Thursday, October 23, 2008


There are two things I want to cover. The first is an inspiring sentiment. The second is an angry rant. I'm concerned that the warm fuzzies are going to drain my bile, so I've drawn up an outline to keep me on track:

  1. Nice stuff.
  2. Shit talk.

The Nice Stuff

I think of myself as a romantic. Some who know me may find this counterintuitive, but love has guided much of my life. I value those I love more highly than anything. I was just having a conversation with my sister who asked if love made my life worth living.

This seems to be the prevailing opinion of life and love in our culture: that the former's worth is contingent upon the latter - or that such is the ideal relationship between the two. True love awards true worth to one's life. This philosophy finds employment at ever level of art and common talk. Our role models on the subject kill themselves to escape loneliness (and their reunion, a Shakespearean audience must have believed, was in Hell). It seems to be the final verdict of Culture that love is the scale on which life is weighed.

Fuck. That. Shit.

It is life which gives value to love, not the other way around. I have much love in my life, and that love enriches me, but it does not define my worth as a person. Just the opposite: it is the people - me, my friends, my family - who give worth to the love we share. My connections with my friends are special because my friends are special. They are worthy. To suppose that my loving them is a gift of worth to their person is insulting. That is not love - that is pity. I do not pity my friends for being my friends; I love them for it. And it is their exceptional value which gives that love its worth.

The Shit Talk

I am fucking tired of apologizing for agreeing with Ayn Rand. I don't agree with everything she says. There are things about her and her fiction I can barely stand. I'm not an Objectivist. But I think she's right about a lot of stuff and it pisses me off that I have to preface any reference I make to her or her ideas with some kind of apology. Like the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th sentences of this paragraphs. Why did I write those? Why did I feel like I had to qualify my support for her ideas? Why do I feel like people are going to shit all over me for being a selfish prick if I mention the woman? Maybe because they would. I was at a presentation recently on ethics where it was taken for granted that self-sacrifice is the unquestionable pinnacle of ethical behavior. I didn't say anything but I wanted to scream. Ug.

Anyway, that's the sentiment and the rant. If I one day find myself a Marxist, then this post should provide a good chuckle. Until then, take me DEAD SERIOUSLY.

My hubris is designed to enhance the irony of my downfall.