Saturday, April 12, 2003

Something happier...

I want to think of something happier. My sweet chico is sad today because he worries about the miserable state of the world. I said to him the other day: I want to be happy. I think I will stop thinking about politics of any kind or anything serious that I cannot do anything about so I can be happy (dream on---I would have done this years ago if it were possible).

He said: "Isn't that the lesson of 1984? That you can be happy if you don't think about politics?"
"As long as we have our choco-rations we'll be OK."

Oh, he's so cute. Still, not quite cute enough. I do believe that we can be distracted from our morose lefty quagmire if we can just have a fat little baby. "These hairless, fat clam eaters were our ancestors."

My husband is just gettin' too big to cuddle. "You go up there and get me a toddler!" raising arizona toddler.wav

(Get the other wavs here)

Of course it might be cheaper to get oneself a baby substitute.

I admit that babies might be stupid.

The problem of course is what those cute stupid babies grow up to be... But not always! At least all the members of my family are cute adults. Some are even pudgy, cute adults. So there is hope.

It's too late anyway. I dream of my cuddly little non-existent offspring day and night.

Conceptual error...

It is very annoying when you get caught up in certain debates and then instead of posting on charming and whimsical topics as you are supposed to, you find yourself posting on grim and grey political issues...


The main thing that gets me going is conceptual error or bad reasoning. Plain old falsity can get you going...but when people believe they have proved something and at the same time used reasoning that cannot pass muster in ordinary circumstances then it is hard for me to hold my tongue.

I think this whole: "The protesters were wrong!" claim is getting to me for that reason.

This seems to be the argument: People in Iraq are happy now they got rid of Saddam Hussein. Therefore anyone who opposed the war to get rid of Saddam Hussein must have been wrong. The assumption there would be: If you bring about a good end then whatever means you use are automatically justified.

The protesters did not deny that getting rid of Saddam Hussein--in isolation--was a good end. Instead they questioned the means (and also the many dangerous side effects of the war). They didn't think it was so great to get rid of Saddam Hussein that you are then permitted to do something wrong to do so.

They thought going to war was wrong. You can disagree with that idea but you can't say that success getting rid of an evil dictator automatically makes the war morally or legally correct. In other words, you still have to argue the war wasn't wrong in the first place to show the protesters were wrong. Everyone knew that the U.S. would be successful at eliminating Saddam Hussein and I do believe most protesters were hoping against hope it would be quick and easy.

They were still against it. Sorry Christopher the debate was never about how 'easy' it would be.

Some examples of doing wrong for a good outcome: Wouldn't getting rid of crime--all crime in the U.S.--be a good end? But what if I proposed a chip to plan in people's brains to make them incapable of committing crimes?

Brave New World proposes a society in which everyone is happier through social control but we don't want to live in that society because we don't think that end is worth the means of social control it takes to bring it about.

If a man held 500 people hostage in a building with a bomb and we know that if we bring his little daughter in front of the building and torture her he will give up--should we do that?

No--because that's something so wrong that we shouldn't do it even if it saves people's lives.

I could save millions of lives right now if I managed to get my hands on Bill Gates' money and use it for water purification, small businesses, famine relief, health care programs, etc. If you think the end justifies the means then you should be all for that--what is one guy's billions of dollars against millions of lives?

Not for it? I didn't think so.

(I am of course but I doubt if the pro-war people would be.)

So even if one grants that something good has been done by getting rid of Saddam Hussein (which is pretty obvious) and even if one grants that most Iraqi people are going to have very good lives from now on (which is less obvious but we can hope that's true) you could still deny that the war was (a) legal or (b) moral. It is far from clear that things have turned out well at this point. But it is consistent with rejecting the war to hope that things turn out as well as they possibly can for Iraq.

I wish people would use better arguments to support their views--even if what you believe is false can you just not be stupid?

Friday, April 11, 2003

About so many things you want to know you find yourself in the dark...

Of course for me many of these things are: What does the future hold? What is in the mind of God? How many angels dance on the head of a pin? What's he doing in there? (A Tom Waits song...) Am I fucking up: In my career? In the course of my life? Morally? Spiritually? And: How exactly does one avoid fucking up? What is the secret answer to avoid the terrifying pitfalls of life?

But then there are the more mundane things...

What are the numbers? Ask the Iraqometer

From: The Salty Vicar

What the hell else is happening? Everything is wrong gives you the top 10 news stories crowded out of the media by falling statues...

