A Terrible Idea
It has finally happened. I have migrated from blogger to my very own website: terribleidea.net. It is currently very sparse, due to a lack of time in which to make it less sparse. Hopefully in the next few days I will get all of my blogger archives over there, as well as a more personalized theme, and then I shall begin posting again.
Not Dead
Having nothing to talk about, I have not posted for a while. My 8th grade teacher said that people who are bored are boring, so extending that logic I suppose it might be my own fault that I've had nothing to post. But in any case, I may begin posting again soon, because interesting things have started to happen again. I also may have a new site soon. Negotiations commence tonight. We'll see.
Mihi Dico...
In my brief stint in Kansas City last week, I was farther west than I've ever been in my life. Realizing this also makes me realize how little I get out. I mean, I'm not saying that you haven't lived unless you've seen the west coast (though I have been told such and similar). But I have travelled very little, and I very rarely leave the bubble of friends which I have set up for myself. This affords me comfort, but occasionally I wonder if there might be more out there.
I thought about going on a solo road trip, where I would meet new people, and I would be free to act however I wanted, to be whoever I wanted. But I don't really have the money to do something like that until after college. Or the balls. I would just choose a highway and drive on down it. Not an interstate, but something like U.S. 41, which goes from Copper Harbor, MI down to Miami, FL. Two lanes, with speed limits never exceeding 55mph, and stoplights and stop signs. Easy to travel, and easy to find people who aren't quite so affected by the mobile culture that you find everywhere within 5 miles of an interstate - fast food and supermarkets, etc. Places where people actually talk to you, and you can really try different things. Different ways to express yourself, different ways of carrying yourself.
I've always like accents, and I practice them to myself when driving solo. Sometimes I develop entire personalities around a voice. Of course, it never sticks well enough in mind to be kept beyond the drive where I develop it, but on this dreamed-of adventure, it would be no big deal - cook something up before the next town, try it out, then forget about it as I drive toward the next town and the next person to be.
As you might be able to tell, I've thought a lot about this.
Of course, what is so liberating about acting like a different person? If it really is such a good thing, and something that I dream about, do I have find something wrong with the person I am now? And if so, why do I need a new audience to change myself? Don't I have the balls to change what I don't like about myself in front of everyone I already know? Why do I need to run away to do it. Yeah, that's it. I'm actually being more ballsy by staying here and facing the problems I have with myself head on, without flinching for the sake of all of the people watching and wondering. I'm not a chicken for deciding to avoid such a trip.
Of course, this all falls apart in light of the fact that I'm actually quite happy with who I am right now - I just want a breath of fresh air, and experiment, an adventure. And such a trip, acting as different people, affords a cheap and easy escape. Just me, my voice, and my wits. And my wallet. And my phone, just in case.
So why haven't I done it? Why don't I do it? Well, I suppose, once again, that I didn't think it through all that carefully. And I have real trouble with spontaneity. But if I plan it now, it won't really be spontaneous, will it? So, here we go: this coming spring break, I will go on a solo road trip. There, now it's planned. I suppose that the only real danger is that I start being spontaneous before next spring.
I thought about going on a solo road trip, where I would meet new people, and I would be free to act however I wanted, to be whoever I wanted. But I don't really have the money to do something like that until after college. Or the balls. I would just choose a highway and drive on down it. Not an interstate, but something like U.S. 41, which goes from Copper Harbor, MI down to Miami, FL. Two lanes, with speed limits never exceeding 55mph, and stoplights and stop signs. Easy to travel, and easy to find people who aren't quite so affected by the mobile culture that you find everywhere within 5 miles of an interstate - fast food and supermarkets, etc. Places where people actually talk to you, and you can really try different things. Different ways to express yourself, different ways of carrying yourself.
I've always like accents, and I practice them to myself when driving solo. Sometimes I develop entire personalities around a voice. Of course, it never sticks well enough in mind to be kept beyond the drive where I develop it, but on this dreamed-of adventure, it would be no big deal - cook something up before the next town, try it out, then forget about it as I drive toward the next town and the next person to be.
As you might be able to tell, I've thought a lot about this.
Of course, what is so liberating about acting like a different person? If it really is such a good thing, and something that I dream about, do I have find something wrong with the person I am now? And if so, why do I need a new audience to change myself? Don't I have the balls to change what I don't like about myself in front of everyone I already know? Why do I need to run away to do it. Yeah, that's it. I'm actually being more ballsy by staying here and facing the problems I have with myself head on, without flinching for the sake of all of the people watching and wondering. I'm not a chicken for deciding to avoid such a trip.
Of course, this all falls apart in light of the fact that I'm actually quite happy with who I am right now - I just want a breath of fresh air, and experiment, an adventure. And such a trip, acting as different people, affords a cheap and easy escape. Just me, my voice, and my wits. And my wallet. And my phone, just in case.
So why haven't I done it? Why don't I do it? Well, I suppose, once again, that I didn't think it through all that carefully. And I have real trouble with spontaneity. But if I plan it now, it won't really be spontaneous, will it? So, here we go: this coming spring break, I will go on a solo road trip. There, now it's planned. I suppose that the only real danger is that I start being spontaneous before next spring.
Whew
Nine days, 1442 miles, and a hell of a good time later, I'm back. And I'm going to bed. Perhaps a post tomorrow night...
Vacation, etc.
Blogging is/will be light due to vacation, and trying to switch the whole blog to a regular host rather than blogspot. No offence to the lovely work that the fellows at blogger do, but I want more control. Anyway, until next week...
The Return of the Phone
I haven't had a mobile phone for two years. Back then, I was the guy with the phone - I always had it, I always let people borrow it, and I was getting a new one every few months because I sold them for a living. It was a slight shock, going from "the guy with the phone" in highschool, where having a phone elevated you to slightly mystical status, to being "the guy without the phone" in college, where everyone has a phone, and not having one leaves people feeling vaguely uncomfortable around you, as though you have some sort of semi-contagious disease.
On a whim (well, slightly more than a whim, more of a sudden urge that made so much sense it hurt), I purchased one today. I gave it careful consideration, because I needed to sign a two-year contract. But in the end, it's the best choice. The fact that I'll be driving solo down to Kansas City in a couple of days and the aforementioned social necessity swung the vote. It's just under $1000 that I've committed for the next two years, but the marginal utility outweighs the marginal cost.
That's the logical reason behind it. The emotional one is that phones are so damned cool. I can start a conversation sittin at home feeling hungry, drive to McDonald's, get a cheeseburger, and end the conversation sitting at home in the same spot, no longer hungry. My phone used to be an extension of me. It was my ears and my mouth that could listen and talk with people hundreds of miles away. It was like being cut off from the world without it. I think that's why I took to instant messaging so well - it was the closest I could come to being integrated so easily and so constantly into my social circle. Now it has returned.
I walk out of store where I used to work with the phone in my left pocket, just like old times. Its weight counters the weight of my wallet and keys. Once again I have balance in my pants. Once again I have balance in my life. It comforts me. I've become re-acquainted with an old friend who had been gone so long I hadn't even realized I missed him. Am I addicted?
On a whim (well, slightly more than a whim, more of a sudden urge that made so much sense it hurt), I purchased one today. I gave it careful consideration, because I needed to sign a two-year contract. But in the end, it's the best choice. The fact that I'll be driving solo down to Kansas City in a couple of days and the aforementioned social necessity swung the vote. It's just under $1000 that I've committed for the next two years, but the marginal utility outweighs the marginal cost.
That's the logical reason behind it. The emotional one is that phones are so damned cool. I can start a conversation sittin at home feeling hungry, drive to McDonald's, get a cheeseburger, and end the conversation sitting at home in the same spot, no longer hungry. My phone used to be an extension of me. It was my ears and my mouth that could listen and talk with people hundreds of miles away. It was like being cut off from the world without it. I think that's why I took to instant messaging so well - it was the closest I could come to being integrated so easily and so constantly into my social circle. Now it has returned.
I walk out of store where I used to work with the phone in my left pocket, just like old times. Its weight counters the weight of my wallet and keys. Once again I have balance in my pants. Once again I have balance in my life. It comforts me. I've become re-acquainted with an old friend who had been gone so long I hadn't even realized I missed him. Am I addicted?
I Hope I Die Before I Get Old
The immortal words of The Who that grace the title of this post are a bit of an exaggeration, but I had a minor taste of old age last Wednesday, and the old saying that "youth is wasted on the young" suddenly seem less like the jealous mutterings of old people but perhaps heart-felt sighs from the same.
I was so incredibly sore (from a combination of running more than I should have, jetskiing, and having a nasty cold) that walking was a chore. I was shuffling along like an old man, wincing every step. I called off of work and went in to the store to equip myself for the misery that is being sick and sore.
Supermarkets are designed to require as little thought as possible. I'm sure that most people don't think twice about a shopping trip to Wal-mart or Meijer - you realize you need something, then there's a brief gap in your life of maybe half an hour, then you have what you needed. It's automatic, and so easy and efficient that you might as well forget it ever happened, except for the fact that you have a little less money and a little more of whatever product you needed.
Not so with those for whom walking itself is painful. I shuffled in, and tried leaning on the cart, but that just transferred the pain to my back and arm muscles, which were more sore than the legs because of the strengthening the legs have gone through due to my recent running regimen. I wandered about the pharmacy department, and found vitamins, Dayquil, and Advil. Then I found a few cartons of bottled water in the aisle. It was painful to lift them into the cart, but possible.
Then I started looking for the tissues. I looked up and down the pharmacy aisles. Nothing. Perhaps a little further down? Past the pet supplies? Nothing. I decide to swallow my pride (which had already been dealt a body blow by the fact that I looked completely ridiculous shuffling along with my cart) and ask an attendant for directions. Now, to find one...
Finding one, it turns out, is easy. They're all over the place. But the problem is that they are constantly moving. This is where I started getting really frustrated, and started to feel real sympathy for the elderly. They were walking too fast for me. I could have yelled out to one, but I couldn't toss away the last scap of pride that I had. I might as well stand outside and start panhandling. I followed one, hoping she would stop to arrange something, but she disappeared down an aisle, and when I caught up, she was gone. I tried to catch another one, but he was in a hurry and I quite seriously could not keep up with him.
I started thinking more and more about the plight of the elderly. Those "I've fallen and I can't get up!" scenarios seem less like a joke and more like hell on earth. I wasn't so sore that I couldn't have gotten up from the ground, but I understood just how frustrating - and dangerous - such a situation could be. I suddenly had a better appreciation for just how much a physical handicap can limit one's ability to do tasks that, to me, are so mundane as to be forgettable.
Eventually, I found an attendant who was standing still, and she informed me that the tissues were in the other corner of the store. I grimaced a bit, and prepared for the long shuffle.
Epilogue
It took me two trips to get everything from my car to my room, mainly because the water was heavy. I sat and did nothing all day, except to eat every now and then, and to drink lots of water. The vitamins and Advil helped immensely with the soreness, and as of tomorrow, I'll be well enough to start running again. This week has changed me. No longer am I a cocky young 'un, tooting my horn at the girls and listening to my "rock and roll" music. I've learned why old people are grumpy all of the time, and that knowledge has sobered me. I suppose if any lessons can be taken from this, they are, "don't catch a cold," and, "don't get old."
I was so incredibly sore (from a combination of running more than I should have, jetskiing, and having a nasty cold) that walking was a chore. I was shuffling along like an old man, wincing every step. I called off of work and went in to the store to equip myself for the misery that is being sick and sore.
Supermarkets are designed to require as little thought as possible. I'm sure that most people don't think twice about a shopping trip to Wal-mart or Meijer - you realize you need something, then there's a brief gap in your life of maybe half an hour, then you have what you needed. It's automatic, and so easy and efficient that you might as well forget it ever happened, except for the fact that you have a little less money and a little more of whatever product you needed.
Not so with those for whom walking itself is painful. I shuffled in, and tried leaning on the cart, but that just transferred the pain to my back and arm muscles, which were more sore than the legs because of the strengthening the legs have gone through due to my recent running regimen. I wandered about the pharmacy department, and found vitamins, Dayquil, and Advil. Then I found a few cartons of bottled water in the aisle. It was painful to lift them into the cart, but possible.
Then I started looking for the tissues. I looked up and down the pharmacy aisles. Nothing. Perhaps a little further down? Past the pet supplies? Nothing. I decide to swallow my pride (which had already been dealt a body blow by the fact that I looked completely ridiculous shuffling along with my cart) and ask an attendant for directions. Now, to find one...
Finding one, it turns out, is easy. They're all over the place. But the problem is that they are constantly moving. This is where I started getting really frustrated, and started to feel real sympathy for the elderly. They were walking too fast for me. I could have yelled out to one, but I couldn't toss away the last scap of pride that I had. I might as well stand outside and start panhandling. I followed one, hoping she would stop to arrange something, but she disappeared down an aisle, and when I caught up, she was gone. I tried to catch another one, but he was in a hurry and I quite seriously could not keep up with him.
I started thinking more and more about the plight of the elderly. Those "I've fallen and I can't get up!" scenarios seem less like a joke and more like hell on earth. I wasn't so sore that I couldn't have gotten up from the ground, but I understood just how frustrating - and dangerous - such a situation could be. I suddenly had a better appreciation for just how much a physical handicap can limit one's ability to do tasks that, to me, are so mundane as to be forgettable.
Eventually, I found an attendant who was standing still, and she informed me that the tissues were in the other corner of the store. I grimaced a bit, and prepared for the long shuffle.
Epilogue
It took me two trips to get everything from my car to my room, mainly because the water was heavy. I sat and did nothing all day, except to eat every now and then, and to drink lots of water. The vitamins and Advil helped immensely with the soreness, and as of tomorrow, I'll be well enough to start running again. This week has changed me. No longer am I a cocky young 'un, tooting my horn at the girls and listening to my "rock and roll" music. I've learned why old people are grumpy all of the time, and that knowledge has sobered me. I suppose if any lessons can be taken from this, they are, "don't catch a cold," and, "don't get old."
Irony
A few days ago, I was driving out to a friend's lake cottage for jet-skiing and drinking. Not too far from my house, I slammed on the brakes as a chipmunk ran out into the road, crossing to the woods on the other side. I managed to slow down enough that it passed unscathed.
Accelerating again, the thought of chipmunks brought back all sorts of childhood memories... Chip and Dale from the Rescue Rangers, Alvin and the Chipmunks... I felt pretty good for myself, having spared the life of the poor little guy. After all, it was no trouble for me to slow down a bit for a fellow mammal. Yeah, I had done the right thing.
There was no one with me to confirm, but I'm sure I got that far-away look in my eye as I contemplated my good deed. I didn't literally pat myself on my back, but I sure was thinking it. A slight smile on my face, I nodded a bit and look to the road ahead.
...and on it was another chipmunk, of which I only had a glimpse before it disappeared under my right tire.
Accelerating again, the thought of chipmunks brought back all sorts of childhood memories... Chip and Dale from the Rescue Rangers, Alvin and the Chipmunks... I felt pretty good for myself, having spared the life of the poor little guy. After all, it was no trouble for me to slow down a bit for a fellow mammal. Yeah, I had done the right thing.
There was no one with me to confirm, but I'm sure I got that far-away look in my eye as I contemplated my good deed. I didn't literally pat myself on my back, but I sure was thinking it. A slight smile on my face, I nodded a bit and look to the road ahead.
...and on it was another chipmunk, of which I only had a glimpse before it disappeared under my right tire.
The Benefits of Open-Source Software
A friend wrote this a few days ago, directly inspired by a conversation we had a few years ago. Nominally, it was written about someone else, but it is just as easily applicable to me. I suppose all of us Linux crazies are all alike...
