Eclecticism

I’ve long maintained, simply by virtue of daily observation, that the vast, vast majority of people are idiots. Not just gullible, unquestioning, media-programmed bigots with tabloid vocabularies — rather, actually of very low intelligence. […] So, aside from what science says, why does this state of affairs exist (as it undoubtedly does)?

Background: This all started with Erik, continued with Jamie, and was then picked up by Matt, where I stumbled into the fray. My personal ‘sometimes more serious than others, depending on how many momos I had to deal with today’ opinion is that, quite simply, we (i.e., the human race) are breeding ourselves into oblivion by breeding for stupidity.

DISCLAIMER: This is me approaching my most cynical. I make several broad over-generalizations and assumption in the following rant. Some or all of what follows may very well be offensive. I don’t necessarily believe that all of the following is true, nor am I normally this pessimistic (or this much of an ass), but hey, I have my moments. Take the following as mad ranting, or a thought experiment, but whatever you do, please take it with several grains of salt. That said…continue on, if you wish!

Thanks to the miracles of modern medicine, Darwin’s theory of natural selection, in many ways, no longer applies to the human race at large. Nearly any disease, physical infirmity, or handicap that in bygone days would remove someone from the gene pool can now be cured, repaired, or compensated for. Survival of the fittest has given way to survival of everyone (or possibly survival of the wealthy, if you’re feeling particularly cynical). Due in part to this curtailing of the natural death rate, along with many other factors, the planet’s population continues to grow nearly unchecked.

Meanwhile, the world continues to be a somewhat scary place. While many people in the privileged classes live well, those not fortunate enough to have been born into middle-class or better environments find themselves fighting just to stay where they are, and not slide lower down on the economic scale. The U.S., not even able to feed and house all of its citizens, spends billions of dollars bombing already less-fortunate countries further into oblivion.

Intelligent people — those with more than two brain cells to rub together — look around at the world and realize that it has a tendency to be a pretty iffy bargain, and either resolve not to have children, or to limit themselves to one or two children.

Less intelligent thoughtful people, though, seem to be popping babies out like there’s no tomorrow. Whether it’s through lack of birth control or because they get more of a welfare stipend from the government for each child (or both), lower-class families seem far more likely to have multitudes of rugrats running around than upper-class families do.

End result — the average IQ of the world drops incrementally with each new child, as the few children born by people determined to have no more children than they can support are far outnumbered by the teeming masses content to sit on the couch, obsess over American Idol or Jerry Springer, and have more children that they can’t take care of.

And so, we breed ourselves into extinction.

I had an amusing thought the other morning that I figured I’d ramble about for a bit, as long as I’m posting somewhat more introspective ~~blather~~ thoughts.

I’d just gotten out of the shower, on a morning when I was running just a bit too late to bother with shaving, and was looking a bit scruffier than I normally care to, when I remembered Prairie commenting that she liked the way I looked when I was a little scruffy. Somehow, this triggered a small cascade of theory-building as to how I appear to people, and why I’m attractive to people who get to know me.

(Yeah, okay, so this is starting off sounding kind of egotistical — and it may very well continue to sound that way — but it’s not really meant that way. Heck, I’m not even sure how much of what follows is actually grounded in the real world, but it’s a fun concept to play with, at least. There are also a lot of generalizations and stereotypes in here — just bear with me, okay?)

To start with, there’s the stereotype of women being attracted to the “bad boy/rebel” image (yes, a stereotype, though I’ve found that most — if not all — stereotypes have some grounding in reality). The “strong silent” type. The guy with just a hint of danger about him. Not enough to really scare you, but enough to make things just that much more titillating than the “safe” guys are. One could make a strong argument that the attraction to that image is something of an ingrained evolutionary holdover: who’s more likely to be able to support a household and defend both himself and “his woman” — the nice, sweet, soft-spoken “safe” guy with the English Lit degree, or the dark, brooding, possibly somewhat dangerous guy with the leather jacket and Harley-Davidson motorcycle?

Unfortunately, many of the men who project that somewhat dangerous image do so because, well, they’re somewhat dangerous. Anything from just self-centered and inconsiderate on up to emotionally or physically abusive, they make great Alpha Males, but end up being painfully inadequate when it comes to being caring partners.

Where I’m starting to wonder if I come into the picture is the odd space in between the two extremes.

I manage to capture some of the “bad boy/rebel” mystique through the way I dress (predominantly black clothing, black leather jackets or trenchcoat), the way I look (in the past, half-shaved head, long hair half dyed black, and goatee; currently sporting a shaved head and trim beard — not as ‘counter-culture’ as it used to be, but still not exactly a ‘prep’ look), the circles I tend to run around in (generally the industrial/gothic/alternative scene), and the whole introvert/loner aura that I babbled a bit about in my previous post. There’s a definite “dark” side to my personality that often comes out in my sense of humor, or the music, movies, or artwork that I’m drawn to.

