spongelady

dread

Wed, 04 Jul 2007 17:08:04 +0200

Today is “ the” dreaded day..it is six o'clock in the morning..i am alone awake..wondering restlessly what tomorrow will be..the “day” has arrive..the start of the journey of waiting..the beginning closer of knowing the truth....the truth..the end..what is.. the state of nothingness..and today is its commencement..an uncertain path..a dim road..with vague directions..the waiting of not knowing..dreadful ..yes..hopeful yet emptied..unclear..unsure..feared..

a time to panic?.a time to plan again?..a time to work harder..a time of idleness?..i dn't know..but i know..it is a time to pray..is it time to let go of the dream?..the second home i got used to?..or the time to hold on further to see light..or is this another false hope?..is staying foolish?..must patience be extended ?..is it worth the linger?..only God knows..

what must one do i ask my self..do I let go?..staying for something unknown or of deciding to let go of something you are not sure of what is.. two things that gives my mind no peace and makes my heart heavy..terrified to think of the loose ends , making you insecure and unsafe..you wish you have the answers outright..so there will be no waiting..only certainty and control..but it is a luxury i can only fantasize at the moment..

the day has come..the day where some have left and others challenged to wait..yes..the day the fate shall be realized..this is its beginning..let it be positive..let it be favorable...wished and prayed..but..here now..is the dreadful beginning..yes..”the” dreaded day..

Comments

GREY’S ANATOMY

Mon, 25 Jun 2007 17:59:35 +0200

Grey’s Anatomy.a tv show i have been addicted to, ever since Josh (a student of mine) introduced it to me and lent his step mom’s cd containing the show’s season 1 and 2.for three days ,i watched the series ..only allowing breaks and pauses for food,water,bath..and sleep- and only because my eyes were tired and strained. it was the longest video marathon i ever did..hence, an addiction to the show. it didn’t even stop there. after the last episode of season 2, i started waiting for hours- spending time and electricity, downloading season 3..i must admit..i fell in a trance, the world outside just suddenly stopped for a tv show..i cried,laughed a lot,felt loss,felt every pain and joy,surprised and amazed of its twists and turns..in short..i related with it intensely..it reminded me of my past, made me in tune with my present, and gave me clues on how to live my future. its script, is beautifully written . and i must say, it does have a sense of realism - of which Gio (a friend who is now an intern at the PGH) begs to disagree. well maybe not what actually happens on the hospital floors and operating tables, but with how people react and respond on life’s challenges. may it be reacting or responding to love earned or love lost, to making or breaking a career, to keeping or lossing friends, to accepting or denying truths, to holding or letting go of control, to attachments or detachments, to the call of flesh or the spirit, to sanity or madness..all of what being humane is about. i specially like how it presents “An experience, example, or observation that imparts beneficial new knowledge or wisdom” -lessons in life,such as the high and lows of adolescence, the idea of God, religion, hypocricy..et. al..and the soundtracks ..of course..music makes it more dramatic, right!….so - i am a certified fanatic of the tv series..more than i am with 24 or sex and the city or prison break.

