The time is 6:05 pm.
I thought you would be curious.
In one minute, it will be 6:06 pm.
I thought you would be curious.
By the time I finish writing this blog, it is more likely to be the latter; in fact, it is that time now.
Time has passed - how brutal. Even moreso: it continues. Like any good, vaguely defined, relative concept it trudges with little regard as to my feelings (damn you schrodenger!)
I received a phone call... the time between sentences has increased in average frequency thereby. The mathematical and statistical discrepancy this causes could be rectified if I were to write long enough, but I doubt that possibility (it is now 6:09 pm).
The only thing I have reminding me that time is passing is the clock. And the words slowly spreading across my screen. And the lights flashing from a TV behind me. And the music flowing through my ears. (6:11 pm)
Time is change from my perspective. I have no other way to measure it.
Still, when I think about the grand nature of the universe, time seems more complex. It is scientifically more; or less I suppose depending on your viewpoint.
Am I hypocritical at (6:13 pm)for acknowledging the existence of time? I disbelieve in god for the reason of lack of anything other than circumstantial evidence. Time is just as circumstantial. If I measure it by change... change from a different perspective is a constant thereby nullified by circumstance.
I suppose it is time to take an equally vague approach to time.
I shall be called hereon a temporal agnostic. I acknowledge the possibility that time exists. All in all though, this is just more meaningless thinking.
It is 6:17 pm.
The statistics are not fixed at all.
It is 6:18 pm.
Maybe.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
On Roots and Bulbs Rhyming with the Color Orange
I awoke, as I often do, last morning (Ignoring the obvious, awkward meshing of tenses in that past sentence, I'd like to take a moment to point out the absolute gruff, sloshing, equally awkward feel that phrase - last morning - leaves. Why, my dear reader, must I be constrained to saying every single time I wish to refer to that bit of temporal relativity by 'yesterday morning.').
There was a bitter nicety laying at my feet (I once read an article claiming that obtusely ambiguous contrasts were a sign of a writer trying to be far 'deeper' than he/she actually was/is/are and therefore, I have left you with 'bitter nicety').
I raised the trinket to my lips and realized shortly thereafter that, "I am experiencing something" (Quotations make that sentence grammatically correct.).
Unfortunately, it appeared to be poison (how did it appear to be poison?). A good question my dear reader (wait, I thought he was only breaking the fourth wall in parenthesis). It was green (disregarding my incredulity I see). In retrospect, I suppose I should have noticed the green to begin with, thereby avoiding the use of unfortunately at the beginning of this paragraph (wait... what?). Essentially, I am saying that I was poisoned, and I only knew I was poisoned because the drink was green (Oh.).
I soon began choking. I reached for my rescue inhaler and used it to deliver myself an emergency trakeotomy (Spelling is unimportant). Those things have incredibly sharp corners; it passed through my flesh like a moon chicken through contact solution (parochial idiom - dont worry if you dont understand - also dont worry about my lack of apostrophes).
Shortly thereafter I awoke - again (It was all a dream, can you believe it? Some say this is a cliched technique used only by the most hackneyed of writers; frankly, I agree.).
This experience led me to believe I needed to write a ToK blog. Perception and whatnot... blah blah.
Nothing rhymes with orange.
Nothing.
There was a bitter nicety laying at my feet (I once read an article claiming that obtusely ambiguous contrasts were a sign of a writer trying to be far 'deeper' than he/she actually was/is/are and therefore, I have left you with 'bitter nicety').
I raised the trinket to my lips and realized shortly thereafter that, "I am experiencing something" (Quotations make that sentence grammatically correct.).
Unfortunately, it appeared to be poison (how did it appear to be poison?). A good question my dear reader (wait, I thought he was only breaking the fourth wall in parenthesis). It was green (disregarding my incredulity I see). In retrospect, I suppose I should have noticed the green to begin with, thereby avoiding the use of unfortunately at the beginning of this paragraph (wait... what?). Essentially, I am saying that I was poisoned, and I only knew I was poisoned because the drink was green (Oh.).
I soon began choking. I reached for my rescue inhaler and used it to deliver myself an emergency trakeotomy (Spelling is unimportant). Those things have incredibly sharp corners; it passed through my flesh like a moon chicken through contact solution (parochial idiom - dont worry if you dont understand - also dont worry about my lack of apostrophes).
Shortly thereafter I awoke - again (It was all a dream, can you believe it? Some say this is a cliched technique used only by the most hackneyed of writers; frankly, I agree.).
This experience led me to believe I needed to write a ToK blog. Perception and whatnot... blah blah.
Nothing rhymes with orange.
Nothing.
On Soap
Soap is always gone.
I woke up this morning and trodded meaninglessly to the bathroom to find the listlessly devastating lack of soap ever apparent. How can one counteract the hydrophobia of oil without the intricate chemical composition of alkaline soap. Great leaping leopard skins on death row! It is to my content that I managed to stave of such thoughts of "ending it all" at my inability to wash given an already initiated process in which I was now finding myself under the quality of 'wet.'
So, as I mentioned, and as is evident by writing this, the lack of soap (at least this time) was not enough of an impetus to suicide. I merely allotted a half-hearted scrub and moved on. It was not pleasant - I felt somehow dirty for this meek attempt at cleanliness. I've concluded after the fact that I had in fact done nothing for my overall godliness in this monumental shower experience. More importantly, I do not smell of overtly feminine sudsy remnant. This is the great offense.
Which... returns me to my original point. The soap is always gone. This is of course figuratively - I do in fact, upon recollection, see a time where there was soap. Yet, this wonderful time of the past seems to be a verisimilitude and thereby unappreciated. Only the traumatic discovery of an empty bottle ingrains itself in my memory. Hence, I have a string of these discoveries that makes it indeed seem that every time postwith I find myself incapable of washing it is quite the normal occurrence. Logically though, this is impossible (ratio of size of bottle to amount used per day).
I hate the fact that my shower experience is defined by a negative. Therefore, I have made it my goal (and I encourage my reader as well) to take great notice of the soap the following morning. I must appreciate it for the fantastically smelling and o' so enlightening, energizing substance it truly is.
I love you soap.
I woke up this morning and trodded meaninglessly to the bathroom to find the listlessly devastating lack of soap ever apparent. How can one counteract the hydrophobia of oil without the intricate chemical composition of alkaline soap. Great leaping leopard skins on death row! It is to my content that I managed to stave of such thoughts of "ending it all" at my inability to wash given an already initiated process in which I was now finding myself under the quality of 'wet.'
So, as I mentioned, and as is evident by writing this, the lack of soap (at least this time) was not enough of an impetus to suicide. I merely allotted a half-hearted scrub and moved on. It was not pleasant - I felt somehow dirty for this meek attempt at cleanliness. I've concluded after the fact that I had in fact done nothing for my overall godliness in this monumental shower experience. More importantly, I do not smell of overtly feminine sudsy remnant. This is the great offense.
Which... returns me to my original point. The soap is always gone. This is of course figuratively - I do in fact, upon recollection, see a time where there was soap. Yet, this wonderful time of the past seems to be a verisimilitude and thereby unappreciated. Only the traumatic discovery of an empty bottle ingrains itself in my memory. Hence, I have a string of these discoveries that makes it indeed seem that every time postwith I find myself incapable of washing it is quite the normal occurrence. Logically though, this is impossible (ratio of size of bottle to amount used per day).
I hate the fact that my shower experience is defined by a negative. Therefore, I have made it my goal (and I encourage my reader as well) to take great notice of the soap the following morning. I must appreciate it for the fantastically smelling and o' so enlightening, energizing substance it truly is.
I love you soap.
Monday, November 16, 2009
On Poetry and Why it Annoys
Why does poetry annoy me?
