Favorite Philosopher's Blog

Oh good lord here we go again. Periodically the posts about Big Pharma roll through Facebook, that encyclopedia of all that is indisputably true and right.  Fair enough. There are plenty of issues about Big Pharma that can and should be dealt with.  No argument there. At all.

It’s the comments from the whole “all we need to do is eat right and exercise and meditate/pray” crowd which make me need an antiemetic. I would be so happy if everyone who posts this naive crap would take a sworn oath to NEVER take a human created medication even if they have debilitating seizures every day, get diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease, or glaucoma, or essential hypertension (genetic, FYI, maybe due to my great great great great great grandma’s stress but not mine) or diabetes type I or ( insert here:  illness of  family member who died from said illness not created by lifestyle) all of which existed long before McDonalds, pesticides, sedentary lifestyle and Big Pharma which is busily spending money creating treatment resistant cancer mutations so that they can sell more cancer drugs.

In addition I would ask that they spend a minimum of six month in direct care of someone who deals with these illnesses painfully, hopelessly (even with available meds), and with as much desire to live to see their grandchildren as the next person.

Take the sworn oath and then, and only then, will I listen to YOUR ranting about Big Pharma.  All other rational thinkers, carry on.

How did we get here?  Never in my life did I think I would be put in the position of reading first person articles from people who look like/identify as other than their “birth certificate” sex and learning about the struggles they have – going to the BATHROOM.  Have we all gone insane? Who knew? I certainly didn’t.  Is this what we as a nation have come to?  People feel forced to plan how much fluid they can drink at a given function because they don’t want to have to face the trauma of using a bathroom and having someone give them shit about it? No pun intended? And now possibly being charged with a CRIME?

Some of the things going around the internet are funny – pictures of empty toilet paper rolls or someone peeking under a restroom stall with the caption “what women are REALLY afraid of in public restrooms.”  Which is the truth.  My personal favorite is the latch not latching properly and someone crashing in on me while I’m doing my business.  For my mother’s generation it was learning how to do the “hover” for obvious reasons.

But it’s not funny at all.  It is sad, pathetic, that with all the shit (sorry, the word just keeps coming up like a backed up toilet at a party) going on in the world and the universe THIS is what people feel they need to legislate?  Who goes to the bathroom where?

I ask you women – have you never said “fuck it” to the long lines and marched right into the men’s bathroom? Of course we try to make sure no one is in there but certainly if it’s just one room with a “guy” icon on it – I’m goin’ in. I’m sure maybe some of you haven’t, and I’m ok with that, but when it gets right down to it I had to go and didn’t really care where I went as long as it wasn’t in my pants.  I never even look at anybody in the women’s restroom.  I am too busy checking my vain self out in the mirror.

This time  I honestly think I’m losing my mind.  Maybe I’ve been living in California too long (no such thing, by the way) that I am so out of touch with some of the people in the rest of the country that I can’t wrap my head around this.  At all.  It’s like I’ve landed on some alternate reality planet on which the location of someone peeing and pooping is suddenly an issue and I don’t understand why or how or when or what or anything.

Who thinks this way?  Who thinks this way WITH them?  You go to the bathroom.  You leave.  What’s the problem? If there was ever an argument for greater services for the mentally ill, I think this must be it and if this nonsense continues I’m afraid I’m going to be the first in line for an inpatient bed.

I can’t even think of a way to end this rant.  Maybe I’ll just go to the bathroom and read for awhile.

Went on Yelp to put up a review (realized I tend to get on there when I’m not happy, so finished up a few happy ones…)

This one was for the bike shop where I bought a bike recently, Buy My Bikes in San Juan Capistrano, CA.  There were nothing but good reviews, which is why I went there in the first place.  There was only one bad review – someone walked in and was “ignored.”  So they left.  I addressed that in my own review, because although I had a similar experience, I had a completely different take on it.

The shop is small, an old shop in an old building in San Juan Capistrano. There are bikes outside.  There are bikes just inside the door along with all kinds of goodies you can buy to upgrade or fix your bike.  To the right, in another room, is a place to repair bikes with at least three stands.  There are people working on bikes in there.  To the left is another room, jammed with bikes lined up on the ground against the wall and just as many on top of those on a “second story” rack as well as another island of two story bikes and a counter with more goodies that are probably too expensive and not necessary for my casual riding.  There are clothes, shoes, you name it.

This may sound like chaos, but it is not.  It is a well thought out puzzle of bike-iness.  There is even a little pathway around the island for little kids who were having a blast testing out bikes while mom and dad shopped.  There was just enough room to skirt around them as they giggled and “raced.”

I made some eye contact with the guys in the repair room.  It was clear they were not going to help me.  It is my guess that they are either “repair only” guys (like auto techs versus salepeople at a car dealer),or they may have even been regulars who were allowed to come use the facilities to fix their bikes.  It seemed like that kind of place.

The other two gentlemen in the retail section of the shop were busy with other customers.  So I meandered around, smiling at the kids, looking at price tags.  I had done my homework online and the prices were comparable to anything I had seen.  This and the sign in front that said they’d match a lower price convinced me I had nothing to lose.

I found myself beginning to get irritated that no one was jumping at me trying to “help” me and then I realized – hadn’t I always said that was a pet peeve, being attacked when I walked into a store?  Did I not write a blog post on that subject?  Did I actually have to open my mouth like an adult and say “I would like to buy a bike and I have some questions?”

Yes.  That’s what I had to do, at which point I had the full, undivided and knowledgeable attention of Eric.  He asked me a few questions about my needs and price range, and within minutes I was taking a bike for a spin in the surrounding neighborhood (take your time, he said).  The final question was “what color” which was the most difficult question for me but I finally decided on coral.  The better to see me with, my dear.

It took me back to the Minnesota fishing trip in August when I had to go to the bait shop to get fishing licenses.  The people behind the counter were talking to a local about wild rice harvesting and all kinds of subjects not related to selling or asking me if I found everything all right or even why was I standing there listening to their conversation.  I was forced to amble around the shop looking at fishing lures, (those would make cool earrings!), witty signs for the fishing cabin, and my favorite – live bait swimming around in aerated tubs.

Slowly but surely they wrapped up their conversation.  Even more slowly but surely the owner helped us fill out the paperwork and took our money and gave us our fishing licenses.  It took a good 20 minutes longer than it “should have” in a normal day in the life of a 21st century American.  By the time I left I had moved slowly but surely into the state that would persist all week.  Relaxed.  Unhurried.  Undemanding.  Un-“I need it yesterday.”

I now feel sorry for the person who left the bike shop in a huff and felt compelled to write about the lack of service.  They missed an opportunity to stop for a moment, to look around them at the quaint surroundings of a 34 year old local business.  They missed the opportunity to listen to the conversations of the regulars and the bike repair dudes, about the bike trip someone’s wife was taking and why he couldn’t go but where he was going in the future.  They missed taking a moment out of their apparently crazy busy lives to take a step back in time and into a haven of sanity, where robots are not jumping on them asking them if everything is all right and are you sure you’re finding everything ok.   I’m sure they got what they wanted at a big box store or at another bike store where someone talked down to them despite the tone of the review which sounded like they “knew” bikes.  It made me sad for them.

Support your local small businesses if at all possible.  They are us.