Current Mood: Tired
Listening To: Nothing
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Sandbox
We exist as children in a sandbox. We toy with the sand, move it about, create castles and moats, tunnels and bridges, space installations and moon bases. But alas, they are all but sand; subject to the dousing of our own malfeasance, returning them to their original state as nondescript and common, integral mounds of the universe. What we call creation is rather transformation. What we see as sudden materialization is rather coagulation. We cannot fabricate but with the limited selection in infinite supply of pieces preexisting in this place. We are children in a sandbox.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Emotion
“Explain how you feel.” And I guarantee you can’t. Emotion is not something to be explained. Of all the abstract concepts explored through science and philosophy, emotion is closest to us, yet furthest from our understanding. We have terms that we have assigned to this emotion or that, but is it really a scale? Is it a limited selection? Or is it a multidimensional continuum? How can feelings be explained as individual entities if emotion itself cannot? Psychology and biology can of course trace emotion to its neurological source in the brain, but as is common in science, this determines the how without the why. Remove the numbers from a clock and you’ll find that time is a dimension far beyond our understanding. We access it because we live immersed in it, but it is too transcendent to describe. Experiencing emotion is as inevitable as experiencing time, and at least equally intangible.
Current Mood: Placid
Listening To: "Remembrance Day" by Mark Knopfler
Current Mood: Placid
Listening To: "Remembrance Day" by Mark Knopfler
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
White Race, Blackface, & Bad Taste
Slavery was pure evil. Hundreds of thousands of Americans had slaughtered each other in the Civil War over the issue, yet the racist views of many white Americans did not drown in the rivers of blood flowing across the fields at Gettysburg and Shiloh. The bigotry against the African Americans instead raged into an inferno of hate, fueled by the still-fresh schism in American ideology. As it became more and more apparent that slavery needed to be abolished, the holdouts needed more and more material to justify their reasoning. The sharp instruments of physical and psychological torture were not dulled by the War, only disguised. The pen can be as deadly as the knife, as became the case with the practice of black minstrelsy. In reality, it portrayed the white perspective more accurately than the black culture. The term “black minstrelsy” does not represent the practice as accurately as perhaps, “white minstrelsy” of the black race. Examining the manufactured perspective and the real perspective separately yields the true difference.
The minstrelsy was presented in an arsenal of different mediums, and conveyed its overt and subliminal messages through song, art, literature, and live acting, among others. These could each be thoroughly analyzed, but a playbill is an ideal example since it pulls from several of these channels. One such playbill is that of “Christy’s Minstrels,” for a show in October of 1848 ("Blackface Minstrelsy 1830-1852"). At first glance, one may notice the obvious: the white male performers are displayed in formal dress, with prim posture and sophisticated style. The blackface characters are either dressed less lavishly or positioned in demeaning or ridiculous poses with exaggerated facial expressions. A number of prejudiced terms are used (most or all of which were coined by white people,) including “old zip coon,” “jolly darkies,” “Dinah Crow,” and so on. There are also concealed details that further advance the white viewpoint. For example, on this and other playbills, the white performers are always listed first, before any of the racist content. Terms and phrases such as “description,” “phrenology,” “peculiar characteristics,” “specimens,” and others hint at a certain scientific correctness of the performances.
This particular specimen was produced before the Civil War. However, that event was only the pinnacle of the conflict. The prevalence of this and other forms of minstrelsy were not far from equal immediately before and shortly after the War (Glomska, and Begnoche). During this period in American history, education was becoming more widespread in the black community. With or without slavery, African-Americans were finally beginning to break free from the chokehold of ignorance spoken of by one Dr. Cartwright in DeBow’s Review and other similar articles (Cartwright). This was terrifying to the Southern whites in particular, and they needed to produce a means of strengthening the walls of ignorance they had constructed that were slowly breaking down. Rather than enforcing the faults of the black culture, it revealed the faults in their own.
It is vital to now review the opposite viewpoint, which is that of the African-American. We can today refute the claims of the black minstrel culture, but no research is more powerful than the emotion felt by the direct targets of the practice. One such victim was the familiar and reputable Frederick Douglass, who thoroughly analyzed the topic in The North Star (Douglass). Douglass respectfully reviewed the talent of the performers with quite an objective position before mentioning the malevolence of the gig. He expressed hope that although the performances were malicious by design, it was perhaps a step forward for white folks to even tolerate the appearance of a black character on stage. However, he continued to describe it as something that could only “shock the taste of the one (race,) and provoke the disgust of the other.” Thus, to the whites it was intriguing only due to its mask of exaggeration, while to the African-Americans it was so blatantly false that they turned from it altogether. In fact, they were so disgusted by it that it played essentially no part in their own culture, except in the backlash produced by Douglass and others. But even in the midst of it, they articulated their hope for change.
Practices borne from hatred can never be cleansed of the loathsome amniotic fluid in which it developed—they retain if not just a little of their original meaning. It is because of this that black minstrelsy cannot ever be a gag or a joke, due to its connotations with slavery in the post-Revolutionary, pre-Civil Rights South. After the United States finally dragged itself over the peaks of the mountains of racial inequality in the 1960s, it became widely accepted that blackface and black minstrelsy was wrong on a number of levels. We have reached the point where even mild applications or jesting recreations, such as the recent incidences in “Next Top Model” and Australian TV show “Hey Hey It’s Saturday,” draw explosive condemnation from the general public ("Australian TV Show Apologizes For Blackface Skit"). Perhaps it is not only the attempt to repress malevolent stereotyping, but also the unconscious determination to scrub clean the image of “whiteness” culminated by hundreds of years of racism. It is a selfish motivation, albeit an effective one, and it reveals the important role that black minstrelsy played in white culture, if not more so than in black. Minstrelsy was a jar in the rain for the white society—it encapsulated very little of the African-American culture, only a few droplets of the truth. To those few drops they added chemicals and dyes until they had nothing but a jar of delusion to fixate upon. That, to them, was African-American culture. Ironically it was nothing but a part of their own.
