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I applaud Ted Kennedy’s stated desire to help the less fortunate. He spent his many political years attempting to give a voice to the poor and disenfranchised of our society. I have no reason to argue with his motives, but respectfully, I do take the slightest little bit of exception with many of his attempts to reach those objectives. I know there must be at least two sides to every issue because I never agreed with Teddy on much of anything.
Former Senator Kennedy’s pro-choice stand is the most difficult for me because he publicly proclaimed himself to be a staunchly Catholic man while also publicly promoting pro-choice laws in our society. These two positions are impossible to reconcile. Teddy was a poster child for compartmentalized Christianity; Catholicism remains a poster child for pro-life efforts around the world.
How Ted Kennedy was able to publicly advocate policies in such direct conflict with his church’s teaching is quite beyond me. The Catholic Church has been much vilified in recent years for its management and policy decisions. Since my youth, I have watched this church closely. I am well aware of the church’s various successes, but if asked to point to the top contribution of the Catholic church, I would point to a strong pro-life record.
Yet here we have a staunchly Catholic politician disagreeing with the church on one of the most vital issues of our day and receiving a full funeral mass at the end. I read a brief review of Canon law on the subject of Ted’s eligibility for a funeral mass. It seems he may have recanted his pro-choice views during the latter days of his life, which would lead to forgiveness and a Catholic funeral mass, in turn.
I have no qualms with that. If Ted recanted his earlier position on abortion, I believe he should be forgiven. Besides, Jesus Christ forgives regardless of whether I agree or not. And it is a good thing, too. In His perfect way, He forgives us all for failings others would hold against us. As a recipient of God’s largesse, I wish for nothing but the same for my fellow men. We are fortunate to have such a wonderful and forgiving savior in Jesus Christ.
But I believe the church must set an expectation among its membership for public advocacy on key issues like abortion—Advocacy on the same side of the issue as the church, I mean. Any of us who disagrees with his denomination, should not speak out on the issue while proclaiming ourselves to be members in good standing. This gives the wrong impression. This gives the impression that it is acceptable to disagree on these points and remain in good standing with the church, which should not be true when we’re dealing with weighty matters like the value of human life.
Indeed, we cannot be Christians in good standing and argue for Abortion. Teddy argued against the Christian church’s stand. If he ever changed his opinion, he kept his revised views to himself. He might have issued a statement of apology for the damage his advocacy caused. He might have concerned himself with the force his opinion might bring to bear on the debate. He might have said something. He might have run out of time. I have no way of knowing because if Teddy attempted to help anyone else avoid the soul wrenching harm of abortion as a lifestyle choice, it was not noted in the press.
Certainly, Rome cannot control all of its members, but the church’s decision to allow Teddy to maintain such a destructive dichotomy of positions while remaining a member in good standing baffles me. Their decision to grant a funeral mass is the cherry on top of the cake. If Teddy recanted his earlier views, then by all means a full funeral mass was appropriate, but in the absence of any announced change of heart, we are left to wonder about the wisdom of this decision.
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
We have a policy here at Hippo House: When one of us is sick or injured, the other plays nurse. This approach has served us well enough for nearly 29 years of marriage, but we’ve recently encountered a new challenge and we find ourselves somewhat underpolicied. To that end, I have drafted a new letter of agreement:
Named parties:
Post date: August 30, 2009
Post Time: 7:31 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time.
Instruction. Let it be known that letters of agreement shall be posted for public viewing, commentary, and debate. Parties named under the agreement have 24 hours to respond. In the absence of an appropriate response (via the comments function) within the stated period, agreements shall become binding on all named parties.
Narrative. When it shall be realized that both members of Hippo House are simultaneously afflicted with maladies—similar or otherwise—be it resolved that the first sufferer shall be served by the second. Timing of the onset of symptoms will be the sole consideration for determining who shall be patient and who shall be nurse. Where a timing difference cannot be identified, the elder hippo shall serve the younger.
So there it is. The clock is ticking, Mrs. Hippo. I eagerly await your replies.
