M. Swaim: Bendy Rabbit Man Versus Mr. Squeakybuns

Let me put forth in this minimal space to discuss briefly two items in my possession, the relative importances of which it is the purpose of this faltering article to discuss.

They are similar in the object they intend to imitate (namely, a rabbit), but the intents, the usages, and even the fates of each item must be decided individually.

First, let us speak of the green, wire-boned, poseable cartoon effigy that I will simply refer to herein as "Bendy Rabbit Man." BRM came to me in a UPS box from my mother which also contained this year's installment of my wife's and my joint Easter basket. Its frozen smiling eyes stared back at me from the garden of chocolates as parsley might stare back at one from a plate, as if to say, "I'm not to be eaten, but I prove by my very presence that what you see here was prepared thoughtfully."

At this point, a nostalgic Gimcracker like myself might feel compelled to keep Bendy Rabbit Man around on sentiment alone, based on the information given. But a look deeper, I propose, will strip away some of that cloudiest of consumer urge.

I know that my mother added the BRM to the basket out of love and care; but I'm also certain that she did not intend for him to be a mantelpiece. For her part, she's probably forgotten his sticker price, or even the fact that he ever existed. Bendy Rabbit Man is a garnish, not an heirloom, and must be treated as such. I am protecting neither my nor my mother's feelings by keeping him around; I am merely using him to take up the space that might better be taken up with one of my defunct electric shavers.

Bendy Rabbit Man was a gift to me; but the second toy in question was a gift from me, specifically to my mangled cur of a dog, Libby. This particular rabbit (we'll call him Mr. Squeakybuns) was sold to us with the promise of indestructibility, a promise we should have gotten in writing. We learned of his reinforced stitching and removable squeaker, and enthusiastically took the bait.

Mr. Squeakybuns lasted less than a week. Early on, we had to trash his removable squeaker due to the possibility of it becoming a bulldog choking hazard. A few days later, Libby's powerful jaws made a mockery of the reinforced stitching, violently severing an ear. All that remained of the once pristine rabbit was a dilapidated mess of muppet fur and slobber.

My wife (who loves to discard the possessions of others) insisted right away that we make a velveteen bonfire for Mr. Squeakybuns. I, however, objected, quite vociferously.

A dog is intelligent enough to understand when it is being offered food, and sometimes even when it needs to go outside to relieve itself. A dog is not, however, intelligent enough to care deeply about the obsolescence of a plaything. Libby, therefore, according to form, has maintained an interest in Mr Squeakybuns in spite of his condition, an interest that heightens measurably whenever she sees our cat expressing an interest.

Therefore, dogs not being rational animals, I hereby resolve to dispense with the aesthetic in this case and throw my lot in with utility in the case of Mr. Squeakybuns.

Grades:
Bendy Rabbit Man: 2/10
Mr. Squeakybuns: 7/10

Goodbye, Bendy Rabbit Man.

M. Swaim_, M.SwaimMisc_

Jon's Book: Patricia Fara, "An Entertainment for Angels"

"If I appear to have stumbled in darkness, it is only because I have been standing in the shadows of giants." This is the quip I sometimes suggest I will have etched onto my headstone, but it might equally apply to any of the many scientists and charlatans described in Patricia Fara's An Entertainment for Angels, subtitled Electricity in the Enlightenment. Its a little volume, clocking in at only 170 or so small pages, but every one contains at least one fascinating tidbit about the way that scientists and showmen sold the equally fascinating phenomenon of electricity to the public, and simultaneously pushed forward the boundaries of human understanding. The book is divided into five chapters, each covering a different aspect of the discovery of electricity.

One of my favorite historical characters is Giordano Bruno. Not the least of his distinctions is that he was the last man executed for heresey by the R.C.C., but that distinction is a petty one compared to Bruno's florid cosmology, which was surprisingly modern, despite certain animistic and aetheric conceptions of the universe. Bruno is fascinating because, quite unscientifically, he follows his own madness and idiocy to a complete picture of the universe. Of course every scientist is out to do this, its just that sometimes someone manages to get a particular idea right, as Bruno did when he imagined the cosmos to be centerless and homogeneous. He also imagined that the universe was filled with life, and it is possible that he will be proven right one day. None of these successes are indicative of Bruno's genius, since they were motivated by only the most tenuous scientific knowledge.

An Entertainment for Angels is filled with such characters, and I think its high time these obscure harlequin scientists got some attention.

Grade: 8/10
Shall I Keep It: Yes. I can imagine one day giving it to a special woman with a little dedication inside that reads "An Entertainment for An Angel" the right woman and/or situation hasn't come along just yet.

Jon_, JonBook_

M. Swaim's Introduction

As from the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks, so do one's possessions also give insight into a person. I wish this were not so.

Though the revelation of my own heart is more accurately viewed by looking at my iTunes player (a subject I may explore in detail someday), I must confess that my accumulation of trinkets also gives insight into my own manifestation of the human condition.

They range in nature from mildly useful to utterly useless, things accumulated out of a desire for kitsch, either on my part or on the part of others exercised on my behalf. And while I do not ever intend to become fully and starkly utilitarian, I do believe that some of it can go.

The method of disposal is almost as important to me as the decision of whether or not to dispose. A first instinct is always to sell something you see as destructive of your own soul to keep. However, if something is inherently bad to own, selling it only enslaves a new owner, and the tax deduction garnered by a charitably intended donation is hardly worth the cost of training the lower class to use their meager means to purchase junk. Therefore, I will set out to determine not only whether or not something should be kept, but through what avenue the dismissal should take effect.

I hope to journey in this project a wiser, and progressively less materially laden, individual.

M. Swaim_, Introduction_