Category: Personal Growth

Nostalgia

Every once in a while, Netflix gets it right and they actually add a movie that I want to watch. Imagine my joy when I stumbled across one of my all-time favorite movies, George Lucas’s 1973 hit American Graffiti.

Where do I begin? The cast?
Ron Howard, six months before he would debut as Richie Cunningham on Happy Days. Cindy Williams 3 years before she became the infamous Shirley on Laverne and Shirley. Richard Dreyfuss. Mackenzie Phillips, Suzanne Somers, and Harrison Ford were all in their first big role. Add to the mix Wolfman Jack and you have a heluva cast.

The cars?
John Milner’s chopped ’32 Ford Standard coupe. Bob Falfa’s (Ford) badass ’55 Chevy Belair. The mysterious ’56 Silver Thunderbird with the porthole windows driven by Somers. Steve Bolander’s (Howard) cherry ’58 Impala. Oh man, for a Detroit muscle buff such as myself, it is a veritable wet dream.

The story?
It is 1965 Modesto California. It is a typical Saturday night and the locals are blowing off steam. Typical of the time, looking “cool” was the law of the land and, given the puritanical nature of the time, there was not much else to do except ride around in cars, go to arcades and sock hops, and create a harmless ruckus while driving around. We are introduced to the players; the too-old-to-be-hanging-out-with-teenagers guy with the hot car who is always being challenged to race. The local young people that have menial 9-5’s and live for the weekend. Gangs, car clubs, and packs of teenage girls defying Daddy for a few hours. Add to the mix that this is no typical Saturday night for a small group of teens, for it is the eve of them leaving for college the next morning. Relationships are called into question(should we see other people?), feet are getting cold as one promising student is thinking of not going. They are all grappling with change and fear of what the future will hold. I won’t ruin the ending for you other than the inevitable drag race ends up altering the plans of two of them.

It is a wonderful character study about fear and uncertainty. Of the familiar and the question of whether it is better to be comfortable or to try something new. All against the backdrop of 1960’s America.

And there it is, that is what I love about the movie. The era.

I was born in 1965. A mere 3 years earlier my mom and dad were likely in a similar scene. My dad was a car fanatic and he belonged to a club. He was an amateur stock car driver. He was also a bit of a hellion with that fast Lincoln of his. Cruising the strip, bantering with other drivers with my mom under his arm is totally conceivable. My mom telling him to slow down, not get a ticket or into an accident, and to have her home before her father “grounds her” is also very believable. They lived the movie. The two of them could have been dropped into the set of that movie and nobody would have blinked. The guy in the white tee shirt with the Camels rolled into the sleeve? That was my dad. The girl in the Pencil dress and sensible shoes? That was my mom.

I often fantasize about being a teenager back then. While they may have thought that they were pushing the envelope, we now know that their version is pale compared to today. It can almost be considered tame and wholesome. But they didn’t know that.

They also didn’t know what would happen just a few short years later. Vietnam would escalate. Draft cards were coming. Parents and authority figures, particularly parents, became the enemy as generations clashed. People would be forced to tune in or drop out. EVERYTHING would change soon for the innocent, harmless locals.

But there is always the movie. A reminder of a better time. A more innocent time. A time that ceased to exist not long after. Oh yeah, did I mention the CARS?

In my head

I have been in a phase of self-improvement characterized by an uncharacteristic amount of actual progress. I’m not sure if I’ve ever revealed this fact about myself here, but despite my genuine desire to do and be better, my follow-through needs work. I can attribute this to a few factors. I try to do too much too fast, I can’t undo all those years of bad habits and ingrained negative results, I underestimate the magnitude of the task and get intimidated, and I fail to recognize the power of the biggest obstacle of all, my near-crippling anxiety.