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
A single viewing of the popular movie The Waterboy may leave your thirst unquenched, but the water is more refreshing than you might think. After a dozen or so viewings, I have begun to recognize this movie for the important piece of film that it is.
Before I proceed, I feel obliged to provide the expected warning about spoilers. You may want to sift back through the archives for a previous rant on spoilers, but despite the inanity of the endeavor, I will leave one here: Do not read any further if you’re hoping to be surprised at the plot twists in this 11-year-old movie. I may make remarks in this review that would spoil the experience for you.
Pressing on…
The Water boy is a classic hero who struggles to overcome the problems of his past. He is essentially good, and while there are many reasons and opportunities for him to take a darker view, he clings to a positive outlook. For 18 years, the Water Boy provided water to a group of ingrates who repaid his services with abuse and ridicule. Eventually, Bobby Boucher (Adam Sandler) is fired, and that termination leads him to a new job and a new life.
Although the loss of his first job is a turning point for Bobby Boucher, we don’t recognize it at first. The people on his new team also treat him poorly, and they don’t appreciate the pride or excellence he brings to the water boy position. After Bobby joins the team as a player, however, things begin to change. Things begin to surge ahead in a positive direction for our affable hero, Bobby Boucher.
The middle of the story sends a bit of a mixed message. One the one hand, we learn that everyone has something to contribute. We’re all valuable if we can just tap into the skills inside. This is demonstrated by Bobby’s strong contribution on the team once he harnesses his rage to become a top notch “fools’ ball player.” On the other hand, Bobby’s unappreciated water boy position is never redeemed. This is despite consistent praise for water as a panacea for all that ails us.
It is a sad but accurate commentary on humanity that we place so little value on the people who provide some of the most important services. Trash men and plumbers and water boys are considered second class for bringing value and tangible assistance while lawyers and politicians and actors are revered for bringing much less of actual value to the party. It is simply amazing.
Bobby learns to stand up for himself and becomes popular. It isn’t long before he begins to apply the lessons he has learned to help others. As we noted previously, Bobby is a basically decent person, and decent people help others. This is another lesson to be gleaned from the story.
As Bobby’s influence waxes, the team grows stronger and wins a trip to the Bourbon Bowl where they will face Bobby’s original team. Bobby encourages Coach Klein (Henry Winkler) to stand up for himself. Using channeling techniques similar to Bobby’s, Coach Klein finds inner strength and long forgotten plays to triumph over the man who stole his talent years earlier.
Bobby Boucher and Coach Klein are proof of the need to believe in ourselves. Only when they step out on their own and extend themselves do people begin to appreciate their potential and actual contributions. Bobby’s Mama held him back for most of his life. Her well meant comments and dismissals played to his weaknesses and suppressed his growth. Coach Klein was surrounded by people who expected mediocrity from him, and he barely met their expectations.
In the end, Bobby Boucher perseveres. So does Coach Klein. By facing adversity, drawing on the power of our demons and channeling our inner strength, perhaps we can persevere too. Maybe we can demonstrate potential to change the opinions of those who would stifle our development. Maybe we can exceed a few expectations. And maybe we can find ourselves. Maybe you can find yourself.
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
I want a claque. I’ll bet you want one, too.
For those who don’t already know, a claque is a group of obsequious fans who rave over your every utterance. I usually notice them on television hanging around someone famous or rich. It is easy to criticize the claque owner for shallowness. We wonder why they don’t just shoo away the bootlicks, but honestly, who wouldn’t want a troop of cheerleaders enthusing over them?
Sadly, for most of us, a claque is out of reach in the way the moon is out of reach. We are not going to stretch just that little bit farther and pull a claque out of the sky. Nope. No claques for us, but I do like to ponder the idea of a claque. My daydreams about a claque of my own are some of my favorites.
