Category Archives: Meaning of Life

Exercise Cooperation Among Friends

Cooperation among friendsCooperation Among Friends & Enemies

Cooperation – a word often misunderstood in today’s day. So many people think cooperation is where two parties, be they friends or adversaries, find a method to achieve a desired outcome so that both parties don’t feel entirely ripped off. Basically, it’s how to get something without losing too much face.

But that is the incorrect interpretation of the term cooperation. If you look at the word construct, you can see it consists of two parts:

Coop and Ration – the ‘e’ is just in there because the language police liked how it sounded at parties, and it was also a way for the global cabal of  printers to goose their ‘per-letter’ profit margins when they printed all those dictionaries that no one uses anymore. Why do you think the words laugh, thought, philosophy, colleague, wrought and knock have all those extra letters?You’re telling me laf, thawt, filosofee, coleeg, rot and nok wouldn’t suffice?? It’s a scam, I tells ya.

But I digress.

Can’t Fly the Coop

Taking a deeper look at so called cooperation, we can dissect the part of it that involves a coop. A coop is where whickens or rabbits or ducks are kept, fed and treated like machines in man-made structures until we need them for a meal. Human life is not too far off from the life of chickens, what with all our time spent cooped up looking at screens, watching Game of Thrones, or surfing to buy something on Amazon you just have to have, stopping only for a snack or bathroom break. Oh, we are all cooped up all right.

The only major difference is that we mostly feed and bathe ourselves, whereas the chickens are fed. Then again, with Uber Eats, we are becoming more like chickens, just with credit cards. (Good thing we don’t lay eggs. What a mess that would be.)

Furthermore, the more time we spend in our respective coops staring at the proverbial heating lamp known as a screen, the easier it is for whoever owns our data (it’s not you, trust me) to snoop on us and then let us know what we should buy, read, eat, object to, and be visibly offended by.

K-Ration

Now that we are wilfully cooped up, we can look at the rations we have left to survive on.  Let’s call them K-rations, for knowledge rations. First of all, it prints well on a baseball cap or a t-shirt, and secondly, I am not that smart or creative to come up with something better on the spur of the moment. I write these rants extemporaneously, and sadly without the aid of a trusty, gooey, sticky chocolate danish to fuel the fires of creativity and early onset diabetes.

As we all know, knowledge is generally rationed out by a) income and b) education. The more you have of a, the more you can get of b, and then become rich and have a coop somewhere in the Bahamas or Switzerland with servants who don’t have much of either a or b.

So with knowledge being rationed and most of us being cooped up somewhere, then it’s easy to see how cooperation functions. Just stay where you are, eat some feed, and wait to be told what to do by either your phone, spouse, secret government snooping agency, or your stomach/bladder/bowels. My recommendation: listen to your stomach/bladder/bowels before you listen to your phone. Unless the government has your tax returns and asks you to come for a polite chat.

Just cooperate. Unless they try to take away your danish. Then rebellion shall ensue.

Affectedly effective,
Santiago Schopenhauer Druker

What's your favorite type of cooperation?

Come Join The Snoop Troop!

SnoopThe Snoop Troop

Note to people 55 and younger: This ramble has nothing to do with Snoop Dogg, the artist/musician/dope-fiend. Although, if it did, I'd probably get one or two more readers.

To snoop, to pry into the private affairs of others, especially by prowling about, seems to be how to make a living these days. And what a living I might add. The snoops at Facebook, within the Russian government, the NSA, CIA, China, Google, Windows, Amazon and its Alexa, Huawei, and, wait, did I mention China? Yeah, they all make a very handsome living snooping on what you do, where you are, were or will be, when you do it, with whom, how you do it, and most times they can guess why. They snoop on your blood type, underwear size and the last time you shaved your armpits. Should you be scared? Maybe, but you’d be better off becoming one of them.

