Tuesday, March 23, 2004
It occurs to me that I’m probably going to hell. There are a number of reasons for this, none of which are probably as interesting as reasons for going to hell should be. To begin with, I have many horrible, horrible thoughts, for instance first thing in the morning when in my having-to-wake-up-induced rage I imagine many vivid ways of killing anyone who speaks cheerfully to me -- disembowelment with a toothbrush, abandonment to fire ants, asphyxiation in the toilet bowl and the like. I also tend to imagine punching people who jam themselves into elevators that are already full at the last minute before the door closes or use French phrases in everyday conversation, no matter what time of day it is. I mean, I’m not saying I’m in Gacy territory, but lawd, this boy ain’t right.
And then there’s the little matter of the lies. My philosophy is that lies aren’t wrong if they’re designed to protect another person’s feelings, and I interpret that very broadly. For instance, a lie to your parents about your criminal arrests and convictions isn’t wrong because it would hurt their feelings to know they raised a multiple murderer. A lie to your spouse about your whereabouts last night is not wrong because it would make her sad to know she’s married to a bigamist. In my case, I once told my parents that the reason I was out until 3 AM the night before the SATs was that I fell asleep in the hallway after school. This was believed. I also told people I was allergic to tomatoes for about eight years of my life because I didn’t like the taste and was sick of being asked to try them. Mission accomplished. The secret of effective lying is to actually believe your lies, although that does push you scarily close to being a character in a Tennessee Williams play. But this is not the point; the point is that I am evil and wrong and going to hell. I guess the good news is that I will probably have lots of company.
And then there’s the little matter of the lies. My philosophy is that lies aren’t wrong if they’re designed to protect another person’s feelings, and I interpret that very broadly. For instance, a lie to your parents about your criminal arrests and convictions isn’t wrong because it would hurt their feelings to know they raised a multiple murderer. A lie to your spouse about your whereabouts last night is not wrong because it would make her sad to know she’s married to a bigamist. In my case, I once told my parents that the reason I was out until 3 AM the night before the SATs was that I fell asleep in the hallway after school. This was believed. I also told people I was allergic to tomatoes for about eight years of my life because I didn’t like the taste and was sick of being asked to try them. Mission accomplished. The secret of effective lying is to actually believe your lies, although that does push you scarily close to being a character in a Tennessee Williams play. But this is not the point; the point is that I am evil and wrong and going to hell. I guess the good news is that I will probably have lots of company.
