Politicians, cod, cop-outs, and Lionel Richie...

Dear Ms. Inquiry,


Why do politicians make people want to smack them in the face with a large cod?  


Requiring your KNOWLEDGE of a POLITICAL PHILOSOPHER,
Carp E. Diem




Dear Ms. Diem,

Before I answer your question, Imma apologize in advance for what is going to be somewhat of a half-assed blog entry.  I've had some thoughtful and even funny reflections lately, but I've been busy these past few weeks fixing my car, inspecting my car, finding out somebody I most likely don't even know keyed my car, and, of course, driving my car.  If my blog had four wheels and cost me thousands of dollars, I'd be updating it all night long.

Hey baby, it's just you, me, and the DMV

I imagine that very few people list "politicians" as one of their "likes" on Facebook.  As I mentioned in my previous post, even if people did like politicians, it would not be sufficient cause for them to "like" politicians, but even that is moot because I'm pretty sure that nobody likes "politicians" in general.  A few specific ones may be okay-- unspeakably awesome, even-- but most people I know, despite their political leanings, can agree upon one thing: most U.S. politicians could do with a swift bit of sea critter to the face.  (Which, incidentally, has a word for it: cornobbling.)

The big question is: why?  Why so many?  This is where Plato comes in.

STEP ASIDE!  Plato's gonna lay some knowledge on ya!

Actually, being as this is my blog, and I don't have to concern myself with things like philosophical integrity, academic accuracy, or anyone accusing me of taking myself seriously, Imma go ahead and criminally paraphrase Plato to the extent that I'll only use two words of a thing he said in The Republic.  Enjoy your fine education!

Those two words: "Philosopher king."

Think about it.  Don't you think the king should be the wisest person of all?  Who better to do politics than somebody endowed with the keys to THE SECRETS OF THE UNIVERSE?  We all know how wise philosophers are.

So basically the problem is: people like Richard Nixon (example chosen to avoid political controversy!) get to run the country, while philosophers tend to content themselves with writing blogs about the epistemology of Facebook.

Which is to say, I'm turning 35 in 13 years.  START DISSEMINATING THIS BLOG NOW, AND GET OUT THE VOTE.

What does it mean to "Like"?

First and foremost, I apologize for temporarily abandoning my post as a PURVEYOR OF ULTIMATE WISDOM for so long.  As it were, life outside of the blogosphere got hectic.  IT HAPPENS, KAY?

Rather than proceeding with my normal question-and-answer format, I will reflect on a profound realization I had today.  It came shortly following a brief quiz I took on Facebook:

My mom agrees with it, so it must be true.

As you might have noticed, I myself "liked" my own quiz result.  Note: I did not do this on purpose.  I did, indeed, like the fact that some entity out there thinks that I am similar to that classiest of Star Trek captains, Jean Luc Picard.  In fact, I love that of all the possible Star Trek characters I could have been, through many iterations of that franchise, I was Picard rather than, say, Neelix.

I will defend Voyager 'til the day I die but this creature is terrifying.

But back to the main point: I did not mean to "like" this quiz result.  After taking the quiz, a little window popped up prompting me thus:

"Do you like your quiz result?"  

And, as I have earlier stated, I did like it, and continue to, and shall like it until the last "Make it so" echoes from my dying lips into the chasms of eternity.  So in the interest of epistemology, I answered truthfully: 

"Yes."

And so when I looked at my wall, I saw that I had Facebook "like[d]" the quiz result.  Here's the thing: are they the same?  When you "like" something, are you saying the same thing as when you say you like something in real life, or is it something more?  My answer is no: while I liked my quiz result, it is not true to say that I "like[d]" it.  Facebook is a filthy liar.

How so?  After all, they asked me if I liked it, and indeed I did.  However, there are many things I privately like.  Prior to this post, I was very private about my liking of a certain Creed song.  It's very embarrassing for me to like a Creed song, because I would not want to be misconstrued as a Creed fan, or even somebody who is okay with the very existence of Creed to any extent.  However, I do very much like the song "One."  (Look, whatever, it's catchy.  That little guitar riffy thing is kinda nice.  Oh who am I kidding, this and my confession of Voyager fandom will sink my blog.)