Comments

a simple funny thing to share

Mon, 18 Jun 2007 15:51:22 +0200

True Words
> Can't Make This Stuff Up
>
> These are from a book called Disorder
in the
> American Courts and are things
> people actually said in court, word
for word, taken
> down and now published
> by court reporters who had the torment
of biting
> their lip to stay calm
> while these exchanges were taking place.
>
> Q: Are you sexually active?
> A: No, I just lie there.
>
_____________________________________________________________
>
> Q: What is your date of birth?
> A: July 15.
> Q: What year?
> A: Every year.
>
______________________________________________________________
>
> Q: What gear were you in at the moment
of the
> impact?
> A: Gucci sweats and Reeboks.
>
______________________________________________________________
>
> Q: This myasthenia gravis, does it
affect your
> memory at all?
> A: Yes.
> Q: And in what ways does it affect
your memory?
> A: I forget.
> Q: You forget? Can you give us an
example of
> something that you've
> forgotten?
>
______________________________________________________________
>
> Q: How old is your son, the one living
with you?
> A: Thirty-eight or thirty-five, I
can't remember
> which.
> Q: How long has he lived with you?
> A: Forty-five years.
>
_________________________________________________________
>
> Q: What was the first thing your
husband said to you
> when he woke up that
> morning?
> A: He said, "Where am I, Cathy?"
> Q: And why did that upset you?
> A: My name is Susan.
>
______________________________________________________________
>
> Q: Do you know if your daughter has
ever been
> involved in voodoo or the
> occult?
> A: We both do.
> Q: Voodoo?
> A: We do.
> Q: You do?
> A: Yes, voodoo.
>
______________________________________________________________
>
> Q: Now doctor, isn't it true that when
a person dies
> in his sleep, he does
> know about it until the next morning?
> A: Did you actually pass the bar exam?
>
______________________________________________________________
>
> Q: The youngest son, the
twenty-year-old, how old is
> he?
>
______________________________________________________________
>
> Q: Were you present when your picture
was taken?
>
______________________________________________________________
>
> Q: So the date of conception of the
baby was August
> 8th?
> A: Yes.
> Q: And what were you doing at that time?
>
______________________________________________________________
>
> Q: She had three children, right?
> A: Yes.
> Q: How many were boys?
> A: None.
> Q: Were there any girls?
>
______________________________________________________________
>
> Q: How was your first marriage terminated?
> A: By death.
> Q: And by whose death was it terminated?
>
______________________________________________________________
>
> Q: Can you describe the individual?
> A: He was about medium height and had
a beard.
> Q: Was this a male, or a female?
>
______________________________________________________________
>
> Q: Is your appearance here this
morning pursuant to
> a deposition which I
> sent to your attorney?
> A: No, this is how I dress when I go
to work.
>
______________________________________________________________
>
> Q: Doctor, how many autopsies have you
performed on
> dead people?
> A: All my autopsies are performed on
dead people.
>
______________________________________________________________
>
> Q: ALL your responses MUST be oral, OK?
> A: Yes.
> Q: What school did you go to?
> A: Oral.
>
______________________________________________________________
>
> Q: Do you recall the time that you
examined the
> body?
> A: The autopsy started around 8:30 p.m.
> Q: And Mr. Dennington was dead at the
time?
> A: No, he was sitting on the table
wondering why I
> was doing an autopsy.
>
______________________________________________________________
>
> Q: Are you qualified to give a urine
sample?
>
______________________________________________________________
>
> Q: Doctor, before you performed the
autopsy, did you
> check for a pulse?
> A: No.
> Q: Did you check for blood pressure?
> A: No.
> Q: Did you check for breathing?
> A: No.
> Q: So, then it is possible that the
patient was
> alive when you began the
> autopsy?
> A: No.
> Q: How can you be so sure, Doctor?
> A: Because his brain was sitting on my
desk in a
> jar.
> Q: But could the patient have still
been alive,
> nevertheless?
> A: Yes, it is possible that he could
have been
> alive, practicing law
> somewhere.

Comments

you finish off as an orgasm

Sat, 16 Jun 2007 09:09:35 +0200

I want to live my next life backwards. You start
out
dead and get
that out of the way. Then you wake up in a nursing
home feeling
better every day. Then you get kicked out for
being
too healthy. Enjoy
your retirement and collect your pension. Then
when
you start work,
you get a gold watch on your first day. You work
forty
years until
you are too young to work. You get ready for high
school; drink
alcohol, party, and your are generally
promiscuous.
Then you go to
primary school, you become a kid, you play, and
you
have no
responsibilities. Then you become a baby, and
then...
you spend your last nine months floating
peacefully in
luxury, in
spa-like conditions - central heating, room
service on
tap, and then,
you finish off as an orgasm.

Comments

test your sense of sight!

Sun, 10 Jun 2007 16:58:15 +0200

http://www.winterrowd.com/illusions/

ok..i'll make it up to you..
dn't worry your not the first

http://www.winterrowd.com/prankedcoworker/

Comments

God Make ME a bILLIONAIRE!

Mon, 04 Jun 2007 15:37:42 +0200

The world is changing FAst FORWArd!!!
I need to be a billionaire! I can't chase the world's advancement with the the penny's that i have..
Here is another new tech rising..and all i have within reach is a wishful thinking..
I want one for my birthday! lol..i know..wishful thinking..
God Make ME a bILLIONAIRE!

http://www.microsoft.com/surface/

Comments

The Good Husband

Thu, 24 May 2007 16:23:19 +0200

Jack wakes up with a huge hangover after attending his company's Christmas
Party. Jack is not normally a drinker, but the drinks didn't taste like
alcohol at all. He didn't even remember how he got home from the party. As
bad as he was feeling, he wondered if he did something wrong.

Jack had to force himself to open his eyes, and the first thing he sees is
a couple of aspirins next to a glass of water on the side table. And, next
to them, a single red rose! Jack sits up and sees his clothing in front of
him, all clean and pressed. He looks around the room and sees that it is in
perfect order, spotlessly clean. So is the rest of the house. He takes the
aspirins, cringes when he sees a huge black eye staring back at him in the
bathroom mirror. Then he notices a note hanging on the corner of the mirror
written in red with little hearts on it and a kiss mark from his wife in
lipstick:

"Honey, breakfast is on the stove, I left early to get groceries to make
you your favorite dinner tonight.
I love you, darling! Love, Jillian"

He stumbles to the kitchen and sure enough, there is hot breakfast,
steaming hot coffee and the morning newspaper. His son is also at the
table, eating.

