Peaceful Anarchy. A lot of people, including many self-titled anarchists, consider this a contradiction in terms. I happen to think it's a reasonable compromise. Peaceful, as in live and let live; and Anarchy, as in don't pretend one's own actions aren't one's own responsibility. Theoretically, the two together should a) keep us from killing each other off completely, and b) prevent airheads from attempting to constitute national government by consensus. I mean, how many people are we talking about here? Do you have any idea how loud and looooong a consensus system gets with more than 10 people involved? You see, I don't automatically believe humans are nice creatures. We're not. Believing that humans will, if allowed, behave in an altruistic fashion has deep-sixed more revolutions than I really want to think about. Well-fed, un-threatened humans, educated to believe that altruism is proper behavior will behave altruistically provided no part of that equation changes. Thus my preference for peaceful anarchy. In a sideways fashion. And thus my career choice. After all, I will have a greater influence in this culture by teaching a) critical thinking skills, b) the process of empathy/identification and c) the historically stunning cluelessness of humanity than I would have if I spent every waking hour marching in protests and chucking bricks through windows... or if I decided to engage in practical eugenics, which I have also contemplated on occasion. My motto as a teacher is: The sciences teach people how to do exciting things with the material world; the humanities teach people how to think whether or not they should.
If that was too cynical for you, try taking a look at my all-purpose antidote.
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Daddy, they took my boot! Ever watch Disney's Tarzan? I loved this clip. The girl is saved from marauding baboons and the thing she's most indignant over is her boot. I have to say, that version had a great Jane.
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For the edification and enlightenment of all comers, I post the prize-winning virus-hoax email of all time. Many thanks to John for forwarding this one.
If you receive an e-mail entitled "Bad times," delete it IMMEDIATELY. Do not open it. Apparently this one is pretty nasty. It will not only erase everything on your hard drive, but it will also delete anything on disks within 20 feet of your computer. It demagnetizes the strips on ALL of your credit cards. It reprograms your ATM access code, screws up the tracking on your VCR and uses subspace field harmonics to scratch any CD's you attempt to play. It will program your phone auto-dial to call only 900 numbers. This virus will mix antifreeze into your fish tank. IT WILL CAUSE YOUR TOILET TO FLUSH WHILE YOU ARE SHOWERING. It will drink ALL your beer. FOR GOD'S SAKE, ARE YOU LISTENING??
It will leave dirty underwear on the coffee table when you are expecting company. It will replace your shampoo with Nair and your Nair with Rogaine, all the while dating your current boy/girlfriend behind your back and billing their hotel rendezvous to your Visa card. It will cause you to run with scissors and throw things in a way that is only fun until someone loses an eye.
It will rewrite your backup files, changing all your active verbs to passive tense and incorporating undetectable misspellings which grossly change the interpretations of key sentences.
If the "Bad times" message opened in a Windows 95/98 environment, it will leave the toilet seat up and leave your hair dryer plugged in dangerously close to a full bathtub. It will not only remove the forbidden tags from your mattresses and pillows, It will also refill your skim milk with whole milk.
*** WARN AS MANY PEOPLE AS YOU CAN. ***
And if you don't send this to 5000 people in 20 seconds you'll fart so hard that your right leg will spasm and shoot straight out in front of you, sending sparks that will ignite the person nearest you.
Never take a message with sentences in all capitals or with exclamation points too seriously.
~~~
The following jingle, for those unfamiliar, advertizes a snack cracker:
It's Pepperidge Farms goldfish,
Yes, baked and not fried goldfish,
The wholesome snack that smiles back
Until you bite their heads off.
Truth is stranger than ficiton. At least Fish-heads wasn't supposed to be an ad.
~~~
When I first moved to Columbus, Ohio I encountered many people who insisted that, now I attended OSU, I was a Buckeye. That is, a fan of the football team of the same name. My protestations that I am not a fan of any kind of football, or any team playing it, fell on deaf ears. I quickly learned to be careful who I told about my previous city of residence--that is, Ann Arbor, Michigan. The manager of the apartment we moved into greeted our first call to inquire about vacancies with the sally "Oh, we don't rent to people from Ann Arbor." It was nearly not a joke. My wails that I have never taken notice of Ann Arbor football, either, except to make sure I'm finished shopping before the game lets out, were of no use.
This all vexed me mightily.
In
fact, it vexed me sufficiently that I designed this bumpersticker. The
only thing that kept me from getting it printed and putting it on my
car was Ken's cogent observation that it would get my tires shot out.
The sentiment stands, nevertheless.
Last modified: 08/23/08
First Posted: 5/4/2002
© 1998-2009 Emily Ravenwood