TABLE OF CONTENTS - PROSE

Fast Times in Hempstead, Long Island, New York, USA, North America, Earth, Circa 2003 - Paul Nachbar
How To Compose A Sonnet - Kay Lindgren
The Art Critics - Paul Nachbar
Before The Law Again - Paul Nachbar
How To Compose An Italian (Petrarchan) Sonnet - Kay Lindgren
Am I Stupid Or Just Out For Cheap Thrills? - Craig Harvey
Sensitivity - Paul Payton
The Astonishing Phrase - Paul Nachbar
The Giggle Society: Interview in the Hempstead Beacon - Paul Nachbar

Fast Times in Hempstead, Long Island, New York, USA, North America, Earth, Circa 2003 - Paul Nachbar

Red light, green light, amber light
Green light, red light, amber
Amber light, green light, red...
Oh the list of these conditions
The list of rules if this then that's
Go if this, stop if that, caution if something else
These terrible rules for the traffic in one's brain
It goes against all tradition
It goes against your tradition
It goes against my tradition
Hell perhaps it goes against the laws of common sense
It goes against everything that you and I seemed to be taught
To give emotional permission
It goes against everything it is dark and treacherous
To give emotional permission
It is going against everything it is perfectly safe and righteous
To give emotional permission.

Work love life
Life love work
Love work life
Love life work
Work life love
Life work love

Does the order matter?
Does it?
All things can shatter
So easily
So breezily
So sleazily
Haha yeah of course so frigging needlessly
THEY SAY

Do you work to get your freedom?
Do you bind yourself in work?
Do you go from A to B?
Can all go from all A to B?
Can one trust the management
Can one trust the management with itself?
Can one trust the government?
Can one trust the government with itself?
Can one trust him?
Can one trust her?
Can one trust them?
Can one trust oneself at all?

Best to stay superficial.
It is easier that way.
Best to make the proper dramatic gesture of compromise
Sensitivyt and passion being too much to ask
That would not work
You cannot change the world
It is work
It is a labor camp
It goes against tradition
It goes against all radical tradition
It goes agaisnt conservative tradition
It goes against all liberal tradition
AH, so how you can be so blase?
Ah, so they say, as one might say, how can one be so damned blase?

Red, light, green, lgith, amber, light
Smudge of self alas
Bending this wsay and that mostly in unfreedom
Hell, can you predict it all?
Mostly or not? I gues
This way or that. Quantify it?
Or are some things unknown we being way too crude
For this sort of analysis?
When I know that I don't know I actually do know...well, more
Than I had had known.

I need to relax
You need to relax
Tell me how to relax
(duh, go read a self-help book, Charlie!)
I cannot relax if you have no permission
You cannot relax if I have no permission
It is so scary. It is so often against all Law
Oh do not tell the Law on us
Oh do not tell the Law
Please No.

All religion all true religion
If there is any true religion
Is or perhaps should be somewhat outside the Law
Or the laws that call themselves New Laws
Or the laws that call themselves outside the Laws
Or the laws that call themselves against the Laws
Damn, let us be hypothetical at times
It is more difficult than being what they call bad
More tenuous, more dangerous, more difficult to be free at all
It is ...addictive
It is creative
It is destructive and constructive
It is unforgettable, my dears.

All true law is against the law somewhat
It is outside of the law somewhat
It is beyond the law somewhat
That is the spirit of the law and not the law
Heck man, the lawyers nad stockbrokers and accountants need their jobs
They gotta eat too
I don't begrudge you impoverished folks for I too am otherwise impoverished
You need your laws and your laws within laws
And the crooks need you too
And they need your correction
And you need their correction too
Laws within antilaws within ultralaws within legal lawlessness
Oh it hurts
Oh it hurts
Oh it hurts so good
Don't it?

Oh you must get the boss on a good day
If you want him to finance your little play
Or else he might be very mad
And I think you might end up rather sad.

