Ladies and Gentlemen, I continue to be alive. November has been a busy month, but a good one. Life continues in a similar fashion. The last couple of weeks have been some of the most overwhelming and most exciting in my life. Things go well.
Deep thoughts or something? Yeah. I can do that. Today's question is: "Eli, what drives you?"
Of course, the classic response would be something about how I prefer to bike, but that joke is both corny and untrue. In response to this question, I found that I have chauffeurs. I rarely ever am driven by myself. Self-motivation is something that's hard to find and even harder to understand. What I am driven by is others. Not by their expectations. You can yell at me all you want, and nothing is going to change. What drives me is the competition.
This realization was weird. I am far from a Type A personality, partially due to how they don't exist. Also due to the way I try to be laid-back and passive with my dealings among my fellow men. However, under this calm facade, I found that it is one-uppery that drives me. For months now, I've been looking back on my elementary school days. Why was I such a better student then than I am now? The answer: I wanted to be the best. Not some "my personal best" crap. The best.
Toolish? A little. But my drive was never to stick a crown on my head. It was legitimately for self-gain. I have found that it is this competition that shaped me, not into a tyrant, but somebody who could get a shot at the glory. It wasn't just trying to be a better debater. It was trying to be the best debater. I didn't want to just learn Chinese. I wanted to speak with more fluidity and eloquence than anyone in my class. I was not as successful as I had hoped, but I did well.
So the next time you see me alpha-maling or scrambling to stick myself at the top of the heap, don't take it personally.
Monday, December 10, 2012
Monday, November 19, 2012
The I'm Not Dead Post
Let the world know I'm alive. It's been a busy month, so I haven't been able to post very often. But I am now. Relish it. I might not post again until December. A few thoughts in the interim:
Today, it rained. Not the gentle rain that sprinkles down, leaving you nearly untouched. Not the torrential downpours that sting every nerve, letting you know that you're alive. That miserable in between rain that comes down slow and wet. The kind that plops down the back of your shirt, giant drops that soak through and leave an explosion of water where they hit. Not a lovely thing. I don't know where I'm going with this.
I can't decide if doing something every day is really easy or really hard. At some point, it becomes routine, and you just roll with it. But getting to that point is immensely difficult.
Having to share your time makes you value it more.
You may not think it, but your parents are probably incredibly similar to you. Take some time to try and catch them when they're off-duty. You'll find that they're pretty cool people.
Korean is hard.
Hostess is going out of business, and it means absolutely nothing to me. So many things happen, things that may be tragedies to some, and we don't care. That's okay, but it's a strange thought that there are cries of chubby kids across the United States, wailing for their twinkies.
Most people are willing to do things for you if you ask.
Those who point out the faults of others usually have more serious problems.
These points are becoming more and more vague, so I'll draw the line here. Until next time. Peace.
Today, it rained. Not the gentle rain that sprinkles down, leaving you nearly untouched. Not the torrential downpours that sting every nerve, letting you know that you're alive. That miserable in between rain that comes down slow and wet. The kind that plops down the back of your shirt, giant drops that soak through and leave an explosion of water where they hit. Not a lovely thing. I don't know where I'm going with this.
I can't decide if doing something every day is really easy or really hard. At some point, it becomes routine, and you just roll with it. But getting to that point is immensely difficult.
Having to share your time makes you value it more.
You may not think it, but your parents are probably incredibly similar to you. Take some time to try and catch them when they're off-duty. You'll find that they're pretty cool people.
Korean is hard.
Hostess is going out of business, and it means absolutely nothing to me. So many things happen, things that may be tragedies to some, and we don't care. That's okay, but it's a strange thought that there are cries of chubby kids across the United States, wailing for their twinkies.
Most people are willing to do things for you if you ask.
Those who point out the faults of others usually have more serious problems.
These points are becoming more and more vague, so I'll draw the line here. Until next time. Peace.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Understanding
Here's something to think about: you live on a planet with seven billion other people. Several billion more existed before you, and several billion are still on their way. Each and every one of them has a life just as deep as yours. And each and every one of these lives will carry on, whether you're watching or not.
Now consider this: Each one of these people sees life through a different set of eyes than you.They each have a different life, a set of millions of instances and choices that led to the culmination of where they are today. These are deep and intricate webs of experience, and there is nobody on Earth who matches you.
This leads to my big thought. There are countless other people out there. And you can't understand a single one. Try as we might, we have our own lens we view the world through. When you think you know somebody, it's not true. What you know is the caricature you invented, the mask you superimposed over their true self. This is not a bad thing. It's the best way we have to understand each other, so we might as well use it. Even so, it's important to realize that out of all the people out there, we know exactly one of them.
Of course, this thought will disturb us every now and again. Knowing only ourselves is a bit disturbing. So we try to improve, and live other lives. It's why we read, watch TV, play video games, learn. We want to get a brief glimpse of another life, so we try to live it vicariously. Sometimes, we want more than just a snapshot. We want to know somebody as well as we know ourselves. Of course, this is a momentous task. But we attempt it and name it love. Sometimes, people succeed. Watch the mannerisms of an old couple if you don't believe me, and that brings me joy.
But no matter what we do, you will still run into a thousand people in your lifetime, and each will have a story as intricate as yours. Chances are you won't give most of them any more attention than you would a spare nickle. All those lives, and you might understand one.
Food for thought.
Now consider this: Each one of these people sees life through a different set of eyes than you.They each have a different life, a set of millions of instances and choices that led to the culmination of where they are today. These are deep and intricate webs of experience, and there is nobody on Earth who matches you.
This leads to my big thought. There are countless other people out there. And you can't understand a single one. Try as we might, we have our own lens we view the world through. When you think you know somebody, it's not true. What you know is the caricature you invented, the mask you superimposed over their true self. This is not a bad thing. It's the best way we have to understand each other, so we might as well use it. Even so, it's important to realize that out of all the people out there, we know exactly one of them.
Of course, this thought will disturb us every now and again. Knowing only ourselves is a bit disturbing. So we try to improve, and live other lives. It's why we read, watch TV, play video games, learn. We want to get a brief glimpse of another life, so we try to live it vicariously. Sometimes, we want more than just a snapshot. We want to know somebody as well as we know ourselves. Of course, this is a momentous task. But we attempt it and name it love. Sometimes, people succeed. Watch the mannerisms of an old couple if you don't believe me, and that brings me joy.
But no matter what we do, you will still run into a thousand people in your lifetime, and each will have a story as intricate as yours. Chances are you won't give most of them any more attention than you would a spare nickle. All those lives, and you might understand one.
Food for thought.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Concerning Meeting People
This weekend was the rookie debate tournament, perhaps my favorite of the year. A) I don't have to do anything and B) I get a chance to meet all the novices.
This second one is what the weekend is really about. For the six weeks beforehand, I sit in the same classroom as the novices, watching them toil away at their work. It's cute, really, observing them doing their best, unaware of the much lower Varsity work ethic. I see them, and they see me. Occasionally, I might be called on to edit a speech or offer a pointer on how to speak. But by and large, we don't interact. We stay in our cliques, divided by experience level, and work independently.
Then the first tournament comes, and the walls break down. The novices get a terrifying first dose of experience, and the Varsity members are whisked away to judge. At once, the rest of the league is visible to your team. There is no more novice or varsity, only teammates who are suddenly surrounded with people as new to this as they are. It's exciting and scary, and the team gathers around two or three or five tables in a corner. Any class division is thrown to the wind as the competition fills up most of the room. Immediately, I find myself asking the novices how their rounds went, trying to recall the names of judges they should be wary of or opponents that are welcome pushovers.
This process starts out of duty more than anything else, but quickly evolves into something more. Something clicks. I'm surrounded by a bunch of people who I've shared a class with since September, but I know nothing more than their face. Our talks of rounds quickly degenerates into small talk, and I find that I've suddenly increased the number of people I call friends.
Making friends is cool. I tend to forget this until I get an opportunity to make a bunch at once. So often, I focus on people I don't like. This weekend was one of those times when I got to meet a bunch of people I do. I have learned that when I am surrounded by people you don't like, it's because of circumstance. When I'm surrounded by people I like, it's because I actively pursue them. One of my biggest regrets, I realize, is that I was too passive through high school. I think I missed out on a lot of potentially cool people this way.
I changed that this weekend. And I think I made some amazing acquaintances. It was a great weekend.
This second one is what the weekend is really about. For the six weeks beforehand, I sit in the same classroom as the novices, watching them toil away at their work. It's cute, really, observing them doing their best, unaware of the much lower Varsity work ethic. I see them, and they see me. Occasionally, I might be called on to edit a speech or offer a pointer on how to speak. But by and large, we don't interact. We stay in our cliques, divided by experience level, and work independently.
Then the first tournament comes, and the walls break down. The novices get a terrifying first dose of experience, and the Varsity members are whisked away to judge. At once, the rest of the league is visible to your team. There is no more novice or varsity, only teammates who are suddenly surrounded with people as new to this as they are. It's exciting and scary, and the team gathers around two or three or five tables in a corner. Any class division is thrown to the wind as the competition fills up most of the room. Immediately, I find myself asking the novices how their rounds went, trying to recall the names of judges they should be wary of or opponents that are welcome pushovers.
This process starts out of duty more than anything else, but quickly evolves into something more. Something clicks. I'm surrounded by a bunch of people who I've shared a class with since September, but I know nothing more than their face. Our talks of rounds quickly degenerates into small talk, and I find that I've suddenly increased the number of people I call friends.
Making friends is cool. I tend to forget this until I get an opportunity to make a bunch at once. So often, I focus on people I don't like. This weekend was one of those times when I got to meet a bunch of people I do. I have learned that when I am surrounded by people you don't like, it's because of circumstance. When I'm surrounded by people I like, it's because I actively pursue them. One of my biggest regrets, I realize, is that I was too passive through high school. I think I missed out on a lot of potentially cool people this way.
I changed that this weekend. And I think I made some amazing acquaintances. It was a great weekend.
The Backpackless Day
Before I begin this post, I'm going to share my excitement. My blog now has seven followers. That's like really cool. A special welcome to those I may or may not have had the pleasure of meeting in real life: Andy Sp-something: the apologizing bandit, and the enigmatically named CHINA. I'm pretty sure it's not the PRC stalking my blog, seeing as they mainly use their blog to recommend English books, but you can never be too careful. CHINA, I'll let you know that your government is really cool and stuff and please don't block me from your country. As for Andy Sp-something, she has a post up on the 23rd. That's tomorrow, folks. Being able to update a blog from the future is pretty impressive.
Okay, thank yous over. Time for the meat of this post.
On Wednesday of last week, I had an idea. It occurred to me that I had no homework to turn in, I probably wouldn't need my calculator that day, and that paper is pretty easy to slough. Days like this don't come along every day. So I did what any self-respecting back would do, I abandoned my backpack with reckless abandon.
It felt as if a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Not just the literal kind either. I was free to dart through the hallways, a third of my usual girth. It was liberating, watching everyone else lumber through the hallway. Free from the slight ache my shoulders usually endures, I felt almost gleeful. Not an emotion I usually associate with high school.
At the same time, though, I was vulnerable. I was armed with a single pen, and entirely dependent upon those around me for paper. When I received a worksheet, I had to make sure to guard it from the wind. Freedom comes with a price.
I don't know why I told you this story. Maybe you will.
Peace. There very well might be another post today.
Okay, thank yous over. Time for the meat of this post.
On Wednesday of last week, I had an idea. It occurred to me that I had no homework to turn in, I probably wouldn't need my calculator that day, and that paper is pretty easy to slough. Days like this don't come along every day. So I did what any self-respecting back would do, I abandoned my backpack with reckless abandon.
It felt as if a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Not just the literal kind either. I was free to dart through the hallways, a third of my usual girth. It was liberating, watching everyone else lumber through the hallway. Free from the slight ache my shoulders usually endures, I felt almost gleeful. Not an emotion I usually associate with high school.
At the same time, though, I was vulnerable. I was armed with a single pen, and entirely dependent upon those around me for paper. When I received a worksheet, I had to make sure to guard it from the wind. Freedom comes with a price.
I don't know why I told you this story. Maybe you will.
Peace. There very well might be another post today.
Monday, October 15, 2012
The Single Complex
This weekend was homecoming, perhaps the one day of the year I stay off of the Book of Faces as ardently as possible. There are two sorts of trash that appear, overwhelming my newsfeed for 12 hours. The first type is best defined by this:
"Oo! Ooooh! Look at me! I got a date! Look, guys, I'm popular!'
The other is more like this:
"Oh my gosh guys why won't anybody go to homecoming with meeeee?"
I can't decide which one is more annoying, but both bug me for the same reason. They imply that being single is a very bad thing. Everywhere in high school, a similar message is projected. If you don't have somebody to hold hands with as you skip down the hallway, there's no way your life could be happy.
Totally untrue.
The problem with high school dating is that it's a status symbol. If you get a girlfriend, if you can not get your heart broken IF you can find somebody desperate enough to date YOU, you have reached the end. This silly afterthought "love" doesn't matter, what matters is that you found someone who has a nice butt and is willing to call herself your girlfriend. And the sad thing is that it's not for them. And it's really not for you, either. It is to impress a bunch of other people who are floundering around in the same way.
The problem is that we buy into it. So many people are basing their entire happiness on whether or not they can get a date. The great irony is that such moaning and wallowing in self-despair is unattractive. If you want a date, go freaking get one. Anybody can get a date. Not everybody will find you attractive, but somebody will. If you really want a date, track that person down. But please stop moaning about it.
There's a group of people who I hold a great deal of respect for: the "Single-by-choice" group. These are the folks who are good-looking, not socially inept, and likable. Yet, they remain mysteriously unattached. When asked why, they say they don't want to date. The crazy thing is that they're being 100% honest. This is a crazy admirable thing. They've reached a level of understanding most teenagers haven't.
The simple truth is that if you've got a soul mate out there, they probably don't live in your school district. There are a lot of people in the world, and the very fact that they live in the same location as you probably lowers their compatibility. The SBC crowd knows this, and they live accordingly. Sure, there are people you'll get along with in high school, and it's okay to date them, but please please PLEASE don't make it your life. Something better comes down the road, and there's too much to do in high school to afford wasting your time on a faux-serious relationship.
Here's to you, Single by Choice people.
PS: Ladies, this doesn't mean I've gone asexual or anything. I'm still single and ready to mingle. Just don't expect me to get caught up with the hormone bog that is high school.
"Oo! Ooooh! Look at me! I got a date! Look, guys, I'm popular!'
The other is more like this:
"Oh my gosh guys why won't anybody go to homecoming with meeeee?"
I can't decide which one is more annoying, but both bug me for the same reason. They imply that being single is a very bad thing. Everywhere in high school, a similar message is projected. If you don't have somebody to hold hands with as you skip down the hallway, there's no way your life could be happy.
Totally untrue.
The problem with high school dating is that it's a status symbol. If you get a girlfriend, if you can not get your heart broken IF you can find somebody desperate enough to date YOU, you have reached the end. This silly afterthought "love" doesn't matter, what matters is that you found someone who has a nice butt and is willing to call herself your girlfriend. And the sad thing is that it's not for them. And it's really not for you, either. It is to impress a bunch of other people who are floundering around in the same way.
The problem is that we buy into it. So many people are basing their entire happiness on whether or not they can get a date. The great irony is that such moaning and wallowing in self-despair is unattractive. If you want a date, go freaking get one. Anybody can get a date. Not everybody will find you attractive, but somebody will. If you really want a date, track that person down. But please stop moaning about it.
There's a group of people who I hold a great deal of respect for: the "Single-by-choice" group. These are the folks who are good-looking, not socially inept, and likable. Yet, they remain mysteriously unattached. When asked why, they say they don't want to date. The crazy thing is that they're being 100% honest. This is a crazy admirable thing. They've reached a level of understanding most teenagers haven't.
The simple truth is that if you've got a soul mate out there, they probably don't live in your school district. There are a lot of people in the world, and the very fact that they live in the same location as you probably lowers their compatibility. The SBC crowd knows this, and they live accordingly. Sure, there are people you'll get along with in high school, and it's okay to date them, but please please PLEASE don't make it your life. Something better comes down the road, and there's too much to do in high school to afford wasting your time on a faux-serious relationship.
Here's to you, Single by Choice people.
PS: Ladies, this doesn't mean I've gone asexual or anything. I'm still single and ready to mingle. Just don't expect me to get caught up with the hormone bog that is high school.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Why We Write
That title was way more alliterative than I meant for it to be.
We taking writing for granted. We are surrounded by thousands of books, yet we never ask the question.In our Literature classes, we are taught how to write, we are taught when we write what, we are even taught what other's writing could possibly mean. But we never are taught why.
