Philosophy of arrogance.

Someone once asked me who my favourite philosopher was over a game of pool. While usually quick witted, I was a bit taken aback at my uncharacteristic lack of a response. Though I uttered something foolish (not uncharacteristic) like Aristotle, I've come to the point where I need to set the record straight.

I am my own favourite philosopher.

Arrogant, sure, but honestly, can it be any other way? I remember being taken aback by the sheer simplicity of the question and the complicated answers it entailed: well, so and so was good on this point, but lack this and this, this guy was competent at this business, but an idiot on that, etc. And so as I weighed my response, I came up with the first name that I had the least problems with that I could think of at that moment. I missed, though, the idea that I, myself, choose bits and pieces of the philosophical smorgasbord of my experiences to create some semblance of a philosophy that I must base my decisions upon and weigh my existence against. While it may not be a perfect system, full of omissions and falacies due to my god given ignorance, it is a working system. A system in progress.

It kinda of bothers me the name dropping that invariably happens in philosophic discussions with those initiated in the arcane realm of Philosophy. "Blah blah blah Schopenhauer, Nietzsche blah. Blah Husserl blah Ponty blah blah." I don't really give a good god damn who said what, only if it has some personal significance and relevance to the discussion at hand. And while I love philosophy, for it's efficacy and it's dream of delving into the human condition and find what that really is, I hate - hate - the intellectual pissing contest it more often than not becomes.

What I do love is finding people that express their own views of their experiences and involve philosophic notions to explore the meaning or significance of that experience. It's rare, but it's out there. While that may sound like some touchy feely hippy crap, in my opinion, that's all philosophy is. We all have to come to terms with our own lives, and the philosophy of others will always fall short of our needs. We must come up with meaning for our existence so that we can continue to exist, and move forward. And though I give big props to those that came before that helped me become who I am, much love indeed, the ultimate end is a selfish one.

As it should be for us all.

I am the architect of my own best working philosophy.

Commuters and Conspiracies

Today is the 21st of February, and I slept on the train taking me to work. Usually I look out the window and search for amazement in the buildings that pass by, holding the territory they've claimed a helluva lot longer than I've been here. Thanks for having me! Today though, I wasn't interested in stationary turf wars, tired from sleeping too much. It was too good, sleeping that much, and I wanted more. My eyes were shut lightly, trying to recapture the feeling I had before drive time radio turned my dreams weird and public, while people shuffled in and out of the train car, unexcited by their capitulation to common goals and destinations. It's odd, really, that my love of sleep is so great that I'll share it with the random passengers that board the train. Seems such a private thing, and the question of my comfort was small voice behind my ear. But here I was snoozing away like a tired wino on a hard mobile futon, while a girl sitting next to me grades essays of indeterminate subjects, as though we were estranged lovers in bed trying to pretend the other doesn't exist. It was sweet, and I hoped she would leave first.

I like giving consipratorial nods to people I pass on the street, like we were comrades that shared a secret knowledge of shadowy pacts, confirming and denying that knowledge in a simple gesture. It's somewhat silly, but for the most part people nod back as though they're in on it too, slightly grinning, and that makes me smile. It really is a win win situation, if they don't nod, it's as though they're too deep under cover to draw attention to themselves, and that makes me smile too. Today I saw this little kid, probably about a year and a half, maybe two, at the bus stop. His stroller was precariously perched at the edge of the curb by a somewhat inattentive mother, and while that gave me the heebies, he seemed not to notice. I looked him square in the eye and gave him a slight nod. Surprisingly, he looked at me and nodded back! Now this kid is two at best, and let me tell you, this was not the nod of a two year old. He seemed fully in on the joke and smiled at my expression, and I, in mild, though controlled, shock smiled back. I gestured my eyes at his mother, and he shrugged, acquiescent to the role he was playing, and smiled big, seeming relieved to be able to finally have a normal, if silent, conversation with someone. I chuckled and shook my head, and he laughed. Then his stroller started slowly rolling backward into traffic. I jumped up and jammed my foot behind one of the wheels, as his mother spun around at my movement. "I got it, I got it!" she said indignantly as she put her hand on the stroller arm. I looked her in the eye and she looked away, "thanks." I turned away from her as the bus pulled up, a small nod to my short friend as I pulled out my bus pass. He nodded back.