Technically, this is not an assault weapon. No group annoys me more than the gun nuts. Those nuts about those nuts about guns. They have a disproportionate enmity and focus on that which they know absolutely nothing about. But why should any semblance of rudimentary knowledge be a part of forging and forcing an opinion on a subject of Constitutional significance? It’s so . . . oh, what’s the word. Yes, disproportionate.
The word comes to mind when I recall listening to yet another Middle East expert wax inane about, you guessed it, Israel and Hamas. Note, I said Hamas versus Gaza. And this expert repeated seemingly without surcease that her main objection was the disproportionate use of force. By Hamas, I asked? No, of course not, she stomped. As the discussion continued I asked whether the point of war was to be disproportionate. After all what is a proportionate or proportional war? The point of this example was to show how an argument can be crafted and culled and presented in a way that’s not so much critical thinking but the rote and patellar of catchphrases and shibboleths, all the product of a Pavlovian obeisance to the script. That’s not to say that these folks have not a valid basis of objection or concern, oh no. But it does say and show that so much of political concerns are expressed via the memorized rant. Take the Brothers Koch. How many times have you seen the internalized, rehearsed screed pour from the lips of the robotized opinionater? Too many to count, I’ll say.
This has absolutely nothing to do with anything. But that never stopped me. If you’ve ever worked in a corporate setting, you’ve undoubtedly seen the lifer. The never going to leave, never go to be replaced secretary, program director or corporate robot. Just once I’d love to hear this as an outgoing recorded phone message.
“You’ve reached ____, technically and theoretically the ____ of this institution. Well, that’s my title. Titular, to be sure. Actually I couldn’t hire or fire the cleaning woman as I’ve no real power. I’m just a corporate place setter. I don’t return calls or emails. I just lay low. Hoping no one realizes that I actually do nothing. If I make my way to the ladies room, I’ll carry a clipboard or box, something that conveys the idea that I’m doing something. I’ve done pretty well for myself considering the turmoil of the economy and the vicissitudes of real life. I’ve been through every incarnation of this company and seem to always survive the cut, primarily because no one knows I’m even here, to be honest. I actually took maternity leave and came back and no one knew I was gone. I leave my office door constantly open with the lights on and with a sweater on the back of my chair, like I just stepped out. I’m like herpes. I lie dormant for a while then flair up. Just to remind you I’m here. But I never go away. In fact, you can’t get rid of me because of the incredible paper trail I’ve amassed. I’ve got the boys upstairs by the short hairs and could nail the lot of them on racial, sexual, ethnic and/or age discrimination. Pick your poison. HR has a special division dedicated just to me. I’ve kept all the emails and late night drunken text messages. Just try to get rid of me. I dare you. After the tone, please leave a message and have a nice day.”
And now the star of the show. The podcast. The cast of pod. Listen, enjoy and sink neath the comfy percales of downy logic. Your welcome.