The snoop state (I could have said surveillance state, but snoop state fits more easily on a t-shirt) requires a huge amount of humans to make it work. Massive amounts of human flesh are needed to make all this happen. You’ve got:

  • people watching millions of screens while they snoop
  • people making cameras and software to snoop on people
  • people installing all those cameras and snoop-ware
  • people manufacturing signs saying “Under Surveillance”
  • people to read your texts and listen to record your phone calls
  • people to serve danish, coffee and sandwiches to the people watching millions of screens and reading all those texts
  • people cleaning the filthy screens and crumb-filled desks from the screen watchers who chose to get their sandwiches on crispy baguette or lightly over-toasted wholewheat bread
  • people to manage all those people watching millions of screens and give them performance reviews depending on how effectively they snooped in the name of snooping
  • and lastly, all the people being snooped upon (wouldn’t it be great if the snoopee got paid for being snooped upon)

Effectively you need many troops to snoop.

Lunch Talk

We’ve established that it takes a lot of people and time and effort to snoop upon entire countries, masses of consumers and those rotten non-conforming dissidents, who probably have unkempt hair and an untucked shirt. Like me. Uh-oh.

Often I have wondered, while munching on a chocolate danish, what do all these employees of the snooping world discuss at lunch (apart from why I eat so many danishes)?

They know all the mundane aspects of our lives, they read our texts, eavesdrop on our calls, spy on our writings, and rifle through our garbage. No wait, that was the raccoon in our backyard. Still, what do these snoopers talk about at work? Maybe it’s about Prince William cheating on Kate?

But given the rampant paranoia of the deep state (Russia, if you’re still listening) and the actual destruction of privacy we have all permitted either knowingly (Google) or unknowingly (Facebook, China, etc.), my recommendation is to go watch Jeopardy or Game of Thrones while your TV watches you back.

Sincerely,

Ingemar från Fälten

Technology Is A Vengeful God

Stanko & Tibor - CrisprTechnology Is A Vengeful God

It’s funny how we revere technology almost like a god. But we do that largely because it’s way easier to revere that than following an established religion where you often have to give cash gifts to large institutions, especially if you want to host a wedding there. What a racket that is. Weddings, I mean. Oh, and the Trump-eriffic Mueller Report.

Technology, like religion, was created by us humans so that we would have something explain why little Billy was run over by the motorized parade float featuring hairy, fire fighter drag queens at the Gay Pride parade, despite Billy’s utter innocence. Sure, his parents were mightily distracted and in a zombie-like trance watching season 8 of Game of Thrones or playing Fortnite til 3 AM on a caffeine high. But a vengeful technology god took Billy away to teach them a lesson. Or to teach Billy a lesson. I am not sure which one. I haven’t been sleeping well.

Let me be precise here when referring to technology as a god. I am not referring to the Miracle/Curse of CRISPR, the gene-editing technology that may one day alleviate the pain of disease, and help to create healthy populations, or potentially make a bunch of amoral Chinese super soldiers. No, it’s far more mundane than that.

Back to the technology-religion thing for a minute. It’s really simple to worship at the Altar of Bits and Bytes, at the Church of iPad, at the House of the 88-inch OLED Screen with 4K, because, let’s face it, you don’t have to get dressed up and show up at an place of worship on someone else’s schedule, where parking is difficult to come by.

No one asks you to pray or for donations at the Temple of Technology. They just ask for a credit card and a monthly subscription that over time equates to a king’s ransom of a small African nation. Which you are happy to fork over blindly because you get pretty immediate rewards and gratification as opposed to having to wait until the afterlife, which I am told by people who claim to have knowledge of such, is a hard place to find a decent Chinese food restaurant that isn’t overbooked.

Existential Threat

Now that technology is our new god, or is at least 85% of the way to replacing most major religions, we have new worries and fears.  I think it’s fair to say that humanity’s greatest existential threat is  when the WiFi goes down, or your smart phone goes on the fritz. That’s when the technology god wreaks his (yes, I used a masculine pronoun because that bloody profession of techies is about 99.9% male-dominated) revenge and puts you at the mercy of the evil minions who occupy the lower rungs of the Help Desk.

