Talking shop…
3.1 Formal versus Substantive
3.1.1
In Chapter 1,
I explained the general thesis for which I am arguing in this book:
that action is self-constitution…
By this I mean that we human beings constitute our own personal or practical identities—
and at the same time our own agency—
through action itself…
We make ourselves the authors of our actions,
by the way that we act…
As I said before,
this apparently paradoxical thesis depends on the ideas that action requires agency,
and agency requires unity…
An action is a movement attributable to an agent considered as an integrated whole,
not a movement attributable merely to a part of an agent,
or to some force working in her or on her…
Since some ways of acting unify their agents better than others,
the extent to which a movement is an action is a matter of degree:
some actions are more genuinely actions than others (1.4.8)…
— in Self-Constitution: Agency, Identity, and Integrity by Christine M. Korsgaard
When I was working through,
my undergrad,
at UBC,
in the late 80’s,
I had a few associates,
who were in fraternities…
And I was remembering how,
as part of the successful completion,
of their degrees,
and graduation,
some of these young men,
were awarded,
a few months,
all expenses paid,
in Thailand,
by their parents…
Part of the bragging rights,
included a hut on a beach,
with 24/7 access to a girl,
and no protection…
When I heard such things,
at the tender age of 19,
and 20,
I felt like I’d been punched,
in the stomach…
When I went to Thailand,
and Indonesia,
and Turkey,
a couple years later,
at the still tender age,
of twenty-one,
and twenty-two,
I saw something else…
And you can go ahead,
and call me frigid,
because when I saw it,
I sure as hell,
froze up,
all sick,
to my stomach…
Seeing it,
and then seeing your friends involved in it,
brings it so much closer to home,
especially when it comes along,
on a camping trip,
to Jasper National Park…
I did have a friend,
who worked in Indonesia,
off and on,
for years…
And she couldn’t wait,
to show me,
photos of herself,
and her boyfriends,
like a trophy hunter,
touring,
his mounts,
in the den…
These possessions,
of picture proof,
being used as claims,
of what she could get,
who she thought she wanted to be,
and who she wanted me to think she was,
only backfired,
with the costs,
of STD’s…
Kisses of drama,
denial,
and deception,
in the superficial high…
One needn’t go on,
an exotic holiday,
to score,
such a shady deal…
Using the term loosely,
once upon a time,
I had a friend,
who claimed that she and her husband,
after six or so years,
of so-called marriage,
were still active,
in the romance department…
Little Buddy,
she would say,
As once a weekers,
we’re in line with the national average…
Every Sunday morning,
like clockwork,
I let him relieve himself…
After he rolls off,
we get up,
and go ice-skating…
After her delivery,
of this unwanted text,
I was left wondering,
how she was going to teach,
her children well,
about what matters most,
when you’re,
being with,
another person…
Back in the Spring of 1990,
I found myself,
sitting in front of the Hagia Sophia,
on a bench,
with a gathering of Turkish men…
Like some long lost sister,
in a spontaneous,
philosopher’s cafe,
I questioned,
and listened to the stories,
of foreign girlfriends…
And who they were willing to do,
for the money,
wasn’t pretty…
But the difference between these experiences,
and those of a poor girl,
in Bangkok,
is among other things,
an absence of ownership,
an inequation of power,
and the freedom to walk away,
for something,
with a higher rate,
of return…
Last night Starshine and I calculated,
how many days it would take,
to drive our big red car,
door to door,
all the way to Minneapolis,
and back,
in the name of a rescue…
And we figured,
if we played our cards right,
and the weather worked,
in our favour,
we could get a visit in,
with some real wild horses,
along the way…
Funny how,
just as I was writing this,
the phone rang,
all the way from North Dakota,
and the recorded message,
mentioned something,
about the clearing,
of all outstanding debts…
Three for the lady on the radio...
Give n’go…
Astronomers worked on their leakproof map of the sky until 1945,
by which time it had very little use…
The step from neoclassical science to modern science involved learning to live with,
and appreciate open-ended taxonomies instead…
The periodic table used by the chemist,
the binomial nomenclature and synoptic keys of biologists,
and the even saner and more wonderful mythworlds of particle physicists and
contemporary astronomers,
are examples…
Each of these lists of categories and types is something like a tree…
Because its purpose is to grow,
it is always incomplete—
like the list of sentences or sentence patterns possible in the English language…
— in The Tree of Meaning: Language, Mind and Ecology by Robert Bringhurst
Last night,
a few minutes before the puck dropped,
in between the Canucks and the Ottawa Senators,
while we were pushing sixty,
over the Cambie Street bridge,
I told Starshine and Little Gem,
that if I were ever to become premier,
I would immediately put in a call to Coach V,
and bring him on board as my personal assistant…
Starshine wanted to know how I found him,
to be qualified,
for such responsibility…
I said,
Listen to him…
Despite the endless challenges and criticism he faces,
with his team,
he knows exactly how to roll with the punches…
He can skirt the ridiculous,
he can shimmy through the mundane,
and he stays the course,
with the simple assistance of some Trident,
or an after dinner mint…
But he puts the awesome in awesomest when he creates a vault,
and guards it,
despite the number of hackers,
trying to break their way in…
That,
is one in a million,
and something money,
cannot buy…
Stashine said,
Oh Mama,
I bet he doesn’t even know what you can see in him…
You should send him a real strong message…
Then she looked at me,
with a grin,
and said,
I know,
it’s already been taken care of…
One of the things I’m always thinkin’ on is,
What do you want me to make for dinner???