The hot, dry Texas wind rolled lazily through the window of his high perch. Sweat was pouring down his face in torrents now, but he no longer cared. Quickly he chambered another round into his M50 sniper rifle, and taking only a moment to pull back his mullet, lined up his next shot in the scope. The radio crackled as one song ended and the next one began: a track by Lynyrd Skynyrd. The sweet strains of Freebird filled the clock tower - how very appropriate. Overhead the new helicopters whumped and filmed, while below a motley detachment from the university police department tried to break into tower. [He] chuckled to himself and took another pull from his bottle of Southern Comfort. Amateurs. He would show them, he would show all of them. In a bold move he tossed the rifle aside and stood up to taunt the circling helicopters. “YOU CLOSED-SOURCE COCKSUCKERS!” He bellowed. “OPEN SOURCE IS THE WAVE OF THE FUCKING FUTURE! EMBRACE IT OR DIE, MOTHERFUCKERS!” With that he let loose with a wild rebel yell, flipped the helicopters the bird and shouldered an AGM-114 Hellfire anti-air missile with a Linux penguin crudely drawn on the nose cone. As he sighted it on the now wildly evading helicopters, he couldn’t help but laugh. They would learn. One way or another they would learn the benefits of open source software.In case any of you were wondering, there is no way that this fictional account will ever happen... I hate mullets.
I Don't Know What to Think, But My Brain Does...
I learned tonight that one of my best friends from highschool is gay. Now this stirs all sorts of emotions, questions, and thought processes, all of which may be written about at a later date. But the two most immediate, most pronounced, and most worth repeating (and the ones over which I had little to no conscious control) are, "Wow, I've never met a real, life gay person before," followed closely by, "Wrecked 'em?! Damn near killed 'em!"
Fiat Pudor
Last night, I was talking to Stacy (meam puellam) on the phone while getting progressively more drunk. A lot of it is a little hazy, but sticking out in my mind is an exchange wherein she said that she needed to make a sandwich, and would I mind talking to her mother for a minute? I put up a brief fight, complaining loudly that I would have to pretend that I wasn't drunk, etc. etc. But since I obviously had no way to stop her, the phone was given, and for about 45 seconds to a full minute, I was talking to my girlfriends mother, whom I've never met, and to whom I've never talked, while drunk. In my defense, I think I pulled it off admirably. There's no way she could have told from my speech that I was inebriated. All in all, it was a good conversation.
Then, after the phone was handed back, I said "Whew, that was tough. I had to stop my speech from slurring and everything."
The reply, "You know the phone is turned up really loud. She can hear what you say to me."
Half-believing, and mortified, "Even the stuff I said before I talked to her??"
Wry, "Even the stuff you said before you talked to her."
"..."
After a few seconds, I started laughing hysterically. What a night.
Then, after the phone was handed back, I said "Whew, that was tough. I had to stop my speech from slurring and everything."
The reply, "You know the phone is turned up really loud. She can hear what you say to me."
Half-believing, and mortified, "Even the stuff I said before I talked to her??"
Wry, "Even the stuff you said before you talked to her."
"..."
After a few seconds, I started laughing hysterically. What a night.
Cantaverunt
Well, I seem to have set my own standards for myself impossibly high with that post from a few days ago. So high, in fact, that I have self-induced writer's block. If I can't write about something meaningful, I might as well not write, eh? Well, screw that. I'm drunk, I'll write about whatever I want. I suppose that even the things that I think are "good" really aren't all that great anyway, so why worry, eh?
I've been listening to Irish drinking songs, specifically old traditional ones as performed by the Clancy Brothers and the Dubliners. Everyone ought to have at least a basic repertoire of Irish drinking, especially if they drink. I especially like A Jug of Punch, Tim Finnegan's Wake, The Rocky Road to Dublin, and Whiskey in the Jar. There are dozens more worthy of mention, but I leave them as exercises to the reader to discover and enjoy. Money quote from the Clancy Brothers, on A Jug of Punch: "It starts out very quietly, and very poetically... and rapidly deteriorates, just like a good night of drinking."
I've started running. Well, I tell myself that I have. I've only run twice, but if all goes well, this will be a regular, maybe even permanent thing. The ultimate goal is to be healthy and in shape, for my own benefit as well as for the girlfriend. It's really damn hard, considering that I haven't done any sort of regular exercise for at least three or four years. But I feel more alive and healthier than I have in a long time. I run around 3 miles or so, and toward the end I usually find my pace and start feeling a bit of runner's high. Being able to jump in the pool after the whole ordeal makes it all worth it.
Of course, I'm totally destroying any actual benefit the running may have by drinking myself to a stupor right now. But I don't really need to bother too much with that, as I'm skinny enough as it is. The running isn't for cosmetic reasons, it's for health reasons.
Speaking of music (jumping back to a few paragraphs ago), I have about five gigabytes of music from Dan to sort through and re-tag. (Using EasyTag of course.) A tedious task for sum, but, being the geek that I am, I'm rather happy at the prospect of listening to loud music whilst sorting through more of it. Oh, and choice picks from the music from Dan: "You Take My Breath Away" by The Knife, and "Love Will Tear Us Apart" by Joy Division.
Perhaps I shall post more over the rest of the weekend, but not likely; I'm heading home tomorrow after I wake up and make sure that I'm not still drunk. So this post, far from meeting the criteria set by the previous one, will just have to do. Deal with it.
I've been listening to Irish drinking songs, specifically old traditional ones as performed by the Clancy Brothers and the Dubliners. Everyone ought to have at least a basic repertoire of Irish drinking, especially if they drink. I especially like A Jug of Punch, Tim Finnegan's Wake, The Rocky Road to Dublin, and Whiskey in the Jar. There are dozens more worthy of mention, but I leave them as exercises to the reader to discover and enjoy. Money quote from the Clancy Brothers, on A Jug of Punch: "It starts out very quietly, and very poetically... and rapidly deteriorates, just like a good night of drinking."
I've started running. Well, I tell myself that I have. I've only run twice, but if all goes well, this will be a regular, maybe even permanent thing. The ultimate goal is to be healthy and in shape, for my own benefit as well as for the girlfriend. It's really damn hard, considering that I haven't done any sort of regular exercise for at least three or four years. But I feel more alive and healthier than I have in a long time. I run around 3 miles or so, and toward the end I usually find my pace and start feeling a bit of runner's high. Being able to jump in the pool after the whole ordeal makes it all worth it.
Of course, I'm totally destroying any actual benefit the running may have by drinking myself to a stupor right now. But I don't really need to bother too much with that, as I'm skinny enough as it is. The running isn't for cosmetic reasons, it's for health reasons.
Speaking of music (jumping back to a few paragraphs ago), I have about five gigabytes of music from Dan to sort through and re-tag. (Using EasyTag of course.) A tedious task for sum, but, being the geek that I am, I'm rather happy at the prospect of listening to loud music whilst sorting through more of it. Oh, and choice picks from the music from Dan: "You Take My Breath Away" by The Knife, and "Love Will Tear Us Apart" by Joy Division.
Perhaps I shall post more over the rest of the weekend, but not likely; I'm heading home tomorrow after I wake up and make sure that I'm not still drunk. So this post, far from meeting the criteria set by the previous one, will just have to do. Deal with it.
Stocking the Bar
The bookmark for my copy of The Bartender's Guide is the pay stub from my recently cashed paycheck. This means something, I'm sure...
Dvorak?
As of right now, I have decided to try the Dvorak keyboard layout In fact, this entire post was written using it It took me fifteen minutes to write. Not too bad, considering that I have no reference at all, and I'm doing it blind, eh?
Estne Omnis Vitae Narratio?
Blogging has been light (actually, non-existant) for the past few days because (1) I was home all weekend, and (2) there's been a dearth of anything very interesting happening. Of course, I suppose "interesting" is all in the eye of the beholder, and of the teller. So perhaps if I were less tired and exhausted, I would be able to take the same events that have occured to me over the past few days and find something around which I could construct an interesting and thought-provoking narrative.
That's probably the mark of a good author - one who can make the mundane interesting. Then there's always plenty of material. Well, that's not quite accurate. It's not "making the mundane interesting." You can't make something into something it's not. But rather, one much "see the interesting in the superficially mundane." That's a bit of a challenge, I suppose. Or not even a challenge. It's not like you can just take some random event and get enough out of it to writing a meaningful narrative about it. Not only does there have to be something meaningful about the event, but you have to be connected to it on such a level that you can actually be invested in the narrative. The quote of the day a week or so ago was from Henry David Thoreau. "How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live." So, you have to live the events, or at least be close enough to them that you have fully internalized them, then you can purge the dross and write a narrative that is worthwhile.
Now I've defined the problem. I must live an interesting life, and then be able to recognize the parts that are interesting enough to be put to writing. Then I must write them in such a way that the interest that I see in them is also seen by others. A tall order. I think that the "interesting life" part is actually moot. Anyone's life is probably interesting enough that something profound could be written about it. And I'm certainly no exception. When I was in 5th grade, I carefully considered each of my classmates, one by one, to determine which one was the most normal. I couldn't decide, and later on I realized that this is because no one is "normal." This isn't one of those gushy, self-esteem raising, "everyone is special!" things, it's just an observation that there is something unique and interesting in everyone's life. Whether it's the circumstances of their life, or the person themself, and whether the recognize it or not, no one is completely normal, and everyone leads an interesting life.
So the challege now becomes to recognize events of interest when they happen, and to write them into a narrative when they do. I suppose something like this post is exactly what I'm shooting for - an event that is, on the surface, relatively innocuous. But when you think on it a bit more, maybe there's something there that's worth writing down. Maybe if I review the events of the weekend, I'll find something worth writing, now that I have a better idea of what to look for. The mundane is often not quite so mundane, if looked at closely. I have a feeling that if I just sit down and start writing about minor things that happened, something worthwhile might leap out. It's certainly happened before, and is yet another proof of the value of putting things into narrative.
But anyway, what I was saying at first before I got sidetracked was that nothing really interesting happened this weekend, so there was no blogging, and maybe I'll pick it up tomorrow.
That's probably the mark of a good author - one who can make the mundane interesting. Then there's always plenty of material. Well, that's not quite accurate. It's not "making the mundane interesting." You can't make something into something it's not. But rather, one much "see the interesting in the superficially mundane." That's a bit of a challenge, I suppose. Or not even a challenge. It's not like you can just take some random event and get enough out of it to writing a meaningful narrative about it. Not only does there have to be something meaningful about the event, but you have to be connected to it on such a level that you can actually be invested in the narrative. The quote of the day a week or so ago was from Henry David Thoreau. "How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live." So, you have to live the events, or at least be close enough to them that you have fully internalized them, then you can purge the dross and write a narrative that is worthwhile.
Now I've defined the problem. I must live an interesting life, and then be able to recognize the parts that are interesting enough to be put to writing. Then I must write them in such a way that the interest that I see in them is also seen by others. A tall order. I think that the "interesting life" part is actually moot. Anyone's life is probably interesting enough that something profound could be written about it. And I'm certainly no exception. When I was in 5th grade, I carefully considered each of my classmates, one by one, to determine which one was the most normal. I couldn't decide, and later on I realized that this is because no one is "normal." This isn't one of those gushy, self-esteem raising, "everyone is special!" things, it's just an observation that there is something unique and interesting in everyone's life. Whether it's the circumstances of their life, or the person themself, and whether the recognize it or not, no one is completely normal, and everyone leads an interesting life.
So the challege now becomes to recognize events of interest when they happen, and to write them into a narrative when they do. I suppose something like this post is exactly what I'm shooting for - an event that is, on the surface, relatively innocuous. But when you think on it a bit more, maybe there's something there that's worth writing down. Maybe if I review the events of the weekend, I'll find something worth writing, now that I have a better idea of what to look for. The mundane is often not quite so mundane, if looked at closely. I have a feeling that if I just sit down and start writing about minor things that happened, something worthwhile might leap out. It's certainly happened before, and is yet another proof of the value of putting things into narrative.
But anyway, what I was saying at first before I got sidetracked was that nothing really interesting happened this weekend, so there was no blogging, and maybe I'll pick it up tomorrow.
Letter to the Editor
Two days ago, the local newspaper ran this article.
A couple of the points on here were complete bull, so today, I sent in this letter to the editor:
I am writing in response to Mr. Ron Leix's June 7th article concerning the rejection of the proposal to close a portion of College Street. Without discussing the relative merits of the proposal, I would like to point out some half-truths used by both sides in this argument.
Mr. Tim Dixon, a resident on Summit Street was quoted saying that "there has never been a pedestrian crossing on College Street." I was not present at the meeting, and so have no idea if he was speaking seriously or if he was purposely exaggerating. However, I can attest that there are dozens of students from the various fraternity houses and off-campus houses (myself included) who cross College Street at least twice daily. There is a legitimate reason to be concerned for the safety of these students, because many of them do not go out of their way to cross at one of the ends where the traffic has a stop sign. Whether or not this is a legitimate reason for closing a street is up for debate, but to say that there is no pedestrian traffic on College Street is completely false.
This having been said, however, I also have issue with Hillsdale College's reasons for requesting the road closure. They claim to have the safety of the students as the first and foremost concern. But looking a little more closely, it seems to me that the most important thing to the college is the beautification if its campus. This is a noble goal, to be sure, but not one that should be pursued under the guise of student safety while hundreds of students cross West Street and Hillsdale Street every day without so much as a "Slow - Pedestrians" sign. Perhaps the college should look into these more pressing issues of student safety before it seeks a solution that happens to improve the aesthetic of the campus far more than it increases the safety of its students.
The residents need to realize that there is a legitimate safety issue, and the college needs to acknowledge its ulterior motive. Both sides have arguments that are compelling and worthy of consideration, but I would be much more sympathetic to both if they would be more careful with the truth.
Carl Lucas
Hillsdale College Student
A couple of the points on here were complete bull, so today, I sent in this letter to the editor:
I am writing in response to Mr. Ron Leix's June 7th article concerning the rejection of the proposal to close a portion of College Street. Without discussing the relative merits of the proposal, I would like to point out some half-truths used by both sides in this argument.
Mr. Tim Dixon, a resident on Summit Street was quoted saying that "there has never been a pedestrian crossing on College Street." I was not present at the meeting, and so have no idea if he was speaking seriously or if he was purposely exaggerating. However, I can attest that there are dozens of students from the various fraternity houses and off-campus houses (myself included) who cross College Street at least twice daily. There is a legitimate reason to be concerned for the safety of these students, because many of them do not go out of their way to cross at one of the ends where the traffic has a stop sign. Whether or not this is a legitimate reason for closing a street is up for debate, but to say that there is no pedestrian traffic on College Street is completely false.
This having been said, however, I also have issue with Hillsdale College's reasons for requesting the road closure. They claim to have the safety of the students as the first and foremost concern. But looking a little more closely, it seems to me that the most important thing to the college is the beautification if its campus. This is a noble goal, to be sure, but not one that should be pursued under the guise of student safety while hundreds of students cross West Street and Hillsdale Street every day without so much as a "Slow - Pedestrians" sign. Perhaps the college should look into these more pressing issues of student safety before it seeks a solution that happens to improve the aesthetic of the campus far more than it increases the safety of its students.
The residents need to realize that there is a legitimate safety issue, and the college needs to acknowledge its ulterior motive. Both sides have arguments that are compelling and worthy of consideration, but I would be much more sympathetic to both if they would be more careful with the truth.
Carl Lucas
Hillsdale College Student
Haec Longa Fabella...
The easiest way to avoid a question you don't want to answer is by saying, "Well, it's a long story." I've used this on numerous occasions. People hear this, and immediately realize that they'll have to actually pay serious attention, and invest both time and brain power to actually get an answer to their question. Usually, this is enough to deter just about anyone. So not only do you not have to answer the question, but you make it seem like it's them who is not continuing the line of inquiry.
But occasionally, someone will actually say, "I've got time," or, "Go on..." For most people, this would be the point where they admit that they actually have nothing. That the "long story" was just a ruse to avoid explaining something. But I'm never foiled. Unlike some people of little imagination, I actually do have a story to back it up. Sure, it's always the same story. But it is quite truthful. Everything in my life worth talking about does seem to relate back to this one story. Or at least, all of my stories seem to have their ultimate beginnings with this one set of events. It involves me spending a lot of time at the local library after I moved to Monroe, Michigan during the summer after 6th Grade.
From this point, it branches out to a wide variety of events. And that wide variety of events has practically enveloped my life and experience since that point. How did I really become a geek? It was that summer, and the books I got from the library that did it. How did I come to have an interest in language? That summer at the library. When did I become interested in drinking? Well, it wasn't directly from that summer at the library, but it's easy enough to trace it back it. [Theses aren't necessarily the three things that must be mentioned, just the three things that happen to come to my drunken mind at the moment. --ed.] I suppose that that was the summer where I began to both rebel from and flee to the morality my parents had set up for me. I've come to accept it as both logical and right, but there was a time (mainly freshman year of college) where I doubted everything I had learned from them. It was a summer of discovery, though at the time I didn't know it.
