The evening began well. I ate a brownie—powerful but not overwhelming—then I prepared an Indian-themed meal: naan, a stew of vegetables in a coconut sauce, and an Amy’s Aloo Matar wrap, an approximation of a samosa. It was all delicious and highly rewarding.
The discomfort occurred a few minutes into my viewing of Hiroshima, Mon Amour, a film that commences with actual footage of the aftereffects of the nuclear bomb attack on Hiroshima. As you can probably imagine, and as I have no desire to relay, the footage is patently gruesome and utterly inappropriate for mealtime or being high. However, somehow, when the terrifying scenes of biological disfigurement were beginning to ignite my deepest pathos, I was able to laugh. I laughed out loud to myself. I absorbed the shock with humor.
I soon turned off the film, but for a moment after I was transfixed by the images and their significance, as well as the replaying memories of my two trips to beautiful Hiroshima and the Peace Park and my one visit to the museum that preserves the memory of the horror. I was momentarily overwelmed by the brilliance of human destructiveness, by the fervency of our will to conquer, and by the paradox of our methods of survival—by our multilayered selfish nature.
Selfishness is the willful paining of others. Selfishness is a plastic-wrapped microwavable pseudo-samosa. Selfishness is laughter when the grimness of reality threatens to darken our life. Last night, selfishness was watching the ingeniously hilarious fourth episode of the third season of Louie. Apparently: Being High on Pot Brownie + Eating Delicious Indian Food + Devastating Footage of Nuclear Carnage = Louis CK.
What thoroughly strange creatures we are.
And thank you, Louis CK.
