So I was trying to rationalize the idea of ‘acquired’ taste to myself earlier, persuasively arguing inwardly, you know, left brain v. right brain kinda stuff. And one of me was losing badly. This is what happens when I walk home from work and elect not to read, which has been of late the fad, but instead allow my mind to wander along next to me, stopping occasionally, smelling the roses, and catching up at the next traffic signal. Tangentially speaking, it’s always been the time when I write the most. Walking home. When I was in architecture school, I’m sure I wrote more songs during that 15 minute walk home from studio at 4 in the morning than at any other time. In the early morning hours when no one else was out on the streets and I could walk along singing away without feeling foolish, as I do when I try it now. Maybe it’s the chance for your brain to mull over everything that’s happened during the day, and then cram it back down your throat. A sort of waking dream kind of state. Which, after Texas and California, is the third best state. A state where all inspiration strikes. Where Eureka’s happen. I mean, this is solid gold blogging material I’ve got going on here as a result. Stick a diamond on it, propose, and I’m yours forever. Wait. No. I’ll propose to you. That’ll be less confusing.
The profundity of my argument is rapidly disappearing as I forget what it was. See? I’m not walking anymore. All thought has been lost. But oh man it was killer. Something to do with questioning why people first found it necessary to acquire certain tastes. And please note that this follows on from a pub lunch conversation, which are never the most lucid of conversations. But nobody likes coffee when they first try it, as wonderful as it might smell. Nor beer, wine, or any liquor really. And yet we force ourselves to continue drinking it. Social pressure? Maybe. The desired effects worth the initial outlay? Maybe. We, as a species, are stupid? *nods head sagely, even knowingly, incorporating the wisdom of a thousand ages into his piercing glance, and then walks away* I mean, do animals acquire tastes? And more importantly, do lions really like raw meat? If given a choice, would a pride of lions rather feast on fresh-kill gazelle, or maybe sit down to a candlelit dinner, chicken cordon bleu in front of them and a side salad, with a glass of dry white wine and a cheese tray for afters? This is the point where half of my mind gave up the argument on the grounds of the other half’s incompetence, and began reading a Phillip Pullman novel.
As a side note, meaning its relation to the above is tenuous at best, I’d like to add that while an undeniably great amount of thinking occurs when walking, does anyone else find they do their absolute, positively best thinking in the shower? Yes? Good. I thought so. Me too. Something about that blast of hot water clearing and focusing your thoughts, even as the mist obscures everything around you. I bet that’s the secret of all the great philosophers. They prob’ly spent their lives in the shower, emerging only occasionally to propose some brilliant new thesis and then retiring to their steam filled shower cubicles to further ponder life’s great mysteries. Right down the line, Plato, Aristotle, Nietzsche, Snoopy, you can tell ‘em all by their well-conditioned hair, their clean smiling faces, their pruned fingers and toes. I really must take more showers. Elevate my own level of thinking. Remember, never trust a dirty philosopher.
And no, not that kind of dirty.
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