Ironies

So . . . my husband and I were talking the other night, and he pointed out some inconsistencies which are very interesting.

How is it that my studies, centering mainly around philosophy and theology, gave me a Bachelor of ARTS degree? Heeeeelllllooooooo people - arts, by definition, are ordered to MAKING, and it's not like I spent four years learning how to construct truth or fabricate a God. Sciences are ordered to KNOWING, and that's what philosophy and theology are ordered to - knowing things. Not making them.

And, now, what really gets me: so, if I was to go get a degree in, say, architecture, they'd give me a Bachelor of Sciences degree. Now, there's no way in heck you're going to convince me that architecture isn't ordered to making things.

What idiot is responsible for this, huh?

It's a bunch of B.S. - that's what I say.

(I know, I know, that really hurt. I'm sorry . . . )

WHY??? WHY???????????????????????

Now, when baking powder and baking soda were being named, why, in the name of all that is holy, did they decide to qualify both of their names with the word "baking"?

They could have named them anything - "Larry", "Bob", "Joe Schmoe's Amazing Powdery Stuff You Put In Your Food".

But, why, why, WHY would they decide that both of these items needed names involving the same, one, completely extraneous word?

Perhaps they were named by evil people, foreseeing that this similarity of names was going to make me (and millions of others like me) mess up innumerable recipes in the first several months of marriage.

I can hear them cackling now, the buttheads. Grrrrrr . . .

The Cave

I wrote my senior thesis demonstrating, in part, some major differences between the first principles accepted by Plato and those accepted by St. Thomas. A self-professed Thomist, it must then, of necessity, be concluded that the first principles, and thereby large chunks, of Platonist philosophy are not my cup 'o tea.

However, in Book VII of the Republic, Plato introduces the well-known analogy of "the cave". Now, he's using this to illustrate certain philosophical ideas regarding universals and forms which I in no way adhere to, but there is something to be said about the idea of a place where people are so much in the dark they don't know which way is up.

Now, my Aristotelian Thomism also asserts that anyone who sees those items we all call "things" has enough to work with, philosophically, and as a sensate rational being he must be hitting the wide door of truth somehow, somewhere. After all, he is a man, who "desire[s], by nature, to know".

Buuuuuut, I have to admit, there is at least an intellectual state that resembles Plato's cave. I encounter it all the time. Now, accuse me not of philosophical snobbery, but over and over again I've encountered people in the day-to-day who, by no fault of their own, don't have a clue but GOL-DERN, they sure think they do. Moreover, invariably they try to "help me" by showing me that this philosophy stuff I find soooo important is really 'very minor'. Now, of course my soul responds by screaming: 'Minor?? MINOR??!?! Sure, the science of all truth knowable by human reason is a minor detail in our lives, after all. Are you stupid?! Why are you talking??? GO AWAY.' My social interface, however, is counting down from ten, resisting the urge to either a) rip them to intellectual shreds in a fury of rightous indignance or b) ridicule them. I find myself internally saying, "Be charitable - they don't know. They have no way of knowing - all they get to see are shadows on a wall."

I'm not sure if it's quite kosher for a Thomistic person to use the cave illustration with such shameless liberty, though. The intention of it's author was to illustrate a concept of truth and knowledge which I don't ascribe to. Hmmmm . . . I think that I'm going to have to ponder it a while longer.

New experiences

I must admit I never thought of myself as a city-dweller before. I love quiet places without people, fields and birds and wide open sky. Big cities, though, have one aspect that the quiet country solitude cannot provide: large crowds of people.

Okay, so I admit, I'm a people watcher, and I always have been. I don't have to talk to them, I don't have to drink with them, I don't even have to even be close enough to smell them (after all, occasionally that can be very unpleasant) - I just love to watch them. Now, while some find it very strange, I can honestly say that when I was in college it never bothered me to stay on our little campus for months at a go. I was surrounded by 350 very interesting people - TAC students, all of them oddballs, were incredibly fun to watch. However, I can remember that it was still refreshing to take that occasional excursion. Those trips, partially because they were so rare, made memories - blissful, glorious memories, even if they were all formed in and around overpopulated, smoggy Los Angeles.

