I believe in taking the nonsense seriously, so that means if your choice comes up, you might as well find a way to honor that outcome, even if the interpretation you would have put on it was different than everyone else understood it to mean.
That just goes to show you how difficult and surprising is human communication.
It was a somewhat lugubrious congregation on this off-week at Westlake so it seemed like an early bar made sense and, indeed, Georgetown turned out to be an excellent choice as it provided an apt destination for both the Lazy and the Bikeless and also treated me to an unexpected visit with an old friend from a different sphere, a kind of consilience that I always appreciate in whatever form it turns out to take.
I will forever wonder whether my chit was really chosen randomly from among that dozen or so slips of papers with possible destinations written on them, (although I did wrinkle mine up—which my friend who is a physicist and engineer assures me does increase one’s chances of being selected—so it may not be that suspect, after all) but since my words, “Home and to Bed” were the ones presented to me as where we were to be headed, (and since, as aforementioned, the dominant interpretation was that this meant my home rather than each of our own individual residences) the prudent course of action struck me as to interpret the situation in a manner that might still enable me to achieve the spirit of what I had suggested.
And so, it was probably this little bit of selfishness that led to my crash on the bike path.
“Bridges May Be Icy” says the sign, one of which may be in my backyard, awaiting transformation into public art.
As much as it’s a shame not to win what you’d hoped for, isn’t it somehow more illuminating to get what you’d wished that you didn’t?
That just goes to show you how difficult and surprising is human communication.
It was a somewhat lugubrious congregation on this off-week at Westlake so it seemed like an early bar made sense and, indeed, Georgetown turned out to be an excellent choice as it provided an apt destination for both the Lazy and the Bikeless and also treated me to an unexpected visit with an old friend from a different sphere, a kind of consilience that I always appreciate in whatever form it turns out to take.
I will forever wonder whether my chit was really chosen randomly from among that dozen or so slips of papers with possible destinations written on them, (although I did wrinkle mine up—which my friend who is a physicist and engineer assures me does increase one’s chances of being selected—so it may not be that suspect, after all) but since my words, “Home and to Bed” were the ones presented to me as where we were to be headed, (and since, as aforementioned, the dominant interpretation was that this meant my home rather than each of our own individual residences) the prudent course of action struck me as to interpret the situation in a manner that might still enable me to achieve the spirit of what I had suggested.
And so, it was probably this little bit of selfishness that led to my crash on the bike path.
“Bridges May Be Icy” says the sign, one of which may be in my backyard, awaiting transformation into public art.
As much as it’s a shame not to win what you’d hoped for, isn’t it somehow more illuminating to get what you’d wished that you didn’t?
Jimmy held the hat and I drew the slip. I wasn't looking and my hand did rustle around in the hat in hopes of "making it a random sample" , but as I pulled my hand out of the hat I realized it had settled on a crumpled piece of paper. You can tell your friend that there is another data point to supporting this method of predestination.
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