Have We Forgotten To Laugh Silly At Silly Things?

The last couple of entries got me thinking that the world is pretty much a serious place to live. Maybe it is no longer a suitable place for people who laugh silly at silly things. Post something like Micheal Chick's comments and see how a lot of guys got all emotional and angry that I'd better not post something like that ever again because I could get their blood pressure up. Who knows they could get all worked up in emotions that they may decide to burn down a building or two just to chill out.

Quite frankly, I don't think it was necessary to take Micheal Chick seriously. I mean what he wrote. After all one can come up with all kinds of theories about how one came about to being a race, or an individual. For example you wouldn't believe me for a million years if I told you that my ancestors are Norwegians. I come from the long and complicated lines of the Vikings. They were going up North but one of the boats got lost in the storm and ended up in Trengganu. They liked the place so much and call it Doong Gooong. That's the sound of their headache after having survived the rough seas. I believe they made it in December so the sea's pretty rough that time of the year. I swear this is a true story.

Now, this is only from my paternal side. My maternal side is part Aztec, part Maya, and part Inca. The remaining part is from a small community of seafarers who lived by the coast of Dungun. They were fashionable pirates long before Johnny Depp. If I'm not mistaken, and if my memory is correct, Grandma used to tell me how these ancestors of mine sailed the seven seas in 501 jeans. And they coined the phrase 7 seas and got into a negotiation with the manufacturer of a cod liver oil company who bought the rights to the name and that's how they lost their fortunes. Which pretty much explains why I am not a rich guy living off the royalty of my ancestors who were not very perceptive business wise because they were hopeless romantics with the sea, treasure chest, and the promise of adventure.

Every once in a while, a guy digs up a site and claims he's found a bone, or a fragment, to support his theory that so and so race used to walked this way on the way to buy chicken when kabooom! a lightning strike, and they were dead and buried in this here place for thousand and thousand of years. And you know how the deal is. This guy who dug up the site takes the bone to a lab, eenie minniee mo a date on it. He'd agree or disagree with his distinguished colleagues, fellow diggers, as if their agreement or disagreement means something to a guy driving cab or a housewife trying to cook Bamia for her family lunch. They'd go on arguing for a couple more years before a guy somewhere digs something up and found a laptop that ages something like four thousand years. And you know how the deal is, they'd agree and disagree among themselves that this laptop looks like a Mac or a Dell, Or a HP, or a Acer.

I don't mean to belittle people who make a career out of digging up the past, I mean anthropologists. I don't mean to discourage students in this discipline but really, sometimes I believe it is better that we leave the deads alone in their world because as far as I'm concerned, life is what I do today. As for tomorrow, well I try not to worry about it too much. And as for yesterday, it's gone and done with.