A sudden commotion destroyed the moment: the door flew open and two angry men wearing coarse faded-blue robes and belts of the Cruxwan University burst into the room, thrusting aside the ineffectual flunkie who tried to bar their way.
"We demand admission!" shouted the younger of the two men, elbowing a pretty young secretary in the throat.
"Come on," shouted the older one, "you can't keep us out!" He pushed a junior programmer back through the door.
"We demand that you can't keep us out!" bawled the younger one, though he was now firmly inside the room and no further attempts were being made to stop him.
"Who are you?" said Lunkwill, rising angrily from his seat. "What do you want?"
"I am Majikthise!" announced the older one.
"And I demand that I am Vroomfondel!" shouted the younger one.
Majikthise turned on Vroomfondel. "It's all right," he explained angrily, "you don't need to demand that."
"All right!" bawled Vroomfondel, banging on a nearby desk. "I am Vroomfondel, and that is not a demand, that is a solid fact! What we demand is solid facts!"
"No, we don't!" exclaimed Majikthise in irritation. "That is precisely what we don't demand!"
Scarcely pausing for breath, Vroomfondel shouted, "We don't demand solid facts! What we demand is a total absence of solid facts. I demand that I may or may not be Vroomfondel!"
"But who the devil are you?" exclaimed an outraged Fook.
"We," said Majikthise, "are philosophers."
I have taken some philosophy and critical theory classes in my life. Have known some philosophers and critical theorists. Let me tell you, Douglas Adams, although he is using satire here, pretty much hits the nail on the head with Majikthise and Vroomfondel. I could have gone to grad school with these two guys.
Well, it is Thursday morning, about four hours from the time that I have to be at the Calumet Theatre to rehearse for tonight's show. It has been a quiet, kind of lazy start to the day. I'm sitting in the dining room of the Oak Street Inn, trying to get this post done before the craziness of the day starts. I don't think two robed philosopher priests are going to come barging into the room, but I know that the Red Jacket's producer/writer/creator will be showing up soon to work with me on the scripts for the shows.
I have been trying to stay focused on writing this a.m. I've read some, written some, ate a bowl of Life cereal, and read some more. I am still in a fairly reflective state of mind. I had some good, long conversations last night with some of my favorite people from the Red Jacket. Conversations of real connection, not just small talk about weather or writing or music (although I enjoy conversations like that, as well).
I think the art of conversation is sort of dying in modern society. It's being taken over by Twitter and Instagram and texts and blogs. Yes, blogs can be a problem, too. All of these forums require the absence of real people talking to each other. Instead, it's one person sending messages out into the void (sort of like throwing a picture or written note in a bottle and casting it into the ocean). I'm never sure, when I write these posts, who is actually reading and responding to them. Maybe friends. Maybe people in the Ukraine whom I will never meet.
Real human connection is fairly rare in our sound byte world. Instead, everybody wants to go viral with a video or photograph or Tweet. It's not about really caring anymore. It's about getting as many downloads/views/shares as possible. Somehow, that indicates to the world how important or smart or popular you actually are.
Having a real conversation with real human connection is very rare. In my day-to-day, I hardly ever experience that. Mostly, that's due to the busyness of my life. I live a pretty fast-paced existence, and I literally have to plan if I want to have a meaningful interaction with another human being. Television, I think, started pushing us in the direction of staring at a screen instead of talking to each other. Computers and cell phones have simply accelerated the process. We are all philosophers with Facebook accounts.
Here, in Calumet, where I am away from most of the things that distract me daily, I am able to be a listener. Hand out some advice, if asked. Be a good friend and human being. Connect.
Saint Marty sends out good, listening vibes to all of y'all today.
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