Stranger Things

 

I knew this monkey once who wanted to be a climatologist.

        Overlooking the fact that he could not only talk, but could actually convey to me a vocational aspiration, I said, “Cool”, all the while thinking what a lame job that would be.

        Why do I do that?  I say things to be polite, but it isn’t representative of how I truly feel.  There’s a name for people like me, but let’s not get into that whole name-calling thing.

        Let’s focus for the moment on the talking monkey.  (Where’s Darwin when you need him?)

Along the evolutionary scale of societal growth, I don’t see that we’ve stepped very far from the Scopes trial.  Our Nation still stands divided on the theories, even though the right to teach both sides has been resolved.  Teaching that which has its foundation in speculation is a topic for another day, although it lends itself nicely to my whole lack-of-growth premise.

        Today we seem to have the center of our attention on technology, and high-tech communication, while the rest of our knowledge base deteriorates into an apathetic, stagnating, non-carbonated persona, waiting for the alarm to go off.   Am I right, or am I right?

        Along with that there is major frustration when looking at the entire picture.  The lack of answers to philosophical questions may in fact be an inherent part of the human makeup, designed to trigger mental growth, all the while keeping us in check.  It’s the old, “Come here, come here, go away” - simultaneous, contradictory emotional attitude.  A social schizophrenia, if you will.   

        But I digress.  Having a monkey diagnose the weather and ultimately being contracted to spew forth his or her educated opinion over the airwaves…

        Hey, wait.  I think they’re already doing this in Detroit.

        The latest Doppler 7, Winter Storm Warning broadcast over televisions, radios, and capturing newspaper headlines, predicted us to be buried alive in snow.   According to their predictions, our houses should have collapsed from the weight of so much snow.  By all accounts I should be a squished, little mess, sprawled out under shards of mortgage bits, struggling to reach the send button on my keyboard.

 

 

 

 zc

 

 Written back when I was much older and living in very cold weather.