The Last Day of Winter

On the last day of winter, the seekers went foraging in the blueberry field, looking for signs of melt or mud, for patches of brown earth or lone, stray, disheveled blades of grass to contrast with the vast veneer of snow and the lingering layers of endless white. The sun was out, but only meekly so, hiding behind clouds and peeping through the grey streaks for brief intervals, hesitatingly here and there. It was one of those weird, restless days when people who previously (all winter long) had been ready to snap, finally snap, or snap yet again, or otherwise relapse into eccentric behaviors. Two of the seekers were at first chatting discursively about their hunger pangs, their difficulty breathing, their unreliable footwear, the frigid discomfort of appendages,  having left sturdier coats, hats and gloves at home; they found themselves speculating about whether woods were more haunted in warm weather than during the cold season, whether ghosts hibernated, whether spirits traveled south for a time like everyone else in New England. The other two wayfarers were lost, transfixed, caught up in a rambling conversation about the heartier peoples of earlier times who dealt with winter without complaint, those hellions in Russia and Mongolia, who lived with the elements, who were forced to hunt and fish and built shelters or who hibernated underground for months at a time - without complaint. Those sturdier types, they asked for so little, expected little, begrudged no one, resented no one, were grateful for their portion, not like people these days, the pathetic whiners of modernia, those ultra-sensitive hyper-condriacs, who can't be outside in any kind of wind chill,  can't sleep exposed to the elements, can't go without their allergy pills, can't deal with any glitch in their schedule. Give me a little bit of that old spirit: to accept what life throws at you without expectation or lament...It's really quite tragic, when you consider that we can't go back to that mindset, it's not a matter of people not being able to face winter.......it's more the mindset that's we've lost touch with...because those tribes, those peoples lived within narrow horizons - their home was their world - they had nothing to compare it to really - nowhere that they'd rather be...

The Afterlife: A Dialogue

I maintain of course that glorious immortality is the ultimate goal - whether people realize it or not - the great telos, the goal of life...thus on some level we can grasp or intuit the bare outlines of what lies on the other side...

Oh. I don't know about that. What if some people out there are just - you know - indifferent to the whole matter.

What? Indifferent. It's just not front and center...

Fear of death, my man! C'mon. Do you discount that?

Yes. Yes. Of Course. Fear. Panic. Dread. The pangs of growing old.... That's normal.  But really that has to do less with immortality as it does fear of change in general. Death represents a huge adjustment - let's face it ...

And what follows after death...that is what people obsess over...and rightly so...

Yes, but, I'm just not sure you can say that everyone has the same vision of heaven, hell or limbo or...

Well...but everyone hopes to live forever....everyone craves the infinity of possibility that eternity represents- that sense of being able to go beyond what has been, to do or undo, to visit and re-visit ages and past lives and to make up the time....

Not for me, sorry. Can't fathom it. Wouldn't like it....

Can't fathom immortality you say....

Nope. That would be like perpetual insomnia...Ugh...

You'd rather just go asleep like a log - forever?

Wouldn't even know I was asleep. It would all go silent...

And that doesn't scare you...

Not that part....really...just getting over the cliff is what scares me....

But that's so sad....For everything to end with a "blip"....

Well...but painless...right? No regrets, no hand-wringing...no second guessing...No eternal punishments...

That's a cop-out. What about justice? The good and the base are punished with the same oblivion? That's untenable....completely unacceptable....

Well...can you imagine having to stay awake forever, having to remain conscious and aware of time past and time passing...

Oh - but it wouldn't be like that!

It would be more like the "blip" if you eliminate awareness of time...

Awkward or the Unbearable, Ineffable Complexity...

Gasping for breath, sensitive Simon trudges forward, looking around, yearning to tell someone about what he has just seen, what has gone down, what scandals are brewing, what horrors are lurking down the street, through the woods, in town, out of town, on the outskirts, on the edges. He has this crazy notion that life is somehow unbearable, that a person who is fully awake and aware of his surroundings is flirting with disaster, that intelligence and real concern breed insanity in the one who tries to absorb and balance the intricacies of a simple square inch of anything. Brooding thus like a mathematician calculating Pi to the last digit, mumbling silently to himself, tripping over sidewalk cracks, shivering without his coat, he laments: I am the witness, the sole witness, the prophet of the absolute terror, for the nighttime of the world, for the burden of mortal existence, for the human animal who was never meant to be a mere animal, who was not designed to function as a savage beast or an overgrown hyena...(That's when the trouble starts... when people immobilize themselves as slovenly brutes or else pretend to be as high as the angels...) It's bad enough having to digest a single day's worth's of headlines - the horse meat scandals in Europe, North Korea threatening preemptive nuclear attacks, drug cartels attacking students on spring break in Mexico, cruise liner passengers succumbing to dangerous, unstoppable bacterial infections, cheating athletes making their public mea culpas, celebrity chefs feuding over media exposure, another drive-by shooting in Chicago or D.C. where the victims go unreported, young women mauled, attacked by roving bands of males in India, smog levels in Beijing setting new records for numbers of people living under untenable conditions, prelates and clerics resigning, some from exhaustion some out of shame and guilt...a new Pope, perchance, to oversee a vast imploding bureaucracy of hierarchical intransigence....or those other headlines too disturbing to even mention like that house of horrors in Cleveland where the three women were held, beaten, ravished for more than a decade... Every waking moment on this god-forsaken planet, it seems, exacts a price from the psyche - a frittering away of stamina in the form of needless anxiety, stress and toil. One must become like Atlas, preserving it all in memory, in consciousness, like a desperate man teetering under a giant globe that he is taxed with holding up. And, along with these headlines, to be confronted by local horrors here at home, a thousand seemingly minor happenings, to be surrounded by local provincial folk who bear it all in awkward silence, who go on with their lives with quiet resignation or in some cases loud, disorderly meltdowns, desperation all the same. No public forum by which to unravel this nightmare, no one to converse with, no one else willing to acknowledge the sheer volume of unspeakable evil, the litany of public crimes, the private domestic abuses, the ugly, hidden, petty scandals, ... and this most recent "incident" (witnessed up close, directly)... a vision of sorts...just the latest of a series... so many heinous acts and miniature atrocities piled on top of one another... the insanity, the obsession, the compulsion leading to the lies, deception, betrayal - not simply the surface phenomena of events but what lies underneath - the snake pit of desire, the cauldron of the irrational, the seven-headed hydra dragging us all down into the dark iron cage below. It all goes back to the pre-determined outcome, he thought...the pre-conditions, tendencies, inclinations, instincts, appetites, pathologies leading to up the ugly outburst, the physical expression of the underlying spiritual ailment, which (consciously) we ignore, deny, flee from en masse, refusing to look at, refusing to probe, because nobody gets it...no one is involved...all of us radically cut off, disjointed, detached, unaware, negligent, complaisant, complicit, looking the other way, downplaying, explaining away, dwelling upon the facade of peaceful civility... Even Terrence - usually so easy to bounce controversies off of, so typically receptive to such philosophical banter, if simultaneously,  playfully contrarian, resists the full implications of Simon's thesis...When Simon tries to tell him about it,  he remarks that: yes oh, well, so I guess every young man and woman are playing with fire every time they go out for the weekend - since - theoretically - disaster could strike: ha, ha, ha....I mean...they could procreate....ha,ha,ha... you know, continue the species...This only makes Simon wince with frustration to hear such nonsense. No, no, Terrence continues: I'm completely serious...you were talking about the dangers...and well, isn't that a constant danger of youth? But you're forgetting something my friend.... in this wild claim of yours that life is one big long nightmare....one locked house of horror....Oh what is that??? Simon bellowed. Some people love the danger. Ha, ha, ha, ha...No really. That's capnip for some. You don't see that? People want....not to get hurt exactly....well sometimes, yes I suppose they do...but mostly we're talking moth and flame pyrotechnics.... Simon paused for several seconds before replying: That in itself is also terrifying...because they have no sense of the enormity of the danger, the bottomlessness of the abyss. And yet, to be fully human means we aspire to the highest stage of civility, refinement and cultivation,  to reach the stage where these terrors torment the mind, to reach the stage of logic-induced insanity. - So those thinkers at the top, as you describe them, the in-tell-o-gent-sia - the artists, writers, scientists, journalists, photographers, anyone worth their salt must all go insane? By the simple logic... of keeping their eyes open? Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha....Terrence could not contain himself. Well....But at this point Simon became so tongue-tied, he could not speak. Terrence was beside himself, obsessed by the topic-at-hand, unwilling to let go of the argument: Why do you use words like terrifying, horrific, agonizing, god-forsaken, unbearable? Why not say, like, uhm - uhm - uhm - weird or, or, or.... wacky, you know, intriguing, uncanny? Because it's - it's not all darkness out there. People are still smiling and cavorting, some are actually enjoying themselves, others blissfully ignorant, obtuse, distracted... No need to put such a negative spin on things.  Right, mumbled Simon, with the growing cases of mentally ill and depressed/anxious people out there.  I don't see it...I mean yes I see it...but not to the degree that you're describing. The house of horrors. The what? The house in Cleveland. What house? Where the evil troll.


