Latest Night Time Thoughts

Recently, I "sleep read" a text from my cousin that said, "My neighbors are always disappearing..." As I drifted back to real sleep, I contemplated the implications of this message. I sincerely and semi-strenuously thought about why the fact that people were DISAPPEARING wasn't worth more than a text message. In my head, I pictured her neighbors literally fading from view like holograms, something I knew doesn't happen to most people. As I fell deeper and deeper into sleep I became more and more angry as to the lack of concern over this issue. Why wasn't anybody trying to do more to help keep them from disappearing?

A few weeks later, I was sleeping on a plane. I woke up and the first thing I saw was my nose from the corner of my eye. The lighting caused it to look darker than it really is. Therefore, I obviously thought I was black. And in my semi-conscious state, I didn't think this was strange in the slightest. Of course I was black. This "fact" didn't phase me at all, despite lifelong caucasian-hood prior to that point.

A feeble attempt to make up for my many years of cynicism

I was on the phone with my cousin, Vic, the other day when she brought something peculiar to my attention.

"You know what I've realized?" she started. "It's amazing how people cooperate."

I immediately attempted to cite examples to the contrary, but was unable to articulate any single one due to the multitudes that came to mind. What was she SAYING? People don't COOPERATE! What an absurd suggestion! Doesn't she ever read the news? Bloody imbeciles are running amok every which way! Just think, for example, about the slathering of abhorrent miscreants who, by some miracle, possess drivers licenses and congregate on America's roadways daily. That, to me, seems like the very antithesis to anything even remotely resembling the concept of "cooperation".

But I digress...

"What do you mean?" I asked.

She said this idea occurred to her while sitting on a plane, watching some people politely interacting and others keeping to themselves entirely.

"I mean there are tons of opportunities to misbehave but most people don't!"

[Please pause a moment to soak in the irony of the picture below in which Vic herself is clearly misbehaving.]

When I really think about it (and I mean really, really) I guess I agree with her. Even despite the worldwide idiocy epidemic, it seems that somehow society seems to function at a pretty consistent state of normality thanks to common courtesy. After all, isn't it really only the rarity in which stupidity reigns supreme that even makes it noteworthy? I'd like to think that ridiculous behaviour stands out because it's not the norm, even though I am often tempted to think otherwise. I recently stumbled upon a quote that sums up my point quite nicely:

“I tell people that if it’s in the news, don’t worry about it. The very definition of ‘news’ is ‘something that hardly ever happens.’ It’s when something isn’t in the news, when it’s so common that it’s no longer news — car crashes, domestic violence — that you should start worrying.” ~Bruce Schneier

THIS GIVES ME HOPE. 

BUT... will this new-found hope be enough to negate the fact that I lose a little more faith in humanity with each trip in my car? Or will the masses' preposterous displays of asininity and self-centered thinking (both of which I am also guilty) continue to eat away at my soul?


Fortunately for me, that decision is in my hands.

After all, "as stupid and vicious as men are, this is a lovely day." -- Kurt Vonnegut

Tomfoolery

When I was a child my mother would often take me to spend time with my cousins. One particular occasion comes to mind during which we rebelled against our routine gathering that would normally consist of a mild game of cards or family oriented television programming. On this day we chose to venture out into the world; more specifically, the eleven hundred block of South Western Avenue in Park Ridge, Illinois.

I would estimate that my cousin, Victoria, eleven months my elder, and I were roughly seven or eight years of age on this day. It was an Autumn day- crisp and what not. We were restless and sought any kind of adventure. We found it but a few houses away from Victoria's. The home had an asphalt driveway littered with long pink leaves. These were peculiar looking leaves and I had never seen any that looked quite like that, nor have I since.

In a swift act of impulsion, I made my way up the driveway to the spot right beneath the tree with said pink leaves, scooped up a handful of them, and made my way to the front door. Boldly, I summoned the owners via the bell and waited. Victoria stood back several yards behind me, giggling. I was greeted by a middle aged man. Behind him, a woman who looked like she was dressed for a party strutted down the elegant staircase, hands sweeping along the banister.

"Who is it?" she asked him.

"A girl," he replied.

Turning back to me, he asked me what I wanted. I extended my hands, clenching the pink leaves.

"Would you like to buy some leaves?" I asked.

He chuckled and turned back around to his wife who was now approaching the door.

"She wants to know if we want to buy the leaves," he told her.

As he turned around again to face me, his chuckle morphed into just a smile and then to nothing at all. Straight faced he asked, "But really. What do you want?"

I was baffled by his confusion, to say the least. Had I not made myself perfectly clear? All I wanted to know was whether or not he was interested in buying these strange pink leaves that I had collected off his property. What was so unbelievable about that?

I told him once more. He laughed again, said he was not interested, and closed the door. I turned around to face Victoria and together we walked back to her house. Though I had accomplished nothing at all, I still felt an indescribable sense of pride in myself for having done that. In fact, I felt proud enough that I told my aunt all about it upon returning to the house. I remember her asking me something like,

"Carsten, don't you think doing something like that could get you in trouble?"

But I more clearly remember responding,

"I like getting in trouble."

She later told my mother what I had done, with an emphasis on this declaration I had made about my enjoyment of mischief.

In the end, this "adventure" turned out not to be very adventuresome at all. It was just strange yet curiously gratifying.

Years later, at my own house, my friend Nick from down the street knocked on my door. I listened from the next room as my grandfather asked him what he wanted.

"Just wondering if you wanted to buy these leaves. I got them from your yard."

At the time I thought him foolish, trying to sell us our own leaves and what not. Only now do I smirk to myself as I fondly recall my own leaf selling days. Wonderfully enough, I had never even told Nick my own story.



Those crazy kids.