My wife Brittany and I received our monthly dose of culture at the Columbus Symphony on Saturday night and then ambled down to the water front to stare at the Fire on the Water thing. I’m not exactly sure what the event is called, but it’s intriguing–you’d probably like it, especially if you planned ahead to bring hot tea or cocoa or cider (perhaps all three). You’d see burning piles of wood crackling away in lines as they bobbed up and down on the river’s night swells, you’d see gay couples almost confident enough to hold hands in public, and you’d see a human-like creature decked out in lights, paint, and a robe swirling drunkenly on stilts to the neo-pagan melodies wafting from the loudspeakers (which were wrapped in plastic, as if ashamed to show their faces). Then you’d drink your tea and sigh.

I read an entire book yesterday. It wasn’t long, it was straight to the point. If Brevity is the soul of Wit, and Wit is the; well, never mind: The name of the book: On Bullshit. Author: Harry Frankfurt. Frankfurt is a renowned moral philosopher and does a good job at searching out the nuances of such an ignored but prevalent entity–bullshit, that is. Quotes to follow (in later posts) will associate his ideas with Kundera and Pirsig (who both point out the exact same things in slightly different ways).