Well... to start, it takes the carefully constructed rules of the English language and gives them the single fingered salute. As a writer, I consider it rather insulting to see a poem where the concepts of subject, verb, and object are voraciously tossed aside in favor of supposed "artistic expression." Further, when these kinds of barely intelligible spattering of phrases breeds wealth for their genius scribe, it is like seven thousand needles each penetrating sub-epidermally.
We are taught at a young age the danger of fragments. Why? Fragments do not effectively communicate an idea. They communicate that the author is purposely trying to be vague. Hide under the facade of artistic license and development of tone to a heart's extent; it is just laziness.
Also, the term: "it has multiple interpretations." Cop out.
Well... to start, it takes the carefully constructed rules of the English language and gives them the single fingered salute. As a writer, I consider it rather insulting to see a poem where the concepts of subject, verb, and object are voraciously tossed aside in favor of supposed "artistic expression." Further, when these kinds of barely intelligible spattering of phrases breeds wealth for their genius scribe, it is like seven thousand needles each penetrating sub-epidermally.
We are taught at a young age the danger of fragments. Why? Fragments do not effectively communicate an idea. They communicate that the author is purposely trying to be vague. Hide under the facade of artistic license and development of tone to a heart's extent; it is just laziness.
Also, the term: "it has multiple interpretations." Cop out.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
On Stating the Obvious
Time changes everything about a society.
Today, I examine an element of modern humor.
This would have, in no way, been funny 10 years ago. I know; I was there. And yet, here we are, and Stating The OBVIOUS is comedic gold.
Genius even. Some might say that it is the bee's knees (they would subsequently be ignored as witty rhymes are no longer funny. I wish sometimes that they never had been; let's move on though - the past, as painful as it is, must be left in its place).
As with all humor, STO takes a certain element of presentation. It requires a delivery of complete commitment, and an absolutely oblivious lack of awareness when it comes to somethings obvious-ness.
For example: imagine a sports reporter at a half time analysis. "I do believe, that as the games going right now... the team with the most points will triumph."
(The reporter is not a golf reporter - shame on you for even asking.)
STO must be used sparingly and not by immature humorists. It takes a sophisticated mind to read the audience and to place it at exactly the right moment. Otherwise, it comes out as the three stooges minus the slapstick. That's like... negative funny man! NEGATIVE.
I think the fact that this is funny hails a return to simple humor. Remember when you could just say psyche at the end of a sentence and it would be an absolute killer? I miss those days.
This is a sentence.
Today, I examine an element of modern humor.
This would have, in no way, been funny 10 years ago. I know; I was there. And yet, here we are, and Stating The OBVIOUS is comedic gold.
Genius even. Some might say that it is the bee's knees (they would subsequently be ignored as witty rhymes are no longer funny. I wish sometimes that they never had been; let's move on though - the past, as painful as it is, must be left in its place).
As with all humor, STO takes a certain element of presentation. It requires a delivery of complete commitment, and an absolutely oblivious lack of awareness when it comes to somethings obvious-ness.
For example: imagine a sports reporter at a half time analysis. "I do believe, that as the games going right now... the team with the most points will triumph."
(The reporter is not a golf reporter - shame on you for even asking.)
STO must be used sparingly and not by immature humorists. It takes a sophisticated mind to read the audience and to place it at exactly the right moment. Otherwise, it comes out as the three stooges minus the slapstick. That's like... negative funny man! NEGATIVE.
I think the fact that this is funny hails a return to simple humor. Remember when you could just say psyche at the end of a sentence and it would be an absolute killer? I miss those days.
This is a sentence.
Yoda On
I was talking earlier to someone. I told them that sometimes when I write, I do so in a way that says nothing.
Someone told me that simply by writing a word, I was in fact writing something - that there was no way to write anything without it having a meaning.
I beg to differ. Watch as I say nothing, by writing nothing:
"Nothing."
Someone told me that simply by writing a word, I was in fact writing something - that there was no way to write anything without it having a meaning.
I beg to differ. Watch as I say nothing, by writing nothing:
"Nothing."
On Chees-ITs
Oh my dear orange squares,
How you delight me with your fair according share,
Away from you I can not myself tear,
Cheese-It my dear: you are not being fair.
That was 'Ode to a Grecian Cheese-It' by Me.
I am sitting here, thinking... what makes a snack food? and what makes a good snack food excellent?
I've come up with a list of criteria.
First, the food must be accessible. This means it can be eaten anywhere at anytime with the ability to do anything else at the same time. A snack food that does not fulfill this criterion are cheet-o's. One simply is limited by the mess of cheet-o's: it sticks on your fingers and somehow propagates on everything within a six meter radius. Cheese-Its on the other hand allow for anything - even typing a ToK blog.
Second, the food must have a distinct taste. Let's face it, you are going to be eating this snack for at least 10 minutes. You can not have a taste that is so bland as to not maintain interest, nor can you be so utterly spoiled by it as to wish for no more. Unfortunately, some believe taste overtakes accessibility and therefore still eat cheet-o's - I say grow up. Cheese-Its have a taste that is simply life long. Doretos are another good example. Mike and Ikes are good... but not great as eating too many causes the tongue to lose all sense of taste for the next 24 hours.
Third, the food must be light. Food that is actually filling does not count as a snack... you can not eat it for long enough. Snack foods fill time as well as stomach, and the ratio is important. Unfortunately, too light can be a bad thing. For example: eat a rice cake. They taste delicious, but there is absolutely no sense of actual digestion. Another counter-example is cotton candy - under no circumstances should spun sugar be relied on as a snack. It must remain under the category of candy (another blog post entirely).
So there you have it. It speaks a lot to my own psyche as I see this distinction as something simply everyone must know.
I really would like to comment on...
My bowl of Cheese-Its is empty. This blog entry is done.
How you delight me with your fair according share,
Away from you I can not myself tear,
Cheese-It my dear: you are not being fair.
That was 'Ode to a Grecian Cheese-It' by Me.
I am sitting here, thinking... what makes a snack food? and what makes a good snack food excellent?
I've come up with a list of criteria.
First, the food must be accessible. This means it can be eaten anywhere at anytime with the ability to do anything else at the same time. A snack food that does not fulfill this criterion are cheet-o's. One simply is limited by the mess of cheet-o's: it sticks on your fingers and somehow propagates on everything within a six meter radius. Cheese-Its on the other hand allow for anything - even typing a ToK blog.
Second, the food must have a distinct taste. Let's face it, you are going to be eating this snack for at least 10 minutes. You can not have a taste that is so bland as to not maintain interest, nor can you be so utterly spoiled by it as to wish for no more. Unfortunately, some believe taste overtakes accessibility and therefore still eat cheet-o's - I say grow up. Cheese-Its have a taste that is simply life long. Doretos are another good example. Mike and Ikes are good... but not great as eating too many causes the tongue to lose all sense of taste for the next 24 hours.
Third, the food must be light. Food that is actually filling does not count as a snack... you can not eat it for long enough. Snack foods fill time as well as stomach, and the ratio is important. Unfortunately, too light can be a bad thing. For example: eat a rice cake. They taste delicious, but there is absolutely no sense of actual digestion. Another counter-example is cotton candy - under no circumstances should spun sugar be relied on as a snack. It must remain under the category of candy (another blog post entirely).
So there you have it. It speaks a lot to my own psyche as I see this distinction as something simply everyone must know.
I really would like to comment on...
My bowl of Cheese-Its is empty. This blog entry is done.
On Teaching Methods
There is no uniform "one way" to teach. Considering that the process of imparting knowledge is so important in modern culture, it seems rather strange that constant attempts to homogenize have gone unheeded. Granted, our curriculum is tankardly uniform and unnecessarily stringent to unnecessary topics, but the way that lethargic list is passed on is relatively up to the whim of the teacher.
