For some, thinking is way over-rated, but for many, thinking is what keeps us (out) of trouble. The problem with thinking is clear: the thinker must constantly be examining the moral and ethical problems that assault them on daily, if not hourly, basis. One must always weigh the pro’s and con’s of any particular decision and not blindly follow the orders of those who would make you act badly. This last sentence seems simple enough and most people who agree with it, but following its tenant, that all actions have moral and ethical implications in a wider world, is more difficult than that. How often have we made a stupid mistake, said something foolish, done something idiotic, and said, “What was I thinking?!” You cut yourself will cooking because you were too lazy to get the appropriate knife. The answer to that particular question only too often is, “I wasn’t thinking at all.” This is the problem: thinking takes work, so it necessarily violates my number one rule about human beings: we are lazy to the core. We would rather lie on the sofa eating potato chips and drinking beer and watch reruns of “Friends” than do any actual work of any kind–of any kind at all. Often, it is easier to let others do our thinking for us, but this is problematic for a couple of reasons not the least of which is the question of self-interest, and we don’t ask ourselves a basic question: why does this person want me to adopt their position on any given position? Are my interests exactly the same as the person who is trying to persuade me? More often than not, the answer is “no,” but for many people the work of thinking is just too unbearable, to difficult to do, too complicated. I am often amazed by people who claim to follow a political party without really understanding all of the tenants that such a party might adopt. Yet, this is just a small part of the not thinking problem. Most problems that people face on a daily basis are usually much more complex than they think. In fact, most problems–abortion, immigration, tax reform, gay rights, large government, religious freedom, death penalty, gun rights, free speech–are extremely complex, have multiple sides to each argument, cannot be simplified or reduced in a way that makes them understandable or simple. Complexity, then, is what makes thinking so difficult. Some people resort to a maniqueistic or reductive method of viewing the world which divides everything into a black and white, this is wrong, this okay, world, but the problem with that is that very few ethical problems are that simple. The moment you decide to think about something, you assume an ethical responsibility for it, which forces you to become a part of the solution, which is perhaps a good thing. What thinking will do for you is help create a series of cognitive dissonances that will make your life that much tougher. You will be forced to look at real problems, such as childhood hunger in classrooms, and wonder why our politicians live so high on the hog, but they cannot solve the problem of hungry children. Thinking may also lead you to think that this is a problem that must be solved some other way, leaving politicians out of the loop. Of course, you could also adopt a laissez faire attitude about thinking and turn on the television to watch mindless reruns of mindless shows that would have been better off never having been made in the first place. Thinking is always a choice, an uncomfortable one, but a choice. You can let the talking heads on television fill your mind with hate and venom toward your fellow man, or you might read a book, write a poem, sing a new song, design a new piece of cloth, bake cookies, paint a picture, build a new piece of furniture, plant a garden, clean out the garage, fix a broken switch, or do anything that requires a modicum of thinking. If you think, critically is helpful, and don’t let yourself fall into a passive vegetative state of non-thinking, you may not be happier, but you will be more active in whatever you do. Thinking is not for the weak of heart, or for the followers, but everyone can do it.