Minion #3,692,134 lords his (or her) power over you after you have waited 73 minutes on hold (a.k.a. purgatory), then gets you to give your most personal details like your blood type and the last time you picked your nose in order to verify your account before he (or she) explains that after “rebooting your device” (that always sounded vaguely sexual to me for some reason), you’re kind of screwed and they have to send a technician to your home, for a small fee. Kind of like buying an indulgence, no?

Yet, despite the ignominy of dealing with the Help Desk Minions, and the associated manager or Level 26 expert you had to wait an hour to get to just to tell you the problem is somehow your fault, once they miraculously re-establish the electronic connection and the flow of electrons and compressed data packets, you are elated to be able to continue streaming pretty much meaningless pictures of your cat or child that no one else wants to see. Unless it’s my cousin’s daughters who are super adorable.

Where does this discussion all lead to? What are you, dear reader, supposed to glean from this shaky piece of writing and ranting as the long weekend of Easter arrives? I don’t know, but I certainly did sucker you into spending more time on your electronic device reading this mess.

May the Technology Gods have mercy on your soul!

Love and sniffles,
Friar Augustino Druker

Genes and Natural Stupidity

Genes and crisprSkinny Genes

It’s remarkable how there’s so much awfulness in the press, the TV, the Interwebs and social media, yet we never stop to appreciate the beauty that surrounds us. Humans crave watching misery and Schadenfreude. We seem incapable as a global society to see beauty in all its forms and are fixated on anything but. And there’s a reason for that. Actually two reasons: 1) poor genes and 2) the smart phone.

Before I make a series of tremendously weak and bizarrely tangential arguments to show the link between the aforementioned DNA bits and silicon bytes, there’s a crucial, dare I say, universal fact that needs to be stated.

I’m Walking Here

Ever notice that when you’re walking anywhere in any city, be it a mall, a building hallway, a store, a plaza, a hospital, a sidewalk, or even a street protest, there are three kinds of people:

  • People who walk too slowly who make you want to push them down and step right over them, while mumbling an insult and powering forward
  • People who are walking faster than you, and inevitably nudge you while pulling out to pass so they can get to whatever tryst they have planned, thus causing you to utter the phrase “where is that jerk going in such a hurry??”
  • People who walk at the same pace as you, which makes you suspicious about why they aren’t passing you, as they must be after your wallet / purse / backpack / fresh chocolate danish, which of course forces you to cross the street to make sure the goods stay safe

In essence, everyone but you is walking at the wrong pace, and why are they all so stupid and can’t figure it out? Maybe the answer is genetic. Or smart phones.

Genes – Not the Designer Kind

Here comes those bizarrely tangential arguments that are largely indisputable because there’s no science backing them up — just raw, angry opinion stemming from poor sleep habits and a steady diet of foods with over-processed sugars and edible mineral oils.

The first one, poor genes, is more complicated than you think. Poor genes are the result of multiple factors, many of them having to do with luck, diet, education, geography and parental proclivities (talking to your children vs. locking them in a dark closet and whispering through the door “I hope the closet snakes aren’t hungry tonight”).

Humans have been exposing themselves to DNA-damaging substances since we crawled out of those primordial caves somewhere near Disneyland, I think. I could be wrong. Regardless, think of all the pewter and lead cooking and drinking conveyances we have used in the millennia since we started metal-smithing. Very bad for the DNA. Humans have been ingesting stuff they shouldn’t have since who knows when and we are not about to stop. Especially when those Pop Tarts are on sale. Yay!!

Humans hang out in the sun too much, thus damaging our genetic material as we frolic at beaches, parties and open-air strip clubs. Humans are also big fans of genetic carnage through the use of alcohol and drugs, that, in more than moderate quantities, leads to wars, raping, pillaging and waking up the next day in the bath tub with one eyebrow shaved and the words “Room temperature IQ” written in indelible ink on one’s forehead.  I won’t even get into processed meats!

