Cynicism is what helped the hunter/gatherer survive. How many early humans died from poisonous mushrooms before someone thought, maybe we shouldn’t eat that. And I doubt the person was well-liked among the tribe.
Today, though, cynicism sleeps predominantly in the experienced heart. That is to say, much to the chagrin of pop-culture, I question the ideas of “love at first sight” and “the one.” I doubt my younger chivalry idolizing heart would ever have believed that I would arrive into the world of adulthood perpetually holding one foot out of the door of opportunity. This cynicism is prevalent from the old jobs I used to have. I walk into old places I used to work at, and 18 year old bartenders still think an Old Fashioned is a style of making a drink; I can’t go to the theatre without complaining about the green scratches erratically running down the film; and worst of all, I can’t watch TV, read a book, or listen to lyrics without complaining about the unrealistic dialogue (someday there’ll be a three-dimensional female character in pop culture…).
http://totsch.deviantart.com/art/Amelie-Audrey-Tautou-311872256
But, truth be told, there’s something about nostalgia that still seems to exfoliate the callouses on my heart. I recently re-watched Joe Vs The Volcano with a friend. From the absurd puppet shark to the ridiculous ending, she thought it was contrived garbage. And maybe she’s right, but I still cried at the end. I wondered about this while I drove to work the other day. A co-worker told me he’d met “the one” last night, and I, for the first time in a long while, had no witty quip to dissuade him from his fantasy. How could anyone who cried at the ending of Joe Vs. the Volcano lecture someone on the barbs of reality? Perhaps I’ll go mushroom picking in the morning.
The face of cynicism.