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A Nation of Empathy Eaters

You had better have a damn good sob story, mister!

Want to be the center of attention at the Olympics? Want to have a shot a winning American Idol? WANT TO GET INTO COLLEGE? Well then you had better have a damn good sob story, mister! Scott tells us of a college application requirement to give a detailed account of your most traumatic moment, and asks if we even know ow to make television without liberal doses of mawkish and maudlin.

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26 replies on “A Nation of Empathy Eaters”

Likely being somewhere on the autism spectrum, I’m not a person with a surplus of either sympathy nor empathy. Frankly, I just don’t give a sh!t as a rule … And that’s a problem for me.

Because there are people who deserve sympathy and empathy. The key word in that sentence is “deserve”.

So unlike most people with normal emotions, I have to make an intentional, concerted effort to generate anything that resembles caring about other people. Which I try hard to do. When those other people are deserving. Because it requires real humanity on my part to do this.

There were forks in the path of my life that had I not faced up to this lack in myself, I might have become a monster. There were opportunities down that fork and there was temptation to take advantage of them. It would have been absurdly easy to abandon my own humanity. Unlike most decent folks, I had to consciously decide I wasn’t going to be a monster.

So …

I don’t know if these empathy eaters are moral degenerates or afflicted by some other socially crippling deficit. I’m sure that most are a combination of several factors which result in their lack of humanity. While they’re gobbling up empathy they’re also doing enormous harm to others. In the pursuit of their “caring” virtue signalling empty meaningless support for the undeserving they are damaging the deserving proportionately.

The fact that they’re willing to do that to feed and amplify their own egocentricity makes them lying hypocrites. It makes them monsters. they chose to become monsters.

Oh, “we just want to see if they have the resilience to overcome ….”

Yeah, bullshit.

They’ve (in general) learned to wallow in it for its own glory … the “pain” IS the badge. If it’s not presenting, the badge might as well not be there. Nobody can see it.

It used to be … and this is generally a more masculine role which is why dads are needed (of course Moms can and do do it, as well, but it comes less naturally to them in general) … it used to be we taught our kids to suck it up. I mean, within reason, but suck it up and LEARN that resilience by doing. Simply wallowing in it does not make you resilient. Look up the whole “I don’t have the spoons” (to deal with this) thing today. It’s like doubling down on wallowing. Not only do I have pain, the fact that I have pain causes pain so you can’t expect anything of me.

A relative of mine who was always crying out for sympathy on social media once declared on it “I’m Broken” and I thought … “yeah, you are”. And I got to thinking about it and wrote this song about it … the key here is “just like everybody else”. The hint there is “get on with it, you’re the only person who can fix this.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wi23w4F2bSQ

This goes way back. 20+ years ago they were doing this on the Olympics, and both my wife and I saw what they were doing and … well this is one reason we DVR things. So we can zap through these things.

But it HAS gotten worse.

Good explanation, Steve – it IS “and” …

BUT …

Can we make THAT a thing? ” … and … but …”?

Jack, I remember Queen for a Day very well. But are you talking about the radio show or the TV show? You and I are probably not far from each other in years.

I see very little difference in these “talent” shows and the producers’ push toward a tearjerking story versus the classic soap opera. Witnessing pain in others seems to be a way for others to forget about their own pain for awhile.

This mawkish cancer is eating through everything. One of the UK’s longest running, toughest, and best loved quiz shows is Mastermind. The whole idea is it’s stripped down, stark, intentionally intimidating. Contestants sit in a modernist leather swivel chair, spot lit in an otherwise black studio. They have two minutes to answer as many questions as they can on a their own specialised subject, and then two more on general knowledge. The quizmaster is authoritative, not humourless or unsympathetic, but strict on time and punctilious. The theme tune is a piece of music called “Approaching Menace” for fudge sake.

From the shows beginning in 1972 until very recently, we were told the contestants’ names, what they did for a living, and where they were from. Famously a London can driver, Fred Housego, won the whole series in 1980 and went on to become a TV celebrity. Very occasionally winners go on to regular spots on other quizzes, but usually they have retentive minds (and other parts) but are frankly dull, you get the picture. The questions, and their ability to answer them, are the stars of the show.

Just recently the whole thing has been afflicted with long, cloying VT pieces trying to make the contestants “relatable” and trying to make us care about these painfully dull librarians because winning would mean so much to their cat’s vet’s uncle who has chronic alopecia or some such horse elbows.

I’m not sure if this vile innovation imposed on a loved and revered British cultural institution doesn’t worry (and sicken) me more than all the odious political crap we wade through daily.

The “story” is a huge part of these pseudo-reality shows. An acquaintance of mine has been repeatedly turned down for the Great British Bake Off. You’d think he’d be a shoe in. He’s a happily “married” gay man of a sensible age, who works as an historical interpreter, wearing wonderful costumes and bringing historical figures to life. Add to that, he’s very, very good at baking. He’s too basic British, too settled, too hoowite, and too good at baking. He’s simply not a victim.

My sob story for college is that I had to take a third job, on weekends, to pay my own ways.
As far as current “talent” show swill goes, the only one ever worth a second view is “The Gong Show.”

Yep. The Unknown Comic was everyone’s favorite. Guy puts a paper bag over his head and tells lame jokes until he’s gonged. Hysterical in its stupidity.

At first glance at the title of this show I thought it read “A Nation of Empty Eaters” Maybe that could be a topic to expound upon, the emptiness of much of the food people consume – specifically packaged, pre-made, industrial products, full of.. well…I needn’t explain it to this august group of members as you are wise to the corruption.
Love Bill’s sarc re the riff on Disney+ remake of Patton🤣 Overcoming adversity is admirable; focusing on the adversity is a losing proposition. Spotlighting the negatives in our lives is neurotic and self-sabotaging. Don’t do it. Scott’s closing words are words to live by.

So basically, scholarship essays are now “tell me what level of victimhood you have so that we know how many boxes we can check if we give you money”

Getting up in front of a group of people (large or small) and performing is nerve wracking. One of the reasons I used to watch these shows was to see the growth of the performances.
We stopped watching them precisely due to the cloying nature of the backstories.

Well prepared enough is the key. Much of what I do now as solo work is on short notice (i.e. music minister saying on wednesday that someone canceled for next sunday, can you do something) that makes it nerve wracking.
When I first met my wife’s father, the three of us went to a bar across from his shop (he owned a barber shop and cut hair for 45 years), it turned out they had karaoke. I sang Can’t Help Falling in Love.
She told me later that she was done right then and her dad was sold on me. But that was very nerve wracking.
we will hit 29 years this July

Contrats “Ron”, on 29 years. You’re a lucky man. September Mrs Road and I will hit 38. Nice touch on the Can’t Help Falling song. Smooth.

congrats, Ron.
My significant and I are at 41.
I caught her attention fronting a band playing the Blues Brothers version of “Money”

Damn, 41 is impressive. I hope I live long enough to get there. We were both engaged un the not engaged prior to even meeting each other. So we got a bit of a late start. She is absolutely my mate in every sense of the word.

Good one, guys. The commercialization of victimhood. The producers of these shows control the content, not the “hosts.” Maybe marketing sob stories gets more views than heroism or perseverance or talent. The NPR model. I only hope this fad of making entertainment into group therapy or re-education class will die a slow and unnatural death.
Maybe not so slow.

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