experts are better than you and me

TV is such an outrageous bore yes, a wasteland, indeed a dust bowl. I prefer a book and preferably one with the sort of meandering and melodious whimsies that are otherwise gone from the scene. Whimsies of the meandering sort have been rounded up and mostly murdered by specialists: you know, those neat, tidy machines with acronyms for titles who have worked as diligently as scullery maids to scour every last remnant of old human nature away forever. And ever and ever amen...

Verily, they are the new gods.

The perfect bores are trying to remake the rest of us in their likeness. And of course the media who long ago sided with the one-eyed beast, are complicit in this. They call forth their experts and specialists to gain I suppose an insect's eye view of the ongoing crisis, and stop one as he jogs importantly through the park with his iPod blaring:

"Sire, and what is your field of study?"

"I have a doctorate degree in oneupsmanship, as well as two masters in self-seriousness and self importance."

"My, that's impressive."

"Yes, it is."

"Could you give us your perspective on the ongoing crisis? How does it make you...FEEL?"

"Why of course, little man. When I was importantly earning my all important doctorate degree I ran only with other very very important people..."

"You mean jogging?"

"I was running..."

"Weren't you jogging just now?"

"No, I was running. Running away. I always run away."

"From what?"

"From unimportant people like you..."

"Have to run for a word from our sponsors...Back to you, Katie."


Ah, the busy-ness of experts! They have barely enough time to dress, eat, spritz, jog, tweet their twitteers, piss, poop, admire their reflections and make it to their jobs, jobs that make of them entirely slaves not only to the wage but the wages of their egos. These are the high and mighty, the haughty and aloof who make no time for friends but are the ones who get to lord it over the rest of us because they have an acronym behind their names. Truly they are specialists because, outside their narrow frame of study they stand ignorant before nature and her crowning achievement, the human being. Of course, they have all of eternity to ponder where they went wrong.

I too am cursed with specialty. I am a senior library specialist. This lofty title insists that I can type/lift fifty wpm/lbs routinely while searching the hollows of this labyrinthine karnak for places to hide/sleep/smoke/nap/read or do nothing at all.

There is the art, my friends, lost in this age of frenzy and running away, of busy work [P]iled [H]igher and [D]eeper [and here's your diploma, fool, and forty mules and an acher], yes, the lost art of doing nothing at all, of gazing skyward upon wispy cumulus hallucinations and see the Good Lord smiling benevolently back--tis a wondrous notion. You don't even need to go to college to learn to appreciate it.