He and she is human too the boss
Unbelievable as that may sound
He and she is human too
Believable as that may sound
He and she is inhuman too the boss
As believable as that may sound
He and she is inhuman too
As unbelievable as that may sound

Ah how the good psychiatrist simplifies such matters
But if and she did not of course
How could we all be kings?
Hey, damn it perhaps all of us are...rings?
Ah we have to check the distribution of such rings
The rings..
the rings..

Some mad songs are sane songs
Some sane songs are mad songs
When I am weary as hell
It is hard to tell the difference
Think that oneself has perfect pitch here?
If you have perfect pitch too you can throw the whole thing off
Though it is mostly thrown off anyway
It is against all laws for things to go too well...

I pay a (*(#$*&(&(*)%#) pence
I pay a (#$&*&(&*#$) a tax
Render unto Caesar's Phallus that which is for Caesar's Phallus
Render to the Laundry Palace that which is for the Laundry Palace
Render unto Jerry and Alice that wqhich is for Jerry and Alice
Oh my soul..like yours..is oh so callous...?

Think you this song mad then probably you are mad not I
As if I could not do the rhetoric and logic and spelling and other
EASY games of language??
I think your sane songs are but manipulations of the facts, dears
THink here that I babble, well perhaps I do (you do not??)
It is the rabblebabble ..who dares to speak the lingo of a few except hte few?
HAHAHAHA
SO clever arent' we now?

One day I shall give up my masochism
One day...one day...this office life..sigh
She says in the office you always say one day you shall give up your masochism
(everybody laughs)
And I say eh too Blutus et too Bloomus
Can you wiggle your ears? Can you cross your eyes? (she does)
Does Noam Chomsky too wiggle his ears or cross his eyes
Does the Great Director of Whatever wiggle his ears or cross his eyes
When he and she gives the great order for whatever?
How funny it is when THEY sometimes all go mad mad mad
Poor suffernig darlings..
Hmm..somebody's darlings..I am just just a glorified clerk here in this agency, alas.

Adam at the office accused me of being intelligent
I said that this was simply not so
He said ..were you in Europe?
I said I was part maleducated there as well as here
He said , where did you live?
I said Paris and Bruxelles.
He said that this was very ..impressive.
I said the rents there were very impressive.
I said it was truly impressive to live in Paris and Bruxelles at the same time, though.
He said, two apartments in Europe?
I said, no dear, living in each city at the same instant.
He said, then you must be everywhere at once.
And I laughed and said, self-mocking, no, I am noplace at never, naturally
But I retorted WIGGLE YOUR EARS NOW COW

And that one said I was writing like James Joyce
(uh, how many people have heard that from other people???)
And I said, thanks, dingobrain, but Mr Joyce is longdead and ain't writing nothing these days
So go blow Joe, I write like ME
And she said, you must be stoned
And I said, one could mandate the same regarding you, dear
(and she said they already had...)
IMUS IN THE MORNING>...
How clever..how crisp..how clear..how....direct.

It is dangerous to oneself and others to be mad or thought mad
It is dangerous by far to oneself and others to be too sane
Haha, she said, insane in the membrane
What, he asked, did she mean by this strange phrase?
DId she mean to say, insane in the membrance?
Insane in the...embrace?
Insane in the...remembrances?
Insane in the branches..?
Insane in the bushes..
Insane in bed....well, duh.

Ah well tachyonun and tachyondeux who are and are not no more
And known of course to very few
Mourn their historical secondplaces in the Great Contests of Rome
The others do regret their mere turds (or not) and forts and fits and sicks and shevens and ates and noons
Poor tachyonun and tachyondeux they did not need the mortals' advice whether wise or foolish, strange or normal
But immortal lovesongs..

Ah, darlings
AH, darlings
Oh my darlings
Oh my darling
Did not
Do not
Do not we all?

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How To Compose A Sonnet - Kay Lindgren

There are several types of sonnets of varying rhyme scheme. I will tell you here about the English or Shakespearean sonnet. It consists of fourteen iambic pentameter lines, as per the following scheme:

- ' / - ' / - ' / - ' / - '

- ' represents one iamb, or iambic foot. - is the unaccented syllable and ' is the stressed, or accented syllable. An iambic pentameter line consists of five such feet: - '.

