In order to appear mysterious I rarely write of politics. I prefer to leave such heavy lifting to the deconstructionists. This feels more charitable, like distributing bananas to chimpanzees. There is a fear factor I will admit to; would you invite Lois Lerner to audit your finances because you just had to express some stupid political opinion? Such an act would be like offering a chimpanzee unfettered access to the banana bin; there’s going to be a mess when the chimp is through.
Lois and the left take their opinions very seriously; everything must be parsed and sorted, categorized and filed, documented and stored. Organized. Take sex. The left is curious; was it consensual? Did you get that consent in writing and notarized by the department of sexual liaisons? Did the sex occur on the campus of a public university? Did the woman feel used after the event? Was the sex between two (insert hopeful grin) people of the same sex? Pass go, collect two hundred dollars, and meet us at 10:00 in the town square to march for reproductive rights. Like all things left, it’s complicated and needs to be organized.
Conservatives generally have sex and then go downstairs and make a sandwich. If it was particularly good sex the couple might share the sandwich while watching a bit of “His Girl Friday”. This is why conservatives weigh more than liberals; they talk less and eat more sandwiches.
I like this subject and can offer more opinion that you are not interested in. You know how computers have those strange programs running in the background? People have them as well. Take a man enjoying a typically productive day at work; he performs surgery in the morning followed by lunch and then he defends two highly experienced murderers in court. On one level he is concentrating on his job, but a background program has him plotting to get his wife into a compromising position around 8:00 tonight. This program, what one might refer to as a default setting, has been chugging along since at least an hour before the productive man awoke. It has a head start, if you will. He may save his patient in the morning and gain acquittal for the heinous murderers in the afternoon, but the day won’t really be fulfilling unless the background objective is gained. He is hoping for a sandwich, you see.
Let’s stay with this man I just made up because outside of the lawyering, the doctoring, and the being productive, I share many of his characteristics. Let me visit his wife’s day for just a moment. She too is productive, directing an ad campaign for an auto manufacturer all morning and teaching physics at a major university after lunch. She is concentrating as well, but underneath there are background programs running. On the first of these levels she is thinking that if she could only get her closet organized she might finally be happy. On a second and even more background level she is thinking that if she could only get her husband organized she might finally be happy. On a third and even even more more background level she is thinking that if only the whole damn world would get organized she could finally be freakin’ happy. There are still many other levels in this woman to be explored, but I don’t want to go there.
These many levels evidence the fact that women are much deeper than men.
I leave her now to point out that she confuses two very different words: Organized and Happy. People don’t sing “Organized birthday to you”, or wish you “Organized Holidays” in December. That’s just dumb, and being a guy I know dumb. Here are two simple equations that explain this principle:
- Life + Organized = Organized Life
- Life + Sex= Happy Life
Think about it, are you happy after organizing or are you happy after sex? I’m surprised you had to have someone explain this to you.
Now you know why that man I made up in the fourth paragraph is a raging alcoholic who runs shrieking into the dark at 9:00 every night, and why he poses a risk to patients and murderers everywhere. He merely wants to be happy, she wants to be organized.
So there you have ground zero. He wants sandwiches; she wants the banana bin organized. As if the chimpanzees didn’t exist.
Once, at a market, I saw the cutest baby ever, not more than 5 weeks old, accompanied by her luminously proud father who was further accompanied by his once blushing bride. Being old I moved in, hoping to get a little pinch of the cheek – the baby’s, you pig – because that is how old people gain extra moments of life; each pinch of youth extracted between thumb and forefinger can amount to as much as 12 minutes of extra life. It’s true. This explains the maniacal look upon our craggy old faces as we move in. Just as I got within earshot, arm extended, the bride turned to the beaming brand new daddy and said flatly “We have got to get organized.” She wasn’t my wife, so I ran away. He didn’t run, thereby accepting a sentence of 25 to life at hard organizing. And she is never going to be happy. The equation proves so. And therefore he is never going to eat the amount of sandwiches required to make him happy. The math is all against them.
So I rarely write of politics because it makes me mad, and people who are mad will stupidly trade sandwiches for organized bananas in a bin.