The Meaning of Life
Maybe we “woke liberals” have it all wrong. Basically, we just want everybody to get along and be fair. You know, Black lives matter, LGBTQ rights are human rights, feminism is the radical notion that women are people, and unless you are Native American, we’re all immigrants.
Everybody deserves a fair shake, a decent home, clean water, food enough for survival. And, well, essential medical care would be nice, too. Liberals are sure it’s possible to do unto others as we would have them do unto us. And that there is enough to go around if some folks wouldn’t presume to need billions of dollars for their own personal survival.
But I’m beginning to think I’m mistaken. Perhaps life is a game. Monopoly—with a timer. The point is to see who can become King of the Hill before the planet explodes. Collect all you can, as quick as you can. Money. Real estate. Followers. Power.
I have always loved games. Pinochle was a religion in my family of origin. Clear the dining table after dinner and let’s get serious. I learned to play as soon as I was old enough to hold the cards. And I always refused to be my grandfather’s partner. “Because he cheats,” I said.
Even then I had it all wrong. Cheating is apparently part and parcel of how you get to be king. But I never had the stomach for cheating. I glorified the rules.
I once read a book about how the sugar industry tried to publicly blame the meat industry for the health issues caused by the overconsumption of sugar. Now, The Washington Post tells me, “A new study suggests that tobacco companies, who were skilled at marketing cigarettes, used similar strategies to hook people on processed foods.” And California (that liberal state) is suing giants of the oil industry, claiming they knew—for decades—about the dangers of fossil fuels and their effect on the climate.
The CEOs of the companies involved were just playing the game when a bunch of woke liberals jumped in and tried to rewrite the rules—nay, impose any rules at all. Who are these liberals? Killjoys who don’t know how to have fun.
The trouble for me is once the king is established, the game will be over and humanity will be finished. So, I can’t see the point in being king. But that’s probably because I am a foggy-brained liberal who, due to a twisted intellect, can’t see the beauty of green—in money.
(Although money isn’t really green anymore. We rarely see “money.” The economy is merely a series of internet transactions and numbers on statements. The bigger the number, the more beautiful the statement. I went to a coffee shop in Fayetteville recently and ordered a three dollar cup of coffee. The barista presumed I’d pay with a card, spun the card reader around to face me and seemed momentarily confused when I pulled out a green twenty dollar bill. I counted the change because I wasn’t sure the young man had sufficient experience with actual money to produce change correctly. But maybe he’s farther along than I in the appreciation of large numbers in cyberspace. Ahead of me in the game.)
In the interests of downsizing, I’m contributing a whole bunch of stuff to a yard sale this weekend. I haven’t decided about the three cartons of tabletop games I’ve collected. I love these games. But they all have rules. Maybe if I could let them go, I could finally enter the real game.