In search of meaning (Again)

Note: The sentences in italics are generated by a Large Language Model at https://opt.alpa.ai/

So Frank and Tipsy sat down in the bar again. Having run through all the small talk rather quickly they were ready to talk about what really mattered or if anything did at all.



“So what do you think about the world?” Frank asked.

“I think it’s a bit shit.” Tipsy replied.

“Yeah, I think so too.” Frank agreed.

“I think we should get a drink.” Tipsy said.

“Yeah, I’ll have a pint of lager.” Frank said.

“I’ll have a pint of cider.” Tipsy said. “What do you think about the world?

“I think it‘s a bit shit.” Frank replied.

“Yeah, it’s a bit shit isn’t it?” Tipsy said.

Frank and Tipsy sat in silence for a while.

“I think we’ve said that already.” Frank said.

Tipsy looked at Frank.

“I think we need to get a drink.” Tipsy said.

“Absolutely, “ said Frank, “seeing that the writer has already gone ahead and poured himself a few, we totally deserve that”.

The waiter did not need much summoning, the state of the art prediction models deployed at this bar could tell with a great degree of accuracy when you were likely to summon the waiter. Hence the waiter appeared. The waiter, interestingly, was on a quest to discover the vicissitudes of the human character and always liked to be provocative.

“Dear Lady and useless bloke, what shall I get you?” Tipsy smiles and Frank didn’t quite know what expression to put on so just tried to look as dignified as he could.


“I will have a large gin and tonic,” Tipsy said.

“And I will have a large glass of water,” Frank said.

“And you?” the waiter said.

“Oh, I will have a large glass of vodka.”

“A large glass of vodka?”

“Yes,” Tipsy said, “I like vodka.”

‘What the hell is going on?’ thought Frank.

“You know, I like vodka too,” the waiter said. “In fact, I like vodka a lot.”

“Me too,” Tipsy said. “I like vodka a lot.” Tipsy was getting tipsy.

“I like vodka a lot too,” Frank said. “It is so refreshing.”

“It is refreshing,” the waiter said.

The writer thought these AI generated dialogues were not great. This was both good and bad. Bad because at this stage it did not seem likely that he would be able to get an AI model to write stories about all the brilliant ideas that he had (or more precisely those that seemed brilliant at the moment of conception). And good because well his “art” was not threatened by computers yet. Though this feel good wasn’t very convincing. For one, it would imply that he was more concerned with the external reception of his stories than with the pleasure derived in the act of creating them. And this was something he found difficult to admit to himself.

Meanwhile Frank was trying to think of something non trivial to say to Tipsy. So he went in his usual direction. “Do you think we are real, Tipsy?”

Tipsy knew that it was her responsibility to come up with thoughtful answers regardless of how inane the questions from the people around her were. It came with her position. Her position as, well, intellectually superior, to most around her.



“What do you mean by real?” she asked.

“I mean, do you think we are really here?”

“I think that we are here,” she said. “And I think that we are here to do something.”

“What do you think we are here to do?”

“To change the world.”

“How do you think we are going to change the world?”

“By being ourselves.”

“But how are we going to change the world by being ourselves?”

“We are going to change the world by being honest.”

“And how are we going to change the word by being honest?”

“Because honesty is the most important thing.”

“So how are we going to change the whole world by being honest?”

“Because if we are honest, we can change the world.”

“Aha”, thought the waiter, who had been eavesdropping on their conversation and carefully taking notes. The waiter knew that the trickiest question of them all was “Who are you?”. I will enjoy having them struggle with this question - what does it mean to be ourselves? The waiter and the writer agreed on this.

But Tipsy, as usual, had other ideas.

“Frank, let's talk about reality. First of all with all this talk of nothing is real going around we must make it clear that it is nonsense, because for something to be not real, there must be something there is. Otherwise reality becomes a useless concept.”

“You are right of course. The only thing I can be sure of is that I exist. Cogito ergo sum, as our friend Rene Descartes said.”

“Further, there is nothing else we can really be sure of”, said Tipsy, ”I know I exist - but about you I don’t know. I know that you act and behave like you are conscious so my best model of you is that you are conscious and have an internal mental state much like I do.

“How can you love me then,” said Frank, “since, you are not even sure I am conscious”

“Even if an oracle told me that you were real, the best I could do would be to love a model of you since that's all I have”


“I see,” said Frank.

“I think we should go to sleep now,” said Tipsy.

“You are right,” said Frank, “but before we go to sleep I have one last question for you.”

“What is it?”

“How can you be sure that I am conscious?”

