Humorless Harangues

My Day

2007-02-07T00:12:00.000-08:00

40 degrees. By far the warmest day of the past two months. I could see the sun. I could see its light. I could feel its warmth.

A perfect day to break the spell. Dark and gloomy days have kept me captive. Cold and icy air has kept us from the world.

A drive was the answer. A long drive down long roads. Alone I was; to myself I spoke.

I paid note to the color of the sky. I observed the single homes that outlined the highway. Birds in formation, billboards pushing products, and trucks getting in the way. The sun broken against the branches of dead trees, the frosty ground revealing the earth, and the single stretch laid out on flat land.

When I arrived, I ate at Jack n' the Box. It had been awhile. Afterward, I made my way to the first floor where music played. Old people rushed to get on the floor, but despite their attempts, I was faster. I mingled. Flopped a flush the first hand and lost. Pocket Queens were no match for Aces full, which in turn lost to a Royal Flush. Mingled some more. Easy come, easy go.

As I departed, I realized how wide my path was. I saw dozens of cars, even a California plate. Half way back, I stopped. Some may have described it as "the middle of nowhere." It was nowhere. And it was in the middle of it, indeed. Past the stop sign and ended up on dirt roads. Passed an abandoned house with big bold black letters on it that read, "Tell the Truth." Next to the house, a sign read, "A trash can is no home for a baby." There were other ramblings about Hell and the like, but I needed gas.

When I entered the store, there was a wall of chips, a wall of candy, and a wall of boots. "A country store," as the clerk described it. I got on my way as the day turned into night.

Off to work for a meeting. Many familiar faces showed. There were no uniforms, just the people behind them. It felt good seeing my friends from Housekeeping and the Kitchen in everyday attire. They were people beyond their jobs. I saw this today and it made me happy.

Got back and played some dice. Got home and told a story. This was my day, and it was beautiful.

A Partial Death

2007-01-24T03:34:00.000-08:00

Today marks a major point in the death of Philosophy in me. The only thing that I have to show from that time in my life--the time when I was more or less consumed with Philosophy--are my books. Today, however, I've decided to part with them. They are dust collectors, mementos, memories, and obsolete. Sure, I've gained a few things from them: how to apply Modus Ponens, Russell's paradox, Section 43 of Wittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations; reality, knowledge, nor ethics are NOT relative; and . . . Oh yeah, Plato was Socrates' pupil. Can't forget that one.

I'm sure I'll get crap from the big boy and wolflips, but the idea of us three tearing up the world of Philosophy is quickly fading. I still hope that my pursuits are meaningful and fulfilling though. And maybe one day I'll find myself rebuying the same old books I'm letting go for pennies. It's unlikely though. In one respect, the world has got the best of me, so now I just need to figure out how to get it back.

The unexamined life . . .

Untitled Short Story (Rough Draft. Read. Enjoy.)

2007-01-14T06:37:00.000-08:00

I
John left his house at 9. Dinner was to commence at 8. He was running late and didn't have a number to call to notify the hosting party. John overslept after falling asleep on the couch watching a show on natural wonders.

"I always do this. I'm always late. No matter what I do, it manages to happen."

He decided to take a smaller road to his destination in hopes of saving time. The road was very dark, with deep ditches that outlined it. John never understood how one could drive in such conditions. In the city, light posts hang over the heads of all, shining light that reveals the doings of everyone. Without his high beams, John wouldn't know if he was about to drive off the edge of the earth or not. He did see one car ahead of him though. It was about a mile and a half away. With it in sight, John felt more secure.

After 20 minutes, John relaxed. He was late and there was nothing he could do about it. He would arrive in 10 minutes and simply explain. The family he was going to see would understand. It was over 10 years since he saw them. Richard and his wife Donna--they were like uncle and aunt. Then there was their daughter Heather, who was only about six or seven at the time. She was always excited to see John, and he'd play with her as often as he could. As vague as the memory of his childhood was, even more unclear was the reason behind being invited to have dinner with a family he hasn't seen in so long. He didn't even quite remember how it all began; John just knew he was driving through the pitch-black sky late night on his tardy way to see people from his past.

Just before he could question it much longer, he noticed the car in the distance begin to brake. John made note of where about the car was and decided to approach the same spot prudently. As he came near, John saw a flash in the night air. It was the whites of the eyes of some animal. Breaking, it was clear to John that something very big was in the middle of the road. Little by little, the animal began to take shape. What was once a blank patch was now a living thing with fur, a black nose, wide eyes, and a broad chest. What struck John the most about the deer in the middle of the road was its inability to move. Its broken legs left it helpless, and as John drove around it, he could see it in its eyes.

John pulled over.

"There must be something I can do. I can't just leave it there to get hit. There must be someone I can call to come take care of this."

John, too, began to feel helpless. He slowly began to detach himself from the situation though. Although sad, he realized that it would be rather easy to simply drive away and not worry about the fate of the deer in the middle of the road. It then occurred to him that he could shoot the deer. It also occurred to him that he had never been responsible for the death of anything bigger than a fly. John began struggling with the notion of whether or not he could come to pulling the trigger. Could he spare the deer's pain at the cost of knowing he had taken the life of a living creature the size of a deer. For some reason, size played a major role in the weight of killing something. Ever since reading George Orwell's essay Shooting an Elephant, John looked slightly different toward animals of size. Shooting a giraffe was nothing like shooting a lizard to John. As irrational as it might seem, John would base a decision on size if all other things were equal.

But here, in the middle of the road, so late at night, it was just John and the deer. There was no choice other than leaving the deer as it was or ending its life. It was then that John realized that either shooting the deer or beating it to death would mean having to go back home to change clothes. In either case, John decided not to be any more late than he already was. And with that, he drove away.

II
Shortly after ringing the doorbell, John was greeted by Donna at the door. She had a smile on her face and invited him in. The TV was rather loud and everyone was gathered around the living room. John noticed that the kitchen table was clear as if it would be of no use for the remainder of the evening.

"We realized you didn't have any way of contacting us in case of an emergency. At about 30 past we decided that you weren't going to make it and ate. I hope you don't mind, but we had the food prepared and it was getting late."

Donna said this in the sweetest of tones, almost as if she was asking for forgiveness.

"I don't mind at all," John said. "I have no legitimate excuse for my tardiness and I wouldn't expect that you'd wait for me. I really am sorry for not getting here on time; I hope I haven't caused any inconvenience."

"Not at all," Richard said. "We're just glad you made it safely. Have a seat and let's catch up."

Something John noticed was the size of the house. It was very small, and any space available to sit seemed like the last of its kind. After sitting on the end of the small sofa, John looked around and noticed all the pictures on the wall. Before he could peruse much longer, Donna spoke up.

"So, John, tell us what you've been up to."

John proceeded to tell both Rich and Donna how he just graduated from college and was going to continue his education. He retraced his life starting just after moving from the neighborhood and noted the details he found most impressive.

"We talked to your aunt the other day after running into her at the store. We asked about you and she filled us in a little. We were so happy to hear that you made it out of here and did something positive with your life. We knew you'd go places."

The conversation shifted to what Donna and Rich had been doing for the past 10 years. They talked for a little less than an hour. That's when John noticed a picture of Heather on the wall.

"Is that Heather?"

"Yes. Those are her senior pictures. She graduates in a month and has her college picked out already. We celebrated her 18th birthday in December. She's done so well; we're very proud of her."

John hadn't seen Heather in over 10 years. When looking at her picture, there was a sense of recollection--there was a gathering of memories, but at the same time, John was looking at Heather for the first time all over again. She looked the same, but now she was a young woman.

"She's very pretty. I'm glad she's doing well. Where is she now?"

"She should be home any minute. She met with a study group tonight for her finals. She knows you're coming and told us to tell you to wait for her."

And just as John finished whispering, "I'll wait for her" in his head, Heather walked through the door.

III
"John!" Heather said, full of energy. She put her books down on the floor and rushed over to him with her arms wide open.

"Hey!" John replied, not sure how comfortable he was with the embrace that was about to happen.

"How was dinner? Sorry I was late, but I had a big test to study for."

"Well, I got here pretty late, so dinner was skipped. I'm glad I got a chance to see you though."

"Yeah, I knew you were coming, so I rushed home."

Rich asked everyone to sit back down, as if John just arrived all over again. Heather asked the same questions Donna asked and John politely repeated, briefly, the main points of his life since he last saw them. As John was talking, Donna exited the room, not excusing herself. She reentered shortly after with a book she was intent on showing John.

"Oh, she brought the photo album; go ahead and show him mom," Heather said with enthusiasm.

Donna worked her way through the photo album. She took out a photo of John and Heather when they were younger. Heather was chasing him with a plastic bat and they both had glowing smiles.

"I don't think you remember this day or much of that time, but you and Heather were good friends," Donna said.

"I remember John a lot," Heather said. "He was always fun and I always looked forward to seeing him."

"I don't recall a whole lot from that time. I remember that yard though. It's bigger in my memories, but in this picture it seems so small. A lot of things seem that way when we look so far back I suppose."

John was starting to feel more and more comfortable with the family. They stayed up for a little while longer, then Rich, who was falling asleep on the couch, decided to head off to bed. John asked if he was keeping them up, but was quickly reassured that he was causing no burden.

IV
"These are some pictures from my recent trip to Cancun," Heather said, as she pointed to her computer screen. Donna asked Heather to give John a tour of the house while she finished cleaning up in the kitchen. John found himself in Heather's bedroom going through an assortment of memorabilia and other items of value to Heather.

"I also went to Spain for a summer and took a course in Spanish. Here I am with my friends in Madrid," Heather said with a smile.

"That's great. It's seems like you've done so much. I'm happy to see you're doing okay."

"Yeah, a lot's happened in 10 years. But I never forgot you, John."

"Really? That's sweet of you. But let me ask you something. What made me so memorable? We never really got a chance to do much growing up together. We only did so much and spent so much time together."

"I know. And to be honest, I don't really remember many details, but I guess I can tell you why I remember you so well." Heather giggled. Her giddy eyes revealed she was about to divulge something embarrassing. "You were the first boy I had a crush on. I don't really remember how I felt exactly, but I knew I liked you in ways I didn't like other boys. You know, it was one of those things--a young heart growing fond of another overnight. Childish, yes, but we were children, so . . . ."

"I know what you mean," John said. "You were a cute little girl and I enjoyed my time with you. But I guess we got away from each other, eh?" John smiled.

"Yeah, if only we could chase each other around the same way now."

"With a bat and everything?"

"Why not. Might as well put you in your place before we say anymore," Heather said as she laughed. "But all joking aside, I'm glad you came today because I've been wanting to tell you these things for a long time."

"What things?"

"Just that I remembered you all this time and that I liked you. For no good reason though; I just thought you'd like to know."

"Well, I'm glad I came over too. It was nice of you to open up to me about those things."

"I was a little nervous about it, but I figured we go so far back, if there's anyone I can talk to after meeting an hour prior, it would be someone I chased around with a bat 10 years ago."

"This is true."

John and Heather stayed up and talked about the details of their lives. Donna came upstairs to let them know she was off to bed and asked Heather to see him out when we were done talking. It was now past 3am and almost every minute of the 10 years lost was made up.

"I don't want to be presumptuous, but I'm really enjoying my time with you tonight. How about we meet again for a movie or something?" John asked.

"Of course. I'd like that."

And with that, John and Heather would meet in the future.

V
John took the same road home. He felt warm inside over meeting Heather. She was a great girl and if it wasn't for a few simple play dates as kids, he might not have had the chance to ever know her. John was already looking forward to the next time he'd see her. With a gleam in his eye, John's train of thought was broken by the recognition of the stretch of highway he passed earlier that night. It was just ahead that the deer he left behind to die was resting. As he got to the spot, he noticed that the deer was now on the side of the road. He pulled over again and rolled his window down. He stuck his ear out in an attempt to hear any kind of movement, but there was none. John was convinced that the deer was dead, that is, until it looked up at him. John was again faced with the same dilemma. The situation was even worse now that he knew exactly how long the deer was helpless there in agony.

John was not indifferent. He considered his options. He struggled in deciding what he ought to do. It boiled down to courage. John convinced himself that leaving the deer behind to die a slow and painful death was not the best thing to do. Killing it would be what was right. Now all John had to do was find the courage to do it. He sat in his car for over 10 minutes, then drove away.

Two weeks later, John met Heather for lunch. He thought about telling his story about the deer to her, but felt ashamed of himself. If anything, John needed to be consoled, as his guilt was persistent. For their next few meetings, however, John never spoke a word of it.

VI
With more passing weeks, John and Heather continued to get closer. Their lunches became picnics, and their picnics became dinners. Little by little, the two were dating, and neither one of them had a problem with it.

"We've come a long way these past few weeks, haven't we?" John said as the candlelight flickered. "You know you've come a long way if you're about to share dessert with someone with a candle burning between the two of you."

John chuckled.

"Indeed. And how about that dinner? I don't know if I've ever ate a steak that fast in front of anyone before."

"Yeah, you seemed pretty hungry." John's eyes tracked the waitress as she weaved her way through tables and chairs with their dessert. "Here it comes."

"Strawberry cheesecake?"

"That's mine," Heather said.

"Double fudge cheesecake?"

"That's me," John said.

"And Reese's Peanut Butter Cup cheesecake."

"That's for both of us," John said smiling.

"Ok, looks like you two have some work to do. Enjoy," the waitress said as she laid the third plate down at the edge of the table.

The two dug in. There was no shame in their gluttony. Half way through each of their respective pieces, Heather asked if John was ready to try the third.

"I'm ready when you are," he said.

"Here you go; I'll let you do the honors. Try it out for both of us." Heather cut a big piece off with her fork, which was covered in strawberry cheesecake, and fed it to John. With his mouth full, John rolled his eyes back and reclined in his chair, as to suggest he was experiencing pure bliss.

"Good, eh?" Heather laughed and cut a piece for herself.

The two carried on this way until their plates were clean. They sat in silence for a moment afterward, relishing the moment. John looked over at Heather and saw her with her eyes closed and sporting a smile that was reminiscent of their childhood. He got up from his seat and joined her on her side. He squeezed in next to her, and she smiled. The two didn't say anything for some time. Then, John said what was on his mind.

"Heather?"

"Mmmhmm."

"Is it just me or does all this seem right to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know that expression, right? When something 'seems right.' That's what I mean. You and me. This. The past few weeks. Our childhood. And possibly whatever time we'll spend together in the future."

"I know what you meant, John. I was just stalling. I guess I feel the same way, but I didn't know how to come out and say it. I didn't know if I wanted to say it. I was just glad that things were happening as they were. Know what I mean?"

"I do."

"I guess I didn't want to bring it up right before I moved. I know I'm not moving far, but it's far enough that we won't get to see each other as often. I didn't want to break or stray from the good times we were having because I wasn't sure how things would be once we moved."

"You guys will just be another 45 minutes away. It's a bit of a drive, but not far enough to keep us from seeing each other if we really wanted to."

"I know. I guess we'll just do what we've been doing. It's working, right?"

"Yeah. I just wanted you to know how I felt. I was having a good time with you and felt like saying it. So let's keep up the good work, eh?" John smiled.

"No dispute here." Heather leaned over and placed her head on John's shoulder. This was the first time they made any significant contact with each other since their hug the night the two met again. John felt closer to her than ever before. The two stayed this way for over an hour until the waitress asked them if they wouldn't mind giving up their seats to other guests. John and Heather put their coats on, and almost in a disoriented fashion, left the restaurant.

"John?"

"Mmmhmm."

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Heather asked. Her breath was seen in the cold air and she shook slightly in her coat. Her tone was a bit more serious.

"Nothing important. Why?"

"I want you to come by tomorrow." It was apparent that Heather was in a different mood.

"Okay. Is something wrong?"

"No. But, tomorrow . . . . I'm just going to need someone to talk to tomorrow. We're moving in a few days and I'm going through some things. It'd be nice to have you around."

"Sure. No problem. But, are you sure you're okay. You seem . . . I don't know. It seems like something's wrong."

"I know. It will make more sense tomorrow. But don't worry; I'm fine. It's just rough sometimes, you know? I've lived in that house for so long and it's just awkward having to walk away from it. I'm having to walk away from a lot of things."

"I understand. Well, I'll be there. Don't you worry."

"Okay. Thanks, John. Come by around 3. I should be done with some things by then. You can stay for dinner and I'll try to talk to you about this a little more then. Is that alright?"

"Of course." John reached for her and brought her in. His hug didn't seem well received though, as if a hug wasn't good enough to placate the worries that whirled in Heather's mind. It was a bit awkward for a moment, then John said goodbye.

VII
On the way home, John felt uneasy about the last moments he spent with Heather. He didn't understand how the whole night could have gone so perfectly, then turn around in the closing minutes. He knew everything was fine, but still felt like maybe he didn't know Heather as well as he thought. He never saw her without a smile, and she was always full of cheer. Their relationship was so smooth, so when the idea of a potential problem was introduced, it seemed so foreign to him.

John decided to call Heather when he got home. He would call first to see if she arrived home safely, then try to reassure himself that Heather would be fine. On the way home, however, John passed the site where the deer was left. It was no longer there; only stained concrete remained. John imagined the blood on the floor being on himself and had a hard time stomaching the idea. It was over now though.

When John got home, he called Heather. She answered the house phone and was surprised to hear John's voice.

"It's kinda late, John."

"I know, but I just wanted to make sure you got home safely."

"You've never called before."

John was taken back by her detached attitude.

"Well, is it a problem that I called tonight? Am I bothering you or something?"

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I guess I just didn't expect to hear from you tonight."

"I know, you kinda freaked me out earlier as we said goodbye. I was left a little uncomfortable."

"I didn't mean to make you worry. Some things hit me as we sat together after dinner. I was so comfortable with my head on your shoulder, my mind started wondering. I got to thinking about everything surrounding me and everything I'd have to face in the coming weeks. It wasn't you or anything."

"I never thought it was me. We were having such a good time though, and next thing I know, you're in this new skin and I didn't know exactly how to respond to you."

"Well, like I said, I was thinking about things." Heather's tone is bordering agitated. "I hope you understand, John."

"I do. I do. Sorry if I'm making you think about this more."

"It's okay. I'd like to get some rest now though. Tomorrow is a big day. Rocky is coming home. He's been away for a few weeks, ill. We're not sure how long he has and how he's going to take the move."

"Rocky?"

"Yeah, you don't remember Rocky?"

"No."

"You will tomorrow. I gotta go now though, I'm really exhausted."

John was stunned by the mention of another person's name. He didn't remember any Rocky and sure didn't like the idea of Rocky "coming home." John was confused, but sensed that prolonging the conversation any further would just irritate Heather.

"Okay. Have a goodnight, Heather dear."

"Thanks. You too. Bye."

John took his coat off and sat on his sofa. A desk lamp illuminated a corner of the room and only the low sound of the refrigerator running was heard. John's phone call made things worse. Not only did it not make him feel better about the way the night ended, it added a new element. Rocky. He'd have to wait the night out to meet this Rocky and figure out where he stood in things. And with that, John's picture of what was happening became blurred. In one night, he felt like he didn't know anything about Heather, and what's more, she wasn't really rushing to clear things up for him. What seemed right hours before, was being doubted as John laid his head down to sleep.

Final Part
John tossed and turn all night. He was over concerned. He had a tendency to over think things. The next morning was supposed to be filled with running errands, but John awoke at 1. He got up and decided to go to Heather's early. He put on a brand new pair of khaki pants and a light blue dress shirt. He rarely dressed up in any way, but he wanted to make a good impression. Not to mention, he would be meeting this Rocky character.

John took the outer road again. He drove slowly, as not to arrive earlier than he already was. He paid note to all the things he passed. It wasn't often that he took this route. A shoe store with a 15% off sale. A Sinclair station. A truck stop with a smoky cafe next to it. The booths were full of patrons and John could see himself and Heather sitting in one. They were eating cheesecake and laughing with their mouths full. They touched wine glasses and before they could share a kiss, John's eyes came back to the road in front of him. He sped up.

John arrived a little over an hour early. He didn't have a reason for this, but he didn't think he'd need one. The doorbell was rung. He then knocked on the door. There was a moment, then he rang the doorbell again. John put his head close to the door, as to have a better listen to the happenings inside. He thought he heard someone in distress. A moaning or even crying. He decided to enter on his own. Once the door opened, it was clear someone was crying. It was Donna. She was in the kitchen at the table. She was sitting up straight, holding in both of her hands a photo. It was a Polaroid. John approached slowly from behind and got a glimpse of it. It was a picture of Rocky. John's memory was coming back to him now. In the photo with Rocky was Heather. She never looked happier.

"Donna."

John startled her.

"Oh! John! When did you get here!? I didn't hear you come in."

"I know. I'm sorry. I rang, but no one answered and I heard you crying. What's wrong? Where's Heather?"

"She upstairs with Rocky. Do you remember Rocky, John?" She started crying again.

John then got a better look at the photo. There was a brief moment when the thought of Heather upstairs with another man broke him. But then he saw his image in the photo with Heather and Rocky. He appeared in the background eating ice cream. It was Heather's 10th birthday party and Rocky was the white Terrier she got as a gift. Any doubts about Heather were slowly fading.

"I do now. I do now. He was a great dog. Heather said he was coming home today. What's wrong with him?"

"He's sick. Our Rocky is sick. They said he only had a few more days. I knew he wouldn't be with us forever, but why now. Why now, John? We need him with us in our new house. We got the yard just for him and he'll never see it now. He'll never see it."

Donna's tears flowed heavily. John began to get teary-eyed.

"I'm sorry, Donna. Is there anything I can do?"

"No, John."

There was an awkward silence and the two looked at the puppy in the photo.

"Do you know what they wanted to do to him?" Donna asked in a state of disbelief. "They wanted to put him to sleep before we came to get him today. They weren't even going to tell us. Luckily we called. And that place is so horrible. You know how they put dogs down, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know."

"Scare the hell out of the dog, then make them suffer for however many seconds before they die. Not Rocky. I yelled at them and told them that he was coming home first and that we'd work it out on our own."

"Why would they make such a decision without consulting you though?"

"They don't know what they're doing, that's why. They said he's in too much pain. They said he was already suffering and that it was cruel to let him go on that way. But when I asked if he could make it any longer, they reluctantly said yes. So that's when I said I wanted him home while he was still with us."

"Maybe they were trying to spare him any more pain though. We don't really know how Rocky feels or what he's going through."

"Heather and I already went over it. We got it all figured out."

John was flashed with the horrible image of the deer struck in the middle of the road. How could he blame them for the same mistake he once made. He couldn't come to killing a deer he had no connection with, let alone a dog he grew up with.

"I understand, Donna. I guess I'd want as much time with Rocky before he left us too."

"We said our goodbyes already. That's all we wanted. That's all anyone could ask for."

John was confused.

"What's Heather doing upstairs?"

BANG! A piercing sound came from upstairs followed by a short scream. BANG! BANG! Two more from upstairs.

"Aaah!!!" Heather was heard screaming at the top of her lungs. Donna put her hands over her ears and started crying.

"What's going on?!" John asked.

"Moooom!!! Mother!!!" Heather screamed from upstairs.

Slow and heavy footsteps were heard coming down the stairs. John readied himself for the worst. Before John could get a look at Heather's face, he saw blood splattered all over Heather's pant legs. More and more blood was revealed as Heather made her slow descent down the stairs.

"Momma! He's gone, momma. Rocky's gone!" Heather was shaken up, crying off and on.

John couldn't believe his eyes. Heather was covered in blood, holding a gun.

"John? John. I didn't think I could do it, John. I didn't think I had the courage. I didn't think I could do it."

John couldn't take his eyes off the gun. He didn't know if he was worried he might get shot with it or if just the mere sight of it bothered him. When he looked up at Heather, her face was empty of all color. She was in a cold sweat and as a pale as a ghost. He didn't recognize her at all. She put the gun down on the floor and ran to him with her arms wide open. John did not know how to respond to the hug he was about to receive. When she let go, John looked down at his clothes, which were now also covered in blood. John looked back up at Heather, then at the gun on the floor, then Donna, then the photo of Rocky. Heather had killed her dog. She did something he couldn't do. She did the right thing. But all at the same time, John was horrified by the family he once thought he'd be a part of.

"How could you do that?! How could you kill that poor animal?!"

John stared at Heather and Donna in their blank, empty, and cold faces, then looked down at the gun, and left. John was convinced they were horrible people. People he could not come to ever seeing again. As he drove off in his car, John began to detach himself from the situation more and more. All he wanted to do was get home and change out of his bloody clothes.

My story

2006-12-09T12:46:00.000-08:00

I arrived at the parade around 11. The block was already crowded--over 20 people were lucky to get a front row viewing. As I walked down the quiet street, I could hear whispers. I took my mask off and started dancing. Then there were smiles.

That's the end of my story. In it, I am the parade, but we don't know this at first. My dance was the main attraction, and judging by the smiles, it was well received. What you don't see though is that the mask I take off is my real face. I reveal someone ugly underneath. A hideous monster of sorts. But, I'm surrounded by them as well. Nothing distracts from my dance, as is the case in real life. This is my town of 30-40. This is my home outside of any other home.

Now, that's the end of my story. In it, I make up a fantasy about me wanting to live in a small town where I get center attention. I then reflect upon this wish and give it meaning. I assume my desires--I am, in my little mind, already the main attraction despite my questionable facade and ugly inner character. I justify this by stating that everyone is this way, thus negating the need to be held accountable for it.

That's the end of my story. There's no point to it other than to trace a nonsensical train of thought I was having. There's no story--just images followed by me talking to myself. This is my home outside of any other home.

Doctors . . .

2006-11-28T09:53:00.000-08:00

. . . have it made. They're experts. But not just any kind. They're one of the few experts the vast majority of people from all parts of the world yield to ever so willingly. You know why? Because people get boo-boo's. That's right; people hurt. Pain. That sharp pain in your side is enough for you to do whatever the hee haa the guy in the white suit says.

"Twenty jumping jacks every morning. Don't eat pop tarts anymore. Oh, and take these pills."

"Sure thing, Doc. As long as this pain goes away."

Now, what if you're idiotic thoughts hurt? What if you're poor conclusions, faulty reasoning, glaring contradictions, and omnipresent fallacies gave you a sharp pain in your eye? Maybe then you'd run to us Philosophers (because I'm a Philosopher and I know other Philosophers). Maybe then you wouldn't be so reluctant to listen to a Philosopher's explanation of why your premises don't entail the conclusion you purport.

Here's a conversation I had with a girl I just met last night.

"So do you go to school at Central Methodist?"

"Yeah. Well, no. I do, but I don't."

"No, you do or you don't. It can't be both."

"Technically, it can be."

"Impossibly, it can't be."

"You see, I took my last final earlier this morning. So, I'm done with my last class to graduate."

"So, you're done then. You've graduated. You're no longer attending the school."

"I do though. I was just there. I took my final and I'm done, but I took my final this morning. I was there so I'm still enrolled."

"I was at my house this morning, but it doesn't mean I'm in my house now."

*Silence*

Me: "So what did you get your degree in?"

"Criminal Justice."

"So what are your plans? What are you going to do with that?"

"Work for the FBI"

"Whaaat?"

"Yeah, I have an interview with them this week."

"What makes you think you can get into the FBI with just an undergraduate degree in Criminal Justice from Central Methodist University."

"Because I'm bilingual."

"That's some feat. So is more than half the state of California; maybe you should tell them where to sign up for the FBI."

"Well, I have the interview. They either take you or they don't."

My thoughts: "Wow, how insightful; you get in or you don't. Good job. You're either a moron or you're not."

Me: "I don't believe you. Something sounds off."

Her to another lady that has just approached: "Hey, Linda, can you believe this guy; I just met him and he's calling me a liar."

What I wanted to say: "My mistake. I don't have any doubts that you believe what you're saying. And insofar as you think it's the truth, you're not lying to me. My problem is with what you're saying. You've been misled somewhere. People don't just walk into the FBI, especially someone from a rinky dink school."

How's that for FBI material? She's gung ho about it though. Hey, like she said, she's either gonna get in or she's not. Looks like a 50-50 chance to me. That's pretty good when it comes to the FBI. Now if only her little simple mistakes gave her acne or made her hair fall out, then she might want to reconsider her approach and pseudo-optimism.

You doctors have it made. First, people are too stupid to prevent their pain, then need you to tell them how to fix it. Then, most of them don't do what they're supposed to, which inevitably leads them back to you for a "follow up." No one's required to follow up their ideas though. No pills for rationalizations or poor assumptions; no two-week prescription that can produce testable results. Just "I have a brain and I can fill it with what I want and no one can diagnose it as needing to be fixed because my ideas don't hurt anyone else."

The Philosopher gets no credit though. He disabuses the simple man of his misconceptions only to be ridiculed by the common man. Yet, the common man praises the doctor because he can tell you to stop smoking and your health will improve. How troubling, and yet, hypothetically, not troubling.