A Shakespearean, or English, sonnet comprises four quatrains (stanzas of four lines) and one heroic couplet (a pair of rhyming lines).

The rhyme scheme is: A B A B, C D C D, E F E F, G G

A B A B represents the first quatrain. C D C D and E F E F are, respectively, the second and third quatrains. G G is the heroic couplet which ends the sonnet. There is typically a turning point between the last line of the third quatrain and the first line of the heroic couplet. Often, each quatrain functions as a sort of "paragraph" and examines the subject from a different standpoint.

Here is another of my English sonnets:

Resistance

The architect of disillusionment
would crown with dunce caps turrets of ideals,
extract the merlons of my battlements,
the teeth that bite all who would make me kneel
to masters, tyrants, kings and conquerors.
He'd chain mercurial moat with cyclone fence,
opaque my windows, bar the doors of stars,
and cube curved dreams to Bauhaus common sense.
Surrender Neuschwannstein to Gropius?
I'd sooner give to swans the necks of owls,
to nightingales, the voices of the crows.
A stubborn mortar binds these castle walls:
They stun the real-world wrecking ball, deflect
its blows and disenchant the architect.

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The Art Critics - Paul Nachbar

Mr A: Ok, you dragged me to see this performance. Are you happy now?
Mrs A: I would be happier if you paid attention!
Mr A: Sorry, dear...(looks)
Mrs A: You're looking but you're not paying attention!
Mr A: Okay, I'll try. But I have no idea what's going onstage ..makes no sense.
Mrs A: The family of the artist, dear. It's auto-bio-graph-ic-al.
Mr A: <grunts>
Mrs A: You don't care!
Mr A: Of course I care. I paid $70 for these tickets. What am I supposed to be watching?
Mrs A: The very sad story of the author's childhood. Poverty, illness, the misery of family life.her horrible father..her horrible mother..madness..well biochemical of course...incarcerations...tragic, tragic..
Mr A: <grunts softly> A few good lines.a few touching moments of course..yes but pretentious
Mrs A: What are those noises?
Mr A: Nothing dear..nothing..<mutters..don't mean to be rude, just doesn't notice>
Mrs A: Really?
Mr A: I'm okay..I just don't get what's going on here..A kid, her mother..some of it is really good..but the dialogue is pretentious.. Ouch!
Mrs A: SHHHH!!!
Mr A: Dear??? Please?
Mrs A SHHH!!!
( voice from the stage "momma!!!! momma!!!")
Mrs A: <sniffles slightly and wipes away several tears from her face>
Mr A: What is going on?
Mrs A: It's auto-bio-graph-ical dear..the sad sad family tragedy..<sniffles>
Mr A: Very tragic. Sighs. It is tragic but...Ouch
Mrs A: What are you whining about?
(voice from the stage "momma please stop!! momma please stop!"
Mr A: Never mind.
Mrs A: The poor dear.terribly promising poet.died so young..unhappy marriage to some British bastard..damn shit
Mr A: Yeah.
Mrs A: You don't care?
Mr A: <in evident pain> Yes I certainly do..I write poems too.Hm..used to..well ..hmm..but business is business. Can't always get what you want
(voice from the stage "momma please stop! you're standing on my foot!")
Mrs A: <sobs> This is so touching..at this point..<sniffles>
Mr A: Finally. Now will you please get off MY foot?
Mrs A: <looks down> Oh..tee hee..Look what I did..How clumsy.tee hee

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Before The Law Again - Paul Nachbar