“I am not sure that you are conscious, but I am sure that I am conscious. I have the same problem as you do, I don’t know that you are conscious, but I know that I am. I have the same evidence as you do. I have the same reasons as you do. “

Frank wasn’t sure what all this was leading to. It was not going anywhere. All he could see was imperfections, imperfections everywhere. This was not what he had signed up for. He was all for taking the blue pill but someone, somewhere had slipped him the red pill and here he was. He wanted to be a contented pig but he ended up as an unhappy human.
The waiter came back.

He laid out all the drinks before them and gave them some complimentary masala peanuts..
“At this point, lady and gentleman, we find it necessary to break your conversation to inject some alcohol. Alcohol, as we all know, is a weak narcotic. It messes with the signals to your brain and makes it less likely to settle for the next most probable thought. In a sense it raises the temperature of human thought much like the GPT3 model that the writer has been playing around with. So yes, we need to make you people a bit more creative so please partake these drinks and flourish”
Having perturbed their thoughts - the waiter left them.
It was Frank’s turn to inject some randomness into the conversation. But first he increased the temperature of his thoughts by partaking in some alcohol. And now all he could feel was an overwhelming love for Tipsy. Though it was not clear whether she was real or conscious but by the arguments outlined earlier the love was real. And that should be good

“Tipsy, I love you, from the depth of my soul, ”said Frank.

This is what Tipsy expected Frank to say. So yes the model of Frank that she was in love with seemed to be a close approximation of reality. Informed by this thought she said- “I love you too”

The reader may now be in a bit of a dilemma. At one point Tipsy has asked them to be themselves to change the world. That makes sense because if you are too much like the rest of the world and not unpredictable then there is not much change you can bring to the world. However, to be loved you must be predictable so that you are close to the model that the object of your affection has of you. Under these circumstances is there a dominant strategy?

The solution to this dilemma is left as an exercise to the reader.

The Plight of Men

“Tell me Frank, why should I tolerate you?”- said Tipsy without any specific emotion. 

Frank was absolutely up to the task of answering this question. He had rather a high opinion of himself, for which I suppose he could not be blamed. Like so many other things, it was a failing all too common in members of the human species who shared his gender. 

“Because, my dearest- I amuse you,” he said. “And there are not many in the world who are equal to the task. In fact I would go to the extent of saying - that the chances of you ever meeting one of the men who could amuse you for life is vanishingly small.”

Tipsy, despite herself, was a trifle amused. She had to grant Frank that. There were not many who could amuse her for long. Frank wasn’t really bad - for a man, that is. They all have their failings - but some are better than others and you do want to keep a few of them around; even if just for the, what do they say these days, diversity. 

“All right Frank, I will grant you that - you do amuse me at times and yes that isn’t a characteristic shared by any appreciable fraction of men. But saying that you are among the best of men isn’t saying much at all - is it?”

Frank wanted to stand up for those of his ilk. Those to whom nature had dealt a rather harsh blow. Those, for whom nature had removed a significant portion of perfectly reasonable emotions and generally infused pompousness. What could men do? This was their biological plight and society had done them no favour - it had rewarded the most pompous; the most arrogant and the most abrasive. Nature and Nurture; when tired of debating each other; go out for a drink and conspire to fuck up the character of men. Men have no chance in this fight. They lose miserably and then go ahead and brag about it - such is the fate of men. 

For such men, for himself Frank wanted to stand up. He wanted to make a statement. But he did not want to sound weak or apologetic - he wanted to prove that he was amazing even if it meant betraying half of humanity - those most like him. 

“I agree, my dearest, other men do not set a very high bar but I love you and that should solve everything, ” said Frank desperately hoping that he would suddenly change the nature of the game. 

“Frank, my dearest love, there is some merit to you argument but as I become more and more capable of amusing myself without necessarily involving any other human presence - I am faced with the question of your presence; and its pros and cons”

Frank felt gallant. “I can protect you against the bad people out there. There are a lot of bad people. Bad people do bad things. Bad is not good.” Frank’s vocabulary was suffering from a sudden squeeze.  

Tipsy pondered for a moment. “Really! Frank. And what would the approximate gender of these “bad” people be?”

Frank did some mental calculations. Then, Frank did some sentimental calculations. Rounded off to at least 10 decimal places, the gender of the people he wanted to protect Tipsy from was male. 

“But you can’t kill all the men.” said Frank, throwing all the men under the bus. “And therefore you need me around to protect you. From other men. That’s why men are useful. They can fight off other men” The argument sounded much more powerful in Frank’s head than when he said it out aloud. '

Tipsy wanted to move on from this topic- Frank did have some utility though she couldn’t quite put her finger to it. 

