In Which I Rebut Eric's Philosophical Rebuttal

While I can't fault the argument laid out by your cold, calculated, logical mind, I can offer some context for the philosophizing in question. Sure, this little piece of pithiness--

Happiness is a pause between 2 moments of suffering.

--might not be the greatest or most profound thing ever uttered by a human being (that would be this). However, I feel there is a little bit of context here that you are neglecting to consider; namely, the location of said philosophizing--the "2nd floor bathroom stall of the Kelley Engineering Center."

While I am unable to account for the personality or intelligence of your average restroom-occupant at the Kelley Engineering Center, based on the fact that one Eric Walkingshaw also seems to be at least a sporadic user of said facility, I can assume that they likely have a) an above-average intellect, b) a profound disregard or even open-armed acceptance of the threat robots pose to humankind, and c) possibly a large, wide-nostrilled nose. None of these things necessarily imply a lack of philosophical thoroughness, but they do point to a mindset that is probably focused more on numbers and data than the nuances of human suffering. Were this a bathroom on the 2nd floor of an English Department, on the other hand, you would hope to find a more accurate assessment of the state of sorrow, seeing as those miserable bastards quite honestly would have little reason to enjoy anything, or even live.

But even if we are to assume that the user of this stall and author of this sentiment happened to be a passing philosopher or lost and scared English student, the fact that it was written on a bathroom stall also leads us to conclude that more than likely this observation was made while said author was emptying their bowels, which as you may no doubt be aware is not the ideal state for profound thinking. Even the greatest minds and keenest truth-seekers can be forgiven for errors in thought as they take the train to Deucetown, so to speak. There is perhaps no philosopher who could be expected to make a sound observation on the travails of human existence in the midst of evacuating the citizens of Sphincterville. I would argue that there is perhaps no one in history whose best work and greatest ideas were accomplished while in the midst of an excremental excursion. Except maybe Arthur Schopenhauer.

Perhaps good Mr. Walkingshaw, given this context, should do what the author of the debated philosophy was clearly having trouble doing themselves, and simply give this one a pass.

In Which Eric Tries to Sneak Under My Radar

And fails. Fails!

Did you think I would not notice, Walkingshaw? Did you think that your long hibernation would lull me into a sense of security and--dare I say--victory? Well you were wrong. Wrong! Unluckily for you, I cannot ever accept victory or success for myself. It is just one of many undesirable character traits that will keep me forever vigilant in my quest to let no Internet-based forum for your self-expression go un-countered. It may be dirty, unglamorous work, but the sheer unnecessariness of it ensures my undying devotion. It is a determination which is, ironically, un-prefixable.

So you awaken from your slumber and end your hiatus with two seemingly innocuous posts, about a month apart, like the clever little robot-monger you are. "Victory by degrees," you likely thought to yourself, and then you also likely thought, "That would be a good slogan for a brand of roll-on deodorant." Yes, Eric, I am in your head. And the accommodations are disappointing, I must say.

Santa Fe? Santa Fe? Santa Fe has been on your "to-visit list" for "years?" Santa Fe? Not Albuquerque. Not Carlsbad Caverns. Not even Roswell. Santa Goddamn Fe. What was it about the capital of New Mexico that so attracted you? The Georgia O'Keeffe museum, and its prized collection of vaginal-themed paintings? Were you simply stopping by on your way to Los Alamos to continue your side career in funneling secrets to Chinese robots? Or maybe just to gawp in wonderment at the awe-inspiring beauty of the Palace of Governors, which in no way resembles a 16th-century adobe strip mall? Whatever reasons you may have had, there are few words that can describe the type of person who would be so desirous to visit such a humble little burgh. "Lame" springs instantly to mind.

But the food! The food! As it warranted your first blog post in a year-and-a-half, it must have been something else, that authentic Santa Fe cuisine. Something exotic and far-fetched, that inquiring Internet passersby would no doubt be flabbergasted by its very existence. Something like...enchiladas, beer, and soup. Color me intrigued by these fascinatingly unique dishes!

Well, you're not the only one enjoying the fine dishes of some exotic locale. Just this evening I myself had quite the ravishing meal, traveling as far as the gas station down the road to acquire it. I don't have a fancy camera of the picture-taking variety to document it, but I do have the Internet and a search engine, so here is a close approximation of my Elegant Wonder Meal:









And don't think I didn't notice your toki pona cards, neither. Nena suli, Walkingshaw. Nena suli.