For the first time, I was reading things that my parents weren't recommending. I was thinking about things that my parents hadn't discussed with me. I was becoming my own person. I suppose that everyone has one of those times, where they become themselves rather than what they have been molded to be. Or maybe there are those who go through life without ever reaching a plane of thought higher than what they obtained in their first 10 years of living. If anyone goes through life this way, I pity them. I had no idea at the time, but that summer was probably one of the defining moments in my life. I suppose that the influence of my parents and my early upbringing was carried over through this change, but it was at this point that I decided which predispositions I would (unconsciously) discard and keep.
Looking back at 6th grade in Fort Wayne vs. 7th grade in Monroe, I can tell that I was a dramatically different person. Reclusive v. sociable, smart-alec v. smart, and even (dare I say it?) pessimist v. optimist. Sure, I've regressed occasionally, but for the most part I'm a much happier person. That summer was a true "coming of age." And I very much enjoy the age I came to.
So what creates these moments of self-reflection? The moments where everything seems to change (when you look back on it)? Actually, when I think long and hard about it, and when I'm completely honest with myself, I suppose the moment of change came when I decided to change. And this was not during the summer after 6th grade, it was durning 6th grade itself. The specifics are burried by my poor memory, but the general feeling is there. I finally realized that I was unhappy, and that it was within my power to change this. I knew that we were going to be moving somewhere new, and that I would meet a completely new set of people. So, I reasoned, I would have a fresh slate. And this time I would not screw up as I had in the past. I decided to change my life, and it worked.
So, for 7th and 8th grade, I tried being a different person. It was better, but not perfect. So when highschool came along and I had another tabula rasa, I made the most of it and changed myelf (slightly) again. It worked through highschool and three semesters of college, then I needed another change. Now I've been pretty much the exact same person for a year and a half, and I think I've hit the jackpot. This isn't to say that I'm a different person from what I was in 7th and 8th grade. Since the summer after 6th grade, I've been myself the whole time. I became myself in that summer. But I've presented different faces to the world since then.
And what of the future? Maybe I'll have to change the way I deal with the world once again. But I have a feeling that such a change will be a minor matter of cosmetics. As it is, I am content with myself. I can deal with everyone that I meet. I have discovered the elusive secret of how to talk to girls ( ;) ). I get along with most people. And I have an easy way to give a long story explaining difficult questions.
But occasionally, someone will actually say, "I've got time," or, "Go on..." For most people, this would be the point where they admit that they actually have nothing. That the "long story" was just a ruse to avoid explaining something. But I'm never foiled. Unlike some people of little imagination, I actually do have a story to back it up. Sure, it's always the same story. But it is quite truthful. Everything in my life worth talking about does seem to relate back to this one story. Or at least, all of my stories seem to have their ultimate beginnings with this one set of events. It involves me spending a lot of time at the local library after I moved to Monroe, Michigan during the summer after 6th Grade.
From this point, it branches out to a wide variety of events. And that wide variety of events has practically enveloped my life and experience since that point. How did I really become a geek? It was that summer, and the books I got from the library that did it. How did I come to have an interest in language? That summer at the library. When did I become interested in drinking? Well, it wasn't directly from that summer at the library, but it's easy enough to trace it back it. [Theses aren't necessarily the three things that must be mentioned, just the three things that happen to come to my drunken mind at the moment. --ed.] I suppose that that was the summer where I began to both rebel from and flee to the morality my parents had set up for me. I've come to accept it as both logical and right, but there was a time (mainly freshman year of college) where I doubted everything I had learned from them. It was a summer of discovery, though at the time I didn't know it.
For the first time, I was reading things that my parents weren't recommending. I was thinking about things that my parents hadn't discussed with me. I was becoming my own person. I suppose that everyone has one of those times, where they become themselves rather than what they have been molded to be. Or maybe there are those who go through life without ever reaching a plane of thought higher than what they obtained in their first 10 years of living. If anyone goes through life this way, I pity them. I had no idea at the time, but that summer was probably one of the defining moments in my life. I suppose that the influence of my parents and my early upbringing was carried over through this change, but it was at this point that I decided which predispositions I would (unconsciously) discard and keep.
Looking back at 6th grade in Fort Wayne vs. 7th grade in Monroe, I can tell that I was a dramatically different person. Reclusive v. sociable, smart-alec v. smart, and even (dare I say it?) pessimist v. optimist. Sure, I've regressed occasionally, but for the most part I'm a much happier person. That summer was a true "coming of age." And I very much enjoy the age I came to.
So what creates these moments of self-reflection? The moments where everything seems to change (when you look back on it)? Actually, when I think long and hard about it, and when I'm completely honest with myself, I suppose the moment of change came when I decided to change. And this was not during the summer after 6th grade, it was durning 6th grade itself. The specifics are burried by my poor memory, but the general feeling is there. I finally realized that I was unhappy, and that it was within my power to change this. I knew that we were going to be moving somewhere new, and that I would meet a completely new set of people. So, I reasoned, I would have a fresh slate. And this time I would not screw up as I had in the past. I decided to change my life, and it worked.
So, for 7th and 8th grade, I tried being a different person. It was better, but not perfect. So when highschool came along and I had another tabula rasa, I made the most of it and changed myelf (slightly) again. It worked through highschool and three semesters of college, then I needed another change. Now I've been pretty much the exact same person for a year and a half, and I think I've hit the jackpot. This isn't to say that I'm a different person from what I was in 7th and 8th grade. Since the summer after 6th grade, I've been myself the whole time. I became myself in that summer. But I've presented different faces to the world since then.
And what of the future? Maybe I'll have to change the way I deal with the world once again. But I have a feeling that such a change will be a minor matter of cosmetics. As it is, I am content with myself. I can deal with everyone that I meet. I have discovered the elusive secret of how to talk to girls ( ;) ). I get along with most people. And I have an easy way to give a long story explaining difficult questions.
Ah, Summer...
The only thing better than being able to jump 15 feet into your pool through a cut-out area of your living room floor, then floating about sedatedly is being able to go back upstairs to said living room and have cold beer on tap at your bar. Yes, I can do all of this at the place I'm at this summer.
Quidni?
If you don't know what an operating system is, or if you've never heard the word Linux before in your life, or if you just don't feel that comfortable around computers, you might want to skip this one.
I use Linux*. This simple sentence illicits three distinct responses from those to whom I say it. The first is a blank stare of utter confusion. The second is a sort of a wrinkled-nose, "what kind of masochistic freak are you?" shudder. The third is a sort of a respectful "ohhh!". The third has happened maybe three or four times, ever. Even then, it's only a matter of time before the inevitable question is asked, the question which has haunted me for four long years: Why?
They ask the impossible. Well, not really, there are plenty of ways to answer it, but the answer they want is both short, yet fully explanatory. They want to know the specific benefits of Linux, they want them fully explained, and they want them in a paragraph or less. I can't do this. It would be like trying to explain why you like manual trasmission over automatic (or vice versa) to someone who doesn't know what a car is, except a lot more complicated. To really understand why I use Linux, you need at least a surface-level grasp of computers, operating systems, and computer programming. But, to spare people the agony of actually learning about the things that have become ubiquitous and necessary for daily operation of just about anything, I'll try to explain it without going into too much technical detail.
First, a car analogy, on the same tack as the earlier one: Using Windows is like using a car that is completely automated. The transmission is automatic, the windshield wipers don't come on unless it's raining, the heat and air conditioning is regulated by a temperature sensor, and so on. Fine in theory, except that the hood is welded shut. All you can do is point it in the direction you want to go and hit the gas, hoping that it doesn't break down. The manual is a few pages, detailing what a great investment you just made. Linux, on the other hand, has nothing automated. Manual transmission, wipers that don't even have an intermittent setting, and it probably doesn't even have air conditioning. But not only is the hood openable, but everything is modular, so you can add the parts that you want to automate, and you can keep control of the things you want to. Plus, it comes with a manual that's thousands of pages. Hard to find what you're looking for? Yeah, but chances are that it's in there, and you're sure to come across other interesting stuff while you're looking.
OK, that analogy is convoluted, and I drug it along too far. Forget it. Specifics: I use Linux because I can install it for free, and start writing programs for it right away, without some expensive developer suite. I use Linux because when something goes wrong, I can find out exactly what went wrong - my error message doesn't get sent to some faceless server somewhere, it gets sent to me , and I have the freedom to do with it what I will - if I have the skill to trace it back to its source, I can do so. Windows doesn't give you the benefit of the doubt. I use Linux because all of the fun little things that the casual programmer wants to do can be done with no hassle, while in Windows there's no easy way to do them. I use Linux because it's possible to organize your desktop in any way that you want to. Seriously, the sky's the limit. Windows doesn't offer that, Apple doesn't offer that - only Linux and other free operating systems offer that. I use Linux because it never crashes. I use Linux because the software is more configurable. I use Linux because there are more software options. I use Linux because it makes playing around on the computer fun again.
There are people who use free operating systems because of ideological principles which hold proprietary software (basically any software that you have to pay for) is inherently bad, and that it is a social problem. I don't know about that. I suppose I haven't given it much thought. But I do know that the free/open source software that is Linux is superior in design. If Microsoft came out with something better, would I use it? Possibly. That's a topic for another post. All that matters for this post is that the philosophy behind free software is not currently one of the reasons that I use it.
To avoid having to bore people by explaining all of the above, my old standby is "I use Linux because it doesn't suck." People don't really like this because it doesn't give specifics. But there are just too many specifics to list. Usually, I just use the standby, then cop out by saying, "oh, I just like it" or "oh, it would take too long to explain." But, having written out the long answer (well, the medium answer, there are tons of other reasons), it has become a bit clearer to me. So perhaps this is the closest I can come to explaining why I use Linux: I use Linux because in every single metric that matters to me it is superior to Windows.
*[Technically the thing refered to as "Linux" thoughout this post is really GNU/Linux, but for the sake of brevity, and because I hate the GNU project and want to minimize its importance as much as possible, it shall be refered to as "Linux". (That last bit about GNU was a joke, I love GNU, but I find that its silly insistence on prefixing its name to the collective entity that is the Linux kernel and the GNU tools to be at best silly and at worst dangerously off-putting to the casually interested person.) --ed.]
I use Linux*. This simple sentence illicits three distinct responses from those to whom I say it. The first is a blank stare of utter confusion. The second is a sort of a wrinkled-nose, "what kind of masochistic freak are you?" shudder. The third is a sort of a respectful "ohhh!". The third has happened maybe three or four times, ever. Even then, it's only a matter of time before the inevitable question is asked, the question which has haunted me for four long years: Why?
They ask the impossible. Well, not really, there are plenty of ways to answer it, but the answer they want is both short, yet fully explanatory. They want to know the specific benefits of Linux, they want them fully explained, and they want them in a paragraph or less. I can't do this. It would be like trying to explain why you like manual trasmission over automatic (or vice versa) to someone who doesn't know what a car is, except a lot more complicated. To really understand why I use Linux, you need at least a surface-level grasp of computers, operating systems, and computer programming. But, to spare people the agony of actually learning about the things that have become ubiquitous and necessary for daily operation of just about anything, I'll try to explain it without going into too much technical detail.
First, a car analogy, on the same tack as the earlier one: Using Windows is like using a car that is completely automated. The transmission is automatic, the windshield wipers don't come on unless it's raining, the heat and air conditioning is regulated by a temperature sensor, and so on. Fine in theory, except that the hood is welded shut. All you can do is point it in the direction you want to go and hit the gas, hoping that it doesn't break down. The manual is a few pages, detailing what a great investment you just made. Linux, on the other hand, has nothing automated. Manual transmission, wipers that don't even have an intermittent setting, and it probably doesn't even have air conditioning. But not only is the hood openable, but everything is modular, so you can add the parts that you want to automate, and you can keep control of the things you want to. Plus, it comes with a manual that's thousands of pages. Hard to find what you're looking for? Yeah, but chances are that it's in there, and you're sure to come across other interesting stuff while you're looking.
OK, that analogy is convoluted, and I drug it along too far. Forget it. Specifics: I use Linux because I can install it for free, and start writing programs for it right away, without some expensive developer suite. I use Linux because when something goes wrong, I can find out exactly what went wrong - my error message doesn't get sent to some faceless server somewhere, it gets sent to me , and I have the freedom to do with it what I will - if I have the skill to trace it back to its source, I can do so. Windows doesn't give you the benefit of the doubt. I use Linux because all of the fun little things that the casual programmer wants to do can be done with no hassle, while in Windows there's no easy way to do them. I use Linux because it's possible to organize your desktop in any way that you want to. Seriously, the sky's the limit. Windows doesn't offer that, Apple doesn't offer that - only Linux and other free operating systems offer that. I use Linux because it never crashes. I use Linux because the software is more configurable. I use Linux because there are more software options. I use Linux because it makes playing around on the computer fun again.
There are people who use free operating systems because of ideological principles which hold proprietary software (basically any software that you have to pay for) is inherently bad, and that it is a social problem. I don't know about that. I suppose I haven't given it much thought. But I do know that the free/open source software that is Linux is superior in design. If Microsoft came out with something better, would I use it? Possibly. That's a topic for another post. All that matters for this post is that the philosophy behind free software is not currently one of the reasons that I use it.
To avoid having to bore people by explaining all of the above, my old standby is "I use Linux because it doesn't suck." People don't really like this because it doesn't give specifics. But there are just too many specifics to list. Usually, I just use the standby, then cop out by saying, "oh, I just like it" or "oh, it would take too long to explain." But, having written out the long answer (well, the medium answer, there are tons of other reasons), it has become a bit clearer to me. So perhaps this is the closest I can come to explaining why I use Linux: I use Linux because in every single metric that matters to me it is superior to Windows.
*[Technically the thing refered to as "Linux" thoughout this post is really GNU/Linux, but for the sake of brevity, and because I hate the GNU project and want to minimize its importance as much as possible, it shall be refered to as "Linux". (That last bit about GNU was a joke, I love GNU, but I find that its silly insistence on prefixing its name to the collective entity that is the Linux kernel and the GNU tools to be at best silly and at worst dangerously off-putting to the casually interested person.) --ed.]
Damn I'm Good
My laptop died on Friday. On Saturday, I got fed up with not having a computer. Two hours and $16 worth of soldering equipment later, and my laptop works again.
The ICANN Can Suck It
In a move to convince the masses that it actually does something useful, the ICANN has recently added some new top-level domains, the most prominent of these (in terms of press coverage) being the .xxx domain.
As far as I can tell, all that adding TLDs does is harm businesses and confuse consumers. Think about it: sure, "microsoft.xxx" is now open, but either (a) Microsoft is going to have to expend time and money to register the domain or (b) someone else will get the domain and it just confuses people who are looking for Microsoft. (OK, this is far less likely with the .xxx, but keep in mind that there are at least 6 other TLDs that have been approved.) Basically what it comes down to is that people remember websites by the main domain name, not the TLD. Adding new TLDs does not increase the namespace, it just makes it more confusing. It's already confusing enough between .com, .net, and .org. I can't count the number of times I've gone to gentoo.net looking for gentoo.org. At best, the new TLDs are a needless expenditure. At worst, they cost companies money in lost sales. So, the ICANN can suck it. Q.E.D.
As far as I can tell, all that adding TLDs does is harm businesses and confuse consumers. Think about it: sure, "microsoft.xxx" is now open, but either (a) Microsoft is going to have to expend time and money to register the domain or (b) someone else will get the domain and it just confuses people who are looking for Microsoft. (OK, this is far less likely with the .xxx, but keep in mind that there are at least 6 other TLDs that have been approved.) Basically what it comes down to is that people remember websites by the main domain name, not the TLD. Adding new TLDs does not increase the namespace, it just makes it more confusing. It's already confusing enough between .com, .net, and .org. I can't count the number of times I've gone to gentoo.net looking for gentoo.org. At best, the new TLDs are a needless expenditure. At worst, they cost companies money in lost sales. So, the ICANN can suck it. Q.E.D.