However, the truly great experiences I can remember also involve memorable places - places with atmosphere, where the people in them were living art. I have memories of places like that from every city I've lived in and almost every city I've visited. In Kansas City, there is a beautiful cafe in the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art called the "Roselle Court". In Los Angeles, people, variously dressed, mill around, their bright attire standing out against the stark, white stone of the Getty. In Huntington Beach people by the thousands stream through the Gardens and ascend the grand staircase in its Californian mansion. In Nashville, there's a bar named the Flying Saucer which specializes in an incredible list of microbrews. Even in this boring geriatrics ward called Naples there's an Irish pub on Fifth avenue with amazingly authentic wooden pub trimmings, live music, and great food.

Well, I have a new memory now.

As this semester wore on to its midpoint I suddenly became aware that I was going crazy on this campus, the day to day conveying me from our dorm room to work and back again, with nothing, whatsoever, to create variety. I might also mention that this campus provides very few interesting people to watch - they're not nearly so off-the-wall as Californians, none of them are classically rustic like good old podunk KC fare, and nobody is brave enough to be so eccentrically nerdy as a TAC student. They all look like your rubberstamped highschooler from some boring, insincere, "named subdivision". I'm telling you - these people bore me to *TEARS*.

So, yeah, it became obvious that I was in desperate need of a change of scene, a new experience, I didn't care what it was, but I NEEDED IT NOW. I expressed this to my love, who couldn't relate. He's a homebody - very, very much a homebody. To him, your home is a safe place where stupid people can't ruin your day. Why leave it if you don't have to?

Although I think he was far from understanding why I would need to go out, after 'a small discussion' he did grasp that it was a real need, and whether he could theoretically grasp it or not, it ought to be seen to, nonetheless. Since I was busy with work, I suggested he think about a place he wanted to go for a date, and we'd go. I didn't care where it was or what we did, just as long as it was an outing formulated with the intent of relaxing and having fun (that is, something other than the weekly grocery shopping trip). Which brings us to . . .



Sushi. My second obsession found out he was fond of it last year, after he was dragged into town and introduced to the cuisine by his loud, ex-Marine, Guamese roomate, Jeff. He'd been wanting to introduce me to the Sushi restaurant they'd frequented, saying it was a great place and would definitely be a new experience. He was downright excited about it. I was so pleased! *contented grin* I really needed to get out, but I didn't want to make my homebody husband miserable in the process - after all, that would be anything but recreational.

Okay, so you're all seeing this next part coming from a mile off. Truth be told, my spirit was very willing - it's not like I didn't give it a fair go. It's just that my flesh was too weak - my stomach said, "You're not seriously putting that in HERE, are you???? Do you honestly think I'm going to stand for that?!"

Ahem . . . so, it was an evening of suppressing my gag reflex and trying not to look like I was. I've always been really, really bad at hiding anything, though, from almost anybody (save perhaps "Dr. Phil", LOL) and I was with my husband, who knows me better than anyone in the world. So, well, I failed miserably. My poor husband - he was really depressed.

I think it was the same differences that made it difficult to explain why I really needed to get out of the house which made it difficult to explain how a date could still be considered a success when the food made me want to puke. To an intensely logical man this simply doesn't add up. I tried to explain that the atmosphere was what sealed the deal - the place was so crowded that the only place to sit without a wait was at the sushi bar, so you got to see them cut and roll everything. I was definitely thrilled with it, even if my stomach wasn't. The rolls pictured above are California rolls, the only ones I could tolerate without a reciting to myself "keep it in your mouth, keep it in your mouth, keep it in your mouth" . . . My love was eventually convinced of my sincerity, and he seems to have decided to trust me, even if he cannot theoretically grasp my verdict.

After dinner I ordered a nice, normal beer and sat back to let my stomach settle, watching all the people at and around the sushi bar. They were entertaining people - much more entertaining than normal Naples fare. Naples is generally full of old, plasticy looking individuals who act like they're 20-something (or who are at least trying to act like they're 20-something, which is a really sad thing to watch), but evidently those people don't go for sushi. The people at the sushi bar were still your normal Americana mix, and since they were Naples locals they were wealthier than was probably healthy for them. However, they were still entertaining, and it was nice to sit back and watch them chatter to one another.

When my beer was done we ordered some nice, normal ice cream, and then my stomach was not only appeased, but happy. After that we went and bought some wine and cheese, rented a movie that my husband wanted me to see, and watched it when we got home (btw, it was exceptionally good).

I've been happy as a lark ever since. :D