Jack asks, "Son... What happened last night?" "Well, you came home after 3
A.M., drunk and out of your mind. You fell over the coffee table and broke
it, and then you puked in the hallway, and got that black eye when you ran
into the door.

Confused, he asked his son, "So, why is everything in such perfect order
and so clean? I have a rose, and breakfast is on the table waiting for
me??"

His son replies, "Oh THAT!... Mom dragged you to the bedroom, and when
she tried to take your pants off, you screamed, "Leave me alone, I'm
married!!"

Comments

food for the soul

Wed, 23 May 2007 07:00:13 +0200

Grey's Anatomy.a tv show i have been addicted to, ever since Josh (a student of mine) introduced it to me and lent his step mom's cd containing the show's season 1 and 2.for three days ,i watched the series ..only allowing breaks and pauses for food,water,bath..and sleep- and only because my eyes were tired and strained. it was the longest video marathon i ever did..hence, an addiction to the show. it didn't even stop there. after the last episode of season 2, i started waiting for hours- spending time and electricity, downloading season 3..i must admit..i fell in a trance, the world outside just suddenly stopped for a tv show..i cried,laughed a lot,felt loss,felt every pain and joy,surprised and amazed of its twists and turns..in short..i related with it intensely..it reminded me of my past, made me in tune with my present, and gave me clues on how to live my future. its script, is beautifully written . and i must say, it does have a sense of realism - of which Gio (a friend who is now an intern at the PGH) begs to disagree. well maybe not what actually happens on the hospital floors and operating tables, but with how people react and respond on life's challenges. may it be reacting or responding to love earned or love lost, to making or breaking a career, to keeping or lossing friends, to accepting or denying truths, to holding or letting go of control, to attachments or detachments, to the call of flesh or the spirit, to sanity or madness..all of what being humane is about. i specially like how it presents "An experience, example, or observation that imparts beneficial new knowledge or wisdom" -lessons in life,such as the high and lows of adolescence, the idea of God, religion, hypocricy..et. al..and the soundtracks ..of course..music makes it more dramatic, right!....so - i am a certified fanatic of the tv series..more than i am with 24 or sex and the city or prison break.

Comments

"So many food to eat, so much beer to drink. We should have two bellies instead of one."

Wed, 23 May 2007 06:23:57 +0200

A fil-guy has this blogsite with photos and quotes in it..i specially love this quote..it just makes so much sense..not to mention.. its simply hilarious...

Comments

CANDIDATES FORUM

Mon, 07 May 2007 16:15:08 +0200

Xavier University together with the CONVERSATIONS (an organization of civil society groups,Academes,Churches,Medias and engaged citizen's of Cagayan de Oro.. of which I am a part of ); hosted a Forum last 25th of April at its gymnasium, inviting all running Candidates of the city to present their Party's platform.. To be known, questioned and critiqued by the public.

Attending my very first candidate's forum in history was a HIGH! Not that it was exciting because the politicians presented themselves well and the activity went smooth sailing, but because I couldn't stop giggling in my mind..thinking ..that it was a CARNIVAL OF MEN or a ZOO where most of the ANIMALS had gone wild out of their cages! Or better yet, a STAND-UP COMEDY show.

It was really a high to get up-close and personal with the people in politics in our locality.

I used to just bump into Benjo Benaldo at StarMart in front of our subdivision back in Gusa, and he was always wearing a smile, never missing out anyone he meets. I knew it was a politician thing to do but I thought at those times, he was just some elitist who smelled so good and maintained to be too damn flowless..He also caught my attention in those posters he posed pacutely.. .but during the forum, boy! Did I know more about him... he stood there delivering speeches about what he had done, what should be done and how he is going to do it; instead of impressing people though, he manage to unfold many of his inconsistencies,flaws, and shortcomings as a public servant. He would more often than not start his speeches or answers to questions bragging about having been elected into office for nine years; it was really funny when someone bombarded him with the question why in nine years he had very little to do and how come some of his proposed programs were up until now, INEXISTENT OR INCOMPLETE..

