Slippery Sister
She struck out headstrong
in reaction to criticism
and warning
dug her blades
beneath the surface
with a purpose
and her kayak
floated away
from our resting place.
The going was smooth
for my sister
the socially acceptable sibling
who didn't criticize everyone
for anything
(at least to their faces),
and then it came time to turn around
and paddle back,
and the smoothness of motion
flipped.
She was upside-down
underwater in an instant
and in that instant
my warning of the boat's unsteadiness
made me think
"I told you so,"
while simultaneously I thought
"This is it,
she's going to die."
I could imagine her life
vest pressing her relentlessly
up into the bottom of the boat
while the splash skirt
held her legs cramped
against the blue plastic sides.
She wasn't strong enough
to say things outright
and I wasn't strong enough
to hold my tongue
and she wasn't strong enough to rip the cord
to free herself
but she was slippery
and skinny enough
to wiggle free
as it seemed she always did.
And as her face broke the surface
I wondered if she noticed
her own recklessness
how close she came to death
in my eyes
as the blue bottom of the kayak
floated empty
in the dark water.
Poem:
I'm getting into these poetry books. This one wasn't directly in the style of another author, but I really like the poem "You Can Have It" by Phillip Levine. The exercise associated with the section was about family as inspiration, and it asked me to describe a moment that epitomized a member in my family. So I tried.
Observation:
Yesterday's post reminded me of another example of a universal happy gesture: the high five. If you say something in an excited tone and follow it up with a high five, it completely circumvents any rational comprehension of what you just said. One instance in particular comes to mind. It was my junior year of high school, and the band had to play at the senior's graduation (as we did every year). This was a painful process, and not one any of us looked forward to. Then my grandmother died. I was to be out of town on the weekend of graduation, and when I told my friends, they were pretty jealous. I hadn't mentioned the reason for my absence. One of the ensuing conversations went like this:
Fellow student: I heard you're getting out of playing this weekend.
Me: Yeah! My grandma died so I don't have to play!
At this point I held my hand up for a high five, and was not disappointed. However, the look on the guy's face after he processed what I had said was pretty amusing. The pause and slow change in facial expression from a jealousy-tinged happiness to a slightly sad confusion made me laugh. Then he was sure I had been joking about my grandma dying, which made me laugh more. And then, since nobody could possibly be laughing so much about the death of a relative, he was sure I wasn't telling the truth. So I held up my hand for another high five. By the time he figured out my grandma was actually dead, he was one in quite a state.
Exercise:
"Orange Traffic Cone, etc"
Write a brief scene that incorporates the following: an orange traffic cone; a miniature cat; fried fish; velcro; Teddy Roosevelt; polkadots.
Harold was out on one of his expeditions. He wove his single speed courier bike (purchased second-hand at a rather eccentric man's garage sale) to the other side of an orange traffic cone, skirting the construction and putting him out of the busy traffic. The smell of fried fish wafted from a nearby restaurant's patio, the polkadots on the awning defying any attempt to criticize its menu. Harold pulled up to his destination, a local antiques store, and rang the bell at the glass-topped counter, momentarily distracted by the miniature porcelain cat peering up at him through the shining surface. The owner poked her head out of the back room long enough to ascertain his identity before shouting "be right out Harold!" and disappearing again. Sure enough, in a few seconds she had returned, a thin, stiff folder in her hands.
"Just as you requested. An authenticated letter signed by Teddy Roosevelt from his campaign trail. Should look good with the rest of your collection."
He nodded, undid the velcro on his shoulder bag, and gingerly took the document from her. He placed it inside the large binder contained within, and handed her his credit card.
Me:
I rode my bike outside two days in a row this week! Oh, the excitement. And the cold. Maybe that's what made it exciting. There's nothing quite like wondering whether you still have toes to spice up a bike ride. So anyway, riding was fun. It's nice to see that the hours (albeit fewer than probably advisable) I put in on the trainer haven't been completely in vain. My cadence is improved from last year (at least for now), and while the hills were a bit of a rude awakening after the monotonous landscape of my living room, it was nice to have some variation. And the company was infinitely better than the muted television. It's fun to have an activity the whole family can get into. And with my mom's history as a national record-holder, it's pretty a pretty inspiring crowd to be around, too. All in all, an enjoyable few days on the road.