Now we have invented technology that lets us edit genetic material like you’d edit a Word document, except there’s no spell checker. Or user manual. It’s called Crispr, and if you haven’t heard about, it’s China’s fault. (We have been blaming them for over a decade for spying, pollution, lead paint poisoning and questionable fortune-telling accuracy in the form of a cookie. So why stop now?)

So as you can see, we actively screw with our genes and not in the good way, thus globally lowering our ability to discern beauty from Trump-ish stupidity.

I’ve Got You

The smart phone, part two of my argument, is much simpler to explain. Invented by the duo of fiendishly clever drug dealers who were looking to expand their product line beyond poppy syrup and coca leaf extract, and by spurned nerds with poor hygiene feeling the need for revenge after having their video game privileges revoked, they teamed up to make a device that would trap us in their evil claws forever. The smart phone.

Turns out they did a heck of a job. I know if you try to take away my smart phone, there will be some trepidation, cursory cursing, and eventually something akin to an aneurysm followed by intense yelling and scrambling to find said phone, another screen or even a picture of a computer. Same goes for approximately 100% of the humans who were lulled into buying this wonderfully sleek, conversation-destroying, neck-bending bundle of chips and glass.

In survey after survey, today’s youth have said they’d sooner give up having a car, fondling pomegranates and certain body parts than give up their smart phones. They must be “connected” to the world at any time (as opposed to their immediate family and friends).

So between poor genes that we humans do as much damage to as possible, thus lowering our collective global IQ to single digits, and the crazily addictive qualities of our smart phones, we will never be able to appreciate the beauty around us. Unless you’re really rich and you have a butler answer your phone for you.

Mostly sincerely,
Fangio Druker

Dictatorships Are Good For Batteries

Nosey - Stanko & Tibor


Dictatorships Have Upsides

I know, I know. Across the globe, from dictatorships to liberal democracies, from autocracies to plutocracies with some oligarchies mixed in, from republics to theocracies, leaders and their followers are angrily wondering why I haven’t published a comic in so long. (Coincidentally,  I have received words of thanks from the Dalai Lama and the Nobel committee for NOT having published anything for a while. Something about the reduction in profanity having a beneficial impact on societal health. I say screw those muffin fondlers!)

It’s because I had to buy batteries.

Let me explain with a wildly tangential segue that could well indicate moderate to severe brain damage on my part. Or at least rapidly shrinking parietal lobes.

China

Dictatorships generally aren’t usually a good thing, what with all the repression and such, yet they tend to get things done somewhat more expeditiously, shall we say. Just look at China and Emperor Xi Jinping and how he and China have made tremendous economic,  military and technological strides in the past decade. That is if you can gloss over the re-education camps filled with learning and torture, the big brother state that makes ‘1984’ look like 1929, land confiscations, the environmental damage and crushing dissent with a Made-In-China steel-toed boot.

As they say, sometimes you’ve got to break some eggs (or was that legs?) to make an omelette. A very powerful, paranoid, bloody, oppressive omelette.

Trumpland

Another example of a (near) dictatorship would be the Trump regime and its ability to pass laws and create policy that some would say are good for business, and some would say are bad for democracy, and utterly destructive to the environment (kind of like China, no?).

Sure, he was elected semi-lawfully, if you discount that minor Russia connection and influence campaign to subvert democracy. Yet, he and his demonic and mimetic minions are trying to come to grips with a free press that just refuses to be enamoured with his venal and penile approach to ego and power.

He said he’d cut taxes, and he did, so now you can ignore the reality of spine-crushing economic disparity AND oxygen-crushing climate change with your tax refund and buy a killer home entertainment system including a 200-inch TV with 4K picture quality, surround sound and a pair of VR goggles while Rome burns.

Heck, if you’re rich enough to live in a gated compound with armed guards, preferably not in a state that will be submerged when the sea levels rise, who gives a rat’s patootie? And if the sea levels do rise, you’re probably rich enough to own a yacht!

Better Batteries

So how does the aforementioned form of governmental authority relate to my recent effort to purchase batteries as I stated at the top of this column?