Category Archives: television
On (not) thinking
For some, thinking is way over-rated, but for many, thinking is what keeps us (out) of trouble. The problem with thinking is clear: the thinker must constantly be examining the moral and ethical problems that assault them on daily, if not hourly, basis. One must always weigh the pro’s and con’s of any particular decision and not blindly follow the orders of those who would make you act badly. This last sentence seems simple enough and most people who agree with it, but following its tenant, that all actions have moral and ethical implications in a wider world, is more difficult than that. How often have we made a stupid mistake, said something foolish, done something idiotic, and said, “What was I thinking?!” You cut yourself will cooking because you were too lazy to get the appropriate knife. The answer to that particular question only too often is, “I wasn’t thinking at all.” This is the problem: thinking takes work, so it necessarily violates my number one rule about human beings: we are lazy to the core. We would rather lie on the sofa eating potato chips and drinking beer and watch reruns of “Friends” than do any actual work of any kind–of any kind at all. Often, it is easier to let others do our thinking for us, but this is problematic for a couple of reasons not the least of which is the question of self-interest, and we don’t ask ourselves a basic question: why does this person want me to adopt their position on any given position? Are my interests exactly the same as the person who is trying to persuade me? More often than not, the answer is “no,” but for many people the work of thinking is just too unbearable, to difficult to do, too complicated. I am often amazed by people who claim to follow a political party without really understanding all of the tenants that such a party might adopt. Yet, this is just a small part of the not thinking problem. Most problems that people face on a daily basis are usually much more complex than they think. In fact, most problems–abortion, immigration, tax reform, gay rights, large government, religious freedom, death penalty, gun rights, free speech–are extremely complex, have multiple sides to each argument, cannot be simplified or reduced in a way that makes them understandable or simple. Complexity, then, is what makes thinking so difficult. Some people resort to a maniqueistic or reductive method of viewing the world which divides everything into a black and white, this is wrong, this okay, world, but the problem with that is that very few ethical problems are that simple. The moment you decide to think about something, you assume an ethical responsibility for it, which forces you to become a part of the solution, which is perhaps a good thing. What thinking will do for you is help create a series of cognitive dissonances that will make your life that much tougher. You will be forced to look at real problems, such as childhood hunger in classrooms, and wonder why our politicians live so high on the hog, but they cannot solve the problem of hungry children. Thinking may also lead you to think that this is a problem that must be solved some other way, leaving politicians out of the loop. Of course, you could also adopt a laissez faire attitude about thinking and turn on the television to watch mindless reruns of mindless shows that would have been better off never having been made in the first place. Thinking is always a choice, an uncomfortable one, but a choice. You can let the talking heads on television fill your mind with hate and venom toward your fellow man, or you might read a book, write a poem, sing a new song, design a new piece of cloth, bake cookies, paint a picture, build a new piece of furniture, plant a garden, clean out the garage, fix a broken switch, or do anything that requires a modicum of thinking. If you think, critically is helpful, and don’t let yourself fall into a passive vegetative state of non-thinking, you may not be happier, but you will be more active in whatever you do. Thinking is not for the weak of heart, or for the followers, but everyone can do it.
On falling asleep
How is it, exactly, that we con ourselves into sleeping each night, into that vague simulacrum of death? Sure, sometimes we don’t even notice our eyelids drooping as we watch some mind-numbing sitcom or police drama on the tube, but for the most part falling asleep is an active, conscious effort that we make each night. For the insomniacs in the crowd this is a very sensitive subject because long after the vast majority of us have collapsed into slumber, they are still up patrolling the passage ways of the night–eyes open, hearts beating, lonely and confused about why the rest of the world can plunge itself into gentle oblivion so easily, jealous that they cannot do the same. In fact, the harder insomniacs try to sleep, the more they stay awake. I go to sleep when I am tired so that I don’t really have to ponder the process of falling asleep. My strategy is simple: try to forget the events of the day, get as comfortable as possible, and then, don’t worry about falling asleep. Sleep usually shows up presently when I have taken care to do the other things. Part of my sleep preparation is my routine before going to sleep: contacts come out, (I’m officially blinder than a bat), teeth get brushed, flossed, and rinsed, and under the covers. It never varies from one day to the next. But if I go to bed too early, I wake up at three a.m., and then what do you do? Get up and read a book? Watch reruns of Perry Mason? Patrol the halls with the other ghosts? I think the secret to falling asleep is getting your mind to stop running the day’s scenarios–the conversations, the conflicts, the whatevers that will keep you thinking and awake. I like to write a bit (like right now) before bedtime and let my mind stretch itself before turning the lights off–I make my brain just a little tired from creating something new, and it’s easier to get it to switch off when the lights go off. Some people read, but that is a little too passive and a little too easy. I’ve greeted the morning sun a few times while engrossed by one text or another, so that is not the best solution for me. Falling asleep is a bit of a paradox, though, because you have to actively do something, but that activity might be enough to keep you awake. At some point, just before you drop into the black unconsciousness of sleep, you have to convince yourself that your mind is blank, nothing else matters, that swirling down into the unknown maelstrom of sleep is okay. There is something about the darkness of night that swaths you gently in the sweet bonds of sleep, that helps your body send out the correct chemicals for shutting down the power plant and turning off the brain for awhile. I think I am lucky in that I can sleep almost anywhere, including the subway (not recommended), airplanes, the dentist office, church, and of course, if your house has a sofa, I can sleep on it with no prompting whatsoever. I can sleep sitting up. I have fallen asleep in lots of theaters. I have fallen asleep at times when this was not the most convenient or correct thing to do. Cars are a natural sedative for me, so if I have to drive, I always get well-rested before I travel. Cat-naps are heaven sent. I have no fear of falling asleep or of sleeping, and my only sleep problems arise in connection with jetlag, which really messes me up, and the older I get the worse the jetlag gets, which really sucks. I hate resorting to chemicals aids for sleeping, so when I go to Europe, I just know that for about a week, my sleep patterns will be off. Time to say good night and go to sleep. The Sandman is calling.