Another unforgettable Carnival showman was Tinnex Jaraula..
When the audience in the gym, became uncontrollable- cheering and booing..which made it hard to hear what each candidate were saying, and took the time allotted for the latter....Tinnex just lost his poise..no grace under pressure. He ranted about the whole thing...the craziness about it was; the people who he wanted to silenced, were his very supporters wearing his name on their shirts. He showed how he could snap when on the spot.
The Forum , though comedic and uproariously merriment! Was not a negative; in fact it was a GOOD IDEA. ..Setting aside the hilarity it showcased, it was a moment of TRUTH. Truth about what politics faces (unsay nawong gd sa politica) and what facade power struggle presents. Truth about who among them deserves a chance to serve, and who among them really INTENDS to serve and were not on stage ..merely to give an entertaining performance but to confront the public of its needs and- with conviction and sincerity promised to DELIVER..

I appreciated the PUBLIC SPEAKING prowess of some of our running candidates..The dexterity to effectively and artistically convey message and influence..Ian Nacaya was impressive when he swayed the booing public to listen to what he has to say, Rufus Rodriguez spoke wise with his words , while Antonio Soriano communicated state manly..(maklaru gd kinsa ang naay breeding).

It was also a good chance to meet a not-so-famous contender, who in my opinion.. ought to be voted for.. ; JIMMY LACHICA – a professor of Religious Studies in Xavier.. if it were not of the forum..he would not have been heard and known.

I am glad I was THERE. I had fun helping out in the Secretariat, trying to digest and translate every uttered word for documentation purposes..from the visayan dialect to English. Jotting words in simple tones without missing every expression meant..

It was a historical event for me..I am glad I was a part of history.

Comments

Love is a Fallacy

Sun, 06 May 2007 18:51:52 +0200

One of the painstaking things that i love doing, is researching..going through garbage and finding a treasure in the process,painstakingly going through useless information to find the knowledge that is power...choosing from all sorts of data to have that perfect match..spending so much time for that golden moment knowing the truth about things..and tediously tracing the line to get to the right point.

Researching..a career that has presented itself.Yes, i had made a career out of this. an engagement i believe, i am called for. a tool that is perceptibly necessary to make my life easier. directing me to paths and roads which are considered the right way (how to do) or the right information; the truths...doing research..either through books,documents, or papers; or through the internet and other medias; also made possible my share of travelling. it lead me to environmental studies,exploration, link building ,and social development...such are only a few of its contributions. even in my teaching job, equipping me better and substantive materials for a class.

Here is one of the treasures i found , out of doing research..this i discovered as i was going through selections for an english class, to make better a lecture i am to give on "logical fallacies that a writer should avoid". this is an article that remarkably discusses the topic.. i say remarkable because, it made the presentation of the subject matter easier to comprehend yet concise and wise.

The article is more beautiful because it is wrapt with the discussion of love, an interest that draws most if not all of its readers. it surfaces the literal meaning and use of the subject and also deeply explains life's logical fallacies.

It appears to be a simple consideration of a subject, it is however, ultimately a reflection of life. Hope you love it too.Read on.

Love is a Fallacy

by Max Shulman

Cool was I and logical. Keen, calculating, perspicacious, acute and astute—I was all of these. My brain was as powerful as a dynamo, precise as a chemist’s scales, as penetrating as a scalpel. And—think of it!—I only eighteen.

It is not often that one so young has such a giant intellect. Take, for example, Petey Bellows, my roommate at the university. Same age, same background, but dumb as an ox. A nice enough fellow, you understand, but nothing upstairs. Emotional type. Unstable. Impressionable. Worst of all, a faddist. Fads, I submit, are the very negation of reason. To be swept up in every new craze that comes along, to surrender oneself to idiocy just because everybody else is doing it—this, to me, is the acme of mindlessness. Not, however, to Petey.

One afternoon I found Petey lying on his bed with an expression of such distress on his face that I immediately diagnosed appendicitis. “Don’t move,” I said, “Don’t take a laxative. I’ll get a doctor.”

“Raccoon,” he mumbled thickly.

“Raccoon?” I said, pausing in my flight.

“I want a raccoon coat,” he wailed.

I perceived that his trouble was not physical, but mental. “Why do you want a raccoon coat?”

“I should have known it,” he cried, pounding his temples. “I should have known they’d come back when the Charleston came back. Like a fool I spent all my money for textbooks, and now I can’t get a raccoon coat.”

“Can you mean,” I said incredulously, “that people are actually wearing raccoon coats again?”

“All the Big Men on Campus are wearing them. Where’ve you been?”

“In the library,” I said, naming a place not frequented by Big Men on Campus.

He leaped from the bed and paced the room. “I’ve got to have a raccoon coat,” he said passionately. “I’ve got to!”

“Petey, why? Look at it rationally. Raccoon coats are unsanitary. They shed. They smell bad. They weigh too much. They’re unsightly. They—”

“You don’t understand,” he interrupted impatiently. “It’s the thing to do. Don’t you want to be in the swim?”

“No,” I said truthfully.

“Well, I do,” he declared. “I’d give anything for a raccoon coat. Anything!”

