(Click here to read part 1.)

The academic life aims at a certain kind of dignity. Certainly that's the impression you get if you hang out with academics. They take themselves and their place in society seriously, and are often to reluctant to laugh at a joke that's not sufficiently highbrow. The reluctance to laugh freely is always what made me suspicious of academics. What kind of person, I wondered, would give up one of life's greatest pleasures merely for the sake of some imagined social prestige?

I was just trying to clean up, because I thought it would help me feel better. There was a knife out in the kitchen, and I picked it up and tried to put it away in the knife block - one of those wooden blocks meant to hold knives of all different shapes and sizes. As I pushed the knife in, I met more resistance than I had expected. I thought it even made some high-pitched noise as I pushed it in, but maybe that was just my imagination. Maybe I had put the knife in at the wrong angle, or maybe there was some kind of debris stuck in it.

I miss November
and I miss the way you kissed me.

I thought if I were free
I could be strong, and brave
too. Instead I find myself
an ineffectual knave.

A slave to fashion and
ambition, doomed to
strive for phantoms weakly,
womb to tomb.

The right striving is
to find the proper shackles.
There is a limit that can
umlimit, a relieving yoke.

Dispatch told us that there was a report of a murder. Since we were the closest officers, we went to the address they told us as quickly as we could to catch whatever evil people were responsible. If you had been in the situation, you would have done the same.

The ride to the site of a murder is always long, even if it only takes a few seconds. You never get used to it: the thrill of the hunt, the flow of adrenaline, the mental preparation for a grisly scene and a confrontation.

[Silvio, Henry, and Ezra are sitting together at a table in a kitchen.]

SILVIO: Every morning, I wake up and try to decide whether to get out of bed. The sun sends its light millions of miles just to slip through my blinds and try to penetrate my feeble eyelids. I wish I could send the light back where it came from, or convince it that it's not worth the trip just to wake me up.

Umberto Eco’s masterpiece novel The Name of the Rose has a critical plot point centered around a debate about laughter.

The political Left dominates some of the important institutions of Western society today. Besides controlling mainstream media and higher education, the Left is powerfully entrenched in the world of the arts. To get a grant, a museum showing, a book deal, or a good review from the intelligentsia, it helps to be a leftist.

Tokyo is a quiet city. The low birthrate ensures that obstreperous kids are rare, and strict standards of conduct tend to ensure ensure that people don't bother their neighbors with loud music or wild parties - these needs are satisfied in centralized karaoke emporia.

One Christmas morning, years ago, I woke up and found myself in Malaysian Borneo. After delightedly taking note of the date and location, I decided to celebrate Christmas in the style of the locals. In the Dayak regions of Malaysia where I then resided, all holidays are more or less the same, and are observed by engaging in the serious business of visiting and hosting. You choose some portion of the holiday in which you will serve as a host, feeding and entertaining all of your visiting friends.