How do I condense forty years of life-knowledge into a single Discord column? OK, more accurately, how do I fill the whole column? After four decades, I find myself knowing suspiciously little—masters level little—on-line masters level little (or OLMLL to those who can still tolerate our lousy acronym jokes). Whereas I have predicted many recent political events—or more accurately, their horrific ramifications—I hardly think it took much insight. I’ve never felt smarter than any U.S. president, until now. But thanks anyway, W, for playing your own small part in the boosting of my self esteem. Granted, it’s at the cost of the American way of life, but che sara. In fact, Che Guevara for all I care.
What could I impart in one column? What must be included in my own very brief history of anything? It has been said that the more we learn, the less we know, and I think I’m finally there. I know nothing. Nothing. Nada. Nichts. But, for the sake of argument, let’s review what I do know. I know all of the Brady’s, some of the Partridges, and I can guess any Star Trek episode within the first five minutes. OK, I used to be able to do that, but then I met girls. They of course rejected me, so now I’ve cut that time down to thirty seconds. As for dating, I have only one kernel of wisdom: never show them any of your Star Trek video collection! Ever! I’ve been married for ten years and those tapes are still locked in boxes marked Old Tax Returns.
On history, I have this to say. It is most certainly NOT bunk! Not remotely bunkesque or even bunk-like for that matter. Deem it bunk, world leaders, and you may end up in a bunker with his-and-hers cyanide capsules. As my seventh grade history teacher use to say, “Those who ignore history are destined to repeat it.” She also warned me of this in the eighth and ninth grades respectively (I never studied). Case in point: Che Guevara played for the Dodgers, didn’t he? Even if curious George is suddenly interested in American history—ironically the very man bringing America face-to-face with it. I also believe there may be more to myth than meets the eye. It is becoming apparent that there is meaning in myth, more meaning than a once rationalist-minded-type would dare admit.
Here are a few key points regarding the last forty-thousand years of human development:
Music: The members of the band Led Zeppelin are the archetypal rock gods, not the Stones. So please Prince whatsas, Knight Sir. Robert and Sir Jimmy, pronto, and break out those shoes with the little bells for Sir. Mick.
Sports: I hate to quote Barry Melrose on this one, but, “Other sports are for people who can’t play hockey.” It’s the only sport worth playing or watching. If you don’t agree, you are either way too into sports, or, more likely, you can’t play hockey.
Movies: Really suck lately.
Parenting: Sell all of your children for scientific experiments. I’m kidding, of course. Just sell the ones you don’t like.
Media: Has really tanked in recent years. They should all be ashamed of themselves. Except Giraldo. He’s a god among men.
Politics: (see Media)
God: (see Giraldo)
Excuse me while I climb onto my soap box for a moment. Remember Erikson’s stages of development? Well, I don’t, but the fact remains, genuine growth is impossible for anyone who regularly watches American Idol. Most people these days can’t seem to find anything productive to do. Some people even resort to starting pseudo-journalistic/editorial blog/websites thingies. Fools! Evolve or dissolve. This is the information age, so access some. Downloading porn doesn’t count. And you had better get started. It takes a lot of work to discover that you don’t know anything. Nothingness has been very rewarding for me—in its own empty, vacuous, someone-please-kill-me, kind of way.
Finally, personal growth is almost non-existent in the masses. It’s no coincidence that in the realms of awareness entire swaths of our society are loping off like heads at an Al-Qaeda press conference. Why are we all on meds, you ask? Might it have something to do with the air, the water, the drugs, the beer, the high fructose corn syrup, the apathy, the fear mongering, and the central point of the Universe where all of this happiness percolates known as the recliner?
Long term fulfillment is not likely to have anything to do with sex, food, drugs, or video games (the fab four in my neighborhood). These ‘hobbies’ may serve us well into our mid-twenties, but then it it’s time to turn the page (even if it’s sticky), put down the chips (even if they’re Doritos), and join a wellness class (even if it’s Midget Reiki with our own Ghetto Shaman).
However you do it, get wellness soon. I think that’s a rap. Don’t get me started on rap…