"Well I'm sorry, sir, what did I do?"
"It's not what you did. It's what you felt and thought and probably said."
"Did I do something irresponsible, sir?"
"You are guilty of every crime and deviation in the damned book."
"But I really didn't do anything"
"Hmm..unfortunately that's also true"
"And under my first amendment privileges as a citizen..."
"Your first amendment privileges do not cover this type of behavior.."
"What exactly did I do here? Did I hurt anybody? Was I a danger to myself or others?"
"Hmmm"
"Did anybody perceive me as being a threat? At times anybody would perceive anybody as a threat."
"Of course they did!"
"Did they really think I was a genuine threat? A justifiable threat?"
"Not..exactly..."
"Then I am guilty of what one might call thought crimes."
"You are guilty of disloyalty sir!"
"What did I do here?"
"Not enough!"
"Did I agitate against the government?"
"NO!"
"Did I threaten anybody in any self-evidently meaningful manner?"
"Uh..yes and no."
"Sir is that a yes or a no?"
"YES AND NO!"
"So what did I DO?"
"You were...hypothetically disloyal. You broke every law, rule and code in the damn BOOK!"
"But if I was hypothetically disloyal, I did not actually do anything wrong?"
"NO YOU DID NOT!"
"Then I am innocent?"
"NO YOU ARE NOT!"
"Then I am guilty?"
"uh..YES ..uh NO...YES AND NO YOU ARE NOT!"
"We all aspire to be independent-minded, sir. It is a free country is it not?"
"NO IT IS NOT!"
(murmuring from an aide to the judge)
"YES IT IS....IT IS A FREE COUNTRY"
"Then I am free?"
"No you are NOT!"
"So if I am not to be sentenced for anything I did wrong...for hypothetical disloyalty.. what am I to do?"
"You are to write your PLAYS!"
"But they will be...disloyal plays, sir!"
"NO THEY WILL NOT!"
"Then they will be loyal plays, sir...."
"YES THEY WILL!!"
(murmuring from aide to judge, the phrase 'first amendment' and 'international reactions' are heard)
"NO THEY WILL NOT!"
"So I assume they will have to be loyal and disloyal plays, sir?"
"Uh yes they will...(sigh)"
"THen if I understand you correctly here, sir, I am hypothetically guilty of every crime and deviation in the book and am sentenced to write loyal AND disloyal plays?"
This makes very little sense..."
"NO IT DOES NOT! BUT DO IT!"
"Yes I will sir...."

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How To Compose An Italian (Petrarchan) Sonnet - Kay Lindgren

Last week, I demonstrated the English, or Shakespearean, sonnet.

Today, I present the Italian, or Petrarchan, sonnet. This form predates the English one. The sonnet is a Renaissance form. As we remember, the Renaissance movement began in Southern Europe and gradually spread north. Thus, this sonnet, the Italian, is likely to be the original form.

Like the English sonnet, the Italian sonnet consists of fourteen lines. Iambic pentameter is the usual meter:

- ' / - ' / - ' / - ' / - ' (- = unstressed syllable) ( ' = stressed syllable)

However, examples of sonnets in tetrameter, or four-foot lines, are frequently found.

The Italian sonnet comprises an octave, an eight-line grouping, and a sestet, a six-line grouping. The octave rhymes ABBAABBA. The sestet's rhyme scheme is usually CDECDE. A variation, the Sicilian sestet, rhymes CDCDCD. There is typically a "volta" or turn of thought when the sestet begins. This is pursued and developed until
the close of the poem.

Since English, unlike Italian, is a rhyme-poor language, writing an Italian sonnet can be challenging. The fact that English is not so rich in rhymes as is Italian is the reason why the Shakespearean sonnet form was invented.

Here is the Italian sonnet I wrote today:

Wild Parrots

What is that movement in the grass? Not seen
distinctly by my undiscerning eye,
five rounded shapes roll eastward as they ply
the clover. All I see is green on green.
I make out wing tips with a teal-blue sheen.
I hear a fluttering. Five green birds fly
with pigeons to a vacant lot nearby.
So bright among the dull, they do not preen.

Today I spy those fabled birds at last!
Wild parrots! Neighbors often talk to me
of squawking camouflaged by ficus leaves.
I thought it was a myth. The rumor passed
through doubt-plugged ears and out of memory.
Now, I am one who's seen and, thus, believes.

