CSotD: Comedy Break
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Comic philosophy from Wiley Miller, and a protest against blaming people for things they had little control over, though we could have a seminar on the topic of how much the things that happen to you are a reflection of your attitude and character.
We’d eventually come down to a discussion of how much your attitude is a product of your character and vice-versa and the extent to which either is likely to change. And also whether the sensible solution to the problem of possibly drowning is, as seen here, to not go in the water at all.
It is a small step from philosophy to theology, and Pig asks the familiar question of why God allows evil in the world. It’s a simpleminded issue for atheists and fundamentalists, neither of whom ask a lot of “why?” questions, but more nuanced for Deists and agnostics who don’t believe in a big man with a white beard but still feel that existence should have some purpose.
As a Stoic, I don’t look for a purpose but if there were one, I’d dismiss it as something I couldn’t control. Stoicism is less a matter of “God’s will” than one of “Sh*t happens,” but hopefully with a better sense of maintaining some agency in things.
For example, to go back to Non Sequitur, you can’t choose not to drown, but you can lower the odds by staying within your abilities as a swimmer and learning how to deal with rip tides, just in case.
But staying out of the water, while safe, is no way to go through life.
Here. No philosophy or theology in this one. Well, there could be, but that’s true of any cartoon and especially the really funny ones.
It would be interesting, if you were a philosophy prof, to pause in the Aristotle and Epictetus readings and have a session or two where you pass out copies of a cartoon and ask why it’s funny. Wait until at least junior year so they don’t just explain the gag.
Juxtaposition of the Day
Time marches on, and the issue here is less one of violence than of imagination. My boys were allowed to have guns, but when their gun-less friends came over, the forbidden fruit was irresistible, even if my boys would rather have played soccer. Kids whose parents wouldn’t let them have guns made them out of Legos.
But Miles raises a different issue: With all the high-tech stimulation available, can kids still imagine simple toys as realistic? I’d suggest that the answer may be in how old Miles is by the time his dad tries to pass along his beloved army men, contrasted with the mother in RWO worrying that her four-year-old will come across his father’s collection.
There’s also the fact that, in 2003, parents didn’t have the easy out of letting their small children spend their entire days glued to screens. Sega wasn’t nearly as engrossing — and certainly not as portable — as what is currently available.
The challenge is to limit screen time, and also to give them little plastic toys, whether they are army men or dinosaurs, or maybe Legos that don’t include instructions on what you should build with them.
Speaking of kids, I’m grateful that, however much ex-wife and I differed on our expectations of each other, we were pretty much on the same page regarding the kids.
Another factor was that we had always been 50/50 on time spent with them, so that, while Mom’s house and Dad’s house were very different, we were both old hands at parenting. I see a lot more fathers out doing things with very young kids these days, which is encouraging.
Though eldest son’s girls are grown and gone, so he’s now hearing the hilarious stories of all the things they got away with under his watchful eye. I don’t know if that’s encouraging, but it’s payback for the stories I’ve heard.
There’s a bat or two over at the Buckets this week. I get an occasional bat in the apartment, which is weird because I’ve got a whole second story between me and the attic.
With luck, opening doors and windows will work and the little fellow will find his way out. Otherwise, you’re in for a chase. I find covering the bat with a bath towel is gentle and sufficient but they rarely land places where it’s easy, nor do they stick around in one spot when you approach.
And Larry’s right: They get in some normal, regular way you don’t know. A bat can squeeze through tiny places only an octopus could fit, the difference being that an octopus would have more sense than to try.
First Dog took a day off from politics to explain how sniffer dogs are being trained to detect platypi.
I wouldn’t train Suzi to do this as there’s little chance of a platypus turning up in our apartment.
Though maybe they’re there and I just can’t smell them.
Weather permitting, I’ll be going to the Cornish Fair next month. County fairs are a lot of fun if you enjoy seeing animals and talking to the people who raise them, though if you have kids, prepare to lose money trying to toss a softball into a peach basket. It isn’t gonna stay.
As for Carnievore food, it’s okay for a one-day visit, but when I used to sit a booth at the county fair each year, I learned to pack a lunch for the first six days and only eat fair food on the last one, because your body won’t tolerate that much fat, grease and sugar for very long.
Though the year I was asked to judge the pie-baking contest was one to remember. I wish that had gone on for seven days.
And another year, the newspaper’s booth was near the one where Clete Boyer was selling photos of himself with Roger, Mick and the gang. We spent a fair amount of time together when things were slack.
That has nothing to do with food. I just mention it to make Yankee fans swoon.
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