Hey........said Terrence said....employing one of his typically long pauses....what happened to you? You look strange...Oh man,,,where have you been what have you seen?

It was too disturbing, said Simon, I couldn't explain it....I was walking along the quad at noon...

Hey I was there too...Nothing was happening...

Oh yes something happened...

Attempts at conversation, explaining the unexplainable only leave him tongue-tied, bereft, misunderstood. The awkward pause. The conversations starting up and freezing in mid-sentence. This is how it is to live - to  never fully communicate. Are you listening? What...I'm trying to? Yes? Tell you... About... If I could only tell you how it is... It is so hard to explain the big picture...to cover all the parameters... Don't you see? Don't you?  That it's all too much really. I'm drowning in the details. I'll spare you all. You said. You were saying....We want to hear. No doubt you do. But I refuse to simplify... You're exaggerating... surely...You're mistaken... Are you joking? I'm quite serious...I must tell someone... We get it Simon. Slow Down..Take a breath.  No you don't. Yes we do. But how can I tell you when it's not so clear...when it's too vast and complex to serve as a simple story, a linear narrative...I am not spinning yarns here! Just tell us. Tell us all about it. About them. About whatever... Alright then....How to begin....To take but one example of the Taucher family and their recent implosion - the bitterness of some ancient progenitor now shackling the dysfunction of the second and third generations - with ripple effects of mutual antipathy and settling of scores. If anyone had the time to map out the entire gamut of chaos emanating from this prodigious clan with extended branches of cousins and nephews, siblings and grandchildren inhabiting the entire southern portion of the state...And how Becca's mother can barely put food on the table for her two girls, because her second, soon-to-be ex-husband, recently fired or rather forced to resign, has taken up with someone else (a second cousin no doubt) and that person's step-daughter has a vendetta against Philippa, although she actually likes Becca - though Fiona has sworn a curse against them all...and should I mention the other toxic males in the mix, who carp and cuss and live to disrupt, wreaking havoc with their respective houses: Wayne's brother Gus- who broke into Chad's best friend's house to steal back the money that Chad said Phil owed to his girlfriend, Susan, whose job on the night shift is not what people think and besides the fact that her day job is really non-existent, that is to say untenable...and the welfare cheats (Wayne and his friends) play the system with no sense of guilt and crash the food pantries when they want a free meal. But it's more than that really. Are you people listening? Are you listening? Listening? What I want to know is the source...of these confusions... that just linger and fester, that continue onward and outward, being forwarded in time like an unending, relentless spam email...