The way I see it, there are several teaching styles, each with their own pros and cons. Before I get into that I would like to preface with the thought that no style is the best for every student - if it were, everyone would teach the same - and that a lot of the teacher's ability to convey goes to their personality and subject matter of the class. That being said, the styles:
1. Notes, Practice, Test: these teachers are brass tacks. You know exactly what to expect coming in to class every single day, because it is always the same. Only the topic alters every week or so to strive for complete test preparation. Students are told the answers directly; there is little room for opinion - hence why this style is so often suited to science.
2. Random Weaving Path: these teachers are deceptive. It seems like the assignments are rather useless (often are), as the thematic situation of the class winds towards the final target. Suddenly, that day is there, and with any luck the randomness actually prepared you for it. This is often an English approach.
3. Long Projects: these teachers may pretend like they are doing something day to day, but honestly, they've just assigned something due in four weeks, there are three of these large items the whole year, and nothing else in between is really necessary. These classes tend to be fun, because there is time to waste.
4. Concept, Discuss: these teachers are moderators. They introduce a topic and allow students to create conclusions amongst themselves. Sometimes this is a defense mechanism for a lack of knowledge, but when used correctly can facilitate an excellent learning environment.
5. Learn it for Yourself: these teachers are rare, and often confused with #4. They allow complete freedom and will only offer aid when approached directly. This allows the student to learn exactly as much or as little as they wish.
There are more styles, and some teachers intermingle, but these are the thoughts I have time for at the moment. Fun.
The way I see it, there are several teaching styles, each with their own pros and cons. Before I get into that I would like to preface with the thought that no style is the best for every student - if it were, everyone would teach the same - and that a lot of the teacher's ability to convey goes to their personality and subject matter of the class. That being said, the styles:
1. Notes, Practice, Test: these teachers are brass tacks. You know exactly what to expect coming in to class every single day, because it is always the same. Only the topic alters every week or so to strive for complete test preparation. Students are told the answers directly; there is little room for opinion - hence why this style is so often suited to science.
2. Random Weaving Path: these teachers are deceptive. It seems like the assignments are rather useless (often are), as the thematic situation of the class winds towards the final target. Suddenly, that day is there, and with any luck the randomness actually prepared you for it. This is often an English approach.
3. Long Projects: these teachers may pretend like they are doing something day to day, but honestly, they've just assigned something due in four weeks, there are three of these large items the whole year, and nothing else in between is really necessary. These classes tend to be fun, because there is time to waste.
4. Concept, Discuss: these teachers are moderators. They introduce a topic and allow students to create conclusions amongst themselves. Sometimes this is a defense mechanism for a lack of knowledge, but when used correctly can facilitate an excellent learning environment.
5. Learn it for Yourself: these teachers are rare, and often confused with #4. They allow complete freedom and will only offer aid when approached directly. This allows the student to learn exactly as much or as little as they wish.
There are more styles, and some teachers intermingle, but these are the thoughts I have time for at the moment. Fun.
On Cubic Regressions
This math portfolio has made me think about math - go figure.
I would like to talk about infinity.
I hate infinity.
Examine for a moment, the following situation:
A turtle leaves point A when the race starts. He is inevitably headed for point B. In order to reach point B, it is a safe assumption that the turtle must eventually cross the center point, and getting there will take some time.
That being said, we can also assume that the turtle must pass the one quarter mark, also taking time. Indeed, we can say that there are an infinity dividable set of halves, all which we must pass, and all which take time to pass.
Time x infinity = infinite time. Therefore, it takes an infinite time to move anywhere; ergo, nothing moves.
This is why I hate the concept of infinity. It is not well enough defined to be useful in practical situations. The above situation for example is solved by assuming that space/time is in fact, not infinitesimally dividable - meaning that eventually the halves stop accumulating. According to math though... WE DO NOT MOVE.
I hate infinity.
Another situation: I measure out a seven millimeter section of tape, whereas James measures seven feet. Our deep voiced math teacher asks which has a greater number of points. Well... between any distances, there is an infinite number of unique points. Therefore, there are the same number of points on a seven millimeter section as a seven foot section, or even a seven mile section - infinity. Infinity has no quantifiable characteristic of comparison. I claim that by this logic, all distance is the same.
I hate infinity.
Only obscure, unprovable physics can refute these statements. That, or you could just blindly deny the fact that distance does not exist and we can not move. Wait --- we can.
I hate infinity.
I would like to talk about infinity.
I hate infinity.
Examine for a moment, the following situation:
A turtle leaves point A when the race starts. He is inevitably headed for point B. In order to reach point B, it is a safe assumption that the turtle must eventually cross the center point, and getting there will take some time.
That being said, we can also assume that the turtle must pass the one quarter mark, also taking time. Indeed, we can say that there are an infinity dividable set of halves, all which we must pass, and all which take time to pass.
Time x infinity = infinite time. Therefore, it takes an infinite time to move anywhere; ergo, nothing moves.
This is why I hate the concept of infinity. It is not well enough defined to be useful in practical situations. The above situation for example is solved by assuming that space/time is in fact, not infinitesimally dividable - meaning that eventually the halves stop accumulating. According to math though... WE DO NOT MOVE.
I hate infinity.
Another situation: I measure out a seven millimeter section of tape, whereas James measures seven feet. Our deep voiced math teacher asks which has a greater number of points. Well... between any distances, there is an infinite number of unique points. Therefore, there are the same number of points on a seven millimeter section as a seven foot section, or even a seven mile section - infinity. Infinity has no quantifiable characteristic of comparison. I claim that by this logic, all distance is the same.
I hate infinity.
Only obscure, unprovable physics can refute these statements. That, or you could just blindly deny the fact that distance does not exist and we can not move. Wait --- we can.
I hate infinity.
On Why I Shouldn't Be Expected To Know Anything... Ever
I am on record saying that coincidence is one of the most soul-sappingly fatalistic of random occurrences. I think I should revise. I always forget during the off-season.
Quiz bowl is the MOST by range of at least six coulombs.
For those of you living under a rock (or rather, those of you who are not living under a rock, just those who don't care about really unimportant things)quiz bowl - aka academic challenge - is a competitive trivia circuit. If you've ever seen 'Mean Girls,' it's kind of like the matha-leet competition, only filled with every subject of knowledge and way less Lindsey Lohan, which is a bad thing (Screw the media! Lohan, you rock!).
At any given time throughout a given tournament, there are a total of 9 important people in the room (or 9 really unimportant people trying to hide that fact): 2 teams of four players, and one reader. Note: substitutes and whatnot do exist, but my writing flows much better without mentioning them... Woops.
These two teams will via for the chance to answer the reader's questions with their almighty buzzers. The reader recognizes whoever buzzes first, the team takes a moment to confer, and delivers the answer for approval or bitter disembowelment by their team for getting it wrong. I kid... it is more of a lobotomy.
Now to the point: quiz bowl questions have a notorious nature of including the most esoteric facts possible. For example, did you know that Wounded Knee was both a battle and a movie? No? GOOD. Or, have you ever suffered through an 'obscure musical-architectural advances near Asian rivers of the 21st century relating to Bill O'Riley?' Perhaps you now know the feelings of a quiz-bowler.
Hence, why our team motto has become the title of this blog post: "I shouldn't be expected to know anything... ever." The random occurrence of insight, and the process of giving a correct answer to these even more random 'brain breakers' can not be expected, studied for, nor - some argue - cogently understood.
Therefore, my conclusion: no, I do not know who painted panel six of the East side Gallery. Just because I am the 'art' person does not mean I can be expected to know anything... ever. (especially when you only let me hear the first part of the two part question.)
Maintain the Decorum.
