Harold is a cat
There is a cat sitting on the window sill. There is a dog outside the window. They do not know each other. They will never meet. There is a wall between them. The wall keeps the cat safe. You must be afraid of the cat. Then you have a reason to be separate from him. He is fidgety. He makes sudden movements. He never approaches you in love or interest. The cat walks about for his own sake, on his own journey. You are not included.
The dog is outside. He is willing to meet the cat half way. The dog wants to know what the cat is thinking. The dog asks questions. The dog approaches slowly. The dog receives no response, only a violent sudden movement of disapproval: claws swiping at his nose. The dog is confused. He is not scared. He will learn fear.
I am the cat. You are the dog. You wanted me close, but I kept you away. You were confused. Then, you learned fear. I do not clam up as a matter of pride. I do not lash out to keep you at bay. You see, I am blind. Clouds, smoke, and fog are my only view. I fidget in fear. I run away from you. I do not see you. You only see me. I feel unprotected. It is wrong. You are out there protecting me. Please come inside. You will join me I hope. We can be friends. Your protection will count just as much from the inside as from the outside.
Harold gets angry
Harold is driving up Central Park West. It is difficult to drive in the city. There are many cars on the street, as well as bicycles, unexpected pedestrians, and pedi cabs. The buses take up much of the road and must be dodged in order to make progress. In New York City, if you want to get anywhere, you have to always push. If you do not push, it will take twice as long to get anywhere. Pushing means, switching lanes quickly when you get caught behind a bus or a car that decides to suddenly stop in the middle of the street, pushing out from behind the stopped vehicle, racing into the next lane before the traffic behind reaches you. Pushing means turning right or left at the same time as the car in front of you, like a synchronized team, only, no one is expecting it. Driving north on Central Park West, Harold was pushing. The car he was following all of a sudden stopped in the center lane in order to make a left turn. Harold tried whipping into the right hand lane quickly. But the taxi behind him had gone for the lane switch first and laid down hard on the horn as Harold started his nose into the next lane. Harold slammed on his brakes. The taxi whipped around the nose of Harold's car. The cabby shot out several soundless aspersions through the car window glass, his face painted with disgust and contempt. Harold pulled over soon thereafter. He felt horrible. It was easy to be mad at the other driver for being so mean, for not letting Harold go first—he was in front of the taxi anyway. He was angry that the taxi driver had been so angry. But Harold moved on to a different feeling. He didn't like dwelling on anger. He tried to figure out what had gone wrong, how he might have exonerated himself from blame. Why was the other driver to angry and hateful? Harold wanted to fix things. He wanted to absolve himself from the feelings of inadequacy and regret. Wasn't he better than this? He could move past mistakes. Then, he remembered. He was a cat. Cats are not good drivers. He would always make mistakes. Everyone hated seeing a cat drive a car. Other drivers would continue to look at him with hate in their eyes when he made mistakes. Harold was sad. He let himself be sad. Nothing he could do would change the fact that Harold is a cat.
Harold misunderstood
Harold was trying to make a joke. Harold likes telling jokes. He knows that some of his jokes are predictable. He tries to refrain from telling predictable jokes. People don't like predictable jokes. Well, some people like them. It depends on the individual's sense of humor. When Harold spends time with children, they like his predictable jokes. “Isn't that a funny way to wear a hat? Don't I look like an elf?” Harold would dance around in front of them like an elf might dance after a long night of cobbling a score of shoes. Many adults do not appreciate this form of humor. Harold also attempts to participate in more intellectual humor. Harold has principle that governs his humor however: try not to be negative. That means that he doesn't tell dirty jokes or jokes that put people down. He used to be really good at sarcasm, but then he gave it up because it hurts. He felt betrayed by those who would focus their sarcasm on him. He didn't want others to feel the same. So, he gave up sarcasm. What kind of jokes are left if you don't have puns, dirty jokes, or smart alec remarks? Harold thinks that another kind of humor that is worth exploring involves irony and satire. The remarks are directed toward one thing, but because they are so far exaggerated, generally people can tell that the remarks are in actuality a fabrication and laugh about the hyperbolic or satirical image that the comment creates. Harold is sitting around with a group of friends. Everyone is laughing about a joke made. Harold notes a slip in the logic. Instead of making a sarcastic comment that reveals the slip in the logic along with a critical, negative judgment toward the slip, Harold will follow the slip in logic to its conclusion and show the ridiculous nature of the premises. To simply point out the slip would be to mock the person's weakness. However, by following the slip to its conclusion, Harold affirms the use of the slip as a way of producing further entertainment. The person who slipped does not feel called out. In fact in many instances the person does not realize that the comment was based on faulty logic in the first place. In this way, Harold redirects the comment adding a protective padding between the humor and the other players. The downside to this humor is that it will frequently fail if either the comment is plausible or those around are not accustomed to thinking too deeply. If the comment is plausible, then that means that the listeners don't know enough about the topic to be critical. They are gullible. If he would have made a sarcastic comment the listeners would have noticed the tone of his voice and even if not understanding the content, they would have been offended by the purposes. With this redirected humor, the listeners only hear Harold making another comment added on top of the previous content, which may or may not be valid. They lack the analytical skills to judge. In the second case, if those around hear what is said but are not accustomed to thinking too deeply, they will not be offended they will simply take Harold for an idiot, asking to themselves what his comment has to do with anything. They will concur that it is not worth thinking that much to make a joke, to be funny. They will not understand why he tell jokes in this way. They will determine that he is nice, but not really so fun. In this situation, not one is hurt. Harold just ends up looking like a fool. But that makes sense when we consider that Harold is a cat.