2006-11-26T03:53:00.000-08:00

"I'm feeling frisky tonight," said the old cat. "One 'meow' from me and the world will swim in my scream."

"Here is the sun," said the god. "Watch as I peel its surface with my dirty nails."

"Let's play a game of chess," said the boy. "One knight is all I need and your queen is mine."

"I don't know much about the sun or chess, but I sure can purr," said the old cat. "One more jump and when I land, the earth is mine."

"Feeble kitten. Simple boy. These flames I hold are unbearable to mortals," said the god. "When you bathe in fire, all your games are of no consequence."

"Since when do cats talk?" asked the boy. "And how do I know you're a god? You're just a voice to me. Show yourself and your fire. And when you do, challenge me to a man's game. A game of chess."

"Don't pay attention to him," said the cat. "I'm frisky."

"Who are you talking to?" asked the god. "Don't pay attention to the boy or should he not pay attention to me? If the former, I'm afraid I can't do that. If the latter, I'm afraid he can't do that."

"I'm afraid so," said the boy. "Until I find someone to play this game, a man's game, of chess with me, I'm afraid I'll remain this frisky god of fire."

2006-11-26T03:25:00.000-08:00

From under her skirt, she presented her favorite doll to Joseph. It was black from being exposed to fire and had only patches of hair left. One foot remained; the other leg being burned away up to the calf.

"Do you want to play with Liz," she screamed at Joseph. He was asleep and didn't know of her presence. Startled, Joseph awoke and questioned what was going on.

"Liz . . . wants . . . to . . . PLAAAAYYYY!!!!" she screamed again.

"Calm down. Let me take you back to your room." Joseph was calm. This was routine. She would make her way through the house and he'd have to walk her back. Ever since she lost her sight, he's had to endure many sleepless nights.

"Do you think Liz is ugly?" she asked in a sad voice.

"No."

"Do you think I'm ugly?" she asked with a broken face.

"Of course not."

"Then why do you treat me like I'm ugly?"

"I do not. Don't be ridiculous."

"Is that what I am to you? Ridiculous? Just one ugly, blind, ridiculous creature, burned from hell? Do you want to kill me? You'd kill me if you had the chance, wouldn't you?"

"We need to get some sleep." Joseph was calm. This was routine. Since the fire, she was very self-conscious of her burns. He had to endure endless questions regarding her appearance.

She could not see her face, but she knew. And she could not see her doll, but all she had to do was feel. The same with her face. Neither would be the same.

"You may need to sleep, but I don't. I'm going to stay awake. I'll always be awake. And one day, when you're asleep, you won't wake up. And yes, I'll still be awake." She used her doll to point when she was angry. Joseph knew she was angry. This may be serious.

"Don't say such things. Why would you want to be alone? Are you saying you want me to leave you alone in this house? Do you want me to leave; is that it?"

Her mood changes again. She begins to contemplate something.

"You know, if I knew where I was going, I would have left long ago. But we both know I need you. And even in your failed attempts to get rid of me, I am yours. But it won't always be that way. One day, you won't wake up and I will have accomplished something you couldn't."

"You don't know what you're saying. You're incapable of even understanding yourself, let alone carrying out any course of action you can dream up. Don't you start getting smart with me at this hour. Now we're going to bed; I have to get up at 6:30 this morning."

Joseph never awoke before 9. She knew this, and she grew troubled. She threw her doll at Joseph and jumped forward on top of him. She began screaming hysterically and swinging her thin arms in an attempt to hurt him. But with one punch to the jaw, she was out. Joseph looked down at her. He hated her face. He hated that she was blind. He hated his life, and hit her again. He was awake, and she was asleep, and this he hated, so he hit her again. One final hit to the head for the doll he hated, and she was dead.

Joseph would sleep quietly tonight.

Acknowledgements

2006-11-17T21:46:00.000-08:00

I'll post on my recent vacation to LA shortly, but first I just wanted to say a few words to the people that added color to my trip.

To Martha: Thanks for making this vacation possible. Although we want to choke each other at times while on the road, there are few other people I could travel with. Plus, you take good pictures. Let's go to Chicago soon.

To Wolfgang: Thanks for hanging out. Because of friends like you, I might marvel at the beautiful coasts on that end soon enough.

My apologies for not having more time. If I have one regret about my trip, it's rushing through all the stops we made. We had a good time while it lasted though. I expect to see you in Missouri soon, however. We'll cause a riot in this little city of mine.

Also, thanks for refraining from obscenities while at my aunt's. Thanks for being stylish. Thanks for being silly and enduring karaoke with my uncle. You were mesmerized by my singing, weren't you? (Because you can build dreams).

To Martha's mom: Thanks for letting us stay at YOUR house.

To Norma: My fear is that I won't be miserable when I get old. You know, one of those old people who turn everything into something depressing and black and reason to jump off of a building. But after spending two minutes with you, I don't think it'll be so bad. I think the amusement others get from it may be worth it. With that said, I'm afraid you're already one of those people. I'm afraid you've been that way for many years. It's amusing, but at the same time, I want to shed a tear for you. I hope one day your smiles and laughs will stem from something other than television. Take care.

To Dr. Ray: Good luck with your endeavors (www.vizcommunication.com). I look forward to working with you one day.

To Marvin, David, Jeff, and Vanessa: Thanks for showing up with such little notice. It's always a pleasure to retrace all the good times at A+.

To Liana: Thanks for having us at your place. Congratulations on your new marriage; he seems like a really great guy. I'm happy for your new place and life.

To my Daddy: I understand. Funds are limited. Work doesn't come around often. Business before pleasure. One day, I hope, that won't be the story.

To Tabitha: Keep practicing; you sound better than I do already.

To Leonor: Thanks for your efforts.

To Rima: Promoter of the mice race, enemy and conqueror of adversity, short-story-digression and penguin-feet identifier, Horse master and Betelgeuse searcher, I owe you a cake when you come to Missouri. Thanks for picking me over that model show. I took it to be the better of two evils.

To Carlos: On our date, it was 3-2, you. Then on your bed at night, it was 3-2, me. You netted more, however. Equally matched? I doubt either one of us thinks that. We'll have more matches to settle it. Or can that kind of thing between you and me ever be settled?

Thanks for making the trips. I expect one more to my place. You'll be with me, so no one will ask you if you need work.

And to Tamara: Do I really need to say it? Did I not say it when I arrived? I think I did. If not, I will say it when I wake up this morning and we go shopping, then watch UFC and eat at Hooters. I'll say it before you sleep and on Sunday when we relax. And so on.

I'm in LA and have much to report when I return.

2006-11-13T20:37:00.000-08:00

"I heard footsteps, but no one was there."

Your Mission: Use this word today in a serious manner

2006-11-07T11:30:00.000-08:00

http://www.m-w.com/cgi-bin/audio.pl?cockam01.wav=cockamamy

Joseph Haydn (1732 - 1809)

2006-11-05T14:33:00.000-08:00

You the man, Haydn.

I'm listening to his Opus 76 String Quartets. I was never really a fan of the Classical era until I ran into Haydn's String Quartets. When I heard them, I wanted more justification in ignoring this whole period, pushing it aside because its style didn't sit well with me. But after hearing Haydn, he made me a firm believer in the music of his time. I don't know what it is about it, I just know that his music is incredible.

(Maybe it has something to do with being one of the greatest composers of all time and his Opus 76 Quartets being some of his finest work and some of the finest work in the history of the Quartet repertoire?)

To Tara Lee

2006-11-01T18:37:00.000-08:00

And what a gift it was.
Or was it a gift?
I saw them, took them, then thanked you.
How thoughtful of us both.

A pair of blue moons.
A pair of light and dark blue moons.
Warm and soft.

They rode with me . . . shotgun!
They rode with me, nestled, admired, adored.
Carried over the threshold,
This gift was . . . from you to me.

A pair of comfort.
Light and dark this comfort was.
Fluffy moons.

There to greet me each morning.
There to walk me to my image.
No reluctance to take early steps.
No regrets in bringing them home.

A pair of blue moons.
Light and dark blue moons.
Or was it a gift?
We'll never know.

I saw them, took them, and now they're mine.
A pair of warm feet is what you gave me,
On a night like tonight.
A pair of warm and soft moons.

Thanks for the slippers, Tara Lee.

Taken by Surprise

2006-11-01T07:12:00.000-08:00

So the other day on the way to work, I was listening to an MP3 I made of my favorite orchestral works. (I also have one of my favorite chamber works. Of course, on both CDs you'd find works by Bach, Part, Shostakovich, and Philip Glass. During any given trip, I could be completely adverse to hearing any one of these composers and only be receptive to another.) Well, during my drive, I decided to listen to the first and last movement of Beethoven's 9th Symphony.

I've seen this piece performed three times, once with my buddy Wolfgang. He, as did Tamara and Martha, favored the second movement. The appeal to the second is unquestionable; it being the most brisk and forceful of the four movements. However, I like the first the best in part because I treat the fourth movement as a piece of its own.

Anyways, when I got to the fourth, it struck me as something so great, so beautiful, so divine, that I felt my chest cave in. I've heard this movement several times, each time it striking me in different ways. I never doubt its genius though, and I always hear greatness when listening. This time, though, it was so much more than that. Needless to say, I was brought to tears while driving. I felt as if I was being touched by God; I felt as if the entire world was one beautifully developed piece of art and I was a part of it; I felt as if Beethoven himself was listening with me and nodding in approval; I felt at once the vaguest and most abstract feeling of beauty, all the while feeling the most concrete sense of it to go along with it.

I write this now because this is how I feel listening to Pachelbel's Canon in D for String Orchestra. I've only heard this piece a few good times, but today it feels exalting. When heard, I feel as if I am being blessed with a gift.

And if only for these feelings do I want to strive for beauty. My buddy Brain (Carlos) spoke of the temptation to give up the pursuit of something like Philosophy. I noticed, as I'm sure he and Wolfgang did, that the use of the word 'temptation' gives away how we feel about giving up on Philosophy. One is never 'tempted' to do good things, noble things, virtuous things. We only speak of temptation when referring to those things one ought not to do. And why should we not give up on Philosophy or graduate school or music or writing? Because without those things, life lacks a certain amount of meaning necessary for the kind of beauty we feel from hearing these great works. Sure, as he said, we can take on jobs that pay well and come home to our wives to have dinner and watch TV. And yes, this would be Life. "Life" isn't beautiful though. That Life is drab and mediocre. That Life is quick, easy, and achieves no distinguishing things. Maybe that's why Life passes you by when you do Philosophy, because Philosophy is an art and there is no art in Life. And maybe that's why people call us foolish and impractical and not part of the real world. Yes, we are in many ways, but that's the cost.

Life is the cost. And I'm not saying I could give up this Life. It's going to be the hardest decision I've yet to make in my sad, short days. But only in Life am I a listener of music, a reader of literature, an analyzer of an argument. Only when I step outside of Life can I be the composer, the author, and the Philosopher.

Luciano Berio . . . and Beethoven . . . and old people, I guess

2006-10-31T06:14:00.000-08:00

This past Sunday Tamara and I went to St. Louis to see the city's Symphony Orchestra perform. This is the second time I've taken in a show; the first time seeing Reich and Haydn performed.

The program began with Beethoven's Grosse Fugue and ended with his 5th Symphony. I had never heard this fugue until that day, purposely saving my first interaction with it for a live performance. The performance, however, was by a string orchestra, as opposed to a string quartet, which the piece is originally composed for. The program notes made sure to note that the piece, once the last movement of a String Quartet, was not widely accepted at first. Many critics wanted the movement to be revised, often calling it incomprehensible. At times, there did seem to be a lot going on, but it was never really harsh or cluttered.

It's really an amazing experience seeing these things performed live. You get the opportunity to discern so much in the music as opposed to hearing the sounds as one coming from a CD. We were in the second row on the right, directly in front of the cellos and double basses. During Beethoven's 5th, we could distinctly hear what would otherwise be subtle, namely, the 4-note motif being played softly and briskly by the double basses underlying themes being carried out more pronounced in the violins and violas. Also, in the fugue, as the theme is being played in one section, then carried on to the next, you not only can distinctly pick out the sounds of the various string instruments, you receive the sounds from their respective locations, thus experiencing a surround sound type of feeling.

Both of the Beethoven pieces were performed to a tee. Seeing a renowned orchestra perform classics is always worth the money. The time, dedication, and talent of the performers comes through in each measure of music.

But Sunday will always stick out in my mind as the day I first heard a piece by Luciano Berio. His piece Sinfonia is performed by an orchestra and 8 soloists. However, the soloist do not take on a conventional role, i.e., they do not stand in front of the orchestra, singing as the orchestra accompanies them. Instead, Berio has placed them within the orchestra, sitting in the viola section. They use microphones as well, so their voices are amplified. And, they do not sing anything, but rather, "recite" texts from an anthropological work by Levis-Strauss and some fiction by Samuel Beckett. Other times, the vocalists are inaudible, speak in French, or chant syllables or other incomprehensible sounds. The third movement was written in memory of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. The vocalists come in and out with the phrase "O' King." For example, they would drag out the "O," starting softly and increasing in intensity and dynamics, like "oooooooooOOOOOOO," then abruptly and sharply scream, "KING!"

The conductor had a few words to say about the piece, having conducting it while the composer was still alive. He warned us that the piece was very hard to listen to at times. It was chaotic and obnoxious, but reflected a certain amount of passion and strife. He said that Berio brought a lot of ideas found in the horrid parts of life, as those we see in the news, to a musical form, and just as we want to look away from all the horrors of the world, the music sometimes makes us want to stop listening. The piece was extremely loud at times, and full of "BOOMS" of all sorts. I find a striking similarity between this piece and Stravinsky's Rite of Spring. One, as the other, could easily be dismissed as a load of garbage and display of tasteless noises. However, as I'm starting to see with the Rite of Spring, Berio's Sinfonia was by far one of the most BRILLIANT pieces of any art I ever experienced. Not for everyone, but a monumental work nonetheless.

And, yes, there's always the old people. At any given time, all I had to do was look to the side (not even completely behind me) and I could identify about 4 dying bodies passed out asleep. I mean, come on, we're talking 5 minutes into the program. What's the point? Just to meet your wrinkled buddies there?

And then, in the lobby, you have to endure all the gay superfluous talk of "committees" and "memberships."

"I want you to meet my husband; he, like myself, is also a member of the such and such sleeping committee. Honey, I want you to meet these two wonderful people. This is Rotting Away Kay, she's the Chair of the Vicks Vapor Rub Party."

Then she said this, "And this is, I'm sorry, what was your name again, I didn't mean to leave you out, you're significant too."

Because, as we all know, that fine group was just full of significant people only.

And what's with these people who get dragged to these events. Before the show starts, they're sitting there with a blank face, and as soon as the music starts, they open up their program to read. Then when the music is over, they don't even have the courtesy to clap. Why go? Why not honestly tell the person who dragged you that you're simply not going to enjoy yourself.

The atmosphere at these events is such a joke. There's always some bozo reading his program, some other nice man coughing every ten seconds, some dying woman snoring, or something else that distracts from the music. I won't deprive myself, however, from the experience because of these few souls who inevitably catch your attention. I will just bide my time and get my revenge when I become one of them later on in life.

OOPSIE!!! Cardinals win World Series in Five

2006-10-28T03:39:00.000-07:00

LOL.

I was at the casino when they clinched it. There was a nice roar from the patrons. We all laughed over how stupid the people of Detroit must feel that the series isn't even heading back over there. We all said the typical, "Yeah, the series ended in five alright." Good times.

To Annie

2006-10-27T02:23:00.000-07:00

My dad once tried to describe to me the difference between a Mexican and an El Salvadorian.

As some side notes, Central Americans, in my experience, are a bit hostile toward one another. Those that aren't Mexican (Salvadorians, Guatemalans, etc.) don't like to be associated with Mexicans because of the stereotype that only Mexicans are crossing the US border illegally. Mexicans don't like to be confused with the other people of neighboring countries either for silly reasons, i.e., "Don't call me Salvadorian; I'm not trashy." There's bad things being thought about each from all directions, the majority of them being poor stereotypes. Nonetheless, the people of these countries don't seem to get along because of it.

So, being Mexican, my dad was trying to justify his inclination to not be friendly toward those from neighboring countries.

"How do I explain this. You see, they're just not like us. They grew up in their countries and things are bad there (He's never really been to any of the Central American countries, having moved here at a young age and not having traveled to any of the other countries). They weren't raised like us. Their values aren't the same. It's not like I'm being racist or like I'm just saying some opinion, it has to do with the quality of life. It's like this (he then proceeds to rip off the square card-sized 'Levis' logo from the back of his jeans). See this. It says, 'Levis.' We all know that Levis are good jeans. Now, if we compared this to some other type of jean, like Wrangler, it would be clear that one wasn't as good as another. It's like that with Mexicans and the others."

Needless to say, it wasn't clear to me then, and it's not clear to me now. Mostly because my dad was wrong. He pointed something out in the world that he thought existed, namely, a general, very general, distinction between people in Central American countries. All he was really pointing out though was some bias, some preference, some stereotype, some personal matter to him that he found reason to have a negative attitude toward.

I took that Levis logo from him and still have it to this day. It's been over 5 years since I've kept it, and have yet to spring it on him as a way of showing him how far he has come with his thinking. All this assumes that my dad will eventually accomplish some intellectual achievement. When he does, out will come the Levis logo and maybe a few laughs will follow. But, that day, his reasoning was so poor at that point in his life, I had little to offer as a way of refuting him.

So, maybe one day your dad will have a similar realization later on in life, one similar to the one I hope my dad will have some day. At that point, a snippet of your now blonde hair, like that Levis logo, would serve as a great story teller when it's safe to assume our old men have rid themselves of their stubborn ways. So, it was just a thought, but maybe you should keep a little of that blonde hair when, and if, you decide to dye it.

WHOOPSIE!!! Cardinals 3-1

2006-10-26T21:29:00.000-07:00

LOL.

OOPS! Cardinals 2-1

2006-10-24T21:04:00.000-07:00

Any more predictions? LOL.

What tickles me is not that all the analysts (including the Big Boy, because he's an analyst) were wrong about how many games this series would go, but that they believed in taking the series, the Tigers would completely dominate the Cards.

Not only will the Cards not be swept or taken in 5 games, they lead the series 2-1, and in those two games have handed the Tigers their own butts. Too funny.

Stuff Pt. ?: I'm not a Cardinals fan . . . or a Stravinsky fan, for that matter

2006-10-20T11:45:00.000-07:00

. . . but, boy, it sure is exciting to see the Cards going to the World Series. I guess I owe my enthusiasm to the people here in Columbia who are, for the vast majority, fans of St. Louis-bound teams. I'm not sure if this makes much sense to me. I guess I'm not used to seeing so many people sporting a team's colors and yet not live in the city that team plays in. Yes, in LA you have the occasional SF Giants fan or those that have remained loyal to the now Oakland Raiders, but these people are not near the majority.

Columbia is simply not on the map when it comes to professional sports. It's not a big enough city and it is of equal distance between Kansas City and St. Louis, which makes having access to a variety of games very manageable. However, we are still not part of a home team's fan base in the same way people who live in the city are. Maybe I'm wrong about this though, but that's how it strikes me.

One reason is that we don't have the default option, namely, we can't choose between this city or that city just because we live in it, as many do. I mean, I don't like baseball, but if I had to cheer for a team, it would be the Dodgers. Why? Because I'm from LA, and this seems to make sense. However, people in Columbia can't do the same.

The second reason is that it's not like Columbia is a suburb of St. Louis; it's 2 hours away. It's also 2 hours away from Kansas City though. So, we can't just rely on distance, i.e., we're closer to STL so we're more inclined to associate ourselves with them. So how the vast majority of people ended up STL fans in general is not very clear.

I do have a hunch though. I think it might be a mild case of bandwagoning (because there's such a verb). That is, the decision was made at some point AFTER a certain amount of history was established. So, if you look at the past events of both teams, it would show that STL has had more success. In turn, I think people are just more inclined to root for the better of two teams if they had to choose. It's easier for someone in Columbia to do this as opposed to someone in LA who might want to become a raging Giants or 49ers fan.

So, for these reasons, I think people in Columbia, in virtue of their city not having a team and being of equal distance to two cities that do have teams, cannot choose a city to associate themselves with without some sort of this kind of bias. That's my hunch, now deal with it.

I'm currently listening to Stravinsky's Rite of Spring . . . AGAIN. I've said this countless times, I cannot STAND this piece of music. I think it is one of the most obnoxious and dissonant set of sound waves to hit my eardrum since hearing some women whine about Project Runway Model (or some show with a similar name) yesterday.

I just don't get it, period. I'm not trained in music to understand what the hoot is going on in the piece. And even if I did, I still might feel assaulted by the sounds as I currently feel.

BUT GET THIS, WOLFSKIN! For the first time since the first time I listened to it, I made it all the way through the entire piece . . . all horrendous 14 movements of it. And guess what, I'm going to go through it again. Know why? It actually grew on me a little. I think I'm starting to appreciate some very subtle things going on in the music that might lend to it's supposed genius. In other words, for the first time, it's starting to sound like music to me. I plan on listening to this piece a lot in the next few days, so hopefully it grows on me. On the surface, this is one of those crazy whirlwind type of pieces that I think would be cool to be able to enjoy and see performed.

In other news, I slept almost 11 hours last night. What a relief. I also had lunch with Tamara today. Chinese food. My fortune cookie gave me a fortune too.

"You will live a peaceful and happy life." Hooray! As if you can live a happy life and it not be peaceful. But, overall, a great fortune.

Someone sing this in a pretty voice

2006-10-19T06:55:00.000-07:00

I haven't seen the sun in days,
it's blinded me to her ways,
when will this be the end,
Jesus, be my friend.

I haven't seen her heart in days,
it's misguided my ways,
when will this be the end,
Will you be my friend?

And it's unsettled,
I've done the impossible,
I loved her,
I loved . . .

I haven't seen myself in days,
it's because of my ways,
when will this be the end,
Sir, won't you be my friend?

And it's unsettled,
I've done the impossible,
I loved her,
I loved her,
I only wanted a friend,
But instead,
I loved her.

And it's unsettled,
I've done the impossible,
I loved her and her ways,
I loved her the countless days,
I loved her,
I loved her.

Stuff Pt. ?: I'm a cheery boy . . .

2006-10-18T10:25:00.000-07:00

. . . I really am. I'm happy in some sense of the word and I don't get bothered by anything to boot. I'm your regular whistling fool. Despite this, I often get told to cheer up by customers at the casino. I think I know why. I think when my face is at rest and I'm expressionless, I appear upset and/or unhappy. So if I'm not my usual cheery self with the customers, they think something is wrong with me or that I'm hating work at the time. This is very rarely the case though. Rarely because there are those few times when I am graced with the presence of someone obnoxious or evil.

One lady in particular that sticks out in my mind is "the nurse" (she's a nurse because she wears scrubs, and everyone knows that you're a nurse if and only if you wear scrubs) who had the nerve to sit at the casino for 36 hours straight, go take a nap in her car, then come back for another 12 hours, all the while she's puffing away on cigarettes. Oh wait, I forgot to mention she was PREGNANT during this time. Yeah, puffing and puffing and puffing like a little puffer while pregnant. Then she's absent for a month or so because she has THE baby and comes back to inform all of us that she had THAT baby. That's how she said it, "I had THAT baby." Not THE baby or MY baby, THAT baby.

Then there's Chan. Chan might as well be the mascot for the casino. She might as well be the spokesperson, the hostess, the logo, and the president. When she fills out applications, she puts the casino's address as her home address. She's there EVERY DAY ALL NIGHT LONG. I want to grab her by her ugly permed hair and scream, "Don't you have a family, a dog, or a job?! Go home and watch some TV or something! Quit spending all your money here and getting enjoyment out of knowing everyone here! PLEASE LEAVE!" It doesn't help that she doesn't tip either.

The other day a girl I work with, Whitney, asked me a random question while on break.

"Have you ever gone to a wedding that you didn't think was going to last?"

I began to laugh. I told her that I was glad someone was thinking these things. She told me that the girl was just too much for anyone; that is, she talks way too much and is a handful. It was funny that after her rant, she observed that someone might have had the same sentiments while at her own wedding.

"Now there's an idea," I said. "That Whitney, boy, is she a handful."

I like how my friends (and by my friends I mean the big boy, Brain, and Wolflips, Friend of Plato, because they're my friends and they read this blog) can so easily turn any form of communication into a matter of getting clearer on something. I have a love/hate relationship with this sort of mentality; on the one hand, I think it is admirable that those two are as critical as they are. For one, they helped me be the same (or at least more critical than I once was) by exposing my faults as they do from time to time here on my blog. Also, shouldn't we all be critical of the things we say and believe? And isn't my blog an expression of what I say and believe? So, it makes sense. But on the other hand, I feel like telling them to give it a rest. "Whoa, relax there sexy pants! I get it, I don't get it. Let's talk about Halloween now."

I owe this attitude to being out of school for a couple of years. I'm just not concerned with the same things anymore. Now when I don't understand some concept regarding this or that, I'm fine with it. I don't feel any desire to tackle any problems. I'm just a 9 to 5 Moe at the moment; I work all the time, sleep all the time, and divide the rest of my time gambling or watching TV. I don't even have the drvie to ridicule people the way I used to. Get this, the other day at poker, some guy, a Math major, made the following comment:

"You see, this is ethically wrong, but it's not morally wrong."

Later on, someone else said, "You can believe something but still not think it's true."

Now, my friends know that even with my little skill at Philosophy, I could have quite easily called them both out on these confusions. Not only did I not do that, but I didn't even find it humorous or amusing. I was just like, "Well, I know that's not true, but oh well, let's play poker."

I guess I'm just not in that kind of frame of mind at this point in my life. What's important to me right now is saving for retirement, Tamara, going to see my friends and family next month in California, making it to NYC and Paris within two years, and getting enough sleep to go to work the next day. Oh, and chocolate and soda. Sure, I'd like to go back for my Master's degree or write a book of short stories, but I'm not ready. I'm not in a hurry either. And I don't feel like I don't have time to do these things. However, I think it doesn't hurt to have the big boy and Wolfballs around to give me crap every once and awhile.

I just won a Sit-n-Go tourney online. I finished first out of nine people, lucky for me the buy-in was one dollar and I took the top prize of a whopping $4.25.

So, big boy, what's this about you being an expert? Am I missing something here? Was I unaware of your illustrious career as a poker player in the 80's? Or have you been going to Vegas without me and playing high stakes games with pros? When I come into town, we ought to make a trip to our favorite place, Barona, or whatever place you go to. Or we can be rounders and hit the town; I'm sure I can find some games going on somewhere. Afterward, we can listen to Bach Lute Suites with Wolfgang while we play chess in pink sweaters.

Time to go do my own laundry while I listen to Al Green, System of a Down, Madonna, and the Delfonics . . . and maybe some Philip Glass and Bach.

No one and Nothing

2006-10-13T09:42:00.000-07:00

"I've come here to tell you things. Things that are on my mind. Things that I believe to be true. I wish to speak these things and convince you that you ought to think them too."

"And who are you?"

"I am No one, that's who. I am something, but No one and I'm not sure what that amounts to."

"Well, listen, you, I am Nothing, but I am Someone. So, I don't think I can listen to the words of No one like you."

"Considering you are Nothing, I don't think you're in a position to say which words you should or should not listen to. From Anyone, Someone, or even Nothing like you."

"I disagree. You are No one; why should I believe anything you say or do?"

"Because I'm Something, not a mere Nothing like you."

"Your words will get Nowhere with me, kind, fair, or even true."

"This is true. Like you, I believe there is nothing we can say or do. No convincing will transpire, no matter how kind, fair or true."

"Then it is settled. I'm not a No one like you and know what is true, and depite what you think, say or do, I will not listen to you."

"True! A Nothing like you will not convince me of what to say or do. I'm so glad you think so too."

"I do."

Stuff Pt. IV: The FreedHem of being sleepless in Missouri

2006-10-08T10:47:00.000-07:00

I have three important things to speak on this morning with you people. You people.

The first thing is quite simple. It's the newest craze: FreedHem, a cleverly named hemorrhoid cream that is sweeping the nation.

Now, when developing this product . . . wait, let's back up. How does . . . wait, one more step back. Who's concern is it to make such products? Who's saying, "If I don't handle this hemorrhoid problem, no one will"? That's an interesting topic that deserves it's own post though.

Ok, so moving forward. I find it odd that someone would give a relatively serious problem an amusing spin. I mean, if you have a hemorrhoid, and you know there are over-the-counter products that aid in curing it, why wouldn't you just go get that product. Why would it be necessary to give that product an amusing name in an attempt to lure this consumer in when his hands are tied. He has a hemorrhoid! He's not in a position to bypass creams because they don't "catch his eye." Anyone with any kind of marketing or business experience feel free to illuminate the madness behind this product's name giver.