My brain, that precision instrument, slipped into high gear. “Anything?” I asked, looking at him narrowly.

“Anything,” he affirmed in ringing tones.

I stroked my chin thoughtfully. It so happened that I knew where to get my hands on a raccoon coat. My father had had one in his undergraduate days; it lay now in a trunk in the attic back home. It also happened that Petey had something I wanted. He didn’t have it exactly, but at least he had first rights on it. I refer to his girl, Polly Espy.

I had long coveted Polly Espy. Let me emphasize that my desire for this young woman was not emotional in nature. She was, to be sure, a girl who excited the emotions, but I was not one to let my heart rule my head. I wanted Polly for a shrewdly calculated, entirely cerebral reason.

I was a freshman in law school. In a few years I would be out in practice. I was well aware of the importance of the right kind of wife in furthering a lawyer’s career. The successful lawyers I had observed were, almost without exception, married to beautiful, gracious, intelligent women. With one omission, Polly fitted these specifications perfectly.

Beautiful she was. She was not yet of pin-up proportions, but I felt that time would supply the lack. She already had the makings.

Gracious she was. By gracious I mean full of graces. She had an erectness of carriage, an ease of bearing, a poise that clearly indicated the best of breeding. At table her manners were exquisite. I had seen her at the Kozy Kampus Korner eating the specialty of the house—a sandwich that contained scraps of pot roast, gravy, chopped nuts, and a dipper of sauerkraut—without even getting her fingers moist.

Intelligent she was not. In fact, she veered in the opposite direction. But I believed that under my guidance she would smarten up. At any rate, it was worth a try. It is, after all, easier to make a beautiful dumb girl smart than to make an ugly smart girl beautiful.

“Petey,” I said, “are you in love with Polly Espy?”

“I think she’s a keen kid,” he replied, “but I don’t know if you’d call it love. Why?”

“Do you,” I asked, “have any kind of formal arrangement with her? I mean are you going steady or anything like that?”

“No. We see each other quite a bit, but we both have other dates. Why?”

“Is there,” I asked, “any other man for whom she has a particular fondness?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

I nodded with satisfaction. “In other words, if you were out of the picture, the field would be open. Is that right?”

“I guess so. What are you getting at?”

“Nothing , nothing,” I said innocently, and took my suitcase out the closet.

“Where are you going?” asked Petey.

“Home for weekend.” I threw a few things into the bag.

“Listen,” he said, clutching my arm eagerly, “while you’re home, you couldn’t get some money from your old man, could you, and lend it to me so I can buy a raccoon coat?”

“I may do better than that,” I said with a mysterious wink and closed my bag and left.

“Look,” I said to Petey when I got back Monday morning. I threw open the suitcase and revealed the huge, hairy, gamy object that my father had worn in his Stutz Bearcat in 1925.

“Holy Toledo!” said Petey reverently. He plunged his hands into the raccoon coat and then his face. “Holy Toledo!” he repeated fifteen or twenty times.

“Would you like it?” I asked.

“Oh yes!” he cried, clutching the greasy pelt to him. Then a canny look came into his eyes. “What do you want for it?”

“Your girl.” I said, mincing no words.

“Polly?” he said in a horrified whisper. “You want Polly?”

“That’s right.”

He flung the coat from him. “Never,” he said stoutly.

I shrugged. “Okay. If you don’t want to be in the swim, I guess it’s your business.”

I sat down in a chair and pretended to read a book, but out of the corner of my eye I kept watching Petey. He was a torn man. First he looked at the coat with the expression of a waif at a bakery window. Then he turned away and set his jaw resolutely. Then he looked back at the coat, with even more longing in his face. Then he turned away, but with not so much resolution this time. Back and forth his head swiveled, desire waxing, resolution waning. Finally he didn’t turn away at all; he just stood and stared with mad lust at the coat.

“It isn’t as though I was in love with Polly,” he said thickly. “Or going steady or anything like that.”

“That’s right,” I murmured.

“What’s Polly to me, or me to Polly?”

“Not a thing,” said I.

“It’s just been a casual kick—just a few laughs, that’s all.”

“Try on the coat,” said I.

He complied. The coat bunched high over his ears and dropped all the way down to his shoe tops. He looked like a mound of dead raccoons. “Fits fine,” he said happily.

I rose from my chair. “Is it a deal?” I asked, extending my hand.

He swallowed. “It’s a deal,” he said and shook my hand.

I had my first date with Polly the following evening. This was in the nature of a survey; I wanted to find out just how much work I had to do to get her mind up to the standard I required. I took her first to dinner. “Gee, that was a delish dinner,” she said as we left the restaurant. Then I took her to a movie. “Gee, that was a marvy movie,” she said as we left the theatre. And then I took her home. “Gee, I had a sensaysh time,” she said as she bade me good night.

