all flockbinkers are treadknicious… and other salient observations

Forays into Logic, Whimsy, Meaning, Hilarity, and Nonsense.

Category: The Good Reader

Important Announcement Regarding New Flockbinker Schedule. No! Seriously!

 

Abstract:  In which the Blogger puts on his ‘gosh, i really mean it’ hat and launches into a discussion of the… well, what has historically been a somewhat funky posting schedule for the “All Flockbinkers” blog… and the possible advantages to setting it on a regular, weekly footing.


 

The blog “All Flockbinkers Are Treadknicious… And Other Salient Observations” has been online for several years now. However, as i look at my blog posting counter i see that we’ve only posted to it about 70 times. There’s a perfectly good reason for this: The Blogger’s inability to manage his life in a way that is reasonable or structured. No! Wait! That’s not what i was going to say! [The] Good Reader, are you messing around with my computer interface again?

 

The Good Reader:  Me? Naw. That’s not the sort of thing i would ever do. Heh heh heh.

The Blogger:  Well, let’s just hope so! Because i’m about to make an important announcement!

The Good Reader:  Blogger, if you have something important to say, i’ll just sit here as quiet as a mouse and respectfully listen to the gushing stream of nourishing wisdom that is doubtless about to come bursting forth from your honeyed lips.

The Blogger:  Well, i’ll be blowed.  [momentarily forgets what he was going to say, while turning seventeen shades of red]  Ahem. Well! Here’s the announcement. This blog is becoming just a wee bit more popular these days, which puts me in mind of the old saying, “You can lead a horse to water, but too many cooks spoil the broth.”

The Good Reader:  Sorry Blogger. That’s not actually a saying.

The Blogger:  It is!  [makes his worst pouty face]  You always want to ruin everything. You said you were going to stay quiet.

The Good Reader:  Oops. Sorry. It just sort of popped out. Anyway, i think what you were wanting to say is that some changes may be afoot, since you now have more than three-and-a-half people reading your blog.

The Blogger:  Um. That’s not the way i’d have wanted to put it, but yes. Something like that. Some changes may be afoot.

The Good Reader:  That sounds terrific! What kind of thing did you have in mind? Are you considering adopting a policy of only saying things that make sense?

The Blogger:  Well, that’s not it exactly… Hey! Waittasecond! You scoundrel! Stop it! You’re goofing up my important announcement!

The Good Reader:  Sorry. No, you’re right, i shouldn’t do that to you while you’re trying to communicate with your wee little handful of readers. I’ll just sit here while you talk.

The Blogger:  Well, okay then. Here’s the announcement: I’m thinking of moving this blog to a regular, once-a-week schedule, and posting at the same time every week, so my followers will have a better idea of when the new posts are going up.

The Good Reader:  That sounds terrific! Consistency is always a good thing. I bet your readers–all three and a half of them–will genuinely appreciate a more regular, predictable schedule of postings!

The Blogger:  That’s exactly what i’ve been thinking. (Most of it, grrr.) And the expert voices in the area of internet dynamics seem to think so, too.  From what i’ve read, a weekly schedule of blog posting would be a good rhythm for this Flockbinker journal to fall into.

The Good Reader:  I have to say, i completely agree. Up until the past few months or so, your posting schedule has tended to resemble the flight of the phoenix.

The Blogger:  But the phoenix is a fictional bird.

The Good Reader:  My point exactly.

The Blogger:  Oh. Right. Okay. So, anyway, beginning right around this month or so, i’m going to move these blog posts to a regular weekly schedule. I think i’ll still experiment with various times of day, just to see when the greatest number of readers seems to be available. But i’m going to try and keep the postings to the same day every week.

The Good Reader:  Well, you know what they say: A stitch in time, and then what the cat drags in.

The Blogger:  What? That didn’t make any sense at all!

The Good Reader:  Oops. Sorry. I can’t imagine what i was thinking.

 

Epilogue

So–seriously, guys–i’m gonna try to get this blog onto a regular, weekly posting schedule from now on. If you have any input for me about the ideal time to post new material during the week, please be in touch! And i love each of you as if you were my own fourth cousin, twice removed!

 

 

Spotlight on the Oft-Neglected Wamwam

 

Abstract:  In which some attempt is made to discuss wamwams: to establish their ontological status, distinguish them from flockbinkers (and woodoos and frou-frous and humma-hummas and bumma-bummas and blastcabbages and CharlesBabbages and Your Mom and a long list of everything else), to figure out what exactly makes them tick, and to discover what sorts of things they pick up when they go to the supermarket.


 

One of the ongoingly vexing things about this blog, is that we keep using terms that we don’t even know the meanings of.

(No, wait. That can’t be right.)

What we meant to say, is that we sometimes speak of things about which many people have a somewhat limited understanding.

(There. That’s much better.)

One of these somewhat abstruse terms is “wamwam.” It you’re a follower of the blog, you’ve seen this word appear on numerous occasions, and you may have been as confused as we are about what it means.

(No, wait. That’s not at all what we meant to say.)

What we meant to say, is that the term “wamwam” is a somewhat difficult one, requiring a delicate linguistic touch and a healthy dose of philosophical insight.

So: Why don’t we devote the current post to an examination of this term, “wamwam,” with the hope of arriving at some even remote understanding of what the blasted term means?

(No, wait.)

 

The Good Reader:  Howdy there, Blogger! I see that i’ve arrived at just the right time to get in some good discussion of some of your favorite meaningless terms.

The Blogger:  Howdy, The Good Reader! Your wit appears to be as sharp as ever.

The Good Reader:  You flatter me. [smiles sweetly]

The Blogger:  So, how do you view our prospects for solving the mystery of the humble wamwam?

The Good Reader:  Far as i’m concerned, there’s no mystery at all.

The Blogger:  Seriously? Why this IS good news? What do you have to tell us about wamwams? Do enlighten us!

The Good Reader:  Sure thing. They don’t exist.

The Blogger:  Wha– um, i mean– surely you can’t–

The Good Reader:  They are as fictional as the unicorn.

The Blogger:  Well now, um, as we’ve seen in an earlier one of these posts to the All Flockbinkers blog, unicorns aren’t actually fictional. They’re something more like, oh, “archetypal” or “ontologically scrappy” or “they show up on weekends and certain holidays.”

The Good Reader:  Um.

The Blogger:  Seriously, unicorns aren’t fictional. They’re more like, oh, “trans-existent.” Or maybe, “provisional.” Or i dunno, maybe, “sorta missional”…?

The Good Reader:  Okay. Anyway, you were wanting to talk about wamwams.

The Blogger:  Um, yes, of course. Wamwams. One of the more real entities featured in that astonishingly diverse body of materials that we call “the universe.”

The Good Reader:  Um.

The Blogger:  So. I was thinking that i might enumerate some of the things that we know to be true about wamwams, maybe?

The Good Reader:  Knock yourself out. My movie doesn’t start for another hour.

The Blogger:  Cool! Well, the first thing that most people would think of, when the term “wamwam” is mentioned, would be, “it’s somehow related to flockbinkers.”

The Good Reader:  Um. That doesn’t establish it as a real thing. Quite the opposite, really.

The Blogger:  Oh, please, stop! Your ignorance of even the most basic principles of philosophy is showing itself.

The Good Reader:  Okay.

The Blogger:  So flockbinkers and wamwams are part of the same family, let’s say. They both fit into a similar category of reality.

The Good Reader:  Like, “Words that are fun to say when you’re wanting to get a laugh out of a classroom full of third graders?”

The Blogger:  I shall ignore that highly ignorant remark.

The Good Reader:  Knock yourself out.

The Blogger:  You say that with distressing regularity. Anyway, flockbinkers and wamwams are what we might want to call “ontological cousins”–they belong to a similar sector of reality. But they’re not the same thing.

The Good Reader:  No, of course not. Not at *all* the same thing.

The Blogger:  No. So what we’re wanting to do here, is to establish what exactly is unique about wamwams–how they are different from flockbinkers.

The Good Reader:  Okay.

The Blogger:  Um, well, first-off, i think we can say that–

A Flockbinker:  [appears out of nowhere]  Howdy.

[The flockbinker disappears in a puff of smoke]

The Good Reader:  Wait. Was that a flockbinker?

The Blogger:  It was indeed! Sorry about the brevity of his greeting. Flockbinkers tend not to be very talkative.

The Good Reader:  But… i mean… golly… what i mean is… he’s actually real?

The Blogger:  Well, of COURSE he is! What do you think we’ve been talking about all these years?

The Good Reader:  I figured i was just patiently indulging the ravings of your fevered brain as it attempted to sort through things it had absorbed in nursery school.

The Blogger:  Oh no. No no. There’s nothing fevered about MY brain! Flockbinkers are very real indeed! And–here’s the point we’re interested in right now–so are wamwams.

The Good Reader:  [muttering to herself]  Golly. Something to think about.

The Blogger:  Um, indeed, and furthermore–

[enter none other than the Three Scotsmen!]

Scotsman #1:  I see you’re addressin’ the abstruse philosophical themes agayne.

Scotsman #2:  It’s the kind o’ thing that really gets me blood up! Whooh!

Scotsman #3:  Sittin’ on a fence.

The Good Reader:  Oh my word. WHAT do we have here.

The Blogger:  You can’t tell me you’ve never met the Three Scotsmen? You’ve been on this blog for, how long now? I’d have figured you would have crossed paths with ’em at some point.

The Good Reader:  No, i don’t think so. I’d have remembered it, i’m pretty sure.

The Blogger:  Well, there there are, in all their Celtic glory.

[the three Scotsmen beam congenially]

The Good Reader:  That second one is kind of handsome.

The Blogger:  I cannot think of a less relevant observation, The Good Reader. You surprise me.

The Good Reader:  Hey, i’m just sayin’.

Scotsman #2:  [blushing]  Milady pays me an undesoorved compliment.

The Good Reader:  [curtseys like a champ]

The Blogger:  Oh, stop it, you two! I be-leeeeeve that we were talking about wamwams.

Scotsman #2:  Indeed we wehre.

Scotsman #1:  In all their ontological glory.

Scotsman #3:  Sittin’ on a fence.

The Good Reader:  …and whether or not they exist.

The Blogger:  Stop that! Of course they exist! Well, um, i mean… it’s complicated.

The Good Reader:  That’s your favorite thing to say.

A Flockbinker:  [appears briefly, just long enough to say]  Howdy.