The second thing: I am suffering from a mild case of insomnia. It is currently Sunday, just after 1pm. I have slept about 5 hours since Friday. I'm not sure what to attribute it to though. I do drink a lot of soda at work, and it is difficult for me to sleep during the day, but it seems on any given day I could be less tired than others while all these factors remain present. This reminds me of my college days. Not only the days I would stay up with Wolfgang and the Big Boy writing Philosophy papers, but of the days I used to live with my dad and stay up all night reading comics and playing chess online. But whether it was skimming through Johnny the Homicidal Maniac or discussing problems with Frege's theory of Sense and Reference, it seemed goal-oriented. Now, however, my all-nighters are pointless. I'm just up, period. I'm not doing anything. I just stare or read random trivial things online about fatty acids or collision tests done on American versus Japanese cars. I gamble occasionally, but derive little satisfaction from it since, being a table games dealer, I realize I become similar to the people I despise at the casino.

In any event, I'm not sure what is lending to this condition, and I'm not sure what the consequences are. I currently feel dizzy, and my head is tight. Yet, I'm like a toddler who's determined to fight off sleep even if it means crying and kicking the bed.

The final thing I wanted to talk about was Angie. You remember Angie, right? The aura girl. Well, I learned some more disturbing things about her today. One, she still nurses her 4-year-old. HER 4-YEAR-OLD! She also let her 14-year-old shave her head and die the little stubs that remained pink and leopard print. She home schools her daughter, and their idea of Math class is a trip to the grocery store. Yeah, this lady really exists. I know her. Isn't that special?

As Johnny would say, it depresses me to look at her.

Untitled: A Short Story by 5 Red Apples

2006-10-05T08:33:00.000-07:00

The low sound of gravel was heard underneath the car as we pulled up the drive. It was then that he noticed one of the roosters escaped again and was making itself at home in the front lawn. I turned the radio down, as most people do when they want to focus on something happening outside their vehicle.

Our driveway is 35 yards long, and our house sits on 9 acres. There's only two other houses in sight. For some reason, these things strike me tonight. Maybe because growing up, I never imagined living somewhere like this. In the city, I could count the number of stars visible. The number never exceeded a few dozen. Here, the stars visible outnumber the people living in a hundred mile radius. Here, there's country music on every other station. Here, you grow vegetables and raise livestock. And the only sounds of gun shots or traffic or crowds are on primetime detective shows.

When I met my husband, it was like I was making a date with this whole new life. I wasn't just finding out whether I liked him or not; I was considering taking on a completely different role. I might not have ever seen a chicken or heard a Reba McEntire song. And my laughs would come from the local comedy club instead of peering out the kitchen window at 2am watching my husband chase a rooster.

And this is what love is; it's living a life you would have never lived if not for one person. It's assuming a role where Keith Urban is welcomed into your CD collection and milking a cow is work and not an activity at the local fair. With this said, I probably could have loved anyone, but I chose my husband's life. I chose to leave the city and give up the night life for fishing and camping. I camp now; who would have thought?

I don't even have time to wear make-up these days; but it's no biggie, the pigs were never impressed with it anyway. And for some reason, these things strike me tonight.

A Troubling Matter

2006-10-04T10:02:00.000-07:00

Do you remember the good ol' days when fortune cookies used to actually give you a fortune?

The fortunes got worse, now they're not even fortunes. It's usually some stale description of some quality that isn't even really praiseworthy.

"You're an easy going person and people see that in you."

Who cares? I want a fortune, damn it! Tell me I'm going to be rich and have beautiful women flocking to meet my every need. Tell me success is inevitable because I will hone my skills at life.

What's the point of chinese food if you can't even look forward to the fortune cookie?

Stuff Pt. III

2006-10-02T08:09:00.000-07:00

These people are enclosed in glass cases. They walk around carefree because they know how much their own glass case will take. However, as soon as you, another individual, poke at it, their levels of comfort subside drastically.

"What did you mean by that? You're not being very clear. Explain that to me a little better, because I don't understand."

This is you poking. If you persist in such a way, you might chip or even crack their glass cases. Here's some poking I've done recently at work with people I hardly know.

"You're getting married? How old are you? 25??? Talk about a mistake. You already spend half your life asleep, now the other half you'll be married. Well, the good news is the wedding is in three weeks, so you still have time to back out."

Don't get this picture wrong. I'm half-joking and the people know I am. They don't expect anything less from me. Here's another one:

"You see that name right there (pointing to my name on a list at work to one of my supervisors). That's me. That name refers to me. Names refer, you know? Like words, but not exactly."

My supervisor looked at me like I was on drugs.

Some girl, Angie, tried to conflate the idea of energy with aura.

"Everything is made of energy. All things emit energy. This is your aura, and if you can tune into this aura of others, you can pick up on what kind of person they are and what mood they're currently in."

If you know me at all, you know I'm trying oh so desperately not to point my finger in this girl's face and laugh. I just wanted to rant some stupid argument off the top of my head like, "Energy equals aura, so a good aura equals good energy, so a good aura equals a good mood, so a good mood equals good energy. Wow, energy can be good! Furthermore, since I am completely and totally made of energy, many of my physical and inanimate parts are equally as 'good' as my mood--good in the same way. It now makes sense to speak of my arm being good in the same way my mood is. Wow, you're an idiot."

Instead, though, I just asked, "Why do we need this whole other thing called 'aura'? We already have an explanation, namely, energy. All things are made of energy, period. How can you then infer from that that energy is the same as this vague notion of aura? How, but more importantly, why? It seems superfluous to speak of aura. We can do all the same things with just our concept of energy. To posit a further thing seems to be unnecessary in the same way saying aura in turn is the same as your spirit and your spirit is your soul and your soul is conciousness, etc. to the point where you now have all these things and jargon not needed to account for the same ol' stuff."

I admit it didn't sound like this when I told her, but this was the idea. But, this is the great part, she finally broke down. She finally gave me a sufficient answer to all my inquiries. She said, quite simply, "Because that's just how I see it." I asked her what she meant and she laughed, saying, "That's what Angie likes to think. I like the idea of aura; that's my thing."

I felt like we resolved the conversation. It was her way of saying, 'Ok, I know you've been poking at my glass case, but the truth is, it is made thick by my ignorance and I'm happy that way.'

There's this girl, Katie. Katie is one of those cute girls who walks around with a smile on her face all day. She's your girl next door. She's 27, married, with one daughter. She moved here from Seattle, since her husband is originally from here. I asked her how long she's been married. She said since she was 21. I expressed my disbelief over how someone only 27 could be married for 6 years and have a kid. I told her that I was going to be 26 and couldn't conceive of being a father.

I said, "Here it is. It's presumptuous of someone so young to make such decisions. They have to assume so much. For one, they would have to know what it is to make a decision like 'this is the person I'm going to be with for the rest of my life.' But this assumes so much more. It assumes they know what it means to look and find someone like that. It assumes they know how to look and what to look for. It assumes they'll be able to identify this person, and even then, this is only in reference to themselves, i.e., your pick is based on a number of things you know about yourself. Which brings us to that presumption; that you know enough about yourself to know what you want in life or in another person. All these decisions seem to be decisions not intended for someone 21 to make."

She informed me that she had already completed two years of college.

"But isn't college the place you're supposed to go to start your life on your own. Choosing a career, finding yourself, getting your feet on the ground, meeting new people, and just simply seeing what's what in a very 'early phase' way. And you're telling me that even before you get out of college, you're already making decisions that seem to be more important than picking a major or a graduate school or what you'd like your career to be in. Doesn't all this seem counterintuitive to you in any way now that it's been hashed out like this?"

She kinda smiled like my point was conceded in some reluctant way. None of this is of any consequence though. Glass cases are made thick, and if you dare poke too much or too hard, you're considered rude or obnoxious or nosey or childish or quite simply a jerk. Good thing I have a glass case of my own; it's made thick and keeps these untrue and silly labels off of me.

Stuff Pt. II

2006-09-27T09:26:00.000-07:00

There's this restaurant called Bob Evans here in Columbia. For those of you back home, it's similar to Denny's, but geared toward old people. It's one of those places that attract old people so much, young people don't even feel welcome there.

My prior visit before yesterday was my first. I met a cool waiter, Spencer. He was cool enough to make me feel like stopping by yesterday morning before coming home to sleep. When I arrived, a redhead named Crystal greeted me with a half-hearted 'good morning.' She made me feel suspect immediately. She looked me over as if the age requirement was 60 to enter and I was so obviously trying to sneak my way in. I asked her, I admit, in a rather drunken manner if Spencer was working. I was up all night, so I was a bit slower than usual, compounded by the fact that I like to amuse people so that I can be amused. She informed me that Spencer was not in and that he didn't work mornings. This may have been true at the present, but at some point in the past it was not since he waited on me one morning two weeks ago. I told her this to which she said, "Yeah, he works mornings, but only on weekends."

She was already fed up with me. She didn't find me amusing at all. She seated me and I let her in on my reluctance to stay put. When my waitress arrived, she was also in a mood. She looked hurried and tried desperately to get me to order a beverage of some sort.

"I'm not sure if I'm eating here. I came to see Spencer, but he's not here."

She looked at me as if that didn't clear up the beverage issue. She still asked if I wanted something to drink while I thought about it. I told her that that wouldn't be necessary, and that I just needed a minute to decide if I was staying. During the next two minutes, it seemed as if Crystal was speaking of me to the other employees, including the manager. Something to the effect of, "You see that guy over there . . . ." All of a sudden, I feel like I'm a security threat. It's as if the book in my hand is a weapon--or conceals one. At this point, I feel extremely unwelcome. The waitress comes back about 10 minutes later at which point I say I will be departing. On my way out, I wait at the front to ask Crystal if she can let Spencer know I stopped by. The manager asked if there was anything he could help me with, but I told him I just wanted to say something to Crystal before I left. He went to the kitchen area where she was and I think told her this. And, in an almost disgusted tone, I believe she said to him, "Tell him I'm busy."

When she came back to the front, I asked, "Do you see Spencer?"

"No."

"You don't cross paths with him at all?"

"No, he works at night."

"Oh, so you never see him."

"Well, I see him on weekends."

"Oh, so can you leave him a message for me?"

"Don't you know him outside of here?"

"No, I know him from here only. I don't think that counts as friends."

Crystal remained quiet, forcing me to follow up.

"So can you leave him a message?"

"Yeah."

"You know what, I don't want to trouble you."

"Ok."

And as I walked away, I took an extra second longer to give her a chance to say goodbye, but she never did. So I said goodbye only to get a the half-hearted 'bye' back.

I usually don't let people bother me, but Crystal did that morning. I went to the next restaurant over, Cracker Barrell. This place is pretty good too. I made sure to share my merry story with about 5 of the employees there, including the manager. All of them were pleased to hear that their competition was doing a poor job and that customers were leaving to come to them. I was pretty much pampered after they all heard my story. Instead of being interpretated as a drunk, I was interpretated as a mentally challenged kid who just needed a little attention before going sleepy.

The morning, as a whole, was amusing. But I think that I was bothered a little too much by the atmosphere at Bob Evans. To make myself feel better, I plan on returning one last time to inform Spencer of the happenings . . . as well as the manager. This time I'll leave the slow-witted me in the car and make sure my point is understood a little clearer.

I went there to try the food once, and it wasn't the food that brought me back, it was Spencer. I went there to enjoy the food and the company of some good people the second time, but I only found wretched individuals. I never even got to the food. Now I won't return despite the fact that the food is good. My point: Crystal shouldn't be a hostess if she needs a slapping.

Stuff Pt. I

2006-09-26T09:50:00.000-07:00

If age has provided us anything, it's perspective. Not just the ability to have a point of view, but to have different ones, with some being better than others. As I near my 26th birthday, I can't help but recall my 21st, then my 18th, then my 16th. I can't help but remember who I was during each of these times and undoubtedly see that I have a broader perspective of all things now than I did then. Given this series of events, I am led to believe that this perspective of mine will improve with time. I am sure to say when I am 30 that I thought I knew this or that at 25, and so on. This throws caution to the wind. I don't make haste when it comes to important decisions. I leave it up to some enigmatic 'me of the future' who knows better than the ignorant and simple-minded me of the present. And when I'm forced to act, I do so childishly, pawning off indifference and complacency for modesty and humility. Most of my co-workers are probably convinced that I'm the biggest moron to come from California. I watch Pee-Wee's Playhouse during my breaks, talk of random trivial matters, and ask persistent and annoying questions about commonsensical things. Do you remember that story: "What's accounting?" I am sincere in my ignorance and even push my uncertainties toward a blatant naivte that troubles even the most dull-headed individual. I have no interest in wearing my UCLA degree as a badge or pushing my philosophical arguments for this and that. I walk in the room and I'm a joke. I'm a silly boy who smiles all the time and is full of energy at 3am when everyone else is ready to go home and sleep.

But this brings me back to my initial topic. While I stir the laughs, everyone else is acting and making decisions. Everyone is getting married, having kids, moving to other cities to work at other casinos, taking tests for grad school, and getting deep into life rather quickly and abruptly. So when I speak to the 38-year-old woman with 4 kids whose been married for 19 years, I sense her envy. I sense her reluctance to give away the regret rooted deep down over her long and sad life. I see that subtle shrug of the shoulders that cry, "That's just the way it goes sometimes." You wise 20-year-old, go ahead and make your bed, then when you are ready to live your life, you will realize that you already have one that's 10 years old and there's no turning back. So, laugh at all of my jokes--they're funny, you know--and cherish your pseudo-orderly lives. And when you wake up as the version of you that will look back and call the you of the present an idiot, I'll be there to call that person an idiot too, as I secretly do to all the broken spirits of unhappy married individuals and mid-life-crisis-stricken employees of the casino still looking for their careers in life.

Biding my time, I prance the jester's prance. Look at me! Look at me! do my little dance. I spread laughs, joy, and fun. And when your life ends, mine will have just begun.

Dear Diary

2006-09-22T09:26:00.000-07:00

My sister came and got me at lunch and we went to my house. She lives in a different town now. Its only about 12 miles away. I havent seen her in a long time so I was missing her, but she is hard to get along with sometimes. She hates my hair. My mom likes it and so does everyone else. I am going back to Iowa on the 29th of september. I cant wait, I miss my Iowa boys. I need to see Ryan sometime too though. I havent seen him for awhile. You know last week I thought he and I would get back together and then I went to Iowa and didnt think about him. Then this morning happened. I thought I was over him but I thought about how I would feel if I saw another girl wearing his jacket. He just acts so different on the phone than he does in person. On the phone he's distant and doesn't really show any interest in me but when I see him he seems excited to see me. Why do boys do that? I know he still loves me but why does he act so weird with me now.

My mom was asking me about Ryan so I thought about him and what he and I used to have. It's kind of sad to think that it's over. Ill see what happens. I am going to see Brandon on saturday though. I cant wait. I love that boy. He's great. I've known him since 7th grade. We've been friends forever. He's sweet and buys me stuff. I don't know how I feel about him though. We've been friends for so long, I wouldn't want to ruin that. What do you think I should do?

My graduating class only had 11 people in it. I was just thinking that because I know how small that is compared to big cities. We had one black kid in our class too. He was kind of cool.

Well, work work work. It seems that's all I do. I need to save up money though. I don't like being broke anymore. It's time I show everyone I can take care of myself. Goodbye for now diary.

Thoughts and Images

2006-08-26T16:28:00.000-07:00

The land is flat, so you can see a great distance. The sky meets the ground miles away, and a single line divides them. It's almost two-dimensional and it all can be appreciated at once. The clouds lie flat, as do the distant posts. Small lights are inserted in the canvas, flickering from time to time. They are hundreds of feet apart, but from my view, they appear right next to each other. When it's dark, these lights bring about a momentary day, illuminating the roads and revealing all that's settled on the gravel to the side. Sometimes these lights break through the clouds in branch-like forms, forcing their presence on my eyes. If I can manage to pull away, I sometimes see others mesmerized--coyotes, dear, possum, squirrels. They come close to me, but not intentionally. When they learn of me being near, they often rush away.

And in this, I find a certain amount of beauty. Beauty in itself? I don't know. At least relative to my previous landscapes though. And what more do I need? It still does the trick. It gives me something to visualize when I leave. Something to miss even.

Goodbye Pluto

2006-08-24T09:11:00.000-07:00

It's official. Today Pluto lost its planetary status. The new definition of 'planet' voted on today disqualified it. So, as I suspected, our Solar System officially contains only 8 planets.

These 8 planets, classical planets, are now distinguished from dwarf planets, such as Pluto and its moon, Charon. There will also be a third category that includes smaller celestial bodies such as asteroids.

I guess this is for the best. Pluto opened the door for too many other possibilities. The slippery slope was screaming, and it would be nonsensical to allow a definition that would eventually grant planetary status to not only hundreds of other objects around the Sun, but eventually the Earth's moon. (Pluto is actually smaller than our moon.) But, now that this has been settled--settled correctly, I believe--I can't help be feel a little bad for the little guy way out there who just couldn't make the cut.

A Ram at El Otrette

2006-08-22T06:30:00.000-07:00

A Ram at El Otrette,
sits high up,
without any words.

A Ram at El Otrette,
waits patiently,
to be delivered.

It has nothing yet to say,
But desires a home.

Oh, the stories it could tell,
sitting so high;
feeling so much,
if only it's joys echoed.

If I could write this ram at El Otrette,
I would say something beautiful;
Until then, I send my love,
For tonight, my words cannot say enough.

You'd think they'd have this sorted by now

2006-08-16T20:36:00.000-07:00

For those of you not up on the debate, for many years now there's been issues over what constitutes a planet. The status of Pluto as a planet has always been in the air and now with the arrival of newer objects of equal size, scientists are hard-pressed to figure out what celestial bodies are going to make the cut. In any event, the days of our science books saying there are 9 planets in our solar system will soon be over.

Here's the latest:

Nine Planets Become 12 with Controversial New Definition
Robert Roy Britt
Senior Science Writer
SPACE.com
Wed Aug 16, 2:00 AM ET

The tally of planets in our solar system would jump instantly to a dozen under a highly controversial new definition proposed by the International Astronomical Union (IAU).

Eventually there would be hundreds as more round objects are found beyond Neptune.

The proposal, which sources tell SPACE.com is gaining broad support, tries to plug a big gap in astronomy textbooks, which have never had a definition for the word "planet." It addresses discoveries of Pluto-sized worlds that have in recent years pitched astronomers into heated debates over terminology.

The asteroid Ceres, which is round, would be recast as a dwarf planet in the new scheme.

Pluto would remain a planet and its moon Charon would be reclassified as a planet. Both would be called "plutons," however, to distinguish them from the eight "classical" planets.

A far-out Pluto-sized object known as 2003 UB313 would also be called a pluton.

That would make Caltech researcher Mike Brown, who found 2003 UB313, formally the discoverer of the 12th planet. But he thinks it's a lousy idea.

"It's flattering to be considered discoverer of the 12th planet," Brown said in a telephone interview. He applauded the committee's efforts but said the overall proposal is "a complete mess." By his count, the definition means there are already 53 known planets in our solar system with countless more to be discovered.

Brown and other another expert said the proposal, to be put forth Wednesday at the IAU General Assembly meeting in Prague, is not logical. For example, Brown said, it does not make sense to consider Ceres and Charon planets and not call our Moon (which is bigger than both) a planet.
IAU members will vote on the proposal Thursday, Aug. 24. Its fate is far from clear.

Q&A on the Proposal / Gallery: The 12 "Planets" / Read the Draft Resolution

The definition

The definition, which basically says round objects orbiting stars will be called planets, is simple at first glance:

"A planet is a celestial body that (a) has sufficient mass for its self-gravity to overcome rigid body forces so that it assumes a hydrostatic equilibrium (nearly round) shape, and (b) is in orbit around a star, and is neither a star nor a satellite of a planet."

"Our goal was to find a scientific basis for a new definition of planet and we chose gravity as the determining factor," said Richard Binzel, an MIT planetary scientist who was part of a seven-member IAU committee that hashed out the proposal. "Nature decides whether or not an object is a planet."

"I think they did the right thing," said Alan Stern, a planetary scientist at the Southwest Research Institute and leader of NASA's robotic mission to Pluto. Stern expects a consensus to form around the proposal.

"They chose a nice economical definition that a lot of us wanted to see," Stern told SPACE.com. "A lot of the other definitions had big problems. This is the only one that doesn't have big problems."

'I feel that they have made the most rational and scientific choices; namely ones which are physically based and can be most readily verified by observations,' said Gibor Basri, an astronomy professor at the University of California, Berkeley. Basri made a similar proposal to the IAU in 2003, part of the long-running saga of failed attempts to define "planet."

Expect heated discussion

But the IAU draft resolution explaining the definition is more complex [Read the Draft Resolution], with caveats and suggestions and surprises that some astronomers think render the entire proposal unworkable.

In particular, this aspect was criticized: A pair of round objects that orbit around a point in space that is outside both objects-meaning the center of gravity (or barycenter) is between the two planets in space as with Pluto and Charon-would be called double planets. Alan Boss, a planet-formation theorist at the Carnegie Institution of Washington, called the deliniation arbitrary.
Brown said there will likely be other similar pairings discovered, and it's even possible a "triple planet" would be found given this definition.

In response to the criticism, Binzel said it was important to distinguish between planets and satellites. He noted that barycenters are used to define and describe double stars and so the concept should apply to planets, too.

"The planet and satellite definition must be universally applicable, to all solar systems, not just our own," Binzel said by email from Prague. "For example: Picture a pair of Jupiters discovered in another solar system. Would one of these Jupiters be a planet, and the other a satellite? The barycenter criterion means that a pair of Jupiters would be a double planet."

Other astronomers saw other problems.

"It looks to me like a definition that was written by a committee of lawyers, not a committee of scientists," Boss said. "I think these criteria are as arbitrary as any other you might come up with."

Asteroid Ceres, since it is round, would be considered a planet. Interestingly, Ceres was called a planet when first discovered in 1801, then reclassified. It is just 578 miles in diameter, compared to 1,430 for Pluto and 7,926 for Earth.
And if astronomers determine that asteroids Pallas, Vesta, and Hygeia are also round, "they will also have to be considered planets," said Owen Gingerich, an historian and astronomer emeritus at Harvard who led the committee. The IAU proposal suggests (but does not require) that these be called dwarf planets. Pluto could also be considered a dwarf, which the IAU recommends as an informal label.

So to recap: Pluto would be a planet and a pluton and also a dwarf.
Boss was bothered by the lack of definitiveness on this and other points.
Boss, along with Stern, was on an IAU committee of astronomers that failed to agree on a definition. After a year, the IAU disbanded that committee and formed the new one, which included the author Dava Sobel in an effort to bring new ideas to the process.

Boss called their proposal "creative" and "detailed" but said it does not hang together as a cohesive argument.

"I'm sure this will engender a lot of heated discussion," Boss said by telephone prior to departing for the Czech Republic to cast his ballot. "This is what everyone will be talking about in the coffee shops of Prague for the next few days."

Tally would soar

Given all the nuances in the definition, a dozen other objects would be put on an IAU list of "candidate planets" which, upon further study, might bring the tally of planets in our solar system to 24.

Eventually the inventory of planets would soar.

Stern, the New Horizons mission leader, said there could be "hundreds and maybe a thousand" objects in our solar system that are at least as big as Pluto. That's fine with him. "This is what we do as scientists. You discover new things, you adapt to new facts."

Brown, the discoverer of the potential 12th planet, said the basic definition is fine, but "the resolution itself is a complete mess."

The resolution calls for a new IAU committee that would evaluate other candidate planets. Normally, that's a process that takes place in a scientific journal, Brown said. He called the notion of an IAU gatekeeper "bizarre" and "really a bad idea. The IAU should make a definition, then it's up to scientists to go about their business" of deciding what objects fit the definition.

Binzel defended the approach: "The IAU has existing committees that can do this-it is what the IAU does. Someone has to officially bestow names, etc. It is just the way the system works." He added that quality papers published in science journals should and would continue to be part of the process of determining planet status.

Nobody can yet say how the vote will go.

"You're only left with a 'yes' or 'no' vote," Brown said. "And a 'yes' vote makes things ridiculous. A 'no' vote puts us back where we were."

Brown worries, however, that the vast majority of astronomers at the IAU meeting work in other fields, outside planetary science. "They are likely vote 'yes' because they're not familiar with the issue and, mostly, because they're sick of the topic," he said.

2006-08-12T02:51:00.000-07:00

"How many is that?"

"I don't know; I thought you were keeping track."

"Damn, let's start counting them. There needs to be exactly 89 for the test to be useful."

Idle Hands

2006-07-25T14:54:00.000-07:00

I've been going through a crazy 80's music phase lately. Worst of all, it's 80's pop: Huey Lewis and the News, Berlin, Pat Benetar, Madonna, Foreigner, U2, Depeche Mode, etc.

Do you see what happens when I'm left alone? I spill juice all over myself. At least I don't talk like the locals . . . yet.

I also work graveyard shifts now. That means I don't sleep like a normal human being. That means I don't get to enjoy my day like an abnormal human being. That means I get delusional, but not to the point where I'm vain about my appearance and get petty pleasure from my status over others. Instead, I just believe I'd make a good Go-Go dancer. Wow! Time to go rock out to Phil Collins.

Letter from a Mouse

2006-07-23T21:11:00.000-07:00

To whomever will read:

I don't know how much time I have. The cold metal bar that has me clamped to the ground is piercing through my skin. Others have entered our home and have made plans to get rid of us all. Judging by the numerous other devices similar to the one I'm in, my guess is that these people will not stop until our race has been terminated.

Upon realizing the inevitability of my own death, I am struck with an even greater horror, the potential death of my kind. We've lived here in peace for generations--many believe the theory that we were here before the others--and now with one swift blow, our time is over. I am saddened that I did not pursue further the timeless questions that have pervaded the ages: Where did we come from? Where were we heading? Did something put us here? Instead I am left with tragedy.

To those who may survive, my last thoughts are as so: The world is a horrible place. It is full of wicked beings and malice. I'm not sure if it was ever worth living this life. My only joy was coming close to some answers through the great works of the others; the other they called Da Vinci; the other they called Bach; their work gave me hope that we all had a purpose. But as I breathe my last breaths, it is all in vain.

Don't trouble yourself, brothers. Death awaits. Death ...... awa........

A Little Less Conversation Please

2006-07-21T19:36:00.000-07:00

Good morning.
Hi, I would like to cash this check.
Sure, I just need a photo i.d.
Oh, yeah, no problem....here you go.
Thanks.

Okay, now who is the person this check is written out to?
Oh, that's my son's girlfriend.
Is she here with you?
No.
Well, I need her to be here so I can i.d. her as well.
But she signed the check over to me.
Yes, but I still need to i.d. her.
But see on the back, she signed her name and I signed mine.
Yes I can see that, but I need to i.d. her so that I know in fact that she wants you to cash her check for her.
Right, but I have an account here.
I understand that, but I need her here too.
But I've done this before plenty of times and I've never had any problem.
Well, I have never done this for you before, and I need to i.d. the person the check is written out to.
This is ridiculous. I have five accounts with you and I am very good friends with the manager at the downtown location.
Well then I suggest you go there if she is comfortable doing this for you, but I need to i.d. your son's girlfriend.
I can't believe this. Well, I guess I'll just have to go downtown now.
Have a nice day.

Can I help whose next?
Hi, I just need to get $2,000 from my account.
Sure, I just need an i.d. or your bank card with a photo.
I don't have my bank card with me.
A drivers license will work fine.
I don't have it with me.
I'm sorry, but I need a primary i.d. in order to withdraw funds.
I've banked here for over twenty years.
I've only worked here a month, and I'm afraid I don't know every single customer yet. However, if you give me an i.d. today I have a good memory, and I'm sure I will remember you next time.
Well, where is that Kristen girl? She knows me.
There's no one here with that name.
This is crazy. It's my account! I should be able to get money out of it whenever I want.
You can, I just need to see some i.d. It's for your own protection. Otherwise, anyone could come in claiming to be you, and I would give them your money.
Well, that's just a little extreme now isn't it? Why do I have to be punished for other people's dishonesty?
Verifying i.d. is not to punish you, it's for your protection. If you'd like, you can always just use the ATM.
Well maybe I just will.
Thanks, have a nice day.

Love is a Battlefield

2006-07-18T01:31:00.000-07:00

It was 2am and the restaurant was closing. Nathaniel finished gathering the dirty plates and cups and carried them to the back. The dishwasher nodded at him and wished him a goodnight. Nathaniel took his cap off and wiped his brow. He had worked 9 hours and had a growing pain in his shoulder. His co-workers told him he should take pain medicine, but he never liked to put anything into his body that wasn't supposed to be there.

"Whenever I take medicine, it just makes something else hurt. That stuff never works. It's for suckers who think it does," he would say.

