Rian van Heerden has been well known for causing some controversy within the peevish Afrikaner community throughout his broadcasting career. With his TV show, “Rian”, and his many incarnations as radio presenter he has never been afraid to tackle historically taboo subjects. Ironically he even found a home for a couple of years at a radio station in the conservative heartland of Bloemfontein. Though no one can deny that the content of his media contributions have ruffled some feathers, I think many would agree that the true reason many people are predisposed to take offence to his opinions is the fact that he happens to be gay. I remember that it was a big sensation, and to some even a shock, when he came out of the proverbial closet a few years ago.
In one of his more recent shows he interviewed a preacher who had to keep his homosexuality a secret for most of his career for the very justified fear of being ostracized by the church, community and ultimately the God he believes in. He told of his life-long struggle with the idea of being different and the guilt instilled upon him by years of religious indoctrination. I can’t recall the preacher’s name now and a local internet doesn’t seem to yield any fruits.
A few days after this show was aired I had a conversation with someone who brought up the subject of homosexuality. I was apprehensive to venture down this path with him because I knew how easily upset devout members of that bastion of Calvinist doctrine, the Dutch Reformed church, could get. A leisurely stroll on this path could easily lead to a maze of thorny bushes from which there is no escape without blood being drawn. But after a moment’s contemplation and subsequent failure of my better instincts I couldn’t resist being drawn into the conversation. The main premise of his argument was that homosexuality is wrong. I however wanted to know why exactly it is that being attracted to someone of the same sex is wrong, as being gay is no threat to society, world peace or the economy. This apparently doesn’t hold any water, as I would soon find out that the reason it is wrong is because the Bible says it’s wrong. End of story. None of my explanations that the Bible for example - among many other things - also says that women should be banished from the tribe for the duration of their menstrual cycles, could convince him.
This made me think about what guides religious peoples’ moral compass. What exactly is their concept of right and wrong? After a while I had a light bulb moment and it dawned on me; anything God instructs them to do is right and good, and everything He forbids is wrong and evil. The way in which something would affect the lives of individuals or society at large has no place in the equation. The word of God is the ultimate moral guidebook. A simple example of this is His instruction to us to go forth and multiply and inhabit all the earth. No matter the effects of overpopulation and famine. And if one day you heard a voice calling you from a bush telling you to go and eliminate the infidels of another sovereign nation you wouldn’t have to think twice about the moral implications of your actions as it was an instruction from on high.
From all the conflicting do’s and don’ts contained in the pages of holy writ we can also deduce that divine proclamation is subject to change, depending on what mood the prime mover might have been in that day. The Ten Commandments, that form the bedrock for Christian morality, was supposedly brought down mount Sinai by Moses during the Israelites’ desert traversing. Posing as divine law, it was in actual fact nothing more than a pragmatic way to govern a primitive society. People may have revolted against it en masse if they hadn’t thought it would be punishable by some supernatural calamity. Here religion proved useful in guiding and controlling the flock.
Today people still cling to these and other largely redundant holy and unquestionable edicts. Some pose a greater risk than others, but that is a topic for another time. We can and do come up with better ways to live our lives by employing reason and compassion. The complete disconnect between religious morality and actual morality (the effect on society – good and bad in THIS world) is the reason why the separation between church and state is so very important. We no longer have to live in the shackles of superstition.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Napoleon in rags and the language that he used
We South Africans take great pride in our cosmopolitan makeup. Well, most of us do. We have 11 official languages. What does that actually mean; an official language? Doesn’t it strike you as something a PR marketing committee came up with? We’re awesome, we can swear and complain in 11 distinct sounds. Though the average South African is only fluent in 2 or 3 of these sounds, with English being the most common one. I recently read somewhere that the only official language is really English. It’s the default language that members from different cultural backgrounds revert to when they try to communicate. Who says British imperialism didn’t have a silver lining?
