Don’t be dissuaded about reading this post when you come upon sections that seem dreary or downright depressing. I’ll just leave it at that.
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During my morning perusal of BBC.com I encountered several videos I intend to view, but haven’t yet (my house guests are still asleep, so I do not want to wake them with noisy videos). First, there’s a video about The Truth Behind the Nordic Myth of Endless Wealth, that ostensibly answers the question: “How does Finland, which has repeatedly been ranked the world’s happiest country, set limits on individual greed?” Second is a video that addresses who has the sexiest accent (voix de chambre à coucher, or “bedroom voice”) that gives some speakers superior powers of seduction.
How could I not want to view those videos? I continue to be extremely impressed with BBC content, both online and on television. BBC seems less interested in promoting itself than in promoting the enjoyable acquisition of knowledge (both valuable knowledge and stuff that’s simply interesting). I like 3-10 minute videos that shake the cobwebs out of my head and cause me to laugh or tilt my head inquisitively or drag from my eyes unwilling tears.
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But even in the face of joyous experiences with BBC online, chaos continued, unabated, overnight while I slept. A monstrous fire in a Baghdad hospital killed more than eighty people and left well over one hundred injured. Ash and debris from La Soufrière volcano continued to coat the Caribbean island of St. Vincent. International news media continued to report on the deaths of 53 crew members on an Indonesian submarine that was in the midst of a training exercise off the coast of Bali.
We wish it would all just stop. Give us a break from the carnage and pain. Just stop! But we know it won’t, because we live on a planet with so many opportunities for chaos and apocalypse. Instantaneous news coverage causes us to absorb far more evidence of the horrors of life on our planet than ever before. Maybe there’s more today than yesterday, maybe not. But it seems like the world is swirling toward a cataclysmic end. Welcome to every day of our lives.
I suspect the other side of the coin today, though, is equally moving. What of the heroic efforts to save people from the Baghdad fire? What of the neighbors protecting neighbors and giving one another shelter in the shadow of La Soufrière? What of the intensity of the efforts, albeit unsuccessful, to find and save the Indonesian crew? As awful as circumstances can be, I have to believe the responses to catastrophe and devastation are collectively far greater and more impactful than the carnage to which they react. Admittedly, it’s hard to stay even remotely positive in the face of everything we hear and see, but belief in humanity is our only option, lest we give in to the sense that we are spiraling toward oblivion.
As fervently as I argue that we must acknowledge that all the negativity is just a fraction of our experience, I regularly give in to the sense that our hope for good news is pointless. Somehow, though, I think we have to encourage one another to lift ourselves up out of the quagmire of anguish and desperation. Somehow.
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Today’s weather in Hot Springs Village should help improve moods. The weather forecast—for sun and mild temperatures—offers the expectation of a pleasant day. My friends will leave today, I suppose, despite my wish they could stay. But at least they should experience good weather on their drive back home. And I should have a nice day that might encourage me to blow pollen and leaves off my deck; and get back to cleaning up the garage, a task I’ve put off since I was younger, taller, and better looking. I promised myself this weekend would be one of laziness; there’s still time to keep my promise.
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Last night, my friends and I reminisced about the old days, those times in the late 1970s and early 1980s when alternative news weeklies had want-ad sections that included “seeking” ads like this:
You were standing in the lobby of the Grand Theatre, wearing a peach blouse and black slacks. I stood next to the box office; longish blond hair under a brown fedora, wearing black leather jacket. We should meet. We belong together. Call me at 88-43-3533.
That conversation reminded me of a film, Desperately Seeking Susan. I remembered virtually nothing of the film but the name. The female component of my pair of friends recalled that it starred Madonna and Rosanna Arquette (my friend’s memory is incredible…I think she remembers every detail of every experience we’ve ever had or discussed). That film, I think, was one of several that I saw around that time (mid 1980s) that I liked but about which I remember virtually nothing. Then, again, I remember virtually nothing about films I’ve watched in the last year, or six months, or six weeks. I wonder whether my memory has always been as poor as it seems to be now? Perhaps I should be taking memory-improving drugs. Modafinil might be that drug. According to an article in Scientific American from March 2016, the drug is safe. But, at the time of the article, studies on the long-term safety and effectiveness of the drug had not been completed. If I were more passionate about the topic, I would have followed up with more recent research. Apparently I am not especially passionate about the fact that my memory is very, very, very short-term. Oh, well.
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The promised/warned onslaught of attempted seductions has not materialized yet. I rather suspect it won’t either. I’m talking about the assertions people have made about my status as a widower. People warned me (or promised, depending on perspective) that my new classification as widower would result in a frenzy of single (or married but adventuresome) women making overtures toward me. It has not unfolded. And, as I think about it, I doubt that it will. Why, I ask myself, would it happen now in my geezerhood when it never happened before during what might have been considered my prime (assuming I had a prime)? It might be different if I were tall, thin, muscular, and had a chiseled handsome face. But, even then, an alluring personality would be required. In other words, if I were someone else. Instead, I am short, plump in the extreme, have sagging biceps and pecs, a roundish seal-like face that comes complete with multiple chins, and the personality of an angry, intolerant hermit.
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