The Blogger:  Oh, shut up.

 

 

 

The Good Reader Appears to Be in an Unusually Good Mood.

 

Abstract:  In which our good friend, The Good Reader, enters stage left and spreads clouds of euphoria all about. And what can be the cause of this unaccustomed good humor? WE DON’T KNOW! But, doggone it, we’re about to find out.


 

The Good Reader has been one of the central characters on this blog since its inception, or the point when we started the blog, whichever came first. She is a fairly sharp cookie, and enjoys engaging the Blogger in a variety of topics, often taking the devil’s advocate position simply to keep things lively. Um, at least we assume this is why she would even consider taking a position different from that of the Blogger. It’s difficult to think of any other reason. I mean. Anyway.

Regrettably, The Good Reader often appears to be in a less than ideal mood, perhaps owing to her being unaccustomed to philosophical discourse–

The Good Reader:  Now, just you wait one cotton-frickin’ minute, Mister Blogger. I’m every bit as good with “philosophical discourse” as you are. At LEAST.

The Blogger:  Well now, if it isn’t The Good Reader herself, in the flesh! How delightful to receive a visit from you.

The Good Reader:  Don’t change the subject.

The Blogger:  Absolutely not! We were about to talk about the fact that you’ve recently seemed to be in a much better mood than you’ve tended to be in, in the past.

The Good Reader:  Hrrmph. Well, i guess that’s sort of true.

The Blogger:  So, i imagine our readers are curious to know what’s the cause of your change of mood?

The Good Reader:  Readers? Our ‘readers’? What readers? What do you mean, ‘readers’?

The Blogger:  Um, oh dear, ooff.

The Good Reader:  ‘Readers.’ What a queer sort of thing to say, Mister Blogger.

The Blogger:  Um, uh, it was a figure of speech.

The Good Reader:  A figure of speech? Meaning what? You’re not making any sense.

The Blogger:  Um, er, ahem, so what prompts this change of mood?

The Good Reader:  Mmmm. Well, i’ve had some really good news this morning!

The Blogger:  Indeed?

The Good Reader:  Indeed what?

The Blogger:  Indeed: what’s the good news!

The Good Reader:  Oh. Right. I feel silly. Well, the good news is that my nephew just earned his black belt!

The Blogger:  He earned his black belt?

The Good Reader:  He did.

The Blogger:  What martial art does he practice?

The Good Reader:  Oh, i don’t know, “Hae Kwon Phu” or something. I can’t keep them all sifted out in my mind. It sure looks impressive, though.

The Blogger:  I didn’t even know you had a nephew.

The Good Reader:  There is much that you do not know about me, oh Mister Blogger-Fellow. I am a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.

The Blogger:  Say, that was good! “A mystery stuffed into a riddle.” Did i get that right?

The Good Reader:  Oh, close enough for rock and roll.

The Blogger:  Is this an expression of your own devising?

The Good Reader:  Nah. I think Sir Winston Churchill came up with it.

The Blogger:  Such a clever chap, that Sir Wilson Churchwell.

The Good Reader:  Ahem. Back to my little nephew.

The Blogger:  Yes. A prodigy, by the sound of it!

The Good Reader:  Kid’s a regular martial arts phenomenon! He was kicking, um, hiney, and taking names.

The Blogger:  Your pleasure in his achievement seems entirely justified.

The Good Reader:  You’re dern tootin’!  [a proud expression invests itself upon her features]  He made one of the other little boys cry.

The Blogger:  Did he now! Well, that’s just wonderful.

The Good Reader:  I’m so proud of him.

The Blogger:  I hope he didn’t get in trouble for wounding one of his fellow competitors.

The Good Reader:  What? Oh! No, you don’t understand. He didn’t HURT anybody. He used LOGIC on them.

The Blogger:  Ah, so he… um. Waittasecond. He used LOGIC on one of the other children?

The Good Reader:  [beaming]  He did. And i know you and i have had our differences, Mr. Blogger, but i must confess that i stole some of your logic oriented material and fed it to him to use during the tournament, before he went up there.

The Blogger:  The Good Reader, you must fill me… and my readership… in on all of the juicy details!

The Good Reader:  Sure thing! No. Wait. Your ‘readership’? What in the Sam Hill are you talking about?

The Blogger:  Oh, ha ha, just messing around with you, ha ha, once again, ha ha.

The Good Reader:  [a somewhat dark expression on her face]  Okay. Whatever. So little Aloysius was up against another little fellow who seemed bigger and more aggressive than he was, and i was honestly kind of afraid for him.

The Blogger:  The poor tyke!

The Good Reader:  And i could tell that he was kind of nervous.

The Blogger:  Bless his heart!

The Good Reader:  But then, i saw a kind of resolution pass over his brow, if i can put it that way, and he leaned in and whispered something to the other little boy.

The Blogger:  Did he now! Probably something along the lines of, “Please don’t break too many of my bones.”

The Good Reader:  Ha! No. I’ll tell you what he whispered to him. This is based on what Aloysius told me about it later. He said, and i quote, “All flockbinkers are treadknicious.”

The Blogger:  No!

The Good Reader:  He did.

The Blogger:  You’re toasting my egg noodle!

The Good Reader:  Nope, not that that expression means anything. That’s what he said. See, i had prepped him before the event. And the other little boy fell back a little bit.

The Blogger:  I should say! No one can stand before the force of sheer logic.

The Good Reader:  I guess not. And then Aloysius–

The Blogger:  That’s a terrible name, by the way.

The Good Reader:  Right, right. So then Aloysius took a step toward the other fellow, and whispered to him, “And all wamwams are flockbinkers.”

The Blogger:  Well i’ll be.

The Good Reader:  Now, the other kid was beginning to get kind of shaken up, you know, sort of confused and disoriented.

The Blogger:  There’s no force stronger than logic.

The Good Reader:  I guess not. And then… remember, the round hasn’t even begun yet, they’re just standing there on the mat… Aloysius…

The Blogger:  He’s had to go through life with that name.

The Good Reader:  Right, just for a few years. He’s eleven. Aloysius leans in and whispers one more thing to the other kiddo, who begins shaking violently, and weeping openly. You want to know what he said?

The Blogger:  [proudly]  I can guess. I bet he said, “Therefore, all wamwams are treadknicious.” Hmm? That’s what he said?

The Good Reader:  That’s what he said. He’s a black belt now.

The Blogger:  Well of course he is. How proud you must be.

The Good Reader:  I really am. I gotta thank you for the gift of logic, Mister Blogger. I know we’ve had our differences, but i have now seen with my own eyes the power of logical discourse.

The Blogger:  What’ve i been telling you all this time?

The Good Reader:  I know, i know. You were right about at least that one thing.

 

 

Let’s Go Through a Whole Post Without Once Mentioning Flockbinkers

 

Abstract:  In which our cast of characters–in a decided departure from common practice–attempt to go for an entire blog post without once saying the word… well, you know, THAT word. The word. The word floc… ooohh, you know. The word. THAT one.


 

The Blogger:  [addressing a small group of people gathered in his living room]

So hey there, fellas. Thanks for coming! I wonder if each of you would mind glancing down at the piece of paper that you’ve been handed. It explains the one big, basic ground rule for this particular post. Note that your attention is being called to one word in particular: the one word that none of us is going to use in this here blog post.

Jennifer Smith:  Blog post? What blog post? Biffy, what does he mean by ‘blog post’? He’s making strange remarks again. I’m already feeling disoriented.

Little Biffy:  Just roll with it. Pretend he’s talking about a “log post” that you tie your boat off to, right when you’ve returned from a satisfying morning of fishing.

Jennifer Smith:  You just made things ten times worse. NOW i seriously do not EVEN.

Little Biffy:  Oops.

Jennifer Smith:  No, come on. Log post? I’m feeling disoriented.

Little Biffy:  Heh heh. Forget i said anything. Post? Where’s the post? I don’t see a post. Nobody said anything about a post. There’s no post. Not a post in sight.

Jennifer Smith:  [begins breathing heavily; her eyes start to roll back in her head]

The Good Reader:  It’s okay, Jennifer. Here, come sit next to me. We can be sensible together in the midst of a whirlwind of chaos and nonsense.

Jennifer Smith:  Thanks, sort of. Um.

Elvis Wu:  [gazing intently at the note he’s been handed]  Ahh! So we are to conduct ourselves normally, except that there is one word, one particular word, that we may not, under any circumstances, allow ourselves to say.

The Blogger:  Precisely.

Elvis Wu:  And that word is Flo–

The Blogger:  [with hands over ears]  Aaaahhh aahhhhhhhhhhh aaaaaaaaaaaahh aaahhh aaaaaaaahhhhhh aahh aaaaahhhh…

Elvis Wu:  Just kidding, my good man. I just wanted to see what you would do. That reaction was actually a bit more interesting than whatever i was expecting.

Aristotle:  Hmmm. Interesting. I can’t help thinking… hmmm.

The Blogger:  [consumed with curiosity–after all, this is ARISTOTLE we’re talking about]

Um, yes? What’s on your mind? Something profound and philosophically spiffy, i’ll bet!

Aristotle:  Well, it’s just that, if we were to think of all human behavior, or perhaps all human tendencies of personality…

The Blogger:  Yes, yes, hmmm?

Aristotle:  …as being laid out on a kind of grid, with one sort of extreme at one end, and the opposite extreme on the other end, and a satisfying, happy medium in the middle…

The Blogger:  Uh-huh, yes?

Aristotle:  Well then, we… hmmm. I’ll need to put a bit more thought into this one.

Confucius:  Sounded like you were on a roll there, o most eminent among Greeks. Don’t let that one drop. I think it’s going to lead somewhere.

The Buddha:  First we go through the fire, then we go through the water, and then we go through the, um, the wasteland of ice, and then we go through, uh, umm, the place where, uh, earwigs come from, and then, then, uuhhh… that bottom dresser drawer that we rarely open and there’s no telling what’s in there.

Confucius:  The wise man know when to remain silent; the fool go on and on about ridiculous fire and earwigs and other nonsense.

The Buddha:  Bearded Greek is allowed to make no sense, but not the Lord Buddha?

Confucius:  Sometimes we must take one for the team.

The Buddha:  Um, okay. Not fair.

Scotsman #2:  My bonnie lies over the ocean.

The Good Reader:  Wait. What?

Scotsman #2:  My bonnie lies over the sea.