January 28, 2011
January 27, 2011
In Which I Have Fun With Behavioral Analysis
Empty Chocolate Box
If life is like a box of chocolates
I can only assume it's meant to be devoured
rapidly, and wholeheartedly,
the pretty gold foil of childhood eagerly discarded
to get to the good stuff.
And when the first layer of goodness
is gone
you realize all too suddenly
you only have half left
and even though it's true
there's some marzipan in your past
and in your future,
waiting to take you by surprise
with its clash of soapy texture
and a hint of bitterness
you know it's going to be worth it
when you get to the richness of the truffles.
But those are for another time;
right now you're full of it all
and on the brink of sickness,
so you try to put back the layer of gold
even though it doesn't sit quite straight
and rattles around on top
of a cheap and empty plastic tray.
Poem:
Today's prompt was: pick an object and write a prose poem about it. Use any memories it may provoke and make comparisons in your description. The putting back of the gold top is supposed to represent a midlife crisis, but I'm not sure that comes through. I like extended metaphor, so I tried it out here. Let me know what you think!
Observation:
Today's observation was prompted by my bus driver. There was an amazingly large crowd of people waiting at the stop, and not all of them could fit on the bus. Knowing this sometimes happens, the bus company puts two buses on the route during busy times. So there's little chance of those people being left there, but they don't seem to know that. They all look aroundf confused as they come to the realization that there really isn't any way for them to cram themselves on. I'm already getting to know some people a little better than I was expecting while I was waiting next to them at the stop. So anyway, the bus driver lets almost everyone on the bus, and then the last two or three people are left on the curb as he pulls away. They look pretty sad, but to top it all off, he gives them a thumbs up.
Now, the fact that they found this reassuring amazed me. It seems there are some gestures out there that are so internalized, so universal, that they carry with them an inherent sense that everything is going well. I imagined the same situation, except without another bus on the way. I wonder how long that sense of reassurance would last. Would they turn to each other and say "No, it has to be okay. He gave us a thumbs up. No way this could turn out poorly." So the next time you want to get away with stranding someone somewhere, I guess just give them a thumbs up as you leave. The chances of them chasing after you are pretty slim. They'll probably stand wherever they are waiting for you to come back for quite some time. The thumbs-up, I have decided, is a pretty powerful gesture.
Exercise:
"The Ironic Fortune Cookie"
The fortune in the fortune cookie read: "Elegant surroundings will soon be yours." This turned out to be ironic. How so?
George pocketed his fortune and left the restaurant, eager to find out if it would prove to be accurate. "Elegant surroundings will soon be yours." He certainly hoped so. Of course, that's what the fortune-writing people expected of him. It's not like they'd put out fortunes about inelegant surroundings, or say that, while the elegant surroundings sure were spectacular this time of year, they just weren't in his future at the moment. But despite having this knowledge, he was optimistic. It was a typical midwestern winter, and the wind was whipping the snow into a moderate frenzy. The waves of white washing across the black of the road were pretty viewed from the warmth of his car. Always the practical driver, he kept an eye on the lights ahead. He noticed the next one turning yellow for the cross traffic, and, as usual (and slightly proud of himself), he didn't bother braking. Sure enough, it turned green just as he got to the intersection.
The man in the Dodge Charger, on the other hand, was much less cognizant of the light's duration. He skidded through the intersection, having only noticed the yellow light at the last minute, and as he slammed on the brakes, he met harshly with the side of George's Ford Focus. George had a brief flash of thought: "At least I know the hospital will have some elegance to it." The paramedics that arrived on the scene a while later had the man from the Charger immobilized and were optimistic that the damage to his neck would respond well to treatment. And George was buried in one of the most elegant graves in the nearby cemetery.
