Our Retired Explorer (Dines With Michel Foucault In Paris, 1961)

Those with a bent toward 'theory' or, alternatively, toward 'interrogating its discourse' (to borrow a few terms) should check out the song by the Weakerthans mentioned in the subject line. Here are the lyrics:

Just one more drink and then I should be on my way home
I'm not enterely sure what your talking about
I've had a really nice time but my dogs need to be fed
I must say that in the right light you look like Shackleton
Comment allez-vous ce soir? Je suis comme ci comme ça
Yes, a penguin taught me French back in Antarctica
Oh, I could show you the way shadows colonize snow
Ice breaking up on the bay off the Lassiter coast
Light failing over the pole as every longitude leads
up to your frost bitten feet oh, you're very sweet
thank you for the flowers and the book by Derrida
But I must be getting back to dear Antarctica
Say, do you have a ship and a dozen able men
That maybe you could lend me?

Oh Antarctica
Oh Antarctica
Oh Antarctica
Oh Antarctica

The lyrics alone without the poppy music don't really do it justice, and maybe others won't find it as amusing as I do, but it does make me chuckle to think of a frost-bitten, earthy, hardened old explorer chatting with Foucault about Derrida and icebergs until he has to go home to let his dogs out.