A Manifesto of Some Variety

Twenty minutes ago I walked through airport security with chapstick in my pocket. Last I checked, that constituted a gl and an immediate threat to national security that could only be resolved with the 3-1-1 plastic bag policy. More worrying, the guy ahead of me was stopped and had his bag searched because he had a GameBoy in it; nobody noticed the lighter he had tossed on top of his coat as it rolled down the x-ray conveyor belt. I suppose the illusion of safety is nice, but when we can’t even maintain that illusion, something is wrong with the system. Or is there?
Almost every aspect of air travel is absurd. My iPod will in no way ever endanger the operation of the plane, emergency exit procedures are more or less a joke. That airlines keep up the pretense that flying as an isolated act of enjoyment is hilarious. But it’s not air travel, not as a singular system; the absurdity is endemic. Why on earth is TV littered with ads that I don’t process, let alone acknowledge the existence of? More worryingly, why do enough people pay attention to ads to make them worthwhile? Why do we as a country spend more money fighting terrorism when far, far more people die in traffic accidents every year? The whole world is utterly absurd, illogical (and who would’ve thought my favorite subject would be an attempt to systematize the fundamental chaos of the universe? Yeah, I love chem. And if you want more ammo for te absurdity argument--well, there you go).
Okay, so we’ve established that nothing really makes sense, but why? Surely we could regulate and modulate every aspect of human reality. Take love, for example; so messy and awkward, so many false starts, ruined reputations, hurt feelings--all for the sake of making babies. Come on, we could build factories to do that. Of course there’s more to love than that--but that’s all gravy from an efficiency/evolutionary standpoint. Dead weight, really. Absurdity, if you will. But it’s more fun that way. Why be grumpy about what is intrinsic to your very existence? No, I prefer to just chuckle quietly at the absurdity o this nonsensical construct we call society and reality. I pretend that I take airport security as seriously as the guy operating the x-ray machine so vigilantly while he also reads Candide. On the inside, I’m amused, but I play along and pretend not to see anything. And occasionally, I’m rewarded and run into someone with a similar outlook. As we strapped ourselves in and got ready to take off (as I began this essay, in fact), our flight attendent announces: “In the unlikely even that we land in the Arctic Ocean instead of Omaha, your seat cushion may be used as a floatation device. After you have paddled to shore, you may keep them, compliments of Midwest Express, the best care in the air.” Or something like that.