Quiz bowl is the MOST by range of at least six coulombs.
For those of you living under a rock (or rather, those of you who are not living under a rock, just those who don't care about really unimportant things)quiz bowl - aka academic challenge - is a competitive trivia circuit. If you've ever seen 'Mean Girls,' it's kind of like the matha-leet competition, only filled with every subject of knowledge and way less Lindsey Lohan, which is a bad thing (Screw the media! Lohan, you rock!).
At any given time throughout a given tournament, there are a total of 9 important people in the room (or 9 really unimportant people trying to hide that fact): 2 teams of four players, and one reader. Note: substitutes and whatnot do exist, but my writing flows much better without mentioning them... Woops.
These two teams will via for the chance to answer the reader's questions with their almighty buzzers. The reader recognizes whoever buzzes first, the team takes a moment to confer, and delivers the answer for approval or bitter disembowelment by their team for getting it wrong. I kid... it is more of a lobotomy.
Now to the point: quiz bowl questions have a notorious nature of including the most esoteric facts possible. For example, did you know that Wounded Knee was both a battle and a movie? No? GOOD. Or, have you ever suffered through an 'obscure musical-architectural advances near Asian rivers of the 21st century relating to Bill O'Riley?' Perhaps you now know the feelings of a quiz-bowler.
Hence, why our team motto has become the title of this blog post: "I shouldn't be expected to know anything... ever." The random occurrence of insight, and the process of giving a correct answer to these even more random 'brain breakers' can not be expected, studied for, nor - some argue - cogently understood.
Therefore, my conclusion: no, I do not know who painted panel six of the East side Gallery. Just because I am the 'art' person does not mean I can be expected to know anything... ever. (especially when you only let me hear the first part of the two part question.)
Maintain the Decorum.
On Cartesian Doubt
A serious and thought out post? Surely you jest! Well, someone quoted Descartes to me today, and I was implicitly reminded of the junior ToK discussion the previous year. At that time, I thought the saying was brilliant... now, I'm not so sure.
When Descartes came upon his great conclusion, “I think, therefore I am,” he likely never assumed what impact it would have on the future of philosophical thought.
His quotation spawns a question which stands the result of timeless turmoil and inner debate. The answer itself is brilliant, motivational, deep, and just downright interesting to perpetuate.
The question it addresses. “What if everything is just an illusion, controlled by some outside force, and everything I know is a farce?” This concept – that life as we know it could be some sort of false alternate reality – is known as Cartesian Doubt. To be blunt, there is no concept that is more unworthy of argument. Yes, it is a thought provoking what-if; it is indeed a philosopher’s gold mine of what is possible and what is probable. The concept even spawned a successful movie: The Matrix – a robot controlled cyber world that every human is connected to – which is basically an expression of Descartes pre-answer musings. Still, beyond the side note of a philosophy class’ thought bubble, Cartesian Doubt has no place in discussion.
Doubt is self-regressing. Doubt rewrites every system of knowledge we currently have.
Every statement under a doubted system is illogical, impossible to prove (and at the same time, proof of all), but mostly just a waste of everyone’s time. Cartesian Doubt is inherently useless because it offers so many webs of possibility, while destroying any logical background of proof. It leaves no way to construct knowledge other than what we “think.” If there is no knowledge, there is no truth. Without truth, an argument is baseless, and thereby completely unnecessary. Cartesian Doubt has neither purpose nor place.
I think, therefore I am. Otherwise, there is no point.
Short version: I don't like the saying because I think it is a terminating way to view logic.
Friday, October 30, 2009
On Puneet - Valid Human Being or Illegitimate Hound-Dog?
I don't think I need to make my point. Puneet's existence proves itself through violent actuism.
The following will be a list of offenses against my person - updated as they surely propagate.
1. Keeping gum in silver business card holder. (10/30/2009)
2. Broke the Decorum... Jerk. (10/31/2009)
3. Wearing an excessively loud yellow shirt on a postdate to an extremely loud red shirt (11/1/2009)
4. French or English? (11/3/2009)
5. That laugh. AYFKM? (11/10/2009
6. Jubilant. 'Nuff said. (11/11/2009)
7. Claiming that laugh is not fake. (11/19/2009)
I'm going to go drink some maple syrup distillate.
The following will be a list of offenses against my person - updated as they surely propagate.
1. Keeping gum in silver business card holder. (10/30/2009)
2. Broke the Decorum... Jerk. (10/31/2009)
3. Wearing an excessively loud yellow shirt on a postdate to an extremely loud red shirt (11/1/2009)
4. French or English? (11/3/2009)
5. That laugh. AYFKM? (11/10/2009
6. Jubilant. 'Nuff said. (11/11/2009)
7. Claiming that laugh is not fake. (11/19/2009)
I'm going to go drink some maple syrup distillate.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
On Posting IB TOK Blogs
I have not written anything on this blog for at least a week.
I realized this is not just due to a lack of willingness to pour emotion into a non-spontaneous topic when I could and rather would be writing something of personal enjoyment (actually it is), but instead a lack of awareness as to what makes a topic "tok'able."
I've decided to compile a list filled to the brim with criteria for "good TOK topics," or "what makes a TOK topic legitimate." I am using - I assure you - only the definitions supplied to me by experience. Hopefully, this will help the non-spontaneous and therefore lesser creative juices flow.
1. An ethical dilema. Rather, just use the word ethical, or some combination of the letters. I learned that teachers purposely take ethical statements related to their subject and toss them towards 8th period twice a week because they are "rooted in TOK stuff," as a person once said.
2. The term art. I find it especially "tok'able" if the word art is paired with an interrogative.
3. Truth. Not necessarily anything about it - just say the word... over and over. Interrogatives also fit nicely here - specifically, "what is..."
4. The concept of perception. When you have used perception, use perspective. After perspective, point of view. Done with point of view? Move to personal observation. Personal observation used twice already? Subjective experience. With this you should have finished the paper, but if not... unique time-space equivalence plot.
5. Morality, and no it is not directly spawned from Christian imagery. Throw in a couple references to "good and evil," "what makes it so," and if its a discussion, just say, "who are we to decide?" It doesn't make you seem smart - just loud enough to maybe nullify the ridiculousness of quantifying subjective experience (Haha! Thank you #4).
6. Logical appeals. Inherent logical fallacy. Syllogisms. Logic as a...
7. Way of knowing. This hardly has to be cognizant. Step 1: say the three words a bunch. Step 2: ???? Step 3: PROFIT!
8. Existence. Use Neo as an example, and then Descartes. Then go crawl into your IBTOK inspired existential hole with Camus.
9. The word "theoretically." If you cant test something directly, you are probably capable of making an argument for it being true. If someone argues against you, say they are wrong, because they cant "know for sure." Then sprinkle the word absolute in with your next 6 sentences (bonus points for using it in each).
I've run out of ideas (meaning I've been writing for 15 minutes and am no longer interested).
But now juices are flowing... theoretically.
I realized this is not just due to a lack of willingness to pour emotion into a non-spontaneous topic when I could and rather would be writing something of personal enjoyment (actually it is), but instead a lack of awareness as to what makes a topic "tok'able."
I've decided to compile a list filled to the brim with criteria for "good TOK topics," or "what makes a TOK topic legitimate." I am using - I assure you - only the definitions supplied to me by experience. Hopefully, this will help the non-spontaneous and therefore lesser creative juices flow.
1. An ethical dilema. Rather, just use the word ethical, or some combination of the letters. I learned that teachers purposely take ethical statements related to their subject and toss them towards 8th period twice a week because they are "rooted in TOK stuff," as a person once said.
2. The term art. I find it especially "tok'able" if the word art is paired with an interrogative.
3. Truth. Not necessarily anything about it - just say the word... over and over. Interrogatives also fit nicely here - specifically, "what is..."