This is a little disturbing. Thousands of books, millions, and yet we assume they merely appeared there. Writing anything takes effort, and a novel is a marathon. People don't write just because they are bored. So why do we?
Identity.
I believe it was Carl Sagan who said, "We are a way for the cosmos to know itself." There is a whole lot of stuff out there, and it's hard to find where our identity begins. So I write, and hope that in doing so, I can sift out myself. I've taken up writing poetry. In the two days I've done it, I found a certain freedom. Poetry is unbound by the rules of grammar, a spew of thoughts, rather than a lab report of them.
Writing is liberating. I think. I think a lot of things, and they are hard to share verbally. But an idea leaves an impression, one that can be painted across a canvas and shared with the world. Words are merely another medium. I am an artist and I write because that is how I find who I am.
We taking writing for granted. We are surrounded by thousands of books, yet we never ask the question.In our Literature classes, we are taught how to write, we are taught when we write what, we are even taught what other's writing could possibly mean. But we never are taught why.
This is a little disturbing. Thousands of books, millions, and yet we assume they merely appeared there. Writing anything takes effort, and a novel is a marathon. People don't write just because they are bored. So why do we?
Identity.
I believe it was Carl Sagan who said, "We are a way for the cosmos to know itself." There is a whole lot of stuff out there, and it's hard to find where our identity begins. So I write, and hope that in doing so, I can sift out myself. I've taken up writing poetry. In the two days I've done it, I found a certain freedom. Poetry is unbound by the rules of grammar, a spew of thoughts, rather than a lab report of them.
Writing is liberating. I think. I think a lot of things, and they are hard to share verbally. But an idea leaves an impression, one that can be painted across a canvas and shared with the world. Words are merely another medium. I am an artist and I write because that is how I find who I am.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
The Better Dedicatory Post
This is a post. A dedicatory post. It's about a woman I met, in a summer long past. She came into my life as a dream, an image of perfection too perfect to be real. A girl by the name of Sarah. Sarah! A name far more fitting than Aphrodite to describe true beauty.
Words cannot describe the true beauty of Sarah, but I will make my best efforts. Such praises cannot remain unsung. Sarah was as beautiful as an exotic serpent, and equally deadly. Her flowing blonde hair must be cut regularly, for if it were allowed to grow, the sheer amount of radiance sprouting from her scalp would leave lesser beings blinded. Her voice is a swarm of butterflies, which envelops all nearby with its warm yet flowery insults. The smile that graces her face is an inverted, monochrome rainbow, dancing with the restrained grace and ferocity of a circus bear.
Once upon a time, I was smitten with the beautiful Sarah. Her feminine grace, her impeccable speech. Yet, I found that my affections were rejected. Today, I see this as a blessing. Surely, even somebody as wonderful as I was still not worthy of true perfection. So I let her go. Even so, I carry a piece of her in my heart to this day.
Though my words and my praises cannot truly express the greatness that is Sarah, I hope that my artistic talent will:
Words cannot describe the true beauty of Sarah, but I will make my best efforts. Such praises cannot remain unsung. Sarah was as beautiful as an exotic serpent, and equally deadly. Her flowing blonde hair must be cut regularly, for if it were allowed to grow, the sheer amount of radiance sprouting from her scalp would leave lesser beings blinded. Her voice is a swarm of butterflies, which envelops all nearby with its warm yet flowery insults. The smile that graces her face is an inverted, monochrome rainbow, dancing with the restrained grace and ferocity of a circus bear.
Once upon a time, I was smitten with the beautiful Sarah. Her feminine grace, her impeccable speech. Yet, I found that my affections were rejected. Today, I see this as a blessing. Surely, even somebody as wonderful as I was still not worthy of true perfection. So I let her go. Even so, I carry a piece of her in my heart to this day.
Though my words and my praises cannot truly express the greatness that is Sarah, I hope that my artistic talent will:
Yes, folks, she is really that skinny.
Sarah, you're beautiful.
Eat it, Marianne
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Motive
There's this thing I'm doing. I haven't told very many people about this thing, and I don't want to. During this post, I'm going to call it "thing". Forgive me for being the person who uses vagueness to raise interest, but when this thing finishes, I want it to be as much of a surprise as possible.
I've got reasons for doing this thing. A plethora of reasons. I've given out a few of them when people asked, but there's one I haven't given yet. The main reason. Not the best reason, perhaps. Definitely a selfish reason. But it's the one that, out of all my motives, pushes me the most.
Anybody who's read the blog before knows full well how I feel about being average. It's stupid. Data sets are great if you want to draw conclusions. If you're searching for validation or identity though, being near the center sucks. I'm not trying to be mean here. It's simple fact that I absolutely hate being part of what's considered "normal". I long for nothing more than to jump Tukey's fence. But that's not my motive. I don't want to be better than everybody.
What my motive is is more refined than that. It's not a struggle for some sort of reward. There are plenty of honors laying around, waiting to be picked up. What I'm doing the thing for is to prove I can. Perhaps a bit toward others, but mostly toward myself. Again, it's a bit of a selfish quest, but I think there might be a bit of collateral happiness. If I used emoticons, there'd be a semicolon followed by a left concave parenthesis where this sentence is.
Ever since the beginning of high school--heck, ever since I was 13--I've been told, "Eli, you're part of the bell curve now. This thing could not possibly happen to you." This is still happening. My friends, supportive in every other respect, keep turning against me in this issue. That's fine. I'm not going to break any friendships, but I'm not giving up on the thing either. The reason why I'm not stopping? I've discovered that I can accomplish nearly anything, so long as I'm willing to freaking ask. I've thrown inhibitions to the wind, and I'm throwing everything I can into the thing.
I am fairly confident I will succeed. I'm counting on it. I've devoted the last two months to it, and I'm betting the rest of my life on it. The funny thing about the thing is that I've tried similar endeavors on a smaller scale, and they always fall flat. Other opportunities come up, still small, but I either ignore these or I'm completely unaware they're available. I'm confident with my success in this thing is because I am proving I CAN, I can do hard things. I've never done this before. I've only approached such measures with nervous apathy. But I am resolved to succeed.
Peace out, readers.
PS: Have fun speculating over the thing. You're wrong.
I've got reasons for doing this thing. A plethora of reasons. I've given out a few of them when people asked, but there's one I haven't given yet. The main reason. Not the best reason, perhaps. Definitely a selfish reason. But it's the one that, out of all my motives, pushes me the most.
Anybody who's read the blog before knows full well how I feel about being average. It's stupid. Data sets are great if you want to draw conclusions. If you're searching for validation or identity though, being near the center sucks. I'm not trying to be mean here. It's simple fact that I absolutely hate being part of what's considered "normal". I long for nothing more than to jump Tukey's fence. But that's not my motive. I don't want to be better than everybody.
What my motive is is more refined than that. It's not a struggle for some sort of reward. There are plenty of honors laying around, waiting to be picked up. What I'm doing the thing for is to prove I can. Perhaps a bit toward others, but mostly toward myself. Again, it's a bit of a selfish quest, but I think there might be a bit of collateral happiness. If I used emoticons, there'd be a semicolon followed by a left concave parenthesis where this sentence is.
Ever since the beginning of high school--heck, ever since I was 13--I've been told, "Eli, you're part of the bell curve now. This thing could not possibly happen to you." This is still happening. My friends, supportive in every other respect, keep turning against me in this issue. That's fine. I'm not going to break any friendships, but I'm not giving up on the thing either. The reason why I'm not stopping? I've discovered that I can accomplish nearly anything, so long as I'm willing to freaking ask. I've thrown inhibitions to the wind, and I'm throwing everything I can into the thing.
I am fairly confident I will succeed. I'm counting on it. I've devoted the last two months to it, and I'm betting the rest of my life on it. The funny thing about the thing is that I've tried similar endeavors on a smaller scale, and they always fall flat. Other opportunities come up, still small, but I either ignore these or I'm completely unaware they're available. I'm confident with my success in this thing is because I am proving I CAN, I can do hard things. I've never done this before. I've only approached such measures with nervous apathy. But I am resolved to succeed.
Peace out, readers.
PS: Have fun speculating over the thing. You're wrong.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Thoughts From a Sunday Afternoon
My sister is making a pizza for dinner. Six of us like combo, and two pepperoni. Since she is in charge of making the pizza, though, the split is 50:50. This is how government works.
A lady from the singles ward spoke in church today. She moved to Spokane in July, not because she had a family or a job here, but because she wanted to. That's pretty cool.
If two people make a deal with each other, it is only enforced if both sides stay true to their word. If one person lies, the other person suffers. We should be honest not for our own benefit, but for the benefit of others.
Sometimes, I think that I hate a lot of people. It's healthy to occasionally sit back and count the people you like.
Procrastination isn't a good thing, but neither is front loading. The real joy is having power to schedule yourself in a way that lets you do what you want, when you want to.
I find that the books or tv shows I like usually have fandoms I don't like. (there's a post about this somewhere in the archives.) I have nothing against either Romney or Obama, but their fan clubs drive me crazy.
Peace out, readers.
A lady from the singles ward spoke in church today. She moved to Spokane in July, not because she had a family or a job here, but because she wanted to. That's pretty cool.
If two people make a deal with each other, it is only enforced if both sides stay true to their word. If one person lies, the other person suffers. We should be honest not for our own benefit, but for the benefit of others.
Sometimes, I think that I hate a lot of people. It's healthy to occasionally sit back and count the people you like.
Procrastination isn't a good thing, but neither is front loading. The real joy is having power to schedule yourself in a way that lets you do what you want, when you want to.
I find that the books or tv shows I like usually have fandoms I don't like. (there's a post about this somewhere in the archives.) I have nothing against either Romney or Obama, but their fan clubs drive me crazy.
Peace out, readers.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Observations From First and Third Period
There are two sorts of people who make class discussions a pain, turning what could be perhaps the best way to learn into a taxing chore.
The first kind is when you have somebody who is genuinely brilliant. Somebody who has a thousand great thoughts flying through their head, but don't want to share them, because the butthole in the back of the class will respond by saying something invariably stupid. These people then stop participating in class discussions, which is horrid because it gives room for the other type of person.
This guy is one of the most annoying types of people on earth. Instead of having a lot to say, but remaining silent, this person has nothing to say, but says it anyway. Over and over again. These sacks of human beings enter the discussion with the sole purpose of getting called on at least half the time. This gets particularly bad when there are two of them. Their goal is not learn from the various viewpoints of their peers, but to assert theirs on the rest of the class. This asserting usually turns into a force feed, and in some particularly amusing/annoying situations, end up in a shouting match with the teacher.
The biggest problem with these people is that although they talk the most, they are perhaps the least qualified to do so. Almost without exception, the views expressed by these sorts tend to be very commonplace ones, without any new insight. This can be explained. The uninvited orator feels the absolute need to prove that they were smart enough to reach the answer, even though that's the expectation for the group as a whole. As a whole, very annoying.
This post really has no moral. I just needed to vent, because I listened to too many stupid comments today. That is all.
Peace out, readers.
The first kind is when you have somebody who is genuinely brilliant. Somebody who has a thousand great thoughts flying through their head, but don't want to share them, because the butthole in the back of the class will respond by saying something invariably stupid. These people then stop participating in class discussions, which is horrid because it gives room for the other type of person.
This guy is one of the most annoying types of people on earth. Instead of having a lot to say, but remaining silent, this person has nothing to say, but says it anyway. Over and over again. These sacks of human beings enter the discussion with the sole purpose of getting called on at least half the time. This gets particularly bad when there are two of them. Their goal is not learn from the various viewpoints of their peers, but to assert theirs on the rest of the class. This asserting usually turns into a force feed, and in some particularly amusing/annoying situations, end up in a shouting match with the teacher.
The biggest problem with these people is that although they talk the most, they are perhaps the least qualified to do so. Almost without exception, the views expressed by these sorts tend to be very commonplace ones, without any new insight. This can be explained. The uninvited orator feels the absolute need to prove that they were smart enough to reach the answer, even though that's the expectation for the group as a whole. As a whole, very annoying.
This post really has no moral. I just needed to vent, because I listened to too many stupid comments today. That is all.
Peace out, readers.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
False Idols
Here is a post that I've been meaning to write for a while. It has nothing to do with religion, so chill your charged opinions. I merely chose this name because it is a wonderfully convenient one.
No, what I'm talking about today is people. This is another "social science according to Eli" post. People. Specifically those we hold in high regard. The ones that seem so much better than us, we don't consider them people. This is something I'm very guilty of. There are a good number of people who I've done this to, and I still very much like these people. Even so, I've come to the opinion that this sort of behavior is unhealthy. The reason is twofold.
The first is on the behalf of our opinion of the person we are idolizing. I'm not talking celebrities here, I'm talking the ones on the local level. The genius in math. The incredible artist. The undefeated athlete. The very fact that we find them so amazing is what is wrong. Yes, they are very good at something. But they are also only human. The way we idolize people makes us forget that. By putting them on a pedestal, we alienate them. This is a bad thing. Treating somebody as more than they are is bad, and it affects more than just them. It affects us. By believing them to be somebody they're not, we miss the opportunity to learn who they are.
The other problem is perhaps even more self-detrimental. The same way we exaggerate the greatness of idols, we tear down ourselves. We see them as something we could never be, and feel mediocre in comparison to their greatness. Sometimes, this is inevitable. I'm not going to be the quarterback. But I don't care about that, because I don't man crush on football players. But I digress. Although it is inevitable that most of these people will remain better than you, that's not a good way to think. When we see these idols as who they are, it becomes significantly easier to reach their level of prowess. As a matter of fact, it is this manner of thought that I'm living by right now.
Moral: don't view other people as better than you. View them as a challenge.
Peace out, readers.
No, what I'm talking about today is people. This is another "social science according to Eli" post. People. Specifically those we hold in high regard. The ones that seem so much better than us, we don't consider them people. This is something I'm very guilty of. There are a good number of people who I've done this to, and I still very much like these people. Even so, I've come to the opinion that this sort of behavior is unhealthy. The reason is twofold.
The first is on the behalf of our opinion of the person we are idolizing. I'm not talking celebrities here, I'm talking the ones on the local level. The genius in math. The incredible artist. The undefeated athlete. The very fact that we find them so amazing is what is wrong. Yes, they are very good at something. But they are also only human. The way we idolize people makes us forget that. By putting them on a pedestal, we alienate them. This is a bad thing. Treating somebody as more than they are is bad, and it affects more than just them. It affects us. By believing them to be somebody they're not, we miss the opportunity to learn who they are.
The other problem is perhaps even more self-detrimental. The same way we exaggerate the greatness of idols, we tear down ourselves. We see them as something we could never be, and feel mediocre in comparison to their greatness. Sometimes, this is inevitable. I'm not going to be the quarterback. But I don't care about that, because I don't man crush on football players. But I digress. Although it is inevitable that most of these people will remain better than you, that's not a good way to think. When we see these idols as who they are, it becomes significantly easier to reach their level of prowess. As a matter of fact, it is this manner of thought that I'm living by right now.
Moral: don't view other people as better than you. View them as a challenge.
Peace out, readers.
Monday, September 3, 2012
Crime and Punishment, Part II
This is the assignment proper. I cannot print off my notes, so instead I am putting them here. My notes independent of the assignment can be found a few posts back. These are the ones designed to fulfill the requirements of the summer assignment, rather than for personal understanding or interpretation, divided exactly as the assignment said to.
Allusion
The main example of allusion in this book, and the one that is most relevant, is that toward the story of Lazarus in the NT. The story acts as a parallel toward Raskolnikov's own struggle, with his crime being his death, and his self-conviction and punishment serve as rebirth.
The other frequent allusion is toward Napoleon, through which Raskolnikov makes his justification. He uses him to promote a utilitarian viewpoint, and states that he could be a Napoleon, circumstances permitting.
Diction
There is nothing about diction that serves as a plot device, but it does help with establishing our opinion of the author. Though using a mostly commonplace lexicon, the author occasionally throws in a wrench like "tacit" or "apropos".
Connotation
An important device in this tale, but only picked up on by reading supplementary material. In the original Russian, "Punishment" did not imply the harsh bleakness that it does through our American version of the word, but rather, also carries another meaning, closer to "redemption". Raskolnikov spends maybe five pages of the book in formal punishment, but the punishment stated in the title applies throughout the book: a trip to redemption.
Irony
Perhaps under "Irony" is not the best place to put this example, but Raskolnikov's comparison to other characters, particularly Svidrigaïlov. While they follow strangely similar paths, Raskolnikov's crime is much more severe and bloody, as well as being driven by what superficially appears to be a much more selfish cause. The irony comes in when you realize that karma messed up its job pretty badly. Raskolnikov, despite being in a position that should make him despicable, is still the protagonist, and perhaps one of the more woobie characters in the book.
