And this is a case in point despite Paul's not having joined in my search for literature. Look here, did someone really steal David's nip? Why would someone doubt it you might ask? Didn't he say they did? Well, I say in response, he's in the habit of writing what I might call literature and he might have done it again. "Wait," you will say, "he mentions Walter and a real incident." "But," I will ask another question by way of response, "didn't Dante mention real people and real incidents? And didn't people round about think he had really gone down into Purgatory and the Inferno and then subsequently written about them -- from first hand experience; which would have precluded The Divine Comedy from being literature and reduced it to mere reportage; for reality can't be literature, or can it? We really haven't settled what literature is, have we? And I will ask by way of continuing this pursuit, does David really have a choice of swords, rusty and not? We learned about his collection of Encyclopedias; so might his nip-thief not chose those, the choice of weapons being rightfully his? Encyclopedias at an appropriate number of paces? "Bring your own," David might then demand, "or stand there with head bowed in unrequited remorse while I bash you in the head with one of my own?" But swords? Or his multivolume edition of the OED, that would do as well if he would permit it, a nip-stealer would not be expected to have an OED. That would be beyond belief whatever the nature of literature. I've handled those from time to time and been handled by them: a blunt instrument if I ever saw one. But swords? They cut through my conception of him. Not that I have him pegged as a pacifist, for he studies wars and knows about battles and duels, but in a fly-on-the-wall, bystander, passerby sort of way, not as an active participant. If we were to scrunch Portland down next to San Jacinto and he were to come next door to look at my swords, assuming I have any and am not being merely literary, and I were to ask "can we now go back to your house to see yours, especially the rusty ones, would he invite me over, or would he say with Dante or Mike Geary, "If you can't take a joke, then why don't you go to hell"? Lawrence Helm San Jacinto -----Original Message----- From: lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx [mailto:lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx] On Behalf Of David Ritchie Sent: Wednesday, June 04, 2008 12:51 AM To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx Subject: [lit-ideas] Re: On Nip Thievery I am so angry I want to write this down so that the world had a record of how anger goes. When my mother died, my brother, my sister and I cleaned out my father's house. Among the loot were three bottles of whisky that had been in my father's attic for thirty years. My father no longer drinks spirits, so we each got a bottle. I carried mine half way round the world to Oregon and let friends taste whisky that had begun life in the nineteen sixties. I stashed the bottle. Which is not to say that I hid it well, or locked it up in a safe. I just put it out of the way and visited it from time to time. When last seen, more than half a bottle of the stuff was waiting for the right moments. This evening I thought, "I haven't had a taste of that in a long, long while. Why not, now? Life is to be seized. Perhaps before a colonoscopy, the right answer is a drop of ancient whisky?" I went, I looked, the bottle is gone. No one in my family drinks whisky. So may he or she who stole it find much happiness in the deed. Bastard. Meanwhile I'll agree that Walter and all the others who say ice is a mistake do have a point. The dram with which I diluted the urge to go and disembowel all thieves tasted very well with just a dribble of water in it. But if the thief would just reveal him or herself, stand right out there on the lawn, I'd run him or her through...choice of sword, rusty or no, up to the victim. David Ritchie, Portland, Oregon