• Relativity of perception

    In my line of work, purveyors of insurance are given ALL kinds of opportunities to hawk their wares on the company dime. This afternoon one such huckster was in the office… with a sweetened pot: free gifts in return for “a moment of your time.” It was like I had been transported to Daytona Beach and someone was trying to sell me a timeshare condo, only instead of a free day at Disney World she was offering… a coffee mug. Hoo-we that’s tempting… but even though seminars on merits of supplemental insurance interest me as much as the next guy… I decided to pass.

    This afternoon I had the occasion to pass one more time. As I was passing in the hallway, our supplemental insurance representative called out to my rapidly departing backside, “are you looking for me?”

    I had an out of body experience. That’s the only way to describe the flood of potential responses that came to mind (usually I’m rather slow of wit, under these circumstances… no matter how much coffee I’ve had). “I’m sorry, do I know you?” “Is there some reason, of which I’m not aware, that I should be looking for you?” “In order to have found what I’ve lost, mustn’t I have lost in the first place?” All these responses and more came flooding into my mind. In the end, I decided to go with short and sweet, “no.”

    Despite willing every ounce of sincerity, good will, and all round niceness into my demeanor when I said, “no,” she gave me a look of 100% pure contempt. I’m no expert on reading people, but it sure looked like contempt anyway. It was like the guy driving the turnip truck wouldn’t even stoop to giving me a ride, let alone give me the opportunity to fall off. It was like she was so far above me I’d need a high powered telescope just to see the bottom of the stairs leading to the base of the tower used to launch the rocket she was riding in… yeah, I was that low. It was like she was reading my mind. I was scared.

    Then I got back to my office and noticed my zipper had flown south for the season.

  • Movie time

    Yesterday we watched “…good night, and good luck.” It’s that movie about Edward R. Murrow and his decision to take on Senator Joseph McCarthy during the height of the “Red Scare.” At the end of the movie, after watching several stirring recreations of “See it now” broadcasts, I was struck with one overriding thought. There are few that write like that any more, and even fewer that talk like that in public. The strength of Murrow’s delivery lay not just in the physical aspect: the strength of his voice or the timing of his speech, but in the choice of his words… which lent his message a degree of authority, thoughtfulness, and conviction that has grown more lacking in today’s speech.

    This brings to mind some instruction I received in writing, at some point during my education. I recall being told that if I had a choice of words I should choose the simpler, more common of the two – to make my point clearer. The clear implication was that simpler language was better. Now I wonder when we, as a people, decided that “simpler” equals “better?” I do not, and never will, imply that my writing is great… or even particularly good… but how many of the great writers or orators in history were characterized by their simple language? At Gettysburg, Lincoln could have said, “Eighty-seven years ago some folks made up a new set of rules, for a new kind of country.” My guess is it would have long since been forgotten, or at best been relegated to the small print of our history texts – remembered only for the historical significance of the event – and not, as it is now – for the words he used.

    Anyone who knows me knows I am not one to praise the “good old days” – and I would never yearn for their return. What’s so good about dying at fifty, hacking and wheezing in smoke-clogged public spaces, flammable waterways, getting Polio/Small Pox (or any number of diseases since vaccinated against), finding half the population useful only as a means of propagating the species, ruthless segregation forced on anything (and everything) society finds the least bit different… I could go on and on. The answer is no, I don’t want to go back to the fifties. However, I do wish our leaders would (or could) stop talking down to us. I wish they would (or could) inspire us to greatness with their words, rather than bring us all down to the lowest common denominator.

  • A little Monday morning blasphemy

    On occasion there is no limit to my torpidity. In fact, this morning was one such morning. I was dragging myself across the parking lot, by every outward appearance failing a field sobriety test, when I spied a spry fellow whistling his way to work.

    Channeling my inner New Yorker (the source of surliness in all of us), I came up with a few choice epithets for this man and his disgusting display of Monday morning mania. I kept them to myself, naturally, but it got me to thinking (or my home brewed, equivalent thereof).

    In honor of the theatrical release of the Da Vinci Code…
    “On the eighth day God, deciding his work was not quite done, created coffee beans and the means to dry roast, brew, and acquire a taste for them… and it was good.” (Excerpt from the Apocrypha.) Thusly, if God had meant for us to be vigorous and cheerful on Monday mornings, why did he create coffee and the means to enjoy it? And if he did not mean for us to be vigorous and cheerful on Monday mornings, what recourse is justified for those who thwart God’s will so blatantly?