A more straightforward example can be found concerning dramatic irony. When we find that Svidrigaïlov was sitting on the other side of the wall, the author creates a sense of drama that he leaves hanging for like seven freaking chapters.
Tone
Tone is a strange word to describe the way the author writes, with perhaps "style" being more appropriate. The way the author writes very effectively communicates the frenzied mind of Raskolnikov. Though the viewpoint is third person, we still experience Raskolnikov's feels. The writing feels quick and fragmented, filled with a plethora of ellipses. Additionally, Raskolnikov's mood toward other characters is reflected in the writing of the passages. Porfiry's dialogue is filled with "ha, ha!"s, while the writing seems to slow down and become peaceful around Dounia.
Syntax
See the above paragraph.
Paradox
The character of Raskolnikov himself, though not a true paradox, certainly qualifies. He simultaneously is the most charitable and base character in the book. The irony here (oh look, another literary device) is that both are driven from his insane desire to become a little Napoleon.
Euphemism
A surprisingly prevalent device. Though the book touches on some very adult themes, including alcoholism, pedophilia, prostitution, murder, and suicide, the author seems to almost go out of his way to avoid talking about them directly. To an extent, having to infer what the author is talking about almost makes the truth more shocking. The most memorable example is Svidrigaïlov's "on my own" chapter, in which he keeps asserting that he's "going to America". The oddness of the euphemism plus the shock of what happens in the end adds toward the harrowing experience provided by the chapter.
Simile
Raskolnikov is like Svidrigaïlov, Sonia, and Lazarus. That enough simile for you?
Author's purpose
There's quite a bit to say on this one, but I'll keep it laconic. On the surface, the main purpose is to tell the story of a man who killed an old woman. But dig three inches deeper, and many more meaning come to the surface. The tale is one of the poverty Drotovesky himself found while writing it. It is a filibuster toward current Russian politics. It is a study of how a man can come to think of himself as more powerful than those around him, and an investigation of the tugs of guilt. It's a parable showing how what good people can be bad, and how bad people can be good. It is a story of rebirth, and a call to Christianity.
Alright folks, that's all. I've fulfilled the assignment with exactness, I hope you enjoyed it.
Peace out, readers.
Allusion
The main example of allusion in this book, and the one that is most relevant, is that toward the story of Lazarus in the NT. The story acts as a parallel toward Raskolnikov's own struggle, with his crime being his death, and his self-conviction and punishment serve as rebirth.
The other frequent allusion is toward Napoleon, through which Raskolnikov makes his justification. He uses him to promote a utilitarian viewpoint, and states that he could be a Napoleon, circumstances permitting.
Diction
There is nothing about diction that serves as a plot device, but it does help with establishing our opinion of the author. Though using a mostly commonplace lexicon, the author occasionally throws in a wrench like "tacit" or "apropos".
Connotation
An important device in this tale, but only picked up on by reading supplementary material. In the original Russian, "Punishment" did not imply the harsh bleakness that it does through our American version of the word, but rather, also carries another meaning, closer to "redemption". Raskolnikov spends maybe five pages of the book in formal punishment, but the punishment stated in the title applies throughout the book: a trip to redemption.
Irony
Perhaps under "Irony" is not the best place to put this example, but Raskolnikov's comparison to other characters, particularly Svidrigaïlov. While they follow strangely similar paths, Raskolnikov's crime is much more severe and bloody, as well as being driven by what superficially appears to be a much more selfish cause. The irony comes in when you realize that karma messed up its job pretty badly. Raskolnikov, despite being in a position that should make him despicable, is still the protagonist, and perhaps one of the more woobie characters in the book.
A more straightforward example can be found concerning dramatic irony. When we find that Svidrigaïlov was sitting on the other side of the wall, the author creates a sense of drama that he leaves hanging for like seven freaking chapters.
Tone
Tone is a strange word to describe the way the author writes, with perhaps "style" being more appropriate. The way the author writes very effectively communicates the frenzied mind of Raskolnikov. Though the viewpoint is third person, we still experience Raskolnikov's feels. The writing feels quick and fragmented, filled with a plethora of ellipses. Additionally, Raskolnikov's mood toward other characters is reflected in the writing of the passages. Porfiry's dialogue is filled with "ha, ha!"s, while the writing seems to slow down and become peaceful around Dounia.
Syntax
See the above paragraph.
Paradox
The character of Raskolnikov himself, though not a true paradox, certainly qualifies. He simultaneously is the most charitable and base character in the book. The irony here (oh look, another literary device) is that both are driven from his insane desire to become a little Napoleon.
Euphemism
A surprisingly prevalent device. Though the book touches on some very adult themes, including alcoholism, pedophilia, prostitution, murder, and suicide, the author seems to almost go out of his way to avoid talking about them directly. To an extent, having to infer what the author is talking about almost makes the truth more shocking. The most memorable example is Svidrigaïlov's "on my own" chapter, in which he keeps asserting that he's "going to America". The oddness of the euphemism plus the shock of what happens in the end adds toward the harrowing experience provided by the chapter.
Simile
Raskolnikov is like Svidrigaïlov, Sonia, and Lazarus. That enough simile for you?
Author's purpose
There's quite a bit to say on this one, but I'll keep it laconic. On the surface, the main purpose is to tell the story of a man who killed an old woman. But dig three inches deeper, and many more meaning come to the surface. The tale is one of the poverty Drotovesky himself found while writing it. It is a filibuster toward current Russian politics. It is a study of how a man can come to think of himself as more powerful than those around him, and an investigation of the tugs of guilt. It's a parable showing how what good people can be bad, and how bad people can be good. It is a story of rebirth, and a call to Christianity.
Alright folks, that's all. I've fulfilled the assignment with exactness, I hope you enjoyed it.
Peace out, readers.
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Thoughts From The Car
My dear brother is making excellent use of his car time to do his summer assignment. The assignment is simple enough: a single essay. The prompt: Describe the culture of Spokane.
What a stupid prompt.
This assignment would have been a good one say, 100 years ago, but it's absolutely undoable today. The reason for this, of course, is that we live in televised, instant-communication, standardized America. Because of this, the "culture" of Spokane is indistinguishable from the culture of the rest of the USA. Asking students to isolate bits of culture that are uniquely Spokanite is a nearly impossible task. The shoes we wear? The popular clothing brands? The music that makes its way to the top of the chart? It's the same all across the country.
The other beef I have with this assignment is that even if Spokane does have some relatively unique facets of culture--dominating political views, local attractions, etc.--They are a pain to identify. It's easy to spot the culture of another country, even another city, but it's impossible to define your own. Like the smell of your house, "local culture" is something we become immune to noticing.
A city is perhaps the most awkward level to analyze culture on. As I've previously stated, a nation has a culture, perhaps a state has a culture, but not a city like Spokane. A city falls in the bracket of being too small to be national, but too large to be intimate. Within small groups of friends, even in a group as large as a school, it is perfectly possible for culture to develop. The little inside jokes we share with our compeers becomes part of our language, mannerisms start being duplicated, and the group grows together. There is a debate culture. There is a Startalk culture, there's a Spokane Stake culture, there's even a bit of a Ferris culture. But there is no Spokane culture. I have nothing in common with the folks downtown, cannot hope to relate with the kids in the valley.
As for culture on the city level, it is merely a smaller model of national culture. This essay is pointless because we cannot pinpoint a culture unique to Spokane. Rather, we can only see the way the country's trends are emulated by a town pretending to have significance.
End rant.
Peace out, readers.
What a stupid prompt.
This assignment would have been a good one say, 100 years ago, but it's absolutely undoable today. The reason for this, of course, is that we live in televised, instant-communication, standardized America. Because of this, the "culture" of Spokane is indistinguishable from the culture of the rest of the USA. Asking students to isolate bits of culture that are uniquely Spokanite is a nearly impossible task. The shoes we wear? The popular clothing brands? The music that makes its way to the top of the chart? It's the same all across the country.
The other beef I have with this assignment is that even if Spokane does have some relatively unique facets of culture--dominating political views, local attractions, etc.--They are a pain to identify. It's easy to spot the culture of another country, even another city, but it's impossible to define your own. Like the smell of your house, "local culture" is something we become immune to noticing.
A city is perhaps the most awkward level to analyze culture on. As I've previously stated, a nation has a culture, perhaps a state has a culture, but not a city like Spokane. A city falls in the bracket of being too small to be national, but too large to be intimate. Within small groups of friends, even in a group as large as a school, it is perfectly possible for culture to develop. The little inside jokes we share with our compeers becomes part of our language, mannerisms start being duplicated, and the group grows together. There is a debate culture. There is a Startalk culture, there's a Spokane Stake culture, there's even a bit of a Ferris culture. But there is no Spokane culture. I have nothing in common with the folks downtown, cannot hope to relate with the kids in the valley.
As for culture on the city level, it is merely a smaller model of national culture. This essay is pointless because we cannot pinpoint a culture unique to Spokane. Rather, we can only see the way the country's trends are emulated by a town pretending to have significance.
End rant.
Peace out, readers.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Decent People
There is a longstanding belief most of us hold, however unconsciously. We believe that if we are good, decent people, and go through our day acting cheerful and nice to everyone, people will hold a higher respect for us. That some good karma will come back around and give us a nice boost, or that we will earn the admiration of the public.
Nope.
Fact is, nice people get screwed over. An example of this occurred when my brother and I helped unpack the car as we landed by the small house we would all be staying in. As we did so, our other four siblings immediately went into the house, picking out their beds as we continued to haul suitcases. The result: although my brother and I are the largest and perhaps most deserving of a decent bed, we ended up on the floor on half-inch thick pads.
Events such as these, the insignificant, petty unfairnesses of life beg the question: why? Why, when I try to be so good, do I end up at the bottom of the pecking order?
The answer is a sad one. We consider it a crime for anyone to take advantage of the foolish compliance bestowed by our benevolence, and yet, we are hypocrites in this regard. When we see someone acting with good will, our first course of action is to hop on this opportunity. We are so eager for a cheap opportunity for unprotested sacrifice for our own gain that we forget how mug we hate having it done on ourselves.
This leads to a vicious cycle. Because this persistent mugging of goodwill, those decent people begin to turn sour. They realize that as a decent person, they commanded no respect. This causes them to turn from lives of decency to more scumbaggery ways. These new, harder, cynical people point and laugh at the group they once were, and the seeds of corruption are planted a second time.
The moral of this post is don't be a jerkish idiot.
I wrote this at 1:30 in the morning. This post may or may not make sense.
Peace out, readers.
Nope.
Fact is, nice people get screwed over. An example of this occurred when my brother and I helped unpack the car as we landed by the small house we would all be staying in. As we did so, our other four siblings immediately went into the house, picking out their beds as we continued to haul suitcases. The result: although my brother and I are the largest and perhaps most deserving of a decent bed, we ended up on the floor on half-inch thick pads.
Events such as these, the insignificant, petty unfairnesses of life beg the question: why? Why, when I try to be so good, do I end up at the bottom of the pecking order?
The answer is a sad one. We consider it a crime for anyone to take advantage of the foolish compliance bestowed by our benevolence, and yet, we are hypocrites in this regard. When we see someone acting with good will, our first course of action is to hop on this opportunity. We are so eager for a cheap opportunity for unprotested sacrifice for our own gain that we forget how mug we hate having it done on ourselves.
This leads to a vicious cycle. Because this persistent mugging of goodwill, those decent people begin to turn sour. They realize that as a decent person, they commanded no respect. This causes them to turn from lives of decency to more scumbaggery ways. These new, harder, cynical people point and laugh at the group they once were, and the seeds of corruption are planted a second time.
The moral of this post is don't be a jerkish idiot.
I wrote this at 1:30 in the morning. This post may or may not make sense.
Peace out, readers.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Crime and Punishment: Character Analysis
Having finished reading the book recently, I feel the need to jot down all my thoughts on it, so I can move onto other books and do a detail dump. I start today with the characters.
To those who enjoy reading books without spoilers, feel free to leave at this time. Here begins the analysis.
RASKOLNIKOV
The main character of the book, from whose perspective we see the events. From the very beginning of the book, we see the seeds of his idea begin to form, then followed through. Although he is a murderer seven chapters in, Raskolnikov is the closest thing the book has to a protagonist. Therefore, we are expected as the audience to sympathize with him. And that we do. The book masterfully allows the reader to feel the frenzy racing through Raskolnikov's head, his inner turmoils, his rationalizations. Indeed, it is almost scary how easy it is to sympathize with him.
A notable trait of his is the polarization of what he does. It is established early on that Raskolnikov is an extremely charitable man, to the point of foolishness. He continually dumps out his wallet to complete strangers. At the same time, he is capable of commuting an atrocity to the degree of murder. As much as these two traits seem different, however, they are, in reality, the same. Both are impulsive acts, and no matter what he preaches, Raskolnikov's actions are never self-profitable. When he receives payment, he squanders it on people who he views as less fortunate than himself. When he murders the pawnbroker, he feels no need to spend the money he gained, but rather to hide it away, untouched. Both show the same spontaneous action on Raskolnikov's part that does not allow for self-gain. Indeed, his whole rationalization was that by murdering the old woman, he would be helping society as a whole.
Related to his selflessness, Raskolnikov shows an intense care for his family. Upon meeting Luzhin for the first time, he received a much less welcome greeting than even the one that is normally expected from the elder brother. He is shouted down as a narcissistic manipulator, which of course was entirely true. Raskolnikov constantly channels the delirium granted by his fever to shout down anyone who comes near his family. This same protection is what drove him to attempt to leave his family without notifying them of why. To his dear mother, he was a ray of goodness, and he had to let that image stand.
Another important thing to understand about Raskolnikov is the way he is brought to confession. In the interest of time, that will wait for a future post. Time to move on to other characters.
RAZUMIHIN
Razumihin is the poor best friend who's out of the loop. Early in the book, his main role was to be there for Raskolnikov to faint in front of. At this time, his character isn't very fleshed out, although we can see that he is trying to help as best he can. This limited role is filled rather well, however, as he is shown to be in great indignation when Porfiry so much as suggests Raskolnikov could possibly be guilty.
As we are introduced to Dounia, Razumihin's role starts to shift into a new one: a love interest. However, this role isn't filled in the traditional sense. Razumihin isn't rich, nor is he powerful, nor in any way very remarkable. This is in stark contrast to the other gentlemen who fall for Dounia. The other unique facet concerning the way Razumihin fills this role is how he is introduced into it. He is not some character that comes out if nowhere on a white stallion to join the family, but rather, he replaces the list brother. But as a brother that happens to be marry-able.
Dounia
The younger sister of Raskolnikov. She is portrayed as being a good woman being chased by bad men, the sort of girl who, despite (or perhaps because of) her good nature, is sought over by the most vile of fellows. Her dealings with the courtship of Luzhin show that although she holds a certain deal of self respect, she is also very passive, and willing to endure hardships for the sake of her family.
Despite being family, Dounia does not act as Raskolnikov's confidante. Indeed, he seems perpetually irritated by her presence. Despite his seeming stand offishness, however, Raskolnikov is very fast to point out Luzhin for the scumbag he is, for which his sister seems grateful. Dounia, though kept in the background, does much in ways of moving the plot. Her character shows a tragic tendency of those who esteem themselves powerful: the desire to rule. She was the target of both Luzhin and Svidrigaïlov specifically because she was poor.
The moment that Dounia's character becomes the most powerful is shortly before the end of the book. When cornered by Svidrigaïlov, we see her less passive side. Although she is armed then, it is her own attitude that becomes her most powerful weapon.
LUZHIN
Although his role is comparatively minor, Luzhin is still noteworthy. This guy was the scumbag who was paired off to marry Dounia. He is shown to be extremely narcissistic, feeling his own title to be the most important part of his marriage.
He is also shown to be petty. When he slips the money into Sonia's pocket, it is an attempt to humiliate both her and the Raskolnikovs. This provides a nice foil to Raskolnikov's actions of charity. While Raskolnikov was so base as to murder an old woman, Luzhin was a gentleman in high standing. While Raskolnikov's actions are almost always done in an earnest effort to help those around him, Luzhin's efforts were a deceitful play for self-gain.
PORFIRY
This story's Inspector Javert, with one major difference: He's right. The similarities are astonishing. Porfiry's sole task becomes driving Raskolnikov to confession, despite not having proper proof that it was he who committed the crime. Going by a single newspaper editorial, Porfiry makes a bold accusation at Raskolnikov, then spends the rest of the book trying to do it.
Interesting to note is that in all their encounters, Porfiry's text is regularly interrupted with his own laughter. Porfiry's style of interview is playing mind games, something a great number of characters in this book do. Raskolnikov, of course, is anticipating this. The scary part is that Porfiry is really freaking good at his job. Raskolnikov finds himself outmatched at every turn.
