Every Day I Have To Cry

The hypothesis: crying daily will release the junk that's tearing at my soul. Reasoning: Why not?

Thursday, July 06, 2006

Boredom...and dummer.

Back to Mr. Thoreau and his ilk for a minute. Since television hadn't been invented yet, opportunities to hear live music or see theater were scarce, and the printed word was confined to books (no magazines, billboards, signs...) people had to amuse themselves by...wait a minute: did they have to amuse themselves at all? Is sitting outside staring at Walden Pond amusement...or enrichment...or what?

I think that the "amuse me now!" monster bubbled up in our brains as more and more forms of amusement became available. Sure, we always had the type of brain cells that fire up when we're zoned out in front of the tube, but how come we get all antsy when the cable goes out, like it's the end of civ as we know it...and why was Walt Whitman satisfied to look at a blade of grass all day?

So, boredom. Conditioned boredom.


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