The Controversy Surrounding Happiness

Swatting at cherry blossoms, camelia bushes and random insects with a stick, Fiona trudged along Merriweather Street - still seething at the so-called "intervention" in the guidance office that the rash Mr. Girello had so vainly attempted, with his smarmy, obsessive need to "change the course of destiny" for students unlucky enough to be sent his way. There was much to resent as far as his method was concerned: his love of numbers and hard data, his need for "track records" and "proven statistics" as a measure of his own aptitude as a cartographer of human productivity,  his harsh manner of badgering people off of their "wrong course" onto his "proper path" - transporting them, like rabbits in some ill-conceived, tortuous lab experiment, from their familiar grassy knoll into a foreboding, dank, dark, sterile, steely, indoor environment; how she disdained his middlebrow conception of the "good life for all." From a distance, she saw her calm, serene, empath/friend, Marci,  sitting cross-legged on her front lawn, with eyes closed and chestnut hair pulled back into braids, half-smiling and somehow taking in all of the surrounding universe, especially the school bus dropping off grade-school kids a half-mile away, anticipating their scampering past, slightly in advance of Fiona's arrival. The children marched by as expected at 3: 17 p.m. And then came Fiona with her dark cloak green sweater, ruby-red shoes and autumn-inspired baseball cap. Almost hyperventilating, she found herself walking swiftly up the driveway to the place where Marci sat meditating, glaring down at her intently without speaking until Marci said "Let me guess..." and Fiona said "Walk with me...I need to vent concerning that stupid manbeast... " and so the two began their daily ritualistic foray (repeated on alternating days) in search of miniscule edible items of sacred importance, including, but not limited to, various flavors of gourmet gelato and/or coffee. Without provocation, Fiona went on about this stupid man, this wretched meddler...this macho poseur with the short-cropped hair and the form-fitting Armani sweaters, how unforgivable it was of him to accuse, to intimidate, to harass, with his arrogant, unremitting tone - barely allowing for replies - shutting down any hint of real conversation, revealing with every bromide his condescension toward the impaired, misguided younger generation. What was it that he said that upset you so much? I mean...usually...you can just tune people out... Marci just had to find out. Oh well - with him - everything is a travesty - Haven't you gotten trapped in his little office - ever - with the door left open so other people can listen in on the conversation? He was - just - atrocious - especially what he said about happiness and what all people need to do as part of some recipe for happiness. It was so wrong...I could even begin to explain it.  - And were you able to even give your opinion? - Oh I gave him my opinion. I always give my opinion. I wanted to say 'Look Freak!' but I held my tongue. I said: isn't it obvious that there cannot be a single life-script or formula for success that everyone has to follow...I said happiness takes an infinite number of forms...and who are you to say that there is only one "responsible path" to follow. I hate that term!  And he kept going on about the "rules" and "parameters" that limit and confine and hem us in - as if we were all chickens in a coop! I lost it at one point. I said: I'm not interested in your logic. I don't care about what other people do...and where they go to school... what kind of car they drive...what they wear... what souvenirs they collect ... how they recreate...what their perfect diet is... what they hope to accomplish or not accomplish...how they define misery and failure. It has nothing to do with me...I don't follow other people's rules! And that really annoyed him. And he came back with What are you - some kind of Anarchist? And I said. I don't follow other people's rules. There are no rules to follow (except the unwritten ones that no one ever mentions because they're too self-evident). But for some reason - Marci  - usually so sympathetic - was not quite satisfied - could not leave it as is - without excavating an ounce of plausibility within Mr. Girello's generally flawed and blusterous argument. She just had to play Devil's advocate...But don't you think, she said, that some people are like... just kind of lost... and they DO need advice...a certain kind of advice...to steer them off of an extreme self-destructive path? You know the people I mean...just aimless, floundering...craving direction... Yes, yes. yes! came the reply Fiona was more than a little annoyed. You think Mr. Girello and his ilk is going to offer real help - useful advice - to these poor, unfortunate dregs that the high school spews out every year. Marci  - you can't be serious. Marci spied the gelato shop two blocks off. It's just that when you say that there aren't any rules to follow.... - Except for the unwritten ones - please don't misquote me - Okay except for the basics that everyone understands - but to say that we don't have things in common - like wanting to avoid needless suffering --- well, it just makes me wonder ...because these poor unfortunates that we keep referring to - I mean - they sort of do need structure - I mean guidance - to help them avoid the worst possible scenarios - and yes - they want people to tell them what to do (or what not to do rather) - They appreciate that - if not from their local guidance counselor then from someone else...

Mr. Sympatico or The Agony of Egos

Rumors swirled around Mr. Sympatico and his storied past. Some believed that, with his "far-away stare" and walking-wounded gait, he had done time with the army,  had seen death up close, by way of some accidental tour of duty involving hand-to-hand combat in some forgotten war...or had lost a loved one (a spouse, a child, a sibling) quite recently in fact; that he had been committed, albeit briefly, to a mental institution, that he had served time on a chain gang in Alabama; that he had been a drug rehab counselor until relapsing on oxycontin; that he had seen a UFO; that he believed in magic crystals; that he had once lived out on the streets; that he worked for the circus, first as a juggler, and later as an acrobat until his back gave out.  The students wanted to know the truth about him, but they were as yet unable to find out. Everyone had a theory about this lanky, erudite, easily-distracted and somewhat disheveled, benevolently grumpy middle-aged teacher whose career seemed to be on a steady downward slide ever since what became known as "the incident" - about which, likewise, no one could agree. A vague cloud of controversy followed him everywhere - and seemed to be tangentially related to his obstinately "philosophical" attitude - a skeptical habit of mind that inevitably aroused suspicion insofar as it found opportunities to challenge Humean nay-sayers as often as suspected true believers.  They called him Sympatico because no one could pronounce Symkomniak - his real name. He was said to be in a relationship with various eccentric suitors, (and perhaps most recently in a secret liaison with Ms. Veridian) but beyond that, his own familial connections and romantic involvements remained fuzzy at best. Like Immanuel Kant on his daily rounds in Konigsberg, Mr. S. could be seen on a regular basis fervently meandering down select hallways and corridors, working his way from one end of the school to the other, until arriving at his normal snack-time perch - a bench opposite the exit door near the gymnasium, where every morning at 10:05 a.m. he would make use of that briefly-alloted, 10 minutes interval by scrutinizing the plaques and trophies along the wall,  staring fixedly at a glass display that he deferentially called the "haunted photographs" - a set of long, rectangular, black and white portraits encased in glass - mementos of clubs and teams and superlative students of prior decades. At such moments, it was not uncommon for him to meet up with students passing by him seemingly at random - usually members of the fledgling prophecy club - who sought him out as their unofficial mentor - and could not help themselves from gathering facts and anecdotes as to what exactly "the incident" entailed. The old soul, who prided himself on being the the most far-sighted and philosophically curious of his peers with the possible exception of Simon - made a point of seeking out Sympatico - if only to find an audience for one of his precocious insights. And Tuesday, February 5th, made room for one of these encounters. "Mr. S. Do you know all these people..."  - "Well - I know most of them. They were all here not so long ago..."  They both glanced at the faces from the basketball team of 1989 - which for some reason made up a dilapidated-looking black and white photograph from a bygone era - the year when the cold war had officially ended. Sympatico was already beginning to feel sucked back into that time of maximum nostalgia and pain,  reliving the slights and scars that had become such an overlay upon his psyche, like a musty security blanket with an odor of familiarity. "It's weird to look at these faces - frozen-like in the snapshot - and then to think how old those people must be now..."  - "Ah - a man after my own heart. At last I meet up with someone equally transfixed by time. I thought I was the only one."  -"No. It bothers me in fact."  -"Indeed. Indeed. I know exactly what you mean. Time unfortunately always wins. But there's drama in that - I suppose."

