No matter how long I contemplate the nature of humans, there are some things I can never seem to understand about people.
Allow me to give you a few examples.
Firstly, fault lines. Fault lines in the tectonic plates are where earth quakes happen. We have known this for a long time. So why is it that we build our biggest cities on them. They were there first. They have made it abundantly clear that their activities will not change to accommodate us. There is plenty of land without fault lines, but no, scientists predict a massive earthquake is due over here guys, let’s build a sky scraper, its gonna be an awesome rush when it all falls down.
Secondly, and in the same vein flood plains. My ancestors literally pushed back the sea in the Netherlands and built walls to keep it there. Hone your negotiation skills and make a deal with the Germans for a few acres guys. Oceans are big, and storms are as well. Why do you need to live your life under threat? I sympathise with the victims of these natural disasters and understand that in many cases the individual person had little to no choice in being there, but someone at some point in the past must have been in a position where they could move up the hill a mile or two.
Thirdly England. I forget which comedian brought it up, but what the hell was England thinking to give beautiful sunny Australia to the criminals and frigid mosquito infested Canada to the settlers. Look at Russia. Look at Siberia. This is not complicated. Prison is not supposed to be better than freedom. Suppose I was alive back then. I had the choice of scraping together enough cash to buy a ticket to the frozen wastelands of the Canadian north or going and stealing some excellent fresh bread from the neighbourhood bakery, eating it before the cops got there, and then a free trip to Australia. Which would you choose?
Foodies. When I sit down with a plate of food, there is one thing I am concerned about. Taste. If someone just spent an hour arranging what is on the plate for optimal appearance, it is probably cold by now, so that has no value to me whatsoever. An artist paints a picture that can be enjoyed a thousand years later. I can even understand flowers and the benefit to arranging them. Food is not like that. I can understand spending extra time to determine what factors might enhance flavour or texture, trying various spices and so on. I can’t understand why it matters how it looks. Thirty seconds after it hits the table I have destroyed the art, and most likely didn’t notice the arrangement in the first place. Maybe it is my substantial lack of culture, but nope, it don’t make a lick of sense to me.