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Am I Stupid Or Just Out For Cheap Thrills? - Craig Harvey

I have a problem which recently bubbled to the surface of my consciousness and a theory as to its origin. It has to do with my feelings of inadequacy due to a tendency toward impatience and suffocating boredom which can find release only in new and exciting areas of inquiry or in an emergency. I procrastinate about everything of importance until the last minute. I am competent in several areas but lack superiority in few areas of practical application, perhaps none. Procrastination boosts my anxiety to create an urgency and excitement sufficient to create temporary productive interest. For example, in college, I rarely studied but found myself staying up nights during exam week to read textbooks in their entireties. In my work, I find that a similar process occurs. I do my regular work well but save most preparation until a sense of urgency runs through me. In free moments, I daytrade stocks. There are a lot of individuals in my family who are smart and who procrastinate. I have no problem with them as they are normal blood relations. I do have a problem with those who are successful as the result of their brilliance and their abilities to push past boredom.
Their successes highlight my feelings of inadequacy although I do not begrudge them their rightful rewards. My niece comes to mind. She has a full fellowship at a major
university and will soon become one of relatively few American women with a doctorate in mathematics. Her twin sister, already bored, has decided to stop her studies after a masters degree in economics. On the other hand, I know with some confidence that Chance, one of my nephews, may not transcend his genes. He is only twelve and is taking high school courses; however, he has become involved in racing
dirt bikes. His best finish is eighth. (His younger brother Daniel has a best-place finish of fifth.) His newfound interest has caused him to grow his hair long and forego most of his past passions. He wants to graduate from high school early so that he can go to a technical school in Florida and learn everything there is to know about motorcycles so that he can be a mechanic if his aspirations to be an extreme racer are shattered by injury. (He is thinking ahead.) He has already disassembled his motorbike and put it back together. I’ll lay two to one odds that he never goes to that technical school. His
activity somewhat mirrors the early work of my now deceased brother Keith whose daughter is getting her doctorate in mathematics. Keith at the age of fourteen took a Chevrolet Impala engine apart out of curiosity. I remember engine parts strewn across our yard and the body of the vehicle resting nearby as if dead without a heart. The
yard might still look that way had not my father promised dire and immediate consequences if each part were not immediately and properly reassembled into the whole. There was no astonishment by anyone in our family that every engine part found its proper assembly before sundown that day.

I have scored at the 99.8th percentile on one intelligence test. However, that may have been a fluke caused by an earnest, though temporary, burning desire to enter graduate school. I went to law school instead. My wife was not surprised by this abrupt change in aspirations. She had seen such “wishy-washy” actions throughout the
decade of our marriage. Such tendencies must have a cause. I have a theory that my behavior is related to a malady which others in my family share. That malady is
Restless Leg Syndrome. My brother Keith had it; my mother had it; and I have it. My maternal grandfather at the age of 90 broke his foot kicking during sleep. His account of the event was that he was having a dream about a wrestling match with Hulk Hogan.
According to the latest research Restless Leg Syndrome may be caused by “an iron deficiency in parts of the brain that control movement, called the substantia nigra, the caudate nucleus and the putamen” which “may impair the ability of brain cells to make the neurotransmitter dopamine,” said Dr. Wayne Hening, clinical associate professor of neurology at the Robert Wood Johnson Medical School in New Jersey.” (Boston Globe--9/9/03--Judy Foreman) My belief is that risky behavior is necessary for me and others in my family to boost dopamine levels. Look at my dirt bike racing nephew and his brother. It is during risky behavior that I and others in my family find the impetus to act. It is upon the threat of immediate and dire consequences that we can put an internal combustion engine together. It is during normal living that we are as dull as they come. But having begun to write about my inadequacy, I now find myself
losing interest in it. The thrill is gone.

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Sensitivity - Paul Payton

A (not-so-)little life story about sensitivity and some gratuitous proselytizing...