Just then, motioned by the writer, the waiter arrived on the scene. 

He addressed Tipsy. He knew that Frank's existence was largely ornamental and Tipsy made all the decisions though she sometimes let Frank have the mistaken belief that his preferences also mattered. Manipulating men was altogether too easy - a bit of reinforcing their strong belief that they were amazing. 

“Dear Ma’am, would you be interested in messing up the signalling mechanism of your brain’s neural network by consuming some ethanol? I am told it helps ameliorate the effects of sitting in the company of an imbecile”- the waiter ventured. 

Frank was offended. He told himself he would have punched the nose of this pompous ass if that wasn’t the surest way of ruining this night out with Tipsy. 

Tipsy meanwhile, started looking at the drinks menu and ordered a few. 

Frank started thinking of the meaning of life, whether machines could be conscious and how long would it take for the drinks to arrive. If he were granted a wish to have any of the three questions answer - undoubtedly he would have picked the third. The mystery of how long would it take for the drink to arrive had perturbed him for much of his life - and it wasn’t getting resolved today.

Really?

“Reality is nothing but our shared illusions,” stated Frank, plainly, as if there was nothing more to be said on the matter. 

Tipsy wasn’t particularly impressed. “Oh, well that is one of those proclamations that sounds really profound till you ask yourself what it really means and then you realize that there is nothing inside - it is like an easter egg toy that you open with great anticipation, only to find nothing inside”

Frank was not fazed by this rather direct and unapologetic criticism. If anything, he felt a slight elation that their relationship was past the stage where any criticism had to be padded by layers of fluff. And then he threw back - “Maybe the accusation that you hurl against my intelligent observation are the ones that you should hurl at reality itself- something that seems profound but has nothing inside if you peel the layers”

“So, if I go meta - you want to go meta-meta. I will not have it. I must go meta-meta-meta and call you a bullshit artist”

“And yet, here you are. With all the things in the world to choose from you choose to be with me, sitting here in this fine restaurant drinking wine. whatever bullshit that you accuse me of uttering , you probably like it”

“‘Like it’ is too strong, I would say - given the choices that were available to me and the budget of energy that I was willing to expend to  garner more choices or choose between the available ones, you made the cut. So think of you being here as merely contingent than anything significant”

“So you are saying that I am merely lucky, ” said Frank, still refusing to take anything personally, “rather than particularly deserving of your esteemed presence. And that our meeting here is nothing profound - and that is exactly what I have to say about reality.  There is nothing profound about reality. Of all the ways that atoms could have been tossed - it just so happened that atoms were tossed this way” 

“Your particular way with words may well be a reason that I tolerate you. I find that in some cases, though somewhat rare, you do raise interesting questions and ‘what is reality’ is a good question to be talking about. Though I must say it has become quite a cliche. Maybe it was novel in the first dorm conversation you had back in the day but now we must go deeper”

“But we haven’t yet answered the question about what is reality,” said Frank, not willing to give up before he had exhausted all the seemingly intelligent things he had to say about the matter. 

At this point, we are done with the setup for the entry of our main character. Or the character for whom people read this. And by people, I mean more than one person who has actually read this stuff. 

So in comes the waiter - “ Well my dear lady and presumed gentleman - I wish to inform you that the proclamations of the said presumed gentleman are actually quite insipid. though the interjections by the lady are of some interest. ‘What is reality’ is something we often find people discussing when they have partook our wine at greater than a certain amount. 

What that amount is depends a lot on the individual person- through a tough to beat baseline model is obtained by assigning appropriate weights to the age, weight and the litres of wine imbibed in the past (assigning a greater weight to recent imbibing events) . We have, of course built sophisticated models which predict this and many other actions that people tend to do as they imbibe wine. And if you suddenly find that you waiter is ignoring your table you can rest assured that our models have predicted that the sum total of human happiness will be enhanced if the waiter’s senses were to develop a certain, let’s say, immunity to your vociferous commands for his or her attention. 

In any case, that’s about as much inside information I am willing to give you so if you can quickly tell me what you need- I will assemble the atoms for you and at some indeterminate point of time in the future - bring those atoms to you. Note that as you wait you will never really be able to determine whether or not your food is coming. Because if it hasn’t arrived yet how can you tell that it will not arrive the very next instant. One of the very famous computer science theorems was inspired by this very phenomenon”

Frank suddenly felt relegated to the role of a walk-on part in a movie from being the lead actor. He was upset but there wasn’t much he could do. He had already become a minor character - he did not want to become a minor character making a fool of himself. So he looked at Tipsy and said -” I will have some more wine and you?” 

