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The following was
written earlier today while I waited for my car to get serviced. This is what happens when I’m bored:
Today, while
killing time like a sniper, I browsed the Brown Elephant on a quest to find
cheap books. Because I don’t own enough
as it is. One title caught my eye:
Notes From a Cool Teacher by a guy named Edward Janusz. From the look of the thing, and you can
view it here, it’s self-published.
Now, there’s not so much shame in self-publishing these days, though the
stigma remains, but I admit to a wee bit of suspicion when I see a book with a title like this published by who knows what press. Nevertheless, I
was willing to spend a buck on the thing.
And an hour, which is as long as it took me to read the poorly edited,
slim volume. (Eddie, buddy, did you really miss the error in your chapter titled "Don't Be To Grade-Oriented"?)
This is not to
say that the book is a waste of time, but the overall message is kind of simple, perhaps intentionally so. I’ll boil down in case
you’re interested: be cool but don’t try to be cool. Oh, there’s more, some of it quite helpful, but I was a bit
put off by the author’s declaration that he does believe in absolutes. To say that there are absolutes is just
wrong. Which suggests that there
exists a right and a wrong. Which
suggests that Janusz is right to believe in absolutes, because I absolutely
disagree with him.
Once I mentioned
to someone that I distrusted absolutes.
“Don’t ever believe in absolutes,” I said, trying to make a joke. He didn’t get it. The listener in question is a lawyer,
so yeah… he lacks a fundamental understanding of irony. He, of course, pointed out the
contradiction, causing me to roll my eyes (metaphorically—I had a job to
keep). Another pearl lost to
the swine.
I absolutely do
not want to be here. If ever there
were a place where absolutes go to die, it’s the auto repair shop. Mechanics often speak in vague terms. They make predictions that don’t always
stick. Case in point: the
estimate. It is, by definition,
abstract. Sure, there’s a concrete
nature to the thing, but by calling this breakdown of projected service an
estimate the door is left wide open for adjustment to the price, almost always
an increase.
So, I see again
a concrete example of an abstraction.
Thus, evidence of how the two (solid and fluid) can be happily
married. This informs my
worldview: a constant negotiation of abstract and concrete realities.
There is no real
alternative: you must get your car serviced. (Sure, you can ignore problems, but a very real
concrete situation will develop.)
But the terms of the service are up for discussion. Where else but in the garage can you
find yourself presented with a bill ahead and after service, often with
shifting figures? Inherent to the transaction is a sense
of predictability and the distinct feeling of being screwed. There’s a lack of control that is
pretty goddamn close to the feeling all of us, I suspect, have throughout our lives
when we confront the uncertainty of it all.
And what about
that estimate? The paper used in
the estimate, while physically concrete, represents a guess. Guesses are, by their nature,
uncertain. So, the only absolute
in this situation is that you will have to pay. How much?
There’s no absolute way of knowing until the repairs are done. Even then, you’re not always absolutely
sure that you haven’t been ripped off.
Let’s look at a
different example: smoking cigarettes.
We have been
told that smoking is among the worst activities that we can do, and that our
bodies will deteriorate if we smoke on a regular basis. Smoking has been linked to a host of
terrible maladies, notable among them: cancer. If you smoke, there’s a good chance that you have envisioned
yourself in a hospital bed, tubes stuck into your lungs. The fear remains, though we push it
from our thoughts. Still, it’s
back there somewhere. But we
continue to smoke. Why? Why would we do something that we know is
bad for our health?
Well, because
death is a bit of an abstraction. Not really. It will
absolutely happen. We will, all of us, die. We don’t always know how or when, but
we accept the absolute. Still, our
acceptance comes with a slight denial that something we are doing, like
smoking, is going to be the absolute cause of our demise. Smoking is bad, but not so
much that it need affect our behavior.
Sometimes we
cite examples in order to further dismiss the absolute. We say: “Oh. My grandfather smoked
until he died, and he made it to 90!”
Anecdotal evidence is the best method of denying the absolute.
But that’s just
it: it is true, we don’t know for sure that smoking cigarettes will kill
us. There’s a chance—a damned good
one— that smoking will lead to serious health problems, but it’s not
an absolute. Anything could
happen. We accept the possibility
in one sense and reject it in another.
Both seem like normal methods of living life. I mean, you can accept that cigarettes are absolutely going
to kill you and chose not to smoke them, but in doing so you have not cheated
death. It’s coming. Absolutely. But maybe not because of your choices. Ask Jim Fixx.
I can say that I
absolutely miss smoking.
Bummmmmmmmer.
