Well of course, but in close support is alcohol, dancing and yes . . . rumpy pumpy.

Well of course, but in close support is alcohol, dancing and yes . . . rumpy pumpy.

This from Footnote1 (H/T to Rob Wilson for this).

Coming soon from Lauren who is also contributing to Propriety and Prosperity: New Studies on the Philosophy of Adam Smith.

What do you seek — God? you ask with a smile.
I hesitate to answer, since all other Americans have settled the matter for themselves and to give such an answer would amount to setting myself a goal which everyone else has reached — and therefore raising a question in which no one has the slightest interest. Who wants to be dead last among one hundred and eighty million Americans? For, as everyone knows, the polls report that 98% of Americans believe in God and the remaining 2% are atheists and agnostics — which leaves not a single percentage point for a seeker (pp. 13-14).

Apparently I lack some particular perversion which today’s employer is now seeking (p. 134).

This interview from New Philosopher
I don’t read much philosophy, it upsets me when I read the nonsense written by my contemporaries, the theory of extended mind makes me want to throw up…so mostly I read works of fiction and history.

Here is a recent freebie written by Vernon Smith who also happens to be writing the Forward to the forthcoming volume Propriety and Prosperity: New Studies on the Philosophy of Adam Smith.

Here’s an interesting survey article. My regular collaborator (a pathologist, special adivisor for planning for a large medical school and a complexity theorist — all one person I might add) has been subtly implementing such an approach for many years. What is unusual (and I think right) about the graphic below is that though all of the giants of the complexity are there, Varela and Maturana are not typically viewed in such company. Nice touch.
“Go dangle your withered parts over the toilet!” Ignatius screamed savagely (p. 122).
“Oh, shut up your little pussymouth, you mongoloid” (p. 123).
“A little job in a office and you can’t hold it down. With all your education.”
“I was hated and resented,” Ignatius said, casting a hurt expression at the brown walls of the kitchen. He pulled his tongue from the mouth of the bottle with a thump and belched some Dr. Nut. “Ultimately it was all Myrna Minkoff’s fault. You know how she makes trouble.”
“Myrna Minkoff? Don’t gimme that foolishness, Ignatius. That girl’s in New York. I know you, boy. You must really pulled some boo-boos at that Levy Pants.”
“My excellence confused them.”
“Gimme that paper, Ignatius. We gonna take a look at them want ads.”
“Is that true?” Ignatius thundered. “Am I going to be thrown out again into the abyss? Apparently you have bowled all the charity out of your soul. I must have at least a week in bed, with service, before I shall again be whole.”
“Are you really going to attempt to read aloud? I doubt whether my system could bear that trauma at the moment. Anyway, I am looking at a very interesting article in the science column about mollusks.”
Mrs. Reilly snatched the paper from her son, leaving two little scraps of it in his hands.
“Mother! Is this offensive display of ill manners one of the results of your association with those bowling Sicilians?” (p.125).