4. The concept of perception. When you have used perception, use perspective. After perspective, point of view. Done with point of view? Move to personal observation. Personal observation used twice already? Subjective experience. With this you should have finished the paper, but if not... unique time-space equivalence plot.
5. Morality, and no it is not directly spawned from Christian imagery. Throw in a couple references to "good and evil," "what makes it so," and if its a discussion, just say, "who are we to decide?" It doesn't make you seem smart - just loud enough to maybe nullify the ridiculousness of quantifying subjective experience (Haha! Thank you #4).
6. Logical appeals. Inherent logical fallacy. Syllogisms. Logic as a...
7. Way of knowing. This hardly has to be cognizant. Step 1: say the three words a bunch. Step 2: ???? Step 3: PROFIT!
8. Existence. Use Neo as an example, and then Descartes. Then go crawl into your IBTOK inspired existential hole with Camus.
9. The word "theoretically." If you cant test something directly, you are probably capable of making an argument for it being true. If someone argues against you, say they are wrong, because they cant "know for sure." Then sprinkle the word absolute in with your next 6 sentences (bonus points for using it in each).
I've run out of ideas (meaning I've been writing for 15 minutes and am no longer interested).
But now juices are flowing... theoretically.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
On Compulsory Voluntary Work
There are two organizations at our school generally recognized for their supposed 'outstanding' service to the community. The students within these organizations are lauded for their willingness to step outside of their comfort zone, sacrifice themselves and volunteer.
These organizations are Key Club, and National Honors Society. The former sounds stupid - I know - but is somewhat useful, and the latter is just as elitist as it sounds.
First, I would like to establish the theoretical goals for any organization falling under these criteria. It is supposed to be a volunteer, community service organization. By sheer repetition, this assumed goal would be best suited to a mass number of participants: more manpower = more service. Therefore, it can be concluded that a community service organization operates the strongest with more people.
Now the illogicality: both Key Club and NHS are organizations that one must apply to enter. Go figure, they both end up turning a number of applicants down every year. This goes directly against the goal stated in the previous paragraph by refusing the maximum number of workers and thereby theoretical output.
But wait, my dear reader, there is actually more slight of hand at work. A lack of participation in this VOLUNTEER organization can lead to the lack-ee being removed from the hierarchy post haste. This would not be a problem if it were not for the occult like behavior instilled in the organization's foundations - I'm looking at you NHS candle lighting ceremony - where simply being removed from the complex also includes a punishment. NHS for example, will vengefully call out to every college their reject has applied to and inform the admissions office of the supposed transgression that lack of participation is - unfortunately this would likely result in a complete tarnishing of reputation.
Follow the strand here: in order to be a part of the organization, one MUST complete their voluntary community service or suffer the consequences. Joining the organization is voluntary, but the work? An idiot would be able to see this is not voluntary at all; it is compulsory. And, by the goal set out initially, this imposes rationalized weakly-attempted spews to gain event credit, meaning the service is further weakened.
It makes me question... Why? Why do service organizations limit themselves via applications? How do they not see that such a practice equivocates a shot in the foot? More importantly, why do they hide behind the facade of "volunteer" long after they've broken the adjective.
Simply put, it is a matter of proclaiming the superiority of a select few whose applications had enough bells and whistles to bring some sort of notoriety to the group. Let's grow up. The world sucks enough as it is, and no one should be excluded from a concerted effort to make it better if they truly believe in it. By the same mark, no one should be forced into such a situation just because they need a signature - preventative of the boot-based greeting.
This all being said, I am part of both organizations that practice their "service" in these manners. I have no issues putting my time into extraneous things that I don't believe in, or believe are a waste of time.
Sadly, this probably detracts from the few projects a year that are genuinely worthwhile - I throw my hand in these situations with as great ferocity as leftovers allow. But alas, that is the system, and frankly: the system looks damn good on college apps.
These organizations are Key Club, and National Honors Society. The former sounds stupid - I know - but is somewhat useful, and the latter is just as elitist as it sounds.
First, I would like to establish the theoretical goals for any organization falling under these criteria. It is supposed to be a volunteer, community service organization. By sheer repetition, this assumed goal would be best suited to a mass number of participants: more manpower = more service. Therefore, it can be concluded that a community service organization operates the strongest with more people.
Now the illogicality: both Key Club and NHS are organizations that one must apply to enter. Go figure, they both end up turning a number of applicants down every year. This goes directly against the goal stated in the previous paragraph by refusing the maximum number of workers and thereby theoretical output.
But wait, my dear reader, there is actually more slight of hand at work. A lack of participation in this VOLUNTEER organization can lead to the lack-ee being removed from the hierarchy post haste. This would not be a problem if it were not for the occult like behavior instilled in the organization's foundations - I'm looking at you NHS candle lighting ceremony - where simply being removed from the complex also includes a punishment. NHS for example, will vengefully call out to every college their reject has applied to and inform the admissions office of the supposed transgression that lack of participation is - unfortunately this would likely result in a complete tarnishing of reputation.
Follow the strand here: in order to be a part of the organization, one MUST complete their voluntary community service or suffer the consequences. Joining the organization is voluntary, but the work? An idiot would be able to see this is not voluntary at all; it is compulsory. And, by the goal set out initially, this imposes rationalized weakly-attempted spews to gain event credit, meaning the service is further weakened.
It makes me question... Why? Why do service organizations limit themselves via applications? How do they not see that such a practice equivocates a shot in the foot? More importantly, why do they hide behind the facade of "volunteer" long after they've broken the adjective.
Simply put, it is a matter of proclaiming the superiority of a select few whose applications had enough bells and whistles to bring some sort of notoriety to the group. Let's grow up. The world sucks enough as it is, and no one should be excluded from a concerted effort to make it better if they truly believe in it. By the same mark, no one should be forced into such a situation just because they need a signature - preventative of the boot-based greeting.
This all being said, I am part of both organizations that practice their "service" in these manners. I have no issues putting my time into extraneous things that I don't believe in, or believe are a waste of time.
Sadly, this probably detracts from the few projects a year that are genuinely worthwhile - I throw my hand in these situations with as great ferocity as leftovers allow. But alas, that is the system, and frankly: the system looks damn good on college apps.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
On Arson, Remote Controls, and Remote Controlled Arson
This world is built upon so much uncertainty that the brief interludes of definite are invaluable. For example:
There are certain things that make everything - without exception - cooler. By this, I of course do not mean temperature - I'm vaguely insulted that you even considered that.
Grow up, my good reader.
Now that the definitions are set, and the discipline done, I shall begin the thought experiment to prove my point:
Think about the most awesome thing you have ever seen/experienced.
Ok... you have that picture in your head? Now I am going to alter that picture just a bit, making it a minimum of 7x more awesome. Are you positively prepared for that kind of blatant over-expansion of cool? If you aren't, I recommend you sit down, remove your socks (who wares socks inside anyway) and take a deep breath.
A list of steps:
1. Find your object.
2. Commit arson. This step is very important. Make the fire huge - like, dangerous huge. In fact, throw everything you have ever cared about into the fire, even your grandma (she'll understand). Casualty count is in this case directly proportional to wow factor.
3. Attach remote control to object. Make it have an unnecessary amount of torque and a brilliantly specific number of speed adjustment dials, ambiguous switches, and even volume controls (no, I don't know what they are for or what they are supposed to do). The mere mystification of something moving by your impetus from afar is like an injection of adrenalin into the already steroid filled veins of your flaming symbol.... oh yes. Feel it.
4. Bask in the sheer adulation of everyone around you.
Don't believe me?
Normal Penguin:
Penguin on Fire (7x as cool)
In summation, I really had nothing better to write about. It's kind of upsetting.
