It was a desultory day at the dump. A hazy sun sporadically succeeded in shouldering its way through an otherwise murky cloud cover. The humidity was oppressive. It felt damp in my office even with the A/C clattering disappointingly in the window.
The lads came in for their afternoon break. As usual George was first through the door and after grunting a salutary "Boy it's fucking hot - even in here" as a greeting, he headed for "his" chair in the corner under the overhead lamp. Bill was right behind, using his elbows to keep the door from closing, and not touching the door knob. Lardass brought up the rear, yakking as usual.
"So, here's my idea. You know how the courts are clogged with cases where people are trying to get damages for wrongs done by others. Well, my idea is to have a national holiday called Payback Day.
On Payback Day you can get even with anyone who has done you wrong with immunity."
"I like it," said George, "only it should last a month, like Ramadan."
"You must have a lot of people to get even with." I conjectured.
"Only asshole bosses," he winked to the others, with that evil grin of his. I ignored this thinly veiled threat.
"I think we need a national day of quiet." I said. "People would be forbidden to use noisy machinery, or make any noise that disturbs others. Motorcycles would be grounded. Chainsaws silenced. Barking dogs would be slain by bow and arrow. Carping wives would be locked in a closet. Cement truck drivers would have to turn off their idling diesel motors. If your car alarm goes off, the car would be seized....
LA and George had dozed off.
"How come we don't have a holiday to honor our furry friends? Bill wondered. "We have Mothers Day and Fathers Day. How about Pets Day?"
The question hung like the rank miasma over a dung pile at dawn.
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
Thursday, June 03, 2004
This Day in History
It was on the third of June on a hot and dusty delta day
that Billy Joe McAllister dropped something off the Tallahatchie Bridge into the swirling waters of the river below.
This was the first documented case of egregious lyrical littering.
Why couldn't Mr. McAllister have just brought his refuse to the dump? And why, in Heaven's name did he then climb the wooden railing and jump to his own death? Trying to impress Jody Foster? We just don't know.
Everyone had called in sick today, so I was left to ponder the meanings of things by myself.
Naturally, my thoughts got to wandering about the mysteries of the universe. George had recently been making everyone read his essay on dimensions. He posited that there were in fact thirteen dimensions. I agreed with the four we usually refer to (height, Width, Depth and Time), but the others seem theoretical and debatable. (Certainly too deep for the likes of this dump.)
Perhaps what we call dimensions are not truly intrinsic and objective but merely statements about perception. If I am color-blind, or in a coma, or insane, external reality does not matter. And we cannot rely on scientists to reveal the true nature of the universe. The history of science is nothing more than the revelation that previous understandings were wrong.
But it did get me to thinking about space and time, and led me to the startling conclusion about realty and reality.
Location is everything.
The parlance of real estate agents have certified this ageless statement of the value of property. But we must remember that Location is not merely a point of latitude and longitude on a map. Location also refers to a moment of time. So, location is a statement of value based on the context of the proximate environment. A parcel of land with a mountain view in Shit's Creek, Colorado is not of equitable value to a similarly sized parcel of land situated on the coast of Cape Cod. A lump of anthracite buried deep under an alluvial plain 200 million years ago South Africa is worth considerably less than the glittering diamonds that we mine today from the mountains located on that same spot.
We have previously observed that trash - much like beauty - is in the mind of the beholder at a point in time. Now, we see that the same can be said for the value of just about everything.
I read that global melting of the polar icecaps will eventually raise the level of the oceans to make that parcel of land in Cape Cod quite worthless.
that Billy Joe McAllister dropped something off the Tallahatchie Bridge into the swirling waters of the river below.
This was the first documented case of egregious lyrical littering.
Why couldn't Mr. McAllister have just brought his refuse to the dump? And why, in Heaven's name did he then climb the wooden railing and jump to his own death? Trying to impress Jody Foster? We just don't know.
Everyone had called in sick today, so I was left to ponder the meanings of things by myself.
Naturally, my thoughts got to wandering about the mysteries of the universe. George had recently been making everyone read his essay on dimensions. He posited that there were in fact thirteen dimensions. I agreed with the four we usually refer to (height, Width, Depth and Time), but the others seem theoretical and debatable. (Certainly too deep for the likes of this dump.)
Perhaps what we call dimensions are not truly intrinsic and objective but merely statements about perception. If I am color-blind, or in a coma, or insane, external reality does not matter. And we cannot rely on scientists to reveal the true nature of the universe. The history of science is nothing more than the revelation that previous understandings were wrong.
But it did get me to thinking about space and time, and led me to the startling conclusion about realty and reality.
Location is everything.
The parlance of real estate agents have certified this ageless statement of the value of property. But we must remember that Location is not merely a point of latitude and longitude on a map. Location also refers to a moment of time. So, location is a statement of value based on the context of the proximate environment. A parcel of land with a mountain view in Shit's Creek, Colorado is not of equitable value to a similarly sized parcel of land situated on the coast of Cape Cod. A lump of anthracite buried deep under an alluvial plain 200 million years ago South Africa is worth considerably less than the glittering diamonds that we mine today from the mountains located on that same spot.
We have previously observed that trash - much like beauty - is in the mind of the beholder at a point in time. Now, we see that the same can be said for the value of just about everything.
I read that global melting of the polar icecaps will eventually raise the level of the oceans to make that parcel of land in Cape Cod quite worthless.