The Good Reader:  No. Stop.

Scotsman #2:  My bonnie lies a couple of blocks past 57th street, but you gotta jog left when you get to that stop sign where it looks like the road comes to an end, but it really doesn’t.

The Good Reader:  He can’t even hear me. Hello! Hello!

Scotsman #2:  Oh bring back a couple of ham loaves, some ginger and cinnamon and clove, a box of cigars, two earwigs…

Confucius:  Again with the earwigs! What is this, National Earwig Day?

Scotsman #2:  …and maybe one of those oversized lollipops with all the colors in them.

The Good Reader:  Of course.

Scotsman #2:  [triumphantly]  …to ME.

Your Mom:  [enters]  Hi, i hope i’m not late! It was really sweet of y’all to invite me.

[The Blogger hands her one of the explanatory cards, which she glances at for half a sec and then stuffs into her purse]

The Blogger:  Welcome, Someone’s Mom–perhaps yours! Well, i mean, not YOURS [glancing at Your Mom] but probably someone else’s. As long as you’re prepared to observe our one simple rule, come on in and join the party!

The Good Reader:  The joint’s rockin’. You got here just in time.

Jennifer Smith:  I still don’t understand what he meant by the word ‘post.’ Isn’t this bothering anyone else?

Little Biffy:  Think of a ‘post office.’

Jennifer Smith:  Is there a word that means “the opposite of a helpful comment”…? Cause that’s the word i’m looking for right now. [Gazes menacingly at Little Biffy]

Elvis Wu:  Biffy’s a good fella. He means well. Perhaps we ought to be thinking of ‘post’ as meaning, in the present context, something like, “that bounded range of trans-rational yet rule-bound [within a subjectively established set of expectations] experience, in which The Blogger is able to enact any one of a potentially infinite number….”

[Jennifer, bless her heart, has summarily yet placidly passed out cold by this time]

Your Mom:  So, okay–[glancing again, oh so briefly, at the card she was handed]–sorry, i’m just curious–what ARE flockbinkers, anyway?

The Blogger:  Dammit! Oops. Sorry.

The Good Reader:  Okay, calm down. It’s not an emergency that someone said the word “flockbinker.”

The Blogger:  Oooff! Stop that!

The Good Reader:  It just means we can start taking ourselves a bit less seriously about this admittedly stupid blog post.

The Blogger:  Doggone it!

Your Mom:  Did i say the wrong thing? I just wanted to know a little bit more about these, what did you call them? FLOCKBINKERS.

The Blogger:  [hacking, gagging, hopping about on one foot]

The Good Reader:  Oh, come on. You know i’m right. Setting yourself the goal of having a blog post in which no one says the word “flockbinker”–

The Blogger:  Owww! No! Cut it out!

The Good Reader:  –ranks waay down on the list of significant things for you to be concerned about.

Your Mom:  Am i pronouncing it right? Flok – bing – ker?

The Blogger:  [the agonized eruption of a thousand dying suns upon his face]

The Good Reader:  Now now. Be nice. She’s your guest.

The Blogger:  But doggone it, The Good Reader, it’s MY blog–i should be the one determining what people do or don’t say on it!

The Good Reader:  You just go on believing that. We all need something comforting to hold on to in the darkest days of winter.

Jennifer Smith:  But it’s summertime. Well, okay, as of a few days ago, it’s fall. As if you could tell that from these temperatures.

Little Biffy:  Which leads us, if you think about it, to this ultimately arbitrary (and really, somewhat unhelpful) cultural habit of ending ‘summer’ and beginning ‘fall’ on the same day–well, you know, basically–every year, as if the annual shifts in temperature and seasonal dynamics…

The Blogger:  [to everyone’s consternation, he begins to expand, turn green, sort of roar–sort of–kind of loudly, and transform into The Incredible Hulk]

Elvis Wu:  Now there’s something you don’t see every day. Great party, guys!

 

 

Epilogue

[A few hours later. The room has pretty much cleared out.]

The Good Reader:  You’ve thrown another winner, buddy!

The Blogger:  [sniffling]  It was awful.

The Good Reader:  Oh, come off of yourself. You have the worst attitude. I think they all liked it. It was fun!

The Blogger:  It was an unmitigated disaster. I throw the worst parties.

The Good Reader:  What! You’re a weenie. Buck up. Everyone had a great time. [a glint in her eye]  Especially Your Mom. My goodness, i don’t think i’ve ever heard anyone say the word ‘flockbinker’ that many times in a single setting! She was great.

The Blogger:  [gazes, glumly, a man bereft of hope, off into deepest space]

 

All Flibertysquibs Are Treacleandjam: Or, Just a Different Batch of Nonsense

 

Abstract:  In which the Blogger is confronted with a taste of his own linguistic medicine, and the Good Reader teams up with a mysterious “Anti-Blogger” and two anonymous young ladies you may recall from days of yore, to dismantle a long-established literary tradition.


 

The Anti-Blogger is an archetypal sort of fella. He’s sort of like, “The Blogger,” only different. He’s like, you know, the opposite. When The Blogger says “left,” the Anti-Blogger says “right.” When The Blogger says “plain,” the Anti-Blogger says, “peanut.” When The Blogger says “capitalism,” the Anti-Blogger says “the dictatorship of the proletariat.” When The Blogger says “Which way to the Men’s room?” the Anti-Blogger says, “Dang, that was one very excellent burrito.” When The Blogger says, “Girl / I want / To be with you / All of the time / All day / And all of the night,” the Anti-Blogger says, “My little China girl / You shouldn’t mess with me / I’ll ruin everything you are.”

You get the idea.

In this post, we get a rare glimpse into the thinking of this extraordinary fellow, as he suddenly appears from nowhere and takes on The Blogger at a fundamentally philosophical level. And as dessert? We get to revisit the razor’s-edge thinking of Females #1 and #2, and as the cherry on top, even The Good Reader shows up! It’s a party, man.

 

The Blogger:  All flockbinkers are treadknicious.

The Anti-Blogger:  All flibertysquibs are treacleandjam.

The Blogger:  Wait. What?

The Anti-Blogger:  I said, “All flibertysquibs are treacl….”

The Blogger:  Right, right. But that doesn’t mean anything!

The Anti-Blogger:  It means as much as “all flockbinkers are treadknicious,” or whatever it is that you’ve been saying.

The Blogger:  It most certainly does not! “Flockbinker” is a real word, and “liberty-squabs” absolutely isn’t!

The Anti-Blogger:  Flibertysquibs is as real a word as flockbinkers. They’re both nonsense.

The Blogger:  Are not!

The Anti-Blogger:  Are so.

The Blogger:  Are not!

The Anti-Blogger:  Are so!

The Blogger:  Look, there’s a solid literary tradition undergirding my use of the term “flockbinkers.” And you just now made up the word “flaherty-drabs.”

The Anti-Blogger:  Flibertysquibs. And a few random blog posts by a single eccentric sitting in front of the computer in his jammies does not constitute an established literary tradition.

The Blogger:  It does! Oh, wait.

The Anti-Blogger:  [smiling]  See here, you’ve got a real problem. You just can’t make claims for one set of nonsensical words, and then try to block those very same claims from being made of other nonsensical words. It’s as if you’re tying to establish a hierarchy of nonsense.

The Blogger:  If there’s never been a record album with that name, someone better snatch it up soon.

The Anti-Blogger:  Hmmm?

The Blogger:  “A Hierarchy of Nonsense.” Shoot man, i’d buy it. I don’t care what the music sounds like.

The Anti-Blogger:  Very cool. But now, back to our topic. What is it about the word “wamwam” that makes you want to treat it seriously as a philosophical term, while at the same time rejecting “treacleandjam”?

The Blogger:  Why, because it IS a legitimate philosophical term! And the other one’s just a succession of sounds that you made up to make my position look ridiculous.

The Anti-Blogger:  I don’t think your position needs much help to look ridiculous, but i’m delighted to do what i can.

The Blogger:  Mmmmmm.

The Anti-Blogger:  Tell ya what. Why don’t you explain, right now, what it is about the term “wamwam”–which, if i’m not mistaken, can’t be found in the dictionary–that makes it a legitimate philosophical term.

The Blogger:  Delighted to! Well, first off–  [pauses, deeply immersed in thought]

The Anti-Blogger:  Mmmmm?

The Blogger:  Sorry. Just assembling my case.

The Anti-Blogger:  Fine. Carry on, my good man.

The Blogger:  Okay. So, the question is, how is the word ‘wamwam’ a real term, whereas the stupid nonsense you’ve been saying isn’t?

The Anti-Blogger:  Something like that.

The Blogger:  Why, it’s simple. It’s because you just now made those terms up in order to make me look like a buffoon.

The Anti-Blogger:  Well, once again, i’m glad to help nature take its course, if any help is necessary. But my having made those terms up just now is no different from your having made your terms up a few years ago.

[The Good Reader walks up, interested in the discussion.]

The Blogger:  [To the Anti-Blogger]  Look. Flockbinkers are not the same thing as flibertysquibs, and the state of being ‘treadknicious’ is not the same as being ‘treacleandjam’.

The Good Reader:  Why not? None of it means anything.

The Blogger:  [infinitely patient sigh]  Saying that these are ‘undefined terms’ is not the same thing as saying that they don’t mean anything.

The Good Reader:  Sure it is. It’s all a bunch of nonsense. You just like making funny sounds — and building a blog around it. If 2-year-olds had a blog, they would be doing the same thing.

The Blogger:  They would not!

The Good Reader:  Would so.

The Blogger:  Would not!

The Good Reader:  Would so.

The Blogger:  [sigh]  Look here. It seems to me that we’re dancing around the main issue, which is….

[It is at this point that the little gathering is joined by two young ladies who were, um, anonymously featured in an earlier post to this blog a couple of years back]

Female #2:  Howdy!

Female #1:  How’s it going.

The Blogger:  Um, howdy there. I haven’t seen you two in a long while!

Female #2:  No indeed! We have been otherwise occupied.

Female #1:  Developing categories by which to better understand horses.

Female #2:  So. Okay. I have a question. Is it possible to misspell “frockdrinkers”? After all, it’s not in the dictionary.

Female #1:  And does it matter how you pronounce it? I’d kind of like to pronounce it “flockber,” which is shorter and easier to say.

The Blogger:  But that’s not how it’s pronounced….