I was on Adderall until the national shortage ended it for me in December, 2022. It was quite a move for me to start taking it, I am staunchly anti any mood- altering medications. Short of diagnosed schizophrenia, I will insist that the world deal with me in my actual state, as fucked as that may be. Deal with it. But I was informed by my PCP that a low dose of Adderall has anxiety-reducing effects on some so I tried it. I was pleased with the results. It wasn’t a massive change, it just slowed my overthinking down a bit and got “out of my head” somewhat. The shortage ended that, and now that I am not working in an office setting I’m giving it a go without the med.

I am so much worse now. Now, I’m becoming the guy I’ve always feared. The one who avoids situations because of all of the gremlins that lurk in all scenarios. From daily activities or making plans to avoiding the possibility of beginning a relationship for fear of being rejected or hurt, I procrastinate when I can and often experience dread and even fear at the prospect of doing things that are normally comfortable for me.

Today, I did 2 things I do every Spring. I rode my motorcycle to my mechanic to get my yearly service before riding season starts. I was tentative to get on my bike, my mind was toying with my confidence and flashing images of crashing in my mind. What? I LOVE riding my motorcycle and I am very confident in my skills. I got there no problem, I was comfortable and competent. But I invested way too much mental angst. It threw me.

My second task of the day was to do my first detail of the season. I enjoy cleaning cars, it is very satisfying and I also find that I do some of my best thinking while doing it. But today, and for days preceding, I was concerned that I didn’t have the stamina, that it would be too tiring, that my back would bother me. What? I’m in GREAT SHAPE right now. My stamina is fine as is my back. And yup, you guessed it, it went well and I feel fine.

I hope that the Government never forces me to go back to work full-time. I can’t even begin to imagine what actual responsibility with consequences will do to me.

Or, I could see my doctor and find out what the actual fuck is happening with me. I don’t like this and in conformance with my new mindset; I want to do and be better.

Takeaways

I’ve been back from Florida for 8 days and this is the first time I’ve made an attempt to journal.
I wish I could neatly sum up what and how I have been doing since my return from my hiatus/break/retreat/mental health break/run-from-my-problems trip to Florida. The only thing(s) I can accurately report is that I like the weather there much more, and that my problems were still here waiting for me.
And that’s ok.
It was silly of me to think that, despite all of the soul-searching and Zen moments I created/experienced while away, I would return as a significantly different person.

One thing I am sure of is that I learned enough about myself to lay the groundwork, a foundation if you will, of how to accomplish a life well-lived. I narrowed it down to 3 very simple principles that I know I am capable of adhering steadfastly to.
1) Stop caring what others think of me.
Sounds easy enough doesn’t it? Don’t we all know those people that pound their chest in a Bluto-esque display of Bravado and say “I don’t care what others think of me!” Problem is, I don’t believe 90% of them. Sure, there are people who really don’t but it’s a small number. But I’m now in that percentage. At this point in my life I have to be me and people are going to have to deal with that. I have learned that it’s not so bad to be me.
2) Forgive myself.
I have wasted so much time dwelling on the past. It’s truly wasted time to dwell on it because I can’t change it. I vow to treat everything in my life pre-today as a lesson in either how or how not to do something. That’s all it can be. I’m done beating the shit out of myself.
3) Don’t chase.
That may sound like an odd one but it’s huge for me. I take it real hard when I am rejected. I should be used to it but it has always been a problem. Friends, family, and women alike have abandoned me over the years and I spend an inordinate amount of effort fixating on it. Not to say that I have no fault in any of it, instead I am saying that I am not chasing after the fact. If you choose to leave my life, and I have made all appropriate efforts to make things right, then you are free to leave and I will just have to make peace with it.

That’s what I came up with in Florida. Now, as I return to life I am going to do what I told my clients as a Case Manager; instead of returning to an old life, I will begin a new one. As often as I need to in order to get it right. Any and all decisions that I make as I work on the many areas of my life that need improvement will be guided by the three principles stated above.

Starting today.