On falling asleep
How is it, exactly, that we con ourselves into sleeping each night, into that vague simulacrum of death? Sure, sometimes we don’t even notice our eyelids drooping as we watch some mind-numbing sitcom or police drama on the tube, but for the most part falling asleep is an active, conscious effort that we make each night. For the insomniacs in the crowd this is a very sensitive subject because long after the vast majority of us have collapsed into slumber, they are still up patrolling the passage ways of the night–eyes open, hearts beating, lonely and confused about why the rest of the world can plunge itself into gentle oblivion so easily, jealous that they cannot do the same. In fact, the harder insomniacs try to sleep, the more they stay awake. I go to sleep when I am tired so that I don’t really have to ponder the process of falling asleep. My strategy is simple: try to forget the events of the day, get as comfortable as possible, and then, don’t worry about falling asleep. Sleep usually shows up presently when I have taken care to do the other things. Part of my sleep preparation is my routine before going to sleep: contacts come out, (I’m officially blinder than a bat), teeth get brushed, flossed, and rinsed, and under the covers. It never varies from one day to the next. But if I go to bed too early, I wake up at three a.m., and then what do you do? Get up and read a book? Watch reruns of Perry Mason? Patrol the halls with the other ghosts? I think the secret to falling asleep is getting your mind to stop running the day’s scenarios–the conversations, the conflicts, the whatevers that will keep you thinking and awake. I like to write a bit (like right now) before bedtime and let my mind stretch itself before turning the lights off–I make my brain just a little tired from creating something new, and it’s easier to get it to switch off when the lights go off. Some people read, but that is a little too passive and a little too easy. I’ve greeted the morning sun a few times while engrossed by one text or another, so that is not the best solution for me. Falling asleep is a bit of a paradox, though, because you have to actively do something, but that activity might be enough to keep you awake. At some point, just before you drop into the black unconsciousness of sleep, you have to convince yourself that your mind is blank, nothing else matters, that swirling down into the unknown maelstrom of sleep is okay. There is something about the darkness of night that swaths you gently in the sweet bonds of sleep, that helps your body send out the correct chemicals for shutting down the power plant and turning off the brain for awhile. I think I am lucky in that I can sleep almost anywhere, including the subway (not recommended), airplanes, the dentist office, church, and of course, if your house has a sofa, I can sleep on it with no prompting whatsoever. I can sleep sitting up. I have fallen asleep in lots of theaters. I have fallen asleep at times when this was not the most convenient or correct thing to do. Cars are a natural sedative for me, so if I have to drive, I always get well-rested before I travel. Cat-naps are heaven sent. I have no fear of falling asleep or of sleeping, and my only sleep problems arise in connection with jetlag, which really messes me up, and the older I get the worse the jetlag gets, which really sucks. I hate resorting to chemicals aids for sleeping, so when I go to Europe, I just know that for about a week, my sleep patterns will be off. Time to say good night and go to sleep. The Sandman is calling.