I am making a resolution to comment on something important for the next post.
... probably.
There are certain things that make everything - without exception - cooler. By this, I of course do not mean temperature - I'm vaguely insulted that you even considered that.
Grow up, my good reader.
Now that the definitions are set, and the discipline done, I shall begin the thought experiment to prove my point:
Think about the most awesome thing you have ever seen/experienced.
Ok... you have that picture in your head? Now I am going to alter that picture just a bit, making it a minimum of 7x more awesome. Are you positively prepared for that kind of blatant over-expansion of cool? If you aren't, I recommend you sit down, remove your socks (who wares socks inside anyway) and take a deep breath.
A list of steps:
1. Find your object.
2. Commit arson. This step is very important. Make the fire huge - like, dangerous huge. In fact, throw everything you have ever cared about into the fire, even your grandma (she'll understand). Casualty count is in this case directly proportional to wow factor.
3. Attach remote control to object. Make it have an unnecessary amount of torque and a brilliantly specific number of speed adjustment dials, ambiguous switches, and even volume controls (no, I don't know what they are for or what they are supposed to do). The mere mystification of something moving by your impetus from afar is like an injection of adrenalin into the already steroid filled veins of your flaming symbol.... oh yes. Feel it.
4. Bask in the sheer adulation of everyone around you.
Don't believe me?
Normal Penguin:
Penguin on Fire (7x as cool)
In summation, I really had nothing better to write about. It's kind of upsetting.
I am making a resolution to comment on something important for the next post.
... probably.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
On 7
I may be crazy, but the name J-e-r-e-m-y has six letters. Similarly, the name F-r-a-n-k has five.
Do you not yet see the pattern?
I was born February 5, 1992 - that is 2/5/1992; do you get it now?
My family takes up 5 spots at the dinner table...
I have 2 cats. TWO OF THEM!
6 (first name) times 5 (last name) = 30
5 + 2 + 1 + 9 + 9 + 2 (birth date) = 28
30 squared - 28 squared = 116
5! (family members factorial) - 116 = 4
4 + 2 (# of cats) = 6
I tremble at the last step, which I assure you was not pre-planned.
6 + (my class rank) = ...
7.
...
...
Superstition is generally cool to think about, but not in the context of math. I would like to point to Mr. Jim Carrey's portrayal in the movie "23" for justification. Numbers can be manipulated by any half sane monkey of a man. Add in enough variables and the desired result is instantly achievable. Unlucky numbers are a ridiculous concept, and I would like to propose that we get rid of them entirely.
Lucky numbers though... you rock, and are completely legitimate. (<3 25)
That is all.
Do you not yet see the pattern?
I was born February 5, 1992 - that is 2/5/1992; do you get it now?
My family takes up 5 spots at the dinner table...
I have 2 cats. TWO OF THEM!
6 (first name) times 5 (last name) = 30
5 + 2 + 1 + 9 + 9 + 2 (birth date) = 28
30 squared - 28 squared = 116
5! (family members factorial) - 116 = 4
4 + 2 (# of cats) = 6
I tremble at the last step, which I assure you was not pre-planned.
6 + (my class rank) = ...
7.
...
...
Superstition is generally cool to think about, but not in the context of math. I would like to point to Mr. Jim Carrey's portrayal in the movie "23" for justification. Numbers can be manipulated by any half sane monkey of a man. Add in enough variables and the desired result is instantly achievable. Unlucky numbers are a ridiculous concept, and I would like to propose that we get rid of them entirely.
Lucky numbers though... you rock, and are completely legitimate. (<3 25)
That is all.
Monday, October 12, 2009
On Subwoofers, Gangstas, and Boy Bands
Useless competition is a stereotypically male thing, and generally gets a rather becoming name thereby - I'll let it go unmentioned here, but I assure you after all. These back and forths are rather biographical for their participants, and from a third perspective seem not only useless - the adjective with which I originally defined them - but hilarious.
Having been involved in one or two useless competitions myself, I can vouch that the thought of your own idiocy does not cross mind at the moment of requirement. The only important value in these testosterone filled tug of wars is the winner - or rather, who, "owned that (expletive) dawg! (sic)... (expletive)." I'm cautious to believe that my readers fully understand what brilliant examples of dogmatic refusals and Freud-shaming denial this will animate.
With that in mind, I describe the situation from which my writing today dedicates. For the sake of sanity, I shan't discuss the circumstances that led to my circumstances, only the directly attached bit anecdotal evidence required - the rest of the story is far too... ambitious (to put it vaguely).
Taco Bell is essentially a haven for midnight snackage. By consequence, it is the home of utterly baseless bits of exhausted rhetoric and neurons that don't seem to fire quite as fast as they should. Normally, my visits to the 'Bell include just a few friends and the late hour tends to more of a light spattering of drive through visitors than food-permanent residences. We are the latter, and there are plenty of story's thereby. However, tonight was different.
For whatever reason, every hound and his dog was at the 'Bell this night (a full parking lot at a fast food establishment is somewhat unnerving for society amirite?). The aforementioned brain function issues were quite proverbially the edge of a cliff, the lit wick of dynamite, and the precariously perched pewter pedestal in a paper bag of men who I'm sure would be glad to call themselves 'gangsta's' (sic) and hitch at a 'chang' (sic) around their neck.
I sat between 30 and 40 feet from my car, attempting to merely enjoy the humble ecstasy of fire sauce and a soft taco, when my ears were bombarded by... I suppose some call it music. One of the Bell going cliques had his car open and radio blasting. Soon enough, the next car in line was topping the output and the first bowed out. This secondary source of noise was again drowned out by a third. Finally, in a theatrical display of door opening and trunk popping, the loudest car forced itself upon everyone within half a kilometer, more bass than anything.
Finishing my taco and wiping my fingers to the techno 'flair' of an extremely autotuned voice, I stood and cantered over to my car. I signaled to the supposed winner for my turn and spun the keys (as they say). As the excessive bass dwindled, my stereo was ready. I smiled, trash talked and gave it a little bit of suspense.
The play button hovered over N'Sync's Bye Bye Bye. Shouting, "Here comes da (sic) real beats mother (plural expletive)!" my finger pressed.
Those poor, poor 'gangstas.' (sic) It was like their precious ears were being bombarded by something that was loud, annoying, and completely out of place.
I drove off smiling.
Having been involved in one or two useless competitions myself, I can vouch that the thought of your own idiocy does not cross mind at the moment of requirement. The only important value in these testosterone filled tug of wars is the winner - or rather, who, "owned that (expletive) dawg! (sic)... (expletive)." I'm cautious to believe that my readers fully understand what brilliant examples of dogmatic refusals and Freud-shaming denial this will animate.
With that in mind, I describe the situation from which my writing today dedicates. For the sake of sanity, I shan't discuss the circumstances that led to my circumstances, only the directly attached bit anecdotal evidence required - the rest of the story is far too... ambitious (to put it vaguely).
Taco Bell is essentially a haven for midnight snackage. By consequence, it is the home of utterly baseless bits of exhausted rhetoric and neurons that don't seem to fire quite as fast as they should. Normally, my visits to the 'Bell include just a few friends and the late hour tends to more of a light spattering of drive through visitors than food-permanent residences. We are the latter, and there are plenty of story's thereby. However, tonight was different.
For whatever reason, every hound and his dog was at the 'Bell this night (a full parking lot at a fast food establishment is somewhat unnerving for society amirite?). The aforementioned brain function issues were quite proverbially the edge of a cliff, the lit wick of dynamite, and the precariously perched pewter pedestal in a paper bag of men who I'm sure would be glad to call themselves 'gangsta's' (sic) and hitch at a 'chang' (sic) around their neck.