Current Mood: N/A
Listening To: N/A
The minstrelsy was presented in an arsenal of different mediums, and conveyed its overt and subliminal messages through song, art, literature, and live acting, among others. These could each be thoroughly analyzed, but a playbill is an ideal example since it pulls from several of these channels. One such playbill is that of “Christy’s Minstrels,” for a show in October of 1848 ("Blackface Minstrelsy 1830-1852"). At first glance, one may notice the obvious: the white male performers are displayed in formal dress, with prim posture and sophisticated style. The blackface characters are either dressed less lavishly or positioned in demeaning or ridiculous poses with exaggerated facial expressions. A number of prejudiced terms are used (most or all of which were coined by white people,) including “old zip coon,” “jolly darkies,” “Dinah Crow,” and so on. There are also concealed details that further advance the white viewpoint. For example, on this and other playbills, the white performers are always listed first, before any of the racist content. Terms and phrases such as “description,” “phrenology,” “peculiar characteristics,” “specimens,” and others hint at a certain scientific correctness of the performances.
This particular specimen was produced before the Civil War. However, that event was only the pinnacle of the conflict. The prevalence of this and other forms of minstrelsy were not far from equal immediately before and shortly after the War (Glomska, and Begnoche). During this period in American history, education was becoming more widespread in the black community. With or without slavery, African-Americans were finally beginning to break free from the chokehold of ignorance spoken of by one Dr. Cartwright in DeBow’s Review and other similar articles (Cartwright). This was terrifying to the Southern whites in particular, and they needed to produce a means of strengthening the walls of ignorance they had constructed that were slowly breaking down. Rather than enforcing the faults of the black culture, it revealed the faults in their own.
It is vital to now review the opposite viewpoint, which is that of the African-American. We can today refute the claims of the black minstrel culture, but no research is more powerful than the emotion felt by the direct targets of the practice. One such victim was the familiar and reputable Frederick Douglass, who thoroughly analyzed the topic in The North Star (Douglass). Douglass respectfully reviewed the talent of the performers with quite an objective position before mentioning the malevolence of the gig. He expressed hope that although the performances were malicious by design, it was perhaps a step forward for white folks to even tolerate the appearance of a black character on stage. However, he continued to describe it as something that could only “shock the taste of the one (race,) and provoke the disgust of the other.” Thus, to the whites it was intriguing only due to its mask of exaggeration, while to the African-Americans it was so blatantly false that they turned from it altogether. In fact, they were so disgusted by it that it played essentially no part in their own culture, except in the backlash produced by Douglass and others. But even in the midst of it, they articulated their hope for change.
Practices borne from hatred can never be cleansed of the loathsome amniotic fluid in which it developed—they retain if not just a little of their original meaning. It is because of this that black minstrelsy cannot ever be a gag or a joke, due to its connotations with slavery in the post-Revolutionary, pre-Civil Rights South. After the United States finally dragged itself over the peaks of the mountains of racial inequality in the 1960s, it became widely accepted that blackface and black minstrelsy was wrong on a number of levels. We have reached the point where even mild applications or jesting recreations, such as the recent incidences in “Next Top Model” and Australian TV show “Hey Hey It’s Saturday,” draw explosive condemnation from the general public ("Australian TV Show Apologizes For Blackface Skit"). Perhaps it is not only the attempt to repress malevolent stereotyping, but also the unconscious determination to scrub clean the image of “whiteness” culminated by hundreds of years of racism. It is a selfish motivation, albeit an effective one, and it reveals the important role that black minstrelsy played in white culture, if not more so than in black. Minstrelsy was a jar in the rain for the white society—it encapsulated very little of the African-American culture, only a few droplets of the truth. To those few drops they added chemicals and dyes until they had nothing but a jar of delusion to fixate upon. That, to them, was African-American culture. Ironically it was nothing but a part of their own.
Current Mood: N/A
Listening To: N/A
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Engineering
The structure of science and mathematics has no beauty without the facades of engineering. The cold steel facts of natural law are indissoluble but unsightly; the humanity of creative application turns gravity into grandeur, astronomy into amazement, metaphysics into magnificence. It does not hide its ugliness, but derives its beauty.
Current Mood: Irritated
Listening To: "Brothers In Arms" by Dire Straits
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Government Is Relative
It has been said by many that they are grateful for what their country has given them. Their country has given them nothing. Government provides no more than order. Frivolous things are not given: money, notoriety, hope. They are earned, achieved, through our own industry and belief. Government may provide an empty box in which to place these things, but no more.
Good governments do not give. They take less than oppressive ones. Relativity strikes again.
Current Mood: Headachy
Listening To: "The Dangling Conversation" by Simon & Garfunkel
Good governments do not give. They take less than oppressive ones. Relativity strikes again.
Current Mood: Headachy
Listening To: "The Dangling Conversation" by Simon & Garfunkel
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Religion: A Necessary Evil
Ideas can arise from the most unexpected places and the most peculiar times. As I sit under the warmth of my halogen desk lamp, reading endlessly to study for an AMS midterm, I was hit by the revelation whose description will follow. This quote from "Democracy in America" by Alexis de Toqueville is the ignition of this sudden explosion of thought:
“The chief object and one of the principal advantages of religion is to provide answers to each of these primordial questions; these answers must be clear, precise, intelligible to the crowd, and very durable.”
Ironically, it immediately follows a dismissal of philosophy as being "contradictory...without ever firmly grasping the truth or even finding mistakes that are new." I conversely have found his argument to be rather stimulating philosophically, and will now elaborate.
Now, as I and masses of others before me have established, religions are largely, as de Tocqueville states, "...very false and very ridiculous." We see them as placebos for nonexistent drugs. They explain everything, which we know to be impossible. As I have continually attacked the institution of religion, however, I have been selfish. I did not commit to bizarre, contradictory, nonsensical voodoo for my own means. I thought they should be abolished. But what if, perhaps, society needed such things to survive?
Continue. The French Statesman refers to the decidedly undecided as "penetrating, subtle, and trained to think," and "far above the average capacities of men." He acknowledges their higher capability of thought, their ability to exceed the limits of understanding, or want of understanding, that has been imposed on humanity. He then accuses them of spending too much time with these abilities. He suggests that "Only minds singularly free from the ordinary preoccupations of life," can explore these deep thoughts, and "even if most men were capable to such inquiries, they clearly would not have time for them." I do beg to differ to these points--I seem to have found time to analyze his analysis in the midst of studying for an exam as I strive to get a degree in an entirely unrelated subject. Any rational man can question, albeit not to this level.