I recently spent the better part of 25 minutes in a store trying to figure out which batteries I needed for a device I use for drawing. The sweat-filled frustration I endured rifling through 17 different kinds of batteries in opaque and slippery packaging led to a blood pressure spike coupled with pronounced and audible profanity before giving up and storming out defeated.

In the time it took to find, compare, and lift my glasses to read the fine print about 1 micron away from my failing, tired eyes, I thought to myself, Wouldn’t life be great if I were the Almighty Battery Czar who could single-handedly dictate there be only one singular size of battery for every dang electronic device out there??

No different shapes, or thicknesses or finishes. No stupid packaging and definitely no chance of having to buy a pack of 600 of them to get the best price. One battery size for flashlights, toys, hand-held label makers, smoke alarms, clocks, vibrators, portable juicers, novelty bras that light up, electric pencil sharpeners, smartphones, and of course xylophones (they have a wonderful ring to them).

And One Battery Shall Rule Them All…

As the great battery dictator, I would decree there be a choice between rechargeable and single-use batteries, thus displaying my, uh, magnanimousness or magnanimocity or magnanimity. Whatever.

Furthermore, the packaging would be greatly simplified by just having them in a huge bucket near the checkout lane at any store. You could buy them individually, like steaks, or in handfulls, like, uh, steaks.

Think of all the energy savings in (my) profanity-laced tirades alone! No more hunting through the shelves at stores looking for just the right size only to find you need to buy the 100-pack that of course isn’t on sale. The benefit in reduced blood pressure alone would be worth it for a battery dictator to be hoisted into power.

In Conclusion

It turns out in the end that I didn’t need new batteries after all. The device works with a USB connection too. But the idea of becoming a battery potentate was kind of cool.

Love and hugs,
Johann the Oppressor

In Theory, People Are Not Stupid. I Said In Theory.

In Theory - Stanko TiborIn Theory Only

Dad once told me many years ago to live by one rule: “People are stupid.” Hmmm, an interesting if cynical theory, but it has proven exceptionally accurate. And that was several decades before there was a sub-mental Trump in office, or a cadre of sub-human scum denying Sandyhook and the Holocaust, or before a shitty excuse for recumbent DNA murdered people in a Pittsburgh synagogue. (It’s been a tough week.)

I thought way back then, very briefly, like I’m talking 30 or 40 seconds, “Now that is no way to tar and feather all of humanity. What about the benefit of the doubt?”

Artificial Lack of Intelligence

Not long ago, the IT geeks who dominate the planet decided that artificial intelligence would save us all. Human ingenuity and the sharpest minds on the planet would teach computers how to “learn” and make unbiased decisions. But as has been shown time and time again, humans and their biases — mostly stupid, stupid, stupid biases — screw things up.

Just look at how Amazon couldn’t fix the AI in their hiring software that clearly discriminated against female job applicants. You know, for having breasts and other heinous crimes. The uber-geniuses at Amazon, who sell you everything from aglets (look it up) to Zymox (see previous parentheses for guidance) and can figure out how to predict the next thing you NEED to buy, could not fix the problem after years of trying and throwing big brains and money at it. The built-in human biases were just too deep. So they canned it.

Yet with all the AI and computer power we have today, we still have biases, even when so called ‘neutral’ systems try to recognize human faces. Built-in bias and racism galore. Is this flaw even fixable? Or are we as a species a few pairs of chromosomes shy of a full deck to get past this?

Too Dumb For Words

Are humans — in theory — teachable so they can actually not be consistently and criminally stupid? Do humans have the capacity to actually not devolve into hatred underlined by fact-less idiocy? I’m having my doubts. And not just because it’s legal to purchase a  Smokehouse Bacon Triple Cheese Big Mouth Burger with Jalapeno Ranch Dressing. Sadly, I betray my inherent stupidity because there’s a part of me that says “Bacon? Yummy! Gotta have it!” I know better, I am keenly aware of the catastrophic arterial damage that would ensue if I just stared at that burger for more than 5 seconds. But there’s bacon in it!