On Barney Fife
The first time I saw Barney Fife, I thought he was the least-prepared man for law enforcement I had ever seen. Not that Mayberry needed a lot of law enforcement. Crime was not running rampant through the streets of this small town, but Andy Taylor did need a deputy to help keep his town in line–they did have at least one drunk, and you never knew when someone or something might escape from the big city of Mount Pilot. And, of course, there was always traffic trouble in Mayberry, but it was never clear that they even had a stoplight to run. What with all the gossip going on the Floyd’s barbershop, one had to work hard to keep up with local gossip, but Barney was always hanging around trying to be useful, earn his keep, so to speak. Perhaps what was most appealing about Barney was his complete lack of ability in law enforcement. Barney was not tall, skinny to the point of boney, nervous as a cat in a rocking chair factory, brave but not tough, not skilled with firearms (he wasn’t allowed to put a bullet in his gun). He knew the letter of the laws, but it was always Andy who did all the implementation and actual law enforcement. Yet, there was an ideal innocence to Barney which made him the perfect deputy. If you could believe that Barney was a deputy then you had to believe that there was always hope for the human race. Barney was an Everyman, a man that has existed through the millennium who has always acted in good faith, is loyal and supportive, is a friend who you might invite to your house or perhaps even let date your sister. Barney’s great failing, if one might call it that, was his inability to recognize evil when it stood right in front of him. He always thought the best of people as if he had never really known evil at all. To meet a completely innocent man, one free of cynicism and malice, one who’s heart is pure even in the face of a decadent society. In this way, he is a totally unique character to be admired and contemplated. His main job, however, was comic relief. His character in a deeper sense was that of clown, a janus with two faces–one laughing, the other crying. Barney is about the hopes and dreams of everyman who has a job and is trying his best to make a go of things. His desire to be a good policeman caused him to suffer a great deal of anxiety even if he never understood that crime in Mayberry was not a pressing problem. He had difficulty in carrying himself off as an authority figure, and his fellow citizens often laughed at him as he tried to carry off the gravitas necessary to be a good deputy. His attempts at being serious frequently led him into silly situations where his pretend bravado was often funnier than just acting normal. Not much of a lady’s man, I was intrigued by the women he dated, but then again, in Mayberry bachelors probably came at a premium. Instead of problematic, I realized that although Barney did not reunite the requisite qualities of a stereotypical lawman, he did bring a uniquely human perspective to the job that gave him a special edge as deputy. It wasn’t that Mayberry needed a strong-arm law man, but they did need a man who understood the question of being human, which for them, was much more important. Skinny, trembling, nervous, Barney Fife was ideal in almost every way for helping to maintain law and order in the thriving metropolis of Mayberry.
On television
Would we all be better off if we just turned the damned television off? We sit around like a bunch of stoned junkies and let some idiotic bimbo in a white outfit sell us car insurance for the millionth time and we don’t even flinch. Television is a vast wasteland that kills brain cells, lowers the general IQ of the population, dulls the senses, and lulls everyone into a false sense of reality that has absolutely nothing to do with reality. The constant flow of consumer propaganda that drains out of the television and into our living rooms is both horrifying and scandalous. Commercial television is running our lives, and it is so ubiquitous and overwhelming that we wouldn’t know what the next thing to buy is if it weren’t for the television informing us. The programs are phony simulacra of daily life which we accept as real when we know it’s not. The fake emotions of television actors take the place of real emotions, and by the end of the day we have lost all contact with reality, substituting the simulacrum for the real thing. We don’t talk to each other. We run from one appointment to another without solving any problems, without communicating, without doing anything of significance. Television substitutes itself for reality so we might be conditioned to buy the right soap, the cars, the right cigarettes, the right beer. And what’s worse, we sit and stare at reruns of programs we have already seen as if we were a bunch of simple minded fools with no taste, no sense of originality, no sense of creativity, and no sense of adventure: we watch reruns! What kind of vacuous and superficial lives must we run if we can tolerate watching a show which we have already seen? We are are like three-year-olds who watch the same Barney video over and over and over until we fall asleep. Television is anesthesia for the inquiring, active, creative, questioning mind. I’m as guilty as the next guy but there are also many shows, cop shows, sitcoms, lawyer shows, sports shows, kids shows, which are so mind-numbingly stupid that they are an insult to basic intelligence. And I haven’t even begun to discuss commercial television’s weakest point: the commercials. The best thing to do with most television is to simply turn it off in self-defense. We watch commercials about dog food, perfumes, cars, food (all types), drinks, clothing, insurance, telephone service, medicines, and an almost infinite number of other things we don’t need and we end up needing them because we listen to the commercials. A day without television would be utopia, but we live in a dystopia, so where does one start? The question is probably this: what is to be gained by turning off the boob tube and doing anything else that is not watching television? I, for one, think that I might try this over the next month before I become completely moronic to see if I might wean myself off the constant white noise that is commercial television, a dead end street for those who can’t think for themselves
