Samuel Scoville: Stupid Club

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Stupid Club

Dear Colleagues Across the Curriculum

Diogenes,
           Epimenides,
                    Procrustes &
                                Narcissus walk into a bar…

            Stupid Club.

Nobody who’s not stupid need apply. Only the stunned.

Smarties: Persona Non Grata—start your own club:
we’re studying “stupid” here. Stunning! Infinite resource
                 like wind, like waves.

Goodies are also excluded. Too messy & noisy the
margins for error, rooms for play: such a tink, tank,
tunk & hullabaloo. You wouldn't be comfortable.

It's one thing to caterwaul & castigate the "baddies."
Heroic. Got your whole team cheer leading. It's
another thing to go up against "Goodies."

      Fool. And who's got your back?

            Counter-intuitive:

Bad Guys have their own version of good guys-&-
bad guys contrary to my own. Impossible for me
(good guy against all bad guys), to appreciate their
foe dichotomy.

To be at war against Bad Guys (terrorists, republicans,
those who don't recycle): piece of cake. Something else
to go against Goodies, Sustainable-ists, Environmental:
golden intentions  galore.

Commend thyself to god.

xxxooo, Sam

2 comments:

JamesJune 15, 2011 at 4:15 AM
You do the hokie-pokie, and you turn yourself around, that's what IT's all about!
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SamJune 15, 2011 at 4:37 AM
Something like that. Or you do the hokey pokie and IT turns you all around,damnit.
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I choose, as a determining POINT in my life, to acknowledge a bullet fired into the armpit of my grandfather, Samuel Scoville, Jr. by a thief in the night sometime in the late 19^thc.

The thief escaped, my grandfather having pulled his own pistol from beneath the pillow, squeezing off a couple of rounds and sending the burglar scurrying into the Connecticut night...

For reasons of family notoriety, the incident was reported in both New York and Philadelphia papers. A former roommate in Philly called up Young Goodman Sam, inviting him down for a weekend gala: The Yale-Penn Football game. “You can take my sister Katherine, and chaperone me and my fiancé, he said.

In those days couples were not advised to be alone. Unaccompanied.

Sam took a steam-driven locomotive train down to Philadelphia, escorted Katherine to the leather-helmet contest, fell in love, asked her to marry him. She did & they lived more or less HAP-ily ever after, generating a tribe of offspring who like wise generated in kind so that if it hadn’t of been for that bullet, well, it’s impossible to begin to consider how unimaginably different life-as-we-know-it would have been. No one can say.

For one thing: YOU, dear Reader, wouldn’t be reading THIS HERE right now, resurrecting these words to walk around in your skull-haus this very be-here-now moment. So even you are impacted forever by that bullet.

(I could drive up to Connecticut right now, retrieve the small bite of lead, drop it in your hand and remind you how co-incidental our life is—how inexplicable, how arbitrary & selective our accounts, how much we omit which is also absolutely necessary, how inadequate our because & affects.)

The bullet is a NECESSARY but INSUFFICIENT cause of who-I-am, without which any explanation would be incomplete. Sam Scoville

Samuel Scoville

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Stupid Club

2 comments:

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