Reasons for Optimism

I'm not quite sure if I'm an optimist.

Those of you who were lucky enough to encounter me overseas probably got the impression that I insufferably so (perhaps "insufferably careless" might be a better description for that time period). Family and other intimates would probably emphasize my more critical elements, ahem, which seem to imply a constant belief that things are going to hell in a handbasket and it's my duty to vocalize that.

I'll take a middle ground. I'm a fault-finder, but I prefer to hope. Today, optimism abounds.

You may ask, why? An excellent question. In some part, it's the imminent prospect of seeing my name in print with remuneration involved (that is, if I the article I'm working on isn't complete crap). Another element certainly is the tall Boont Amber that accompanied lunch. But the main reason has to be opportunity.

My lunch compatriot reminded me of the potential that life offers. At times, I despair of finding a job or stumbling onto any real career track. Such concerns are flimsy and ridiculous, to say the least. But encounters like today generate a kind of deep-seated joy. The world is a fantastic place, swimming with opportunities for one to make a difference. Life, man. Just waiting to be lived. Onward.

P.S. Apple stock is also up more than two points, so I'd be stoked regardless.

Curious Word: Majeure

I can't recall where I exactly this word tripped me up, but it sure did send me sprawling. As it turns out, majeure is a word I ought to have known all along. For one thing, it's French. For another, it's not intended to be used solo (at least not typically).

Force majeure (French for "greater force") is a common clause in contracts which essentially frees one or both parties from liability or obligation when an extraordinary event or circumstance beyond the control of the parties, such as war, strike, riot, crime, act of God (e.g., flood, earthquake, volcano), prevents one or both parties from fulfilling their obligations under the contract. However, Force Majeure is not intended to excuse negligence or other malfeasance of a party, as where non-performance is caused by the usual and natural consequences of external forces (e.g., predicted rain stops an outdoor event), or where the intervening circumstances are specifically contemplated.

Ah, would that I could remember the context in which I encountered this phrase, for I would certainly return to it and set things right. As it is, I'll have to wait till I encounter it again in the wild.

BusTales: II

More tales from traveling on the bus.

The bus after-dark is a world of its own. That's not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, when the sun's down, the arrival of the bus seems like the approach of a bright-eyed snorting creature, waiting for you to crawl inside it before it tears off into the dark. Okay, that sounds odd, but it feels good to be ingested by the bus.

I guess it's not surprising, then, that people seem so intent on ingesting on the bus themselves. Such individuals overwhelmingly respond to my scent. Several nights ago, I faced a classic case. Perched in the back corner of the noisy people-mover, I was trying to keep my nose in a lil' Linoln-Douglas debate action, pretending to be a responsible student. As the bus stopped near Towne, a curious couple boarded and retreated to my area of the bus.

Two things marked this strange pair:
a) The woman could have eaten me for lunch, judging from her tragic size.
b) The man refused to take his hand out of his backpack.

Upon the woman's imminent departure I witnessed two acts that directly relate to the above two points.
a) The couple kissed, a process which involved a horrifying and necessarily calculated process of girth-shifting on the part of the poor, poor lady (necessary in order to keep her balance...while sitting mind you).
b) The man had a Mickey's in his backpack.

A well-dressed, talkative, and kindly fellow, he was also putting away malt liquor at a rate that would impress most college freshmen (they're too jaded by senior year). And I wasn't surprised.

Frankly, the back of the bus is where the sh** goes down and the bottle goes up. The BOB, as we call it, draws the functional alcoholics and casual drinkers alike. It also attracts me, but I tend to be dry (or be coming from a mega-pint at Heroes', in which case drinking on the bus is secondary to sleeping on the bus).

They brownbag it, backpack it or brazenly booze. But they drink, and they love to drink near me. One guy was even brazen enough to ask the driver to wait, while he ran his empty cans to a recycling can. I'm at the end of my rope. The only solution seems to be the classic adage: if you can't beat 'em, then drink in public, get arrested and join them in jail.

Right?