Harold has a dinner
Harold invites his roommate, his schoolmates, his churchmates, his friends to his apartment for a Sunday dinner. Harold invites them over. He sends individual emails. He buys fresh ingredients from the store. He makes his favorite recipe. His friends arrive. They all eat. They eat the food and they love it. They have fun. They talk and laugh, and they remark, “Oh, what a set up is this! We are the most hodgepodge group of people ever to come together. How did we meet in this one place?” It is Harold. Harold is the one who invited the crocodile and the gazelle. Harold is the one who asked the wildebeest to eat with the lion. Harold is the dodo that will soon be extinct. He loves his wild friends and loves for them to stay, but Harold can only hold them for so long. Only his food has the power to bind them in company. Once the eating is done, lion and crocodile thirst for the fight they will not ask for in Harold's presence. Once the eating is done, gazelle and wildebeest feel safest returning to familiar pastures. The life of the dinner, though once shining brightly in their eyes, is now the memory of a pleasant evening had among friends, the ephemeral moments which could not be sustained after stomachs were full. Conversation did not keep them together. Harold had no new moves. He had no way tricks to prolong the party. The moment is gone. Harold is a cat.
The dog is outside. He is willing to meet the cat half way. The dog wants to know what the cat is thinking. The dog asks questions. The dog approaches slowly. The dog receives no response, only a violent sudden movement of disapproval: claws swiping at his nose. The dog is confused. He is not scared. He will learn fear.
I am the cat. You are the dog. You wanted me close, but I kept you away. You were confused. Then, you learned fear. I do not clam up as a matter of pride. I do not lash out to keep you at bay. You see, I am blind. Clouds, smoke, and fog are my only view. I fidget in fear. I run away from you. I do not see you. You only see me. I feel unprotected. It is wrong. You are out there protecting me. Please come inside. You will join me I hope. We can be friends. Your protection will count just as much from the inside as from the outside.
Harold gets angry
Harold is driving up Central Park West. It is difficult to drive in the city. There are many cars on the street, as well as bicycles, unexpected pedestrians, and pedi cabs. The buses take up much of the road and must be dodged in order to make progress. In New York City, if you want to get anywhere, you have to always push. If you do not push, it will take twice as long to get anywhere. Pushing means, switching lanes quickly when you get caught behind a bus or a car that decides to suddenly stop in the middle of the street, pushing out from behind the stopped vehicle, racing into the next lane before the traffic behind reaches you. Pushing means turning right or left at the same time as the car in front of you, like a synchronized team, only, no one is expecting it. Driving north on Central Park West, Harold was pushing. The car he was following all of a sudden stopped in the center lane in order to make a left turn. Harold tried whipping into the right hand lane quickly. But the taxi behind him had gone for the lane switch first and laid down hard on the horn as Harold started his nose into the next lane. Harold slammed on his brakes. The taxi whipped around the nose of Harold's car. The cabby shot out several soundless aspersions through the car window glass, his face painted with disgust and contempt. Harold pulled over soon thereafter. He felt horrible. It was easy to be mad at the other driver for being so mean, for not letting Harold go first—he was in front of the taxi anyway. He was angry that the taxi driver had been so angry. But Harold moved on to a different feeling. He didn't like dwelling on anger. He tried to figure out what had gone wrong, how he might have exonerated himself from blame. Why was the other driver to angry and hateful? Harold wanted to fix things. He wanted to absolve himself from the feelings of inadequacy and regret. Wasn't he better than this? He could move past mistakes. Then, he remembered. He was a cat. Cats are not good drivers. He would always make mistakes. Everyone hated seeing a cat drive a car. Other drivers would continue to look at him with hate in their eyes when he made mistakes. Harold was sad. He let himself be sad. Nothing he could do would change the fact that Harold is a cat.