Me:
Throughout my life people have told me to think before opening my mouth. Recently I have decided this has never been my problem. The problem is what I think about before opening my mouth. See, I'm not thinking about whether or not I should open it. That's taken as a given. The thought process is more of an anticipation game. So rather than "what are the advantages and disadvantages of opening my mouth in this particular situation," I'm thinking "So when I say such-and-such, it's likely it will provoke a certain reaction, so I should have a response ready for that, but if they react this other way, I should be able to say something else." I guess what I'm trying to say is that I've been following directions for all these years. I give what I say a great deal of thought. I'm just not prioritizing correctly.
If life is like a box of chocolates
I can only assume it's meant to be devoured
rapidly, and wholeheartedly,
the pretty gold foil of childhood eagerly discarded
to get to the good stuff.
And when the first layer of goodness
is gone
you realize all too suddenly
you only have half left
and even though it's true
there's some marzipan in your past
and in your future,
waiting to take you by surprise
with its clash of soapy texture
and a hint of bitterness
you know it's going to be worth it
when you get to the richness of the truffles.
But those are for another time;
right now you're full of it all
and on the brink of sickness,
so you try to put back the layer of gold
even though it doesn't sit quite straight
and rattles around on top
of a cheap and empty plastic tray.
Poem:
Today's prompt was: pick an object and write a prose poem about it. Use any memories it may provoke and make comparisons in your description. The putting back of the gold top is supposed to represent a midlife crisis, but I'm not sure that comes through. I like extended metaphor, so I tried it out here. Let me know what you think!
Observation:
Today's observation was prompted by my bus driver. There was an amazingly large crowd of people waiting at the stop, and not all of them could fit on the bus. Knowing this sometimes happens, the bus company puts two buses on the route during busy times. So there's little chance of those people being left there, but they don't seem to know that. They all look aroundf confused as they come to the realization that there really isn't any way for them to cram themselves on. I'm already getting to know some people a little better than I was expecting while I was waiting next to them at the stop. So anyway, the bus driver lets almost everyone on the bus, and then the last two or three people are left on the curb as he pulls away. They look pretty sad, but to top it all off, he gives them a thumbs up.
Now, the fact that they found this reassuring amazed me. It seems there are some gestures out there that are so internalized, so universal, that they carry with them an inherent sense that everything is going well. I imagined the same situation, except without another bus on the way. I wonder how long that sense of reassurance would last. Would they turn to each other and say "No, it has to be okay. He gave us a thumbs up. No way this could turn out poorly." So the next time you want to get away with stranding someone somewhere, I guess just give them a thumbs up as you leave. The chances of them chasing after you are pretty slim. They'll probably stand wherever they are waiting for you to come back for quite some time. The thumbs-up, I have decided, is a pretty powerful gesture.
Exercise:
"The Ironic Fortune Cookie"
The fortune in the fortune cookie read: "Elegant surroundings will soon be yours." This turned out to be ironic. How so?
George pocketed his fortune and left the restaurant, eager to find out if it would prove to be accurate. "Elegant surroundings will soon be yours." He certainly hoped so. Of course, that's what the fortune-writing people expected of him. It's not like they'd put out fortunes about inelegant surroundings, or say that, while the elegant surroundings sure were spectacular this time of year, they just weren't in his future at the moment. But despite having this knowledge, he was optimistic. It was a typical midwestern winter, and the wind was whipping the snow into a moderate frenzy. The waves of white washing across the black of the road were pretty viewed from the warmth of his car. Always the practical driver, he kept an eye on the lights ahead. He noticed the next one turning yellow for the cross traffic, and, as usual (and slightly proud of himself), he didn't bother braking. Sure enough, it turned green just as he got to the intersection.
The man in the Dodge Charger, on the other hand, was much less cognizant of the light's duration. He skidded through the intersection, having only noticed the yellow light at the last minute, and as he slammed on the brakes, he met harshly with the side of George's Ford Focus. George had a brief flash of thought: "At least I know the hospital will have some elegance to it." The paramedics that arrived on the scene a while later had the man from the Charger immobilized and were optimistic that the damage to his neck would respond well to treatment. And George was buried in one of the most elegant graves in the nearby cemetery.