Let's break it down.  We all like things that we wouldn't publicly "like."  When I like something, it just kind of means I enjoy it.  When I "like" something, it means I publicly endorse it.  I would "like" something like "Being a genius and awesome in general," because by "lik[ing]" it, I kind of publicly participate in it, don't I? Then everyone who sees it on their feed things, "Maybe she is a genius and awesome in general."  Get it?

So when the quiz asked me if I liked my results, it was being deceptive-- posing an epistemic problem.  I thought I was merely liking a thing, while indeed I was "lik[ing]" it.  But you can't accidentally "like" something in good faith, because to "like" something is an act of making a statement like, "I, the person liking this, publicly endorse it in good faith."  

However, I wasn't endorsing anything.  I was just a happy nerd.

On the Catchiness of Catchy Tunes

Dear Ms. Inquiry,


What makes catchy-ass songs so catchy? Why does catchy-ness of song apparently have NOTHING to do with quality of song? Why am I always SO SICK of the catchy ass-song about two months before any of the DJs on commercial radio are? 

EXPLAIN POP MUSIC TO ME,
Guenevere


Dear Lady Guenevere,


I have made it my QUEST to seek the answers to THESE QUESTIONS THREE!  I journey forth into the MOUNTAINS OF MOTOWN, the DUNGEONS OF DIVAS, the ANNALS OF AUTOTUNE to uncover the Holy Grail of music answers: what gives pop its power?


You are keen to observe that catchiness does not necessarily correlate to quality.  For instance, catchy tunes can run the gamut from Mozart's Eine Kleine Nachtmusik (which I defy you not to get stuck in your head for the next five weeks)

to "Whip My Hair" by Willow Smith.

(I am so, so sorry.)

So what is catchiness?  I will define it as "the quality of a song to repeat in your head ad nauseum, until it is replaced either by a song of equal or greater catchiness or the blade of an ax."  But what makes the song get stuck in your head?  What's the difference between Kesha's "Tik Tok" and Milton Babbitt's... anything by Milton Babbitt?

If you have the kind of mind in which "Philomel" can get stuck, you're either a genius or an interdimensional sound alien.

For today's philosophical discussion, I will employ the strategy of Talking Out of My Ass.  It was invented by the Pre-Socratics, and can be seen in an Intro to Philosophy course near you-- in copious quantities-- by the stoner kid who sits in the back and raises his hand every five minutes to say something about The Matrix.  

My guess is that catchy music is catchy because it sounds the same as all other catchy music.  Stay with me now.  Tell me one difference between any Ke$ha song, and any other Ke$ha song, besides song title.  You can't find one, right?  Same beat, same subject matter, same weird sing-talking, same chord progression.  If you hear a catchy song, chances are, you can name five other catchy songs that sound just like it.  Do this, out loud, during long car rides.  Use the knowledge this blog gives you to make yourself sound like a self-important hipster!

Some of this is not on purpose.  There are only so many notes in the Western scales that American pop music uses-- you're going to run out eventually.  And most people have the same taste in note relationships.  But a lot of this stuff is intentional.  Check out this Quincy Jones quote I caught on NPR:

"In the thirties and forties, Basie was one of the biggest bands in America," Jones says. "And the bass drum was four to the floor — gong, gong, gong, gong — exactly the same as disco. Exactly."

What worked in the forties worked in the seventies works right now. Listen to Katy Perry's "Teenage Dream," as one of many examples. It's four to the floor! The hits may change, but the elements do not.

 "The elements do not."  So basically music is the same, cut and pasted, reworked stuff that it has always been.  
So that's what makes tunes catchy-- you've heard them all before.  And songwriters/ producers know this: they know what sold before, they take the extra profitable bits, and then they sew them together in a big, catchy blanket.  The kind of blanket that you can't get off of you.  A KILLER BLANKET DEVOURING YOUR SOUL.  How's that image?


That's probably also why you get sick of music way before deejays do.  Also because you're not paid to pretend you're not sick of it.


