“Your species not only fails to connect dots when dealing
with logic,” he said, “you also fail to see arcs in logic.”
He sounded as if he knew what he was talking about as he had
assumed the form of James Earl Jones, the legendary actor with the great voice.
When he spoke, even the bids stopped their singing.
“Dammit to godalmighty hell,” I said.
“Did I say something with which you disagree?”
“No,” I said, “I just busted my knuckles trying to get this
nut loose.”
“It may have been the most cogent thing you have said all
day.” He leaned back on the bucket he was using as a stool. “Anyway,” he said, “I
was talking about arcing.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“It means tying together snippets of history and using arcs
to make a logical generalities. Are you listening?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“Consider Herbert Hoover’s approach to the Great Depression.”
“It hurts to, but go ahead.”
“It appears that it was one of ‘It’s better to let the
country collapse than for government to save it.’”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Arc then,” he said, “to the famous quote by the army officer of the Vietnam War era.”
“Which quote was that?”
“The only way to save that village was to destroy it.”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “That one.”
“Shall we continue the arc?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“Arc to the so-called ‘Libertarians’ who see the solution to
governmental reform as no government at all.”
“Crap.”
“You don’t agree with them?”
“I can’t get this thing to come loose,” I said. I slammed the
nut with my wrench.
“Precisely,” he said. “Maybe an example from the world of
entertainment? That’s my field.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“We actually have a mechanical device on Falloonia that
enables us to make these connections.”
“Super.”
“It’s called an ‘Arc Nexus Utilization Synthesizer,’ and I
have mine with me,” he said. “Would you like to see my AN …”
“No,” I said. “You can just tell me about it.”
“As I was saying,” he said. “Consider the world of
entertainment.” He paused. “Are you listening?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“Remember Archie Bunker?”
I stopped. “From that show All In The Family? You bet. Funny as hell.”
“Why did you like it? The show I mean.”
“It poked fun at bigotry,” I sad. “What’s not to like?”
“If you would examine my ANUS ...,” he said.
“I’d rather not.”
“You would find that a majority of your fellow Americans
liked it because the main character was spouting nonsense that they themselves
wanted to spout. But they were
increasingly being forbidden by societal norms to do so.”
I sat up and looked at him. “Are you implying that the average American felt repressed by facing sanctions against voicing prejudice?”
“You aren’t as dense as Mrs. Big Dope says you are.”
Now I was intrigued. “So?”
“Now make the arc,” he said, “to this, this, this …” As
intelligent as he seemed today, he was struggling for the word. “This side show
character who is leading in your presidential polls.”
My mind soared from one point to the other. “Surrogate racism, sexism, and scapegoating,” I said.
 |
| “The past is never dead. It's not even past.” I think your famous author William Faulkner was arcing when he wrote that. - C.W. |
He smiled and a breeze rustled the oak trees in apparent harmony.
“Say,” I said. “You may have something here. Could I maybe
borrow your AN …”
“I don’t let anyone touch it,” he said.
“Isn’t that selfish?”
“It’s mine and I’ll keep it to myself,” he said. "No touching." Then he
looked at me. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did you crack your knuckles again?”
“No,” I said. “I was just thinking about the Great
Depression, an old girlfriend, and our present state of the economy.”
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