Moby-Google? Or Google-Dick? Chapter 14.

by Buxton Brown

Hello Google.

Welcome back. Where have you been? No matter, we’re together again! Whilst browsing through my electronic mails today, I saw this in the top right corner. I rarely visit the google search engine, being that I have the search bar in my browser and google is basically everywhere anyway. It made me wonder, is today Hermano Melvilles birthday? I hope so. Either way, I worry about google sometimes. If I can find a way to compare Google to Moby-Dick at some point, I promise I will. Alas, I have not met the great whale yet, and so I cannot comment on their similarities, unless of course we’re talking about size, because I feel confident in the great measure of their respective masses. Make sense? Sure.

Maybe Moby-Dick was published on this day, 20 million years ago or whatever. It matters not, because I refuse to look it up. I’m not worried about spoilers in the story, but I like the mystery of Hermano Melville. Who was he? What did he eat? Did he shit in the woods, an outhouse, a chamber pot, or did they have home plumbing in the 19th century? Could he even afford it, or was he one of those sad, filthy visionaries that believed his life of poverty and disappointment would be worth the art? Good question.

My friend Eben(ezer) made me something awesome, so I could promote this ridiculous little project of mine.

One time I received a bad grade on a philosophy paper. It was only a draft for the final, but I felt like his comments and my bad grade were in error and that my superior intellect could and did compensate for my unfamiliarity with the entirety of whatever work I was reporting on. I sent my professor an email, pissing and moaning about him being unfair,  something about how the Philosophy department being an embarrassment (being that I had taken many Philosophy courses and never had a Professor as a teacher) and he was being rediculous.

I only remember one part of his response and that was enough to teach me to shut up and listen more than I speak. It went something like,

I find it embarrassing that a student at the University of Massachusetts doesn’t know how to spell the word ridiculous.

I had become so used to saying things were ‘reee-diculous’ that I believed it was spelled as such. It was not a mistake. This is before every text window on the internet alerted the user to spelling errors. It has on one hand improved my spelling, because I am constantly forced to address it. It also makes me lazy, because sometimes I forget how to spell when I only have pen and paper. Which is what makes Hermano Melville so awesome. I’m sure he had an editor, but I doubt that said editor is solely responsible for making this book so fucking awesome. Writing is a lot harder when you don’t have the internet. Which is why myself and so many other clowns are writing and thrashing about like someone is going to pay us for thinking out loud with wikipedia ever in our back pocket. Shit.

Okay, I looked it up. 161 years ago, this beast was revealed. Shit. Now I want to look up reviews and see how the world received this book. I can imagine some pud from the New York Times (or wherever really) claiming it was “excessively wordy, an overbearing work with much homosexuality and godless rants on the savagery of Christians and should be deemed unfit for the industrious and wholesome spirit of the literate American man.” That’s not an actual quote. I think the common perception back then (amongst men in particular) was that only men did stuff. Unless it was making, having, or raising babies. Same goes for food. Us men can be so dumb sometimes, especially when it comes to women. Especially when it comes to women.

Oh yea. Chapter 14 is called Nantucket. It’s a barren place and it’s people are of the sea. More or less. Next.