Straight from the horse’s mouth “You can be UNBELIEVABLY arrogant”. I have no grounds to deny this, and take great comfort from the word “can” which implies that at other times I am NOT insufferable.
One good thing about being arrogant to the point it’s noticed is that you take others, arrogant too or even more so, in your stride. Not one feather ruffled. That’s how you distinguish the true arrogant from its fake cousin. The newcomer, the wannabe – they have a point to prove. A veteran arrogant has nothing to prove. Because he already has. Not least that he has no need to be approved of, liked or anything else that constitutes human coinage.
Before you answer and tell me that, naturally, YOU are not arrogant ever, in the slightest, indeed abhor the notion, try and think first how you actually define “arrogance”. Trust me, what is one person’s arrogance is another’s being self assured.
To keep you from your more urgent tasks in hand here is another one of those questions on ethics which plague me. And if I have mentioned this before (not that you’ll remember) please put it down to my willingness to repeat myself.
So there you are. At the fresh fish counter. It’s all glistening, enticing, a cook’s dream. However, enter the unfortunate shopper (that’s me) who is also well informed about decimating stocks of various species in the oceans. Great. Now what?
I am not proud of myself which is, most likely, why I seek your thoughts yet fact is, I think to myself: “That particular fish is already DEAD. Why should I let it go to waste?” Yes, I say to the fish monger, pointing to my bounty, that’ll be lovely. Thank you. Have I just proven the law of supply and demand? Sugar. Nevertheless, the fish was ALREADY dead. Someone has to eat it.
Of course, one could spin this idea to the less savoury. Think Moby Dick, indeed any prolonged adventure at sea when the Vasco da Gamas and Columbuses of this world set sail to discover new lands and spices. There you are at sea. Since you are all already on the brink of death why prolong the agony by not eating your past-his-live-by mate? And what if you were vegetarian or vegan at sea? Yet hungry? Would you toss your principles overboard to stay alive? Actually, come to think of it – and I am a connoisseur of seafaring factual and fictional accounts – why do those who do resort to eat their own always go for the weedy first instead of the meatiest? Such a waste.
PS Please do note that I posed TWO questions/dilemmas (for the price of one post). No need to keep it short. Just pour yourself on this page. I will gnaw on any bone you throw me.
Just when you think yourself as snug as a bug in a hug with, more or less, all questions of ethics and their answers under the belt one sneaks up on you.
Holy cannoli – the noose tightens.
This, drawn to my attention a few minutes ago, is so awful I am in knots.
For sake of argument you have to assume you have more than one child. You find yourself at the mercy of the elements and you can only save ONE of your children. Which one would you save? This is so awful I can barely get my head round it. Naturally, as one does, I cast my eye back to my family of origin. Who would either of my parents of four have saved? I dare say, being quite a bit older than my siblings and therefore stronger, both my mother and my father would have left me to fend for myself. But that still leaves them with three to choose from. I’d rather not pursue this line of thought. It’s unsettling beyond belief. At least that’s tonight’s nightmare guaranteed. Not that members of my family normally play much of a role in my dreams.
Any crutches of your own thoughts on this truly horrendous scenario welcome.
There is a blogger. Let’s rephrase that. There is someone, somewhere, who blogs.
He has surpassed himself. It’s not even him being selfish. It’s him being thoughtless. Inconsiderate.
Yes, so come early December – and now he has got his “overcoat” out – he laments that December’s temperature, so far, is way above “cold”. One may say “warm”. He wants “cold”. God damnit, and if he wants cold he wants cold. Till March. May Bambi’s April showers piss on him.
Why do I even note this? Insert derisory snort. Because people like him with his beer and his whisky on tap don’t give a monkey’s thought to all those homeless, sleeping in doorways, ignored by passers-by, kicked by drunkards around midnight, who might, just might, be truly grateful that December isn’t as cold as Mr Blogger and his overcoat wish it to be. Those who can’t afford to heat the place if indeed they have a roof over their heads. Those who don’t eat because maybe it’s better to starve than to freeze. Those who don’t have a winter coat.
Plumbers are hard to come by on Christmas Eve. May Mr Blogger’s overcoat stand him in good stead. And be moth eaten next December.
Looney, his sceptiscm and the law of probability notwithstanding – November is unfolding as I hoped it wouldn’t. Normally I rate reliability highly. Not when it comes to November. I had such high hopes for a nice surprise. November being out of character – just for once.
Yes, so lost my grip. Not metaphorically – though it can only be a matter of time before even I hang up my coat of tattered nerves; but literally. I literally lost my grip.
At times like this one wishes one lived in the “United” States of America and their sue you for damages culture.
It’s ok. I am sure I’ll mend. What I find distasteful, and always will, how people so easily go on the DEFENSIVE. Where my fall occurred it was the premises’ owner’s utter negligence. When I first reported this to his shop it was mainly to prevent the same occurring to someone else. I don’t chime in with my father’s take on humankind, namely that x % are pretty stupid. However, I will concede that some people’s reasoning will leave a lot to be desired.