Harold misunderstood
Harold was trying to make a joke. Harold likes telling jokes. He knows that some of his jokes are predictable. He tries to refrain from telling predictable jokes. People don't like predictable jokes. Well, some people like them. It depends on the individual's sense of humor. When Harold spends time with children, they like his predictable jokes. “Isn't that a funny way to wear a hat? Don't I look like an elf?” Harold would dance around in front of them like an elf might dance after a long night of cobbling a score of shoes. Many adults do not appreciate this form of humor. Harold also attempts to participate in more intellectual humor. Harold has principle that governs his humor however: try not to be negative. That means that he doesn't tell dirty jokes or jokes that put people down. He used to be really good at sarcasm, but then he gave it up because it hurts. He felt betrayed by those who would focus their sarcasm on him. He didn't want others to feel the same. So, he gave up sarcasm. What kind of jokes are left if you don't have puns, dirty jokes, or smart alec remarks? Harold thinks that another kind of humor that is worth exploring involves irony and satire. The remarks are directed toward one thing, but because they are so far exaggerated, generally people can tell that the remarks are in actuality a fabrication and laugh about the hyperbolic or satirical image that the comment creates. Harold is sitting around with a group of friends. Everyone is laughing about a joke made. Harold notes a slip in the logic. Instead of making a sarcastic comment that reveals the slip in the logic along with a critical, negative judgment toward the slip, Harold will follow the slip in logic to its conclusion and show the ridiculous nature of the premises. To simply point out the slip would be to mock the person's weakness. However, by following the slip to its conclusion, Harold affirms the use of the slip as a way of producing further entertainment. The person who slipped does not feel called out. In fact in many instances the person does not realize that the comment was based on faulty logic in the first place. In this way, Harold redirects the comment adding a protective padding between the humor and the other players. The downside to this humor is that it will frequently fail if either the comment is plausible or those around are not accustomed to thinking too deeply. If the comment is plausible, then that means that the listeners don't know enough about the topic to be critical. They are gullible. If he would have made a sarcastic comment the listeners would have noticed the tone of his voice and even if not understanding the content, they would have been offended by the purposes. With this redirected humor, the listeners only hear Harold making another comment added on top of the previous content, which may or may not be valid. They lack the analytical skills to judge. In the second case, if those around hear what is said but are not accustomed to thinking too deeply, they will not be offended they will simply take Harold for an idiot, asking to themselves what his comment has to do with anything. They will concur that it is not worth thinking that much to make a joke, to be funny. They will not understand why he tell jokes in this way. They will determine that he is nice, but not really so fun. In this situation, not one is hurt. Harold just ends up looking like a fool. But that makes sense when we consider that Harold is a cat.
Harold has a dinner
Harold invites his roommate, his schoolmates, his churchmates, his friends to his apartment for a Sunday dinner. Harold invites them over. He sends individual emails. He buys fresh ingredients from the store. He makes his favorite recipe. His friends arrive. They all eat. They eat the food and they love it. They have fun. They talk and laugh, and they remark, “Oh, what a set up is this! We are the most hodgepodge group of people ever to come together. How did we meet in this one place?” It is Harold. Harold is the one who invited the crocodile and the gazelle. Harold is the one who asked the wildebeest to eat with the lion. Harold is the dodo that will soon be extinct. He loves his wild friends and loves for them to stay, but Harold can only hold them for so long. Only his food has the power to bind them in company. Once the eating is done, lion and crocodile thirst for the fight they will not ask for in Harold's presence. Once the eating is done, gazelle and wildebeest feel safest returning to familiar pastures. The life of the dinner, though once shining brightly in their eyes, is now the memory of a pleasant evening had among friends, the ephemeral moments which could not be sustained after stomachs were full. Conversation did not keep them together. Harold had no new moves. He had no way tricks to prolong the party. The moment is gone. Harold is a cat.
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