What is it about normal people that results in such a claque-less existence? Why won’t people urge us on? Why are there so few encouragers in our lives? Maybe it is just a function of our culture. Perhaps most people must be “normal,” so a few can be “special.” For some reason, we seem to need for there to be special people. If we all treated everyone with unmerited love, wouldn’t that be exhausting?! Plus, we wouldn’t have that little bit extra to display when a special person arrived on the scene, and then we’d “feel a bit of a fool” wouldn’t we?
I haven’t met many people who are deserving of special treatment. I’ve met a lot of people who think they’re special, but in truth, most people are rather similar when it comes right down to it. Sure there are differences in intelligence, appearance, height, weight, personality, etc. But in the basic ways, none of us is really very remarkable at all. We all have our dreams and interests. We all get things right some days and wrong on others. None of us really deserves to be singled out as better than the rest.
I believe we all seek encouragement and that many of us want to encourage others, as well. The trick is to get encouragement out of ourselves and others in somewhat comparable quantities. We can’t have it just one way. Encouragement is a 2-way street. It may help to consider how well we encourage our friends and how effectively they repay the favor. If there is a disparity between the praise we give and the praise we receive, then perhaps we can develop an action plan to close the gap.
In my experience, one of two things is usually happening:
1) We praise a bunch of ingrates who never reciprocate, so we feel taken for granted, and we begin to resent them.
2) Others praise us and we don’t reciprocate, so they feel unappreciated, and they begin to suspect we’re not worthy of their attentions.
Certainly, there are those who praise selflessly and never give it another thought. There are many people who have never considered the tit for tat I’ve outlined here. That is all well and good. People shouldn’t get a scale out to measure their relationships. That is just unhealthy.
I am suggesting we should measure our own contributions, however. If we are the ones who are selfish or oblivious to others, we need to know that, so we can improve. Everyone wants a claque, but no one wants to be in a claque. Maybe we can change that. If we all make a positive overture or two for our friends, maybe we’ll add a little happiness to their days. If we all start being encouragers, won’t that pay off in dividends down the line as happier friends and family are more fun to be around?
Maybe we should all strive to become encouragers. Maybe we should all help to form claques. I’ll bet there is a claque wanted job offering listed somewhere near you. You can get that job! I have confidence in you. You are a wonderful, caring person. Let that out. Make a difference!
Every day is another chance to make a difference in the lives of your friends and family.
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
He strode up with a purpose and declared himself to be a “good Christian man.” He pointed out that he didn’t drink or do drugs, and once his proclamations were behind him, he wasted no time in asking me for money. He had a gold tooth in the front, which I recognized as an odd choice for a pauper.
I was fueling my recently wrecked motorcycle and bracing for a long broken ride home. I already had my ear plugs inserted, so my hearing was somewhat impaired, but I understood him well enough. I was not particularly sensitive to his needs, but in the back of my mind, I recalled the way I’d felt earlier in the day as so many careless people drove past the scene of my accident. In my time of need, many people were oblivious to me. They didn’t see my need, and they apparently didn’t care.
I looked at this young man, warily, as I mulled over a response to his little speech. He seemed healthy enough, and endowed with a salesman’s confidence in addition to the gold tooth already mentioned. How easy to perceive calculations and machinations in his demeanor! How simple to discount his basic humanity in a cloud of jaded cynicism! I confess, I thought of a few unkind replies.
I might have asked, “Do all ‘good Christian’ men judge themselves and report an acceptable result to their fellows? Do they say, ‘I’m a good person or I’m good enough!’? Shouldn’t good Christian people forgo self-aggrandizing commentaries? Certainly, through Christ we are all made acceptable, but it feels like a stretch to start labeling ourselves “good.” We’re better off thinking about things besides ourselves, don’t you think?” But I didn’t say those things.
I might have asked him if he introduces himself as a Christian in every encounter with others or if he reserves this sort of speech for times when he’s asking for money. “Do you think it is right to use your Christianity for profit? As a Christian, should you not be asking me if I need help? Look at me! I’ve wrecked my motorcycle! I ache all over, and I don’t even have a rear brake! Christ came to serve, not to be served. As Christians, we are called to be like Christ. Our concern should be for God and others. Using God to arrange support from others seems inappropriate to me.” But I didn’t say any of that, either.
