Sorting

The Brits love it. When the sleuth assures us all will be sorted  out, it is the pivot of the plot. The suspects are soon to be assembled in the library. Sorting seems to be a synonym for solving, for setting things right, don’t you know? Such a bother! The range of sorting runs from a souffle rising while the soup is bubbling, to a guy double-booking his mistresses, to an axe murderer on the loose. It loses some teeth as it crosses the Atlantic.

Back in the day, the Sunday paper had a classified section, real estate section, and separate sections for business, comics, sports, entertainment, book reviews and both local and international news along with ads for everything later gobbled up by Amazon. 

I took a secret pleasure in sorting; code for discarding most of it with the illusion that I had a grip on things. I also weighed six pounds less when I put it down.

Today, much of our life comes down to sorting. If we don’t, we soon find ourselves out of sorts. Raise your hand if you’re one of them. I’m aware of no HMO which covers out of sorts. Given the glut of options at our fingertips we are called upon to manage our way through the clamor of a cluttered field. Dare I say wasteland? 

Think of all the carefully unwatched channels: the horror movies, Marvel comic books, versions of dystopia,  cartoons, bowling for dollars, sitcom reruns, and mud wrestling (even without the mud) to name a few. I suppose for some this is an embarrassment of riches. For me it's a glut of muck.

Perhaps this is what democracy looks like, a niche marketplace. Something for everyone but why is it we often cannot find anything watchable. I hear you ask. Where is the poetry channel? Where is a channel of art films, of jazz, aesthetics, literature or even a round table of ­­great minds? 

I guess I just blew my cover as a certified half-snob but the other half is a Philistine watching ball games. The third half is writing this maze of a blog, my remedial course in sorting.