Superheroes and Smart People

For about a year I’ve been thinking about repeated appearances in literature (and therefore also in film – I know nothing of stage) and television of the superman.  Not the sort of man whose natural good health becomes something superhuman and ageless in the light of the yellow sun, but of the man whose native ability to make sense and understand circumstance in detail and in whole becomes something superhuman in the light of a painfully clear, blindingly bright intelligence.

While the former experiences few conflicts beyond those imposed upon him by the rigors of maintaining sufficient anonymity to function effectively, the latter’s apprehension of the actual world he inhabits is so conjoined with that unfortunate offspring of understanding, empathy, that his primary and constant experience in/of life is conflicted pain.  As I’ve noted to the annoyance of others here, that is a pretty reasonable state to find oneself in.  Usually the protagonist of superhuman strength wishes to use his great physical powers to benefit humankind and his efforts are narrated as meeting with the resistance of one or more opponents of equal or similar physical power and it turns out to be some quality of character or spirit, if you wish, that decides the contest.  Because he is most frequently the one to whom those in great distress appeal in last resort, and while generally well known not usually afforded celebrity status in the way professional athletes or attractive film stars are known (again, in the ‘public eye’ due primarily to their physical features or abilities) the other variety of superman tends to be known by his given name.

My most popular blog post is the one where I quote a section of Lyle Rossiter’s The Liberal Mind.  Rossiter posits that the problem with nanny-statist political and social liberals is that they wish to indefinitely prolong their infancy by forcing all of society to meet their need for a lifelong coercive-but-protective parent/provider by "legally" stealing in the form of taxes ever greater portions of the wealth created and amassed by those of us who work and produce.  The reason for the post’s popularity is doubtless the fact that in it I discuss my old Murry 11/36 riding lawn mower and contrast its performance with that of the used the John Deere GT235E I purchased to replace it.  Back to Rossiter, however, his view taken to the extreme is a stark vista of purely individualistic self-reliance that seems to deny any human longing for love and care that an Evangelical Christian would probably attribute to a "God-shaped-hole" in a human being’s essential (as opposed to physical) heart.

Sure, some of that folk-religious hocus-pocus linked above is pretty cheesy stuff glorifying helplessness and sickness.  The apparent fact that many people seem to have a desire for or a sense that they need or should have the care of someone greater than they may bespeak something qualitatively different than soul and self-destroying sentimentality.  For instance, it may be a neurological artifact from  time in-vitro or a vestigial grasp-reflex having more to do with the human navel than the human heart.  If it can be explained in that way, this sense of need or desire for care still serves to remind the human that generically he is not self-existent.

In literary fiction, Sherlock Holmes is the stand-out superman of his or arguably any age – soaring intellect, uninterested in fame, energetic, able to communicate with and understand the communications of people of every social stations, unimpressed by social station because he apprehends the truth of the human being, experiencing and dulling the pain produced by extreme clarity of understanding.  And in the realm of televised fiction, Dr. Who is the other such figure – both in and out of time, energetic, active in his own and the circumstances of others, seeking human companionship and working to improve the lives of (mainly) humans.

I Am Having a Great Day

Another blessed even – a paid day off from serving the public as a tiny but extraordinarily significant cog in the wheel of what passes for government in this corner of the cosmos.

I spent the morning looking after my little son, the lion boy (some times when he wakes up in the morning, before we go in and get him out of his room, he’ll crawl back and forth in his crib like a lion in a cage – I’ve taught him to roar, too), played blocks with him, read books with him, comforted him when he bumped his head, changed him a couple of times, and fed him his solid food, rocked him to sleep.  Nothing is better than being that kid’s dad.

Took Seventy-Six to see his mom, the Cautious One, at work where she’s being tormented with a school-district in-service today.  She took him to lunch with her and a couple other teachers, then over to my mom’s house.

I came home, made lunch, ate it while watching a couple of episodes of Dr. Who on NetFlix Now – one good reason to keep an old Windows computer running and hooked up to the Internet.  That’s got to be one of the greatest shows ever.  I remember when I was a kid, exhibiting an interest in science fiction, and my dad tried to introduce me to The Doctor.  I couldn’t get past, even at the age of maybe 9, 10, 11, the funky production values.

dr_who_jigsawThanks to K von K, I looked up Daleks, and am now fully addicted to the most recent incarnation of that oddball television series that first aired some twenty days before my birth.  Yeah, it’s fate, synchronous geekery, or some idea of reference.  No matter.

Somebody, I can’t remember the source now, wrote or said that we read because we want to know we’re not alone.

So I’ve got the laundry-twins, Scott and Jennifer, working away – expensive Bosch front-loading home appliances.  Jennifer washes and Scott dries.  Nice suburbanite Stepford names.

A couple of the Australian cartoons in my previous post are a little over the top, and the gallery software would not, even though I selected the option, arrange the image files by name.  Dunno why not.