History : Supermodels :: Baby : Bathwater

I've had a ton of thoughts today. This is one of 'em.

I like to learn about everything, except history. Not because it's hard, or it's impossible to teach in a benevolent way, but it's useless. Let me explain.

 If I sit around and talk about the past, people are going to tell me to get over it. I think they call it "dwelling." History is like a supermodel, nice to look at once in a while, but essentially pointless and unattainable. The clause "we have to learn so we don't repeat history," doesn't work in the way it ought to, because if logic were really behind the necessity, we'd logically be applying time and effort to the present (where things are actually happening. That much I'm sure). Moreover, we can never exactly repeat anything, and even in a more broad perspective, the entire world is at fault for making the same mistakes. There have been rainy days where I tell myself I'll wear boots, but I don't and end up with cold and wet socks, again. I may never learn. Imagine if there hadn't been a WWII, because, you know, the first one was "the war to end all wars." Things might be different. Don't get me wrong, I am not attempting to abandon the previous second, and the second before that, etc., because that's outrageous and impossible. Even though that's slightly contradictory to the meaning of "present," time is a conundrum anyway, and I'll argue it to tears, but all in all, it's relative, and it would make sense to operationally define "the present" as a discrete interval of,  like, 10 minutes (not the infinite amount of tiny fractions of time that happen in between every moment.) Just, in all practicality, what does history do for anyone? To those I know that love a certain period of time, it makes them yearn to be a part of that, which is as reckless as wishing to be a 9,000 headed dragon on moon Miranda; it simply cannot occur. I cannot knock day-dreaming, it is an important part of my existence, but bereavement for yesteryear is not useful to anyone. (Not like the childish foot-stomp about "When are we going to need this in REAL life?" It's all real life.) If the human experience is unique, culturally relativistic, and requires rationale and morality to thrive, all of which is decidedly personal, where is learning about Franklin Pierce going to fit in deciding whether to pull the trigger, pack my bags, kiss that one, call my mom, or lend a hand? I'm sorry, it's just that we can't complain that the world is ending so soon, and there isn't enough time, and life is so short, when we squander what we so desperately cherish. I'd rather make a dollar than think about a dollar I lost or spent. I'm sure, capitalistically-time-is-money, this argument is golden.

So, Dear Education system,
While I see that your merits are noble, having us pour over thousands of pages of what happened before our greatest-greater-great grandcestors were conceived, people should probably know the capital of Iraq, and start appreciating their contemporaries.

That's all. Carry on turkeying and thanking.

I'm thankful for all those who read this and/or look at my art; my heart beats for you. And I'm thankful for the people in my life, for whom things are worth creating, and air is worth breathing. And my little princess Spence, because she's watching me type this and if she knows how to read, she'd be mad I left her out. And know I'm thankful all the time, not just pre-christmas-gluttony-slaughter-day-oh-yeah-football-and-i-think-i'm-thankful-for-...-too-much-tryptophan.