Nathaniel took off his apron, which was full of different textures, colors, and smells. Brown from the gravy he spilled at 11pm and mushy from the mashed potatoes that pressed against him at midnight, all of which smelled like spaghetti sauce. He started to think about the drive home. He started to think about the dark lanes and the open fields he wouldn't be able to see. The drive seemed so far to him.

"I can't wait to get home," he whispered to himself. "Maybe I can get to bed before the sun rises."

As Nathaniel made his way to the back, he began to hear music playing. He wasn't sure at first if he was really hearing it, since no one's ever played music back in the breakroom. But as he got closer, he was sure of it. Little by little, Nathaniel began to hear the music clearer and clearer, picking up lyrics here and there. Then he realized what it was. It was Love is a Battlefield by Pat Benetar.

As Nathaniel made his way into the room, he saw Meredith, the new girl. She was holding a mop as if it were a microphone. She used it and sang along with the words.

"WE ARE YOUNG! HEARTACHE TO HEARTACHE, WE STAND!"

Nathaniel felt like he was walking in on her; like he should wait for the song to finish. He didn't want her to know he saw her. He was worried she might get embarrassed, but he was tired and needed to go through the room to leave out the backdoor.

"NO PROMISES, NO DEMANDS! LOVE IS A BATTLEFIELD!"

And after that line, Meredith turned around and saw Nathaniel. Their eyes met for a moment, and it was awkward. But only for a moment. Meredith began to dance with the mop, holding it close to her face like a microphone. She began singing along with the music again.

"WE ARE STRONG! NO ONE CAN TELL US WE'RE WRONG!"

She started dancing her way toward Nathaniel. He was amazed at how much she affected him. He thought he should get out of her way, but something kept him there. He wanted to join her in her dance. She came up to him, very close. Their chests touched. They put their right hands on the other's hip and began swaying together.

"SEARCHIN' OUR HEARTS FOR SO LOOONG, BOTH OF US KNOWING . . . . LOVE IS A BATTLEFIELD!"

They finished the song in this position. All Nathaniel could think about was being there with her all night. His drive home didn't worry him anymore. He would go home another night.

The Galapagos

2006-07-13T13:47:00.000-07:00

Besides Greece, Ecuador remains to be one of the few places I must see before I die. Ever since 9th grade Biology, I've been intrigued by the ideas and observations made my Darwin; and I hope to one day sail a Beagle of my own to take in the diversity he saw over a century ago.

Check out this article put out today by the AP.

Finches on Galapagos Islands evolving

WASHINGTON - Finches on the Galapagos Islands that inspired Charles Darwin to develop the concept of evolution are now helping confirm it — by evolving.

A medium sized species of Darwin's finch has evolved a smaller beak to take advantage of different seeds just two decades after the arrival of a larger rival for its original food source.

The altered beak size shows that species competing for food can undergo evolutionary change, said Peter Grant of Princeton University, lead author of the report appearing in Friday's issue of the journal Science.

Grant has been studying Darwin's finches for decades and previously recorded changes responding to a drought that altered what foods were available.

It's rare for scientists to be able to document changes in the appearance of an animal in response to competition. More often it is seen when something moves into a new habitat or the climate changes and it has to find new food or resources, explained Robert C. Fleischer, a geneticist at the Smithsonian's National Museum of Natural History and National Zoo.

This was certainly a documented case of microevolution, added Fleischer, who was not part of Grant's research.

Grant studied the finches on the Galapagos island Daphne, where the medium ground finch, Geospiza fortis, faced no competition for food, eating both small and large seeds.

In 1982 a breeding population of large ground finches, Geospiza magnirostris, arrived on the island and began competing for the large seeds of the Tribulus plants. G. magnirostris was able to break open and eat these seeds three times faster than G. fortis, depleting the supply of these seeds.

In 2003 and 2004 little rain fell, further reducing the food supply. The result was high mortality among G. fortis with larger beaks, leaving a breeding population of small-beaked G. fortis that could eat the seeds from smaller plants and didn't have to compete with the larger G. magnirostris for large seeds.

That's a form of evolution known as character displacement, where natural selection produces an evolutionary change in the next generation, Grant explained in a recorded statement made available by Science.

The research was supported by the National Science Foundation.

"I'm an artist," said the man

2006-07-02T23:58:00.000-07:00

"I'm an artist," said the man. "Do you see this pencil? Watch as I place it like so, now it is art, for I placed it like so. I'm an artist."

The man placed the pencil like so, thus making art. His art expressed the deep desire of his people for peace and freedom, while criticizing neighboring countries who don't actively participate in pertinent global affairs. His art spoke to millions, for the pencil was placed like so.

"This is art, for I'm an artist. This pencil is no more, for it is art. It speaks of more than just writing, but of the pain of those who weep for hope."

His pencil, placed like so, was no more.

"I'm an artist," said the man, for he placed his pencil like so.

Court is in Session

2006-06-22T11:37:00.000-07:00

Scattered on the floor were 6 babies. One was fat, two were white, one was black, one was korean, and the others were just babies.

"Korean baby, how do you plead?" asked the fat baby.

"Not guilty."

"That's not what we wanted to hear, Korean baby. We all have agreed that you are guilty of stinking this room up, and should be punished accordingly."

"But I'm clean, fat baby. I refuse to recognize your authority in this matter."

"Then you leave us no choice, Korean baby, to bring down the severest punishment."

All the other babies picked up any toy they could find. The black baby picked up a single leggo block, the fat baby picked up a rubber ducky, while a white baby removed his diaper.

The Korean baby stared at all of them, unmoved by their obvious plan.

"I don't fear any baby," said the Korean baby.

"You will fear me, us, and this court."

And all at once, all the babies began to swing their toys at the Korean baby, striking him on the chest, the head, the cheeks, and the limbs. Crying was heard across the room and red marks and bruises were left.

Justice was served.

Blackjack

2006-06-21T23:27:00.000-07:00

Today was my first day as a Blackjack dealer. My back is killing me.

Along with Blackjack, I also deal 21+3, Three-card Poker, Four-card Poker, Let it Ride, and Caribbean Stud. Today I did all but the latter two.

Casinos are very interesting. They're a mixture of excitement, thrills, and glamour, but with an equal amount of dirt, smoke, scum, and depression.

There wasn't really anything all that amusing or funny to report on today, but I'm sure I'll come back to this subject very soon. I did quite well for my first day despite my nerves, thanks to being shadowed and having pleasant players. It's amazing how much money I raked in in such a short amount of time. What a business.

The money is going to be good, so let's all hope I don't get sucked in. And let's also hope that if someone is going to use their change cup as a bathroom, it won't be at my table.

People are so amusing sometimes

2006-06-20T21:42:00.000-07:00

So today was my last day of orientation before starting work tomorrow. In the group, there were people from different departments. During a break, I asked the girl next to me, Amanda, what she was going to be doing for the casino.

"I'm going to be a Internal Revenue Auditor." When I heard this, I was completely oblivious to what it meant.

"What does that mean?" I asked her.

"It means I'm going to be dealing with money."

Playing the gullible layman, "And what does that mean?"

"Well, the casino spends a lot of money, but they also make a lot. These things have to be kept track of. I'm the one who's going to be balancing money for the casino. It's sort of like an accounting job."

Half seriously, half annoyingly, "And accounting is like . . . a money thing, right?" I asked.

When I said this, the girl next to Amanda, Jen, couldn't help but overhear me. She leaned foward in her chair and looked at me with a look that said, "Are you an idiot or something?"

She said, "You don't know what accounting is?" This came off a little condescending.

"Nope," I said.

"Well, what did you study in college?"

"Philosophy," I said.

"No, I mean, what did you take in college before your major?"

"The same thing everyone else takes: general education classes."

She looked as if I had just proven her point, then she said, "Ok then, accounting. You took accounting then."

I said, "No, I didn't take accounting; it's not required."

"I just got finished with my Bachelor's and I had to take accounting. It was required to graduate."

I said, "Accounting is not a requirement; it may be if you wanted some Associates degree or a BA in some business type major, but it's not required for anyone else."

As I said this, the girl next to her, Erin, looked over at us, nodding her head in agreement. Erin goes to MU and is an Engineering major.

Jen says, "Well, I had to take it, so I don't what college you went to."

AND GUESS WHAT I SAID! GUESS!

"Uh, UCLA?!"

She looked down and remained quiet for some time after that. Later on, she approached me and apologized for the way she came off. She said that she came off a bit aggressively and made a poor assumption. I smiled at her to assure her that not once was I offended and that it was really okay.

Later on, during another break, I asked a fellow dealer about his Anthropology degree; did he like it, what he learned, etc. He pretty much told me the same thing I hear from all of these people. And in so many words, he revealed to me that he was a cultural relativist. Of course, we got into it.

I tried to explain to him that, whether he sees it or not, he, in one form or another, adheres to the correspondence theory of truth. This is simply the view that asserts that a statement is true if and only if it corresponds to the world. He implied that he believed this, but made several statements that contradicted this belief.

"If you believe in something hard enough, and you believe that thing is true, then that thing is true to you," he said.

When I hear this, I just want to run my head through a car window.

So, I started with a silly example, I said, "So if I look at this car and point to it, and then say that this car is in fact a donkey, since I believe that it is true it is a donkey, then it is the case that this object is a donkey?"

He said yes. I asked him again, "So you mean to tell me that what I'm looking at right here is really a donkey then?"

He said, "Since you believe it, and it is true for you, then yes, it is a donkey."

I laughed. "Doesn't that strike you as odd? Does it not ever occur to you that donkeys are animals and that this is really a car, and that my belief that this a donkey is plain and simply false?"

"It doesn't necessarily mean that it is false. You're saying it's false because you're using what you think is true as a way to determine it. Since YOU think it's a car, then it makes the belief that it is a donkey false. That's why I said if you believe it's a donkey, then it's really a donkey."

I moved on to the Earth being flat example. I asked if the world was always round. He said that to the people a long time ago, it wasn't, so for them, it was flat.

I said, "No, you're not answering my question. Was the shape of the Earth always round? That is, is it not the case that the Earth was ever flat? This is a question about the shape of the Earth."

He thought about it, then said, "The Earth was always round . . . but, to the people long ago, it was flat, so you can't say that it was not flat at one point."

"So," I said, "You mean to tell me that when people believed the Earth was flat, it was flat, then when we all started to believe it was round, the Earth changed it's shape to the existing round shape it currently is?"

"No, the Earth never changed shape."

"So, it was always round?"

"Yes"

"So doesn't that mean that the people who thought it was flat long ago were just plain wrong about their belief?"

Dogmatically and stubbornly, "Uhhhhmm . . . . you can't say that they were wrong . . . ." trying desperately to find a way out "it was still true for them."

I laughed again. I told him that he was contradicting himself. He wanted to hold firm to two opposing claims about the world, claims that cannot be held at the same time without a contradiction arising. Even though he assured me that he believed that contradictions existed and that you couldn't logically hold them, he didn't see how he was doing so.

I simply ended the conversation by jokingly saying that he was crazy. He called me a bad philosopher because, as he said, "You have one philosophy, and you stick to it, and you don't listen to anything else."

As we drove to get food, I concluded with, "Yeah, I'm the bad philosopher, but you hold firm to contradictions, think the Earth was flat at one point, and believe that it's true that we're riding in a donkey right now."

He was cool about it. We joked about it and shrugged it off. Of course, he's going home believing he got the best of me and that what he said was true, but if he believed everything he argued for, then his so-called truth is of little consequence--having as much consequence to it as the sawing in two of a woman by a magician.

A Merry, yet Bloody, Tale

2006-06-11T00:16:00.000-07:00

She awoke to the violent pluck of a violin string. She sat up in her bed and opened her eyes as wide as she could. She stretched and stretched, even opening her mouth wide. She still could not see anything. She reached to her left and realized that Tom was not in bed. She got up to use the restroom. She kept thinking, "down the hall, make a right, 4th door on the left." As she walked the halls, she made frequent pauses to listen out. She couldn't remember why she was there, or where Tom went, or when they would be able to leave; she just wanted to sleep. She first needed to use the bathroom.

As she opened the door, she felt along the walls for the light switch. When she turned the light on, she heard the sounds of the electricity running through the bathroom. The walls were all white, along with everything else, and the room looked as if it were never used. As she sat down, she heard almost immediately the theme to the second movement of Shostakovich's 10th String Quartet. But something was not right. There was a tapping. A faint, constant tapping that did not belong. As she looked over to her right, she saw drops of blood falling from inside of the medicine cabinet. Getting up without flushing the toilet, she walked over to the mirror. The rhythmic, yet erratic, sounds of the quartet infested the room. The tapping increased in tempo as the blood began to drip more heavily. As she looked into the mirror, she saw Tom standing behind her. He was playing the violin. The red violin was being handled ever so roughly as Tom beat out music that pierced the walls.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" she screamed. The music stopped and Tom looked up at her with blood falling from his eyes.

"Do you have any idea why you're here?" Tom said with a frustrated and angry tone. "Do you understand the severity of this moment? Do you?"

She was breathing heavily, full of fear.

"DO YOU??!!" Tom asked again.

"Aaahh!" She jumped at his confrontational questioning.

"Turn around and open the medicine cabinet, darling. There's something in there I've been meaning to give you, honey," Tom said in a changed mood.

"Honey, baby, what's going on?" she said as she began to cry. "What's happening?"

"Just open the cabinet, dear."

She turned around and opened the cabinet. Blood began to rush out, covering her entire body, and knocking her over. The music began again. Violent melodies signaled her demise.

"Now say you'll never be a selfish whore again!" Tom yelled as he raised the bow to his violin. "Say it or you'll be done."

"Tom, NOO, Tom, please!!!"

Tom came down with his bow, piercing her in the heart. Lightning struck and shook the house. She awoke in her bed, looking at Tom next to her asleep. She could hear his mother practicing the violin upstairs.

"Tom, wake up!" She urged.

Tom opened his eyes, startled and disoriented. "What's going on?" he asked.

"AAAAAHHHHHH!!!" she screamed as blood fell from his eyes.

Who to Thank?

2006-06-06T10:35:00.000-07:00

After reading a post from my buddy Wolfman, I got to thinking about the sources of my interests and pursuits. In his post, Wolflips talks about his dad playing a role in his increasing interest and study of classical music--in particular, classical guitar--comic books, and even chess. His dad was a jazz bassist and used to read comics to him as a kid.

I, however, cannot trace my interests back to someone or something in the same way. I cannot say with pride, "It was because my dad read to me that I love to write," or "It was because my mom's creative abilities that I can draw and paint."

The truth is this: My mom and dad dropped out of junior high school. They probably never completed the 8th grade. My dad worked in a movie theatre for many of my years growing up before moving over to security, where he still is today. My mom used to be on welfare and get food stamps. She's hardly ever worked, and to this day, struggles to find a decent living situation.

I spent a lot of time with my grandparents growing up though. But let's take a look at that situation. My grandfather never learned how to read or write. He could only sign his name. He worked for 30 years as a bartender who gambled. My grandmother stopped working when she married my grandmother at the age of 23. She lived with him for over 50 years and raised his children, but did not do anything other than that. There was no education between the two of them, and as a result, no education to be left with me from them.

However, I do attribute my sense of morality to my grandparents. They are responsible for my sense of ought and my guilt over ill acts.

Along with this group above are two uncles in jail, one of which didn't know how to read or write, two aunts that are also housewives, cousins with no college, but plenty of kids. Then there's Drugs. Drugs were always a member of my family. My dad, my mom, my uncles, and cousins all have taken a wide range of drugs in their lives. Many of their problems resulted from this.

This is just the crust of it all. There's more to this story that would make anyone sympathize with the life I've had. It's a wonder how I turned out fairly normal. Talking to me, you'd never guess that I've seen my father high on PCP.

So, the question remains: Who do I thank for what I've become? I was going to try to answer this question, but it might be better left open.

Pictures

2006-05-30T23:44:00.000-07:00

The pictures from our trip to Chicago below are in chronological order. Following the pictures I give a brief summary of our trip and some commentary on the things you see. There's a lot more to say and show, but I've done too much for you all already.

Shots of The Sears

2006-05-30T23:41:00.000-07:00

The Best There Ever Was. The Best There Ever Will Be

2006-05-30T23:39:00.000-07:00

Early Morning Chicago

2006-05-30T23:38:00.000-07:00

The Cloud's Gate

2006-05-30T23:34:00.000-07:00

Buckingham Fountain

2006-05-30T23:32:00.000-07:00

The Sears from the Aquarium

2006-05-30T23:29:00.000-07:00

Shots From Atop the Sears

2006-05-30T23:25:00.000-07:00

City Loonies

2006-05-30T23:20:00.000-07:00

This guy was rocking out on his drums in front of the Art Institute. He was making stuff up right there. I didn't get a picture of a guy on his sax playing the theme song to the Flinstones though. All this kinda made me miss the crazy people in big cities.

You can see the Sears Tower in the back too.

Our Hotel: Only the Best for Us

2006-05-30T23:11:00.000-07:00

This was the Entertainment Room for guests and such.

Our Hotel Pt. II

2006-05-30T23:09:00.000-07:00

This was the Main/Dining Room.

Our Hotel Pt. III

2006-05-30T23:07:00.000-07:00

This was the living room.

Crap

2006-05-30T23:04:00.000-07:00

Can I be famous for submitting junk to an art institute too?

Some Dali

2006-05-30T23:02:00.000-07:00

I think this one was called "A Chemist Cautiously Lifting the Cuticle of a Piano." Something to that effect. Dali is eerie nonetheless.

Picasso's The Old Guitarist

2006-05-30T23:00:00.000-07:00

Nighthawks

2006-05-30T22:58:00.000-07:00

Chess Games on Michigan Ave.

2006-05-30T22:55:00.000-07:00

They're lucky I had to go; I would have smoked that 12-year-old!

Chicago

2006-05-29T21:14:00.000-07:00

Tamara and I went went to Chicago this past weekend. We bought bus tickets from St. Louis for introductory fares of $2 each. We practically made it to Chicago for the price of gas money to St. Louis.

We chose an overnight bus for our arrival. That means we left St. Louis at midnight and arrived at Chicago at 5:30 in the morning. Despite our great fare, the bus company we traveled with wasn't exactly ideal. The bus picked us up a half hour late, and played a Steven Seagal movie for the first two hours of the trip. Mind you, those two hours were 12 to 2 in the morning. So while everyone was trying to sleep, we all couldn't help hearing the sound of punches and guns fired.

The air conditioning was also on full blast, which I didn't mind so much. Tamara, however, told me about every half hour that she was cold.

When we arrived, I woke up to a tap on the shoulder and a pointed finger. I looked out my window and there it was: the Sears Tower. I knew it would be big, but it still amazed me when I first saw it. It was twice as big as any other building. Needless to say, it had a certain awe that coupled the fact that it was the third tallest building in the world. I was also excited to know that I would be going to the top of it that day.

First on our schedule was the United Center. On the map, it looked only a few blocks away from Union Station, but we ended up walking about 3 miles before realizing it was another 2 away. We caught a bus and arrived right in front of it. The building itself was unimpressive (after seeing the Staples Center in LA, not many other venues can compete), but I wasn't there to see it. Instead, Tamara and I made our way through the parking lot in back and got a good look at the statue dedicated to Michael Jordan. I've been playing basketball since the third grade, and have watched Jordan play just as long. In short, he's my hero. The statue was worth the walk, standing about 12 feet high, and listing all of his accomplishments on the sides.

Next was Buckingham Fountain. You all may remember it from the opening credits to the TV show Married with Children. We caught a bus that took us to Millennium Park, which is about a mile north of the fountain. We got off, had breakfast, then strolled into the park. In the distance we saw a huge silver structure. It was oddly shaped, like a big piece of crappy art. It turned out to be an outdoor venue. Next to it was something called the Cloud's Gate. It looked like a big silver bean right in the middle of the park. It reflected all images, and since it was spherical, it reflected them in this warped way. All the images looked like they were being seen with a fish-eyed lens. (You all know Escher's work, right? The drawing of himself looking into a silver ball.) This thing's size made it awesome. It reflected all the adjacent buildings and anyone who walked by in the this distorted fashion. An unexpected treat.

As we arrived at the fountain, we were shocked at its size. This thing was the biggest fountain I had ever seen. It wasn't on when we got there, but luckily we took a break, during which, water shut up from the top (just like on the show) and turned on.

From there, we walked across the street and walked along Lake Michigan. Lake Tahoe was big, but I could see the edge of it. Not Lake Michigan. It looked like the ocean.

We made it to Shedd Aquarium from there around 9am. After Sea World in San Diego and the Monterey Bay aquarium in Monterey, California, all others pale in comparison. With that said, the aquarium wasn't anything to write home about. They did have a Komodo(?) Dragon on display, along with sharks, whales, and some penguins. (The penguin exhibit at the St. Louis zoo, however, takes the cake). Their dolphin show was unimpressive as well. We got to see some pretty cool frogs though.

From there, we decided to skip the Field Museum. It was about 2pm and we were burnt out from the 3 hours sleep the night before, along with the 5 miles of walking afterward. We walked to our hotel, which we could see from the aquarium. This hotel was located in an ideal spot, just minutes from everything.

We checked in and took a nap. The hotel was a bit run down, as many reviews warned us about. It got the job done though, and its location made it worth it.

Around 4:30, we headed out for an early dinner. It was time for some authentic deep dish Chicago style pizza! We went to Numero Uno Pizzeria. The wait was about an hour. I guess this was the local hot spot for pizza, which spelled doom for me. Local hot spots usually attract crowds for environment rather than the quality of their food (all of you in LA know about Pink's hot dogs on La Brea. The line is always around the block and their hot dogs suck).

Now, I'm going to say something but I need to qualify it afterward. The pizza was excellent. However, REAL deep dish pizza is very different from regular pizza. It was almost like another Italian entree. With that said, considering I don't like Italian food, I did not like the pizza very much at all. I probably wouldn't have it again. But if you like Italian food (the whole tomato sauce and cheese thing), then you'd love that pizza. If you're not big on pizza or Italian, it is simply overwhelming. I'm glad I tried it though.

From there, it was the Sears Tower. We arrived just in time to see the city in daylight and watch the sun set. We also got a glimpse of the city at night.

We went up about 105 floor in about 25 seconds. Everyone's ears did that thing; you know, when you go high up and pressure increases. When looking out into the city, you can see about 50 miles in every direction. We were high! Not high like Snoop Dogg, but high enough. It's hard to describe the experience of seeing everything else look so small while not flying. There was this big red structure below, a piece of art, that from up top, looked like a red bench. You couldn't really see people, and cars looked like toys. Pretty scary.

From there, we made our way to the Navy Pier. By this time, we were dead tired. Even after the nap, our feet still didn't have any feeling. We decided on going to the Navy Pier despite our fatigue just to see it. When we arrived, it was a madhouse. It was similar to the Santa Monica Pier, but bigger, longer, and better. We were just in time for the 10:15 fireworks show, which lasted a long 10 minutes or so. It was pretty cool and complimented my waffle cone from Ben and Jerry's.

Tamara thought we could at least walk to a bus stop from there, but after 4 blocks, we decided on a cab. The cab got us to our hotel in less than 5 minutes, making it the best thing since fried chicken.

The next day we had breakfast at Cafe Bacci, another local hot spot. There, I talked to a guy from New York and a guy from Chicago who took part in the 30-mile bike ride earlier that morning. I bring this up because the people there were, for the most part, friendly. The whole city had a certain feel to it. It was definitely more welcoming than Los Angeles, with more to do than St. Louis, and more history.

From there, the Art Institute of Chicago. This place was quite amazing. We saw several famous pieces, including tons of works by Van Gogh, Monet, Dali, and Picasso. Notables were Tamara's favorite Picasso painting, The Old Guitarist, a famous photo of Ghandi, Van Gogh's self portrait, Edward Hopper's Nighthawks, and a lot more. But, what was really a disappointment was Grant Wood's famous painting American Gothic was on loan to a museum in D.C. Most of you probably don't know this piece by name, but I'm sure you have all seen it. (The picture of the man holding a pitch fork with a woman in front of a house).

Afterward, we had Thai and caught our 1-hour-late bus.

Chicago was definitely a sight and worth going back for. Tamara and I both agreed that if we were to stay in the Midwest to live in a big city, it would be Chicago over St. Louis. St. Louis simply doesn't have the qualities of a warm, welcoming, and desirable city. It doesn't have anywhere near as much culture as LA or Chicago. It lacks diversity, art, and good food. On top of it all, it seems plain ghetto. Chicago, on the other hand, was rich in culture, diversity, food, and had a very homely feeling. With the lake as its backdrop, and the Sears dominating the sky, I felt like I was somewhere new and interesting. When going through St. Louis, I feel more in danger, more like I'm just in another big city that I want to get out of. My hat goes off to Chicago for surprisingly making me feel welcome and home again in a big city.

"I have an idea," said the boy

2006-05-23T23:27:00.000-07:00

"I have an idea," said the boy. "I will be king. That's my idea."

And with that thought, the boy was king. His words made it so. His idea was reality.

"I have an idea," said the boy. "I will be king, and I will rule over you. I will own everything you own and you will praise me for it."

The boy became king of the world in moments. At the end of this idea and these words, it became so. He was king, and he ruled over you. For he is King, and you will praise him for it.

"I have an idea," said the boy. "My name will be King, and you will call me so, for King is my name, thus it is so. That is my idea, and now it is so."

The boy had an idea, and now it is so.

Untitled Short Story Pt. VII

2006-05-22T23:49:00.000-07:00

Mr. Ridgefield was a spherical man. He was round, and looked like he’d have no trouble rolling safely down a steep hill. His stomach extended many inches beyond his chest, and the rest of his body, for that matter. One could imagine his waist being twice the size of the length of his pants. His belt was being put to good use though. Mr. Ridgefield was using every penny it was worth, fastening it at the very first hole.

Roger determined Mr. Ridgefield was always this size or close to it. His wedding ring seemed to fit just right; maybe even a little looser than any other article of attire he was wearing. Unless it was resized, it showed that his finger had been that size the day he got married, along with hands, his arms, all the way to his round face.

On the way to Mr. Ridgefield’s car, Roger couldn’t help but hear his heavy breathing. Sweat began to form before his very eyes; then proceeded down Mr. Ridgefield’s many chins. Roger watched closely as he saw the beads of sweat start at the top of his head. Mr. Ridgefield’s hair was thin on top, growing thicker as it came down along the sides and back.

It was all a spectacle. Roger pulled his eyes away many times, but got drawn back to the display. It was almost unavoidable. There he was: Mr. Ridgefield. The one and only. This man would decide Roger’s fate. His arms swooped around his body as he walked, making a long journey back and forth beside his body. His poor lungs faced the arduous task of getting air. His neck, which was mostly chin, shook with each step. The whole thing was awkward to Roger, but he kept looking.

Ironically enough, Mr. Ridgefield drove a small car: one of those 2-seaters. Mr. Ridgefield had been talking to Roger all the way to the garage, but Roger only listened to bits and pieces. After seeing his car, Roger looked reluctant to go to lunch. He stopped dead in his tracks and had a look that said, “We certainly aren’t going to make it anywhere in that little thing.” As Roger heard the “Beep Beep,” he opened his door and took a seat in the front. He grew worried for Mr. Ridgefield; the way a young man grows worried after seeing an old lady who is in the middle of a crosswalk while the signal is about to turn red.

“Does he need help?” Roger asked himself. “It might be too awkward to ask if he needs help getting into his own car.”

Sure enough, Roger soon realized that Mr. Ridgefield had a procedure—a well thought out one. Left hand on top of the car, then right foot in. Turn body away from vehicle, then begin to lower bottom. Grip fast as weight comes down, applying support from the right hand on the side of the car. Release. Mr. Ridgefield didn’t have any other choice but to ‘fall into’ his car to get in. Roger wiped the sweat from his brow.

“I hope you like Thai, my boy.”

“Thai is just fine, sir,” Roger replied. This was a default answer. He would have said this to any suggestion other than the meat of a dog or rat. He wanted everything to go as smoothly as possible. The truth is, though, Roger was not the biggest fan of Thai. He remembered vividly the last time he ate it. It was 4 years ago when Roger had not yet taken control of his severe heartburn. Anything with a hint of spice would set it off, and he’d have to endure agonizing pain for hours afterward. But Roger supposedly had found “the one” that year, so on his first big date when Brittany requested Thai, Roger obliged. He was hoping just to find something without any spice, but almost everything on the menu had an asterisk on it that led to the bottom of the page where it read, “Hot and Spicy.” He vomited everything out that night, including the red paste that topped all his food. He swore that night over his toilet that he would never have Thai again.

Now here he was. It was like his date with Brittany all over again, only Brittany was a round short man named Mr. Ridgefield. Roger began to think about that night with Brittany. He remembered her red hair and pink cheeks. She was married now, with one girl. It could have easily been Roger’s girl, but just like the Thai, he couldn’t stomach the idea. All the things he ever wanted slipped away; either because he didn’t push for them or because he couldn’t handle them. Roger would not let a little spice get in the way of his writing career.

