election 2008, andrew, and a curious device, part ii

CONTINUED FROM PREVIOUS POST (wherein andrew describes his encounter with the paradox finding device)

later, as we sat in the kitchen alcove of beth’s house sipping hot chocolate, the man pointed to a series of digits on a print-out. “now, see this? everywhere you see a string of numbers like this—three-eight-eight, oh-two-seven—that represents a potential metaphysical inconsistency.”

i considered 388 027. the number had no obvious significance, no sign of a pattern or mathematical errancy, nothing for the likes of an english major.

the man danced a practiced finger from row to row as he scanned the digits. he grunted occasionally, belched loudly when his finger stopped below a series of seven 9s, but otherwise seemed entirely absorbed in this gypsy math.

then, from behind the curtains i heard the now familiar hum of the paradox finding device. strange that i hadn’t noticed it before, i thought. then the curtain moved—i hadn’t seen the device move before, just the noise and lights. the curtains jiggled again. perhaps i’d found the paradox motherload.

april’s cat stepped out from behind the curtain, eyed me curiously, and turned back into the long fabric.

“hi, josie,” i said. “what do you have back there?”

i could now make out her figure behind the curtain, nipping at what must be the paradox finding device.

“josie, leave that alone.”

leaving the man to his cryptic pages of digits, i walked into the kitchen. the counters were mostly bare. a spicy curry-like substance stewed quietly on the stove. next to the wine rack i spotted the bright blue spray bottle.

“josie!” i called, “you better leave that thing alone.” grabbing the half-full bottle, i returned to the alcove. the cat had batted the strange device into the middle of the room. she pawed at it in what seemed regular intervals.

“are you planning to spray that cat?” asked the man. he was staring at me now.

“maybe,” i lied.

“of course—well, don’t bother. come; sit, sit. there’s interesting stuff here, but i think that all we have time for are these twenty or so pages.” he was pointing to a stack of pages he’d labeled “election 2008.”

“this is amazing stuff. you score a seventeen!”

“is that good?”

“well, it’s a true paradox, that’s for certain.”

“oh, OK.”

“see, look here. these numbers suggest that on both a global and a micro level you hold views that are paradoxical.”

“what do you mean?”

“for starters, you genuinely believe that barack obama is the moral choice for president, and the immoral choice for president, and that there is no moral choice for president. and you believe that mccain is in many ways the best that the republican party has to offer, but don’t expect to give him your vote—”

“i follow you, but you’ve got to give me some credit for consistently thinking that sarah palin is a loon.”

the cat had abandoned the paradox device and was purposefully walking about the room.

“meow,” she said.

“hmm. perhaps. nonetheless, you believe that capitalism, democracy, and the protestant work ethic are keys to the continued success of the united states, that distributism and quasi-socialism are keys to the ensuring equality of man, and that these systems are all myths, half-truths to make us feel that we can build sustainable society.”

“right, i see where you’re going with this. i’m stuck with these non-negotiables—we must have the freedom to earn our own keep, control our destinies, and live our lives without the interference of a malignant bureaucracy, yet the very system that allows such american dreams seems set up to propagate inequality, poverty, and poor health care. the rich get richer and the poor get poorer. and although many churches and social programs successfully address these needs, others create generational patterns of welfare.”

“oooh, boy,” he cried, looking down at the print-out, “and we haven’t even mentioned the abortion issue.”

i couldn't resist the bait. “i buy the arguments of websites like proobamaprolife.com, which describe how obama’s emphasis on decreasing the number of unwanted pregnancies through education, birth control, and condoms will have a greater impact on the number of aborted babies than any policy of mccain’s. and i hate how the republican party has co-opted this issue as the one way to keep evangelicals in their electoral camp. but i’m going to have trouble voting for a candidate that supports increased access to abortion.”

“you don’t even need me!” he flipped to another page. “what about your so called objectivism?”

“what do you mean? i’m a model of objectivity. after all, i’m an ISTP.”

“then how is it that you are so swayed by the call for change, by smooth talking, amazing speeches, and funny jokes? why do you esteem the underdogs and challengers over the seemingly capable incumbents? and why do you allow personal grudges—i.e., the lack of response to your supersonics pleas—to impact your vote? and for that matter, why do you so prize objectivity? ”

i stared at the man, dumbfounded. i looked at the pacing cat, at the hanging drapes, at the curious buzzing device on the floor. “i don't know. what’s the answer?” i asked.

he ran a hand through his hair, shuffled the papers into a yellow attaché case, and stooped down to pick up the device. the cat meowed once, twice, and a third time. with tired eyes he looked at me and then back at the cat.

