When I think of honesty, I think of my mother; perhaps not the usual, for a 21 year old with his share of bad habits and regrettable behaviour, but a practise that has its rewards.
In the case of my mother and myself, being honest has rewarded the both of us with sound advice, peace of mind, and a faith in trust.
But would I advise honesty as a blanket and uniform rule for humankind? Though I would like to, I cannot say ‘yes’.
As someone has said, ‘the truth hurts’ and as Jack said ‘you can’t handle the truth’. The sad reality, I’m afraid- a good amount, if not the vast majority, can’t handle the truth- the whole truth. Why do you think court-room dramas are able to run rampant as they do?
The fact is, we lie for a reason and, often, with due cause. The comfort of truth can’t possibly overwhelm the feeling(s) of having ones feathers ruffled. We prize gratitude, approval and ‘that warm, fuzzy feeling’ over just about everything else even if it is falsified. As such, a compliment is taken as gospel and one rarely has the awareness to suspect it might’ve been a fib on the sole grounds that having someone like you feels so darn good.
Naturally, you will be largely ostracized and disregarded if you aren’t a subscriber to this unwritten doctrine of ‘harmless truths’ and you can’t realistically expect to make a lot of friends. However, the few friends you do have will have a greater admiration for you, for the sheer courage it took to confess the horrible truth.
Indeed a fair share of the lies told are those infamous ‘white lies’ and they have their purpose also. When nothing is to be gained by being honest, but something might be by being a shade insincere a white lie is not only recommended but the only real detour of real trouble…
As a beautiful girl once told me, ‘there is a difference between being honest and being mean’. Indeed.
But I, a firm advocate of the ‘playing it straight’ method must say, in the end an upfront truth is of greater benefit than a prolonged lie. Or, to put it another way and in the immortal words of John Candy;
“I’m the genuine article, what you see is what you get”.
Indeed you were John, indeed you were.
NP.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Thursday, November 25, 2010
On Leaving Speeches and Well Beings…
Some of you surely know it well….the end of school speech. Besides all the stereotypical bullshit they will tell you one thing; they would love to see you back.
You are graduating, this is your big day, the day you’ve sweated on, the hardship is over and your about to hear everyone ruffle your hems and sing your praises, after all it was far from common ground in their day to graduate high-school…..
And what do you get? Typical, rehashed speeches and plastic goodbyes. This is most certainly not meant to offend anyone, just the graduating experience from a, somewhat, impartial observer.
They will, naturally, break out the classics like; ‘don’t go where the path may lead you, go instead where there is no path’ and ‘we wish you all the best in your future endeavours’ and ‘ we hope to see you back as active members of this community’. This translates to: don’t come back unless you have a doctorate…
Believe me, with younger brothers and most recently a girlfriend just finished school I know. They want nothing to do with you….
Of 30 or thereabouts, teachers I knew well, there is 3 I adore and will make any effort of reasonable conversation with. At post-school age you might be within your rights to call them friends, and I do so…folks I consider to have some sort of positive influence on me beyond schooling. The rest are swine that are surely glad to be rid of me and could care less if I was shooting a grand of heroin into my arm each and every day.
One truth; much as they will profess your presence is welcome on their doorstep; nothing could be further from the truth.
Unsurprisingly the principal is the key in these shenanigans, recognizing that all you have to do is show up and by such an act the magical experience of high-school, six years to which you have committed your growing from youth into man or woman as the case may be, will be relived and revived. But don’t be fooled, they want nothing more than to be rid of you and if you happen to appear on their radar again, by other means, you might be expected to be treted like a rapist or molester.
I shant be so decisive to state that if you show up with a degree that might better humankind you wont be greeted with anything but open arms, BUT, from my own experience, if you show up with anything less you will be treated as common scum….
Sad But True…
NP.
You are graduating, this is your big day, the day you’ve sweated on, the hardship is over and your about to hear everyone ruffle your hems and sing your praises, after all it was far from common ground in their day to graduate high-school…..
And what do you get? Typical, rehashed speeches and plastic goodbyes. This is most certainly not meant to offend anyone, just the graduating experience from a, somewhat, impartial observer.
They will, naturally, break out the classics like; ‘don’t go where the path may lead you, go instead where there is no path’ and ‘we wish you all the best in your future endeavours’ and ‘ we hope to see you back as active members of this community’. This translates to: don’t come back unless you have a doctorate…
Believe me, with younger brothers and most recently a girlfriend just finished school I know. They want nothing to do with you….
