So today I had a pretty chilled day. Work was exciting & draining as usual but also happened to have its perks. I like it when people/things/events make my heart smile without me expecting it. It just reassures me that someone up there (we all know who) really likes me (I think we know that God…
This morning, this Saturday morning, I woke up later than my alarm. I heard it, dismissed the noise. I prefer it that way. Instead of turning it off on a friday night. I’ll let it up wake me up so I’m aware of the time and I can dose off again if desired.
Then I did a bit of work. Preparation for a up-coming presentation. Dropped off my wife and then played basketball. I sport I love and I’m skilled at, at an above average level. I also play with people who are skilled relatively the same. Some worse, some better. A good games today. The team I was on won I think most of the games we played, but definitely the last one. So at least I could leave on a positive note.
Arrived at home, sitting on my porch with my ear phones and some good music. Music that stirs my soul. I’m not ordinarily a person that pays attention to lyrics. But these move me. I can’t sit still. Being a musician, my hand tends to play “air-guitar”. My head, back and forth signifying something inside me being stirred, by the passion of the music I’m listening to. The passion of the musicians, the singer, the meaningfulness of the lyrics. Too much for my body to remain still. It must move.
It’s only 2ish in the afternoon. Sun is shining. I’ll do a bit more work this afternoon, and go to a birthday celebration this evening.
That’s what I call a good day. A bit of everything I (think I) need. A bit of work, good sport, good music. And later celebration. What more can I ask for right now? I can’t think of a thing.
I think it was The Beatles that wrote a song called Turn Turn Turn. And it’s a reference to a scripture in Ecclesiastes that speaks of the concept that everything under the sun has a time, even things we find opportunity to call evil. Death, war. Scattering. At first glance this concept seems not at all out of the ordinary, but having experienced some of those so-called evils, I know that I don’t welcome those seasons of winter, those evils that make up part of the standard human experience. And I’m still not at a place of maturity where I will welcome them.
Is that what I’m supposed to do? Welcome life’s ultimate balance. I think if it were just that, natural, then it wouldn’t be so hard, but enter real evil, that hurries death towards us. Can, from the beginning of time the two evils be separated? I think not. One is the cause of the other.
I would not say this enrages me, rather it saddens me, and perhaps to a small extent, empassions me to hate all evil just that bit more.
But, back to my porch and my thoughts of a good day.
Until next time.
russia, australia, greenland (northern lights)
“The lack thereof” I’ve always liked saying that phrase. It makes me feel smart. Like I have insight. And I always had to be the first to say it. Or else I would miss an opportunity to look smart. Second to that, would be saying it at the same time as one other person, then we could connect, like “hey we think the same… (maybe we’re meant for each other)”. Lastly third in the scale of cool (or lack thereof) would be if I were to say it at the same time as many people in the group, then we could all have a good chuckle and feel as though we were all cut form the same cloth. And then I would feel like raising my imaginary glass and saying cheers, and giving each other a look of understanding.
I enjoy looking smart. (I think) it validates me. It makes me feel needed, like these idiots around me would be worse off without me standing in their circle, adding my superior knowledge.
The trick comes in, when people bully. Coincidence has it, that there was something on TV just now about bullying. But I’m referring to mental bullying, or rather emotional bullying. The school of thought that I’m a lot smarter than you, and i am going to make sure you feel the gap, and as you attempt to jump over it, and I’m going to make sure you don’t get all the way across.
In my heart is a desire for fairness, not only in the world, but in small individual situations. If a company is seemingly corrupt, I would like to play Robin Hood. If a smart person is belittling a less smart person, my heart’s deep desire is to put that person in place. And the same with emotional bullying, it’s equal in my mind to manipulation. If a person with a high EQ is dominating a person with a lower EQ, this is a wrong that needs to be, for the lack of a better word, righted. I feel poetic righting those wrongs, like a super hero, making the world a better place to live in. Not such a drag, where the poor get poorer, and the emotionally intelligent get more so.
To be honest, Alanis Morisette got me thinking about this many years ago, with a phrase in one of her songs “intellectual intercourse”. It meant to me that people could use their brains for more than just thinking. And I have since grown that list, to include defending themselves.
