Thursday, November 22, 2012

Schadenfreude And Its Converse

Solitude and companionship are both compromises. With solitude comes loneliness along with relative peace, and with companionship comes strife along with relative intimacy. Either scenario seems a bit of a wash as to whether the prioritization of one psychological need (peace or intimacy, as the case may be) over another psychological need (intimacy or peace, as the case may be) is ultimately advantageous. Together these alternative scenarios present a larger, more metaphysical wash: I'm screwed either way, on the one hand, and it could be a lot worse either way, on the other hand.

I know that I should try to be grateful and count my lucky stars. After all, imagine how difficult life must be for the confirmed bachelor[ette] who's unhinged, mad with inner turmoil. Imagine the loveless couple who must negotiate their competing interests without empathy or tenderness. Think of these wretches! I remind myself that maintaining a positive outlook is important, that optimism breeds happiness, and I think of these wretches. These losers are mere figments, hypothetical patsies in my mind, but I'm confident that their real-life analogs must number in the many thousands (if not the millions). Their misery fortifies me. Their sad lot helps me to put my own situation into perspective and enables me to regard my fate with acceptance and even some modicum of thankfulness.

Of course, this is not to say that I don't suffer crises of faith, far from it. I've tossed and turned through my dark nights of the soul. I've felt in my gut that sinking, sickening feeling that somewhere out there are those who have everything. Oh, God, damn them! Is there a blessed hermit who has never cried out into the silence, desperate for fellowship? In my nightmares, his cup runs over and he mocks me. Are there charmed lovers whose interests never diverge, who share an agenda as closely as they share confidences and passion? In my terrible fantasies, they toast their bliss and they pity me. These smug specters trumpet the rudeness and the cruelty of a destiny that I suspect to have sorely cheated me. Why should these fortunate few have it all? What entitles them to such perfect happiness?

Yes, there are times when I seethe and, yes, it's unhealthy, but as the jealousy and the rage begin to swell in my breast I try to calm myself by remembering those less fortunate than me. I reflect on those condemned to plumb the endless depths in search of ever lower stations into which to settle as they sink with their woe, and doing so almost invariably lifts my spirits.

Monday, November 12, 2012

Sully's Reputation

If you're like me then you watch a lot of TV, and if you watch a lot of TV then you've probably seen a lot of Sully Sullenberger.  I'm so sick of this guy.

Sullenberger's the holier-than-thou spokesman for St. Jude Children's Research Hospital.  He comes on surrounded by sad-looking, skinny, bald kids and he says, "Hi, I'm Captain Sully Sullenberger.  People call me a hero, but these kids here at St. Jude Children's Research Hospital are the real heroes…."  Then there's a montage of sick little patients looking forlorn and helpless in their hospital beds with wires and tubes and shit all hooked up everywhere.  Then Sully comes back on and tells me that I should give St. Jude some money so that these kids can continue their desperate struggle.

Wtf?  Cancer's a drag, no doubt about it, and I don't like dead children any more than the next guy, but who the hell is Sully Sullenberger?

I'll tell you who Sully Sullenberger is: Sully's the guy who crash-landed his airplane into the Hudson River a few years ago, US Airways Flight 1549…all 155 passengers and crew aboard the plane survived.  It was a slow news week, I guess, so suddenly Sullenberger's a national hero and he's meeting the President and he's writing a best-selling memoir (which he entitled Highest Duty…gimme a fuckin' break).

Last I checked, landing an aircraft without killing anybody was a pretty standard duty in any pilot's job description.  It's essentially one third of the job: you take off without killing anyone, then you fly the plane somewhere without killing anyone, and then you land the plane without killing anyone.  I'm not saying it's easy, necessarily, but it's certainly fucking doable.  Pilots all around the world are doing it every day.

It's true that Sully had to unexpectedly land Flight 1549 due to equipment failure, but the reason his equipment failed is because he flew his plane into a flock of geese.  Wasn't this fucker ever trained to not steer his plane into flocks of geese?  I've avoided geese plenty of times (Lake Merritt, y'all…yo, yo, Oakland!), in a car and on a motorcycle, and it ain't that hard.  Granted, I'm on the ground and I'm not going that fast, but, still, it's pretty easy to refrain from ramming your vehicle into a flock of geese.  Don't crash into shit…pretty much Aviation 101, folks.

So basically Captain Chesley Burnett Sullenberger is a hero and a celebrity because he did his job, the job that he signed up to do and that he was getting paid to do.  What the hell?!

I do my job, too, you know.  I'm there by nine most mornings, and I stay past five.  On my most recent performance evaluation I was rated "very satisfactory."  I've been involved in zero on-the-job fatalities.  So am I a hero?  Most people would say that I'm not.