Female #1:  Ah ah ah, but it’s not in the dictionary, so how is it that i can’t pronounce it however i want to?

Female #2:  And i’d like to spell it “fwump,” which is considerably shorter and much less trouble than “frodpickers.”

The Good Reader:  Oooohh. Such good points they seem to be making!

The Blogger:  Oh, stop. Look guys, you can’t just randomly make up spellings and pronunciations for words! The universe would descend into utter chaos!

Female #2:  Chaos and abaddon, with darkness upon the face of the deep, and spiritual wickedness in the heavenly places!

Female #1:  And all kinds of terrible stuff going on.

The Blogger:  Um, uh, yes, precisely. So no. No: you can’t just randomly make up spellings and pronunciations for words, just sorta out of your noggin.

Female #2:  Words… that you’ve randomly made up.

Female #1:  Right out of your noggin.

The Blogger:  Well, no, um. I mean…um. Oh, poo.

The Anti-Blogger:  I’m afraid they’ve scored one on you.

The Good Reader:  As in: Ga-ZING. Pow. Whack.

Female #1:  I feel like we’ve maybe gotten him back for that “horse people” thing a couple of years back?

Female #2:  Hey! I thought he made some very good points in the horse people discussion.

Female #1:  What? He just kept including random stuff and confusing the issue. But what am i saying? You were just as bad!

Female #2:  Hrmmff. You only think that because you’re a horse people yourself. I thought he performed brilliantly.

[Females #1 and #2 withdraw, still arguing the merits of the various horse-people models. The Anti-Blogger has, meanwhile, somehow dissolved into the aether, leaving The Good Reader standing alone with The Blogger.]

The Good Reader:  Ahh! This sort of conflict is good sometimes, y’know? It sort of clears the nasal passages and whatnot.

The Blogger:  If you say so.

 

 

The Parable of Buridan’s Ass; and, in Other News, There’s Apparently a Delinquent Ruffian Named “Skeeter.”

 

Abstract:  In which the Blogger takes on the timeless parable of ‘Buridan’s Ass’… with some helpful contributing material from Buridan himself, as well as from his ass, by which of course we mean his donkey, heh heh…as well as a few contributions from a delinquent ruffian named, and i am not kidding you, Skeeter.

 


 

This post is about insoluble dilemmas. Well, i mean. Okay. Yes. It is. Never mind. [sigh]

On Facebook, one of my friends–Marcy–which rhymes with ‘parsee,’ as in, ‘a member of a certain south Asian priestly class,’ hardly a coincidence–posted a challenge on her page, to the effect that her readers were to grab the nearest book, find page 56, read the 5th complete sentence on that page, and post it.

Here is what i came up with.

“His words leapt forth in explosive pulses, not entirely unlike the bursting of an egg that has been hurled against a red brick schoolhouse wall by an incorrigible young ruffian named either ‘Charlie’ or ‘Freeman’, or ‘the Biff-ster’, or ‘Your Mom’ or even ‘Sir Your Mom,’ or perhaps ‘Skeeter’.”

My friend’s Facebook challenge was a bit more problematic, in my case, than it may have been for some of her other readers. As i sit here at my computer desk i am literally sur-ROUN-ded by books, and in attempting to select among them, i found myself confronted with the same sort of dilemma Buridan’s Ass was faced with. You might well reply that Buridan just needed to get his Ass in gear, which might have been a workable solution had the hapless animal been of a mechanical sort, some sort of motor vehicle that just happened to have the term ‘ass’ in its name, for instance, the fuel-injected ASS-495, but regrettably, the donkey was an actual flesh-and-blood critter whose inability to choose between the two bales of hay located equidistant from him resulted in the unhappy animal’s demise.

Oh dear. It occurs to me that before we continue i’m afraid i’ll need to school the good reader in a bit of Medieval Philosophy.

The Good Reader:  This post has already descended into almost pure chaos. I have no idea what’s going on.

The Blogger:  Well, for the aficionado of philosophical thought, i’m certain my material has presented no difficulties.

A Randomly Selected Aficionado of Philosophical Thought:  An absolute pile of incoherent hash from beginning to end, my good man. No sense in it whatsoever.

The Good Reader:  [grins to herself, says nothing]

The Blogger:  Oh poo, we’re just wasting time here. Back to the topic. Um, whatever that is. We were talking about…Buridan’s Ass.

You are perhaps familiar with the parable of Buridan’s Ass from your studies in Medieval Philosophy. But if not, here’s the Cliff’s Notes version.

Our protagonist, in the present instance, is a man named John Buridan (c. 1299 – c. 1360), one of the key philosophers of the late middle ages. Mr. Buridan was noteworthy for his work in epistemology and impetus theory, but what he is perhaps chiefly remembered for among today’s students of philosophy is his parable of “Buridan’s Ass.” In this little story, a hungry donkey ambles into a hayfield and finds himself, inexplicably, evenly placed between two equally delicious-looking bales of hay. Poor hapless donkey! What is he to do? For each bale is as tasty-looking as the other, and each is equally far from him, so he is left with zero basis on which to make a decision in favor of one or the other. The poor donkey, logical to the last, languishes between the two haybales until he dies of starvation.

But here’s the question: Was Buridan himself responsible for the parable of Buridan’s Ass? Nearly overwhelming evidence seems to suggest that the parable was developed by one of his detractors. Nevertheless, it remains to this day the one thing he is *sigh* best remembered for.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Ahem. Here’s the point in our narrative at which i find i must sheepishly confess to having made up the quotation, above identified as having been taken from page 56 of one of the books that surround my desk.

Since i could not choose from among the grousands* of books among which i am ensconsed here in my man-cave, no one of which is measurably closer to me than any other, i have elected to generate a sentence which, i am reasonably sure, MUST be featured on page 56 of at least ONE of these books. Consider, by way of comparison, the story of the grousands of monkeys iconically working away on grousands of typewriters, and the likelihood that one of them will come up with Hamlet.

But we have wandered afield of the point.

Skeeter the Delinquent Ruffian:  But iff’n it weren’t no real quotation, then you done lied to yer trusting readership.

The Blogger:  Wha- Huh? Who the stink are you?

Skeeter the Delinquent Ruffian:  I’m Skeeter. I was listenin’ and it sounded interestin’. So i done came over and inserted myself-like in the proceedins.

The Blogger:  Oh. Um, how did you even get into my house?

Skeeter the Delinquent Ruffian:  I grokked my way in. It weren’t hard.

The Blogger:  Oooooo-kay.

Skeeter the Delinquent Ruffian:  So do ya have a book that says that thing about Charlie or Skeeter–that’s my name, Skeeter–or don’t ye?

The Blogger:  Um. No. I don’t think so.

Skeeter the Delinquent Ruffian:  But you said ya did. In my book, heh heh, get it, ‘book,’ that means yer lyin’ to yer trustin’ readership.

Buridan’s Ass:  But if he’s simply using the quotation as a kind of placeholder in order to make his point, does it really matter whether the quotation is a real one or not?

Skeeter the Delinquent Ruffian:  Well, seems to me it does. Fella’s gotta mean what he says and say what he means, is how i was raised.

The Blogger:  Um. Waittasecond. Who in the name of all that’s biological are YOU?

Buridan’s Ass:  I’m Buridan’s Ass.

John Buridan:  And i’m Buridan! It’s a pleasure!  [shakes hands all ’round, as hearty a fellow as ever broke biscuit or went for a ride on a rickety snowmobile]

John Buridan. At your service.

The Blogger: But…how did you guys even get in here?

John Buridan:  Well, your young friend here left the door hanging open when he grokked his way in.

The Blogger:  But that doesn’t… i don’t even… what in the….

Buridan’s Ass:  You’re focusing on an unimportant side issue. The question before us is twofold: (1) whether the ass will eat of the hay on one side of him or the other, and (2) whether this is even the sort of question that can be resolved.

The Blogger:  Those aren’t the questions i’m wanting to explore in this post.

Skeeter the Delinquent Ruffian:  But it seems to me, fellas, that if you got a ass–heh heh, i just said ‘ass’–

Buridan’s Ass:  [rolls his eyes]

Skeeter the Delinquent Ruffian:  –like i said, iff’n you got a ass–heh heh–that’s plopped right down between two equally spaced bales of hay–well, y’know, on my pappy’s farm–

Buridan’s Ass:  Yada yada yada. I’m the ass here; seems like i’d be allowed a crack at the question of what an ass would do.

John Buridan:  The ass makes a fair point.  [pauses significantly]  Heh heh, i said ‘ass.’

Buridan’s Ass:  [rolls his eyes]

Skeeter the Delinquent Ruffian:  Well, all i’m a-sayin’ is–

Buridan’s Ass:  Silence, child! I shall now address the question at hand.

[All present direct their attention to the ass, who holds forth from the top of a conveniently placed hay bale]

If i were confronted with two bales of hay, each one looking equally tasty and nutritious, and each located precisely the same distance from me, i’d just arbitrarily pick one and go at it. The idea that i would stand there and starve to death is insulting.

John Buridan:  Well, i mean.

Buridan’s Ass:  No, c’mon, seriously. I get your need to illustrate a logical principle. Sure. Okay. I just resent your oh-so-easy reliance on a negative stereotype about asses. We may be stubborn, but we’re not stupid.

John Buridan:  Don’t blame me for the goofy analogy. I’m not even the one who came up with it. Some shmoe with a low opinion of my work did.

Skeeter the Delinquent Ruffian:  I dunno, man, the ones on my pappy’s farm is so dumb you could thow a rock at ’em and not do no damage.

Buridan’s Ass:  That…didn’t make any sense.

John Buridan:  [laughs heartily, claps his hands]

The Blogger:  But if you’re going to tell a parable, it obviously isn’t going to apply across-the-board in all instances. The point of a parable is to illustrate a specific point. I don’t think the story is intended to confirm anyone’s stereotypes about the stupidity of asses.

Buridan’s Ass:  The story could have been about an ocelot.

John Buridan:  What? I don’t even know what that is.

Buridan’s Ass:  Or a weasel. My point is, there’s no reason to select an animal that already is enmired in a struggle against people’s deeply held prejudices.

The Blogger:  I think you may be going a bit deep with the cast of characters in the story.

Skeeter the Delinquent Ruffian:  Well my only point is, when you got a ass–heh heh–and it’s tryin’ to eat a bale o’ hay, you don’t wanna put no distractions in its way.