I went back to my room with a heavy heart. I had gravely underestimated the size of my task. This girl’s lack of information was terrifying. Nor would it be enough merely to supply her with information. First she had to be taught to think. This loomed as a project of no small dimensions, and at first I was tempted to give her back to Petey. But then I got to thinking about her abundant physical charms and about the way she entered a room and the way she handled a knife and fork, and I decided to make an effort.

I went about it, as in all things, systematically. I gave her a course in logic. It happened that I, as a law student, was taking a course in logic myself, so I had all the facts at my fingertips. “Poll’,” I said to her when I picked her up on our next date, “tonight we are going over to the Knoll and talk.”

“Oo, terrif,” she replied. One thing I will say for this girl: you would go far to find another so agreeable.

We went to the Knoll, the campus trysting place, and we sat down under an old oak, and she looked at me expectantly. “What are we going to talk about?” she asked.

“Logic.”

She thought this over for a minute and decided she liked it. “Magnif,” she said.

“Logic,” I said, clearing my throat, “is the science of thinking. Before we can think correctly, we must first learn to recognize the common fallacies of logic. These we will take up tonight.”

“Wow-dow!” she cried, clapping her hands delightedly.

I winced, but went bravely on. “First let us examine the fallacy called Dicto Simpliciter.”

“By all means,” she urged, batting her lashes eagerly.

“Dicto Simpliciter means an argument based on an unqualified generalization. For example: Exercise is good. Therefore everybody should exercise.”

“I agree,” said Polly earnestly. “I mean exercise is wonderful. I mean it builds the body and everything.”

“Polly,” I said gently, “the argument is a fallacy. Exercise is good is an unqualified generalization. For instance, if you have heart disease, exercise is bad, not good. Many people are ordered by their doctors not to exercise. You must qualify the generalization. You must say exercise is usually good, or exercise is good for most people. Otherwise you have committed a Dicto Simpliciter. Do you see?”

“No,” she confessed. “But this is marvy. Do more! Do more!”

“It will be better if you stop tugging at my sleeve,” I told her, and when she desisted, I continued. “Next we take up a fallacy called Hasty Generalization. Listen carefully: You can’t speak French. Petey Bellows can’t speak French. I must therefore conclude that nobody at the University of Minnesota can speak French.”

“Really?” said Polly, amazed. “Nobody?”

I hid my exasperation. “Polly, it’s a fallacy. The generalization is reached too hastily. There are too few instances to support such a conclusion.”

“Know any more fallacies?” she asked breathlessly. “This is more fun than dancing even.”

I fought off a wave of despair. I was getting nowhere with this girl, absolutely nowhere. Still, I am nothing if not persistent. I continued. “Next comes Post Hoc. Listen to this: Let’s not take Bill on our picnic. Every time we take him out with us, it rains.”

“I know somebody just like that,” she exclaimed. “A girl back home—Eula Becker, her name is. It never fails. Every single time we take her on a picnic—”

“Polly,” I said sharply, “it’s a fallacy. Eula Becker doesn’t cause the rain. She has no connection with the rain. You are guilty of Post Hoc if you blame Eula Becker.”

“I’ll never do it again,” she promised contritely. “Are you mad at me?”

I sighed. “No, Polly, I’m not mad.”

“Then tell me some more fallacies.”

“All right. Let’s try Contradictory Premises.”

“Yes, let’s,” she chirped, blinking her eyes happily.

I frowned, but plunged ahead. “Here’s an example of Contradictory Premises: If God can do anything, can He make a stone so heavy that He won’t be able to lift it?”

“Of course,” she replied promptly.

“But if He can do anything, He can lift the stone,” I pointed out.

“Yeah,” she said thoughtfully. “Well, then I guess He can’t make the stone.”

“But He can do anything,” I reminded her.

She scratched her pretty, empty head. “I’m all confused,” she admitted.

“Of course you are. Because when the premises of an argument contradict each other, there can be no argument. If there is an irresistible force, there can be no immovable object. If there is an immovable object, there can be no irresistible force. Get it?”

“Tell me more of this keen stuff,” she said eagerly.

I consulted my watch. “I think we’d better call it a night. I’ll take you home now, and you go over all the things you’ve learned. We’ll have another session tomorrow night.”

I deposited her at the girls’ dormitory, where she assured me that she had had a perfectly terrif evening, and I went glumly home to my room. Petey lay snoring in his bed, the raccoon coat huddled like a great hairy beast at his feet. For a moment I considered waking him and telling him that he could have his girl back. It seemed clear that my project was doomed to failure. The girl simply had a logic-proof head.

