“If an infinite number of monkeys had an infinite number of typewriters, would one of them type ‘Hamlet’?”
Probably not. Getting monkeys to sit at a typewriter isn’t easy, and an infinite number of them would provide a proportionate number of distractions.
I found that question intriguing when it was first posed to me in high school, and now, I’m not sure of its significance. Are we being asked if everything in existence is that random? If so, I don’t believe it. That would be believing in chaos as the dominant force, and it’s clear to me there is order in the universe.
Order is natural, chaos, so often, is a choice. When there is no order, no reason, when we are left to the mercy of the whims of others, that is chaos, that is a hellish existence. War is like that, and prison can be, too. When humanity is removed from our lives, when the law of the day is different from sunrise to sunset, we cease to live in a reasoned world, where consequences match actions, where equality is valued, where lives matter.
We expect certain behaviors from certain people, and when people whose behavior has been selfish and uncharitable are put in positions in which they are expected to be wise and compassionate, chaos is certain to reign.
I pray for order in my world, for kindness and charity, for reason and safety.
In my doll-sized apartment, one of the first things you see is my coffee table. Therefore, I strive to make sure it reflects me, the real me.
Well, if that were true, this is what it would look like on a good day. (Note the January 26, 1986 issue of People magazine: Sexiest Man Alive 1986 — Mark Harmon. Every few years I come across that magazine and think, I need to throw this thing away. But, how can I? WHAT IF I MEET MARK HARMON A WEEK AFTER I THROW IT OUT and miss my greatest chance ever for a celebrity autograph? Like I’d be carrying it in my purse if I did meet him when he traveled here to Arkansas [I hear it]. So it stays.)
Fortunately I have enough sense to decorate to a higher standard than my muddled mind. I won’t bother to show you a picture of that (the decorating, that is), since A) everyone’s taste is different and what I think is So Classy you might think is So Garage Sale and B) as you can see, the available photography isn’t going to do it justice anyway.
Still, I do want that table to make a quality statement. So sometimes I put out a really cool book of photography my dad gave me, or other times I’ll trade that out for my favorite childhood picture books (I saw that done in a decorating book once and it looked good there, but never quite translates in my living room). Mostly I leave room for any magazines or books I might be reading, but I leave the esoteric ones most visible.
My copy of “Why Men Love Bitches” is in a basket under the table, buried beneath a couple of phone books. It always remains out of sight, but rarely out of mind.
When it comes right down to it, I could really overthink this thing. Like I said before, my apartment is tiny. Everything needs to serve a purpose. While some of that purpose is ambiance, more of it is practical.