I sat between 30 and 40 feet from my car, attempting to merely enjoy the humble ecstasy of fire sauce and a soft taco, when my ears were bombarded by... I suppose some call it music. One of the Bell going cliques had his car open and radio blasting. Soon enough, the next car in line was topping the output and the first bowed out. This secondary source of noise was again drowned out by a third. Finally, in a theatrical display of door opening and trunk popping, the loudest car forced itself upon everyone within half a kilometer, more bass than anything.
Finishing my taco and wiping my fingers to the techno 'flair' of an extremely autotuned voice, I stood and cantered over to my car. I signaled to the supposed winner for my turn and spun the keys (as they say). As the excessive bass dwindled, my stereo was ready. I smiled, trash talked and gave it a little bit of suspense.
The play button hovered over N'Sync's Bye Bye Bye. Shouting, "Here comes da (sic) real beats mother (plural expletive)!" my finger pressed.
Those poor, poor 'gangstas.' (sic) It was like their precious ears were being bombarded by something that was loud, annoying, and completely out of place.
I drove off smiling.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
On the Dark Room Effect 2009
Don't you find it strange how the slightest seasoning of anonymity can turn the most outstanding of human beings into a slobbish mass of degenerate imbeciles?
Is it bad technique to answer my own seemingly rhetorical questions? The latter: probably. The former: strangeness and hilarity intertwine.
You see, things the average human being would never do in broad daylight seem somewhat more feasible in the context of darkness. And for the sake of definitions here, by darkness, I mean more of a shadow than a bumbling blind. It is just enough to confuse the linear definitions of a being; one is certainly still aware of surroundings and objections nearby.
I pose that perhaps a bit of prattling pitter-patter is in order - our subject: why?
Anonymity dissolves responsibility. It takes legitimacy and a sense of self and sacrifices it to the pagans. They are not necessary; there is a replacing comfort found in the darkness.
I believe that it can therefore be concluded, that one becomes much more concrete under the inebriating darkness. It seems to revert - to exactly what... it is difficult to define. Perhaps the simplest outline is the inner want. A crowd and obscurity breeds primal expression.
For some reason, darkness also justifies freedoms - the jerkisms, the supposed-taboo, the physical - that are otherwise out of the question.
That being said, I love what it does to people. We lie far too often, and expect far too much. It is brilliant, especially upon confrontation and persistent reminder. And then, when you catch those people in a facade of outstanding moral-fiber - by their own definitions not mine... oh dear.
We should dim the lights more often.
Is it bad technique to answer my own seemingly rhetorical questions? The latter: probably. The former: strangeness and hilarity intertwine.
You see, things the average human being would never do in broad daylight seem somewhat more feasible in the context of darkness. And for the sake of definitions here, by darkness, I mean more of a shadow than a bumbling blind. It is just enough to confuse the linear definitions of a being; one is certainly still aware of surroundings and objections nearby.
I pose that perhaps a bit of prattling pitter-patter is in order - our subject: why?
Anonymity dissolves responsibility. It takes legitimacy and a sense of self and sacrifices it to the pagans. They are not necessary; there is a replacing comfort found in the darkness.
I believe that it can therefore be concluded, that one becomes much more concrete under the inebriating darkness. It seems to revert - to exactly what... it is difficult to define. Perhaps the simplest outline is the inner want. A crowd and obscurity breeds primal expression.
For some reason, darkness also justifies freedoms - the jerkisms, the supposed-taboo, the physical - that are otherwise out of the question.
That being said, I love what it does to people. We lie far too often, and expect far too much. It is brilliant, especially upon confrontation and persistent reminder. And then, when you catch those people in a facade of outstanding moral-fiber - by their own definitions not mine... oh dear.
We should dim the lights more often.
On the Saturday Attrition Tallies
First of all, I would like to posit the following: the SAT is inconceivably annoying.
I am sick and tired of filling in bubbles, as well as pretending to care about the environmental issues of Alaska. Also, English - though regulated via word order instead of inflection - is still flexible. Oh, and let's not forget the feeling of absolute masochistic tendency that follows a realization of, "OH MY GOD! I SKIPPED QUESTION 4!" I tried to calculate the number of test takers per Saturday times number of fully destroyed erasers (by volume)... but my good ol' TI-84 flicked me off for imputing such trash of a statistic.
...
School takes us in when our parents are either too dull to push us farther or perhaps too busy keeping food in our mouths to supply mental advancement. It is a relief to the system - to those parents/guardians who cant. It is also mandated by law, meaning that not accepting this relief equates punishment. It thereby means that a lack of need for this relief is nowhere near an acceptable escape from the system. It is a social pseudo-necessity backed by a governmental system.
School teaches us a rigged set of points - a curriculum of knowledge laid out by people the teachers more often than not have no connection with whatsoever. It is a system built to make all of our children perfectly (or proverbially, your choice) 'well rounded.' It doesn't matter if a kid doesn't wish to learn that section because it seems to have no correlation between their current wants and their eventual goal - the material must be learned.
This stagnant hierarchy of learning makes one more socially normal and certainly fits the criteria for 'well rounded.' Why though? We've known about square pegs in round holes long enough that someone finally tried a round peg in a square hole - turns out it generally fits.
This is not necessarily a critique... fitting is good (and I don't feel like critiquing at this moment). What I do wish to point out is a case of knowledge homogenization. Everyone is offered the same plate and expected to prepare the same dish upon it.
But why?
Does congruity build society?
Has anyone ever been so just like everyone else that they changed the world?
This leads me to the SAT. It doesn't really test the dynamic capability of one's mind. It does show how much we listened in class - how much effort we put into learning exactly what we were told to learn.
What it lacks is fatal.
The SAT shows nothing of what we learned when no one told us to.
...Plus, it destroys pencils and makes my calculator mad at me, which is unforgivable.
I am sick and tired of filling in bubbles, as well as pretending to care about the environmental issues of Alaska. Also, English - though regulated via word order instead of inflection - is still flexible. Oh, and let's not forget the feeling of absolute masochistic tendency that follows a realization of, "OH MY GOD! I SKIPPED QUESTION 4!" I tried to calculate the number of test takers per Saturday times number of fully destroyed erasers (by volume)... but my good ol' TI-84 flicked me off for imputing such trash of a statistic.
...
School takes us in when our parents are either too dull to push us farther or perhaps too busy keeping food in our mouths to supply mental advancement. It is a relief to the system - to those parents/guardians who cant. It is also mandated by law, meaning that not accepting this relief equates punishment. It thereby means that a lack of need for this relief is nowhere near an acceptable escape from the system. It is a social pseudo-necessity backed by a governmental system.
School teaches us a rigged set of points - a curriculum of knowledge laid out by people the teachers more often than not have no connection with whatsoever. It is a system built to make all of our children perfectly (or proverbially, your choice) 'well rounded.' It doesn't matter if a kid doesn't wish to learn that section because it seems to have no correlation between their current wants and their eventual goal - the material must be learned.
This stagnant hierarchy of learning makes one more socially normal and certainly fits the criteria for 'well rounded.' Why though? We've known about square pegs in round holes long enough that someone finally tried a round peg in a square hole - turns out it generally fits.
This is not necessarily a critique... fitting is good (and I don't feel like critiquing at this moment). What I do wish to point out is a case of knowledge homogenization. Everyone is offered the same plate and expected to prepare the same dish upon it.
But why?
Does congruity build society?
Has anyone ever been so just like everyone else that they changed the world?
This leads me to the SAT. It doesn't really test the dynamic capability of one's mind. It does show how much we listened in class - how much effort we put into learning exactly what we were told to learn.
What it lacks is fatal.
The SAT shows nothing of what we learned when no one told us to.
