Misanthropic Observations

And make each day a critic on the last.
Alexander Pope (1688 - 1744), English poet

What goes up…It seems that third-world and the Middle-East countries have not heard of Newton’s Theory of Gravitation. The Misanthrope would like to know where all those bullets blasted into the air during Arafat’s funeral ended up. They have to come down somewhere, it’s just a guess, but as they soar down to earth, a few of those slugs have surely come to rest in innocent bystanders. Is that accepted as an occupational risk of any public gathering in those distance lands?

There is no winning. The Misanthrope opted to go underground and take the subway to the day job in order to save time, money and aggravation. And after one week, none the three has been achieved. Parking spots at the subway are roughly two or three blocks away from the big hole in the ground. No problem, we’ll be positive and view it as good exercise. After more than 100 steep steps down, the ticket machines appear and require $1.25 for a one way ticket or $3.00 for an all day ticket. The Misanthrope elects the one way ticket each time to continue the savings. Practically giddy with the idea of saving $75 a month in parking and at least $40 a week in gas, it’s time to contemplate a trip to Hawaii next year.

But, a policeman with a radar gun wipes all the projected savings and the vision of a vacation away. At 6:30 in the morning, when the men in blue should be out protecting and serving, they are instead aggravating and annoying. The Misanthrope stopped, ticketed and surely to be sentenced with a fine that will require at least two additional months of the daily trek with hundreds of others all traveling in lines like ants to a picnic, to achieve his illusory savings. It is tough to get ahead.

The tuba player. It’s Saturday morning, reading the newspapers, and finding no shortage of stories to comment on, a loud discordant note is heard, followed by a prolonged howling coming from the neighbors behind The Misanthrope’s dwelling. Opening the backyard sliding door, the neighbor boy is purposely blowing the single sour note on his tuba to provoke the dog into wailing as if it were singing to a lonesome moon. Three choruses of this were enough for The Misanthrope to walk out back and swing into gracious neighborly action. “Shut up godd#*&it.” So far, it has been quiet for a week.

A heart two sizes too small. Don’t we all wish we had the health care coverage that Vice President Dick Cheney has? He underwent three hours of tests and in the end determined, he had a cold. Cautionary reasons for the tests were Cheney has had four heart attacks, a quadruple-bypass and a pacemaker inserted. The Misanthrope believes that Cheney who lives in an undisclosed location similar to the Grinch who has lived in a cave on the side of a mountain, looming above the Whos in Whoville, needs to stop living such a paranoid life needlessly scaring people across the land about nuclear attack if a democrat is elected, and realize this is a multicultural world we now live in. It will allow his heart to grow 10 sizes.

Filing for Adoption. It was reported that the unflagging sailor Popeye is preparing to adopt swee’pea, who was abandoned and left at his doorstep in 1933. Let’s assume that Popeye was 20, in the year the baby was left by his windowed mother, that would make the navy man 91. Swee’pea would be in his early 70s. The Misanthrope wants to know why now? And, what happened to Wimpy? Did all those hamburgers cause him heart problems, if only he had Dick Cheney's health care coverage.