Wine in a Box

Last night I drank some Turning Leaf merlot...out of a box. Why is it that drinking wine from a box gets you drunker than wine from a bottle? The novelty of the spout? The easy access? The lack of measurement? It doesn't make any sense. All I know is that when I woke up this morning there were tostitos all over my floor and water in the bath tub. Also, my editor complained to me via msn that I called him a douche bag.

Empirical observation is necessary.

Et tu, Brute?

John Keats wrote, "What the imagination seizes as beauty must be truth." I think the phrase is equally honest if reversed - What the imagination seizes as truth must be beauty. For if a=b, then b=a. Truth and beauty are inseparable. Beauty requires truth to be beautiful. But truth, can truth be beautiful? More often than not, the truth, in its unavoidability, is ghastly and hideous. One might say that truth is hideously beautiful because it is truth and truth is more desirable that falsity. Is it actually though? It is true that truth can sometimes act as a comfort or support. And yet, it often serves as a disruption to our ordered lives - a source of discomfort and displeasure. In these cases, wouldn't it be much easier not to know the truth? To live in a warm cocoon of denial? To die in a bath of ignorant bliss?

Yes. It would be easier. But not necessarily better.

Caesar convinced himself that he was mightier than God himself and thus, that he could have no enemies. Cocoon of denial? Most certainly. It was painfully obvious that Brutes hated your guts Caesar. You pretended to be his daddy and then tried to throw him out of Rome! Caesar refused to see the truth. Caesar ended up dead on the Senate floor.

Perhaps not the most applicable example...but still. Jeeze Caesar. All that's left of you is a mediocre pizza franchise that also sells hockey cards with its meals.