Entries Tagged 'Philosophy' ↓

Or, “The E. Coli Dilema.” If you’re not firing from both ends, it’s not E. Coli, but that’s the problem. When you feel so sick and your intestines hurt so bad it says “Screw this man, I’m not taking any more. Go back the way you came.” When you’re hunched over in pain and that warning comes up. The slow, creeping sour flavor, the burning stench of bile in your throat.

You know what’s coming. It’s inevitable, but what do you do? Unless you already knew you were sick, you don’t have a bucket with you, which would be the safest option. Instead, unless you’re fortunate enough to be using a Japanese toilet, you have to make the call. Do you flip? A quick wipe and a switch to your knees means far less cleanup, more comfort, less splash. Unless you cramp up so hard your bowels decide they’re not done. Then the cleanup is exponentially worse.

Or you can pull the shower curtain, lean hard, and let rip. That, however, means a lot more cleaning, which you never want when you’re already sick. Can’t let it sit, though, and unless you’re “lucky” enough that it’s purely bile or mostly dry, you have to get on it before it starts to stick to the tub or mat.

It’s the snitch’s dilemma, played out by your digestive tract. If you take a chance, you might walk out free by turning your partner in. Or you might turn each other in and pay an even worse price than if you’d both just shut up.

All I know is that I’m glad I went for the shower this morning.

Today, I went to Pizza Hut. I was picking up a pizza for my father, who’s undergoing chemo right now. Unsurprisingly, getting something that even tastes okay is a challenge, so when he thought that sounded good, I jumped.

I also spent my only $5 I’ve got for my own pleasure this month on a delicious 4 pack of Stuffed Pizza Rollers, which I haven’t had in ages, but have not forgotten the joy of.

Upon my exit from the store, a woman in a dirty white t-shirt with large gold hoop earrings stopped me. “I was going to ask the guy inside for help but I’m going to an abuse shelter in the morning with my kids and my grandmother. We’re staying in a motel right now and don’t have any money for food, can you order something please?” My first instinct was disbelief. I’ve spent a lot of time around people who are making up stories, afterall, from my retail work in the ghetto. You learn which people are really on hard times and want some food versus who needs a little crack money fast, especially when they try to sell you a Banquet frozen dinner.

But, I’m not omniscient. I could be wrong, and while I had no spare money, I knew I didn’t NEED the pizza rollers. A little sadly, afterall, I’m a fat guy who had a tasty treat, I handed them over. She ran to her truck, parked just a space from me and handed them to someone on the other side saying “Here, save these for the kids.” I would have liked a thank you, certainly, but maybe she had other things on her mind. I probably would, and she ran into Pizza Hut immediately.

As I pulled out, I saw a guy on the other side of the truck. “That’s a guy!” my brain said. “And he looks like an asshole! And he’s just glaring at me, you can at least give me a “thank you” courtesy wave or nod!” It was followed by “Fuck, I bet she was just trying to con me for a meal. Well, she told him to save it for the kids, anyway. If they can’t afford something for them that’s fine, but they shouldn’t be lying about it.”

Cut to 20 minutes ago. I experimented in the kitchen with pita bread and cheese, attempting to recreate the lost tastytreat. The first attempt was too crispy, but had a good flavor. The second was closer in texture, but the flavor wasn’t as good and it was too wet. Mentally, the thought popped up “God damn it, I really wanted those. That was the last five bucks I had for eating out, she’d fucking better have been battered!”

A few moments passed. Of course, much like REM sleep it probably all happened within the span of a second, but it sure seemed like a long time in my mind.

I knew what I’d just thought, afterall. And then the next thought popped up. “Wait, that’s horrible. I think I’d rather have just been conned for five bucks.”

For once, I really hope my charity offering was just me being a sucker. I didn’t ever think I’d think or say that, but there it is. I also know there’s an insensitive prick in my barely-conscious thoughts now, but I kinda figured he was there a long time ago, having moved in as a response to my habit of dating emotionally draining/abusive crazy women with severe personality disorders.

But I still hope I was just a sucker this time, because I just had an awkward moment in my own head, by myself. I didn’t know that was even possible.