You see, I don't fit the hero stereotype.  I'm not a veteran fighter pilot like Captain Sullenberger is.  I didn't go to the United States Air Force Academy, and I didn't win the Outstanding Cadet in Airmanship award.  So because I don't conform to people's preconceived notions of heroism, I'm just some shmo who's adequately doing his job.  But ol' Sully does his job, and, hooray, he's America's fuckin' sweetheart.  He's throwin' out the first pitch of baseball season.  Mayor Bloomberg dubs him "Captain Cool."  He's on the talk-show circuit.  He's the Grand Marshal of the goddamn Tournament of Roses Parade.

Whatever.

I'll tell you what, though: if I had Sully's reputation, I'd try to use it to do something cheerful to uplift the community.  I wouldn't come on TV trying to make people feel like crap and guilt-trip them into donating money.

Friday, November 9, 2012

Alpha Males And Omega


I'm thinking that I might have to buy this Omega Seamaster Planet Ocean, which apparently is featured in the new James Bond movie, Skyfall.  007 wears it on the steel bracelet, or so I've read, but I would wear it with the rubber strap.  I'd prefer to wear it with a NATO strap, but it's much too thick for that.

If this watch were just a few millimeters thinner then I'd've purchased one months ago (long before I ever knew about its being featured in an upcoming Bond installment).  It looks super badass (you'll get used to the weird hands if you look at it long enough; also, those unnecessarily beveled lugs that Omega so stubbornly insists on work much better on a diver than on any other model) and it has a particularly accurate, rugged, and innovative movement (including a silicon balance spring that never loses its shape), much superior in precision and durability to the hideous Rolex Submariner's caliber 3135 (which, by the way, will cost a fellow a couple thousand dollars more than the Planet Ocean's rather sensibly priced co-axial 8500).

It's just so ridiculously thick, though (16.3mm!).  Such thickness might not be so bad on the 45.5mm-diameter version, I guess, but, given my modest wrists, I'd surely have to wear the equally thick 42mm-diameter version.

My point here is that I have a massive wad of watch money burning a hole in my pocket, but I can't seem to find a watch that I really, truly want.  My mother, who lives in poverty, could probably put the money to good use and I do feel guilty, but I need a new watch, something super fresh and totally kick-ass.

Don't get me wrong: my trusty IWC Mark XV pilot watch is exquisite and I'll always love it.  But I need something less elegant and more macho (i.e., bigger...I'm looking for 3-4mm more diameter than the levelheaded and understated Mark XV's 38mm diameter).

Nowadays, all the bigger IWC pilot models (except for the so-called Big Pilot, which is clearly way too big for my wrist) are abominations aesthetically due to their absurd date displays.  The only cool-looking IWC diver is the retro Aquatimer, which (a) has an inner rotating bezel...so inconvenient, (b) isn't very waterproof at all for a diving watch, and (c) is, if we're being honest, definitely too big for me with its 44mm diameter.

Jaeger-LeCoultre makes a cool-looking and nicely sized retro diver, but it doesn't have a date function.  Only a fool or a wastrel would ever buy a watch without a date function.  I could see James Bond wearing Jaeger-LeCoultre, though.  I'm pretty sure that Bond's always worn Rolex or Omega in the movies, but I could see him wearing JLC.  Clive Owen, that British actor who was in The Bourne Identity, happens to be a sort of spokesman for JLC (they call 'em "friends of the brand"...George Clooney is Omega's friend, as is Cindy Crawford) and I've heard that he was almost cast as James Bond.  In fact, I think maybe I read that Daniel Craig got the part after Clive Owen turned it down.  I can't remember.

I suppose that if I didn't care about the date, I'd consider getting a sporty, flashy Rolex Milgauss.  James Bond would never wear a Milgauss, though, and not just because it lacks a date (let's not forget, after all, that Sean Connery was sporting a no-date Sub in Dr. No back in the 60s when Submariners were cool).  The design of the Milgauss' indices, hands (especially the seconds hand), and crystal (especially the green crystal) is too futuristic and science-nerdy for someone like James Bond, who requires something more traditional and more virile.

From the TV commercials for Skyfall, it looks like Q is now a young, hipster type.  If so, a Milgauss might be perfect for Q.  But remember the old Q, that old guy from the 70s and 80s Bond flicks who always wore tweed and disapproved of 007's cavalier attitude?  I'm sure that geezer very much cared about what the date was.  That guy was hella uptight.  I wouldn't be surprised if that old stickler carried a pocket watch around on a fob.  The old Q was a full-on goofball, as pompous as you like, and I can't imagine that anybody ever gave the slightest shit about his watch.

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