Part 1: Reign of Carrots
One morning a fuchsia aardvark peeped at the 8 lanes highway and saw the well fed driving huge cars at the legal speed of light. And he knew they were heading towards the American dream.
And then he took a glimpse of some crowded street where the middle class heroes were riding their bikes towards the call-centers. They were leaving the Indian dream; and their Sanjanas and Dheepas were also in the picture – the fair virgins with a natural inclination towards giving birth to a thousand sons so they ‘d have multiple choices for the one setting aflame their death pyre.
And then the fuchsia aardvark heard the claxons of the brand new Peugeots and Mercedeses driven by Nike dressed, grumpy, but determined guys. They were leaving the Romanian dream.
Thing is we all have a dream.
I take the bus to work. I am one of those horrible creatures who rises her eyebrow in discontent at the look of a bag of chips. I am a vegetarian, a garbage-separator, I got insomnias after becoming aware of global dimming (you didn’t actually believe that the global warming is the greatest shit that’s happening to us now, did you?!).
My dream is to lead a rightful life (eating veggies, drinking green tea, thinking positive thoughts, etc) that would protect my karma at least for the time I’m present on this Earth in the shape of Ancu.
And there are also two demons that entice me into taking this dream and sticking it up my ass. The first comes from my pervasive aversion towards carrots. The second one comes from the carrots-lovers and the way they tend to interfere with my life.
Part 2: When the Irrational Strikes Back
In a dark corner of my mind I strongly believe that a rightful life destroys my creativity. Now, I am perfectly aware that all the substances that affect your nervous system in an instant way (such as coffee and booze) also screw it in the long run. Yet no yoga teacher and no documentary on Discovery will ever annihilate the low vibe of my soul ticking “eating carrots makes you dull!” “carrots are the worst thing that can happen to you!”.
The Americans believe that the terrorist can be terminated only by splashing on them some fresh blood coming from the youngsters sent to the Afghan dessert. See? The irrational thoughts make the world go round.
In Ancu’s vision of the world, creativity has two main purposes: to get you out of the shit unless depression got there first and to make sure that the shit looks cool, so depression doesn’t get there first. So shit does play his own part in the universal order of things.
Perfectly balanced life - no shit - no fun. I’ll live to be ninety, serve as an impeccable example to my grand-grand-children, and have no story to tell them.
Part 3: Purity as a Disease
The Americans (not the ones believing in the bearded man hiding in the desert, the other ones – the Indians, the Russians, the Pakis) deliver so many scientific theories because they have the material basis for doing it, and also because they just take any natural manifestation of - let’s say - human experience, and formalize it.
A subspecies of formalization is the assignment of a Latin-derived name or of an acronym to a human behavior that just doesn’t fit the 90% percent of socially accepted part from the Gauss curve. That is considering that a kid that feels like playing instead of listening to a boring lecture has ADHD. And if the same kid is not able or willing to learn the completely illogical English spelling – well, that’s because of his dyslexia.
We have PMS, PTSD, dyscalculics, anorexics, dyslexics, and orthorexics.
The orthorexics are the people who dedicate a great part of their time to spotting the neologisms on the labels of food products, that see the enemy in the carb bubble in the water that should always be still and coming from a controlled source.
Their totem is a giant Carrot, and its greatness derives from its importance and high content of vitamins, and by no means from the chemicals in the soil where it grew.
Thou shall not be fooled into believing that orthorexics are a peaceful species! Oh, no! Part of their mission in this world is to impose on the others the cult of the mighty Carrot. They build their self-esteem on the belief that they are superior to the common fellow who enjoys an ice-cream every now and then. They kindly remind you that you’re going to die one day and that drop of oil is bringing you much closer to that moment. Your fear is their ladder to the sky and your denial will only stir their purifying rage.
There’s nothing that makes me drool over a bag of chips such as their voice. There’s nothing convincing me that a low-carb diet leads to perpetual unhappiness and dullness, such as the look in their eyes.
And in the end, there’s nothing left in my tired soul but pity. I know that they’d also enjoy ice cream. I know the price they paid for saying no to cigarettes and coffee. I know they dream of Coke and chocolate cakes. Orthorexia is a lethal disease, just as going to McDonald’s every day and just as life itself.
Allowing myself to play the wise ass part to its glorious end, I’d remind them that imposing something on others – no matter how positive that thing is – is just another type of aggressiveness, that actually destroys the karma. So orthorexics will have the chance to eat carrots all day long during their next reincarnation, as Bugs Bunnies.
Random Tripping in the Land of Aardvarks
