“It seems our profound fascination with serial killers is matched by an equally profound lack of interest in their victims.”
In America, where serial killer fascination seems most prevalent, we worship power above all else. And serial killers hold the power of life and death – perhaps the greatest power of all for us mortal beings who have foreknowledge of the eventuality of our own demise.
It’s another – and perhaps the main – reason bankers and other rich fraudsters have never been prosecuted. I don’t think it’s just the influence they wield with their money over the political process, though that has something to do with it too of course.
Rather, I think it’s the worshipful nature of many Americans, including politicians, to the power itself they hold via their money, absent of any implied present or future quid pro quo.
A subtle distinction, I know, but to most people power itself is an enormous aphrodisiac.
Don’t believe me? Do something I’ve actually done and go in a department store on different days dressed in a really nice suit with short hair, an arrogant and confident air and see what you can get away with. Trust me, you can get away with damn near anything at all.
Try that with a ratty trenchcoat and long hair and see how long it is before security is trailing you even though you’ve done nothing wrong.
Power worship is another of those odd human things I can’t make much sense of.
This was my response to a woman at work asking me via email if I planned on coming to my company’s trivia night:
“At first I looked at the invitation quizzically as I usually don’t concern myself with trivial pursuits, but so as not to put my reputation in Jeopardy, I then asked myself the $64,000 question and decided that if I did well then my renown as a font of all irrelevant knowledge might daily double and so phrasing my answer in the form of a question, I was forced to ask myself, what would Alex Trebek do?
My brain bowled over and my head rang like a buzzer as if a family feud were going on in my skull, or perhaps that was just Regis Philbin being attacked by an enraged badger, but I did not need to ask the audience or phone a friend to know that though I do want to be a millionaire, it’s not likely to happen at company trivia night.
Though I will be there, and plan to press my luck.”
Why didn’t someone tell me before that there were electric harps? Very cool, but I’d rather see them when they are actually playing the piece, not just miming playing something they’ve already recorded. (I mean, they are really playing it even in the video, obviously, but we are only hearing the audio they’ve already recorded in studio.)
Not only is the Surface tablet cursed with Windows 8, its display has the resolution of a broken Etch-a-Sketch.
Microsoft claims that users can’t tell the difference. And I think of some people – perhaps even the majority – that is actually true. I am constantly amazed by how unaware of brain-shatteringly low resolution and eye-terrorizing fonts most people can be.
I remember walking into an acquisition only a few years ago where people were still using CRT monitors from the mid-90s that had aged so poorly that I literally could not read their screens, and they barely noticed. We’re not talking here about the fonts just being unpleasant but readable. From normal viewing distance, the screens were so blurry that I had absolutely no idea what more than 50% of the words on the screen were – but they were so used to the bespoke system, they didn’t really need to read much.
These people are the Surface tablet’s ideal market, I guess.
For me, I could no more use the Surface tablet than I’d go back to a mid-90s Packard Bell cheapo CRT.
1366*768? You have got to be fucking kidding me.
When the Nexus 10 with 2560*1600 comes out, I’ll have to think about that. That should be gorgeous.