Gravitan

Got through Immanuel Kant's Critique of the Power of Judgment recently. It's a book largely about the nature of beauty and the way that our minds are set up to see reality. It also finishes his great trilogy of revolutionary philosophical works, the previous two being the critiques of Pure and Practical Reason. Reading Kant in general is a chore, but having read the other two books just mentioned, I felt I was fairly well prepared. I'm still not sure what to make of it really; I think he's probably wrong about basically everything he writes about in this book, but at the same time his ideas have a peculiar force to them, and seem to flow quite neatly from his first principles. I also think that it provides a whole lot of great material for further reflection. I feel pretty happy with myself for having gotten through it and basically finished my initial engagement with Kant's thought.

Loving Cup - The Rolling Stones

You would have to have been there to really experience how absurd it all was. I live in a semi-rural area, and people tend to be very friendly with each other, regardless of age, gender, race, etc. We also tend to be very laid back. That context just made his behavior seem so out of place and exaggerated that he ended up looking like an unwitting Shakespearean clown. He probably lost his job after that (and I doubt he had it for very long to begin with), but the incident made me quite popular at the lakeside bonfires for a few weeks, so I'm not complaining.

Story time. A few years back, my dad went to Ohio to attend an auction he was interested in, ended up bidding on and winning a 140 year old tea set (he estimated he got it for 5% of its actual value, which was still no small amount). He intended to give it to my mom as an anniversary present. About two weeks later, I'm at home by myself, which is a fairly rare circumstance, when (it's roughly 11:00 A.M.) I look out the window and see the USPS truck coming down the cul-de-sac. He stops in front of our driveway, and starts walking up with a large package covered in huge "OMG FRAGILE PLS DUN DROP" type stickers. Now ordinarily no one would find anything unusual about this, until you consider the fact that my driveway is 1/10 mile long, and that this is the first time any postal guy has ever not simply driven up next to the garage and made his delivery. Perhaps he thought it was too narrow and didn't like the long ditches on either side. In any event, he lugs this thing right up to the back door and rings the bell, visibly sweaty by the time he gets there. As I'm walking to the windowed door, I can see that he's a reasonably young guy, not more than 25 by my guess. I also get the feeling that he doesn't much like his job, and that he has probably been working since early in the morning. But the long shadows under his eyes and his abnormally unkept hair indicate that weariness is no stranger to him; more like a mistress, perhaps. He just has that look about him that screams "future assylum patient." I open the door, and he tells me he has a parcel for Gravitan Sr. His voice is shaky and he doesn't seem to want to meet my stare. Clearly he knows it was stupid to leave his truck all the way back there, and just wants to get on with his miserable day. I tell him I'll sign for it, and he starts fumbling for his electronic pad thingy without putting the package down first. As he balances the obviously heavy box on one arm and struggles to get his device, with me standing there in awe and wondering how he landed this job, one of my dogs lets out a thunderous bark from somewhere in the house. Clearly our carrier isn't a fan of dogs or loud noises, for suddenly his entire body seems to convulse in shock, and the package practically flies out of his hands and tumbles down the stairs leading up to the porch, each bounce revealing ever more sickeningly the exact nature of its contents. He finally looks me directly in the face, and in that moment I thought I was staring at the ghost of a sixty year old Kristen Stewart who had just discovered that she was dead. Such horror and despair as he was feeling must have been beyond expression in words. But now we come to the climax: Instead of apologizing profusely and going over the liability monologue that had surely been drilled into his head by his trainers, he turns tail and runs. Off he goes down the long driveway, huffing like a polar bear on a treadmill in mid July, practically leaping back into his truck. I hear his tires slipping on the dirt road as he pounds the gas, and he kicks up so much dust that I almost think it's a deliberate attempt to conceal his escape. I laugh like a maniac for a good couple of minutes, and then I remember the tea set. I grab a knife and cut open the package carefully to inspect the damage, and sure enough the thing is completely ruined. I hide the package, and as soon as my dad comes home I take him to it and tell him my story. I don't think there is any way he would have believed me had I not presented to him the pad that the carrier had dropped on the porch in his panic to get away. The next morning, we both go down to the post office, and after my dad wins a shouting match with the manager, I return the gizmo from the previous day's incident and we drive off with double the amount my dad had paid for the merchandise (don't ask me how). To this day my mom doesn't know any of this.

So I guess it's off to Valve after this?

Sorry bro I can't hear you cause my ears broke.

MUSIC TOO LOUD AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH ಠ_ಠ

Ever thought about getting a book, mate?

Probably one of the funnier things I've read this week. Sounds like you need to go get a turkey. A male, to be precise. They're fun to watch and you can eat them when they get boring. It's a win-win situation.