Winning Combinations

Now the optimists among us (read: frequent cannabis abusers) feel this is merely a step on the road to a better future. We just need more data, more experiences to learn from and teach the machine. We need more lateral thought, more contact and more cross-cultural, cross-geographic, cross-linguistic and cross-chocolate danish experiences. (I could be wrong about the ‘danish‘ thing.) Is this cross-disciplinary combination the way forward?

Who knows.  And what about the not-so-stupid humans, all 7 of them (if you count that socially awkward kid with the glasses and limp that can figure out the Rubik’s cube in less than a minute)? Can they be trusted to not screw things up any worse than they are now? Do we have the seeds of hope germinating in the fertile minds of current and future bi-pedal bags of sentient and usually hairy flesh?

If my dad’s theory is anything to go by — and it’s 99.99999999999999999999999% accuracy — call your doctor and/or pharmacist and make a Costco-sized order for medical marijuana and watch re-runs of the Simpsons while eating gooey danish.

Lovingly addicted to the Internet,
Sascha ‘The Lion Cub’ Druker

Do These 3 Things and You Win!

Stanko & Tibor - 3 Things and Win3 Things

It’s clear to me that life no longer makes sense. Things are getting mighty weird out there. Not that it made a lot of sense before this past week, but things that used to make sense just plain don’t. Things that once could be counted upon for stability an sanity fail us now. Oddly, I am not referring the Trumpian dystopia, which is unfortunately the subject of way too much news.

No, I am referring to the genuinely absurd things in this world, like sedating lobsters with marijuana prior to cooking (true!), or football mascots who shoot themselves in the groin with a t-shirt canon. Or let’s not forget the scientists who gave several octopuses ecstasy (MDMA) for “research purposes” a.k.a. “for shits and giggles.”

Weird Things vs Weird Ideas

What can we do to combat these bizarre things that appear in our news feeds and newspapers? (That ‘paper’ reference is for the older generation who still clings to physical shredded and reconstituted tree pulp, while the rest of develop retinal damage and physiotherapy-inducing hunches from looking at smart phones and other screens for 27 hours per day.)

The answer is simple. When things get too weird, you have to meet them head on and get weirder. It takes some effort, something most of don’t like, but the results are worth it:

  1. Tell people you’ve joined the Flat Earth Society. This has many social benefits. Most people will look at you like you’re absolutely nuts and leave you the heck alone. The advantage of being left alone is that your co-workers won’t sit with you at lunch or ever invite you out for a drink or any other activity. You’ll be left to your own (de)vices and won’t have to suffer hearing their crackpot ideas about superfoods, keto diets, yoga and meditation, why we should embrace the idea of a benevolent dictatorship, or how Martians are really among us on Earth. Social isolation has its benefits.
  2. Tell everyone you’re trying out foods with quinoa instead of wheat. Except for my sister’s excellent quinoa salad, that grain is pretty much inedible. Yet, it’s all the rage because it somehow is better for you than smoked sausages or poutine or fried chicken with French toast. I beg to differ. Correction – I don’t beg. I differ. But if you tell everyone that you’ve introduced quinoa into your diet, they will think you’re wise and give you  passing respect for having abandoned wheat, when really you’re scarfing down croissants and danishes on the weekend with a colossal smile on your face. Also remember to tell everyone your bodily functions have improved since you started eating quinoa. That will scare them away as much the Flat Earth Society thing.
  3. Mention to people casually that you want to get a tattoo on your forehead and covering your left eye. Something like a giant snake because you belong to that Pentecostal snake-handling religion, or an image of an iguana playing drums. Also carry around a sketch of what it would look like. See what kind of reaction you get from your friends and family and colleagues. Or just random passers-by. You’ll be left alone in no time, thus exempting you from family affairs, after-work gatherings and most other social events. But you may receive calls from the police and social workers if you take it too far. Trust me.

There you have it. Act weird, people leave you alone and you can win back your sanity.