In saying this he was seized by a peculiar pang of anguish welling up as it always did from the same considerations, evoked so frequently in strolls down corridors of buildings such as this. I wish I could relay something to this one about my own struggles - he seems a tormented soul like me...but I don't even trust that he'd understand THE ISSUE at hand, what had always been at issue, and at the root of every little defeat, the cause of the loitering despair - that knowledge of the impossibility - the sheer impossibility of ever being a truly decent person within the minefield of the social world as presently constituted, the impossibility of ever being "good and true" on your own terms, without feeling like a prisoner under surveillance or a servant indentured to the whims of necessity, to the caprice of the anonymous crowd. Unless it was of course a matter of privation - the absence of a skill that came naturally to others. Nevertheless, simply the knowledge of THAT - the sheer debilitating knowledge - that I cannot be good, the way God must be good, the way they say that Jesus was good or the Buddha was good. How hard it is to show that purity of character without putting on an act for oneself, without becoming an out-and-out fraud, without retreating into mere cowardice or playing it safe and avoiding difficulties. How absolutely futile to preserve one's integrity and make through the crucial years without becoming a stooge, a sell-out, a one-dimensional prop, a silly farcical half-wit. You have to learn to play the fool somewhat or else go insane or get angry, have a meltdown or "sell out" entirely. The stupid need of mind to be good! to have integrity and honor, to stand above the fray - is it not just another typical pathetic little example of a little man's pathetic vision of vanity and self-glorification? If one could just let go of the need to be good, would that be the answer - going beyond the civilized straight-jacket of the knowledge of good and evil? But would this young chap understand my dilemma? Oh, who knows, he might...The inner conversation was again interrupted...

-Mr. Sypatico - I need your advice....I know you're not technically a guidance counselor, but you do have that office..." 

- "Yes - part of my demotion." 

- "So I know that you see a lot of people already."  

-"Yes. I'm becoming quite the people person ever since my initial humiliation...Please don't ask me about the incident..."  

-"No sir..."

Oh that dreaded blasted incident - confirmation of a lifetime of minor missteps and blunders causing needless derailments and change of plans, making time move as a haphazard sequence of stops and starts, of zig-zags and backward steps, of circles and semi-circles and redundant u-turns, born of silly emotional breaking-points, ridiculous impulsive reactions and general somatic instabilities.

-"But you've got something philosophical to share with me. I can feel it."

-"Well - it's just that...I've been thinking about what makes so many people so unhappy...and it sort of has to do with the emphasis placed on the individual..." 

- "The primacy of the individual - ah yes, quite a western idea, I'd say..." 

"But that's just it. Everyone builds up these expectations about life and success - and how it all boils down to individual accomplishment and reaching a certain degree of prominence or popularity..." 

-"I like where you seem to be going with this. Please continue..." 

- "But what ends up happening is that on some level - everyone understands that it's not about them in the long run. As individuals, most of us that is, we're going to live and die in some anonymous fashion without gaining the recognition that we crave. And this fact is terrifying and horrendous and completely unacceptable to each person's ego. And even though the community counts for more, in the sense of enduring longer, and the species counts for most of all, it's not like we can just be happy with that. Being a mere contributor to one's tribe or family or community or country or the species itself is not an adequate form of compensation. We're still going to be miserable - just knowing that we as individuals are, for the most part, anonymous in terms of the role we play, and will vanish into oblivion." 

-"So - in the grand scheme of things - it's not about us then - is it?"

-"No - it really isn't, Mr. S. But this is what's so hard to accept. Like I say - it's unacceptable. How do you cope with that, how can people just accept THAT?" 

-"But are you saying there's no place for collective memory - for at least a partial form of immortality. Have no never heard of fame - of monuments and memorials? There's a reason for books and libraries and archives you know!"

-"Yes - but even then - how many people make a point of remembering anyone from earlier centuries. A handful of names that most people latch onto ... and then only on a superficial level. The bulk of humanity lies and dies in oblivion..."

-"Well - let's back up for a second .... I want to ask you a few questions if I may...Now...to what to you attribute this tendency -this unfortunate habit of assuming that the universe  revolves around us as individuals?" 

-"Survival instincts, I suppose. The body conditions us to react a certain way to outside stimuli, to regard the external world as, by turns, friendly or hostile, and to take offense at whatever curve-ball nature  decides to dish out..." 

-"Very good. Very good. So it gets personal when we don't get our way..." 

-"Exactly." 

-"And you seem to be saying that the body forces us to be conscious of certain basic needs and thus to be pleased when these needs are met and miserable otherwise - but that it would be better if we had remained only semi-conscious of our ill-treatment at the hands of nature - because then we would never have invented unhappiness for ourselves?" 

-"Something like that - yeah - I guess that's it." 

-"But if I may - are you not also implying here that it was not on some level beneficial for human beings to have adapted and developed  a more finely-tuned sensory apparatus, to have become creatures famed for taking notice of other entities as individuals. Was this somehow a catastrophe for us?" 

-"Well - we paid a price for it - didn't we? Wouldn't you call that kind of progress tragic to a degree?" 

-"Ah - tragic - because we are cursed with a level of consciousness that forces us to regard entities in and of themselves and their well-being as individuals - and to compare one creature's lot with another's - to project our own feelings and aspirations onto every entity that surrounds us? And is that such a bad thing - such a terrible outcome?" 

-"Well I'm just saying..." 

-"Yes. I see what you're getting at - but one could reverse the question and ask - what sort of happiness would be available to us if human life had ceased from striving from aspiring - if it had merely plateaued at the level of brutish, herd-animal subsistence?"

-"What do you mean by that?" 

-"Well - if we just had remained complacent herd-animals on the order of sheep or cows  - having no ambitions beyond the survival of the group?"

-"... But let's get back to this business of anonymity. That's what's really bothering you. What's it's all for - in the grand scheme - if nothing gets remembered - if the contributions of most people fall by the wayside and never get noticed or validated in any way? Is that a fair summary?"

 -"Yes." 

-"Well - if I may ask - do you have any spiritual or religious insights that might provide some source of consolation?"

- "You mean like "God watching over us and keeping tabs on everyone?" 

-"Yeah - something like that - for sure."It sounds great - but when you consider how miniscule people's lives are - it would be sort of demeaning to God as Ultimate Mystery or Absolute Intelligence - to be some sort of divine stenographer or census-taker - keeping stats on people." 

-"I see what you mean. You have a point there." 

-"It would help if there some kind of celestial butler or numbers-cruncher out there...but just the sound of that seems implausible." 

-"Well - people do believe in angels you know..."

One Voice Creates a Ripple Effect...

