.”
It took me less than 1/20th of a second to fire back. “That music is to rap music what Creed is to rock.”
He laughed hard again. “What are you listening to in your tiny blue car?”
“Since I qualify for AARP, I’m required by federal law to listen to NPR or hardcore elevator music.”
Because I just received a gift of the kind of expensive headphones I would never buy myself in a million years, I offered him my $12 pair again.
“Nah, I’m good. Listening is performance art.” He grinned at his own cleverness.
We exchanged a couple of more rapid-fire good-intentioned insults before I got in my car. It was very difficult to pretend that I wasn’t listening to NPR as I drove off. I waved as I drove away. He laughed again and waved his cigar out the window.
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PS The included picture has zero to do with my story. The man in the picture was just an interesting guy out enjoying the day on the trail.
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P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 