On television
Would we all be better off if we just turned the damned television off? We sit around like a bunch of stoned junkies and let some idiotic bimbo in a white outfit sell us car insurance for the millionth time and we don’t even flinch. Television is a vast wasteland that kills brain cells, lowers the general IQ of the population, dulls the senses, and lulls everyone into a false sense of reality that has absolutely nothing to do with reality. The constant flow of consumer propaganda that drains out of the television and into our living rooms is both horrifying and scandalous. Commercial television is running our lives, and it is so ubiquitous and overwhelming that we wouldn’t know what the next thing to buy is if it weren’t for the television informing us. The programs are phony simulacra of daily life which we accept as real when we know it’s not. The fake emotions of television actors take the place of real emotions, and by the end of the day we have lost all contact with reality, substituting the simulacrum for the real thing. We don’t talk to each other. We run from one appointment to another without solving any problems, without communicating, without doing anything of significance. Television substitutes itself for reality so we might be conditioned to buy the right soap, the cars, the right cigarettes, the right beer. And what’s worse, we sit and stare at reruns of programs we have already seen as if we were a bunch of simple minded fools with no taste, no sense of originality, no sense of creativity, and no sense of adventure: we watch reruns! What kind of vacuous and superficial lives must we run if we can tolerate watching a show which we have already seen? We are are like three-year-olds who watch the same Barney video over and over and over until we fall asleep. Television is anesthesia for the inquiring, active, creative, questioning mind. I’m as guilty as the next guy but there are also many shows, cop shows, sitcoms, lawyer shows, sports shows, kids shows, which are so mind-numbingly stupid that they are an insult to basic intelligence. And I haven’t even begun to discuss commercial television’s weakest point: the commercials. The best thing to do with most television is to simply turn it off in self-defense. We watch commercials about dog food, perfumes, cars, food (all types), drinks, clothing, insurance, telephone service, medicines, and an almost infinite number of other things we don’t need and we end up needing them because we listen to the commercials. A day without television would be utopia, but we live in a dystopia, so where does one start? The question is probably this: what is to be gained by turning off the boob tube and doing anything else that is not watching television? I, for one, think that I might try this over the next month before I become completely moronic to see if I might wean myself off the constant white noise that is commercial television, a dead end street for those who can’t think for themselves
On Perry Mason
This television show, a black and white gem of the late fifties starring Raymond Burr, was a brilliant tour-de-force in the detective-noir genre of the mid-twentieth century. The show predates color television by about five years, and it was filmed in a glorious black and white and a million shades of gray, not just fifty. The plots are the same plots that crowd television today: jealousy, greed, evil, passion, sloth, ire, hate, and shame. The human creature is capable of almost anything driven by poor thinking, loose morals, and confused ethics. Into the middle of the chaos strides Perry Mason, ready to defend the innocent, pursue the guilty, and bring justice to all. The ever enigmatic Raymond Burr played Mason with a sly smile on his lips, but his eyes never gave away what he was thinking. Burr’s Mason was utterly and completely cerebral, always considering all of the possibilities while putting the pieces together and solving the crime. Sorting out who was lying from who was telling the truth was Mason’s strength, supported by the ever loyal Della Street and his energetic side-kick and investigator, Paul Drake. The conventions of the show–crime, innocent suspect, trial, confessing criminal, happy ending–were well-known to everyone. The show rarely varied from its well-established formula. Even so, the show was comforting because it was about establishing justice, resolving a mystery, and returning everything back to normal: the killer is caught and incarcerated, the innocent go free, and the ethical and moral social structure has been re-established, much to the relief of everyone. The weekly mystery always presented a world undone, tipped over, out of sorts. The police and other authorities always seemed, however, to get it wrong, and it was Mason’s job to set things right. In the Cold War world of the fifties, moral ambiguity was beginning to flower, and the moral certainty of the world which had been so clear right after World War II was beginning to wane. All of the problems which would explode in the sixties with drug use, the sexual revolution, civil rights, women’s liberation, and the Vietnam War, all existed in nascent form in the fifties and are reflected in the problems that all of the characters face. Mason, however, is a monolithic figure who never becomes very emotional or excited. We never get to see him outside of his personae as lawyer, never see him date or kick his shoes off at home. His black suit and white shirt are his armor and chain mail, and one would never see him out of that costume. Some questions, such as his true relationship to Della Street, are never meant to be answered–they add to the mystique. Larger than life, Mason was a big man with an imposing presence who could go toe-to-toe with any prosecutor, any law enforcement official, any lying witness, any stern judge, and come out on top. The show is still better than 99% of the crap that is on television today. He knew what was right and wrong, and he didn’t have to worry about moral relativism. If only things were that simple today.