Me:
Throughout my life people have told me to think before opening my mouth. Recently I have decided this has never been my problem. The problem is what I think about before opening my mouth. See, I'm not thinking about whether or not I should open it. That's taken as a given. The thought process is more of an anticipation game. So rather than "what are the advantages and disadvantages of opening my mouth in this particular situation," I'm thinking "So when I say such-and-such, it's likely it will provoke a certain reaction, so I should have a response ready for that, but if they react this other way, I should be able to say something else." I guess what I'm trying to say is that I've been following directions for all these years. I give what I say a great deal of thought. I'm just not prioritizing correctly.
January 26, 2011
In Which I REALLY Wanted to Write a New Poem
Mesa Verde
The cliffs were hazardous enough even with the ladders
built for tourists not quite fit enough
to haul themselves hand over hand
using crevices in the rock.
I can't imagine the ancient people, content
in their mud-plastered city of pale yellow,
their elderly clambering up the vertical walls
still spry, or left to die.
Now the hazards include the road at the top
cars passing, blind to the once-city
directly below, and we're told to look carefully
or "boom! no more grandma!"
The canyon below is a strip of life
cutting through the arid flatness
its green bottom mocking
those thirsty people above.
Poem:
I used a prompt for this one, since I was struggling for ideas. The prompt was rather specific: Gather four distinct sets of details about an occasion and use one in each of four stanzas, each with four lines. I wrote about a guided tour at Mesa Verde, where we had to climb huge wooden ladders to even gain access to the cliff cities. I still have the tour guides "boom! no more grandma!" written down in my notebook. It was hilarious at the time, but I tried to make it a little more insightful in the poem itself. All in all, I liked the exercise.
Observation:
I made some rice a while ago, and the leftovers were in the refrigerator daring me to use them to make something delicious. Little did they know I had recently acquired a bottle of soy sauce. So I had rice, sunflower seeds, and soy sauce, and it was delicious. The observation part of this story has to do with the soy sauce. Now, I already knew soy sauce was basically just liquefied salt, but I made sure to get the one that said it had less sodium just in case that made a difference. That's what the bottle said: "Less Sodium." This is, of course, in contrast to "low sodium," which is a label found on many other foods. To put that label on soy sauce would be to say "not soy sauce." So they went with "less." Now, less apparently means that the amount of sodium has been reduced by 34% from the normal amount. Which is significant. But there's still 25% of your daily value of sodium in on tablespoon of the stuff. So while there is "less," I would have loved to see them try and get away with "low."
Exercise:
"Down into the Cellar"
The ancient door creaked open and from the darkness she caught of a whiff of something like old apples. She pulled the string to the lightbulb; the stairwell remained dark. "Bulb's dead," he said.
Write on!
The ancient door creaked open and from the darkness she caught of a whiff of something like old apples. She pulled the string to the lightbulb; the stairwell remained dark. "Bulb's dead," he said.
"Of course it is," she replied. "Nothing about this place seems to function as it should."
"It is beautiful, though." He stumbled over some old equipment on his way to the only window before letting some light through. He opened the shutter, and through the cloud of dust that billowed inward, the sun shone bright. The brick walls surrounding them seemed to be biding their time, waiting to be extracted from the layers of cobwebs before glowing once more with the warmth of being lived in.
Me:
I have terrible hygiene. It's no secret to the people that know me. But this has finally come around to interfere in my life directly. It was inevitable, really. Here's what happened: I got the hot and cold taps of the shower mixed up. Apparently I take showers so infrequently I can't even remember how to control the temperature. And it hurt, since I was trying to make it colder. And because I'm so insensitive, after I turned up the hot water I just thought I must not have turned it enough to make it colder, so I turned it up more before figuring it out. And then I felt really dumb and vowed never to make that mistake again. And I figure the best way to avoid making the mistake is to just never shower again. Seems logical.
The cliffs were hazardous enough even with the ladders
built for tourists not quite fit enough
to haul themselves hand over hand
using crevices in the rock.
I can't imagine the ancient people, content
in their mud-plastered city of pale yellow,
their elderly clambering up the vertical walls
still spry, or left to die.
