I need to work up to this ...

So I haven't posted on Flabbergasted in so long I can hardly even be called a contributor. Yes, you say, I know, what gives? To which I would hem, haw, and give you much of what elsewhere is called nugarum about time and my lack thereof. In any case, I figured the best thing to give you in the short time I have until Natural History would be an obituary I wrote recently. For myself. For declamations. Things you should know about this particular item: it's not serious. Not even hardly. Also, look on YouTube for "Most Interesting Man in the World." These are some of the greatest commercials of all time. Period.

Kaleb A. Trotter: Jan 2 1990 – Sep. 25, 2080.

Kaleb Trotter, explorer, art critic, Presidential candidate, and wealthy eccentric, was found on his private yacht today off the coast of Tasmania, south of Australia. His wife found him lying in bed, his favorite Irish wolfhound lying at his feet. Doctors have been unable to determine the cause of death, and when his widow was asked if she believed it was a heart attack, she replied, “his heart wouldn’t nearly be foolish enough to attack him.”

It is unknown where Trotter acquired his fortune, but black market deals in ancient artifacts were suspected ever since his expedition into Ethiopia in the early 2040’s. Before 2020, Trotter was unheard of, growing up in relative obscurity in the southern part of the United States. He became a household name almost overnight after discovering the Maasacani, a primitive tribe living near the mouth of the Congo River in West Africa. Out of supplies and having lost his entire safari due to malaria, quicksand, and the previously unknown ratus africanus, the African Swamp Rat (a rodent of rather unusual size), Trotter reportedly happened upon a tyrannosaurus rex, most likely the last of its species, which he famously claimed to have killed, “with one disarming look and a broken pocket-knife.”

After returning to America, Trotter ran for President on the Independent ticket in 2036. Though caucuses were promising, he withdrew in September of 2035, allegedly because he couldn’t stand a third interview with the aging Bill O’Reilly. Said Trotter, “you’d think the man would realize that sometimes all it takes are roguish good looks.” When asked about what an Independent candidate thought of the two party system, Trotter immediately replied, “the after-party is the one you want to attend.”

Trotter turned his attention to art next, acquiring and donating hundreds of pieces of Ancient and Neoclassical art to museums in America. Most famously, he convinced the President of Greece, Alina Nicasopolis, to allow him to break the Acropolis down and send it to the British Museum, so that he “could see the completed artwork without having to go to Greece. I don’t prefer long plane rides.” When asked how he could possibly have effected this astounding event, Trotter said, “well, I didn’t the pocket-knife. Just the look.”

Trotter faded into relative obscurity afterwards, purchasing an island in the Caribbean, formerly one of the Bahamas. Once a year he hosted the world’s elite at a legendary private New Years Eve party. Said one attendee, “things got fuzzy after I jumped into the Jack Daniels fountain, but I distinctly remember Trotter commenting on how drunk I was. Things got very quiet, and then he laughed loudly and said, ‘so that’s how an awkward moment feels. I’ve always wondered.’”

Trotter’s family could not be reached for comment, although a nephew said that the millionaire was circumnavigating the globe to make sure he hadn’t missed anything of importance. 


Chaining down the muse

I still haven't mastered the art of producing poetry on demand. Yeah, go ahead and tell me to produce a couplet. No problem. I'll produce something that is totally stupid, but is still totally a couplet. To the skeptics "You see this? Is anyone here prepared to argue that this is not in fact two lines that rhyme? I rest my case."

Couplets aren't that hard. You can mass-produce those little buggers. But you definitely can't tell me to produce a sonnet. Of course, sonnets don't come about naturally anyway. I've never been just sitting on my bed (my preferred poetry workstation) casually writing a poem and suddenly realize that, lo and behold, I've been writing a sonnet. "Well I'll be a monkey's uncle. Hey check this out - it's a sonnet! What should I call it?"

I am a self-motivated person. Which basically means that when I don't want to do something, I don't do it. What I need to do is realize that I really, deep down want to write a sonnet. There is nothing in the world I wish for more, than to write 14 lines -three quatrains and a couplet - in iambic pentameter using the rhyme scheme abab cdcd efef gg.

Oh well, the couplet will be easy.