Are the spiders planning something scary?

Thursday, April 10, 2003

Hey! The new Iraqi currency already came out...

From: Saddam's Cyber Palace

Alternative Careers

Many times I just want to run away. I’ve always suffered from this fantasy about flight. I used to dream of amnesia. Amnesia seemed the greatest thing you could get. Especially if you happened to wash up on the shore of an island in the South Pacific.

Inhabited by hospitable people wearing extremely comfortable pareos and eating a high starch diet. Lots of comfort food.

I used to think that I could become a bartender on the island of Moorea. Especially around finals time. I imagined myself as some hot saucy island girl in a halter top (at first) and later then a salty old woman with many tales to tell.

It was the only way I could get myself to take those finals—to assume they meant nothing.

I feel no shame at my cowardice about my desire to escape the bad things of life. What’s the point of gazing when your gaze does no good anyway. It seems like self-punishment.

It doesn’t work in any case to flee and of course any sane person cannot help but feel torment now.

Even though I know this I often dream of alternative lives—ones that free me from the burden of personal responsibility. I’m glad I didn’t carry out my plan to join the army. I often entertain the thought of entering a convent or joining a religious cult. I also thought a women’s prison might be a nice change in spite of the downside.

I just had a dream I was in a co-ed prison. It was really posh and didn't smell bad at all. And I was miserable. I cried all the time. J. Lo was in there with me. She was super-sweet. The nicest prisoner ever (Of course she wasn't famous or anything in the dream.) Turns out she had collaborated with Greek terrorists and had to do time. It was very unfair for both of us. We went to prison for being nice! See, she was helping the illiterate Greek terrorists and I was sneaking people in from Mexico across the US border. Anyway, I hated prison and cried and cried in the dream. Um. I think it might be about my job.

My husband being a sensible man often tells me the down side but sometimes he goes along with my dreams. For example, I was telling him that lately becoming a heroin addict seemed like a nice idea. He said “Could you wait until after you get pregnant and then have the baby? The baby will be healthy but then if you get tired of the baby they’ll take it away from us.”

Oh we’re so evil. We want a baby but we keep wondering why they don’t have such things as baby tranquilizers. God, I sure could have used tranquilizers as a child—I was so high strung and willful I drove my parents crazy. They would yell and lose their tempers. Think of all the trauma we might have been spared had they slipped me a valium once in a while.

No, really, I will be a good mother. I cared for many children in my life and I was very responsible and nurturing they tell me now that they are older. I can’t do the perfect mom thing but all the kids I knew with the perfect moms really did grow up to be heroin addicts. Whereas I, with parents who used to leave me in the car all night because they forgot me in the backseat after I fell asleep on the way home, merely joke about being a heroin addict. I can only conclude that neglectful parenting is the best thing for children.

Wednesday, April 09, 2003

The pop ups for cameras

I'm too lazy to go reading my archives but I did wonder what those damn cameras were for if not for spying on people in some exceedingly creepy way...

Thanks to Matthew at Defective Yeti I see they have another use I did not consider...

Amazing Patriot Act 2! And you even get sent somewhere so use the 'click here' button...

Self day...

According to 'Self' magazine today, April 9th is Self Day

nude before mirror Klossowski

velasquez venus at her mirror

Happy Self Day! I'll bet you forgot to celebrate self day...Did you forget to be a self today?

It's so unfair...What about Buddhists? Do they get a no-self day?

(According to 'Girls Are Pretty' today is wedding day. "And by this I mean, if you get married on any day but today it will not work out. I know this is short notice but I hope, for the sake of your marriage, that you got married today, or are getting married tonight. Otherwise, you can either call the whole thing off and avoid a lot of pain and regret way down the road..." )

But the best day was April 2nd: What's it going to take it to make it back to bed day... Like self day, I'm pretty sure that every day is what it takes to get back to bed day for me.

Truly--the only way I can ever get out of bed and leave the house is by telling myself I only have to be out for 10 hours and then I can come home and go under the covers again. It works...usually.

Buddhist humor!

I love jokes where the punch line is "A thousand pounds of flax!" (OK, I made that up.) But you can be confident of the lighthearted nature of your beliefs when the jokes have lines like "Having thus spoken the Son of Heaven concluded the Great Debate."

Monks gloat over Yoga championship

I guess 'self day' is not a universal holiday...In fact, I think it must be very culturally specific. When is 'other' day I wonder?

