There are major problems in the world. I don’t have to tell you, because you watch the news, or at least hear snatches of it even while you’re trying not to listen. War, famine, disease, oil spills. Like you, I often wish I could do something to alleviate the suffering. There was a time when I imagined myself effecting some huge change for the benefit of mankind. I literally wanted to save the entire planet, or at least one whole hemisphere. As I matured, though, I tempered these aspirations with heavy doses of pragmatism: there’s just so much anyone can do. Now that I’m almost old, I have come to realize that I’m never going to make any meaningful difference in the world. It isn’t that I’ve lost interest or motivation; it’s that I now recognize my own limitations. Specifically, I’m a small thinker. If I were to ever be included in a history book, and if history book authors weren’t so constrained by political correctness, I would be referred to as a pinhead. I notice and get caught up in details, to a point way beyond anything that could be considered useful. (No one has ever come out and said this to me, but I see the looks.)
Here are a few examples:
• Do you ever notice one old shoe lying in the road? What happened there? I always wish I could go back in time and see how that shoe arrived, by itself, on the side of the road. Where’s the other one? Could it have been some bizarre accident? It would have to be bizarre, because I have trouble imagining how one shoe could land in the road accidentally. Was someone driving and decided he didn’t want his shoes anymore, didn’t want them so much that he couldn’t wait until he got where he was going? Did he reach down while sitting at a red light and grab one of the shoes from his feet and fling it out the window? Maybe. But then what happened? Did the light change? Did he have second thoughts and realize it wasn’t such a good idea after all? Or did he fling the other shoe at the next red light? I never go looking for the other shoe, so this is a possibility. But then what does he tell his wife when he comes home barefoot?
• When I see a sign at a restaurant that says, “Breakfast served all day!” I always think, who has that kind of time? I’ll give it three or four hours, but after that, bring me the check. And what about that bottomless cup of coffee? It sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen. Another problem I have with going out for breakfast is the final decision. Do I want eggs or pancakes? If I order eggs, I’ll wish I’d gotten the pancakes. But if I order the pancakes, I’ll wonder how the French toast would have been. (Does this make me a waffler?) By the way, in France do they call it French toast, or just toast? What about in the former French colonies? In Cambodia, do they call it Filthy Land-Ravaging Imperialist Pig Toast? And if so, can you still get it with home fries?
• Symphony orchestras consist of dozens of highly skilled musicians who practice their craft to the point of obsession, yet they remain largely anonymous. Are the audiences familiar with the names of any of the people who play the music? I don’t think so. But they always know the conductor’s name, this guy who stands up front and waves around a little stick. Whenever I see an orchestra playing, I always imagine the conductor suddenly vanishing. Poof, gone. What would happen? The musicians seem to be focused on their sheet music and not the guy with the stick. I think they’d all finish playing the piece perfectly, look up, and then notice that the famous person wasn’t there. And the audience wouldn’t know whether to applaud or organize a search party.
• Animal migration. What is the point of this? I watch these documentaries about penguins, butterflies, wildebeest, and at some point in the year they all start walking or flying this incredible distance so they can get to where the food is. Why don’t they just stay there? What could possibly cause them to travel all that way and then think to themselves, well, it’s been fun but now it’s time to head back to that other place really far away where there’s nothing to eat, and where, along the route, I have a reasonably good chance of being eaten myself?
• More about animals. Why do people always use the word cute when they see a baby animal? It doesn’t matter what it is — snake, alligator, hyena — the little offspring are described as cute. Here’s my question. Say there’s a baby alligator living in your neighbor’s fenced-in backyard. You go out to see it every day. It’s a week old and you say, “Look at the baby alligator! How cute!” And you go out the next day and do the same thing. And you keep doing this. Eventually, that alligator is going to be enormous and will use much of its limited brain power trying to figure out how to get over the fence. Do you still think it’s cute? Was there a day when it was cute and then the next day it wasn’t?