In order to buffer this concussion of arrogance, I will remind the religious that we who analyze from this perspective are not atheist, nor do we lean so far as Thomas Paine. No; we may not be categorized as biased because our ideas are derived not from anti-belief, but rather lack of belief entirely. Belief is inevitably inclined to a position or another--an metaphorical switch, as opposed to the neutrality of agnosticism. I can contest to the agnostic experience as being a pleasantly cool and fresh water stuffed between the sharp acidity of religions and baseness of atheism, both of which burn with equal strength.
But onward. The fact of the matter is, religion is a product of the common man (by which I mean the incalculable majority of mankind.) The common man must have morals, he must have structure to live by. This structure is not the truth. Truth is an invisible wall, an analogy described in detail elsewhere in my writing. But this is not that structure--this is social structure. Man must have social structure. Anarchy will fail in the world of man. Because he must have structure, there must be some material to build the structure from; be it straw or sticks, mud or bricks, religion. Religion defines society. It instates morals, and patterns, and commonality, and truths. False truths, really, and false morals, since even the most amateur of philosophers knows that morals are simply ghosts floating in bottomless pits. But religion inevitably contributes to the creation and sustenance of society. As de Tocqueville pointed out, church and state were formally separated by the Constitution, but the indirect influence is absolutely inevitable.
My revelation is this: religion is necessary. It is necessary for that majority of mankind to exist. Without it, society would collapse and men would fall to "anarchy and impotence." Says de Tocqueville, "One must recognize, whether or not (religions) save men's souls in the next world, that they greatly contribute to their happiness and dignity in this." They must have something to lead them. They are terrified of "limitless independence."
What is good for a man is not necessarily good for society as a whole. There are the few that strive to understand more, who salivate for knowledge and enjoy pondering "contradictory ideas on which the mind of man has been ceaselessly tossed for thousands of years..." They may not find it, but they are closer to the truth. However, the majority of man does not yearn for such a truth; he yearns for comfort in this world and security of the next. This is the basis of social structure. It maintains order, and, in rare instances, establishes peace. The philosophers are the tormented yet privileged few.
This is the sole instance in any analysis I have yet produced for which I cannot conjure an analogical situation. It must simply be understood, and perhaps may only be understood by one who can propose it. This is the eternal dilemma of the philosopher.
Current Mood: Exhausted
Listening To: Red Noise
“The chief object and one of the principal advantages of religion is to provide answers to each of these primordial questions; these answers must be clear, precise, intelligible to the crowd, and very durable.”
Ironically, it immediately follows a dismissal of philosophy as being "contradictory...without ever firmly grasping the truth or even finding mistakes that are new." I conversely have found his argument to be rather stimulating philosophically, and will now elaborate.
Now, as I and masses of others before me have established, religions are largely, as de Tocqueville states, "...very false and very ridiculous." We see them as placebos for nonexistent drugs. They explain everything, which we know to be impossible. As I have continually attacked the institution of religion, however, I have been selfish. I did not commit to bizarre, contradictory, nonsensical voodoo for my own means. I thought they should be abolished. But what if, perhaps, society needed such things to survive?
Continue. The French Statesman refers to the decidedly undecided as "penetrating, subtle, and trained to think," and "far above the average capacities of men." He acknowledges their higher capability of thought, their ability to exceed the limits of understanding, or want of understanding, that has been imposed on humanity. He then accuses them of spending too much time with these abilities. He suggests that "Only minds singularly free from the ordinary preoccupations of life," can explore these deep thoughts, and "even if most men were capable to such inquiries, they clearly would not have time for them." I do beg to differ to these points--I seem to have found time to analyze his analysis in the midst of studying for an exam as I strive to get a degree in an entirely unrelated subject. Any rational man can question, albeit not to this level.
In order to buffer this concussion of arrogance, I will remind the religious that we who analyze from this perspective are not atheist, nor do we lean so far as Thomas Paine. No; we may not be categorized as biased because our ideas are derived not from anti-belief, but rather lack of belief entirely. Belief is inevitably inclined to a position or another--an metaphorical switch, as opposed to the neutrality of agnosticism. I can contest to the agnostic experience as being a pleasantly cool and fresh water stuffed between the sharp acidity of religions and baseness of atheism, both of which burn with equal strength.
But onward. The fact of the matter is, religion is a product of the common man (by which I mean the incalculable majority of mankind.) The common man must have morals, he must have structure to live by. This structure is not the truth. Truth is an invisible wall, an analogy described in detail elsewhere in my writing. But this is not that structure--this is social structure. Man must have social structure. Anarchy will fail in the world of man. Because he must have structure, there must be some material to build the structure from; be it straw or sticks, mud or bricks, religion. Religion defines society. It instates morals, and patterns, and commonality, and truths. False truths, really, and false morals, since even the most amateur of philosophers knows that morals are simply ghosts floating in bottomless pits. But religion inevitably contributes to the creation and sustenance of society. As de Tocqueville pointed out, church and state were formally separated by the Constitution, but the indirect influence is absolutely inevitable.
My revelation is this: religion is necessary. It is necessary for that majority of mankind to exist. Without it, society would collapse and men would fall to "anarchy and impotence." Says de Tocqueville, "One must recognize, whether or not (religions) save men's souls in the next world, that they greatly contribute to their happiness and dignity in this." They must have something to lead them. They are terrified of "limitless independence."
What is good for a man is not necessarily good for society as a whole. There are the few that strive to understand more, who salivate for knowledge and enjoy pondering "contradictory ideas on which the mind of man has been ceaselessly tossed for thousands of years..." They may not find it, but they are closer to the truth. However, the majority of man does not yearn for such a truth; he yearns for comfort in this world and security of the next. This is the basis of social structure. It maintains order, and, in rare instances, establishes peace. The philosophers are the tormented yet privileged few.