It's 11:30 PM and self day is almost over alas. I'm trying to think of how to celebrate. I think I'll spend the next half an hour looking in a mirror and saying my name over and over and over.

No, I better not. That would remind me of a bad acid trip I had once.

Can't think of a way to celebrate self day...Maybe I'll read Descartes before going to bed or something?

And yet may it not perhaps be the case that these very things which I am supposing to be nothing [e.g., "that structure of limbs which is called a human body"], because they are unknown to me, are in reality identical with the "I" of which I am aware? I do not know, and for the moment I shall not argue the point, since I can make judgements only about things which are known to me. (Med. 2, AT 7:27)

Since I was writing about my brother's tequila drinking

It brought back some memories of my own wasted youth (which in fact was the name of a popular band at the time).

Here is one of the main things I recall: Self-destruction in the form of insanity, drug addiction or any other socially unacceptable forms of deviancy was highly prized. Oh, how I envied my friends who lacked parental supervision and could utterly demolish their lives by running away from home and living in squats or becoming addicts, etc.

Hmmmm. What happened? That seems real bad to me now.
What the ?!?!!?

What if Fox news had been around during other historical events?

Here's the crazy thing: I watched it. I went into a convenience market (Ok it was a liquor store!) and they were in there watching Fox news. Yeah, I'd heard about it. But nothing prepares you for the real thing. I watched it for five minutes. And in that five minutes there were things that I literally could not believe. For example, one of the women (she has big teeth and very thin lips and bleached blonde hair) said something like "Yes, there will be a lot of casualties. But at least for now we can enjoy seeing the troops as they enter Baghdad. She actually said 'enjoy'...Are wars enjoyable? They reported it as if they were talking about sports. In fact, the exact same way they talk about sports. She said "We'll return with more footage of the troops and analysis...." Etc.

The war will be right back after this commercial break. Are people thinking: I have to pee! When's halftime?

Alright, I know, I know. This is hashed and re-hashed. Why go over such things time and again. Well, they are so utterly bizarre. No, really...I need to know: Is this some kind of crazy dream or is it a satiric movie? Every day I am amazed and horrified at how completely weird everything is...

For lack of a better word.

Tuesday, April 08, 2003

Sometimes you don't want the kids to turn out like you....

I was sick and then I talked to my youngest brother on the phone. For some reason he decided to tell me a bit about his life even though we mostly talk politics or gossip about our family. Somehow I've had the impression that he is completely straight and never drinks or does drugs.

I just found out from him his drink of choice is tequila. He can do 9 shots. Eeeek.

Oh, it takes such willpower not to say noooooo....I understand parents so well. I thought I would lull him into a false sense of security by making him think I was not terrified for him now.

Then he'll tell me shit. I'm not following the advice of the ads on those incredibly annoying posters: Or maybe I am? I think perhaps those posters encourage you to subtly pump your kids for information. Oh, I need not worry. My parents are bossy enough for 10 of me.

Judging from my own experience I suppose I could realistically say something like: Toke up...but be sure not to let the GPA fall.

There is this illusion that if you simply nag your children you will control their behavior. The worry I felt finding out even that itty bitty thing was hard to hide. I can't freak about this stuff. I've gone through this with all my siblings. The desire to keep them little since that seems safer. They grew up and he's the last.

I think I secretly want him to be a baby again. He was the most beautiful little boy. He's still beautiful. He makes me laugh so hard. When I told him I missed it when he was little he said "What, you don't like me now?" He has this great delivery.

I try to be the 'cool sister.' I think they sort of know that I am a worrywart but they always do tell me things they don't tell my parents. I don't get to know everything.

The think I'm the good one even though I was dropping acid at his age and spending the nights sleeping in the back seats of cars and things (but telling my parents I was at a friend's house). I never got caught and I never tell them the truth (so they won't be like me). To all in my family (except perhaps my middle sister who did hear some reports from friends) they regard me as a paragon of virtuous behavior.

In Mexican culture the eldest child has a lot of power and can tell the younger ones what to do. They are required to obey you. But with power comes responsibility and if your siblings screw up or have problems it is your fault and you are supposed to fix it. You are kind of like the middle manager and the parents are more like the corporation. If you set a bad example and something terrible goes wrong then you are at fault--probably for life. I don't get the blame because I did all the 'right' stuff.

But I didn't want to go so far as to actually be good. Thus, I had to be extremely good at being sneaky.