The Sweet Smell of Successs
Ha! I was so damn right! Money quote:
In celebration, I put on SpeedStick Alpine Fresh (August '02 - February '03) after changing out of my work clothes.
"More than any other sense, the sense of smell circumnavigates the logical part of the brain," the RAC Foundation's consultant psychologist, Conrad King, said.
In celebration, I put on SpeedStick Alpine Fresh (August '02 - February '03) after changing out of my work clothes.
De Conscientia
This was written without any assumptions of religion. It turned out to be (though it by no means began as) a record of me questioning the idea that humans have a congenital conscience, an idea which I've come to question as of late. I'm still not sure what I think. I've reached a conclusion if religion is removed from the picture, but (for me), it isn't, so I suppose I'll have to look more closely at Christian philosophy and doctrine to have an educated answer.
A few days ago, I was hanging out in Ann Arbor with a few friends. Whilst we perused the shelves of a used book store, one friend was talking loudly and incessantly to the other one. This bugged me because it seemed to me like it was s situation where one should be quiet. Not necessarily like a library, where it's a rule, but the atmosphere of the place, not to mention common courtesy for other readers, made it seem like a place where one should whisper. It made me uncomfortable. When I brought this up with the friend, I was blown off. Obviously this person didn't think that it was such a bad thing. So was I just being overly prudish, or was the friend being rude?
Neither of us believed that we were wrong. That is to say, two diametrically opposed viewpoints were fully and truly believed to be correct. I suppose it's because we were raised differently. Culture differences and so on. So, if you're taking the larger view, neither of us was right or wrong in the classic sense of the word. I was right in my own mind, though the friend thought I was wrong. I suppose that this is cultural relativism.
How should such a dispute be decided? Sure, this was a minor thing. But even about this, we were utterly incapable of comprehending the other's position on anything but an intellectual level. How much worse would it be for a tribe whose ancient rituals involve cannibalism, and the more urbane government who is trying to stop them? The two parties are incapable of coming to an agreement without destroying an essential part of who they are (read Peter Shaffer's Equus for more on this tack). The tribe would obviously lose its cultural identity if it gave in and stopped the ritual, and the government would violate its own laws (assuming that murder is illegal in this hypothetical government) if it allowed the ritual to continue. So which one is right?
Having reached this seemingly impassable quagmire, we might have to backtrack, to see if an incorrect assumption was made. We have two groups, one which considers and action wrong, and one which considers the same thing to be right. We don't want to say that one group should automatically be granted sovereignty over the other because of its advanced technology or size, because that would be blind imperialism. Similarly, we don't want to allow a small group to be an exception to the law of the land, because doing so makes the law useless. Perhaps the government should grant the tribe its own sovereign nation? Yes, the government washes its hands of the whole thing, and allows the tribe to continue its cannibalism. Everyone is happy.
Except for the people getting eaten. OK, this is just ridiculous. I cannot be convinced that there is not an absolute set of morals. Maybe certain things, such as talking loudly in a bookstore, are relative and not governed by morality, but murder is. Or it should be. But maybe not? Sure, we can talk about "basic human rights," such as a right to live, but these are all artificial constructions. "Rights" are granted by other people, not by nature (does the ocean that you're drowning in let you miraculously float to shore because it's your right to live? (See Starship Troopers for more on this.)). So there is no naturally granted set of rights that a human is granted by virtue of his or her existence. [Maybe this is where animal rights come in - they're granted the same artificially constructed rights that we are? --ed]
But everyone talks about rights. Are they just misguided? No, I don't think so. We may be ignoring any divinely or naturally inspired morality that may exist, but morality can stem from logic. Using the continuation and increased prosperity of humanity (or even of the individual) as a goal, and taking a wide enough look at the situation, a system of morality that is very similar to religion-based morality emerges. [Does this help or hinder the case of religion? Is it proof that religion evolved as a way to continue the human race, and has no actual supernaturality to it? Or is it proof that religion is divinely inspired, because some primitive people got it, while others didn't? --ed] But there are some tribes that just don't get it, at least not fully. They still practice ritual sacrifice, violating both logical morals and the morality of various religions (though not their own...). Hell, there are plenty of murders and other moral wrongs in our own society. Why? If morality can be found logically, why has it not fully taken over?
Perhaps because human beings are inherently evil? Or maybe the logic isn't as obvious to some as it is to others. If one doesn't step back and look at the big picture, then the logic means nothing. Working for short-term gains, without taking in to account the necessary long-term consequences is bound to lead people to justify immoral acts. And perhaps this is the definition of evil. If it is, then yes, human beings are inherently evil, because no one looks at the big picture if they are not taught to do so early in their formative years. (Dogville is especially interesting to watch with this in mind.)
I suppose this is where it all meets. Humans have no in-born moral compass. At least, none that I can imagine without religion. The little voice that we call our conscience is just a vocalization of the cultural norms with which we were raised. We have nothing guiding our actions, nothing upholding our rights, nothing maintaining morality [nothing stopping us from talking loudly in a bookstore --ed.] except for the critical logic, open minds, and foresight of humanity. May God have mercy on our souls.
A few days ago, I was hanging out in Ann Arbor with a few friends. Whilst we perused the shelves of a used book store, one friend was talking loudly and incessantly to the other one. This bugged me because it seemed to me like it was s situation where one should be quiet. Not necessarily like a library, where it's a rule, but the atmosphere of the place, not to mention common courtesy for other readers, made it seem like a place where one should whisper. It made me uncomfortable. When I brought this up with the friend, I was blown off. Obviously this person didn't think that it was such a bad thing. So was I just being overly prudish, or was the friend being rude?
Neither of us believed that we were wrong. That is to say, two diametrically opposed viewpoints were fully and truly believed to be correct. I suppose it's because we were raised differently. Culture differences and so on. So, if you're taking the larger view, neither of us was right or wrong in the classic sense of the word. I was right in my own mind, though the friend thought I was wrong. I suppose that this is cultural relativism.
How should such a dispute be decided? Sure, this was a minor thing. But even about this, we were utterly incapable of comprehending the other's position on anything but an intellectual level. How much worse would it be for a tribe whose ancient rituals involve cannibalism, and the more urbane government who is trying to stop them? The two parties are incapable of coming to an agreement without destroying an essential part of who they are (read Peter Shaffer's Equus for more on this tack). The tribe would obviously lose its cultural identity if it gave in and stopped the ritual, and the government would violate its own laws (assuming that murder is illegal in this hypothetical government) if it allowed the ritual to continue. So which one is right?
Having reached this seemingly impassable quagmire, we might have to backtrack, to see if an incorrect assumption was made. We have two groups, one which considers and action wrong, and one which considers the same thing to be right. We don't want to say that one group should automatically be granted sovereignty over the other because of its advanced technology or size, because that would be blind imperialism. Similarly, we don't want to allow a small group to be an exception to the law of the land, because doing so makes the law useless. Perhaps the government should grant the tribe its own sovereign nation? Yes, the government washes its hands of the whole thing, and allows the tribe to continue its cannibalism. Everyone is happy.
Except for the people getting eaten. OK, this is just ridiculous. I cannot be convinced that there is not an absolute set of morals. Maybe certain things, such as talking loudly in a bookstore, are relative and not governed by morality, but murder is. Or it should be. But maybe not? Sure, we can talk about "basic human rights," such as a right to live, but these are all artificial constructions. "Rights" are granted by other people, not by nature (does the ocean that you're drowning in let you miraculously float to shore because it's your right to live? (See Starship Troopers for more on this.)). So there is no naturally granted set of rights that a human is granted by virtue of his or her existence. [Maybe this is where animal rights come in - they're granted the same artificially constructed rights that we are? --ed]
But everyone talks about rights. Are they just misguided? No, I don't think so. We may be ignoring any divinely or naturally inspired morality that may exist, but morality can stem from logic. Using the continuation and increased prosperity of humanity (or even of the individual) as a goal, and taking a wide enough look at the situation, a system of morality that is very similar to religion-based morality emerges. [Does this help or hinder the case of religion? Is it proof that religion evolved as a way to continue the human race, and has no actual supernaturality to it? Or is it proof that religion is divinely inspired, because some primitive people got it, while others didn't? --ed] But there are some tribes that just don't get it, at least not fully. They still practice ritual sacrifice, violating both logical morals and the morality of various religions (though not their own...). Hell, there are plenty of murders and other moral wrongs in our own society. Why? If morality can be found logically, why has it not fully taken over?
Perhaps because human beings are inherently evil? Or maybe the logic isn't as obvious to some as it is to others. If one doesn't step back and look at the big picture, then the logic means nothing. Working for short-term gains, without taking in to account the necessary long-term consequences is bound to lead people to justify immoral acts. And perhaps this is the definition of evil. If it is, then yes, human beings are inherently evil, because no one looks at the big picture if they are not taught to do so early in their formative years. (Dogville is especially interesting to watch with this in mind.)
I suppose this is where it all meets. Humans have no in-born moral compass. At least, none that I can imagine without religion. The little voice that we call our conscience is just a vocalization of the cultural norms with which we were raised. We have nothing guiding our actions, nothing upholding our rights, nothing maintaining morality [nothing stopping us from talking loudly in a bookstore --ed.] except for the critical logic, open minds, and foresight of humanity. May God have mercy on our souls.
Varietas
A random amalgamation of miscellany (any ideas on how to fit more big words in there?):
Common People by Pulp has been a favorite of mine ever since I heard the William Shatner (yes, that William Shatner) cover. Shatner's version is spectacular, but it hovers so close to the line between campy and serious that I've come to enjoy the original a bit more. Check the mp3 of the song in the link to the lyrics.
Every time there's a semi-major change in my life (e.g. the end of a semester or something similar) I'm going to switch deodorant. When I was packing up to come back to Hillsdale after Memorial Day weekend, I grabbed a stick of deodorant that I haven't worn in months. I put it on today without thinking, and all morning I was wondering "why am I all of sudden reminiscing about last summer?" It wasn't like specific memories came back or anything, but all of a sudden I remembered how it had felt to be me a year ago. After a few hours of this, I realized that the feeling was stemming from the smell, and a little while later I realized the smell was my deodorant. The feeling was far more direct than simply remembering what the summer had been like. I can't really describe it, but it was powerful enough that I'm going to try to organize it and catalog it. Maybe I'll have a spreadsheet linking ranges of dates to various deodorant brands and scents. If I feel like being back in sophomore year of high school, I look it up, then go to the store and grab a stick of Old Spice (Classic) deodorant. My true geek nature shows through... (Well, not true geek nature... I am wearing deodorant, after all...)
I've been using Google Personalized Homepage at work ever since it came out. As one who has developed web applications (albeit primitive ones), I am duly impressed by the layout system, which is simple, effective, informative, yet still sparse enough to be easy to read and use. One of the main effects of using it is that I am far more informed of major news events than I ever have been previously. The Google News section is updated every few minutes, so I'm constantly bombarded with various happenings. Last month, I wouldn't have realized that the European Union was even thinking about making a new constitution. Now I can ruminate about the impact of France's "no" vote on this constitution. Because of this new plane of awareness, I think I'll start doing a weekly round-up of world events, touching briefly on the stuff that was prominently featured on Google News, and give my take on them. The intention is not for this to become a political or current events blog, so I will only write about things to which I think I have something unique or important to add.
Come to think of it, what would you call this blog? It's not quite a personal journal, because I don't just write about the commonplace events of my day. It's not a political blog. It's not a religious blog. It's not really any specific type of blog. I suppose it's just the thoughts I have that I consider worth sharing. And a place to work out thoughts that I think are worth working out. Hmm.
I think that my daily blogs are going to come from work for the rest of the summer. Here, I'm limited to where I can go on the internet, and what I can do on the computer (I'm stuck on a Windows box), but I have plenty of time sitting in front of the monitor, waiting for a call or for my boss to tell me to do something specific. So, I can open up an email and write in it throughout the day, and when (a) the day is over or (b) I feel like I've reached a good stopping point, I can just send it and *bam* it's posted. I don't even need to visit blogger.
Until tomorrow...
Common People by Pulp has been a favorite of mine ever since I heard the William Shatner (yes, that William Shatner) cover. Shatner's version is spectacular, but it hovers so close to the line between campy and serious that I've come to enjoy the original a bit more. Check the mp3 of the song in the link to the lyrics.
Every time there's a semi-major change in my life (e.g. the end of a semester or something similar) I'm going to switch deodorant. When I was packing up to come back to Hillsdale after Memorial Day weekend, I grabbed a stick of deodorant that I haven't worn in months. I put it on today without thinking, and all morning I was wondering "why am I all of sudden reminiscing about last summer?" It wasn't like specific memories came back or anything, but all of a sudden I remembered how it had felt to be me a year ago. After a few hours of this, I realized that the feeling was stemming from the smell, and a little while later I realized the smell was my deodorant. The feeling was far more direct than simply remembering what the summer had been like. I can't really describe it, but it was powerful enough that I'm going to try to organize it and catalog it. Maybe I'll have a spreadsheet linking ranges of dates to various deodorant brands and scents. If I feel like being back in sophomore year of high school, I look it up, then go to the store and grab a stick of Old Spice (Classic) deodorant. My true geek nature shows through... (Well, not true geek nature... I am wearing deodorant, after all...)
I've been using Google Personalized Homepage at work ever since it came out. As one who has developed web applications (albeit primitive ones), I am duly impressed by the layout system, which is simple, effective, informative, yet still sparse enough to be easy to read and use. One of the main effects of using it is that I am far more informed of major news events than I ever have been previously. The Google News section is updated every few minutes, so I'm constantly bombarded with various happenings. Last month, I wouldn't have realized that the European Union was even thinking about making a new constitution. Now I can ruminate about the impact of France's "no" vote on this constitution. Because of this new plane of awareness, I think I'll start doing a weekly round-up of world events, touching briefly on the stuff that was prominently featured on Google News, and give my take on them. The intention is not for this to become a political or current events blog, so I will only write about things to which I think I have something unique or important to add.
Come to think of it, what would you call this blog? It's not quite a personal journal, because I don't just write about the commonplace events of my day. It's not a political blog. It's not a religious blog. It's not really any specific type of blog. I suppose it's just the thoughts I have that I consider worth sharing. And a place to work out thoughts that I think are worth working out. Hmm.
I think that my daily blogs are going to come from work for the rest of the summer. Here, I'm limited to where I can go on the internet, and what I can do on the computer (I'm stuck on a Windows box), but I have plenty of time sitting in front of the monitor, waiting for a call or for my boss to tell me to do something specific. So, I can open up an email and write in it throughout the day, and when (a) the day is over or (b) I feel like I've reached a good stopping point, I can just send it and *bam* it's posted. I don't even need to visit blogger.
Until tomorrow...
Commentum Physiologiae
Science fiction is my guilty pleasure. Sure it's escapist and most of it serves as tripe for socially undeveloped white males living in their parents' basement, but there is the occasional rare gem that is uncommonly fascinating. A worth-while sci-fi author uses the future to stage his view of the present, and will concentrate less on the technological innovations that dominate lesser novels, but instead on the social and political change. People of the future will often be portrayed as having a difficult time understanding things about the "past," which is of course our present, or perhaps the futuristic society will exist a particular way because of the way the our present is. It's an opportunity for the writer to act as a prophet, looking at humanity, and trying to divine where we will go from here.
There is plenty of opportunity for an author to get up on a soap box and lecture his readers about the evils that are perpetrated today, and how they can and will influence the future that our ancestors will have to inhabit. Or to go on philosophical tangents that have little to do with the plot of the book. Most good sci-fi writers avoid making such things too obvious, and just let the events and the futuristic world speak for themselves.
I just finished Starship Troopers by Robert Heinlein. If you've seen the movie, just forget completely about it. It's a $0.25 movie, and does the book absolutely no justice. I saw it, and laughed at it, but I did realize that it was spawned from what could be a very interesting book. After a few weeks of looking around for a copy, I got ahold of one this afternoon, and spent a few hours giving it a read-through. I guess I haven't fully digested it yet, but I am quite intrigued by it. It satisfies my hunger for futuristic gadgets and technology. But the real measure of any good science fiction novel is being able to integrate the scientific prophecy with the social prophecy.
