JustJests

Good morning, Hermen. Morning Prof. How was your weekend? As weekends go, it performed averagely -- it trailed Friday, but beat Monday. I'd give it a C. Huh. Well, the coffee's on and it's worth an A. And the muffins are freshly baked, full of fruit and nuts -- like a Philosophy prof's mind.  Hmm ...  my theory of mind, my observation and perception, is that I'm not hungry. I've engaged a poet.  You're engaged? To be married? Is she rich? I'm not marrying her, I've engaged her to make my menu lyrical. Oh. Why? To appeal to my clientele. The more flowery, spicy, rhythmic, metric and suggestive are your menu items the more you can charge for them. This is a Philosophy Cafe -- full of flowery spicy rythmic chatterers. You mean you're going to have those salads with actual flowers in them? So pretentious. Exactly. Like Philosophy. But you don't understand marketing, Prof. Thank God. There she is now! God? No, the poet!  'Bye Prof, I've

  MOTHERS' DAY Thank Goddess it's Sunday, Hermen. Philosophy Cafe's "Happy Hour" day. No food though, Witch. It's "Mother's Day", so it's Ma's day off. Today she's on the other side of the counter. Lucky her, she even gets to share Best Table Forever with that tiresome Old Soak. Me, I've had the very mother of a lousy week, so a glass of wine without food is fine by me. Bubbly, of course. Right-oh: some bubble-bubble for Madama Nocturna. Do you think you drink to overcome childhood trauma? After all, you grew up with a lot of weird sisters. No. I drink because I like drinking. You sound like a nagging therapist, Hermen. It's all very well being Hermen Eutic, but sometimes there can be too much meaning  I like the mysterious. And why can't Happy Hour just be an hour of happiness? Why does it have to be about escaping trauma? Whatever happened to uncomplicated pleasure?  The therapy industry complicated it. What about  your

Cafe Philosopher: I had the weirdest dream last night, Hermen. Hermen: That doesn't surprise me. Your waking life is pretty weird too. Philosopher: As you know, I live alone, and in my dream, since I have no spouse, offspring or partner, I thought of getting a companion pet. But they leave hairs everywhere and need walks, so I got a companion ghost instead. Good plan! It was genderless and skeptical. "I doubt you really exist," it told me as moonlight spilled in through my uncurtained window. "Speaking ontologically," I told the ghost, "that's a pretty meaty philosophical proposition." "Okay, on to logic then," said Ghost. "How rational would it be for me to assume you exist? You may be a mere figment of my ghostly imagination." "A mere figure on the mindscape, yes. But I figure the answer's too elusive to grasp so late at night. Let's discuss it in the morning." "I'm not much of a morning person, myse

-- I was tired. -- You're always tired -- like a cartoon cat that sleeps all day. Y ou do look a bit drawn. -- Because I'm tired. I've been busy. It's hard work being an influencer. -- Can dogs be influencers too? -- I hope not. -- How do you be one? -- By example. Haven't you seen my face on a thousand comic greeting cards? -- Of course. The face that launches a thousand quips, on cards for Crazy Cat Ladies to buy for other Crazy Cat Ladies. -- Why not? I'm a Crazy Lady Cat. -- Yes. And I'm a Sane Gentleman Dog. -- I thought you were a guard dog. What do you see outside this window, watching all day? -- Tons of stuff you know nothing about, since you're usually asleep. -- I'm dreaming. I'm a Weekend Worrier. I have to work things out, and then share my hard-won wisdom with the world. -- You should start a mogcast. But you don't see what I see because I look out the window. -- And you see what? -- Well, did you know there are hens in that yar

Hermen! What's wrong? You're open late, and Philosophy Cafe's full of customers ... I saw lights on, and you know how light makes me nervous ... as a nocturnal person. Why are you tearing your hair out? Hi Madama Nocturna. I'm doing my book-keeping, trying to fill in this Income Tax form, and you know how I hate Math. I'm no good with calculations.   Really Hermen, there must be a digital app. I haven't seen anyone do their accounts with a calculator for years -- let alone a pencil!  I know. Some people have Long Covid, and I have Long- Division Deficency -- but also Lingering Analog-ism.  Ha! Tell that to the Income Tax Department. I sense they won't let you off. But I'm a person experiencing arithme-fatigue, and it triggers my neuralgebra. Schools have invented Ethnomathematics, a teaching that different cultures evolved "different math" and that students should learn it in ways that relate to ancestral culture. I don't think there are an

  You know what day it is, Hermen? No, Witch. Should I? Did Hesiod mention it? My job is all WORKS OF DAYS. Stoically, I never take a play day. This one 's the longest day. Sol's Day. So  w ho's Saul? Gloomy old desert scholar, was he? No. Sol! The Sun! It's the summer solstice, when the sun's at its highest point of the year and the shadows at their shortest at noon, as Ovid put it . Oh, Ovid. More sybaritic than stoic, that one. Well, t he shadows have to be at their shortest some time, you gloomy old git. It's fact.  Truth. Yeah? "Veritas"? Is it in your vino?  The sun was certainly in the grapes. Meaning what? Vino is vino, truth is illusion. What do you mean, "meaning what"? You want epistemology? Yes. IS there truth in wine? You mean, in inebriation? Fine, if we need five syllables where one would do. T ruth is in loquacity . Oh great, another four. Wine makes people talk, makes them loquacious. And they tend to reveal … truths. Or fict