Hope that helps,
Yours In Inquiry

Postmodernism, or Yellow Labs and Golden Retrievers are the Same Dog.

Dear Ms. Inquiry,


What is the difference between a yellow lab and a golden retriever?  All I see is different hair, and if that were enough to classify a different breed of dog, did Devin Townsend turn into a different breed of demon when he cut his hair?


I require your skills of a POSTMODERNIST,
You 

That's right, kids.  Lately, this question has been bothering me so much that I'm going to answer it in my own blog, so you can see LOGIC IN ACTION™.  Is there any real, important difference between a yellow lab and a golden retriever?  I can't see it!  After all, there is a bigger difference between a Devin Townsend and a Devin Townsend

THESE THINGS ARE THE SAME

than there is between a golden retriever and a yellow lab.

Golden retrievers are just yellow labs who listen to Phish and vote for Dennis Kucinich.

To prove that the difference between a golden retriever and a yellow lab is just a social construct used to KEEP THE DOG DOWN, I will use a critical theory methodology called postmodernism.  Use it on your friends!

Now as you know, adding post- before anything instantly boosts your indie cred.  Back before Guinea Pigs in Galoshes (you've probably never heard of them) made their first EP in the kitchen of their french horn player's grandma's house, postmodernists were writing about "the belief that many, if not all, apparent realities are only social constructs, as they are subject to change inherent to time and place" (oh yea, Wikipedia.)

You know that phrase, "Let's call a spade a spade?"  Well, whoever came up with that was probably playing poker with a postmodernist who insisted she had a royal flush due to the socially constructed nature of card suits.  Postmodernists say that you shouldn't assume that there's just one reality you gotta accept.  In fact, the people who try to tell you what's what are probably just making it up!

For fun, find a big group of guitar nerds, make a paper airplane out of The Rolling Stone's Top 100 Guitarists, and see them tear each other to pieces as they debate their own realities.  In fact, watch as the one guy who thinks Robert Fripp should be #1 actually turns purple.  And when everyone else tells him that he should go to the hospital, because he's purple, say that purple is a social construction.  The suggestions from this blog will make you a hit at parties!

So to answer your question, me, a postmodernist would agree with you: there is no difference between a yellow lab and a golden retriever!  It's all a social construction!  

Yours in post-inquiry,

Me

The Buttered Cat Principle, or Why You Should Trust Me with Science!

Dear Ms. Inquiry,


I've always wanted to hear you discuss your take on whether or not buttered toast attached butter-side up to a cat's back would break all the laws of physics, but I don't know if that's appropriate.


Inappropriately yours,
Heather


Dear Heather,

Inappropriate philosophy?  In MY blog?  It's more likely than you think.

The idea that buttered toast tied to a cat will create an anti-gravity device is as old as the internet.  It's a sad state of affairs when an idea this whimsical has its own Wikipedia article, when serious philosophers such as myself do not!  Not that I'm bitter or anything.

Actual image from Wikipedia.  Not pictured: Wikipedia images of philosobloggers :-(

For the as-yet uninformed, the Buttered Cat principle is based on two premises:

• Toast always lands butter-side down
• Cats always land on their feet

From these premises, we speculate that by strapping toasts to cats, the cats will FLY!  Being as this is a matter of scientific speculation, it is high time that we learned about Philosophy of Science!  A philosopher of science looks at science and tells us if it's doing a good job.  Who could be better qualified for that task than I?

My name is Nat.  I have a blog, I dress up like Harry Potter, and I'm here to tell you if science is doing a good job.

Let's think about the Buttered Cat principle's reasoning.  It's based on speculation.  Speculation is that thing you do when a few things make sense to you, so you come up with conclusions based on those things!  Let's take evolutionary psychology, for example.  Evolutionary psychology says that dudes are biologically inclined to cheat on their girlfriends because a long, long time ago, Australopithedude realized that if he got it on with lots of Australopithechicks, he'd have lots and lots of babies EVERYWHERE and his DNA would have a better chance of surviving!

It was also good for his swing!

