Bernie Mac and the Inordinate National Concern

The real Bernie Mac

Stepping off my connecting flight from Kansas City to Charlotte, NC en route to Cleveland, I entered the men's bathroom to perform my necessaries. As I made my way through the door, I almost froze with shock as I thought I was looking at Bernie Mac (God rest his soul) or a very close relative of his. From crazy hair to comical smile, I was certain that he could've made a career being a Mac-alike. It hadn't occurred to me why he was there in his airport uniform, but I made my way to the urinal to fulfill my purpose.

Then, the man who looked like Bernie Mac began to talk to the patrons of the men's restroom. "How are you all doing today? Early? Man, you've gotta wake up with a smile! Since 4 am? Well, I was up by then too! I just want to see everyone smile. How're you doing, sir? I'm good, I'm good, I don't complain. Because nobody listens. How're you doing, sir? Oh, can I help you with that? Don't want you to have any trouble carrying anything and hurting yourself! Alright, alright..." Without trying to be too gratuitous with my details, this sort of upfront chatter was making my bladder very shy, standing before the urinal.

Was the airport paying this guy? It all seemed very invasive and awkward, since the unspoken rule in men's bathroom is that everything should be left unspoken. I was reminded of my similar apprehension when I was pulled aside twice to have my bags checked before getting on to my previous flight. I had been immediately uncomfortable at the thought of being poked and prodded like you hear on all the news stories. Gee, couldn't Bernie Mac just stop talking and let a guy tinkle in peace? I half-expected him with his overly-enthusiastic attitude to give ever man trying to take a whiz in the row of urinals a hearty "good game" butt slap to encourage excellent urination.

This man's identity has been cleverly concealed
by the photographer's crappy iPhone camera

Speaking of the news, I never watch it, but the airport TVs were full of them, all playing one news program or another. The interesting thing was that they were all national network news programs: not local new. National news has absorbed the consciousness of many people. From the presidential elections to the latest disaster, everyone wants to know what's going on around the country. What is Congress fouling up now? How's the stock market doing? What's the latest news with big business? While waiting for my second plane, a man standing in the middle of the gate's sitting area spoke loudly about his company's business strategy and expansion plans, as if to make a big scene of his importance. It was quite comical, and I even snuck a picture, but he seriously was wholly absorbed with global business.

This, I think can be applied to the Hollywood scene as well. Programs like TMZ have made all kinds of money off of gossip and scoop stories on the lives of the "rich and famous". Some people follow their lives more closely than they follow those of their children. America is obsessed with the celebrity scene and any latest juicy, chewy piece of fat to fall from the tables of the mass media is enough into a frantic feeding frenzy and bring us back, begging for more.

I think this even ties into something I was recently having a discussion about regarding "philanthropic" endeavors, especially those worldwide. Wiki-pedia defines "philanthropy" using the notion of enhancing "what it is to be human". Does anyone doing "philanthropy" know what it means "to be human"? And why do these efforts always seem to happen in Africa or some disaster stricken area? What's wrong with right here, in my neighborhood?

These three things all have a common source: an inordinate global concern and a dangerous unwillingness to take personal responsibility for ourselves and our own community. Those who contribute to the alleviate "world hunger" often fail to alleviate the very real pains and struggle of their friends, family, and the needy of their own community. Philanthropy is opposed to true charity, as it seeks to draw attention towards "real world" needs... and the efforts of those who make them. More often then not, my experience has been that philanthropy is a feather in people's caps, and not a nail in their hands and feet like charity is. Anyone can give money to feed the kids in Africa and feel like they did their good deed, but can you give a hug to your mother or father, or a helping hand on your brother's homework, or an hour or two helping your grandparents rake the leaves in their backyard?

We consume the celebrity gossip because the moral missteps of the accomplished and powerful make us feel better about our ethically bankrupt lives. In this same vein, it allows us to neglect our own areas of deficiency, so as not to expose what the level of self-knowledge we lack. We absorb this information because it counts as entertainment to hear about the scandals, the divorces, the political opinions, and the drama; but really, seeing this a source of entertainment helps to placate our own nagging consciences about the miserable and messed-up lives we're leading. In many cases, our lives are not any better than those of Hollywood. We just count ourselves lucky that they're under that kind of scrutiny for our entertainment and comforting, and we're not.

People focus on national or global political "issues" because they can remain anonymous about them. We can scream at our televisions at home, and not need to bring our concerns in front of an actual group of people. Mass media and social networks have allowed the citizen to be anonymous in his opinions, never needing to have the courage to risk his identity to stand up for his beliefs. I do believe that our nation is in a very dangerous time with the liberties that have been taken at the national level, but let it not be an excuse to neglect valuing our own local government and business success.

So, do I place my own life into consideration and determine what things I need to change? Do I treat those immediately around me with love and kindness, because "charity begins at home"? In what ways do I look to be a force for the common good of those within my neighborhood or community by setting a personal example for others?

I know I'm asking these questions, but to be honest, I hadn't really thought of an answer because Bernie Mac was still talking and I still couldn't pee yet.

On the Brattish Nature of My Car

Yes, it's true, Maybellene and I are no more. The cost of maintaining such an impractical automobile for someone my age and professional status was just to difficult. Though I will probably won't have such a chimerical car for quite some time again, it was fun for the year or so, but I needed practical. Options were slim, and they were made even more limited by the fact that the car had to be something I could afford a monthly payment for, as well as monthly gas. So really, I wasn't choosing the car; rather, this was a case in which the car really chose me: a 2010 Ford Focus S.