Of 30 or thereabouts, teachers I knew well, there is 3 I adore and will make any effort of reasonable conversation with. At post-school age you might be within your rights to call them friends, and I do so…folks I consider to have some sort of positive influence on me beyond schooling. The rest are swine that are surely glad to be rid of me and could care less if I was shooting a grand of heroin into my arm each and every day.
One truth; much as they will profess your presence is welcome on their doorstep; nothing could be further from the truth.
Unsurprisingly the principal is the key in these shenanigans, recognizing that all you have to do is show up and by such an act the magical experience of high-school, six years to which you have committed your growing from youth into man or woman as the case may be, will be relived and revived. But don’t be fooled, they want nothing more than to be rid of you and if you happen to appear on their radar again, by other means, you might be expected to be treted like a rapist or molester.
I shant be so decisive to state that if you show up with a degree that might better humankind you wont be greeted with anything but open arms, BUT, from my own experience, if you show up with anything less you will be treated as common scum….
Sad But True…
NP.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Nature and Nurture, the Death of Independant Thought.
From day one you are cultivated as one to grow by another’s sun. It is not their fault, and certainly not yours, but a bitter tradition in human nature that is too far gone to be redeemed.
I am sure there isn’t any real doubt of it, and while some might profess nothing but love and admiration for their parents, grandparents, teachers, professors and even friends, there is an element of poison to these relationships.
In severe cases you are left with people either too stupid or too afraid to think properly for themselves and form their own opinions on matters, and in mild cases simply regular Joes with a few poignant issues they will not abandon their beliefs on.
The classic example, of course, is the Catholic church. You are baptised at birth, usually speaking, and so they give you little choice to object. The freedom of religion honest citizens get so giddy about is a sham, in so much as you are free to choose your religion, so long as it is that your parents have chosen for you.
Politics is much the same, though to a lesser extent. While it is probably fair to say that religious convictions run strong through the pristine bloodlines of this land down under, political passion or persuasion is more a case of ‘who cares’ or ‘they’re all evil’. True enough, perhaps.
What occurs is a fairly uniform avalanche effect. You, as a perhaps naïve youngster, see all the positive aspects in the lives and characters of those who guide you and so assume they must have the goods on the bigger questions also. I mean, who could disagree with those who created you, fed you, clothed you, hugged you when you might’ve needed it?
This is allowed to be commonplace in part due to homogeneous religious and political beliefs and practises in places where a similar calibre of person dwell. For instance, it would be hard to find a wealthy right-winger in my working-class hometown of Lithgow and likewise hard to find a Labour blue-collar amongst the doctors and lawyers and such of Sydney’s North Shore, where even the plumbers have private insurance and publicists.
This is detrimental, yet not likely to change. Parents are the natural pack leaders and as by our nature we have become accustomed to following the leaders, trails and rules. It takes too much effort and courage or perhaps intelligence to forge new beliefs and opinions.
Of course, indifference has well and truly set in by the time you realize this and so absurd issues like gay marriage and abortion are allowed to stand a challenge to communal sanity by the convictions of, in some cases, people who lived when gay folks were condemned to jail.
Obviously this is not everyone, but it is enough to make a real difference. It is this kind of bitter tradition that make politics and religion taboo subjects for most dinner time conversation, but don’t let them fool you, you can disagree with your parents, anyone or everyone and still maintain friends and family, provided your friends and family aren’t one track minded, stubborn, ignorant or poor losers.
The wonderful British poet, Phillip Larkin wrote a poem on, more or less, this exact subject, it is below…
Phillip Larkin, This Be The Verse.
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.
Though don’t be too hard on them, their parents left them with similar qualms…
NP.
I am sure there isn’t any real doubt of it, and while some might profess nothing but love and admiration for their parents, grandparents, teachers, professors and even friends, there is an element of poison to these relationships.
In severe cases you are left with people either too stupid or too afraid to think properly for themselves and form their own opinions on matters, and in mild cases simply regular Joes with a few poignant issues they will not abandon their beliefs on.
The classic example, of course, is the Catholic church. You are baptised at birth, usually speaking, and so they give you little choice to object. The freedom of religion honest citizens get so giddy about is a sham, in so much as you are free to choose your religion, so long as it is that your parents have chosen for you.
Politics is much the same, though to a lesser extent. While it is probably fair to say that religious convictions run strong through the pristine bloodlines of this land down under, political passion or persuasion is more a case of ‘who cares’ or ‘they’re all evil’. True enough, perhaps.
What occurs is a fairly uniform avalanche effect. You, as a perhaps naïve youngster, see all the positive aspects in the lives and characters of those who guide you and so assume they must have the goods on the bigger questions also. I mean, who could disagree with those who created you, fed you, clothed you, hugged you when you might’ve needed it?
