The Pick-Up Artist: 18th Century Edition
Ah, philosophy. Zero practical use, yet it shapes the world, as I was told some years ago. These days I go to the Something Awful forums for my dose of e-funny. While browsing the
“Let's (accurately) tarnish beloved figures!!” thread I learned that
Speaking of philosophers, Immanuel Kant died a virgin. Sad but true.
And
If I recall correctly, Kant was basically a social retard. He would often be invited to parties, as philosophers were pretty cool to have at parties back then, but wouldn't directly interact with anyone. If anyone wished to breach the subject of philosophy with him, they would have to wander near him, then without making direct eye contact or speaking directly with him, "wonder" a question in his general direction.
The personal lives of philosophers interest me. Tidbits like this and how Karl Marx's college grades suffered because he belonged to a drinking society delight me.
I can't see how such social ineptness and resultant loneliness woulnd't affect Kant in some way. If they ever make a movie about Kant's life, it would go like this:
INT. KANT'S HOME -- NIGHT
The camera pans slowly around the room. We see that it is small and untidy. There are stacks of books in one corner and small piles of unwashed clothing are everywhere. On the tables and counters there are several food stained dishes. It is clearly the home of a bachelor.
The camera continues panning and we see Kant come into view. He is hunched over at his desk writing intensly.
CUT TO a shot of Kant from behind. The camera moves forward, as though we are going to look over his shoulder to see what he is writing. Suddenly he stops and looks out the window where a HOWLING BLIZZARD is raging. The camera rotates around him for a CLOSE UP and we see a single tear slide down Kant's cheek.
Suddenly Kant leaps and with a roar throws his writing in the nearby crackling fireplace. He storms about knocking over chairs and breaking objects until he collapses and begins sobbing. FADE TO BLACK as Simple Plan's “Untitled” (How Could This Happen to Me?) plays.
How could this happen to me
I made my mistakes
I’ve got no where to run
The night goes on
As I’m fading away
I’m sick of this life
I just wanna scream
How could this happen to me
Wow, just writing that depressed me. Fortunately, this being Hollywood they'd fictionalise it by sticking a love interest who would cheer 'Manny up, a Shakespear in Love job.
Anyway, going clubbing tonight to celebrate my brother's birthday. Time to find out what kind of trouble a gentleman of my disposition can get himself into.
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