Everyone understands English. The only difference is the grasp of vocabulary and wielding of the tongue, but you don’t have to be Shakespeare to get your point across. We’ve learnt to adapt and use our imagination to fill in the blanks and infer certain archetypal meanings where words fail. We like to make fun of politicians, who use the language with the finesse of a bull in a china shop, but we get what they want to say. We invent words and incorporate words from other native languages (such as Eish, Ayoba, Lekker etc.) to add certain emotive connotations to what we’re saying. So, in this makeshift way we succeed in communicating with each other. Granted, there are certain things at the fringes of the language barrier that still escape us, but in the broad spectrum we’re managing fine.
There’s just one cultural group that is a bit resistant to assimilate in this melting pot of diverse opinions and mother tongues; the Afrikaners (which is my historical cultural group). Afrikaners feel strongly about their heritage and culture. Afrikaans is made out to be one of the indigenous languages, when in actual fact it’s basically a collection of blended European languages bottled in South Africa. To be fair, it is a beautiful language. I defy anyone to listen to the words of Breyten Breytenbach, Koos Kombuis and more recently the likes of Toast Coetzer and Co., and not be moved. Our writers have won international prizes and there are PhD students from Eastern Europe who major in Afrikaans. But it’s just one of the official series of distinct noises we make, and it’s made by a considerable minority.
If you however look at the corporate world you’d be forgiven to think that we only have two official languages, namely English and Afrikaans. This is true save for a few exceptions, and also for the educational system to a large extent. It will probably change in the future, but as Jack Kerouac said, walking on water wasn’t built in a day. We live in a post-modern world where anything is seemingly possible. If we can video-chat with our antipodal expatriate friends, fixing a language barrier is something we’ll sort out over our generational lunch break.
All the improvements to our lives in this post-modern age have come at a cost. This is especially apparent where technological improvements have made personal human contact superfluous. It enabled companies to shrink their workforce and consequently also their expenses. An example of this is the much dreaded call centre. A boxed-in collection of parrot-like sadists trained to make your life just that little bit more difficult. Even though they probably have nightmares of people shouting at them in broken English and have to be kept on a 24/7 suicide watch.
It is with this institutional form of communication that the Afrikaner has difficulty. Normally they won’t do the person at the other end of the line or counter the courtesy of switching to the English default. Some do so grudgingly, but with the air of a pouting schoolboy about them. In my experience most are adamant about being served in Afrikaans. Fine… the client may always be right, but I’ve never come across anyone insisting on being helped in Zulu. People understand that due to certain legislative stipulations the workforce of a company has to represent a certain demographic. Therefore the people being employed don’t use Afrikaans as a first language. These days most of them don’t speak Afrikaans at all. Bantu education is a thing of the past. So ideally yes, a client should be served in the language of his or her preference. Unfortunately we don’t live in an ideal world. You’ll be hard pressed to someone who is fluent in all 11 languages that would be willing to work for minimum wage answering telephones.
An argument can be made for the point that a significant portion of the client base is made up of Afrikaans speaking people, which might be true seeing as most of the economic power is still in the hands of white people, although the balance is rapidly shifting with the emergence of the tenderpreneur. Here again we have to do with the ideal world / real world dichotomy.
The real issue is not the communication difficulty, is it? Everyone watched Egoli where all the characters in the scene spoke a different language and everyone understood each other. This frantic knee-jerk reaction is in response to what the white Afrikaner male sees as his disenfranchisement, his invalidation and outright attack on his heritage. It’s this almost a paranoid-schizophrenic discourse they employ to anything basically. Take a listen to how the callers on a RSG radio show can turn a discussion, on anything from sheep wool to church dogma, into an anti-government tirade. For many years the great white emperor ruled over the land with impunity and good neighbourliness. After the fall of the empire each man remained king of his own castle and receded behind its walls. There in the darkness he sat shut off from the outside world in self-imposed imprisonment. It saddened him greatly each time he switched on his television or picked up his phone and noticed how much his beloved empire has changed. He sometimes rages and shouts from his steeple, but no one pays attention anymore.
