A Somber Decree

I write a column for When Falls the Coliseum every Tuesday -- the link is at the right. It is a satirical, often Dante-esque thing in which I utter "decrees" as self-proclaimed "Emperor of the World." Most of them are silly -- they start with a social problem that I decree against and then a punishment (the Dante-esque part) is given for violators of the decree. Yesterday, I spoke to 9/11 with an unusually solemn decree. I thought I would cross post it here for readers of H&R. -- Chris

I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

On Earning One's Eternal Rest

I've managed -- despite having read lots of books, and despite, in the course of my formal studies, having been submerged in a sea of sideways-smiling intellectuals who think me rather quaint -- to have held on to my faith in God.

That faith has evolved, for sure. My concept of God has become more and more complex as I have grown. I've long since left behind the simplistic perspective that many hold on to until their deaths. But, it is nice to go backward, if only for the sake of exploring an idea. So, let's look at it this way:

I hope, when I see God some day -- hopefully after a good many years (Father forgive me, because I do love this world) -- he will give me the thumbs-up, because I tend to wonder if I have made the right choices. 

I toss and turn about it. I really do. I live under a set of self-imposed standards that make things difficult as hell, at times.

So You Think You Can Be President

[This is an oldie, but I thought it was the appropriate time to bring it back. The more I think about it, the more it seems like a good idea -- Chris]

This is a proposal of the most grave and honest intent.

Here it is. We have two years to get ready for this. I propose that we replace our current system of electing the President of the United States. Instead of the campaign/election process, the President should be chosen based on the call-in votes of Americans during a reality competition television show called So You Think You Can Be President. I submit that we will get better, more reliable results than we get with the current system. Voters will know their candidates much more deeply and they will be more confident and informed in their ultimate voting decisions. But the show must be carefully planned to yield the most reliable results.

First, there will be no party affiliations. Let's get that done from the start, because that is an archaic idea and parties cause more troubles than they abate. Parties are a smokescreen for cowardice and laziness of thought.

Second, all candidates must be over the age of forty and they must carry a master's degree in an academic discipline. (This helps to insure their potential as learners and thinkers.) Career politicians are welcomed to apply, but so are, say, English teachers, laywers, doctors, business people and librarians, etc.

Stage one of the competition:

The Master Thespian (A Parable)

He'd prepared for this all of his life. He'd studied The Method. He'd read The Bard at bed time each night since the age of nine. He'd glowed in front of the footlights while still in diapers. He'd become a master of his craft.

Then, it happened...

He was given his dream role in the greatest play in the history of the world. It was to run for six months on Broadway -- longer, perhaps. The show was guided by the most successful director of all time. He would live his dream; there would be a movie offer; he would make a fortune.

But, after the first rehearsal, he realized this all meant nothing. His love interest -- the other lead -- was the worst actress he had ever met. Their kisses were like organizing the silverware. Their scenes of jealous passion were exciting as oatmeal.

She was the worst actress ever born. She was also the producer's daughter.

Performance after performance was like playing a one-man tennis match. Still, he served and served again, only to watch the ball hit the back wall and die after a few bounces, fuzzy and nauseous green in the shadows.

This would be hilarious if it were not a terrifying truth of so many lives.

College Kids Today!

Kids today. When I went to college, we were forced to spend 23 hours per day in a dirty cell
(they called it a "dorm room"), surrounded by the corpses of previous students who couldn't survive their freshman year. If we got anything below a ninety-percent on a test, we were made to lick the bottom of the professor's shoes clean. If we were lucky, he'd forget to step into his personal kitty litter pan full of poisonous dust, before-hand. We used to study twenty eight hours a day, standing up, with a seventy-five pound backpack full of every volume of the Oxford English Dictionary on our shoulders -- barefoot, and on broken glass (dipped in mercury).

If we ever tried to call our parents, the dorm room phones would shoot steel spikes into our ears. If we went to the campus doctor about it, he'd say, "Serves you right for being weak, cretin," and he would make us wash his car and then drive his son to soccer practice. On Mars.