I have a disdain for few things in life. As I’ve written before, when you were as close to the gutter as I was, it’s easy to see much of the world through rose colored glasses, especially when you live in a great country where second chances abound and hard work is rewarded.
To put this in cycling perspective, you know those jerks in the big diesel trucks who mat it as they pass you to cover you in exhaust? Yeah, that makes me laugh, seriously, and I waive as they pass. I figure, “what the hell, if you have to be that big a jerk to someone you don’t even know, if you’re that angry, it’s actually quite sad”. I figure they need a nice smile and a hearty waive (with all five fingers extended, not just one).
That said, one thing that does drive me up a wall is pretentiousness for the sake of being pretentious. It just rubs me the wrong way. Take this mission statement:
Empathy, for a CHAIR? Folks, if you need to feel empathy for a chair, there’s way too much feeling happening in that melon of yours. Put a little less nobly, it’s a chair that you can’t really sit in without falling down so you can feel the chair’s pain. Those last two words are the most important part of that sentence…
Put realistically, it’s a chair you can sit in but can never really take a load off of your legs in. Put simply, it’s a chair you can never relax in.
This, folks, is pretentiousness for the sake of being pretentious. It usually just makes me laugh, like the diesel truck pissy guy, but every once in a while, yeah. Not so much. Maybe I just need to develop a process by which my cerebral function expands until such a time as I’ve achieved the ability to feel a chair’s pain.
What a waste of time and energy. Hey, maybe that’s why Jesus poop art needs federal funding. We can’t have that artist starve now, can we? He (or she) is simply helping some pretentious boob feel empathy for the poop.