When an insane asylum is depicted in movies there’s always a guy with one hand stuck inside his shirt and a funny hat on his head. It has almost become synonymous with insanity and it made me think of this rather fitting Bob Dylan line: “… Napoleon in rags and the language that he used…”
Everyone understands English. The only difference is the grasp of vocabulary and wielding of the tongue, but you don’t have to be Shakespeare to get your point across. We’ve learnt to adapt and use our imagination to fill in the blanks and infer certain archetypal meanings where words fail. We like to make fun of politicians, who use the language with the finesse of a bull in a china shop, but we get what they want to say. We invent words and incorporate words from other native languages (such as Eish, Ayoba, Lekker etc.) to add certain emotive connotations to what we’re saying. So, in this makeshift way we succeed in communicating with each other. Granted, there are certain things at the fringes of the language barrier that still escape us, but in the broad spectrum we’re managing fine.
There’s just one cultural group that is a bit resistant to assimilate in this melting pot of diverse opinions and mother tongues; the Afrikaners (which is my historical cultural group). Afrikaners feel strongly about their heritage and culture. Afrikaans is made out to be one of the indigenous languages, when in actual fact it’s basically a collection of blended European languages bottled in South Africa. To be fair, it is a beautiful language. I defy anyone to listen to the words of Breyten Breytenbach, Koos Kombuis and more recently the likes of Toast Coetzer and Co., and not be moved. Our writers have won international prizes and there are PhD students from Eastern Europe who major in Afrikaans. But it’s just one of the official series of distinct noises we make, and it’s made by a considerable minority.
If you however look at the corporate world you’d be forgiven to think that we only have two official languages, namely English and Afrikaans. This is true save for a few exceptions, and also for the educational system to a large extent. It will probably change in the future, but as Jack Kerouac said, walking on water wasn’t built in a day. We live in a post-modern world where anything is seemingly possible. If we can video-chat with our antipodal expatriate friends, fixing a language barrier is something we’ll sort out over our generational lunch break.
All the improvements to our lives in this post-modern age have come at a cost. This is especially apparent where technological improvements have made personal human contact superfluous. It enabled companies to shrink their workforce and consequently also their expenses. An example of this is the much dreaded call centre. A boxed-in collection of parrot-like sadists trained to make your life just that little bit more difficult. Even though they probably have nightmares of people shouting at them in broken English and have to be kept on a 24/7 suicide watch.
It is with this institutional form of communication that the Afrikaner has difficulty. Normally they won’t do the person at the other end of the line or counter the courtesy of switching to the English default. Some do so grudgingly, but with the air of a pouting schoolboy about them. In my experience most are adamant about being served in Afrikaans. Fine… the client may always be right, but I’ve never come across anyone insisting on being helped in Zulu. People understand that due to certain legislative stipulations the workforce of a company has to represent a certain demographic. Therefore the people being employed don’t use Afrikaans as a first language. These days most of them don’t speak Afrikaans at all. Bantu education is a thing of the past. So ideally yes, a client should be served in the language of his or her preference. Unfortunately we don’t live in an ideal world. You’ll be hard pressed to someone who is fluent in all 11 languages that would be willing to work for minimum wage answering telephones.
An argument can be made for the point that a significant portion of the client base is made up of Afrikaans speaking people, which might be true seeing as most of the economic power is still in the hands of white people, although the balance is rapidly shifting with the emergence of the tenderpreneur. Here again we have to do with the ideal world / real world dichotomy.