But then I reconsidered. I had wasted one evening; I might as well waste another. Who knew? Maybe somewhere in the extinct crater of her mind a few members still smoldered. Maybe somehow I could fan them into flame. Admittedly it was not a prospect fraught with hope, but I decided to give it one more try.

Seated under the oak the next evening I said, “Our first fallacy tonight is called Ad Misericordiam.”

She quivered with delight.

“Listen closely,” I said. “A man applies for a job. When the boss asks him what his qualifications are, he replies that he has a wife and six children at home, the wife is a helpless cripple, the children have nothing to eat, no clothes to wear, no shoes on their feet, there are no beds in the house, no coal in the cellar, and winter is coming.”

A tear rolled down each of Polly’s pink cheeks. “Oh, this is awful, awful,” she sobbed.

“Yes, it’s awful,” I agreed, “but it’s no argument. The man never answered the boss’s question about his qualifications. Instead he appealed to the boss’s sympathy. He committed the fallacy of Ad Misericordiam. Do you understand?”

“Have you got a handkerchief?” she blubbered.

I handed her a handkerchief and tried to keep from screaming while she wiped her eyes. “Next,” I said in a carefully controlled tone, “we will discuss False Analogy. Here is an example: Students should be allowed to look at their textbooks during examinations. After all, surgeons have X-rays to guide them during an operation, lawyers have briefs to guide them during a trial, carpenters have blueprints to guide them when they are building a house. Why, then, shouldn’t students be allowed to look at their textbooks during an examination?”

“There now,” she said enthusiastically, “is the most marvy idea I’ve heard in years.”

“Polly,” I said testily, “the argument is all wrong. Doctors, lawyers, and carpenters aren’t taking a test to see how much they have learned, but students are. The situations are altogether different, and you can’t make an analogy between them.”

“I still think it’s a good idea,” said Polly.

“Nuts,” I muttered. Doggedly I pressed on. “Next we’ll try Hypothesis Contrary to Fact.”

“Sounds yummy,” was Polly’s reaction.

“Listen: If Madame Curie had not happened to leave a photographic plate in a drawer with a chunk of pitchblende, the world today would not know about radium.”

“True, true,” said Polly, nodding her head “Did you see the movie? Oh, it just knocked me out. That Walter Pidgeon is so dreamy. I mean he fractures me.”

“If you can forget Mr. Pidgeon for a moment,” I said coldly, “I would like to point out that statement is a fallacy. Maybe Madame Curie would have discovered radium at some later date. Maybe somebody else would have discovered it. Maybe any number of things would have happened. You can’t start with a hypothesis that is not true and then draw any supportable conclusions from it.”

“They ought to put Walter Pidgeon in more pictures,” said Polly, “I hardly ever see him any more.”

One more chance, I decided. But just one more. There is a limit to what flesh and blood can bear. “The next fallacy is called Poisoning the Well.”

“How cute!” she gurgled.

“Two men are having a debate. The first one gets up and says, ‘My opponent is a notorious liar. You can’t believe a word that he is going to say.’ ... Now, Polly, think. Think hard. What’s wrong?”

I watched her closely as she knit her creamy brow in concentration. Suddenly a glimmer of intelligence—the first I had seen—came into her eyes. “It’s not fair,” she said with indignation. “It’s not a bit fair. What chance has the second man got if the first man calls him a liar before he even begins talking?”

“Right!” I cried exultantly. “One hundred per cent right. It’s not fair. The first man has poisoned the well before anybody could drink from it. He has hamstrung his opponent before he could even start ... Polly, I’m proud of you.”

“Pshaws,” she murmured, blushing with pleasure.

“You see, my dear, these things aren’t so hard. All you have to do is concentrate. Think—examine—evaluate. Come now, let’s review everything we have learned.”

“Fire away,” she said with an airy wave of her hand.

Heartened by the knowledge that Polly was not altogether a cretin, I began a long, patient review of all I had told her. Over and over and over again I cited instances, pointed out flaws, kept hammering away without letup. It was like digging a tunnel. At first, everything was work, sweat, and darkness. I had no idea when I would reach the light, or even if I would. But I persisted. I pounded and clawed and scraped, and finally I was rewarded. I saw a chink of light. And then the chink got bigger and the sun came pouring in and all was bright.

Five grueling nights with this took, but it was worth it. I had made a logician out of Polly; I had taught her to think. My job was done. She was worthy of me, at last. She was a fit wife for me, a proper hostess for my many mansions, a suitable mother for my well-heeled children.

It must not be thought that I was without love for this girl. Quite the contrary. Just as Pygmalion loved the perfect woman he had fashioned, so I loved mine. I decided to acquaint her with my feelings at our very next meeting. The time had come to change our relationship from academic to romantic.