The novel does offer a lot to think about. Through the mouthpiece of philosophy teachers, Heinlein gives his opinion on basic human rights, corporal punishment, the nature of citizenship, and how all of these and other subjects should integrate themselves in a society. One of the more interesting features of the futuristic society is that citizenship, and hence voting rights, are only granted to those who have served at least two years of military service. The idea is that responsibility is the counterpart of authority, and one should not exist without the other. If you have authority without responsibility, you turn into a despot, and if you have responsibility without authority, you grumble and eventually revolt.
So, the social prophecies exist, but do they exist seamlessly with the technological prophecies? Not really. Though I can see applications of the more cerebral discussions in the rest of the novel, I constantly found myself asking, as the pages in my right hand dwindled, just how he was going to come to a climax that brought everything together. It turns out that he doesn't. Throughout the sequence that should be a climax, it is all guns and aliens and futuristic suits. Nothing but fluff and special effects, really. I couldn't help but feel that the real climax had occurred when the main character had decided to extend his military service to a career. That was the true moment that embodied all that had been discussed about the moral duty of a citizen, and how it must be voluntary. The rest was secondary, and only appealed to my visceral nature.
This isn't to say that I didn't like the book. I loved it. But I never felt fulfilled. The lectures on philosophy and politics could have existed independently as essays, with Heinlein talking directly to his readers rather than couching his ideas within a story that never brings them to fruition. In this aspect, the book was startlingly similar to the movie in that they both had flashes of insight and brilliance indicating that there was much more beneath the surface, but it never quite fully materialized.
There is plenty of opportunity for an author to get up on a soap box and lecture his readers about the evils that are perpetrated today, and how they can and will influence the future that our ancestors will have to inhabit. Or to go on philosophical tangents that have little to do with the plot of the book. Most good sci-fi writers avoid making such things too obvious, and just let the events and the futuristic world speak for themselves.
I just finished Starship Troopers by Robert Heinlein. If you've seen the movie, just forget completely about it. It's a $0.25 movie, and does the book absolutely no justice. I saw it, and laughed at it, but I did realize that it was spawned from what could be a very interesting book. After a few weeks of looking around for a copy, I got ahold of one this afternoon, and spent a few hours giving it a read-through. I guess I haven't fully digested it yet, but I am quite intrigued by it. It satisfies my hunger for futuristic gadgets and technology. But the real measure of any good science fiction novel is being able to integrate the scientific prophecy with the social prophecy.
The novel does offer a lot to think about. Through the mouthpiece of philosophy teachers, Heinlein gives his opinion on basic human rights, corporal punishment, the nature of citizenship, and how all of these and other subjects should integrate themselves in a society. One of the more interesting features of the futuristic society is that citizenship, and hence voting rights, are only granted to those who have served at least two years of military service. The idea is that responsibility is the counterpart of authority, and one should not exist without the other. If you have authority without responsibility, you turn into a despot, and if you have responsibility without authority, you grumble and eventually revolt.
So, the social prophecies exist, but do they exist seamlessly with the technological prophecies? Not really. Though I can see applications of the more cerebral discussions in the rest of the novel, I constantly found myself asking, as the pages in my right hand dwindled, just how he was going to come to a climax that brought everything together. It turns out that he doesn't. Throughout the sequence that should be a climax, it is all guns and aliens and futuristic suits. Nothing but fluff and special effects, really. I couldn't help but feel that the real climax had occurred when the main character had decided to extend his military service to a career. That was the true moment that embodied all that had been discussed about the moral duty of a citizen, and how it must be voluntary. The rest was secondary, and only appealed to my visceral nature.
This isn't to say that I didn't like the book. I loved it. But I never felt fulfilled. The lectures on philosophy and politics could have existed independently as essays, with Heinlein talking directly to his readers rather than couching his ideas within a story that never brings them to fruition. In this aspect, the book was startlingly similar to the movie in that they both had flashes of insight and brilliance indicating that there was much more beneath the surface, but it never quite fully materialized.
Sunt Pueri Pueri, Pueri Puerilia Tractant
I was using the little hand-truck at work today, hauling junky old computers from one storage room to another. As I was walking back through a hallway with an empty cart, I jumped on the cart and pushed it along like a scooter. I didn't really even plan to do it, it was just a spur of the moment thing. Just as suddenly, I jumped off and quickly looked around. I didn't want anyone to see my moment of childishness. After all, I'm 21 years old. That sort of thing was done in elementary school. Fortunately, no one was looking.
But of course, just as quickly as I became ashamed, I became ashamed of being ashamed. Who doesn't try to regain their youth, after all? There is something to be said for being spontaneous. Maybe it's this very thing - being scared of looking ridiculous, or of seeming less mature - that one must throw away if one is to truly enjoy life. I was getting riled up. Why should I care what people think of me when it comes to having a little bit of childish fun? I mean, they ought to be the ones who are ashamed! Yeah, I was even a bit mad. Too caught up in their daily grind to have a bit of fun. They're just jealous of my youth and exuberance for life, and they're taking it out on me by calling me "immature" or "childish". Of course, no one actually did see me. But I wish they had, just so I could show them that I don't care what they think! They just don't know how to enjoy themselves.
Well, screw them! I put my foot on the cart again, ready to defy the world and act childish. But then I froze. Someone was watching through the window. I put my foot on the ground and continued walking.
Facies Nova
I spent a few minutes re-working the look of the blog. Finally. Let me know if you notice any interface inconsistencies, errors, difficulties, etc. Or if you think it just plain sucks. A couple anecdotes to mark the occasion:
One, I was talking to my friend Gilbert about dancing. I mentioned that sometimes dance at parties. He said, "Carl, what color is your skin?" to which I replied, "#FFFFFF". If you actually get that, please pray for me. You know just how bad the pun is, and just how nerdy the joke is.
As I was finishing up the design, the song after which the blog is named began to play (my music player is almost always set to random). It was a welcome omen. The title is one of the few things that has escaped being changed by my bizarre and probably unhealthy obsession with showing off the fact that I know a bit of Latin at every chance I get, and I think I'll leave it that way. Even though I could easily change it to "Ubi est mens mea?"
One, I was talking to my friend Gilbert about dancing. I mentioned that sometimes dance at parties. He said, "Carl, what color is your skin?" to which I replied, "#FFFFFF". If you actually get that, please pray for me. You know just how bad the pun is, and just how nerdy the joke is.
As I was finishing up the design, the song after which the blog is named began to play (my music player is almost always set to random). It was a welcome omen. The title is one of the few things that has escaped being changed by my bizarre and probably unhealthy obsession with showing off the fact that I know a bit of Latin at every chance I get, and I think I'll leave it that way. Even though I could easily change it to "Ubi est mens mea?"
Ex Taedio, Hoc
Recently, I've had a strange penchant for thinking up unique ways to classify the quality of various things. No longer are movies rated by arbitrary things like a particular number of stars or by a percentage. Instead, it's based on how much money I would pay to see it in the theater, with full price (about $7 where I'm from) being above average. This is slightly more complicated than other ratings in that the relative value of money isn't constant across the entire population. But all this really does is introduce another instance of subjectivity to an enterprise which is already entirely subjective. The best way to get a real feel for how good a movie is based on a particular reviewer's rating is to know what he said about other movies that you have seen. The advantage of using money as the rating system is that it is far more concrete, and it just eliminates a step that the review reader does anyway. You see that a new movie got two and a half stars from some reviewer, and you assimilate what you know of the reviewer's tastes, the rating he gave it, and the cost of seeing it the theaters into a decision to see it or not. Now, all you have to do is to take what you know of my tastes and the rating I gave it to make the same decision.
Actually I'm just trying to justify being unique and different. But I have done so, and keeping all of this in mind, here are ratings for a few movies that I've seen recently:
Revenge of the Sith: $4.00
Unleashed: $3.50
Hitchhiker's Guide: $5.50
2046: $8.00
Certain films will obviously have their ratings boosted because they are much better to see in the theater. Well, all films are better to see in the theater, but some are better than others.
What all of this has done is left me a perfect opportunity to segue into posting the various film journals that I wrote throughout the semester for my film class. So, look for those in the coming weeks, I suppose.
Oh, and speaking of subjectively rating various media, I've had a slight influx of new music ever since I got on cable internet with no bandwidth restrictions. So, five songs to which everyone ought to listen (in alphabetical order):
Hair by The Cowsills
Half Man Half Machine by Goldie Lookin' Chain
Lawyers, Guns, and Money by Warren Zevon
The Metro by Berlin
Stand Up Tall by Dizzee Rascal
A rather eclectic bunch, I know, but they are all great. Go listen to them.
Until tomorrow...
Actually I'm just trying to justify being unique and different. But I have done so, and keeping all of this in mind, here are ratings for a few movies that I've seen recently:
Revenge of the Sith: $4.00
Unleashed: $3.50
Hitchhiker's Guide: $5.50
2046: $8.00
Certain films will obviously have their ratings boosted because they are much better to see in the theater. Well, all films are better to see in the theater, but some are better than others.
What all of this has done is left me a perfect opportunity to segue into posting the various film journals that I wrote throughout the semester for my film class. So, look for those in the coming weeks, I suppose.
Oh, and speaking of subjectively rating various media, I've had a slight influx of new music ever since I got on cable internet with no bandwidth restrictions. So, five songs to which everyone ought to listen (in alphabetical order):
Hair by The Cowsills
Half Man Half Machine by Goldie Lookin' Chain
Lawyers, Guns, and Money by Warren Zevon
The Metro by Berlin
Stand Up Tall by Dizzee Rascal
A rather eclectic bunch, I know, but they are all great. Go listen to them.
Until tomorrow...
Eius Obliviscamur
Well, this "writing something every day" shit just isn't working out. And I suppose it's for the best. Stephen King forces himself to write at least a set amount every day, no matter how off he's feeling, and I can live without being like him. But I'll try to at least post something interesting every day. So, a random snippet of online conversation between myself and Dan:
Dan: I EXPECT YOU TO BE THE NEXT NIETZSCHE
Me: i'll do my best, but i make no promises
Dan: ok
Dan: but i dont expect you to experience two failed marriage proposals and then die of syphillis, completely out of your fucking mind, living with your aunt
Me: shit, those were the parts i've already got lined up
Dan: actually, funny story... i can help you with the syphillis part
Me: ...
Dan: I EXPECT YOU TO BE THE NEXT NIETZSCHE
Me: i'll do my best, but i make no promises
Dan: ok
Dan: but i dont expect you to experience two failed marriage proposals and then die of syphillis, completely out of your fucking mind, living with your aunt
Me: shit, those were the parts i've already got lined up
Dan: actually, funny story... i can help you with the syphillis part
Me: ...
Pecuniae Scribere Volo
Writing is a fascinating enterprise. For as long as I can remember I'm simply mimicked writing styles that I've read. I suppose that really, that's all that writing ever is, but I've always been hyper-concious of the process, and of the language I appropriate. When I first started writing papers for classes, I was always worried that it would be obvious what I was doing. I just copied that phrase directly out of some newspaper article I had read a while ago, or I was just using some common expression to sound professional. I got good grades, and I was mildly surprised, but I just figured that at that level such things were overlooked.
Then came highschool. I was scared that I hadn't prepared myself for "real" paper writing, because I had slid by in junior high by just imitating other styles, and didn't do anything original. Having no choice, I just did what I had always done and turned in the papers. And I got good grades. In fact, paper grades are what carried me through highschool, really. It sure as hell wasn't the homework. I figured out after a year or two that highschool wasn't all that challenging, so I figured maybe they were just letting me get away with it there, too.
College was different. Or so I thought. They tried to scare us, saying that "college is much harder, it will take a semester to adjust" and so on and so on. I didn't know what they wanted, so I just did the same ol' same ol', imitating and meshing the styles I get from newspapers and books. And I do well on my papers. I don't know, maybe they're just being easy on me in college, too. I have no experience with levels of writing beyond the undergraduate.
But I think that I've figured it out. When it comes to writing, sounding professional is being professional. "Style" is simply an amalgamation of imitations. Common expressions are welcomed because they cojure specific relationships between the things signified by the other words quickly and easily. So all of the worries that I've had since junior high are really just a moot point. I imitate well, and therefore I write well.
Now the key issue is: can I make money from this? I think that I can. I wrote a short story back in 8th grade for a bullshit school competition. It got a "gold star" (which wasn't hard, trust me), and the judge gushed about it, saying I should get it published. I hold no illusions about the actual quality of the story, but it is rather inspiring. I think that with a bit of practice, I could write well enough to be published. So I'm going to try to post daily for the next few weeks.
What the hell am I getting myself in to?
Then came highschool. I was scared that I hadn't prepared myself for "real" paper writing, because I had slid by in junior high by just imitating other styles, and didn't do anything original. Having no choice, I just did what I had always done and turned in the papers. And I got good grades. In fact, paper grades are what carried me through highschool, really. It sure as hell wasn't the homework. I figured out after a year or two that highschool wasn't all that challenging, so I figured maybe they were just letting me get away with it there, too.
College was different. Or so I thought. They tried to scare us, saying that "college is much harder, it will take a semester to adjust" and so on and so on. I didn't know what they wanted, so I just did the same ol' same ol', imitating and meshing the styles I get from newspapers and books. And I do well on my papers. I don't know, maybe they're just being easy on me in college, too. I have no experience with levels of writing beyond the undergraduate.
But I think that I've figured it out. When it comes to writing, sounding professional is being professional. "Style" is simply an amalgamation of imitations. Common expressions are welcomed because they cojure specific relationships between the things signified by the other words quickly and easily. So all of the worries that I've had since junior high are really just a moot point. I imitate well, and therefore I write well.
Now the key issue is: can I make money from this? I think that I can. I wrote a short story back in 8th grade for a bullshit school competition. It got a "gold star" (which wasn't hard, trust me), and the judge gushed about it, saying I should get it published. I hold no illusions about the actual quality of the story, but it is rather inspiring. I think that with a bit of practice, I could write well enough to be published. So I'm going to try to post daily for the next few weeks.
What the hell am I getting myself in to?
Star Wars Sans Pop Culture
As the ever jocund Mr. Alex Harner would say, the Star Wars shaped hole in my heart has been filled. And I found myself wondering, as I left the theater, what would be running through the head of someone who watched the Star Wars movies in order, without any prior knowledge not only of the plots of the movies, but also without any prior knowledge of the story behind the movies - how George Lucas made A New Hope on a shoestring budget, how it changed special effects in movies and all that sort of thing, and then how he made the prequel trilogy twenty years later.
Episode I:
Oh wow, someone spent a lot of money on this movie. Too bad it's absolute shit.
Episode II:
How the hell did they get the money to make another piece of crap like this, especially after that last bomb of a movie? Unbelieveable. Why is this kid so damn important? Why is any of this so damn important? Why are these people treated like I'm supposed to know them? Or is there just a complete lack of character developement? Oh well, it was a waste of two hours.
Episode III:
I have no idea what the hell is going on. Why is there so much attention being paid to this weird-looking costume that the dumbass kid is wearing? I mean, two minutes to put on a suit that makes him look like an oversized fly. More attention was paid to the suit than to the character himself, or at least the lines he was supposed to deliver. It seemed a little better than the last ones though.
Episode IV:
They must have pulled the funding or something, but they made another one anyway. But it's actually fun to watch. And the dialog isn't ridiculous. And I'm actually interested in what happens to the characters. I like the guy they pulled in to do an old Obi-Wan, and Darth Vader is a lot better being voiced by a black guy than being played by a kid who can't act. It's strange, though - we know that Luke and Leia are brother and sister, but there isn't a single sly little hint at it or anything.
Episode V:
Holy shit, this is really good. But they still must not trust them with real money, even though IV was a gigantic upswing. This is better funded than IV anyway, but what happened to all of the special effects? Oh well, it doesn't matter, the story carries it. There are all sorts of references to the first three movies, too. Kinda silly, if you ask me.
Episode VI:
Almost a return to form, really. It wasn't worthy of following V. Those furry things were ridiculous. The Emperor finally decided to show up again. He was only mentioned once in IV, and only had a fuzzy cameo in V. Weird. Anyway, it was still better than the first three, though I have a feeling that the writer for the first three had left for IV and V, but came back for this one. I detect a common thread of shit. But it is far less pronounced in this one. Strange.
