In Cold Coffee

I have been in a class called Philosophy of Mass Culture this semester. I took it on a whim after I dropped a class and needed a new one that fit into the availability I had already given my work. I've taken a few philosophy courses and done well in them, so this one worked. It was one of my best impulse buys ever.

The professor, Dr. Elizabeth Trott, is inspiring. She will interupt a lecture to tell us of the greatest libraries in the world that we should see, or to give us philosophical parenting tips. Perhaps the best part of the class is our exam. It was a take-home exam, and I just handed it in. We had a choice between smaller questions, an essay, or a conversation. That's right, a conversation. Most people weren't too keen on this option, but I ate it right up.

We were asked to create a conversation between two or three philosophers we've studied this term on the topic of the aesthetics of murder. My roommates thought I was crazy, they would walk past my room while I was laughing to myself about the little jokes I was writing. I had so much fun writing this that I wanted to share it with the internet community.

It's long, so I'm not posting the whole thing. Also, I don't know if that would be Academic Misconduct, seeing as though this hasn't been marked yet. But here it is:

Joel Black is sitting in a local coffee shop, In Cold Coffee. It’s 3:45 in the afternoon, there is too much sun peaking in from the window, and his friends are late. He glances down at his copy of Confessions of an English Opium Eater, the latest De Quincey he’s been reading. Thoughts on the aesthetics of opium use fill his head as his friends walk through the door.

“Michael! Jean! You’ve made it,” says Black, trying to conceal his frustration.

Michael Lynch and Jean Baudrillard look at each other, with excitement tinging their smiles.

“Sorry we’re late. We were held up,” says Lynch, clearly holding something back.

“There was a murder in Cabbagetown, “ blurts Baudrillard, “or at least a simulacrum. One of those mimetic ones, like the murders that were all over the news last month.”

“Was it done beautifully?” asks Black.

“Now don’t show off,” says Lynch, “we’ve all read your introduction to your book The Aesthetics of Murder.”

“I’m not showing off, I’m just saying that you two stopped to watch the show. I bet the sirens and yellow tape made quite an intriguing scene.”

“On the contrary,” says Lynch, “I stayed because I know I won’t get the same truth when I watch it on the news tonight.” His copy of 1984 slips out of his bag, along with a copy of The Chronicle Review.

“While clumsy over here gathers his things, I’d like to point out that no one would be able to understand, let alone criticize those images on the news anyway,” says Baudrillard.

“What are you talking about Baudrillard?” asks Black. “Come back down to reality. The mass public can read and criticize all they want. And they will love reading about this murder.”

“What reality?”

“Sure, they can talk about this murder,” says Lynch as he closes his bag, “but that’s because we live in a democratic society, now isn’t it?”

The three philosophers sit in silence, each drinking a cold cup of coffee. They have the type of mugs that have inspirational quotations on them. Black’s reads “beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” while Lynch’s reads “read between the lines.” Baudrillard doesn’t bother to read his, he is upset that his coffee doesn’t taste authentic enough. Each man is wondering why people see murder aesthetically and what that means about the masses and mass culture.

I'M SKIPPING A LOT HERE

The three of them finish the last drops of their lukewarm coffee and get up to leave. Black trails behind, stopping when he sees something scratched into their table. It reads The Ultimate Existential Choice. Before he has a chance to tell the other philosophers of his discovery, Baudrillard and Lynch run past him, towards the next murder that just happened down the street. Black watches the blue, red, and yellow shirts of the masses as they run past him, and he sees that it’s beautiful.