On Perry Mason
This television show, a black and white gem of the late fifties starring Raymond Burr, was a brilliant tour-de-force in the detective-noir genre of the mid-twentieth century. The show predates color television by about five years, and it was filmed in a glorious black and white and a million shades of gray, not just fifty. The plots are the same plots that crowd television today: jealousy, greed, evil, passion, sloth, ire, hate, and shame. The human creature is capable of almost anything driven by poor thinking, loose morals, and confused ethics. Into the middle of the chaos strides Perry Mason, ready to defend the innocent, pursue the guilty, and bring justice to all. The ever enigmatic Raymond Burr played Mason with a sly smile on his lips, but his eyes never gave away what he was thinking. Burr’s Mason was utterly and completely cerebral, always considering all of the possibilities while putting the pieces together and solving the crime. Sorting out who was lying from who was telling the truth was Mason’s strength, supported by the ever loyal Della Street and his energetic side-kick and investigator, Paul Drake. The conventions of the show–crime, innocent suspect, trial, confessing criminal, happy ending–were well-known to everyone. The show rarely varied from its well-established formula. Even so, the show was comforting because it was about establishing justice, resolving a mystery, and returning everything back to normal: the killer is caught and incarcerated, the innocent go free, and the ethical and moral social structure has been re-established, much to the relief of everyone. The weekly mystery always presented a world undone, tipped over, out of sorts. The police and other authorities always seemed, however, to get it wrong, and it was Mason’s job to set things right. In the Cold War world of the fifties, moral ambiguity was beginning to flower, and the moral certainty of the world which had been so clear right after World War II was beginning to wane. All of the problems which would explode in the sixties with drug use, the sexual revolution, civil rights, women’s liberation, and the Vietnam War, all existed in nascent form in the fifties and are reflected in the problems that all of the characters face. Mason, however, is a monolithic figure who never becomes very emotional or excited. We never get to see him outside of his personae as lawyer, never see him date or kick his shoes off at home. His black suit and white shirt are his armor and chain mail, and one would never see him out of that costume. Some questions, such as his true relationship to Della Street, are never meant to be answered–they add to the mystique. Larger than life, Mason was a big man with an imposing presence who could go toe-to-toe with any prosecutor, any law enforcement official, any lying witness, any stern judge, and come out on top. The show is still better than 99% of the crap that is on television today. He knew what was right and wrong, and he didn’t have to worry about moral relativism. If only things were that simple today.
On the couch potato
The life of a couch potato is pretty simple: couch, television, remote, chips, diet soda, chocolate. The average couch potato would probably be content with half of that stuff, but let’s just say our couch potato lives in a perfect world. It is of no importance whatsoever that anything of transcendent value be on television at any given moment. In fact, what could be better than watching “Ground Hog Day” for the fifty-third time? I would say that a couch potato, a truly inert and dedicated one, will watch anything at all as long as it talks and moves. The sofa can be of any age, shape, condition or smell, preferably stained by some unknown liquids that have long since turned into permanent stains. The sofa has to be long enough to stretch out on–no love seats allowed. What is of vital importance, however, are the batteries in the remote. The remote must work consistently or all bets are off–a couch potato will not get up to turn the channel, which is so forty years ago. The television must be huge, although any non-self-respecting couch potato will do with any old set as long as it gets a couple of channels. Today’s plethora of humungous flat screen televisions is pure nirvana for the dedicated couch potato. Eating chips and drinking soda does require an ounce of effort, but if you bring enough chips and soda into the living room, this is generally not a problem: a big box of chips and a two-liter bottle of soda will put the “potato” into the right mood for both Jerry Springer and Suzanne Summers in the same night. If Jerry Springer and Suzanne Summers had children they would sell books about naturally curing couch potatoism, but no one would ever lift a finger to buy one. The dedicated couch potato is adept at actually knowing which station correspond to which numbers on cable. I didn’t say “dial” because television stopped having dials thirty years ago. Between the obesity and the diabetes, the life expectancy of most couch potatoes does not reach beyond about fifty or so. Whether it’s the atrophied mind or the atrophied body that gives out first is anyone’s guess. Yet on lazy Sunday afternoon when all your work is already done for the semester, it’s really hard to be either productive or hard-working when you know that Monday morning is only hours away. If you are a couch potato, great, let it all hang out, but if you aren’t, get out your summer hat and shades and go for a walk. The exercise you do today, will always pay off tomorrow.
