book one redone - Coldbacon

nofriends.html
Point
Lately, I’ve noticed a large number of people are going around saying you
can find something worthwhile in everyone you meet. They are crazy. The
truth is most people you meet will range from pretty dumb to awfully
dumb. No offense, those of you reading this who are awfully dumb. But
that’s why the rest of you should be talking to dead people—specifically,
dead authors. Granted, the conversation is fairly one-sided, but it’s not as
if you would have said anything important. And the fact is, you’ll learn a
hell of a lot more from a good book than from hearing your future exroommate
perseverate on the latest self-inflicted catastrophe in his or her
life, which it turns out, has been carefully planned by CBS since the age
of thirteen. Your roommate and any other would-be writers of television
are all so very less insightful than the great authors who have died. White,
black, lesbian—doesn’t matter, long as they’re dead. And why should you
settle for someone just because they’re—alive? Now, I’m not saying not
to have friends or that polite conversation cannot be a beautiful thing
(within reason). But don’t feel like you need to be friends with everyone
and don’t be afraid to fire the bad ones. Tell them it’s the new economy.
Counterpoint
Wait a minute, Hoss. Don’t think of it as everyone having something to
offer. Think of it as you always having something to learn. What you need
is some real human reactions to real human situations. And this means
you’re going to have to talk to other people. You may be the cream, but
the fact is you’re still just one person with one perspective and certain
deficiencies, which are going to need outside assistance. Take me, for
example. I am deficient in the quality of reality. I drink way too much
coffee and tend to get carried away. I start getting this crazy idea that I can
do anything if I put my mind to it. So I need other people to remind me
this is not true. Then at night, I take these little white pills to help me
sleep. Thirty minutes later, I start thinking everything is going to turn out
alright. At forty minutes, I still think everything is going to turn out
alright, just a lot slower. At fifty, things can turn out however they want.
And in the morning, they’re back again, the fox, the bat, the wise old hen.
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