• When I buy a picture frame, I think about the people in the photo that comes with the frame. Sometimes it’s a family in there, but not a real family. It’s a group of models, photographed to look like a family. But they are real people. Does the man in the fake photo have a family of his own? If so, when his wife buys a picture frame, she most likely chooses the one with her husband in it, as a way of supporting his career. But when she gets home with the frame that shows her husband with some other wife and kids, how does she explain it to her own children? Does the modeling fee include compensation for family therapy?
• Puffer Fish. These things are poisonous to the point of being fatal, and can be sold or cooked only by licensed professionals. Who was the second person to ever eat a puffer fish? The first person, I have little doubt, died from the experience, because probably there were no licensed professionals around then. And so the second person said what? “Yes, it’s a poisonous fish. That first guy took three bites, fell on the floor, and remained fully conscious as his muscles all went into paralysis and he asphyxiated, his face frozen in an expression of sheer agony. Still, I had the chicken yesterday and it was a little dry.”
• And finally, the one I’ve spent way too much time on. My birthday exactly matches that of one of our good friends — same month, date, and year. This was fun to discover. But then I learned that she was born in Guam, which is on the other side of the International Date Line. In other words, when it was the 28th in Guam, it was the 27th where I lived. And by the time I showed up on the 28th, it was the 29th in Guam. So were we born on the same day, or not? If someone could please let me know, it would allow me to get back to my extremely important work. Well, right after I find my other shoe.
heidit
August 11, 2010
Oh my goodness. I laughed so hard at this and can relate to all these thoughts (see my most recent post about the petroglyphs–the last paragraph will give you an idea of how my mind works and I think it’s pretty similar to yours) I spend so much time questioning the little things–I had the exact same thought about puffer fish–who would try it and then, after that person died, who would try it AGAIN?–that the big questions are sometimes lost on me.
I constantly try to determine who it was that looked at sand and thought–“hey, if I heat that just right, I’ll create glass, which would be fantastic!”
I also question the salmon, who bash themselves to death (literally) trying to swim upstream to spawn. Surely there has to be a better way; one that doesn’t involve trying to go the wrong way up a waterfall. I’ve been told that Mother Nature knows best, but I’m not certain that’s entirely true. I think she’s making it up as she goes, too.
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bronxboy55
August 11, 2010
I mentioned the sand-glass thing just the other day! Another one of those amazing developments that should never have happened, if you think about it (which you obviously have). And I like the way you describe Mother Nature, making it up as she goes along. That would explain a lot of these mysteries.
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heidit
August 11, 2010
Do you get tired of people saying that your posts are thought-provoking and well-written, not to mention humourous? If so, let me know and I’ll stop saying it. If not, then here goes:
Another well-written, thought-provoking and humourous post. If you’re not careful, I’ll campaign to get you hired on as a regular columnist somewhere–Dave Barry-like–so you can be compensated (though probably not well) for your thoughts.
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bronxboy55
August 11, 2010
Thanks, Heidi, but I think it’s more fun this way: no compensation, but no stress either. And I get to hear from people like you.
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Julia Harris
August 11, 2010
Pinhead. Ha.
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bronxboy55
August 11, 2010
You could have disagreed with that part.
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Julia Harris
August 11, 2010
What can I say? You’re a genius. I have never had puffer fish, nor have I thrown even one of my shoes out the window. If I find a restaurant I like, I eat there forever, usually the same thing; no migration for me! The day the cute changes to not cute is a mystery I’ve pondered for years. Just as the line between young and old. The line between thin and fat is pretty clear, unfortunately. You have a hard time with compliments so I won’t give you any, but I will think them.
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bronxboy55
August 11, 2010
I’m glad you haven’t tried puffer fish, and I hope you never do.
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cooperstownersincanada
August 11, 2010
Some classic thoughts here. Very funny. Good point about the puffer fish. Your column made me think of the Seinfeld episode where George asks the security guard if he would like a chair. Because who wouldn’t rather sit than stand? We “details” people think of these things and can relate. Great work!