“she says that you are the answer.”

election 2008, andrew, and a curious device

“the device is used to spot paradoxes,” explained the man as he slapped it against his thigh. “if there is a paradox, these lights here, here, and here will blink swampy moss green, night-shade eggplant purple, and laundry blue.”

“and—those are colors?” i asked.

“yes, the colors of paradox.”

he pushed his chair back and walked toward me. the device dangled in his hand like a strangled bunch of metallic carrots. it whirred and hummed against his side.

“show me again,” i said.

he nodded, gave the awkward device three quick shakes, and dropped it to the floor—not a sign of flashing lights. the device purred but remained inert.

“but first can i touch it?”

nodding, he reached down and grabbed the device by what looked curiously like a stem. he offered it to me.

“don’t worry it won’t bite,” he chuckled.

it didn’t bite, but it kept buzzing. i carefully examined the contraption, testing its weight in my palm, listening for the source of that noise, turning it to explore its edges, grooves, and nubs.

i handed it back to him.

“OK. i suppose i’m ready.”

again, three shakes, and then he tossed me the device. nothing happened. it murmured in my hands just as it had a moment earlier on the floor of beth’s living room and when slapped against the man’s thigh. and then, it suddenly lit up. a carnival of greens, purples, and blues flashed through my fingers.

“a paradox!” shouted the man.

CONTINUED IN THE NEXT POST (wherein the mysterious paradoxes are unraveled)

sad songs

Part I - The paradox of Andrew

you probably can't tell from my blog, but generally speaking, i'm an easy-going, good-natured, happy guy. in some respects, i think its a paternal trait. last summer, for instance, my dad and i were putzing around the crescent bar harbor in our 19-foot sea ray (20 yrs old and still without a name) and we suddenly heard a muffled grinding sound.

'what's that?' i asked.
'the prop...' he said as he quickly maneuvered us further from shore.
'rocks?'
'yep.'
'that sucks.'
'yep.'

and that was that. hmmm...apparently i'm no master of dialogue; that makes him seem quiet but not necessarily happy. try this:

'what's that?' i asked.
'the prop...'
'rocks?'
'yep.' he frowned and then, chuckling, continued 'again.' (we have an expensive proclivity for busting props)
'that sucks.'
'yep'

after determining that the boat was still afloat, we returned to matters of the mundane and thought little of the crippled fish beneath our feet. hours later, after burgers and games, one of us mentioned to a surprised gaggle of girls that the ship was down for the count. in any case, its quite nice to have inherited this cheerful peace of mind. but occasionally it can frustrate others, like when i respond to tales of flat tires, broken broaches, or irritating encouters with the bossman by citing all the horrible circumstances that they avoided. 'just think,' i say, 'at least you have a job. and you get to wear sandals to work! mari tells me that kids in zimbabwe are so hungry they'd eat those sandals...' and that usually doesn't go over well.

soooo...perhaps as a means of compensating for this over enthusiastic optimism i find myself attracted to art that is better characterized by sadness, sufferring, or pain than banal pop, perky love songs, or christmas music with delilah. and there you have it, the paradox of andrew. [EDIT: this last paragraph deserves a lot more depth, oh well. also, i would be remiss if i did not acknowledge beth the s.o. and my officemates at the VA -- Darcy and Rebecca especially -- for their work in bringing this paradox to light]

Part II - fun activity

from a more objective perspective, i think sad songs are particularly powerful. as elton john says 'sad songs say so much.' so, recently i've been incredibly happy about this really sad song by death cab for cutie: "What Sarah Said" (ps - this link is for lyrics, i'd encourage you to first listen to the song before reading the lyrics, but whatever). in fact, i've been so excited about this song, which i've dubbed the saddest song ever, that i've been forcing others to endure it. now that you've heard my saddest song ever, whats yours?

andrew: 'what sarah said'
darcy: some classical song written by holocaust victims (sounds quite sad to me)
[ADD:]
mark -- puff the magic dragon (see comments)
beth -- center aisle (caedmon's call)
you -- ?????????????