60 F

Davis, California

Monday, February 26, 2024

Casual casuality

You may recall me writing on apathy the other week; I really don’t care for that subject anymore. I have recently re-attuned my lifestyle to the words of one of my foremost role models in life, Kermit the Frog: “Time’s fun when you’re having flies.” In non-frogian terms, I take this to mean something like “take nothing seriously.” You see, puns provide a much-needed relief from the toils of life’s coils, and I am loyal to their use, regardless of the situation at hand.

Take for instance, a severe case of diarrhea. The average level-browed and dreary patron would wallow in his despair, and would insist upon making this unfortunate sickness yet drearier with his negative attitude. What he fails to see while he mopes around the perimeter of his toilet is that there is a positive resonation to his situation. For one, you are on the better end of the exchange between you and the toilet, so be grateful – that poor ceramic bowl truly earns his name by enduring the countless “toils” you put him through.

Likewise, I don’t despair because I am poor – at least I’m not “roop,” because if there’s one thing worse than being poor, it’s being poor and backwards.

Don’t worry, currency is not the cure – you can be coy without coins, paid without paper. Being affluent can be a flu; when you’re sick for pay, you pay the price. When you’re rich, you may hit the bottom, but when you’re at the bottom, you’re rich, for it is at the bottom, when exposed and independent, that you can spend time discovering the economy of your inner-being. And while the poor may ask for change, the rich ask only for continuity.

The crux of my crit here is that maybe the worst life has to offer is brightest in a different light. If you are a copy-bitch at an office, for example, you may find consolation in this tidbit: Santa’s helpers are subordinate clauses. At first glance, you may be upset, but please, do not belittle the importance of subordinate clauses. If not for their humble existence.

You see? You were suspended in suspense, because my clause was incomplete – much like your boss would be without your general bitching and bumbling.

Many would argue that getting old is among life’s worst progressions. On the contrary, I would say that growing old is life’s only progression, and thus great in its uniqueness. I may or may not change my mind when I reach the other end of life’s parabola and have to return to diapers. In any case, it seems that the old shrink rather than grow, but that’s an issue concerned with wording, and I clearly hold no stock in the importance of lingual subtleties.

How is it that getting older is a natural process? Foremost, anything processed is not natural. Secondly, nature does not grow in age; age grows in nature. Nature grows leaves, and leaves leave their trees as do we; nature nurtures its nubile infants, as do we. But as we age we engage in sage wages with meaning, and nature does not.

We question why we grow older, and we grow older in our answers. This will become immediately obvious to you if you are over 50 years old and try to slog your way through this column. But then again, if it becomes immediately obvious to you, you probably have not made it this far, so perhaps I am wasting valuable syllables.

But even post-life experiences can be lightly approached, like death, which as you may imagine, can only be described as indescribable. Are our arduous casualties casual? Well, I suppose we do pass away with minimal fuss sometimes, but those who quietly roll over and die are the loudest of all, for actions speak louder than words.

Likewise, there simply is no way to pass away without passively wasting a chance to live longer. From womb to tomb, we casually cover ground, then ground covers us.

You see – life is funny!


ZACK CROCKETT can be reached at ztcrockett@ucdavis.edu or ztcrockett@ucdavis can be reached at ZACK CROCKETT.


Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here