Never mind. Upshot being that, in my estimate, the hassle of getting recompense for pain and loss of earnings isn’t worth the battle. Rarely do I carry utter disdain in my heart – I offered the guy a jokey and amicable “settlement”. No doing. How very short sighted of him. And I am not the vengeful kind.
Once upon a time I was a homeowner with all the responsibility that entails. Not least, in Britain, to respect the boundaries your neighbours will impose. Though not British, when in Britain, I will do (within reason) as the British do – or, at least, try not to ridicule what’s bred in their bone. And as much as the Brits’ homes are their castles (complete with a mortgage that even a drawbridge groans under) as much they do like borders.
Yes, borders. As in walls, fences. One of my more far fetched theories that the reason the British prefer dogs to cats that cats do not respect fences. If they want to climb up and jump over one they jolly well will.
So back to Trump and neighbourly etiquette. If my neighbour wants to put a fence or a hedge or whatever else round his patch of immaculate lawn thus blocking his view that’s fine. What’s not fine, indeed unacceptable, is to ask me to pay for it. That’s Trump’s plan on Mexico. The guy has no manners.
Before I take this post into a direction even I find beyond satire I’ll leave you to do your own fencing.
Despite the years marching on I have not grown into a cynic. Thank dog for one of his smaller mercies.
Which is why, yesterday morning, I was chilled to the bone. And wished I were five again to run to either my mother or grandmother to make it all better, nay, take it all away.
I quote “Ask me what you want to know, but I won’t tell you the truth, of that you can be sure,” saying she liked the passage [of another author].
“Of that you can be sure” … Breathe in, breathe out.
Let’s leave aside who “she” who “liked the passage” is. Doesn’t matter. What matters is the content of the quote (incidentally by an author I have on my shelf for good reason, namely, Italo Calvino). Who knows in what context Calvino said those words. But HER liking not telling the truth? And this on publishing her AUTObiography?
The pole of my esteem I hold others in I don’t grease that much. One needs to make allowances, and that way most stay up there high. Those hell bent on getting down can always jump or use their own spit. But, by golly, when someone’s spouting chills me (see above) to the bone I am on red alert. Whoever “she” is I’d not trust her with my frying pan.
Which reminds me: Why, when in court, are even atheists, agnostics, expected to swear on the bible to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth? One would hope so. But why on the Bible? Being made to swear on your grandmother’s grave possibly more effective in making you think twice before bending that “truth” to your advantage.
Leaving France’s fashion and mind police aside for a moment, has any of you ever had dealings with home grown and/or police on foreign ground?
Don’t be shy about it. If you have robbed a bank or dug up your grandmother’s grave to pawn her wedding ring, obviously that’s private. And doesn’t count. Desperate times warrant not so savoury measures.
I mean the common garden gnome variety run in with the law. And are you jumpy as soon as the blue lights flash and the siren howls?
I am incensed – for many reasons – about France’s burkini ban.
So we, in the sacred “WEST”, so concerned about women’s “rights”, come out and tell a woman what (not) to wear in public? Are people actually ticking alright? Four guys (police – law inforcers) standing around a woman on some beach making her take off clothes? In public? If this isn’t outrageous I don’t know what is.
It is violation. It’s indecent. It’s invasion of privacy.
Anyway, let me lighten up and reverse this. In the name of beauty, aesthetics and general psycho hygiene I’d like men AND women – particularly of the less than life enhancing bulk – to cover up. Don’t insult my senses. See how ridiculous this is? You can make up shit on any compost heap. Don’t let it stink out the place.
“Just because you are paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you”.
I am not paranoid – and whoever recently tried to razor me down can go and stuff themselves in their chamber of horrors. However, and remember, both Orwell and Huxley are my shining lights in the way older brothers are, I can’t help feeling uneasy at times. It’s one of the reasons I prefer paying by cash. That way no one can trace the purchase of a sachet of cinnamon back to ME. Though, naturally, the person, any person, buying anything, will have been caught on CCTV. Yes, CCTV … What actual purpose does CCTV serve other than making you feel watched, uneasily, in the most innocent of pursuits?
In the line of duty I recently had the pleasure of talking to many a security guy working in retail. Being the affable me that I am I have been told things no one should know. And few will.
Upshot being – these days there is little hiding; not even under cover of the night. Think about that next time you do something you wouldn’t do in public. It really is the pits. Cat burglars take note. You will set off the alarm. As indeed I did last Sunday morning. All I wanted was some fresh air – walking round our nearby park at eight in the morning. Then – in misguided notion of doing my civic duty – I got caught up in a bit of a nightmare. Deafening alarm relentlessly doing what alarms do. Not that anyone showed up. Not at all. I could have cleared out the place and made a profit. Instead of which … Let’s hope that those of you who believe in Karma (as does the Angel) are right.
Those of you who are astute enough to point out some of the contradictions in what I wrote: I am well aware of them. Which makes the whole thing even more ironic. And not in a good way.