The real issue is not the communication difficulty, is it? Everyone watched Egoli where all the characters in the scene spoke a different language and everyone understood each other. This frantic knee-jerk reaction is in response to what the white Afrikaner male sees as his disenfranchisement, his invalidation and outright attack on his heritage. It’s this almost a paranoid-schizophrenic discourse they employ to anything basically. Take a listen to how the callers on a RSG radio show can turn a discussion, on anything from sheep wool to church dogma, into an anti-government tirade. For many years the great white emperor ruled over the land with impunity and good neighbourliness. After the fall of the empire each man remained king of his own castle and receded behind its walls. There in the darkness he sat shut off from the outside world in self-imposed imprisonment. It saddened him greatly each time he switched on his television or picked up his phone and noticed how much his beloved empire has changed. He sometimes rages and shouts from his steeple, but no one pays attention anymore.
When an insane asylum is depicted in movies there’s always a guy with one hand stuck inside his shirt and a funny hat on his head. It has almost become synonymous with insanity and it made me think of this rather fitting Bob Dylan line: “… Napoleon in rags and the language that he used…”
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Thoughts on love in general
With Valentines Day upon us again, I have had the time and opportunity to observe and reflect on this great ongoing experiment we call human relationships. The media is again trying to coerce us into spending the balance of our post-Christmas funds on teddy bears and heart-shaped chocolates for that somebody/some-bodies special. And if you don’t have anyone special, shame on you! As with al memes everyone takes their queue from the person directly to their left or right and before long it has spread like a slightly tamed wild fire. Blink your eyes and you have a themed work party for which you have to fabricate an excuse not to attend.
I paid a visit to one of the local nocturnal entertainment facilities that harboured an ample supply of attractive creatures. After a while the dance floor filled with thrusting and jerking bodies clad in skin tight wrappings. Maybe it’s only a regional phenomenon, but women always seem to be the first to dare an inebriated form of synchronised public exhibition. The men initially take a position on the perimeter to scout the talent and measure up the opposition. It takes a little more Dutch courage for them to venture out on the platform, but once they’re there… oh boy, there’s no stopping them. The dance then commences. Some furtively and others boldly penetrate the dancing circles of potential mates. They pair up and get down. The competition for a woman’s affection is at first always understated, but as the night wears on and self-control wears down the base motivations come to the fore. Where at first they would only glare defensively to protect their territory, after a while of drinking they would openly get physical and tell other contenders to “back the fuck off”. The dance then takes a lowly second place to the more pressing issue of getting between the sheets.
I have only a very rudimentary grasp of Freud’s work, but as I understand it he basically said that sexual desire underpins most of our subconscious motivations. Sexual desire is in turn, according to Dawkins, an incessant evolutionary trait aimed to ensure our continual and successful procreation. Even though procreation is mostly not the intent of the individual, as evidenced by the use of prophylactics, the enjoyment of the act is nothing more than our genes’ trickery in order to selfishly survive and replicate. We ascribe a metaphysical importance to this enjoyment surrounding procreation and call it love. The Greeks even invented gods its name. You believe that someone truly and exclusively loves you – your unique collection of genes – when in actual fact any old genome with a penis would do. No doubt that the by-products of “love” can be beneficial. Like when the lustre has gone and you have to get on with raising children and meeting house payments. Or when you’re old and need someone to change your diaper and call the ambulance when you’re dying.
So why keep up the pretence of it meaning more than it does? Why lose yourself in the process? Why despair? I say forget all the bullshit. See the dance for what it is. Stick it in so many holes as possible for so long as possible. Happy Valentines Day.
I paid a visit to one of the local nocturnal entertainment facilities that harboured an ample supply of attractive creatures. After a while the dance floor filled with thrusting and jerking bodies clad in skin tight wrappings. Maybe it’s only a regional phenomenon, but women always seem to be the first to dare an inebriated form of synchronised public exhibition. The men initially take a position on the perimeter to scout the talent and measure up the opposition. It takes a little more Dutch courage for them to venture out on the platform, but once they’re there… oh boy, there’s no stopping them. The dance then commences. Some furtively and others boldly penetrate the dancing circles of potential mates. They pair up and get down. The competition for a woman’s affection is at first always understated, but as the night wears on and self-control wears down the base motivations come to the fore. Where at first they would only glare defensively to protect their territory, after a while of drinking they would openly get physical and tell other contenders to “back the fuck off”. The dance then takes a lowly second place to the more pressing issue of getting between the sheets.
