Category: Miscellaneous

In a recent opinion column in The New York Times, David Brooks writes:

According to the Bureau of Justice Statistics, the rate of family violence in this country has dropped by more than half since 1993. I’ve been trying to figure out why.

It’s an interesting topic, although I’m a little amused at one of his conclusions. Consider:

Third, many people in the younger generation, under age 30 or so, are reacting against the culture of divorce. They are trying to lead lives that are more stable than the ones their parents led. Post-boomers behave better than the baby boomers did.

At 32, I fall into the “or so” category of post-boomers, so I’ll respond with what “we” are actually doing. We are trying to lead more stable lives, but we’re not behaving better than our parents. Our world changed between our parents’ twenties and our twenties. Today’s generation of young adults understands that we have more opportunities and choices. Some are due to changing technology, some due to a more robust, international economy. And some are little more than a pursuit of self-gratification. That may come in the form of job-hopping until we find what we believe will be the perfect fit or traveling to engage the world in different adventures. We’re leading busy lives and we know that that’s not a stable life for a family, even if kids aren’t yet involved. Basically, we’re too busy, so we’re waiting longer to get married.

A fundamental shift in the culture occurred making this possible. Our parents dealt with a culture that frowned upon out-of-wedlock sex, so they felt inclined/conditioned to marry sooner so that they could enjoy (relatively) guilt-free sex. Today, young adults aren’t as constrained by the stigma of out-of-wedlock sex. Call the good or bad, but it’s the way it is. Essentially, we’re not rejecting the culture of divorce, just the culture of poorly-thought-out choices-with-long-term-consequences.

Also, thanks to advances in medical science, we understand that we’ll live productive, active lives longer than our parents could’ve imagined at our age. We know we’ll work later into our lives. We can have children later in our lives and still support them. There will be time for the traditional adult activities, so we set responsibility aside for a few extra years. We’re benefiting from the efforts of the past.

Whether that leads to the decline in family violence or not is questionable, but I’m sure it has as much impact as Mr. Brooks theorized with his original supposition. Yet, his conclusion is still interesting.

Obviously, we’re not living in a utopia, where all social problems have been solved. But these improvements across a whole range of behaviors are too significant to be dismissed. We in the media play up the negative, as we always do. The activist groups emphasize the work still to be done, because they want to keep people mobilized and financing their work.

But the good news is out there. You want to know what a society looks like when it is in the middle of moral self-repair? Look around.

I don’t know if we’re in the middle of moral self-repair, though, unless moral self-repair means setting aside conventional wisdom (imposition) about how everyone should live and adapting to some more-than-notional sense that individuals can choose how to spend their lives. And deal with the consequences. We’re still making mistakes, as our parents did, and we’re correcting our mistakes, like our parents did. We’re just making better choices through their experience, as our kids will likely do a generation from now.

Of course, if you don’t believe people can make smarter, more responsible choices through learning from the past, I guess moral self-repair could be the answer. America did vote for the Bible in 2004.

(Source: Instapundit)

Blogging will be non-existent light over the next few days because Danielle and I are unpacking, trying to organize our new house. We had no time for cable and no access to the Internets until late last night (Comcast somehow thought that Danielle’s first name is “null”; don’t ask), so I’m a touch out of the loop about what’s going on in the world. All that and I’m too tired to even mention how tired I am.

I hate fashion. Not in a vile, throw paint on runway models way. I see all the hip people and the new, shiny clothes they’re wearing and I just don’t care. Sure, donning the latest $100 shirt might project a better image than my $10 logo-less golf shirt, but why? That’s not who I am, or who I care to try to be. Clothes a function, not form. I’ll wear jeans or a t-shirt until it’s only presentable in a frat house and then, maybe, I’ll trash the tattered cotton (for it is always cotton over synthetic). On those occasions my clothes must leave my closet for their final destination, only then do I replace them. Usually with the same item.

This weekend I had to purchase new pants for work. While my co-workers (my brother included) go for the ever-so-appropriate “slacks”, I dart for the decidedly coolness-free Dockers&#174. Such is life. When I realized a few months ago that the edges were fraying on most of my pants, exposing the inner plastic lining, which is surprisingly sharp against skin, I dreaded the looming shopping task. Fitting rooms, a lack of pants in my size, and a abundance of pleats is enough to break me out in hives. When I found pants like what I aimed to replace, I tried them on. When they fit, I purchased two, one black, one off-white. Dark and light, that’s the motto with shirts and pants. One dark color mixed with one light color and I’m dressed. In some aspects, I’m quite the simpleton.

This morning, I wore the new black pants. Since I dress in a hurry in the morning, I don’t usually check my clothing before leaving. As long as everything is comfortable, I think nothing of any possible negatives. I should.

When I sat down on the metro this morning, I realized that my pants were covered in cat hair. That’s not unusual because, with two cats at home, I often have to run the lint brush over my clothes when I get to work to pick off the few stray hairs. What I saw this morning fell outside of the usual. My black pants looked like someone shaved the orange cat to his skin, then dipped my pants in a foul, chalky egg batter to guarantee maximum adherence before dragging both legs through the cat shavings. Twice. I had to use four sheets from the lint brush to get most of the hair off.

I remembered to brush my pants about ninety minutes after I arrived at my desk.

Work should be fulfilling. If it’s not, try something else. If something else isn’t practical, work the unfulfilling job while striving for that something else. That is a prescription for success, however long-term that result may take. Allow me to demonstrate with an example. Today, while riding in the elevator, I overheard the following conversation:

1st woman: This the last place I’m working at.

