Palm Fronds

Palm trees are utterly stunning. The island here is covered with ‘em. I’ve been taken by their beauty lately. Except today, I was taken by their danger. There was a YUGE palm frond sitting on the pathway to the beach. Right on the path. The path where I’ve walked so many times in the last few weeks. I went to move the palm frond off the path and was taken by its weight. It was far, far heavier than I expected. Because I only ever see the palm fronds 10 meters up (yes I’ve converted to the metric system after living here for about a month. So what?!? It’s no different than your friend who says Barcelona instead of Barcelona after going to Spain for their spring break. I won’t apologize for it. It’s not cultural appropriation, it’s cultural appreciation. It’s not cultural appropriation, it’s cultural assimilation. That, or I’m just tired of trying to remember the conversion…), while they’re still attached to the trees and effortlessly swaying in the breeze, I realized that I never fully appreciated their mass (or density or weight or whatever other method of measurement may be relevant. What I’m tryna say is that they were thiccc’er than I anticipated). I was struck by the thought that if this palm frond would’ve fallen at the precise moment that I was walking under the tree, then that palm frond could’ve struck me! Death by Palm Frond: A Tragic Comedy. At the exact moment that this morbid thought surfaced inside of me, about 20 yards to my right (I’m single-lingual but multi-conversional) a coconut exploded as it struck the ground from a different tree. The near-miss of a coconut catastrophe served to compound my morbidity. “Damn!” I thought, “If I happened to be walking under that tree, then I could’ve died on impact if one of those cocoballs noggin-bonked me.” And so, my peaceful morning walk to the beach, through a peaceful palm tree forest, became a pretty harrowing experience in an instant. In an instant, I felt surrounded by threats. In an instant, I felt surrounded by death. It suddenly felt like the sky was falling all around me. I felt like I was on the set of “Final Destination 17: Philippines”. They say (whoever “they” are) that “ignorance is bliss.” Well, I was blissfully ignorant that palm trees might kill me on all my previous morning walks to the beach. Now, these beautiful trees, which I’ve come to associate with Heaven on Earth, have become dangerous weapons that are out to get me. The moment I reclassified palm trees as a threat, my peaceful morning walk became a self-protective shuffle. My eyes were on the canopy. I refused to break gaze with those terrifying, towering death machines. I was on to them. I now knew that they could drop their palm fronds or coconuts on me at any moment. Now I had sympathy for the Iraqis once unmanned drones became an option for the U.S. military. Eyes on the sky, awaiting a strike that you probably wouldn’t even see until it’s too late. But I refused to be an unsuspecting target. No-no, not me! I was gonna be ready. I wasn’t about to get domed by a tropical Reaper drone. I was ready! Eyes on the canopy. I was ready! All I had to sacrifice was my presence and peace. All I had to do was stop looking at the path in front of me. All I had to do was keep my eyes on the canopy. I had no time to “be where my feet are.” I had to be prepared. I had to be ready. It reminds me of why I don’twatch the news on a daily basis. It’s of no critical importance to my everyday happiness to know every single thing that could kill me on this planet. I don’t care about want to know of all of the dangers that threaten my existence. The following is how my news anchor I justify it… Only fools adhere to the maxim: “ruthless prioritization is bliss.” Bliss doesn’t do you any good if you’re dead! It’s a simple trade-off: I give up my bliss in the moment. Then, in return, I get no guarantees that I’ll live longer. But, I also get to live a more anxious existence. I get to be more stressed out about threats that would otherwise have a very low likelihood of altering my present day’s happiness. But, I’ll be prepared. And I’ll receive my membership card for “The Well-Informed Electorate.” Because what’s worse? Being perpetually agitated by drinking from the firehose of the “Here’s what happened across the world and here’s why you need to start worrying about it” daily news report OR getting scoffed at by your “well-informed” “friends” at a cocktail party when you admit, “I missed last night’s mood-killer report.  Does somebody mind filling me in?” The answer is obvious for anyone who cares about prolonging their misery lifespan. We have a civic duty to be agitated by informed of world events that have zero YUGE impact on our daily happiness. We have a responsibility to know all the biased narratives facts that are fed to us by heavily incentivized to misinform us respected news anchors. After all, if I don’t profess allegiance with one of the major news networks, then what’s going to inform my personality? What else am I going to talk about with my friends (who all watch the same network as me) at that most-stimulating, we-all-already-agree cocktail party? After being force-fed the day’s tragedies, like a flock of helpless duckies who are resigned to becoming foie gras for the news networks’ producers, we end up vomiting up the exact same narratives and “stats” from the previous evening’s program. That’s because we’re all drinking from the same stuff-your-face-while-sucking-your-soul muzzle. But, it’s of the utmost