lines can haunt you

2006-05-13

The world at large

We live in a time of unprecedented choice; never before have so many had to worry about so little in terms of resources dedicated to physical survival. We have more choice available to us right now than any other group of human beings has had in the history of this planet. Because of a rapid and exponential increase in productivity, it is now possible to dedicate your entire existence to, say, the art of surfing, so long as there are others willing to trade some of their surplus to you, for whatever reason - entertainment value, for example. As long as there are enough of us walking around, willing to fork out eight bucks for a magazine with said surfer on the cover, that can provide the surfer, the photographer, the magazine design and editorial staff, the guy who delivers magazines, the retailer who carries the magazine, etc. - all of them, with some of that eight bucks to keep doing what they're doing.

I realized this the other day as I planned out my shopping list. I realized I was able to walk into a single store and acquire every physical necessity I would need for the week ahead, simply because of the specialization and surplus productivity of others; and to this end, I was able to do so because I specialize (and am fairly proficient) in teaching others' children, thus capturing some of their surplus productivity to rededicate to my own physical survival. What a world we live in, I thought, so complex and fragile, so new and absurd.

A student asked me the other day of my family - specifically, did I have any brothers and sisters? One of each, I replied. And how old are they? My brother is 36...no, 35...and my sister would be, what?...34 then? No, one is 37 and the other turning 35. Wait. That's not right. He must be turning 36 and therefore she is 33. Wait. How old am I? I'm 26...yes, that's right. So then he is probably 36 and she must be 34. When I finally stopped talking, she looked at me with mouth wide open, completely aghast. How could you not know how old your brother and sister are? I don't know, I replied, somewhat indignant, I'm pretty busy. Yeah, but this is your family. I know how old my brother is! Uh-huh, I said, but do you also have to make sure you pay the electricity bill on time? Do you have to watch your credit card spending, remember to take the car in for a tune up, buy groceries and schedule time for friends?

This, I think, is the absolute final indication of full membership in adulthood - forgetting exactly how old your loved ones are (and mind you, not forgetting when their birthdays are, just not knowing how many they have had). Forgetting your own age, or confidently stating the incorrect age, these are prime indicators as well. In any case, that conversation sounded the death knell of any claim to childhood to which I might have desperately clung.

If you read this, yes, and you are a writer, check, and plan to write you do, then why not check out the website for The National Pist and then submit some story ideas/articles my way? I edit this satirical gazette and am in desperate need of writers, ideas, materials, anything (time is a factor), and you will get full credit with your name in print (and on the website) and all the accolades that befit so wise and mighty a scribe, and, as if that wasn't enough already, I guarantee you will get absolutely no money whatsoever. Maybe you can have a t-shirt. But I'll have to check with the publisher. OK, never mind. We can't do that. What about a coffee mug? Nope. No mug. Well how about some odds and ends then? Only if they're mine. But can we put the Pist logo on something and send that off? True, that would probably render it worthless. Alright. How about this: if I use your story or idea, I will personally mail you whatever amazing junk I find in my living room. Hmmm...that really doesn't sound so appealing, I guess, if you know much of anything about where I live. I know! How about this then - I promise not to mail you anything I find in my house if you do submit something. Otherwise, you're fair game for random packages of garbage. Yes, that's much better incentive.


Navigation previous entry next entry latest entry archives profile notes e-mail How lines can haunt you... Recent Forays 2009-03-10: The names 2008-05-21: in medias res 2007-11-14: The things I meant to write about: 2007-07-29: More than meets the eye 2007-04-13: Where the words have gone. Links Abroad in medias res Modern Drunkard Ftrain The Onion Exploding Dog McSweeney's Internet Tendency The National Pist Higher Blogs Palinode's Palace Schmutzie Friday Films Luvabeans Sprigs Fairlywell Dirty Laundry Boombasticat f-i-n jonquill Stray Sparrow Swordfern Pablo Ashahands Erasing		2006-05-13 The world at large We live in a time of unprecedented choice; never before have so many had to worry about so little in terms of resources dedicated to physical survival. We have more choice available to us right now than any other group of human beings has had in the history of this planet. Because of a rapid and exponential increase in productivity, it is now possible to dedicate your entire existence to, say, the art of surfing, so long as there are others willing to trade some of their surplus to you, for whatever reason - entertainment value, for example. As long as there are enough of us walking around, willing to fork out eight bucks for a magazine with said surfer on the cover, that can provide the surfer, the photographer, the magazine design and editorial staff, the guy who delivers magazines, the retailer who carries the magazine, etc. - all of them, with some of that eight bucks to keep doing what they're doing. I realized this the other day as I planned out my shopping list. I realized I was able to walk into a single store and acquire every physical necessity I would need for the week ahead, simply because of the specialization and surplus productivity of others; and to this end, I was able to do so because I specialize (and am fairly proficient) in teaching others' children, thus capturing some of their surplus productivity to rededicate to my own physical survival. What a world we live in, I thought, so complex and fragile, so new and absurd. A student asked me the other day of my family - specifically, did I have any brothers and sisters? One of each, I replied. And how old are they? My brother is 36...no, 35...and my sister would be, what?...34 then? No, one is 37 and the other turning 35. Wait. That's not right. He must be turning 36 and therefore she is 33. Wait. How old am I? I'm 26...yes, that's right. So then he is probably 36 and she must be 34. When I finally stopped talking, she looked at me with mouth wide open, completely aghast. How could you not know how old your brother and sister are? I don't know, I replied, somewhat indignant, I'm pretty busy. Yeah, but this is your family. I know how old my brother is! Uh-huh, I said, but do you also have to make sure you pay the electricity bill on time? Do you have to watch your credit card spending, remember to take the car in for a tune up, buy groceries and schedule time for friends? This, I think, is the absolute final indication of full membership in adulthood - forgetting exactly how old your loved ones are (and mind you, not forgetting when their birthdays are, just not knowing how many they have had). Forgetting your own age, or confidently stating the incorrect age, these are prime indicators as well. In any case, that conversation sounded the death knell of any claim to childhood to which I might have desperately clung. If you read this, yes, and you are a writer, check, and plan to write you do, then why not check out the website for The National Pist and then submit some story ideas/articles my way? I edit this satirical gazette and am in desperate need of writers, ideas, materials, anything (time is a factor), and you will get full credit with your name in print (and on the website) and all the accolades that befit so wise and mighty a scribe, and, as if that wasn't enough already, I guarantee you will get absolutely no money whatsoever. Maybe you can have a t-shirt. But I'll have to check with the publisher. OK, never mind. We can't do that. What about a coffee mug? Nope. No mug. Well how about some odds and ends then? Only if they're mine. But can we put the Pist logo on something and send that off? True, that would probably render it worthless. Alright. How about this: if I use your story or idea, I will personally mail you whatever amazing junk I find in my living room. Hmmm...that really doesn't sound so appealing, I guess, if you know much of anything about where I live. I know! How about this then - I promise not to mail you anything I find in my house if you do submit something. Otherwise, you're fair game for random packages of garbage. Yes, that's much better incentive. Tell me when this blog is updated email: