Today, I’m compelled to cross over to the dark side. Occasionally, I’ll torture myself and binge on reading headlines, watching clips and perusing print media. Thankfully, I meditate which brings mindfulness and calm to my perceptions. It is interesting to watch how easily people can be manipulated. I live in the #fitn state. My fellow New Hampshire, twitter savvy citizens may know that the hashtag means first in the nation, in reference to the Presidential Primary.
Polling is a major resource for rhetorical puppetry. Here in New Hampshire, after having been polled and polled and polled again, I want to see a poll on how many people would like to rip out their landlines and pole the pollsters where the sun don’t shine. Being in the #fitn state what you, the average non-New Hampshire resident, hear about issues or candidates leading the field or gaining or losing points, with their plus or minus margins of error, can be highly misleading. Typically, once the result of a slanted specific poll shows a hint of fodder, it quickly hits the media cycles to suit their particular commission.
This week we saw the product of an antiquated corporate model in the form of a man named Martin Shkreli, former CEO of Turing Pharmaceuticals. He’s the guy who bought a drug and jacked the price into the stratosphere. Though despicable, it’s legal. He was brought before a committee of the United States House of Representatives to explain himself. His obvious, blatant contempt was more than palpable. His lawyer said that the constant smirk plastered across his client’s face was due to nerves. I almost believed the explanation until I read what the twit tweeted. His demonstrated disrespect is beyond comprehension.
It can be tough to stay out of the fray of the mindless ugly, at times. Just opening our snail-mailboxes has the potential to, and often does, explode paper commercials directly into our homes. We look at it as we toss it aside and that’s all it takes. The seed has been planted. It must be physically handled just to get it to the recycle bin. Unless there is discriminating mindfulness afoot, you may find yourself embracing the gecko.