I have only a very rudimentary grasp of Freud’s work, but as I understand it he basically said that sexual desire underpins most of our subconscious motivations. Sexual desire is in turn, according to Dawkins, an incessant evolutionary trait aimed to ensure our continual and successful procreation. Even though procreation is mostly not the intent of the individual, as evidenced by the use of prophylactics, the enjoyment of the act is nothing more than our genes’ trickery in order to selfishly survive and replicate. We ascribe a metaphysical importance to this enjoyment surrounding procreation and call it love. The Greeks even invented gods its name. You believe that someone truly and exclusively loves you – your unique collection of genes – when in actual fact any old genome with a penis would do. No doubt that the by-products of “love” can be beneficial. Like when the lustre has gone and you have to get on with raising children and meeting house payments. Or when you’re old and need someone to change your diaper and call the ambulance when you’re dying.
So why keep up the pretence of it meaning more than it does? Why lose yourself in the process? Why despair? I say forget all the bullshit. See the dance for what it is. Stick it in so many holes as possible for so long as possible. Happy Valentines Day.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
The Incidental Automaton
The word for the decade so far, in my opinion, is: incidental. Dictionary.com defines it as follows:
in·ci·den·tal
–adjective
1. happening or likely to happen in an unplanned or subordinate conjunction with something else.
2. incurred casually and in addition to the regular or main amount: incidental expenses.
3. likely to happen or naturally appertaining (usually fol. by to ).
–noun
4. something incidental, as a circumstance.
5. incidentals, minor expenses.
By this I’m of course not implying that it is by any sense a new word. When I elevate it to word of the decade (so far) I’m only saying that it is the most fitting caption for a series of events - connected or not.
Incidentally I’m told something in passing. An incidental appendage removed painlessly with a simple procedure.
Blank-eyed automatons incidentally populating your dreams until dawn. A warm incidental thought for a cold winter night.
in·ci·den·tal
–adjective
1. happening or likely to happen in an unplanned or subordinate conjunction with something else.
2. incurred casually and in addition to the regular or main amount: incidental expenses.
3. likely to happen or naturally appertaining (usually fol. by to ).
–noun
4. something incidental, as a circumstance.
5. incidentals, minor expenses.
By this I’m of course not implying that it is by any sense a new word. When I elevate it to word of the decade (so far) I’m only saying that it is the most fitting caption for a series of events - connected or not.
Incidentally I’m told something in passing. An incidental appendage removed painlessly with a simple procedure.
Blank-eyed automatons incidentally populating your dreams until dawn. A warm incidental thought for a cold winter night.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
The need to be fooled
The exacted divulgence of a certain company*, who manufacture a certain magical bracelet, that their product does not actually posses the ability to fire death rays or even channel your body’s purported energy fields thereby stabilizing your balance is a testament to the utter gullibility of the human race. In fact the number of schmucks still walking around with this piece of overpriced plastic strapped around their writs doesn’t appear to have gone down. Sadly this scam is only a drop in the ocean when it comes to our perennial credulity. The list could go on forever, or at least for all recorded history.
There are probably numerous reasons that explain this type of irrational behavior, but I have only reflected on one of these over the last week or so. And when you break it down to its most basic form it’s our inability to live in the real world. I’m not suggesting that people walk around with their heads in the clouds looking for fairies or unicorns, although some of us almost certainly do. It has more to do with the necessary blunting of reality for the sake of comfort. A necessary delusion if you will. It is this argument for comfort that religion apologists use when rational inquiry has pushed their backs against the wall. When you believe that a loved one goes to “a better place” once his/her body has expired it invariably makes the grieving process easier. The same comfort template is imposed on any other dilemma one might experience through life.
