I have a question. Two actually. I’m allowed two because, in self-actualizing my full potential as master of my organism’s motive, I am saying what the hell, I get to ask two questions and you don’t.
My first question, quite logical, is “What in the plaid poop am I talking about?” The second question is seemingly ridiculous: Who the farouk is Balenciaga? (Remember, the first is logical, the second seemingly ridiculous, emphasis on seemingly. An easy way to remember is to memorize 1L2SR. Note the italics on the letter S for seemingly.)
So, in answer to 1L, I’m cruising through Wikipedia yesterday, enjoying the colorful sights of blue hyperlinks and boldface fonts, when I come across the term “organismic theory.” There are many theories in this little fox trot I like to call life, for example the ever popular theory that the earth is round. Familiar as I am with most theories, organismic theory had slipped under my radar. Not, I hasten to add, because I am stupid but because I only actualized my self (not to be confused with my self) yesterday.
In a way, self-actualizing is like signing in to the Glue Horses of North Dakota website. You can browse all you want (actualizing zip) but if you want to buy Jimbo or LuLu or Pretty Boy Zeke before they become model airplane cement you have to type in your secret code name.
At this point the site recognizes you (Ta da! Your silly self is “actualized”) and you may then buy any horse you want. It will be let out of the paddock that same day and furnished with a small bag of sugar cubes, extra-large condoms and a Google map with directions to your house. Expect arrival in approximately sixteen months (Not exactly the Pony Express, but then, what is anymore?)
The answer to my 2SR question is a little more complicated. I was stumbling through Wikipedia in the first place because I saw a reference in a New York Times article to something called the House of Balenciaga.
In my wiki search I found that in the high-end fashion designing world they refer to their job sites as houses. That would never work in the big-ass construction world. The House of Rocky. The House of Torque Wrench Jones. The House of Fud. As they say in Toronto, “Eh?”
Of course, high fallutin’ artists have gone by just the one name before. I think of Capablanca, the chess master, Mozart the composer, Harpo, the Marxist. But at least we’ve heard of those people. You think at the dinner table in the House of Fud they talk about what they’re going to wear to the cookout next week at the House of Balenciaga?
Or, say a guy walks into a pizza place.
“Large sausage and pepperoni to go.”
“Lemme get a pencil. Okay, let’s see. That’s V-i-n-c-e…”
“No no no. B as in Bee.”
“Look, Vince, I’m just a pizza guy. But how in the plaid farouk do you get B out of Vince Seaga? Oh, wait, I get it. Doh! It’s Bince. Twenty minutes B-man. Nice cravat, by the way.”
I’d like to know this: What did Bince’s mother call him? When he gave her a bubble skirt for her birthday did she say “Oh, Balenciaga, didn’t we do bubbles last year?”
You know what I think? I think Balenciaga didn’t use a first name because he was not master of his organism’s motive. Motive, you ask? The infallible Wikipedia says “In Goldstein’s view, it is the organism’s master motive… ‘The tendency to actualize itself as fully as possible is the basic drive… the drive of self-actualization.’”*
So who is Goldstein? I knew a guy named Goldstein once and he was no Balenciaga. At the very least, Goldy might want to take another stab at what he thinks is the basic drive among the birds and the bees getting down on this funky little planet I like to call Screwball.
©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2014, all rights reserved.