I know someone, who often uses his emotional/mental prowess to make you feel stupid, and as a result makes himself feel smarter, thus avoiding potential future battles, on the assumption that he would win, (as just proven in your last interaction with him). I continued to think about this as a defense mechanism, and came to the realization that the bully is “just” defending himself from a perceived threat. And that perceived threat is most likely a result of past offense. Father issues, mother issues, bad break up, whatever. But then who’s to blame? At first glance, the bully is to blame, and he is definitely not without blame. But who introduced him to that, for which he is being blamed? And how far down the rabbit hole to we go in search of the culprit? And culprit’s offender? The road never ends, metaphorically speaking, and rather the person to blame is most likely dead. So… we’re screwed? No. Instead we have the opportunity to learn, from our mistakes, and the mistakes of others. And that I have found out is not easy. In fact it requires a fair amount of strength, mentally and emotionally. And this stage I would hope that those two words are still in the recent section of files stored. Or if you’re a woman (generalization, I know) that the two words are still close to the top of the pot, that is your psyche. I hope this because there is a self perpetuating cycle riding through our societies, that will continue to wreak havoc in our collective life, until we use the very same mental and emotional strength to break the cycle. I will now offer two ways to counter the cycle, more from a point of passion, than a desire to teach, (and show off how amazingly smart I am).
For the first antidote, an anecdote: I don’t know if you’re like me at all. I repeat conversations in my head, often after the fact, wishing I had handled it differently. Thinking to myself, “if only I had said that”, “that would have shut him up”, or my favourite, “how’d you like them apples?” Well, not on an unrelated issue, I have pretty good peripheral vision, and one day on my way to college I noticed something out the corner of my eye, the place that lacks visual definition. At first it was a relatively dark object, in the position customarily seen as the driver’s head, and then it became lighter in colour, a phenomenon that I had come to associate with a face being turned towards you. The same principle can be applied to eyes being opened in your peripheral, you can know that someone is surprised, because the white of their eyes reflect more light. I realized in a moment that I was in my own world, but speaking animatedly for all and sundry to witness the crazy man.
I relay this story, not for the sake of vulnerability, nor for humourous interlude, although I hope it has succeeded in both. Instead the reason I mention it, is because the phrase that I was repeating animatedly to myself was “I don’t care what you think”. And various derivatives of that, including “I’m sorry, you must believe I care what you think”, “what’s your name again?” and my more recent favourite, “honey, save it for Oprah”.
These phrases have helped me in my life to conjure up the courage to be secure in myself. And many movies have helped me to gain the vocabulary, necessary to string together these witty retorts.
For the next device in breaking the cycle of bullies, I must borrow from Christian spirituality and mention the principle of forgiveness. I put my weight behind the old adage “to err is human, to forgive is divine”, because we can no longer be victims of our circumstances. From now on it is a choice to be a victim. I believe the word victim to be a legal word, used in reference to crimes. But when we get stuck in a victim mentality, then the blame for the damage we do to others, shifts from us to our offender(s).
While I won’t address the unfairness of it, I will say that to me it doesn’t feel beneficial. Please note I didn’t use the words right, or ethical, or fair, but beneficial. Because this word right, is unfair. Who decides? But more importantly does it add value to you and others? I think that’s a valid question.
Please also, don’t hear me saying that a rape victim has a day to get over it, but if I steal ten units of whatever the smallest monetary note is in the country that you’re reading this in, and you respond by stealing 11, then the cycle has begun, and someone needs to say “ok this is stupid, I wanna stop” before someone’s dog is lying in the street with it’s guts strewn all over for everyone to see.
If, with the last sentence, I have offended dog lovers, then I invite you to send me an email, tell me that you don’t care what I think and forgive me. I might even respond likewise, and I would picture you reading it, and looking up into the sky and raising your imaginary glass and saying cheers, and exchanging a look of understanding.
25 minutes is not enough time to write anything of quality. At least I think so. I’m awake half an hour before my wife, as she is not a morning person. I’m at my computer. 24 minutes is not enough time to write anything of quality.
Granted though, I have more than just short of half an hour. My wife’s awakening is a not a moment, it is a process. You see my wife and Morning, are not friends. There’s a series that my sister lent to me called “Samantha who”, and it’s about a mean girl who is in an accident and gets amnesia, and wakes up and finds out that she’s a mean girl and tries to change. An old friend, from when she wasn’t a mean girl tries to pull out the good side in her, and a friend from just before the accident, is consistently calling her to the “dark side”. And because Samantha is not sure who she is, she hangs out with both mean and nice… at the same time. The series, as you can imagine, is comedy.
Samantha loves Mean, because there’s clearly history. And although she can’t remember the history she gets flash backs of things they have done together. But she also loves Nice, because she’s doing good things for the environment. Not kicking puppies, or stealing babies, for selfish purposes, etc.