P.S. Couplets can be hard if you do them right

Smacking (Why I hate it)

In the Oresteia when Clytemnestra binds her husband in his bathrobe and murders him, we hear Agamemnon say with great feeling (and pain): I am stabbed. I am stabbed again.” This signifies to the highly intelligent audience that Agamemnon has been murdered. Presumably, the audience knows, and can imagine for themselves what this looks like. It might have ruined their enjoyment of the play had they seen the actual pool of blood accumulate around his lifeless body, his bathrobe stained in his life’s juices, his faithless wife holding the knife that took his life. Such a spectacle is said to be “obscene”, or literally off-stage. It is off-stage because it is unseemly.
In the same way, when someone is chewing his food we know that the digestive juices are flowing. We realize that food is actually getting mixed with spit as it swishes around his mouth. However, we are not supposed to hear it. The smack as the wet food sloshes around the mouth is not a pleasant sound. Nor is it at all, appetizing to see the extremely unaesthetic state of his partially undigested food. Food in the mouth is always disgusting. It does not matter if it is the most exquisite entrée on the menu of West of Paris. And look, how beautiful it looks on the plate when it is served. In the mouth it will look like the same kind of mush that saltine crackers becomes, and I can guarantee it will make a similar noise.

I am suspicious of backpacking

Because Rob and Dane posted their Rhetoric declamations, and mine amused me when I wrote it, I will post mine as well. So, here goes. 

        Mr. Timothy Clemans asserts that “everyone should experience the joys and benefits of backpacking.” The heart of my disagreement with him is this simple truth: not everyone should go backpacking. Sure, it’s great for your health to breathe the fresh clear air, spiced with a hint of moose dung, but what about the other side of this issue? Mr. Clemans’ logic, though full of examples, seems short on practical experience. A dozen people can’t walk through a forest, camp, and leave it better than they found it. It just won’t happen. National parks try to limit human impact on the environment, but with little success. In Glacier Bay National Park, Alaska, the National Park Service reports that nearly 10% of camping sites had severe vegetative damage, while 86% had significant human impact. Mr. Clemans himself told a story that demonstrates this. Once when backpacking, he frightened a bald eagle away from the salmon it had just caught. Though the subsequent meal, the experience, and the scenery were, I am sure, great for Mr. Clemans, the eagle was left without a meal. We can enjoy nature without destroying it by backpacking. 

        In addition, Mr. Clemans says in at least four different ways that camping miles away from civilization is therapeutic. Civilization, I would hasten to point out, includes toilets. If you’ve ever had to take care of business on a cold and wet mountain, you know that “therapeutic” is not the word to describe it. “Fun, physical, and rewarding pastime” indeed. 

That Hideous "X"

In my attic in Florida across from the air-hockey/ping-pong table, in front of the TV, to the side of my dad’s music studio, lies a box so hideous that it is only referred to as “X” (along with some random numbers used primarily by snowboarders.) Under those dull attic lights, along with other initiates I have sacrificed many of my precious neurons, to the great god of entertainment.

Now look, I don’t really think there’s anything sinister about playing video games. On the other hand, I don’t think there’s anything beneficial either. An occasional Halo party can be fun; but I disagree with Mr. Truax’s overblown claim that it sponsors lasting friendships. It is quite easy to point at two good friends who get together to play video games, and claim that the video games are responsible for their friendship. In fact, it’s so easy that it’s referred to (for convenience’s sake) as the “ad hoc” fallacy.

I agree with those in the reformed community who claim that video games can be addictive (generally, anything that offers instant gratification has this potential). It appears that Mr. Truax was on a hot-streak of fallacious reasoning when he dismissed this claim because our reformed community likes its alcohol and tobacco. This is called the fallacy of origin, little boys and girls, criticizing a position because of where it originated. The reformed community rightly treats alcohol and tobacco as substances to be used in moderation. We should do the same with video games.

My first rhetoric declamation paper

“Please. . . please… please… Get up off your knees.” Booyah! You need to stop praying. This is from the chorus of U2’s song “Please.” It’s from their album “Pop”; if you haven’t heard of it it’s probably because (ironically) it’s not one of their more popular albums. In this album, Bono took the strategy of addressing his listeners in the second person. This is the musical equivalent of preaching. It’s one thing to be criticized for swearing, drinking too much, or not tithing. I can understand that. It’s another to be hammered for praying. So, is Bono being fair? We can say with certainty that praying to the Father (in general) is a good thing. In this case, I don’t think Bono is really saying that we should stop praying. His point is a very good one. He is in effect pleading that it is not enough to say, in the language of the Book of James, “Go in Peace, be warmed and filled.” It’s easy for us to get on our knees and pray that someone else would help those poor starving children in Africa. But if we really want to see a change in the world we must first become the arms and legs of Christ in the world. As arms and legs we must feel the needs and pains of the body and respond with both sympathy and action. This is hard, but it is our Christian calling. Let’s get off our knees, and do some good.

So, this was my first original composition for my freshman rhetoric declamations for NSA. My delivery wasn't quite as good as I had hoped that it would be; probably because I had only gotten 3 hrs. of sleep the night before and by that time I was exhausted. It wasn't terrible, but I apparently was stiff and did something weird with my knee (probably my left, not quite sure).

Man, was that ever a long afternoon.