My girlfriend strongly suggested that we attend the Kirov ballet's performance of "Jewels" at Zellerbach Hall over at U.C. Berkeley yesterday. She knows that I have a passion for crystallography and Escher-like designs, so she thought an abstract ballet by Balanchine would be just the ticket to get me interested in the art of Terpsichore (ah, the dance!). Of course, being a classically-trained ballet dancer herself (undergraduate degree from Berkeley in performing arts), she had a vested interest in the outcome. [She moved away from ballet and has done pretty much everything else under the sun.] After all, if we're going to get married, she better make sure I've got the right disposition. She wanted to make sure she picked well.

I already know I picked well. Patricia is a woman of uncommon qualities. You can see the muliebrity just in her face. I adore her.

We took her daughter along. All of seventeen years old...profoundly brilliant and equally as moody and petulant. A girl who has been all over the world, been backstage at the New York Ballet...basically, you name it. She was not in a good mood. She came dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, hardly the sort of homage to the Kirov Ballet that you'd expect. However, as there were over two thousand people in attendance, it was more a discredit to herself than a dishonor to the ballet company.

But I digress. The ballet is divided up into three parts: Emeralds, Rubies, and Diamonds. They are performed in that order. Each part reflects a national style (America, France, Russia). Each part has a specific composer (Faure, Stravinski, and Tchaikovsky). The ballet is what you could consider 'abstract' in the sense that there is no plot or story being told. It is simply dance superbly put to classical music. My girlfriend, being a former ballet dancer and dance critic, knows this ballet like few others. I, on the other hand, have never seen a ballet. The contrast between me, a fortysomething software engineer with poetic inclinations and my girlfriend's daughter, a teenager with worldliness beyond her years, was striking.

So was the outcome of the ballet attendance. The girl sat there yawning, apparently unimpressed. She had been to ballet before and this washed over her like water off a sealed porch deck. Meanwhile, I was sitting there with wide-eyed wonder, scanning the stage and studying everything with hyperintensity. Towards the end of 'Emeralds', I found myself in tears. My girlfriend watched my reactions like a hawk and merely smiled at me. At intermission, she told me: "The 'Emeralds' part is considered extremely difficult to understand. The 'Rubies' and 'Diamonds' portions are viewed with greater delight by the general population."

Well, while the other parts of the triptych were dazzling, they just didn't affect me like 'Emeralds' did. Following the ballet, I explained to my girlfriend that I could see a miniature passion play during the 'Emeralds' section and found it tragic and poignant. She looked at me and smiled radiantly, then told me that "very few people GET IT...and you're one of the few who do". She then went on to say that only the most sensitive of ballet patrons could make such a discerning observation. And, had we not been in the presence of her rather moody daughter, I'm pretty sure my girlfriend would have been all over me like white on rice. Why? Because I 'got it'. I passed a test she put out for me. One I didn't even know she had in mind.

She sweetly told me that she knew I'd 'get it'. After all, I deluge her with love poems! This is a woman who wants to marry me, move into a home in a rustic area, and turn our living room into a gallery for my algorithmic art. This is an extraordinary woman of great refinement.

So, she has a daughter exposed to every cultural advantage who was unresponsive. And I, a chap who had a childhood of adversity and never saw a ballet in his life? I was in tears. Life is very ironic, isn't it? Cultural sensitivity is a BIG part of overall receptiveness.

How DO you measure sensitivity? What particular sensitivity do you measure (there are many)? Personally, I think the term 'tormented artist' is like saying 'rich millionaire'. One word implies the other. To be an artist means to distance oneself in one or more ways from the mainstream of society and follow a path that leads to isolation...or, at least, seclusion. An artist is no different than a scientist...or, for that matter, people sufficiently to the right of the central hump of the Gaussian curve to find themselves in rarefied air. Sensitivity is very correlated to emotion. Those who wear their heart on their sleeve invest their work with passion and emotion (and take tremendous risks with their egos in the process). I would invite the doubter to read the book "Art and Fear" to appreciate this. I also believe that those of us with elevated IQs also happen to have volatile and brittle egos. We are easily hurt, easily disparaged, easily wounded emotionally. You seldom see more passionate debates as you do amongst the intelligent because they have so much invested in their fields of passion. We see it here on this channel. I see it in Mensa channels constantly.

