Wit & Whim

Lenten fasts are an excellent practice, not only as a preparation, but as an opportunity to take advantage of one's own self-conscious piety as a tool for moderation and discipline. The knowledge that it is a Lenten fast lends so much more weight than just a regular attempt at self-moderation. When I select my fasts, I always go with an aspect of my life that I know requires a bit of reining in. I always try to augment specific Lenten fasts, giving up a particular vice, with a general moderating of all my frivolous pleasures. I will not drink any of my beloved desert/coffee items from Starbucks during this time. This is an item that I will not miss for the most part, but it is a greatly immoderate favorite use of my funds. So also, I will not buy any new clothing during this period. This is another thing that I will not miss terribly, but it is a favorite method of tending my vanity. My point in fasting is not to cast myself into physical discomfort so much as it is to make me real...

I just finished with The Wise Man's Fear, by Patrick Rothfuss. I now have the pleasure of waiting years for the next. Over the course of 1100 hundred pages I was never left to wonder where it was going, or whether it might have been done in fewer pages. It is compelling, clever, fun, and leaves me regretting that it is not longer. Given a deeper reading and examination, I might be able to give account for its excellence. At present, I merely say that the story departs from the familiar pattern. The hero is excellent, but he makes human mistakes, loses more often than he wins, and you know that, when the story ends, there will be something that destroyed his excellence and left him--seemingly--a normal man. This story begins where the last one left oft, with a three part silence, the deepest of which is the brooding silence of a man who is waiting to die. The colorful story of the young life of a legendary hero unfolds against that backdrop. The odd part is that it is not an old man...

I have made it through three tests, now I have one more to go. I have realized the insanity of combining as much work and school as I do, and will have to cut back a little next semester. I am very fond of school (and money), so it will not be an easy decision. But I have filled two bluebooks today, and written out 10 short answers and 3 brief essays on the test sheet for the other professor, so my wrist is snapping and popping, and my brain is trying to kill me...or so this headache would make it seem. I am usually pretty good at absorbing information, but after this much work, I just do not have much left in the way of higher brain functionality. It would be easier if I hadn't had to pick up some hours after losing a pair of suits associates, then i would have had a little more time to mull. Mulling is the way I pass my tests. I do not cram, I do not even study in the way that most people do. I take long walks with a vacant expression on my face; this is my process. I think bette...

A sad reality has struck me. I have known it for a long time, but only now do I actually feel the enormity of what it was I saw. Men do not wear suits, and those few who can be found in a suit, really do not wear them very well. The suits I see have rolled collars, gaping necks, puckered backs, strained buttons. Men seldom make the mistake of choosing a suit that is too large; they but suits that cling to them in the hope that it will be slimming. They don them in this shameless style because they do not understand the marvelous metamorphosing power of a decent suit; the power to broaden your shoulders and make your gut appear, not bloated, but as part and parcel of your steady, consequential, masculinity. Last week I fitted at least four gentlemen of more than forty years who claimed never to have purchased a suit. All of them ultimately elected the cheapest available option. All seemed chagrined over having to buy a suit, and almost seemed to wear the fact that they had never worn ...

This is the first time since my last post that I have had time to think about writing something for pleasure. And while I would much prefer to bore you all to tears with my latest discoveries in the dusty tomes of dead white dudes, there are matters of real life to be addressed. As you may know, Evan--that's right, the one with the beard--has recently proposed to my darling sister. If this came as a great surprise, then allow me to express my fervent desire to study you, that I may figure out how you managed to survive to this point in life. We are all extraordinarily thrilled that Bethany had the good sense to fall for someone of his quality. The same need not be said of him; the good taste inherent in his character as an educated and intelligent man necessarily dictates that he notice hers. Evan is a man whom I feel, not only good, but relieved to see with my sister. One wants the best for their siblings, especially for the Shewoof, and I think she found it in Evan. I mean, serio...

We are all Hobbesian. I just finished Leviathan this afternoon, and the shift in thought is pretty obvious. People speak of Machiavelli as a philosopher of evil, which I have already challenged. If asked to finger such a one, my first glance would not fall on Machiavelli. I assert that Hobbes is a philosopher of evil. In Hobbes all things have liberty, and that liberty resides in unrestricted action. Liberty and license are the same thing. By nature, man has the right to do as he will, but this is a state of war with all other men, and they are likewise free to do with him as they will. The highest goal of man being the maintenance of his life, he may join himself to other men and surrender a measure of his freedom in order to form a collective will, or commonwealth, to protect his life. The highest good is the preservation of life, property, and public order. What is Liberty in Machiavelli? Liberty is an inherently political quality; it is the attribute bestowed by participation in th...

I had visions for this morning, most of them included me sitting and drinking coffee in a comfy chair and collecting much needed adipose tissue. But, to paraphrase the good people at Despair, There is nothing the world likes so well as the taste of really sweet dreams. At first the ungodly "waw waw waw" was either an alarm clock, or perhaps some variety of wounded poultry. I had no such luck. It was Janeane, who is infinitely harder to silence than an alarm clock, or--Iimagine--any specimen of wounded poultry. After my ears adjusted enough to resolve the squawking into a message, I realized that she expected me to get up. Alright, it could be worse...a lot worse. She started telling me something about our mission, a narrow and rapidly closing window of opportunity, of which we needed to take advantage. There was to be no time for showers or coffee. I grabbed the first three clothing items that came to hand, and also the first hat that was not a baseball cap. Upon Janeane see...