The women came to that exclusive gathering that warm September evening as though they were making a sacred pilgrimage to the interior of some ancient temple where a living oracle would be, perched upon a throne of sorts, silently welcoming pilgrims and wayfarers, holding herself in deep reverie or meditation for long intervals, before finally emerging, consenting, selectively offering her sporadic snippets of esoteric wisdom to each guest according to her need...It was the spacious, warm, inviting lounge making up the west wing of the student center - once known as the largest Victorian house on campus that served as the chosen venue of this watershed event. The older women happily sat on pillows or cross-legged on the rug, comparing notes, while younger ladies scrunched together on the long leather couches or found space to huddle in various corners of the room until they had exceeded the fire marshal's recommended number. The center of everyone's attention was an charismatic (dare one say: attractive) elderly woman with dark braided hair, searching eyes, a well-defined jaw and a beaming smile; she wore a multi-colored shawl, blue jeans and sandals as she greeted various regulars with ecstatic small talk, kisses and familiar embraces, stopping to comment on scarves, jewelry or other special features of fabulous colleagues and returning students. And with the crowd spilling out of the side back entrance, one of the late arrivals - the only one of the male persuasion (so far as anyone knew) - with much assistance pursued a reluctant sort of forward motion, walking arm in arm between two close female friends who like bodyguards escorted this short-haired oaf through the distracted crowd as he - with cap pulled down over his face - hunched over hyperbolically so as not to reveal his true height, kept tugging at his dark baggy sweater as if it were a cloak until the trio found welcome rest kneeling beside a lamp where even the most devoted acolytes do not usually kneel or ensconce themselves. One of the aforementioned bodyguards winked at the other with secret pride ("We made it..."), while the hapless male remained docile and subdued- and truth be told a little unnerved by this strange spectacle that he was somehow intruding upon against his will. The room had that hum of polite excitement that takes place before lectures, ballets, classical recitals; Katherine Bourgeois-Pain - the evening's speaker - surveyed each individual guest, slowly taking in the scene. Suddenly a few shrieks were heard as the audience roused itself into a fit of sustained applause and fun-loving hoots and claps such as one still may find in folk music circles. One of the undergrads rose to the makeshift podium and meandered through a nervous introduction repeating as she went about what a life-altering event this night was destined to be. The hapless male interloper's attention span was held spellbound by the sheer variety of womanly forms and faces. Clearly out of his element, he looked around for any signs of other uninvited male guests - but when none were forthcoming, he surmised that at least a few other clandestine party-crashers were indeed present.  Perhaps some are here, he surmised, but "under wraps" like me... The talk had been heavily advertised of course - but as with other such on-campus activities, this proved something of a foreboding enticement even for sensitive, sympathetic males. After the cries had subsided Bourgeois-Pain stepped forward and began to speak, slowly, emphatically..... Well, she began...I must warn you that what I am about to say is not for the faint of heart... (laughter)...As you know I have been dubbed "controversial" (much laughter) and "incendiary" - someone who loves to go against the majority opinion. And yes - I do proudly wear this mantle of heretic and gadfly. But if what I say does sound strange at first, or does make you uncomfortable, please realize that what I say is simply trying to tap into feelings and reactions that perhaps you are already experiencing or have experienced. Because you already know in a sense everything that I am about to suggest to you as true. You know (in advance) the reasons why we are here, she began. And what must be done. And who must be reminded, and enlightened or shall I say confronted (much laughter). Looking around the world today, you all have your eyes wide open - I say that with deep faith in the quality of our young women. Before I have even begun to try to explain anything at all to you amazing ones - you beautiful, curious ones, you wise women, you bright, faithful ladies...You have understood pain, the pain that comes from being slighted, from being relegated, from being pigeonholed and underestimated....And you have come here tonight because the paradigm man-beast-behemoth-leviathan cannot prevent you from feeling whatever it is that you feel in your innermost psyche which is the true dwelling place of the spirit....You feel it within, but I would wager that you also feel a tug, like a guilt, pulling you away from truth, pulling you away...And stopping abruptly she looked around - seemingly for signs of which had already made up their minds, having agreed with her and which were skeptical. And were there some there as well - enlightened-progressive colleagues, mind you, who were somewhat more antagonistic in their silent glares. Was it true, what some had said, that this wave of feminism had died out years ago and was in dire need of a theoretical re-adjustment, or had it simply been eclipsed by other concerns and formulations brimming up from the imperatives of popular culture and the current vernacular? And was this formidable woman, looking perhaps for an heir apparent or sorts, some dynamic younger woman or woman's coterie to whom she could pass the torch of radical activism? The faces of other male interlopers were beginning to emerge from hoodies and hats, whispering under their breath to one another "This is so weird. This is so weird..." while Bourgeois-Pain continued in her measured, mellifluous tone:  And now I arrive at what some - even some of you here tonight - will consider controversial... because of my choice of words (laughter). I come tonight to tell you something of man-beast and man-child. I use both terms in order to be fair, in order to acknowledge the spectrum of possibility, in order to make clear what the matrices of biological mutations have wrought.  I know there is a part of you, as women, to extend compassion to all - especially to man-child. This loyalty you feel as you look out at innocent manchild and his early promise in life. And some part of you, indeed, understandably, may even want to be a caretaker,  friend, confidant, muse, patron  and so you do what so many women do at this crucial age, at this irrevocable moment in their young lives, when destinies are forged...namely, you give yourself over to someone else's imperative; you put yourself on hold; you squelch the voice, you suppress it believing you have done the right thing - you have become a "moral person" - This is morality and respectability. So you say. But even at the moment when you do so, some discomfort remains because you cannot deny to yourself the unfairness, the injustices, the havoc and the chaos - the sheer violence that is wreaked by man-beast and his tendencies. And so - you scratch your head and you ask why? And what can be done about this - you say. But even knowing the problem that exists you cannot bring yourself to conclude that it is a global phenomenon with global ramifications or a historical problem with historical reach or a biological problem to some extent with anthropological consequences...you do not perhaps wish to envision the parameters of the power differential that is involved in all this. You perhaps would rather believe that no one is responsible - therefore even the perpetrators are innocent - Because it is a matter of education after all - and proper upbringing - perhaps you've told yourself. And so many of these men are poorly educated and grow up to be (as a result) - let's face it - problematic males - dare I say - toxic males - dare I say troglodytes (much laughter). No really. Think about the damage done, the wreckage that is heaped upon our collective memory - think of the infected who walk around with negative labels who are basically of the same mindset as those on top....And what do we sometimes call these wretches? Punks, derelicts, criminals, stalkers, control-freaks, muggers, thugs, abusers...I can't even bring myself to mention the other ones. From whence do these male mutations emerge given all of our efforts - given that we know in theory that theses types are unacceptable? Why can't our educational system handle them and re-make them? Does it all go back to biology? I know already how some of you in your weaker, more desperate moments are tempted to answer. But suppose with me for a moment that a system underlying this mess did in fact exist as we all think it does exist - as the product of some vile inheritance, a curse, a pestilence that is passed on, that is foisted on us really - an absurdly burdensome legacy of social roles and gender practices, of rules and strictures and expectations, of threats and  punishments and innuendos that you have been taught to accept unthinkingly as NECESSITY - as BIOLOGY as DESTINY  - forgetting mind you, what great labors are expended, what sheer continuous effort is spent showing us that we ourselves have consented to beliefs and practices that we did not invent....Imagine the sheer dimensions of this system, this apparatus, with all of the protocol that goes with it and then ask yourselves --- does it not require a web of enforcers to promote, defend, maintain this false world - think authority figures, fathers, coaches, elder clerics, cops and soldiers and of course, those aging politicians, our so-called leaders (rudderless dregs really) - from the stodgy CEO's in board-rooms to football players and star athletes etc. etc.