Just Saying...

Some of you may have arrived at the conclusion that the Masked Logician is the least bit cynical. My reaction to this is to declare that you obviously have the pattern recognition skills of mulch. No offence, but even a cursory perusal of my writings will clearly indicate that I am one of the Western Hemisphere's richest natural resources of raw cynicism. Had either of them been alive today, the likes of Fitzgerald and Hemingway would no doubt have slouched about my house all day imbibing thoroughly heroic quantities of alcohol and attempting to soak up ambient cynicism. Of course this would eventually cause them to reach some kind of social-pessimism critical mass, possibly resulting in a catastrophic chain reaction of jaded, world-weary affectation so severe that Amish farmpersons as many as seven hundred miles distant would take to hunkering in dingy cafes in company of rank cigars, cheap whiskey, and cantankerous women and expostulating ad infinitum about how very ironic it all is, really. But of course they're both dead--or so we're led to believe, anyway. Thus I am left to disperse the brunt of my pent-up sarcasm and disillusionment with the world at large as best I am able. So far, this blog seems to work prodigiously. I write snarky, scathing things, and then sit here an pretend that a great lot of you reading them, and everyone is thus happy: I because I've written something I felt compelled to write about, in the form of capricious curmudgeonry and general bitching, and you because I only pretended that you read it, rather than you actually having to do so. And so goes life.
But there are some things in life that are so fair, so fine, possessed of such intrinsic goodness that they are simply beyond such petty ideological and perceptual concerns. What does all that mean, you--those of you who are not embarrassed to ask such questions--ask? Well, it means, basically, that I am eye-wateringly verbose, and, many will tell you, a pompous jackass. More simply put, no matter how miserable a grouch you--like myself--may be, sometimes in life you find something that is just good. Period. Not that you always realize what you've found just because you find it. No, we often go straight on marching, head down and eyes closed, following life where it leads, and never once realizing how close we were to something that might have made us happy. And even, on the far-off chance that we do notice in time enough to take stock, how often do we actually appreciate what we've found? Generally speaking, not until after it's gone, passed in and out of our lives while we weren't even looking...
Fine, now that we have the Hallmark™ moment out of the way, I want to introduce you to one of those rare special things that I have the great fortune to include in my life. This special thing is in fact a special person, specifically a woman. (In the immortal words of some guy I overheard in a bar once, "Ain't it always a woman?") I have a feeling that she would be somewhat uncomfortable having me mention her real name, and, as a concession to anonymity, I will refer to her as "Sarah", which I feel is a suitable pseudonym on the grounds that it is a name I can consistently spell correctly. Anyway, "Sarah" is, to perpetrate a grievous understatement, extremely important to me. In fact, I have no reservation whatever in saying that she is easily the single most important individual in my life. Whether or not I take the time to let her know this nearly frequently enough is a matter for debate, but the fact remains that, without her influence, I would likely be a far different and, probably, significantly less pleasant person. Yes, I know what you're thinking, and let me assure you that in fact it is possible for me to be less pleasant. All that being the case, I obviously have a great deal to say about her, and about what she means to me, and how she fits into my life. In fact, even barring my natural verbosity, I could well ramble on for hours, which would be quite sad, as I'm altogether certain that you would stop reading after the first few minutes, leaving me alone to talk to myself. So I think, for the time being, I will content myself with relating something she said to me this afternoon.

"I think that if you were a pygmy goat, I'd want to be a pygmy goat, too."

Careful. I know, I should have warned you to remove any chewing gum from your mouths before reading that, lest you inhale it in the opening seconds of your internal-organ-rupturing attack of mirth. I admit, taken out of context, it sounds a lot like something Jack Handey might say on an off day.
Well, say what you will. As far as I'm concerned, that's one of the most beautiful and touching things I've ever heard.
I just felt I should say that.

One Last

I know what I said. I had decided to make one small token of rememberance to past tragedies and leave it in peace. And I will. But before I do, I'd ask that you read this. It says what needs to be said, I think, about a lot of things.