Now I'm finding out my youngest brother is just like me--unlike my other siblings who were outright rebellious he is the 'good' one and does his bad stuff on the sly. Like me, he steals the parents liquor and they have no idea.

I think that hearing about all these kids fighting in this war who are roughly his age is making me want to grab him and take him to some desert island with some castle and no draft. If this is how I am as a sister I worry how I'll be as a parent. It's frightening to love someone so much. All these people with guns who are being sent to kill or be killed were once sweet little boys.

When I get up the guts I will 'click here to enter...'

Monkey Heaven!
Dumb things I did...Feel free to use them if you don't mind looking really stupid...

I posted an excuse once about how I gave myself a severe burn with a coffee press (which I am using for later. I didn't use the excuse. I decided to save it for an emergency.) I'm too lazy to link to the whole story but you get the idea.

OK--I did another dumb thing today and I thought it might come in handy for a day you need off work. I poured this stuff called 'oxyclean' into the sink over a stained shirt. ( can tell, huh? Sometimes I forget to wear all black to hide the stains.) Then the dust floated up and got into my nose...Causes burns on contact with mucous membranes! Fortunately I was near water and did not receive major injuries. I might have though...and this shows that it is possible at least.

Yeah! Try it (no, don't)...but you can use it in some lie sometime, right?

Then I remember this time when I was consolidating my spices and I accidentally got cayenne pepper in my eyes and nose. I mean: Huge amounts of cayenne pepper. I could not see, I could not breathe, etc.

Of course, that isn't the thing you are likely to do in the morning before work. But shirt de-staining and coffee burns are much more likely...

My husband argues vehemently that these elaborate incidents make bad excuses. I should keep it simple, he says.

But they really happen...Why doesn't that make them sound true? They ARE true! And particularly plausible for anyone who knows me. Sometimes he makes me feel so...guilty...for lying. Especially when I forget that I am actually lying and assume that the probable can be the possible and confusingly assume the possible has become actual. If I lie and say I am sick I often become sick.

Well, at least I find myself sleeping the whole day. And that goes against my basic principles with respect to excuse-making.

It's not my fault that these things tend to happen to me over the weekend. For example, I got sick during my vacation. Can't I use those sick days later to get out of work? It seems only fair.

Of course, the problem with using these excuses is that they are only something a completely spaced out, inattentive and clutzy person would do. Also: Possibly people may draw the conclusion you aren't too smart. And as I posted sometime a long time ago the best excuse for getting out of work is one that does not cast doubts on your ability to be productive and successful. So you might want to think twice before using them in sequence.

Monday, April 07, 2003

And if you think my free-floating love fest is cheesy...

Well then fuck you!

You can see how embarassed I am. I can't help it! I can't help this shit. I'm a freak. What can I say? Screw you if you don't like it.

Please recall that: I take responsibility for nothing. This is due to feeling responsible for everything. Since my belief that I am responsible for everything was overwhelming I decided to eschew any responsibility. However, I'm hoping that my charming tendency to confess will make you absolve me of blame. You'll realize I blame myself first and then neglect to chide or upbraid me.

If my bla bla does nothing it will help you fashion good excuses...and ways to get out of trouble. That's about all I have to offer. (Are your expectations now lowered and thus you'll cut me slack?)

I hate myself when I take myself seriously but then sometimes I can't help it and take myself seriously. All I can say is: The world is serious. And I know that I'm a fool. But at least I'm not self-righteous, right?

OK, sometimes I am self-righteous. But at least I know it, right?

Does that count? No? Oh, well. It was worth a shot.

Once again, I'm so glad I have no comments.
Funky Hate, Funky Love

In general, I realize that my political coevals—my posse of leftist friends-- and the people whose ideas I tend to gravitate to have a certain perspective… they are angry and see evil everywhere. (Of course, they don’t use the word evil. I’m not sure what word they would use, actually. They don’t like the word ‘injustice.’ Hmmm. I’ll have to ask them. Exploitation?)

It isn’t that there isn’t a reason to be angry. And it isn’t that there isn’t evil everywhere.

I fear what such anger or hatred could do to me or to all of us. Thinking about what is happening in this war could cause me to hate my own government, to hate all the media outlets, to hate those who staff and support the media outlets, to hate the people making money off all this, even to hate the misguided people who think this is anything but a horribly unjust war. To hate the politicians who are afraid of losing the next election for speaking out against the war. And especially: To hate the politicians on television and their bloated dusty gray faces and their yapping mouths that only justify what will turn out to be indiscriminate slaughter. It could become this outward ripple of hatred…it could go on to encompass millions.