All-in-all:
Apparently, it takes pulling funding for a project to get good. I just don't know why they didn't pull it earlier. Those first two were just God-awful.
Episode I:
Oh wow, someone spent a lot of money on this movie. Too bad it's absolute shit.
Episode II:
How the hell did they get the money to make another piece of crap like this, especially after that last bomb of a movie? Unbelieveable. Why is this kid so damn important? Why is any of this so damn important? Why are these people treated like I'm supposed to know them? Or is there just a complete lack of character developement? Oh well, it was a waste of two hours.
Episode III:
I have no idea what the hell is going on. Why is there so much attention being paid to this weird-looking costume that the dumbass kid is wearing? I mean, two minutes to put on a suit that makes him look like an oversized fly. More attention was paid to the suit than to the character himself, or at least the lines he was supposed to deliver. It seemed a little better than the last ones though.
Episode IV:
They must have pulled the funding or something, but they made another one anyway. But it's actually fun to watch. And the dialog isn't ridiculous. And I'm actually interested in what happens to the characters. I like the guy they pulled in to do an old Obi-Wan, and Darth Vader is a lot better being voiced by a black guy than being played by a kid who can't act. It's strange, though - we know that Luke and Leia are brother and sister, but there isn't a single sly little hint at it or anything.
Episode V:
Holy shit, this is really good. But they still must not trust them with real money, even though IV was a gigantic upswing. This is better funded than IV anyway, but what happened to all of the special effects? Oh well, it doesn't matter, the story carries it. There are all sorts of references to the first three movies, too. Kinda silly, if you ask me.
Episode VI:
Almost a return to form, really. It wasn't worthy of following V. Those furry things were ridiculous. The Emperor finally decided to show up again. He was only mentioned once in IV, and only had a fuzzy cameo in V. Weird. Anyway, it was still better than the first three, though I have a feeling that the writer for the first three had left for IV and V, but came back for this one. I detect a common thread of shit. But it is far less pronounced in this one. Strange.
All-in-all:
Apparently, it takes pulling funding for a project to get good. I just don't know why they didn't pull it earlier. Those first two were just God-awful.
Hortor Me Ut Studeam Sed Erro
My laptop, left in my possession by the incorrigible Mr. Schlessinger, has finally bit the big one. The charging jack, which has been on the blink all semester, has been gently refusing to accept the increasingly more forceful advances of the charger, and is now completely rejects any electricity that it is offered. So, it has died. Perhaps I'll send it in to be repaired. But I find myself pondering whether or not paying $500 to fix a hulk of a laptop that's already in bad shape in other ways is worth it, when I could get a student developer kit from Apple and get a 12" PowerBook for a little over double that. I suppose it all depends on the summer cash flow. We shall see.
So instead of sitting in the comfort of my own room, with a comfy couch, and a generally homey atmosphere, I have to go to the cold, sterile enironments of the computer labs to get on the internet. The walls are all a generic beige, the rows of slate gray Macs hum quietly away, and the fluorescent lights, bathing the room in an unnatural white, give off an almost imperceptible 60 hertz hum. It's like a room in the Death Star.
Having been exposed, in some small way, to deconstructionism a few weeks ago, I found this to be particularly funny, especially coming from a programming background as I do. It's actually rather depressing that I can understand both positions. I have a tenuous grasp on the concepts for both of these disparate fields of study (computer science and literary criticism), but I have no truly deep understanding of either. I can put the terms together and make sense of them, but I can't come up with original thought. It's a sort of a jack-of-all-trades thing, but the master-of-none portion bugs me. I can impress people with the breadth of my knowledge, but anyone who really knows either field will be disappointed by the depth of it.
I only have two finals this semester, but one of them (Latin) is in two hours, so I'm going to get to studying.
So instead of sitting in the comfort of my own room, with a comfy couch, and a generally homey atmosphere, I have to go to the cold, sterile enironments of the computer labs to get on the internet. The walls are all a generic beige, the rows of slate gray Macs hum quietly away, and the fluorescent lights, bathing the room in an unnatural white, give off an almost imperceptible 60 hertz hum. It's like a room in the Death Star.
Having been exposed, in some small way, to deconstructionism a few weeks ago, I found this to be particularly funny, especially coming from a programming background as I do. It's actually rather depressing that I can understand both positions. I have a tenuous grasp on the concepts for both of these disparate fields of study (computer science and literary criticism), but I have no truly deep understanding of either. I can put the terms together and make sense of them, but I can't come up with original thought. It's a sort of a jack-of-all-trades thing, but the master-of-none portion bugs me. I can impress people with the breadth of my knowledge, but anyone who really knows either field will be disappointed by the depth of it.
I only have two finals this semester, but one of them (Latin) is in two hours, so I'm going to get to studying.
Aestas Adventat
Blogging is light because of lack of time and sleep. Papers and projects are coming due, and life is hectic as expected. A few things:
At some point in the semester I made a grocery list of booze to buy on my next run to the liquor store in the back of my Latin notebook. So everytime I start to flip through it to find my place, I see a list of various alcoholic beverages. That doesn't help to dissuade my new-found urge to drink myself into a stupor everytime I sit down to do my homework.
Speaking of drinking, I failed in my self-imposed duty to post everytime I got drunk. After this semester's date party several days ago, I was completely trashed, but nary a word was typed. They say that betraying yourself is the worst betrayal of all, and I'm starting to agree. I felt horrible the next day. Or was that the hangover?
I should be getting acquainted with hangovers over the summer. I'll be working in Hillsdale like last summer, but unlike last summer I'll also be living here, and I'll be sharing a house with a few guys who aren't against tipping back the bottle every now and then. Add this to friends back home with whom I want to hang out, and a possible (probable) visit to KC, and the summer is shaping up to be pretty damn sweet.
Giving a group of college kids a Canon XL1 and a semester to make a ten-minute movie is bound to have fascinating results. Maybe the technical skill won't be there, but the youthfulness and willingness to try new things would make one imagine that the movie would at least be interesting. But you also have to allow for the possibility that they wouldn't actually get anything done due to apathy, incompetence, and plain old time constraints. That being said, look for the first offering from Last Minute Films Limited (LMF Ltd.) some time in the near future. Hopefully...
Of course, that same apathy and incompetence would probably be found in other aspects of the students' work. Which is why I must stop here. I have a paper due two days ago that I need to finish.
At some point in the semester I made a grocery list of booze to buy on my next run to the liquor store in the back of my Latin notebook. So everytime I start to flip through it to find my place, I see a list of various alcoholic beverages. That doesn't help to dissuade my new-found urge to drink myself into a stupor everytime I sit down to do my homework.
Speaking of drinking, I failed in my self-imposed duty to post everytime I got drunk. After this semester's date party several days ago, I was completely trashed, but nary a word was typed. They say that betraying yourself is the worst betrayal of all, and I'm starting to agree. I felt horrible the next day. Or was that the hangover?
I should be getting acquainted with hangovers over the summer. I'll be working in Hillsdale like last summer, but unlike last summer I'll also be living here, and I'll be sharing a house with a few guys who aren't against tipping back the bottle every now and then. Add this to friends back home with whom I want to hang out, and a possible (probable) visit to KC, and the summer is shaping up to be pretty damn sweet.
Giving a group of college kids a Canon XL1 and a semester to make a ten-minute movie is bound to have fascinating results. Maybe the technical skill won't be there, but the youthfulness and willingness to try new things would make one imagine that the movie would at least be interesting. But you also have to allow for the possibility that they wouldn't actually get anything done due to apathy, incompetence, and plain old time constraints. That being said, look for the first offering from Last Minute Films Limited (LMF Ltd.) some time in the near future. Hopefully...
Of course, that same apathy and incompetence would probably be found in other aspects of the students' work. Which is why I must stop here. I have a paper due two days ago that I need to finish.
Very Strange
I have an odd feeling that my drunk posts are far more comprehensible than my sober posts. Case in point: this post is being made whist I am completely blasted. Last night's post was written without the involvement of a single drop of alcohol.
So here I am, drunk. I have no particular insights to share, nor any funny anecdotes to send out to the world. Well, actually, I suppose it is worth mentioning that the girl whom I met briefly at a party is now actually my girlfriend. Strange how these things work out.
I've also been listening to Creedence Clearwater Revival and Simon & Garfunkel obssesively for the past 12 hours. There isn't much to say beyond that.
More to post when I'm... sober???
So here I am, drunk. I have no particular insights to share, nor any funny anecdotes to send out to the world. Well, actually, I suppose it is worth mentioning that the girl whom I met briefly at a party is now actually my girlfriend. Strange how these things work out.
I've also been listening to Creedence Clearwater Revival and Simon & Garfunkel obssesively for the past 12 hours. There isn't much to say beyond that.
More to post when I'm... sober???
Context
I just finished writing this instead of doing my Latin homework. It meanders, and has no particular point. But I had fun writing it. So without further ado, here is Context or, Language, Reading, and Standing on the Shoulders of Giants:
I've attended a couple of lectures on philosophy, linguistic theory, and literary criticism over the past couple of days. I have very little experience in any of these areas, but I was glad to see a few conclusions that I had reached on my own validated by people who know exponentially more than I do in such fields.
For example, thoughts do not take on words as a way to be expressed in the world. Rather, words are the thoughts. Without the words, there would be no thoughts. If something cannot be expressed in words properly. Primordial thought, in which we leave the words behind and return to the basic ideas which the words represent, does not exist. Or perhaps does, but it is only as instinct, which cannot in any way differentiate us from animals.
Or the idea that the secrecy if an individual's thoughts, of the individual's self are required for a functioning society. If everyone knew what everyone else was thinking, society could not exist. This of course leads neatly into the whole idea of writing in general. Because writing is expressing one's self in words, and because words are thought, the only truly complete piece of writing is an entire transcript of every thought that one has ever had. But since this cannot be done, and even if it could be done it could most likely never be read and comprehended by anyone in a lifetime, there is a certain amount of (mis)interpretation that must occur when one reads another's writing. So can we ever know what the author actually intended?
Well, we can get a good idea. But there really isn't any way to know completely what the author was thinking. This is not only because the mind of the author is necessarily secret from the minds of the readers, except in the specific words that have been written (and even those may have different meanings for writer and reader), but also because the social and cultural context in which a text is read will be different after the text is published. So the things which the author intended to be understood a certain way based on the culture in which he or she was brought up may not be understood that way at a later date. Obviously any text that cannot be understood outside of its historical and cultural context is bad, and probably not worth reading even in its proper context.
So we may try to read texts in the context in which they were written, and some value may be gained from this. The intent of the author is a starting point for reading a text. But this reading is neither the only way in which one should read a text, nor is it necessarily better than any others. Reading a text from the vantage point of the current social and cultural situation may not be the way the author intended it to be read, but because the culture in which we now live was influenced by the text itself, this reading is by no means without merit. A text must be read from the vantage of the culture which it has wrought, as well as the culture which wrought it.
Anyway, these are all things I had thought before, though sometimes more crudely than I've written here. And starting this week, I had them confirmed, or at least re-stated, by philosophers and professors. But considering the very nature of the ideas that have been confirmed for me, it would be silly of me to pretend that I thought them originally. I can trace the generation of every idea that I had to something I had learned in school, or some conversation I had with friends. I may have a few particular insights that are unique to me, and maybe if I discover these and explicate them I could get something worthwhile published. But true and total originality seems to be impossible.
Something that has been pounded into my head again and again in college is that there has been no true break from "western tradition". Sure, it has been bent and bent again until we reach something far enough from the past way of things as to be unrecognizable, but in all areas of human endeavor in the west, there has been a continuous and unbroken stream of thought, always changing, but always mostly subsumed by the context of the past. Picasso did something new, but when you look at the art leading up to him, it's easy to see how it was heading in that direction. Derrida did something new, but once again, he made only a few small leaps from what philosophers before him had done. Joyce did something new, but only in form; in content nearly his entire body of work is made of direct references to historical and cultural facts. All of these three were followed by others who took their instances of newness and innovation even further, but these steps are still small. And you can trace back these steps that Derrida, Joyce, and Picasso have trodden. You can trace Picasso back to Michelangelo, from there back to ancient Greek sculpture, and from there back to cave drawings. (Or if you want to skip a few steps you can trace him back to African art, but that's neither here nor there.) Standing on the shoulders of giants never seemed more true.
There are so many metaphors to describe the "western tradition" which is so lauded at this school: standing on the shoulders of giants, a long journey of small steps, etc. I'm fascinated by it. Fascinated enough to make me angry that they don't offer a course on eastern culture. Not because I want to eschew my own culture, but because in comparing it to another I can achieve a fuller understanding of it, much like learning another language to better understand one's own. I want to understand how our culture changes, and how it stays the same. Maybe then I'd be able not only to understand the progression of our culture, but where it is going, and from whence it came...
Well, perhaps not. I got bit too big for my britches. I fell off the giant, if you will. Time for bed.
I've attended a couple of lectures on philosophy, linguistic theory, and literary criticism over the past couple of days. I have very little experience in any of these areas, but I was glad to see a few conclusions that I had reached on my own validated by people who know exponentially more than I do in such fields.
For example, thoughts do not take on words as a way to be expressed in the world. Rather, words are the thoughts. Without the words, there would be no thoughts. If something cannot be expressed in words properly. Primordial thought, in which we leave the words behind and return to the basic ideas which the words represent, does not exist. Or perhaps does, but it is only as instinct, which cannot in any way differentiate us from animals.
Or the idea that the secrecy if an individual's thoughts, of the individual's self are required for a functioning society. If everyone knew what everyone else was thinking, society could not exist. This of course leads neatly into the whole idea of writing in general. Because writing is expressing one's self in words, and because words are thought, the only truly complete piece of writing is an entire transcript of every thought that one has ever had. But since this cannot be done, and even if it could be done it could most likely never be read and comprehended by anyone in a lifetime, there is a certain amount of (mis)interpretation that must occur when one reads another's writing. So can we ever know what the author actually intended?
Well, we can get a good idea. But there really isn't any way to know completely what the author was thinking. This is not only because the mind of the author is necessarily secret from the minds of the readers, except in the specific words that have been written (and even those may have different meanings for writer and reader), but also because the social and cultural context in which a text is read will be different after the text is published. So the things which the author intended to be understood a certain way based on the culture in which he or she was brought up may not be understood that way at a later date. Obviously any text that cannot be understood outside of its historical and cultural context is bad, and probably not worth reading even in its proper context.
So we may try to read texts in the context in which they were written, and some value may be gained from this. The intent of the author is a starting point for reading a text. But this reading is neither the only way in which one should read a text, nor is it necessarily better than any others. Reading a text from the vantage point of the current social and cultural situation may not be the way the author intended it to be read, but because the culture in which we now live was influenced by the text itself, this reading is by no means without merit. A text must be read from the vantage of the culture which it has wrought, as well as the culture which wrought it.
Anyway, these are all things I had thought before, though sometimes more crudely than I've written here. And starting this week, I had them confirmed, or at least re-stated, by philosophers and professors. But considering the very nature of the ideas that have been confirmed for me, it would be silly of me to pretend that I thought them originally. I can trace the generation of every idea that I had to something I had learned in school, or some conversation I had with friends. I may have a few particular insights that are unique to me, and maybe if I discover these and explicate them I could get something worthwhile published. But true and total originality seems to be impossible.
Something that has been pounded into my head again and again in college is that there has been no true break from "western tradition". Sure, it has been bent and bent again until we reach something far enough from the past way of things as to be unrecognizable, but in all areas of human endeavor in the west, there has been a continuous and unbroken stream of thought, always changing, but always mostly subsumed by the context of the past. Picasso did something new, but when you look at the art leading up to him, it's easy to see how it was heading in that direction. Derrida did something new, but once again, he made only a few small leaps from what philosophers before him had done. Joyce did something new, but only in form; in content nearly his entire body of work is made of direct references to historical and cultural facts. All of these three were followed by others who took their instances of newness and innovation even further, but these steps are still small. And you can trace back these steps that Derrida, Joyce, and Picasso have trodden. You can trace Picasso back to Michelangelo, from there back to ancient Greek sculpture, and from there back to cave drawings. (Or if you want to skip a few steps you can trace him back to African art, but that's neither here nor there.) Standing on the shoulders of giants never seemed more true.