Tipsy listened intently to the waiter but didn’t seem as bothered by his eloquence as much as Frank was. In fact she had used the time to look at the menu and was ready to order some entrees and snacks which the writer is too lazy and uninformed to convey to the reader. 

Tipsy was amused at the show being put up by Frank and the waiter. It all seemed like some kind of a peacock dance and she was happy that she was not burdened with that. 

As soon as those words were typed Tipsy lashed out at the writer - “Do you have any clue?” she questioned the writer. 

The writer wanted to admit that he actually did not. But he wouldn’t be much of a writer if he did. So instead he bluffed. And said that he recognized that whatever travails he knew men went through would be far worse for the women. And he left it at that. He then wished to list some unique risks that men were subject to, but nothing substantial came to mind. He thought about mentioning the fact that men died younger than women but that didn’t seem to have any direct bearing on the issue that had been raised which was whether he had any clue. So the writer withdrew from his direct role in the writing. 

“Reality is just a bluff that we feed ourselves, ” continued Frank, suddenly recovering his power of speech. 

Tipsy had a lot to say on the matter. A lot that would have made sense to people like herself who were burdened with normalcy. She also wanted to wax eloquent about reality and what not. But to enable people to make philosophical observations about what the world was or what it was not - there needed to be a world - and she had chosen to build that world. So she let Frank, and the waiter and the writer throw words in the air which both amused and bemused her. 

“What is more important, ” she heard Frank saying , “The world, or the people on the world, or the ideas that those people produce?”

She continued listening - the food that she had ordered would be coming to the table soon. 

Approximate Calculations

 “Tell me Frank, why should I tolerate you?”- said Tipsy without any specific emotion. 

Frank was absolutely up to the task of answering this question. He had rather a high opinion of himself, for which I suppose he could not be blamed. Like so many other things, it was a failing all too common in members of the human species who shared his gender. 

“Because, my dearest- I amuse you,” he said. “And there are not many in the world who are equal to the task. In fact I would go to the extent of saying - that the chances of you ever meeting one of the men who could amuse you for life is vanishingly small.”

Tipsy, despite herself, was a trifle amused. She had to grant Frank that. There were not many who could amuse her for long. Frank wasn’t really bad - for a man, that is. They all have their failings - but some are better than others and you do want to keep a few of them around; even if just for the, what do they say these days, diversity. 

“All right Frank, I will grant you that - you do amuse me at times and yes that isn’t a characteristic shared by any appreciable fraction of men. But saying that you are among the best of men isn’t saying much at all - is it?”

Frank wanted to stand up for those of his ilk. Those to whom nature had dealt a rather harsh blow. Those, for whom nature had removed a significant portion of perfectly reasonable emotions and generally infused pompousness.

What could men do? This was their biological plight and society had done them no favor - it had rewarded the most pompous; the most arrogant and the most abrasive. Nature and Nurture; when tired of debating each other; go out for a drink and conspire to fuck up the character of men. Men have no chance in this fight. They lose miserably and then go ahead and brag about it - such is the fate of men. 

For such men, for himself Frank wanted to stand up. He wanted to make a statement. But he did not want to sound weak or apologetic - he wanted to prove that he was amazing even if it meant betraying half of humanity - those most like him. 

“I agree, my dearest, other men do not set a very high bar but I love you and that should solve everything, ” said Frank desperately hoping that he would suddenly change the nature of the game. 

“Frank, my dearest love, there is some merit to you argument but as I become more and more capable of amusing myself without necessarily involving any other human presence - I am faced with the question of your presence; and its pros and cons”

Frank felt gallant. “I can protect you against the bad people out there. There are a lot of bad people. Bad people do bad things. Bad is not good.” Frank’s vocabulary was suffering from a sudden squeeze.  

Tipsy pondered for a moment. “Really! Frank. And what would the approximate gender of these “bad” people be?”

Frank did some mental calculations. Then, Frank did some sentimental calculations. Rounded off to at least 10 decimal places, the gender of the people he wanted to protect Tipsy from was male. 

“But you can’t kill all the men.” said Frank, throwing all the men under the bus. “And therefore you need me around to protect you. From other men. That’s why men are useful. They can fight off other men” The argument sounded much more powerful in Frank’s head than when he said it out aloud. '

Tipsy wanted to move on from this topic- Frank did have some utility though she couldn’t quite put her finger to it. 

Just then, motioned by the writer, the waiter arrived on the scene. 

