Column.
You guys are awful quiet. Fine, be that way. Here's this week's stellar submission to the Gazette.
INSPIRATION
It’s amazing where inspiration can be found. I found it on PBS where, ironically enough, it took the form of an inspirational speaker.
A wizened man was onstage preaching the secrets to a happy life to an auditorium full of rubes. More accurately, he hinted at the secrets to a happy life. The complete secrets were available on five CDs for only $350. This was a bargain, explained the man, because to attend his seminar in person costs three grand.
Perhaps it’s judgmental of me to label the audience rubes; that was a knee-jerk reaction. It’s just that they looked exactly like the people I regularly saw leaving the Fitzgerald Theater after weekly performances of “A Prairie Home Companion” when I lived in downtown St. Paul. I remember well the hoards of fun-loving Lutherans exiting the theater, tittering excitedly about how Garrison Keillor—as usual—captured perfectly the quiet simplicity that characterizes life in Minnesota (while Keillor himself celebrated backstage with imported champagne and caviar).
The same type of humble folk drank in the words of the inspirational
speaker on PBS. They were mostly older people with wanting looks on their faces. One could picture Winnebagos, sporting license plates from the 48 contiguous states, converging on the convention center the night before, their owners tailgating with like-minded seekers, resolving over brats that finally, this was it: Life would no longer be a fruitless search for ever-elusive meaning. If a long, unfulfilling career, alcohol and slot machines couldn’t quench their spiritual thirst, then this speaker—who admittedly was nobody before hopping aboard the self-improvement bandwagon—would change all that. For only $350.
As I watched, I could almost see how people might be seduced by him. After all, the CD art featured him in a white tunic, standing on a beach with the ocean stretching wide behind him to symbolize life’s endless possibilities, his distinguished grey hair whipping inspirationally in the breeze. Of course, if a cynic looked closely enough at the photograph, they might notice that other inspirational speakers had been airbrushed out of the background, since you can’t walk 10 feet on a beach without bumping into an inspirational speaker being photographed for a book or CD cover (at least the un-established ones who can’t yet afford private beachfront property).
He spoke gently, without reproach, a welcome departure from hulking, boorish inspirational speakers like Tony Robbins, the nine-foot tall Cro-Magnon that motivated a generation back in the 90’s. Tony Robbins had to shout because he was a huckster. Anyone confident enough to whisper the secrets to a happy life must be the real deal.
And as if that weren’t inspirational enough the speaker’s young, beautiful daughter took the stage and sang a song of inspiration, after which it was announced—to the rubes’ delight—that today only the $350 package included a bonus CD featuring songs of inspiration. The CD was entitled “Songs of Inspiration,” lest the crowd have trouble following the gist of the presentation.
The more I watched, the more transparent the man on the dais became. He was wearing ill-fitting slacks and what appeared to be a sweatshirt; he looked rather frumpy. Apparently one of the secrets to a happy life is not obsessing over clothing. Call me old-fashioned, but if people are dipping into their nest eggs to hear me impart the wisdom of the ages, then dammit: I’m wearing a necktie, if anything out of respect to their children whose inheritance I’m siphoning.
Also, the man had a pot belly, which doesn’t exactly exude control over one’s life. I’m leery of an inspirational speaker who isn’t inspired to visit the gym when he looks eight months pregnant. I’m sure it’s easy to fall into the fast food trap while on the road, but God forbid heart disease claim him before everyone hears the good news. For only $350.
Despite my cynicism, the man managed to inspire me in a couple of ways. First, though I feel overwhelmed by life right now, five minutes of the show was enough to convince me that as bad as things may seem, I will never, ever be so hopeless as to put stock in a modern-day snake oil salesman, particularly one with Filet o’ Fish stains on his sweatshirt.
Second, I found the man inspirational because now I know that one way or another, I’m guaranteed success in life. If, despite my best efforts, I reach retirement age without accomplishing anything of note, no problem: I’ve got a fallback. My hair is already grey, there’s no shortage of rubes seeking answers and if I have any talent it lies in my silver tongue. If someone reading this can sew me a tunic—size 30-inch waist, please—I’m in business. Come to think of it, make it an elastic waistband: I plan to hit every McDonald’s between here and Albuquerque.