“To be honest, I still have some slight problems with heartburn, but it shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve been dieting and exercising, you know, to control it, so I should be fine. Maybe they’ll have something that isn’t spicy. If they do, I’ll just get whatever that is. I should be fine.”

“No spice? We might as well not get Thai.”

“Well, if you think it would be better, I’m up for something else.”

“Nah, Thai sounds just fine to me. We’ll have Thai; it’s been awhile. This place is great anyway. It’s called the Flaming Noodle.”

Roger immediately thought of the emergency supply of antacids he carries with him. They were nicely tucked away in the glove box of his car back at Creative Answers.

“The Flaming Noodle? Sounds good . . . and spicy. I should be fine. I haven’t had any recent problems with my heartburn.”

“Problems? I’ve never heard of ‘problems’ with heartburn. Don’t worry yourself over things like that. Listen, I’ve had cancer three times. Now that’s a problem. If you think you’ve feared pain, think again. And be honest, no one’s ever died from heartburn, have they?” Mr. Ridgefield laughed hysterically at his own question. It was clear to Roger that he wasn’t going to take his concern seriously. Mr. Ridgefield laughed for about 15 seconds before turning red and coughing. Roger never broke a smile during that time, but Mr. Ridgefield was oblivious.

“Heartburn,” Mr. Ridgefield said sarcastically. He began to laugh again. “My boy here, what was your name again?”

“Roger, sir.”

“My boy Roger here can’t have any spicy foods because he’ll get heartburn. Then he’ll be in pain, roll over, and die. Haaaa!” Mr. Ridgefield continued his uncontrollable laugh. “Wait till they hear this back at the office.” Roger could just picture it now. He would tell everyone that worked for him how he wanted to avoid Thai, then everyone, not finding it the least bit funny, would laugh hysterically just to humor him.

“You’re a fast driver, aren’t you?” Roger tried to divert Mr. Ridgefield’s attention away from the heartburn issue. He was also a bit concerned for his safety seeing as Mr. Ridgefield was doing 50 in a 35 zone.

“That’s what they say; I never can tell. I need to get where I’m going and that’s that. All these other people are just in my way.”

Roger’s nerves began to tickle. He hadn’t felt this way in years. The doctor told him, “Your diet and stress. Those are the two things contributing to your heartburn. You need to control your stress and watch what you eat. That means don’t worry yourself and don’t eat spicy foods. If you do these things, your pain should be reduced significantly.”

Roger began to think how funny it was that in one day everything you’ve worked hard for gets put on the back burner. He didn’t admit it for many years, but Brittany walked all over him, and his current relationship with Mr. Ridgefield was beginning no differently. Roger felt that he had to take a little more control over his situation, but didn’t know how. He didn’t want to say anything potentially upsetting to Mr. Ridgefield, but Roger didn’t want to feel like he was being taken lightly. Roger wanted to establish presence with Mr. Ridgefield, so when he learned that Roger was a friend of Chad’s with something for him to read, he would welcome the idea with confidence. Unfortunately, Roger only thought of one way to do this: He would have to use his imaginary position for authority. This meant perpetuating the lie, the façade, the manipulation. This didn’t bother Roger as much anymore though after getting to know Mr. Ridgefield a little better. He would make Mr. Ridgefield listen. After all, Roger was the Senior Executive of Honorable Affairs.

Untitled Short Story Pt. VI

2006-05-15T23:59:00.000-07:00

While Barbara was directing Mr. Ridgefield, Roger's heart began to sink. It occurred to him only at this moment that he was about to do something out of character. He was going to lie to get what he wanted. He was going to make this unsuspecting man think he was someone he isn't in order to achieve some end. All this made Roger think of his grandfather. His grandfather always used to say, "The two worst things you could ever do are steal and lie. Those are the worst things you could ever do." Roger knew quite well that his grandfather knew those weren't the worst things a person could do, but there was a certain significance to choosing those particular things. Maybe his grandfather thought those wrongs were easier and more tempting; maybe they were more prevalent in this regard to someone of Roger's age. As a matter of fact, his grandfather first told him this when he was only 11 years old. Dishonesty and theft - those were the things that Roger's grandfather did not want him to do. And all his life, Roger tried to live up to these seemingly simple expectations. Even after his grandfather's passing, Roger would say, "My grandfather would not have been proud to see me do this." His guilt would sting; it was almost as if Roger thought he would have to come home at the end of the day and confess to his grandfather all that he had done, despite the fact that his grandfather was long gone. This is how he felt as Mr. Ridgefield approached him. He might have been saying to himself "How will I explain this to grandpa later."

The guilt began to run down his spine as Mr. Ridgefield drew near. Roger became disgusted with himself. But, like many times before, this was not enough for Roger to call the whole thing off. He simply would have to go through with it while having an almost unbearable and unsettling guilt.

"Hi, I'm Mr. Ridgefield. You asked to see me?"

"Yes . . . Sir. Uhm . . . I'm Roger." He paused for a moment. "I wanted to congratulate you on a rare achievement." Roger's speech was supposed to be lively and cheerful, but he uttered his words sluggishly and indifferently. He was disheartened. "Your company is going to be featured in our list of Most Honorable Businesses and we'd like you to accept this recognition for all of Creative Answers."

"All this sounds great, but just who are you and where are you from again?" Mr. Ridgefield's tone was mixed. On one hand, it was irritated, suspecting that all of this was a scam. On the other hand, it was sincere, awaiting the possibility that the award was genuine.

"My name is Roger and I'm the Senior Executive of Honorable Affairs. I'm with the National Society of Honorary Businesses. We are a new company looking to provide the public with an annual publication on honorable businesses. We conduct surveys and research throughout the year without the knowledge of the companies we examine, then tally all the information to see which businesses are praised the most by the public along with providing honest and reliable services. Your company did very well in our research and we want you to take part in our list. Appearing on our list will help your company's exposure, as well as add big names to our guides. As an incentive, we'd like to offer you a complimentary gift. These are two tickets to next weekend's hockey game. It's our way of saying how great you've been and expresses our desire in you doing business with us."

Mr. Ridgefield grabbed the tickets quickly. Luckily he was a hockey fan, so Roger was on his way to reeling him in. Mr. Ridgefield was not completely convinced however, which he revealed as he examined the tickets to verify their authenticity. He perused over the tickets, which became more and more exaggerated. He might have been stalling to get a grip on what was before him. Roger knew quite well that Mr. Ridgefield was thinking over how he should respond. Roger grew nervous, but was still a bit uneasy about the whole thing. He wouldn't mind so much if Mr. Ridgefield called his bluff and sent him away. On the other hand, Roger was impressed with how calm he was, and would go through with the charade if he had to.

"Well, this sounds great, my boy. I'm on my way to lunch; why don't you come with me and we'll discuss the details?"

This should have meant trouble for Roger. This should have signaled to him that he was going to have to keep up the lie. This should have been the point where Roger makes some excuse to get out of this entire ordeal, but instead, Roger broke a smile. His plan had worked. He was going to have lunch with the man who would read his work. This is what Roger wanted.

"That sounds good; I can use a bite to eat." Roger's guilt slowly drifted away. It obtrusively lay in the forefront of his mind, but Roger merely swept it under his current feelings of relief and satisfaction. His end would justify the means in the long run. Roger would save honesty for another day.

Untitled Short Story Pt. V

2006-05-12T22:01:00.000-07:00

A Simple Dream

"Good morning, Sir. Welcome to Creative Answers," the valet attendant said as Roger stepped out of his car.

"Good morning, kind Sir," Roger replied with enthusiasm. He proceeded to the main lobby to ask the Information desk for Mr. Ridgefield's office.

"Mr. Ridgefield, please," Roger said to the obese woman at the front desk. The woman completely blocked the chair she sat on. It appeared as if she was floating right in front of her switchboard, like some genie ready to grant a wish.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"What?"

"An appointment," she said with a bit of sass. "Mr. Ridgefield does not see anyone unless they have an appointment."

Roger's head fell to the right in an unconscious attempt to get a better look for the chair this woman was apparently sitting on. "Uhm, no, I don't have an appointment, but I know he'll want to see me."

"And why is that, Sir?"

"Well, I'm with The National Society of Honorary Businesses. My name is Roger and I'm the Senior Executive of Honorable Affairs and I'm here to present Mr. Ridgefield with an award."

The woman, whose nametag read 'Barbara,' looked puzzled for a moment. She started to stare at Roger like a good poker player trying to call a bluff. She looked for any sign in Roger that he was full of it.

"Let me see if he's in."

Roger was growing increasingly frustrated with this woman. He began ranting to himself. "See if he's in? What was the point of asking me if I had an appointment if it was possible he wasn't here? Who does she think she's fooling with that receptionist talk? I'd like her to see if that chair is there. What is it with these people in these snooty places. All these ridiculous procedures to deal with anybody or anything. I can't just talk to this guy like two normal people. I have to go through floaty over here, then I have to make up some story just to see this guy's face. Absurd."

"He said he'd be down in 15 minutes if you'd like to wait here in the lobby for him."

"Thanks, that'll be just fine." Roger tried hard to conceal a devious grin. Roger stepped away from the front desk, putting his right hand in his pocket, and looked the place over. In his left hand, tightly grasped, was a copy of his work. Roger quickly noticed the oversized leather sofas in the open area of the lobby. One was purple, and the other was dark green. Roger couldn't imagine there being enough people ever waiting at once to fill them. He also couldn't imagine them being comfortable. They looked embarrassing, as if you'd be embarrassed for anyone seen sitting on them. Between them was a glass coffee table with silver legs. Needless to say, this piece of furniture did not compliment the others. On the table was a vase with plastic flowers. Roger, being the last person to recognize fake flowers, wrinkled his eyebrows at the sight of the mockery of nature.

Above this furniture on the wall was a large picture of a map of the US. It was a shot of the US at night, with all the major cities' lights shining. It was interesting for about 6 seconds before Roger directed his attention to the other wall with the company's name painted on it. In big black letters, the wall said "CREATIVE ANSWERS," while underneath it, "Bringing CREATIVE ANSWERS to your creative needs." It was like graffiti.

No one seemed to notice the pool of superficiality that everyone was swimming in. Everything was all just a bit too excessive and unnecessary. The people seemed unreal, as unreal as the flowers in the vase next to the purple leather sofa. The place was enough to make an outsider nauseous. Just as Roger started to question his presence there, he saw Barbara pointing him out to a man in a suit. "This must be Mr. Ridgefield," Roger thought. Roger would have to take another moment to soak in the sight of yet another oddly appearing individual.

To Wolfgang and the Big Boy

2006-05-12T14:38:00.000-07:00

Do either of you know the radical conclusion Kripke came to when interpreting Wittgenstein? Something about the skepticism of meaning? i.e., Wittgenstein's analysis of what it is to follow a rule leads to the meaninglessness of words? Kripke brings in the notion of quus, a function similar to plus. He says something about not being able to understand the rule for addition since we can have interpretations, like 'quus' in place of 'plus', that are completely compatible with our actions.

I really don't know what I'm saying; I'm just throwing things out there to help trigger any memory of this. I know Big Boy knows a little about this because we took a course on it with little Hsuey Mcgooey.

I also found this excerpt from Kripke that I think illustrates his main contention:

"When I am supposed to perform a computation I've never performed before, like for example '68 + 57', I answer without hesitate '125'. I assume that my present use of the sign '+' accords with the past meaning I was ascribing to this sign.

But what if I meet a skeptic who will suggest that maybe in the past I meant quaddition by '+', and to conform to this function, I should rather answer '5'?

The quus function is defined by:

x Å y = x + y, if x, y < 57

= 5 otherwise.

The skeptic will claim that I am not able to point out to anything in my past history that would justify my being so sure that I meant addition."

"I exist," said the dog

2006-05-07T21:29:00.000-07:00

"I exist," said the dog. That was all he knew. That was all he could say. It's all he could think.

"I exist," said the dog. "I exist." What he saw followed from his existence. He would see his bowl, his food, his owner, his home, and he'd say, "I exist."

The world was merely his existence. That is, the world existed insofar as he did. "I exist," therefore . . . the world. Therefore . . . this bone. Therefore . . . you and your thoughts.

The dog was a king. A God. Ruler and maker of all. Nothing could not and would not pass him, for he was all. "I exist," said the dog. He exists, therefore all.

Farewell to Cart Boy

2006-05-05T14:52:00.000-07:00

May 15th will be my final day at the public library. I had the option of finishing out the month, but I passed. I will have worked exactly one month, tying Wolfgang's previous stint as a cart boy.

What can I say? I just didn't like it there. I find myself exerting so much energy to do my job while everyone else in the library sits around joking, laughing, and taking their sweet time. I also cannot get by with the amount of money they're paying me; I'm struggling to pay my bills time after time.

That job simply was not for me to begin with. I only feel sorry for the poor little high school graduate I took the job away from to begin with. It's a shame how many crappy jobs are fought over in this city. There's a lot of weeding out going on. This job for instance. I have a degree from UCLA and I probably barely got this job. The minimum requirements were "some job experience" and "at least 18." There are thousands that meet this requirement, and I'm sure dozens with only those qualifications applied. But in the end, I got the job. Not Joe Smith who just finished high school and has experience with simple work; nor the college student who wanted a part-time job to get by while in school. That means students with a college education and more job experience are being turned down for the same jobs that high school graduates are applying to.

You can imagine how many jobs whose requirements were "BA and some experience" I've been turned down for. Jobs that have a BA as their minimum qualification are going to people with MA's or graduate students or people with 8 years experience doing whatever job it is. It's quite ridiculous.

The standard living situation here is being beaten into me. People keep saying, "$8 an hour and up is pretty good; you're not going to see that wage too often." I blow it off as poop. Then sure enough, I'm starting to see that reality hit me. I'm now starting to realize that if I can get $8 an hour, I'll be in good shape. I'm being forced to value a wage that I don't think is fair.

In California, minimum wage is $6.75. I've never had a job under $10 an hour though. If you have experience, know the right people, or have some education, then you get paid more than minimum wage. Your job is distinguished from jobs with people without the above qualifications. If you have no degree, no experience, then you make $8 at most and you work at Burger King or Costco.

I was getting paid more than a certified teacher when I was teaching chess at an enrichment program. It was a non for profit place, and everyone was paid well. I only worked a few hours a week and was getting nice pocket money.

Not here though. If you want to make money here, you have to have sales experience, clerical experience, a teaching certificate, or want to work in child care--all of which is a waste of my time. I'm not a salesman, nor do I want to file and fax documents all day; I wouldn't waste 2 years of my life getting certified to teach high school "physics" or "creative writing" or middle school "science;" and I don't like to be around little ones for too long either.

But that's the way it works here. Middle-aged men and women are found everywhere doing jobs only 20-year-olds do back in California. Everyone just accepts that certain jobs have their name on them, no matter what the pay or how menial they are.

Oh well. I'll leave you with a few tales from the library.

Today, while shelving, I kept running into this black guy. He was in his mid-20's and had a tattoo on his neck. It was obvious to me that this guy was a hoodlum of some sort (no college scholar). I'd go here, and he'd be there. I'd walk up this aisle, and there he was. And every time I passed him, I looked at him, which he noticed. After awhile, my simplistic human concluding began, "Is this guy watching me or what?" I didn't seriously entertain the idea that he was following me, but it occurred to me due to the frequent run-in's I had with him.

Then finally, we met one last time as I was just roaming here and there almost aimlessly. He looked at me, almost staring me down; he even gave me the up and down look (when someone starts at your face, then looks at you all the way down to your feet and back up). He finished his stare with a "Psssshhh." This sigh with an attitude only signified to me that he had entertained the same thought. He thought I was following him, what's more, I'm almost certain he thought this because he was black. He must have thought I was singling him out and paying him special attention because he didn't look like the usual patron.

Now mind you I am pretty frustrated with my job, and the last thing I want to do is take crap from a customer. I was about to ask him why he sighed toward me, knowing well what he'd say. I didn't though. The confrontation would have been moot. So, my story has no climax, only an illustration of my control.

And lastly, it has become apparent even more so that I'm not the friendliest person. That is, my aura is very private-like, not open to conversation or greetings. One girl asked me if I was happy. "Do you not have happiness in your life?" she asked. I explained that I was very "to myself" and how that always comes off as closed and conceded. She said, "Oh, so you're just very stoic. I see. That's cool." Little do they all know the things I laugh over inside as I carry out my day.

Today, I pointed out a mistake a girl made when I asked her if I had a certain book checked out. I asked her to see if the book I found was the same book I already had at home. I should have pointed out the subtle difference I was looking for, i.e., the book I found was a revised version of a chess book I thought I had at home. She said I had the book, so I didn't take the book I found. Sure enough, however, when I get home, I just have the original version, not the revised one. I went back today and told her that it wasn't the same; that the book I found was slightly different. She said, "Oh, they had the same call numbers; it didn't say it was different in the system." I told her that it was the revised edition. She said she didn't notice. I said, "Well, thanks for nothing anyway," with my usual straight, blank, empty, seemingly cold face. You should have seen this girl's face after I said that. It was like the world turned to darkness, like all her dreams had been shattered. She looked like I just told her her mom died. Obviously, she thought I was serious and didn't know how to respond. And even after I broke a slight smile and said, "I'm just kidding with you," she still had a hard time coming to grips with it. Amusing.

Untitled Short Story Pt. IV

2006-04-28T23:50:00.000-07:00

A Simple Dream

Roger awoke the next morning to the sound of papers crumpling. He fell asleep while reading his work and during the night the document was tossed about in his bed. Roger desperately gathered each and every page, paying note to all the wrinkles that had been caused overnight. If a corner of a page was bent forward, he'd bend it backward to straighten it out. This copy of the manuscript was simply a print out, but Roger treated it like a timeless relic.

"10:30?" Roger said in disgust. "I gotta call Chad."

Roger got out of bed, document in hand, and went to the phone. His phone lay on the floor next to his front door and was a displeasing cream-white color. The cord to the receiver extended to any part of Roger's small apartment, making it possible for Roger to talk anywhere in the house. This was impractical, however, since it was always too tangled to make any attempt to do so. Next to the phone was a stack of loose papers. On these lined papers were telephone numbers of everyone person Roger knew. He tried to create a system early on, but it was abandoned shortly after. On one page you'd find his grandmother's number, the number of a good friend, directly followed by the number to the local pizza place. He always grew increasingly frustrated as he tried to find a number he needed, but never enough to rewrite everything in some sort of order.

"Where is it? I know it's here somewhere." Roger read through the names as he looked. "Cousin Bobby, Uncle Eric, Chinatown Express, maintenance. This is ridiculous. Ah, here it is."

Roger picked up the phone and called Chad at his job.

"Can I have Chad Parker, please . . . thanks . . . hey Chad, it's Roger. Listen, what's the name of the guy you were going to refer me to . . . the one who you were gonna have read my stuff; what's his name? Mr. Ridgefield. Ok, great . . . well, because I want to come in and talk to him . . . because I want to ask him a few things . . . about . . . I just want to get to know him a little better. Look, if it will make you feel any better, I won't mention your name at first; I'll just be some guy there to talk to him about something totally unrelated to writing and such. If we hit it off, great, then later we'll tell him that you and I are good friends and that I have some writing he might like . . . I know it sounds fishy, but just play along and if things get bad, I'll end the charade . . . ok, see you in a bit."

Roger got ready to drive downtown. He only owned one suit, and he chose to wear it to see Mr. Ridgefield. It was his "all-purpose" suit. It had been worn several times, for job interviews here, formal dinners there, and even for the occasional date. It had not been cleaned during all these events since Roger thought no harm ever could come to it if he wore it a few hours at a time. It was black, and he had a grey tie to match. Little by little, Roger grew heavier and heavier, making the suit more snug as the years passed. At one point he needed a belt to wear the pants, but not any longer. The blazer just barely fit around him, causing a slight strain on the middle button in front. Roger also had a nice pair of black shoes that his dad let him borrow years before. They weren't a gift, but it turned out that way since Roger never bothered to return them.

"Ok, so who will I be? I have to be important. I have to be someone he'll make time for. Who can I be to make him see that I'm worthy of a few moments? I'll figure it out on the way there; it's getting late."

Roger left his place in a hurry, carrying with him a copy of his work. He went over and over in his head what sort of person he would pretend to be to get in good with Mr. Ridgefield. He decided to make up some prestigious-sounding company and position, and conjure up a story about how Mr. Ridgefield and his company are being recognized for excellence in their work field. As a clincher, Roger also decided to purchase tickets to an upcoming hockey game as a "complimentary gift" to him to show how much he's being honored. Sure, the tickets were close to a hundred dollars, but Roger figured he'd make it up when his writing sold all over the world.

"He'll see the suit, the smile, these tickets, then he'll hear I'm from . . . The National Society of Honorary Businesses and that I am . . . The Senior . . . Executive of . . . Honorable Affairs, and he'll love me!"

Untitled Short Story Pt. III

2006-04-27T20:46:00.000-07:00

A Simple Dream

Roger spent the next weeks reading what Chad had read that afternoon at his place. He didn’t quite know what he was looking for, if anything at all, but he knew that he had to go over his writing thoroughly. He would lie down on his bed and read it before he went to sleep, only to read it again when he woke up in the morning. Sometimes he would pace in his bathrobe reading it out loud. Other times, Roger would act the entire meeting out, playing himself, then switching to a deep voice he envisaged the person who would read his work would have.

“Hello, sir, I’m Roger, here is my work,” extending his arm with the paper in it.

In a strained voice, “Yes, my boy, Chad said you had something really good to show me. Well, let’s have with it.” Roger then went on to read the entire work as if it were the first time he laid eyes on it. Roger may have sincerely believed that he could get a better idea of whether the unknown man would really like his stuff by reading it ‘as’ him.

Every now and then Roger would find something not quite right with his work. He would spend countless hours editing, revising, and rewording. At times, despair would grow in him over the idea that there was no way his work would be liked, while other times he would wear a blinding smile, confident that his work was destined to be read by the world over.

“I like this part right here,” Roger said as he pointed to a section of one of the pages. “I wonder what makes me like it. If I like it, is that indicative of anyone else liking it? Anyone?” Roger asked in genuine puzzlement. “How can I know that someone will like my work? Can I know? Wait, would I want to know? Well, of course I would . . . I guess. What am I saying. Oh, how can I get my work liked by this guy? Maybe if I knew something about him. Maybe even If I just knew something about the place he works in or the people he works with. That’s it, I’ll look for clues. I’ll ask Chad where he works and go visit him, and while I’m there I’ll look around, talk to people, mingle a bit and whatnot. Maybe I can even get a glimpse of the guy who’ll read my work. Maybe I’ll pick up on his mannerisms or tie or shirt what he likes. Yeah, there’s no harm in getting ahead of the game. Besides, it’s smart to think ahead, to plan out your angle, to know what to expect. I’m just being cautious and informed. Then when my stuff gets picked to be published, it will make sense. It’ll be because I know what the people want. So, it’s settled. Tomorrow morning, I’ll get up and call Chad. I’ll just read this thing one more time before I go to bed.”

Roger fixed his eyes on the paper in front of him. He took his right sleeve off, then his left, not once pausing his reading. He unbuckled his pants and took them off. Roger got up and felt around for his robe. His hand wondered out in front of him as if he were in a dark room--as if he couldn’t see anything. His eyes would not stop their reading. He resembled a sleepwalker.

Untitled Short Story Pt. II

2006-04-26T08:27:00.000-07:00

A Simple Dream

“This stuff is good,” said Chad with a drunken smile. “You should bring this by my office some time and I’ll see if I can get it looked at.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Feel lucky enough that you’re reading it,” Roger replied.

“I’m serious; I think they might like it. Besides, what do you mean by I should feel lucky? Your stuff too good for the rest of the world?”

“I didn’t mean it that way. It wasn’t written to be seen by anyone that knows me any less than you do,” Roger said as he peeled a banana on the grey loveseat that lay dwarfed by the size of his living room. The carpet of Roger’s apartment matched that of his loveseat, and his bookshelves were a dirty brown. The place felt larger than it was owing to the lack of being in it. Roger bought plants to “give the room some life,” as he put it; but this designated purpose was so blatantly obvious that they only added a generic feel to the house, as if he were selling the plants and his living room was some cheap convenience store. If this weren’t awkward enough, Roger’s desk was in the dead center of the room. It was true white, like a bench used for customers at a sleazy burger shack. The only object, besides paper, that rested on top of it was his typewriter. It was old and unreal. It looked like something from an antique show – so much that it stupefied people, causing confusion over whether one should laugh at it because of its age or admire it for its value. Chad turned the knob on the right side of it to continue reading.

“Yeah, this is good. I’m telling you, Roger, bring this over.”

“It’s not that kind of writing,” Roger said with a mouth full of banana. “These people don’t know me and I don’t know them. I’d feel as if I were willingly walking into an office to subject myself to a violation of my privacy.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous. You’re right, these people don’t know you, and that’s just it – they don’t care to know you. Their purpose in reading this is not to figure out what part of it is true, or autobiographical, or reflecting of your character – you’ll be lucky if they even look you in the eye when you walk in there. They don’t want to know, they just want to read your work.”

Roger bounced up from his seat with an exaggerated laugh.“And you’re saying this as a reason to go through with what you’re saying? Well, well, well, now that you’ve painted such a lovely picture of this potential experience, I’m just dying to dive right in. I wouldn’t want this to be a personal affair, now, not with them reading my deepest inner thoughts.”

Chad watched with a smile as Roger paced, spewing out sarcasm.

“Look, I like your stuff. I think it’s good. I think the people down at the office will agree with me. You should bring it by. Nothing more.”

Roger exhaled, then took the last bite of his banana.

“Okay. I guess it won’t hurt . . . well, what if they don’t like it? What if they tell me that what I write before I go to bed is bad? What if they tell me that my meaningless incantations that I whimsically devise in the late hours lack any sort of quality? What does that mean? Better yet, what if they tell me that these petty thoughts of mine ought to be seen by hundreds? Thousands? What if they tell me that these hied homilies are good? Now what would that mean?

"Honestly . . . it won't mean anything."

Untitled Short Story Pt. I by Five Red Apples

2006-04-24T23:44:00.000-07:00

NOTE: I started this story last September, but never got back around to it. I want to republish the first three parts here to catch people up on what's going on in it. I hope to add some more parts this week. I suspect the story will have about ten parts in all.

A Simple Dream (Tentative title)

The green arrow that pointed downward lit up as a sharp DING sounded, shaking Roger. The eleventh-floor elevator door opened. The elevator was quite full, with clean-cut men in sharp suits and smart business women with power skirts pervading it. Roger decided to act as if he were going up in order to obviate anyone from noticing his busted lip, which had doubled in size within the past five minutes. Although the blood was not trickling, Roger felt it necessary to press the end of his sleeve to his mouth. Holding his lip allowed the reality of what had just happened to settle in. He was not hurt, nor was he in pain, but his mannerisms emulated that of someone bewildered from a severe confrontation. When the next elevator arrived, Roger entered. He went straight to the back corner, burying his face. He couldn't stop thinking about how he arrived at his present circumstances. He was angry at himself for winding up, for lack of a better description, where he now stood. The elevator made several stops on the way down to the ground floor. The smell of cheap cologne and obnoxious perfume obstructed any sort of continual thought in Roger. Dizziness set in as variations of the same general wretched smell came and went as did people. Two men in the elevator began to talk loudly, aloof to their surroundings. Their loud voices, the constant sting felt to his nose by the awful smell, his pulsating lip, and the confines of the elevator began to aggravate and spark wooziness in Roger at once. When the elevator doors opened on the third floor, Roger exited.

The establishment's carpeting varied from floor to floor. The third floor's carpet was green and brown, with a diamond-shaped design running down the center. The walls were an ugly off-white, with light bulbs encased in overlarge glass coverings. The smell of paint lingered throughout the hall. The walls were probably painted months ago; the leftover smell more than likely resulted from a lack of living that expels such odors in time. Roger had a seat in the middle of the hall, looking at his watch.

"Four fifty-eight." It was around this time two weeks earlier when the whole thing started . . .

Check out this article

2006-04-23T22:59:00.000-07:00

Scientists find brain cells linked to choice

LONDON (Reuters) - If choosing the right outfit or whether to invest in stocks or bonds is difficult, it may not be just indecisiveness but how brain cells assign values to different items, scientists said on Sunday.

Researchers at Harvard Medical School in Boston have identified neurons, or brain cells, that seem to play a role in how a person selects different items or goods.

Scientists have known that cells in different parts of the brain react to attributes such as color, taste or quantity. Dr Camillo Padaoa-Schioppa and John Assad, an associate professor of neurobiology, found neurons involved in assigning values that help people to make choices.

"The neurons we have identified encode the value individuals assign to the available items when they make choices based on subjective preferences, a behavior called economic choice," Padoa-Schioppa said in a statement.