There are so many metaphors to describe the "western tradition" which is so lauded at this school: standing on the shoulders of giants, a long journey of small steps, etc. I'm fascinated by it. Fascinated enough to make me angry that they don't offer a course on eastern culture. Not because I want to eschew my own culture, but because in comparing it to another I can achieve a fuller understanding of it, much like learning another language to better understand one's own. I want to understand how our culture changes, and how it stays the same. Maybe then I'd be able not only to understand the progression of our culture, but where it is going, and from whence it came...
Well, perhaps not. I got bit too big for my britches. I fell off the giant, if you will. Time for bed.
Bibere Amo
I know that I decided to post every time that I got drunk, but I didn't mean to only post when I got drunk. But so far, that's the way it's turned out. I suppose that's to be expected. Only when I'm drunk do I have the courage to actually write anything of substance. To put myself and my thoughts out there for the world to see, that takes guts. Guts filled with beer. Yes indeed.
There's really no particular reason for me to write today, except that I'm drunk. And it's a Tuesday. I'm brilliant. But anyway, to fill the space, I offer a link: The Monkey is consistently hilarious, inventive, and curious. I've been reading the blog for a while now, and since he is kind enough to comment on my blog with some regularity, I'll return the favor with a shout out and such.
There are other blogs I've also been reading daily and to which I shall link and give brief comment. But I'll save them for a later post. Right now I'm just going to get some Latin done, then go to bed.
There's really no particular reason for me to write today, except that I'm drunk. And it's a Tuesday. I'm brilliant. But anyway, to fill the space, I offer a link: The Monkey is consistently hilarious, inventive, and curious. I've been reading the blog for a while now, and since he is kind enough to comment on my blog with some regularity, I'll return the favor with a shout out and such.
There are other blogs I've also been reading daily and to which I shall link and give brief comment. But I'll save them for a later post. Right now I'm just going to get some Latin done, then go to bed.
Oh Shit
I decided to post every time I get drunk, and I'm not going to break the tradition on just the second occasion. But my thoughts on this evening haven't fully formed yet, and I need to get some sleep, so I'm just going to leave off by summing it up with a paraphrase of a quote from Wet Hot American Summer: "What am I gonna do???"
This Spring, Hope Springs Eternal
I've decided to make sure I write a post every time I get drunk. This is the first product of this decision. I'm probably drunk enough to do two posts, but I'm starting off slowly.
Spring has arrived, and with it comes what I like to call my "spring-time blues". It all goes back to that silly old saying, "Ah, spring... that wonderful time of year when a young man's fancy turns to love." I think that it is this little bit of folk wisdom, or perhaps the reality that spawned it, that has made me rather depressed for the past week or so. Well, that in combination with the fact that I had no prospects for love. The time of year alone does little to affect my mood, but the mental connection that I make with the time of year, and the smells and feelings that accompany it, along with the fact that I don't have the love that I'm supposed to, have always made me a bit forlorn. Ever since 7th grade. That year sucked. Maybe every year has just been a re-living of that year so far, and that's why I consistenly get depressed at spring.
But today, in the midst of my early-spring funk, something happened that snapped the bad mood and made me my usual chipper self. I was wandering aimlessly through the party, not having any particular place to be or any particular group of people to hang out with, when this girl randomly came up to me and introduced herself. We talked for a while, and it was pretty cool, then she had to leave. So I said bye, and she told me to say hi sometime if I saw her in the halls. It was really dark in the room, and I don't even know what she looked like, so the chances of ever meeting her again are slim to none.
BUT... now that I've thought it over, that's probably for the best. What this chance encounter accomplished was to restore my slipping self-esteem, and give me something to dream about. Recently, even for the girls about whom I used to think to myself, "oh, that'd be cool if something happend" it has become clear that nothing ever will happen. And I had come to the conclusion that I am completely romantically uninteresting. Now I don't know if that's still true or not, but I at least have hope from this encounter. I had grown tired of constantly telling myself that something will happen eventually, that I actually am worth knowing, that I will find the right girl, when it never came true again and again and again. My whole life I've been in a battle with feeling like a complete piece of shit, and nothing had really happened recently to aid me in that battle. Indeed, I had suffered a number of rather crushing defeats.
And now I have this small victory, this minor conversation. Chances are, nothing will ever come of it. But what I'm going to do is purposely not follow up on it, and that's why I'm glad that I don't even know to whom I was speaking. That way my hopes won't get crushed. When I start feeling down, later on in the spring, I'll just break out the memory of that conversation. All I need is that little bit of hope to keep me going. It had been gone for so long that the spring-time blues were really starting to get me down. But now I have spark again, and I can be cheerful and chipper.
Really, it was quite funny. A couple of my friends at the party noticed it immediately. I was all of a sudden happy again. I didn't even realize what had happened, but when they mentioned it, it only took me a few seconds to realize what had changed. I had a smidgen of hope, and suddenly I could be happy again.
I know that my hope has no basis in reality, but its effect on my demeanor is real enough. My regained happiness is real enough.
Spring has arrived, and with it comes what I like to call my "spring-time blues". It all goes back to that silly old saying, "Ah, spring... that wonderful time of year when a young man's fancy turns to love." I think that it is this little bit of folk wisdom, or perhaps the reality that spawned it, that has made me rather depressed for the past week or so. Well, that in combination with the fact that I had no prospects for love. The time of year alone does little to affect my mood, but the mental connection that I make with the time of year, and the smells and feelings that accompany it, along with the fact that I don't have the love that I'm supposed to, have always made me a bit forlorn. Ever since 7th grade. That year sucked. Maybe every year has just been a re-living of that year so far, and that's why I consistenly get depressed at spring.
But today, in the midst of my early-spring funk, something happened that snapped the bad mood and made me my usual chipper self. I was wandering aimlessly through the party, not having any particular place to be or any particular group of people to hang out with, when this girl randomly came up to me and introduced herself. We talked for a while, and it was pretty cool, then she had to leave. So I said bye, and she told me to say hi sometime if I saw her in the halls. It was really dark in the room, and I don't even know what she looked like, so the chances of ever meeting her again are slim to none.
BUT... now that I've thought it over, that's probably for the best. What this chance encounter accomplished was to restore my slipping self-esteem, and give me something to dream about. Recently, even for the girls about whom I used to think to myself, "oh, that'd be cool if something happend" it has become clear that nothing ever will happen. And I had come to the conclusion that I am completely romantically uninteresting. Now I don't know if that's still true or not, but I at least have hope from this encounter. I had grown tired of constantly telling myself that something will happen eventually, that I actually am worth knowing, that I will find the right girl, when it never came true again and again and again. My whole life I've been in a battle with feeling like a complete piece of shit, and nothing had really happened recently to aid me in that battle. Indeed, I had suffered a number of rather crushing defeats.
And now I have this small victory, this minor conversation. Chances are, nothing will ever come of it. But what I'm going to do is purposely not follow up on it, and that's why I'm glad that I don't even know to whom I was speaking. That way my hopes won't get crushed. When I start feeling down, later on in the spring, I'll just break out the memory of that conversation. All I need is that little bit of hope to keep me going. It had been gone for so long that the spring-time blues were really starting to get me down. But now I have spark again, and I can be cheerful and chipper.
Really, it was quite funny. A couple of my friends at the party noticed it immediately. I was all of a sudden happy again. I didn't even realize what had happened, but when they mentioned it, it only took me a few seconds to realize what had changed. I had a smidgen of hope, and suddenly I could be happy again.
I know that my hope has no basis in reality, but its effect on my demeanor is real enough. My regained happiness is real enough.
The Obligatory Spring Break Post
I heard somewhere that one's sense of smell can evoke more and stronger memories than any other sense. I don't know if this is true or not, but it certainly does bring things back for me. One of the shampoos in our shower at home has a smell that reminds me of the shampoo in the shower of one of my old friends from elementary school.
It reminds me specifically of the time I was going to stay for a week at his in Illinois when I was around 10 years old or so. We had been best friends back when I had lived in Illinois, and so I was excited that we'd have a whole week to catch up, go clubbing, and get drunk. Or play with GI Joes. You know how it is. But the morning after we got there, and as my parents were about to head back out to Fort Wayne (where we were living at the time), my dad came into the room where I was sleeping, woke me up, and said goodbye. I was tired, excited, and scared. And I started crying. I was too scared to be without my parents for a week. I ended up going home with them that morning. My friend was pretty sad, I remember him crying too. My parents blamed themselves for waking me up for their departure. But there wasn't anything to be done, I was already homesick.
So a couple months after that, later in the summer, we tried again. This time I watched and waved as my parents drove off. I suppressed my fear, and my homesickness. No more cry-baby, I was tough. I didn't need mommy and daddy at all. I think that this incident is probably what made going away to college so easy. The first day of college, my parents drove me up, unloaded my stuff quickly, then left. They were there for maybe half an hour before they left. And I was fine. I didn't really feel anything at all. I remember thinking that I was supposed to feel homesick and scared, but even when I tried to muster these feelings, I just didn't feel anything at all. I think I got over homesickness forever when I was 10 years old. It makes me feel old. I want to have something to long for the way everyone else does.
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I've been home this week for spring break, which is why I haven't been blogging at all. Instead, I've been watching movies and writing about them for my film class. So far I've watched Russian Ark, North by Northwest, The Battle of Algiers, The Gold Rush, The Great Dictator, The Maltese Falcon, and In the Mood for Love. It's not quite Florida or California, but it's a nice break from the regular grind. I might post some of the brief reviews, if the mood strikes me. I highly recommend any of those movies to anyone.
I also saw, for the first time ever, The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I don't think I'm going to review it for the class, but I recommend it highly to any college student. It's one of those things that's part of the prototypical college experience: being homesick for the first two weeks, skipping classes, getting drunk/high, rebelling against mom and dad's right-wing views, and watching the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
More posts after spring break is dead and buried.
It reminds me specifically of the time I was going to stay for a week at his in Illinois when I was around 10 years old or so. We had been best friends back when I had lived in Illinois, and so I was excited that we'd have a whole week to catch up, go clubbing, and get drunk. Or play with GI Joes. You know how it is. But the morning after we got there, and as my parents were about to head back out to Fort Wayne (where we were living at the time), my dad came into the room where I was sleeping, woke me up, and said goodbye. I was tired, excited, and scared. And I started crying. I was too scared to be without my parents for a week. I ended up going home with them that morning. My friend was pretty sad, I remember him crying too. My parents blamed themselves for waking me up for their departure. But there wasn't anything to be done, I was already homesick.
So a couple months after that, later in the summer, we tried again. This time I watched and waved as my parents drove off. I suppressed my fear, and my homesickness. No more cry-baby, I was tough. I didn't need mommy and daddy at all. I think that this incident is probably what made going away to college so easy. The first day of college, my parents drove me up, unloaded my stuff quickly, then left. They were there for maybe half an hour before they left. And I was fine. I didn't really feel anything at all. I remember thinking that I was supposed to feel homesick and scared, but even when I tried to muster these feelings, I just didn't feel anything at all. I think I got over homesickness forever when I was 10 years old. It makes me feel old. I want to have something to long for the way everyone else does.
---------------
I've been home this week for spring break, which is why I haven't been blogging at all. Instead, I've been watching movies and writing about them for my film class. So far I've watched Russian Ark, North by Northwest, The Battle of Algiers, The Gold Rush, The Great Dictator, The Maltese Falcon, and In the Mood for Love. It's not quite Florida or California, but it's a nice break from the regular grind. I might post some of the brief reviews, if the mood strikes me. I highly recommend any of those movies to anyone.
I also saw, for the first time ever, The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I don't think I'm going to review it for the class, but I recommend it highly to any college student. It's one of those things that's part of the prototypical college experience: being homesick for the first two weeks, skipping classes, getting drunk/high, rebelling against mom and dad's right-wing views, and watching the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
More posts after spring break is dead and buried.
They Call Me the Seeker
A bellowing train reminds me of childhood, half asleep while the engine thundered by outside my window, the piercing deep whistle sluggishly reaching through the muggy air. Spring is coming. It's in the air, and everyone can feel it. Never mind the temperature, there's something in the way the world seems to be gearing up, ready to burst forth. Something brilliant is about to happen, and I hope I recognize it when I see it.
I'm drunk off my ass on green beer. Fortunately, I only have half of a paper to write before spring break starts for me. Then, life will be good. Nothing to worry about after this one last push. But they I'll have to start getting ready for exams after that. That'll be a bitch. But then, after that, a whole summer of leisure. Ah yes, I can taste it.
That's how it always is, isn't it? Just this one more thing to take care of, then I'll be on easy street. Just this last bit, and it'll all be over. Remember that scene in Spaceballs? Bill Pullman and John Candy are trekking through the endless desert, and Pullman says, "It's here, right over this last dune. Just one more dune to go." and Candy replies, "You said that three dunes ago." That's what life looks like to me. A series of endless dunes to climb over, with the prize just over whatever one I happen to be on. I've always been telling myself to keep going for one more thing, to overcome one more challenge. Pass all of your classes, then things will be easier. Get a job, then things will work out. Get a girlfriend, then you'll be happy. Get this fucking paper done, and all of the worries will be done. And it never stops.
So how do I stop it? There are two options: either I can keep going and try to reach the goal, or I can just give up and meander along. The latter option gets immediately discarded, because, while it does offer the possibility of short-term relief from the stress of always climbing toward something, doesn't actually get me happiness. So I have to keep going. But now that I've recognized the predicament, I can ask a few pertinent questions. Like what is the goal, the prize that I'm searching for? What will actually make me happy? If I can actually pinpoint what it is, maybe I can make a concerted effort to reach it. So, what is it? And can I actually reach it, or is the desert really endless?
One of the things that we fraternity boys do to our pledges, besides the obvious stuff like beating the shit out of them with paddles and tieing them up for weird, homoerotic rituals (I'm being facetious, by the way), is to make them interview all of the actives with questions of their own design. The questions are generally the cliche "what's your favorite movie" or "what superpower would you have" or "what's your greatest accomplishment" type of thing. But even cliche questions, if you stop to think about them, can be interesting. I suppose that's why they become cliche: people ask them because they have the greatest potential to evoke interesting responses. One such question asked of me was "where do you want to be in 5 years?" or its counterpart "what do you want to be doing after college?"
When I thought about this, I realized that I really have no idea. So I tried to wing it. And going on the idea that first instincts are usually the best, I suppose that those answers are actually the best. Accordingly, what I want for myself is a good wife, thinking about kids, at a good job where I have plenty of room for advancement, without requiring so much of my time that I can't have a family life. The American Dream.
Maybe first instincts aren't always perfect, and they're actually based on bullshit cultural norms. I don't really know. But I can't really think of what else I'd rather be doing in five years. Riches and fame seem to really mess people up, so I think I'd rather avoid both of those until I've matured a bit. So let's just operate on the assumption that all I want is my slice of Americana. What do I need to do to accomplish that right now?
Not much, really. If I keep on the pace I'm at, I'll probably end up there anyway. Well, maybe not the wife part. But that will come in time, I'm sure. It worked out for enough of my friends that I'm confident enough for myself. So I shouldn't worry about anything, I'm on my way to the American Dream anyway, right?
Damn, I think I've made a mistake. What I'm looking for is that thing that I keep trying to reach by going through one more trouble, by doing that one last thing right now. I'm not necessarily looking to the future. I got sidetracked. I want instant gratification. What will make me happy right now, today? I suppose not having to worry about money or grades or romance. If I were financially secure, smart enough that I didn't need to study at all, and looked good enough and talked well enough to have the perfect girl, then I'd be happy. Money, grades, and romance. The very things that make my life interesting right now. How boring would that life be?
So perhaps there has to be something to worry about so that I don't get bored. Who knows? I'd probably end up spending all my money on bullshit, skipping classes because I was bored, and cheating on my girlfriend because I would know I could easily get another. Not quite ideal. Or maybe I'm just rationalizing. Truth be told, all I know is that I want to be happy. I don't know for sure what will make me happy, but I'm optimistic enough to believe that I'll find it eventually. I'm done trying to think it through right now.
