06E111
Let
us pause for a moment to take note of the current state of affairs. In discussing the state of affairs, we will
start with the obvious: affairs is not
a true state. Although affairs may be
willing and interested in becoming a full-fledged state, to do so is a long and
unnavigable process (which includes explaining the word unnavigable). To become a full state they need about a
thousand more people as well as a state flag, bird, rock, flower, movie, seal,
otter, author, song, handshake, capital, nickname, tree, motto (usually
something catchy like “The Pudding State”) and especially better plumbing. When held up against that definition, it’s
obvious to see that affairs is no more of a state than Idaho is. The dissection of how a state is born is
altogether a fascinating topic. In
discussing it, one immediately can see the need to redesign our process of
statehood initiation; one can also see a need to desperately remodel our education
system as well as the kitchen hallway, but we shall leave that for another day.
While
we’re speaking of states, I’d like it to be known that I am currently selling
North Dakota. Before you scoff,
remember that I do pay taxes. (Or at least for the sake of this essay I do.) I pay taxes and the last time we voted North
Dakota was still in the country, although it was by a rather slim margin. The way I see it I’ve paid for it, I own it,
so North Dakota’s for sale. I’d prefer
to sell it as a whole unit, but I will entertain bids to sell it in parts. It’s not that I dislike North Dakota anymore
than I dislike South Dakota, but I need the money and really have nothing else
of value except an antique photograph of Ben Franklin in a compromising
position with a loaf of rye bread. But
as that’s something of an heirloom, North Dakota’s on the block.
Somehow
we seem to have gotten off of our topic to which I shall now return. (For those of you with short memories, or
those of you who jump into an essay in the middle, the topic is “The State of
Affairs”).
Affairs
are bad and to rattle on about them, even worse. As far as writing about affairs, would you want your sordid stories all over the page in
black and white for your neighbors and the mailman to see? Exactly.
So the state of affairs is just this: although it pretends to be one,
affairs is not a certified state so be cautious when dealing with it. You’ve also been advised to be alert when
handling a rye bread and if we had more time I would warn you about the
inherent danger in the sentence “But of course my cat can whistle Dvorak.”
(For
more on the role of the mailman in this affair, see part six of this series.)