Thinking about how good we are isn’t a particularly productive endeavor unless we’re panhandling. Thinking about why someone is asking for help isn’t helpful either. I wonder how many people saw me that morning and rationalized not stopping to help. Did they think I got what I deserved for riding a dangerous motorcycle? Did they think they would never need help? Did they think someone else would provide assistance? Were they worried about being on time for work? Perhaps they thought the entire wreck was a setup to rob or kill them. Stranger things have happened.
It is hard to do the right thing. We have our own concerns and interests. We can’t always decide what we should do. Sure there are dangers in the world. Some people asking for money don’t need it. Some people who appear to need help are really waiting to waylay the first nice person to come along. How can we decide what to do? How can we decide how to respond?
In the end, I decided that there was a chance that this healthy and fast-talking young man was really a brother in need. I decided that if I am going to live on this planet and ask for help from time to time, then I am going to need to hippo up and help others when opportunities present themselves. I wish I could say the Holy Spirit led me to that conclusion. In fact, my decision was based more on a sense of equity than a sense of spirituality.
I feel bad about it now, but at the time, all I could do was pull out my wallet and ungraciously hand over some money. It was not a Christian act because of the grudging mood of the transaction. Jesus calls on us to be cheerful givers. Christians should not give grudgingly. I need to work on that.
I hope that man took that money I gave him and bought food with it. I’m not sure what sort of food they sell in the Quickie Mart where he was headed. There were a lot of beer signs, but I didn’t see any Rainbow Bread or anything. But that is not mine to worry about.
Next time, I’ll try to help with a more Christian spirit because in the end it is not about the faith of the person we help. It is about our own faith. I believe in the moral of the story of the Good Samaritan. I love God and I believe I should try to love His children. I want to be “a good Christian man.”
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
I’ve been experimenting again. In order to study my theories, I had to resort to somewhat drastic measures. If it were not for the demands of science, I would never have done it. If it were not for the unceasing demand for blog content, I would surely not have considered it. If it were not for a slow motion motorcycle crash, I would still be living in darkness.
Gone, now, are the encumbrances of half-baked and untested ideas. In their place is knowledge and perspective, so put on your helmet for safety, and let’s take a look at these new ideas.
As many of you know, I have in the past expressed some ambivalence on the subject of safety gear. According to my theories, safety gear was detrimental to the joy of living and too focused on the possibility of dying. How can we really enjoy the ride when we’re wearing 100 pounds of protective gear? How can we remain free to appreciate our lives when we’re so focused on clinging to safety?
The thought of living a long, careful life to arrive safely at a senile and diapered end has never appealed to me. Wouldn’t a fiery crash on the interstate be a better way to go? Well, this is the first of our shattered theories. No one is guaranteed a life-ending fiery crash. You might have a little crash that doesn’t kill you. You could live and end up with that diaper after all. This possibility occurred to me, yesterday, as I lay mostly intact under the hissing hulk of my motorcycle at a busy Memphis intersection.
As cars zipped past, I hoped for a Good Samaritan and realized that I could have been seriously maimed. Of course, I was wearing a helmet and a riding jacket and gloves. If I’d been wearing chain mail on my legs, that would have been a big help, too. I concluded that safety gear is good and more safety gear is better. I should’ve worn another helmet…on my knee.
I’ve always thought that riding around town was more dangerous than highway travel. To some extent this was born out by the crash. Problems of navigation, slow speeds and hard right and left turns definitely complicate the business of riding a motorcycle. Plus, other drivers have a lot more to think about as well, and they can make mistakes, too. In the end, however, my accident was entirely my fault.
There were a bunch of factors. It was early in the morning. Before about noon, my hippo vision is not as clear as it once was, so I don’t see road signs and gravel as well as I might like. The daylight was hit and miss. Sunny one minute, shadows the next. This sort of thing wreaks havoc with my vision. Plus, I was riding an unfamiliar route, so I was looking for road signs and referencing the Garmin. I saw the turn in time to make it, but in the shadows, I didn’t see the gravel that made a hard turn a bad idea. All those factors and a split second led to a bunch of scrapes and bruises. Ouch!
