Sunday
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3/31/05
The Show That Never Ends
I am, as it has been pointed out to me on more than one occasion, intellectually disorganized. I suppose on a metaphysical level I resemble Charlie Brown's pal Pig Pen, only instead of dirt I'm perpetually surrounded by a cloud of half finished thoughts, positions, ideas and even notions.
Peering into that perambulating cloud that follows me during all my waking hours will reveal, for instance, that I have no firm position on what's an appropriate amount of television or video games for the boys. Neither do I have a clear stance on a reasonable balance between the bureaucratic use of eminent domain and the rights of private property holders. Or how firm I should be about bedtime. You know, that sort of thing.
Anyway, as with any disorganized sort of person, I find that it makes me feel better to occasionally take stock of the few things about which I am absolutely certain. Things like the fact that hardcore Libertarians are delusional. To wit: "Yes, left on its own, industry will do what's best for its customers." Ha, hahahahahahahhahaha. Ahem.
In any case, another thing about which I am absolutely certain is that the conflicts within, and the decisions made by Terri Schiavo's family are none of my damn business. It is, of course, all over for Ms. Schiavo now, but certainly the conflict will continue between those who would choose to resolve these issues with private dignity and those who are driven by an ideology that is as fierce as it is public.
Actually the whole affair strikes me as yet another event that exposes America for what it is: one giant, dysfunctional family, half of whom are oblivious to how small and sad they appear as they shriek at the rest of us on what has become a national Jerry Springer show. And of course the irony is only sweetened when you realize that it's those very same ideological bullies who can't for the life of them understand why the rest of the civilized world glances at us sideways and then backs slowly away as one does from that disheveled guy who yells at the voices in his head on the platform of the 7 train.
But I digress. I suppose in the end I'm not going to bother anybody with my own little opinion about whether Michael Schiavo made the right choice. (Oh alright, he did.) But there is one last thing of which I am certain: as long as there are those like Tom Delay who are allowed to wallow unchecked in their own hypocrisy and shriek at us from across the stage, our national Jerry Springer show will run on in syndication forever.
.
|
3/31/05
The Show That Never Ends
I am, as it has been pointed out to me on more than one occasion, intellectually disorganized. I suppose on a metaphysical level I resemble Charlie Brown's pal Pig Pen, only instead of dirt I'm perpetually surrounded by a cloud of half finished thoughts, positions, ideas and even notions.
Peering into that perambulating cloud that follows me during all my waking hours will reveal, for instance, that I have no firm position on what's an appropriate amount of television or video games for the boys. Neither do I have a clear stance on a reasonable balance between the bureaucratic use of eminent domain and the rights of private property holders. Or how firm I should be about bedtime. You know, that sort of thing.
Anyway, as with any disorganized sort of person, I find that it makes me feel better to occasionally take stock of the few things about which I am absolutely certain. Things like the fact that hardcore Libertarians are delusional. To wit: "Yes, left on its own, industry will do what's best for its customers." Ha, hahahahahahahhahaha. Ahem.
In any case, another thing about which I am absolutely certain is that the conflicts within, and the decisions made by Terri Schiavo's family are none of my damn business. It is, of course, all over for Ms. Schiavo now, but certainly the conflict will continue between those who would choose to resolve these issues with private dignity and those who are driven by an ideology that is as fierce as it is public.
Actually the whole affair strikes me as yet another event that exposes America for what it is: one giant, dysfunctional family, half of whom are oblivious to how small and sad they appear as they shriek at the rest of us on what has become a national Jerry Springer show. And of course the irony is only sweetened when you realize that it's those very same ideological bullies who can't for the life of them understand why the rest of the civilized world glances at us sideways and then backs slowly away as one does from that disheveled guy who yells at the voices in his head on the platform of the 7 train.
But I digress. I suppose in the end I'm not going to bother anybody with my own little opinion about whether Michael Schiavo made the right choice. (Oh alright, he did.) But there is one last thing of which I am certain: as long as there are those like Tom Delay who are allowed to wallow unchecked in their own hypocrisy and shriek at us from across the stage, our national Jerry Springer show will run on in syndication forever.
.
