Category Archives: hunger

On caprice

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It is summer, time for vacations and excursions, time for new experiences, getting away from home, meeting new people, trying new foods, exploring new landscapes, escaping the normal, the everyday, the humdrum, letting caprice carry you away. Yes, for all you rational empiricists, caprice is a naughty word associated with irrational and illogical behavior bordering on insanity. Caprice is about wanting things you shouldn’t want, doing things on the spur of the moment, letting go of the controlled life. For many people, caprice is childish and foolish. One should be able to live their whole life without being either spontaneous or unpredictable. All of life should be planned, logical, thought out, reasonable, predictable, and unsurprising. I know lots of people like this, and they are wonderful, if not a little boring. Caprice, on the other hand, can lead to all sorts of trouble: one might eat too much chocolate or ice cream, or heaven forbid, to much chocolate ice cream. No one needs chocolate ice cream for any reason whatsoever, so it is a caprice. Caprice might mean staying up too late to watch an old movie about good guys and bad guys, beautiful dangerous women, whiskey, big cars and palatial estates where some old guy grows orchids he hates. Nobody needs any of that. Caprice might mean eating that lobster as opposed to watching it swim in its aquarium. Nobody needs lobster, and besides, eating lobster usually leads to drinking white wine with someone you love, and of course, love only leads to rack and ruin, so lobster is a caprice. Life’s caprices will ruin your heavily structured, well-toned life of predictable and good behavior. Caprice is almost always about being bad, wanting something that is not good for you, getting something that is bad for you. Jetting off to Paris is a caprice because no one really needs to go to Paris when they have everything they really need in the United States, probably at the mall just down the street, or maybe even closer in that big box retailer on the corner near your house. And heaven forbid you should go to Madrid, which is full of caprices: lobster, flamenco, bull-fighting, the Prado, tapas, red wine, terraces, handsome people, wild night life, and chocolate ice cream. You might as well throw in the towel if you go there because you will be assaulted on all sides by unwelcome caprice of all kinds. You might lose control of your well-tailored life, of your managed respectability, of your over-sculpted identity. Caprice is a bad thing, no question about it. Stay at home and eat rice cakes. Drive a four-door, respectable, good-mileage sedan with an automatic transmission. Caprice can have nothing to do with your well-run life. Please stay away from other people, roses, fast cars, jazz, art museums (all sorts), bars, restaurants that offer lobster and/or chocolate ice cream, and airports, which only leads to flying and before you know it, you’re eating lobster on some beach where half-nude people are sipping drinks with little umbrellas in them. Don’t be tempted. Stay away from caprice and live your life.

On caprice

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It is summer, time for vacations and excursions, time for new experiences, getting away from home, meeting new people, trying new foods, exploring new landscapes, escaping the normal, the everyday, the humdrum, letting caprice carry you away. Yes, for all you rational empiricists, caprice is a naughty word associated with irrational and illogical behavior bordering on insanity. Caprice is about wanting things you shouldn’t want, doing things on the spur of the moment, letting go of the controlled life. For many people, caprice is childish and foolish. One should be able to live their whole life without being either spontaneous or unpredictable. All of life should be planned, logical, thought out, reasonable, predictable, and unsurprising. I know lots of people like this, and they are wonderful, if not a little boring. Caprice, on the other hand, can lead to all sorts of trouble: one might eat too much chocolate or ice cream, or heaven forbid, to much chocolate ice cream. No one needs chocolate ice cream for any reason whatsoever, so it is a caprice. Caprice might mean staying up too late to watch an old movie about good guys and bad guys, beautiful dangerous women, whiskey, big cars and palatial estates where some old guy grows orchids he hates. Nobody needs any of that. Caprice might mean eating that lobster as opposed to watching it swim in its aquarium. Nobody needs lobster, and besides, eating lobster usually leads to drinking white wine with someone you love, and of course, love only leads to rack and ruin, so lobster is a caprice. Life’s caprices will ruin your heavily structured, well-toned life of predictable and good behavior. Caprice is almost always about being bad, wanting something that is not good for you, getting something that is bad for you. Jetting off to Paris is a caprice because no one really needs to go to Paris when they have everything they really need in the United States, probably at the mall just down the street, or maybe even closer in that big box retailer on the corner near your house. And heaven forbid you should go to Madrid, which is full of caprices: lobster, flamenco, bull-fighting, the Prado, tapas, red wine, terraces, handsome people, wild night life, and chocolate ice cream. You might as well throw in the towel if you go there because you will be assaulted on all sides by unwelcome caprice of all kinds. You might lose control of your well-tailored life, of your managed respectability, of your over-sculpted identity. Caprice is a bad thing, no question about it. Stay at home and eat rice cakes. Drive a four-door, respectable, good-mileage sedan with an automatic transmission. Caprice can have nothing to do with your well-run life. Please stay away from other people, roses, fast cars, jazz, art museums (all sorts), bars, restaurants that offer lobster and/or chocolate ice cream, and airports, which only leads to flying and before you know it, you’re eating lobster on some beach where half-nude people are sipping drinks with little umbrellas in them. Don’t be tempted. Stay away from caprice and live your life.