This is the sole instance in any analysis I have yet produced for which I cannot conjure an analogical situation. It must simply be understood, and perhaps may only be understood by one who can propose it. This is the eternal dilemma of the philosopher.
Current Mood: Exhausted
Listening To: Red Noise
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Batter Up
Death is like leaving the ballgame early. You are certain to miss something, miss a good play, miss the roaring crowd, miss the end score. Only in the ballgame of life, there is no end score. The plays continue, the unexpected happens, the weather changes, players are injured and others enter the field. We all leave the ballgame early. We only stay for a few innings, and are then called from the bleachers by the inevitably terminal nature of life.
We want the home team to win--we strive to beat our opponents, to see it all play out, gripping our seats and anxiously awaiting as the clock ticks away. When we go to a ballgame, do we not feel relieved when the game ends and the home team has prevailed? Do we not slowly forget the emotion of that game as we go about our lives, until the next ballgame? That is why the clock continues to tick. That is why man was designed without the ability to win the game, without the ability beat life; he may never lose interest in it.
We want the home team to win--we strive to beat our opponents, to see it all play out, gripping our seats and anxiously awaiting as the clock ticks away. When we go to a ballgame, do we not feel relieved when the game ends and the home team has prevailed? Do we not slowly forget the emotion of that game as we go about our lives, until the next ballgame? That is why the clock continues to tick. That is why man was designed without the ability to win the game, without the ability beat life; he may never lose interest in it.
Current Mood: Tired
Listening To: "Leave" by R.E.M.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Rainforest
Suppose, for the sake of argument, that gorillas were capable of advanced abstract thought. If that were to be so, a gorrilla living in the rainforest unintroduced to humans must think himself the smartest of all the animals. He believes god has gifted him with the highest rank in the natural hierarchy. He would arrogantly proclaim that god must therefore be in his form, representative of the brightest, most powerful creature of all.
This notion is ridiculous to humans, for they know they are smarter. Why then is it not possible that we are living in our own rainforest? Could there not be a more intellligent being somewhere in this vast universe that looks upon humans, amused by our foolishness? They then might proclaim god to be similar to themselves, and so on.
This chain of senseless imbecility continues until it is broken by a life form that uniformly understands the fallacy of proclaiming the form of god, or even proclaiming god at all. Could it not be that god has no form, or one unimaginable? Could it be that there is no god? These are hypotheses concocted only by the strong mind. The weak submit blindly to yet unproven theories, while the philosopher continues to create and modify such theories, considering all but never accepting any.
This notion is ridiculous to humans, for they know they are smarter. Why then is it not possible that we are living in our own rainforest? Could there not be a more intellligent being somewhere in this vast universe that looks upon humans, amused by our foolishness? They then might proclaim god to be similar to themselves, and so on.
This chain of senseless imbecility continues until it is broken by a life form that uniformly understands the fallacy of proclaiming the form of god, or even proclaiming god at all. Could it not be that god has no form, or one unimaginable? Could it be that there is no god? These are hypotheses concocted only by the strong mind. The weak submit blindly to yet unproven theories, while the philosopher continues to create and modify such theories, considering all but never accepting any.
Current Mood: Relaxed
Listening To: "Destination Unknown" by Marietta
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Drugs & Philosophy
Some people believe that drugs can give them a spiritual experience. They think that a blend of chemicals can take them on a journey to a faraway place where they can discover what they are searching for.
I call bullshit.
The intelligent person always waits for an explanation, which is why only the intelligent will keep reading after I divulge the fact that I am vehemently against the use of drugs for recreational and spiritual purposes, period. As applied to current events, the only people who benefit from this despicable habit are the drug lords worldwide who kill both with their own machetes and diamond-studded glocks and indirectly through uncontrolled, massive overdoses of benzoylmethylecgonine and the like. I personally don't care if people overdose, I really don't; it is more the innocent victims in other countries that I do not see deserving of its effects.
Personally I would prefer that some of the minor substances be legalized and heavily monitored and taxed. This would disassemble a primary source of unnecessary death in all corners of the Earth, allow idiot potheads to kill themselves off in the same sense as those who worship big tobacco, while allowing the occasional blunt-sucker to escape the guilt of killing Columbian school children. But I digress, this is a political shitstorm not fit for this conversation.
Now, if you aren't an idiot pothead totally offended by the carpet-bombing of reasons that I call you an idiot pothead, I shall now explain.
There is always talk about "meaning," and "finding the meaning of life" and the "meaning of the universe" and "the meaning of Swiss cheese." It is nothing but blabber. Rather than attempting to find meaning, it is better to try and make it. Has it never occurred to anyone that they are worthless? We are, in the scale of things, absolutely worthless. However, on a fluffier note, we do have meaning in relation to each other. It is for this reason that we see Galileo and da Vinci, Voltaire and Gandhi as great men, and crackhead Jimmy as useless. In relation to the world, in relation to the rest of humanity, we have gauged the worth of their actions and their lives. They used the time they were given (by god or whomever) as a chance to create a persona that they could take pride in, and that others could value. Those who spend all of their time searching for meaning are wasting their time, and will fall into the category of people deemed worthless by society (a moderate number, although not the majority.) The language here is important: "all of their time..." It is human to look to the sky and ask open-ended questions, so long as we turn towards each other and make ourselves useful from time to time. The "useless" refers to those who lie for days on end on their backs in the grass of Central Park in a thick haze of pot smoke, staring at where the stars should be and call themselves "philosophers."
This is where the drugs kick in, so to speak. Aside from the violence of the drug trade, and, oh, other effects like the destruction of families, increase in crime, the tax money put aside for recovering addicts and other things I despise, I loathe drugs because of their pointlessness. "But marijuana lets me see the light," and "ecstasy amplifies life," and other blithering statements. In the same manner that Tylenol eases headaches and Bayer can stop a heart attack, drugs in general affect the non-thinking body and occasionally the limbic system, not the frontal cortex and rational mind. Therefore, everything you experience due to the effects of drugs is...due to the effects of drugs. Should you have somehow leapfrogged the "searching for meaning" argument and suggest that drugs assist spirituality, allow me to retort. Cannabis does not have the truth, it has Tetrahydrocannabinol. Acid does not have the secrets of the gods, but it does have lysergic acid diethylamide. So you see, if you think you're philosophical adventures are the result of your god-given ability to rationally think, you're wasting your time. And mine.