I’m gonna get a little philosophical on this one. It won’t be pretty, and you’re encouraged to disregard this entry entirely.

Why are we betrayed by our subconscious? Why does the conscience completely wither in some, yet others are driven to self-destruction to save others?

It seems to happen backwards from what you’d think, in fact. People born into a functional, normal family tend to be content to live and let die, to cut their losses when things turn to bullshit. Those who should learn “I’m on my own, and so are they” thanks to drunken stepfathers and molesting grandmothers don’t, instead they often end up martyrs rather than sociopaths. Drawn to the very chaos they consciously seek to escape, recreating the childhoods they don’t want back, yet find a sort of familiar comfort in.

Expert psychologists have described the human psyche as “totally fucked up, dude.” We’re supposed to learn from bad experiences. If you get burned as a kid, you stay away from fire. If your dad is an alcoholic, you find a man just like him. What separates things we learn from from things we recreate?

What makes us decide just who to help, anyway? There’s a strange thing within the US especially with this regarding health care. On the left, you have people who are pro-choice and pro-universal healthcare. On the right, pro-life and anti-universal healthcare. On either side, once you’re born, your status is flipped. And both sides do tend to claim religious doctrine in their favor from the same book, though the right seems to be much more apt to claim said doctrine and ignore the parts within that are pretty clear on Jesus helping the poor and insisting his followers be among them.

Of course, in the interest of full disclosure I might be a little to the left of Castro, somewhere around the Huey Freeman political doctrine, so my opinion here is biased.

That said, it all ties into the great inconsistencies with who we feel for. The same people who will cheer someone on Oprah who overcame an addiction won’t spare a dollar for the man on the street currently fighting it. That same person who doesn’t tip at a restaurant will show up at an ex-girlfriend’s home at 3 AM because she had a fight with her boyfriend. Again. And her husband got involved in it too.

But recognition for having not had three illegitimate children and a crack problem? Doesn’t seem to be much. Come back after you hit the pipe a few times and forget to use a condom, says Oprah! Or at least fake it in a book before coming on the show.

We swear up and down to avoid becoming or dating our parents, then we do anyway. If you’re raised by a heroin addict who humps bears when he’s coming down after running to a bathhouse (uh, do I need to clarify I mean the ursine type, not the gay man type?), against all odds that’s who you’ll end up dating, swearing never to do it again, then thinking about how great that person was to you, when they were awful.

Everyone seems to have that little voice that leads them into trouble, into emotional trauma and repetition, and nobody wants to admit it. That little voice is certain it’s always right, does no wrong, and makes every decision in the span of seconds. It’s like we all have a teeny tiny George W. Bush in our minds, telling us that it’s totally cool to invade Iraq (Visit your ex) because even though we were attacked by people in Afghanistan (a history of molestation), Iraq is way more important than the economy or local issues (this metaphor is stretching horribly but let’s say “your self esteem”). Except for the gays. Those are more important than anything (The metaphor just snapped in the middle, like the broken condom it represents now and the morning after pill you wished you took, except the economy was broken so you thought it might fix it?).

I think I’ve just proven my George theory with that awful series of broken metaphors, and I apologize. I also invite you to replace George W. Bush with Sarah Palin as your inner voice’s gender prescribes.

I’m just going to chalk it all up to the greed of that little voice, that it’s convinced no matter how bad it’s gone before, it’ll totally be awesome this time. You’ll get laid and this time she’ll totally realize the mistake she made by not staying with you (and going to Iraq instead)! Who cares if she freaks out when a relationship gets stable (too much success in Afghanistan?), and goes and cheats on you (uh…here’s that Iraq metaphor again, shit).

And if your boyfriend gets drunk and beat you, it’s just because you didn’t fix dinner right (find WMDs). But you can SAVE HIM (Distract everyone with Iran).

Okay, okay, I’ll stop with the tortured (waterboarded metaphors). Ha, did it again! Just like your ex!

And on that note of bad relationships and metaphors, I think I’m starting to understand why Twilight is so popular.