quote of the day
Sartre: 'It would be better if I could only stop thinking. Thoughts are the dullest things. Duller than flesh'
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Sartre: 'It would be better if I could only stop thinking. Thoughts are the dullest things. Duller than flesh'
I so often find myself without a decent blog topic because I restrain myself from writing about things that annoy me. The theme has to get old. But what can you do when that's all the material you have.
Flip-flops. I have serious trouble with flip-flops. I have seen on other blogs that I'm not the only person who feels this way. My principal gripe is that I hate the sound, that pattern of sweat sticking and unsticking itself from the soles. And I have difficulty understanding such impractical footwear. You cannot conduct any meaningful activity in flip-flops. I myself feel profoundly uncomfortable in shoes if (a) I have to make a concerted effort to make them remain on my feet (b) I risk continual blistering (c) my walking is slowed to about half its normal pace.
Here's an etiquette question. I myself haven't made a final judgment on this one. If you have the full intention of buying a food item from a store, should you feel free to start munching before you even pay for it? I can see a few isolated situations in which this might be OK -- for example, it's usually better for everyone if you get an early start on a melting ice cream cone. But I'm thinking primarily of packaged food -- like, the woman behind me in line who cracks into her potato chips before reaching the cash register. Is this bad form, or is it socially acceptable now? (I should note that the woman was going to use one of those self-checkout lanes, maybe this is a special case).
So, here's the Father's Day entry. I remember once having a conversation with a father of a boy who was at the time probably 6 or 7 years old. I'm not sure how the conversation got to this particular topic but I remember explaining my speculation that parenthood is riddled with a blistering self-consciousness, a continual evaluation of one's own fitness as a role model for a child. And while this father thought that was an interesting point, he was quick to disagree -- he didn't watch his behavior with that kind of obsessiveness; to become a "role model" wasn't really his goal. He made sure he didn't swear in front of the kid-- it's not like he didn't monitor his behavior at all -- but in general, he said, his only aim was to be "real", to not pretend to be someone he wasn't.
Interpret that as you like, I can't remember how he elaborated on it. But here I leave a question for all fathers, all mothers, and anyone else who is or has been important in the life of a child. I'll ask you the same thing -- as soon as you assumed responsibility for that child or children, do you feel that you somehow changed your behavior in light of the fact that a developing person was always watching, always potentially assimilating that behavior? Did you adopt the style described above, avoiding all masks and pretense and self-righteousness, in the belief that the most important goal is to be genuine? Did you do a little bit of both?
I was reading Time magazine's coverage of the nation's recent obsession with the real estate market, and coincidentally enough, heard the same article mentioned on NPR's Marketplace at the same time. Alan Greenspan's most novel warning is that such activities have created "froth" in the economy, thereby articulating a new metaphor that falls short of the threat of a "bubble" but hints at something less stable than can be reasonably sustained. Apparently -- and I'm told this is true -- Greenspan sits in a warm bath and meditates on the very best rhetoric he can produce to shape the nation's psyche, and that's where these phrases come from ("Froth" does sound like a good bathtub word, doesn't it?)
I, for one, am baffled by the practice of buying a house as an investment. As a practical necessity -- especially if you have children -- that I understand. If you have a love of remodeling, and so on, then fine, the house is your hobby. But just as an investment? For some reason I am not yet completely sold on homeownership. Oh sure, rental has its nuisances, though those are somewhat lessened as you are able to afford somewhat higher rents, which you should be capable of doing if you are considering taking on a mortgage in the first place. To me, houses seem to take up so much space, so many resources, and are so much responsibility....so much more than a person needs. One wonders how much of it whittles down to basic needs for territory, for a secure land of one's own, and complete power over what occurs within it. Is it considered a necessary rite of passage into socially-recognized adulthood? (obviously another one that I missed, that and the socially-expected rite of holding a Real Job) Is it that you can only come home in the evening and relax in a dwelling that is not physically attached to another? Or does the primary motivation really come down to the idea of "investment"-- as my brother puts it, that you don't like throwing money at a landlord every month?
from "A View of Tycho Brahe" by Jani Virk.
This is one of my favorite short stories during a time in my life when I have somehow strayed from fiction. A year or so ago, when Ruminator was closing, and I was thoughtlessly buying whatever was absurdly discounted, I picked up this issue of The Prague Revue. And it had this story that captured my attention immediately and I return to it again and again. I don't know this guy, Jani Virk, apparently his work is translated from Slovenian, I haven't seen anything else by him. Here's a passage:
I like travelling alone. I'm not fearful, only lazy, and I find it hard to set off. For years I've wanted to visit Antarctica; I can see myself there, and hear how I walk alone across the snow, and how the snow almost inaudibly crackles underneath. It probably sounds ridiculous, but this image fills me with a feeling of happiness. I seem to live most of my life inside my head. I walk through deserts, sand's getting into my shoes and filling up the space between my toes, I dive into the sea without needing oxygen or feeling any pressure, I lower myself into sea canals, wander through virgin forests, cut through the endless web of lianas, feeling moss growing on my neck because of the humidity. I lend my eyes to others, I know what they're going through. In fact I'm well aware that I wouldn't last long in cold places or in the desert, let alone in the jungle; in a few days I'd be ridden with diseases, I probably wouldn't survive any life-threatening circumstances. My body's useless, I live wrongly, a dispensable scientist who has inhabited his own head. I neglect my body, this I reproach myself with, I can see the light pervading its tissues, and yet I can't gather the strength to do something about it.
I sit up in bed, lazily get out of it and walk to the window. The snow's making the night bright, the impressionism of snowflakes is emphasizing the contours of the buildings yet threatening to conceal them all. Wind is blowing sharply over the dome of the observatory; I can see the snowflakes glittering in the glow of the headlights like the tail of a comet. Perhaps the instruments in Tycho Brahe have right at this moment detected a black hole hidden up to now, I say to myself, leaning against the pane with my forehead. It's approaching Earth, sucking everything in, the moon disappears in it like dust in a vacuum cleaner, damn, it seems I can actually feel the brutality with which I'll be lost in it any moment now, and then bye-bye world, bye-bye ruthless fears and warm desires. It feels as if my pupils are about to break off due to the pressure. The air-conditioning is buzzing through the slots in the sill before the window, reminding me of a sewer, it would be damn bad if this were the last scene in my consciousness before I vanished from this world. I'd like to see blossoming trees, hear the voice of a small child, touch a woman's skin. I can feel beads of sweat gathering on my forehead, I move away from the glass, in it I can see my face in a hardly discernible negative. I take another step backwards, suddenly I'm tremendously happy to be in this world, still alive.