At the same time, I’m actually a fairly decent guy (yeah, cue the ego…). I’ve developed all these silly habits over the years of actually respecting people, being able to listen to what people say, to talk to and with people rather than at them. To hold discussions with people, even when I don’t agree with them, instead of rapidly denigrating into arguments or namecalling (or violence). I’m lucky enough to have two or three brain cells to rub together, and I don’t mind doing so from time to time.

End result? I’m the “safe bad boy” — or, as I titled this post, the “rebel without a threat.” Enough of an oddball dark side to catch someone’s interest, but still quite able to make a good impression on the folks when I come by to meet the family. “Dangerous” enough to be entertaining, yet “safe” enough not to be threatening.

So — any thoughts? Did any of this actually make sense? Could I have actually stumbled upon something here — or am I just entirely off my rocker and desperately trying to inflate my ego? ;)

Apologies beforehand — this is somewhat rambling, disjointed, and more than a little bit self-indulgent. Feel free to skim right past. ;)

I just popped in one of my birthday presents from my parents, the DVD Down From the Mountain, a documentary about the music featured in O Brother, Where Art Thou? Lots of good bluegrass as a soundtrack for the next couple hours — thanks, mom and dad!

The opening credits to the film play over the traditional tune ‘Man of Constant Sorrow’, the lyrics of which seemed somewhat appropriate to a loose collection of thoughts I’ve had running through my mind lately.

‘Man of Constant Sorrow’ (traditional)

I am a man of constant sorrow
I’ve seen trouble all of my days
I bid farewell to old Kentucky
Place where I was born and raised

All thru this earth I’m bound to ramble
Thru storm and wind, thru sleet and rain
I’m bound to ride that Northern railroad
Perhaps I’ll take the very next train

For six long years I’ve been in trouble
No pleasure here on earth I’ve found
For in this world I’m bound to ramble
I have no friends to help me now

It’s fare you well, my own true lover
I never expect to see you again
For I’m bound to ride that northern railroad
Perhaps I’ll take the very next train

Your friends they say that I’m a stranger
You’ll never see my face no more
There is just one promise that’s give
We’ll meet on God’s golden shore

I am a man of constant sorrow
I’ve seen trouble all of my days
I’m going back to California
Place where I was partly raised

Not that I’m quite that maudlin, but the bittersweet tone of the song seemed rather fitting.

I’m not sure exactly what started me on this track — blame it on turning 30, I suppose — but while I haven’t sat down and given it serious thought, the general concept of ‘belonging’ has kept returning to my mind lately. Or, more specifically, not belonging, a feeling I’ve had for most of my life.

Most people I’ve known, met, or encountered in just about any way over the years have had a very definite group that they were part of. Some people have had many groups that they could flit between, some only had a few, but it’s a fairly common thing for most. Whether it’s a specific group of friends, or a more general “clique”, just about everyone is part of some group that they can turn to when they need, for support in times of trouble, jubilation in times of triumph, or any other such situation.

For one reason or another, this is something that’s always seemed to escape me. I’ve mentioned occasionally here that I’ve always been the classic introvert, and this is one area where it really seems to show the most. As a child, I was very much of a loner, and it wasn’t until I met Royce in 4^th^ grade that I formed a much of a friendship with anyone, let alone multiple people.

I’ve only really had two groups of friends over the years — one during my last years of high school, and another during the height of my ‘DJ years’ in Anchorage — but even then, I never felt entirely like I was a part. Often, I’d find myself sitting back and watching everyone else interact, wondering why I was so much more reserved and aloof than the rest of them.

Can’t say that I’ve ever found an answer. Something in my make up usually ends up casting me in the role of the “observer” — almost always present, but generally somewhere in the background, keeping an eye on the proceedings. Enjoying it, to be sure, don’t get me wrong — but never as much of an active participant as most other people would be.

There are some definite advantages to this, of course. Never being entirely part of any one specific group generally left me free to move around from clique to clique fairly easily. I’ve never really been a ‘raver’, ‘prep’, ‘punk’, ‘goth’, ‘stoner’, ‘jock’, or any other of the many oh-so-generic groups that exist, but I have been able to hang out, however much on the fringes, with all of these groups at one time or another. That ability has always been pretty enjoyable — not being automatically classified as any one particular ‘type’, I was rarely out and out excluded from any of the various groups I interacted with over the years.

All in all, though, there are definite times when I wish I wasn’t quite as much of a loner as I tend to be. That said, though, I wouldn’t trade any of the friends I have made over the years for anything.

Anyway, no real point to much of this, I guess. Just a little self-indulgent whining. ;)

May just seems to be birthday central in my life, doesn’t it? I was born on the 3rd, my brother on the 4th, and my long-time closest friend Royce Williams has his birthday on the 5th!

As he’s a whole whopping two days younger than me, today is his 30th. Happy Birthday, Royce!

Today’s my little brother Kevin’s birthday — yup, we were born three years and one day apart. So…

Happy Birthday Kevin! I know you’re out somewhere between Africa and Alaska, but welcome to being 27!

(When did my little brother get to be 27???)