Sometimes, the headlines at The New York Times leave me goggle-eyed. Case in point this morning: yes, folks, that was some gruesome murder that went unreported in Russia, but read on for the full headline: “…goes unreported because TV executives forgot that their job is to report what happens, not propaganda.”
So there, Russian TV executives, take that from the Land of the Free.
(By the way, TNYT, that super delegate who tweets he’ll vote for Clinton even though the common folks State vote went to Sanders. I didn’t read about that anywhere on your front page, did I? He says he’s not elected so he votes as he damn well pleases. True, Russian TV executives make for a better readership target – and I don’t doubt they follow orders.)
Back to closer to home: picked up a second hand copy of Ionesco’s Rhinoceros yesterday and read through again. The basic premise holds in this age of gallumphing politicians and business men, even if the stage directions could use some dusting off. Who can be the meanest, nastiest, most vulgar and outrageous of them all? Who? Who?
Meanwhile, I go on living around – and writing about – the less-than-successful. Apparently, successful means you can trash other people and get applause for it.
Less-than-successful ones laugh anyway, every chance they get. Which is why of two encounters at yesterday’s outdoor market, I choose to ignore a local gallumphing one, and concentrate on the extreme pleasure the sight of me gave to someone else. My fictional characters tend to remember the more unpleasant – I guess the unpleasant has to get processed too.
Hopefully, the characters will work their way out of the surrounding morass because the writer’s getting damned tired of slogging along at their side. There’s enough of that stuff awaiting every day.
Allez. Real life. As in: Will the employer agree to take on someone in dire need of a job? Yes? No? Will the kerfuffle over the accounting get sorted out with all noses still in alignment and no simmering discontents? Yes? No? Will small bursts of laughter and well-being counterbalance the load of aggravations? Yes? No?
Nobody’s singing give peace a chance anymore, but some of us still insist on leaving room for some levity and – gasp! – loving kindness not brought to you in a billion-dollar production. What can I say? Not all old people beat small children over the head.