Also of importance is that although he chooses to turn himself in, Raskolnikov refuses to confess to Porfiry. In this allegory, Porfiry represents forced repentance. It is something to be avoided. This route of forced confession would have led to the same end, but the emotional coming of age would be lost.
SONIA
Raskolnikov's morality pet. Although presented as being impossibly pure, she works as a prostitute. This, perhaps, is what draws Raskolnikov to her. He sees another destitute soul, and together they ask healing. Although the book focuses on the crime and punishment of Raskolnikov, it can just as easily be applied to Sonia.
Sonia is perhaps the closest thing this book has to a love interest for Raskolnikov. Again, this role is filled in an unusual way. Although there are no confessions of love, no public hand-holding or scenes that our mommies don't want us to see, there is a very obvious hint of love. Not the "you have a six-pack, let's make out" kind, but a deeper, emotional connection. Sonia fills the role Raskolnikov's family could not, pushes him toward confession, and does not shun him for what he does.
This is all the more noteworthy when we remember that one of the women Raskolnikov murdered was Sonia's friend, Lizaveta. Almost with impossible altruism, she forgives him, and gives him Lizavita's old cross. In a way, he is redeemed by taking up the burden of his cross, which could only be bestowed by Sonia.
SVIDRIGAÏLOV
A character that is scarily similar to Raskolnikov, and the closest thing the book has to an antagonist. The most obvious similarity is the weight of their crimes. Between the two of them, although they are enemies, they find somebody who understands what it is like living with the guilt of having killed someone. A more subtle common trait is their shared extreme charity. Additionally, Svidrigaïlov is, like Raskolnikov, visited upon by nightmares.
Interesting to note is that these actions seem to come almost in reverse for Raskolnikov as they do for Svidrigaïlov. Raskolnikov is first shown as being charitable, receiving his first of many messed up dreams, then eventually murder. Svidrigaïlov starts out a murderer, then is haunted by nightmares, then finishes with charity. Raskolnikov's journey ends in redemption, Svidrigaïlov's in disgrace.
That went way longer than intended.
Peace out, readers.
To those who enjoy reading books without spoilers, feel free to leave at this time. Here begins the analysis.
RASKOLNIKOV
The main character of the book, from whose perspective we see the events. From the very beginning of the book, we see the seeds of his idea begin to form, then followed through. Although he is a murderer seven chapters in, Raskolnikov is the closest thing the book has to a protagonist. Therefore, we are expected as the audience to sympathize with him. And that we do. The book masterfully allows the reader to feel the frenzy racing through Raskolnikov's head, his inner turmoils, his rationalizations. Indeed, it is almost scary how easy it is to sympathize with him.
A notable trait of his is the polarization of what he does. It is established early on that Raskolnikov is an extremely charitable man, to the point of foolishness. He continually dumps out his wallet to complete strangers. At the same time, he is capable of commuting an atrocity to the degree of murder. As much as these two traits seem different, however, they are, in reality, the same. Both are impulsive acts, and no matter what he preaches, Raskolnikov's actions are never self-profitable. When he receives payment, he squanders it on people who he views as less fortunate than himself. When he murders the pawnbroker, he feels no need to spend the money he gained, but rather to hide it away, untouched. Both show the same spontaneous action on Raskolnikov's part that does not allow for self-gain. Indeed, his whole rationalization was that by murdering the old woman, he would be helping society as a whole.
Related to his selflessness, Raskolnikov shows an intense care for his family. Upon meeting Luzhin for the first time, he received a much less welcome greeting than even the one that is normally expected from the elder brother. He is shouted down as a narcissistic manipulator, which of course was entirely true. Raskolnikov constantly channels the delirium granted by his fever to shout down anyone who comes near his family. This same protection is what drove him to attempt to leave his family without notifying them of why. To his dear mother, he was a ray of goodness, and he had to let that image stand.
Another important thing to understand about Raskolnikov is the way he is brought to confession. In the interest of time, that will wait for a future post. Time to move on to other characters.
RAZUMIHIN
Razumihin is the poor best friend who's out of the loop. Early in the book, his main role was to be there for Raskolnikov to faint in front of. At this time, his character isn't very fleshed out, although we can see that he is trying to help as best he can. This limited role is filled rather well, however, as he is shown to be in great indignation when Porfiry so much as suggests Raskolnikov could possibly be guilty.
As we are introduced to Dounia, Razumihin's role starts to shift into a new one: a love interest. However, this role isn't filled in the traditional sense. Razumihin isn't rich, nor is he powerful, nor in any way very remarkable. This is in stark contrast to the other gentlemen who fall for Dounia. The other unique facet concerning the way Razumihin fills this role is how he is introduced into it. He is not some character that comes out if nowhere on a white stallion to join the family, but rather, he replaces the list brother. But as a brother that happens to be marry-able.
Dounia
The younger sister of Raskolnikov. She is portrayed as being a good woman being chased by bad men, the sort of girl who, despite (or perhaps because of) her good nature, is sought over by the most vile of fellows. Her dealings with the courtship of Luzhin show that although she holds a certain deal of self respect, she is also very passive, and willing to endure hardships for the sake of her family.
Despite being family, Dounia does not act as Raskolnikov's confidante. Indeed, he seems perpetually irritated by her presence. Despite his seeming stand offishness, however, Raskolnikov is very fast to point out Luzhin for the scumbag he is, for which his sister seems grateful. Dounia, though kept in the background, does much in ways of moving the plot. Her character shows a tragic tendency of those who esteem themselves powerful: the desire to rule. She was the target of both Luzhin and Svidrigaïlov specifically because she was poor.
The moment that Dounia's character becomes the most powerful is shortly before the end of the book. When cornered by Svidrigaïlov, we see her less passive side. Although she is armed then, it is her own attitude that becomes her most powerful weapon.
LUZHIN
Although his role is comparatively minor, Luzhin is still noteworthy. This guy was the scumbag who was paired off to marry Dounia. He is shown to be extremely narcissistic, feeling his own title to be the most important part of his marriage.
He is also shown to be petty. When he slips the money into Sonia's pocket, it is an attempt to humiliate both her and the Raskolnikovs. This provides a nice foil to Raskolnikov's actions of charity. While Raskolnikov was so base as to murder an old woman, Luzhin was a gentleman in high standing. While Raskolnikov's actions are almost always done in an earnest effort to help those around him, Luzhin's efforts were a deceitful play for self-gain.
PORFIRY
This story's Inspector Javert, with one major difference: He's right. The similarities are astonishing. Porfiry's sole task becomes driving Raskolnikov to confession, despite not having proper proof that it was he who committed the crime. Going by a single newspaper editorial, Porfiry makes a bold accusation at Raskolnikov, then spends the rest of the book trying to do it.
Interesting to note is that in all their encounters, Porfiry's text is regularly interrupted with his own laughter. Porfiry's style of interview is playing mind games, something a great number of characters in this book do. Raskolnikov, of course, is anticipating this. The scary part is that Porfiry is really freaking good at his job. Raskolnikov finds himself outmatched at every turn.
Also of importance is that although he chooses to turn himself in, Raskolnikov refuses to confess to Porfiry. In this allegory, Porfiry represents forced repentance. It is something to be avoided. This route of forced confession would have led to the same end, but the emotional coming of age would be lost.
SONIA
Raskolnikov's morality pet. Although presented as being impossibly pure, she works as a prostitute. This, perhaps, is what draws Raskolnikov to her. He sees another destitute soul, and together they ask healing. Although the book focuses on the crime and punishment of Raskolnikov, it can just as easily be applied to Sonia.
Sonia is perhaps the closest thing this book has to a love interest for Raskolnikov. Again, this role is filled in an unusual way. Although there are no confessions of love, no public hand-holding or scenes that our mommies don't want us to see, there is a very obvious hint of love. Not the "you have a six-pack, let's make out" kind, but a deeper, emotional connection. Sonia fills the role Raskolnikov's family could not, pushes him toward confession, and does not shun him for what he does.
This is all the more noteworthy when we remember that one of the women Raskolnikov murdered was Sonia's friend, Lizaveta. Almost with impossible altruism, she forgives him, and gives him Lizavita's old cross. In a way, he is redeemed by taking up the burden of his cross, which could only be bestowed by Sonia.
SVIDRIGAÏLOV
A character that is scarily similar to Raskolnikov, and the closest thing the book has to an antagonist. The most obvious similarity is the weight of their crimes. Between the two of them, although they are enemies, they find somebody who understands what it is like living with the guilt of having killed someone. A more subtle common trait is their shared extreme charity. Additionally, Svidrigaïlov is, like Raskolnikov, visited upon by nightmares.
Interesting to note is that these actions seem to come almost in reverse for Raskolnikov as they do for Svidrigaïlov. Raskolnikov is first shown as being charitable, receiving his first of many messed up dreams, then eventually murder. Svidrigaïlov starts out a murderer, then is haunted by nightmares, then finishes with charity. Raskolnikov's journey ends in redemption, Svidrigaïlov's in disgrace.
That went way longer than intended.
Peace out, readers.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Song Interpretation One: Peaches
It's been eight days since I've updated the blog. I told myself I wouldn't be that person. So I'm updating again. The problem is that nothing's happened in my life, so instead, I'll interpret song lyrics.
Now, this is a post that I thought of over two months ago, when I was in China. According to our dear tour guide, peaches are a symbol of longevity. This puts a brand new light on the song by The Presidents of the same name. Let's go through the lyrics, shall we?
"Moving to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches,
Moving to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches,
Moving to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches,
Moving to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches"
This verse, though very repetitive, establishes the basis of the song. The lodestar of the song is the peach, which, as we discussed, is a metaphor for longevity. The first four lines make very clear the author's goal: to obtain immortality, or at least come very close. The means are also out there in the open. The author intends to separate himself from modern, urban society to further his quest for a long, tranquil life. Also revealed in this verse is the rather selfish desires of the author. The process is described as "eat[ing] a lot of peaches". The imagery associated with this picture is a hedonistic one. The author shows no concern other than their own indulgence, that quest for a long life.
"Peaches come from a can,
They were put there by a man
In a factory downtown."
Almost immediately, the idealism displayed in the first lines is juxtaposed by a gritty picture. This line can be interpreted two ways:
1) Longevity, while dressed up to be a nice, natural picture, is actually a manufactured dream. The author's wish for longevity is built on the back of the work of others. The factory worker is a tragic fallen hero, whose work it is to provide artificial happiness to others. Much like the rodeo clown, his purpose is to pretend that both his work and the work of his audience means something.
2) The other meaning is just as cynical. The peach is still a very real, tangible goal. However, in order to obtain the peaches, technology is an essential middle man. Despite the beliefs of the author, longevity is not found through retreating from society, but by being a part of it. Alongside this integration is all the problems inherent with longevity. It can be obtained through modern technology, yes, but at what cost? Man gains a long life, but becomes a slave to his work in the process.
"If I had my little way, I'd eat peaches every day.
Sun-soaked bulges in the shade."
Despite pointing out the problems with the quest for longevity not one line before, the author returns to his selfish views on the subject. The author is well aware of the pain and problems associated with peaches, yet perseveres with his self-centered opinion. The shade represents his ignorance, which the author chooses to remain in as he fuels his indulgences.
"Moving to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches,
Moving to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches,
Moving to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches,
Moving to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches"
The chorus repeats, but now that we've seen the pain caused by the peaches, it no longer has a happy, hopeful tone, but a sad, ironic one.
"I took a little nap where the roots all twist,
Squished a rotten peach in my fist,
And dreamed about you, woman."
Here, We see a change in heart on part of the author. Tired of his quest, he lays down for a rest. As he does so, he realizes that the corrupt nature of his dream caused it to rot, and there he squishes it. At the base of the spiteful tree that fueled his desires, he begins to rethink his goal. What drove him to do so? His dreams, involving a woman. One can only assume that the girl mentioned is the author's sweetheart. The author is able to overstep his selfish quest by replacing his hollow desire with a fulfilling one: only now does he realize that an empty life remains empty, regardless of length. He is able to shift his desires toward a short, meaningful life, rather than a long, pointless one.
"Put my finger down inside,
Made a little room for an ant to hide,
Nature's candy in my hand or can, or pie."
Again, the man realizes that in his quest for a long life, he subconsciously has dug a hole in his own trophy, which has allowed corruption to sneak inside, and hide itself. His own prize has rotted upon itself, because of his unconscious attempts to find amusement in his life.
The second half of this verse shows that the author hasn't completely reverted. He still finds enjoyment in peaches, as shown by him calling them "nature's candy". However, upon listing pie as one of the options, he stumbles onto what is perhaps the greatest revelation that the song contains: The peach, although an excellent fruit, was not meant to be enjoyed on its own. Rather, it is a garnish to better things. The best way to enjoy a peach is not alone, but by making it part of a greater desert.
Unfortunately, the song's moral is forgotten, leading into the final chorus:
"Millions of peaches,
Peaches for me.
Millions of peaches,
Peaches for free."
By the end of the song, the author has forgotten that he has better things to strive for? Why? Because of his lust for longevity. His nobler goals are lost under a heap of millions of peaches. What is worse is the author's perception that the peaches were free. In his indulgence, he has completely forgotten the plight of the factory worker, the sacrifice to modern technology, and the girl of his dreams. His love of peaches has led him onto a road of lonely sadness.
The story of peaches is a sad one indeed. Of course, I'm sure this wasn't the meaning The Presidents had in mind, but it sure is a fun and surprisingly valid interpretation.
Peace out, readers.
Now, this is a post that I thought of over two months ago, when I was in China. According to our dear tour guide, peaches are a symbol of longevity. This puts a brand new light on the song by The Presidents of the same name. Let's go through the lyrics, shall we?
"Moving to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches,
Moving to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches,
Moving to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches,
Moving to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches"
This verse, though very repetitive, establishes the basis of the song. The lodestar of the song is the peach, which, as we discussed, is a metaphor for longevity. The first four lines make very clear the author's goal: to obtain immortality, or at least come very close. The means are also out there in the open. The author intends to separate himself from modern, urban society to further his quest for a long, tranquil life. Also revealed in this verse is the rather selfish desires of the author. The process is described as "eat[ing] a lot of peaches". The imagery associated with this picture is a hedonistic one. The author shows no concern other than their own indulgence, that quest for a long life.
"Peaches come from a can,
They were put there by a man
In a factory downtown."
Almost immediately, the idealism displayed in the first lines is juxtaposed by a gritty picture. This line can be interpreted two ways:
1) Longevity, while dressed up to be a nice, natural picture, is actually a manufactured dream. The author's wish for longevity is built on the back of the work of others. The factory worker is a tragic fallen hero, whose work it is to provide artificial happiness to others. Much like the rodeo clown, his purpose is to pretend that both his work and the work of his audience means something.
2) The other meaning is just as cynical. The peach is still a very real, tangible goal. However, in order to obtain the peaches, technology is an essential middle man. Despite the beliefs of the author, longevity is not found through retreating from society, but by being a part of it. Alongside this integration is all the problems inherent with longevity. It can be obtained through modern technology, yes, but at what cost? Man gains a long life, but becomes a slave to his work in the process.
"If I had my little way, I'd eat peaches every day.
Sun-soaked bulges in the shade."
Despite pointing out the problems with the quest for longevity not one line before, the author returns to his selfish views on the subject. The author is well aware of the pain and problems associated with peaches, yet perseveres with his self-centered opinion. The shade represents his ignorance, which the author chooses to remain in as he fuels his indulgences.
"Moving to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches,
Moving to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches,
Moving to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches,
Moving to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches"
The chorus repeats, but now that we've seen the pain caused by the peaches, it no longer has a happy, hopeful tone, but a sad, ironic one.
"I took a little nap where the roots all twist,
Squished a rotten peach in my fist,
And dreamed about you, woman."
Here, We see a change in heart on part of the author. Tired of his quest, he lays down for a rest. As he does so, he realizes that the corrupt nature of his dream caused it to rot, and there he squishes it. At the base of the spiteful tree that fueled his desires, he begins to rethink his goal. What drove him to do so? His dreams, involving a woman. One can only assume that the girl mentioned is the author's sweetheart. The author is able to overstep his selfish quest by replacing his hollow desire with a fulfilling one: only now does he realize that an empty life remains empty, regardless of length. He is able to shift his desires toward a short, meaningful life, rather than a long, pointless one.
"Put my finger down inside,
Made a little room for an ant to hide,
Nature's candy in my hand or can, or pie."