I call bullshit.
The intelligent person always waits for an explanation, which is why only the intelligent will keep reading after I divulge the fact that I am vehemently against the use of drugs for recreational and spiritual purposes, period. As applied to current events, the only people who benefit from this despicable habit are the drug lords worldwide who kill both with their own machetes and diamond-studded glocks and indirectly through uncontrolled, massive overdoses of benzoylmethylecgonine and the like. I personally don't care if people overdose, I really don't; it is more the innocent victims in other countries that I do not see deserving of its effects.
Personally I would prefer that some of the minor substances be legalized and heavily monitored and taxed. This would disassemble a primary source of unnecessary death in all corners of the Earth, allow idiot potheads to kill themselves off in the same sense as those who worship big tobacco, while allowing the occasional blunt-sucker to escape the guilt of killing Columbian school children. But I digress, this is a political shitstorm not fit for this conversation.
Now, if you aren't an idiot pothead totally offended by the carpet-bombing of reasons that I call you an idiot pothead, I shall now explain.
There is always talk about "meaning," and "finding the meaning of life" and the "meaning of the universe" and "the meaning of Swiss cheese." It is nothing but blabber. Rather than attempting to find meaning, it is better to try and make it. Has it never occurred to anyone that they are worthless? We are, in the scale of things, absolutely worthless. However, on a fluffier note, we do have meaning in relation to each other. It is for this reason that we see Galileo and da Vinci, Voltaire and Gandhi as great men, and crackhead Jimmy as useless. In relation to the world, in relation to the rest of humanity, we have gauged the worth of their actions and their lives. They used the time they were given (by god or whomever) as a chance to create a persona that they could take pride in, and that others could value. Those who spend all of their time searching for meaning are wasting their time, and will fall into the category of people deemed worthless by society (a moderate number, although not the majority.) The language here is important: "all of their time..." It is human to look to the sky and ask open-ended questions, so long as we turn towards each other and make ourselves useful from time to time. The "useless" refers to those who lie for days on end on their backs in the grass of Central Park in a thick haze of pot smoke, staring at where the stars should be and call themselves "philosophers."
This is where the drugs kick in, so to speak. Aside from the violence of the drug trade, and, oh, other effects like the destruction of families, increase in crime, the tax money put aside for recovering addicts and other things I despise, I loathe drugs because of their pointlessness. "But marijuana lets me see the light," and "ecstasy amplifies life," and other blithering statements. In the same manner that Tylenol eases headaches and Bayer can stop a heart attack, drugs in general affect the non-thinking body and occasionally the limbic system, not the frontal cortex and rational mind. Therefore, everything you experience due to the effects of drugs is...due to the effects of drugs. Should you have somehow leapfrogged the "searching for meaning" argument and suggest that drugs assist spirituality, allow me to retort. Cannabis does not have the truth, it has Tetrahydrocannabinol. Acid does not have the secrets of the gods, but it does have lysergic acid diethylamide. So you see, if you think you're philosophical adventures are the result of your god-given ability to rationally think, you're wasting your time. And mine.
Current Mood: Aggravated
Listening To: "Mehr" by Rammstein
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Hierarchy of God
If I were to believe in a higher power (which I will never commit to,) I would say that at the very top of the chain there must be one god. It is possible that a god controls this universe, and that there are others out there controlled by other gods. Nothing is outside the realm of possibility here, because it's absolutely nothing more than pissing in the wind.
However, at the very top, I say there would be one god, because in a true hierarchy, there is a king. Many would refer to the analogy of a pyramid, but that's not only a poor allegory, it's entirely backwards. The base of a pyramid supports the levels ascending above it. I prefer the example of a mobile, a massive and intricate mobile where everything leads to the one thread that holds the entire fixture up. That string is representative of "the almighty."
"But..." an intelligent mind might question, "...from what is this apparatus suspended? Where is it...some gravitational force must hold it down to prevent the hierarchy from floating and tangling. What...who...where...?" "Ah," says I, "this is the leap from the cliffs of knowledge, where the solid Earthen truth is packed comfortably beneath your feet." You now fall into the contorted helplessness of the unknown. Reason can test the theories of a higher power and such, but it eventually trails off into the darkness. It is therefore useless to even begin. Amusing, certainly, but useless.
However, at the very top, I say there would be one god, because in a true hierarchy, there is a king. Many would refer to the analogy of a pyramid, but that's not only a poor allegory, it's entirely backwards. The base of a pyramid supports the levels ascending above it. I prefer the example of a mobile, a massive and intricate mobile where everything leads to the one thread that holds the entire fixture up. That string is representative of "the almighty."
"But..." an intelligent mind might question, "...from what is this apparatus suspended? Where is it...some gravitational force must hold it down to prevent the hierarchy from floating and tangling. What...who...where...?" "Ah," says I, "this is the leap from the cliffs of knowledge, where the solid Earthen truth is packed comfortably beneath your feet." You now fall into the contorted helplessness of the unknown. Reason can test the theories of a higher power and such, but it eventually trails off into the darkness. It is therefore useless to even begin. Amusing, certainly, but useless.
Current Mood: Confused
Listening To: "Roter Sand" by Rammstein
Monday, October 19, 2009
Balance
Most people go about their lives with no consideration for the why while fixated on the what. Then there are those who deviate from the what completely and spend their time questioning nothing but the why. I believe both cases are an imbalance; life should not be lived in ignorance of meaning nor should it be analyzed down to the point of exhaustion. I prefer to determine the what and then venture into the realm of the why. I prefer to know first and then question the knowledge or the origin of the knowledge, rather than to simply know or to aggressively conjure baseless philosophy. Man was endowed with reason for this purpose; it must utilize the defined variables in order to ponder the unknown. With no foundation, it collapses into the vastness of the universe, incapable not only of determining impossible answers but also to questions more simply determined with scientific discovery and empirical process. The issue must be known before it is debated.