Now the hazards include the road at the top
cars passing, blind to the once-city
directly below, and we're told to look carefully
or "boom! no more grandma!"
The canyon below is a strip of life
cutting through the arid flatness
its green bottom mocking
those thirsty people above.
Poem:
I used a prompt for this one, since I was struggling for ideas. The prompt was rather specific: Gather four distinct sets of details about an occasion and use one in each of four stanzas, each with four lines. I wrote about a guided tour at Mesa Verde, where we had to climb huge wooden ladders to even gain access to the cliff cities. I still have the tour guides "boom! no more grandma!" written down in my notebook. It was hilarious at the time, but I tried to make it a little more insightful in the poem itself. All in all, I liked the exercise.
Observation:
I made some rice a while ago, and the leftovers were in the refrigerator daring me to use them to make something delicious. Little did they know I had recently acquired a bottle of soy sauce. So I had rice, sunflower seeds, and soy sauce, and it was delicious. The observation part of this story has to do with the soy sauce. Now, I already knew soy sauce was basically just liquefied salt, but I made sure to get the one that said it had less sodium just in case that made a difference. That's what the bottle said: "Less Sodium." This is, of course, in contrast to "low sodium," which is a label found on many other foods. To put that label on soy sauce would be to say "not soy sauce." So they went with "less." Now, less apparently means that the amount of sodium has been reduced by 34% from the normal amount. Which is significant. But there's still 25% of your daily value of sodium in on tablespoon of the stuff. So while there is "less," I would have loved to see them try and get away with "low."
Exercise:
"Down into the Cellar"
The ancient door creaked open and from the darkness she caught of a whiff of something like old apples. She pulled the string to the lightbulb; the stairwell remained dark. "Bulb's dead," he said.
Write on!
The ancient door creaked open and from the darkness she caught of a whiff of something like old apples. She pulled the string to the lightbulb; the stairwell remained dark. "Bulb's dead," he said.
"Of course it is," she replied. "Nothing about this place seems to function as it should."
"It is beautiful, though." He stumbled over some old equipment on his way to the only window before letting some light through. He opened the shutter, and through the cloud of dust that billowed inward, the sun shone bright. The brick walls surrounding them seemed to be biding their time, waiting to be extracted from the layers of cobwebs before glowing once more with the warmth of being lived in.
Me:
I have terrible hygiene. It's no secret to the people that know me. But this has finally come around to interfere in my life directly. It was inevitable, really. Here's what happened: I got the hot and cold taps of the shower mixed up. Apparently I take showers so infrequently I can't even remember how to control the temperature. And it hurt, since I was trying to make it colder. And because I'm so insensitive, after I turned up the hot water I just thought I must not have turned it enough to make it colder, so I turned it up more before figuring it out. And then I felt really dumb and vowed never to make that mistake again. And I figure the best way to avoid making the mistake is to just never shower again. Seems logical.
January 25, 2011
In Which I Eat Irresponsibly
Driving West
Where are the houses?
All I see are cars,
and few enough of those.
Portable lives, I suppose,
which I can access, briefly,
if I choose to stare
as we pass,
living life out in the interim
between destinations.
Too bad for those others
going east,
too blurred for me to discern
their busy lives.
And at this speed
I don’t have to worry
that their problems
will become mine,
that the parents are unhappy,
only taking the kids on vacation
as an unconscious apology
for their impending and ugly divorce.
The brief passing period is perfect
since I see their lives
but don’t have to.
Poem:
I got curious about the people I pass or who pass me on road trips. It's quite interesting to think about all the people on the road at any one time. Thousands of people in motion all over the country. So much of human life is spent in transit these days, and I just felt like writing a poem about what that feels like as I peer into their car windows every once in a while.