Again, the man realizes that in his quest for a long life, he subconsciously has dug a hole in his own trophy, which has allowed corruption to sneak inside, and hide itself. His own prize has rotted upon itself, because of his unconscious attempts to find amusement in his life.
The second half of this verse shows that the author hasn't completely reverted. He still finds enjoyment in peaches, as shown by him calling them "nature's candy". However, upon listing pie as one of the options, he stumbles onto what is perhaps the greatest revelation that the song contains: The peach, although an excellent fruit, was not meant to be enjoyed on its own. Rather, it is a garnish to better things. The best way to enjoy a peach is not alone, but by making it part of a greater desert.
Unfortunately, the song's moral is forgotten, leading into the final chorus:
"Millions of peaches,
Peaches for me.
Millions of peaches,
Peaches for free."
By the end of the song, the author has forgotten that he has better things to strive for? Why? Because of his lust for longevity. His nobler goals are lost under a heap of millions of peaches. What is worse is the author's perception that the peaches were free. In his indulgence, he has completely forgotten the plight of the factory worker, the sacrifice to modern technology, and the girl of his dreams. His love of peaches has led him onto a road of lonely sadness.
The story of peaches is a sad one indeed. Of course, I'm sure this wasn't the meaning The Presidents had in mind, but it sure is a fun and surprisingly valid interpretation.
Peace out, readers.
Monday, August 13, 2012
Feels
One of my favorite musical artists out there is Simon and Garfunkel. Their 60s-era music is very calming. What are these songs about? Let's go down the list:
Becoming someone you're not to impress people.
Losing your girlfriend.
Bad weather.
The death of somebody nobody loved.
Wanting to be something else.
The peculiar sensation of when you're sitting with somebody you love, and you've run out of conversation.
Ones you love being far away.
Having to work low-class and pretending to enjoy it.
Self-sacrifice.
Your girlfriend cheating on you.
Growing old.
Missing people.
Civil rights and hate crimes.
Post-crime guilt.
How money doesn't equal happiness.
Graffiti.
Homesickness.
How conforming makes us lose individualism.
The stifling of individual voice.
The struggles of the poor.
...being happy.
Growing old.
The zoo.
Losing artists.
How eventually, all we're left with is memories.
Disillusionment.
Churches burning.
Mid-winter despair.
Forced to something better.
Widowhood.
Not being loved.
Itching for a better life.
Draft-dodging.
The pain caused by stoicism.
As you can see, the vast majority of the songs are somewhat depressing. And yet, it's feel-good music. Why is this?
I suppose that having our feels put into musical form makes them less painful. This is why the blues became so popular. We like listening to our own pain. Even when we're in a good mood, it's still soothing.
That is all for now.
Peace out, readers.
Becoming someone you're not to impress people.
Losing your girlfriend.
Bad weather.
The death of somebody nobody loved.
Wanting to be something else.
The peculiar sensation of when you're sitting with somebody you love, and you've run out of conversation.
Ones you love being far away.
Having to work low-class and pretending to enjoy it.
Self-sacrifice.
Your girlfriend cheating on you.
Growing old.
Missing people.
Civil rights and hate crimes.
Post-crime guilt.
How money doesn't equal happiness.
Graffiti.
Homesickness.
How conforming makes us lose individualism.
The stifling of individual voice.
The struggles of the poor.
...being happy.
Growing old.
The zoo.
Losing artists.
How eventually, all we're left with is memories.
Disillusionment.
Churches burning.
Mid-winter despair.
Forced to something better.
Widowhood.
Not being loved.
Itching for a better life.
Draft-dodging.
The pain caused by stoicism.
As you can see, the vast majority of the songs are somewhat depressing. And yet, it's feel-good music. Why is this?
I suppose that having our feels put into musical form makes them less painful. This is why the blues became so popular. We like listening to our own pain. Even when we're in a good mood, it's still soothing.
That is all for now.
Peace out, readers.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Salad Morality
Cool story time.
The other day, my family was having dinner. Business as usual. That is, right up until my mom tried parenting. When we arrived at the table, all that sat on our plates was salad. We were told that we would not be allowed the main course until we finished our salad.
Mom. I'm freaking 17. I can eat my salad without being forced into it.
This sums up nicely what my first problem was. The babying. I've found that children like to behave the age they are told they are. If they're handed responsibility, they like to act as if they deserve it. The opposite is also true. If they are treated like they have no idea what they're doing, or if they're sheltered to the point where they have no idea that there are people out there who actually drink beer, then they've been subject to bad parenting. I understand the need to try and baby kids, but in the long run, it's damaging.
My other issue with this is how the salad was treated. It was an obstacle, a mountain in the way, a bad thing that must be endured. By treating the salad-eating as a requirement, it immediately becomes associated with punishment. Though this wins the battle, it loses the war. My dear impressionable siblings will forever view salad as that thing they hated for keeping their dinner away from them.
At this point, all zero of my readers who have their own children are saying, "gee willikers, how on earth do we get them to do what we want them to, then?" My answer, in its simplest: You don't. The best you can hope for is that they'll follow the path you want them to, and the way to do that is to lead by example. Little kids like to imitate what they see as the adult way of life. If you want your kids to eat salad first, put all the food on the plate, then eat your own flipping salad first.
Now, I'll be gone fighting bears out in the woods for the next few days. Don't expect any updates for a week or so. In the meantime, tell your friends, tell your wife, tell your husband that this page exists, and enjoy your lives and stuff.
Peace out, readers.
The other day, my family was having dinner. Business as usual. That is, right up until my mom tried parenting. When we arrived at the table, all that sat on our plates was salad. We were told that we would not be allowed the main course until we finished our salad.
Mom. I'm freaking 17. I can eat my salad without being forced into it.
This sums up nicely what my first problem was. The babying. I've found that children like to behave the age they are told they are. If they're handed responsibility, they like to act as if they deserve it. The opposite is also true. If they are treated like they have no idea what they're doing, or if they're sheltered to the point where they have no idea that there are people out there who actually drink beer, then they've been subject to bad parenting. I understand the need to try and baby kids, but in the long run, it's damaging.
My other issue with this is how the salad was treated. It was an obstacle, a mountain in the way, a bad thing that must be endured. By treating the salad-eating as a requirement, it immediately becomes associated with punishment. Though this wins the battle, it loses the war. My dear impressionable siblings will forever view salad as that thing they hated for keeping their dinner away from them.
At this point, all zero of my readers who have their own children are saying, "gee willikers, how on earth do we get them to do what we want them to, then?" My answer, in its simplest: You don't. The best you can hope for is that they'll follow the path you want them to, and the way to do that is to lead by example. Little kids like to imitate what they see as the adult way of life. If you want your kids to eat salad first, put all the food on the plate, then eat your own flipping salad first.
Now, I'll be gone fighting bears out in the woods for the next few days. Don't expect any updates for a week or so. In the meantime, tell your friends, tell your wife, tell your husband that this page exists, and enjoy your lives and stuff.
Peace out, readers.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Stupidity
This piece of crap keeps showing up on my newsfeed:
Okay, I get it. Feminism. That's great. But if you want to make a craftsy sign like this, make sure your data supports your claim. I agree with every part of this sign, except for the last sentence. Could I rewrite this, it would go something as follows:
There is MALE inside feMALE (as awkwardly suggestive as that sounds)
MR in every MRs;
HE in each sHE.
This proves that words describing females are hard to write without inadvertently writing a word to describe males.
One last note on this: if you're going to make a poster like this, at least grammar properly. "Which prove that" is a horrendous mess of letters that ought to be outlawed.
Peace out, readers.
Okay, I get it. Feminism. That's great. But if you want to make a craftsy sign like this, make sure your data supports your claim. I agree with every part of this sign, except for the last sentence. Could I rewrite this, it would go something as follows:
There is MALE inside feMALE (as awkwardly suggestive as that sounds)
MR in every MRs;
HE in each sHE.
This proves that words describing females are hard to write without inadvertently writing a word to describe males.
One last note on this: if you're going to make a poster like this, at least grammar properly. "Which prove that" is a horrendous mess of letters that ought to be outlawed.
Peace out, readers.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Fishing
Compliment fishing. Specifically, the variety of, "I'm such a failure, pity me". Now, normal fishers are hard enough to stand. Those ones want compliments, which is bad. This variety wants pity, which is worse. The point that gets me every time is that they're right: they do suck. Then why on earth are they calling all this attention to it? That's what happens when pity is asked for. It's saying, "I suck. Tell me you feel bad about me sucking, because I suck." They draw unbelievable amounts of attention toward something they claim to hate about themselves.
That's when I realized that they don't hate it, they like it. It's their way of getting attention. It's not positive attention, but it's attention, so they don't care. Pity is a wonderfully ironic form of pride. We are proud of failing, proud enough to draw attention to ourselves. It's a completely tooling move, and I hate it.
Im not saying that we shouldn't feel bad when we fail. Quite the opposite. That bad feel is a necessity for self-improvement. Failures are not meant as attention-hogging flags. Rather, they are for quiet reflection. Feel free to impart your worries on others, but don't do it in a way that'll invoke pity. Rather, use it as a resolve for improvement.
Peace out, readers.
That's when I realized that they don't hate it, they like it. It's their way of getting attention. It's not positive attention, but it's attention, so they don't care. Pity is a wonderfully ironic form of pride. We are proud of failing, proud enough to draw attention to ourselves. It's a completely tooling move, and I hate it.
Im not saying that we shouldn't feel bad when we fail. Quite the opposite. That bad feel is a necessity for self-improvement. Failures are not meant as attention-hogging flags. Rather, they are for quiet reflection. Feel free to impart your worries on others, but don't do it in a way that'll invoke pity. Rather, use it as a resolve for improvement.
Peace out, readers.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Speaking
Shakespeare once said that brevity is the soul of wit. If this post were to be witty, it would be over by now. I'm not going to do that. Nope. Instead, you get a post about discussion etiquette.
Inspired by one of my friends, I have taken up the practice of never sending one-word texts. The funny thing about language is that it usually takes more than one word to convey an intelligible sentence, let alone a meaningful one. Our word choice betrays much of our personality. If you have spent any time around me, it will be evident that I'm well aware of this. To offer my own evaluation, the way I speak is a fairly straightforward one. I try to convey my message, but at the same time, tinge every sentence with a bit of flavor, a slice of irony. It doesn't matter if I'm addressing my parents, my teachers, or my live studio audience, my voice remains the same. I try to use the voice the Blarney Stone granted me to attempt conveying my thoughts in the most effective way possible. I've got a few rules I hold to when speaking, most of which I've already touched on in this piece. The rest of this post will be me expounding on them:
1) Don't be brief
We've already touched enough on this one.
2) Don't be long-winded
Almost as harmful as being brief, saying too much is another speaking pitfall I attempt to jump over at any opportunity. Nothing loses a crowd like drowning them in supplementary material.
3) Always censor your thoughts
One of the things that drives me crazy are those who have no filter separating their brain from their mouth. There's a reason that our brain isn't broadcast for the world to hear: it says a ton of stupid things.
4) Never censor the way you expound on them.
One thing I consider to be a strength of mine when I speak. Regardless of my audience, my diction remains rather constant. If you have to change to fit your audience, your voice isn't good enough.
5) Always speak with a hint of humor
The most sure fire way to engage a crowd is to make sure that they have something worth listening to. Whether I speak as an orator or as a disgruntled student, I want my audience to know that I want them to be entertained.
Following my own tip #2, I'm done.
Peace out, readers.
Inspired by one of my friends, I have taken up the practice of never sending one-word texts. The funny thing about language is that it usually takes more than one word to convey an intelligible sentence, let alone a meaningful one. Our word choice betrays much of our personality. If you have spent any time around me, it will be evident that I'm well aware of this. To offer my own evaluation, the way I speak is a fairly straightforward one. I try to convey my message, but at the same time, tinge every sentence with a bit of flavor, a slice of irony. It doesn't matter if I'm addressing my parents, my teachers, or my live studio audience, my voice remains the same. I try to use the voice the Blarney Stone granted me to attempt conveying my thoughts in the most effective way possible. I've got a few rules I hold to when speaking, most of which I've already touched on in this piece. The rest of this post will be me expounding on them:
1) Don't be brief
We've already touched enough on this one.
2) Don't be long-winded
Almost as harmful as being brief, saying too much is another speaking pitfall I attempt to jump over at any opportunity. Nothing loses a crowd like drowning them in supplementary material.
3) Always censor your thoughts
One of the things that drives me crazy are those who have no filter separating their brain from their mouth. There's a reason that our brain isn't broadcast for the world to hear: it says a ton of stupid things.
4) Never censor the way you expound on them.
One thing I consider to be a strength of mine when I speak. Regardless of my audience, my diction remains rather constant. If you have to change to fit your audience, your voice isn't good enough.
5) Always speak with a hint of humor
The most sure fire way to engage a crowd is to make sure that they have something worth listening to. Whether I speak as an orator or as a disgruntled student, I want my audience to know that I want them to be entertained.
Following my own tip #2, I'm done.
Peace out, readers.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Being a Man
Nothing Interesting is on TV. There are a lot of stupid people on the internet, I don't want to be knocked out by the Summer Reading Assignment again, and my jaw is still to sore to do anything meaningful outside. I'm blogging.
Now, this post is derived from a discussion I've had with quite a few of my female friends (yes, this demographic does exist). It is the age-long discussion that has re-emerged in every generation: What does it mean to be a man?
Let's enter into this discussion the most fitting way possible.
Now that we've been properly introduced, let's do this the good old-fashioned way. Doubtless, there are many benefits to being a man. Of course, the Y chromosome is also a burden to bear. Ladies and gents, I give unto you a Pros and Cons chart!
Pros of Being a Man:
Never have to worry about hair
Allowed to watch stupid movies and not be judged as harsly
We can freely admit that bodily functions exist in front of each other
No make-up
Generally less dramatic lives
Interior design doesn't bug most men
We aren't expected to be as artsy
7 shades of color. That's it
Guy jerks, although usually pretty bad, are nowhere near as bad as female jerks
You get to like cool things like Avatar and Batman and not get shunned because of it
Get to be as mysterious ad the dark side of the moon
Most members of your sex don't talk
Getting to be a dad. How cool is that?
Con, Man (See what I did there?)
You end up hanging out with a lot of pyros
You are expected to like sports
Having to always take the initiative when dealing with relationships
Have to fight a bear like every night
The constant pressure to appear masculine
Most other members of your sex can't talk
Men's locker rooms
Get to work until we're 65
Hair must remain above the neckline
Often viewed as the brute workers, not fun
Wangst is often more frowned on
That's all for now. This post may very well warrant a part two.
Now, this post is derived from a discussion I've had with quite a few of my female friends (yes, this demographic does exist). It is the age-long discussion that has re-emerged in every generation: What does it mean to be a man?
Let's enter into this discussion the most fitting way possible.
Now that we've been properly introduced, let's do this the good old-fashioned way. Doubtless, there are many benefits to being a man. Of course, the Y chromosome is also a burden to bear. Ladies and gents, I give unto you a Pros and Cons chart!
Pros of Being a Man:
Never have to worry about hair
Allowed to watch stupid movies and not be judged as harsly
We can freely admit that bodily functions exist in front of each other
No make-up
Generally less dramatic lives
Interior design doesn't bug most men
We aren't expected to be as artsy
7 shades of color. That's it
Guy jerks, although usually pretty bad, are nowhere near as bad as female jerks
You get to like cool things like Avatar and Batman and not get shunned because of it
Get to be as mysterious ad the dark side of the moon
Most members of your sex don't talk
Getting to be a dad. How cool is that?
Con, Man (See what I did there?)
You end up hanging out with a lot of pyros
You are expected to like sports
Having to always take the initiative when dealing with relationships
Have to fight a bear like every night
The constant pressure to appear masculine
Most other members of your sex can't talk
Men's locker rooms
Get to work until we're 65
Hair must remain above the neckline
Often viewed as the brute workers, not fun
Wangst is often more frowned on
That's all for now. This post may very well warrant a part two.
Participation Points and Punks
In a nutshell, I hate both.
This is a post I've been meaning to write for quite a while, so I guess I'll elaborate a bit more.
Participation points are the great hoe of of the grade book. They can take the average student's grade and pump it up to a ridiculous level. Never mind grades acting as a measure of aptitude! You can color in a map? Take some points. You read the chapter last night? Have a few points. Points piled upon points, until only minimal skill is needed to pass the class.
Now, I'm not saying that participation points should be done away with entirely. No. A few participation points, when used sparingly and wisely, can give a bit of wiggle room for the stressed student. Participation points, however, should not be enough to raise a D to an A.
This is where the punks come in. If somebody sits in a pool of participation points long enough, they will eventually notice that something is up. As soon as they do, people start riding the system. Remember that kid I told you about a few posts ago? The one who was just going to "have fun" on the final? It was because he felt he had the security of a thousand fodder assignments at his back. Participation points are stupid. The end.
