Tautologies

Everyone is clever these days.  Witty is the new intelligence.  Nobody wants to be told anything now, and as the Postmodern Age taught us, one opinion is as good as another.  So, with a wave of his hand, the Grand Umpah, the CEO of the country, can simplydismiss grand failure as a mere blip.  

"Nothing to see here.  Move along."

People who voted for him three times will quickly turn the conversation to President Magoo, The Giggler, and Tampon Tim.  

"We'd really be fucked if. . . ."

People want to be invited to the party.  I'd be a hypocrite if I said. . . . 

I read an article today that reported retirement often brings about cognitive decline and psychological depression.  It offered strategies to counter this.  Volunteering was one.  Taking up an art was another.  I'm pretty sure they are talking about wood carving and doily making and not what I might have in mind.  

But who knows?  They weren't specific.  

Socializing was a top priority.  Watching t.v. or listening to the radio, it said, was not the same.  One needs to mingle.  I'm invited out this week, but I'm pretty sure this is not the kind of socializing they were speaking of.  

Again, however, they weren't specific.  

Maybe I should volunteer for some political party or movement and make portraits for the candidates.  

Huh. Two birds, one stone.  

The article didn't recommend alcoholism though.  

I used to be part of a semi-intellectual realm where predigested and half-baked ideas were tossed about like worn tennis balls.  Now I run with people who think that money makes them smart.  

Money will never make you smart, and happy will never make you money.  Something like that.  

I went to the cafe yesterday to write down some ideas in my journal.  They were questions, really, things that needed researching before I can come up with some clever-ish thing to say about them, before I can opine.  

The day was disappointing and grey, but the young punk rocker looking kid who plays in the all girl band was working the counter.  I ordered a latte, and when I paid she said thank you.  Thank you for the music, I said.  Do you like it?  Yes, I said, it is perfect.  She had selected the moodiest of jazz recordings for the day.  

And just like that, the afternoon became more palatable.