Meanwhile, Australopithedude's girlfriend would totally remain faithful because she only makes one egg a month, and even then, she kind of pays attention to the same egg for nine months, so it makes sense to stay with one dude, right?

Speculation.  Keeping the woman down since prehistoric times!

Adding to the myriad reasons why philosophers are good with the ladies, philosophers of science are quick to point out that speculation isn't good science!  It's not even science!  "Evolutionary psychology" sounds a lot like a science, what with the words "evolutionary" and "psychology" in it, but it's really just people making up some stuff that sounds like it makes sense and then drawing conclusions.  I mean, I can make some stuff up too!  For example, I have green eyes, unruly, dark hair, and a penchant for wisecracks.  According to speculation, I may actually be Harry Potter.  Makes sense, doesn't it?

Science has a method.  It's based on inductive logic (more on the problems with that later... I'm lookin' at you, David Hume).  We made it so that we can answer questions and rule out meddling variables.  It works pretty okay, though it's not perfect!

Now, you probably know about the scientific method.  It goes like this:

1. State the problem (CAN CATS FLY?)
2. Gather information (Wikipedia says so!)
3. Form a hypothesis (Cats + buttered toast = flight)
4. Test the hypothesis (Strap that buttered toast to the cat)
5. Collect and analyze data (Keep strapping more toast to more cats and record cat elevation)
6. Draw conclusions (Cats can fly, true or false.)

So to take the Buttered Cat principle from SPECULATION to SCIENCE, we actually have to do the experiment.  And do it lots of times, with lots of different cats, to rule out the variables.  Some questions we might ask ourselves:

• What kind of toast creates the most aerodynamic cat?
• Which cat makes the best aircraft?
• How much butter will best capitalize upon the Bernoulli Principle?
• Would this work with margarine?
• How cute would my cat look in one of those aviator hats?

So there you go, Heather.  The buttered cat principle may be true, but science won't give us any answers unless we do an experiment.  We can't know anything for sure by speculation alone! 

Hope that helps,

Harry Potter Yours In Inquiry

Should I Prepare for the Zombie Apocalypse? Pascal interjects!

Dear Ms. Inquiry,


All of my friends are working on plans to fight off the zombie apocalypse, if it happens.  They're clocking mad hours working on these plans, and investing all manner of U.S. currency!  They say I am a grade-A fool for not having a plan of my own.  Is there matter to their claims?  


Requiring your boundless wisdoms,
Powerless Against Undead Legions


Dear PAUL,

Should you prepare for the coming zombie apocalypse?  Do you want to be among the unprepared, the unarmed, the undead?  Maybe!  For the answers you seek, I will consult the long-dead brains of Blaise Pascal.

BLAAAAAAIIIISE

Now, Blaise Pascal is famous for something called Pascal's Wager.  Pascal was arguing that believing in God is a good bet!  Read it for yourself!  For all y'all who prefer your philosophy broken down, I'm about to break it down:

• There either is a god, or there isn't.
• If you believe in God, the worst thing that could happen is that there's no God!  And the best thing that could happen is, heaven! So, in the immortal words of Journey, don't stop believin'!
• If you don't believe in God, the worst thing that could happen is INFINITE TORMENT IN HELL.  So you'd better believe, just in case.

Now, let's substitute "zombie apocalypse" for "God" and see what happens!

• There either will be a zombie apocalypse, or there won't.
• If you plan for the zombie apocalypse, the worst thing that could happen is that there's no zombies!  And the best thing that could happen is, ZOMBIE-SLAYING HEROISM! So, in the immortal words of Ben Folds, don't change your plans!
• If you don't plan for zombies, the worst thing that could happen is YOU JOIN THE LEGIONS OF THE UNDEAD.  So you'd better believe, just in case.

Now, PAUL, if you've been paying attention up to this point, you might notice that there's a little flaw in this logic!  Now I for one may be down with religion and preparing for the zombie apocalypse, but there are better justifications for either than Pascal's wager.  

