CYNICISM: THE SKELETOR TO THE “JUST KEEP LIVIN” HE-MAN
For operational purposes, cynicism will be described in modern terms:
"an attitude of scornful or jaded negativity, especially a general distrust of the integrity or professed motives of others.”
Man, if only we could all channel the psyche of Matthew McConaughey. We could score sh*tty movie roles with ease, nail hot chicks, chief a little tree, get nude and beat the fire out of Cuban percussion instruments until the cops come knocking.
People bash McConaughey and his sometimes oddball, hippie-ish behavior. Associations like nut-job and kook are tossed around more than selfless humanitarian and acknowledged (see: $$$$$) actor. He oozes positivity in a world that harbors oppressing, venal gloom. He’s like Hanson’s pop overdose “Mmmbop!” in rotation on a black metal channel, or like Stuart Smalley affirming at a blazing, cross-burning hate rally--he just doesn’t fit. Bleak and skeptical cynics scoff at McConaughey and his cheesy creed and compass, “Just keep livin,” yet it’s hard to disparage the efficacy of his motto.
Undeniably, McConaughey is successful and (begrudging moan) happy. He’s got fame, fortune, health and family (see: a smoking Brazilian model girlfriend and two blessed children). He’s been People’s “Sexiest Man Alive,” guts out triathlons, has his own foundation dedicated to “helping teenage kids lead active lives and make healthy choices to become great men and women” and dated chicks that most of us can only dream about (and “self-abuse” to). Balancing all of that with a positive outlook, integrity and a little herb, it’s clear he’s done a better job at figuring out and conquering life than most of us slackers and scapegoat slaughterers.
He oozes positivity in a world that harbors oppressing, venal gloom.
I am not a Matthew McConaughey fan. I think his movies suck. Every time I’m pummeled with previews from whatever load of crap he’s starring in, my stomach churns and vomit pools on my tongue. His incessant good mood and brotherly love for everything makes my skin crawl. We are opposite poles: his philosophy repels mine, no matter how furiously you try to jam them together.
Over the years, life has beaten cynicism into me like Ike used to slug authority into Tina. I live in a world engulfed in chaos, crime and stupidity. Even meandering from the safety of my humble dwelling to surrounding idiot-chocked vehicular thoroughfares, I find my fuse of patience growing shorter, fueling my hate for people and society even more. I keep a baseball bat in the backseat of my car and extremely potent pepper spray in my glove box. I’ve got a heavy duty Maglite at arm’s reach and I’ve been suppressing the urge to obtain a pistol with enough caliber to blow a torso into a plume of gore (mostly because I’m afraid I’ll use it and end up in prison, negotiating sexual favors for Dorito’s and toothpaste... yeah, not so appealing is it?). Max Cavalera screaming kill messages and death sounds at me from my Pioneer speakers doesn’t help thwart the rapidly boiling William “D-Fens” Foster animosity much either.
I find hostility and disdain resonating through most dimensions of my life. I holler obscenities when I drop ice on the floor from the freezer, grind my teeth and furl my brow when the phone rings and nearly murdered my cat berserkergang style with a hammer when I was hanging curtains in our living room (and I LOVE cats... yes, I’m that guy.) I’m overwhelmingly uptight and slightly unhinged in every facet of my life, yet I’ve got the stones to judge Matthew McConaughey as a total ass-bag because of the wretched acting he inflicts upon us and his daffy “go life!” philosophy he so effortlessly facilitates and adheres to. I’m snapping like a rat trap in a garbage filled alley in New York City, and he’s kicked back on a beach, Brazilian babe alongside, soaking up the sun and smiling. One of us is doing something wrong here, and it appears to be the guy writing a crappy opinion column called “We’re Doomed.”
In one of his final moments hosting The Tonight Show, Conan O’Brien cautioned viewers about being cynical. He said, “I hate cynicism--it’s my least favorite quality and it doesn’t lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get. But if you work really hard and you’re kind, amazing things will happen. I’m telling you, amazing things will happen.”
Conan is right. So is McConaughey, and everyone else famous or not that preaches positivity with sincerity and points to hope rather than loathing. Being a tightly wound cynic like me is not the way to navigate life. The landscape around us is despairing enough as it is, and people will always act like unenlightened, boorish fools, but running them off the road, disabling them with 3.5 million SHU of pepper spray and bashing their skulls to a bloody pulp with a chrome Maglite isn’t going to alleviate the grand problem; it will only create more. I know this column, based on cynical thinking, screams otherwise, but I can’t debate results. I’d probably be somewhere besides sitting at my computer in an uncomfortable chair writing this bunk if I paralleled positive thinking and abandoned my seething rage and contempt for humanity. Somewhere like a beach, with shades, bongos and a bong, instead of this desolate, stagnant environment, grinding daily for the hypothetical MAN, drowning in debt, barely surviving without a Brazilian babe in sight.
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Credit Warner Bros. Films
