My Metaphysical Musings February 4, 2009
Posted by Matt in random.Tags: existence, insanity, metaphysics, mind, ontology, reality
2 comments
I sometimes wonder if I am completely losing my mind, like my grasp on that ever-slippery piece of reality in which I reside is weakening. I sit and ponder the existence of those entities that surround me, whether it is the supposed fellow beings walking this seeming substantive world or the true tangibility of items that come into contact with my senses. What is real? My wife? My kids? The cars parked outside? The earth beneath my feet?
I sometimes question whether or not all of this, the entirety of this corporeality, is but a product of my imagination, maybe just some over-long dream sequence. Is everything just an invention of my mind, or, for that matter, am I but a shadow on the wall in someone else’s?
I don’t know, perhaps this ontological problem is just a product of having spent part of my life in a coma. Maybe I’m normal, maybe I’m crazy, or maybe I should just shut up, sit down and watch more mind-numbing television.
Throwback Thursday #2 April 10, 2008
Posted by Matt in philosophy, Throwback Thursday.Tags: grocery shopping, metaphysics, philosophy, quality
1 comment so far
I think we can all agree that recycling is a good thing. With that in mind, many of us make a strong effort to do so with aluminum cans and paper and plastics. What better way is there for this blog to show its support of recycling than by reusing older blog entries from the past 2.5 years that some of you might have missed the first time around? Without further ado, welcome to our semi-regular feature: Throwback Thursday.
Grocery Shopping and the Metaphysics of Quality
Originally Posted: 5/20/2007
In our house, I am the designated supermarket maven, combing row after row of superfluous metal shelving crowded with boxes and bags and cans of more or less nourishing foodstuffs, looking for the best deals on the healthiest products with which to provide my family with the sustenance that the millions of cells in their mortal shells need to maintain their life-preserving existence. So, I stock the rickety metal shopping cart, which I received from the pimply-faced bored teenager with an “I’d rather be smoking weed” look on his face, with leafy vegetables and snacks and the products of bovine lactations, before parking my load of wares at the nearest conveyor, where I am met by a less than halfhearted “How are you today?” from the haggard woman behind the counter, whose apathetic demeanor permeates the dull throbbing atmosphere of a Saturday afternoon at the local Schnucks.
So, the lady quickly snatches my items, one by one, and deftly slides them over the electronic scanning device, which I reckon neither of us have an inkling of how it works, before placing them in a petroleum-based plastic bag that will most likely eventually spell the death of both of us, before nonchalantly placing the bulging sacks of goodies in another, perhaps even more rickety, cart. Finally, after a few minutes of watching this young woman perform a task that, by her constant exasperated sighing, must be excruciatingly difficult to complete, she pronounces rather matter-of-factly, “You’re total is $54.76.
After fumbling with my wallet, which happens to made from the epidermis of yet another creature of bovine nature, my hand emerges with a cheaply made rectangular piece of plastic that symbolizes the entirety of my family’s monetary wealth. I then swipe that piece of simulated wealth through yet another piece of electronic wizardy and follow it’s every command, in a bit of backward subserviency, until this piece of man-made machinery that holds the key to my family’s sustenance for the week asks a simple, seemingly innocuous question, “Your total is $54.76. Is that O.K.?”
But wait a moment, how exactly am I supposed to interpret an inquiry like, “Is that O.K.?” How do you define the word O.K.? Why, in a tedious excursion to the local grocery store am I being asked to make a value judgement, a character-revealing exercise that will proclaim to the world my own worldview of quality that reaches into the very essence of my being, indeed even into my existence as a human being.
What is good? What is not good? How do we differentiate between the two? Perhaps I’m not comfortable with being the adjudicator of such an exemplification of relativity. Do I, as a human being, have the absolute authority to determine the worthiness of this commerical transaction?
The normally listless woman standing behind the counter could most likely see a perplexed look on my face as I stared at cold digital words on the small screen before me, when she finally, in an irritated, but still monotonous, tone, “Is there a problem, sir.”
“Ummm…kind of. Could you tell me what this means?” I asked, staring intently at the short query on the small monitor before my eyes.
She audibly sighed, probably while comtemplating my behavior that bordered on mental retardation in her mind, “Is the total correct? Did it add up the prices correctly?”
“Oh, thank you,” I replied. Suddenly it all made sense, so I loaded the consumables into my automobile and rambled the short distance back home, satisfied with another answer to the unrelenting quest through the mysteries of life.
Grocery Shopping and the Metaphysics of Quality May 20, 2007
Posted by Matt in Uncategorized.Tags: grocery shopping, metaphysics, quality
1 comment so far
Originally posted 5/20/07
In our house, I am the designated supermarket maven, combing row after row of superfluous metal shelving crowded with boxes and bags and cans of more or less nourishing foodstuffs, looking for the best deals on the healthiest products with which to provide my family with the sustenance that the millions of cells in their mortal shells need to maintain their life-preserving existence. So, I stock the rickety metal shopping cart, which I received from the pimply-faced bored teenager with an “I’d rather be smoking weed” look on his face, with leafy vegetables and snacks and the products of bovine lactations, before parking my load of wares at the nearest conveyor, where I am met by a less than halfhearted “How are you today?” from the haggard woman behind the counter, whose apathetic demeanor permeates the dull throbbing atmosphere of a Saturday afternoon at the local Schnucks.
So, the lady quickly snatches my items, one by one, and deftly slides them over the electronic scanning device, which I reckon neither of us have an inkling of how it works, before placing them in a petroleum-based plastic bag that will most likely eventually spell the death of both of us, before nonchalantly placing the bulging sacks of goodies in another, perhaps even more rickety, cart. Finally, after a few minutes of watching this young woman perform a task that, by her constant exasperated sighing, must be excruciatingly difficult to complete, she pronounces rather matter-of-factly, “You’re total is $54.76.
After fumbling with my wallet, which happens to made from the epidermis of yet another creature of bovine nature, my hand emerges with a cheaply made rectangular piece of plastic that symbolizes the entirety of my family’s monetary wealth. I then swipe that piece of simulated wealth through yet another piece of electronic wizardy and follow it’s every command, in a bit of backward subserviency, until this piece of man-made machinery that holds the key to my family’s sustenance for the week asks a simple, seemingly innocuous question, “Your total is $54.76. Is that O.K.?”
But wait a moment, how exactly am I supposed to interpret an inquiry like, “Is that O.K.?” How do you define the word O.K.? Why, in a tedious excursion to the local grocery store am I being asked to make a value judgement, a character-revealing exercise that will proclaim to the world my own worldview of quality that reaches into the very essence of my being, indeed even into my existence as a human being.
What is good? What is not good? How do we differentiate between the two? Perhaps I’m not comfortable with being the adjudicator of such an exemplification of relativity. Do I, as a human being, have the absolute authority to determine the worthiness of this commerical transaction?
The normally listless woman standing behind the counter could most likely see a perplexed look on my face as I stared at cold digital words on the small screen before me, when she finally, in an irritated, but still monotonous, tone, “Is there a problem, sir.”
“Ummm…kind of. Could you tell me what this means?” I asked, staring intently at the short query on the small monitor before my eyes.
She audibly sighed, probably while comtemplating my behavior that bordered on mental retardation in her mind, “Is the total correct? Did it add up the prices correctly?”
“Oh, thank you,” I replied. Suddenly it all made sense, so I loaded the consumables into my automobile and rambled the short distance back home, satisfied with another answer to the unrelenting quest through the mysteries of life.
