The Pancake
The critical question our society must ask is not to be found in the grand philosophical treatises of history. It is not a question found in ancient Greece. Nor in the Romantic period. It is not found when ordering pancakes in the Age of Enlightenment in Vegas.
I do not know the exact wording of the critical question facing our culture as it slides into a global mish-mash of mass media spectacle, convergence and incoherence. The shouting bobbleheads. Ryan freaking Seacrest. The depressing nonsense of American Idol counterpointed with the premature cancelation of the genius that was Freaks and Geeks.
I know only that the question of our times involves two conflicting concepts. Really hott women. And their proximity to really, really freaking douchey black nailpolished uberscrotes.
Within counterpoint, within dialectic, the answers will come in glowing neon bursts of multicolored enlightenment. The message, the medium, the digital and the analog will compel us, silently, to mock the douche and lust after the hott.
Men, women, boys, girls, everyone. People from all over the world.
And we will.
Because douchebags are asswipes. And hotties are soft.