Jeremey

A story of addiction, recovery and a friendship for the ages

I got a text today from Jeremey.
Hey buddy, just wanted to let you know that I’m doing great. Love you and appreciate you.
It warmed my heart to hear from him. It also served to remind me of how much I miss my job. Two things you need to know here:
I took a hiatus (possibly for good, I just don’t know right now) from a job that I love.
Jeremey is letting me know that he is doing great not only out of friendship but over an incredible bond that we formed when I was his Case Manager at a Drug/Alcohol Recovery Center. Affectionately known as a Rehab.

When I met Jeremey he was not great. Anything but. I met him at the lowest point of his life.

It was a cold December morning when I made the 1500-yard trek to the Detox building to meet the new client assigned to me. I walked in, shook the cold off of me and went to the common area to find my Client. I called out the name and a man about my age weakly forced himself out of the deep cushion of the sofa and slowly trudged his way towards the chair I motioned for him to sit. I was amazed at the effort it took for him to get to it. Then he spoke. Over the course of the interview, as I explained our program, my role as case manager and his expectations for treatment, I must have asked him to repeat almost everything. He was too weak to speak clearly and with any volume.
What he was able to say was nothing but pure denial and resistance. The broken man before me was utilizing all the strength he had to fight me on whether he needed treatment or not. He wanted to leave after Detox, I politely suggested that a full program would do him better. I didn’t fight him. At the Detox level, that is not atypical. As they say, De-Nile (denial) ain’t just a river in Egypt.

This went on for days. Despite my requirement of seeing a client twice a week, I met with him every day. As his strength grew, so did his insistence that he didn’t have a problem. Recognizing that I had a challenge, and a chance to do some good I pushed back. Day after day. Finally, he agreed to stay for 2 weeks. This was a victory. This one became, against all judgment, personal for me.

Jeremey would fight me on everything for those 2 weeks. I dug in and challenged him. I couldn’t work harder on his recovery than he was willing to, but I really wanted to see him get better. 3 weeks became 4weeks. He began to buy in and just when I thought that the therapy sessions and meetings were working, after 4 weeks he made a huge push to leave. I worked with him more, throwing everything I knew about the model of addiction I had to have discussions. I paired him with other clients that were where I was hoping he would get to and he still wanted to leave. Finally, everything combined wore him down. He finished the program.
And in the process, we became wonderful friends. It evolved to the point that when we saw each other we would hug and often he asked how I was doing before I could ask him.
On the last day of his 9th week Jeremey left our care. The man who was too weak to speak, a disbarred lawyer and 25 year career-alcoholic whose most recent memory was waking up in his brother’s recliner (he was homeless), vomiting on himself in front of his 2 nephews, swigging a beer and passing out again, was leaving with a reservation at a Sober House, a job (we coordinated interviews while he was in rehab) and an entirely new outlook on life.
I was so proud to have been a small part of such an amazing story.
So back to the text.
We parted as amazing friends. He made a commitment to check in with me periodically, knowing that my failure to hear from him may indicate that he may have relapsed. I hadn’t heard from him in a while. To get that text means that he is still doing great.

That’s why I became a Case Manager. To become part of something like that.

To Love again

That’s what I want…I think

I’m beginning to think that I am going to be alone for a long time, maybe forever. I’m conflicted at times, oddly at peace with it others. It comes down to reality vs. want and I will come down on the side of reality more often than not. The reality of it is that I have a very unremarkable and disappointing history of relationships and I’m not interested in adding to the heap.

But part of me still wants to be with someone.

The negative guy in me could say that my lack of success in relationships is my own fault. After all, it makes sense that the immaturity and character flaws that negatively affected every other aspect of my life would certainly affect my relationships. I was, and perhaps still am, a very mixed-up person. But it was not all bad. I had some amazing relationship moments that I will always cherish. Also, it isn’t fair to myself to assume that my relationships didn’t work only because of me.
It’s not always me.
But unfortunately, in the absence of answers, my nature is to blame myself.