Current Mood: Thoughtful
Listening To: N/A
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Perspective
I am terrified of my own perspective. It is twisted with the prejudice of human nature, a vile and blinded beast. The truth is a lone black hole amongst a constellation of ideological inconsistencies. Those who seek it are drawn towards it, yet it cannot be seen. It is largely unprocurable by human thought, which is unworthy of the full scope of its magnitude. A man can only try to eliminate the false apparitions of what other men follow as truth, for he knows that it is invisible. Whittling away pieces of the massive log of collective human beliefs, his sharpened blade of logic closes in on the figure of truth. And then, with a final slice, he realizes that there is nothing left but chips upon the floor, for truth is amorphous. Seeing this, he must accept that all people are too poisoned with subjectivity to catch the full form of the ghost that is truth. He goes about his life in the manner that he pleases, but is never so arrogant as to enforce upon others what he interprets the truth to be, for he knows that no man can fully comprehend it. He returns to such questions occasionally for entertainment of the mind, but understands that he must be content with conclusions that are ever undefined.
Current Mood: Quixotic
Listening To: N/A
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Everything Happens for a Reason
No.
Nothing happens for a reason. “Everything happens for a reason” is like a bad cold. It floats mindlessly around the Internet, constantly re-used by people who haven’t the first inkling of what philosophy is. It’s like an old tie that’s been to the thrift store 8 different times. It’s a cute little citation, but it’s wrong. Nothing happens for a reason. There isn’t a reason that things happen, they just happen and people find reasons to apply to the situation. People seek patterns— they seek understanding. When they can’t find what they’re looking for they make it up, hence religion. Sometimes they make up the reasons and then force things to happen for those reasons. That’s cheating. It’s a controlled experiment, an event that is predetermined by human hands. That is not where this platitude applies. It applies to the things beyond our control. As far as that goes, there is no reason for anything, at least that science can determine. It is possible that something lurks in the dark that makes the reasons. But what are the reasons for its reasons? It’s an argument that is confusing, open-ended, and impractical. Perhaps so for a reason.
Nothing happens for a reason. “Everything happens for a reason” is like a bad cold. It floats mindlessly around the Internet, constantly re-used by people who haven’t the first inkling of what philosophy is. It’s like an old tie that’s been to the thrift store 8 different times. It’s a cute little citation, but it’s wrong. Nothing happens for a reason. There isn’t a reason that things happen, they just happen and people find reasons to apply to the situation. People seek patterns— they seek understanding. When they can’t find what they’re looking for they make it up, hence religion. Sometimes they make up the reasons and then force things to happen for those reasons. That’s cheating. It’s a controlled experiment, an event that is predetermined by human hands. That is not where this platitude applies. It applies to the things beyond our control. As far as that goes, there is no reason for anything, at least that science can determine. It is possible that something lurks in the dark that makes the reasons. But what are the reasons for its reasons? It’s an argument that is confusing, open-ended, and impractical. Perhaps so for a reason.
Current Mood: Restless
Listening To: N/A
Monday, July 20, 2009
Apollo 11
04 13 24 48 CDR (TRANQ) – THAT’S ONE SMALL STEP FOR MAN, ONE GIANT LEAP FOR MANKIND.
So reads the line from the Apollo 11 Air-to-Ground voice transcript. It was a simple line, one concocted only shortly before it was thrust into history. A short thought, an idea passing through the stream of consciousness of a humble man from Ohio, who found himself separated from eternal fame by a single rung on a ladder.
Like the first flight at Kitty Hawk, it was something so sudden. It was the advancement of the human race in a breath. The holding of a breath. That boot was there, hovering just inches above the dust, dust untouched by anything but the elements of space. Untouched, it sat peacefully for billions of years, long before all known forms of life had begun to evolve from nothing. Until that one small step, until ten parallel imprints from the left boot of Neil Armstrong changed everything. From the ancient peoples to Galileo to the engineers of the 20th century, the moon beckoned, and humanity, slowly gathering understanding of the natural world, finally answered. Years of calculation, decades of engineering, millennia of science and explorative wonder funneled to that fraction of a second. So short and simple, so quiet in the emptiness of space…yet so undeniably significant, so immeasurably powerful. And there it was, that foot, on the surface of the moon.
Today, forty years since the first boot dropped from that rung and lightly pressed into that fine, white powder, the moon is still there. Forty years later, those imprints are still etched into its surface, and the image of their creation is etched into the memory of its witnesses. Wars have been fought since then, millions have died and millions more born. The continuing turmoil of the human race has dragged along. From POWs in Vietnam to vacationers in Hawaii; from New York City to Ainsworth, Nebraska, every person has at some point gazed up at the moon. For some, it provides a moment of escape; some find solace, wonder, or peace…or, quite literally, a guiding light.
To me it is like a personal friend. The moon and I have our similarities. At 00°41′15″N, 23°26′00″E precisely on its surface lies a plaque. On that plaque is a signature, one of four; it is that of the first human being to set foot on the moon. That same signature is penned on a nondescript piece of scrap paper on a shelf in my room. There, next to the autograph of John Glenn and a photo of my grandfather with both, it sits in a simple wooden frame. To others it is worth money, but to me it is much more valuable than that. It silently reminds me of what is possible. It reminds me of all that has been accomplished, and of the possibility of what can be. There is no final frontier; nothing is final in this universe, and there will always be more to explore.
Most nights the moon passes over unnoticed, while its faint light washes over the frame on the shelf in my room. But some nights, like tonight, forty years since that signature was planted in the Sea of Tranquility, I notice its presence. I can look up at that moon, as a boy from Wapakoneta did two generations ago, somehow knowing that as long as the adventurous spirit is alive, the possibility for another giant leap will never disappear. And maybe, just maybe, I will be the one to take the small step.
So reads the line from the Apollo 11 Air-to-Ground voice transcript. It was a simple line, one concocted only shortly before it was thrust into history. A short thought, an idea passing through the stream of consciousness of a humble man from Ohio, who found himself separated from eternal fame by a single rung on a ladder.