Observation:
Today I showed up to class to find out it was canceled. This is hardly the first time this has happened, but seeing as I spend an inordinate amount of time on my computer, I always get an email before I leave saying there's no reason to leave the apartment. No email today. So I sat on a bench outside the classroom and watched people walk up, read the sign on the door, look around in the same confusion I did, and walk away. Then a guy I've known since elementary school walked over to me and struck up conversation. Ben Ruppert is a Baptist, and one of the only religiously-inclined people I actually enjoy talking to about the subject. We have an unspoken agreement to remain reasonable and only talk about things we feel comfortable with. And since he's started taking some philosophy classes, we have a context in which we can do this. Ben defends what I see as the only viable defense for the existence of God. It's called
presuppositional apologetics, and if that name isn't enough to scare you off, you're doing better than most. Basically, it describes why rational, science-minded people like myself will never agree with rational, religious-minded people like Ben. It's a really fun thing to talk about, especially if you both agree to remain calm, reasonable, and avoid name-calling and cheap shots. So instead of class, I spent my hour from eleven to noon engaging in real philosophic discussion. It was a nice change of pace, since the class is progressing slowly and only occasionally deserving of its claim to philosophy.
Exercise:
"Hank and Helen: The Beachfront Condo"
This is a dialogue exercise. Hank and Helen are married. Hank is a pessimist. Helen is an optimist. They discuss whether or not to buy a beachfront condo.
"I don't know. It can't be much worse than it is here, I guess." Hank looked around their half-million dollar apartment with a critical eye. The shower had started dripping just yesterday, and if that wasn't a sign of impending disaster, it was at the very least an immense annoyance. The whole point of owning a nice apartment was so you wouldn't have to associate with people like plumbers. It might be a better bet to just buy a new place. Chances were good that the people looking to sell had just fixed all the little things in an effort to make the condo more appealing. "First it's the shower, then it's the refrigerator, and all of a sudden, the roof is caving in."
"Don't be silly," Helen replied. "There's nothing wrong with our place that a little love won't fix I have the plumber coming on Tuesday. Everything will be fine."
"You say that now, but once we let the plumber in, it's a sure bet he'll find something else that needs fixing. And then it's a never-ending process of repairs. In no time we'll have plumbers coming in to re-plumb the mistakes the first plumber made. No thank you."
Helen rolled her eyes. "Do you know how ridiculous you sound? It's just a little drip in the shower. If you're so worried about it, we can just have the shower replaced. No need to look at a whole new property. Besides, I have high hopes for the garden I started on the roof here. And I'm just sure that Mrs. Mathews will warm up to us eventually. She can only hold our slight disruption against us for so long, after all."
"That slight disruption you're talking about wouldn't happen to be when the movers broke her door with the armoire, would it?"
"Well..."
Me:
I ate too much today, and it kind of ruined my night. I went into the kitchen with the intent to make a couple of pieces of bread with pesto, cheese, and sun-dried tomatoes, but I opened the bag of bread to see a bit of mold on parts of it. So, like any irresponsible college student, I picked off the moldy bits and promptly stuck all of the remaining pieces in the toaster two by two and consumed them. Eight pieces of delicious bread later, and I was full, but I had already started dinner by that point, and wound up eating that too. So I retreated to my room to lie down for a while. This was a fine state of affairs, but I let myself have a day off of biking yesterday, so I felt obligated to get back to it today, which only resulted in my stomach feeling terrible. I made myself stay on the bike for quite a while, but I don't feel like I did very well, and I didn't feel very well doing it. Stupid bread. And just to clarify, I'm fully aware that if there's mold on the bread, it means the whole amount of bread is technically infected with the mold. It's not that I pick off the mold and think I've sanitized it. It's just that I don't like looking at mold as I eat it. That is to say, I'm not opposed to the principle of eating mold; I just don't like seeing it as I do so.
Where are the houses?
All I see are cars,
and few enough of those.
Portable lives, I suppose,
which I can access, briefly,
if I choose to stare
as we pass,
living life out in the interim
between destinations.
Too bad for those others
going east,
too blurred for me to discern
their busy lives.
And at this speed
I don’t have to worry
that their problems
will become mine,
that the parents are unhappy,
only taking the kids on vacation
as an unconscious apology
for their impending and ugly divorce.
The brief passing period is perfect
since I see their lives
but don’t have to.
