In a strange twist of introspection,
people are into full disclosure these days — or at least the auspices of it.
They want to come clean and be all sparkly. It lends more credibility to their
cause, particularly in an environment of discovery, sufficiently interlaced
with wild paranoiac suspicion. We feel that if we can seem like we’re being
true to ourselves by not leaving anything out, we’ll get closer to finding the
jackpot of truth where there will be fabulous prizes.
As part of my tell-all, I must divulge
that in college I used to plagiarize from entire articles for term papers. But
then I would cleverly disguise them by changing all of the words. Passages from
scientific journals such as: “The schemata of pure concepts of understanding are
a priori time determinations
and as such they are a transcendental product of the pure power of imagination”
became instead: “rampant use of Paleolithic syllogism belies its direct antithesis
in hegemonic serendipity for the sake of haphazard trendsetting algorithms.” Initially,
no one suspected a thing. But over time, my professors started catching on to
what I was doing. So then I had to start writing them in foreign languages to
keep them on their toes. Unfortunately, it brought even more attention to my
papers when I began handing them in in obscure dialects of Farsi, but I
continually adapted and came out mostly unscathed, give or take a few emotional
bruises.
Mischief begets further mischief, and
so I would compensate for this wanton literary behavior of mine by sometimes
plagiarizing myself. I would frequently quote things I’d said without citing
the reference. I might say: “Someone famous once remarked…” and then I’d use
one of my own quotes without owning up to it. I figure I should be able to sue
some famous people over this if I never earn a living through normal writing. But
also it’s a potential way of applying carbon imprints. The options are still
open.
Now a confession about this blog.
Though you might not be able to tell, I’ve been plagiarizing from Noah Webster
all this time. They’re all his words, not mine. At first I thought it was a
cute little joke, but then I got power hungry and it became an obsession. I’d
pilfer an “elucidate” here or a “gallimaufry” there, and before you knew it, I
was hoarding thousands of verbs and adjectives that didn’t rightly belong to
me. I fooled myself into thinking that seldom-used terms such as “fungible”, “paucity”
and “rapscallion” were my personal possessions. I became a veritable
narcissistic Noah-do-well.
And* so*, to* arrive* full* circle*, I*
must* give* credit* where* credit* is* due*. (*-borrowed from Webster’s 9th, 10th
and 11th Collegiate Dictionaries. I promise to give them back later.) The esteemed
lexicographers are the ones who deserve the accolades. This is not my beautiful house… This is
not my beautiful blog… In fact, my pseudo-ghost writer has been channeling Noah
Webster’s great-great-grandson for all his ideas. Same as it ever was, same
as it ever was, same as it ever was…
And this is not to say that I might not still be hoarding a few pet terms as we speak. I am willing to fess up, but I didn’t say I was rehabilitated yet. It’s hard to stop once you start, and I expect I’ll have copyright infringement cases brought against me for these discretions.
Sometimes you find you have to say
more than what is asked in order to tell the whole truth and nothing but the
truth, because surely you wouldn’t want to tell part of the falsehood and
something of the falsehood. When
asked for my favorite color, such as in job interviews, biographical sketches
or counter-intelligence interrogations, part of me feels like asking if I have
to pick only one. Maybe they’re trying to trick me into saying lavender, like
my more plaintive side would be wont to do. Thus, I like to answer a question
with a more valid question. What if I happen to like all the colors in
equitable fashion? For all they know, I might be an equal opportunity hue
aficionado. Mauve needs some love, for one. And I’m continually nostalgic for
Burnt Sienna, from my early crayon days. Or Chartreuse. Also notice that I
respect these colors enough to capitalize them. And then I’m kind of partial to
Wisteria. Yet (and this is key) not so much that I shun the other just-as-worthy
selections in the process.
It’s so hard to narrow them down, with
all these good choices. When you ask me about the color scale, it’s not
something I take lightly. So if you want to know which color I consider to be
preeminent among all the rest, I’m going to take it personally and it’s going
to require some serious introspection. Consequently, you need to be prepared
for a rather involved response. (actually, I guess this is probably true of
most any subject that one might ask of me, but let’s just start with colors for
now)
A world without color would be rather
bland. We wouldn’t know it was bland, but it would still be bland nonetheless.
It would be a case of the bland leading the bland. In short, the quality of
bland would not be escapable.
It’s curious to consider that Web pages
support such an ambitious dose of 16 million colors. Sounds cool to say that.
