An essential quality in a modern person is the ability to accept that some things don’t make sense. There will always be unknowables and mysteries. We will all go to our graves without the answers. We must make our own answers, to maintain sanity, regardless of whether our answers are based in truth. We must move on.
What if we can’t? What if we lack this essential quality? What then?
As an American man raised in the latter half of the 20th century (™Disney Corp.), my reference points all originate from popular movies, rather than real-life experience. When thinking back upon 2017, I an reminded of this classic Bill Murray line, from a film about to turn 30.
I don’t even get paid to do this, and yet I’m forcing myself to, for you. So at least pretend to enjoy it. Like 2017, it’ll be over and done before you know it. Fingers crossed.
A few years back, I was confused as to why so many people on-line were identifying as “Single Jewish Women”. I thought perhaps it was a hacking incident, or a mass gaslighting (masslighting?). The truth was far more banal.
Hey… remember when dudes (you call them Nazis now, due to your low testosterone) would get together after a long week of work and party hard? They were called Weekend Warriors.
Whatever war they fought in, versus weekends, watery beer, or good taste; it was every bit as real a conflict as the one fought by trendy Social Justice Warriors.
It’s time for us, as a species, to make a healthy admission.
The world we knew and loved, just years ago, is dead. It’s gone. It’s never coming back. Not even as a side mission in a GTA game. Now we are left with the nagging sensation that things were once better. It’s too painful to consider the reasons why. Hold on to the memory, and carry on.
[Author’s Note: This article is about how to be actual garbage, as in waste and refuse, not how to be the band “Garbage”.]
Here’s a hypothetical and hard-to-believe scenario. You’re talking to someone about how much you like my comics. Just go with it, alright? The person you’re talking to suddenly pipes up with, “Oh yeah, I know that guy. Have for years. He’s a real piece of shit. Let me tell you all about that pussy.”
Congratulations! You’ve had an encounter with garbage.
This could be you!
It’s not difficult. Garbage is everywhere. It stinks, and we all have to deal with it sooner or later.
Mad medicine was everywhere in the 80s and 90s. There were toys and playsets endorsed by mad doctors, for use by kids. Every time you watched cartoons, you saw a skinny dude with crazy hair in a white lab coat, maniacally mixing chemicals and potions for some nefarious purpose. Under the influence of this, I created my own mad medicine man; Dr. Kill-Everybody.
Dr. K (no hair), with Fronkin Steen and Psuto Moto.
Either the trope became shopworn around 2001, or something happened that discouraged children from playing with chemicals. You don’t see mad doctors and scientists like you used to. Maybe this is a good thing; maybe the concept was subconsciously driving impressionable kids away from lucrative STEM-field careers. I don’t know.
What I do know is this. Mad doctors once flourished in our society, even though they were annoying, and generally sucked.