Poem:
I got curious about the people I pass or who pass me on road trips. It's quite interesting to think about all the people on the road at any one time. Thousands of people in motion all over the country. So much of human life is spent in transit these days, and I just felt like writing a poem about what that feels like as I peer into their car windows every once in a while.
Observation:
Today I showed up to class to find out it was canceled. This is hardly the first time this has happened, but seeing as I spend an inordinate amount of time on my computer, I always get an email before I leave saying there's no reason to leave the apartment. No email today. So I sat on a bench outside the classroom and watched people walk up, read the sign on the door, look around in the same confusion I did, and walk away. Then a guy I've known since elementary school walked over to me and struck up conversation. Ben Ruppert is a Baptist, and one of the only religiously-inclined people I actually enjoy talking to about the subject. We have an unspoken agreement to remain reasonable and only talk about things we feel comfortable with. And since he's started taking some philosophy classes, we have a context in which we can do this. Ben defends what I see as the only viable defense for the existence of God. It's called
presuppositional apologetics, and if that name isn't enough to scare you off, you're doing better than most. Basically, it describes why rational, science-minded people like myself will never agree with rational, religious-minded people like Ben. It's a really fun thing to talk about, especially if you both agree to remain calm, reasonable, and avoid name-calling and cheap shots. So instead of class, I spent my hour from eleven to noon engaging in real philosophic discussion. It was a nice change of pace, since the class is progressing slowly and only occasionally deserving of its claim to philosophy.
Exercise:
"Hank and Helen: The Beachfront Condo"
This is a dialogue exercise. Hank and Helen are married. Hank is a pessimist. Helen is an optimist. They discuss whether or not to buy a beachfront condo.
"I don't know. It can't be much worse than it is here, I guess." Hank looked around their half-million dollar apartment with a critical eye. The shower had started dripping just yesterday, and if that wasn't a sign of impending disaster, it was at the very least an immense annoyance. The whole point of owning a nice apartment was so you wouldn't have to associate with people like plumbers. It might be a better bet to just buy a new place. Chances were good that the people looking to sell had just fixed all the little things in an effort to make the condo more appealing. "First it's the shower, then it's the refrigerator, and all of a sudden, the roof is caving in."
"Don't be silly," Helen replied. "There's nothing wrong with our place that a little love won't fix I have the plumber coming on Tuesday. Everything will be fine."
"You say that now, but once we let the plumber in, it's a sure bet he'll find something else that needs fixing. And then it's a never-ending process of repairs. In no time we'll have plumbers coming in to re-plumb the mistakes the first plumber made. No thank you."
Helen rolled her eyes. "Do you know how ridiculous you sound? It's just a little drip in the shower. If you're so worried about it, we can just have the shower replaced. No need to look at a whole new property. Besides, I have high hopes for the garden I started on the roof here. And I'm just sure that Mrs. Mathews will warm up to us eventually. She can only hold our slight disruption against us for so long, after all."
"That slight disruption you're talking about wouldn't happen to be when the movers broke her door with the armoire, would it?"
"Well..."
Me:
I ate too much today, and it kind of ruined my night. I went into the kitchen with the intent to make a couple of pieces of bread with pesto, cheese, and sun-dried tomatoes, but I opened the bag of bread to see a bit of mold on parts of it. So, like any irresponsible college student, I picked off the moldy bits and promptly stuck all of the remaining pieces in the toaster two by two and consumed them. Eight pieces of delicious bread later, and I was full, but I had already started dinner by that point, and wound up eating that too. So I retreated to my room to lie down for a while. This was a fine state of affairs, but I let myself have a day off of biking yesterday, so I felt obligated to get back to it today, which only resulted in my stomach feeling terrible. I made myself stay on the bike for quite a while, but I don't feel like I did very well, and I didn't feel very well doing it. Stupid bread. And just to clarify, I'm fully aware that if there's mold on the bread, it means the whole amount of bread is technically infected with the mold. It's not that I pick off the mold and think I've sanitized it. It's just that I don't like looking at mold as I eat it. That is to say, I'm not opposed to the principle of eating mold; I just don't like seeing it as I do so.
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