Now that I am in a forgiving phase of my life, I am able to take a hard look at the possible reasons that I am single and without prospects. I am capable of taking an honest look at myself and dealing with what I come up with. So I ask myself…why am I single?

Physically, I have some challenges. Should a woman actually take a look at me I look old. I shave my head because if I don’t my hair grows in like the infield of a little league baseball league in August. I have a goatee that is not even gray anymore, it’s white. I wear glasses and hearing aids. I am a bit overweight. That is what the world sees.
Should a woman look past those things and want to learn about me they will then find that I am not financially independent and do not have my own place. These things, along with hair, matter. How do I know? I have been openly rejected on dating sites for those very reasons.

That hurt a bit.

It’s a shame that character doesn’t matter in the transactional dating world of today. If it did, then someone could see that I am loving, affectionate, caring and loyal. I have no problem with monogamy. I like it. Because I’m honest. When I find something I like, I don’t look for something else. It’s too bad that doesn’t matter anymore. If it did, someone would also learn that I have a very youthful attitude and the sex drive, and prowess, of a much younger man. I know how to work the equipment. I’m in the Union.

All that aside, as 60 approaches, it appears that I may be alone. I can make peace with that. I’m just sad that I have to. I’m a romantic at heart. I feel a tug when I see happy couples in real life. I want to live the moments portrayed before me on TV and movies. I want to hold someone’s hand, yet all I have to hold is the remote. I want another chance at being in love. At living my life with someone else. To have my heart skip a beat when I think about someone.

Maybe it isn’t in the cards for me to have another shot. Maybe I’ve had all the second chances In life. Maybe I don’t hold the appeal that I think I do. I can, and likely will make peace with that. I may have to. After all, who says that I deserve anything? I may have already been given my one and only and screwed it up.

I think the best course of action is to let the universe do my bidding for me. I’ll see if Love finds me when I’m not looking. After all, that is how the many blessings I have been given have occurred. Why not another?

Fairness

The other day I overheard a young woman loudly state, while involved in a heated conversation with what I can assume was her mother, that she deserves to be happy. She followed it up by emphatically stating that it is her “Constitutional right” to be so. I wanted to jump in so badly and offer that the pursuit of happiness is mentioned only in the Declaration of Independence and nowhere mentioned in the Constitution, that the only promise implied was the pursuit, and that it was only meant as an assurance from a young Country that it was committed to freedom for all individuals, without persecution, to pursue God-given (inalienable) rights, one of them being happy, which in and of itself cannot be guaranteed.

But common sense and experience prevailed. I inferred her age and concluded that not only would I not make any kind of meaningful impact on the conversation, but also that it is not entirely her fault. She was a twenty-something, a member of a generation that has been raised on validated feelings, cancel culture, banned history, and soft truths delivered in a manner as not to offend delicate sensitivities. I kept to myself, knowing that while I meant well, I would probably come across as an old fart dishing out unsolicited opinions. I could see how the conversation would go. I could even see the ending, the introduction of the concept of fairness.

This is where my concerns for today’s generation lie; the expectation or assumption that life is fair. In the great quest for equity on all fronts, somebody made the bold assumption that all things, including happiness, would be evenly distributed. They want life to be fair.
Newsflash: LIFE.IS.NOT.FAIR. Don’t expect it to be and you will never be disappointed.

I have had a hard life. Many challenges have risen to meet me on the road of life, and I have had my share of hardship. My life has been a struggle to say the very least. But that does not mean I haven’t experienced happiness. I have had many moments that I can recall, and they are etched in my brain. But they were brief and fleeting. In between those moments was everything else that I, and countless other people have to do every day.
Such as dealing with people and things that I did not want to but had to.
Working jobs that I hated because people depended on me and there was no plan B if I lost my job.
Biting my tongue and not punching the fucking shit out of somebody because I either worked for or with them, or I feared going to jail.
Facing the truth even when it was painful.
Allowing my children to feel hurt and sad because I knew that by fixing their problems for them, they wouldn’t learn anything.
I’ve had heartache, illness, financial problems, and relationship issues. There are so many examples, but I’ve made my point. I and countless others have survived all of those things and so much more and didn’t develop a victim mentality or lament the lack of fairness. If you get how life works, you do it because that is what life is: survival. Getting through all the crap in order to enjoy something, anything, that makes you smile…that’s happiness.

