[To call anything Dirk Gently does 'investigating' would, perhaps, be extraordinarily generous. Dirk, being an extraordinarily generous person, is happy to ascribe that verb to just about any activity he likes. In fact, the very nature of his methods -- and not just his methods, but reality, in which he applies them -- precludes the possibility that he is ever not investigating. Sometimes, though, he gets whimsical. Sometimes, for instance, when he's feeling particularly restless, particularly in need of something to remind him that yes, he is in fact a real detective and rather an effective one too if he says so himself (which he would, if asked), he pulls from his vast repertoire something that almost looks like investigation if one were to squint very, very hard and in the direction of something roughly adjacent to it.
The method goes like this: first, one must accept that the universe -- any universe -- is a fundamentally chaotic place, one prone to resisting any kind of probing into its squishier, more tender bits with vigor and enthusiasm. Secondly, one must accept that everything within that universe -- any universe -- is intrinsically and inextricably connected, that any one thing affects all other things in myriad and generally absolutely inscrutable ways, and that therefore knowing the angle from which to interrogate a given problem is an irrelevant question in the first place, as following any given thread will, inevitably, lead eventually -- sooner or later, if admittedly not always with the greatest efficiency -- to the desired solution. It is in fact sometimes it's best not to know much of anything at all, therefore. Check and check.
These two axioms accepted, processed, subsumed, one may proceed to step three: to find someone who looks as though they know where they're going. Someone attuned to some siren call -- call it intuition or neurochemistry or an intense desire for a sandwich -- leading them somewhere personally meaningful and therefore of objective importance on some scale. Step four, naturally, is to follow that person and see where they're going and what happens along the way.
Step 4b, in this particular iteration of the algorithm, is to run smack into someone turning a street corner at the same time as Dirk is hurrying along the sidewalk trying to keep up with his preternaturally long-legged quarry. In a universe in which there are only accidents, it follows that there may as well also be no accidents at all. One doesn't ignore a message writ so large across the face of reality. Particularly if one has just run into someone, and must take that someone by the shoulders to ensure that neither of the involved parties falls on their hindquarters.]
I am so sorry. That does happen. Hazards of the trade; you know how it is.
[He gives a little laugh, almost a guffaw, and waves an airy hand (silly me) as though yes, everybody knows how it is... whatever 'it' actually refers to in this case. A wide smile, too, which comes to his face partly because he's simply prone to smiling, and genuinely, but also partly because this is obviously some kind of lead. Remains to be seen what sort, of course, but he really does feel as though he's getting somewhere. Closer to his goal? Maybe. Further away? Also maybe. Still somewhere, and that's rather nice.
Once he's sure they're steadied, Dirk accompanies all this with a cheery wave of greeting.]
no subject
The method goes like this: first, one must accept that the universe -- any universe -- is a fundamentally chaotic place, one prone to resisting any kind of probing into its squishier, more tender bits with vigor and enthusiasm. Secondly, one must accept that everything within that universe -- any universe -- is intrinsically and inextricably connected, that any one thing affects all other things in myriad and generally absolutely inscrutable ways, and that therefore knowing the angle from which to interrogate a given problem is an irrelevant question in the first place, as following any given thread will, inevitably, lead eventually -- sooner or later, if admittedly not always with the greatest efficiency -- to the desired solution. It is in fact sometimes it's best not to know much of anything at all, therefore. Check and check.
These two axioms accepted, processed, subsumed, one may proceed to step three: to find someone who looks as though they know where they're going. Someone attuned to some siren call -- call it intuition or neurochemistry or an intense desire for a sandwich -- leading them somewhere personally meaningful and therefore of objective importance on some scale. Step four, naturally, is to follow that person and see where they're going and what happens along the way.
Step 4b, in this particular iteration of the algorithm, is to run smack into someone turning a street corner at the same time as Dirk is hurrying along the sidewalk trying to keep up with his preternaturally long-legged quarry. In a universe in which there are only accidents, it follows that there may as well also be no accidents at all. One doesn't ignore a message writ so large across the face of reality. Particularly if one has just run into someone, and must take that someone by the shoulders to ensure that neither of the involved parties falls on their hindquarters.]
I am so sorry. That does happen. Hazards of the trade; you know how it is.
[He gives a little laugh, almost a guffaw, and waves an airy hand (silly me) as though yes, everybody knows how it is... whatever 'it' actually refers to in this case. A wide smile, too, which comes to his face partly because he's simply prone to smiling, and genuinely, but also partly because this is obviously some kind of lead. Remains to be seen what sort, of course, but he really does feel as though he's getting somewhere. Closer to his goal? Maybe. Further away? Also maybe. Still somewhere, and that's rather nice.
Once he's sure they're steadied, Dirk accompanies all this with a cheery wave of greeting.]
Hello! Dirk Gently. Are you quite all right?