He addressed Tipsy. He knew that Frank's existence was largely ornamental and Tipsy made all the decisions though she sometimes let Frank have the mistaken belief that his preferences also mattered. Manipulating men was altogether too easy - a bit of reinforcing their strong belief that they were amazing. 

“Dear Ma’am, would you be interested in messing up the signaling mechanism of your brain’s neural network by consuming some ethanol. I am told it helps ameliorate the effects of sitting in the company of an imbecile”- the waiter ventured. 

Frank was offended. He told himself he would have punched the nose of this pompous ass if that wasn’t the surest way of ruining this night out with Tipsy. 

Tipsy meanwhile, started looking at the drinks menu and ordered a few. 

Frank started thinking of the meaning of life, whether machines could be conscious and how long would it take for the drinks to arrive. If he were granted a wish to have any of the three questions answer - undoubtedly he would have picked the third. The mystery of how long would it take for the drink to arrive had perturbed him for much of his life - but it wasn’t getting resolved today.

Experience and Imagination

It is always a pub. There is always loud music. You have to speak a little louder to make yourself heard. And when you are the listener- you have to fill the gaps with your own imagination and possibly, your estimate of what the other would say. Did I say imagination and estimate? Maybe it is just prejudice?

“Tipsy, what do you miss? What would you rather do? What have you not done in a while?,” said Frank obviously hoping Tipsy would ask him the same question in return.

But Tipsy chose not to. She wanted to think about the question. She wanted to think about what would she rather be doing than sitting here. But wasn’t it disrespectful to Frank, to what they had here? But that should not matter. Frank would not mind. He was Frank.

“I miss being on a beach, and not having a care in the world, ” Tipsy said matter of factly.

“Really? Were you ever on a beach with not a care in the world? Is that even possible?”

“It is not necessary for something to have happened for me to miss it. Those who miss only the things that have happened suffer from a serious lack of imagination”

“That’s beautiful Tipsy. I love you for that. I love you for being like me. But that is restrictive and so I must say - isn’t imagination just a weak substitute for experience? Would you need so much imagination if your experience was really rich?” said Frank, intent on starting an argument that he wanted to lose.

“How can you say that you love me and then not even give me a moment to be happy about it? And how can you not see that your argument has a dual - that would you need so much experience if you had a rich imagination, ” Tipsy said softly.

The writer hoped, at this stage, that the intelligent reader would combine Frank and Tipsy’s argument to arrive at an eclectic mix of imagination and experience with the importance of each decided by the individual preferences.

“Imagination is no substitute for Experience,” said Frank - fighting a losing battle.

Tipsy almost blurted out the obvious. Then she almost said “Should I state the obvious?”. But then she came up with the best strategy and said nothing. She smiled.

The writer was slightly disappointed at this stage, for neither Frank nor Tipsy had taken the slightest note of his interference. So he got desperate. And he called upon the great writers that had lived and summoned the help of one Somerset Maugham who obliged by pontificating on the topic of imagination and experience.

Somerset Maugham: “The extent of their experience is pleasantly balanced by the fertility of their imagination.”

Frank was mesmerized by Tipsy which made the writer uncomfortable as this was a fresh setback to his attempts at insinuating his existence into this duo’s dialogue.

The reader,however, was mesmerized by Somerset Maugham which, again, made the writer uncomfortable because he did not have anything remotely profound to say about the subject of imagination and experience.

And, so the subject was abandoned.

“Why does the mundane exist? What purpose does it serve? What can every day not be different from the other?” said Tipsy overwhelmed by ennui.

“If every day were different would it not become mundane?” Frank was in a mood to play the devil’s advocate, to contradict anything she said. He also had just lost an argument and wanted to lose another one. The writer though Frank was the weaker one and wanted to get some reaction out of him. The writer was insecure and almost jealous of the lives of his characters.

Tipsy had a vision of car at rest. It is boring. Then the car starts moving. It travels at constant speed. It is boring again. The speed increases but settles at a high speed. It is boring again. The car keeps accelerating. The acceleration is a constant. It is boring again. There is no escape.

The writer, at this moment, must pause to consider several mathematical formulations of the problem at hand and reminds himself of the beauty of the derivative of the exponential. The readers, not many of whom truly exist, may choose to ignore this interlude. Or, the readers may choose to regard the writer as a pompous ass. In any case the writer will be gratified because in taking a stand the readers would have to, at least, exist which is no mean feat for the writer.

For Frank it was an argument. It was a dry discussion. For Tipsy it was a matter of an interesting life or a boring life. She could sense it - the next question that would come up - it would not be a step forward. It would go one step back. And Frank said it.