Pascal says we only have two choices: believe in God, and go to heaven, or don't believe in God, and go to hell.  But there are more than two choices, aren't there?  What if there is a God, but God gets pissed that your belief in him/her is based solely on a pragmatic argument that claims believing in God is good for your own interests, and damns you to infinite torment anyway?  That seems like a third option, doesn't it?  The fallacy wherein you present only two choices, when there are many other choices available, is called "false dichotomy."  The more you know!

So let's return to the zombie apocalypse: should you be planning?  My thoughts are, all you have to lose is a little bit of time, and all you have to gain is much greater physical strength, cunning, and, perhaps, skill with melee weapons.  You don't want your friends to be able to outrun, out-think, and out-decapitate you, do you?  I should think not!

Hope that helps,

Yours In Inquiry

Leggings as Pants? METAPHYSICS RULES IN...

Dear Ms. Inquiry,


Today, I found that all my pants were in the laundry!  However, I have a veritable SURPLUS of leggings.  Should I wear leggings as pants, with perhaps a t-shirt or sweater as the top?  I have received mixed feedback from my gals 'n' pals!


I seek your WISDOM OF A METAPHYSICIAN,
She's Got Legs, But Don't Know How To Use 'Em


Dear Legs (might I call you that for short?),

The question is not so much should you wear leggings as pants.  What if it were impossible to wear leggings as pants?  What if it were a metaphysical impossibility for leggings to function as pants?

Whoa, whoa, let me back up and explain METAPHYSICS to y'all.  Metaphysics, apart from being that section of your bookstore with tarot cards and ghosts and crap, is the study of the nature of reality.  For example, once, a philosophy professor of mine pushed an eraser across the table, and we the class spent about an hour debating on whether it had actually moved.  Metaphysics!

So I'm going to just start with a simple claim: One can wear leggings as pants if leggings are pants.

This might sound simple, but think about it: can I wear anything that isn't pants, as pants?  I can't wear a skirt as pants-- a skirt is a bottom, but it is not pants.  I can't wear shorts as pants, for the same reason.  The only exception to this rule is Lady Gaga, who can wear anything as anything and thus has real-time, demigod-like powers over time and space.

Pictured: Cthulhu

So now, we have to go into what it means to be pants.  I will call upon the wisdom of my boy Aristotle for this.

Aristotle: an expert on what it means to be pants.

Aristotle said that we don't even know a thing until we know its four causes.  Using "pants" as the example, these causes are:

• The material cause: the stuff it's made out of (fabric such as denim or, in your fathers' 70s days, vinyl)
• The formal cause: the form the stuff comes together to make (the pants shape)
• The efficient cause: what caused the thing to come about (a person sewin' some fabric together)
• The final cause: why the thing is (to cover your legs, fanny, and unmentionables, in a socially acceptable and functional way)

So, Legs, do your leggings match these causes?

In terms of the material cause, I should almost say so.  The difference in fabric between super stretchy skinny jeans and jeggings is negligible to the point where even the discerning eye can hardly tell which is which!  In fact, one can get pants OR leggings in black vinyl, should one choose to look like one's 70's era father.

In terms of the formal cause, pants and leggings have similar forms, except that pants, generally speaking (though certainly not always) leave more to the imagination (the exception here being David Bowie in Labyrinth).  Here, Legs, is the rub.  You must honestly ask yourself the question, "Am I David Bowie in Labyrinth?"  If the answer is no, which it most certainly is (elsewise you would not bother asking the question), skip right to the final cause.  'Cos for the purposes of this blog, who gives about the efficient cause? 

The final cause of pants is to cover one's legs, fanny, and unmentionables in a socially acceptable and functional way.  In this way, leggings do not function as pants.  Pants seek to conceal.  Leggings seek to... well, extend the interval between leg shavings.  Let's be honest.  That's why you own a "veritable surplus" of them.

So to make a long story short, Legs, either stay at home until your laundry is done, slap a skirt on top of those leggings, or magically transform into Lady Gaga or David Bowie.  Or both at once.  In fact, yea, definitely turn into a Lady Gaga/ Bowie hybrid.  That's the best idea I've had all week.

Hope that helps,

Yours In Inquiry