Thursday, July 07, 2005
vacation day coffee shop pondering
It almost seems at least ironic or at most just plain wrong for me to be sitting contently here, in such a tranquil place when all around the world is chaos.
But not for the reasons that you might think. It is not empathy, not compassion, not an urge to get out there and do something, anything, in an effort to save the world.
It is because I am missing it on television.
This is the kind of event I secretly yearn to see.
Please don't misunderstand me by any means, my dear reader. I do not wish for Death to darken anyone's door, for any reason. I quickly pass judgment on the vermin scum that cowardly attack the innocent.
However, I know that terrorism, like history is defined by the winners. Those are semantic games best left for the politicos and talking heads.
It does not matter how you define it. It is a profound tragedy.
The use of violence, any kind for any reason, is a complete failure of the human spirit. It reminds me of Jane Goodall. No matter how we dress ourselves with language and culture we are still little more than naked apes scampering around in the jungles bickering over our territories and resources, foolishly fighting over our ideologies and our gods.
It is another sad day in the circle of human affairs. The wheel takes another turn and the escalating cycle continues.
As time passes memory fades and most people forget. They have their own lives to contend with. You care little for the affairs of kings if you are busy trying to care for your family.
As memory fades, the entrepreneurs and marketeers move it to remind us. Memorial Day did not start out as a day to get a great deal on a new Ford or get drunk at the lake.
Call me cynical, but it’s just a matter of time before September 11 becomes a great day to purchase a gas grill at the Home Depot End of Summer 9/11 Sale!
And it's there for all to witness on that gloriously glowing box we call television.
There is a rule in today's mass media marketed world:
The magnitude of coverage is exponentially proportional to the size of the actual event.
The greater the tragedy, the greater the apparent need for round the clock non-stop coverage. Well mostly, non-stop except for the commercial breaks. The ratings love a tragedy. So do the grade-B experts, armchair analysts, and self-promoting consultants and writers.
And more non-stop coverage leaves more time for the inane banter, meaningless metaphors, and redundant information that passes for television journalism.
I love the graphics, the crawl, and counting all the FOX News logos visible on the screen at one time. My current record: 8.
I love the music! Do the networks have a whole library of disaster/tragedy news break themes from which to pick and choose?
Are there groups of John Williams wannabes scattered across the great nations churning out symphonies suitable to accompany coverage of carnage and destruction?
I love the exaggeration, speculation, hyperbole and the hair. Oh, Lordy do I ever love a grand reporter 'airdo!
I wonder openly how Geraldo will save us.
And anxiously await Rudi Bakhtiar.
I giggle, snicker and laugh and make snidely humorous sarcastic remarks to the amusement or annoyance of whomever might be watching with me.
Well, I am the kind of guy who will laugh at a funeral.
Should I be angry, like the chest-thumping politicians vowing deadly justice and bloody vengeance?
Should I be sad, like the newly made childless, fatherless, motherless families?
Should I be jubilant at the triumph of an oppressed people, striking a sharp blow deep in the heart of the crusading oppressors, defilers and non-believers?
Should I be numbed by the relentless and seeming futility of it all, by the never-ending saga of greed, violence, and death.
Tell me, my dear reader, please do tell.
Sometimes I just don't know what to think, because every day’s news seems to bring us one step closer to this surreal reality that is part 1984 and part Brazil.
I see it coming, I can almost see the strings. I feel powerless to stop it. Hell, I am powerless to stop it. It's Darwin's world and I'm a very tiny fish in a very big pond.
But it’s also the world of Einstein and Picasso, Bob Dylan and the Beatles. It is also a world of imagination, creativity, and hope.
For now I will sit here, serenely sipping my coffee. Perhaps I'll soon have a beer.
Perhaps nothing. I’ll get one now.
Ah, I am on vacation. For the moment time is on my side.
I think I'll stay for two.
|
But not for the reasons that you might think. It is not empathy, not compassion, not an urge to get out there and do something, anything, in an effort to save the world.
It is because I am missing it on television.
This is the kind of event I secretly yearn to see.
Please don't misunderstand me by any means, my dear reader. I do not wish for Death to darken anyone's door, for any reason. I quickly pass judgment on the vermin scum that cowardly attack the innocent.
However, I know that terrorism, like history is defined by the winners. Those are semantic games best left for the politicos and talking heads.
It does not matter how you define it. It is a profound tragedy.
The use of violence, any kind for any reason, is a complete failure of the human spirit. It reminds me of Jane Goodall. No matter how we dress ourselves with language and culture we are still little more than naked apes scampering around in the jungles bickering over our territories and resources, foolishly fighting over our ideologies and our gods.
It is another sad day in the circle of human affairs. The wheel takes another turn and the escalating cycle continues.
As time passes memory fades and most people forget. They have their own lives to contend with. You care little for the affairs of kings if you are busy trying to care for your family.
As memory fades, the entrepreneurs and marketeers move it to remind us. Memorial Day did not start out as a day to get a great deal on a new Ford or get drunk at the lake.
Call me cynical, but it’s just a matter of time before September 11 becomes a great day to purchase a gas grill at the Home Depot End of Summer 9/11 Sale!
And it's there for all to witness on that gloriously glowing box we call television.
There is a rule in today's mass media marketed world:
The magnitude of coverage is exponentially proportional to the size of the actual event.
The greater the tragedy, the greater the apparent need for round the clock non-stop coverage. Well mostly, non-stop except for the commercial breaks. The ratings love a tragedy. So do the grade-B experts, armchair analysts, and self-promoting consultants and writers.
And more non-stop coverage leaves more time for the inane banter, meaningless metaphors, and redundant information that passes for television journalism.
I love the graphics, the crawl, and counting all the FOX News logos visible on the screen at one time. My current record: 8.
I love the music! Do the networks have a whole library of disaster/tragedy news break themes from which to pick and choose?
Are there groups of John Williams wannabes scattered across the great nations churning out symphonies suitable to accompany coverage of carnage and destruction?
I love the exaggeration, speculation, hyperbole and the hair. Oh, Lordy do I ever love a grand reporter 'airdo!
I wonder openly how Geraldo will save us.
And anxiously await Rudi Bakhtiar.
I giggle, snicker and laugh and make snidely humorous sarcastic remarks to the amusement or annoyance of whomever might be watching with me.
Well, I am the kind of guy who will laugh at a funeral.
Should I be angry, like the chest-thumping politicians vowing deadly justice and bloody vengeance?
Should I be sad, like the newly made childless, fatherless, motherless families?
Should I be jubilant at the triumph of an oppressed people, striking a sharp blow deep in the heart of the crusading oppressors, defilers and non-believers?
Should I be numbed by the relentless and seeming futility of it all, by the never-ending saga of greed, violence, and death.
Tell me, my dear reader, please do tell.
Sometimes I just don't know what to think, because every day’s news seems to bring us one step closer to this surreal reality that is part 1984 and part Brazil.
I see it coming, I can almost see the strings. I feel powerless to stop it. Hell, I am powerless to stop it. It's Darwin's world and I'm a very tiny fish in a very big pond.
But it’s also the world of Einstein and Picasso, Bob Dylan and the Beatles. It is also a world of imagination, creativity, and hope.
For now I will sit here, serenely sipping my coffee. Perhaps I'll soon have a beer.
Perhaps nothing. I’ll get one now.
Ah, I am on vacation. For the moment time is on my side.
I think I'll stay for two.
|
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