Thursday, 28 March 2013

Reading, writing at the doctor's office

Arrr, waiting in the doctor's office. Lame. Okay, actually I am waiting in the café close by, sampling my fifth white coffee with flavor (tiramisu). I don't want the visit to be any more tedious as it already is... But I'm reading a political magazine and am thinking...
All these activists, all these exposés, all the "truths" by random broken people... How dangerous are half-truths, I wonder? Not that they are not truths, they're just remarkably one-sided.
There's an article about a lady that does art to stress the issues of endangered rivers. Rivers, such as those mega Chinese dam waterscapes that got retouched by the need to bring electricity to remote villages and ever-growing cities.... Okay, sure, rivers are important. Ducks swim on them and whatnot. But like everything regarding this planet, they've been here a while and they will be loooong after we're gone. And I am sure there's a species or four of some algae that got the worst end of the deal in the process, but exactly how important is it for the people to get a chance at a better life? Does this lady live there? Does she know an alternative source of energy that would solve this issue? Or, better yet, does she believe the people there needn't running water and power, because they're perfectly happy living in the middle ages? Or do the people matter none in this particular equation? 
Truly, nothing pisses me off more reading articles like these, some righteous bitches who would prefer to save some fucking patch of nature, ignoring millions of humans. If it was up to me, I would stuff them in a rocket and launch them off to Pandora to tree-hug there. No matter what someone tries to do, there’s an environmentalist that cries their heart out about it. I can’t WAIT to see what they come up with when it starts to turn out the planet is actually COOLING.
There's another article about the latest El Papa Grande and how he supposedly didn't help some of his homies when people were being killed left right and center in Argentina in the seventies... Do you know how EASY it is to blame someone for something? Especially something they DIDN'T do? Paramilitary police murdering and you are called a criminal for being scared? Okay, not that I am defending any actions of any pope, but just imagine. Someone writes a long and horribly tragic article about you - how at some point, some random day, YOU didn't give change to some beggar and as a result, she didn't catch the bus, got raped and killed, her children orphaned, turned criminals, killing nurses and whatnot ... And so on and so forth. You can't say he didn't hide some people when the death squad came knocking. You don't know what went down. Perhaps the said people were really pushy and loud, when it was not the time to poke the hornet's nest. Perhaps he knew he would have caused a lot more trouble for the other innocent people in the convent. You just don't know. So it's very difficult, and dangerous, to assume. But of course that's all anyone ever does, being a journalist. 
Drej and I talked about the latest idiotic news cast from North Korea. Okay, even I have to admit, they are pretty fucking hilarious. Now they've declared war on the South. The odd thing about it, though, you only ever get to see the crazies. Nobody ever talks about the South Koreans constantly provoking them, like a slick bully consta poking them, AFTER they got royally buttfucked by the Japanese and the Southies during the world war or sometime after. The Kims are like the Osbournes - you only ever get to see the really weird ones. That little idiot that inherited the throne and doesn't really seem to know what is happening around him actually has three really cool siblings. Cool, calm, educated people with families and decent jobs that don't look quite so worrisome. But you'll never see them. They're not televised-worthy and can not be mocked as easily mocked. 

Few days ago I was sitting on a train opposite a woman, who took out a foreign-language paperback and began to, page by page, paragraph by paragraph, vehemently mark it with an orange pen-marker. Part of me was really curious regarding her pattern, because she did this very quickly and I couldn't for the life of me determine what her method was. Was she a teacher, skilled and fast, preparing a lesson? Was she a student, methodic and innovative, dissecting a classic (though I think it was a random pulp) piece? Or was she simply a crazy person, entertaining herself on an otherwise uneventful train ride? I didn’t ask, because I didn’t want the beast demystified.

My country has elected a new government. The leader of it is a lady that supposedly plagiarized her college thesis and, better yet, entirely falsified her grades to get into college, or something. Dunno. This is what the media is saying - media sponsored by her opposition, so I have no idea. There are profound university professors who are glad these things are being brought to light, but at the same time warn that cases may occur where prosecutors will be entirely unfit to analyze, yet alone grade thesis' and doctorate studies. The committees are employing a computer program which will determine whether a work is a plagiat or not - but professors stress that at times almost ALL of a thesis is quotes and already known statements, simply challenged. Also, there is a grave difference between a work of fiction and a work of bullshit. Sometimes you have an entirely unique thesis that's plain and simple trash. 
            Question. Why not be a politician? I mean here, now. Hm. Let’s see. Firstly, because this is the one profession in the entire catalogue, that actually consists of naught but lukewarm air. You do nothing. You create nothing. Even if you make an effort, you achieve nothing. This is the exact opposite of being a doctor, a judge or an artist. You do nothing. You talk. You lie. You scheme. You argue ALL THE TIME with fanatics, craving power. You drown all the time. You can't wipe your nose without insulting someone. You do nothing but try to keep sane. And to what end? Nothing. You get paid a lot of money to sit in a parliament and occasionally vote on one pass or another. I can't think of a single member of our parliament that in the past twenty-five years changed the world for the better. I KNOW the path to Utopia is very long and very winding, but still. I wouldn’t  want that career upon my worst enemy. Okay, maybe my worst enemy. But what would one try and achieve once in power? Nothing that needs fixing can actually be fixed by an optimist. And even if one did make a positive, benevolent change for the little people... It would all just get fucked over in four years' time. 

Oki, enough random ranting; my turn to go in :) My yearly ultrasound check-up. Half of the pleasure is being at the hands of Dr. Malinar. He is so chatty, so friendly. I just love him. Old school Yugoslavian physician. One of the really good ones. He will talk about every ounce of my anatomy, showing me the gray mess on the monitor, as if I had any idea what he is talking about. Complimenting my aorta, my kidneys, my breasts, my pancreas, and telling me off over my slightly fatty liver, and commenting on my tiny bladder. I think he takes twice the time to handle a patient than he probably should. Dunno. Or just me. I love it how he triple checks every funky shadow on every layer of my earthly frame. From ears to eggs. Ahh, my infamous ovaries. They are like at war with one another. Two old ladies bantering :D

I'm gonna go back to the cafe and have another coffee until I need to pee. Don't like being home alone. Today's been an odd, long day. Check-up ended well. Coffee's been great. I read through and through the magazine. Wrote four pages of inner monologue. Found some unexpected money and spent it on color pens and a bought a new notebook, because I wanna try writing something and it requires a new mental scenery:)))) 

And it's Wednesday. All new dungeons tonight on Wow. Good times.