Find a person who believes passionately in what they do and you find sensitivity. Find a person who imbues his or her work with a meticulous and attentive obsession to detail and excellence and you find sensitivity. Find a person who holds their breath every time their work is put up for evaluation and criticism and you find sensitivity. Find a person who feels a squeeze of adrenaline when they sit down to take an exam because each question is a challenge to their self-worth and you find sensitivity. Find a person who writes a poem, composes a song, creates a work of art, or sits down to write an admonishing essay...and you find sensitivity. The sensitive of us are the ones who take risks -- and often succeed brilliantly.

It will be hard indeed to somehow impose an admissions criterion for such a society of artists and creative folks. Since genius is as genius does, so sensitivity is as emotions are felt and anguish is staggered through. There does not yet exist a dolorimeter to measure it.

Any artist who is serious about his or her craft is, by my perception, a sensitive soul. Artists are exemplars too often besot. I look to the finest of them as role models and archetypes of the finest qualities of humanity. They transcend the mundane. They take risks. By definition, that makes them sensitive. The higher the leap over the abyss of sanity, the harder the plummet for those who fail in the attempt.

So, to all artists, I salute you. You make life worthwhile. Your names will be sung on the breaths of others far beyond your span of years. May these words serve as shield and aegis for you. Know you are loved for your noble intent and singular-minded purposefulness.

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The Astonishing Phrase - Paul Nachbar

He said the phrase used here shocked him to his core and devastated the
foundations of his being. The aggressor so-called said, "the foundations of your being are as solid as oatmeal." "Then kill me," cried the victim, "I am totally undone!" "You were never done in the first place" snickered the aggressor. "But", he added, pointing to his own chest, "Eh tu Brute?" "What??" cried the victim, astonished and aghast. "I too...have personal and emotional foundations for my ideas that have the consistency of a bowl of oatmeal." "Then we both must die." moaned the victim. "Yes we must!" "Or?" "Or?" "Get something else good to eat", "Good idea." "Good idea" "Well cheerio" "Cheerios?" "They're good too..."

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The Giggle Society: Interview in the Hempstead Beacon - Paul Nachbar

Some might not believe the Giggle Society actually exists but I assure you that it does and after my brief interview with Brian XXXXXXXXXXX, the founding director, I was much impressed. I asked him, of course, whether standardized tests could actually disciminate at the bottom .999999% of human intelligence- which is the cutoff point for admission to the Giggle Society- which sparked Brian to give me a knowing smile. Apparantly, the standards for admission to the Giggle Society consisted of both an array of standardized test results as well as the presentation of basic life experiences in essay plus certain multiple choice tests unrelated to the measurement of intelligence.That is, there are some very bright and some very dumb people in the Giggle Society, but all of the members, an exclusive list, hold fast to their commom motto:"never has a man done so little with so much." Of course, as Brian XXXXXXXXXXXX adds, "so much" might, in some cases, not mean much of anything at all. Besides, 47% of this exclusive society is composed of women.

I asked Brian here what were the primary activities of the Giggle Society, which prompted a thoughtful look. "We don't, "he said, "actually have that many structured activities or special interest groups or even a platform, unlike, say the high IQ societies. However, we manage to work on an individual and collective agenda in a loose, informal manner." What, I asked then, was this agenda? "It's hard to really say", Brian replied,"but essentially we are against anything positive that might happen to people in life. I know that's vague But we do our best to legislate against pleasure, money, gratification,love, orgasms, the arts and sciences, peace of mind, achievements and other such things..and do our best to promote guilt, confusion, despair and anxiety and stupidity." This must be very hard work" I then enquired.
"Well," Brian responded, "it is somewhat of a calling." At this point ( further story deleted) Brian looked over my test results and asked me whether, on the basis on a mini-multiple choice test he gave me, I would like to be an honorary member of the Giggle Society. I told him that I was extremely busy these days but certainly would think about that at a later date, when I had the time.

Extremely tempting to be sure.

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