What do you do with the mad that you feel
When you feel so mad you could bite?
What the whole wide world seems oh-so wrong
And nothing you do seems very right?
--Fred Rogers
For over a thousand years Roman conquerors returning from the wars enjoyed the honor of triumph, a tumultuous parade. In the procession came trumpeteers, musicians and strange animals from conquered territories, together with carts laden with treasure and captured armaments. The conqueror rode in a triumphal chariot, the dazed prisoners walking in chains before him. Sometimes his children robed in white stood with him in the chariot or rode the trace horses. A slave stood behind the conqueror holding a golden crown and whispering in his ear a warning: that all glory is fleeting.
--*Patton* (screenplay by Francis Ford Coppola)
I had a bad day. Last night I had a bad night. And right now, I'm in a pissy mood (idiots, idiots, idiots). Know what I'm doing to get out of it? I'm watching *Patton.* That's right, *Patton.* The movie. With George C. Scott.
How come? Do I have some kind of middle age military fantasy? No, no, far from it. I was too young for Vietnam and too old for the Guff (okay, okay, I stayed home and shot beaver during Grenada). I don't regret it, or much else, and besides, at 45 I've got better things to fantasize about.
So why am I watching *Patton*? That's not a rhetorical question: I know the answer. Like me, the character George Scott plays in *Patton* (never minding the historical Patton for a moment) is an egotistical edgy (in a bad way) romantic who likes to bulldoze his personality over everyone else, and who is convinced that his will and God's couldn't differ an iota. And he suffers for that. That's why *Patton* cheers me up. It purges me of my pain by forcing me to acknowledge my faults. I suffer because of me. I can live with that.
Oh, I also like to shower when I get in this mood. I don't know why that is.
What do you do with the mad that you feel?
When you feel so mad you could bite?
What the whole wide world seems oh-so wrong
And nothing you do seems very right?
--Fred Rogers
For over a thousand years Roman conquerors returning from the wars enjoyed the honor of triumph, a tumultuous parade. In the procession came trumpeteers, musicians and strange animals from conquered territories, together with carts laden with treasure and captured armaments. The conqueror rode in a triumphal chariot, the dazed prisoners walking in chains before him. Sometimes his children robed in white stood with him in the chariot or rode the trace horses. A slave stood behind the conqueror holding a golden crown and whispering in his ear a warning: that all glory is fleeting.
--*Patton* (screenplay by Francis Ford Coppola)
I had a bad day. Last night I had a bad night. And right now, I'm in a pissy mood (idiots, idiots, idiots). Know what I'm doing to get out of it? I'm watching *Patton.* That's right, *Patton.* The movie. With George C. Scott.
How come? Do I have some kind of middle age military fantasy? No, no, far from it. I was too young for Vietnam and too old for the Guff (okay, okay, I stayed home and shot beaver during Grenada). I don't regret it, or much else, and besides, at 45 I've got better things to fantasize about.
So why am I watching *Patton*? That's not a rhetorical question: I know the answer. Like me, the character George Scott plays in *Patton* (never minding the historical Patton for a moment) is an egotistical edgy (in a bad way) romantic who likes to bulldoze his personality over everyone else, and who is convinced that his will and God's couldn't differ an iota. And he suffers for that. That's why *Patton* cheers me up. It purges me of my pain by forcing me to acknowledge my faults. I suffer because of me. I can live with that.
Oh, I also like to shower when I get in this mood. I don't know why that is.
What do you do with the mad that you feel?