Samantha and Nice, get along well, when left alone in a room. And the same is true for Samantha and Mean. Even when all three of them are together in the room, you can handle the tension. But, if Samantha were to step out, as it would seem the script writers like to do, for whatever reason, then Nice and Mean are left to do what they do best. Sometimes Means looks at Nice as though to say what are you or I still doing here 5 seconds after Samantha has left, and leaves the table immediately, sometimes Nice tries in vain to convince Mean to live better. Or at least to think, about living better. At least perhaps to think about someone else, living better. Always to no avail.
In real life, though, specifically mine, Samantha is not my wife. Samantha is Coffee. And the morning is Nice, and my wife, God bless her, is Mean. When I say coffee, I mean proverbially. Coffee represents some form of elixir, or catalyst. Something that raises the level of, something. Not sure which word to use there, and I’m feeling the pressure of 25 minutes bearing down on me. It’s minute 28 now. When all three of them are in the room, the tension is just in the realm of bearable. but if just my wife and morning are in the room… So let me adjourn, and go make some coffee.
P.s. If the book ends here, you know what happened.
Ok… I love my wife. I really do. Today is our 3 year, 3 month and 3 day anniversary. And yesterday we went out for dinner. I took her to a fancy restaurant, and to my surprise the service was excellent. The word I used last night to describe the waiter to his supervisor was outstanding. It was the perfect evening for many reasons, the last of which shall not be described in this book, and probably not in any book that I shall ever write.
But to list a few:
Great food. I don’t consider myself to be a connoisseur of food, by any stretch of the imagination, but I will say that I like what I like, because I like it. And while you could perhaps accuse me of circular thinking, I’ll stick to my guns. When I was young, I’m talking four or five years old, my parents took me to a restaurant and little did I know that Lady Destiny was about to make an introduction. The waiter brought my order, set it down on the table, did the same for everybody else at the table and left politely. I put my hands to the face of Lady Destiny, lifted her face to mine, and kissed her. Open mouth. And so began the romance, between young David, and the seductress Miss Cheeseburger. An affair that to date I have not put an end to. My wife found out about us, before we we’re married, and to my amazement, still married me. But I still think back to that day with fond memories. McDonalds’ has often been the scene our sordid affair played out, sometimes other restaurants, often too fancy for the likes of Miss Cheeseburger. But we managed. My love for her was too strong. I did not care for the looks of disdain we received from the waiters.
Fanta orange, was also notorious for his appearances. I’ve always enjoyed movies where the star goes to a restaurant and orders “the usual”. And the waiter would scurry off to make it. Or where the manager will say “what it’ll be today Bob? The usual?” more as a formality, than an actual question, because they knew the order would never change. And Bob would offer the slightest nudge of affirmation, barely noticeable by the untrained eye. I would go to restaurants that I had never been to before and order the usual, and my company would embarrassingly request an orange Fanta and cheeseburger, on my behalf.
Today my taste buds have matured. But I still have my favourites. And last night was no different. Trinchado with mash instead of rice or chips. And a lime and lemonade, with “a glass filled to the top with ice and water, and no lemon”. A phrase that I have been perfecting over years now, because to my great frustration, it is rarely the way I want it. They’ll always bring me a glass of water still getting cold because of the lack of an abundance of ice. And they too always forget to not put lemon in. I’ve had trinchado at 5 different restaurants and last night was the best.
My wife also loves food, and is less daring than I am. She’s less willing to try exotic things, like snails and tongue, and crocodile. I reckon, how bad could it be if it’s on the menu of a well-respected establishment. And she loves to prepare food exactly the way she wants it. At dinner times, she’ll still be organizing the display of food, for some weird reason it’s about how the food looks, before going down in to the pit of hydrochloric acid. I’m sure you can guess, what I think. Picnics, have been about stacking the most delectable combination of ingredients, on to one single cracker, and she’ll take up to 5 minutes balancing all 7 ingredients perfectly, before showing me, and then sending it down the gullet.
I’m a bit of a hedonist, when it comes to eating. I believe the more goodness you can cram into your mouth at once, the better. You see, for me, food is either about sustenance or about pleasure, and to be honest it’s mostly simultaneous. For my wife, it’s about the experience of eating.
