Philosophy was my first-ever undergraduate course. As an independent evening student trying out university as a lark, probing "the meaning of life" was my only available option. Students in mainstream programs had first pick. I was left with the dregs, an introductory course on the musings of great philosophers. After the first class, I thought for sure that the likelihood of my obtaining a university education would soon come to a grinding halt. A few hundred of us were crammed into an auditorium and forced to listen to an instructor who had about as much charisma as a snail. If philosophy was his passion, I didn't feel it. Then again, philosophy isn't about passion is it?
To my surprise, I discovered that I was pretty good at writing "rational" term papers about deep thinkers whom I deduced, had a great deal of time on their hands. I managed to encapsulate and counter their arguments to the satisfaction of my professor. Who knew? I sure didn't.
Today I sometimes philosophize as I watch paint dry. The following questions for example beg for answers: was I using gynocentric logic to fly in the face of these male pundits? Or did I have just enough basic understanding of phallocentric logic to shoot the breeze?
Paint takes way too long to dry.
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