Pat Shannan's MUSINGS
FRIENDS DON'T LET FRIENDS THINK
I'd had my first taste of the stuff when I was still in school. Didn't like it. But as I matured, I got hooked. My problem was no problem at first. It started out innocently enough. I began to think at parties now and then just to loosen up. It was fun and stimulating. Inevitably though, one thought let to another, and soon I was more than just a social thinker.
Then I began to think alone, "just to relax," I told myself - but deep down I knew it was more than that. Thinking had become my crutch. Daytime thinking became more and more important to me, and finally I was thinking all the time - even before breakfast.
I began to think on the job. I knew that thinking and employment don't mix, but I couldn't help it. At lunch, I couldn't even eat my sandwich without consuming several thinks, I mean thoughts, along with it. I wouldn't face it at the time, but the truth was I was a no-good thunk. No, not knee-walkin' or commode-huggin', at least not yet. But stumbling and confused? Yeah, no doubt. I was no good. I just spent too much time thinking and couldn't stop.
I began to avoid friends during the noon hour so I could read Thoreau and Kafka. I would return to the office dizzied and confused, asking, "What is it exactly we are accomplishing here?" My colleagues began to avoid me, too, especially when I would issue simple queries such as, "What is air?"
Then, I was totally ostracized that day in the break room when I made the mistake of ruminating out loud, "If the government can create all the money it needs from credit to pay its bills, why does it need our income tax money?" The whole room full rose as one and departed the area without a comment.
Things weren't going so great at home either. One evening I had turned off the TV and asked my wife about the meaning of life. Without a word, she left the house and spent that night at her mother's.
It didn't take long for me to acquire a reputation as a heavy thinker. You know how fast bad news travels. One day the boss called me in and said, "J. P., I like you, and it hurts me to say this, but your thinking has become a real problem. If you don't stop thinking on the job, you're going to have to seek employment elsewhere." Instead of heeding such a harsh warning, I sank into a funky depression and began thinking more heavily. After all, who would not be driven to think, when faced with such life-changing prospects?
I came home early after my conversation with the boss. "Honey," I confessed, "I've been thinking..."
"Aha! I knew it," she said. "I could smell it on your breath! That's it. I'm through with you. I want a divorce!"
"But Honey, surely it's not that serious."
"It is serious," she said, lower lip aquiver. "You think as much as college professors, and college professors don't make much money, so if you keep on thinking we won't have any money!"
"That's a faulty syllogism," I said impatiently, and she, not being a thinker, didn't know what the word meant and began to cry. I'd had enough. I had to get out and be alone.
"I'm going to the neighborhood library," I snarled and stomped out the door. I needed a fix. I knew a good stiff think would make everything okay, at least until tomorrow. I'd already decided, I'll just stay for one, maybe two thinks; no more tonight. Shucks, I can quit thinking anytime I want to, and I'll prove it to 'em.
I headed for the library, in the mood for a big swig of Nietzsche. Flipping the radio talk show stations back and forth from Michael Reagan to Gordon Liddy, I roared into the parking lot and squealed to a stop. (Boy, was I lucky no cop stopped me and cited me for DWT. All I needed was a "Thunk Driving" cite on my permanent record.) Unsnapping my seatbelt with one hand and opening the car door with the other in a single motion, I exited the car and ran up the steps between the squatting lions to the big glass doors. They wouldn't open. I rattled the doors and screamed repeatedly to no one inside. I was too late. The library was closed.
I sank to the ground clawing at the unfeeling glass, whimpering for a six-pack of Sam Adams or just a single shot of Old Jefferson, when a fading poster, pasted inside the glass, caught my eye: "FRIEND, IS HEAVY THINKING RUINING YOUR LIFE?" it asked.
You probably recognize that line. It's the standard slogan from Thinker's Anonymous. In the faint light, I could barely make out the phone number. This is why I am what I am today; a recovering thinker. I never miss a TA meeting. At each meeting we recite nursery rhymes, watch a cartoon video, and read to each other from blank paper.
Each week we share experiences about how we avoided thinking since the last meeting - by spending our leisure time watching sitcoms, Dan Rather, Peter Jennings, or Tom Brokaw; and reading no more than the morning newspaper and TIME magazine. How refreshing it is today to have others do my thinking for me!