John Buridan:  Once again, child, that was a completely strange sort of thing to say.

 

Epilogue

The Blogger:  Well! That one went all over the place, didn’t it.

The Good Reader:  Your blog occasionally never ceases to amaze.

The Blogger:  You have to admit, i actually ventured into the field of real philosophical investigation this time.

The Good Reader:  As opposed to…?

The Blogger:  Oh, well, you know. Um. Attempting to identify the salient features of a flockbinker.

The Good Reader:  Ah. Yes. Well, you sort of did, didn’t you.

The Blogger:  Sort of?! I totally did! Axiology, logic, talking asses…it’s all there.

The Good Reader:  Well, you didn’t really address the issue that you set out to address. You started out surrounded by a bunch of books and trying to figure out how to pick one. Then you went off onto asses and hay. You never did get back to your original point.

The Blogger:  Well, maybe the original point was about the difficulty of making decisions?

The Good Reader:  Okay. I remain unsatisfied. I want to know what to do when i’m surrounded by books.

The Blogger:  Ah! A delightful dilemma to find oneself in, wouldn’t you say?

[The Blogger and The Good Reader heave a contented sigh together]

 

*A note on weights, measures, and quantities:  The term ‘grousands’ denotes an amount somewhat less than ‘grillions’ but vastly more numerous than, say, ‘a bunch’ or ‘a whole lot’ or even ‘lots and lots.’

 

Baby, It’s Treadknicious Outside

Abstract:  Oh my, but it’s been a long time. Should it be any surprise, then, that in this episode–basically–everything happens, everybody (basically) says everything, and Elvis Wu is (um, basically) revealed to be pregnant?

(Okay, not really that last bit. Just kiddin’ around wid ya.)

 


 

Okay, fellers. Let’s just come out and say it. This has tended to be a terrible blog in the matter of posting instability: what i mean is, we’ll jump in vigorously for a few weeks, then drop out for a few months. Lather, rinse, repeat. As of today, it has been…umm… [counting on fingers]… oh dear, it’s been precisely one year–to the very day!–since our last post. Ouch! Sorry there, old fellows.

Today’s post, then, will have to involve a bit of catching up.

The Good Reader:  Oh dear. What might “catching up” happen to mean?

The Blogger:  The Good Reader! Well, howdy there. I’ve not seen you in a while.

The Good Reader:  Well, duh–you’ve not seen me since the last of those blog posts that you wrote, i being apparently (according to YOU) a figment of your creative impulse. [makes grumbling sounds]

The Blogger:  Jeepers, Reader, i’m not sure i’d want to put it exactly like that… um… umm… uhh… well… oh golly… as a matter of fact, that was an excellent way of putting it. Let’s not dance around the issue. You have delineated the art of war. You have nailed the head on the donkey. You have committed the perfect storm.

The Good Reader:  [Goes somewhat cross-eyed for a moment, then decides not to pursue the material about donkeys and perfect storms. You have to choose your battles.]  Anyway, what might “catching up” happen to mean? It’s basically a random blog. You blog about whatever philosophical or quasi-philosophical or pseudo-philosophical topics you happen to have on your brain at the moment.

The Blogger:  Unfair, unfair! And also unanswerable, unless we’re prepared to devote a whole blog post to that obvious untruth, which we at present are not. So here’s what i mean by “catching up.” The last few posts to the blog involved…

…an oddball Christmas event in which The Good Reader, Little Biffy, Jennifer Smith, Elvis Wu, and i enjoyed the benefits of a Christmas fireside while analyzing terms associated with the holiday season,

…a scintillating introduction to The Photographer, who turned out to be quite the astonishing gal,

…a horrific invasion of Tribbles, accompanied by an equally horrific invasion by Mister Spock, Mister Sulu, and Captain Kirk,

…a delightful–simply delightful!–analysis of the concept of extreme sports,

…a delightful–simply–um–well–never mind–in-depth discussion of marketing strategies,

…a whole freaking bunch of people going into a freaking bar, a species of behavior which we at All Flockbinkers can hardly condone–and it’s a shame, really, that this sort of thing is even finding its way into the blog,

…an in-depth and strangely satisfying analysis of the concept of extreme sports,

…some further analysis–and there can never be too much, really–of that classic jape about the three Scotsmen sitting on a fence…

…yet another attempt, fruitless as usual, to figure out what flockbinkers are,

…and, of course, yet another fascinating look at our Reader Mail.

So what we need to do with this one, is figure out how to pick up where we left off.

The Good Reader:  There’s no need for that. I’ve hardly ever read something so random as this blog. Just write about something. It’s not like your four readers will notice. Personally, i think you should write about what a flockbinker is. You’ve been promising to do that for, what, several years now? Or maybe the treadkniciousness of tribbles. You completely failed to address that topic in the post that was supposed to be devoted to it. Or you could talk about whether tribbles would make good Christmas tree ornaments.

The Blogger:  Four readers? You must mean, of course, the four readers who have engaged the most substantially with the content of this blog…?

The Good Reader:  How did i KNOW that would be the only part of my statement that you’d pay attention to.

The Blogger:  …Because, seriously, i have WAY more than four readers.

The Good Reader:  Okay.

The Blogger:  Anyway, here’s my plan. Having briefly reviewed the material we covered in our last few posts, i think we’ll turn this one into a big Christmas party. You know, like the one we had last year?

The Good Reader:  Christmas is long over, dude. It’s May. May comes after Christmas.

The Blogger:  Well, i mean, it depends on what you mean by ‘Christmas.’ They’re apparently getting snow in the upper midwest. Can you believe that?

The Good Reader:  Oh, bother.

The Blogger:  ANYWAY, You can’t know if Christmas is going to be treadknicious, unless you first know what treadknicious means.

The Good Reader:  If you’re not just yanking me around–i mean, if you’re really about to deliver–then, wow, go for it! What DOES treadknicious mean?

The Blogger:  Well, that is to say, i… didn’t actually say i was gonna define it.

The Good Reader:  Mm-hmmm.

The Blogger:  I just said you can’t know if Christmas is going to be treadknicious.

The Good Reader:  Ah.

The Blogger:  But it may well be.

The Good Reader:  Mm-hmm.

The Blogger:  That’s all i’m saying.

The Good Reader:  Righto.

The Blogger:  So, um, anyway.

[They sit in contented silence for a moment.]

[And, just when you were tempted to think that we’d gotten to the end of this blog post…]

[Ah! Ho, ho!]

[Elvis Wu suddenly and quite unexpectedly joins in, having appeared as from the aether, from the vastness of cold space, from the undifferentiated void]

Elvis Wu:  A terribly treadknicious holiday to the both of you!

The Blogger:  Well, my stars and garters! If it isn’t Mister Elvis Wu!

Elvis Wu:  [bows humbly]  At your service.

The Blogger:  It’s really good of you to come. I imagine you have a grillion things on your schedule.

Elvis Wu:  Oh, i’m always down for an All Flockbinkers Are Treadknicious reunion.

The Good Reader:  But, no, just waittasecond. Where, Elvis, did you just come from?

Elvis Wu.:  Ah! From the Undifferentiated Void.

The Blogger:  Seriously?

The Good Reader:  No, goofball, he’s not being serious. Seriously! Where DID you just come from?

The Blogger:  Well, if it’s not Little Biffy and Jennifer Smith!

[The two of them enter as from a gathering haze, from the towering cloud of nothingness, from the blooming manifestation of the Outer Dark]

The Good Reader:  No.

The Blogger:  It’s good to see the two of you!

The Good Reader:  No. Just no. What in the world.

Jennifer Smith:  What? OMG! Where am i? What is this? Are we… what? I am so confused. Please. I cannot EVEN.

Little Biffy:  Mister Blogger!

The Blogger:  What up, Biffy! How’s it going, Jennifer.

Jennifer Smith:  I do not EVEN. What in… WHAT in the world.

The Blogger:  It’s our little reunion party! Since it’s been about a year since the blog has seen the light of day… if, um, that’s the sort of thing that blogs do… see the light of day, i mean… we’re having a bit of a soiree to celebrate!

[Jenn finds a convenient chair to sit in, contemplate the Deeper Things, and nurse her wounded sense of How Reality Works]

The Good Reader:  So i’m still confused. Are these people real, or fictional?

The Blogger:  Are you?

The Good Reader:  Am i what?

The Blogger:  Are you real, or fictional?

The Good Reader:  I’m real! Well, i mean, i’m as real as you are… whatever THAT means.

Biffy and Elvis:  Wassail!

Bertie Wooster:  I say!

Jennifer Smith:  Waittasecond. Who’s that?

Bertie Wooster:  Bertram Wilberforce Wooster, at your service, what?

Jennifer Smith:  Oh. My. Word.

…and wouldn’t you know it, we find ourselves in the continuation of last year’s Christmas party–with the somewhat inexplicable addition of Mr. Bertie Wooster–as if nothing has happened in the interim!

Elvis Wu:  [singing joyously]  Baby, it’s treadknicious outside!

Little Biffy:  I think it’s pretty darn treadknicious inside!

Jennifer Smith:  Wooh, talking about ‘treadknicious’-ness, i feel a pretty treadknicious headache coming on.

Bertie Wooster:  You know, Jeeves used to have the perfect potion for that sort of ailment. I wish i could tell you what the ingredients were.

The Good Reader3:  Reality, as we know it–or as we think we know it–is nought but the breath of a passing moment, the exhalation of the lonely hours.

The Good Reader:  Okay, that was not even me. I have no idea who that was.

And, as if in answer: “Wassail!” cry the assembled throng.

 

Epilogue:

The group disappears, as into a gauzy haze–or perhaps a hazy gauze–or maybe even a hazy, gauzy mist–and we are once again left with just The Blogger and The Good Reader.

The Good Reader:  I thought a throng was supposed to be a much larger group of people.

The Blogger:  What?

The Good Reader:  Well, if that was an assembled ‘throng,’ i’d have expected there to be, oh, i dunno, at least 20 people.

The Blogger:  Well, Good Reader, we could explore at some length what the term “throng” can be used to mean in a variety of contexts….

The Good Reader:  Let’s not, never mind.

The Blogger:  As you wish.

The Good Reader:  So, wait, i have an even more pressing question. Was all of that a dream sequence? And if so, whose dream? Yours or mine?

The Blogger:  Perhaps the good reader’s dream?