The scientists, who reported the findings in the journal Nature, located the neurons in an area of the brain known as the orbitofrontal cortex (OFC) while studying macaque monkeys which had to choose between different flavors and quantities of juices.

They correlated the animals' choices with the activity of neurons in the OFC with the valued assigned to the different types of juices. Some neurons would be highly active when the monkeys selected three drops of grape juice, for example, or 10 drops of apple juice.

Other neurons encoded the value of only the orange juice or grape juice.

"The monkey's choice may be based on the activity of these neurons," said Padoa-Schioppa.

Earlier research involving the OFC showed that lesions in the area seem to have an association with eating disorders, compulsive gambling and unusual social behavior.

The new findings show an association between the activity of the OFC and the mental valuation process underlying choice behavior, according to the scientists.

"A concrete possibility is that various choice deficits may result from an impaired or dysfunctional activity of this population (of neurons), though this hypothesis remains to be tested," Padoa-Schioppa.

Festina Lente by Five Red Apples 5/7/05

2006-04-23T20:19:00.000-07:00

He sat in the car as she walked up. She was on the phone and did not notice he was outside. He had been sitting in his car ever since he pulled up -- two hours before then. He had been crying off and on and his eyes told this. His face was flushed, his eyes were red, and his eyebrows bent to reveal his sorrow. As she walked toward his apartment, she noticed him in the car. She walked over to the passenger side window and noticed he was hurt.

"Let me call you right back," she said to the person on the phone. "What's wrong?" She tried to open the door, but it was locked. "Unlock the door for me so I can get in." He was motionless. He stood this way for a minute before he looked over at her and began to cry again.

"What's wrong?" she said with desperation. He looked down at his hands. She noticed he was holding a piece of paper that he had wrinkled down to the size of a small envelope. He then unlocked the door.

The scene switches to his apartment where he sits at his desk.

Her eyes have by now shed some tears of her own. He sits at his desk, much like I do now as I write, not thinking much about anything. I see him sitting there as she gathers up her things. The pictures of them on their trip. The music she brought over that they would listen to as they read. The nicknacks she placed on his desk as gifts and expressions of her fondness for him. He couldn't bear to watch -- neither can I.

"Is there anything I can say? Is there anything I can do? Or is this just it?" she asks with a certain softness.

He just shakes his head, not ever looking at her eyes. I want to go over to him. Place my hand on his shoulder, but not while she's here. Let them part.

He takes one look around, maybe to see if she's picked up everything. It looks as if so.

"I love you."

He begins to cry. She steps out the front door. He hears the door close. He's heard this door close everyday, but this evening it shook him. He got up from his chair and looked around at his apartment. He felt stripped. He opened up the paper that he had been holding so firmly and aggresively. He walked over to his bed where he began to read it. Tears would be the theme of his coming nights. He reached over to his lamp and turned the light off.

The Library Tales of Sisyphus and Sylvia Brown

2006-04-22T21:37:00.000-07:00

After looking in the classifieds every day, I've come to see that even a cleaning lady at a hotel gets paid more than I do. Someone who mows lawns; even someone who fixes leaks gets an extra buck or so an hour.

Unsettling it all is. I am fated to push my cart up and down the aisles though. No matter how hard I push, or how fast I shelve, the books keep coming. When I clear my little cart, there's another waiting for me at the end of the aisle to be shelved.

All this reminds me of Sisyphus. My situation is slightly different in that my actions have some sort of end; I shelve books as a part of their circulation. But I still can't help but feel a sense of pointlessness and futility in my job. In his little book about the myth of Sisyphus, Camus talks about how the meaning in our lives is only that which we create. My job couldn't be any more meaningful than this; it gets me out of the house, throws me a few pennies, and gives me a little experience being a bottom-feeding fetch boy.

There are a couple of things I like about the library though (not necessarily my job there). I have exposure to a variety of books. I get to see what's new, what's on bestseller's lists, and what people are demanding. None of these books, however, turn out to be anything that is ever of any interest to me though. But, I managed to stumble upon a book just put out by Kwame Anthony Appiah titled Cosmopolitanism. I read 15 minutes before my shift and during the 15 minutes of my break. I've gotten through a few chapters so far.

It's not philosophical in nature, although he discusses some philosophical notions and drops a few technical terms here and there. Appiah mostly aims to enlighten the reader about the idea of Cosmopolitanism in contemporary society. The Cynics were the ones most famous for adhering to this view--the view that we have a responsibility to everyone across the world. First, he discusses values and argues that they exist, and will later try to explain how we ought to be ethical toward everyone, even those people in remote places. "We are citizens of the world," were his dad's last words to him, and I suspect that Appiah is trying to expound upon just exactly what his father was trying to convey to him.

Another thing that I get to see while at the library is the vast amount of crap people read. Not only is there a huge section with books by Sylvia Brown, self-proclaimed "The world's leading psychic," but people are actually reading her stuff week after week. This lady is so full of crap that she's not only a "psychic" but she's also an expert on tons of other things. It wasn't enough that she knows the future and what everyone is thinking!

She's written books on all sorts of issues that should only be taken up by psychologists. In case you don't know who she is though, let me tell you a little story.

She was on Montell Williams' show; in fact, I think she's a frequent guest there. A woman told her that she saw an image of a strange life form peeking at her from a large garbage can outside of her apartment. She approached this shadowy thing and it was faint and blurry, with only its eyes being distinct. Sylvia Brown's account was this:

"That's what you call a bleed through. Do you ever wonder where we get the idea of unicorns and fairies? We have them because these being exist in other dimensions and occasionally pop up in our dimension. People have seen these beings throughout time and have created stories about them. Leprechauns, elves, etc. all exist and sometimes 'bleed through' to our dimension. That's what you saw that night--a being from another dimension."

Montell was sitting there nodding his head in serious approval. As if he was thinking, "yeah, that's right. That's what they are; that's good." The lady took the answer as truth, sitting back down satisfied and disabused.

This lady also claims to be able to contact the dead. Some people come to her with stories like the following:

"My daughter was killed last year. She was only 9-years-old. I've left her room just as it was. Sometimes, however, I find things moved in there. For example, her doll will move from the cabinet to her bed. Why does this happen? Is she the one doing this?"

Sylvia answers without a moment of hesitation:

"Yes. She has not accepted her death yet. She lingers in her old room because she wants more time to be in a comforting place. She moves her dolls to let you know that she is ok. She is trying to tell you that she will alright and to let her go."

The woman begins to cry as she nods with approval. Why do people buy into this crap?

What really bothers me though is that Sylvia Brown is perpetuating all this with her sick and twisted lies. I see two possibilities for what's going on with her. 1) She knows what she's doing is a big scam, but is making tons of money from it and is greedy for fame; or 2) She actually believes she has supernatural abilities.

If 1), then she is a horrible person for deceiving people so weak-minded and vulnerable. These people are honestly looking for answers. I mean, let's put aside that they have problems emotionally and are so credulous that they would believe in psychics. They still want honest help and are submitting to an authority--at least a supposed one. If Sylvia is aware of this need, but yet does not endorse their seeking help from a real authority, then she is using these people for her own gain.

If 2), then she is the one in need of help the most. Somehow she has created this illusion that she is psychic and has gotten people to buy into it.

It is saddening that our world has not moved past the empty words and chicanery of petty liars and fortune tellers.

Epistemology Pt. III

2006-04-19T22:42:00.000-07:00

After beginning with perception, Audi goes on to discuss other sources of justification for knowledge. He talks about memory, conciousness (introspection, in particular), and reason.

The discussion of memory was intriguing. He pointed out some subtle distinctions that brought to light various functions and capabilities of memory. He distinguishes between memory, remembering, and recalling. We remember, or recall, by way of our memory. That is, we can only recall or remember those things in our memory. The more we have in memory, the more we can remember or recall.

Remembering things is a disposition to ideas of our past that we may or may not recall. We can recall, bring to our mind's attention, various things that we remember. We need not, however, recall an idea in order for it to be true that we remember it. For example, I could always be said "to remember" my 12th birthday party despite the fact that I never recall it again. However, one cannot recall anything he/she does not remember.

We can remember how and remember that. Audi also distinguishes between remembering of, to be, and that. These parallel the distinctions mentioned in perception. In the same way the perceiving of a certain event, e.g., a field as I drive by it, does not entail a belief about that event, neither does remembering of.

Audi's next discussion focuses on conciousness. Here he distinguishes between mental processes and mental states, the former occuring in thinking while the latter not entailing any current thought. The distinction is also pointed out in the ideas of dispositional properties vs. occurent properties. States being like dispositions, while thought processes having the property of "occuring" at some point.

The discussion here is tedious, and it has been some time since I've read it. I'm currently working my way through the following section on reason. I've just finished the part on the classical view of reason and its role in belief formation and knowledge. I'm starting the empiricist view of reason now.

My next post will discuss the classical view of reason. In doing so, I will show the distinctions between a priori and a posteriori beliefs on the one hand, and analytic and synthetic propositions on the other.

NOTE: This is hardly a summary of the main ideas of Audi's book. I hope everyone will excuse the brevity and lack of detail of the information found in these posts.

Mowers, Libraries, and Easter

2006-04-18T21:01:00.000-07:00

It has been years since I've given anything up for Lent. This year I gave up soda, cookies, donuts, hard chocolate, and red meat on fridays. I followed through with my plan and came away with more than I hoped for. The first thing I wanted to do was commit to a practice that would be my way of celebrating this time of the year. I figured if a pot head can celebrate April 20th, I could celebrate the life of a great man. And that I did. I paid homage by practicing the denial of these things, and it felt good. For one, I am honestly surprised I made it; the consistency alone was satisfying. I thought I was going to punk out a week or two in as many do. Secondly, I found that I felt a lot better without soda in my diet. I've had problems with heartburn and acid reflux since late middle school, and I've done little to remedy it. But after omitting soda from my diet, I had little to no episodes of pain. Coincidence? Doctors have always told me to lay of the caffeine and carbonation, but what do they know.

Last Saturday I mowed a lawn for the first time. My neighbor Jimmy let me use his push mower to mow my front lawn. Everyone kept telling me how push mowers were not the mowers you can ride, desperately trying to 'warn' me about how not having a riding mower would affect my experience. I had no problems with the push mower, but I can see how one would get tired of using it twice a week.

It was fun. I gave the lawn a haircut and it actually showed. "Wow, it does look better this way," I said when I finished. I think I did well for my first time, but I may have my genes to thank for that.

On Monday, I started my new job at the public library. I'm a Library Aide, but this is just a fancy way of saying Cart Boy. The people there don't even speak to me in English, they just grunt and kick me to get me to do things. When they need me to shelve books, they just pick a book from the cart I need to shelve and throw it at me.

The job has some perks though. I get benefits. I get vacation and sick days. I get a name tag and key card like everyone else. I also don't have to deal with customers. I'm the guy in the stacks who you see one second and then disappears the next. I don't have time to answer silly questions; I have books to shelve. I'm also unsupervised most of my day; no boss over my back watching me. I can work at a moderate pace and the library is cool and quiet, for the most part. The pay is crap, but I like being a blank face--someone who comes in, does their job, then leaves. Someone who might be replaced by advanced chimps one day or someone who has the IQ of a 10-year-old.

Exciting, really. An interesting and exciting experience it all really is. Yesterday was cold, dark, grey, and gloomy. Today was bright and warm. It grew dark quickly as the clouds rolled in three times as fast as anyone has ever seen in southern California. In a matter of 20 minutes, the day turned to something else. The sky lit up off and on, off and on, quicker than your average storm, but slower than a sluggish strobe light. Lightning painted the sky and thunder was the soundtrack of the night. And now it's gone. It's moved through. It's quiet again now. Too quiet sometimes. And that's really all there is, but it's exciting nonetheless.

"Everything is relative"

2006-04-13T10:50:00.000-07:00

I was talking to Wolfgang earlier about my fascination with people who hold relativistic views. There's this website that features a Philosophy category in which anyone can ask a philosophical question of their interest. Questions range from "Can we know God exists?" to "What is reality?"

The drawback to such an idea is that anyone can answer. So although you may have people who are asking serious questions to further their thought on an issue or who want to get ideas from those who have training, any moron can chime in with their two cents.

So, with that said, 90% of the answers to philosophical questions come in the form of "Everything is relative," "that's just your opinion," "It depends on how you look at it," "Reality is just your perception," "or "Truth is what you make it."

The most interesting thing is that if we survey America for relativism, we will probably find more than 60% of Americans who imply relativistic views; while if we survey that same group, we will find at least 70% of those Americans are Christian. I can't do the math here, but I think this implies that at least a certain percentage of those two groups have to fall under the same category, thus giving us that many people who hold contradictory views.

So, I can understand the appeal of religion or any attempt to explain things with the notion of God or the like, but I don't understand the appeal of relying on the individual for answers.

Why is it so appealing to people to leave truth up to them? Why do so many take on the responsibility of determining what is the case?

Why don't people recognize the following: "Hey, if truth is what I make it, then that means I can't be mistaken about what's true; I'm infallible. If I'm infallible, I'm kinda like an all-knowing being; I'm kinda like a God. But wait, that doesn't sound right, I'm just some kid in school. How can it be that I determine such important matters? I know! Maybe the view that I determine them is flawed. Maybe I'm not the center of the universe after all! Wow, I can think, daddy!"

Why do people "flock" to the idea that reality is an illusion? Why don't they see that if all reality is an illusion, then that illusion is not an illusion, but simply just reality? Why do they run to that idea in the first place though? What's so appealing about it?

Why do people "herd" to the idea that reality is perception? Why do they think that what is in the world is dependent on how he/she sees it? Why would the world change every time someone came into existence and started looking into the world? The position is so elaborate and tedious to hold. Why isn't the view that there's the world, 1 thing, and us, another thing, and we exist independently of one another, more appealing?

Does anyone know about any studies on these things? Are there any psychological accounts of why people are so prone toward relativism? Maybe there is correlation between relativism and egotistical mindsets/arrogance. Or maybe there is a correlation between relativism and lazy-mindedness. Maybe between religion and relativism?

Wolfgang and I came to a couple of conclusions about this, but it would be nice to hear what others have to say regarding it first.

So, I guess the question I'm asking is: Why are so many people relativists? Can we give a thorough account of the phenomena? That is, are there studies that can back our claims? or are we limited to educated guesses based on our experiences with relativists? Not that the latter can't be thorough (or accurate).

Kettledrums: A Gripping Story of Simple Things by 5 Red Apples

2006-04-10T14:01:00.000-07:00

Steve and Tamara arrived just 20 minutes before the start of the program. It was a weekend night in St. Louis, and Reich, Haydn, and others would be showcased. As the two entered the Symphony Hall, old people tripped over fallen cough drops. Watermelon cough drops covered the ground and were fought over by wrinkled women with scratchy throats. The smell of cheap perfume evaded privacies (not that the perfume was cheap, but all perfume smells cheap). Old men were drinking cranberry juice disguised as vintage wine and their suits were too loose to wear without support.

As the music neared, old people mooed into their seats. Many of them were falling apart as they sat down. One lady's arm fell into Steve's lap.

"You dropped your arm, old lady," Steve said as he gave the dripping arm back.

"Thank you, young man. You young, young, young man. I'm young too, you know?" the old lady said back.

"No, I don't know. You're old."

The orchestra took their seats and the lights dimmed. The crowd grew silent. The conductor entered to a rousing ovation. The music was about to begin.

A terse note sounded from the flute. It was Stravinsky's Symphonies of Wind Instruments. Just as it began to pick up, the couple to the right of Steve began to whisper. They wouldn't dare do this during the minutes prior to the music.

"Stop talking, old lady number 2," Steve said. The old lady number 2 said something back, but it was too hard to make out.

"Speak up. Here's a cough drop too; your breath stinks." The lady repeated her words, but it was still too low to hear.

"Will you just say it already! I'm trying to enjoy this crowd over the music!"

Then the old lady belted, "People always tell me, 'be careful what you do.' Don't go around breaking young girls' hearts. Heeeee!"

"What are you talking about, old lady?"

"And mother always told me, 'be careful who you love, be careful what you do, because the lie becomes the truth,' Hey Hey!"

And that's when Steve realized what she was saying. She was singing. She then jumped out of her seat and ran up the hall of the venue screaming, "Billie Jean is not my lover. She's just a girl who claims that IIIII am the one, but the kid is not my son! HEE HEE HEE!"

Steve stood as well and said, "That's it! This does it!" Steve pulled out his kettledrum from his pocket, blew it up, and began to play. He produced violent melodies to accompany the old lady.

"People always told me be careful of what you do. Don't go around breaking young girls' hearts. She came and stood right by me then the smell of sweet perfume. This happened much too soon. She called me to her room."

That's when the orchestra started to play along. Then the whole audience joined in:

"BILLIE JEAN IS NOT MY LOVER. SHE'S JUST A GIRL WHO CLAIMS THAT IIIIII AM THE ONE. BUT THE KID IS NOT MY SON! HEE HEE HEE!"

That's when the stage manager came on stage and ordered all of us back to our seats.

The crowd silenced almost immediately. But before the orchestra continued, an old man farted, causing hundreds of faces to reflect a laugh being held in with all the energy a human body can produce. There was also the sound of snoring.

"How could those people have slept through that?" Tamara asked.

The guy next to her said that it was because they were probably out cold by their medication. He said this as he picked his nose. We both looked at his finger as it dug for treasures, trying to signal to him that we saw him doing it. He said, "Why are you staring at me picking my nose?"

A couple of hour later, Steve's shirt smelled like the salmon he had earlier. He kept burping through his nose, which directed the smell toward his new shirt. At 10pm, his alarm went off on his phone. The old man in front of him with the hearing aid was startled, as if the sound came in loud and clear on his hearing device. He looked up during the first ring, then mumbled during the second. By the fourth, he was whispering obscenities under his breath.

So, in the end, Steve was the moron of the night. He did get to take home some souvenir dentures though.

Epistemology Pt. II

2006-04-06T14:39:00.000-07:00

Let's start with some simple definitions. Perception deals with the senses; primarily, the 5 basic ones: seeing, hearing, feeling, tasting, and smelling. When out and about on a spring day, I use many of my senses to experience the world around me: I see the blue skies, I hear the birds sing, and I smell the blooming flowers. From these perceptions, I have raw material that can, and often, produce belief. From my seeing the sky, I believe that it is blue. From my hearing the birds sing, I believe that birds are singing.

Furthermore, I believe that I am justified in my beliefs. That is, I believe that I have good reason to believe that the sky is blue and that the birds are singing. Audi says, "justified beliefs are of a kind it is reasonable to hold."

Audi distinguishes between the process of being justified and the state of being justified. My current experience of listening to Part's music lends to the process of being justified that music is playing. However, a state of justifiedness need not arise from this process since I may or may not develop a belief about the music being played. That is, I may hear the music in "the background" and not necessarily hold any belief about it until questioned. You may ask, "do you hear that music playing?" to which I might have to "tune into" it to confirm that it is in fact playing, although I may admit that I was aware of it before you asked.

This leads Audi into a discussion of how it is that we can have perceptions without beliefs to accompany them. In the cases where beliefs do accompany them, however, he makes it clear that our justifiedness arises immediately given a normal and clear experience. That is, I am immediately justified in believing the sky is blue once I see it as blue. This is on account of how such a clear experience comes to us as rational individuals.

Now that we understand some simple distinctions between perception, justification, and belief, we can begin discussing perception a little more to analyze the relationship between it and justification and belief.

Audi lists 4 elements of perception: 1) The perceiver, me, 2) The objects of my perception, i.e., perceptibles such as the sky and the birds, 3) The sensory experience, i.e., my visual experience of blue and my auditory experience of the songs of birds, and 4) The relationship between 1 and 2, i.e., a causal relationship exists in which 2 produces 3 in 1, or perceptibles produce experiences in me.

Now, Audi distinguishes between three modes of perception: percieving of, perceiving to be, and perceiving that.

The distinction is best illustrated in an example Audi gives. Let's say I am on a road trip by myself. I'm driving through various states and seeing various types of scenery. I'm also driving at high speeds. Let's say that I have been focusing on the road in front of me, and for a second--as not to lose control of the car--I peek to my left.

Now due to the brevity of my look, I was only able to have a short experience of what was to my left. What I saw was green (which I can probably infer was a field). This is a case of simple perception, or perceiving of. This is the simplest type of visual experience I can have. I can give you no detailed description of what I saw, nor can I develop any beliefs (at least none that are not infered) about my experience. All I saw was green.

If I were to have a longer look, I might see distinctions between the green object and things surrounding it. For example, I may see that the green object is flat, as opposed to hilly like the hill next to it. I may even come to see that it is rectangular as opossed to round like the hill next to it. This is a case of perceiving to be since I can now discern certain things about the perceptible. Notice how I discern with the help of other objects.

If I then take a good look, I can confirm that what I saw the first time was a green grassy field. The field is green and rectangular. This is a case of perceiving that, "it is seen that a particular object is so, namely, that the field is rectangular."

The distinctions are drawn out subtlely in the book because Audi doesn't include the notion of time into his example (at least not explicitly). But I hope my example shows the range of things one can say about an experience given the length of time one has to make things out about it.

Audi claims that the last two cases are different than the first in that the last two cases entail belief. That is, to perceive that there is a field and it is green is just to say that you believe that there is a field and it is green.

My next post will discuss the parallel that can be drawn between perceiving and belief, namely, perceiving that is similar in ways to believing that.

Interlude: On Music Scenes and What Makes Me Angry

2006-04-05T20:27:00.000-07:00

When arriving in Columbia, I wasn't the least bit reluctant to do what it took to find classical music performances. Within a month, I purchased tickets to see the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra perform this Saturday.

Here is the program:
Stravinsky Symphonies of Wind Instruments
Bartok Violin Concerto No. 2
Steve Reich Triple Quartet
Haydn Symphony No. 103, “Drumroll”

I'm excited to get a chance to see an orchestra perform big names and big works, despite the fact that I had to pay $35 a pop.

Columbia has been decent with their music scene so far. In May, a church will perform Beethoven's 9th Symphony, which is always a delight to see. I've seen this twice before, the last time with Tamara, Martha, and Quandoman.

But, sure enough, all of this pales in comparison to LA's music scene.

This is what's going on this week:

Weekly Organ Recital at Immanuel Presbyterian Church
Program
Mendelssohn: Sonata III in A Major
J.S. Bach: Toccata in E Major
FREEEEEE!

Trinity Lutheran Church,
Manhattan Beach"Super Bach's Lunch" Recital
TIMOTHY FAIN violin
Program
J.S. Bach: Partita No.2 in D Minor
Allemanda, Corrente, Sarabanda, Giga, Ciaconna
Fritz Kreisler: Recitative and Scherzo for violin alone
Kevin Matthew Puts: Arches
FREEEE!!! THE CHACONNE FOR FREEEEE!!!

The Peninsula Symphony Association
Program
Saint-Saëns: Piano Concerto No.2
ANGELA CHANG piano
Prokofiev: Piano Concerto No.3 MONICA QIU piano
Dvorák Cello Concerto TINA GUO cello
Rachmaninoff: Piano Concerto No.3 JACQUELYN WEITZ piano
Shostakovich: Piano Concerto No.2 RACHEL CHUNG piano
Tchaikovsky: Piano Concerto No.1 MIN HWAN KIM piano
FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!! Can you believe all this is free?

There's also the complete Scherzi of Chopin being performed for $20.

This is all this weekend ALONE.

Why me?

Epistemology Pt. I

2006-04-04T22:03:00.000-07:00

I'm a couple of chapters into Audi's introduction to Epistemology. Epistemology is the branch of philosophy that concerns knowledge. "What is knowledge?" and "How do we come to know?" are questions that are taken up in Epistemology.

A simple working definition of knowledge is true justified belief. That is, to know the statement P, the following three things must be true:
A) You believe that P is the case,
B) You are justified in believing P is the case, and
C) P is the case.

The definition is simple because difficulties arise from it. So, the first part of the book starts from scratch and works its way up to this model, showing how the concepts within the definition work. It is only till after we understand each concept and, in turn, understand how knowledge seemingly must include these concepts (true justified belief), can we see why the model needs to be qualified.

The first part focuses on sources of justification. That is, what kinds of things lend to being justified in believing something.

The first section deals with perception. Perception is the source of many kinds of beliefs. My belief that it is warm in my house, and that I am in front of my computer is largely due to my perceptions of warmth and the world around me. That is, before I know that my computer is in front of me, I have to be justified in that belief, but before I am justified, I have to perceive that there is a computer before me.

This leads into a discussion regarding the kinds, or modes, of perception. Audi draws the distinction between perceiving to be, perceiving of, and perceiving that.

Now since I had to reread this section over and over before I understood it, I will need to go back to it yet again before I attempt to discuss these modes online. So, I intend for my next post to get right into the basic kinds of perception.

Short Paper on Berkeley

2006-04-01T11:18:00.000-08:00

Wolfgang gave me a small writing assignment last week on an argument given by Berkeley. What he asked was simple: Present the argument, analyze, and show whether it is convincing or not. I'd like to post the paragraph he gave me which contains the argument and post my paper in hopes of getting general remarks about my analysis.

It has been awhile since I've done philosophy in this way, so hopefully it doesn't show too much. Also, I did not have any instruction prior to writing, i.e., Wolfgang didn't give me any idea of how the passage was discussed in his class (not that it's needed to write the paper). So, as Searle says, here goes.

"It is indeed an opinion strangely prevailing amongst men, that houses,
mountains, rivers, and in a word all sensible objects have an existence
natural or real, distinct from their being perceived by the understanding.
But with how great an assurance and acquiescence soever this principle
may be entertained in the world; yet whoever shall find in his heart to call
it in question, may, if I mistake not, perceive it to involve a manifest
contradiction. For what are the forementioned objects but the things we
perceive by sense, and what do we perceive besides our own ideas or
sensations; and is it not plainly repugnant that any one of these or any
combination of them should exist unperceived?"
--George Berkeley,
On the Principles of Human Knowledge
(Chicago: Open Court, 1904), paragraph 4.

Berkeley Paper
In his book, On the Principles of Human Knowledge, Berkeley argues against the view that objects in the external world possess a metaphysical status independent of their being perceived. That is, Berkeley denies that real-world objects exist when we do not perceive them. Instead, Berkeley argues that the objects we take to be external are really experiences that take place solely in our minds. In this paper, I will present the position Berkeley sets out to deny, i.e., naïve realism. Then, I will explicate Berkeley’s argument against naïve realism, showing how he derives his conclusion, i.e., idealism. I will then close with a critique of his argument, showing why it fails to convince us.

Berkeley’s argument can best be understood as a negative argument, i.e., his argument is the denial of another argument. With that said, I will begin by presenting the position Berkeley denies, naïve realism (NR). NR holds two fundamental claims: 1) There is a world distinct from our being in which objects, such as trees, houses, and lakes exist; and 2) These objects are knowable. The objects are knowable in that we, as perceivers, under favorable conditions, have access to a minimal amount of information regarding those objects that constitutes knowledge regarding them. Here, the access we have to objects is by way of our senses. So, granted that the objects in question exist, and exist under favorable conditions, we can see, hear, or touch them. An example of a favorable condition for the sense of sight would be a sufficient amount of light. Through our sense of vision, we can ascertain certain qualities of an object—the height of a mountain or the shape of a building—all of which would constitute knowledge about that object.

It is important to note here that the naïve realist seems to take the existence of objects for granted. As seen above, the objects must first exist in order to know them. In other words, the second fundamental claim of NR, as described above, depends on the first claim.

This is exactly, however, the belief that Berkeley calls into question. We can appeal to our senses to demonstrate knowledge of external objects, but this presupposes that the objects we know of are real. How, then, Berkeley asks, can we demonstrate that the objects exist in the first place?

Berkeley’s argument will reveal a circularity in the naïve realist’s argument. Berkeley argues that the way we know the first fundamental claim of NR to be true—that objects in the external world are real—is only by an appeal to the second claim, i.e., we demonstrate their reality by knowledge about them through the senses. But as seen before, this demonstration depends on the first claim, i.e., that the objects exist. So, the naïve realist’s argument is circular.

Now that we understand the motivation behind Berkeley’s denial of NR, we can better understand his argument for idealism. He argues that the only means of knowing objects in the world is through the senses. Since this is the only means, we have no way to establish the existence of objects independently of our perceiving them. In other words, to argue that objects exist is just to say that you have knowledge of them through perception. From this, Berkeley concludes, not only are objects known through the senses, they are constituted by them. That is, to say that an object exists is just to have a certain type of experience of that object. So, what we experience when we perceive an object is not an object independent of our mind, but an idea of our mind.

Berkeley’s argument is appealing because it shows that the naïve realist has no way of distinguishing between an object in the world and an object in our mind that appears to be in a world outside of our mind. He believes that the latter is the case because there is no way to establish the former without offering a circular argument.

