On ice cream

Speaking of foods that no one needs, this must be the most delicious example of one. Creamy, sweet, cold, ice cream is pretty much universally liked by everyone who has ever eaten any. Even bad ice cream is still pretty good. I suppose fish-flavored ice cream might be a little creepy and weird, but I’ll bet it’s been tried–anchovy, anyone? My personal favorite, besides chocolate, is anything with lots of butter and pecans in it. Most people, especially when they need to punish themselves, can eat an entire vat of ice cream, regardless of what the consequences might be–obesity, diabetes, heart disease, lactose intolerance, and death, of course. Common sense just seems to go straight out the window when ice cream comes into picture, including metaphors that make sense. Ice cream is food exaggeration taken to the nth degree. Filled with copious amounts of pure animal fat and dangerous amounts of sugar, this frozen concoction is a slippery slope toward decadence and corruption. Only Dorian Gray could ever eat all the ice cream he ever wanted and, at the same time, ignore the consequences. We kid ourselves and lie to ourselves, willing to justify more ice cream with any excuse no matter how lame and stupid our reasons might be. You know, you think it’s worth it, those few minutes of pleasure while you eat that huge cone of yoghurt and lemon ice cream, but later you feel guilty and hateful because you know you did a bad thing to your body. This is, of course, the great paradox of eating ice cream, that you love the ephemeral moment as the ice cream passes over your tongue, but you despise yourself for ingesting another 800 calories that you never needed in the first place.

On ice cream

Speaking of foods that no one needs, this must be the most delicious example of one. Creamy, sweet, cold, ice cream is pretty much universally liked by everyone who has ever eaten any. Even bad ice cream is still pretty good. I suppose fish-flavored ice cream might be a little creepy and weird, but I’ll bet it’s been tried–anchovy, anyone? My personal favorite, besides chocolate, is anything with lots of butter and pecans in it. Most people, especially when they need to punish themselves, can eat an entire vat of ice cream, regardless of what the consequences might be–obesity, diabetes, heart disease, lactose intolerance, and death, of course. Common sense just seems to go straight out the window when ice cream comes into picture, including metaphors that make sense. Ice cream is food exaggeration taken to the nth degree. Filled with copious amounts of pure animal fat and dangerous amounts of sugar, this frozen concoction is a slippery slope toward decadence and corruption. Only Dorian Gray could ever eat all the ice cream he ever wanted and, at the same time, ignore the consequences. We kid ourselves and lie to ourselves, willing to justify more ice cream with any excuse no matter how lame and stupid our reasons might be. You know, you think it’s worth it, those few minutes of pleasure while you eat that huge cone of yoghurt and lemon ice cream, but later you feel guilty and hateful because you know you did a bad thing to your body. This is, of course, the great paradox of eating ice cream, that you love the ephemeral moment as the ice cream passes over your tongue, but you despise yourself for ingesting another 800 calories that you never needed in the first place.

On the dark side

I was just thinking that this note was not going to be about Star Wars, but I was wrong. Even Master Yoda would agree, he would, that we all harbor a dark side, a side that makes decisions, gets us through difficult situations, breaks the ice, drives in a nail, moves a heavy object, barges through a traffic jam, gets us out of the rain, climbs that last flight of stairs. Yet, our dark side is also short-tempered, at times, even violent, much to our own chagrin. There are other aspects associated with the dark side that I won’t discuss here, but let’s just say that those facets of our personalities are better left undiscovered, and maybe undiscussed as well. We cannot survive without our dark sides. We would all be indecisive Charlie Browns if we didn’t have a dark side, wishy-washy, good-natured, but no kick and no results. He never did kiss that little red-headed girl, did he? We all disapprove when Rhianna sings about liking whips and chains, but we also have the song on our playlists and Ipods. Perhaps it is the mix of light and dark which saves us. When road rage takes over, we have accidentally unleashed an unedited uncontrolled version of the dark side gone wild. Our more civilized side must be in control while standing in line at the grocery story, while listening to politicians talk, while driving, while deciding who will go first, anytime it would be better to defer to others. The dark side always wants to be first, to get served right away. Yet it is also our dark side that might save us in a sketchy situation, you know, those old “spidy” senses. We cannot give up on our dark side–anger isn’t always a bad reaction, but it must be a measured, reasonable response, not an out-of-control freak show. Maybe that is why Yoda was always so thoughtful even in the most desperate situation.