- these male charismatics, these desirable types, these huckster golden-boys, these corporate power-brokers for lack of a better name - as such - have their influence on the way that things are done - That these powers,  have their henchmen, their overseers, their drones and their mouth-pieces and their hacks - their representatives who are so necessary as pillars of the system - of a system that is designed to keep a majority of the population thinking as servants....loyal servants of manbeast disguised as manchild -  because manchild always presents as having good intentions...when young...And this is the great delusion...So what happens...This is what we are here to discuss...This is part of the great research that takes place at this university at least in our department....thank the goddess - in our department!  What I hope to show you is a true radicalism that is continually reinventing itself, constantly groping for air and open space, a radical psyche that simply is, that exists, that asserts itself, and that, by virtue of evading altogether the trappings of manbeast, represents as itself the great alternative to the delusion. Imagine the reaction to a single person who dissents, who really decides whether out of frustration or exhaustion or simply out of whimsy - pure impulse - to be herself - to move against the tide. This is a revolution, mind you, that begins everyday, that has begun, that has been moving forward for decades now, but which is in constant danger of being squashed and repressed at any given moment. And even tonight I fear - nay - I know with absolute certainty - that my adversaries are poised and waiting for me to falter.  If it not a major crime in itself that I am a woman who dares utter these things, my critics mention my age as well as some sort of evidence against my credibility... For you see... But at this point a figure rose up in back of the room, pointed a long, pinkish finger and spoke in an ambiguously feminine voice: I think you've had your say, m'um. I think you've said enough for one night! Adding drama to insult, Bourgeois-Pain remained calm, impassive, nonplussed by the outburst, nodding her head as if expecting such an outburst on cue. "It was almost prophesied, one might say, that someone here, in our midst, would betray me. The hecklers started laughing; there were at least two or three of them, wearing hoodies,  rising out of their formerly inconspicuous postures. My only question is whether you be hired drones - representatives of manbeast  paid to harass and bully me or would you happen to be a sampling of those lost, misguided unhappy  weaker vessel sellouts acting out your codependent martyr fantasies on the altar of man worship? The hecklers continued, their booming androgynous, inexplicably British-sounding voices -  emanating from behind where an exotic indoor plant was standing: We've heard your views - now we could use a discussion. Will you answer questions? "Before deciding to railroad this intended lecture - you might have the decency to state your real agenda. " But at this point the audience was reacting against the disruption - in a show of rhythmic clapping on behalf of Bourgeois-Pain. The hecklers looked at one another, but could not decide whether to unburden themselves of their disguises and reveal their true identities. It was evident that half the crowd was perhaps somewhat  unemphatic and conflicted in their views. The murmur of the audience's confusion began welling up into a crescendo of voices - unsure of what to do next. One young woman suddenly stood up - took off her hat and sweater - literally let down her long chestnut hair - and began speaking as if called upon - "Yes..hi...hello... I just wanted to say that a lot of us here respect what you represent here at this university - Katherine. You're like a living icon of some huge event in history that none of us were there for. And we thank you for that...Uhm...we're well aware of your integrity as a radical critic of the establishment - the man problem and all that - but without denying the need for solidarity and higher awareness of inequity and mysogyny, etcl, honestly - some of us here just don't feel the need to go in the same direction - if that makes any sense. Maybe we just haven't experienced enough of these injustices directly to know what you mean - but for the time being - we're comfortable taking another path - less political perhaps - I guess you'd call us "practical types" - but you know, it's a different time - and actually I think people out there are getting the message or have already gotten the message - so I'm very hopeful. I guess I or we don't feel the need to be as radical. Because if everyone knows and accepts the ideal of relations between men and women - then that sort of has to have an effect eventually....doesn't it? Does that make any sense? Several young women beside her slowly nodded in the affirmative. Katherine Bourgeois-Pain let out an uproarious belly laugh. "Bless you - all of you young "practical moderates" of the third wave! If only theory guided practice so smoothly as you imagine...When you start to sense the delay in the wished-for outcome (that you all claim to be fighting for) - you come see me!" "But we do support you in spirit." - said another young woman, wearing a RedSox jersey and a baseball cap. "We've chosen our own path...and we feel that real progress is being made. We're comfortable with men - because we don't allow them to threaten us. We won't permit it. Are you saying that you think us naive?" "I am not here to incite or re-ignite a generational quarrel...among the sisterhood. But I do plead with you - my ladies - to compare - your fortunate and somewhat fortuitous positions - with the hundreds upon thousands of millions of women, workers, housewives, young girls, mothers, daughters,  - all of them persecuted, marginalized, thwarted, scapegoated  in countries all over the globe that remain culturally backward - permeated by the spirit of manbeast and his co-hort, misogynist. Are you seriously going to sit here and say that because you don't personally feel the heat or encounter their misfortunes that - this threat is not real, that your support and solidarity is not absolutely essential?" "Okay ...wow...I suppose you DO have a point. But...I just think that every generation has their own method for dealing with the problems...And I'm just saying this to explain that we're not against you necessarily even if we take a different tack...Because we've read your books and all. It's not like we're forgetting you." But at this point, the hecklers had successfully organized themselves and agreed upon a plan...One of them took off the hoodie to reveal the pale, pasty, curly-haired head of a goof, half-smiling and half-confused. 
"Hey - everyone - we decided to crash this shindig...uhm ...because we believe  us guys have a right to be here...and I don't agree with what was said about manbeast...I'm mean c'mon...that's not right...You can't lump us all into that category...." Another heckler was even less kind and diplomatic. "Your time is up, I'm afraid, my dear, dear lady. You've had your say. Let the younger generation speak. Give them your blessing....step aside...retire...." And so the chant began: "retire....retire... the old and weathered must retire..." and ceased after only a minute. But Fiona was in the crowd as well. Incensed by the rude treatment her aunt was enduring, she stood up on a chair and remarked: "Observe ladies, how these thuggish interlopers, these beastly ones have come to fleer and mock at our solemnity...You will not erase my auntie's wisdom by trying to shout her down. Rise up and fight! Rise up and fight!"