Books and the Platonic Soul

While I hope my tombstone doesn't resemble Royal's, I wouldn't mind so terribly if it mentioned a thing or two about being a bibliophile (presumably after such phrases as devoted husband, loving father, and all the important things). I'll be the first to admit it: I love collecting books almost as much as I enjoy reading them. In the case of classic works such as, say, Dicken's Bleak House, the order of preference is reversed, which is why I have three copies of the volume and have spent little scrutinizing it for anything other than the significance of Karl Popper's reference to Mrs. Jellyby in the Open Society and Its Enemies. But either way, me and books jive pretty well...especially if I don't have to read them, a demand that a class might make.

I've been troubled for some time now by a phenomenon that must plague every partisan of the printed page. One can collect books at about seventeen times the rate one can read them. With unlimited resources (as are occasionally available to me when drink and Amazon collide), the ratio grows even more dire. After a time, when one stops collecting books previously read and moves onto tomes that one's eyes have yet to examine internally, the question must arise...should I stop? That is, should I stop purchasing books at a much faster rate than I can read them?

Though this question has troubled me for quite some time, I can say, with complete confidence, it troubles me no more. The answer: no. The answerer? Plato.

Yes, indeed, Plato's quick sketch of the soul has liberated me from this concern.

As everyone knows (ahem), Plato divided the soul into three parts (okay he divided it a bit more than that, but three will do for now, thank you very much). Each portion of the soul has a love or desire. The philosophic part loves wisdom, the courageous portion honor, and the desirous or money-making loves gain. In short, the trick to happiness is making sure that each part minds its own business, which for Plato means that the reason-loving part gets to kick the crap out of every other part.

Ooookay. So, book loving...how does that fit in hear? Well, I ask you, what's the better way to satisfy the reason-loving part of your soul? Presumably, when you can't get in a good argument, to read a good book. And does not a sweet book collection make you the envy of your intellectual (read: worthwhile) friends? And doesn't the purchase of massive numbers of books sate that gain-loving beast that inhabits the depths of your soul?

Ah, yes, thank you Plato. With your aid, we would never have realized it's okay to buy lots of books and that the world should like The Giver.

Okay, come on all you smart*** philosophy types. Tell me how stupid this comparison is. I dare you. Plato's got my back.

Frosted Tips

Okay, let's be honest. The Notebooks of Robert Frost isn't (aren't?) a piece of cake. It's not bathroom literature, nor does one read it casually. You can't read it straight through, at least I can't, and large portions of it don't make the slightest sense if you're skipping around.

All that being said, I'm glad it's on my shelf generally, and, more recently, in my hands. First off, I'm a big fan of the introduction. Yes, it may sound silly, but without it, there wouldn't be any reason to pick up the notebooks. Given Frost's opaque and obscure writing, it would be largely unintelligible to the layman, and completely unintelligible to the average village idiot, myself possibly included. For instance,

As Frost puruses his meditation on 'gossip,' he makes casual reference to another ancient wise saying, ;Good fences make good neighbors.' This line in "Mending Wall" isusually quoted as Frost's invention, although in these notebooks he says otherwise. The poem's famour competeing maxim, 'Something there is that doesn't love a wall' is usually quoted without reference to the other line. Both those sayings play off of a remarkable proverb in an earlier poem, "The Tuft of Flowers": 'Men work together I tell him from the heart / Whether they work together or apart.'

That small passage illuminated a phrase often bandied about in today's debate about immigration and was part of a deeper discussion of Frost's epigrammatic style and nature. Extremely thought-provoking, both in its broad questions (What makes a writer epigrammatic, particularly since so many memorable and beloved poets and authors never acquired the skill?) and particular (Will I ever write an epigram? Will I ever write an epitaph? Will I have an epitaph? Will it be as boring as the epitaph gracing the grave of the first Lee, the Lee whose seventh generational descendant was the famous Robert E.?). We owe a debt of gratitude (about sixty-four cents or so) to Robert Faggen, who edited the notebooks and authored the intro.

The notebooks themselves, though, are fun to page through, intelligibility be damned.

My name is Christopher Columbus
I cant be moved by all this rumpus
Put up your knives and go below
We're members of the O.Hi.O.

Bob Frost. Inscrutable, but entertaining. More thoughts as they come to me while browsing through this beast of a book.