Tannishblog

Tolkien never told us his name; he reasoned that whoever first inhabited that soul, the Dark Lord had forever damaged beyond recognition. It’s spirit shattered, this nameless body now belongs wholly to Sauron – so much so that it has no need for a name, only to be associated with the attribute that renders it marginally useful: the Mouth of Sauron.

These days we have our own version in Scott McClellan. He who so dutifully speaks vacuous verbosity at the behest of our Favorite Shrubbery (or of whomever holds the puppet’s strings. You listening, Karl?) In both instances, it is an unenviable position, as the army of truth hammers at the gates:

As a mindless mouthpiece, he’s seen better days. The Heretik thinks he’s past the Point of No Return:

Scott McClellan has passed the point of no return. The press no longer attaches any credibility to his words. And if as McClellan says, he speaks for the White House, then the White House has no credibility on Rove, on Plame, on Wilson, on yellowcake, on Downing Street, on the run up to the war in Iraq and the lies that got us there. It all attaches the McClellan first, it attaches to Rove, and it attaches to Bush. What is it? It is hubris, the political rope by which once mighty men hang themselves and then hang around too long for people to see. Cut those bodies down please. You are frightening my children.

I think this is wishful thinking. The Dark, Rovian Lord still has uses for him. But the last Battle is near…

I keep seeing my old self in others. My old self – before the Dharma touched my life – was an angry self: a defiant, furious, bitter self of confusion and resentment. My old self lashed out at any perceived slight – and there were many – and focused on the perceived idiocy of almost everyone he met. This past Self, still trying now and again to regain his former power over my life, was a real basket case.

I see this self in others today; particularly in a coworker who lost his temper and his job in quick succession. This ex-coworker was never satisfied with his job, his boss (who had anger issues of his own and was recently let go for dishonesty), and the way our company does its business. Everything needed to work as he envisioned it, no other way was right; he thought no one had any idea what he or she were about. He talked just like my old self, and like Old Self, he was miserable and couldn’t understand why.

My old self was aging right along with me in many ways except the ones that mattered. The centerpiece of old-self-ness was an unwillingness to grow up. He refused to understand that he wasn’t the center of the cosmos, an idea that forms within everyone at about the age of three. The old guy never took responsibility for his own shortcomings, never accepted blame, nor could he accept another’s view, just like a bully in a schoolyard. You know the kind I speak of - every school has one.

Old Self wanted to be recognized, he craved recognition, but when it came his way he was too angry to see it for what it was so he shrugged it off, soon to be forgotten. Old Self never understood that hard work and a good attitude pays off, not just the hard work part; working furiously only made people avoid him. They wouldn’t pitch in so he just got angrier because no one would help. It never occurred to Old Self that the anger turned people off, and sometimes turn people against him, too. In this way, Old Self was well on his way to being one sorry old man.

I hope my ex-coworker doesn’t become one, too.