Guidance

Travis Sharpie sat there in Mr. Girello's  cramped, stuffy guidance office with both hands pressed against his forehead, fidgeting wildly, while Mr. G opened the door a crack so that others waiting in the open area conference room could hear what was going on. On the wall he looked up at a poster of three bright young undergrads striding arm-in-arm across some well-manicured college campus. Slumping over in his chair, Travis stared down at his shoes and dithered with his shoelaces.

-I've got nowhere to go, he lamented. Nobody wants me. I can't get in anywhere. My grades are so messed up. My test scores are in the toilet. None of my top five schools will accept me...I've got no scholarship...No offers...What have I done? What have I done, Mr. G.? Why didn't somebody tell me two years ago that I'd have no chance. Now all I can do is go to a stupid on-line school... 

Girello leaned back in his chair slowly,  calmly, rocking back and forth, staring at the wall behind the his visitor with a look of confident, masculine, self-satisfaction. Here at last was the mighty Trav Sharpie, humbled, abased, brought low - the same insolent wunderkind who so joyfully had wreaked havoc with teachers and administrators for years at a time, the one who knew how to violate the dress code in every particular, the one who had so gleefully destroyed computer equipment, trashed cafeterias, subverted bus rides, made a point of sliding down stair railings and raiding faculty lounges just to spite the administration; the cad who wrote graffiti on bathroom walls and left odd paraphernalia like cactus plants and blow-up dolls in other people's lockers, the unruly derelict who made a point of always mocking his English teachers relentlessly for their frumpy, frilly attire and needlessly unimaginative hair, the oaf who cursed in mock Spanish, mock Russian or mock Mandarin during math exams to confuse his instructors, the provocateur who filibustered for non-existent constiutional rights or defended the great villains of history until his teachers sent him out, the wise-guy who broke test tubes and depleted fire extinguishers during science lab, who fake vomitted and feigned panic attacks during midterms and finals week - he was finally walking out the door - but he would not be holding his head up high. Nothing pleased Mr. Girello more than the sight of this now overripe hooligan - bumping up against the hard wall of adult responsibility. This was cosmic justice at work. Cases like this served to clarify - if nothing else- that cosmic justice did in fact exist.

- I'm sure you'll figure this out as time goes on, Trav...It's not like we didn't try to warn you. 

-  Yeah - sure - you people said this and that - but you didn't stop me from crashing and burning like this! 

- Well - like I say,  I'm very sorry that it has come to this - but sometimes (like they say) you have to hit rock bottom to get yourself on a better path. I hate to say I told you so... 

 - I've got nothing Mr. G. I'm done. Just stick a fork in me! 

- Now don't say that. There are plenty of things you can do in life - it's just going to take you a few years longer than everyone else (heh, heh, heh) to get straighted out, that's all. You're going to need some adult ed and remedial classes at a local community college - maybe some personal counseling. You know it's still only February - I can give you some referrals... 

And with that big, bad, annoying Travis began sobbing uncontrollably while the sound carried out into the large waiting area. The other students were incredulous - with big smiles appearing on their faces. This was one of those I-can't-believe-I-was-there-in-the-same-room-when-it-happened experiences that they would doubtless tell or text their friends about. The "incident" would spread like wildfire. T.S. would never live it down. And with that Girello glanced outside - somewhat annoyed by the smiles and giggles. His mood changed back to one of grim determination....

- I'm very sorry Tad...Travis that is...but I've got some other customers waiting...  

It was oddly cathartic and entirely customary for him to watch, year in and year out, as various seniors, one by one, virtually crawled out of his office - realizing their mistakes and missteps - after four years of naysaying and resisting his advice. Soon afterwards, Mr. Girello could be seen frenetically pacing back and forth, while Ham Palumbo  sat sullenly, staring at the college posters on the wall - all of happy undergrads on idyllic campuses, comfortably ensconced into newly formed peer groups, surrounded by stately brick buildings, immaculate walkways and lush vegetation.  Ham was another one of those typical sophomores at a deceptive crossroad in life, having to make a big decision on whether to "get serious" about his future or continue on a path of aimless drifting and "creative destructive" lethargy.

-I'm looking at a set of statistics that I want you to hear....

-Okay.

-What if I were to tell you that taking everything we know about you, your background, your family situation, your peer group, your test scores, and your progress in school thus far - we could predict just about everything that is bound to happen to you over the next 30 years....You'd say I was crazy. Am I right?

-No offense, Mr. G. You're a smart man and all, but that does sound a little far-fetched.

-Good. Good. I knew you wouldn't like what I'm saying, but just listen for a second. Just listen.

Ham could see Mr. Girello grabbing his clipboard and scanning the paperwork for salient numbers; it was at such times, that he reached for a comment totally off-topic just because it seemed the right thing to do at the time.

-That girl in the poster. Did she go here? I think I know her sister.

-What? Now just listen for a second. Forget that girl in the poster. She's been on this wall for the past 10 years. What I want to tell you Ham is that we know all about what will happen to you after you walk out of this building. Can you wrap your mind about that for a second? We know what will most likely happen to you.

This had Ham laughing: "No you don't - heh, heh, heh."

-Yes. As a matter of fact, we do.

-What do you know really?

-Ever heard of Leibniz, Travis. The famous German philosopher? 13th chapter of the Discourses on Metaphysics? Ever hear of Baron d'Holbach (ha, ha, ha) or Spinoza or B.F. Skinner or any of those other great determinists from years gone by?

-Huh?

-No - of course you haven't. If I had more time, I'd show you this book I bought on those guys...Oh...Why do I even bother with such extra-curriculuars? What I want to mention is this guy Leibniz who had this notion that if we understood enough about what defined a given person, place or thing or an event - we could predict with certainty everything that would ever happen in the future to that same entity. Do you believe that?

"Do I believe what?

-Do you believe me when I tell you that we can predict the future?

-My future? That would be awesome if you could - but - do you see - like good things happening to me?

-If I were to tell you that with 95% accuracy we already know the following about you and your life story...That unfortunately, as things stand now, you will not be famous, you will not earn over a million dollars a year at any time of your life, or anything approaching a million dollars, that you will not earn a college degree, you will not become a professional of any kind, or join a country club or win awards, or be interviewed by the media or appear on television or radio or create your own website, that you will never live in a large house or a mansion....

-Whoa there Mr. G. You're really laying it on thick.