I’ve often suggested I would simply jump off in an accident and surf along on top as the bike skidded over the pavement. This was not born out as a workable theory in my crash for a couple of reasons. There is a split second where you have a choice to make. Will you pilot the craft or jump off? I think you have to stay at the controls and go down with the ship. Otherwise, you’d be jumping off in situations where you might have straightened things out. You don’t want to wreck unless it is absolutely necessary, so you keep steering and hanging on, and that is why you don’t get off in time. I was skidding along under the bike before I realized the crash had occurred. There was no time for jumping off until it was too late.
Eventually, a couple of good and decent men were moved by the Lord to stop and help me out. I needed help and the Lord provided. Being battered and bruised is a tough way to see the hand of God working in my life, but I think it was worth it. One moment, I was confident and sure of myself. The next, I was vulnerable and needed help. We’re not here on our own. We all need help sometimes. And God gave us our fellow men to provide it.
God is good…all the time.
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
We live in a loud world. Serenity eludes even our deepest meditations. I try to create a silo of solitude around myself, but evil forces seek to intrude and break the silence. Two beasts, in particular, seem to be working in tandem against my sanity. We should have called them by more sinister names, but how were we to know pleasant names would be such a poor fit?
People will tell you a name has an influence on the nature of a creature. I am not so sure. For me, names like Bonnie and Moses conjure up imaginings of pleasant creatures, predisposed to causing little trouble and no noise. Unfortunately, this has not been demonstrated by the personalities of a certain dynamic duo, who just happen to carry those sweet-sounding monikers on little metal tags around their necks.
At Casa de la Hippo, we suffer with horrible howl bombs on a near daily basis. The bombs terrorize the entire community, but here at ground zero, the blast can be devastating. To be fair, it is not just about the Bassets. Mrs. Hippo is their ringleader as she expertly stages all the elements before leaving the hacienda. Bonnie and Moses are her instruments of dream destruction, but they get all of the blame in her absence. This morning, I suffered a particularly merciless howl bomb attack.
According to my investigation, Mrs. Hippo put Bonnie in the yard before she departed for work. After the garage door closed, car sounds faded down the street and howl sounds built to a crescendo. Snoop Dogg on a pro mixing board could not have more smoothly synchronized these sounds. Down with one slider…up with the other. Perfect!
Bonnie moaned briefly as a sort of test. OoooooooooooooOOOOOO oooooooOOOOOoooooo. I cringed and wondered, “Is she getting closer? As the pitch rises, the sound seems to draw near.” Scientific observations aside, I realized this is how these things always begin. I hoped against hope that it was over, and then, OoooooooooooooOOOOOO oooooooOOOOOoooooo. So much for hope. I looked at the clock. It was not quite 8 a.m. as I rolled out of bed. I deftly defused the howl bomb by letting Bonnie inside. Without a word, she entered and slunk over to her bed for a nap while I contemplated the day ahead. Of course, I was fully awake with no hope for a nap of my own.
Moses only howls when the answering machine picks up, which is a blessing of sorts, but he torments me in a different way. If I’ve made a sandwich, for example, and then have to step out of the room, Moses will eat the sandwich. He needs almost no time to consume my meals, and his moves are so lightning fast, they can only be heard, never viewed. From the sound of it, I believe there must be a small hopping movement involved, but I am forced to speculate because he is so fast.
Moses also goads Bonnie into barking. At times he will block her from entering their area. At other times, he will commandeer her bed. Either of these behaviors is enough to set off hysterical fits of Bonnie barking. Sometimes she barks in the yard. Sometimes she barks in the basement. Sometimes she barks in the kitchen. Regardless of location, the waves of sound flood over a hippo’s ears in a way that prohibits clear thought, raises blood pressures, and encourages fits of rage.