Chase it, create a healthy definition, and appreciate it when you have it. Know that you are not entitled to it. And don’t expect to be happy. Because life is not fair.

Stoic and didn’t know it

I’ve always desired to live my life by a Philosophy, a theory or attitude as a guiding principle for my behavior. It’s a source of great curiosity to me because, before I really explored my need for this, it felt like I was a protégé without the luxury of a mentor. It was as if I wasn’t leading my own way, but instead I was looking for someone or something to guide me.
Which made me a follower. When it comes to who you are, nobody wants to be a lump of wet clay.
That realization saddened me and served as a revelation as well. I looked hard at things and realized the many ways in which I tried to be someone or something that I am not. It took far too long, but eventually I developed the ability to be myself. Of course, that presented a whole different set of challenges. “Myself” was not a guy that I wanted to spend time with. I am working on that and it is a challenge that I am not taking lightly. In fact, it is almost entirely what I think, dream, read and write about. I am taking a particularly hard look at where the “follower” in me ends and where the unique individual in me begins. After much investigation, the invevitable conclusion was that I was not living a life and presenting a persona that was consistent to my core beliefs and desires.
In short, I didn’t know who or what the hell I am!

Thus began the most difficult thing I have ever done, taking a searching and fearless look into what really mattered to me. To do so required me to identify every way in which my life was ruled by convention and to then challenge it. The good news I think I have a better idea now. But I wish I knew how I was able to deny myself the liberation of living by my core values and beliefs, my very nature, for so many years of my life. Was I afraid of challenging the status quo?
I wasn’t in need of a great “philosophy of life”. No school of thought or set of principles is going to serve every situation. I believe that what I needed was consistency and I was in search of a means to maintain it.

I’ve learned a lot about myself of late. But learning is not enough. I must embrace what I have learned, live it and not shy away from it, and create real growth. As a good start, I am definitely defying convention, the very thing that made me a follower.

For the sake of brevity, I will not list all of the many ways that I have changed my thinking, I just want to touch on one. I always thought that I was complex. Yes, I know, all men say that. But as it turns out I’m very simple. Not Carl from Sling Blade simple, simple in that I don’t need or want much. I like things to be manageable, regardless of how difficult situations become. Simple to understand and consistent in what I stand for. Simple as defined by the familiar colloquialism “you get what you see.” If only there were a school of philosophy that embraced simple existence, harmonious and non-intrusive. One for those who want to live with the earth, not just on it.

Imagine my joy when I (re)discovered Stoicism! There IS a Philosophy that I CAN use and adhere to as I work towards the life I crave.

I have been a Stoic and didn’t know it!

Inventory

Having gone on a retreat/hiatus of sorts, I have had some much-needed down time to decompress and do some thinking. The deep thinking predictably led me to assess my life and do a proper inventory. Inventories are difficult and can be painful. If a business owner were to become complacent in the inventory of his goods, he may find that he is in worse off than he thought financially. It works the same way when you inventory your own life. You may not like what you come up with and at that point you are faced with a choice; to accept it as it is or to seek a solution. To seek a solution requires asking questions, and that is where I am at in the process. I began questioning everything.