Peace out, readers.
This is a post I've been meaning to write for quite a while, so I guess I'll elaborate a bit more.
Participation points are the great hoe of of the grade book. They can take the average student's grade and pump it up to a ridiculous level. Never mind grades acting as a measure of aptitude! You can color in a map? Take some points. You read the chapter last night? Have a few points. Points piled upon points, until only minimal skill is needed to pass the class.
Now, I'm not saying that participation points should be done away with entirely. No. A few participation points, when used sparingly and wisely, can give a bit of wiggle room for the stressed student. Participation points, however, should not be enough to raise a D to an A.
This is where the punks come in. If somebody sits in a pool of participation points long enough, they will eventually notice that something is up. As soon as they do, people start riding the system. Remember that kid I told you about a few posts ago? The one who was just going to "have fun" on the final? It was because he felt he had the security of a thousand fodder assignments at his back. Participation points are stupid. The end.
Peace out, readers.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
The Pre-Surgical Post
In a few hours, I get to undergo the removal of my wisdom teeth. Wheeeee. I was considering a great number of things to talk about in this post. You could have read about the blues, about arterials and side streets, about participation points, or perhaps about forging signatures. Nope. Today, you get to read about the ever-so-exciting topic... Of fandom.
Ah yes, the raving sea of devotees that find a book or television show that is so magical, they have to tell everyone. Their greatest joy in life, aside from watching their show of choice, is rubbing it into the face of every other teenager on the planet. If my view isn't clear yet, I really hate fandoms. Let's take a look at a few:
Harry Potter:
The staple example. Harry Potter is a series of fine movies and even better books. JK Rowling is one of the finer authors out there. I fear that her subtle wit goes unnoticed by most of the crowd, in favor of the story of a boy wizard. Here's my problem with the fandom: everyone and their dog has jumped on it. It is one thing to look at the book carefully, as a piece of art, and admire it a such. It is another thing entirely to dress up in robes and point sticks at everything. You're 17 now. Stop it. Harry Potter has been drowned by so many fans, the chances of finding an intelligent, practical one are remote.
Avatar: TLA/LOK:
This is a fan base I tend to tolerate a bit more, on account that there are significantly less cheerleaders on this fandom because they were too busy reading the Harry Potter books to fit in. However, this is where the problem starts. Although a dedicated fanbase, they are, once again, a little too dedicated. Meaning that they don't shut up about it. Ever. Some of the spoony first years took this to crazy proportions. Some kid throws a spoon. "He's a spoonbender!" A guy fans himself while drinking water. "It's the Avatar!" No, kid. It's not the Avatar, he's not spoonbending, and you're giving the show a bad name. Shut up.
(Spoonbender is now part of my auto correct dictionary. How cool is that?)
Doctor Who:
Another one of my favorite shows. Another freaky fandom. True Whovians are great people, mind you, but the number of posers you get in the fandom, well, that's something else entirely. Doctor Who, due to both it's off-the-wall sci-fi nature and being produced on the other side of the pond, produces a great number of stupid hipster fans. I really don't like about 80% of the fandom at my school, because they make up this body of posers. And for what? Who are they trying to impress? Other stupid hipsters. Why can't they have their socially awkward make-out sessions without getting my show in the way?
The Hunger Games:
A fandom crazy enough to drive me away. Future Gladiators fighting to the death in a huge, man-made stadium? Cool. Debates over whether Peeta has nicer abs than Gale? Not cool. This inner bickering, alongside the Harry-Potteresque hype, drove me away in disgust.
Twilight:
This one, I'm not going to discuss the fans. Nope, I'm going after the haters this time around. So I'm defending the books? Sue me. I have never read Stephanie Meyer's book, I don't intend to. It doesn't sound like an appealing series. However, there are too many haters directing their energy at Twilight. I understand if you don't like it, but please at least refrain from telling Facebook three times a day about it. If your final literature project is to graffiti Twilight and call it art, you've probably gone too far.
Fans. I'll never understand them.
Peace out, readers.
Ah yes, the raving sea of devotees that find a book or television show that is so magical, they have to tell everyone. Their greatest joy in life, aside from watching their show of choice, is rubbing it into the face of every other teenager on the planet. If my view isn't clear yet, I really hate fandoms. Let's take a look at a few:
Harry Potter:
The staple example. Harry Potter is a series of fine movies and even better books. JK Rowling is one of the finer authors out there. I fear that her subtle wit goes unnoticed by most of the crowd, in favor of the story of a boy wizard. Here's my problem with the fandom: everyone and their dog has jumped on it. It is one thing to look at the book carefully, as a piece of art, and admire it a such. It is another thing entirely to dress up in robes and point sticks at everything. You're 17 now. Stop it. Harry Potter has been drowned by so many fans, the chances of finding an intelligent, practical one are remote.
Avatar: TLA/LOK:
This is a fan base I tend to tolerate a bit more, on account that there are significantly less cheerleaders on this fandom because they were too busy reading the Harry Potter books to fit in. However, this is where the problem starts. Although a dedicated fanbase, they are, once again, a little too dedicated. Meaning that they don't shut up about it. Ever. Some of the spoony first years took this to crazy proportions. Some kid throws a spoon. "He's a spoonbender!" A guy fans himself while drinking water. "It's the Avatar!" No, kid. It's not the Avatar, he's not spoonbending, and you're giving the show a bad name. Shut up.
(Spoonbender is now part of my auto correct dictionary. How cool is that?)
Doctor Who:
Another one of my favorite shows. Another freaky fandom. True Whovians are great people, mind you, but the number of posers you get in the fandom, well, that's something else entirely. Doctor Who, due to both it's off-the-wall sci-fi nature and being produced on the other side of the pond, produces a great number of stupid hipster fans. I really don't like about 80% of the fandom at my school, because they make up this body of posers. And for what? Who are they trying to impress? Other stupid hipsters. Why can't they have their socially awkward make-out sessions without getting my show in the way?
The Hunger Games:
A fandom crazy enough to drive me away. Future Gladiators fighting to the death in a huge, man-made stadium? Cool. Debates over whether Peeta has nicer abs than Gale? Not cool. This inner bickering, alongside the Harry-Potteresque hype, drove me away in disgust.
Twilight:
This one, I'm not going to discuss the fans. Nope, I'm going after the haters this time around. So I'm defending the books? Sue me. I have never read Stephanie Meyer's book, I don't intend to. It doesn't sound like an appealing series. However, there are too many haters directing their energy at Twilight. I understand if you don't like it, but please at least refrain from telling Facebook three times a day about it. If your final literature project is to graffiti Twilight and call it art, you've probably gone too far.
Fans. I'll never understand them.
Peace out, readers.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Surprises, Part II
Remember my dear old friend I discussed in "Surprises"? Earlier this week, this flower girl of a woman dropped another stick of dynamite among the petals. Sitting around, preparing our final homework assignment, she turned to the boy on my right and said,
"Hey, boy on Eli's right. I totally had a crush on you last year."
My reaction when she dropped a bombshell like this on me earlier:
"What."
I daresay his was far more spectacular:
"What?!?!"
I enjoyed a solid laugh for the next ten minutes or so. Despite the name of this post, this one was not a surprise to me at all. In fact, it wasn't a surprise to most of the returning cast of last year's camp.
The funny thing about human relations is the more objective and outside your view is, the more obvious relationships are. Inversely, those at the heart of the connection are usually the ones who are completely unaware (I've already talked on this subject, you can find it a few posts ago). This was no exception. From the outside, it was obvious that the two home-schooled kids had a thing for each other, and every punch imparted onto this boy's shoulder was a punch of love.
I enjoy that now, a year later, we are able to discuss such things with impunity, and that our awkward web of love did not affect the deep friendship the three of us share. But that is a story of another post.
Peace out, readers.
"Hey, boy on Eli's right. I totally had a crush on you last year."
My reaction when she dropped a bombshell like this on me earlier:
"What."
I daresay his was far more spectacular:
"What?!?!"
I enjoyed a solid laugh for the next ten minutes or so. Despite the name of this post, this one was not a surprise to me at all. In fact, it wasn't a surprise to most of the returning cast of last year's camp.
The funny thing about human relations is the more objective and outside your view is, the more obvious relationships are. Inversely, those at the heart of the connection are usually the ones who are completely unaware (I've already talked on this subject, you can find it a few posts ago). This was no exception. From the outside, it was obvious that the two home-schooled kids had a thing for each other, and every punch imparted onto this boy's shoulder was a punch of love.
I enjoy that now, a year later, we are able to discuss such things with impunity, and that our awkward web of love did not affect the deep friendship the three of us share. But that is a story of another post.
Peace out, readers.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
The End, Part III
First off, a brief announcement: I'm backed up on posts. This, of course, means that I have several deep thoughts, they just need to be put out on display for the world to see. These are all going to be here soon. Some things you may look forward to reading:
Surprises, Part II
Results
Participation Points and Punks
Thoughts on Whatever I Just read in Crime and Punishment
Timing
One Little efy and How He Grew
Now, onto the post itself.
Goodbyes are bittersweet, often for the same reasons. On one hand, you enjoy the opportunity of leaving behind everything you didn't like. On the other, you are forced to leave behind everything you loved. Today, I left the one and only STARTALK for the third time. Each year has blessed me with a different flavor, a different set of challenges and pleasant surprises.
This year, of course, was no exception. I had my ups and downs, my great days and my wangsty day. Returning home will be no small feat. I find myself missing such things as homework, dorm rooms, and meals surrounded by efys. These are days of my life that I will not be able to return to, and I have cherished it as much as I could. Every year, I tell myself that I must recreate these moments. So I re-apply. It's not the same, of course, but then I remember why I love it so. This year, however, is different.
At this time next year, I will be graduated. Up until this point, I have been positive I could make it in again. Now, I'm not so sure. This could very well be my last goodbye. The final end, if you will.
The above thought is not one I usually like to think, but it occurs to me that this had already happened. Out of the 50 people I knew in STARTALK 2010, a grand total of 2 returned. My first year is gone. Things end. Life moves on.
This is one of the saddest endings of them all, but I will survive. It takes a while to readjust to the other 98% of the bell curve. Even so, with a clear goal in mind, I intend to begin anew, and let this very bittersweet end truly come to a close. I will cry manly tears tonight, I will remember my new aquatints with fondness, then I will move on.
That's a lie. I'm not going to move on. I will build on. I stand here with the utmost intent to see every member of my group of peers ten years from now.
It's midnight, my words turn to gibberish. Chinese camp 2012, it's been real.
Peace out, readers.
Surprises, Part II
Results
Participation Points and Punks
Thoughts on Whatever I Just read in Crime and Punishment
Timing
One Little efy and How He Grew
Now, onto the post itself.
Goodbyes are bittersweet, often for the same reasons. On one hand, you enjoy the opportunity of leaving behind everything you didn't like. On the other, you are forced to leave behind everything you loved. Today, I left the one and only STARTALK for the third time. Each year has blessed me with a different flavor, a different set of challenges and pleasant surprises.
This year, of course, was no exception. I had my ups and downs, my great days and my wangsty day. Returning home will be no small feat. I find myself missing such things as homework, dorm rooms, and meals surrounded by efys. These are days of my life that I will not be able to return to, and I have cherished it as much as I could. Every year, I tell myself that I must recreate these moments. So I re-apply. It's not the same, of course, but then I remember why I love it so. This year, however, is different.
At this time next year, I will be graduated. Up until this point, I have been positive I could make it in again. Now, I'm not so sure. This could very well be my last goodbye. The final end, if you will.
The above thought is not one I usually like to think, but it occurs to me that this had already happened. Out of the 50 people I knew in STARTALK 2010, a grand total of 2 returned. My first year is gone. Things end. Life moves on.
This is one of the saddest endings of them all, but I will survive. It takes a while to readjust to the other 98% of the bell curve. Even so, with a clear goal in mind, I intend to begin anew, and let this very bittersweet end truly come to a close. I will cry manly tears tonight, I will remember my new aquatints with fondness, then I will move on.
That's a lie. I'm not going to move on. I will build on. I stand here with the utmost intent to see every member of my group of peers ten years from now.
It's midnight, my words turn to gibberish. Chinese camp 2012, it's been real.
Peace out, readers.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
An Answer
Remember the question I asked yesterday? If no, go back and read that before coming back here. Read it? good. I have come up with an answer for my question. I think I will go the extra mile, and be the very best. This is not because I like work, nor is it due to wanting to be the very best. Heaven knows neither of those have been things I actively seek after. No, the reason I choose this is because I have seen the alternative.
I recall an experience from earlier this year, wherein a fellow student complained about they didn't enjoy their workload in a certain AP class, and asked when they would ever have to use the material in real life. This common complaint alone is enough to drive me over the edge. As a slight tangent, I will give my answer to this complaint as well. No, you will never use calculus in real life. you will probably never have to work with electrochemistry, nor list the rhetoric devices an author uses. A football player never has to lift weights during a game, run laps, or do push-ups. The reason behind both is the same. These classes are not going to translate directly into your job, but it's mental conditioning, mental conditioning that anybody complaining about chose to do themselves. Every time I hear this complaint, I resist the urge to go to the instigator's house and step on their plants.
But I digress. The remainder of this fool's speech explained how he, tired of the work, was just going to "have fun" on the unit final, and not prepare in the slightest for it. He blamed the course for not being well-adjusted toward his needs, and began to criticize its ineffectiveness. It was at this point my brain had to tell my hands, "No, hands. You can't strangle people and not be held legally culpable." Again, my argument against this. I have sat within the same room as this kid for at least 4 years of our educatory lives. The straw that broke the camel's back is the way he consistently played the blame game. He couldn't perform, but it wasn't HIS fault, no. It was the fault of the teacher for yelling at him to wake up in class, or of the kid next to him who wouldn't share his notes.
The problem with sponge learning is that it works fine for a while, the minute things get hard, sponges turn their back and give up. They sit there, silently asking for the pity of everyone around them, because the big bad system is so hard to fight. I chose to become the best because I have grown to hate the alternative.
I recall an experience from earlier this year, wherein a fellow student complained about they didn't enjoy their workload in a certain AP class, and asked when they would ever have to use the material in real life. This common complaint alone is enough to drive me over the edge. As a slight tangent, I will give my answer to this complaint as well. No, you will never use calculus in real life. you will probably never have to work with electrochemistry, nor list the rhetoric devices an author uses. A football player never has to lift weights during a game, run laps, or do push-ups. The reason behind both is the same. These classes are not going to translate directly into your job, but it's mental conditioning, mental conditioning that anybody complaining about chose to do themselves. Every time I hear this complaint, I resist the urge to go to the instigator's house and step on their plants.
But I digress. The remainder of this fool's speech explained how he, tired of the work, was just going to "have fun" on the unit final, and not prepare in the slightest for it. He blamed the course for not being well-adjusted toward his needs, and began to criticize its ineffectiveness. It was at this point my brain had to tell my hands, "No, hands. You can't strangle people and not be held legally culpable." Again, my argument against this. I have sat within the same room as this kid for at least 4 years of our educatory lives. The straw that broke the camel's back is the way he consistently played the blame game. He couldn't perform, but it wasn't HIS fault, no. It was the fault of the teacher for yelling at him to wake up in class, or of the kid next to him who wouldn't share his notes.
The problem with sponge learning is that it works fine for a while, the minute things get hard, sponges turn their back and give up. They sit there, silently asking for the pity of everyone around them, because the big bad system is so hard to fight. I chose to become the best because I have grown to hate the alternative.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
A Question
Consider these two stories:
There once was a tortoise and a hare. The tortoise challenged the hare to a race. The hare, arrogant, fell asleep along the route. Through the diligence it displayed, the tortoise won the race.
The second story:
There once was a tortoise and a hare. The tortoise challenged the hare to a race. The hare, arrogant, fell asleep along the route. Later, he woke up and finished in second place, which is still pretty dang good.
Now, here's the question: Is it worth the extra effort to be that perfect?
Now, I, by no means, usually strive for perfection. I find the idea of valedictorianism annoying and counterproductive, and usually find myself detesting that group as a whole. I find myself much more attracted to the 3.5-3.9 range. But that is another post for another time.
The perfectionism I speak of is of a different sort. The understanding of a concept to the very best of your ability. The willingness to seek out complete knowledge, to actively chase it. It's something I used to do quite a bit, when I was a wee second grader. I wanted to learn, I was eager for understanding.
Then homework was introduced. The problem here is not that the homework wasn't too difficult, but the opposite. There was no challenge. I still got perfect grades in school. It took a long, hard three years of pain to realize that I was sliding into a much larger workload than that sixth grade had put on my shoulders.
