All I ever need to know about life I learned from Star Trek.
I pre-registered at the UNLV Division of Educational Outreach last Saturday in preparation of taking a few courses in the next few months. I am trying to counter the boredom of this state and to engage my own self in terms of trying to get out of the box I’ve painted myself in. I need more than write. Sorry to admit it, I do need the interaction of other human beings. Shucks! It was refreshing to see so many graybeards of varying dynamism, one instructor of a writing course was in her early nineties. I liked the way they organized the open house: refreshments were plentiful and handsomely set out; instructors sat at tables and explained and clarified their impending fall courses. Alas, someone had the feeble idea that a man dressed as a clown was a necessity, a very poor idea.
As I chatted with and inquired of instructors what they were proposing I began to gather a sense of what these instructors were as individuals. After all, they were to teach these courses. At times I saw instructors who seemed a bit lifeless, or boring; some had a vitality to them. I did not want to spend time in a course with a dullard. I spoke to a writing instructor who was in her nineties and to a woman who was teaching a course on grief. And then I spotted a poster hanging on the wall behind the instructor who was going to teach a course on Star Trek (see above).
A week earlier I had listened as this instructor informed a group of prospective students of how she viewed Star Trek in another setting. In fact this science teacher had brought in a few toy tribbles that squeaked and other pop culture paraphernalia of the show. She made the point that the series was an industry and that she had won awards as a trekkie. Since I am not dead as yet, I wondered about what is the line between fan and trekkie, between enjoying a series and becoming more than an aficionado. Why did she give so much of herself to this cultural artifact? Of course, I had all kinds of psychoanalytical conjectures. And yes, I did say to myself — get a life; is this best you can be in your life? I now associate to Katharine Hepburn in Summertime. At least she had grown by the end of that movie
I am a Christian mother.
In describing a situation in which she made a caring intervention at a park between children and adults, I just listened. And then she added the above that I found unusual if not striking. Do we walk about declaring such things? For a moment I associate now to her tied to a post, faggots on fire at her feet, the smell of burning flesh and hair infusing the air, ah the martyr, singing Hatikvah to keep her spirits up.One would think that any good mother would have done what she did that day to be useful and instrumental. But what kind of conditioning within her must label it as significantly Christian? I would proffer she has been trained well, religion before humanity. This is the same woman who seriously said to me with a whiff of guilt that she was feeling very “pagan” for not having attended church of late.
I wish I had informed her that Plato had infused the Catholic church for almost two thousand years (the results deleterious) and that Aristotle had a tremendous impact upon the church (and that worked against Galileo). I would rather have a talk with these two men than spend time with Jesus who probably never existed. As for Socrates, she would flee the room. And so this well-trained seal is not very well-educated or knowledgeable about the history of pagan philosophers upon Catholicism. Seals don’t ask, just give them fish.
Additionally, it came back to me as validated gossip that she opined that she found it sad that I was a secular atheist and had no belief in god. The condescension is appalling. In my mind an atheist is a free human being, deconditioned of religion and all that rot, while a religious person, somewhere in his or her psyche, is enslaved. It stinks of the same grandiosity and arrogance of the Spanish conquistadors for the Aztecs and Mayas, as if their religions were inferior as they murdered them by the thousands. Cannibalism revolted the Spaniards but the attenuated communion wafer and wine, the blood of Christ, did not appall them.
Finally, in banter (ha! ha!) she shared that Jews and Christians are all alike, no differences whatsoever; she was being ecumenical, I imagine When I strongly disagreed, she faded. If you have been prey for 2000 years, there must be some reason for such hatred. I suppose in her religion to make nice is important, especially if you are a Christian mother. Jews do not evangelize and there are substantive reasons for that. We don’t need to. The Gospel, good news, is marketing, look up Paul’s resume.
Suck it up
In terrific pain in my left foot, I went to an orthopedic doctor for an evaluation. It was discovered that I had a bone spur which was pressing against the spine and giving me the equivalent of sciatica from the hip down. While waiting at the receptionist with my wife, I got a spasm of such intensity that I dropped to the floor in some attempt at relief. It was that bad.
After a thorough examination and a cat scan, the doctor diagnosed my situation and advised that I go to another doctor for a cortisone short into my back which would be done under sedation. As I was suffering I asked the doctor if he could give me something or prescribe something for this maddening pain before the intended medical procedure. And he said, “Suck it up.”
If I were not inhibited by old age, pain and social manners, I would have yelled at him, called him out. I am annoyed with myself that I did suck it up.
You’re at risk
After a sonogram of my neck it was discovered that one carotid artery had been devoured by plaque. It could not be recovered. Thankfully we are born with one or more. Nevertheless, the severity of the situation was not lost upon me when my doctor said to me that I was at risk, I suppose, for a stroke. This led to a cardiologist who did confirm all this but was more encouraging and felt I had years ahead if I would take care of myself in terms of diet and exercise. Perhaps. He also detected cardio-vascular damage to my heart as well which kind of , in my mind, foreshadowed what disease I will die of, except perhaps for terminal boredom in Henderson, Nevada.
For the past year I have had to deal with it on many levels, but I can say I relate to an anecdote about Isaac Asimov who, when asked if he had learned he had a short time to live what he might do, shot back, “I’d type faster.” It is only an anecdote. Being at risk makes me feel all kinds of emotive things. I am still wrestling with it.
Can’t you try to write some light-hearted stuff, some humorous thoughts, something less dour and dark?
My last blog, 1958 – Goodbye to All That, did not resonate well with my wife. She rarely criticizes the writing, often finds it very good. It is the content she at times feels is too sour or acrid. I wanted to tell her and I did in gargled fashion but this is who I am, sorry to say. I am more open to dark reflections than I am to optimistic opinion or joyful celebrations. I know she is advocating a balance to what I write. I am wondering what she will make of this blog of gems. I have tried to inject some humor here and there.
What I am trying to say to Jane is that since no one reads these little essays, what difference does it make if I am grumpy, cantankerous and curmudgeonly. Often I read dictionary definitions by Ambrose Bierce in his The Devil’s Dictionary. Here is a sample: Martyr (see I am a Christian mother), n. One who moves along the path of least resistance to a desired death. Marriage, n. A community consisting of a master, a mistress, and two slaves, making in all, two (Whew!) Pray, verb. To ask that the laws of the universe be annulled in behalf of a single petitioner confessed unworthy. Having defined a year as “a period of 365 disappointments,” Bierce did “not spend his entire life in gloomy fashion most assumed was his lot.” Yes, I, too, can be joyous and the life of the party; it is fun to be bipolar if you don’t allow one pole to annul the other.
So I can be corrosive and acidulous, but I am only the dog snapping and pulling on the man’s trouser leg. It is a basic defense against hurt, so what else is new. So my wife will have to endure or not endure my unwillingness to select more upbeat themes, for I am not an upbeat kind of guy. There must be some worth in being almost expert at writing about darkness and the dank sweat off the beast that resides in that sewer.
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