The Good Reader:  But i AM the Good Reader!

The Blogger:  Well, i didn’t capitalize it now, did i?

The Good Reader:  How should i know? I can’t tell what you’re capitalizing and what you’re not. This is conversation.

The Blogger:  Okay. I was referring to the meta-good reader.

The Good Reader:  The meta-good-reader?

The Blogger:  Sure. The embodiment of the blog’s readership, in general.

The Good Reader:  BUT THAT’S ME!

The Blogger:  Hmmm. Yes. Good point. Well, i can see that, once again, we need to distinguish between “The Good Reader” #1, #2, and #3.

The Good Reader:  Oh, bother.

 

 

The Trouble with Tribbles, Is That They’re Not Treadknicious

Abstract:  William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, and George Takei are brought in as expert witnesses to talk about the ontological status of tribbles; Shatner and Takei get into a tiff over who did or did not attend whose wedding; and Leonard Nimoy admits that the “Bilbo Baggins” song was not his finest moment.


 

One of the recurring themes addressed on this blog is ontology: it’s one of the major branches of philosophy, and involves the discussion of reality, identity, what things are, what kinds of things there are, how things are to be named, understood, categorized. We’ve talked about the ontological status of flockbinkers, unicorns, disgruntled postal workers. We’ve talked about the ontological status of wamwams, Your Mom, and a shopping spree at Whole Foods where you get away without spending more than $187.00. We’ve talked about the ontological status of Republicrats, Democricans, this blog’s readership, and Conan O’Brien’s haircut.

But you know one entity that has not been on the receiving end of our trenchant philosophical analysis?

Tribbles.

You know: tribbles. The little furry puffball things from Star Trek. Isn’t it high time we took the bull by the horns (as it were) and investigated the ontological status of tribbles? Of course it is. You know it is.

Indeed, it might be argued — with some degree of force — that “the trouble with tribbles” is that we don’t yet know whether they are treadknicious. In such a situation, it is often recommended that one appeal to established expertise. And who, i ask you, would know more about tribbles than the cast of the original Star Trek television series?

The Good Reader:  Their moms would.

The Blogger:  What?

The Good Reader:  If you want to know all about tribbles, you should ask their moms.

The Blogger:  You know what? You said something very similar when we were talking about flockbinkers a few years ago.

[Editor’s Note: Here is a transcript of that conversation.]

The Good Reader:  Well, good on me! I consistently say the thing that makes the most sense. If you want to know all about something, whether it’s a tribble, a flockbinker, a philosopher, or a unicorn, you just go ahead and ask its mom.

The Blogger:  But of course, the mother of a tribble would be a tribble as well, so all we’re doing is creating a hall of mirrors. A cute, furry, purring, ravenous hall of mirrors. Here’s the problem: both a tribble and its mother are representative types of a larger category, the very category that is under….

The Good Reader:  [placing her hands over her ears]  I can’t hear you, i can’t hear you, i can’t hear you.

The Blogger:  Well, i guess that puts that particular discussion to bed.

The Good Reader:  And by the way, don’t think i didn’t catch that bit about taking the bull by the horns. I did. I saw that. You might as well have said flockbinker. Take the flockbinker by the horns.

The Blogger:  [sigh]  I don’t believe you’re ever going to let go of that obsession you have, with whether flockbinkers have horns. We’ve been over this.

[Editor’s Note: And here is a transcript of THAT conversation… although, be warned, the question of whether The Good Reader is the same person as The Timid Reader is a somewhat complicated one.]

The Good Reader:  Yes, we have. And — as usual — you sidestepped and danced around the issue and refused to give a straight answer to the question. So i still don’t know whether flockbinkers have horns.

The Blogger:  Well, i fear the issue of the hornlessness or hornfulness of flockbinkers will have to wait until another day. Today, we have other fish to fry. Or, more accurately, tribbles.

The Good Reader:  We’re having fried tribbles?

The Blogger:  Hah! It might be more exact to say that we’re roasting tribbles. I’ve invited a panel of experts to come on the blog to discuss the ontology of tribbles, including the burning question of whether or not they are treadknicious. It’ll be like we’re having a celebrity tribble roast.

 

While waiting for the panel of experts to assemble, why don’t we assemble a summary statement on what tribbles are… you know, for the uninitiated… and of why someone might understandably wonder whether they are treadknicious?

Origin

Tribbles were first introduced in Season Two of Star Trek, at the very end of December, 1967, between Christmas and the New Year. That now-iconic episode was called The Trouble with Tribbles. The show’s creator, Gene Roddenberry, who was not excited about the episode — he thought it was too comical and it violated the sense of gravitas that he was wanting to foster in the series — figured that it would do less damage if buried in the middle of the holiday season when people would be likely to be watching other things. Hah!

Tribbles appeared subsequently in various episodes of other series that were part of the Star Trek canon, including Deep Space Nine (Episode: “Trials and Tribble-ations”) and Star Trek: Discovery (Episode: “Context Is for Kings”).

Physical description

Tribbles are small and round — spherical or slightly oblong. (A tribble can be held comfortably in the palm of one hand, or in two hands together.) They are covered in thick fur all around. Tribbles are basically headless guinea pigs with no legs and no teeth.

Feeding and Reproductive habits

Tribbles are omnivorous, although they prefer a vegetarian diet. Their ideal diet consists of whole grains, though under duress they will eat Rice Krispies treats, any breakfast cereals with the word “Cap’n” in the name, Ding Dong snack cakes, trail mix if it doesn’t have those yellow raisins in it, and, interestingly, the cheezy sausage balls that are such a hit at Christmas parties.

Okay, only the first part of that explanation was true.

Tribbles are hermaphroditic and are born pregnant. They reproduce at an alarming rate. A typical well-fed tribble will bear a litter of ten every twelve hours. If their exponential population growth is left unchecked, they can overwhelm an entire ecosystem. This, indeed, is The Trouble with Tribbles referenced in the Star Trek episode bearing the same name.

Suitability as pets

Tribbles are adorable, furry and cuddly, and they emit a soft cooing sound that is soothing to the human nervous system. They also multiply faster than Twitter accounts with the word ‘Stormy’ in the name. For this reason, it is recommended that only trained biologists keep them, and only under strict laboratory conditions.

Tribbles vs. Klingons

Klingons don’t like tribbles. Tribbles don’t like Klingons.

Whether tribbles are treadknicious

This really is the question, isn’t it? This is what it all comes down to. Hopefully, our panel of experts will be able to shed some light on this perplexing topic. And — what excellent timing! — here they come.

 

William Shatner:  Well, the talent has arrived. Where is the script, and when do i get paid?

George Takei:  [rolls his eyes]

The Blogger:  Actually, i’ve invited the three of you here to draw upon your years of experience with tribbles.

Leonard Nimoy:  If i have understood you correctly, the question on the table is: Whether, and in what sense, tribbles are treadknicious.

The Blogger:  That’s exactly right! Mr. Spock has once again applied his rational intellect and identified the crux of the matter.

Leonard Nimoy:  [rolls his eyes]

George Takei:  The question really seems to hinge, doesn’t it, on what we mean by the word ‘treadknicious’?

William Shatner:  Ooooohh. Mister Takei here appears to be quite the expert.

Leonard Nimoy:  Ah, but George does know a thing or two about tribbles. If memory serves, George, didn’t you have a centerpiece at your wedding reception made up of several hundred tribbles bundled together with baling wire?

William Shatner:  What? Is this true? A tribble centerpiece?

George Takei:  I did! It was all the talk. Of course, you’d know that if you had bothered to come to my wedding.

William Shatner:  Again with the wedding!  [Shatner turns and directs his attention to the reading audience]  This is his favorite theme. He never tires of harping on it. I have explained this at least seven hundred times, in numerous interviews: I never received an invitation to this man’s wedding.

George Takei:  Ah, the old “my invitation appears to have been lost in the mail” ploy.

William Shatner:  I barely even know this man. He was a supporting actor in a television show of which i was the star, a long time ago.

George Takei:  And several films.

William Shatner:  Right, the films, those too. And he can’t stop harping on whether or not i was at his wedding. Frankly, i don’t even remember. Maybe i was there. Who can remember such teency little details?

George Takei:  Believe me, you weren’t there. Your ego would have taken up all the available space in the reception hall.

Leonard Nimoy:  Gentlemen, as riveting as this discussion of George’s wedding guest list undeniably is, i think we’re losing sight of the main point of the discussion.

George Takei:  Tribbles.

William Shatner:  And whether there were any in attendance at George’s wedding.

George Takei:  All the tribbles that were invited to the wedding, actually showed up.

William Shatner:  Okay. That was clever. I’ll give you that.

Leonard Nimoy:  The point at issue, if i may refresh the screen for a moment, is this: Whether or not tribbles are treadknicious.

Confucius:  And, if they are, whether they are ‘treadknicious’ in the same sense in which flockbinkers are ‘treadknicious’.

Aristotle:  You took the words right out of my mouth.

The Buddha:  The way of silence leads toward clarity.

The Blogger:  Enough already! Too many extraneous characters crowding up this blog post. Confucius, Aristotle, Buddha, shoo! Off with you! You’ll all have other chances in future posts.

A Mysterious, Masked Bystander:  Woww.

The Blogger:  That includes you too, Owen. Sorry bud; we’ll feature you again soon. I think i hear Wes Anderson calling for you.

The Good Reader:  Golly! I’ve never seen you take control of your own blog like that before. That was pretty decisive, there. I must confess — i’m developing a new respect for whether you even know what you’re doing with this ‘blogging’ thing.

The Blogger:  [turning beet-red with pleasure]  Why, that may have been the closest thing to a compliment you’ve yet paid me! I can’t even think straight!

Leonard Nimoy:   [murmuring]  You’re worse than Shatner.

William Shatner:  I heard that. And you want to know who’s “worse than Shatner”? I’ll tell you who’s “worse than Shatner.”  [begins singing]  “Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins, the bravest little hobbit of them all!”

Leonard Nimoy:  I will freely confess that the “Bilbo Baggins” song was not my finest moment. Perhaps, though, under the present circumstances, i might be excused for bringing up a certain performance of “Rocket Man” that has become notorious throughout the internet?

The Blogger:  Okay, fellas, fun’s over, back to the point. Tribbles. The trouble with tribbles. What reasons have we for thinking that they might be treadknicious?

George Takei:  What does ‘treadknicious’ even mean?

