Seeing through transparency

Modern society comprises of a great many things. There’s all that infrastructure which surrounds cities and towns, in service of an apparent higher purpose. Road, sewers and those little glass doohickeys perched atop telephone poles. They’re called insulators, I believe. There are other aspects to the world like winking at animals and honking in exaltation that make society function better. But there’s even more to it than that.

There are other things, unseen and unheard, which help make everything work. No one knows how often you floss – that’s between you and your MakerDDS. Yet a community that ignores gaudy pieces of spinach caught in your teeth, too afraid to say something, is not one that will leave an enduring legacy. You could keep your mouth closed, unsure if opening it will reveal a pumpkin seed the size and shape of New Brunswick. More than bridges, much more than tunnels, behavior plays a huge part in shaping society.  

You’re taught from a young, tender age that transparency is fundamental to a healthy civilization. And that trust is paramount. What are you hiding? Enter the fray as an open book – thick, clean and with a glowing blurb from Bob Costas.

Transparency boosters in the media and elsewhere harp on how essential it is to culture. I don’t know about that. What I do know about are coffee tables. While some will say that glass is glorious, it’s not. Too little is left to the imagination.  

You can stack it high with coffee table books you’ll never read. Rizzoli published texts with glossy photos of garbage and debris – ironic, considering your abstemious and pathological vacuuming habits. If you thought the housing bubble was bad, try leafing through Housing Rubble: The sexiest shots of demolition and destruction money can buy. You can line it with coasters of Dutch masters and French saints that you’ll never use, out of fear you might smudge a pristine moral genius with the condensation of a warming can of La Croix. No matter how you choose to decorate, there’s always going to be a clear line of sight to the grime and the grease to your vintage shag. There’s a penny from the past. A staple from a Summer Friday. A ball of fur from the 18^th of Brumaire. Wood – any wood – eliminates this tragic possibility. 

No can see through it and no one has to. Why do they need to know about the ant colony presiding over a literal banana republic between the cracks in your floor? Why should they wonder if that mark is liquid, solid or "other?" They should be focused on the garbage on the page, not on the floor. And therein lies the purpose of coffee tables and coffee table books - to distract guests from the obvious decrepitude all around them.

If you still think transparency is a good thing, tell that to a hardworking, middle-aged bird on his way home from work, tired of chirping, sick of singing, who only wants a home-regurgitated meal, peace and quiet. But his mind wanders on the flight back and he slams into a glass door, carelessly left open by a neighbor, airing out their apartment after a stir-fry gone awry. So much for transparency, huh?