Man, This Bush Administration Is A Real Train-Wreck, Isn't It?
I like to kid the president. Part of it is because I disagree with almost everything I've ever heard the man say. Another part of it is easy jokes at the expense of a man for whom the act of speaking is an inartful, labor-intensive slog.

Over the last day or so, my opinion of the president has softened slightly. Events have conspired to put his worldview into a slightly more favorable context.

See, my biggest problem with Bush has been his famed certitude. His pig-headed, anti-consideration stance where he makes policy decisions driven by ideology with little or no weighing of practicality or cost (monetary, human or otherwise).

I've always believed (and still largely do) that there's a great deal to be said for doubt. Answers, after all, cannot be arrived at without first positing questions. I am not claiming that this is any sort of original insight on my part. Read anything from Descartes to Douglas Adams and the same idea will be staring back at you the whole time, fighting with the details of the last Fear Factor episode you watched for space in your brain.

Normally, as I said, I would mock the president and his disinclination to doubt, his abject lack of moral courage to question, the fragile and shallow nature of his belief system that he must know would not stand up under the weight of serious examination.

If I mix any more metaphors this blog may explode, so I'll just get to the point.

I realized yesterday that there are times when absolute certitude is a good thing. Even in questions of life and death, it can be a blessing to be completely doubt-free for not only your own sake, but for the sake of society in general.

Let's look at an example.

There's this guy, Juan Manuel Alvarez. He spends a few days and nights really struggling, Hamlet-like, with the burdens of existence in general, asking the deepest, most frightening question a human can ask him or her self: To be or not to be?

OK, maybe he just broke up with his girlfriend or something. Or maybe he's just a crazy fucker. Anyway, the answer to the question (whatever it might have been and who gives a shit now really?) was that he was going to kill himself. Pitch it in. Top himself.

Mr. Alvarez's main problem? He lacks the president's certitude. Bush's moral compass only points North (even if, say, civilization and safety is off to the west a little bit). Lacking that strength of conviction, Alvarez can't make a simple decision. This is not the kind of person you want to have invite to a restaurant. He'll spend 45 minutes going back and forth trying to decide between the spare ribs or the fish of the day (it's mahi-mahi today, if you're wondering) and end up with a glass of water and a green salad. Then he'll get home that night and wonder why he didn't have any fun.

So first Juan slashes his own wrists. No no, wait. Too Afterschool Special. So he changes over to stabbing himself in the chest. Either half-hearted from the lack of committment or weak from the loss of blood from the wrist-slashing thing, he fails to penetrate the breast-bone and lives.

Ah, he thinks to himself, I've got it! I'll drive my car on to the train tracks and let a train hit me. No room for doubt there, no margin of error. Train vs. guy, train wins every time.

So Juan hops in his Jeep and moseys down to the rail crossing closest to his house, parks squarely mid-track and waits.

For a person of Juan's mental make-up, waiting is a problem. The doubt-fueled thoughts come thick and fast. What am I doing? Is this what I want? Did I leave the oven on? Oh! I shoulda tried the head-in-the-oven thing instead. Next time maybe. Man, I can't believe the guy ate that pig rectum on Fear Factor. You'd have to be crazy to try that.

By now Juan has lost interest. If he dies now, he'll never see another Fear Factor. And how can he possibly think of dying when he doesn't know how The Amazing Race ends? Nope, nevermind. The suicide is called off. Getting hit by a train would probably really hurt anyway.

And now Juan has a problem. See, there's a train coming. It's almost on top of him. Had he been more decisive, he would have thrown his Jeep in reverse and got the hell out of there. Panicked and vascillating as he will, Juan gets out of the Jeep, leaving it there in the path of the oncoming train.

Oh damn. Details are not Juan's strong point.

Juan's bad day gets worse. It's a commuter train. Train hits car. Train derails. At the exact same time another commuter train full of people is coming the opposite way. Juan's derailed train hits that train, derailing it and sending it into a third train, a stationary one, a cargo train, that then bursts into flame.

Now, if I'm Juan, I'm gone. I'm running as fast as my weak knees will carry me in whatever direction is not Giant Train Wreck-ward. But Juan, he feels things deeply. He's a thinker and a ponderer and a sufferer. So he wanders around the debris field amongst all the death and destruction he caused mumbling "I'm sorry" and the like.

The police, bold decisive types that they are, put two and two together and decide to hold Juan for further questioning.

And now Juan, for all his troubles, for all his deep soul-searching, sits in a prison cell awaiting formal indictment and then a trial for murder. The hard decision he ultimately could not make for himself the state may now make for him.

Juan is facing death penalty. I can't imagine the relief he must feel.

Just for the record, we know if the president were despondent and considering doing harm to himself (God forbid... are you listening, Secret Service?), he wouldn't do anything so wishy-washy as slash his wrists. Besides, that's a chick's method. He'd do something bold, leaving no room for compromise or introspection. He'd probably do something all butch and manly like invade North Korea all by himself. That or watch TV alone with a bag of pretzels.



This post on the Narcissus Scale: 5.2


Pops

- posted by Pops @ 10:35 AM