"The powers that be left me here to do the thinking." --Neil Young, "Powderfinger"
Saturday, January 7, 2012
The question of why we like the things we do is still on my mind. I got sidetracked yesterday because I took off on collecting. I didn't mean to, although it was connected. What initially started me wondering was how some people do not and apparently cannot like baseball. My son-in-law comes to mind, and my wife. They aren't alone; there are many such people around. What forms our taste in anything? Sports, food, movies, music, culture, activities, books, and so on ad infinitum. Is it entirely enculturation? My dad took me to see baseball at the ballpark. I did the same for my boys. I like baseball; they like baseball. Simple cause and effect?
Or is it something innate? One of my regular readers here told me recently that she cannot stand rock and roll. Now here's a gal who doesn't mind being labeled an ex-hippie chick. Doubtless she was exposed to many, many hours of rock music. Who would have thought that someone with such a label would not like rock and roll? But she doesn't. Some people don't like broccoli--I don't--some don't like roller coasters--I'm neutral--don't like reading--I love it--don't like wearing hats--I do. Could all this be a function of personality? Maybe, like everything else they are beginning to discover, it's genetic. My God, if the advertisers ever crack the genetic code, we're all done for. They will own us even more than now, and that's a frightening thought.
At any rate, the randomness of individual people is a source of endless wonder and delight for me. We're all like fingerprints and snowflakes. No two ever alike. Ain't it great?