Leonard Nimoy:  If i am not mistaken, The Blogger has left it as an intentionally undefined term, to be used as a placeholder in the construction of logical syllogisms.

William Shatner:  The trouble with tribbles is… perhaps that they’re topsy-turvy? Or that they twist and turn? Do they terrify toddlers? Maybe they’re terrifically telescopic. Maybe they’re tremendous and twisted.

George Takei:  Nimoy, what’s he doing?

Leonard Nimoy:  He appears to be listing off all the words he knows beginning with ‘t’.

William Shatner:  For your information, it might help us to explain whether tribbles are treycarnivorous. Or not.

[Nimoy and Takei roll their eyes in unison]

The Good Reader:  If i may pipe up in Mr. Shatner’s defense…? Putting together a list of things that begin with ‘t’ is probably as good a way to figure out what’s treadknicious as anything else. And Mr. Nimoy is right, too: The Blogger has NEVER defined the word ‘treadknicious’ on this blog. Not to my satisfaction.

William Shatner:  [glances appreciatively at The Good Reader]  The loyalty of my fans has always been deeply gratifying to me.

The Good Reader:  Well, i mean, i wouldn’t necessarily call myself a — um — one of your — well, as i come to think about it, i suppose i must have seen Star Wars at some point.

[All present — with the exception of The Good Reader — engage in one massive rollicking communal eye roll]

Leonard Nimoy:  It is undoubtedly amusing to make lists of words beginning with ‘t’ in the hope of gaining insight into what it means for a thing to be ‘treadknicious’. But…

[Nimoy hesitates, as if bracing himself for what he knows is coming next]

Everybody:  Say it, say it, say it, say it, say it, say it, say it.

Leonard Nimoy:  [sigh] …it is not logical.

The Blogger:  I was SO hoping you would say that at some point.

Leonard Nimoy:  Happy to oblige. It is every actor’s dream to be permanently ossified as a character he played on TV 50 years ago.

William Shatner:  Especially dead ones.

The Blogger:  What?

William Shatner:  Dead actors. Didn’t you know? Leonard Nimoy has gone on to his eternal reward. Frankly, i don’t know how you got him to participate in this little panel discussion. He’s deader than a doornail.

George Takei:  Yet he hasn’t lost his mojo. There are many among us who should do as well.

William Shatner:  Hey, i resemble that remark! Look, at least i have the virtue of being very much alive.

George Takei:  Expert opinion is divided on that point.

The Blogger:  [indicating “time out” with his hands]  So, fellas, fellas, are we any closer to determining whether tribbles are treadknicious?

William Shatner:  It’s a terribly tantalizing train of inTerrogation.

George Takei:  Please, just stop. I promise i’ll never bring up the wedding issue again.

 

Epilogue:  A word on the relationship between Takei and Shatner

A simple Google or YouTube search will unearth a gold mine of material dealing with the ongoing feud between William Shatner and George Takei, including the burning issue of whether Shatner was invited to, and subsequently chose not to attend, a certain public event in which Takei was one of the, er, main participants. Some of the language i have here placed in their mouths comes pretty close to being a literal transcript of statements the two of them have made in interviews.

Second Epilogue:  Leonard Nimoy’s immortal “Bilbo Baggins” song

You haven’t fully experienced the range of Leonard Nimoy’s talent if you’ve not heard, or seen the video for, his song The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins (1967). It will turn your world inside-out. For what it’s worth, Nimoy has also authored a number of books over the years, including several volumes of sentimental poetry with titles like Will I Think of You? and We Are All Children Searching for Love. I guess when your public reputation has been built on the character of an emotionless Vulcan, you may want to go out of your way to establish your street cred as a man of deep feeling.

Third Epilogue:  Shatner’s out-of-this-world rendition of “Rocket Man”

Nimoy had his “Ballad of Bilbo Baggins”… and Shatner had his “Rocket Man.” This performance of the classic Elton John / Bernie Taupin song Rocket Man is equal parts hilarious, cringe-worthy, and in a strange way, insanely cool. And i think it’s gonna be a long, long time ’til i can hear Elton John’s original version without thinking of William Shatner’s sendup of it.

 

 

There Are Two Kinds of People in the World. (It’s Not What You Think!)

No, it’s true. There are. There are two kinds of people in the world.

(You know it’s true. Come on. Seriously. Don’t even.)

And actually, while we’re talking about this, we must go on to observe that there are even more than that. There are at least seven billion kinds of people in the world, if you stop to think about it: one category for each individual human person.

But seven billion categories might be just a bit much for most of us to manage. Who can think about that many categories of people? Who’s got the time? Who’s that good at math? Seven billion? I have trouble remembering which cabinet i keep the Vienna Sausages in.

So it’s convenient to reduce all of those people down to just two categories.

And the two categories are:

1. The people with massive, grotesque tufts of fur poking out of their nostrils, and
2. The people who have at least one Led Zeppelin poster on their bedroom wall.

Those are the two categories of people in the world.

If those two categories don’t sound familiar to you, it may be because you aren’t very observant, or you’ve not done much heavy thinking about The Human Condition.

Or (and this is a possibility that, as philosophers, we must always be prepared to consider) it may be that something is wrong with the system of categories we’ve set forth.

Not that this last one is very likely — The Blogger wouldn’t have put something on his blog if it weren’t true — but we ought to explore it, y’know, just so as to be sure we’ve covered all the bases.

So: If there should happen to be something wrong with our two categories, what might that something be?


 

The Good Reader:  Where to start. I literally do not know where to start.

The Blogger:  An inauspicious beginning, The Good Reader! You’re going to have to do better than that.

The Good Reader:  [mumbles something that sounds as if it might be awfully un-ladylike, but we can’t tell for sure]

The Blogger:  What was that?

The Good Reader:  Wienerschnitzel.

The Blogger:  Excuse me?

The Good Reader:  I said “wienerschnitzel.” It’s an innocent enough word, but i find it convenient for blowing off steam.

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  If i may step in at this moment, i think The Good Reader should be commended for her display of self-control.

The Good Reader:  THANK YOU.

The Blogger:  What in the world are YOU doing here, Wu? I wasn’t expecting you to show up on this post!

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  Well, the topic was so interesting, i could hardly stay away!

The Good Reader:  And who is this courteous gentleman?

The Blogger:  What, you two haven’t met before?*  The Good Reader, this is Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major. Elvis, this is The Good Reader. She reads my blog and then dials in to deliver her (often tart) opinions.

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  The pleasure is entirely mine.

The Good Reader:  [blushing]

The Blogger:  So, Elvis, what makes you think this topic is so interesting?

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  Well, for one thing, it’s an area in which false dilemmas tend to thrive. And hunting down false dilemmas is one of my chief recreations.

The Good Reader:  What’s a false dilemma? The Blogger has probably tried to explain it to me at some point, but his explanations are murky and confusing.

The Blogger:  [reddening]  Well, now, i say, that’s just not —

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  A false dilemma is a situation where the person you’re talking to sets up two options as if they were the only two possibilities, and expects you to pick between them. Very often, they will make one of the options sound stupid or wrong, so that you will feel that you have to choose the other one. In reality, though, there may be other possibilities that have not been mentioned.

The Good Reader:  That makes sense! What’s an example?

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  Well, a great example would be the one that the Blogger led off with. He said that there are two categories of people in the world:

1. The people with massive, grotesque tufts of fur poking out of their nostrils, and
2. The people who have at least one led Zeppelin poster on their bedroom wall.

Now, it is entirely possible that those two categories do not cover the territory. There may be other kinds of people — many other kinds — and large numbers of people who do not fit into either of those groups. It’s a false dilemma.

The Good Reader:  Take me, for instance. I don’t particularly care about Led Zeppelin, and i don’t think i could even name one of their songs —

The Blogger:  [still bruised from The Good Reader’s comment a minute ago]  “Stairway to Heaven.” Everyone’s heard of that.

The Good Reader:  Okay, fine, but i certainly don’t have any Led Zeppelin posters on my walls. What are we, still in college?

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  Very good. And what about the other category?

The Good Reader:  Grotesque tufts of fur sticking out of my nostrils? I don’t THINK so. But you would be a better judge of that, from where you’re standing.

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  Not a bushy thicket of nose-hair anywhere to be seen.

The Blogger:  [sulking]  You two are interpreting my categories extremely literally.

The Good Reader:  Mister Wu, would you say that i have any figurative or metaphorical tufts of nose-hair?

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  Even in the realm of metaphor, i would say that you are blissfully nostril-hair-free. The fact is, those two categories are not even remotely parallel; they aren’t about the same kinds of things, and so they don’t divide the field of possibilities in any kind of sensible way. A person could, for instance, have a nose-hair problem and walls papered with Led Zeppelin posters. Or they could be in just one or the other of those categories, or, like most people, they could be in neither one.

The Blogger:  [rapidly losing patience]  We should maybe get back to the point, which is that there are numerous ways of dividing the human race up into two groups.

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  Absolutely! Perhaps an inexhaustible variety of ways. For instance, at a pretty basic level, there are (1) men and (2) women. There we have a set of two categories that divide the field pretty cleanly. Another scheme would be (1) people who are 5’6″ or taller, and (2) those who are shorter than that. Or (1) people who have traveled outside of their home country, and (2) those who have not. Or (1) people who are named “Taylor” and (2) those who are named something else.

The Blogger:  Or (1) the people who eat Corn Flakes at least three mornings a week, and (2) those who only eat them a couple of times per week.

The Good Reader:  What? That doesn’t sound right.

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  I suspect, although i cannot be sure, that the Blogger is messing with us. He is challenging our powers of logical analysis.

The Blogger:  [slightly disoriented]  Um, exactly. That’s just what i was doing.

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  What would you say, Good Reader, about the Blogger’s ‘Corn Flakes’ breakdown of people into two groups?

The Good Reader:  Well, i mean, it sounds like one of those false dilemmas you were talking about. I don’t think those two categories exhaust all the possibilities. What if someone never eats Corn Flakes at all? Or only a few times a year?

The Blogger:  Unthinkable!

The Good Reader:  How do those people fit into his categories? According to the Blogger’s setup, those people don’t even exist. But i have to say, i’ve only eaten Corn Flakes a few times in my life, and i don’t remember finding it a thrilling experience.

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  They taste kind of like little chips of soggy cardboard, don’t they.

The Good Reader:  That’s exactly what they remind me of!