When you hate, you are at the center of the ripple I suppose. Although hate is like love in that it also transports you, gives you purpose and lets you forget yourself? It is addicting and has its own special pleasure.

Some people would say this is good. It’s good to hate. Hate distances you from the hateful. Hate motivates you to act. Hate shows you are on the right side. Hate purifies us and removes the disgusting thing we despise from our soul. If I hate them, then I am not them nor like them.

I think: Hate blinds you. Hate destroys your soul with its fury and violence. Hate gives you an excuse for inhumanity. Hate can make you no better than what you hate. I am like them in one way since I am like everyone human. If I forget this I may become less human.

Oh, I guess today I could also hate those people at ANSWER that sent me this sickening and inflammatory email painting all U.S. soldiers as sadistic murderers following a policy of explicit murder. What makes me sick is that it is such an obvious attempt to politically capitalize on a tragedy. What makes me sick is that they’ll make their lemonade from the death of thousands of people—Hooray! An opportunity to show more youngsters they must get rid of capitalism! They can’t wait until more people are dead to radicalize the populace and are jumping on the bandwagon now. It was written in a disgustingly misleading way and contained deceptive statements that amount to lies. I’d post it but why bother?

Except what I experience now is mostly love instead of hate. I don’t know why. I am ashamed when I think about what my leftist friends would think about this: I have developed this strange and embarrassing secret practice of feeling love towards the people in the war and towards specific Iraqis and American soldiers who are described in the newspaper—whether they are named or unnamed. The specific words of some people (not all) or their picture gives me this love for them. I can’t explain this. It happened first when I read about this Iraqi man who cried when taken prisoner. I felt love for this man and also thought: This man is my brother as much as my own brother. I thought of my intense love for my brother and thought of this man as if he were my brother. And when I read about this Hopi girl who was taken prisoner (she even looks somewhat like my sister) I thought of my sister and loved her as if she were my sister. She was found dead. Her name was Lori Piestewa.

I love my brothers and sisters in a constant and overwhelming way. Love for them is always with me. The love that I have when I hear of a person who is in this terrible difficulty reminds me of the love for my family.

This is not something I could admit to anyone I know. Everyone I know is full of heated and complex political rhetoric and I am full of sappy emotion. It started out as hate for these people (I don’t know the names of all of them) on television and in the newspaper who said these stupid things to support the way (which we would have had anyway) and the infidel politicians who beat the drums of war.

But the hate fell away. I don’t have it anymore. I don’t care about them. I only want these people in danger to survive and not to suffer.

Love and hate are only emotions, they do nothing and have no point. This love simply comes over me and I pray for these people I read about. I know I am only imagining they are my brothers and sisters. I find it very strange.

I can’t get to the point of loving the authors of the war. I doubt I ever will. I don’t bother to hate them right now. That is all.

Love is dangerous—If my sisters and brothers are killed aren’t I supposed to hate those who made the situation that killed them? When I realize the value and beauty of someone—even someone I don’t know—and then I know that they are being killed unjustly shouldn’t I hate the killer?

The loss of who or what you love can destroy you.

I suppose you can always hate. But you don’t have to. The Iraqis who love their family members that are killed will perhaps hate the United States for killing them. In a way it might seem that the hate proves your love and without it, you must not have loved enough. You cannot blame them for hating if someone they love so much is taken away.

I’m more ashamed of my secret feeling of love than I would be if someone found out I made obscene phone calls or shot up heroin. I suppose because I see it through the eyes of someone like Chomsky or Edward Said or another postmodern identity politics person. The postmodern identity politics person would be horrified that I dare to identify with someone whose material conditions I do not share. The leftists would say I was naïve.

These people are in my head the way religion is supposed to get in your head and mess you up. I have an idea of what I would say to defend myself but again—it is exhausting. This constant assertion of one’s beliefs, opinions, argument. I stand for this, I stand for that. I’ve lost interest to some extent in even being an ‘I’ and standing for anything. I have my political analyses. I spend hours writing them out to clear my mind to function somewhat normally. I know all this talk is now pointless.