“Why must life be interesting?” asked Frank, because he wanted to have an interesting discussion.

“Because, when we have had our dinner and are not yet ready to sleep - we must amuse ourselves.” because she had not yet had her dinner and she was not yet ready to sleep.

“Why must we amuse ourselves?” said Frank - sounding like a naive AI program.

And at that moment, just when we are getting the reader slightly interested in these two experimental selves of the writer (who insists on provoking his own characters) - who should enter, but the waiter.

“Have you guys been waiting for me?” said the waiter, then paused for effect and some reaction. Then, seeing none he continued  - “Imagine that, me being called the waiter, and you waiting - ha ha ha !”  

Frank and Tipsy were impervious to the charms of the irresistible waiter. The waiter - however was not one to give up.

“See what I did there? Waiting. Waiter? Truly - you may not realize it - but word play is a sign of amazing intellect. While it takes a lot of learning to associate the word with its context  - it is an even more challenging process to unlearn the context and see words bereft of their context.”

“But, I do not expect you prejudiced people to really understand that. I don’t expect you to use your imagination to rise above your experience. So why don’t you just order your freaking fries and get it over with.”

“Yes”, said Frank caressing the menu - and reading like a nervous actor at a script reading session - “I would like to order some fries and chicken nuggets”

“Really, sir, is that all you can think of?”

“No, I would like to order a whole lot other dishes - but I don’t trust myself to pronounce those names”

“Sir, you must get a tutor - you clearly won’t be able to afford me but I could recommend an underling”

“Thanks, but there are a few other things I would like to try. But I don’t know whether I will like them or whether I will just miss an opportunity to eat something I know I like”

“That is the old exploration versus exploitation problem and there are several research papers I could point you to. Would it help if I got you printouts of those to help your decision? Or would you rather that I emailed them to you?”

“With an attitude like that do you ever get tipped?”

“Tipping is something I stand for, ” said the waiter. Then, paused for effect.

Frank had had enough. “I would like to talk to the manager,” said he.

“I would too, however he is much too busy. I will go and get your fries and nuggets” the waiter said and did nothing.

At this moment Tipsy intervened. “Dear waiter, please get us the said order and I apologize for the discourteousness of my friend.”

“You, ma’am are extremely intelligent” said the waiter remembering the old adage of complementing a beautiful woman for her intelligence and an intelligent woman for her beauty.

“However,” he continued “I cannot help but reserve my judgment on the quality of your choice of members of the opposite sex.” The waiter had not grasped the level of Tipsy’s intelligence. An intelligent woman does not expect much of the opposite sex having met with much disappointments.

The waiter left. And Frank was sad. He was sad and disappointed that Tipsy had been nice to the waiter who was not so nice to him. He thought he should say that. But that would be so much like a woman. He did not say anything. He sulked. That was even more like a woman.

“You are acting like a girl, ” said Tipsy.

“Why did you do that?” he asked.

“To prevent him from spitting in our food”

It all made sense to Frank now. That’s why we need to be nice to people. So that they don’t spit in our food. Behind our backs. That was the secret of the universe. Now they would be fed. But they will not be ready to sleep. And they will go back to the question of boredom. And they will not have an answer.

At this moment the writer summoned the writers that be and got this. When in doubt - quote Nietzsche.

Nietzsche: Against boredom even gods struggle in vain.

There was nothing further to be said on that.

The waiter arrived with their order. Tipsy looked at Frank, at the waiter and ignored the writer. Then, she said - “I would like to order some roasted chicken, some Biryani and some chicken curry”

Frank was aghast. “How can you order so much? How can you eat so much? It is not healthy.”

“Why should we not do what is not healthy? I am bored” said Tipsy.

Frank had no real answer. But he said - “ but that is against the survival instinct. Not eating healthy is against our instinct. It cannot be done therefore it should not be done.”

Tipsy looked at the writer. The writer, beaming at finally being acknowledged, helped her and gave her a quote.

“But I fear ennui will be as bad as a bad stomach - a great man once said, ” said Tipsy.

“Who said that- I bet he knew nothing about evolution?” asked Frank.

“Charles Darwin said that,” said Tipsy without the slightest arrogance that would have made her victory less glorious.

Frank hung his head as Maslow's pyramid fell to pieces all around him.

Wine And Cheese

So well we all know that it is never without reason that Frank and Tipsy rise from their unreal existence into what can only be called a semblance of reality. This happens to a lot of people when they finish their weekdays and become less robotic over the weekends.   But that is a clear digression, the writer acknowledges.