“Polly,” I said when next we sat beneath our oak, “tonight we will not discuss fallacies.”

“Aw, gee,” she said, disappointed.

“My dear,” I said, favoring her with a smile, “we have now spent five evenings together. We have gotten along splendidly. It is clear that we are well matched.”

“Hasty Generalization,” said Polly brightly.

“I beg your pardon,” said I.

“Hasty Generalization,” she repeated. “How can you say that we are well matched on the basis of only five dates?”

I chuckled with amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons well. “My dear,” I said, patting her hand in a tolerant manner, “five dates is plenty. After all, you don’t have to eat a whole cake to know that it’s good.”

“False Analogy,” said Polly promptly. “I’m not a cake. I’m a girl.”

I chuckled with somewhat less amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons perhaps too well. I decided to change tactics. Obviously the best approach was a simple, strong, direct declaration of love. I paused for a moment while my massive brain chose the proper word. Then I began:

“Polly, I love you. You are the whole world to me, the moon and the stars and the constellations of outer space. Please, my darling, say that you will go steady with me, for if you will not, life will be meaningless. I will languish. I will refuse my meals. I will wander the face of the earth, a shambling, hollow-eyed hulk.”

There, I thought, folding my arms, that ought to do it.

“Ad Misericordiam,” said Polly.

I ground my teeth. I was not Pygmalion; I was Frankenstein, and my monster had me by the throat. Frantically I fought back the tide of panic surging through me; at all costs I had to keep cool.

“Well, Polly,” I said, forcing a smile, “you certainly have learned your fallacies.”

“You’re darn right,” she said with a vigorous nod.

“And who taught them to you, Polly?”

“You did.”

“That’s right. So you do owe me something, don’t you, my dear? If I hadn’t come along you never would have learned about fallacies.”

“Hypothesis Contrary to Fact,” she said instantly.

I dashed perspiration from my brow. “Polly,” I croaked, “you mustn’t take all these things so literally. I mean this is just classroom stuff. You know that the things you learn in school don’t have anything to do with life.”

“Dicto Simpliciter,” she said, wagging her finger at me playfully.

That did it. I leaped to my feet, bellowing like a bull. “Will you or will you not go steady with me?”

“I will not,” she replied.

“Why not?” I demanded.

“Because this afternoon I promised Petey Bellows that I would go steady with him.”

I reeled back, overcome with the infamy of it. After he promised, after he made a deal, after he shook my hand! “The rat!” I shrieked, kicking up great chunks of turf. “You can’t go with him, Polly. He’s a liar. He’s a cheat. He’s a rat.”

“Poisoning the Well ,” said Polly, “and stop shouting. I think shouting must be a fallacy too.”

With an immense effort of will, I modulated my voice. “All right,” I said. “You’re a logician. Let’s look at this thing logically. How could you choose Petey Bellows over me? Look at me—a brilliant student, a tremendous intellectual, a man with an assured future. Look at Petey—a knothead, a jitterbug, a guy who’ll never know where his next meal is coming from. Can you give me one logical reason why you should go steady with Petey Bellows?”

“I certainly can,” declared Polly. “He’s got a raccoon coat.”

Lovely huh! Great humor! i actually am stricken on the a reality that is introduced here. we may be something, possessing certain qualities and worth, but it is that which that what we are not and we do not have, that makes us experience life's rejections. i realize. yes i am of worth, but my worth is not exactly what is sought for by others to be indispensable. you can be dispense with just because you got no "raccoon coat"..funny but true...ironic but intensely genuine

Comments

on a delimma

Sun, 06 May 2007 18:25:59 +0200

it has been days since i received the message
it wasn't just a bad news, but a terrible plight
it had me thinking deep..how come? how could it be possible?
it was a tragedy when she lost her mom
it is just after a year when her brother unexpectedly died
it is uncanny for death to take her father now

i am on a delimma
i should react
i should call or send a comforting message
i should show i feel her pain
i must make known ; her loss , has made my heart sadly heavy
i must be there ; the friend she needs and who i want to be at this perplex time of her life
i should reach out to her..the soonest...

but i am left with a delimma
but even if i know what i should and must do
but i just can't move
but i find it hard to understand
but i can't seem to know how to extend myself and know what to say
but this is just too overwhelming
but life in moments like this makes you numb

it is a delimma
i am limited to figure how to empart my presence and concern
but this is just too much; death comes- should be not a
surprise as it is inevitable and known to come to man one day-
but when it comes as dreadful and as harsh as this- you just
become motionless.. and forced to understand and ask
what is the truth..

what is the purpose of this?

Comments