Like the first flight at Kitty Hawk, it was something so sudden. It was the advancement of the human race in a breath. The holding of a breath. That boot was there, hovering just inches above the dust, dust untouched by anything but the elements of space. Untouched, it sat peacefully for billions of years, long before all known forms of life had begun to evolve from nothing. Until that one small step, until ten parallel imprints from the left boot of Neil Armstrong changed everything. From the ancient peoples to Galileo to the engineers of the 20th century, the moon beckoned, and humanity, slowly gathering understanding of the natural world, finally answered. Years of calculation, decades of engineering, millennia of science and explorative wonder funneled to that fraction of a second. So short and simple, so quiet in the emptiness of space…yet so undeniably significant, so immeasurably powerful. And there it was, that foot, on the surface of the moon.
Today, forty years since the first boot dropped from that rung and lightly pressed into that fine, white powder, the moon is still there. Forty years later, those imprints are still etched into its surface, and the image of their creation is etched into the memory of its witnesses. Wars have been fought since then, millions have died and millions more born. The continuing turmoil of the human race has dragged along. From POWs in Vietnam to vacationers in Hawaii; from New York City to Ainsworth, Nebraska, every person has at some point gazed up at the moon. For some, it provides a moment of escape; some find solace, wonder, or peace…or, quite literally, a guiding light.
To me it is like a personal friend. The moon and I have our similarities. At 00°41′15″N, 23°26′00″E precisely on its surface lies a plaque. On that plaque is a signature, one of four; it is that of the first human being to set foot on the moon. That same signature is penned on a nondescript piece of scrap paper on a shelf in my room. There, next to the autograph of John Glenn and a photo of my grandfather with both, it sits in a simple wooden frame. To others it is worth money, but to me it is much more valuable than that. It silently reminds me of what is possible. It reminds me of all that has been accomplished, and of the possibility of what can be. There is no final frontier; nothing is final in this universe, and there will always be more to explore.
Most nights the moon passes over unnoticed, while its faint light washes over the frame on the shelf in my room. But some nights, like tonight, forty years since that signature was planted in the Sea of Tranquility, I notice its presence. I can look up at that moon, as a boy from Wapakoneta did two generations ago, somehow knowing that as long as the adventurous spirit is alive, the possibility for another giant leap will never disappear. And maybe, just maybe, I will be the one to take the small step.
Current Mood: Tranquil
Listening To: "Apollo 13" by James Horner
Monday, June 1, 2009
People And Places
People and places are the same to me. They are individual, and they possess both a physical being and a spiritual essence. I enjoy visiting places, and maybe staying for awhile. I also enjoy meeting people, and maybe sitting down to talk for a time. People and places have fascinating stories. They exist exist in parallel, undiscovered until your paths cross. I like to hear their stories, and learn from them.
But I have a particular ability that mars the glassy surface of these stories. I can see under that surface to the dark, cold area below. I have a tendency to analyze things, from physical, psychological, and philosophical standpoints. When you look too hard, you find things you don't want to see. I see personality flaws. I see things that retract from the attractiveness of a setting. I guess over-analysis is less of an ability and more of a flaw itself. When prescribed an antibiotic, taking an overdose can kill. Too much of a good thing is never a good thing.
The problem with this constant over-analysis is that everything has flaws to be uncovered. The Grand Canyon has beauty in the highest caliber, but it is desolate and alone. Pleasanton is a home, a place with memories and a place to rest, but the people are conceited and cold. Even the brilliant and adamantine diamond is flawed with the weakness of its own natural strength. Nothing is perfect; everything has its weak points.
Because of this, I am restless. I cannot stay with the same people for too long because I am disappointed by the inevitable discovery that they are imperfect. I cannot be in one place for long before I discover its shortcomings. This is not specific to any person or place, but rather a consistent observance from the unconscious.
I sometimes think that it would be best if I left my things and took to the road for a few years. It wouldn't be wasted time. Or, perhaps, I could join the military and move from base to base around the world. I'd like to go to different universities, live in different cities, countries, work with different people. I want to stay long enough to see the good, but leave before I detect the flaws. The world through the eyes of the traveler is much more beautiful and peaceful than from the perspective of we who stand still. Children visit the zoo for a day and find joy in seeing the animals, but the animals remain confined in their condition.
I want to go somewhere else. I am not sure if it should be outside the country, the state, or simply to the other side of the street, but I have to move. I do not know what I am moving towards or away from; I have no goal but to exist. I do not know how long I should wander, or to where, or to whom, but I know that I cannot stand still.
But I have a particular ability that mars the glassy surface of these stories. I can see under that surface to the dark, cold area below. I have a tendency to analyze things, from physical, psychological, and philosophical standpoints. When you look too hard, you find things you don't want to see. I see personality flaws. I see things that retract from the attractiveness of a setting. I guess over-analysis is less of an ability and more of a flaw itself. When prescribed an antibiotic, taking an overdose can kill. Too much of a good thing is never a good thing.
The problem with this constant over-analysis is that everything has flaws to be uncovered. The Grand Canyon has beauty in the highest caliber, but it is desolate and alone. Pleasanton is a home, a place with memories and a place to rest, but the people are conceited and cold. Even the brilliant and adamantine diamond is flawed with the weakness of its own natural strength. Nothing is perfect; everything has its weak points.
Because of this, I am restless. I cannot stay with the same people for too long because I am disappointed by the inevitable discovery that they are imperfect. I cannot be in one place for long before I discover its shortcomings. This is not specific to any person or place, but rather a consistent observance from the unconscious.
I sometimes think that it would be best if I left my things and took to the road for a few years. It wouldn't be wasted time. Or, perhaps, I could join the military and move from base to base around the world. I'd like to go to different universities, live in different cities, countries, work with different people. I want to stay long enough to see the good, but leave before I detect the flaws. The world through the eyes of the traveler is much more beautiful and peaceful than from the perspective of we who stand still. Children visit the zoo for a day and find joy in seeing the animals, but the animals remain confined in their condition.
I want to go somewhere else. I am not sure if it should be outside the country, the state, or simply to the other side of the street, but I have to move. I do not know what I am moving towards or away from; I have no goal but to exist. I do not know how long I should wander, or to where, or to whom, but I know that I cannot stand still.