INSPIRATION
It’s amazing where inspiration can be found. I found it on PBS where, ironically enough, it took the form of an inspirational speaker.
A wizened man was onstage preaching the secrets to a happy life to an auditorium full of rubes. More accurately, he hinted at the secrets to a happy life. The complete secrets were available on five CDs for only $350. This was a bargain, explained the man, because to attend his seminar in person costs three grand.
Perhaps it’s judgmental of me to label the audience rubes; that was a knee-jerk reaction. It’s just that they looked exactly like the people I regularly saw leaving the Fitzgerald Theater after weekly performances of “A Prairie Home Companion” when I lived in downtown St. Paul. I remember well the hoards of fun-loving Lutherans exiting the theater, tittering excitedly about how Garrison Keillor—as usual—captured perfectly the quiet simplicity that characterizes life in Minnesota (while Keillor himself celebrated backstage with imported champagne and caviar).The same type of humble folk drank in the words of the inspirational
speaker on PBS. They were mostly older people with wanting looks on their faces. One could picture Winnebagos, sporting license plates from the 48 contiguous states, converging on the convention center the night before, their owners tailgating with like-minded seekers, resolving over brats that finally, this was it: Life would no longer be a fruitless search for ever-elusive meaning. If a long, unfulfilling career, alcohol and slot machines couldn’t quench their spiritual thirst, then this speaker—who admittedly was nobody before hopping aboard the self-improvement bandwagon—would change all that. For only $350.As I watched, I could almost see how people might be seduced by him. After all, the CD art featured him in a white tunic, standing on a beach with the ocean stretching wide behind him to symbolize life’s endless possibilities, his distinguished grey hair whipping inspirationally in the breeze. Of course, if a cynic looked closely enough at the photograph, they might notice that other inspirational speakers had been airbrushed out of the background, since you can’t walk 10 feet on a beach without bumping into an inspirational speaker being photographed for a book or CD cover (at least the un-established ones who can’t yet afford private beachfront property).
He spoke gently, without reproach, a welcome departure from hulking, boorish inspirational speakers like Tony Robbins, the nine-foot tall Cro-Magnon that motivated a generation back in the 90’s. Tony Robbins had to shout because he was a huckster. Anyone confident enough to whisper the secrets to a happy life must be the real deal.
And as if that weren’t inspirational enough the speaker’s young, beautiful daughter took the stage and sang a song of inspiration, after which it was announced—to the rubes’ delight—that today only the $350 package included a bonus CD featuring songs of inspiration. The CD was entitled “Songs of Inspiration,” lest the crowd have trouble following the gist of the presentation.
The more I watched, the more transparent the man on the dais became. He was wearing ill-fitting slacks and what appeared to be a sweatshirt; he looked rather frumpy. Apparently one of the secrets to a happy life is not obsessing over clothing. Call me old-fashioned, but if people are dipping into their nest eggs to hear me impart the wisdom of the ages, then dammit: I’m wearing a necktie, if anything out of respect to their children whose inheritance I’m siphoning.
Also, the man had a pot belly, which doesn’t exactly exude control over one’s life. I’m leery of an inspirational speaker who isn’t inspired to visit the gym when he looks eight months pregnant. I’m sure it’s easy to fall into the fast food trap while on the road, but God forbid heart disease claim him before everyone hears the good news. For only $350.
Despite my cynicism, the man managed to inspire me in a couple of ways. First, though I feel overwhelmed by life right now, five minutes of the show was enough to convince me that as bad as things may seem, I will never, ever be so hopeless as to put stock in a modern-day snake oil salesman, particularly one with Filet o’ Fish stains on his sweatshirt.
Second, I found the man inspirational because now I know that one way or another, I’m guaranteed success in life. If, despite my best efforts, I reach retirement age without accomplishing anything of note, no problem: I’ve got a fallback. My hair is already grey, there’s no shortage of rubes seeking answers and if I have any talent it lies in my silver tongue. If someone reading this can sew me a tunic—size 30-inch waist, please—I’m in business. Come to think of it, make it an elastic waistband: I plan to hit every McDonald’s between here and Albuquerque.
posted by Admin Worm at 1:52 PM
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