This is allowed to be commonplace in part due to homogeneous religious and political beliefs and practises in places where a similar calibre of person dwell. For instance, it would be hard to find a wealthy right-winger in my working-class hometown of Lithgow and likewise hard to find a Labour blue-collar amongst the doctors and lawyers and such of Sydney’s North Shore, where even the plumbers have private insurance and publicists.
This is detrimental, yet not likely to change. Parents are the natural pack leaders and as by our nature we have become accustomed to following the leaders, trails and rules. It takes too much effort and courage or perhaps intelligence to forge new beliefs and opinions.
Of course, indifference has well and truly set in by the time you realize this and so absurd issues like gay marriage and abortion are allowed to stand a challenge to communal sanity by the convictions of, in some cases, people who lived when gay folks were condemned to jail.
Obviously this is not everyone, but it is enough to make a real difference. It is this kind of bitter tradition that make politics and religion taboo subjects for most dinner time conversation, but don’t let them fool you, you can disagree with your parents, anyone or everyone and still maintain friends and family, provided your friends and family aren’t one track minded, stubborn, ignorant or poor losers.
The wonderful British poet, Phillip Larkin wrote a poem on, more or less, this exact subject, it is below…
Phillip Larkin, This Be The Verse.
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.
Though don’t be too hard on them, their parents left them with similar qualms…
NP.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
On Accents and Perceptions.
Anyone who knows me will know I speak with something of an American/Canadian tone. While distinguishable to those hailing from those countries, to your dinky Aussie I am either American or someone adopting the speech pattern for social gain.
I have had many an argument in pubs across NSW on this issue, with most thinking I am in fact consciously talking as I do to be considered hip, cool, happening or exotic.
Of course, as anyone with half a brain would realise, with the exception of music, television, fast food and in times of war, Americanisms aren’t in vogue and never really have been in the great sun burnt country.
It is lost on them that an Australian wouldn’t adopt a US accent in order to be considered cool, because it isn’t cool.
Though if it were I could hardly be considered a trendsetter, you need only a glance at my day wear to know that (though I think business shirts and board shorts will take off pretty soon), so if I were to adopt the accent for the reasons I am accused of, wouldn’t it make sense to overhaul the rest of myself to match; especially in the key areas where true coolness is first and foremost registered and judged.
The truth is the speech is a result of too many movies, television and reciting clever dialogue from pornos in my underwear alone. Glamorous hey! Only someone who was trying to be as cool as can be would practice such activities.
Now though, I have given up on convincing people I am from this land. If anyone asks from here on, this is my story:
I was born in Utah to a polygamist father and have 31 brothers, sisters and halves. Two of our mothers were killed by a mob of Latter Day Saints angry that they were not practising the now proper Mormon way and in an effort to ensure his children’s safety sent the mothers and their respective children to different countries all over the globe. Some went to NZ, some up to Canada, some were trucked into South America and my particular arm came here.
Sadly for the reputation of your average barfly’s intelligence, a story such as this would usually go by without so much as a whisper.
NP.
I have had many an argument in pubs across NSW on this issue, with most thinking I am in fact consciously talking as I do to be considered hip, cool, happening or exotic.
Of course, as anyone with half a brain would realise, with the exception of music, television, fast food and in times of war, Americanisms aren’t in vogue and never really have been in the great sun burnt country.
It is lost on them that an Australian wouldn’t adopt a US accent in order to be considered cool, because it isn’t cool.
Though if it were I could hardly be considered a trendsetter, you need only a glance at my day wear to know that (though I think business shirts and board shorts will take off pretty soon), so if I were to adopt the accent for the reasons I am accused of, wouldn’t it make sense to overhaul the rest of myself to match; especially in the key areas where true coolness is first and foremost registered and judged.
The truth is the speech is a result of too many movies, television and reciting clever dialogue from pornos in my underwear alone. Glamorous hey! Only someone who was trying to be as cool as can be would practice such activities.
Now though, I have given up on convincing people I am from this land. If anyone asks from here on, this is my story:
I was born in Utah to a polygamist father and have 31 brothers, sisters and halves. Two of our mothers were killed by a mob of Latter Day Saints angry that they were not practising the now proper Mormon way and in an effort to ensure his children’s safety sent the mothers and their respective children to different countries all over the globe. Some went to NZ, some up to Canada, some were trucked into South America and my particular arm came here.
Sadly for the reputation of your average barfly’s intelligence, a story such as this would usually go by without so much as a whisper.
NP.
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