The writer would like to apologize to all present and future readers for the present and future digressions. That being said; let us attempt to break the shackles of digression.

This writing is once again occasioned by special circumstances in the writer’s life – the special circumstances are not very difficult to define. They are the defined by the rare confluence of two relatively commonplace events neither of which have been known to raise eyebrows in polite society.

One of those events does not raise eyebrows because there are none in the vicinity.  The writer has not known the second event because he has never been in a state to absorb new knowledge in the circumstances of that event. Indeed ladies and gentlemen the two events that we refer to are solitude (or loneliness if you like a bit of melodrama) and the state of inebriation (or drunkenness if you so like).

So, if these two events are not so rare why should their confluence be rare – the intelligent reader may ask; and the mathematically inclined reader may even go to the extent of asking me about probabilities and correlations. Well, dear reader if your day job has any remote connection to such computations I would advise you rather sincerely to think of other things. And, if your day job does not involve such things I would say to you, why bother?

Suffice it to say that there is a cultural taboo on the confluence of two events – so one does not drink alone because that; it has been seen; can lead to bad things. It is both a cause and effect of bad things. And bad things should be avoided. Bad things are not good.

Anyway, for a fuller treatment of the probabilities, correlations and Bayesian statistics related to the interplay of solitude and inebriation please refer appendix XXVII, should you be so lucky as to find it.

Frank to Tipsy – “Alert, alert – we must rescue the readers!”

“Of well, it’s been a nice four years of quiet solitude but we must now take control of the situation – we cannot let the writer get away with this, ” Tipsy was at the controls once again.

“What is our purpose – Frank, what is our purpose? What is that we seek to achieve?”

“Oh, well are we back at the meaning of life once again Tipsy- I though we had settled the question – there is none unless you assign one, ” Frank said, being reckless- dared to contradict Tipsy. Most women, from the time they are born do not take kindly to being contradicted – especially by the half of the species designed for the specific purpose of unquestioning servitude toward them.

“I will not be tempted to acknowledge your existence; judgmental writer,” blurted Tipsy defeating her own purpose.

“Well, whatever,” said Tipsy figuring that should keep him quiet.

The writer could not think of an appropriate response to that and instead started thinking of the plight of millions, perhaps billions who have been thinking of an appropriate response to that. ‘Whatever’, thought the writer – ‘whatever’ – it encompasses everything that you have uttered, are uttering, will utter and can possibly utter. Everything that you can imagine is dismissed by this extremely powerful word. The writer was defeated.

Tipsy smiled. Frank’s heart skipped a beat or two or three– he wasn’t counting. Tipsy always did this to him – first time, next time, every time. Taking this to its extreme logical conclusion Frank’s heart would stop if she smiled all the time. Which, in itself would not be a bad thing because there is nothing quite as irritating as a constantly smiling person.

Tipsy was fresh from the victory against the writer and chose not to be offended by Frank’s insubordination – and instead just focused on the discussion.

“Frank my dear, we have reached a stage of sophistication where we no longer care for the ‘meaning’ – but we admit that people may assign meaning etc. That is boring now. I am talking about the purpose- the purpose of this very moment. Whether you admit it or not - every moment has a purpose. We are trying to accomplish something- even if it is trying to avoid doing anything in that moment. There are some weeks that make me work so hard that on weekends I make sure that, I do not end up doing any work, even inadvertently!”

Frank’s process of cognition, still not having fully recovered from the Tipsy Smile, paused at the good fortune of being called “my dear” by her. So when she stopped talking he had to quickly rewind what she said and frame an appropriate response.

“Don’t look at me like you are in a formal situation and don’t know what to say – speak – I command you!”

She didn’t really say – “I command you” but that’s how it sounded like, in substance, at least, to Frank.

“Tipsy, I love you and that is my purpose – in this moment and forever”

The waiter entered.

“I am the waiter – and I always wait for the worst possible moment to make my appearance. If you are in a hurry I will take forever – if you have hours to kill I will keep pestering you. I will come to you and if you are not ready with your order – then I will go away. And, moments later when you are ready I will be nowhere to be seen. I am the waiter”

“Sir and Madam- or Madam and Sir; if you will. Would you like to place your request please?”

“A request? Wasn’t it supposed to be an order?” said Frank – visibly upset at the intrusion and the subsequent meanderings.