Good service. We love good service. And equally hate bad service. Actually my wife hates it worse than I do. The people that sit at check out points in big super markets, for some reason they think they’re doing me a favour by serving me. I’ll try to be nice in the beginning, but if they continue with their apathy, I figure why should I continue to waste my good intentions for them. My wife, on the other hand, when I am receiving the same type of service on the phone, she’ll easily offer to take the phone and give them a good lashing. I love it. She’ll stand on principle when receiving bad service, that she will not buy there. It’s brilliant.
At our anniversary date, our waiter gave us the best service I have ever experienced. He was not intrusive, asking if we were ok every 5 minutes. He brought the food quickly, which is always a good thing where I’m concerned. (I passionately dislike waiting for food). He took our order and as he left, he said, “enjoy your bread rolls”, and I hadn’t even see him put down the bread rolls. A nice little surprise, to pull back my menu and see the golden little guy there, just waiting to be consumed. The butter wasn’t frozen solid. The water order was perfect.
A few years ago, I worked in what could easily be called a dead end job. I worked as a receptionist, at an import and design company. At first I was employed as the assistant manager of one of their retail branches, then the manager. Worked my way up to head office, and started designing for them, as my tertiary education was in that field. At this stage in my life, I could call myself successful. To be working in my field of study. My bosses liked me, and I was slowly but surely climbing up the ladder. But finally, I got promoted to… (and I’ll pause for effect here) receptionist. The reason for this, is because by fluke, the boss asked me that when the receptionist wasn’t there, if I heard her phone ring, I could answer it. Naturally, I said yes, but the amount of compliments I received in that short span of time, meant that when the current receptionist left, which was soon, ‘cause she was terrible, then my name was in the hats of the decision makers. But I decided, despite the derogatory nicknames for receptionists, let alone male receptionists, I was going to give it my all. At a stage a lady phoned, and asked to be put through to the boss. I didn’t recognize her voice, and therefore she had no extra rank that I could/would pull on her behalf, so like everyone else, she had to wait in line. I told her this, and asked if she minded being put on hold, came back to her a little while later and asked if I could take a message, to which she responded negatively, and said that she would phone back later. While she was saying that, though the line to the boss became available, and I politely interrupted her, told her, and put her through. Ten minutes later, the big boss walked up to me, not on his way out, not in passing, having a quick word with his subordinate. But he walked straight up to my desk, and said “David, I don’t know what you’re doing, or if you’re offering something other than what we’re selling, but my mother says that was the best phone experience she has ever had.” My boss wasn’t ancient, but his mother was. And in all her years, for my minute long interaction with her to motivate her to say that to her son, was enough to motivate her son to walk to my desk, say that to me and walk back to his office. That’s quite something in my opinion.
I don’t want to make a generalization, but I think many ladies are into that “experience” thing. For my bosses’ mother, it’s about a good phone experience. For my wife it’s about a good eating experience. For me, when my wife and I fight, it’s about sorting it out, and I can be quite clinical, during a fight with phrases such as “is there anything left to resolve?” or “I don’t want to perpetuate this cycle”. My wife is quite different to me in this regard, for her it’s about how did we fight. And too often our fights are about this… “hearing well and speaking well”. I’ll say something with good intentions. And in the space between my mouth and her ears, I’m sure the little angel on my shoulder and the little devil on her shoulder, play a lightning quick game of twister. Perhaps the little devil is on my shoulder, and the little angel guy is on hers, but I would take a guess at 84% of our fights resolve with the statement, I need to speak better, and if you could try to hear better, I would appreciate it.
In keeping with honesty, I must say, that the person I’ve been the angriest with in my life, is my wife. And the person, I love with all my heart and wouldn’t hesitate to try and stop a moving bus with my shoulder for, is the same. But it’s because of the latter, that the former is true. Plainly put, because all of my heart is invested in us, I will not be able to avoid showing her the extent of my immaturity.
I tell you all of these things, from how perfect our anniversary date was, to the way we fight, because I see too often, what I like to call, a Hollywood induced poison. This thing people call “the one”. I use the possibly overly harsh word poison, because I see it affecting not just the mind of a person, but it seeps through our veins and down to our heart, and finds small places to hide, in our toes. And when we’ve cleared our minds of it, our heart often still holds on. And when we’re married and our heart is cleared of it, we’ll find our toes call out to us, from far away “really, is this what I signed up for? Did I marry really the right person?”
