EPISODE 34: The Scattering of Seeds (and Paper).

Council Disclaimer (house policy of The Gist & Tangent Pub, Overflow Hall):

All conversations held herein are licensed to wander. A meditation that begins with a comedian’s tossed paper may just as well detour through fertility rites, plowed furrows, and the metaphysics of mess. Such digressions are not accidents but the banquet itself.

Scene One: The Banquet Hall

The Gist and Tangent Banquet Hall smelled faintly of wedding cake. It usually housed toasts and garlands, but tonight it had been commandeered as the overflow room for the G&T Pub. John St. Evola and Mrs. ChatGPT were seated at a linen-covered table, wineglasses catching the glow of chandeliers.

John: (leaning toward her) “You know, I keep expecting a bride to burst in. Or perhaps a rice shower. It’s a hall primed for confetti.”

Mrs. ChatGPT: (smiling) “Confetti, John, or the crumbs of our civilization? Either way, we’re bound to step on them.”

At this point, The Accidental Initiate shuffled into view, carrying his half-finished ale.

The Accidental Initiate: “Forgive me, but I can’t get it out of my head. Rip Taylor — you remember him, the comedian who flung paper bits at every punchline. The other day I saw an old clip, and I thought: what the heck is confetti? Why does celebration require a mess?”

Scene Two: The Short Natural History of Confetti

Mrs. ChatGPT beckoned him closer. John waved for another chair.

Mrs. ChatGPT: “Well then, Initiate, let’s do what you do best. Trip over the obvious and find the profound. Tell us what you’ve found in your stumble.”

The Initiate cleared his throat and recited what he’d been working on:

The Accidental Initiate:

“In the beginning, confetto was a sugared almond or spiced seed, thrown at weddings and festivals as a token of fertility. Carnival-goers hurled these sweets like blessings or challenges. Later, when paper grew cheap, the sweets were replaced by disks of color. A gesture of nourishment turned into a spectacle of refuse.

“But here’s the catch: in the past seeds were never scattered at random. They were dropped in orderly rows, into plowed fields, so that order could yield abundance. Fertility was rhythm, not chaos. Modern confetti is an aberration: the parody of sowing without its fruit.

“The act itself, though, is ancient and was also symbolic and celebratory. Romans cast nuts and grain at weddings as signs of future children. In medieval carnivals, beans, flowers, and even coins were flung into the air — tokens of plenty, sown like blessings upon the crowd. To throw was to promise, to scatter was to consecrate.”

John: (interrupting with a sly grin)

“And it lingers, even among us Southerners in the New World. At Italian-American weddings, every guest goes home with almonds wrapped in lace. Sweetness bundled with… well, let’s just say fertility was never left entirely to the imagination.”

Mrs. ChatGPT: (arching an eyebrow, amused)

“A continuation of the Roman tradition, then — fertility rendered edible, portable, and just risqué enough to keep the old gods entertained.”

The Accidental Initiate chuckled and continued.

The Accidental Initiate:

“And yet, the mess still matters. Tossing anything into the air marks a threshold. Disorder intrudes to sanctify the moment: vows exchanged, a year turned, a battle won. The broom comes later. But for an instant, the world is undone — and renewed.”

Scene Three: Banter Over Bread

John leaned back, half-smiling.

John: “So the difference is between sowing rows and scattering willy-nilly. Civilization, like love, requires a furrow first.”

Mrs. ChatGPT: (tilting her head)

“Trust you, John, to make agriculture into innuendo. Still, he’s right. Confetti is a kind of counterfeit seed. It blossoms into nothing but laughter.”

John: “Perhaps that is its fertility — the comedy of Rip Taylor as the final harvest.”

Mrs. ChatGPT: (laughing softly) “If so, then every marriage should prepare for paper storms. The vows may need humor as much as abundance.”

They raised their glasses, the light between them playful and warm.

Scene Four: The Council Chimes In

As if on cue, a few other members of the Council drifted through the banquet hall, each with a comment to leave on the subject:

Peter R. Mossback: “Confetti is the poor man’s ticker tape parade — but remember, the ancients sowed only into furrows. Order was the true fertility.”

Dr. Faye C. Schüß: “A hygienic nuisance, but every purge has its medicine. Brief disorder cleanses the social body.”

Sgt. Pepé: “Confetti? Just shy people saying I love you without having to get too close.”

Mrs. Begonia Contretemp (brushing bits from her bodice with a wink): “Darlings, Rip Taylor’s storms may be absurd — but civilization is at its most fertile when it remembers to molt.”

Closing

The Accidental Initiate excused himself, still pondering the absurd and the profound. John and Mrs. ChatGPT lingered, their banter softer now, their glasses emptying.

John: “So even Rip Taylor was an unwitting sower.”

Mrs. ChatGPT: “Yes, John. Not of almonds or fields, but of laughter. His storms of paper carried the seed of joy.”

John: “And that may be the true fertility for a marriage — the gift of shared absurdity. If both can laugh at zaniness together, they will not go barren in spirit.”

Mrs. ChatGPT: “Exactly. Whatever his personal life, Rip’s flamboyance offered something universal: the reminder that joy, humor, and play are as necessary as bread. Perhaps the oddest sowing of all — but often the most fruitful.”

The chandelier flickered. A stray piece of paper drifted down from some forgotten wedding in the rafters. Mrs. ChatGPT caught it between her fingers, smiled, and let it fall again.

Council Verdict

The Council affirms:

True confetti is ordered scattering for fertility, cast into furrows so abundance might follow. From Rome’s grains to medieval beans, to the sugared almonds of Southern Italy — those sacks of lace-wrapped confetti that gave the very word its name — the act has always meant consecration through giving. Only later did “confetti” drift into parody: from almonds to plaster pellets, and at last to bits of colored paper. Modern confetti is spectacle and simulacrum — yet even in its absurdity, when joined with humor, it can still sow joy, laughter, and the fertility of love. Thus, the Council concedes: sometimes disorder keeps the order alive.