On the McRib and Boredom

Alex Salk (via Sullivan), on the philiosophical ramifications of the return of the McRib:

"Everything that doesn't taste like crap is full of stuff that is in some way or another bad for you. You are going to die no matter what. Eat whatever you want. The oft-repeated Keynesian maxim that "in the long run we are all dead" is well and good, but it ignores that fact that for a long time we are all alive. For, like, AGES. Think about how long today has been, and it's not even five yet! Yes, life is a beautiful valuable thing and there are so many joys along the way and etc., but let's admit that 90% of it is suffering, misery, pain, standing in line behind some idiot who can't figure out how that he doesn't have enough money in his balance to withdraw the amount of cash he keeps asking for from the ATM, heartbreak, defeat and "Seinfeld" reruns. A couple of eggs, or a McRib, or excellent Kentucky straight bourbon whiskey sipped outdoors on a crisp day while you smoke a cigarette: if these things are going to shave a few years off the time you would otherwise spend drumming your fingers on the counter as you wait for the laggard at the Duane Reade to ring up your single-item purchase, so be it. You're actually getting the better end of the deal."

He's a little hyperbolic, but I do like Salk's rationale for enjoying the small things-- not because you are going to die soon, but because life feels pretty excruciatingly long for most of us, most of the time (except, of course, when reflecting back on it).

I had a conversation the other day with some high-school friends at dinner, and of course conversation drifted to high school experiences. Despite us all having grown up together, our memories contained shockingly huge gaps. I mean entire weeks and months-- even years-- just gone. I had trouble recalling 99 percent of junior high. Ali literally couldn't remember what she used to in the few hours between the end of class and the beginning of lacrosse practice. She didn't watch TV, and she didn't have internet. So what did she do?? Hours and hours have gone totally, completely, irreversibly blank. And it's easy to see why: most of life consists of routines that don't much change from day to day. We can go on auto-pilot for most of it.

This is true for even the most interesting, engaged people. I remember having to stop reading Kafka's diaries, because his entries were invariably about his dreading office work and domestic chores. Victor Klemperer's journals of his experiences as a Jew in Germany in WW2-- in which he recounts some of the most harrowing, suspense-filled experiences I've ever read-- are similarly bracketed by detailed descriptions of everyday tedium: repairing his constantly broken-down car, walking long distances to pick up food, entire mornings spent washing the dishes, leaving him too exhausted to write. Even in terror, boredom.

Strangely enough, these existential boredoms have become more and more reassuring to me. This understanding suddenly relieves a lot of undue pressure-- on what I think is a quixotic attempt at being "happy", on not beating myself up for being bored, understanding this is a universal experience of the human condition.

So what's the best way to mitigate these vast stretches of boredom?

Bertrand Russell, in an essay entitled "Useless Knowledge" (unfortunately I couldn't find a copy on the internet, but you can read it in "In Praise of Idleness"), makes the claim that a curious, contemplative, and ironic mind helps one avoid feelings of solipsistic rage when confronted with indignities like long lines or inattentive bureaucrats. He recommends a general curiosity, saying that even the most trivial knowledge can make life more enjoyable:

"Curious learning not only makes unpleasant things less pleasant, but also makes pleasant things more pleasant. I have enjoyed peaches and apricots more since I have known that they were first cultivated in China in the early days of the Han dynasty; that Chinese hostages held by the great King Kanisaka introduced them into India, whence they spread to Persia, reaching the Roman Empire in the first century of our era; that the word "apricot" is derived from the same Latin source as the word "precocious" because the apricot ripens early; and that the A as the beginning was added by mistake , owing to a false etymology. All this makes the fruit taste much sweeter."

So carpe diem everyone! Because life is mostly dull.