Some stories of injustice always haunt me. I read a story in high school about a man who was put in prison forever on the three strikes law although all he did was panic and drive a few feet after a policeman put a gun through the window of his car (attempted homicide—even the judge thought it was unjust). I remember a man with brain damage who was executed although he didn’t know what he was doing when he committed the crime. I remember a man who killed someone and then tried to kill himself but destroyed some of his brain. He was like a child then, and Clinton did not pardon him so he could be president. I remember a little black boy walking down the street eating a candy bar and getting shot by the New Haven Police because they said they thought the candy bar was a gun.

I remember when the U.S. army bombed the Iraqi army retreating from Kuwait and killed many thousands on the technicality that they did not officially surrender.

I don’t mistake an emotion for an action. I don’t visualize world peace and in some schizophrenic delusion think this will make world peace happen. I don’t think that my emotions will result in some miracle of salvation for anyone, that my prayers will automatically be answered. My insignificance and powerlessness in the world is glaringly apparent. All I’m left with is the idea of my own bare and sad humanity and all I see is a simple reminder that I share this with everyone.

Officially speaking there is any such thing as luck if luck is supposed to be some kind of force that brings good things to you.

What do people mean when they talk about luck? I’m thinking about this for many reasons but my lucky bamboo died…or it’s on its last legs anyway. Scary.

At first I was thinking—who would think of luck as some kind of magical force? But then that must be what people mean or else why would they buy things like lucky bamboo and not walk under ladders and be afraid when they break mirrors and such unless luck were a thing that could come to you or not come to you? Good fortune. I engage in the practices but don’t believe in them.

My favorite story from Herodotus is this one where a man loses a ring in the sea. Later, he catches a fish and the ring is in the fish’s mouth. Lucky, you think? No, in fact everyone on the boat says: “Oh, you are dead! You are so dead!” The Greeks thought if you were too lucky that would ultimately be bad luck. The gods would punish you. You weren’t supposed to be too lucky. The Gods would later punish you to even it out.

This is basically how I think: Everything has gone so well lately—what terrible thing is about to happen to me? Not only that but there is a kind of imbalance because so many bad things are happening to everyone else. What I really want is for everyone to be lucky. And also, for me, the ultimate bad luck is something bad happening to the people I love so bad luck for me does happen to someone else.

I was thinking of luck more as simply…a kind of allotment of good things. The divine reward clearinghouse. I used to make up these fake mailings based on the Publisher’s Clearinghouse that said stuff like: “You could get leprosy! Or you could win a new Winebago!” People might think lotteries are truly based on luck but you also might think they are based on statistical probability.

You could think of luck as a billion ju-ju-bes dropping from the sky. If the black ju-ju-be falls on you something bad happens. If a fruity ju-ju-be falls on you, something good happens. There are some things that affect your chances tremendously but they are things you often have little control over. If you are born on 5th Avenue you can expect almost all fruity ju ju bes. Not necessarily, but most likely. If you are born poor and in Sierra Leone you will probably get hit by a lot more black ju-ju-bes. If it seems lucky to be born in a country with the richest allotment of minerals on earth, think again. 99% of the people in the Congo might be better off without all those wars.

That sort of bad luck—economic, political, social bad luck—is created by someone. Unjust bad luck. It is wrong and we can change it if we have the will to (most people don’t).

Quite a lot of bad luck is nobody’s fault.

To be born in Europe in the 13th Century was not so lucky…the black plague. To be born in China during the Han dynasty was not so bad…they lived a long time and had lots of good art. You might be born in a very poor village in Siberia but be lucky enough to be very tall and stunning and discovered by a model-scout. The most unlikely kind of luck.

Pennies from heaven.

Of course we might think of where you are born as also being a result of luck. Then again, the ‘you’ you are cannot be transported to another place and time. I’m not sure what to say about that.

I wish things were fair, evenhanded, balanced. I want good fortune to spread exactly evenly throughout the world. Of course, I want an excess of good fortune so that there is very bad to go around. But if there has to be bad I wish it were more fairly passed around. Everyone wants to believe that what they have—if it is good—is what they deserve and what they get—if it is bad—is unfair.

We all get some black ju-ju-bes.

This is why I still believe in luck even if it really doesn’t mean anything magical. To remember that maybe nothing I have I deserve. For me, good luck has the exciting magic of winning some kind of lottery in the universe. That is the one benefit of seeing the world as horrid and dangerous: When the unexpected benefit comes your way, it can be quite thrilling.

It would be a much greater consolation though, if my bad luck, when it comes or if it is very bad would amount to someone else’s good luck. I’d be happier having bad luck if it had some kind of point--if someone got my good luck instead of me or I was in fact suffering someone else's bad luck.