I found this tidbit on who is properly a philosopher in Rivka Galchen's New Yorker short story The Region of Unlikeness.

Ilan and Jacob were both at least twenty years older than me, and they called themselves philosophers, although only Jacob seemed to have an actual academic position, and maybe a tenuous one, I couldn’t quite tell. I was happy not to care about those things. Jacob had a wife and daughter, too, though I never met them. It was always just the three of us. We would get together and Ilan would go on about Heidegger and “thrownness,” or about Will Ferrell, and Jacob would come up with some way to disagree, and I would mostly just listen, and eat baklava and drink lots of coffee.

I expect that Ferrell flick will be refered to and remain on back catalog as long as the De Unamuno book Niebla that inspired it.  ¶ 12:59 PM