importance that we stick with those who view the world the same as us. If there’s any dissidents then they’re undoubtedly wrong, stupid, misinformed idiots. And they’re obviously gonna be uninvited from the next cocktail party. After all, agreement with my views is the only way to receive my acceptance. Dissenting opinions are a dealbreaker. In fact, I just heard my most greedy trusted news anchor run a story last night about how we ought to cancel Supreme Court dissenters. We have no room for the distractions on the high court anymore. He made the case that our country would be “more streamlined” if we always operated with unanimous consent. To clarify, the unanimous consent need not be reached by rigorous debate and letting the best ideas win. We don’t have time for that. Unanimous consent will only come about if we fill the Supreme Super-Sized Court with people who agree with us. Thus, we must first get rid of the lifetime term. Then, we must get rid of dissidents. All in the name of efficiency. Let me tell you, if you missed it, he made the case quite convincingly. And by that I mean he screamed it really loudly. I, for one, am convinced. In fact, I discussed it with all my friends at our social club this evening. They all agreed with me. So, obviously, this is the correct way. This is the kind of uniformity that we need! We are the model for American democracy. We don’t have time to consider all opinions. We don’t have time for “healthy debate.” Those “diversity” pushers are just promoting empty calories. It’s just junk food masquerading as mind-opening, TAM-expanding, digestion-enabling debate. Sustenance can only be provided by my news anchor. After all, he feeds me every evening. And he told me this was the case about dissenting opinions, so I unquestionably believe him. After all, he’s never led me astray (except for that one time he told me we were “only in a recession” and I spent all my money). Also, nobody makes me feel more fully alive than he does. It feels like he’s whispering right in my ear as he starts one of his rants on screen. He might as well be gently caressing my neck as he slams down his empty cue papers and spills his coffee cup full of water. Boy-oh-boy, nothing else gets me so hot & bothered. I know the emotion is more akin to agitation than stimulation, but I don’t care. I know the emotion is more akin to a foot infection than an erection, but I don’t mind. The pain makes me feel alive! Anyways, what was I saying? I got distracted while daydreaming of my boo news anchor. By the way, is it 6PM yet? I can’t wait to tune in soon and get wet informed. I’ve heard of those hippies who don’t watch the news. Sure, they seem happier. But they’re gonna get murdered one day when they least expect it. If they’re not aware of all the crime that’s happening right around the corner, as well as all the wars happening outside of our borders, then how are they supposed to protect themselves against their neighbors? How are they gonna know that the brown folk are not to be trusted? How are they gonna know that turban = terrorist? How are they gonna know that poor people are lazy? How are they gonna know that every rich person cheated at every step of their journey? How are they gonna be aware that every business owner is trying to turn them into slave labor? How are they gonna know that every white man hates gay people? How are they gonna get the talking points for their cocktail party “debate” that already had unanimous agreement before it even began? How are they gonna know what to do if they miss the evening news? Where are they getting their sexual arousal if not from their news anchor? What will they do without their news anchor? They’re going to die. That’s what. That’s obviously what’s going to happen to them. They’re gonna get murdered by one of those cold-blooded serial killers like I watch on those Netflix documentaries. If I don’t watch those documentaries, then how am I going to be ready? Also, what am I supposed to do with the hours between 5 and 6PM when work is over and I’m waiting for my news anchor to start whispering ranting. These documentaries are like the appetizer to my most-tasty of entrees. Also, everyone knows that those cold-blooded serial killers always spare the lives of the well-informed electorate. You’ve gotta learn to think like a criminal. Everyone knows murderers always get the “ignorance is bliss” dipsh*ts. Those happy, peaceful people who are just living in the moment. Those people who smile, rather than scowl, at their neighbors. Those people who meet strangers with trust, rather than pre-conceived contempt. Those people are NOT to be trusted. Those are the members of the UNinformed electorate. Sure, they might be happier and, sure, those people claim that being happy every day might be the end goal of this whole game that we’re all playing. But I don’t trust what they say. I won’t trust that truth until my news anchor screams it at me through the TV. Until then, I want to flood my awareness with all the things that could kill me. I prefer to be prepared. I prefer to be wary of palm fronds and the people who don’t think like me. I’d rather be perpetually scared, than be caught-off-guard. I don’t care if that dude Seneca said, “There are more things likely to frighten us than there are to crush us; we suffer more often in imagination than in reality.” That dude’s probably dead already. I’ll be keeping my eyes on the canopy. These eyes will be fixed on the TV. I will be informed. I will be ready.