Further Rememberance

It is now almost midnight here. Just a few more hours until a nation observes one of its darkest aniversaries.
I realize that this is an exhausting-and none too lightly trodden--topic, and I have only a few more words to say on it. Many were the lives we lost on that sunny morning a year ago, and great the cost both in dollars and in grief. Laid asunder alongside those marvels of American architecture, put to rest shoulder to shoulder with the brave and the innocent among the slain, was the innocence of a nation. We, as a people, would do well never to forget what passed that day. But there are things yet greater that we must also hold firm in our minds in the days to come.
Lest we forget...
Peace, friends.

You Know Who You Are

To the one person reading this who knows what it means:
You can rest assured that I am aware of my continued (seeming) avoidance of addressing certain very important matters herein. I know too, as do you, that I move often at a pace which would do shame to any self-respecting glacier. But I promise that you are neither forgotten nor excluded.
After all, is it not true that you should save the best for last?

Love and all good things...

Grab Your Torches And Pitchforks

It's finally happened. Just as I predicted. The witch-hunts commence.
I happened to catch a few words at the tag end of a newscast last night about a bunch of billboards in the state of Florida. Seems the local law enforcement, in response to past and potential future acts of terror-motivated violence, has deployed some large-scale promotional propaganda in the Mosquito State. Every citizen is thereby urged to report "anyone behaving suspiciously" to the authorities with all haste. Not that this is such a bad thing, in and of itself. After all, terrorism is bad, and the terrorists themselves deserve to be dealt with as harshly as the law allows. But, call me an ignorant malcontent if you will, I fail to see “the law” anywhere in that premise. For the life of me, the only thing I see is a catch-all excuse for the population to turn against itself. The nebulous nature of the advisement leaves room enough for an infinite supply of specious rationalizations, and endless voicing of prejudices and uncertainties both real and imagined. It is only a matter of time before such inflammatory pronouncements are heard throughout the nation. And how much longer will it then be before “alert your local authorities” ceases to be a stern warning, becoming instead a mandate? What then? A new, stop-gap addition to the Executive Cabinet? An empowered Congressional task force? Federal, state, municipality, and eventually precinct-level sanctioned regulatory bodies to supervise the reporting and processing of “potential” threats to national security? A 24/7 hotline to the local Homeland Security adjunct?
But what could we, as responsible, upstanding citizens, possibly have to be concerned about? We’re not terrorists, after all. And this “keep an eye on your fellow man” approach is only a logical response to the threat posed by those who seek to do us harm, right? Such people, it goes without saying, do not belong on the streets of a free nation. And when an inevitable few take the fall groundlessly, well, that will just serve as an overdue lesson to no-accounts who slink about our streets behaving “suspiciously”. Sure, that word, ‘suspicious‘, is a bit open-ended, and there might be some people, some few rabid dissidents and anti-Democratic firebrands, who might demand that we question the true nature of the advice of our noble leadership. But then, they themselves bear watching, don’t they? I advise you, those of you that are still willing to listen to reason, that you all stand together, and stand fast. For it is only through solidarity that we can maintain the unwavering vigilance which is to be our last bulwark against the insidious danger which besets us from within. Evil never rests, thus neither can you. You never know what might be waiting out there, and precaution holds our only safety.
Keep a sharp eye out, America.

“Beneath the fire, between his words, lay the peoples’ fear... So he spoke on, and it was a cold winter.” ---Marcus Eldon

“One of the funny things you learn if you live long enough, by the time you think to look behind you, it’s always too late.”
---J. M. Haverton

