Thursday, November 25, 2010


Of course, there is no end of things I could do, from grading the random straggler’s paper to taking out the trash, but instead, here I am, fulfilling my designated gender role on Thanksgiving by sitting on the couch drinking beer and watching football while the distaff side of the household prepares dinner.

The holiday reminds me to be grateful for all the good fortune I experience in my life and to remember that all of my problems are privileges, really, but also compels me to notice that, more and more, I’d probably be just as happy doing less and less.

I’ve never thought of myself as a lazy person, but maybe that’s because it’s too much effort to notice. Perhaps if I just took a bit more initiative, I’d realize what a slug I’m willing to be.

(By the way, I think I’ve written on this theme before, but I’m too lazy to think of something new and far too enervated to even search back to check.)

A person has to consider his legacy, of course; you want to have done something meaningful and to have left your mark on history; but why can’t that be nothing more than a dent in the mattress? Why not be satisfied with simply having lived and breathed? Maybe one isn’t required to have changed the world; perhaps it’s sufficient to have, at least, changed one’s socks.

No doubt the fellows in spandex on television think what they’re doing is important and meaningful and certainly those watching the game with more energy and interest than me do as well, but isn’t the attention paid to such nonsense a perfect illustration of how so much of what we all get so exercised about so much of the time is nothing more than froth on flimsiest of life’s illusions?

And speaking of froth, and even given how lazy I am, I nevertheless conclude it’s worthwhile to get up and get another beer.


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