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bronxboy55
August 11, 2010
It would be nice to be able to dive into the details or rise above them, whenever appropriate. Thanks for the comment, Kevin.
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Betty Londergan
August 11, 2010
Lovely column… but why do they call it a column since it’s not thin and tall??? See, you’re contagious!
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bronxboy55
August 11, 2010
Thanks, Betty, but I think you’re still feeling happy from your trip to Chappaquiddick.
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Amiable Amiable
August 12, 2010
You are a genius! And a hilarious one. Your posts make think about other topics I want you to write about – I’ll make a list while I eat breakfast all day at the restaurant down the street.
The mystery of the road shoe reminds me of the time my friend and I were driving down the Merritt Parkway and had to swerve to avoid a Little Tykes Cozy Coupe leaning against a Jersey barrier in the middle of the highway. What!? Did some adventurous little tyke leave it there after a dare to play in traffic? Did it fall off the back of a truck? If it did, wasn’t there another driver who saw this happen? Why didn’t that driver chase down the truck to tell them they had lost a vehicle off the back of their vehicle? Is there a family that moved to California and, after they drove across the U.S., discovered it wasn’t there? Are the mother and father still together after the argument that ensued from, “I thought you packed it!” Is the child in therapy?
Can you tell me if the second person to eat a puffer fish went on to eat a sea urchin? And did that person survive too? I, personally, would never get within 10 feet of a sea urchin, let alone entertain the thought of breaking one open to eat what’s inside. Wouldn’t that be somewhat like going after a rabid porcupine?
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bronxboy55
August 12, 2010
Thanks, AA. It is weird to see big things like that on a highway. I doubt it was a truck on the Merritt, though, which does deepen the mystery. Maybe it was tied to the roof of a car? And it slid off and bounced onto the trunk and then onto the road? And nobody heard or saw it?
I’ve had those thoughts about many foods, too. Lobster. Who ever thought to eat that? Snails. Rabid porcupine is a little more understandable — at least you wouldn’t have to floss. (You would’ve said the same thing, you know you would.)
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Amiable Amiable
August 13, 2010
So, pickup trucks aren’t even allowed on the Merritt? I guess I never really noticed – too busy flinging shoes out of the window. I suppose it could have slid off the roof without someone noticing – someone who was busy yapping on their cell phone. They are always oblivious.
Lobster, snails – and let’s thrown in clams and oysters. I’ve had them all. But the enjoyment surely isn’t the taste of those things – it’s always the stuff that they’re drenched in. Like butter or cocktail sauce. This is not appetizing. I’m getting some ice cream, too.
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bronxboy55
August 13, 2010
You know, I’m not sure anymore about the pickup trucks. Something tells me you’re right, that they are allowed. Anyway, I’m glad we’re not talking about the live octopus anymore. (Ooops.)
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shoreacres
August 12, 2010
Now that I’m almost old, I have come to realize that I’m never going to make any meaningful difference in the world…
To the contrary. Think about this. It’s the end of my long, slightly frustrating and extraordinarily hot day on the docks.Even worse, the day’s far from over because I have office work to do, chores await me down at my mom’s and DixieRose, who’s nothing if not high-maintenance, expects her brush-and-be-petted time. Oh, and there’s laundry to be done.
So, I sit down with an iced coffee, start to read, and forget it all. I start to smile, and then laugh out loud. I begin composing the song parody: “These Hooves are Made for Walkin…”, and I laugh some more. My mood’s completely changed, and I decide to make a run to Walgreen’s for some ice cream to take down to mom.
I suspect I’m not alone. Multiply my mood change times five readers, or ten. Maybe fewer, maybe more. It still made a difference in my life. That’s meaningful. 😉
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bronxboy55
August 12, 2010
Thank you, Linda. That’s one sweet comment, and it came at just the right time. Now you’ve changed my mood. I think I’ll go have some ice cream.
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