This morning I looked up, online, what a local radio talk show would be featuring. Someone happened to glance over my shoulder at the computer screen and muttered dismissively, "Oh, that conservative war-mongering idiot." Wow, I thought to myself, if that is true, how could this guest have authored a book about "the road to character", about creating an authentic inner life, about developing humility? Now I had to hear this, I promised myself.
And soon enough, there he was, in a dead pan voice, droning on about authenticity, about a life-well-lived, how selfless caring for others is all there is at the end when one is eulogized. How ironic, I thought, that he is on tour, selling a book about selflessness, about moral fiber and the lack of it in contemporary society. He called out narcissists and careerists, literally tsking at them for their obtuseness, their limitations. How strange, I pondered, that the host seemed to be eating all this up, groveling at his guest's feet. I looked at the website again, hoping to find a juicy comment, of which there were a lonely one or two, but of course none of those entries was read aloud. The call-in guests were no better, only adding to the oleaginousness. Well, between you and me, I shut the radio off and hopped in the shower, if only to get ready for another day.
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