I had a good friend once. Maybe I misphrased that. I still do have a good friend, a number of good friends, but this good friend is no more. No more my good friend, that is, he's still plenty alive.
This good friend's favorite word-besides "sushi"-was "sketch." He applied it to all situations. Scarcely did I ever tell him a story without him pronouncing it, "that's kind of. sketch." He elongated the vowel like he was a Valley girl. (Do Valley girls even exist anymore?)
Anyway, I was sitting in Sexual Ethics class (a little oxymoronic, don't you think?) last spring, and we were discussing the opinion of certain "experts" in the field that vibrators should be distributed to the paralyzed and armless by the church so that they too could partake in the pleasures of, uh, self-pleasuring. Out of the blue, or rather the white of the whiteboard, the vision of my ex-friend appeared to me, kind of like how I imagine God appeared to Abraham or Moses. It said, "That's kind of. sketch."
And then it hit me. Why not live our lives based on the principle of not being sketch? In this post-religious world of ours, it's hard to say what's right or wrong anymore.
For example, I was working on a paper for the same class, and I encountered a philosopher, one Alan Soble, who argues that as we no longer think masturbation or homosexuality are wrong, we shouldn't look down on pornography, sadomasochism or even sex with animals. This is all well and good as a matter of ethics-no one is necessarily harmed by watching porn, masochistic sex usually involves (I hope) consenting partners and horses probably don't mind the attention.
However, this line of reasoning ignores the vast sketchiness of all three practices. The fact is that you would never go to Alpine, sit down with some friends, and tell them about the hot stallion (or mare, as the case may be) you got with the other night. You would, however, go to Alpine, sit down with some friends, and tell them about the hot freshman you got with the other night.
The rule then should be, if you wouldn't go to Alpine and tell your friends about something, it's probably not something you should be doing. We might call this "The Alpine Rule." Another rule we might suggest is "The Golden Rule of Sketch," which would go something like this: "Thou shall not sketch out your fellow man, woman, or transsexual as thou would not like to be sketched (out)."
These rules eliminate the problem of trying to develop complicated explanations for why the things that we think are wrong are actually wrong. Any philosophy major will be familiar with the ideas of John Rawls, who argued that if we want to know what's right and wrong, we should imagine a contract drawn up by a bunch of people who live behind a magical "veil of ignorance" and don't even know what gender they are. And if you're like me, you probably find this theory a little unconvincing and absurd.
But with the rule of sketch, no longer do we have to bother with such notions. Everyone-well, almost everyone-knows it's probably not a good idea to send your friends e-mails about killing and skinning strippers in your Duke-issue spandex. But the reasons for why such an e-mail is morally wrong to write are much less obvious.
However, any six-year-old can tell you why talking about skinning people is sketchy. Even from a young age, we know what is sketch and what is not. (Call it "the sketchy sense.")
For example, when I was in first grade, one of my classmates, who would later go on to be convicted of juvenile manslaughter, had a peculiar habit of chasing another one of my classmates around the playground and forcibly kissing her. Even as a small child I understood that what little Malcolm was doing was very, very sketchy-although I didn't, of course, know the word at the time as it didn't exist yet.
Therefore, I propose a morality of sketch. Do what's normal, eschew the sketch, avoid awkwardness at all times, and when in doubt, imagine what my ex-good-friend would say. (For best results, picture him in a pastel polo or a collared shirt/sweater combo.) If he cocks his head six degrees to the left, makes an almost imperceptible frown, and says "that's kind of. sketch," don't do it.
Asher Steinberg is Trinity sophomore. His column runs every Thursday.
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