This phrase “irreconcilable differences”… I’m not sure what all the legal implications of it are, but I don’t like it. It’s too easy. My wife and I are very different, and we have fights that are sometimes extremely difficult, and the reconciliation does not happen immediately. Sometimes the same issue will rise up again, and again, and it is frustrating, equally so, if not more, for my wife. But I am committed to her, and to us. And I’m sorry if this irritates you as a reader, but I feel I need to say it, to get it out there.
My friend, and mentor once said something, which so struck me, and it continues to capture me. He said “people get divorced over the things that my wife and I sort out before breakfast” and I really believe that it is true, in two ways. Firstly, I believe him, that he was telling the truth, and that he has the experiential authority to make such a statement. Him and his wife are very different people. They could have easily thrown in their irreconcilably different towels. And secondly, there is truth in that statement, that too many people are getting divorced over nothingness. Useless, trivia. Hollywood probably has the shortest average length of marriages, yet we heed its advice, above history, which has proven countless times that arranged marriages can work. Now don’t hear me wrong, I’m not for arranged marriages. But if they can work, then what excuse does Brangelina, have? And Britney and K-fed?
This is by no means supposed to be a book about strengthening your marriage, and this chapter is by no stretch of the imagination exhaustive. But it must also be said that I couldn’t do my marriage (well or even half well) without the help of others. Friends further down the marriage road than me, friends unknowingly advising me. Good realistic movies like “the story of us” with Bruce Willis and the other lady whose name I can’t remember.
In one memorable episode of House, a friend directs a harsh statement towards him. He says with both pity and accusation “they broke you”. To which Gregory House replies, in the most sincere way I have ever seen him, yet in typical House fashion, “they didn’t break me, I am broken. Now go find someone else to worship”. I must have watch that bit 5 times in a row, directly after each other. Watched; rewound; watched; rewound etc, five times, because it was the culmination of my then-present and still progressive revelation that I needed, and still need, not just with marriage, but with life, outside help. I’m wary of this becoming a self-help book, but I will offer advice now: We need to embrace the kindness of outside influence. Whether you believe it to be God, or the universe, or the collective wisdom of humanity, we need help.
To think otherwise is foolishness. #thatisall.
I have been inspired to write. As of yet, I don’t know how long it will be, so what I will write is still up for grabs. Whether it becomes a short story or a trilogy of 5 like Douglas Adams’ series, is still in its embryonic phase. Give me a break I’m only a few lines in.
As for what I shall write about, I have slightly more direction than what I shall write. And I don’t mean slightly loosely. I mean really only slightly. I want to write about my life. But as I type that into my keyboard, I realize that it can come across as arrogant. I don’t think my life is particularly worth writing about, but before you close the book in the shop you’re standing and walk away to the rest of your life I need to tell you why in deed, I am writing about my life, if it’s not worthy of such a feat.
The reason for that, with no further adieu, is this. I like life. I like my own life, the same one unworthy of writing about. And that, I find in this world is rare. We live in a consumer driven world, where everything will make you a better person. The unfortunate implication of that fact is that we believe that we are never good enough. We are never good enough for those around us, to gain the respect of society. And therefore we are always dissatisfied with our current reality. While dissatisfaction can be a motivator to better and better, it must be said, (or in this case read) that dissatisfaction is a mean boss, always on your case. They say you should live in New York while you’re young, but leave before it makes you old. And in the same way, I think it is natural for us all the feel dissatisfied, but get out before he hunches your back.
As a child I loved cartoons, even as teenager, I must admit, I was quite taken by their little make belief lives, and how easily we could control them. They weren’t like real life actors who would scream things like, “I can’t work like this!” and “I’ll be in my trailer!” and “if I don’t have 1000 brown M&Ms before tonight, I’m not going to do it!”. And in the background you would see the frustration on the face and in the body language of the director, as he mobilized his team to find the M&Mâs. Cartoons were ridiculous back then, and out of the box, and light hearted, and I dare say up-lifting. Not like the darker cartoons of today. The cartoon that I am thinking of specifically, came on on Wednesdays evenings, prime time. Which meant that it wasn’t necessarily for me, it was for the family. It wasn’t the usual Saturday morning stuff that I would need to keep down volume-wise, because everybody was still sleeping. It was right in the middle of prime time. And while I watched it I learned about life. Or at least I thought I did. Because it was aimed at people smarter than me. Older. Wiser. More experienced than me. And they laughed and were entertained, so I assumed that if I enjoyed it, which I genuinely did, that I must be special.
I still think that about myself, just so you know, but for different reasons.
The cartoon was Dinosaurs. And as some of you remember it, and agree that I was correct about thinking I was special, just not the same special that I meant, I am comforted that you are alive in my time. And that we share this experience.