This phenomenon is however not exclusive only to religion but to delusions in general. We experience the world somewhere in the brain through whatever information the senses let through. Then depending on how much distorted the processing was we form, at best, a fuzzy picture of reality. It is therefore safe to assume that some of the subjective facts we hold as true become false when examined objectively. Not even the most ingrained delusion will be left standing after truly honest rational introspection.
The proverbial truth shall then proceed to set you free. But freedom is scary and truth offers no comfort – only cold hard facts. Once you’ve pierced the veil there’s no going back. You can’t unknow something once you know it. You can’t choose to believe something you know to be false. You will find no more comfort in empty rituals or hollow tokens of empathy. I suppose it does make one a bit cynical if you’re not careful and it makes it hard to get excited about certain things. There would be times when you might relapse into believing things that experience has taught you not to. When you’ve been successfully rehabilitated your face would’ve been left in alignment with some egg.
* Out of fear that a certain big company might enter into litigation with a penniless blogger I choose not to mention them. You know who they are.
There are probably numerous reasons that explain this type of irrational behavior, but I have only reflected on one of these over the last week or so. And when you break it down to its most basic form it’s our inability to live in the real world. I’m not suggesting that people walk around with their heads in the clouds looking for fairies or unicorns, although some of us almost certainly do. It has more to do with the necessary blunting of reality for the sake of comfort. A necessary delusion if you will. It is this argument for comfort that religion apologists use when rational inquiry has pushed their backs against the wall. When you believe that a loved one goes to “a better place” once his/her body has expired it invariably makes the grieving process easier. The same comfort template is imposed on any other dilemma one might experience through life.
This phenomenon is however not exclusive only to religion but to delusions in general. We experience the world somewhere in the brain through whatever information the senses let through. Then depending on how much distorted the processing was we form, at best, a fuzzy picture of reality. It is therefore safe to assume that some of the subjective facts we hold as true become false when examined objectively. Not even the most ingrained delusion will be left standing after truly honest rational introspection.
The proverbial truth shall then proceed to set you free. But freedom is scary and truth offers no comfort – only cold hard facts. Once you’ve pierced the veil there’s no going back. You can’t unknow something once you know it. You can’t choose to believe something you know to be false. You will find no more comfort in empty rituals or hollow tokens of empathy. I suppose it does make one a bit cynical if you’re not careful and it makes it hard to get excited about certain things. There would be times when you might relapse into believing things that experience has taught you not to. When you’ve been successfully rehabilitated your face would’ve been left in alignment with some egg.
* Out of fear that a certain big company might enter into litigation with a penniless blogger I choose not to mention them. You know who they are.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Superstitious Minds
Socrates was of the opinion that everyone possesses the ability for rational thought, although most do not make use of it. If you are however inclined for rational inquiry into everyday life you would be able to make certain accurate predictions based on observations. A superstitious person might call this intuition or a sixth sense.
What I’ve noticed in others, and if I have to be honest occasionally in myself also, is that people tend to ignore certain ideas or facts due to the consequences they might entail. For instance you might notice media stories about the declining economy, then soon after you notice that no new appointments are made at your company and that positions are frozen. An increase in managerial meetings might also not escape your radar. For a rational mind it would be safe to assume that there might be restructuring processes on the way and that your job might well be on the line. A superstitious person chooses to ignore this fact and bury his or her head in the sand opting rather for faith or four-leaf clovers or whatever else might bring comfort to a mind troubled by reality. They choose to say nothing of it as words have power and they don’t want to “tempt fate”. If “bad luck” does strike they fall into a pit of despair either because it came as a surprise (if they stuck their heads in the sand and ignored the facts), or they believe they tempted fate too much and that fate just couldn’t resist. They raise their eyes questioningly toward heaven shaking their heads in dismay.
The rational mind recognizes that the outcome was statistically the most probable consequence of the preceding events and it sees no third hand or divine intervention at work. It doesn’t mean that he or she doesn’t also feel troubled by it, but the emotion is trumped by reason and it is possible to distinguish and experience (and sometimes appreciate) the two separately.
