If You Sleep with Dogs, You get Fleas.

Jed:  It is my understanding that our friend Sarabi is trying to date four guys at the same time.  I suppose that will require a great deal of finesse.

Ellie Mae:  Absolutely.  However, it appears that Sarabi lacks the requisite finesse as she is sending text messages intended for one of her love interests to another. Evidently, several of her interests have asked for committed relationships from her.

Jed:  The only commitment those dudes will get from Sarabi is a commitment to a mental institution.

Ellie Mae:   Its true.   It only goes to show that "woman is the most fiendish instrument of torture ever devised to bedevil a man."

Jed: I just hope Sarabi doesn't get stalked by a disappointed suitor unless she has a hankering for corn.

Ellie Mae:   I'm just curious to see whether her finesse will improve to the point where she can have her cob and eat corn, too.

Jed:  Well, they don't call it sweet corn for nothing.   However, if you sleep with dogs you get fleas.   If you sleep with 4 dogs, you are liable to get puppies.  I just hope she won't need another escorted trip to Granite City.

Ellie Mae: Love is blind, deaf, and dumb, and sometimes itchy.  But occasionally you get a free lunch out of it.

Jed:   There may be a free lunch, but she's asking for a free buffet.  There is no free buffet.   Only the first helping is free.   The second serving comes with consequences.  lol

Ellie Mae:  I thought you loved buffets?

Jed:  Only the verb form of the word.   You must be confusing me with someone else.    I enjoy knocking people off course, especially repeatedly and over a long period of time  Like the wind that never stops blowing.

Ellie Mae:  I reckon you're like the wind that blows the smog away.

Jed: What's smog?

Ellie Mae:  I reckon its a small hog.

Jed:  Well jus don let any of your smog varmits in the house.   Or I'll buffet them and turn them into one of Granny's buffets.

 

I'm Going to Have to Cut you Off

I'm going to have to cut you off, I fear.

It started with the most noble of intentions.   Something about when I was in Spain reading that if you read a novel, it will make your brain a better brain or something like that.   And of course, everyone wants a better brain.   So I select a novel to read.  I put away the science fiction and want to engage in a serious work of art.   Why not start with the best of the past decade or so:  "Infinite Jest?"

I check the book out at the library and dig in.  The snow falls.   Nothing else to do.   At first blush, the novel does not disappoint.   Its all its cracked up to be.  And more.   A veritable tour de force.   Almost too good for my own good.   Of course, in the back of me mind creeps in the knowledge that the author killed himself.   And was chronically depressed.  Mr. Foster Wallace, so brilliant.   Able to create these wonderful vignettes.  But where did it all lead?   More to the point, is it helpful for me to delve into this brilliant albeit warped mind?  Will a glimpse into madness trigger something in me?  Or am I just being paranoid?

It goes like this.   If you are an alcoholic, why have alcohol around in your fridge, just temping you to be consumed?   In my case, what's with all the Chateau Neuf de Pape and Toro's in the basement, under the stairs (where the pistol used to be before I put in the car).   Why keep all the crap laying around?  

Then you read about Mr. Wallace's chilling representation of the pot addict.   And all the elaborate self deceptions, justifications, and rituals of the addictive personality.  A hundred times more realized down to the insects on the shelf.

But lets digress for a moment. Humans are not rocks.  They are not islands unto themselves. We are profoundly affected by our environment.  If you keep pornography laying around to look at, it will rub off on you.   I promise.   For the better or worse, that's up to you.  The point is, it will change you.   If you sleep with dogs, you get fleas.   If you sleep with four dogs, you will get puppies.   Right Sarabi?

So, where does this all leave us?   Should I keep reading all this brilliant madness Mr. Foster Wallace? Where did it all lead you?   Should I keep you downstairs like my wine?   Or should I just return you to the library and go back to reading science fiction?  And zen books.   Elihu would never commit suicide.   I think Mr. Wallace, I'm going to have to cut you off. 

Supposedly, this was Hemmingway's favorite table in his favorite bar in Madrid.