Dutifully yours, (and not somebody else’s unless they pay me more),

Hugo ‘the Orangutan’ Druker

Which Way Is Up?

STanko & Tibor - Absurdity for AllWhich Way Is Up?

Troubled by a world gone crazy around you? Not sure which way is up?  Tired of the world’s major and minor religions, but also turned off by atheism’s dogmatic approach to facial hair? Are you angry at vegans because you know they’ll outlive you AND they act like the moral high ground, but you’re not quite angry enough to spike their food with meat juices and melted butter?

I couldn’t care less. But not because I don’t care — I really do. Just not now. I am just really tired. I don’t know which way is up. Or down. Or left or right. And don’t get me started on anything that’s diagonal or perpendicular.

But I do know I need some quality sleep.

Absurdity Is Up, Sleep is Down

A very large tranche of absurdity has been served to us this past year or so, and we all know the source – Trump’s America. It’s a bad place right now, but having just come back from a vacation overseas to Europe, where people are equally displeased although more demure about it, it did give some distance to think about it a lot less. Maybe it’s European indifference or snobbery. Or the heat. My goodness, the heat! It was as if the Earth has moved 2 miles closer to the sun.

Since it seems the world is on its head now and will stay that way for a long while, maybe it’s time to admit that up is down, and fat is slim. Maybe this summer’s global warming has finally fried our collective global brains. Maybe it’s a time for change. Which is usually a good thing, except in this case where the right and the left hate each other, the people in the middle are seen as weak for wanting — of all things — rational compromise! Scum. Filthy, filthy scum.

So what are we to do about these “divisionary” politics that drive us apart, cause tempers to flare just as the ever necessary moral air conditioning craps out?

How should I know? I am still really tired and I still can’t tell which way is up or down or whatever direction. I need ice cream, and some MAJOR distraction in the form of comics, or morally ambiguous Japanese anime.

Derisively derelict in my duties
Master Sargent Blake Druker

Conquer Performance Anxiety

Stanko & Tibor: Performance Anxiety Performance Anxiety – The Reality

In my last post — that a total of three people read (two are in hospital because the content and drawing caused them to vomit, while the other one was already deemed criminally insane for shouting at and harassing fruit in supermarkets) —  I said that people with tattoos should wear them more proudly, on their faces, specifically.

I was extra-wrong.

Performance

While on the metro the other evening, a woman was standing at the door some 10 feet away from me. In addition to her arms, legs, torso and feet being covered in tattoos, her face was also inked all over the place.  Some dark green pattern that could have been a snake eating a mongoose. Or a saxophone and a tuba. Whatever. Talk about a hideous performance.

For a brief moment I said to myself “Self, would I have the courage, or dare I say temerity, to exit the home, in broad daylight, no mask,  with my face scarred with color for all to see – especially at work?” I felt the anxiety build in my chest just thinking about it.

Simply, the answer is no.

But it does teach us a lesson about these painted people. If you’re willing to maul your face with permanent pigment, I guess you can handle the stress of just about anything. You’re a performer, not afraid of the slings and arrows (and maybe bullets) that a shallow society will heap on you, especially when you’re crossing the border to the USA. You show no fear, no worry, no anxiety.

Genuine Anxiety

On a tangentially unrelated note, with the impending Summit of the Criminals in Helsinki between Putin and Trump, I’d be concerned if I were Don Don. If you’re about to go see your boss, who is let’s say a pathological murderer AND the head of nation of alcoholics, and you’re up for your performance review, wouldn’t you have just the slightest tinge of anxiety?

What will Donald do before he kisses Putin’s ruble? Does Donnie have to fill out a performance review document and get it reviewed by HR by the time he reaches Helsinki? Does Putin even use modern HR software to log his comments regarding the mediocre performance of his most prominent lackey?

After all, it was Trump’s top goal to remove sanctions on Russia. The crushing democracy and sewing racism and hatred weren’t really stretch goals. They were gimmes. But the sanctions, they are worse than before! What do you think Vlady is going to say to that?

