The Hippies Are Right
So I had a dream about Viggo Mortensen last night and no, unfortunately, he was not naked.
In it, I was at work and he showed up at the office. Star struck, I stared for a bit before I mustered the courage to greet him. Instead of asking about his considerable artistic talents, his activism, or how he manages to look so hot at age fifty, I desperately wanted to know the answer to one question: how, as a father, does he keep from going insane from worry in this decaying world?
I didn’t have to explain what I meant. He knew. And he answered as I suppose the real Viggo would. He said, “You have to teach them to love and be kind so they grow and teach others to love and be kind. That’s the best you can do.”
Actually, in real life, my mother said those words to me after I lamented the constant fear that engulfs me now that I’m a parent. There are the normal, simmering fears that come with parenthood one has to swallow and try to forget or else smother the poor child: choking, freak accidents, illness, and rabid bats.
Then there are the added modern worries of the present age and they are legion: kidnapping and molestation, cyber-bullying, youth violence, crystal meth, nuclear war, video games, the uselessness of world religions and politics where even the best-intentioned go awry, plastic surgery, plastic food, plastic lifestyles, boy bands, crystal meth, flesh eating bacteria, identity theft…the list goes on.
All around, there is a sense of impending doom. Food shortages, global warming, killer storms, dying bees, dying bats (even rabid bats is a better alternative than a world over-run by blood-sucking insects), and the end of the Mayan calendar.
The title of Barack Obama’s book, The Audacity of Hope, is a brilliant phrase because it truly does seem bold to entertain a glimmer of sunshine in a world where the conditions described in The Road don’t seem too far off.
The alternative, though, worrying until one’s stomach acids turn one into a sizzling puddle of madness on the kitchen floor, isn’t an option. One must continue and strive to be the best one can be and, to quote that hippy song whose title and singer I cannot recall, “teach your children well.”
Listen to my mother. But if it helps, picture Viggo saying it. Naked.
On My iPod: The Sisters of Mercy’s “Nine While Nine” and Jabe’s “Goddam Train.”
In My Belly: Johnny D’s Cajun mussels and Coleman burger and fries. It’s worth the airfare into Boston just for this one meal.
Quote of the Day: “Margaret the Churchwoman her father the Dissenter, Higgins the Infidel, knelt down together. It did them no harm.” Elizabeth Gaskell, North and South.
In it, I was at work and he showed up at the office. Star struck, I stared for a bit before I mustered the courage to greet him. Instead of asking about his considerable artistic talents, his activism, or how he manages to look so hot at age fifty, I desperately wanted to know the answer to one question: how, as a father, does he keep from going insane from worry in this decaying world?
I didn’t have to explain what I meant. He knew. And he answered as I suppose the real Viggo would. He said, “You have to teach them to love and be kind so they grow and teach others to love and be kind. That’s the best you can do.”
Actually, in real life, my mother said those words to me after I lamented the constant fear that engulfs me now that I’m a parent. There are the normal, simmering fears that come with parenthood one has to swallow and try to forget or else smother the poor child: choking, freak accidents, illness, and rabid bats.
Then there are the added modern worries of the present age and they are legion: kidnapping and molestation, cyber-bullying, youth violence, crystal meth, nuclear war, video games, the uselessness of world religions and politics where even the best-intentioned go awry, plastic surgery, plastic food, plastic lifestyles, boy bands, crystal meth, flesh eating bacteria, identity theft…the list goes on.
All around, there is a sense of impending doom. Food shortages, global warming, killer storms, dying bees, dying bats (even rabid bats is a better alternative than a world over-run by blood-sucking insects), and the end of the Mayan calendar.
The title of Barack Obama’s book, The Audacity of Hope, is a brilliant phrase because it truly does seem bold to entertain a glimmer of sunshine in a world where the conditions described in The Road don’t seem too far off.
The alternative, though, worrying until one’s stomach acids turn one into a sizzling puddle of madness on the kitchen floor, isn’t an option. One must continue and strive to be the best one can be and, to quote that hippy song whose title and singer I cannot recall, “teach your children well.”
Listen to my mother. But if it helps, picture Viggo saying it. Naked.
On My iPod: The Sisters of Mercy’s “Nine While Nine” and Jabe’s “Goddam Train.”
In My Belly: Johnny D’s Cajun mussels and Coleman burger and fries. It’s worth the airfare into Boston just for this one meal.
Quote of the Day: “Margaret the Churchwoman her father the Dissenter, Higgins the Infidel, knelt down together. It did them no harm.” Elizabeth Gaskell, North and South.
posted by Dina Keratsis at
12:42 PM
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