Monday, July 09, 2012
TO THE TIME MACHINE, STAT
Too many things today are pawned off as whatever (pardon me, that would be "whatev," because three syllables are apparently too much to utter). See an injustice? Look the other way. Being selfish or thoughtless? Sorry, didn't mean it. Know someone who's hurting and in need? Run away fast as you can. You all look like beautiful stars tonight.
Douchebags and assholes: Kanye was half-right; we have to lift a toast to them because our little tribe is filled with them, presented company included (I count myself as a proud first-generation jerk). Our only saving grace is that deep down, most of us actually care about what's going on; we realize the connected nature of humans and — despite our gruff ways — we generally try to do the right thing by our fellow carbon-based beings. We don't go out of our way to act like monsters. That would be ... monstrous.
But our ranks are fast being replaced by jerkoffs who really couldn't care less. There's an empty space inside each of them where a caring heart is supposed to reside. Their sardonicism knows no bounds. It's not that they're unaware. They know exactly what they're doing. They just don't care if anyone gets hurt.
They peddle lies and rumors about people and think it's funny when someone is humiliated (they think even voicing a sentiment like this is hi-fucking-larious). They really don't mind when someone is crushed; oh well, that's what happens. They act like they'd like to care, but the only emotions that seem to count are their own. It's apathy about humanity to the Nth degree.
It's one big ... meh.
They're mouthbreathers and they're taking over our civilization. Not only do they not care — they get pissed off when confronted with their actions. They can't believe you'd dare say something so offensive to their faces, and their first instinct is to go tell someone that you're being mean to them.
But it serves us right.
First-gen jerkoffs: we are to blame. We spawned and mentored these self-centered, soulless creatures. We told them they were perfect, the best, the winners, the greatest thing since ever. And no surprise — they believed us. Now they're horribly flawed and imperfect adults, and they know they are flawless.
(The few that have at least a glancing familiarity with reality are hopelessly torn; they know there is more to this world than what they've been told, but that's not simple, that's hard, and it's generally easier to give up than fight for something ambiguous, like humanity or — gasp — the right thing. That's so last century.)
There is no way to bridge the chasm. Try as I might, I can't figure out a way to get anyone to see that caring too little about too much means the death of civilization. That's such a curiously antiquated way of looking at things; it's akin to using books to do research, and who needs books?
Oh, to have a time machine right now, so I can zip back and right the wrong. But I wouldn't travel to the 1980s to wipe out the current slate of mouthbreathers — that wouldn't solve anything. The only solution is to hit the '50s and '60s and eliminate their parents, the people who created this mess in the first place. By doing so I could also make sure disco never happened. Two big problems, killed in one fell swoop. I like it.