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I know which one I’d choose

I don't know if anyone's noticed, but after posing the imponderable choices, Joe P has obviously chosen his options and opted out. Being conspicuous by his absence has unerringly led to to this pointless conclusion. :D
 
Hey, the fact that none of us would choose what Joe has chosen doesn't affect his right to plow his own furrow. Dude's got a right to make his own mistakes, innit.
 
Joe P has chosen, and his choice is to not post on the thread wot he started, eva again.

John
 
Over the years I've read many posts on the forum where a fishie writes something like, "I know which one I'd choose" when commenting about something.

"Lots of people drink gin and tonic, but that's because they've never had a good mojito. I know which one I'd choose."​

"The LP12 is a decent table, but if people ventured outside their comfort zone they'd quickly discover that many record players do the traditional Linn PRaT things as well as much more. An obvious table to try is a Garrard 301 in a something-something plinth. I know which one I'd choose."​

"Star Wars is entertaining enough, but it's really not science fiction like Star Trek. I know which one I'd choose."​

Knowing which one you would choose is obvious and self-evident because you have keen insight into the thoughts in your head. Have you ever not known which one you would choose?

OK, perhaps a dopey premise for a thread, but given the choice between starting a thread about this topic and not starting a thread about this topic I know all too well which one I'd choose and now you do too.

Joe
 
Joe P said:
Knowing which one you would choose is obvious and self-evident because you have keen insight into the thoughts in your head. Have you ever not known which one you would choose?
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Pretty much every time I’m presented with a menu. I look, ponder and decide, yet the words that come out of my mouth when the waiter asks is often a surprise.
 
Steve,

When a server asks if you'd like dis one or dat one, you order dat one instead of dis one?*

Joe

* For dis t'ought experiment, assume you're in a restaurant in da Bronx.
 
No, the waiter asks ‘ what would you like?’ and I thought I was going to order the duck, but my mouth decides I want the calves’ liver. That sort of thing. I call it ‘the last minute swerve’. Usually happens when there are several options that really appeal.
 
Joe P said:
you have keen insight into the thoughts in your head
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In my case I think 'insight' might rather overstate the relationship I have with the thoughts that seem to appear in my head.

I recall reading something years ago that scientists discovered in experiments that people's stated intention only matched their actions about half the time. I can't recall the specifics but I think pulling levers and pressing buttons was involved somehow.

Their hypothesis was that quite a lot the time our actions are governed by our subconscious and the conscious mind kind of sees what's happened a split second later and tells itself that what what it intended to do all along.

Which makes sense because otherwise we'd be wandering around all day thinking "wtf did I do that for...?"
 
paulfromcamden said:
Which makes sense because otherwise we'd be wandering around all day thinking "wtf did I do that for...?"
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Is that not what everyone thinks all the time?

I'm now erring towards the one that has gin and tonic and a red cable included,.
 
Joe P said:
Steve,

When a server asks if you'd like dis one or dat one, you order dat one instead of dis one?*

Joe

* For dis t'ought experiment, assume you're in a restaurant in da Bronx.
Click to expand...
That’s reminded me of a waiter I encountered on my first visit to Noo Yoik who was obviously doing his best to live up to the abrasive, hard-bitten native tag. I told him what I wanted, he frowned and asked me to repeat. I did. ‘Do you want (US pronunciation of whatever it was)? Because what I’m hearing is (exaggerated English pronunciation of same.)’ I apologised and confirmed. A wee while later he returned and plonked my plate down in front of me just as the young fellow at the next table was getting down on his knees to propose. (To his girlfriend, not me.) The waiter regarded the scene with something approaching disdain. ‘Awww,’ he said. ‘I think I’m getting an erection.’ Then he stomped off back to the kitchen.
 
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