Our culture is well acquainted with the notion of post-traumatic stress disorder. Originally developed to describe the real psychological after-effects of combat, our culture knew a good excuse when it saw it. We took the term, shortened it to an enticing acronym (PTSD) and substituted drama for trauma. No need for further explanation, we hold these truths in the contempt reserved for the familiar.
In our entrepreneurial culture we now drill and mine for excuses the way we once did for oil or coal. Recently, our professional extenu-ologists have discovered a new vein from which to mine absurd alibis, pre-traumatic stress disorder. This was the evasion of choice for the Islamo-squeamish after Maj. Nadal Hassan decided to shoot up Fort Hood shouting “Allahu Akbar”. Maj. Hasan’s fragile psyche, we were asked to believe, was broken by the stress that he might have developed after his deployment, were he actually to be deployed. What this excuse lacked in plausibility, it more than made up for in laugh-ability.
With an excuse for every kind of failing just a daft diagnosis away, it takes something special for a lame excuse to gain notice these days. One excuse, in the form of a song, did just that. Last week…