The first thing major question I addressed was whether I left my job for the right reasons. I had put in 6 months as a Recovery Case Manager working with those struggling with addiction. I loved it and by all accounts I was great at it. Entering a field such as Recovery without a background (educationally or by virtue of being an addict oneself) is difficult and requires a specific skill set and a proven ability to display empathy, understanding, and listening skills. Despite not using my Psych degree since I graduated in the early 90’s, it was a roll of the dice. But the complicated series of events that I call my life qualified me just fine. I became a thorough, relatable, competent and effective Case Manager and I was making a difference.
 But it kicked my physical and emotional ass. Health reasons, physical more than mental, drove my decision. I am immunocompromised due to my Kidney Transplant and I was working in a fucking Petrie Dish. After contracting COVID twice, a stomach flu and a cold that I couldn’t shake for over a month I made the decision. But the job satisfaction aspect nagged at me. If you need to know just ONE thing about me to understand the possible loftiness and intense nature of my statements, know that I am ALL about purpose. I have received the gift of life and have escaped the Bastard known as DEATH more times than any one many should be allowed. I therefore have the attitude of gratitude. If I stopped doing a job that satisfies my mentality of giving back and paying it forward, what am I going to do in its place? 
It didn’t take me long to realize that I am not going to lose that side of me, as I have lost so many other things that gave me joy. Therefore, I resolved that I would continue to volunteer my time and resources to causes that matter to me. That gave me comfort about my decision to leave a job that satisfied my soul. I vowed to research local charities that I could volunteer for; Make-A-Wish, Animal Shelters, Veteran’s causes and Motorcycle groups that focus on charitable rides. Therein would lie my answer.

I was then troubled to realize, after a few weeks of semi-retirement that another question had risen up and begged answering. Why was I not full of that desire to go do all of those things that would adequately fill the void created by leaving my job? Where was that motivated guy? That guy was laying on the sofa, eating junk food, watching TV and not doing anything productive at all. I will cut myself a small break, I wasn’t feeling good. I was still recovering from the virus that made me leave my job. And it was Winter. The cold weather, constant snow storms and lack of sunlight are not my friends. Not excuses but worthy of mention. Still, I was concerned that I was going to fall into a regrettable cycle; lazy, unmotivated, unaccomplished, and lacking purpose.

That is when I decided to head to see Mom in West Palm. I vowed to get moving physically and mentally. To walk, workout, read and write at a pace that I have never before. I have checked all the boxes so far. But to write everything I have come up with is going to take some time, due to the number of questions that I have raised and, thankfully, I have the desire to put to paper.

Fortunately, time is something I now have a lot of.

Question Everything

Question everything. That is where I am now. I do not know how it happened, but the way I look at everything seems to have changed lately. Two things come immediately to mind; it happened quite quickly, and I love what I am seeing. In short, everything is upside down and on its side. As Dr. Venkman so eloquently stated in Ghostbusters…

Things happen that way with me. I have epiphanies, moments in which my eyes suddenly open, my mind shifts, my vision becomes clear, and things suddenly make sense. Not always forever in some cases, but enough to enable insight and encourage change. My most recent epiphany is here to stay. It is not a fleeting thought or a passing fancy that serves to temporarily inspire or provoke thought. Instead, as a result, the world around me presents if I were a young child. A world in which everything is a new and exciting experience.
Somewhere, at some point in the last 6 or 8 months my understanding of countless aspects of life, my own and those of the wonderful world around me, shifted (morphed?) in such a way that I am questioning, with the intent to be and do better, my understanding and perception of everything. To name a few,
Relationships.
Friendships.
Politics.
People.
Family.
Conversations and events old and new.
The world around me and,
My role and purpose in it.

I find myself very motivated by what I am feeling. I feel like I am on the right track. In many ways, I feel like a different person. Where there once stood a man that, while mostly positive, was prone at times to see things in a very cynical and unproductive light, now stands a man that looks at every interaction, recalls every conversation, and replays every situation to assess if there is anything that could be learned from it and what could have been done better? It’s truly a liberating and exciting feeling to experience such an injection of emotional vitality and intellectual stimulation at a time in my life in which I was dreading stagnation and lack of interest in learning or applying anything new.