...Plus, it destroys pencils and makes my calculator mad at me, which is unforgivable.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
On Team Rocket and the Mystery Raccoon/Deer Inter-Relationship
The way home tonight was riddled with ridiculous interludes of vicissitudes from the norm that were - and there is little to consider otherwise - downright brilliant. My emotions meandered the full range of a positive quadratic, although just what y value my current x juxtaposed me with was - at the time - vague, and somewhat indecisive.
The trip started when I pulled out of the parking lot at that place; you know, the place where I was... that place with the parking lot that I pulled out of; yeah, that place. My lights painted the road ahead a bleak listless bright, a small circle against the forces of pitch black. Of course, this is all just descriptive literary flourish; what I actually remember is the pounding bass background of the Pokeman theme song and my own shrill voice cheering out lyrics above the speaker's vain attempt to overtake - set to 26.
Needless to say, such a situation was not conducive to "good driving." The pumping beat mixed with an odd derivation of nostalgia and ecstasy somewhat distracts from the exactness of both position and speed. The crescendo of sound that exists ad necessitum prior to any good guitar solo and a wall of frequency seeming to resemble, "GOTTA CATCH 'UM ALL!" equivocated what I'd call a 'head bangin' good time.'
When I recovered from this sound-induced hangover, my car had somehow drifted a bit left of center (I jest of course... It was entirely left of center). This is when the world suddenly stopped making sense. Before I could swerve a quick right to "normal driving position," a deer - whose size I would classify as megahuge - walked out in front of my car. Luckily, while Chrystler is absolutely terrible at logistically good looking cars (and managing assets) they certainly know their break pads. I pulled to a stop about 2 feet before the defiant beast. The song ended, and being that it was the absolute only one by the artist (who honestly, I don't even know the name of), I was left in silence.
That jerk of a deer just kept staring at me... so I stared at him. What a belligerent little gnat! But hold on, the day has just begun. Out came a raccoon and on came a series of steps that is just list-worthy:
1. Raccoon jump on Deer's back.
2. Deer spins around in search of Raccoon interloper.
3. Raccoon is propelled along a projectile path onto car's hood.
4. Deer sees Raccoon and seems guilty.
5. I look at Deer and simply shake my head.
6. Raccoon limps to his feet on my hood.
7. I raise my shoulders as if to gesture, "I don't know."
8. Raccoon nods.
9. I raise my eyebrow as if to gesture, "WTF?"
10. Raccoon jumps off car and runs right.
11. Deer checks both directions before walking off the street in pursuit - irony.
12. I use my left hand to return my bottom jaw to its position next to the upper.
I drove home feeling oddly satisfied.
It happened.
The trip started when I pulled out of the parking lot at that place; you know, the place where I was... that place with the parking lot that I pulled out of; yeah, that place. My lights painted the road ahead a bleak listless bright, a small circle against the forces of pitch black. Of course, this is all just descriptive literary flourish; what I actually remember is the pounding bass background of the Pokeman theme song and my own shrill voice cheering out lyrics above the speaker's vain attempt to overtake - set to 26.
Needless to say, such a situation was not conducive to "good driving." The pumping beat mixed with an odd derivation of nostalgia and ecstasy somewhat distracts from the exactness of both position and speed. The crescendo of sound that exists ad necessitum prior to any good guitar solo and a wall of frequency seeming to resemble, "GOTTA CATCH 'UM ALL!" equivocated what I'd call a 'head bangin' good time.'
When I recovered from this sound-induced hangover, my car had somehow drifted a bit left of center (I jest of course... It was entirely left of center). This is when the world suddenly stopped making sense. Before I could swerve a quick right to "normal driving position," a deer - whose size I would classify as megahuge - walked out in front of my car. Luckily, while Chrystler is absolutely terrible at logistically good looking cars (and managing assets) they certainly know their break pads. I pulled to a stop about 2 feet before the defiant beast. The song ended, and being that it was the absolute only one by the artist (who honestly, I don't even know the name of), I was left in silence.
That jerk of a deer just kept staring at me... so I stared at him. What a belligerent little gnat! But hold on, the day has just begun. Out came a raccoon and on came a series of steps that is just list-worthy:
1. Raccoon jump on Deer's back.
2. Deer spins around in search of Raccoon interloper.
3. Raccoon is propelled along a projectile path onto car's hood.
4. Deer sees Raccoon and seems guilty.
5. I look at Deer and simply shake my head.
6. Raccoon limps to his feet on my hood.
7. I raise my shoulders as if to gesture, "I don't know."
8. Raccoon nods.
9. I raise my eyebrow as if to gesture, "WTF?"
10. Raccoon jumps off car and runs right.
11. Deer checks both directions before walking off the street in pursuit - irony.
12. I use my left hand to return my bottom jaw to its position next to the upper.
I drove home feeling oddly satisfied.
It happened.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
On the Seriousness of Non-Serious Things
First of all:
Do not try to be serious. Seriousness comes from a need to be so. That being said, nothing ever 'needs' to be serious. It just is. Therefore, by several violations of logic - via means of fallacy - nothing is serious.
Following this chopped piece of rhetoric, I would like to comment on my own seriousness - which by my own chopped piece of rhetoric does not exist. Therefore, no comment on my own seriousness exists. In fact, my seriousness had an existential crisis and met Descartes and then stopped being. What it thought, it was, and therefore was not.
All this talk of my confused seriousness is perhaps leaving the wrong message. I bet you think I'm kidding. Well... Boy does this self-imposed segue segue well into the next paragraph (words that are verbs and nouns are - and there is no valid argument against this, so do not try - awesome)
I am not kidding. I am never kidding. I do not kid. In fact, I have never 'kidded' even once in my life. Some say this stems from an educational maw of 'kidding' lessons, and therefore I have been left devoid - yet, in bitter want - of 'kidding' prowess. Others argue that I lack the 'kidding' genes and therefore the 'kidding' proteins to code for the 'kidding' actions.
What I have concluded is that people who speak of my kidding deficiencies are often kidding themselves and need to grow up - and I mean this in a completely non-kidding kind of way.
In summation, some things are not serious - for example: this blog entry.
They just aren't, and making them out to be just saps all the fun out of the very environment that surrounds them.
Please stop trying to make them serious by yelling, screaming, whining, worrying, or whining.
Do not whine.
Serious.
Do not try to be serious. Seriousness comes from a need to be so. That being said, nothing ever 'needs' to be serious. It just is. Therefore, by several violations of logic - via means of fallacy - nothing is serious.
Following this chopped piece of rhetoric, I would like to comment on my own seriousness - which by my own chopped piece of rhetoric does not exist. Therefore, no comment on my own seriousness exists. In fact, my seriousness had an existential crisis and met Descartes and then stopped being. What it thought, it was, and therefore was not.
All this talk of my confused seriousness is perhaps leaving the wrong message. I bet you think I'm kidding. Well... Boy does this self-imposed segue segue well into the next paragraph (words that are verbs and nouns are - and there is no valid argument against this, so do not try - awesome)
I am not kidding. I am never kidding. I do not kid. In fact, I have never 'kidded' even once in my life. Some say this stems from an educational maw of 'kidding' lessons, and therefore I have been left devoid - yet, in bitter want - of 'kidding' prowess. Others argue that I lack the 'kidding' genes and therefore the 'kidding' proteins to code for the 'kidding' actions.
What I have concluded is that people who speak of my kidding deficiencies are often kidding themselves and need to grow up - and I mean this in a completely non-kidding kind of way.
In summation, some things are not serious - for example: this blog entry.
They just aren't, and making them out to be just saps all the fun out of the very environment that surrounds them.
Please stop trying to make them serious by yelling, screaming, whining, worrying, or whining.
Do not whine.
Serious.
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