For a number of years, many jokes have been made at the college philosophy major's expense, and the belief that a bachelor's degree in philosophy is worthless, is just as entrenched in modern folklore as the belief that Brando's last good film was On the Waterfront. Justifiably so (on both counts). Yet many of our nation's young people still insist on garnering what equates to the large belt buckle of academic achievement. It shouldn't be surprising that most philosophy majors wind up in marketing, where one has to be as delusional as possible to be successful.

A crucial part of any study which lacks a practical use, from journalism to comparative lit, is selecting a role model. Lets face it, you have to be able to explain why you study the subject you study, and when you're at a party your explanation better be short. At least film students can blurt out, "Oh, I was so influenced by the rich textures of Truffeu," before the girl they're talking to gets hauled off by a football player.

Philosophy majors have it much harder. No one wants to listen to them expound on the merits of Nihilism vs. straight Extentialism while waiting in line for the keg. But even if you select a role model that might be somewhat well known, no one but other philosophy majors will have any fucking clue what you're talking about.

Except for one man, that most anybody who smokes pot will at least have heard of: Jim Morrison. What better role model could there be for this groaning mass of perpetual students, and eventual slogan writers? Jim Morrison is the perfect example of pretentious lyricism in the service of a remorseless hedonist.

Better yet, you can quote from his vast oeuvre and the person your talking to has probably heard it before, which as any advertising ace knows, lends credence to your what you're saying (stick with the singles on this one guys -- and definitely stay away from those seven minute album cuts).

And while you may be pretentious-yet-shallow, at least Jim Morrison wasn't! He became what Elvis should have been, long after the King had already let us down by fighting a war for the Man. Jim had the street cred of Kerouac, combined with the libido of a Kennedy. What was Jim's middle name? Say it with me now: Jim Fucking Morrison!

The proof of our theory can be easily found in the lyrics to any Doors song (except LA Woman. I don't know why). Examples? You've got examples out the ass! "I am the lizard king / I can do anything," stands out as an expression of the American alpha-male getting in touch with his barely suppressed animal nature. "Keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel / we're going to the roadhouse we're gonna have a real good time," is a potent reminder to grab the gusto in life. Think of it as a sort of "carpe diem" for those of us without a Latin-to-English dictionary.

Roadhouse Blues is set, quite obviously, in a roadhouse. How much more populist can you get? It's a song that also demonstrates Morrison's concern with the feminist sexual agenda; you'll notice that the line in the song says, "let it roll, baby roll / all night long," instead of, "let it roll, baby roll / for 2 minutes and 37 seconds." Dance on fire, indeed!

The Beat movement of the fifties placed an enormous emphasis on music, specifically jazz. The Doors played with more than their fair share of jazz concepts; yet they kept a foot in the blue collar music world with the help of Ray Manzerik's whiny electric organ. And so it's perfectly acceptable to take philosophical inspiration from Jim Morrison. He read Aldus Huxley, why should you have to? Invest 50 bucks in some chemical assistance, crank up Light my Fire and go to town!

Morrison has enough grit to take on any dark-spirited, suicidal philosopher of yore: Niechze had the ubermensch; Jim had the lizard king. Huxley had his "doors of perception", Jim had the Doors!

He even matches up to any of the great philosophers of the late twentieth century. Bob Dylan flailed on about the plight of the working man, and smoked a lot of grass; but what the common man wanted was Jack Daniel's and leather pants. And sure, we all said that Elvis was the King, but only Jim had the guts to whip it out and show us.

-B. C. Silvia