Things I'm thinking about when I should be going to sleep (now):
How the hell did I get here? At one point, I was going to be a firefighter. I signed up for the test and everything. Then I got the job I have now, and since it paid twice as much, and I didn't have to risk my life, I went for it.
Actually, the way I justified it to myself is that I hate people (people in general). People in general are stupid (I could provide examples, if necessary), and ungrateful in that they believe that when good things happen to them, it is either their right, as an American, or that it is part of god's plan. Which is worse? Of course, there are some fucking awesome people, but I might as well leave the job to someone who is interested in helping anyone, regardless.
Also, writing. I distinctly remember the moment I became interested in writing. I had to read a paper in ninth grade English class about Of Mice and Men: At some point, I described, in graphic detail, the scene of Lenny crushing the rancher's hand. The class let out with a chorus of, "ewww." I stopped. I had had no idea that writing could have such an effect on people. Everything that I had read up until that point, I had read with a dry voice, because I had no other way to think about it. In fact, I can not fathom how I managed to write something that could evoke such a graphic image in my classmates' minds that they would react in a way that I would notice from behind my paper. Cool.
I also remember sitting in a class with Faith Topperoff (one of my HS English teachers), when she made the point that writinig could be used to convince people that an idea is factual, even when the author knows it to be false. Again, how did it take me so long to learn such a simple lesson. This has been my theory of school ever since: school teaches people how to be good bullshit artists. Don't get me wrong, there are definitely some fundamentals, and some people never get it, but have you ever read a textbook that needed to be four hundred pages?
Anyone can see that the most successful people in the world are tremendously good at the fine art of making shit smell like roses. Look at Reagan- people believed what he said! He was an actor! Shouldn't it have been clear to everyone that he would make a fantastic puppet? Oliver Sacks describes mental patients (agnosics?) who, listening to Reagan make a speech, broke into hysterical laughter. They could see that he was lying through his teeth because they did not understand the words, only that his tone of speech was off. I love that story.
OK, I'm going to NYC for the weekend, and may not have access to the internet, so I felt the need to get that out.
Binge and purge for the mind.
How the hell did I get here? At one point, I was going to be a firefighter. I signed up for the test and everything. Then I got the job I have now, and since it paid twice as much, and I didn't have to risk my life, I went for it.
Actually, the way I justified it to myself is that I hate people (people in general). People in general are stupid (I could provide examples, if necessary), and ungrateful in that they believe that when good things happen to them, it is either their right, as an American, or that it is part of god's plan. Which is worse? Of course, there are some fucking awesome people, but I might as well leave the job to someone who is interested in helping anyone, regardless.
Also, writing. I distinctly remember the moment I became interested in writing. I had to read a paper in ninth grade English class about Of Mice and Men: At some point, I described, in graphic detail, the scene of Lenny crushing the rancher's hand. The class let out with a chorus of, "ewww." I stopped. I had had no idea that writing could have such an effect on people. Everything that I had read up until that point, I had read with a dry voice, because I had no other way to think about it. In fact, I can not fathom how I managed to write something that could evoke such a graphic image in my classmates' minds that they would react in a way that I would notice from behind my paper. Cool.
I also remember sitting in a class with Faith Topperoff (one of my HS English teachers), when she made the point that writinig could be used to convince people that an idea is factual, even when the author knows it to be false. Again, how did it take me so long to learn such a simple lesson. This has been my theory of school ever since: school teaches people how to be good bullshit artists. Don't get me wrong, there are definitely some fundamentals, and some people never get it, but have you ever read a textbook that needed to be four hundred pages?
Anyone can see that the most successful people in the world are tremendously good at the fine art of making shit smell like roses. Look at Reagan- people believed what he said! He was an actor! Shouldn't it have been clear to everyone that he would make a fantastic puppet? Oliver Sacks describes mental patients (agnosics?) who, listening to Reagan make a speech, broke into hysterical laughter. They could see that he was lying through his teeth because they did not understand the words, only that his tone of speech was off. I love that story.
OK, I'm going to NYC for the weekend, and may not have access to the internet, so I felt the need to get that out.
Binge and purge for the mind.
suissepirate:
I know what you mean about people being stupid. Thinking about that often makes me reconsider my current life plans.