A companion blog, The Metacognition Project, has been created to focus specifically on metacognition and related consciousness processes. Newest essay on TMP: Goals and Problems, part two

Thursday, November 27, 2008


I am thankful that my ancestors removed all those pesky Indians from the land so that they could have it and I could get what is really a whole bunch of free stuff.  Some of my direct ancestors did it with their own hands, so the story goes, when they were violating some 1763 line drawn through Virginia. 

I am thankful for all those people who are working in slavery so that my shoes can cost one thousandth of my income. 

I am thankful for the oil companies for confusing me so that I don’t have to be concerned about carbon dioxide accumulations in the atmosphere. 

I am thankful for the PR people who have made al Qaeda a household name and focus for my fears – don’t know who I’d have to hate and fear without their help.

I am thankful to the media for being so fucking stupid. I don’t feel challenged or inadequate or anything when I read the paper or watch TV.

I am thankful for the media again for reducing my attention span and therefore easing my workload – I could go on for many more thankfuls, but I am so bored…to death… with this. 

So lastly, I am thankful for the Internet and for blogs so that I can publish this trash. 

Actually, Thanksgiving has always pissed me off – since I played an Indian in the 4th grade and tried to get into character.  I’ll be thankful tomorrow, thank you very much.


Michael Dawson said...

As a kid, I always hated Easter the most, because I thought it was macabre and fake and I desperately wanted to stop being dragged to Catholic mass by my guilt-wracked post-Catholic mother.

These days, I hate Thanksgiving just as much. Every single thing about it is fake, from the bullshit history that excuses grave-robbing ignorance and imperialism to the celebration of family in an age when nobody has any quality time and spends whatever they have on TV-watching to the horseshit gratitude for a table-full of petro-food grown by brutalized migrants somewhere beyond our sphere of attention...

Hallelujah and amen.

James Keye said...

Perhaps it was being a stranger in a strange land (farm boy from the north transplanted as a farm boy in the deep (deep) south): social habits and hypocrisies were laid before me like a body on an autopsy table. It was an interesting way to grow up.