The good news is I still have my job, and things are a lot better at home. Somehow, life just began to seem easier, as soon as I stopped thinking. I feel better each morning now than I ever did before. I had forgotten how good it felt to wake up without a hangover from heavy thinking. No more do I go to sleep with my brain numbed and addled with thought. Just last evening I stood in City Park and yelled to whomever would listen, "I DON'T THINK ANYMORE! I AM THINK FREE!" And seventeen slack-jawed dolts stood and applauded. I counted 'em, and I can't tell you how good it felt to shout my newfound freedom to the world and have so many others appreciate me. I slept with a clear head last night and awoke with no headache.
Oh, now don't get me wrong. I'm still quite the party animal. I still take my wife to the social functions, and we are better mixers than ever. She is so proud of me, and I pump up her ego with cool lines like, "This stud's for you!" And she just grins. A great conversation opener with the guys is always, "How 'bout them Dogs?!" But no more do I lower myself to do any thinking. When a fellow simpleton regurgitates up a piece of Al Gore's brilliance, I immediately, without a solitary thought, agree. Last weekend I took along three "Doonesbury" comic strips and was the hit of the party. I broke 'em up when I said, "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him think!"
Ahh, life is so good again. Please remember this day and forever: Friends don't let friends think. ****************
Great God Almighty, Deliver Us of This!
Associated Press reported on April 26th that Ohio's motto since 1959, 'With God, all things are possible,' was declared unconstitutional by a federal appeals court that said the phrase amounts to government endorsement of Christianity." *****************
What's in a Name?
Texas Congressman Tom DeLay, on the morning after the vicious attack on the Gonzales family, blistered the airwaves with his anger: "You bet there will be congressional hearings! I was outraged! I was sickened! And afterwards, I was ashamed!"
But only a week later, after aides delivered poll reports to him, he had calmed his emotions and experienced a miraculous recovery from his sickness. Living up to his name, in true Republican, tap-dancing fashion, Tom then said, "Well, we will have to wait and see before calling hearings."
Like the rest of the Clintonized Republicrats, Delay seems to be influenced by what garners the most votes. (Oops, there I go thinking again. It's not easy to stay on the wagon.)
To inflate the numbers of children killed in gun accidents, gun control advocates include "children" aged 15-19, which of course includes gang members, drug mules and common criminals. But even including "children" who are old enough to be gang members, guns still account for only 2 percent of all accidental deaths. Here are some random comparisons of accidental deaths for all "children" under the age of 20 in one recent year: Cars -- 8,113 deaths Drowning -- 1,269 deaths Smoke and fire -- 723 deaths Mechanical suffocation -- 529 deaths GUNS -- 306 deaths
In 1997, the total deaths from firearms accidents for all ages were 1,500. Meanwhile, 14,900 died in falls and 8,600 accidentally poisoned themselves. 3,300 died from the ingestion of food or some other object. So, according to the statistics, eating poses more than twice the risk of a gun in causing an accidental death. Perhaps we should ban food? At any rate, keeping a firearm in the home is safer than a car in the driveway or a pool in the backyard.
The jeopardy with which one surrounds himself by placing his body in the hands of an AMA doctor should also be considered. 700,000 American physicians cause the accidental death of 120,000 patients a year, according to the Seattle, Washington Post Intelligencer. Meanwhile, weapons in the hands of 80,000,000 gun owners cause only 1,500 accidental deaths for all age groups. I believe this says that the highly trained and government-licensed medical practitioners are approximately 9,000 times more dangerous than the clumsiest and most bumbling of gun handlers.
Throughout the whole course of history of this once-great nation, has there ever been an election year when Americans had a worse choice of the lesser of two evils? Oh, where have you gone Pat Paulson, now that we need you? This would have been your year, buddy!
"Mars is essentially in the same orbit... Mars is somewhat the same distance from the Sun, which is very important. We have seen pictures where there are canals, we believe, & water. If there is water, that means there is oxygen. If oxygen, that means we can breathe." --Vice President Al Gore, 8/11/94