Allow me to divert from the path that I’m currently on and say sharing experiences gives life meaning. As a writer, I think using the words meaning and life in the same sentence can be scary, and perhaps “above my pay grade”, as they say. And I don’t presume to know the meaning of life, as an absolute, but I believe, that if science is accurate about the vastness of the universe, even remotely correct, then the reason that we don’t have our own planets, is because there is a reason to us all living on this one. And that is to share experiences, to feel connected to each other. We all have to go to the toilet. No one is exempt. Some of us pick our noses, others blow, some do both. Some of us are right handed, others wrong. Some have green fingers. Some of us are overwhelmed with envy, and we wish we were better in the garden. Most of us are attracted to super heroes, the incredible hulk, or that other guy, with the lantern.
I can’t think of any thing else green, except that my favourite colour was green. It changed to yellow, then orange after that. And perhaps with 6 point whatever billion people on earth, there is someone on another continent or next door, that first liked green, then yellow, and finally has settled on orange. Maybe it’s a sign and we should get married. Hopefully she’s not ugly. Hopefully it’s a she.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, the character that I liked the most of the dinosaurs was the baby. He had a peculiar habit of saying “not the mama”. I’m not sure why. The funniest moment in the entire season for me, was when the baby, got so angry and his eyes got really big, and his head turned all the way around, while growling his favourite phrase. He’s a dinosaur. His head can’t turn all the way around, let alone speak sense. It was ridiculously funny. I laughed as hard as I could, and tried to fall off my chair, but couldn’t push myself that hard, physically or emotionally. I was a lazy boy.
For the next few weeks, I would turn my head as far as I could and growl the phrase at my family members. As their irritation grew, so did mine, I would get as angry as the little dinosaur to match my families frustration of hearing it so much. I imagined I was playing a form of poker with them, I would bet, that they wouldn’t fold and kill me or disown me, when I said the phrase one more time, and they would see my bet and raise me by pinching me, and scolding me, and threatening me, and I would see their bet and raise them, with an even more fierce growl.
And I wondered why the little guy was so angry, and honestly I can’t remember what scene preceded his outburst, but I remember he was taking a stand against something. Either his parents were doing something that they knew he didn’t like, or he wasn’t getting the food he wanted, some sort of injustice in the world.
The reason I tell you all this, is because I think we should take a stand against, an injustice in the world. We should walk around turning our heads as far as they go, growling the phrase “not the hunch back”, at the idea that a product can make me a better person. To the idea that my life sucks without your product I growl at you, I turn my head and growl. You will not bend me. Whether I buy your product or not, I recognize your ploy. I see your raise, and I call your bluff. In fact I raise my remote control in defiance and I change the channel on your spew of dissatisfaction. And I will change and change until I find something entertaining like dinosaurs, because they make me feel special. And I like that.
I’ve always wanted to say, “meanwhile back at the ranch”. Haven’t you?
I went to watch a movie the other day and was shocked to see what happened. Not in the movie, because those are increasing in incredibility. But rather in the movie house. The audience’s warped sense of revenge. That even when innocent bystanders were gunned down to get to the semi-badguy the audience (truth be told I think mob is a better word) welled up with excitement and praise and resultant applause. But wait… If you call now you’ll even get a mob shouting out religious references at the public screen, as if to say this revenge was exacted as a reflection of God’s own system of justice.
While I do not confess to fully know or even always understand God’s system of justice, I feel I must assume that (bar one time) killing innocence is not part of it. That members of the crowd would feel impassioned enough to shout out (what I can only see as) their blood-thirstiness, either at a hollywood producer who can’t hear them, or to gain the respect of their fellow mob members, I found this, to say the least alarming.
On the other hand, perhaps it is true, and this is just a reflection on society’s perception of God’s justice. I mean, we have earthquakes and tsunamis and what seems to be a plethora of disasters al a naturale, where it feels naive to think that they all somehow deserved what they got. How can 100 000 people be in the wrong (or right, depending on how you look at it) place and the wrong (or right …) time?
My next obvious question is “Is the world really that messed up?” that this system of universal justice is the only way. Perhaps it ventures into the unfathomable for a reason greater than my puny understanding. Would an eye for an eye, result in an under-population problem? Is the world’s system of justice so corrupt/fallible that natural disasters are necessary. Or are natural disasters, just that… natural, and therefore part of the broken world that we live in?
Answer… I don’t know.