2nd woman: How many years do you have left?

1st woman: I got five years left.

If I ever get to the point where I treat my job that way, punch me in the nose until I bleed. Make the blood obstruct my speech.

Most days, Danielle makes dinner for both of us. She likes cooking and I work “normal” hours, giving me little time to cook a proper meal. It’s a perfect match. Tonight, though, she has a meeting at school, which means I’m on my own. Anyone care to bet on whether or not I’ll eat cookies for dinner?

I’ve been away for a bit, but I got busy at work, then vacation came so it was time to step away from the computer for an “extended” break. (Just because my optometrist told me I need to step away from the computer occasionally doesn’t mean anything. Seriously, you guys, it doesn’t.) Over the last few weeks (fine, it was close to a month), life has been quiet. Thus, I stepped away. But I’m back now, and what better way to come back than open mockery of something sacred…

While visiting my family last week, Danielle and I saw this scene in the front yard of a house near my mom’s house. Behold:

I know a picture says a thousand words, but after “repent” and “materialistic” and “sinner”, I’m not sure what the other 997 words are that this picture is saying. Maybe it says something about how spry Santa is to still be traveling the way he is after 2000 years. Maybe someone could corner him and get a first-hand account of the birth of Christ.

Walking back to my office this afternoon, I had to do a quadruple-take at a man stepping onto the curb from a Metro bus. Disembarking from a bus should be uneventful, but the man I saw attempted it with an unfolded walker in his arms. When he stepped down each step, he continued to hold the walker in front of him. His only effort was to balance it between the doors in front of him. He didn’t grab the exit handrail. No one held his arm to steady him. He just held his walker in front of him and took each step with determination.

I’d at least expected him to use it to steady himself once he stood on the bottom step. Alas, he didn’t; he continued to hold it in front of him as he stepped onto the pavement, as though the walker might be his shield against normal human beings. Once standing on the sidewalk, he walked away from the bus. I turned around to watch where I was walking since I didn’t want a cobblestone to jump out and attack my feet. (I hate it when that happens.)

After a few awkward steps down the sidewalk myself, I had to look back. I needed to see how fast he was shuffling down the street. He hadn’t seemed to need the walker since he’d balanced himself on the steps so well. I looked back to see him still walking, pushing the unfolded walker out in front of him. In an obvious effort to mock me, he used the walker correctly as he shuffled slowly towards the intersection – if “correctly” means holding the unfolded walker six inches above the sidewalk.

I got a wonderful treat yesterday on my journey to work. Like every day, I rode Metro, America’s Subway Worst Mass Transit System&#153. As if up-close people-smelling-watching was insufficient, there’s occasionally a major bonus. I am, of course, speaking of The Asian Guy Who Stands In The Middle Of The Train And Sings Religious Songs At The Top Of His Lungs&#153. That guy kicks ass.

I admit that my humor isn’t always completely politically correct. I laugh at Kim Jong-Il’s misappropriation of “R” and “L” in Team America: World Police. I laugh at the singing waiters at the end of A Christmas Story. It’s an easy stereotype, but funny is funny. The Asian Guy Who Stands In The Middle Of The Train And Sings Religious Songs At The Top Of His Lungs&#153 is funny. He brings a smile to my face.

Even more than The Asian Guy Who Stands In The Middle Of The Train And Sings Religious Songs At The Top Of His Lungs&#153, I’m amused by everyone else on the train. The Asian Guy Who Stands In The Middle Of The Train And Sings Religious Songs At The Top Of His Lungs&#153 is the big pink elephant in the room that no one wants to admit to seeing. There is a guy breaking the morning monotony with an uninvited intrusion into our minds and everyone shifts into “stare at the floor and it’ll go away” mode. I love people-watching so much that I feel like my day has an unexpected sheen to it when I witness my fellow travellers enter this mode and avoid eye contact with The Asian Guy Who Stands In The Middle Of The Train And Sings Religious Songs At The Top Of His Lungs&#153. It’s hilarious and stunning. Yesterday, no one disappointed me.

Taken in that context, today’s commute to work was the Christmas morning of uncomfortable denial. Two stops into my subway ride, The Asian Guy Who Stands In The Middle Of The Train And Sings Religious Songs At The Top Of His Lungs&#153 stepped on and began his routine. I didn’t see this because I was sitting at one end with my back to the center of the train. I couldn’t see The Asian Guy Who Stands In The Middle Of The Train And Sings Religious Songs At The Top Of His Lungs&#153 because he stands in the middle of the train. But I heard him when he let that first note fly. Damn, I thought. The Asian Guy Who Stands In The Middle Of The Train And Sings Religious Songs At The Top Of His Lungs&#153 is singing and I can’t watch everyone be uncomfortable. In the next moment, I heard the joy go higher.

A woman behind me started screaming “WILL YOU PLEASE SHUT UP, THERE ARE PEOPLE TRYING TO READ! YOU’RE BEING VERY RUDE!” She screamed this for the next 2&#189 minutes. One-hundred-fifty spectacular “Oh my God, will this just end please” seconds. I put my book down and listened to the entire glorious debacle. I smiled my biggest Joker smile, so unabashed that I bordered on being rude. The only way this morning could’ve been better is if one of my fellow travellers had joined in the song. (Note to my fellow Washingtonians: try harder. One of you has this in you.)

I bet The Asian Guy Who Stands In The Middle Of The Train And Sings Religious Songs At The Top Of His Lungs&#153 is SO ronery when no one takes him seriousry.