I do homework now. I attempt to do well in classes, to hold a good GPA, and learn the material. In doing so, I am faced with my greatest boon and curse: the spongy way I learn. I can easily soak in most of what I hear, but I usually over-judge how much I can retain. I still do fine, fine enough where I don't have to read the textbooks at all, but I could be better. I have come to realize that although my "good" is already hanging around the upper quarter of the bell curve, I could be very near the tip.
The question now is: should I go for great, or settle for good?
My answer: I don't know.
Peace out, readers.
There once was a tortoise and a hare. The tortoise challenged the hare to a race. The hare, arrogant, fell asleep along the route. Through the diligence it displayed, the tortoise won the race.
The second story:
There once was a tortoise and a hare. The tortoise challenged the hare to a race. The hare, arrogant, fell asleep along the route. Later, he woke up and finished in second place, which is still pretty dang good.
Now, here's the question: Is it worth the extra effort to be that perfect?
Now, I, by no means, usually strive for perfection. I find the idea of valedictorianism annoying and counterproductive, and usually find myself detesting that group as a whole. I find myself much more attracted to the 3.5-3.9 range. But that is another post for another time.
The perfectionism I speak of is of a different sort. The understanding of a concept to the very best of your ability. The willingness to seek out complete knowledge, to actively chase it. It's something I used to do quite a bit, when I was a wee second grader. I wanted to learn, I was eager for understanding.
Then homework was introduced. The problem here is not that the homework wasn't too difficult, but the opposite. There was no challenge. I still got perfect grades in school. It took a long, hard three years of pain to realize that I was sliding into a much larger workload than that sixth grade had put on my shoulders.
I do homework now. I attempt to do well in classes, to hold a good GPA, and learn the material. In doing so, I am faced with my greatest boon and curse: the spongy way I learn. I can easily soak in most of what I hear, but I usually over-judge how much I can retain. I still do fine, fine enough where I don't have to read the textbooks at all, but I could be better. I have come to realize that although my "good" is already hanging around the upper quarter of the bell curve, I could be very near the tip.
The question now is: should I go for great, or settle for good?
My answer: I don't know.
Peace out, readers.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Expectations and the Unexpected
On the statistics part of the Holy Blog Control Room, there's a map showing where the density of my views come from. Of course the good old US of A was a healthy shade of green, beautifully showcasing where most of my views come from. However, something caught my attention. While nearly other country stood a stark shade of white, one had a faint tinge of green. Yep. I have myself one viewer in Russia. Kudos to you, Russian reader guy.
On a different note, let us (and by "us" I mean "I") talk about expectations. Expectations are a great thing to have, except maybe when it makes you spend all the money you own and makes you paranoid of neighbors who never change out of their wedding dress. However, some expectations can quickly be turned into disappointment. Take, for example, the AP scores the mailman oh-so-generously left me after I wrote an essay describing how his job is useless. 4, 4, 4, 5. Not bad. Scores that some kids would be ecstatic about. My reaction was nowhere near that. I sat there, for a moment, wondering how I had dipped so low as to only receive one five. Why was I so disappointed, I asked myself, when these were scores to be proud of?
The answer, of course, was because I was sitting in a room filled with highly intelligent people at the time. Had I been sitting, for example, in my APUSH class, I would have felt like a beamy ray of sunshine-filled happiness. The fact that everyone else in the room was on par with me intellectually greatly changed my excitement level toward the results.
Now, readers, I'm well aware that most of you have drawn the obvious moral of the story: surround yourself with stupid people to help your self esteem. Wrong. The moral of this story is the exact opposite. Seek out good company, those who don't annoy you, who can match every bit of your wit and intellect, who can ask you a question you can't answer, whose lexicon is just as diverse as yours, and whose opinions exist. Put yourself in the midst of worthy opponents, who can make you aware of the fact that you are not the very best. Only then do we get the taste of a greater expectation.
On a different note, let us (and by "us" I mean "I") talk about expectations. Expectations are a great thing to have, except maybe when it makes you spend all the money you own and makes you paranoid of neighbors who never change out of their wedding dress. However, some expectations can quickly be turned into disappointment. Take, for example, the AP scores the mailman oh-so-generously left me after I wrote an essay describing how his job is useless. 4, 4, 4, 5. Not bad. Scores that some kids would be ecstatic about. My reaction was nowhere near that. I sat there, for a moment, wondering how I had dipped so low as to only receive one five. Why was I so disappointed, I asked myself, when these were scores to be proud of?
The answer, of course, was because I was sitting in a room filled with highly intelligent people at the time. Had I been sitting, for example, in my APUSH class, I would have felt like a beamy ray of sunshine-filled happiness. The fact that everyone else in the room was on par with me intellectually greatly changed my excitement level toward the results.
Now, readers, I'm well aware that most of you have drawn the obvious moral of the story: surround yourself with stupid people to help your self esteem. Wrong. The moral of this story is the exact opposite. Seek out good company, those who don't annoy you, who can match every bit of your wit and intellect, who can ask you a question you can't answer, whose lexicon is just as diverse as yours, and whose opinions exist. Put yourself in the midst of worthy opponents, who can make you aware of the fact that you are not the very best. Only then do we get the taste of a greater expectation.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Willful Obliviousness
A funny thing about humans is that if there's something they don't want to believe, they won't. You can pour in overwhelming amounts of evidence, but if they're in denial, it won't happen. In politics, it's annoying, in debate, it's painful, but in the public relations part of our life? It's pretty entertaining.
Yep. This post is Eli's relationship advice lecture. Ladies, gentlemen, listen up. Here we go.
Every time you think a guy's just being "really nice", he's sitting Somewhere nearby, staring at a camera, thinking to himself:
Yes, he's a nice guy, but I think I will take this opportunity to remind you of what I have oft spoken before (once, to be exact):
"Any good relationship needs to be built on a good deal of scheming."
Yes, lady. He's a nice guy normally. But you ignore the fact that he's doing things especially for YOU. Ever notice the little things? The carrying of a tray? Allowing you a better seat, or taking you on a walk down by the duck pond? Despite these actions being dropped with the subtlety of a brick, they seem to still be wonderfully uninterpreted.
Perhaps the use of these wonderfully wangsty photos help the idea sink in.
This picture is an answer to the first. Dude, ambiguous mutual crush is thinking about you at least a million times per day. Despite the short attention span this proves, this means that they're totally into you. Now notice it.
Even though the Internet is filled with these stupid pictures, there are signs even more obvious than the ones that have A MILLION TIMES written out in bright blue text. The signs are there. They are obvious, data waiting to be observed.
Now that the obvious has been stated, let's talk about why this phenomena, this willful ignorance, exists. The answer isn't too hard to reach. When somebody ignores an outcome, it's usually for two reasons: they either think it impossible or frightening. I think we have a bit of both here. Picture time!
Like I said, fear and impossibility. "There's no way they could like me back!" Bull. You're a likable person. Get over yourself and realize how awesome you are. If they didn't think you were cool at all, they wouldn't spend time with you. If they weren't trying to win your heart, they wouldn't spend every moment they could with you. Women, here's a little secret. If a guy likes you enough to where he is desperately trying to get your attention, you probably shouldn't second-guess yourself. Another secret:
This is also bull. Guys are not good emotion readers. It almost sounds hypocritical, but it would be nice if you just came up and asked us. We would love nothing more than to hear a conversation kind of like this:
"Hello, Man"
"Hello, Woman"
"Hey, Man. I notice that you talk to me enough for this to be statistically significant. Do you "like like" me?"
"Yep"
"Wanna hold hands?"
"Yep."
One final note: you're so arrogant, you probably think this post is about you. Yeah. It might be. It might also be directed at an additional crowd.
Peace out, readers.
Yep. This post is Eli's relationship advice lecture. Ladies, gentlemen, listen up. Here we go.
Every time you think a guy's just being "really nice", he's sitting Somewhere nearby, staring at a camera, thinking to himself:
Yes, he's a nice guy, but I think I will take this opportunity to remind you of what I have oft spoken before (once, to be exact):
"Any good relationship needs to be built on a good deal of scheming."
Yes, lady. He's a nice guy normally. But you ignore the fact that he's doing things especially for YOU. Ever notice the little things? The carrying of a tray? Allowing you a better seat, or taking you on a walk down by the duck pond? Despite these actions being dropped with the subtlety of a brick, they seem to still be wonderfully uninterpreted.
Perhaps the use of these wonderfully wangsty photos help the idea sink in.
This picture is an answer to the first. Dude, ambiguous mutual crush is thinking about you at least a million times per day. Despite the short attention span this proves, this means that they're totally into you. Now notice it.
Even though the Internet is filled with these stupid pictures, there are signs even more obvious than the ones that have A MILLION TIMES written out in bright blue text. The signs are there. They are obvious, data waiting to be observed.
Now that the obvious has been stated, let's talk about why this phenomena, this willful ignorance, exists. The answer isn't too hard to reach. When somebody ignores an outcome, it's usually for two reasons: they either think it impossible or frightening. I think we have a bit of both here. Picture time!
Like I said, fear and impossibility. "There's no way they could like me back!" Bull. You're a likable person. Get over yourself and realize how awesome you are. If they didn't think you were cool at all, they wouldn't spend time with you. If they weren't trying to win your heart, they wouldn't spend every moment they could with you. Women, here's a little secret. If a guy likes you enough to where he is desperately trying to get your attention, you probably shouldn't second-guess yourself. Another secret:
This is also bull. Guys are not good emotion readers. It almost sounds hypocritical, but it would be nice if you just came up and asked us. We would love nothing more than to hear a conversation kind of like this:
"Hello, Man"
"Hello, Woman"
"Hey, Man. I notice that you talk to me enough for this to be statistically significant. Do you "like like" me?"
"Yep"
"Wanna hold hands?"
"Yep."
One final note: you're so arrogant, you probably think this post is about you. Yeah. It might be. It might also be directed at an additional crowd.
Peace out, readers.
Friday, July 6, 2012
An Explanation For the Required Chinese Post, Followed by an Ironic Shout-Out
I don't actually hate tall people. And there are some tall people at Startalk. The funny thing about learning a different language is realizing how bland your lexicon is. With a vocabulary of under 1000 words, max, it is quite hard to play the language to finer times of meaning.
No, I don't hate tall people. In fact, I try not to hate people at all. It's stupid to becoming oblivious to reality by binding yourself to a certain way of thinking. But I do heartily dislike what they stand for: looking down on others. Pride. Generally unwarranted pride. I have come to notice something of those who have ample pride: by filling themselves with their own admiration, they seldom leave room for that of others.
Rather, I am a fan of meekness. Much like pride is belligerent stupidity, meekness is quiet strength. The meek are an incredibly rare group, but some of my favorite people live there. Meekness is a virtue that I have found myself hardly able to obtain. As much as I say I dislike pride, I'm a performer at heart. I try to do good work, and I don't usually actively brag, but I do enjoy applause and attention. Being good at something is hard, being both good and not talking about it: that is an art.
Ladies and gentlemen, let's give a hand to the meek.
No, I don't hate tall people. In fact, I try not to hate people at all. It's stupid to becoming oblivious to reality by binding yourself to a certain way of thinking. But I do heartily dislike what they stand for: looking down on others. Pride. Generally unwarranted pride. I have come to notice something of those who have ample pride: by filling themselves with their own admiration, they seldom leave room for that of others.
Rather, I am a fan of meekness. Much like pride is belligerent stupidity, meekness is quiet strength. The meek are an incredibly rare group, but some of my favorite people live there. Meekness is a virtue that I have found myself hardly able to obtain. As much as I say I dislike pride, I'm a performer at heart. I try to do good work, and I don't usually actively brag, but I do enjoy applause and attention. Being good at something is hard, being both good and not talking about it: that is an art.
Ladies and gentlemen, let's give a hand to the meek.
The Required Chinese Post
我今天不可以说英文。为什么？我的老师说，“如果你们不说英文，我给你加分和贴纸。”对。加分。和贴纸。 我现在三年级，可是我的中文不太好。 我不喜欢中文天， 可是我不恨那个。一面，我没有英文不可以说我心中的觉得 ，一面，我的中文说得很好。
This is the part where I say deep things:
中国人说：“高人一等”。那个说，“人想他们很重要” 非常真。 我知道很多高人（没有在星说）。他们觉得：“我最重要”。我不喜欢高人。
Whoa. That wasn’t deep at all. It’s kinda hard to be deep in
your non-native language.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Surprises
Yesterday, something happened to me that I don't admit to very often. I was taken completely by surprise. You know how it feels when you think you're the only person who knows about something, and then hear somebody talking about it like its nobody's business? Kind of like that. It's been three years since we met, and all this time, I was under the impression that girl from camp had no idea I had ever fallen for her. Imagine my surprise, when I hear it from the source's mouth herself:
"Hey Eli, remember our first year? And then on the last day when I figured out you were into me..."
What.
As far as I remembered, this information was never disclosed. I certainly could not of hinted at it at that time, since I was clad in the steel of social awkwardness. Now, nearly two years after that day, I'm finally informed there was no barrier between my thoughts and her knowledge.
Startalk, year three. Our friendship is alive and well. In fact, we're some of the very few survivors from our first year. We passed a unique point where we mutually friend zoned each other in the dark. Life moves on.
That's all. Enjoy my public emotional battlefields.
Peace out, readers.
"Hey Eli, remember our first year? And then on the last day when I figured out you were into me..."
What.
As far as I remembered, this information was never disclosed. I certainly could not of hinted at it at that time, since I was clad in the steel of social awkwardness. Now, nearly two years after that day, I'm finally informed there was no barrier between my thoughts and her knowledge.
Startalk, year three. Our friendship is alive and well. In fact, we're some of the very few survivors from our first year. We passed a unique point where we mutually friend zoned each other in the dark. Life moves on.
That's all. Enjoy my public emotional battlefields.
Peace out, readers.
Monday, July 2, 2012
Post-Curfew Post
Somebody just posted a fortune cookie quote on Facebook that was something to the effect of:
"Stop searching for happiness. It will find you."
Bullcrap.
The quest for happiness is not a passive one. One will not be able to obtain happiness if they just sit there waiting for it to come and embrace them in a bear hug of cheesiness. Rather, happiness is a business, an art, a final project that none of your group shows up for. The quest for happiness is indeed a very active one.
Take, for example, the quest for academic fulfillment, often mistaken as a quest for a 4.0 GPA. This is a journey that is not only painful but also impossible without taking an active role. Throughout my Junior year of high school, I pointedly improved the way I learned. In doing so, I realized that something had been missing from school. Something I had left behind in fifth grade. Excitement. Initiative. The need to learn, to take the class not for the grade, but for the material. I looked back at elementary school days, and realized how much happier I was. Not because of how ignorant I was, but the opposite. I knew things. I wanted to know things. I wanted to be the best. Alas, I was a minimalist. A fine ailment for a care-free child, but one to be feared when entering the hormone-sack prison we call middle school. For years, this disease carried itself with me. Only during the later part of this school year did I realize that my problem was that I had forgotten to be active, that my own mediocrity was because I wasn't allowing myself to be anything more than mediocre. As soon as that clicked, I found the last bit of junior year, despite being surrounded by hindrances, to be bliss. I had come full circle.
Cheesy teen romance is another great place to find the fruits of activity. So many foolish young people expect their one true love to fall from the sky. Nope. That's not how it works. As counterintuitive as it sounds, a good relationship needs to be based on a good deal of scheming. Let's face it. There's hardly a couple in the world that just "fell in love". Understandably, there are a few couples who have a mutual base of loveliness from the start, but by and large, there's a large deal of effort on part of one side to get noticed by the other. Whole epics could be written describing the arduous task of convincing somebody you exist. This is the effort taken to find happiness. Of course, there will be failures, but that's for a future post. The point remains that effort is necessary for any good relationship to begin to exist. An effort that carries on through the relationship, along with the rewards.
I'd love to write more, but I was supposed to be asleep 42 minutes ago.
Peace out, readers.
"Stop searching for happiness. It will find you."
Bullcrap.
The quest for happiness is not a passive one. One will not be able to obtain happiness if they just sit there waiting for it to come and embrace them in a bear hug of cheesiness. Rather, happiness is a business, an art, a final project that none of your group shows up for. The quest for happiness is indeed a very active one.