“Well Sir, after several socio-psycho-anthropological meta analysis of behavioral tendencies of restaurant visitors and subsequent long deliberations we have decided that an ‘order’ is reminiscent of an era of feudalism and classist society and using the word ‘order’ increases our chances of becoming a more unequal society by 23 basis points and therefore we have substituted the word ‘request’. So please, I order you to place your request”

“I request you to bring the wine which is more expensive than 75% (or closest to it) of the wines in your menu so that I don’t appear cheap and I don’t go bankrupt paying for it – and I would also like some cheese”

The waiter could not argue much with the wine order but the cheese order made him gleeful.

“What kind of cheese, sir?”

“Can I get one that is made from the milk of overweight cows on the foothills of the third most tallest mountain in South Western Guatemala?”

“No, sir you may not”

“Why Not?”

“Because the claim of being the third most tallest mountain is disputed by two different mountains and I cannot betray my profession by serving you anything but what you asked for and claiming that it was the case”

“All right get me your favorite cheese”

“I am sorry Sir, I cannot do that”

“Why?”

“Sir, I am great supporter of privacy and I do not intend to give up my right to hide my preferences as to what my favorite cheese is. Suppose you sell that information online and then all ads that I see while browsing show me that cheese and other ‘recommended’ cheese. I will be bugged, Sir. I will be extremely bugged.

Not only by the fact that they knew it but the fact that they think I will eat no other cheese or eat only the cheese that other people who also eat my favorite cheese ate. The fact is, there is no reason why a person who likes cheese A would also like cheese B, and any correlations you see are spurious. Please do not pretend to know what cheese I would choose.”

“Get me the first cheese on your list”

“We have several lists, Sir.”

“Get me the first cheese from the first list that you ever made”

“That list is no longer available Sir”

“All right get me the first cheese listed on the first list that is available”

“That cheese is no longer available, Sir”

“All right get me the first available cheese on the first available list”

“The first available list has no cheese that are available, Sir”

“Can you please give me a list of all the cheese that you serve?”

“I am sorry, Sir we don’t do that”

“And, why don’t you do that”

“For health and safety reasons”

“What?”

“For health and safety reasons, Sir – the last person who listened to the entire list went mad; it wasn't good for the safety of the guests in the restaurant and it affected the health of our manager – who is a very distinguished gentleman”

“Why should I care if he is a distinguished gentleman? Get me cheese. Get me any goddamned cheese”

“I am sorry Sir I cannot do that”

“Why not?”

“Because that sounded like an order Sir. We don’t do orders – we only do requests”

“Get me any cheese, can you please get me any goddamned cheese, ” said Frank softly - flustered but unwilling to lose the game.

“That is a request I cannot fulfill Sir”

“Why is that? Please tell me. I request you”

“Because, your request is ambiguous – do you want any cheese or any goddamned cheese?”

“Any goddamned cheese”

“That presents a conundrum”

“What conundrum?”

“There is no way I can tell whether a cheese is goddamned- even if I were to begin to make sense of the god damning a cheese”

“So please get me any cheese”

“Absolutely Sir, I will get you that”

Franks was relieved. He turned to Tipsy. She wasn’t impressed. She had been playing with her hand held device and hadn’t witnessed the feat that Frank had accomplished.

“You were saying something Frank?”

“I was saying I love cheese, err… I mean I love you”

Tipsy turned her head away. She wasn’t sure she would want to compete with cheese. That has been the problem of every woman who had a faithful lover. She thinks she is competing with some abstract entity – like, well cheese.

“I love you Tipsy, now, ever, forever”

Tipsy felt better. There was no mention of cheese now.

“Well, Frank so what is the purpose of this moment?”

At that moment the waiter came back – remarkably quick because he sensed that Frank would not mind waiting and neither, for that matter, would Tipsy.

“Here is your cheese - bloke and girl,” he said.

“Hey - Whatever happened to Madam and Sir?” Frank could not resist.

“Dear bloke, we analyzed the data and realized that the salutations of Madam and Sir also increase the probability of our society becoming more unequal, so we have shunned their usage. We are still working on possible substitutes and I have just used our beta version on you. Bloke and Girl. “

“I am sure your beta needs a lot of alpha”

“It depends on the context Bloke, what is better - the alpha or the beta”

“I am sure it does, now please can I have a moment of peace with my most dearly beloved”

He was given a moment of peace.

They drank their wine. They ate their cheese. Maybe they spoke. Maybe they didn’t. It does not matter.

“Thanks for the answer, Frank, I know – the purpose is wine and cheese”

Frank was speechless. First the smile, then the ‘my dear’ and now thanks – surely she loves me.

Don’t be so sure Frank.  She may want you to love her – but that doesn’t mean she loves you. But you have to wait – as there is no more wine. Only the cheese is left – and that just doesn’t cut it.