On the dark side

I was just thinking that this note was not going to be about Star Wars, but I was wrong. Even Master Yoda would agree, he would, that we all harbor a dark side, a side that makes decisions, gets us through difficult situations, breaks the ice, drives in a nail, moves a heavy object, barges through a traffic jam, gets us out of the rain, climbs that last flight of stairs. Yet, our dark side is also short-tempered, at times, even violent, much to our own chagrin. There are other aspects associated with the dark side that I won’t discuss here, but let’s just say that those facets of our personalities are better left undiscovered, and maybe undiscussed as well. We cannot survive without our dark sides. We would all be indecisive Charlie Browns if we didn’t have a dark side, wishy-washy, good-natured, but no kick and no results. He never did kiss that little red-headed girl, did he? We all disapprove when Rhianna sings about liking whips and chains, but we also have the song on our playlists and Ipods. Perhaps it is the mix of light and dark which saves us. When road rage takes over, we have accidentally unleashed an unedited uncontrolled version of the dark side gone wild. Our more civilized side must be in control while standing in line at the grocery story, while listening to politicians talk, while driving, while deciding who will go first, anytime it would be better to defer to others. The dark side always wants to be first, to get served right away. Yet it is also our dark side that might save us in a sketchy situation, you know, those old “spidy” senses. We cannot give up on our dark side–anger isn’t always a bad reaction, but it must be a measured, reasonable response, not an out-of-control freak show. Maybe that is why Yoda was always so thoughtful even in the most desperate situation.

On narcissism

(How narcissistic is this: write one’s own note on the subject–sweet!) I have always thought that narcissism was a very strange malady from which to suffer, but the older I get, the more I think that it might be the most common national past-time in America. Far be it from me to judge, but our “me first” society, where we give participation trophies for breathing, seems ready to plunge head-first into its own image in a nihilistic search for eternal youth, breaking new records every day in what it spends on make-up, hair products, Botox, gyms, and plastic surgery. Our obsessions, however, don’t stop with the purely physical, but extends to all of the things our consumer society deems necessary for a happy and successful life–cell phones, flat screen televisions, fast cars, Caribbean vacations, tablets and other personal computing devices, large homes–the list is probably endless. Our narcissism extends to our obsession with digitally mediated communications and our involvement in social networks and the adulation we demand from our “friends,” who are probably anything but friends. We are constantly craving more and more interaction with our friends when they “like” a status, or a post, or a picture. The more we let others stroke our egos, the happier we are, plunging us further into the watery reflection at which we stare, hopelessly in love with the changing image floating in front of us, leaving real family and friends wondering where we are. Of course, a certain amount of narcissism is healthy when mixed with a healthy dose of self-deprecating humor. When you start believing your own press clippings, you really need to be dragged back into reality. The truth is, narcissism is a debilitating and unhealthy belief that one is too smart or too beautiful or too talented to mix with the regular rank and file. The Lake Wobegon syndrome, “that all the children are above average” only leads us all to the unhealthy belief that we are special, that we walk above the masses, that we are exceptional. that we are not a part of the hoi-polloi. I would suggest that the contrary is true: that average is average, and most of us are just that, average. The myth of Narcissus exists primarily as a cautionary in which the foolish exemplar dies, alone and unloved because he believes that his personal beauty is exceptional and above all others, yet his self-obsession drives him to madness, isolating him from Echo, the woman who would save him. The story of Narcissus is both tragic and ironic because he rejects the nymph who would love him, causing her great unhappiness, but the love of the forest nymph could have saved him if he could only get outside of himself. Consumed by his own image, Narcissus becomes isolated and still more self-absorbed, which I would suggest is a metaphor for the excessive egotism which assails our obsessive consumer society. We see the narcissism everywhere–on the road, at the supermarket, speeding through a school zone. The weird side of this problem is that it defies solutions–Narcissus never came around, there was no solutions to his obsession. He was incapable of self-awareness, a self-awareness of himself as just one small part of a much larger whole. Consumed by the superficiality of his own good looks, he was incapable of loving anyone else. In the end, it was his ego which robbed him of any kind of humility which might have averted his death.