On sadness

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Perhaps it is because we are all pursuing happiness with such great abandon and fervor that we often don’t stop for those around us who are feeling sad. Or perhaps we are sad ourselves and no one has noticed or stopped by to ask. It has been a tough spring in central Texas for colleagues and friends who are facing transitions because change has been forced on them by the inevitability of death or the capriciousness of life. We would always want things to stay the same: same job, same family, same friends, same house, same stuff, same car, same pets. Yet, we know that the only thing that does not change is change itself. Even death and taxes change–they may be inevitable, but they do change. So a grandparent dies, or a church member, or people take a new job and move, a business closes and you’re out of job, a car accident suddenly ends the life of a young one. I should be more callous and just call it “life.” After fifty-three years you would think I would be a little less emotional, more unfeeling, harder, cynical, and in many ways I am: I understand the serendipitous nature of chance, the independence of the event, and the unpredictability of real life. We live under the illusion that life is one huge continuous thread of events, that continuity exists, and that we can live that single, unbroken thread of verisimilitude which is our mundane existence. Life is more like a mirror that has fallen out of its frame and shattered into a million little discontinuous fragments, which, as we stare into them, reflect back just a tiny piece of our image. Life is not linear; it is discontinuous, fragmented, broken, and unfinished. The result of this existential angst is often times a profound sadness about the changing world, over which we have no control. Perhaps that is our greatest failing as humans: we think that we control our destinies, have a perfect life, perfect family, perfect house, perfect car, perfect children, never suffer a loss. Yet, nowhere is it written that real life has anything to do with the pursuit of happiness, that we can control anything, that there is meaning where there really is none, that we can shield ourselves against loss. Perhaps only the nihilists say such nonsense, but I would postulate that most unhappiness is the direct result of the dark surprises that life is constantly throwing at the players in this drama-tragedy-absurd-satire-parody of life. We are unhappy because of change, because our expectations for our lives are not being met, because our needs are not being met. At some point I should use the word “fair,” but it wouldn’t be appropriate in this context. Life is always what you make of it–sad, happy, or indifferent, but we are never in control.

On "The Hunger Games" (movie)

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My son is a huge fan of The Hunger Games trilogy, so the family went to the movies last night. Though I wouldn’t say that the film is brilliant, it is very good, and although “subtle” is not the word that most would use to describe the movie, there was a lot of subtle commentary on the culture of television, reality tv specifically, fascism, slavery, personal sacrifice, class conflict and the role of violence in pop culture. Indeed, the movie was very violent and ended up being a riff on itself and the exploitation of violence as a marketing tool to get people to watch something so sponsors can sell their stuff. I took careful note last night as to whom was sponsoring commercials in the movie theater before the movie began. The Hunger Games is about a completely secular society that represses and exploits others so that they may lead a life of leisure and luxury; imagine if Rome had never fallen but had continued to flourish into the 21st century. The “Capital” culture exploits the outlying “districts” so that they may follow a life of wealth, power, hedonism, and luxury. The outlying districts are, more or less, living hand to mouth to do the work that ensures the luxurious lifestyles of the Capital. The movie starts in District 12, the designated coal mining region which supplies all of the coal which keeps the lights on in the capital. The exploitation of the workers is ensured by a faceless army of thugs and brutes which rule through violence and fear. The government is fascist writ large. There is no democratic process to ensure any kind of representation, and there are no checks and balances which might curtail corruption or exploitation. The actual “Hunger Games” is an exercise in ritual murder turned into a reality television show, and the participants–all of whom will be violently murdered–are chosen via lottery (wink and nod to Shirley Jackson)–two from each district. The last man standing is turned into a pop celebrity for “winning” the Hunger Games. Tip of the hat to Woody Harrelson for bringing life to a cynical alcoholic ex-winner of the games from District 12. The main character is a reincarnation of Diana the Huntress, who begins the film by sacrificing herself to save her little sister who has been chosen to participate in the macabre reality show of violent death, mutilation, suffering, and cruelty which is being staged for the entertainment of the Capital, and for the humiliation of the districts. No spoilers here. Watch it, read it, but remember, this is strong stuff–not for the weak of heart.

On love

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Love is a pretty tricky, if not risky, emotion, but most people enjoy being in love, most people love to be loved, and when love goes away, the pain is almost immeasurable. Valentine’s Day, which is just around the corner, always seemed like a time of crisis for so many, including myself when I was single. The whole idea of being single was just so much more tragic than it was the rest of the year. Human beings do not do well when forced to live by themselves. Single people do not live as long as married folks, but I’ve known so many married folks that live in conflict and pain. One thing that is very important about love is that you cannot generalize about why people fall in love, how they pick their mates, or how they stay together. I’m sure sociologists will disagree and site a bunch of studies, but my argument would be this: studies generalize, people are individuals. What humans hate and fear is being left alone, which is what makes the Robinson Crusoe analogue so frightening: you end up making friends with a volleyball called Wilson. I would also suggest that although love has a physical side to it, love that lasts is more than physical and transcends the day-to-day crap that makes life difficult. In fifty-plus years one has one’s successes and one’s disappointments. Ideally, we would all like to marry our childhood sweetheart and then just grow old together. Perhaps there was a time in some distant and golden past when that sort of thing happened, but in this complex world of high pressure jobs, family conflicts, strife of all kinds, random chaos, religion, politics, caprice, serendipitous chance, and strange attractors one is infrequently in the same place long enough to develop a real relationship with anyone. We move around too much and love has no chance. We all desire real emotion, we yearn to be loved, but love is such a dangerous proposition that we often say “no” because it is the only way to guarantee the safety of our soul. Loss, rejection, hurt, betrayal or indifference are heartbreaking because you risked everything, you dared to love, and now you walk away alone. You can only do that so many times before you quit in sheer desperation and self-preservation. Love is always that double-edged sword, and it either protects or kills, and you may never know why. Recently, a truly heartbroken friend asked the eternal question: is it better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all? Something to think about.