Are we one lucky nation or what? Pick a subject, any subject, and experts come out of the walls like cockroaches at night in a New York apartment. And, to continue this gross metaphor, the experts are as indestructible as those disgusting bugs, impervious to rolled-up newspapers, Raid, or reason. Kind of like "Whack-a-Mole," where no matter how many times you hit the mole on the head, he pops up from another hole.
We are so fortunate to have so many experts on whom to rely. Why, I myself am an expert in the following areas: domestic policy, immigration, tax, health care, social security, the Constitution and Bill of Rights, all foreign policy areas, including Lithuanian secret service activities, quantum physics, astrophysics, evolution, golf, neurophysiology, economics, psychology, and many more that don't readily come to mind but would if someone raised the issue.
The benefit of being an expert is that one never has to admit one is wrong. In fact, by definition, an expert is incapable of being proven wrong. To some intellectually less sophisticated, that might appear tautological, but those unfortunates, no doubt not having the attained the status of expert, can not understand how we transcend rational argument and traditional logic. They (we, really) inhabit a world beyond those primitive tools.
The veritable panoply of experts residing in every crack and crevice of this great country is why we are, in fact, a great country. There are no problems that cannot be solved if only the poor fools who reign in Washington, state capitals, and local governments would only listen to us. Peruse any blog, any article on BlogCritics or any of the countless e-magazines; listen to Rush or Dick; watch Chris or Keith; or simply open your window. Words of wisdom, pearls of purity, Solomonic solutions will flood into your kitchen and wash all your fears away.
You'll soon realize it's not that bad. Help is on the way. Trust in those who trust in themselves. Be happy. Take a pill.
And yet eternal truth is such a burden. Never having to say you're sorry is nice, but occasionally being able to shrug and say, "beats the shit out of me," would be a great relief. Well, I haven't talked to many other experts about this, so perhaps I'm in the minority. Maybe the rest of the experts never feel the burden of excellence. Maybe I'm alone in having a tiny voice squeaking doubts into my ear when the sky is dark, the moon goes behind the clouds, and my glass of Jameson is, alas, empty.
I've even thought about giving up being an expert. For one, the pay sucks. And no one listens, no one believes you. And it can get lonely always being the only one who's right. Now that I've bared my soul, as it were, no longer being an expert might be an interesting approach. It would mean [he shudders] listening to what others have to say, even considering if there's a soupçon of truth in their blather.
I suppose I could approach this listening thing gently. Not too much, too often, that'll be my new motto.
So, there you have it. One expert less in this great country, and no one has noticed any crack in the foundation or sad cry of a voice riding a high wind into the distance.
Who knows. I might even read a book.
And that's the truth.
In Jameson Veritas