Although appealing, Berkeley’s argument fails to be convincing. The first objection to Berkeley’s argument is that it fails to give an account of the difference between real objects and imaginary ones. If having an experience of, say, a pond in the desert, is the same as there being a pond in the desert, then we cannot distinguish between this pond in the desert and an imaginary one. A further consequence of this is that we, as perceivers, are infallible. That is, if seeing a pond in the desert constitutes there being a pond in the desert, how can I ever be mistaken about there being a pond in the desert? How can I ever be mistaken about anything I perceive?

The second objection is directed toward the structure of the argument. After analyzing the argument, it is seen that its conclusion does not follow from its premises. If to be is the same as to be perceived (A is B), then this statement—to be is to be perceived—is identical to “to be perceived is to be perceived” (B is B). This is a tautology. The arguer then concludes from this tautology that since to be perceived is to be perceived, objects do not exist independently of our perceiving them. This conclusion, however, does not follow from the premises.

So, it has been shown that Berkeley’s criticism of NR leads him to conclude that objects in the world do not exist unperceived. However, Berkeley’s argument fails to account for different types of objects, including imaginary ones. His account also eliminates the possibility of error since objects are constituted by our experiences of them. His argument is also not convincing because, after close analysis, his conclusion cannot be derived from its premises.

Now that that's settled . . .

2006-03-30T10:57:00.000-08:00

I want to summarize a few points in our last discussion. My next post will continue along my path back to Philosophy. I will discuss the first part of Audi's Epistemology.

1) We have seen that sound is a phenomenon unique to a perceiver's experience. That is, sound cannot be understood apart from it being experienced by a subjective first-person. To understand sound only in terms of a third-person account is to invoke an reductionist position that posits the equality of sound to its physical properties. But, it should be conceded that there is more to sound than its physical properties, i.e., sound possesses qualitativeness. Qualitativeness can be understood as a "what it's like" experience in a subjective first-person. To omit this feature of sound is to give an incomplete account of sound.

2) There are some statements that are true a priori, or true in all possible worlds. Such analytic truths include simple arithmetical statements such as 2+2=4. Since the conceptual constituents of numbers do not change in any given system, under NO circumstances does its truth value change.

In determining this, we made the distinction between numbers and numerals. Numerals name numbers. Numbers express quantities that exist independent of human thought, and therefore do not change. Invoking other number systems only changes the numerals used, i.e., saying 2+2 doesn't always equal 4 because in other base systems it is equal to 11, is the same as saying that 2+2 doesn't always equal 4 because the Romans say it equals IV. In other base systems, all that changes are numerals, but those numerals name numbers that are identical to the numbers across all base systems, i.e., 4=IV=11 in base 3. These are all numerals for the same concept, 4. So, the necessary truth of 2+2=4 in all cases is held.

This also brought to light the use/mention distinction pointed out by FRA in a valley. The distinction relates to words and what they refer to. He pointed out in his tribe and horse example that denotations do not change even though what we refer to them by might, i.e., a horse will always have 4 legs even though someone might point to 5 things on his body and call them legs.

The philosophy of language proved useful in this discussion because the misconceptions made stemmed from incorrect distinctions in language. In our discussion, the concepts were never in doubt.

3) The truth value of a statement corresponds to the facts in the world. That is, if you believe that the world is flat, then you are simply wrong because your belief does not correspond to the facts.

Facts do not change, only our interpretations of them (as pointed out by Quandoman). So, although people interpreted the evidence 500 years ago as pointing to the flatness of Earth, the fact was that the Earth was, and always had been, spherical. Since their beliefs did not correspond to the facts, they were wrong.

So, it is important to see here that the value of truth claims is derived independent of one's attitudes, i.e., Travis was not wrong because we, as amateur philosophers, thought he was wrong; he was wrong because his beliefs did not correspond to the facts. This is in response to the view that people impose attitudes and that people think others are wrong because they don't agree with them. There are standards by which any school of thought determines the truth of a claim. To disagree is to employ some standard for determining I'm wrong, thus proving my claim true.

4) Related to 3 above, the view that truth is not determined by facts about the world, but rather, just an individual's opinion, is called Relativism. Relativism holds that a claim is true insofar as an individual holds it and thinks it to be true. If you think, for example, that all of this talk is "just my opinion," then you are invoking a form of relativism.

Relativism, as Quandoman pointed out nicely in his last comment, is self-stultifying, i.e., it is self-defeating, rendering it untenable. Only allowing for subjective interpretations and standards for truth leads to contradictions, i.e., if you claim truth is relative, then you are claiming that it is true that all truth is relative (simply put), which is a contradiction.

Truth is not relative.

5) Lastly, I wanted to point out the distinction between sources of justification, justification, reasons, belief, knowledge and truth. Here is my analysis for the present purposes: They are different.

I say this because a lot of claims were made about beliefs, knowledge and justification in our last discussion. Some were direct, while others were indirect. Claims were made about how our views were narrow-minded and dogmatic, suggesting that it was believed that we held our beliefs unjustifiedly. This was shown not to be the case though. So, it should be noted that our actions could not accurately be described as dogmatic, since we were not stubbornly holding on to unjustified beliefs, Instead, we were stubbornly holding on to the truth. That's the funny thing about justified beliefs, sometimes they amount to truth, sometimes they don't.

So I hope its clear that we were mistakenly attributed as being narrow-minded and dogmatic; no such descriptions are accurate when the person is defending the truth of a matter.

To Steve Williams: On Sound

2006-03-24T01:08:00.000-08:00

First, I want to make a general distinction between primary and secondary qualities. From there I’d like to talk about secondary qualities a bit further, showing how they differ in two ways from primary qualities: 1) They are observer dependent, and 2) An accurate account, i.e., a complete account, must include a first-person subjective component.

In the 17th century, a distinction was made between primary qualities and secondary qualities.

Let’s start with primary qualities. You will be quite familiar with these qualities and grant their existence. Most people are only aware of these qualities since their distinction from secondary qualities is subtle.

Primary qualities are those, in short, that are essential to a thing being what it is. Primary qualities can also be described as being features of a thing that do not depend on our perception for existence. For example, a quality of my desk is that it is made of wood. This quality exists in the desk no matter what I believe about the desk or what I perceive. That is, even if I believe that the desk is made of brown plastic, it does not change the fact that the desk is made of wood (if in fact it is made out of wood, which it is). Also, even if it seems to me that it is plastic, i.e., it looks like plastic to me, it does not change the fact that it is wood. The wood that makes up my desk is essential to it; I cannot give an accurate account of my desk without referring to the quality of being made of wood. To say that my desk is made out of plastic would be an inaccurate account of my desk.

Notice that even if it looks like a plastic desk to me, it does not change that it is wooden. This is close to the idea you had about leaving the room and the bottle of beer still being a bottle of beer. Just because I no longer perceive the bottle of beer as having its qualities, it nonetheless still has them. The bottle of beer, in virtue of being a bottle of beer, will have essential properties that do not depend on my observing them, i.e., the bottle will be made of glass and so forth regardless of whether I perceive it to be glass.

A simple list of primary qualities would contain shape and size. My desk will have a specific size no matter who perceives it. We could imagine the world blowing up, leaving only my desk. Just because it is the only thing left, it doesn’t mean it isn’t still wooden with the same size and shape (granted it wasn’t altered in the explosion).

Let us say then that primary qualities are objective qualities of an object.

Secondary qualities are those that are not essential to a thing being what it is. Let us imagine we are looking at a grand piano sitting in someone’s room and I ask you, “What makes that a grand piano, Steve?” You then start to list qualities of grand pianos in general, i.e., they have 88 keys, X number of strings inside, 3 pedals, are X inches tall and wide, etc. You’ve listed primary qualities, i.e., things that are essential to grand pianos. But let’s say you go a step further and say, “They are also black with white keys and middle C sounds like this (striking middle C on the piano).” Then I might say, “So, if it isn’t black, it ceases to be a grand piano? You mean if I paint it white or if I paint the keys black or if middle C is out of tune, it’s no longer a grand piano?” So you see, we’ve mentioned here secondary qualities; qualities that are not essential to a grand piano being a grand piano.

Now, notice what types of things were secondary: color and sound. They are secondary because they are not essential to a thing being what it is. But this is only one way they differ from primary qualities.

This leads us to the second distinction, and the one that concerns our debate. Let us use water as an example. When we list all the primary qualities of water, i.e., it is two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen; once we’ve exhausted enumerating these qualities, we have, as an immediate result, given a complete and accurate account of what it is to be water. To list the primary qualities is just to say what water is. That is, the primary qualities of water are equivalent to water. You cannot talk about water without talking about the complete list of its primary qualities. That is, what you say of water is true of H2O. So, when you say that you drank water today, it is true by necessity that you drank H2O today. You can do this with the qualities of other objects, such as the trees in the yard. Once you’ve given an account of the elements, particles, etc. that compose the wood of the tree, you have given an account of what it is to be that tree.

Notice that I can write these qualities down, as with H2O, and in virtue of this account of water, I know what water is. This is even if I have never seen water, touched it, or drank it. This list of mine is sufficient for complete knowledge of water. Let us call this a third-person account.

Can we do this with color and sound? That is, can we give a third-person account of color or sound? The answer is No.

Let us take the examples of red for color and middle C for sound. Let’s try to give a complete and accurate account of what the color red is and what the sound middle C is. Can we do it by simply appealing to its physical properties in the same way we did with water or the tree? No.

If we say that all there is to red is this wave at this length, then our account seems to be missing something, i.e., the color red. The wave isn’t red. The wave is only red when it hits my retina and is interpreted a certain way by my brain. That is, red seems to be an experience that takes place in a perceiver. If this is true, then red would have the quality of being observer dependent. That is, red is something that only exists if it is perceived.

Let us look at the sound middle C now. You say that sound is a certain type of wave. Would you be willing to say then that because I have complete knowledge of what wave produces middle C, I know what the sound middle C is? It seems counterintuitive to say this. The person who knows the sound middle C need not even know what wave it corresponds to (I don’t); they could have knowledge of it if that wave has hit their eardrum and produced a certain experience.

Notice here how, as a result, we can’t interchange properties. It is true to say, “Since I know that H2O is water, when I say I know what H2O is, I am saying, in effect, that I know what water is.” But, conversely doesn’t seem to work: “Since I know that wave X is the sound middle C, when I say I know what wave X is, I am saying, in effect, that I know what middle C is.”

If a student came to your music class and said that he had complete knowledge of all the notes on a piano, you would think that he has heard them several times. If he told you that he has not heard any of them, i.e., the waves had never hit his eardrum to produce the experience, but instead, knew what their complete physical features were, you would think he simply did not know what the sounds were. Right?

One more example. We can imagine a spectrum inversion occurring in someone. That is, a certain wave that, for everyone else, produces blue can hit a person’s eye and instead produce red for that person if his eyes were dysfunctional. A person with “bad eyes” can see red where you see blue. To quote you, “The wave is still the same,” but yet in this example, it produces two seemingly opposite effects. This shows that there is nothing in the wave, by itself, that necessitates a certain color, i.e., wave X is not necessarily equal to color X the same way H2O is necessarily equal to water.

In conclusion, your account of sound seems to lead to absurdities such as the scientist who says he has complete knowledge of all the notes on a piano even though he has never heard them. His knowledge of the notes obviously is contrasted with the knowledge of an accomplished pianist who can identify certain experiences (sounds) he has as counting as what the notes are. Your account also leads to similar absurdities with color. A person who is blind (he doesn't even have to be blind, he can just be color blind), but yet has complete knowledge of the physical properties of color--he says color is just a wave, and since he knows what wave produces red, he knows red—can pick a red apple from a basket full of green apples. He knows, on your account, what red is since red is equivalent to a wave and he knows that wave, so in turn he should be able to pick the red apple. This is absurd though; he's color blind! In both cases, the person lacks complete knowledge of what the sound or color is. That is, the sound and color are not only the waves that produce them, but also a subjective experience that can only take place in a perceiver. If what you say is true, that sound is just a wave, then knowledge of the wave implies knowledge of the sound, but the above shows that this flies in the face of our intutions about what sound really is.

So, sounds, as with colors, cannot be equivalent to their physical properties. Such an account, unlike with the account of trees and water, falls short and is incomplete, rendering it inaccurate. A sound, as with color, depends on a perceiver for a full account. To give an account of sound or color without perceiving it is incomplete, i.e., to say color or sound is just a wave seems to leave something drastic out of the picture. Perceiving it allows for the first-person subjective quality to be stated, a sort of “what it looks like” or “what it sounds like” feature of the thing in question. You know, when your piano is tuned and you hit middle C and say, “There it is; that’s middle C.” In this example, your knowledge of middle C is based on a certain experience you have; it is not based on waves. You don’t need that first-person subjective experience for water though. I need not know what water “looks like” or “sounds like” to give a complete and accurate account of it.

PS: It should be noted that this account is merely to show how your account was too simple. I know you studied this, but you’d have to admit that the rigor in studying this in a music class is probably different than in a physiology class or philosophy of perception class. With that said, there is much more to say about all this that can’t be summed up here, including difficulties my account stirs up.

Also, I want my writing to reflect the thought and time put into such concepts. Like when we were talking about what constituted facts and truths back when people considered the world to be flat, I wasn’t just “speaking my mind” or “telling you my opinion” or “giving you my intuitions” (not that you were), but rather, I was speaking from an informed point of view; one that has experience in epistemology and knows basic distinctions when it comes to concepts in theories of knowledge; distinctions that any introductory course would teach someone. There is tons of stuff to be said about all such brain teasers and I just wanted to point out here that these are not the sort of things anyone can just jump into a conversation and expect to have a strong view with. Although I respect valiant attempts to illustrate positions on this and that, it does not mean everything is fair game. 2+2 under NO circumstances is equal to 6. (I know you didn't say this, but I heard it somewhere tonight.) 2+2=4 is an analytic truth, a truth a priori, true in all possible worlds, true by definition, true by necessity, etc. etc, etc. with many other ways to distinguish it from synthetic truths, a truth a posteriori, true in some possible worlds, contingent truth, etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. To disagree is simply to be mistaken about the constituents of the concepts "2," "plus," "equals" and "6." That is, if you think 2+2=6, then you simply don't understand the concepts the statement involves, i.e., you're wrong about the ideas. People are so afraid of being wrong, even when it comes to math. They're willing to throw logic out the window to save face by irrationally trying to show that they can make the world whatever they want and have it fit whatever they want so that they're always right. I know you don't fall under this category; you're remarkably sharp and have a trenchant sense of things. I simply thought I'd voice my distaste regarding people's apathy toward conceptual clarity.

Oh my God!

2006-03-22T22:53:00.000-08:00

Oh my God! I just love that new hair of yours. It's so chic.

Thank you! I've been thinking about what to do with it for a long time, and I said to myself, Just go wild. So I went to the salon and told my hairdresser, I'm crossing borders today, honey.

Girl, I wish I had your courage. Speaking of new hair, did you see Angelina Jolie at the Oscars last night? I was telling my friend at work that she went overboard this time. I thought she looked better last year. But if I know her well, she'll come back with something good.

I know what you mean. Did you see her in her last movie? She looked good, but you can tell someone's giving her some weird ideas.

Of course I've seen that movie. Duh, like 6 times already. Yeah, she's losing her focus on the more important things. But enough about her, I'm ready to go.

Yeah, let's hurry up. I don't want to catch any crowds. But you know everyone's gonna be there though, so it's not like we can avoid it.

I know, I really don't like going there but I have to show you what they've done with the place. Oh my God, you should see all the decorations they've put up.

Really? That reminds me, I need your advice about my bathroom. I'm not sure what theme I want. I searched online for hours for something I like and nothing.

I know just the person for you. She's so creative and imaginative. She can turn your bathroom into anything you want.

Awesome. I'm glad I know you; you know who's who and what's what.

Tell me about it, I get so much done through what other people know. It's good to have smart friends, you know? You know people who do hair, I know this girl who does bathrooms; together we can learn all sorts of things other people pay to know.

I never thought about it that way. You're smarter than you look, you know that?

Don't be silly.

Oh my God, and you're modest too!

So petty is the sand that falls through our fingers.
So petty are the hands that fall on short shoulders.
So petty is the the mind whose thoughts linger.

Do I resemble you?
Do you resemble me?

My sadness matures with your growing heartache,
once despairing over your gentle and innocent pains,
now mournful and dreadful of your harsh and absent strife.

I look around, and what do I see?
I see you, I see me, together, amidst a blatant nothing.

Prokofiev and those other Russians

2006-03-22T10:37:00.000-08:00

I've been listening to Prokofiev's Symphony-Concerto for cello and orchestra (op. 125 in e with Rostropovich on cello ) for the past couple of weeks now. I must say that it is one of the most amazing things I've heard. The music exudes a quality that can only reflect a stature worthy of a composer like Prokofiev. As the title suggests, the music wavers between a concerto for cello and a symphony. I've never heard a symphony-concerto before, but I must say, after listening to this one, I know what they're supposed to sound like.

(Wolfgang: I know you're not big on orchestral pieces--and I'm not sure if you've listened to the Shosty cello concerto that I gave you yet--but this is something you should give a good listen to, if you haven't done so already.)

When I think of the great Russian composers that I've been exposed to, I think of Tchaikovsky, Shostakovich, and Prokofiev.

Tchaikovsky is simply too boring for me to listen to. I do not have enough training in music, I suppose, to appreciate his music. It is nothing less than sleepy time when I listen to him. (I also chalk up not liking other great composers and works on account of my lack of musical training. Wolfgang has prompted me to listen to Stravinsky's Rite of Spring several times, but I just cannot understand what the hype is all about. It is pure dissonance to me.) I once skipped going to a concert where they were going to perform one of my favorite pieces (Shostakovich's Cello Concerto No. 1) because Tchaikovsky was being performed. It was his Symphony No. 6. Talk about a snoozer.

Shostakovich, on the other hand, just hits me in the right spot. I don't know what it is about his music. There is even some that comes off so dissonant in nature, but is yet so pleasant and rich to me. Like I've said before, I'm not schooled in music enough to identify exactly what I like about his music, but I know it's good. His string quartets rival any great work in the history of music (that might be just another way of saying I like them a lot).

Prokofiev has been a pleasant surprise to me recently though. I've spent so much time listening to Shostakovich that I've neglected to give due time to Prokofiev. Recently, I've been listening to his Symphonies, Piano Concertos, and this Symphony-Concerto. As with Shostakovich, Prokovief's music has me rocking out one minute than feeling a deep emotion the next.

It is the works of these great men that make me want greatness in my life. Shosty's Cello Concerto, Prokofiev's Piano Concertos, Beethoven's 5th and 9th, and Bach's organ music forces in me a reluctance to not want anything less than such quality in my life.

Done with Searle

2006-03-20T20:57:00.000-08:00

I've just finished Searle's Mind, Language, and Society. I talked a little about its aims in previous posts and just wanted to finish up those thoughts about the book now.

Searle uses his theory of consciousness and intentionality to show how social constructs are formed. The existence of social reality is puzzling because it is observer dependent in a world that is observer independent. That is, there exists a world of chairs, trees, and stars that do not depend on our existence for their own; but with things like money, marriage, colleges, and any other institution, our existence is necessary for their existence. Searle argues that institutional facts are forms of derived intentionality, which I discussed before. Institutional facts, like using the right side of the road for driving, are derived from a collective intentionality of more than one person. The way such an institution works is by a collective intentionality assigning what Searle calls a "status function" to an object that, in itself, does not denote anything more than its physical structure. The example he uses to illustrate this is of a wall used to protect a small village. The wall, having been assigned its function, can carry out its function in virtue of having its physical properties, i.e., being solid and tall is enough for the wall to constitute a barrier and border. But, even if the wall decays with time, leaving only a 2-foot-tall wall, it still can perform its function by being assigned a status on the part of the collective intentionality. This status of "being a border and barrier" is being performed solely by the intentionality of the group and no longer by the physical structure of the wall (the wall has become too short to act as a barrier).

Here we see a glimpse of how language functions in our society. Language, in short, having a derived intentionality, can be used to assign status functions to other things which will in turn have derived intentionalities. He goes on to talk about how language is a special case of derived intentionality since language has semantics. He then talks about the various types of speech acts when speaking, and how each has its own unique semantics. There are too many distinctions to review, however, between illocutionary and perlocutionary speech acts, type of proposition vs. propositional content, etc.

Searle finishes the book with a nice little note about how Philosophy is different than other disciplines. He claims that Philosophy is not clearly distinct from science. They both seek systematic knowledge and truth. However, when a question Philosophy seeks to answer becomes concrete and we derive a secure method of how to go about answering it, it becomes more and more science. When we are confident that we have secured an answer using a systematic method, we call it science altogether.

Searle gives three features of Philosophy that are not found in science, which in turn, help us differentiate between the two:
1) As mentioned above, there is not concrete method of answering questions. He says that the lack of method calls for the philosopher to be sensible and rigorous in his inquiries, since there is no preconceived system to fall back on.
2) Philosophy concerns itself with what he calls 'framework' questions. For example, science will ask "How does HIV cause AIDS?" Notice how this question exists within a framework. In this framework, the scientist takes for granted that we know what HIV and AIDS are--and diseases for that matter--and that we know how one could potentional cause another. Philosophy asks "What is the nature of causation?" Notice here that a framework is being put into question, leaving little to take for granted.
3) Philosophy seeks conceptual clarity. Understanding concepts cannot be done by looking around us or by taking samples or by doing research on some object. Analysis of concepts usually requires reason alone, which in turn forces us to analyze language since it is the vehicle by which we articulate concepts. Searle rightly says that the three are linked.

Having completed the topic of mind, with a hint of language, I'll move on to Epistemology. I've been reluctant in the past to open the introductory book by Robert Audi before. It is a hefty read, with a lot of information. It is not introductory in the way Searle's books were either. But it's been long overdue, so I'm going to give a go.

To Wolfgang: On the promiscuity of individuals Pt. IV

2006-03-20T15:05:00.000-08:00

So how do we derive the immorality of promiscuity?

We have discussed how it is not moral so far. We have shown that it lacks virtue and morality in that PP do not concern themselves with more worthy things, and in doing so, lack a certain sort of rationality in their actions. We have also shown that promiscuity lacks temperance, which in turn, again, lacks a certain sort of rationality in actions. We cannot, however, show that it is immoral by appealing to its consequences, i.e., we cannot say that promiscuity is immoral because it leads to STD's and abortion. The consequences of promiscuity are not a feature of promiscuity, so our analysis must focus on the acts that constitute promiscuity and not its consequences. We have also seen a potential response to our line of reasoning, i.e., PP may want to say that none of what I said above follows from promiscuity. It is conceivable to be concerned with worthy things, having good reason for them, along with being temperate in all other actions. So what now?

The answer I think is subtle. When I said I wanted to look at reasons why promiscuity was not moral, I said that it does not always follow that what is not moral is immoral. Although this is still true, we may have overlooked the cases where acts lack morality AND are immoral. Stealing is not moral nor virtuous, AND it is immoral. Promiscuity is similar; we have outlined the reasons why it is not moral nor virtuous, and in turn, have begun a sketch of why it also immoral. Driving, however, is not moral nor virtuous, but it is also not immoral. The question of why promiscuity is immoral should be analyzed in respect to why promiscuity is similar to stealing and unlike driving, i.e., promiscuity, unlike driving, has moral implications. Promiscuity, as we will see later, is the kind of act that ought to be judged under a moral lens. By qualifying as a moral act, it can only be characterized as moral, immoral, or relative to context. Acts that don't qualify as having moral implications may be characterized as 'not moral or virtuous' but not in any other way regarding morality or virtue.

So, at face value, we have shown how promiscuity is not moral or virtuous. This may seem like it did us no good because we can also show how driving is not moral or virtuous either. But the difference is going to be in the type of act we're dealing with. Promiscuity, unlike driving, will qualify as being appropriately discussed as more than just a simple act such as driving. Once we qualify it, then the act is subject to more descriptions. Driving, however, cannot be qualified in such a way so it will not be appropriate to describe it as virtuous or immoral.

So, to get to the immorality of promiscuity, we only need to look at some of the claims we've made in light of the kind of action promiscuity is. What would qualify promiscuity to be the kind of act that is similar to stealing or returning a lost wallet? How are these particular acts subject to moral descriptions?

Well, let's look at stealing or returning a lost wallet. What do acts in the moral realm have in common? They all are seen in light of normativity, i.e., moral acts bring up the topic of ideal acts or acts that we should or should not commit. These acts, more often than not, concern individuals other than ourselves, i.e., stealing, returning a wallet, generosity, etc., only makes sense in terms of acting toward some other individual. Underneath all of these acts concerning other individuals is the question: How should I treat others? It also makes sense to ask: How should I treat myself? Or translated slightly differently: What kind of life should I live?

Almost all acts of morality concern these two questions. When these questions get raised in light of a given act, that act qualifies as having moral implications. Promiscuity, as described by PP in Pt. III of this response (where PP implies that you can be promiscuous and moral), is naive and unrealistic. In short, PP wants to claim that promiscuity does not fall under this moral realm and, in turn, is not subject to the sort of questions asked with other acts that have moral implications. This is simply not true.

The moral questions above, in light of promiscuity, become necessary. That is, promiscuity begs for us to answer the question of how we should treat others as well as ourselves. There is no escaping these questions when faced with the option to be promiscuous. Sex, unlike driving someone to the store, constitutes the sort of act that needs to be examined with a moral lens. The reason is that sex is an act that involves direct, serious, personal, and consequential relationships with others. Sex has the quality of bringing about the type of relationship that needs to be treated with reason and normativity, i.e., sex, given the nature of it and how it in itself produces a certain person-to-person relationship, needs to be analyzed in regards of how we go about doing it. Some acts require this sort of thought, while others don't. When ordering a steak from a waiter, I do not need to ask: "How do I go about doing this" in the same way you ask "How do I go about doing this" when faced with the option of promiscuity. The difference is simple: it is a matter of the type of relationship between the two agents. Certain acts towards others require certain reasoning in light of the type of relationship; e.g., a strong relationship-forming act as sex requires us to ask how we ought to go about; while others acts do not requiring the same sort of reasoning, e.g., ordering a steak from a server you never met does not require you answer serious questions about how you ought to go about doing it because of the lack of a direct and strong person-to-person relationship.

So, now that we understand that promiscuity needs to be treated in light of having moral implications, it becomes appropriate to ask: How does one go about the option of having many sexual relations with these other people? Also, it makes sense to ask: How do I, as a reasonable human being seeking happiness, go about my decision-making process in light of this being the sort of act that will have personal ramifications as well.

Since it makes sense to ask these questions, we can apply our reasons from the beginning to see why promiscuity is immoral. Promiscuity, in regards to how one person treats another, is immoral because it lacks a certain amount of care to the person you are having sex with. Because of the type of act, sex, a certain amount of reason needs to be put into how it would be best to treat someone else you are going to have this type of relationship with. By not giving the other person a certain amount of care, your actions are not conducive to their well being, nor your own. The act lacks the meaning found in giving a person in that type of relationship the kind of care warranted by such a direct, serious, and personal relationship. In short, PP simply use others for needs, i.e., they treat others as means to an end rather than an end. In these type of relationships regarding these types of acts, certain questions need to be asked and answered, and since PP fails to recognize this, they are treating others inappropriately since they are not giving weight to the type of situation they're in.
Also, tied with the above, PP fails to treat others in light of moral implications partly because of the lack of thought put into their own actions in such a situation. This is where the lack of temperance comes in. Since PP does not treat the situation appropriately (in light of moral implications as outlined above), they then use their own needs as a way of determining how to act. If the act, according to them, does not have any moral implications since it is not seen in that light, then they will treat others like a patron treats a server, i.e., with little care as to how to go about dealing with that person. The patron orders the steak, literally telling the server what to do, but given the relationship, it is not immoral. PP confuses their situation with this one. Without treating the relationship in light of moral implications they fall back on their own reasons and motivations to act. Having temperance may end the potential act here, i.e., even if the person does not realize the weight of the situation he/she is about to enter (being promiscuous), he/she can still refrain from acting if he/she is temperate. But, in the case of PP, there is a lack of temperance, thus they treat others with a lack of care that isn't deserving given the type of relationship they seek.

To Wolfgang: On the promiscuity of individuals Pt. III

2006-03-20T00:03:00.000-08:00

I realize that my analysis may have come off too strongly. I think it might appear as if I think promiscuous people (PP) are not much less than animals, only acting in response to outside stimuli. This is misleading on my part and it would be false to suggest such. PP, in many cases, are quite aware of their actions and have the ability to judge their feelings in context, yet, nonetheless, choose with some reason to continue being promiscuous. Their main reason may even be that they thought it over and found that it is not immoral.