Take, for example, the quest for academic fulfillment, often mistaken as a quest for a 4.0 GPA. This is a journey that is not only painful but also impossible without taking an active role. Throughout my Junior year of high school, I pointedly improved the way I learned. In doing so, I realized that something had been missing from school. Something I had left behind in fifth grade. Excitement. Initiative. The need to learn, to take the class not for the grade, but for the material. I looked back at elementary school days, and realized how much happier I was. Not because of how ignorant I was, but the opposite. I knew things. I wanted to know things. I wanted to be the best. Alas, I was a minimalist. A fine ailment for a care-free child, but one to be feared when entering the hormone-sack prison we call middle school. For years, this disease carried itself with me. Only during the later part of this school year did I realize that my problem was that I had forgotten to be active, that my own mediocrity was because I wasn't allowing myself to be anything more than mediocre. As soon as that clicked, I found the last bit of junior year, despite being surrounded by hindrances, to be bliss. I had come full circle.
Cheesy teen romance is another great place to find the fruits of activity. So many foolish young people expect their one true love to fall from the sky. Nope. That's not how it works. As counterintuitive as it sounds, a good relationship needs to be based on a good deal of scheming. Let's face it. There's hardly a couple in the world that just "fell in love". Understandably, there are a few couples who have a mutual base of loveliness from the start, but by and large, there's a large deal of effort on part of one side to get noticed by the other. Whole epics could be written describing the arduous task of convincing somebody you exist. This is the effort taken to find happiness. Of course, there will be failures, but that's for a future post. The point remains that effort is necessary for any good relationship to begin to exist. An effort that carries on through the relationship, along with the rewards.
I'd love to write more, but I was supposed to be asleep 42 minutes ago.
Peace out, readers.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
The Two Bags
From Æsop's fables:
Every man, according to ancient legend, is born into the world with two bags on his neck: a small bag in front filled with his neighbor's faults, and a large back in back filled with his own faults. Hence it is that men are quick to see the faults of others, and yet are blind to their own failings.
Here end the words of Æsop. However, I think there is plenty more to be said on the subject:
1. Consider the size of the bags as described in the fable. The small one is the bag in front, the large one over the back. Though the faults of others are the ones we immediately notice, it is our own shortcomings that are much more noticeable to any observer.
2. The position of the bags. The neck is not a very wise joint to entrust your weight to, particularly that of two bags. Whenever we become aware of a flaw, it weighs us down.
3. The cleansing from error. Of course, this consistent weight would be painful, and the simple solution is to clean out the bags. Our neighbor's bag is beyond our control, but we are free to empty ours at any time, replacing our shortcomings with success.
4. Though not visible to us, our own bag is painfully obvious toward all observers. We should recognize that toward observers, we do not look perfect, and should accept it.
That is all. Enjoy your super fable.
Every man, according to ancient legend, is born into the world with two bags on his neck: a small bag in front filled with his neighbor's faults, and a large back in back filled with his own faults. Hence it is that men are quick to see the faults of others, and yet are blind to their own failings.
Here end the words of Æsop. However, I think there is plenty more to be said on the subject:
1. Consider the size of the bags as described in the fable. The small one is the bag in front, the large one over the back. Though the faults of others are the ones we immediately notice, it is our own shortcomings that are much more noticeable to any observer.
2. The position of the bags. The neck is not a very wise joint to entrust your weight to, particularly that of two bags. Whenever we become aware of a flaw, it weighs us down.
3. The cleansing from error. Of course, this consistent weight would be painful, and the simple solution is to clean out the bags. Our neighbor's bag is beyond our control, but we are free to empty ours at any time, replacing our shortcomings with success.
4. Though not visible to us, our own bag is painfully obvious toward all observers. We should recognize that toward observers, we do not look perfect, and should accept it.
That is all. Enjoy your super fable.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Things I've learned at The Chinese Camp
Cool stories make ample bedtime material.
All water does not taste the same.
There are no benefits without cost.
Just because somebody shares similar interests does not mean they are likable.
I don't care of people are witty enough to make good jokes, but I do care whether they understand mine.
Self-government, in many respects, beats executive power small-scale.
Willing to participate in something stupid changes the way you look at the world a great deal.
A little alone time is necessary to prevent becoming a wangsty emotional wreck.
You produce a much better performance if the writing is your own.
Sometimes, the best friendships are formed by acting stupid in front of each other.
Sometimes, it takes an outside observer to see you're acting really stupid.
Established friendships sometimes get in the way of new ones
Pterodactyl screamo either makes people laugh uncontrollably or convinces them of your insanity.
Getting jealous about something you don't care about is stupid.
Resigning yourself to fate is stupid and makes people not like you.
People get taller.
Trying to remain prideful in a situation where you are bound to look stupid is the epitome of conceit.
I'm really good at making up pick-up lines
You will adopt mannerisms of the people you surround yourself by.
Don't fall for who you imagine somebody to be. Fall for who they are. The results are much more interesting.
Fall asleep with something important on your mind. It'll still be there in the morning.
Chinese.
All water does not taste the same.
There are no benefits without cost.
Just because somebody shares similar interests does not mean they are likable.
I don't care of people are witty enough to make good jokes, but I do care whether they understand mine.
Self-government, in many respects, beats executive power small-scale.
Willing to participate in something stupid changes the way you look at the world a great deal.
A little alone time is necessary to prevent becoming a wangsty emotional wreck.
You produce a much better performance if the writing is your own.
Sometimes, the best friendships are formed by acting stupid in front of each other.
Sometimes, it takes an outside observer to see you're acting really stupid.
Established friendships sometimes get in the way of new ones
Pterodactyl screamo either makes people laugh uncontrollably or convinces them of your insanity.
Getting jealous about something you don't care about is stupid.
Resigning yourself to fate is stupid and makes people not like you.
People get taller.
Trying to remain prideful in a situation where you are bound to look stupid is the epitome of conceit.
I'm really good at making up pick-up lines
You will adopt mannerisms of the people you surround yourself by.
Don't fall for who you imagine somebody to be. Fall for who they are. The results are much more interesting.
Fall asleep with something important on your mind. It'll still be there in the morning.
Chinese.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
In Utah
I've spent the last three days in the town of Bountiful, Utah. Here, I have, as I always do, spent most of my time as an observer. Social practices in Utah are far different than what I have come to know as "Normal" life. Shall I list the ways?
In Utah, first and foremost, there are no major cliques. Of course, there are still sports groups, which remain hostile to most outsiders, but as a whole, there is one social group. In Normal,
Washington, closed circles of friends make up most of the population of Normal High School.
On the flip side of the coin, most people in Utah are completely unaware of how similar they really are. I marveled this week at political jokes being made with gusto, the thought that I may be a democrat never entering into their minds. Although Normal is in a very liberal State, it's refreshing to have people who don't automatically always agree with me. Debate is my fuel. I'm not comfortable when all opinions are in line, because it means one side of the argument, even when a valid point is made, is perpetually ignored.
More to come soon. Have an adventure.
In Utah, first and foremost, there are no major cliques. Of course, there are still sports groups, which remain hostile to most outsiders, but as a whole, there is one social group. In Normal,
Washington, closed circles of friends make up most of the population of Normal High School.
On the flip side of the coin, most people in Utah are completely unaware of how similar they really are. I marveled this week at political jokes being made with gusto, the thought that I may be a democrat never entering into their minds. Although Normal is in a very liberal State, it's refreshing to have people who don't automatically always agree with me. Debate is my fuel. I'm not comfortable when all opinions are in line, because it means one side of the argument, even when a valid point is made, is perpetually ignored.
More to come soon. Have an adventure.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Some Thoughts
It's been 9 days since I updated this puppy. Whoa. Time to get back into it. I suppose I should finish where I left off.
China was fun. And hot. You never really can understand how great your hometown is until you've spent a while far away from it. Over all ten days of the trip, the moment that felt the best was the one where I stepped off a plane into non-humid, temperate Spokane. It felt incredibly refreshing to be back to where the air was breathable, the water was drinkable, and the language was intelligible.
Back on the home front, life has been uneventful, just whittling away the time until I return to STARTALK, undoubtably the highlight of my summer.
Meanwhile, all of my dear peers have just escaped the bonds of another year of high school. It seems like only yesterday that graduation seemed like an uncontainable, far-off goal. Now, it can't come soon enough. I vowed to myself that I wouldn't catch senioritis, but now I find myself embracing it. Quite frankly, I'm bored with school. As underclassmen, we were always told that Junior year would be the most difficult, the most grueling. It wasn't. Now that I've spent the last couple of years getting organized, I have come to the same conclusion that I did as a second-grader: school isn't that hard. It's dreary, though.
A horrible side-effect of meeting amazing people is realizing how average the rest of the world is by comparison. I'm not talking intellectually, either, heaven knows some of the most amazing people I've met have unremarkable intelligence. I'm talking about people with depth, people who you can talk with,
and, through the badinage, stumble onto some deep thought or truth. 98% of the students I know fall nowhere close to this. There is a distinct superficiality to their words, and it's painful to be surrounded by. The gossip-obsessed cheerleader, the nerd who only discusses the latest video game, the stoner, the concerned valedictorian. They are all equal offenders. Being out for the summer is a welcome break.
That's all for now. Hopefully, you can expect more updates in the future. Peace out.
China was fun. And hot. You never really can understand how great your hometown is until you've spent a while far away from it. Over all ten days of the trip, the moment that felt the best was the one where I stepped off a plane into non-humid, temperate Spokane. It felt incredibly refreshing to be back to where the air was breathable, the water was drinkable, and the language was intelligible.
Back on the home front, life has been uneventful, just whittling away the time until I return to STARTALK, undoubtably the highlight of my summer.
Meanwhile, all of my dear peers have just escaped the bonds of another year of high school. It seems like only yesterday that graduation seemed like an uncontainable, far-off goal. Now, it can't come soon enough. I vowed to myself that I wouldn't catch senioritis, but now I find myself embracing it. Quite frankly, I'm bored with school. As underclassmen, we were always told that Junior year would be the most difficult, the most grueling. It wasn't. Now that I've spent the last couple of years getting organized, I have come to the same conclusion that I did as a second-grader: school isn't that hard. It's dreary, though.
A horrible side-effect of meeting amazing people is realizing how average the rest of the world is by comparison. I'm not talking intellectually, either, heaven knows some of the most amazing people I've met have unremarkable intelligence. I'm talking about people with depth, people who you can talk with,
and, through the badinage, stumble onto some deep thought or truth. 98% of the students I know fall nowhere close to this. There is a distinct superficiality to their words, and it's painful to be surrounded by. The gossip-obsessed cheerleader, the nerd who only discusses the latest video game, the stoner, the concerned valedictorian. They are all equal offenders. Being out for the summer is a welcome break.
That's all for now. Hopefully, you can expect more updates in the future. Peace out.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Coincidences
Someone on the other side must have been rolling an unholy amount of natural twenties, because fairly improbable things have been happening left and right today. These things include:
Seeing a blue sky over Beijing (P=.03)
Sharing a train car with a Chinese man who was reading The Bible (P=.0003) (edit: met another Christian Chinese man (P=.0000009)
Running into the one person in the world I knew who would presently be in China (P=.0000000003)
Need proof on that last one?
Check in tomorrow.
Seeing a blue sky over Beijing (P=.03)
Sharing a train car with a Chinese man who was reading The Bible (P=.0003) (edit: met another Christian Chinese man (P=.0000009)
Running into the one person in the world I knew who would presently be in China (P=.0000000003)
Need proof on that last one?
Check in tomorrow.
Location:西安，中国
Thursday, June 7, 2012
A Post About Something Mundane
Walls, walls, walls.
China is full of them. Today, I hiked one of them. The Okay Wall of China. Sure, it's really big, and I understand what attracts people toward it, but now, it's just a really long hike. To me, it's not the wall itself that is impressive, but the psyche behind it. Emperor Qin, he guy who built the wall, was a bit of a crazy guy. The audacious implications he sent with such a wall were huge. It is quite the hostile and belligerent motion to think yourself important enough for such a wall.
Of course, walls have a long and proud history in China as an open message toward others to keep out of their business. Those familiar in passing with the history of Beijing and Avatar: the Last Airbender, should have no trouble drawing the parallels between the forbidden city and Ba Sing Se. Up until 1911, Beijing was divided up into several rings, at the center of which was the imperial palace. Outside the wall, the wealthy merchants and government officials lived. Outside that wall, the middle class, and beyond, the commoners. For anybody who thinks America has large disparities between social classes, we've got nothing on Imperial China.
Although these walls went down over 100 years ago, their proud tradition still stands. As we arrived in Bejing, many of the streets we drove past also had walls. When we took an evening stroll by these same walls, we had a chance to look behind them. It became evident that we had driven in on the nice roads of the city. Behind was another world, filled with old tenements and one-man bike repair shops. There was a certain charm to this view. As I've said before, Beijing is Vegas, San Fransisco, New York. We were presented with the material face of the city. With a little searching, we caught glimpses of the city's soul.
I may not have Internet access for the next several days. Stay classy, readers.
China is full of them. Today, I hiked one of them. The Okay Wall of China. Sure, it's really big, and I understand what attracts people toward it, but now, it's just a really long hike. To me, it's not the wall itself that is impressive, but the psyche behind it. Emperor Qin, he guy who built the wall, was a bit of a crazy guy. The audacious implications he sent with such a wall were huge. It is quite the hostile and belligerent motion to think yourself important enough for such a wall.
Of course, walls have a long and proud history in China as an open message toward others to keep out of their business. Those familiar in passing with the history of Beijing and Avatar: the Last Airbender, should have no trouble drawing the parallels between the forbidden city and Ba Sing Se. Up until 1911, Beijing was divided up into several rings, at the center of which was the imperial palace. Outside the wall, the wealthy merchants and government officials lived. Outside that wall, the middle class, and beyond, the commoners. For anybody who thinks America has large disparities between social classes, we've got nothing on Imperial China.
Although these walls went down over 100 years ago, their proud tradition still stands. As we arrived in Bejing, many of the streets we drove past also had walls. When we took an evening stroll by these same walls, we had a chance to look behind them. It became evident that we had driven in on the nice roads of the city. Behind was another world, filled with old tenements and one-man bike repair shops. There was a certain charm to this view. As I've said before, Beijing is Vegas, San Fransisco, New York. We were presented with the material face of the city. With a little searching, we caught glimpses of the city's soul.
I may not have Internet access for the next several days. Stay classy, readers.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Thoughts From Beijing
After a grueling 34-hour day, being in China is finally a reality. As we drove in, walked around, and mingled with the locals, I recognized a great deal of things.
Essential to understanding Beijing is realizing its status as a tourist city. As I rode in, parallels between Vegas and LA kept becoming evident. You can see parts of the city that are very clearly designed to be tourist traps. In addition, the sort of people who call Beijing their hometown tend to be very similar. The materialism that has permeated the city is clearly seen with the outrageous styles many locals are sporting.
Our first hour in, we went down to Pearl market, an amusing mix of a mall and open market. Instead of the store having one cashier per department, there were several stalls built next to one another, each trading virtually the same wares, Although haggling sounded easy at first, and it felt easy, until you realize you got ripped off. The folks running the stalls are very, very good. Their analysis begins the moment you come into their domain. They follow your eyes, trying to see how much you'd be willing to give up for the item. Their only strategic fault is how they will approach you, unsolicited. The moment that THEY are the ones offering the price, they allow the buyer control over how "interested" they are in buying it. Unfortunately, this is not often taken advantage of, something of which I, too, am guilty.
I don't have time to write about the ride in, the alleys, or the walls now, but they will definitely be covered in the next few posts. Stay classy, readers.
Essential to understanding Beijing is realizing its status as a tourist city. As I rode in, parallels between Vegas and LA kept becoming evident. You can see parts of the city that are very clearly designed to be tourist traps. In addition, the sort of people who call Beijing their hometown tend to be very similar. The materialism that has permeated the city is clearly seen with the outrageous styles many locals are sporting.
Our first hour in, we went down to Pearl market, an amusing mix of a mall and open market. Instead of the store having one cashier per department, there were several stalls built next to one another, each trading virtually the same wares, Although haggling sounded easy at first, and it felt easy, until you realize you got ripped off. The folks running the stalls are very, very good. Their analysis begins the moment you come into their domain. They follow your eyes, trying to see how much you'd be willing to give up for the item. Their only strategic fault is how they will approach you, unsolicited. The moment that THEY are the ones offering the price, they allow the buyer control over how "interested" they are in buying it. Unfortunately, this is not often taken advantage of, something of which I, too, am guilty.
I don't have time to write about the ride in, the alleys, or the walls now, but they will definitely be covered in the next few posts. Stay classy, readers.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
The First Post
Hey. It's me. Eli. Starting a blog again. The rationale behind starting this one is that it'll give me a medium to commune my adventures in China through, but who knows? I might be able to keep this one alive after the first three posts. Should you choose to return, expect to find not rants about what I did that day, but rather, observations and thoughts on said events, and perhaps lengthy discourses discussing such things.
Well, let's begin. Time for an adventure.
Well, let's begin. Time for an adventure.
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