Well, I take that back. For the short term I've found what will make me happy: I'm going to bed.
I'm drunk off my ass on green beer. Fortunately, I only have half of a paper to write before spring break starts for me. Then, life will be good. Nothing to worry about after this one last push. But they I'll have to start getting ready for exams after that. That'll be a bitch. But then, after that, a whole summer of leisure. Ah yes, I can taste it.
That's how it always is, isn't it? Just this one more thing to take care of, then I'll be on easy street. Just this last bit, and it'll all be over. Remember that scene in Spaceballs? Bill Pullman and John Candy are trekking through the endless desert, and Pullman says, "It's here, right over this last dune. Just one more dune to go." and Candy replies, "You said that three dunes ago." That's what life looks like to me. A series of endless dunes to climb over, with the prize just over whatever one I happen to be on. I've always been telling myself to keep going for one more thing, to overcome one more challenge. Pass all of your classes, then things will be easier. Get a job, then things will work out. Get a girlfriend, then you'll be happy. Get this fucking paper done, and all of the worries will be done. And it never stops.
So how do I stop it? There are two options: either I can keep going and try to reach the goal, or I can just give up and meander along. The latter option gets immediately discarded, because, while it does offer the possibility of short-term relief from the stress of always climbing toward something, doesn't actually get me happiness. So I have to keep going. But now that I've recognized the predicament, I can ask a few pertinent questions. Like what is the goal, the prize that I'm searching for? What will actually make me happy? If I can actually pinpoint what it is, maybe I can make a concerted effort to reach it. So, what is it? And can I actually reach it, or is the desert really endless?
One of the things that we fraternity boys do to our pledges, besides the obvious stuff like beating the shit out of them with paddles and tieing them up for weird, homoerotic rituals (I'm being facetious, by the way), is to make them interview all of the actives with questions of their own design. The questions are generally the cliche "what's your favorite movie" or "what superpower would you have" or "what's your greatest accomplishment" type of thing. But even cliche questions, if you stop to think about them, can be interesting. I suppose that's why they become cliche: people ask them because they have the greatest potential to evoke interesting responses. One such question asked of me was "where do you want to be in 5 years?" or its counterpart "what do you want to be doing after college?"
When I thought about this, I realized that I really have no idea. So I tried to wing it. And going on the idea that first instincts are usually the best, I suppose that those answers are actually the best. Accordingly, what I want for myself is a good wife, thinking about kids, at a good job where I have plenty of room for advancement, without requiring so much of my time that I can't have a family life. The American Dream.
Maybe first instincts aren't always perfect, and they're actually based on bullshit cultural norms. I don't really know. But I can't really think of what else I'd rather be doing in five years. Riches and fame seem to really mess people up, so I think I'd rather avoid both of those until I've matured a bit. So let's just operate on the assumption that all I want is my slice of Americana. What do I need to do to accomplish that right now?
Not much, really. If I keep on the pace I'm at, I'll probably end up there anyway. Well, maybe not the wife part. But that will come in time, I'm sure. It worked out for enough of my friends that I'm confident enough for myself. So I shouldn't worry about anything, I'm on my way to the American Dream anyway, right?
Damn, I think I've made a mistake. What I'm looking for is that thing that I keep trying to reach by going through one more trouble, by doing that one last thing right now. I'm not necessarily looking to the future. I got sidetracked. I want instant gratification. What will make me happy right now, today? I suppose not having to worry about money or grades or romance. If I were financially secure, smart enough that I didn't need to study at all, and looked good enough and talked well enough to have the perfect girl, then I'd be happy. Money, grades, and romance. The very things that make my life interesting right now. How boring would that life be?
So perhaps there has to be something to worry about so that I don't get bored. Who knows? I'd probably end up spending all my money on bullshit, skipping classes because I was bored, and cheating on my girlfriend because I would know I could easily get another. Not quite ideal. Or maybe I'm just rationalizing. Truth be told, all I know is that I want to be happy. I don't know for sure what will make me happy, but I'm optimistic enough to believe that I'll find it eventually. I'm done trying to think it through right now.
Well, I take that back. For the short term I've found what will make me happy: I'm going to bed.
Quisne Sum?
Back in highschool one of my friends sent out one of those silly little email surveys that you're supposed to fill out and send to all of your friends. I don't think I ever ended up sending it back out, but I did fill it out and save it to my hard drive for whatever reason. Then, about a year later, I found it again and re-answered all of the questions according to how I was then. Then I did it again last year. And today I did it for this year's iteration. It's a completely uninteresting survey, but remembering what I was thinking when I filled out the questions one, two, and three years ago is very... curious? interesting? enlightening? It makes me worry about who I was, and who I've become, and who I'll be.
I realize that I've become a very different person, in ways that aren't really describable or even noticable. Thinking back on it, it seems that the changes come in six-month cycles. Or maybe it's just semesterly cycles. Well, roughly semesterly. I remember the exact moment, two years ago, where I made a seemingly minor change in my way of thinking about certain things that ended up having a huge impact on my personality and life. I wouldn't be the person I am today if I hadn't decided to give up certain thoughts and take on others. I also remember the point a little over a year ago where I made another seemingly minor decision that had major effects on my life. I also remember when a friend told me, in a few short sentences, things that I knew and know changed me immediately.
Or have I actually changed as a person? Supposedly your personality is formed by the time you're five years old (or something like that). So maybe it's just different aspects of me showing through, and I'm still the person I was when I was a toddler. Or maybe the "personality" of which they speak covers a much narrower range of traits than I imagined. I'm not really sure. Orson Scott Card, in the introduction to Ender's Game said that he didn't feel any different from the person he was when he was six years old, and when that fact manifested itself in the book, it made quite a few critics uncomfortable. I don't really remember the person I was when I was six, but I do know that I feel like the same person I was in high school. That is, I can understand every decision I made, and I don't feel like the person who made them was a stranger, or an asshole, or a moron. But when I carefully examine the way I thought and acted in various situations, it seems as though I was a completely different person.
This is a fascinating phenomenon. I would imagine it's the whole gradual change that really adds up to it... Like going up a very gradual incline. You can't tell that you're higher from yard to yard, but after a mile, you can look down and see a huge drop off. But of course that doesn't really explain the moments where I know, even that the time, that my life is changing. I realize on one level that the way I react to things is going to be different from that point on, but at the same time I don't feel like a different person. Maybe it's just because who I am, even after a moment of profound personal change, is still based a lot on experiences I had before that moment. The moment would never have come about if it weren't for my entire life before that. So the moment changes me, but in changing me it is an affirmation of everything that has come before it.
That sounds like bullshit, even to my drunken self. But I feel a bit better about being a different person after thinking through it. I don't think I'll ever change enough to make myself think that I used to be a complete asshole or moron. I don't have to worry about what I'll become, I'll still be who I am.
Damn, I've become cliche.
I realize that I've become a very different person, in ways that aren't really describable or even noticable. Thinking back on it, it seems that the changes come in six-month cycles. Or maybe it's just semesterly cycles. Well, roughly semesterly. I remember the exact moment, two years ago, where I made a seemingly minor change in my way of thinking about certain things that ended up having a huge impact on my personality and life. I wouldn't be the person I am today if I hadn't decided to give up certain thoughts and take on others. I also remember the point a little over a year ago where I made another seemingly minor decision that had major effects on my life. I also remember when a friend told me, in a few short sentences, things that I knew and know changed me immediately.
Or have I actually changed as a person? Supposedly your personality is formed by the time you're five years old (or something like that). So maybe it's just different aspects of me showing through, and I'm still the person I was when I was a toddler. Or maybe the "personality" of which they speak covers a much narrower range of traits than I imagined. I'm not really sure. Orson Scott Card, in the introduction to Ender's Game said that he didn't feel any different from the person he was when he was six years old, and when that fact manifested itself in the book, it made quite a few critics uncomfortable. I don't really remember the person I was when I was six, but I do know that I feel like the same person I was in high school. That is, I can understand every decision I made, and I don't feel like the person who made them was a stranger, or an asshole, or a moron. But when I carefully examine the way I thought and acted in various situations, it seems as though I was a completely different person.
This is a fascinating phenomenon. I would imagine it's the whole gradual change that really adds up to it... Like going up a very gradual incline. You can't tell that you're higher from yard to yard, but after a mile, you can look down and see a huge drop off. But of course that doesn't really explain the moments where I know, even that the time, that my life is changing. I realize on one level that the way I react to things is going to be different from that point on, but at the same time I don't feel like a different person. Maybe it's just because who I am, even after a moment of profound personal change, is still based a lot on experiences I had before that moment. The moment would never have come about if it weren't for my entire life before that. So the moment changes me, but in changing me it is an affirmation of everything that has come before it.
That sounds like bullshit, even to my drunken self. But I feel a bit better about being a different person after thinking through it. I don't think I'll ever change enough to make myself think that I used to be a complete asshole or moron. I don't have to worry about what I'll become, I'll still be who I am.
Damn, I've become cliche.
Carpam Diem
Looking back on my posts, I've come to realize that I write a lot about girls. And it might seem to a careful reader that I change my mind a lot on how I should approach having a girlfriend and how to acquire one. Well, I do. Every permutation of my degrees of sobriety, horniness, and cynicism breeds a new thought on just what I should do about the whole riddle that the female sex presents to me. So now, being fairly drunk, not very horny, and pretty damn cynical, I'm going to offer what seems to be the best idea of this very moment.
I'll do away with having an agenda. I'll act from moment to moment. No more long term plans where girls are concerned. Trying to fit life into an easy-to-follow rubric seems to be complete folly anyway. So I'll just play it by ear. Live in the moment. Carpam diem.
Chances are that the next post I make will contradict this one, but as for right now, I need to get some sleep.
Oh, and for those who don't know, "carpam diem" translates roughly to "I will seize the day", though "carpere" is closer to "to pluck" rather than "to seize". Such a geek am I.
I'll do away with having an agenda. I'll act from moment to moment. No more long term plans where girls are concerned. Trying to fit life into an easy-to-follow rubric seems to be complete folly anyway. So I'll just play it by ear. Live in the moment. Carpam diem.
Chances are that the next post I make will contradict this one, but as for right now, I need to get some sleep.
Oh, and for those who don't know, "carpam diem" translates roughly to "I will seize the day", though "carpere" is closer to "to pluck" rather than "to seize". Such a geek am I.
Cowardice and Conclusions
I've reached a conclusion on the girlfriend conundrum. I'll wait for one of two things: a girl who actively pursues me, or a girl who strikes my fancy enough that I can't afford to not actively pursue her. Perhaps not perfect, but it leaves me with more peace of mind than any other course of action that I can think of while still leaving me a fair chance of not staying single.
OK, an explication... I'm still not sure about this, but it's how I've been thinking about things for the past week or so:
I used to think that I was a coward for not pursuing girls whom I saw as worth pursuing. I would tell myself that I ought to just go up and ask this or that girl out. Maybe one of them will say yes, maybe all of them will say no, but I ought to ask one. The fact that I never did left me with a considerable amount of angst. "But," I would always respond to myself, "there's such uncertainty... you never know if asking out someone like that will jeopardize your friendship with them, you never know if you'll end up dating then breaking up on bad terms, you never know if they'll end up thinking you're just some creep, you just never know..." And I would listen to myself, and not ask out anyone. And I thought I was a pussy. Maybe I was. Maybe I am.
But what I've decided is that calling myself a coward in that situation is really stupid. I just haven't met a girl for whom these "never knows" aren't real concerns. A girl for whom it's worth putting my pride, our friendship, etc. on the line because I'm that attracted to her. I'm not a coward, I just haven't found the right girl, and I'm not one to just ask out a girl for the hell of it. I want it to last. Really, even the fact that I can't narrow it down to one girl whom I want to ask out proves that there's no one single one worth asking out right now. Or maybe I'm just justifying my cowardice. But that's what I'm going to keep telling myself.
Which leaves me with two possible methods of ending up with a girlfriend: Either I meet "the one" that I talked about in the previous paragraph, or a girl pursues me and I recpiprocate. If a girl pursues me, then everything changes. I no longer have to worry about things ending up being awkward - they'll already end up that way if that's where the relationship goes. I don't have to worry about injured pride, she's already taken that risk. Wow, I sound like a cynical bastard. I probably am, too. I'm doing a cost/benefit analysis of dating possibilities. It should go beyond that. Of course, that's the whole thing with meeting someone who I must pursue, despite the risks and possible costs. The girl pursuing me is a different situation, so it has to be treated differently.
And even "the one" has a cost/benefit analysis attached with her. The potential benefit simply outweighs the cost very handily. So when a girl pursues me, it's similar, only the cost is significantly lowered. And really, the potential benefit skyrockets, too. Because I'd be far happier knowing that the girl actually is interested in me, and not just going on a date because she didn't want to hurt my feelings by saying no.
But this is mostly a moot point anyway. I've only been pursued once (that I know of), and that ended up being awkward because I had just started going out with my ex, and while I was mildly interested before I started dating, afterwards the pursuer sort of fell by the wayside. I don't hold much hope for that possibility. I'm going to wait for the one.
Or, the third possibility that I keep forgetting about is getting set up by friends with a well-vouched stranger. But that's another situation entirely, and I don't feel like thinking through it right now.
All in all, I'm feeling a hell of a lot better about the whole girlfriend scenario. Call me a blind optimist, but I'm sure it'll work out in the end.
OK, an explication... I'm still not sure about this, but it's how I've been thinking about things for the past week or so:
I used to think that I was a coward for not pursuing girls whom I saw as worth pursuing. I would tell myself that I ought to just go up and ask this or that girl out. Maybe one of them will say yes, maybe all of them will say no, but I ought to ask one. The fact that I never did left me with a considerable amount of angst. "But," I would always respond to myself, "there's such uncertainty... you never know if asking out someone like that will jeopardize your friendship with them, you never know if you'll end up dating then breaking up on bad terms, you never know if they'll end up thinking you're just some creep, you just never know..." And I would listen to myself, and not ask out anyone. And I thought I was a pussy. Maybe I was. Maybe I am.
But what I've decided is that calling myself a coward in that situation is really stupid. I just haven't met a girl for whom these "never knows" aren't real concerns. A girl for whom it's worth putting my pride, our friendship, etc. on the line because I'm that attracted to her. I'm not a coward, I just haven't found the right girl, and I'm not one to just ask out a girl for the hell of it. I want it to last. Really, even the fact that I can't narrow it down to one girl whom I want to ask out proves that there's no one single one worth asking out right now. Or maybe I'm just justifying my cowardice. But that's what I'm going to keep telling myself.
Which leaves me with two possible methods of ending up with a girlfriend: Either I meet "the one" that I talked about in the previous paragraph, or a girl pursues me and I recpiprocate. If a girl pursues me, then everything changes. I no longer have to worry about things ending up being awkward - they'll already end up that way if that's where the relationship goes. I don't have to worry about injured pride, she's already taken that risk. Wow, I sound like a cynical bastard. I probably am, too. I'm doing a cost/benefit analysis of dating possibilities. It should go beyond that. Of course, that's the whole thing with meeting someone who I must pursue, despite the risks and possible costs. The girl pursuing me is a different situation, so it has to be treated differently.
And even "the one" has a cost/benefit analysis attached with her. The potential benefit simply outweighs the cost very handily. So when a girl pursues me, it's similar, only the cost is significantly lowered. And really, the potential benefit skyrockets, too. Because I'd be far happier knowing that the girl actually is interested in me, and not just going on a date because she didn't want to hurt my feelings by saying no.
But this is mostly a moot point anyway. I've only been pursued once (that I know of), and that ended up being awkward because I had just started going out with my ex, and while I was mildly interested before I started dating, afterwards the pursuer sort of fell by the wayside. I don't hold much hope for that possibility. I'm going to wait for the one.
Or, the third possibility that I keep forgetting about is getting set up by friends with a well-vouched stranger. But that's another situation entirely, and I don't feel like thinking through it right now.
All in all, I'm feeling a hell of a lot better about the whole girlfriend scenario. Call me a blind optimist, but I'm sure it'll work out in the end.