Book Covers
Just when you thought you knew everything...yeah, right. That hasn't happened to me since I was in my twenties. Sure, there were times later in life when there was a particular subject that I had full knowledge of, and later still when I was pretty dang clear on a particular point or two...but clarity on the whole world has been beyond my averred grasp for more than a coupla decades. And truth be told, it's less important to me that I am the fount of all knowledge, or even of certainty about most areas. My name is Tony Seton, my rank is house-husband, social insecurity number dot, dot, dot.
I raise this issue of awareness because I am in awe of system that rocks me back on my heels every time I think I have a right to think I know something. Especially people. Last night I went to Connor's birthday party; he's Linda's son's son and he entered his ninth year yesterday. Which to normal people means that he turned eight.
Yeah, I'm always pushing. On the way to the party, I stopped in at Office Depot to confer on the production of the 2003 Seton calendar. When I learned that they might not be ready until next week, I let out a loud, mournful, Omigod, no, which could be heard many aisles away. But it was a mostly empty store, and those few who looked over realized, when they saw my clerk laughing, that it was a joke not a crisis. Ya gotta shake things up, sometimes.
Thus spent, I went off to the party at UpChuckyCheez, a game-'n-pizza establishment, which reeks of who-knows-what and your feet stick to the carpet; where children run around screaming while their parents stuff themselves with cardboard coated with grease and salt. Okay, maybe that's not the way the chain would describe it themselves, but such is the case. Lotsa noise, even when it's not crowded -- we were the only people in the main dining area -- because they pipe in "entertainment," through large puppet-like creations gyratin' on a stage, flanked by a bunch of video monitors, all integrated with through a chip somewhere. The girl cleaning tables was clearly into the seasonal story-'n-song performance. The rest of us struggled to carry on a conversation at the other end of the room.
Which brings me to the point of this musing. It was through this conversing that I met a man I'd known for almost five years, Connor's paternal grandfather. Ed is retired Army, a Vietnam vet, and a man with a buzz cut and a strong but not invasive bearing. We had encountered each other a half-dozen times at various Connor events, but we'd never had the occasion to sit down and actually talk. I mean, what would we have in common, besides Connor, given his background and my politics?
Answer: a great deal. Once I realized that his pronounced southern accent didn't mean he was a dope -- a prejudice I should have shed long ago -- I discovered a well-informed, engaging fellow, which is a surprise up here in the North State, as Ed himself observed. He doesn't like the mentality -- myopic redneck stupid greedy -- that predominates this area, nor the corruption he sees with the politically-invested mega-builders getting permits cleared in a matter of weeks while indies are mired in bureaucratese for months, even years.
Ed's from North Carolina originally, not far from the Outer Banks, where I spent many delightful vacations stretching back to 1961. Also, he was stationed in Monterey for a while, so he knows something about the extraordinary diversity our of culture. He can't stand Bush, and believes that our military adventurism is a prescription for disaster; he's talked with his reservist son about going to Canada. He is also up on education and the environment, the national debt and other significant issues of the day.
Who would have thought? Which is my point. Just because someone lives here, wears his hair down to the scalp, or spent years in the military doesn't mean he's given up the capacity to think, or the will to be on top of current events. You'd probably would have thought from my Internet presence, my trimmed hair, and years in the media and politics that I would be smart enough not to judge a book by its cover. Now you'd be right, mostly.
And that's SetonnoteS...I'm Tony Seton.
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