The Random Curmudgeon Strikes Again

People are great, aren't they? I know, I spend most of my time grousing about slack-witted humanity, but even I have to admit that, for solid entertainment, you simply can't beat Homo Sapiens. Especially their television. Take for instance a certain major multi-million dollar American television network. I won't mention the name, but it's infamous for broadcasting numerous timeless media masterworks such as When Magicians Attack Stuntmen, America's Funniest Congressional Sex Scandals, and When Animals Fall Down. Seriously, though, one of this network's claims to fame is a series of programs in which a master prestidigitator, equipped only with a ridiculous mask and a handful of scantily clad females, systematically performs and explains some of history’s most legendary magic tricks. Is there someone, just one person out there somewhere, who can explain to me the purpose, or indeed the appeal, of this? I admit that, at one time or another, I myself have watched every single one of these broadcasts (approximately seventeen, I believe). Why did I do this? Simple answer: I’m a geek. I am precisely the sort of person with whom you never want to watch a magic show--or a movie, or a stunt demonstration, etc.--because I love nothing more than figuring out, and then explaining in painful detail, how all manner of amazing and/or entertaining things are accomplished. In short, I leech the fun out of things which are supposed to inspire childlike wonder in an audience. Thus, these television programs were more or less right up my alley, as they gave me a chance to confirm my long-standing suspicions and to pick up a few more secrets. But what about the rest of the population? Is it not true that the majority of people watch such things as magic exhibitions for the purpose of being amazed and intrigued? And is it not true that having the tricks explained ruins this effect? Yet, to judge by the public response to this buzzkill fad, as well as by the fact that there have been more sequels than the Police Academy franchise, the Unknown Magician and his illusion-crushing programs command a wider viewing than that of the every episode of Masterpiece Theatre ever aired combined. I don’t get it...
And then there’s daytime “talk shows”. One in particular, which I’m sure you’ll all recognize, routinely features hard-hitting pieces of thought-provoking journalism such as: “Former Transvestite Wives of Ku Klux Klan Leaders who are Cheating on their Livestock-Fetishist Lesbian Lovers with their own Identical Twins While Lobbying for the Right to Act as a Surrogate Mother for the Love-Child of a Third-Term Congressman and His Illegal Alien Man-Bride.” I know what you’re thinking. There is no way, absolutely no possibility whatsoever, that any being with an intellect superior to that of a kitchen sponge could ever believe that such people really exist. To you, I say, with utmost respect, that you are a blithering idiot. There are people, actual, legitimate, child-rearing, voting-right-equipped humans, who not only watch this program, who not only accept its presentations of absurdly aberrant specimens of anthropology as fact, but who allow themselves to become engrossed in the lives of these “people” to the point of spontaneously erupting into fits of physical violence should someone dare to question whichever logical stance they’ve adopted based on the facts demonstrated in that day’s program. But I submit that this is not frightening, as many may be tempted to think. It is merely comical, a cheerful little quirk. The real scare comes when you observe one of these same individuals turn on the evening local news report only to switch it off again in disgust, because (according to them) the newscast is obviously--and they say this in a tone that implies that only an organism less sophisticated than a slime mold would fail to realize this--a work of most sublime fiction, a work that is, no doubt, an extension of some sinister government plot to cloud the minds of its citizens and obscure reality. And they always say this with a straight face.
Ha Ha! Humans, those loveable wackos! What will they think of next?
Now, I think I’ll lock away all the knives and scissors in my house and maybe hide under a mattress in the basement for a while...

Consider this hearty, filling bit of life insight from the Cubicle Dweller:

In Mostly Harmless, Douglas Adams wrote, "There is an art to the business of making sandwiches which it is given to few ever to find the time to explore in depth."

When I was a student, I must have had far too much time on my hands, because if there is only one thing that I am truly good at, it is making sandwiches. When I make a sandwich, it's a perfect creation. Some people just slap a few things between a couple of slices of white bread and stuff it into their mouths. I suppose for them it gets the job done -- it puts matter in their bellies. But there's so much more to the experience. It's an experience that begins with sandwich architecture, which I think Douglas Adams understood:

There was also the geometry of the slice to be refined: the precise relationships between the width and height of the slice and also its thickness which would give the proper sense of bulk and weight to the finished sandwich: here again, lightness was a virtue, but so too were firmness, generosity and that promise of succulence and savour that is the hallmark of a truly intense sandwich experience.

Such a deep understanding of the delicate nuances of sandwich presentation and form is rare.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to make myself a sandwich for breakfast.

Now, let me say first that I can truly respect an individual who espouses such a profound, intimate a connection with something so easily overlooked, so easily misunderstood, as a sandwich. To those of you who would say that this passion is misdirected, I say only that even in a simple, unassuming sandwich, one may find the roots of meaning, the answers to the great questions, a sort of thinly-sliced Nirvana whose fundaments are those of all things.

That being said, it is just a sandwich...