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Photo from digitalapoptosis.com
Our solar system is in complete disarray. Indeed, with Pluto being unceremoniously excommunicated from the planetary alliance, our troubles do in fact stretch further and wider than a couple of strips of land in the Middle East. If we're not careful, the Milky Way may be banished to a parallel universe. Given all this domestic and intergalactic strife, I was stunned to hear an hour of talk radio this morning ostensibly devoted to that most pressing of issues - the organization of the tribes on the coming season of Survivor.
And then a caller touched upon one of my numerous pet peeves. You see, apparently this year, the tribes will be separated by race (or skin colour, call it what you will). Someone called in to the show to express their disgust at this notion, and proceeded to explain how this was distressing in a time when we were supposed to have learned to be colour-blind. Okay, so he didn't put it quite like that - he said that we should look at all people the same way, and not even notice their colour.
Therein lies the crux of the problem. We simply don't seem to understand what the notion of egalitarianism is supposed to be. We think that to be equal means to be the same. Instead of celebrating, embracing and accepting all people, brown, white or black, we instead march relentlessly down a path that leads us to a planet filled with people who are all a sort of beigey-grey colour.
It's not just around racial equality that this happens either - the same applies to gender equality, age equality, and probably intellectual capacity too.
If we achieve our implicit goals, the human race will be entirely comprised of 35 year old, grey-skinned, esperanto speaking hermaphrodites who are all 5 foot 11, weigh 175 pounds and have IQ's of 100. We will all reproduce with ourselves, and our offspring will all be identical as well. But hey, at least we'll all be equal, right? Unless we're from Pluto of course, in which case we no longer count.
For many years, I was the son of my mother. For a while, I was also the boyfriend of my girlfriend. I then became the husband of my wife, and a few weeks ago I graduated to being the father of my daughter.
As I sit here working late into the night, struggling to get done what I should be getting done, I find myself wondering exactly when I get to be me?
Another dose of perspective for me, this time a whole host more pleasant. Our beautiful baby daughter made her grand entrance into this world this weekend which meant that for the first time in living memory, I elected not to play cricket for a reason other than serious injury. And what's more, I discovered that life does indeed still go on.
Of course, my pain was eased by the fact that United did not have a game this weekend, thanks to the Cup semis, which meant I just traded one great love for another, rather than being stuck with a 2-for-1 deal. Not that I would have hesitated for a second.
I'm working feverishly on ensuring that she is a devoted Red -- she's only a few days old, but is already showing a strong affinity for the Park and Rooney (white Pele) songs. That, and good old "Hungry, Hungry" which I discovered just now is actually a Dr. Seuss special!
In any case, to explain the title - a couple of emailers asked why I'd stopped posting, so now you know. I get the feeling I'll be back to it pretty soon, what with being the paranoid dad who sits awake at 3am watching his sleeping daughter!
Sometimes in life, things happen that put it all in perspective. A few days ago, a young cricketer in Northern California was taken from us, the victim of a needless car crash. Fardin Qayyumi was 15, and had just begun to make a mark in local cricketing circles. He was a wonderful young man, and as determined a cricketer as they come. A youngster who had not just the desire to play for his adopted homeland, but the singular intent. He could have achieved his dream, but now we'll never know. His young immigrant family is shattered, in a way that few of us can probably imagine.