Our house is a like a drum. Flooring stretched over a basement amplifies footfalls and stompings in a way only a drum maker could fully appreciate. Tapping on a floor like ours certainly makes a lot more noise than tapping on a cement slab. Bonnie may appear unintelligent, lazy and prone to slobbering, but she loves to play the floor drum. She has a skin condition which must itch something fierce because she can scratch-drum for hours on end. Pills, lotions, and stern admonitions do nothing to lessen the onslaught of her horrible drumming.
It is like a jungle in here. I don’t know what Bonnie is trying to communicate, but I’m sure neighboring tribes are hearing it. To suggest her drumming is never ceasing would be untrue. She pauses from time to time, usually to switch legs, but she never takes a break when you’re straining to hear something. Important utterances are blocked out without fail.
So my serenity is lost. I type these closing words to the sounds of Bonnie’s drumming. Moses appears to be considering a move to her bed. From there he can more closely observe for openings to grab my next meal, which will probably be leftover pizza. Moses loves leftover pizza—especially when eaten among the cacophonic sounds of a displaced Bonnie.
Bon appetite.
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
There is an animal statue in Beijing’s Forbidden City. It’s a lion or a tiger or something. I don’t remember what it is, exactly, but it has gold-plated paws that are worn through to the metal beneath. Millions of citizens and tourists, rubbing for luck, have polished the shine off. Sort of like a reverse Midas’ touch, they’ve touched gold and produced pot metal.
Because there are so many bio scares these days, I’ve been thinking a lot about the day I touched those paws. I often wonder if I acquired some sort of dormant malady from among all those germs. Sure the incubation period would have to be more than 10 years for it to develop now, but you never know. A fortune cookie once told me I would “touch millions of people.” Thanks to that liger, I have.
Of course, that was back before the newfangled flu. The old fashioned flu was around in those days, though. They also had the plague back then, and tuberculosis was popular. I’m pretty sure you can’t get STDs from a liger paw—which is a relief for the whole hippo family—but I bet you could get encephalitis from the mosquitoes that hover around places like that.
As it turns out, hindsight is not always 20/20. If it were, surely we’d all look back at so many missed opportunities for disease acquisition and conclude that our immune systems are pretty capable. As I look back, I think of the time I did get the flu and I realize I have no idea which low-life scum infected me. Surely, it was a sneeze blaster who “sterilized” his hands by wiping them on his shirt.
In reality, the nastiest, dirtiest people in society have a power over the rest of us. Perhaps that is the allure of the nasty-dirty way. We can be vigilant about washing our own hands, but let’s face it, we’re at risk as long as we live around other people. There is nowhere to hide. You can stay home or skip work or go on vacation, but germs can find you anywhere.
So I try to control what I can and let the rest go. I’m not going to vector in an ulcer strike by worrying over influenzas, plagues, encephalitis, or anything else. I pray for good health, but I don’t single out the H1N1 virus. I believe it is best to avoid details when asking for good health. You never think to list everything that might kill you, and I, for one, don’t feel the need to crunch statistical data prior to prayer time.
God knows we don’t want any sort of malfunction. There is no need for us to start prattling on and on about all the things we don’t want to catch. It may be a good idea to pray that the dirty-nasties of the world might wash their hands a bit more, though. We could all do more of that. We could also avoid shaking hands, touching our faces and picking our teeth in public.
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
I appeal to your technologically advanced brains for an answer to a question I’ve been mulling for a couple of weeks. As some of you know, there is an old post on here titled “X is for Xian Dai Hua.” I wrote it and while it was tolerable, it is certainly not the best post in the world or anything.
I don’t normally make a habit of re-reading old posts, but in the case of that X article, I have made an exception. I confess I’ve read that one multiple times. Each time, I read it with a question in my mind: What is it about this post that is so compelling to Russian readers? I’ve had approximately 5 comments on that post from Russian readers. Some of those comments had absolutely nothing to do with the post. Others may be legit, but it is hard to say.
