And the winner is ...

I don’t like to argue.  Not seriously, anyway.  A lot of times when I “hijack” a comment thread on Facebook, it is because someone has posted something that borders on controversial.  There are usually a lot of comments going back and forth in favor one idea or another.  I almost always have an opinion.  I almost never genuinely share it. 

Since the massacre of children in Connecticut, there have been roughly 2 schools of thought on how to keep it from happening again: 

1) More guns.

2) Less guns.

 Both sides want to somehow blame the heartbreaking tragedy on the philosophy of the other side. Both sides agree that the number of guns is wrong.

I hate these sorts of arguments.  They never go anywhere.  Neither side will concede a valid point by the other. 

I’ve always enjoyed considering all sides of an argument.  I hear it’s called wishy-washy to change your opinion.  I guess that’s what I am.  See that?  I “guess”.  Take a stand, Cube!

When you stubbornly hold to an opinion, you miss out on some really cool stuff.  In fact, I’d say if your opinion is not movable, it is not an opinion.  It is faith.  There’s a difference.  There’s nothing (much) wrong with faith in and of itself.  Just don’t call it your opinion.  It is something you’ve decided to believe regardless of any external evidence.

Sometimes people vow restricted behavior for the rest of their lives in misguided loyalty to a position they held in some ridiculous argument.   I think this is done to be the “winner” of the argument.

Here’s an example from real life:

There’s a man.  Let’s call him “Bob.”  Bob likes chocolate ice cream, but it is not his favorite kind of ice cream.  His favorite kind of ice cream is strawberry.  It always has been his favorite.  Sometimes though, he purposely buys chocolate instead of strawberry, because he’s just in the mood for chocolate.

Bob’s ex-friend, “Joe” prefers chocolate, with similar feelings about strawberry that Bob has toward chocolate.   Bob and Joe are talking about ice cream one day and it ends up in an argument.  To illustrate his point, Bob never eats chocolate ice cream again and Joe never eats strawberry again.  What Bob and Joe just did was not technically an argument.  Technically, it was just stupid.*

The members of the current incarnation of the U.P. lunch ride have always been gracious enough to allow me to ride with them from time to time on a strictly probationary basis.  I was initially required to be accompanied by a “sponsor.”  Someone who is a member of the ride who would be responsible for me or who would vouch for me until such time that I was accepted into the group.   This is for the safety of all involved.  It is also a joke (literally), but anyway …

I have now been on enough rides with the members of the group, that my probationary status has been lifted and I am considered a full-fledged member of the group ride with all the rights and privileges pertaining thereto, yada yada yada.

Or at least I was.  Until the taco incident.

On Thursdays, the U.P. Lunch ride goes to a taco truck in South Omaha.  These are good tacos.  I mean, it’s South Omaha.  Duh.

I have always loved and appreciated all kinds of different food.  Mexican food is no exception.  I have tried dozens of hole-in-the wall places and big chains.  Surprisingly, sometimes the chains do a decent job. 

Unfortunately, my vast taco experience damaged my membership status on the group rides.  I did not know I had to agree with the group that those were the best tacos I ever had.  So yeah, I’m back on probation.  Probably permanently, now.   The taco truck tacos are excellent.  I said as much.

But in this black and white world of “It’s either the best or it’s the worst.  Too many guns or not enough guns,” I’m once again, wishy-washy.

I can rate the tacos high without feeling the need to call them the best ever – but not if I want to ride freely with The U.P. crowd.

Truth is, I’ve had tacos very similar to those from many other places.

There is a range of taco goodness in my mind.  It goes from roughly “Taco Bell” on the low end to “Jose’s Mom’s tacos” on the high end.

There may be (and probably are) better tacos than what Jose’s mom made, but I’ve never had them.

When I worked down at the Cajun restaurant  downtown, there was a kid who worked there named Jose.  He had been born in Mexico.  His parents spoke no English.  He told me that he and his brother learned to speak English from watching Kojak. 

One day, he brought in a cookie sheet full of tiny little tacos.  They were simply a thick homemade flour shell with some seasoned ground beef inside.  There was no cheese, sour cream, tomatoes, cilantro, or any other chunky thing in the tacos.  The shells were dark with oil.  The tacos had been baked on the pan all overlapping each other.  I’ve never had a taco close to as good as those.

In 1986, I was commuting to Butsy Le Doux’s (The Cajun restaurant) on my new Bianchi Campione D’Italia.  So I carried a dozen or so of those tacos home in a paper sack where my roommate and I ate them and stared at each other, marveling  at their unbelievable deliciousness.

Tacos so good that 25 years later, they alter my social status among a group of local bike riders.  I don’t care who you are, you have to admit that’s a damn good taco.      

But that’s not what I came here to talk about.

