Saturday, late afternoon. That time of week when I write and
post a new blog entry, which according to my tags will be a mixture of a review
and musing. I like to think of each post as a Socratic dialogue using books as
a vehicle. (‘Think’ being as far from reality as ‘hope’ and ‘belief’ – see here’s
a bit of epistemology! And a homespun epigram: Hope is not a strategy. Take
that to the bank, you.) This is when you open your RSS feed or a plain old browser
in anticipation of said dialogue. Or will do, now that you know when I post.
All of this is an attempt to distract you while I figure out
what I am going to write about. See, most of what I have read this week is
techie news and a little of The
Corrections by Jonathan Franzen (about which I have still to develop an
opinion). Then I thought, I can dust off one of the oldies, like Anthem by Ayn Rand, even that scene in A Passage to India by Henry James, where
the protagonist undergoes an existential crisis in the dark of a cave.
Really what I want to talk about is the new Transformers movie (which looks epic,
and fyi, is a discussion of good and evil, and to what extent violence is
acceptable for a good cause. Ok, really it is a developed-world justification for
violence as a necessary good where the moral values are patriotism and
democracy (sarcasm hand)) and dinosaurs. Dinosaurs also often carry the weight
of humanity’s sense of impending doom, which has a parallel in the fear of our
own mortality when a character suffers, transferred to the security of
your immortality when said character dies (and you don’t) onscreen or in a
book.
I won’t, though, because I realise that the market of
functioning adults for whom the event of the year is a movie based on a
children’s series, is niche. (Although, seriously folks, they are AI robots
that can transform into fast cars, mid-air, and Optimus Prime’s voice could
convince me to buy ostrich steak for the good of the world (I am a vegetarian,
but when I ate such things, ostrich meat was my least favourite).
Dinosaurs, though, are a different kind of steak. When I was
young (most of primary school and the beginning of high school), I wanted to
become an archaeologist (now, even spelling the word was a feat for a young’n
so jest not). This was after my dreams of becoming a ballerina (I stopped
dancing at about the time I was moving into point shoes), marine biologist (I am
terrified large bodies of water), writer (no money) and teacher (no money)
became unrealistic. (I was getting to the age when reality foisted itself on me
– I later banished it.)
I used to draw cartoons of a dinosaur family, comprising
improbably of a T-Rex and a Brontosaurus (that fairy of the dinosaur world) in
primary and secondary colours. I say cartoons but they were
not funny, even though my parents laughed hollowly at the last frames. I had
playing cards, magazines, posters (alongside point shoes, Roxette and exercises
meant to alleviate my short-sightedness) and a glow-in-the-dark skeleton that
you could take apart and piece back together (I have one now too, but it doesn’t
glow).
Funnily enough, Chrome shows a dinosaur when it can’t find
an internet connection to open a website, as it is doing now.
So I was going to become an archaeologist, a less
unrealistic goal - except that I have always hated Geography. And didn't have
an affinity for Maths and Science. Which a teacher felt obliged to tell me as
parent evening loomed. As I do, I acted as though this was old news (as if I simply
didn't want to peel the tape from the walls when I peeled off the dinosaur
posters). Although I can agree with one relevant point: I can imagine crawling
around in the dirt with a tiny paintbrush searching for fossils for about the
length of a workday. Then I would want a hot shower with extra hot asap followed
by a bed with a fluffy duvet. Ok, I could scrap the bed and consider a tent,
but I still want hot water. And in the morning I want to go home.
I later toyed with become a graphic designer (I lasted one
year at advertising school, which is a real thing - I suspect the last year
involves seminars in capitalism and the ills of empathy) (no money, except in
advertising) and journalist (no money).
Book publisher! This way I could make close to no money with
integrity. Assuming a loud voice and
looking around: No, not really haha (whispering:
but kinda). And then I specialised in Maths. Because I have no affinity
with it (sarcasm hand).
This tortuous walk through careers loved and lost has become
My Point, although my initial point was that dinosaurs (and transforming
robots) are a) epic and b) that functioning adults who love one or both can
come out of the closet now because nerds are taking over the earth.
In a last-ditch attempt to convince you that dinosaurs
deserve your respect and adoration, consider the latest obsession with dragons
in the wake of Game of Thrones. (FYI, in my youth I also taped up pictures of dragons, and drew pictures of dragons, but not
funny ones, because you don’t make fun of dragons or dinosaurs (except in that T-Rex-making-the-bed
meme, but we could count that as an awareness campaign for dinosaurs whose
terrifyingness, fundamental to their survival, is undermined by their short and
weak arms)).
Focusing. You like dragons, right? (Everyone likes dragons,
duh.) Dragons are like dinosaurs except that:
- they breath fire
- they can fly (even if this is scientifically improbable - birds the size of emus and ostriches are too heavy to fly)
- they are fictional, and
- they can be tamed.
Tame creatures lack the fearsomeness of wild creatures, even
the herbivores (ever gotten up close to a river buck?). Mostly, because, well,
they’re tame. But even if I were in a theme park devoted to dinosaurs a la Jurassic Park
I would not so much as scratch a belly, even if it were a stegosaurus.
The crack in this discussion (yes, this is a serious
discussion, you) is that, well, dinosaurs are extinct, so we can’t know if we'd
be able to break them like mustangs (probably) and the view in the rear mirror
concentrates history so that we can tame its population in adjectives and
metaphors. Dinosaurs ‘ruled’ the earth (they didn't give it up because they
were weak – I’d put our chances against an asteroid at very low, even if we did
maroon someone on it with a bomb) before we did.
So we give them names and even personalities - but we don’t
tame them. (We don't tame robots either and I suspect the Transformers are humouring us. Fictionally, I mean. Obviously.) Buffered
by time, they come to represent strength that is both familiar (lizards and
things) but unfamiliar in sheer size (literally, because the composition of the
air was different there and allowed for animals with a bulk that would crush
them like a can today). They represent consistency, adaptation and diversity,
and the fear that humanity could be wiped out remorselessly and without warning.
Also, dinosaurs didn’t embark on a consistent campaign of
destroying the natural habitat and enslaving each other in the name of survival of
the fittest. They just killed and ate each other in the name of survival of the
fittest. And they couldn't use language so they didn't really conceptualise
this either. Luckily for them, they didn't have to fight us for survival,
though. I’d take my chances with the asteroid. The End
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