Tin Man to Straw Man

So it’s a man with no heart trying to explain to a man with no brain how to improve his performance. This may prove to be a problem unless visual aids and vodka are employed.

I can only imagine that if President Putin doesn’t get his top employee to get things going, Vlad may just have Melania Trump reprogrammed and sent back to the Olde Country to reverse the sex change operation, leaving Trump with yet another divorce bill.

Oh, think of the boat load of anxiety poor Donald is going through. Poor fellow.

Primordially yours,
Gronk Ungh Druker of Cave 11

Tattoos and Small Talk

Small Talk & Tattoos Small Talk And Tattoos – Both Suck

While watching Planet Earth II, I had way too much time to think — the cerebral version of small talk — and I came to many conclusions, most of them faulty and derived from excessive medicines taken to deal with this persistently painful kidney stone.  Somehow from the plight of African Sahara tiger pack hunting a giraffe due to desperation, I managed to get to why tattoos have become the new version of small talk, and elitism among animals. Let me explain.

You can barely be in any conversation nowadays that doesn’t move from small talk to a full-on argument of some kind, be it about politics, sports, arts, carbonated beverages, baked goods, or knitting (the English vs Continental practices are much more violent than you’d think).

Since the explosion of the tattoo as yet another stupid means of self-expression (it’s called a t-shirt people!), we have had to endure way too many shows about tattoo artists and people who think they are somehow even more expressive of their inner-selves by having someone jab a filthy needle beneath their skin, repeatedly, that is filled with pigments and solvents – and pay a lot of money for it. (That used to be called a heroin addict.)

I’ve seen people compare tattoos, compare who suffered more while getting the tattoo, explaining ad nauseum how it represents something meaningful to them — yet keep it hidden beneath clothing. If you’re truly proud of your corporal  decor then get a tattoo on your forehead. Or your cheeks. Show me you care to go the extra mile. That’ll generate some small talk in the office. Especially at job interviews and pick-up time at the children’s daycare.

Animal Small Talk

As the second half of the Planet Earth episode moved along, I realized that a lot of animals are dumb. Let’s take the African Ibex. They may well be the male fashion model of the animal world. Handsome but short on IQ. They get chased and killed by lions, face drought all the time, and can’t wear hats due to those giant horns.

If I were an African Ibex, which would NEVER happen because there is no chocolate or cinnamon danish in the desert, I would have probably said to myself after year one: “Ok, time to move to the city, get an apartment with air conditioning, be within walking distance of a cafe and a bakery, and get some kind of cushy office job. Something with computers, especially if I can figure out the hoof-on-keyboard issue.”

What do you think the discussion around the waterhole is every other day when the Ibex come to gather? Probably something like this:

Ibex 1 (Steve): “Hey, it’s pretty hot out there. Bet you could fry an egg out there.”

Ibex 2 (Juan): “Did you guys see Lenny get mauled by that lion yesterday? Brutal.”

Ibex 3 (Trent): “Man, it’d be great if there was more food and water like in the city. We could really use a Starbucks or even a McDonald’s out here. Hey Steve, how do my horns look today? Pretty sharp, I bet.”

Animal Elitists

Giraffes on the other hand, they are the elitists of the animal world. Ever see that extra long neck and those colorful tattoos? They get to eat off the top of the tree, ad don’t have to share their leafy wealth with the commoners (a.k.a. the lions), and they have colors those dirt grubbing lions don’t. They only engage in small talk way up high where no one but the other giraffes can hear them, looking down on the others. Sheer animal elitism, I tell you.

Where does all this  digital small talk leave us? Are we any the wiser for knowing that Ibex are shallow and dumb? Are we richer knowing that tattoos should now be printed/scribed/subcutaneously jabbed on the face and worn proudly for all to see? Is anyone still reading this really long rant as the pain in my left side increases from a 3 to a 7.5 on the wince scale? I am most certainly not. I think I checked out mentally at least 15 minutes ago.

Boy, I really want some chocolate danish.

Lots of love,
Gilgamesh of the North Druker