-Just listen for a second. You are about to walk out of here, thinking of yourself as a totally free entity who can create your own reality at the snap of your fingers. But the truth is that:  A.) You will walk out of hear in three years time and will apply to a local community college program. B.) After one-year you will drop out and take a low-paying job with some local box store or outlet, based on a friend's recommendation. C.) A year after dead-end career path, you will find yourself co-habitating with your girlfriend, someone you have met on the job. D.)  One year after that you will find yourself a parent-in-waiting, although no marriage plans have been set.

-Wait. Wait. Wait. Mr. G. This is weird, okay. That's not me. You can't sit here and tell me that my life is going to pan out just like that.

-Oh but I can. The statistics tell the story. The door is closing shut on your life, my man, unless you act now to reverse the situation.

Still distracted by various external stimuli including the fake flowers on the table, the bowl of mints and the mysterious stack of red files, Ham suddenly blurted out yet another seeming non sequitor:

- Hey, Mr. G. Wouldn't it be neat...If you could like...go back... say 40, 50, 60 years... and just sort of, like find a person who went to this school...and see how they did and what happened to them after high school and then go find out if they had children or not, and see how those kids turned out and if they had kids...look at what happened to them. You know like track certain families and follow them from one generation to the next. That would be cool - wouldn't it?

Suddenly Mr. Girello's face broke out into a loud and sustained grin, accompanied by a rapid nod of the head in the affirmative direction, a clasp of the hands together and an low-pitched, but unmistakable grunt of joy.

- Ham, my friend, you have just put your finger on my life's work. I am in the process of doing this very thing you speak of - on a scale that has never been attempted at this school at least, something that no guidance counselor  has ever done before.

- Because like - after you had traced things back a couple of generations - you could like - make predictions - it would be all scientific - I guess - Wouldn't it?

- Ex-act-ly! Exactly! Exactly.

Girello was on top of the world to have found a student who actually got him talking about the one topic he enjoyed more than anything - the mapping out of necessity as it applied to human beings and human behavior - what some might call sociobiology via statistics. He was on a high of sorts for the next several hours. He decided to eat his favorite tuna salad sandwich with extra crunchy potato chips at 11:00 a.m. instead of noon. He even allowed himself a strawberry soda from the vending machine. His first visitor, after lunch, unfortunately, was not so receptive to his big ideas.  Fiona Webber - a  troubled sophomore who wore a dark cloak and ruby red shoes was having none of it. It was one of those "don't even try to get near to me" cases. Don't try to know me. Don't offer any help or advice. Don't waste your time.... She was already chanting such lines before Mr. G. even had a chance to over-awe her with his macho inflections.  

- This office is quite dumpy. I don't see the jar full of lollipops for your compliant drones. -

- Alright there Fiona. Let's get to know each other a little better. I've pulled your file as you may know. I'm looking at your most recent test scores here. Oh yes...Well, well, the grades have been slipping...Oh dear. I see that you are a quick-witted girl...an opinionated young lady who doesn't appear to suffer fools gladly... The good news is that I'm here to offer you some helpful advice...Ya see, I've actually been around the block a few times. I can offer you some, good, solid pointers if you'd only put your 'rebel pose' on hold for a second. 

- Don't bother. You might as well cut to the chase. How do you propose to bribe me into submission? You: the male overlord using not-so-subtle weapons to intimidate a young girl... 

- Now. Now. Let's not get melodramatic all of a sudden. 

- My apologies to your sensitive ego and all... it's just that I don't believe in your world, your guidance, your system of morality, your brand of rationality...Your decidedly old school MALE view of the world...that permeates the hallways around here, the very air we breathe... Your staff along with all the teachers here are not role models for ME...they do not have anything of value to impart aside from dreary anecdotes from their narrow lives. 

- Young lady...I'm going to put 90% of the rhetoric you've been spewing on hold for a sec - just to ask you a simple question:Were you listening to what just happened in here in this office of mine? Did you see that overgrown little tadpole, Trav Sharper crying his eyes out and moaning with regret? And now you're going to tell me that I don't have a leg to stand on, that I don't have the right to call YOU out on some of your glaring deficiencies?

- STOP RIGHT THERE! Fiona was shouting and pulling on her hair.

- Am I going to have to watch you break down and cry two years from now? C'mon Fiona. You've got TIME to turn this thing around. Are you just gonna sit here with that ridiculous smirk on your face and try and defend you sorry record here thus far? 

- Stop, she said, this time more calmly. Don't try to reach me. I don't want your help. 

- Fiona. Look. You're grades are slipping. Your mannerisms are becoming more and more eccentric based on what your peers have been telling me. 

- Spies. Narcs. Great. That's just wonderful of you to conduct surveillance on us helpless sophomores! 

- Fiona. We need to make an intervention with you - before it's too late. You may not believe it - but we want you to be happy. Yes, happy. 

- You and I are as far removed as two species of space aliens. What  would someone of your ilk know about MY HAPPINESS? 

- Well - actually - I have files and cabinets full of DATA on what makes for a happy and successful life after people leave this place. So - YEAH - I know a thing or two about your happiness. 

- You know nothing about what happiness is for me or for others like me. What you call happiness is something I would shun like the plague. Not everyone pursues the same goals in life, I mean, isn't that obvious?  

- I hate to rain on your diversity parade - young lady - but I happen to know for a fact  that most of us humans share the same goals in common.... 

- Happiness differs like DNA. Don't talk to me about MY HAPPINESS. It has nothing to do with you!

-Just listen for a second. You can rant and rave all you want, but I've got the stats on this...Most people rate the following as necessary ingredients of true satisfaction: love or companionship, a family with children, productive work, a good career, friends, health, financial stability, a senses of community in that order... 

I'm going to scream. Look Mr. G. Everyone pours something different into those categories. Okay? Those words mean different things to different people! You want some kind of wretched, cookie-cutter, one-size-fits-all mode of contentment. It's not real. 

Oh but IT IS REAL, young lady. I build my career on.... I stake my reputation on these facts and figures. I am right and you are .... you are young and inexperienced in these matters. 

- You are a SLIMY Trog! I dismiss you. Begone. You do not EXIST! You are detritus, white noise!

- What did you call me? What did you just call me? 

- You are a Trog - just like all the other Trogs in this building. And if you don't let me out of here, I'm going to scream! - 

Girello momentarily stunned by the unexpected and indecipherable insult he had received was caught off guard, unsure whether to laugh or retaliate. But by then Fiona had begun to scream. And scream. And scream. The fish in the fish tank outside swam haphazardly around the tank. Agnes, the guidance secretary rushed over to see what was wrong, but Mr. G. just waved her off.

- Okay. Whatever. You may leave, Fiona. Get out. I'm done with you. We'll talk down the road... I have no doubt... I'll get the kleenex ready... 

****