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High today, here: 22. Dewpoint then: 16. High dewpoint: 16.
High today in TO: 22. Dewpoint then: 15. High dewpoint: 16.
Low today on the balcony: 16.9. High: 22.5. Currently: 19.8.
I had wondered, for a while, if the tortoise ever stepped on the rabbits, given that it absolutely is not interested in their existence and they just have to get the hell out of the way when it comes marching at them, and then had decided for a while that it doesn't ever step on them, because they're at least a bit too quick--but today, it stepped on a little one's leg, and the little one squealed. You wouldn't expect a rabbit to make such a sound. But then, you wouldn't expect a rabbit to make any sound at all. And it didn't squeal for just an instant, because the tortoise, being absolutely uninterested in the existence of rabbits, was uninterested in the rabbit's squealing, and so didn't lift up its foot again until it was that foot's turn to go.
I love watching this tortoise because it's so absolutely uninterested in just about everything. It just keeps marching. Steps in a hole, just keeps marching. Walks into the fence, just keeps marching. Pile of rabbits in front of its nose, just keeps marching.
Spent the last couple of afternoons slogging through the first couple of sections of The End of History and the Last Man ... and what a contrast a book like this makes to a book like the Phenomenology. The Phenomenology is so intense, dense, laden, packed; Fukuyama is so, well, glib would be one way to put it, I guess. I mean, there are some interesting ideas here, but the content-to-chatter ratio is not very good. (And, oh, my, the things he does say about Hegel--like that Hegel thinks the master is better and more admirable than the slave, which is, I dunno, I want to say patently false, but it's more stupidly wrong-headed. Firstly, the lord is an idiot; he's the guy who's never going to bail, no matter what, in a game of chicken. Second, the lord doesn't get anywhere in the struggle, because he doesn't experience the absolute fear of death, which the bondsman does, and which shows the bondsman that a) he can't escape his embodied life, but b) no particular fact about his embodied life is inescapable. So, there's one OK and one excellent reason to think more highly of the bondsman, but: third, valuation is just irrelevant here; this is phenomenology, not moralizing; it's descriptive, not prescriptive: it's supposed to show how self-consciousness comes to know itself--and if it seems like it's a good thing for self-consciousness to come to know itself, well, that's fine, but also irrelevant.)
The trouble is, I don't just read slow books slowly; I read fast books slowly, too, and this makes fast books extremely aggravating.
High today in TO: 22. Dewpoint then: 15. High dewpoint: 16.
Low today on the balcony: 16.9. High: 22.5. Currently: 19.8.
I had wondered, for a while, if the tortoise ever stepped on the rabbits, given that it absolutely is not interested in their existence and they just have to get the hell out of the way when it comes marching at them, and then had decided for a while that it doesn't ever step on them, because they're at least a bit too quick--but today, it stepped on a little one's leg, and the little one squealed. You wouldn't expect a rabbit to make such a sound. But then, you wouldn't expect a rabbit to make any sound at all. And it didn't squeal for just an instant, because the tortoise, being absolutely uninterested in the existence of rabbits, was uninterested in the rabbit's squealing, and so didn't lift up its foot again until it was that foot's turn to go.
I love watching this tortoise because it's so absolutely uninterested in just about everything. It just keeps marching. Steps in a hole, just keeps marching. Walks into the fence, just keeps marching. Pile of rabbits in front of its nose, just keeps marching.
Spent the last couple of afternoons slogging through the first couple of sections of The End of History and the Last Man ... and what a contrast a book like this makes to a book like the Phenomenology. The Phenomenology is so intense, dense, laden, packed; Fukuyama is so, well, glib would be one way to put it, I guess. I mean, there are some interesting ideas here, but the content-to-chatter ratio is not very good. (And, oh, my, the things he does say about Hegel--like that Hegel thinks the master is better and more admirable than the slave, which is, I dunno, I want to say patently false, but it's more stupidly wrong-headed. Firstly, the lord is an idiot; he's the guy who's never going to bail, no matter what, in a game of chicken. Second, the lord doesn't get anywhere in the struggle, because he doesn't experience the absolute fear of death, which the bondsman does, and which shows the bondsman that a) he can't escape his embodied life, but b) no particular fact about his embodied life is inescapable. So, there's one OK and one excellent reason to think more highly of the bondsman, but: third, valuation is just irrelevant here; this is phenomenology, not moralizing; it's descriptive, not prescriptive: it's supposed to show how self-consciousness comes to know itself--and if it seems like it's a good thing for self-consciousness to come to know itself, well, that's fine, but also irrelevant.)
The trouble is, I don't just read slow books slowly; I read fast books slowly, too, and this makes fast books extremely aggravating.
