Wednesday, May 7, 2008

liar, liar

I was mesmerized (thanks for the great word, Franz Mesmer!) by this strange story in today’s Dallas Morning News about Carrollton mayor Becky Miller who seems to have a very active imagination. Unless proven otherwise (still waiting…) she has made up stories about being engaged to Don Henley, singing back-up for Linda Ronstadt and Jackson Browne, an imaginary brother who was killed in Vietnam—even the college she allegedly attended.

I don’t care about Miller, she’s not my mayor, but aren’t liars fascinating? What are they thinking?

I wonder if most liars get caught in their lies or if we all move about in a swirling soup of others’ undiscovered untruths.

Some lies don’t really matter. If she weren’t an elected official, nobody would care about Miller’s imaginary love affair with cranky old Don Henley. The only reason the story is noteworthy is because such a string of lies seems to lead to an unhinged mind, which might be considered a problem in an elected official.

I like Bill Clinton and honestly couldn’t care less who sucked his dick, but I was annoyed when he lied about it, despite believing he was inappropriately backed into a corner. I’m bummed about Hillary’s Bosnia fantasy, too. (And the whole gas tax holiday idea, but that’s something else.)

I’m a terrible liar. In fact, one might even suggest I’m truthful to a fault. No, I won’t tell you if your haircut is ugly or point out when you’ve gained weight, but I’m no good at saying “everything’s fine” when it’s not. I’m trying to get better at biting my tongue when something is none of my business but even that can be challenging for me if it’s something or someone I care about. Annoyingly—even to myself—-I seem to feel obligated to speak the truth as I see it, which often isn’t the least bit helpful. Mostly, it makes everyone, myself included, uncomfortable.

But telling tall tales like Miller did is beyond incomprehensible to me. What do they accomplish? Such tales wouldn’t boost my ego if I knew they weren’t true, and I would always wonder who could tell all along that I was lying and when I would be found out, stripped naked and laughed at.

My shame muscle is far too well-developed to want to risk that level of shame.

Clearly this is some sort of bizarre compulsion. But what does it accomplish? I’m bumfuzzled.

5 comments:

Chelle Cordero said...

It is frightening to think of the liars who get sucked into believing their own lies (maybe from telling them so often?)

I know this guy who has a tatoo of a famous Nam battle on his arm, tells everyone he was there and gets outright violent if confronted otherwise (he announces to all that he is a Nam vet)- he would have barely been an adolescent during Nam and 11 years old during this battle!

I think what is even more disturbing are the majority of people who merely shrug it off knowing that he is lying.

Lies of this kind of magnitude do hurt people - even if it only influences kids to behave in a certain way and make decisions based on "experience".

While I appreciate tact, I prefer honesty over lies anyday.

Sophie said...

But how confusing is that? Did he just assume nobody would do the math? That's just bizarre.

Did anyone ever call him on it? How did he react.

In a way, it seems like it would influence kids not to lie because it just makes him look so ridiculous. IMO.

Anonymous said...

Wow! I didn't even know that Carrolltonites... Carrolltonians... had a crazy mayor. It is fascinating, especially since she has an excuse for everything, despite the lies adding up. Apparently everyone has Alzheimers except for her, even Linda Ronstadt!

Ruth said...

It's funny. The older I get, the more I despise lies and games (and, thus, the works of David Mamet). I have a theory about this: There's only a finite amount of guilt in the world and people like you and me have more than our share. I automatically feel guilty about everything, even when I'm innocent. I guess this makes up (mathematically, at least) for the leagues of unrepentant liars.

Sophie said...

Dunno, Ruth. I alone am a bottomless well of guilt. Perhaps we each carry the guilt of one guilt-free soul in the world. Thus, I carry the guilt of the Carrollton mayor and you the guilt of Bill Clinton (thus your extreme dislike).