Because that would be a lot, and stuff. However, upon further review, it’s
rather nonsensical, in that our eyes can’t really differentiate anywhere near that
many colors anyway. We would be just as well off with a few thousand, but then
it wouldn’t sound as impressive. Sometimes less is more. Or usually. High
definition to creatures with relatively poor vision is much worse than
hindsight. I read that on a matchbook once. In a dream. While unconscious. So
don’t quote me on that.
When I used to color, going way back
to my school days at Willits High, we got by nicely with a box of just 64 color
crayons, thank you very much. If a person didn’t want yellow but didn’t want
green either… voila! there was yellow-green to come in and save the day. If we
were really in a bind, we’d make up colors, such as “skin color”, the informal
color pushed by adolescents across the world. These were the epitome of shade convenience,
within the glorious rainbowic confines of a waxed writing instrument.
As we vacillate between life’s assorted
tints, many billions of people have been desperately in a search for the truth,
or something to tell them they don’t need to look. We’re in a perpetual
existential hunt for that perfect color array, which causes me to think that if
anyone had found it and were able to systematically convey his or her precise
methodology and results, everybody else would have a firm grasp on it too. That
not being the case, no one has honed in on a truth which they can adequately
convey in a definitive way that is believable in a fully public sense, because
people aren’t like that. There is no science to art, and we are a painting. Which
then means that at least up till now, the only feasible method of apprehending
the truth is through introspection, very personally, each person making the
ultimate discovery on his or her own. Souls can be guided to the precipice, but
if they are pushed off without intending to jump, they discover nothing. They
have to make the leap on their own accord. So for those who have consciously
made the leap, we’re on our way down into the mysterious canyon enjoying the
scenery and the ride together. Hang on! Anyway, much better than endlessly
deliberating up at the top.
Life is a strange tapestry of highs
and lows, ins and outs. And when you think you’ve got things figured out,
another layer unravels. There’s no end to the nuances, the flavors, the angles,
the struggles, the surprises, the monotony, the bright spots, the revelations,
the moments when you connect with something or someone, and the places your
imagination will let you soar. A plethora, even.
As with any other inquiry in the
didactic realm, this can lead into another discussion of free will vs.
determinism, with the oddsmakers placing determinism as a 6-point underdog. The
game is on determinism’s home field this year, and the home crowd is pretty
raucous, but that still doesn’t help all that much, as their team is without
many skill players, not to mention the coach is always forcing the players to
do things against their own volition.
Free will means having real options,
at least some of the time, or in some situations. Not necessarily always. Determinism
means having no options, ever. For this reason, determinists shouldn’t be allowed
to vote. On anything. After all, they think that the decision is already made
for them, so what’s the difference to them if that’s what they truly believe?
To be a determinist is to self-contradict oneself all of your life. They
believe in determinism enough to pay it allegiance, yet not enough to give it
back the reins.
Then why are there questions? No
really, why are there any questions? Why do we ask things? What is the nature
of questions? Are there other things we could ask besides questions? If I keep
asking more and more questions, does it give you the impression that I might
know the answers to them? I didn’t think so.
I like how much of news these days is
posed in the form of a question to draw attention to it, to tease, and to
generate discussion. Questions apparently are more exciting than mere
statements on the same topics. Compare: “Is there life on other planets?” with
the less dramatic “It’s unknown if there’s life on other planets.” With the
question, it leaves it open-ended, as if someone might swoop in at the last
minute and give a definitive answer while nobody’s looking.
But ultimately this means that I just
so happen to know the answer to every question, which is: “It’s unknown.” Can
the Yankees hold off Baltimore? It’s unknown. Was Miley Cyrus really in a nightclub
fight? It’s unknown. How have these celebrities aged? It’s unknown. Where are
the best travel destinations? It’s unknown. What are the movies to see this
weekend? It’s unknown. What’s the plot of Desperate Housewives? It’s unknown.
Who’s afraid of Virginia Woolf? It’s unknown. Nobody knows, and everybody’s
guessing. But they’re willing to throw the question out there for argument’s
sake, and then pretend that they hold the solution. That’s what being
provocative is all about. The question provokes interest.
And then ever notice how “for the sake
of argument” likewise translates into “it’s unknown”? See, I told you it’s a
fun game to know ahead of time what the answer is going to be. If somebody ever
uses the qualifier “arguably” in a statement, that’s also code for “it’s
unknown.” See how easy it all is? Oops, sorry for asking it. You don’t see how
easy it is. You can’t know the magnitude of how easy a process is. And it’s likewise
unknown if these are in fact the exact droids you’re so patently obsessed with
finding. Move right along…
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