Maybellene's sleek black body styling is traded for a spoiled-rotten, candy red. The melodious stereo system has been traded for an unbalanced racket. The painless, "hands-off", automatic-manual gear box has been replaced with the excruciating, "hands-pulling-out-hair", manual gear box. The saucy red leather interior has been swapped for a grumpy grey, poly-fiber blend. At first glance, you'd think this car was a monumental letdown, but practical is as practical does and a man's gotta grow up sometime...

But as soon as I got into the car, I seriously doubted that I was heading in that direction. Reaching into the box of Maybellene's former belongings, I pulled out a few choice CDs that might console me on my grave loss. To my surprise, none of them were fitting into the slot. A CD had been left in the car by the previous owner. I tried to eject it to see what it was, but the CD would not come forth at my command. After taking out an initial moment of intense frustration on the steering wheel, I was struck by an immense stroke of genius: no greater opportunity than this could be afforded to learn about the car's previous owner. Immediately, my momentary rage melted into the most engaged curiosity and I played the CD.

What met my ears was the most heinous collection of party rock I'd ever heard, with songs by "artists" such as Ludacris and Ke$ha (and judging by the sound quality, it was likely pirated). Furthermore, they weren't even the songs you heard on the radio; all of them were mediocre, B-side quality. Indeed, this was a juicy find, and my mind began to notice other telling personality traits.

The previous owner (rather, the owner's parents) had installed an "M-Key" device offered by Ford which prevents the driver from doing certain things with the car that some might consider dangerous. The device limits how high the radio's volume can be set. Also, this functionality will turn off any audio in the car if the driver fails to buckle his seat belt. But to top it off, the device will warn you with a noise if the car approaches 75 mph and will automatically apply the brakes to keep the driver from going anything over 80 mph.

Upon an initial overview of the car, I noticed that there was a floor pad missing from the driver's side of the car. Now, I'm not one to speculate too far into things, but I would certainly like an explanation as to why a floor pad, specifically made for this car model is missing. All the others are present, but I find it very intriguing that the the one missing is the driver's.

After mentioning these findings to the respectable salesman who sold me the car and offering my speculative conclusions, he told me that the car's previous bumper stickers would most certainly support my suspicions. Before the car came into my possession, there had been bumper stickers for the University of Missouri - St. Louis, a commuter college, and a "rainbow" awareness ribbon.

With these facts in hand, I was now able to make some claims regarding the previous owner of the car. The first, and most obvious fact, was that the previous owner had been a girl, most likely a student of the commuter college to which the bumper sticker denoted. The car was purchased new by her parents, as  indicated by the activated M-Key functionality. Certainly, she was an irresponsible child and not trusted at all by her parents, and it is very likely that in her fecklessness, she had totalled her previous car, hence the new car with the overkill M-Key security features. Also, it's possible that the manual transmission was selected by the parent's to discourage texting-and-driving, a well-known practice among girls.

The awareness bumper sticker leaves no mystery as to the secular leanings of the girl's worldview and the forever-stuck CD reinforces this worldly hypothesis. The CDs song selection also makes some interesting suggestions. The first song on the CD was by St. Louis-native, Nelly, and is titled "Hey Porsche". A link to the lyrics can be found here, as they are too vile to post on this respectable blog. Also, the fact that the songs are less popular than the big hits of these mainstream artists suggests that she might have a hipster streak about her. However, after careful consideration, I concluded that a hipster girl would never listen to mainstream artists at all, so it is most probable that the previous owner just had terrible taste in music.

The only missing piece to explain now is the missing driver's side floor mat. Relying on the conclusions we've already made, it seems logical that while driving home after a long night of partying at her girlfriends' house, the owner vomited on the floor at a stop light to relieve her stomach of the gratuitous quantities of McCormick's vodka and Jack Daniel's whiskey. Unable to clean it without her parent's noticing, she threw the mat into a nearby dumpster and Fe-breezed the car, effectively eliminating the odor and the mess.

Therefore, the previous owner of the car was surely an upper middle-class, blonde, spoiled, sorority brat with the most terrible taste in music and a high number of supremely bad life-choices. It is for this reason, that I have named the car, Brittany. These deductions make me realize the subtly colorful character of an otherwise typically practical car, and though she's not the fiery temptress that Maybellene was, she's definitely got spunk: and I like her spunk.

Goodbye, Maybellene

Dear Maybellene,
We're through. It's over. I've moved on. Yes, enough is enough and I'm calling this whole thing off. We've been together for 15 months and I'm finally sick and tired enough of all of this to just end things.

No, I'm not going to get into the specifics of why. We're just not right for each other at this point in our lives. Maybe we used to be, but that was then and things have changed.

I felt like no matter how much I gave to our relationship, you just demanded more. When your MPG bottoms out at an average 20 mpg, can't you see why I can't justify putting any more gas into this relationship? I even gave you a new set of tires for our 6 month anniversary, but you were burning through those as much as the old ones. I had just had enough of your stupid sunroof that always got jammed when I tried to open it, and your low clearance was a endless embarrassment whenever you scraped your undercarriage on a parking curb. Now look what you've done: you got me going into specifics.

Oh, who am I kidding, Maybellene? I miss you already. I miss your raunchy red leather seats, I miss your rebellious, impractical teenage attitude. I toss and turn at night, thinking about someone else's hands lovingly embracing your leather-wrapped steering wheel. I'm deathly afraid that some spoiled brat girl has you now and is foolishly ignoring the true potential of your V6 engine.

But I know it's for the best, girl. I'm sure we won't meet again, and maybe one day I'll find another wildly quixotic car like you. At the very least, though, we have the memories we've shared and those, I'll never forget. Goodbye, Maybellene.

Maybellene, the 2008 Hyundai Tiburon GT Limited