The Blogger:  What.

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  In order to work properly, a categorization scheme needs to be complete; it can’t have gaps in it. We could say this, for instance: everyone on earth either (1) has tried Corn Flakes at some point, or (2) has not.

The Good Reader:  That seems to work. It doesn’t have any holes. It covers the territory, like you said earlier. Everyone in the world would have to fit into one of those two groups. No one would be left out.

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  If we imagine all the human beings inside a vast circle, and we want to structure them into two groups, it would be like drawing a line from one side of the circle to the other. Everyone in the circle would be on one side of the line or the other —  they would be in one category of the other.

The Good Reader:  Why don’t you guys come up with a bunch more examples. Just for yuks. I think i’m getting the hang of this.

The Blogger:  Okay. Everyone on earth is either (1) a Patriots fan, or…

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  Don’t say it.

The Good Reader:  What?

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  [to The Good Reader]  He was going to say, “An Eagles fan.” But lots of people didn’t have a dog in that fight, as it were. Not everyone watches the Super Bowl, and not everyone cares who wins, and even of those who did watch this past Super Bowl, not everyone who was pulling for either the Patriots or the Eagles would have said that that was their favorite team. Maybe their favorite team didn’t make it to the Super Bowl, and they had to settle for a team they weren’t completely thrilled about.

The Good Reader:  So it would not be accurate to say that everyone is either a Patriots fan or an Eagles fan, but maybe you could say that everyone either (1) cares about football, or (2) doesn’t?

The Blogger:  Hrmmff. That would work.

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  It would indeed. You can always get away with saying that everyone either has a certain attribute, or they do not. That’s a clean, perfect division. For instance, everyone is either an accountant, or something else. Everyone either has smoked a cigar at some point, or they have not. To put it in somewhat Aristotelian terms, everyone is either ‘A’ or ‘not-A.’ They either have a certain characteristic, or they do not.

The Blogger:  Either they fit into a certain category, or they do not, in which case they fit into the category of people who do not fit into the first category.

The Good Reader:  Um.

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  [laughing]  That was actually a pretty good way of putting it. Take Fred, for instance.

The Good Reader:  Fred? Who’s Fred?

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  He’s some hypothetical guy that we just made up. Now, Fred is either a barber, or he is not. Right? He can’t be both a barber and not a barber. That’s a logical impossibility. You can’t be something and, at the same time, not be that thing. And he can’t be neither a barber nor not a barber. There are only two possibilities: either he’s a barber, or he ain’t.

The Good Reader:  He could be a part-time barber.

The Blogger:  Then he’s a barber.

The Good Reader:  He… could be a guy who was once a barber, but now he works for the Parks and Recreation Department.

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  Then he’s not a barber.

The Good Reader:  He could be a barber sometimes, and not a barber sometimes.

The Blogger:  Then he’s a barber. Unless you’re saying that he fades in and out of existence. He’s a barber sometimes, and at other times he gets sucked into the insubstantial ether of the vast cosmic void.

The Good Reader:  Um, no.

The Blogger:  Good. Because that would complicate things somewhat. He’s a barber.

The Good Reader:  Hmmm. Okay. what are some other examples?

The Blogger:  Everyone either makes $40,000 or more dollars, or they make less than that.

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  Everyone either thinks that Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here was the greatest album of the 1970s, or they do not.

The Blogger:  Everyone either has an authentic Wish You Were Here concert tour shirt, or they do not.

The Good Reader:  Wait. That first category has got to be a tiny one. Is that fair? What if one category is WAAAAYYY bigger than the other? Is that a good way of dividing the human race up into groups?

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  There’s no rule that says the two groups have to be equal in size. We could say, for instance, “There are two groups of people in the world: (1) those who are currently the Prime Minister of Great Britain, and (2) those who are not.”

The Good Reader:  But there would only be one person in that first group. And like seven billion in the other group!

The Blogger:  Mmm-hmm.

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  That’s the point. It’s still a perfectly valid way of divvying up the human race.

The Good Reader:  Okay. Whew! A few more examples, and then i’m out.

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  The people who have read David Copperfield, by Charles Dickens, and those who have not.

The Blogger:  The people who live in a certain remote village in Botswana, Africa, and the people who live somewhere else.

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  The people who have ever, at some time, even once, been picked first for a team in gym class… and those who never have.

[All three look kind of sad, and the conversation continues.]

The Blogger:  The people who have tried that broccoli slaw they’ve got at the deli counter at The Fresh Market, and those who haven’t.

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  The people who own a pet that can talk and weighs less than ten pounds, and those who do not.

The Blogger:  The people who have ever gone trick-or-treating dressed as Conan O’Brien’s haircut, and those who never have.

The Good Reader:  You mean, dressed as Conan O’Brien, complete with the haircut?

The Blogger:  No, i mean they are going as Conan O’Brien’s haircut. The haircut, specifically. “And what’s your costume?” someone might ask them, and they would reply, “I’m Conan O’Brien’s haircut.”

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  The people who have watched that episode of House, M.D. in which Dr. House has himself admitted to a psychiatric hospital, and those who somehow missed that one.

The Blogger:  Man, that was a hard-hitting episode.

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  Yeah, it really caught me right here.  [He indicates the middle of his chest.]

The Blogger:  The people who have something hanging from their rear-view mirror, and those who do not.

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  Ah, but that’s assuming that everyone has a car.

The Blogger:  No, the people who don’t have a car go in the category of people who don’t have something hanging from their rear-view mirror.

Elvis Wu, the Last Philosophy Major:  Touche! Nice one. Good game.

 

* Actually, if you’ve been following the blog, you’re aware that Elvis Wu and The Good Reader have met before, once, at a Christmas party the Blogger threw for some of the people he populates his blog with. But you know how these fictional online characters can be: selective amnesia, not very good with faces and names, that sort of thing.

 

In Which the Blogger Learns that a Photographer Is Not the Same Thing as “Being Stupid.”

Let’s just be honest. Odd things happen, from time to time, on this blog.

The Good Reader:  Odd things happen routinely on this blog. In fact, i think it’s safe to say that if something is found on this blog, it is by definition an odd thing.

The Blogger:  [being all sly and stuff]  Ah! But, The Good Reader, YOU are a regular on this blog.

The Good Reader:  Hrrmmmff.  [disappears in a puff of virtual smoke]

As we were observing a moment ago, it is not unusual for unusual things to happen on this blog. Usually. This means that, as a reader of this blog, you must not be surprised no matter WHAT happens. Indeed, the good reader will quickly discern…

Waittasecond, who are you? YOU’RE not The Good Reader!

The Photographer:  I don’t know what you mean. I’m an excellent reader!

The Blogger:  That’s not what i meant. You see —

The Photographer:  I read all the time. I’ve even been reading your blog lately.

The Blogger:  That’s terrific! But what i —

The Photographer:  I don’t have any trouble reading, and i’m mildly insulted that you would imply that i can’t read.

The Blogger:  That’s not what i meant at all! I simply —

The Photographer:  I’ve been doing all of my own reading since i was 26.

The Blogger:  There’s no doubt of that.

The Photographer:  I intended that as a joke. Of course i could read when i was 26. Geez.

The Blogger:  Right. Um. So, okay, here’s what i’m trying to say. The expression ‘The Good Reader’ as used on this blog is how i characterize my readership in general, and sometimes, ahem, one of my regulars in particular.

The Photographer:  Ah! I get it. And i’m not him.

The Blogger:  Her. At least, i think it’s a her. When it comes to the readers of this blog, you can never be 100% sure what you’re dealing with.

The Photographer:  If it helps, i’m a her as well.

The Blogger:  Excellent! And i can see from the script we’re both embedded in, that you’re a photographer.

The Photographer:  What?

The Blogger:  A photographer. Someone who takes pictures.

The Photographer:  I know what a photographer is. I meant, what script are you talking about?

The Blogger:  The script that we’re both embedded in.

The Photographer:  The script that we’re both embedded in…

The Blogger:  The very one.

The Photographer:  Either you’re attempting to be poetic, or your doctor probably needs to change the dosage.

The Blogger:  Heh heh. That was clever. Tell you what: this little discussion of the script is throwing us off the point. Maybe we should leave that to one side for now.

The Photographer:  No argument from me.

The Blogger:  So, Photographer, what brings you to my little blog?

The Photographer:  I thought it looked really interesting. Philosophy and flockbinkers and unicorns and strange conversations and funny quizzes: it’s my kind of entertainment.

The Blogger:  Wow, that’s great! And you’ve been able to keep up?

The Photographer:  Able… huh? Able to keep up?

The Blogger:  You know. You’ve been able to track with us. You’ve understood everything. You haven’t felt left behind.

The Photographer:  I’m a photographer. That’s not the same thing as being stupid.

The Blogger:  Oops. Right. Heh heh. Of course.

The Photographer:  And i’m also an artist. I create abstract images using photographs as raw material.

The Blogger:  That sounds impressive! I imagine that sort of thing must require a certain kind of intelligence.

The Photographer:  Oh my gosh, did you just patronize me in the most appalling way imaginable?

The Good Reader:  Don’t feel too bad. He does that kind of thing to me all the time. All. The. Time.

The Photographer:  Really? And you put up with it?

The Good Reader:  Not exactly. He’s got some battle-wounds. Ask him about it.

The Photographer:  You go, girl! Well, anyway, here’s what my work requires of me, and you, Blogger, can decide whether you think it involves ‘intelligence.’

The Blogger:  Fair enough. Lay it on me.

The Photographer:  I select one or more photographs, not just for content but for texture, line and color, and i create a geometric matrix within which the visual field is structured using the elements of the photo as source material, analyzing the raw content in terms of not just line, color, texture and subject-matter, but also positive and negative spaces, patterns of energy and movement, reconstructed form, and i shape all of that into re-visioned aesthetic structures while trying to, at some level, respect the integrity of the source material.

The Blogger:  . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The Photographer:  Which, i suppose, makes me a kind of visual philosopher. Maybe.

The Blogger:  [recovering composure]  Jeepers.

The Photographer:  Well, you did want to hear about what i do.

The Blogger:  Yes. Yes, i did, and i am impressed.

The Photographer:  Why thank you.

The Blogger:  I must say, these are uncharted waters, Photographer.

The Good Reader:  I like this one. I hope she sticks around.

The Blogger:  Me too!

The Photographer:  Me too! Oh, wait.

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