Jack Winter,  New Yorker
July 25. 1994

It had been a rough day, so when I walked into the party I was very chalant, despite my efforts to appear gruntled and consolate.

I was furling my wieldy umbrella for the coat check when I saw her standing alone in a corner.  She was a descript person, a woman in a state of total array.  Her hair was kempt, her clothing shevelled and she moved in a gainly way.

I wanted desperately to meet her, but I knew I'd have to make bones about it since I was traveling cognito.  Beknownst to me, the hostess, whom I could see both hide and hair of, was very proper, so it would be skin off my nose if anything bad happened.  And even though I had only swerving loyalty to her, my manners couldn't be peccable.  Only toward and heard-of behavior would do.

Fortunately, the embarrassment that my maculate appearance might cause was evitable.  There were two ways about it, but the chances that someone as flappable as I would be ept enough to become persona grata or a sung hero were slim.  I was, after all, something to sneeze at, someone you could easily hold a candle to, someone who usually aroused bridled passion.

So I decided not to risk it.  But then, all at once, for some apparent reason, she looked in my direction and smiled in a way that I could make heads or tails of.

I was plussed.  It was concerting to see that she was communicado, and it nerved me that she was interested in a pareil like me, sight seen.  Normally, I had a domitable spirit, but, being corrigible, I felt capacitated - as if this were something I was great shakes at - and forgot that I had succeeded in situations like this only a told number of times.  So, after a terminable delay, I acted with mitigated gall and made my way through the ruly crowd with strong givings.

Nevertheless, since this was all new hat to me and I had no time to prepare a promptu speech, I was petuous.  Wanting to make only called-for remarks, I started talking about the hors d'oeuvres, trying to abuse her of the notion that I was sipid, and perhaps even bunk a few myths about myself.

She responded well, and I was mayed that she considered me a savory character who was up to some good.  She told me who she was.  "What a perfect nomer," I said, advertently.  The conversation became more and more choate, and we spoke at length to much avail. 

But I was defatigable, so I had to leave at a godly hour.  I asked if she wanted to come with me.  To my delight, she was committal.  We left the party together and have been together ever since.  I have given her my love and she has requited it.

Should we care less?

What did he say? 

Think about it.  Do you think his lack of self-confidence might have been easily restored had he waited for T minus many minutes before checking to see if he hadn't gotten no courage from her response to his defatigability?

Not over his dead body would anyone try to raise the Texas flag.  Could he have even cared less if they tried? 

The implications of all this rest clearly on the goldbalance.

We can expect that the rich meanings carried by complex negations and negations of negations are unlikely to be understood by those who do not easily understand the errors of the fist on the jaw.  To what extent–in what ways–is this the case?  How can understanding of how we understand science be applied to broader social interactions?

The research that investigates such matters needs to be done–and done soon.  The implications could be profound.