See, Not His Real Name has a big brain,
as do I. When put together, conversation generated can be upsetting
to the casual observer. One of the saving graces. Though. is the fact
that Walter's brain is more developed and has a greater capacity
towards improving the common good. He reads actual magazines, news
magazines, as opposed to those exploring and exploiting pop culture.
Me, I don't read magazines unless I'm stuck somewhere waiting for a
doctor, lawyer, car mechanic or some other who tries to distract you
from the amount of extra time you are having to spend waiting for
them.
Walter also makes daily visits to web
sites specializing in presenting the latest news, usually accompanied
by analysis designed to spark discussion. My favorites list is
scattered with sites like Icanhas.cheezburger.com where levels of
sweet and cute can become dangerous to the health of any diabetics
who may stumble onto them, and where serious discussion, if there
even is any, will invariably swirl around the merits of dogs v. cats
and which make better companions.
The fallout from these differences
means that if Not His Real Name and I are going to have a serious
discussion about a serious topic, he's going to have to take the
lead.
Take the other day, for example. He
brought up the topic of man's inability to accept that, at some
point, he is going to die; that our instinct for self-preservation is
driven beyond all logic. By and large, he said, we will fight like
the dickens to avoid talking about death, thinking about death, or
dealing with death in any way, shape or fashion, even though, on some
level, everyone knows they can't avoid it.
“Watching people deal with it,” he
was saying the other morning, “is a lot like watching someone
living in a house that's on fire and hearing them say, 'Yeah. I know
the house's is on fire, but don't you think a new sofa would look
great over there? What about some new drapes?”
It becomes a case where something
important, nay essential, that is, our desire for self-preservation,
actually becomes a bad thing if you think about it. Time we could
spend making a logical transition from robust youth to a necessary
older age is wasted on nostrums and schemes designed to keep us
feeling young, or at the very least, convincing those around us that
we're younger than them.
Now, this is where
Not-His-Real-Name-Walter's big brain really rises to the fore. Just
as the self-preservation battle is reaching a peak such as only a
serious physical break can slow, we're given this sort-of aging
blanket that covers us and forces us to look at and accept certain
things at certain times of our lives.
Under cover of the blanket, we see we
can't run as fast as we once did, let's say. We still carry on the
fight for self-preservation, but with one less tool. Then maybe we
realize we need to take more naps. Arthritis tosses its two-cents
worth in to make it more difficult to open that jelly jar lid. And so
on.
The fight continues, but as all these
little bits and pieces add up, we begin to see that maybe, just
maybe, letting go a little wouldn't be so bad; acknowledging that
there will come a time when death isn't necessarily the horror we've
believed it to be all these years.
Now, this blanket has great value when
you're able to start using it at the correct point in your life. For
it to produce the desired affect, it should be mid-70s or later, when
the parts that aren't working as well as they once did begin to
outnumber the parts that do. Makes sense, right? Who wants to jump
out of bed first thing in the morning yelling, “Hey. It's raining!
I get to battle the arthritis in my knees today!”
So, the fight for self-preservation and
the aging blanket become two essential tools in finding comfort as
you grow older and move towards the inevitable “you know what.”
But, as Walter is apt to do, he points
out that people like myself... those with a major disease that aims
to cut my life short, don't really get full advantage of the aging
blanket. My aches and pains haven't reached anywhere near critical
mass; not even close to the point where there can be comfort waiting
along the road that leads to the end.
Unfortunately, that's as far as our
discussion got: seeing the issue, but not the solution. Still, as
long as he continues to visit cool web sites, progress can be made.
At the same time, I can spend my time watching cute cat videos to
keep my mind off things. Then we can get our big brains back together
and see how far we can go the next time. Stay tuned.
There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere
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