If truth is pants, what are shoes?
This is a passage from a paper that I graded this morning:
Truth (can be likened) to a set of clothes, made to measure the man. In this way, man's measurements would be his own personal truth, and the clothes would be a form of living this out. Thus, the pants would be corresponding to his reality, and this reality would be the pants.
And you thought that the life of a philosophy instructor was glamorous. In actual fact, it is a life in which one is constantly quaffing aspirin to ward off the pounding headaches induced by forced exposure to the nonsensical abstractions of the average inattentive undergraduate.
(Add to this life a hyperactive WonderBaby jacked up on Cheerios and apple juice and you have perfect conditions for spontaneous mental combustion.)
If truth is pants, and you lose your pants, have you fallen into a condition of untruth, or have you cast off the oppressive trousers of dogma?
I just discovered that I was nominated (by the lovely and delightfully promiscuous Ms. Oh The Joys) for The Blogitzer, over the Bloggers' Choice Awards. Now, I don't usually go in for blog awards, not least because I don't like shilling for votes, but in this case I am going to have to be shameless and beg: I only have one vote, and it's really kind of embarassing. So. Please go vote for me? I'd like to have at least, say, six votes.
Have you checked out MBT lately?