This Column Doesn't Exist

I have been searching for a soul mate for several weeks now. Luckily for every girl in Hanover, however, a friend of mine (who is taking a poetry class) introduced me just recently to the idea of "The Self, Seeing In His Image Narcissistic Ardor Returned." Consequently, for the past six days, I have been staring lovingly and fixatedly at my reflection in the first floor North Mass men's bathroom wall. And after all of this time, I still haven't noticed any ardor! I've even checked the mail several times. Nothing. I am suddenly finding myself forced to ponder some previously considered routes to spirited and devoted romance, such as falling in love with a lemming.

My goal here isn't to write a column about whether or not ardor exists. Two weeks ago I wrote a column about whether love exists, and received this top-secret telegram as a result:

"Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

There exists an X such that this X has all of the properties identical with those of what we refer to as 'love,' and if there exists any Y with these same properties, then that y is identical with X.

And so is your mother."

Clearly, upon close examination, this is a love poem. Just look at the rhyme scheme! It has "love poem" written all over it. If by chance you do not see any rhyme scheme, perhaps you should examine less closely.

I would like to spend the remaining 600 words talking about something significantly more thought-provoking than simply love and ardor and paternity suits and unpaid alimony. If these things certainly exist, then what else exists? Do people exist? Does God exist? Do yaks exist? Does quality control for opinion columns exist? In other words -- what is in our "ontology?" And, on a related note, do you think that God could create a yak so heavy that even He couldn't recognize it? "That's one hell of a big animal to be a yak," I'm sure He would say to me, if all three of us were in my car.

Realistically, probably not much is in our ontology. "Ontology" itself is just an eight-letter word that philosophers use to denote the fact that they have an overwhelming desire to use an eight-letter word that everyone will pretend to understand, even though the general public would have an easier time attempting to analyze the digestive system of a toaster oven. "Neitzche" is another such word.

Here are some actual philosophical statements illustrating uses of the word "ontology," as invented by me (please note that I did not invent the numbers):

1. "You should see what is in my ontology, amigo!"

2. "Sorry Dirk, I can't make the bridal shower. I have this nasty (yet lovable) ontology to deal with."

3. "Do you have a spare ontology I can borrow? I am not, I say, not ready for motherhood!"

Because of quotes like these, the topic of ontology has been a favorite investigation of philosophers since as far back as I can remember (around noon). Last year, it supplanted the old favorite investigation of philosophers, which was the investigation of "I wonder if anything will ever supplant this current investigation." Records tell us that the world's top philosophical minds could not agree on an answer to this, so they gave up all hope, and promptly supplanted it with a new investigation.

Ontology has always been of special note to the esteemed and brilliant logical mathematician W. V. Quine, who had this to say on the matter: "What is an ontology again? Is it poisonous?"

In fact, he re-stated this particular query exactly fifty-eight times in his most famous essay, entitled "I Definitely Wouldn't Swallow An Ontology, Just To Be On The Safe Side." (Fifty-eight is widely believed to be the current record.)

In all seriousness, ontology and existence are very important things. One must struggle with them whenever one attempts to study metaphysics, which has about as much to do with actual physics as hygiene has to do with Gene. (Gene has not owned a bathtub since the Eisenhower administration.) But important they are nonetheless, which is why, just for you (and Gene), I have come up with the following simple and handy reference guide as to what actually exists.

Things That Exist:

1. Bathtubs (I hope you are reading this, Gene, or else I am moving out tomorrow).

2. Me (because I am hungry).

3. Food (soon).

4. Everything else I forgot.

Things That Do Not Exist:

1. Horses (they smell bad).

2. Mr. Ed (he is a talking horse).

3. Pegasus (he is a winged horse).

4. Mr. Ed Pegasus (he is a talking winged... hey, wait a minute, he was my third grade teacher!)

5. Definitely not a yak THAT big.

There are obviously some borderline cases. Not love and ardor, however -- those things definitely exist. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I am going to go and order myself one ardor burger with a side of love. Along with a big reflective surface. Because whoever that guy was, I bet he thought I was cute.