Who Knows How to Make Money?

A recurring argument in support of Mitt Romney's presidential aspirations goes like this: Mitt will fix the American economy because, as a successful businessman, he knows how to make money.  Mitt Romney undeniably possesses great  wealth, but let's examine the argument that he "knows how to make money."

Mitt Romney's father, George Romney, while apparently a man of humble origins, ran the American Motors Company and served as the governor of Michigan.  It is safe to say that Willard came into this world, already worth at least seven figures.  The man seems to think eating tuna fish sandwiches represents financial exigency.

Barack Obama has humbler origins.  Depending on whom you ask, Obama was either born in Hawaii to a middle-class Kansan woman and her Kenyan husband and grew up in conditions of greater or lesser scarcity, or he is the anti-Christ, born in Kenya and the subject of an elaborate and ongoing conspiracy to mask his unholy origins so he can lead the United States to its ultimate downfall and bring about the Rapture, leaving behing a blasted Hellscape of suffering and deprivation.  Either way, though, the young Barack was hardly rich.  And yet, somehow, even before his election to the presidency, Barack Obama had become quite wealthy, an established member of "the one percent."

So, if we're comparing candidates based on their ability to make money, shouldn't we give the edge to Obama?  Romney changed millions into more millions, but President Obama made millions out of nothing!  Kind of like when Jesus turned a fish and a loaf of bread into tuna fish sandwiches for everybody.

Of course, Romney supporters would probably have condemned Jesus for forcing so many people into the indignity of eating tuna fish.

Chairs as Empty as Rhetoric

Everybody's jumping all over poor, addle-minded Clint Eastwood (Don't pummel me, Clint!) for spending an inordinate amount of time at the Republican National Convention talking to no one.  I've been doing that here for the last three-plus years!  You don't see anyone making fun of me.

You don't, do you?  You'd tell me, right?

I've always associated the "empty chair" with gestalt psychotherapy: The therapist has the client speak to the empty chair, "seating" therein a person that the client wishes to confront, the better to exorcise the mental demons that torment.  I guess that's what Eastwood was doing, the demonic President Obama having possessed the previously not-so-demented Republican Party.  Kind of dramatic, when you think about it.  Of course, it dramatizes nothing so much as the fact that the GOP is in serious need of psychotherapy.

Incidentally, I didn't catch Romney's speech, and I was swamped at work today and had no time to read anything about it.  Did I miss anything?

OK, didn't think so.

Apropos of Nothing

Got caught up at some stuff at work, and it's late, so I'll just share this thought: Being good is difficult, but being harmless is not.  Until you've mastered "good," strive for harmless.  Hippocrates was right.

Just Another Day at Solipsist Central

WOS: Would you mind stopping by the store on your way home?  I need you to pick up some "Hot Pockets."

SOL: OK.

WOS: OK, but I only like one specific kind, so you need to make sure you get the right ones.

SOL: OK.

WOS: OK, so, listen, this is important.  The package looks almost the same as the regular kind, but they're different.

SOL: Uh-huh.

WOS: The bread?  Doesn't look quite like the regular bread; it looks more like a baguette.  So you need to look very carefully at the picture.  You can call me if you're not sure.

SOL: OK.

WOS: And the package will say "Subs."

SOL: So, I just have to look for the Hot Pockets that say "Subs."

WOS: Yeah. . . .  OK, I guess that's not that complicated.

SOL: No.

WOS: But you know how you are.

SOL: Yeah. . . Hey!

Anti-Productivity

One of the nice things about teaching is that every day is different.  At the same time, though, the year rolls along in utterly predictable ways.  Mid-August to early September is complete chaos followed by a period of relative stability as the semester hits the doldrums of late-September and October, picking up steam again towards finals.  Things quiet down again in January.  And then the spring semester follows the same general tidal flow of the fall.  Summer is this strange, indefinable period, busy or not, depending on one's preference for summer school classes and the extra paychecks that come with them.

At any rate, I'm currently in the midst of the fall-semester-chaos time.  Interestingly, the classroom these days becomes a relative oasis of calm.  Granted, I'm still struggling to learn people's names and falling back on teacherly shorthand to call on people: "Tall guy!" "Barely-dressed girl!" "Skater-dude with hat!" "Stinky!"  But at least classes afford the opportunity to work from a script developed and perfected over years of teaching.  When I come back to my office, I'm besieged by a neverending series of small problems that, despite the relative insignificance of any one of them, cumulatively become overwhelming.  For the last week and a half, I have been constantly busy every day and yet feel as though I've accomplished nothing.

October can't come soon enough.

A Reconsideration

Good Morning America today featured a report on the oldest living person, Besse Cooper, who today celebrated her 116th birthday.

Looking at her really makes you think.  It made me think, anyway.  Specifically, it made me think about what I wrote yesterday.

Yeah, so. . . never mind.

Forever Is Our Today

I need to share with you a somewhat depressing thought: Someday, you will die.

Now, I need to share with you a VERY depressing thought: Someday, I will die!

I shudder just to think of it.

Which is why it came as a shock today to read, in an article by David Ewing Duncan, a contributor to The New York Times' Science Times section, that most people would, if given the chance, choose not to extend their lives much beyond the current average of threescore and a score.  In informal surveys that Duncan has conducted before audiences around the country--audiences of all different ages--he has asked whether they would like to live to the age of 80, 120, 150, or "forever."  The vast majority of respondents choose 80, with the numbers consistently dwindling as the proposed age increases: "Less than 1 percent embraced the idea that people might avoid death altogether."

What the hell is wrong with these people?

I understand people not wanting to live indefinitely if, for example, they are suffering from crippling and/or painful illness or residing in a country run by Mitt Romney.  But Duncan found that, even if he asked people to consider the possibility that they might manage to remain active and generally healthy for twice as long as they currently can expect, so that, for example, a 60-year-old could literally have the body of a 30-year-old--even then, most people expressed discomfort with the idea of living even until the age of 120.  Many expressed a feeling that they should essentially live their allotted time and then move aside gracefully for the next generation.

To which I can only reply, Fuck the next generation!  What have they ever done for me?

The way I see it, we all get one life, and we should try to make the most of it we possibly can.  And one way to make the most of it is to live as long as we possibly can.  Barring any unbearable physical agony, and assuming (perhaps unrealistically) that I wouldn't have to slow down terribly much, I place myself firmly in Duncan's super-minority.  I would love to live forever!  I'm depressed by the thought that I won't get to read half the books I want to read or see all the installments in the "Nightmare on Elm Street" franchise that will ever be made.  I want to learn to play the zither!  To master Punjabi! To see people land on Mars!  I want to experience a tablet computer that can be implanted on the inside of my eyelid!  I want to know how things turn out!

"But won't you miss your friends?  Your family?"  Well, first of all, if I can live forever, they could, too.  Second of all, if necessary, I'll make new friends.  Shouldn't be too hard.  I'll be the Amazing Undying Dude!  I'll be all kinds of popular.

You can keep your selfless attitudes about dying gracefully.  Me, I'll rage against the dying of the light as long as I can.  And if the possibility of raging forever presents itself, then forever rage I shall.