A Useful Literary Device

Over brunch, Mr. Parvelescu opines on politics with Roderick, Lily Chang and Rosa Behaarte-Beine, visiting student from Germany. Rosa is a member of the Green Party, which would ordinarily make her something of a laughing stock on campus, but since she is somewhat hot the Old Ivy students tolerate her views on global warming.

They sit in the Dining Room of the Old Ivy Inn, near the fireplace. Outside, an icy wind blows from the Northwest. A cold front moves in, threatening to add several inches to the record snowfall this winter.

Earlier this week, Rosa tried to organize an anti-fracking demonstration at College Hall, but nobody showed up. Her timing was unfortunate; the demonstration coincided with several other events, including a lecture on "America's Natural Gas Boom" sponsored by the Political Economy Club; one of Molly's nude modeling sessions for the Human Figure Workshop; and a performance of the first of Haydn's "Apponyi" string quartets by the Old Ivy College String Quartet.

On that last point, the reader should note that if one is a devotee of the string quartet, one should not miss a single event in the Old Ivy College String Quartet's Haydn cycle. Six years ago, the quartet lost its funding when its donor, Mr. Lobkowitz of Beauneville, died and left his estate to care for his cats. Mr. Fermata, Dean of Music, told the members they would have to disband without additional funding, but agreed to support them for "one last Haydn cycle." At the current rate of one concert per month -- when college is in session -- the Quartet expects to wrap things up some time in 2016.

Meanwhile, nobody who has attended the first fifty-four concerts wants to miss the first of the "Apponyi" quartets.

Another reason for scant attendance at Rosa's demonstration: the administration, in solidarity with Rosa's opposition to use of fossil fuels, turned off the heat in College Hall. Their reasoning, which most on campus considered flawless, was that opponents of fossil fuel would not wish to be warmed by them. The result, of course, was that College Hall was almost unbearably cold. Rosa stood in the lobby, shivering, holding her sign ("Profits, No! People, Yes!") in one bemittened hand and banging a tambourine with the other bemittened hand for one hour. Roderick was actually kind of impressed with her performance -- he saw the last of it on the way back from the Political Economy Club and invited her to Sunday Brunch with Parvelescu.

Today's topic: the direction of American politics.

"Socialism," says Parvelescu, slurping his soup. Parvelescu is well-known for his concise and pithy commentary.

"Yay!" says Rosa.

"Oh, not that kind of Socialism." Parvelescu slathers butter on a roll and bites it.

"What kind of Socialism?"

"Free Stuff Socialism. That's where elected officials make timely and visible promises in return for votes, then actually deliver on small things like free phones and EBT cards."

"How does that differ from regular Socialism?"

"There is no planning, and no concern for actual human need. Nobody can live on a free phone and an EBT card; it's just a nice little gift, and since voting costs nothing voters can be bought cheaply."

"Isn't that bad for the economy in the long run?"

"Nobody knows what's good for the economy in the long run."

"Shouldn't we encourage people to be self-sufficient?"

"Think of democracy as a policy market. I prefer Beethoven to Lady Gaga, but in a mass culture Lady Gaga knows how to sell. I prefer Libertarian policies to Socialism of any kind, but Free Stuff Socialism appeals to the ninety-nine percenters who, by definition, outvote the one percenters. It doesn't matter if taxing the rich is bad for the economy; it's good politics."

Meanwhile, in her room, Megan continues to work on her novel.

"Where's Dahlia?" asked Mae Rose, several days later. The sinkhole has expanded, and now threatens the park out back.

"She's over by the Port-O-Potties, blowing some guy," says Muffin, who can't keep a secret.

"Damn, that girl can earn," mutters Mae Rose, glaring at Babs and Celia, who are sprawled in lounge chairs. "Not like some people around here."

"I'm working, Mama" says Emily, looking up from one of her books.

"You call that work?" says Mae Rose. "If you had any gumption, you'd be out earning some cash like your sister and not filling your head with them fancy books."

"But Mama," protests Emily, "I need a degree if I want to be a gender activist."

Muffin, bored with this conversation, runs outside to contribute a transformed version of this morning's dish of Alpo to the landscape.

Meagan pauses, reads that last line and smiles. Mr. Joyce, the writing professor is right; a talking dog is a useful literary device.