On not snacking

I shouldn’t do it. I shouldn’t even write about it. I shouldn’t watch cooking shows. I shouldn’t own cookbooks, go to grocery stores, check ads in the paper, watch commercials on television, or fantasize about the next cake or pie I’m going to bake. I have enough food at the two meals a day that I eat. (Breakfast is a mess for me because one, I’m not hungry in the morning, and two, eggs make me sick, so no breakfast.) My metabolism has slowed over the last decade and every snack that I eat goes to live on my waste. The sad truth is that when I get the munchies, I just have to endure otherwise I would be the size of the Goodyear blimp. Snacks are not, in and of themselves, evil, it is only snackers, those partaking of snacks who are evil or who have evil in their hearts. Whether it is pizza or cookies, cereal or chocolate cake, snacks are everywhere in our society, and at least three-quarters of the fast food industry is based on snacks–burgers, chicken, tacos, pasta, ribs, pizza–not a stand-up square meal. Fast food joints may offer salads and fruit, a fish sandwich, vegan dishes and the like, but people, most people, go for the snack food. What is so sinister about snacks is that they are, by their very nature, temptation unleashed. Juicy, salty, fatty, sweet, they appeal to our basest desires to sate our darkest desires even when we have no need–none whatsoever. We are, for the most part, a well-fed society. A good majority of us have more than enough food every day. The fact that our food supply is so overwhelmingly prevalent and accessible stands in dark contrast to how the rest of the world lives, or not. We overeat at every turn, and we still snack. Go to the movies and watch people buy their popcorn, candy, and soda just after they have had a meal. They probably just ate at home just before they came to the movie theater. At home, we stock the larder with all kinds of snacks–cookies, crackers, pretzels, pizza, nuggets, chocolate, cereal, pizza, ice cream, candy, and I haven’t even mentioned all the leftovers in the fridge upon which we might graze–hot dogs, hamburgers, meatballs, mashed potatoes, pork chops, steak, lasagna. Don’t get me wrong, I love to snack as much as the next guy, maybe more in fact. I love to stay up late and eat potato chips, really salty, really crunchy. Maybe the all-time best snack every, a little salty, sweet, crunchy, freshly made caramel corn. Not the stuff you buy in the store, but the stuff you pop yourself and mix with your own homemade caramel sauce. Temptation never had it so easy. I guess the problem with snacks is that it is food we just don’t need to eat, but we can’t either stop or help ourselves. Doughnuts, who needs a doughnut? A triple white mocha with whipped cream and sprinkles? Pound cake with frosting? Muffins. Did anyone ever need to eat a muffin, or it’s weird and creepy doppleganger, the frosted cupcake. As a society we are considering legislation to limit the sale of super-sized soft drinks of 64 or more ounces because obesity is such a problem in America. I imagine this begs the question: is our own success killing us because we cannot control, on a personal level, the amount of food that we eat?

On the incident of the stolen pears

He probably wouldn’t have done it if the friends had not been there to egg him on. At least, that’s what he told me. He went out last evening with those no-good, dirty rotten boys with whom he hangs around, gossiping about girls and sports and cars and whatever else seventeen-year-old boys talk about. Eventually talk got around to something evil, temptation was everywhere, and they decided to steal Old McDonald’s pears off of the pear tree he has at the back of his orchard. You know, we have three pear trees, here, at home, but this was about stealing, so off they went. Under the cover of darkness they scaled the back wall, took the pears, and fled. Funny thing is, Augustine said that after the fact, he didn’t really want the pears, so they gave them to the pigs at his friend Benny’s place. Auggie told me all of this because he was feeling just a wee bit guilty about the whole incident which left him feeling empty and sad. The thrill of stealing, of being bad, was a momentary high which disappeared just a quickly as it had been felt. I didn’t really know what to do–go the authorities, punish him at home, prohibit his interaction with those boys? I was feeling frustrated because I thought he was a good boy with a strong moral character, and he was acting like a common thief. Had I taught him nothing in seventeen years? What about personal responsibility for one’s actions I asked him, but he said that it was Benny and Tomas, that he wasn’t to blame, that he was innocent. He sat there and hung his head while I scolded him. I told him that he was an accomplice and that he could have said “no” and walked away, but Auggie just looked at me as if I knew nothing of the modern world. He put his ear buds in and turned on his Ipod. He was done listening to me. Yet, I insisted that we talk. He put away the music player and pulled out the ear buds, but he looked at me in total disgust. “We didn’t even get caught, and we got rid of the pears. No one saw us,” he said. I was silent for minute while I let him listen to his own words. “Does it matter,” I said, “that we get caught or not? Don’t you know you’ve done something wrong?” Since there were no consequences of any importance, either monetary or disciplinary, I let the matter go. It was already difficult to raise a young man and communicate successfully with him without putting up barriers of ire and pride between us. A couple of weeks later I saw him turn down an invitation to go out with his criminal “friends,” and I asked him why. He muttered a few lame excuses about being tired, or wanting to study his Latin, but I knew that his behavior had changed–he never missed a chance to hang out with the “boys.” I pressed the issue. He said nothing and walked away. Later, I caught him studying, writing a paper, actually. I have no idea what will become of this young man. Like many his age, his communications skills are poor to non-existent, and he keeps a lot of what he is feeling bottled up inside. We probably won’t ever talk about the pears again, but I wonder what he really thinks about his role in the the pear stealing episode. Whether it was his idea or not, he was guilty of not following his own moral perspective, of allowing himself to be led into a bad situation, and of not acting in an ethical way when he knew something bad was happening. Temptation got the best of him, but I think he realized almost immediately that the pleasure he got from stealing was passing and ephemeral and not at all what he expected.