And when my daughters tell me,
I make it,
with no questions asked,
because I find immense pleasure in the providing…
Last night Little Gem had an unsatisfied craving for calamari,
and while we were walking our way to London Drugs,
as Starshine was put through the paces at soccer practice,
we found a fresh fish stop,
and sat down to share a full order,
with a side of chips,
and homemade tartar sauce…
It was the best,
EVER…
And speaking of fantastic,
early this morning I woke from a dream,
where I was exploring the Canucks’ locker room,
unannounced,
in my skivvies…
I searched the racks,
chock full,
of standard issue gear,
for a little something,
to cover my over exposure…
I finally found what I wanted,
took it off the hanger,
and pulled a long sleeved,
tissue thin tunic,
in Canucks’ colours,
with #17,
over my head…
Suddenly Ryan Kesler was beside me…
I felt like I’d been caught,
red-handed,
and suspect…
He saw my panic,
and immediately reassured me,
that I was exactly where I was supposed to be,
doing what I was meant to do…
He said,
Not to worry…
That’s may be my tunic…
But it’s got your name,
written all over it….
Then we executed the secret handshake,
and jumped out over the ice,
for an invisible,
When you're miles away from the love you've made...
Settling scores…
Through the skin of my clothes I feel the rock…
It is a little rough,
a little sharp in some places,
sun-warmed,
lichen stained,
non-descript granite…
It is split and eroded,
half-drowned in a tide of juniper and kinikinik which,
competing for space and sunlight,
are unwitting partners in the slow minuet of life…
But limbs can extend only so far from the parent root,
particularly in this harsh climate,
and the rock itself is too large to be engulfed…
Its freckled heart,
which warms my neck,
lies open to the sky…
— in Diary of a Wilderness Dweller by Chris Czajkowski
People complain a lot,
about the time,
some things take,
to progress…
Sometimes we don’t know,
how fast things are actually happening,
because our highways,
are congested,
with superfluous negativity,
and doubt…
This week I was astounded…
My neighbour across the street,
called on Tuesday,
to see if I wanted to add my area rug,
to her package deal,
in exchange for supervising the pick up…
And within 48 hours,
by Friday,
10:15 am,
I slid a good as brand spanking new,
wool carpet,
back into home base…
When the man in charge,
pulled up in his van,
and bundled the rug over his shoulder,
and up the stairs,
of my front porch,
for the return,
he said,
See,
YOU tell a man to get something done,
and he does it…
With no resistance…
He pointed to his work,
on the old fir floors,
so I could admire the details,
of his efforts…
I’m a former military man,
and a perfectionist…
I went over this three and more times…
You don’t want to know what was living in there…
I put a black light on it,
in the dark,
and holy smokes…
It really should have been sanitized…
But I know you have cats,
so I kept things simple…
I kept it to myself,
that this rug,
has only been washed,
once before,
due to the fact,
that a bright star,
accidentally,
spilled his ginger beer on it,
and I wanted to preserve the information,
for the duration…
I remember the day,
the vet came to the door,
and set up his equipment…
I told the doctor,
whom I’d never met before,
and was called in,
for this right of passage,
because he makes house calls,
You’re going to wonder why I’m asking you to do this…
Because my dog looks strong,
and healthy…
But he’ll tell you,
like he’s been telling me,
that it is time to go…
He didn’t know what I meant,
until the dog ran into the house,
leaned against him,
then laid down,
on the rug,
with his back pressed against the couch….
The man looked at me,
confirming receipt,
of the memorandum…
And then he did,
what he’d been asked to do,
for the purposes,
of energy transformation…
Mr. Inthenavyfor25years,
wanted me to know,
that this project was full,
of pet dander…
I told him,
The whole world is full of dander,
and some of it is mine…
He said,
You’re right…
But this rug really needed a scrub…
And you can see by the turn-around time,
an imperative was in effect…
I was thinking,
this morning,
as I sent a few core messages,
to Coach V,
during his live Presser,
that I should probably consider,
whipping up,
for the Canucks’ special units…
In just the right colours,
of course…
Because that’s the kind of,
practical,
that I am…
As sure as night is dark, and day is light...
Canuck'd 