5/18/03 Columbia County, NY
I got semi-scooped by the NY Times today, which is no way to begin the morning. I had an idea percolating in my head, about how much trouble this blog has been to me, how many feathers I’ve ruffled, how many things I’ve had to dance around, and how many family members I’ve pissed off and whether or not it’s truly worth it.
I’d actually pitched it to a few places about a month ago, but no action was taken, and well, now the Times pretty much shot that wad for me. Theorists of cognitive resonance proffer the notion that all “epiphanies” never just happen to one person, they happen to several at once. They also believe that the knowledge of one person is something that can be subtly transferred to another without them ever meeting. Studies were done on crossword puzzles from the Times, where people taking the Sunday puzzle on Wednesday finished twice as fast as those who took it on the day it came out, even though it was “new” to both parties. The idea was that the puzzle answers were out there, swimming in the collective spiritus mundi of New Yorkers by Sunday night, and the later puzzle-takers had the advantage of their own unconscious. Similar studies have been done on monkeys living on separate islands. Or I could have just gotten this whole paragraph wrong, and some sociology grad student is looking skyward and sighing in disgust.
But I’ve been kicking around this taco stand called Media for a few years now, and I can tell you this: if you have a great idea, don’t think you’re alone. Somebody else has it too, and it’s a race from then on. I happened to lose this one.
my dad barbecues hamburger, while the cows in the field look on with macabre interest
My Uncle Chuck flew in today, making it a nice testosterone fest of Williamsesess: Sean, me, Dad and Chuck. Lindsay and Dana came over for grilled burgers, and we sat around making fun of the freemasons (our grandfather was in the 32nd order, apparently kind of like “vice-grand-dragon” or something). Some good champagne was had by many, and the peanut butter chocolate chip pie was richer than hell. I had bought what I thought was peach pie, but upon further inspection, it was apple, which I find boring as snot. I’m going to find the stockboy at the IGA who mis-labeled my pie and kick his ass!