The most recent Russian comment is this one, which arrived just today:
Занятно пишете, жизненно. Все-таки, для того, чтобы делать по-настоящему интересный блог, нужно не только сообщать о чем-то, но и делать это в интересной форме
According to Babel Fish, that translates to this:
“You amusing write, vitally. Nevertheless, in order to make properly interesting [blog], it is necessary not only to report about by something, but also to make this in the interesting form.”
So what am I to make of this? I mean, I am happy that someone thinks I “amusing write, vitally,” and all, but why do all Russian comments land on only this one article? And why do these comments continue to trickle in so long after the “X” article has been relegated to the archives? I am missing something. I just can’t figure out what. Is this a SPAM invasion, and if so, what is the point? Anyone have any ideas? Any ideas at all?
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
http://www.simplyhippo.com/?p=161
I bet you’re thinking you know what the world needs now. You were thinking “love, sweet love,” weren’t you? Well, I guess we could always use a little more sweet love, but that isn’t what I was thinking. So relax while I blaze a trail through the jungle of what the world needs now. Pay attention because this is important!
Simply put, the world needs more fair-minded people.
Some people actually shop at a store and then demand internet prices. Shocking, isn’t it! It is not fair. The internet does not have anywhere near the overhead of a regular store. When you go in and try on a pair of shoes, for example, someone has to help you. That person must be paid. You also probably sat on a seat that wears out. You were in a building that must be air conditioned, illuminated and secured from shoplifters. All those costs are higher if you have a store in addition to an internet warehouse.
If you can buy something without using a store, you should feel perfectly justified in buying online. I buy online all the time, but I don’t waste a competing store’s resources beforehand. I think that is unfair, and I won’t do it. If I use the services of a store, I pay a store’s prices.
Refusing to merge and expecting the foremost drivers in line to yield is unfair. Don’t cut line in traffic. You know your rightful place in the lineup. Blasting past on the shoulder is wrong and the reason for many highway log jams. I’ll let you in at the back, but once we’re to the front of the line, you’ve waited too long and I have no sympathy for you. Put it in reverse and go to the back of the line.
Buying a big screen television for Super Bowl Sunday only to return it on Monday morning is unfair. If there is nothing wrong with an item, don’t bring it back. Return policies are for exceptional situations, not for everyday gaming of the system. There are costs involved for the store when you do this. They have to deal with you when you buy it and deal with you when you bring it back. They have to sell it again as an open item, which means it gets pushed around the store forever before it eventually sells for a loss. Why don’t you just get a gun and hold the place up?!
Borrowing your friend’s MP3 player or Compact Disc and ripping all the songs to your iPod is unfair. The bands and publishers who created those songs need the 99 cents. You can’t spare a buck for the guy who plays your favorite song? Or are you just trying it out to see if you like it? Despite the fact that it is against the law, let’s concede a day or two for the trial period. After that, you’ve stolen it. Stealing is not fair.
Falling in the mall because you weren’t paying attention and then filing a lawsuit for damages is unfair. You know it was no one’s fault but your own. Why should someone else pay? Because it’s the law? Is it the law that our prices should be higher to pay for your mistake? If so, that law is not fair.
Complaining about pork barrel spending in Washington and then voting primarily based on the block grants your representative delivers is unfair. Our reps can only do the right thing for the whole country if constituencies care about the whole country. Sadly, too many of us are voting for our own selfish demands while decrying the spending practices inside the beltway. It is just not fair.
Actively campaigning for policies and then not living up to those ideals is unfair. A politician who tells us to go green while winging from place to place in a private jet, for example, is cheating. What is good for the goose must be good enough for the gander.
Don’t tell me how I should behave when you can’t behave. Don’t wail and cry when stores you love are gone because you hastened their departure. Don’t exclaim and gesticulate when your favorite music is not available because the artists had to get other jobs. Don’t complain about drivers who won’t yield when you are the problem. No one wants to hear it. It is not fair.
What does the world need now? The world needs more fair-minded people.
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