I used to work as a computer operator at a place called Intellisell.  I had been there for a couple of years when we got this new guy as a Computer operator.  His name was Sean.  He and I quickly became pretty good friends.  We had a lot in common.  Especially taste in Movies.  I was always glad to get a thumbs up review from Sean on a movie. 

“Hey Cube, I saw the most funniest, awesomest, hilariousest movie of all time past, present and future last night!”

“Oh Sean, You must tell me what it is so that I may rent it and enjoy it as well!”

“They have it at Blockbuster.  It is called ‘So, I married an Axe Murderer,’”

“Great.  I’ve heard of it.  It had that Wayne’s World guy in it, right?”

“Yeah. You’ll love it.”

“I’ll rent it tonight!  Yaay!”

So the next day I didn’t really bring it up.  I liked the movie ok, but it was just more of Mike Myers doing his thing, which is fine, but nothing real earth shattering.  Here’s the hard part.  I didn’t love it.  I didn’t think it was must-see.  I didn’t think it was an instant classic.

Sean hit the roof.  I didn’t have any sense of humor.  I had no taste in movies.  Pearl Jam is the most overrated band of all time, etc. etc.   I tried to explain that I did like it ok, but overall, it didn’t really do it for me.

A few months later, I was at school (UNO), and somebody was giving out passes to see “Paramount Pictures, Braveheart.” There were instructions to show up a half hour early to ensure getting a seat.  So I went with my ex-wife (she wasn’t my ex-wife yet) .  I loved that movie.  I thought it was one of the best movies I had ever seen.  I was very excited to tell Sean about it.  I knew he’d love it.  He was of Scottish descent and that was a big part of what he liked so much about “Axe Murderer.”

Since I had seen it as a promotional thing, the movie wasn’t actually out yet.  So even if Sean wanted to see it, he couldn’t.  That didn’t matter though.  He told me that he would not see it because if I liked it and didn’t like “So I Married an Axe Murderer” it was only logical that he would hate it.

Well it wasn’t logical.  Here’s why:  If Sean liking a movie is A, and me Liking a movie is B, then me not liking a movie is ~B and Sean not liking a movie is ~A.

If (as in one case)

A -> ~B

Then Sean is saying B -> ~A, which is the classic modus tollens, and fair enough.  But here’s the problem.  Up until the “Axe Murderer” fiasco, Sean and I had agreed on many movies that we both felt were “quite excellent”.  So clearly, his assertion “A ->~B” is false.  It’s as if he’s saying “every time it’s cloudy, it rains.”

Well sometimes it doesn’t rain, Sean.  Sometimes it snows.  Sometimes it snows.

Then Braveheart came out for the general public to see.  They (the general public) loved it.  Sean’s wife really wanted to go see it because all of her friends were telling her how good it was and how much they thought Sean would love it because he loves all things Scottish.  But Sean stood firm.  “If Cube likes it,” he insisted, “I shall not see this movie.”

At this point, I really didn’t care if he saw the movie or not.  I think if I had said, “Oh hey Sean.  I just found out I had low blood sugar that was messing with my sense of humor the day I saw the Mike Myers film, so I watched it again and you know what?  It might be the funniest movie I’ve ever seen.  Haggis! Oh my god.  I know, right?  That’s some funny shit.” Then Sean would have feigned illness, called his wife and been in the front row for the very next showing of Braveheart.  But yeah, I didn’t do that for him.

Then a few more months went by and the Academy Award nominations came out.  At that time, the one thing that Sean and I had always done (not together – but we shared a similar love of film) was go see every movie nominated for best picture.  This way, we’d have our own informed opinion when the winner was announced.

I was not surprised when Braveheart was nominated.  What I couldn’t believe was the power of stubbornness.  Sean – you are not hurting me.  I’ve seen the movie.  I don’t care if you do or not.  But he wouldn’t.

I asked him if he’d go see it if it won for best picture.  He told me there was no point.  He wouldn’t like it.  As I write this, I feel like I’m making it up.  But this is pretty much exactly as it progressed.  Also, as this went on, I went from ‘kind of liking So I Married an Axe Murderer’ to thinking it was the worst piece of trash ever put to celluloid.  Every chance I got, I talked about what a travesty it was that “Braveheart” won for best picture and “So I Married an Axe Murderer” wasn’t even nominated for anything at all.  This didn’t move Sean to want to see Braveheart and by this point, I didn’t want him to watch it.  I’d come in to work and say, “Hey Sean, I watched “Braveheart” and “Axe Murderer” last night.  One hilarious and one excellent movie, I’ll tell ya.

Which brings me to the point of this post.  The Oscars are this weekend and I don’t give a shit.

*Stupid because chocolate ice cream is far superior to strawberry.  There can be no discussion on this.  Anyone who thinks differently is an idiot.