This is where my discussion has led us. It has lead right into a counter from PP that will be hard to overcome. PP can respond in the following way: "Being promiscuous, in itself, does not necessarily distract from actions conducive to my betterment. It seems that I can be promiscuous and still commit acts that develop my character; promiscuity does not preclude such acts. Furthermore, promiscuity in itself does not lack temperance. The acts that constitute my being promiscuous may be done in moderation and with reason, i.e., being promiscuous does not have to distract from my other day-to-day activities and it can be done as a result of reason and not some overwhelming emotion. My acts of promiscuity take place 3 times a week and take no longer than a combined time of 1 hour. When not promiscuous, I have a successful career as a result of my education, loving friends and family, and a set of rigid morals that guide my life. Being promiscuous does not deter any of this and takes up less than time than many of my leisure activities that aren't frowned upon."

What do we say in response to this? There is a response to this, but it is subtle. So first I'd like to respond in the most natural way; the way many responded when I asked them the question of whether promiscuity was immoral.

The first thing that I think people want to say in response to PP is that being promiscuous is unsafe, risky, and not worth the consequences. This is in reference to STD's and unwanted pregnancies. In short, the common person (this is the cops' story as well) wants to say that being promiscuous leads to the spread of STD's, in particular HIV, and unwanted pregnancies. The further consequences of these are death from AIDS and abortions for pregnant women. When I asked someone about promiscuity, the gist of their answer was, "I don't want to get HIV or pregnant. It's not worth it. If you're promiscuous, you're bound to get something."

I think this sort of response to PP is natural, but I think it is off target. I find the response analogous to the following: "'Do you want to go skydiving?' 'No way, its unsafe, risky and not worth the consequences. I don't want to get my head cracked open. It's immoral.'" Or, "Do you want a ride to work?' 'No way, driving is unsafe, risky, and not worth the consequences. I don't want to be one of the thousands who die in car crashes a year. It's immoral."

These examples seem kind of silly, but I think it shows that we can't call promiscuity immoral because it's unsafe, risky or not worth consequences. There's more to it than this. Promiscuity is not treated as an act that we can look at in the same way as driving, i.e., driving does not have any moral implications in the above example, but we want to say that promiscuity does.

We cannot attack promiscuity from this angle. A simple mistake is being made with the consequentialist approach taken above, i.e., the arguer is "building in" the negative consequences of promiscuity into the concept of promiscuity. That is, the arguer is treating promiscuity as "the act of not being restricted to one sexual partner and suffering dire consequences." That's what occurs in the skydiving example; the arguer is treating skydiving as "the act of jumping out of a plane and dying."

The consequences can easily be separated from the act in both cases, i.e., we can understand promiscuity without its consequences in the same we can understand skydiving without dying.

We want something stronger anyway; we want to say that promiscuity, regardless of consequences, is immoral. To bring this point to light, before HIV and abortions, promiscuity was seen as immoral. Promiscuity has never been honored or treated with indifference. We want to capture this thought that has pervaded history. But how?

I don't think there is one answer to this question, but a combination of things that need to be said to show the immorality of promiscuity. I will do this in my 4th and final post on this topic.

La La Land

2006-03-19T07:55:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about LA a lot lately. I knew there would be things that I missed about it, but it turns out they are things I hadn't anticipated. Some of the things I miss are the things that got on my nerves while I was there. All the people, the anonymity of life, things that both smothered me and made me feel like I was drowning, are things that I miss. Here in Columbia, those things seem exciting and refreshing, although if I moved back it would only be a matter of time before I felt agitated again. The good news is that Columbia is growing fast, grew a lot while I was gone, so there is more anonymity than when I left. It is also strange though, to find my city so changed. It is odd to come back home to find you don't really have a niche anymore. In some ways its good, because I don't think I would fit into my old niche anyway, and this way Stevlie and I get to find our own together. Nonetheless it is weird. I knew LA had changed me, I just didn't expect little ol' Columbia to change too, and now it's like moving to another new city all over again instead of coming home.

To Wolfgang: On the promiscuity of individuals Pt. II

2006-03-17T23:00:00.000-08:00

The second reason why I think promiscuity is not moral is because of its lack of temperance. Temperance is moderation, in particular (as used by the Greeks) in those acts that satiate desires. Temperance was considered a virtue by the Greeks because of the all too common indulgence seen in men who drank too much, engaged in sexual activity with many partners, and those who advocated pleasure as the highest good (Hedonists). This reason is related to the last in that the virtuous and moral person are considered those that are able to be guided by their reason as opposed to their desires. That is, it is never seen as a virtue when a man constantly gives into his desires, acting impulsively toward some indulgence. This only reflects a lack of control and a weak will. A man of reason is able to put his options into perspective, distinguishing between those acts that are conducive to his betterment and those that are not. This reflective nature is scarce, if not absent, in the promiscuous person.

So, there are two parts to this reason: First, the promiscuous person aims to satisfy the conditions of his/her desires rather than reason, i.e., his/her acts aim toward accomplishing indulgence rather than a course of action that followed consequently from reflection; and second, implied by the first part, the promiscuous person's action lack a sort of thinking that would allow them to see that their actions are not conducive to his/her betterment. In virtue of giving in to desires and not listening to reason, there is little, if no, chance for the promiscuous person to evaluate his/her situation in light of other more worthy acts.

So, in summary so far, it is not clear that promiscuity is immoral. In attempting to show that it will ultimately be seen as immoral, I discussed why it is not moral or virtuous. My first reason was that it lacks the quality found in those acts that are conducive to the betterment of character, and thus, life. By not being such a conducive act, nor a catalyst for such a conducive act, it can be deemed not worthy of such time and effort. Lacking such meaning as an act that would be conducive, it can be contrasted with an act of a similar nature that would constitute conducive, namely, having one meaningful relationship.

My second reason was that promiscuity lacks temperance. The lack of moderation results from an impulse to satiate desires. Such indulgent acts do not stem from reason, thus not leading toward the best choice. By being promiscuous, the reflective nature that is involved in carrying out acts of reason is scarce, if not absent, which results in actions that more than often will not be conducive to his/her betterment.

Notice I have argued in terms of which acts produce the best results. Actions that lack conduciveness to betterment, without being a catalyst to such conduciveness, along with a lack of temperance in desires are actions that are not as meaningful as actions that do. This does not show that promiscuity is immoral, it only shows, at best, that it lacks a certain moral and virtuous character.

To be continued.

To Wolfgang: On the promiscuity of individuals Pt. I

2006-03-17T09:48:00.000-08:00

Is it immoral to be promiscuous? If so, why?

If we are to tackle this question, then we first need to get clear on what we're asking. First, will we have to qualify promiscuity. "Promiscuous," as used here in reference to sexual activity, will not only refer to, as MW defines it, "not being restricted to one sexual partner," but the following as well:
1) A promiscuous person is aware of his/her promiscuity: This is in anticipation of the question of whether or not one can be labeled promiscuous if he/she is not aware of the promiscuous activity occurring in his/her life.
2) A promiscuous person seeks promiscuity either subconsciously or consciously. I realize this opens up a new discussion about those acts that are subconscious and conscious, but grant me the following definitions: Acts that are conscious are those that are intended by the agent as a result of an intentional state that the agent is directly aware of, i.e., if your act is conscious, it is deliberate in the sense that you intended to do it as a result of some mental state that you were aware of serving as a cause to your action.

Acts that are subconscious are those that are intended by the agent as a result of an intentional state that the agent is not directly aware of, i.e., if your act is subconscious, it is not deliberate in the sense that you only intended to do it as a result of some mental state that you were not aware of serving as a cause to your action. For example, most habits often occur subconsciously. You intend to do them as a result of some mental state that is not directly perceived by your mind, so to speak. You do not deliberately do them in that you had no immediate reason for doing it that was present in your mind, but if pressed, could offer one as a cause to your action.

So, a promiscuous person is one who is not restricted to one sexual partner. But also, he/she is aware that they are with many partners, which qualifies as being promiscuous, but nonetheless, seek those acts that partake in promiscuity.

Before I go on to answer the initial question posed, I'm going to break away from that discussion to say a little more about how I've qualified being promiscuous. I realize that it may seem intuitive to some that even those who are not aware of their actions can still be labeled as promiscuous. I agree with this intuition. It seems that we ought to assign the label to the actions more so than to the intentions of the agent, but I gave the intention equal weight in my analysis for the following reasons. If we allow into our discussion those that are not aware that their behavior constitutes promiscuity, then we run the risk of making judgments about those who are not capable of awareness due to psychological problems. That is, someone may not be aware of their behavior because they have mental incapacities that preclude this awareness. A woman may seek love that was absent from her father from many men. She may earnestly believe that all her relationships are meaningful and offer her a love that fills in some void from her childhood. She may believe, naively, that the men she sleeps with love her and that she, to a degree, loves them. It would be difficult to call this person promiscuous.

Now that we have established which persons qualify as promiscuous, we are left with an obvious, and most troubling, concept to qualify, namely, immorality. I've decided that I will not attempt to qualify this term. For the sake of brevity, I will simply rely on my standards of morality not varying much from those that will read this.

In thinking about an answer to this question, I found that I don't readily think that promiscuity is immoral. That is, it is not clear to me that is immoral just yet. This seems to go against the general consensus however, and even against what I ultimately think is the case.

So, to guide my thoughts toward the right place, I found it helpful to think about why promiscuity is not moral or virtuous. It should be noted here that what is not moral or virtuous is not necessarily immoral or not virtuous. For example, combing my hair in not a moral act, nor is it virtuous, but it does not follow that combing my hair is immoral or is not virtuous.

There are two main reasons why I think promiscuity is not moral, and they are related. The first reason has to do with what I take to be things any person should be concerned with in their lives. In the world, I believe there is a way of determining certain acts and activities that count as being more meaningful, honorable, and worthy of our time than other acts. A plain, maybe too obvious, example is Philosophy over juggling candles. Doing philosophy is conducive to better thinking, and in turn, better decision making. The better choices you make will increase your chances at achieving a better life. So, through philosophy, one can develop their character in such a way that enhances their experiences in life. This, I take for granted, is a good thing. If we contrast this with juggling candles, we can see clearly that juggling doesn't produce the same results. We will always praise the man who acts out of good reason with clear judgment to improve his life over the man who has mastered juggling candles.

With this said, there are things that count as worthy of our time, and to put it simply, we can agree that at least some of those things are those that are conducive to facilitating our reasoning and developing our character in hopes of a better life. I realize that many of the things we do in our day-to-day activities don't fall under this category, but many, however, also distract from activities that do. That is, we should allow ourselves time to do things that are, in themselves, not conducive to our character, but may lead to conducive actions while steer clear of those that are worthless, lack meaning, and are conducive to any form of regression in developing our character. For example, it is one thing to spend an hour of your day driving--which may not in itself be something conducive to your character--but may result in such an activity, and another thing to do things that will not in any way result in such conducive activities. Most people do both; some willingly, while others are unaware of it. The promiscuous person falls under the willing category. He/she not only engages in such activities that are not conducive to his/her character, but he/she seeks such activities fully aware of their lack of meaning. In virtue of being promiscuous, their relations with his/her partners lacks the meaning one gets out of a monogamous relationship, but yet this does not deter him/her. He/she sets aside time to seek actions that distract from those that would be conducive. He/she spends time looking for meaningless activities. His/her promiscuity does not occur by accident, i.e., "Wow, that was my fourth partner this week; how does this always happen?" No, he/she brings such activities about, initiating acts he/she is fully aware of as being meaningless. In short, the promiscuous person chooses not to concern his/herself with things more worthy of his/her time, i.e., a meaningful relationship.

To Travis and that lady that showed up at the poker party

2006-03-15T22:44:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, Travis, along with someone else (I think Tara), expressed a dissatisfied attitude toward the NCLB act and the MAP test. This particularly caught my attention (particularly because, for the most part, I tune a lot of things said around me out) because I had never thought about how the NCLB could possibly be a bad thing; or, to put it more lightly, not beneficial.

I asked Travis to give me his reasons for why he did not like the NCLB act, and, in effect, why he thought it wasn't a good thing (or simply why he had dissatisfied feelings toward it).

The gist of his reasons, the first time around, were, if I recall correctly, that the MAP test was flawed in the way it was being applied, and in turn, was not giving accurate results that consequently affect a school falling under need of the NCLB act.

Because of the inherent flaws in the MAP, assistance is being prescribed falsely to schools that may or may not need it, thus, requiring schools to utilize services provided by the NCLB act. Also, given the inherent flaws in the NCLB act, the errors in the application of the MAP test were not being recognized.

Here are the specifics, as I understood them the second time around at a poker party when Travis, and some other lady (the other Jeff's girlfriend?), explained it to me again.

The NCLB act requires that each student perform at a certain level to qualify him/her as proficient. To determine proficiency, a state test is administered. However, since the NCLB does not qualify who ought to take the test to be counted in determining a school's performance, the state tests are also being administered to student's who perform well under the average level due to mental disabilities. A consequence of mentally disabled students taking the state test that even a gifted student takes to determine proficiency is that a school's scores will not accurately reflect their students' performance, i.e., if mentally disabled students' scores count too, then the school's performance will be below average since mentally disabled students cannot understand the concepts included in such tests. In effect, a school's performance will reflect misleading numbers.

As a further result, the school may be put on probation until they meet the nation's average, and would require funding to facilitate this progress. This other lady, when I asked, said that not all the funds are derived from government funding, but also from the schools themselves, thus taking money away from the school's resources and the faculty itself. This, to a faculty member, is a bad thing.

Let me first say that I do not necessarily disagree with any of this, nor am I going to attempt to show that it is false. I just want to point a few things out that I think need to be said in defense to these claims.

First, I am not sure if Travis or the other lady have read the NCLB act. I skimmed it over (and I mean skimmed) to see if I could understand any of it in its original form. Needless to say, this did not prove useful since the document is hundreds of pages long (I think over 600). So, I am going to grant that either this was read by Travis and the other lady, and what they say follows from their findings; or, they did not read it, and what they say follows from a reliable source. (This would be considered an appeal to authority, and is sometimes a fallacious form of reasoning, but I don't this qualifies.) In my limited research, I concluded that the NCLB does in fact fail to mention special cases of mental disability in determining a school's performance level.

However, I found out something that may discredit dissatisfaction with this aspect of the NCLB. Today, I learned that there exists a MAP-A test. The last "A" standing for "Alternative." This test is administered to the 2%, approximately 4,400 students, who are mentally disabled. If this is true, then a mentally disabled student is required to take a state proficiency test, but not the same test as a student who does not have mental disabilities. This means that a school's performance is weighted, using an average score from the MAP, combined with an average score from the MAP-A, to make a total average score that accurately reflects a school's performance level.

This test, the MAP-A, would compensate for the lack of mention of mentally disabled students in the NCLB act.

Also, to address that lady's claim that funds to facilitate a school's performance were not funded by the government, I found that all of the money toward the NCLB act is set aside in our nation's budget and is given to school's directly from the government. Furthermore, in the first years after the NCLB act was implemented, school districts had more money than they could spend. That is, at year's end, they were sitting on money funded by the government. However, as a result of this, Bush made cuts in how much money was allotted to schools, so recently, some states are complaining about the lack of money they received from the government.

It is important to point out here that this does not take away from the initial defense: It was claimed that money was being taken away from schools, but this is not true. The money toward NCLB is entirely funded by the government. In cases where not enough money is rewarded, and as a result, schools may have to use their own funds, is not the same as saying that NCLB is not funded by the government. The problem with this is not NCLB, but what Bush allows for its implement.

Let's go a step further with all of this now. Let's grant Travis's and that lady's argument. First, let's grant that the MAP does not accurately indicate a student's proficiency. This is a trivial point about standardized testing. It has been a long, ongoing debate about how successful they are and whether we should keep them. I signed a petition 4 years ago to ban the SAT's because of their bias. These arguments can be made against any test of this nature however, even IQ tests. The bottom line is, we are not clear enough on what aspects of human thinking should be tested, and in what way, to devise a flawless test. The MAP is not being designed by school teachers, professors, politicians, etc., but rather, test makers. Test makers make tests, and they use a variety of methods in determining how to test. If anyone is to say what an effective test is, they are the ones. So, the simple response to such mentions of flaws in standardized testing is to suggest a better way. This is obviously not an easy feat, however. And any suggestions from someone not trained in the concepts behind employing concepts in tests are moot.

Let's also grant that the lack of mention of mentally disabled students in the NCLB act is a bad thing. It does not follow from this that the NCLB act is a bad thing. This is to commit the fallacy of composition. The fallacy of composition occurs when the arguer makes a discrediting conclusion about a whole based on a part of that whole. Three examples: 1) I cannot conclude that since there is a crack in the sculpture David's toe that the sculpture David, as a whole, is flawed. 2) I cannot conclude that the Lakers are a bad team because one of its players, Brian Cook, sucks. 3) It also works vice versa: I cannot conclude that Kobe Bryant of the Lakers sucks because the Lakers suck. So, we cannot conclude that because NCLB contains a flaw, an error, a mistake, that NCLB itself is flawed, erroneous, or mistaken. I say this because the general attitude I got concerning it was one of dissatisfaction when the dissatisfaction should have been to the part, only, that was flawed.

The big picture remains true: Test scores from our nation's students are up. Literacy is up thanks to the Reading First program that helps all students read by the 3rd grade. Students have more options, as do parents, including supplemental education services (tutoring) free of charge. New jobs for the economy in providing this supplemental education, i.e., Tamara and I worked as tutors for the federal government and have helped dozens of students with need get back to their level in school. All and all, NCLB, along with our state standardized tests, have proved beneficial despite setbacks in funding and errors in some aspects of its application. To rid the nation of this benefit on account of these flaws would be a mistake.

Moving right along

2006-03-14T20:23:00.000-08:00

I am currently half way through the book Mind, Language, and Society that I started yesterday. I was able to get this far so quickly because the first part of the book sets up Searle's view of the mind which will be tied together with the functions of language in our society in the second half. I am quite familiar with Searle's views on mind however since I just finished his latest book called Mind before starting this one.

Searle, once again, tackles the mind-body problem. He then goes on to give his description of consciousness. He then moves to one of the most important, and troubling, features of consciousness, intentionality. Intentionality, as used technically in Philosophy, refers to the minds ability to direct, aim, be about, or focus on things outside of itself. For example, the fact that I am now thinking about myself at a casino tomorrow is an example of the intentionality of my mind. My mind refers to, so to speak, objects and things outside of itself, some of which, do not even have to be directly perceived by it.

Examples of intentional states of mind are hunger and thirst, while slightly more complicated examples are desires, fears, and hopes. Even more complex are beliefs. Not all intentional states are conscious, and not all conscious states are intentional. For example, I can have an intentional state of mind as I drive to get food. That is, my behavior of driving toward the store reflects the direction of my intentionality. However, while I'm driving, I may be singing a song and looking at the sunset, not directly conscious that I am heading to the store (it is in the back of my mind and will come up when I see the store). Or, I may be unconscious and still have intentional states. For example, when I'm asleep, it is still true of me that I believe 2+2=4. Just because I go to sleep does not mean I do not believe the things I believe when I'm awake. It would be silly to look at me while I'm asleep and say, "Steve doesn't believe 2+2=4; he's asleep." I am not conscious, but I have beliefs that are "about" or "refer" to things in the world.

There are other features of consciousness, but I'm not in the mood to exposit them at the moment.

These features will then lead to a discussion of the features of language. Language is similar to intentionality in that it is "about" or "refers" to things in the world. However, this intentionality is to be distinguished from the intentionality of my consciousness. How so?

Let's take a common example of intentionality found in things that aren't our minds. For instance, let's say you need directions back to the highway. You ask me to draw you a map. I draw a straight line across the paper and write "Sunset Blvd." on top of it. I then draw an arrow alongside it pointing in one direction. I then draw another line that intersects the previous line. I write "La Brea Blvd." on top of it. I then draw an arrow pointing in another direction next to it. I then say, "We're on Sunset, here (pointing to the line designated as Sunset Blvd.), go north, up this way (pointing to the arrow next to the line), then when you get to this street, La Brea, here (pointing to the intersecting line), turn left, following the arrow and you'll see the freeway 6 blocks down.

Now, this map refers to a path toward the freeway that exists outside of itself. However, the map only refers to the path because we interpret the lines and arrows as "meaning" something more than themselves. That is, the map, on its own, doesn't refer to the streets outside; no, it depends on the readers interpretation. Simply put, the map's intentionality depends on our minds' intentionality.

Contrast this with our minds' intentionality. I am thinking about being in a casino tomorrow. Does my mind's reference depend on anyone else's interpretation or what meaning they get out of it? No. In virtue of my experience, my mind refers, i.e., I have an intentional state. This is called intrinsic intentionality and is contrasted with the intentionality of the map, or derived intentionality.

Language, then, has a derived intentionality. That is, its aboutness or meaning depends on our interpretations, or our intentionality. The last half of the book will discuss language and its role in producing a construction of society that is understood by derived intentionality.

To preview, let's take the example of money. Money has an observer-dependent intentionality. That is, its value, or meaning, depends on humans in a society that agree on its value. What it aims to do, refers to, is about, etc., is derived from our intrinsic intentional states. Money, unlike our minds, is not real in the sense that it exists no matter what anybody else thinks.

This will be the center of the forthcoming discussion: How intrinsic and derived intentionality work together to produce social constructs.

Vous comprende?

My endeavor continues

2006-03-13T09:24:00.000-08:00

On to the next book. I am finished with the topic of Mind and am continuing on through the other fundamental branches of Philosophy. My aim is to reclaim a decent grounding in these branches before applying to graduate school.

Reading Philosophy again feels so refreshing. It allows me to think philosophically again. Through reading, I am waking my lethargic mind up and getting it to exercise. You have no idea how much acumen is lost when mentally inactive. My senses were dull, and I was not sharp at all during my break. Watching TV and only thinking about simple day-to-day matters weakened my ability to think critically about things by the minute. You lose so much when you're not in school and grow constantly toward a mental plateau that should be warded off until your last years.

My path is simple: I started with Mind, and now I am going on to another book by Searle called Mind, Language, and Society. Along with a brief introduction to general Philosophy, the book will connect the concepts in Mind with the Philosophy of Language. Most of my training in Philosophy is in the Philosophy of Language, and I hope this book will get me thinking about its concepts once again.

From there, I'll move on to Epistemology, the branch of Philosophy that studies knowledge. Metaphysics, the study of reality, will follow. I'll then read an introductory book in Philosophy that takes a topical approach. This will serve as a recap to what I've read in depth.

By the end of this, I hope to have reestablished my foundations in Philosophy. I will then move on to the field which I hope to do research in, Ethics. I have a few books lined up, including Essays on Moral Realism, Introduction to Contemporary Metaethics, and the Blackwell Guide to Ethical Theory.

Once I am familiar with the concepts in these books, I will begin writing my sample paper for graduate school. My paper will be on a topic I wrote about it in a Metaethical class in school. The whole process, I suspect, will take 6 months.

I will study lightly for the GRE during this process. I plan to put that test off as long as possible, ideally taking it after I'm done with my writing sample. In any event, I will continue my focus and efforts in preparing for graduate school every day. So, if anyone sees or hears about me doing something that deviates from this plan, feel free to bring it to my attention.

Two mistakes in my last post

2006-03-12T20:31:00.000-08:00

Now that I've completed the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, I've found a couple of things I was mistaken about.

1) Marcus Aurelius lived in the 2nd century AD. I don't know why I confused this with someone else who lived before Jesus when I said Jesus followed Aurelius a few hundred years later. The principle of being benevolent to enemies was still advocated by both. Aurelius held it after Jesus, but not because of him. Aurelius only makes one reference to Christianity in his work, and I suspect he was unfamiliar with the movement.

2) It is not clear what view Aurelius holds regarding the status of man after death. I stated in my last post that Aurelius held that man is non-existent after death, but this is not clear. It seems that he only suggests that people, once dead, have no connection with earth, so it is inconsequential what is said about you after you die. He leaves open the idea of three possibilities after death: 1) Nothingness, 2) death is just a change in nature, suggesting that your matter remains in nature, returning to where it came from (a twist on nothingness), and 3) a soul endures to some afterlife. He gives no clear indication as to which he believes however.

In reference to my last post

2006-03-11T22:06:00.000-08:00

After taking a break to read Searle's Mind book, I'm nearing the end of Marcus Aurelius's Meditations. As I've mentioned before, this book exemplifies the stoic philosophy. My friend Wolfgang, whom I did Philosophy with at UCLA, recommended this to me as a book that would promote the development of my character. The book is not a philosophical work in the analytic tradition (it does seek to understand some concept by way of a conceptual analysis common of contempory western philosophers), but it is more of a look inside of the private thoughts of a great thinker and the epitome of the stoic tradition. The book is sort of a collection of aphorisms jotted down by Aurelius. It is almost like his diary. In here, we get insight into what life is like as seen through a Roman emperor, philosopher, a man of wealth, and a man of character.

The book is thematic in nature, i.e., the work is simply a variation of a handful of principles common to the stoic. The gist of the book is to be had if the reader can manage to walk away with an understanding of Aurelius's stance on the world, and in turn, the basic tenants of stoicism.

I'm not going to even begin to say I know the above, or even that the above is correct--I'm sure some scholar whose spent his whole life studying this work will have something slightly different to say--but I can give the layman a general map to the ideas that I think pervade the work.

Aurelius's ideas are based on the following presuppostions:

1) There is a God or gods.
2) Nature is often personified in the text implying some ontological status. That is, he speaks of Nature (with a capital "N") as if it is real in some sense.
3) In reference to 1 and 2 above, the gods and nature produce providence. Through the will of the gods and nature, man is subject to a sort of fate in that the gods assure that no true evil will be bestowed upon him, i.e., things are always done as a part of nature, realized through providence, and overseen by the gods.

Armed with the foundations above, the tenants of stoicism can now be understood in the following ways:

-Man ought not to give in to the sensations of the body. Most importantly, he should not be troubled by, or put thought into, his pleasures or pains. Sensations are primary to animals, while reason is primary to man. Thus, he should concern himself with the reason in things, not how things make him feel.
-Man is flesh only. When he dies, he is no longer a part of existence. Thus, he should live his life with care, taking great precaution and effort in each activity of each day.
-As a result of the one above, man should not concern himself with what men say about him. You will die and their words will be meaningless and cease when they too die.
-Also implied by the above, fame, being the thoughts and words of other men, should not be sought. Fame is empty. These thoughts and words will die with the men who speak them and will mean nothing to you after death, since you will not exist.
-Live your life with modesty, humility, effort, reason, and good will. Do not talk about yourself to others and do not entertain the praise of others. Work diligently on the task at hand. Approach each act with reason, attempting to understand things for what they are. And do what is in the best interest of your character and the characters of other men.
-Do not get angry over the lack of good will in others. Attempt to correct their actions modestly, and if they are not amenable, then kindly refrain from the topic.
-Act in accordance with Nature. The nature of man is reason. Know that men will always attempt to act this way, so do not fault them for wronging you, for no man wrongs with evil intent.
-Things are neither inherently good or inherently evil. A sick man is neither a good thing or a bad thing; his is simply a sick man. Act with reason, effort, and good will toward this man.
-Do not forget that the great men of the past, Socrates, Plato, Epictetus, have long past. They are dust. This is what you will be too, so do not worry about what lies beyond your life.
-Live each day as it is your last. Would you nap during your last hour? Or sit looking blankly about during your last moments on earth? No. Live your life thusly, as time is finite.
-Do not busy yourself with the ignorance of others. Do not feed your anger toward them. What good will your anger do? It will not make them good men. Instead, treat the ignorant, even your enemies, with benevolence. (Similar to the "turn the cheek" principle Jesus advocates 300 years later.)

In summary, Aurelius urges us not to concern ourselves with emotion. Since we will die, there is no difference in our anger or praise toward a thing. The only thing that matters is that we carry out our actions as if they were our last; with effort, reason, and a good will.

Now, how does this reference my last post? Well, as you can tell from my rantings in the post below, I don't exactly conform to stoicism. The reasons why are simple: 1) I don't agree with it all, 2) I have a weak will, and 3) My character has not developed enough such that I can employ my own standards 100% of the time.

In regards to 1 above, I don't know if I disagree with certain aspects because it is not how I am inclined to feel or because I think the reasoning is mistaken. I'll have to think more on this.

In any case, I can't help but to sometimes trouble myself with others. It frustrates me that I have to mingle with others who I do not think have been responsible to themselves or others intellectually. But the point Aurelius makes becomes apparent: What good is it for me to worry over others or get frustrated with them or even try to help them? I don't think there is. If so, then my actions are irrational, i.e., if I know it will do no good, but yet I continue to think about such trifles, then I am harming myself in ways Aurelius warns me against. This is where my weak will factors in. These are some things to think further on. I will have to continue working through this problem in order to appropriately alter my actions to conform to what I think is best. Any lack of thought in this area would be irresponsible to myself and others, since a lack of clear judgement on the issue may result in a lack of proper action toward others.