What I’ve noticed in others, and if I have to be honest occasionally in myself also, is that people tend to ignore certain ideas or facts due to the consequences they might entail. For instance you might notice media stories about the declining economy, then soon after you notice that no new appointments are made at your company and that positions are frozen. An increase in managerial meetings might also not escape your radar. For a rational mind it would be safe to assume that there might be restructuring processes on the way and that your job might well be on the line. A superstitious person chooses to ignore this fact and bury his or her head in the sand opting rather for faith or four-leaf clovers or whatever else might bring comfort to a mind troubled by reality. They choose to say nothing of it as words have power and they don’t want to “tempt fate”. If “bad luck” does strike they fall into a pit of despair either because it came as a surprise (if they stuck their heads in the sand and ignored the facts), or they believe they tempted fate too much and that fate just couldn’t resist. They raise their eyes questioningly toward heaven shaking their heads in dismay.
The rational mind recognizes that the outcome was statistically the most probable consequence of the preceding events and it sees no third hand or divine intervention at work. It doesn’t mean that he or she doesn’t also feel troubled by it, but the emotion is trumped by reason and it is possible to distinguish and experience (and sometimes appreciate) the two separately.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Look deep into my eyes
Today I received a letter from my optometrist reminding me that it’s almost time to have my eyes tested again. “What a coincidence” I thought, “Just the other day I thought I should give you a call”. So I did and he could fit me in next week.
A few things about this letter did however grab my attention. The biggest thing would be that he felt it necessary to explain two words to me with the help of bracketed laymen terms. These words were “pathology” and “asymptomatic”. Gee thanks Mr Pseudo-doctor-man! This made me wonder why he would’ve included these words in the first place if he felt it necessary to explain them. As this was undoubtedly a standard template the only logical conclusion I could come to was that he wanted to appeal to both the pretentious and intellectually impaired sectors of his client base. Though both ought to feel offended.
The second thing I noticed was a bit more subdued and mainly outlined by my own cynicism. It was the fact that a letter had been sent out in the first place. Disguised as an altruistic gesture of concern for the health of my ocular organs it was in actual fact nothing more than a toned down version of sweepstakes junk mail. In other words the guy wants a nice fat Christmas bonus. This assumption is supported by another statement wherein he urges me to make an appointment sooner rather than later as he expects all prices to go up by at least 15% in the new year. I trust his judgment on this. His office is full of Ray-ban and Police posters, so he has to be clued up with the pricing and whatnot.
If I hadn’t been planning to make an appointment all along this might have dissuaded me. In short he could only have said: “You might be going blind and you won’t even know it. Come in and I’ll help you pick out the most expensive pair of glasses I have in stock.”
A few things about this letter did however grab my attention. The biggest thing would be that he felt it necessary to explain two words to me with the help of bracketed laymen terms. These words were “pathology” and “asymptomatic”. Gee thanks Mr Pseudo-doctor-man! This made me wonder why he would’ve included these words in the first place if he felt it necessary to explain them. As this was undoubtedly a standard template the only logical conclusion I could come to was that he wanted to appeal to both the pretentious and intellectually impaired sectors of his client base. Though both ought to feel offended.
The second thing I noticed was a bit more subdued and mainly outlined by my own cynicism. It was the fact that a letter had been sent out in the first place. Disguised as an altruistic gesture of concern for the health of my ocular organs it was in actual fact nothing more than a toned down version of sweepstakes junk mail. In other words the guy wants a nice fat Christmas bonus. This assumption is supported by another statement wherein he urges me to make an appointment sooner rather than later as he expects all prices to go up by at least 15% in the new year. I trust his judgment on this. His office is full of Ray-ban and Police posters, so he has to be clued up with the pricing and whatnot.
If I hadn’t been planning to make an appointment all along this might have dissuaded me. In short he could only have said: “You might be going blind and you won’t even know it. Come in and I’ll help you pick out the most expensive pair of glasses I have in stock.”
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