This, in conjunction with my current deep dive into the Stoic Lifestyle, is giving me the exact boost I desperately craved.
That’s enough for this post, but expect more (I do hope you read it and share it with me) as I share that which is in question, my old take vs the new, and the effect it will have on me as I continue to work towards “better”.

What does it matter,I still learned it

Before I got married I was at a cocktail party rubbing elbows with my fiance’s family. I was talking to a distinguished and clearly educated gent and the subject of the Korean Conflict somehow came up. Now, I did have a fair amount of knowledge on that because, like I said, I later educated myself. But there I stood, a pizza cook on the threshold of a potential conversational Armageddon. But I held in. Fortuitously, he came to an impasse in the discussion and was stuck on the parallel that the US military failed to cross, the one that would have been an act of war. I chimed in,
“That would be the 38th Parallel.” I was then complimented as being a smart young man. What he didn’t know is that I got that from the Rodney Dangerfield comedy Back to School.
I was reminded of that today as I was reading an excerpt from one of my favorite books, A Prayer for Owen Meaney. There is no shortage of reasons why I love the book, I have always been a sucker for a coming-of-age story and it’s a great one. The excerpt that caught my eye was dedicated to the birth of the all-time opiate of the masses, the Television (my apologies to Karl Marx), in which the narrator observes the progression of the power that the television eventually held in his home. He told of how his Grandmother, who was always staunchly opposed to TV finally caved, and how the grandson reluctantly fell under its spell as well. Our hero Owen Meaney, ever the virtuous one, chastised the Grandson for watching TV. At which time the Grandson defended it by offering how many ways that it was educational. Owen promptly dismissed this, his unsolicited opinion was that TV was a slovenly way to educate oneself.

I was amused and a little embarrassed when confronted with this. While I consider myself adequately educated, I have attained a fair amount of passable knowledge, some decent Trivial Pursuit-ish information as well as some solid nuggets of pop culture as well as high society through TV and movies.
Now, of course, TV was not educational in 1958, the time period in discussion. You watched what was available and a lot of it was garbage. It’s not a fair comparison to today’s Cable and streaming options that offer many educational options. Which I take advantage of. Despite even that… some of my greatest stories that deal with gaining “knowledge” through unlikely and slovenly sources occurred many years ago.

Most of my knowledge of Opera, Classical Music, American society during the Great Depression, Prohibition, wartime, etc., comes exclusively from Bugs Bunny cartoons. That’s right. “Kill the Wabbit” taught me about Opera.
In addition, most of my understanding of politics I can directly attribute to Berkeley Breathed and Gary Trudeau, of Bloom County and Doonesbury fame, respectively. As a skirt-chasing teenager (and young adult and well, forever) dedicated to doing the bare minimum, it was Bloom County and Doonesbury that piqued my interest in the news of the day as they lampooned politics and known as well as not-so-well-known cultural figures. Where else did I hear about the Anti-gay activism of Anita Bryant, the anti-feminist Phyllis Schlafly, the disappearance of known American atheist Madalyn Murray-O’Hair, the Televangelist scandals, the Contras and Sandanistas, the Star Wars antics of the Reagan era, I could go on but I won’t. Suffice it to say that otherwise boring (to me) subject matter and events were portrayed comically way or ironically and consequently raised my interest. An interest in being current and informed on the matters of the world, and in being able to take a humorous, even absurdist interpretation. In the case of Bloom County, the political landscape was portrayed often through Children and anthropomorphized naive but politically charged meadow animals. Think of a Hedgehog, a rabbit, and a Penguin having a caucus to nominate a dead cat for President.
That shit was funny!
And it had the right effect on me, it got me interested. Which fortunately led to a lot of self-education of the shit that I should have learned in High School.

Snob appeal, slob appeal. Whatever. Learning can come from many sources, highbrow and otherwise. What matters is that I learned something, and I received the added bonus of getting a good laugh in the process.

Slovenly” Perhaps. Effective? Absolutely.