What is this need I have to be entertained these days? I suffer from it on a daily basis. Like it’s bad or something to be bored. What’s wrong with just sitting around and doing nothing?
I wonder if the rest of America is like this. I wonder if most people are like me, with a deep seeded need to be entertained every minute they are not working. Given that the idiot unions gave us a 40-hour work week (no more, no less), that leaves us with way too much time on our hands. And don’t get me started on government skool hours.
It’s like this whole society needs to see something that triggers a pleasure response in our heads. I don’t know what it is, but it’s fun to have. Heck, I can’t even write this blog without music playing the background (right now its Ride the Lightning by Metallica).
Perhaps its human nature. If we aren’t doing something to keep busy, we have to have something, anything, to fill up our minds in order to avoid contemplating the meaningless of our existence. After all, if the wisest man who ever lived declared everything to be meaningless (or “vanity” in the ESV, although the Hebrew word was more akin to “vapor”), what hope do we have? I mean, there is no point in doing anything, so why bother.
And that’s where the junk brain food comes into play. Reality shows, sitcoms, stand-up comedians, superhero cartoons, romance novels, monster movies, monster trucks, talk radio, dumb YouTube videos, internet reviewers, teen scream movies, teeny bopper music, heavy metal music, bluegrass, late-night talk shows, primetime cable news shows, blog posts, online forums, etc., etc., etc. It seems that there is a never-ending search for that ultimate and constant euphoria we get from forgetting to think about our lives.
Maybe that’s why the Greek philosophers all just died off. They realized the pointlessness of their actions and decided to form a government union instead. I suppose extorting the producers is much more fun than realizing that life sucks.
I suppose this is why I can’t ever see myself retiring, no matter how old I get. I guess I’ll retire when I get butt cancer and find myself too weak to get out of bed. God-Willing, that won’t be until I’ve annoyed and alienated everyone who has ever given a flying rat’s ass about me. Heck, I’m annoying my wife and she’s still around for some reason. Maybe she finds some empty and worthless value in my existence that I can’t fathom.
So Jack Kevorkian died in his eighties. I’m surprised he made it that long, not because I believed that God would be about due punishment on him, but because he said he regretted being born. I’m sure his mother would have been so appreciative of that considering that pregnancy sucks. I don’t know how you women tolerate it. And yet, it took a man to invent forceps. Thousands of years of woman-centric child bearing and then some guy comes along and says, “It’s stuck? I’ll get my salad spoons and pry that little shit right out,” much to the chagrin of the midwife.
But Kevorkian obviously say no point in his existence. But he wasn’t brave enough to follow up with his philosophy because he died of old age rather than poison gas in the back of his van. Heck, he could’ve just closed the garage door and left the engine running. No one would have been shocked really.
But I guess we’re just supposed to keep busy. After all, when you’re busy with something, you rarely have time to think about life, the universe, and everything. Well, I’ve got to go and find something to do now before I realize that nobody read this.
Damnit.