Just for a light hearted note rather than ranting about politicians 😊. Maybe I’ll do that next week.
I am displaying some excerpts from a favorite series of mine (9 books and counting). The Iron Druid series by Kevin Hearne. The protagonist is Atticus O’Sullivan, an Irish druid who has been alive for over 2000 years and in the books is residing in Arizona. His long time companion is an Irish Wolfhound named Oberon with whom he can speak telepathically. [Oberon is a king of the fairies in medieval and Renaissance literature. He is best known as a character in William Shakespeare's play A Midsummer Night's Dream, in which he is Consort to Titania, Queen of the Fairies.]
I know, I know. Give me chance here. I just like the way he writes. He can make me smile and laugh. I’ll take that any day of the week 😊. I have to admit an Irish Wolfhound would be an awesome pet if you could speak with them.
Atticus & Oberon are keeping score for zingers back and forth for the day.
Atticus: (discussing his new apprentice): “The essence of Druidry is training the mind to both handle contradictory input and construct contradictory output.”
Oberon: <That would make her a politician, not a Druid.>
Atticus: “What? Oh. Well— “
Oberon: <Hound 4, Druid 1.>
Atticus on breakfast – hard for me to disagree.
I have a thing for breakfast. Thing is a word I usually frown upon; I consider it a crutch for the chronically confused, a signal flag that says I don’t know what I’m talking about, and, as such, I studiously avoid it, like cheerleaders avoid the chess team. But in this case, I feel justified in using it, because there isn’t a precise word in English to convey the character of my feelings. I suppose I could say that I regard breakfast with a certain asexual affection, a gustatory relish that’s a bit beyond yearning yet well short of pining—or some other verbal brain-fondle that penny-a-page hacks like Charles Dickens used to take delight in crafting—but no one talks or thinks like that anymore. It’s far faster and simpler to say I have a thing for breakfast (or eighties’ arena rock, or classic cars, or whatever), and people know what I mean.
Atticus while giving Oberon a bath. The only way this works is to tell Oberon a story during the bath. In this case, about Francis Bacon (the father of the scientific method).
Atticus: “Well, Francis Bacon was quite inspirational to many people,” I said, pouring water on Oberon’s back. “He’s the father of modern empiricism, or the scientific method. Before he came along, people conducted all their arguments through a series of logical fallacies or simply shouting louder than the other guy, or, if they did use facts, they only selected ones that reinforced their prejudices and advanced their agenda.”
Oberon: <Don’t people still do that?>
Atticus: “More than ever. But Bacon showed us a way to shed preconceived notions and conduct experiments in such a way that the results were verifiable and repeatable. It gave people a way to construct truths free of political and religious dogma.”
Oberon: <Bacon is the Way and the Truth. Got it.>
For the bacon and science lovers amongst us. I fall under both categories.
Still in Buenos Aires. On a plane back to Asia tomorrow. Very much looking forward to it.
Great looking dessert at a place called Casa Cavia yesterday.