No day without a post, so here you go. And that reminds me of a Warron Zevon number.
I am working on a substantial post. I hope to upload it tomorrow.
No day without a post, so here you go. And that reminds me of a Warron Zevon number.
I am working on a substantial post. I hope to upload it tomorrow.
Until the end of January, but no longer. This is the rule. If you violate it, then, like ACHmed the Terrorist, I kill you! Happy New Year!
Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science, Book Four, #276, tr. Kaufmann:
For the new year. — I still live, I still think: I still have to live, for I still have to think. Sum, ergo cogito: cogito, ergo sum. [ . . . ]
By Tom Stoppard. Via Daniel McInerny via Tom Coleman.
I have always thought the 'hard problem' vs. 'easy problem' distinction in the philosophy of mind to be rather silly.
Robert Paul Wollf here replies with wit and lefty snark to a charming request by one Pamela N., a personal assistant, who wants to know who Immanuel Kant is referring to when he writes, "Caius is a man; man is mortal; therefore, Caius is mortal." Pamela confesses,
I will admit, I have not read Kant's works. I have, however, spent the last couple of hours combing through post after post after post about this particular quote from the book and cannot find a single soul who would say who they think Caius is.
In reading these many posts, I have come to the conclusion that Kant is probably referring to Pope Caius as he has been venerated by the Catholic Church as a Saint. Given that title, and the fact that Saint's [sic] are given to [sic] a quasi-immortal status [sic], I have ascertained that this is who Kant is most likely referring to. My question for you is, do you think that my assumption is correct? or do you have a deeper insight into who he is referring to?
Big road trip last weekend: Phoenix, Barstow, Bakersfield, Santa Barbara and back by a different route. The Jeep Wrangler runs on unleaded regular. Paid $3.349/gal on 9/27 at Quartzsite, AZ off of I-10, one of the last Arizona gas-ups enroute to California. Wait 'til Blythe on the California side of the Colorado River and you will get 'hosed.' In Barstow, same day, I paid 3.579/gal at a Circle K. In Bakersfield on 9/30 paid $3.979 at a Shell station. Back home, yesterday, at Costco, $3.099/gal. Home, sweet home.
And the Sonoran desert is so much prettier than the Mojave! But all deserts are beautiful to questers and other oddballs.
I'd like to get my hands on a copy of Maria Reicher, ed., States of Affairs (Ontos Verlag, 2009). I didn't find it in the ASU catalog and so I headed over to Amazon.com where I found a used copy for the entirely reasonable price of $9,999.99 plus $3.99 shipping and handling. I kid you not. You might think they'd throw in free S & H on orders over $5,000.00.
Maybe it is like this. The whole world is Amazon's oyster, and in that wide world there are quite a few ontology freaks, your humble correspondent one of them, and probably a couple crazy enough to fork over $10 K for this collection of essays. So why not ask a ridiculous price? You just might get it.
Does anyone in Ontology Land have a copy of this collection that he or she is willing to part with?
I will put it to good use. I have been invited to contribute an essay to a volume commemorating the late David M. Armstrong. My essay is tentatively entitled "Facts: Realism, Anti-Realism, Semi-Realism." So I need to be en rapport with all the latest literature.
Update (9/3). My explanation three paragraphs supra is mistaken. See Mark B.'s comment for a much better one.
Summer once again subsides into the sweetness of September. This calls for a song, September in the Rain, not that there is much that could be called rain in these parts. But the Arizona monsoon looks to be over, the lambent light and delicious dryness have returned, and autumn's in the air. Life is good, for some of us leastways, and pro tempore.
Until he hung hanged himself, that is. Williams, that is.
I knew who Williams was, though I have seen only two of his films, The Dead Poets' Society and Mrs. Doubtfire. From what I know of the others I have no desire to see them. The gushing over celebrities at their passing is as tolerable as it is predictable. One only wishes that people had better judgment about who is really worthy of the highest accolades and encomia.
Here is the memorable carpe diem scene from The Dead Poets' Society. I think Dalrymple would appreciate it.
Companion posts: If Obituaries Were Objective . . .
If Obituaries Were Objective II . . .
And oh yes, here is the Dalrymple piece.
I am never bored. Tired sometimes, but not bored. A nap and a double espresso work every time. These are times that try our souls while stimulating our minds. Who can be bored?
Regular reader, João Gabriel of Porto, Portugal, writes to thank me for my "great blog" and to recommend Lars Svendsen's A Philosophy of Boredom.
A lot happened that fabulous and far-off summer of '69, now 45 years past. I won't bore you with any autobiographical tidbits, and of course some of you remember the moon landing; but that was also the summer when Ted Kennedy's car killed Mary Jo Kopechne.
His car killed more people than any of my guns.
I now hand off to Malcolm Pollack.
Here:
But these days, it seems, no one wants to be a dog racist—and this is where things start to get really weird. “The opposition to pit bulls might not be racist,” Junod writes in his Esquire piece. “It does, however, employ racial thinking.” Jeez, Louise. I suppose, then, it is time that I confess: I am a pug supremacist. Go ahead and judge me, America. Say what you will, but the worst thing a pug can do is fart you to death.
This should be of interest to students and younger scholars in philosophy and theology. Funding available.