Current Mood: Indifferent
Listening To: "Chicago" by Sufjan Stevens
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Moderation
Everything in moderation. Eric says it all the time, and I agree. Over-indulgence is a common vice. Everyone is over-indulgent of something at some point, but when it becomes a habit, or even a ritual, it breaks the rule of moderation. And the rule of moderation is really just a virtuous principle of common sense.
I say this for clarification. Sometimes we frown upon guilty pleasures in life. Guilty of what? Who knows, maybe of simply being counter to widely held social ideals. Not everyone sees this but some, myself in particular, look at things such as intoxication, recreational drug use, or even things like skipping classes or eating too much dessert as “bad.” I could go into great philosophically dense cross-examinations of “bad” and “good,” but that is missing the point—some just do not agree with these indulgences. But what I think is not important to you, and shouldn’t be. We should feel free to live life the way we want to, and to indulge as we please.
However, moderation is a virtue. Virtues are as the dictionary puts it, “qualities of being morally good or righteous.” They are as objective as philosophical reasoning can get. The lack of this virtue would indubitably lead to a boring life, but the excess is more dangerous. Drinking too much alcohol continually, or skipping classes every day will obviously lead to problems.
Not only is the excess of this virtue problematic, but it also destroys the virtue itself. “Indulging” is usually thought of as rewarding and pleasurable. But too much of anything can desensitize you to that reward, and the pleasure in it fades. I do this all the time—I find a really good song or album and buy it, listen to it repeatedly for a week, and then…I don’t seem to like it as much anymore. People who love a particular sport will many times ruin it by playing it competitively, draining the fun out of it with hours of training and repetition each day. Over-indulgence causes desensitization.
Now, are those who are consistently overindulgent stupid? No. They are ignorant. Stupidity is something that has more permanence than ignorance. Ignorance is an analogical state of darkness, a condition that can be overturned by simply turning on the light. Stupidity is an unofficial mental capacity that stupid people never seem to be able to overcome. This is entirely subjective of course, but I think it takes the edge off of some insults. For example, the statement “young and stupid,” which I have referred to before, should instead be altered to “young and ignorant.” The stupid are ignorant, but that is not commutative.
I have witnessed quite a bit of over-indulgence this year, which is why I bring this up. Vices of virtues cause respectability to decrease if not just slightly. Technically if someone were not virtuous they would not be respectable at all, so there has to be an incremental decrease for vices somewhere on the moral scale. I don’t hate people for it—but don’t push your limits. Everything in moderation.
I say this for clarification. Sometimes we frown upon guilty pleasures in life. Guilty of what? Who knows, maybe of simply being counter to widely held social ideals. Not everyone sees this but some, myself in particular, look at things such as intoxication, recreational drug use, or even things like skipping classes or eating too much dessert as “bad.” I could go into great philosophically dense cross-examinations of “bad” and “good,” but that is missing the point—some just do not agree with these indulgences. But what I think is not important to you, and shouldn’t be. We should feel free to live life the way we want to, and to indulge as we please.
However, moderation is a virtue. Virtues are as the dictionary puts it, “qualities of being morally good or righteous.” They are as objective as philosophical reasoning can get. The lack of this virtue would indubitably lead to a boring life, but the excess is more dangerous. Drinking too much alcohol continually, or skipping classes every day will obviously lead to problems.
Not only is the excess of this virtue problematic, but it also destroys the virtue itself. “Indulging” is usually thought of as rewarding and pleasurable. But too much of anything can desensitize you to that reward, and the pleasure in it fades. I do this all the time—I find a really good song or album and buy it, listen to it repeatedly for a week, and then…I don’t seem to like it as much anymore. People who love a particular sport will many times ruin it by playing it competitively, draining the fun out of it with hours of training and repetition each day. Over-indulgence causes desensitization.
Now, are those who are consistently overindulgent stupid? No. They are ignorant. Stupidity is something that has more permanence than ignorance. Ignorance is an analogical state of darkness, a condition that can be overturned by simply turning on the light. Stupidity is an unofficial mental capacity that stupid people never seem to be able to overcome. This is entirely subjective of course, but I think it takes the edge off of some insults. For example, the statement “young and stupid,” which I have referred to before, should instead be altered to “young and ignorant.” The stupid are ignorant, but that is not commutative.
I have witnessed quite a bit of over-indulgence this year, which is why I bring this up. Vices of virtues cause respectability to decrease if not just slightly. Technically if someone were not virtuous they would not be respectable at all, so there has to be an incremental decrease for vices somewhere on the moral scale. I don’t hate people for it—but don’t push your limits. Everything in moderation.
Current Mood: Calm
Listening To: "Forever Young" by Alphaville
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Summer Again
And so concludes the first year of college. That was by far the shortest school year I have experienced yet...on the calendar, of course, but it seemed to move faster than normal. Things usually are kind of foggy from the first part of the year around finals, but I recall very clearly the course of this run. In fact, I remember exactly what I wrote at the beginning of my college experience. But here we are again, back on the solstice side of the solar system. Welcome to summer.
I'm not looking forward to this summer as I have in years past. The break will be nice, sure, but the magic, magnetic attraction to summer isn't quite as strong. Summer has always been a clearly defined period, when you have nothing to do, a nothing that has substance, a good nothing. It was a nothing that was something, something to look forward to, a reason for excitement in the bore of the last few weeks of school. It was a reason to watch the calendar, to sit and stare at the clock on the wall in class as it moved at a suspiciously slow pace. There was nothing ahead but pools, block parties, and lazy afternoons.
It seems to me that this summer will be different. It's different for some of you, but many of us are out of class a month earlier than in the K-12 phase. I'm all for an extra few weeks of break, but there's something wrong about it. If you graduate early it's a good feeling because of your accomplishment, but you miss the excitement of goin' out there on the field and throwing your hat up in the air with your colleagues. It's the same thing here--there is no more yearbook signing, no class pizza parties, no running from the final bell. It seems less innocent. It's still warm, the shadows are long, and the sunroofs are still open...but it's not as relaxing. It's not that defined period anymore, but more of a transition that bleeds one year into the next. There's still work to do, in jobs and in classes.
Maybe you feel differently, I don't know. A lot of people are looking forward to these experiences, I'm sure. Some are interested in getting a job and getting their own income, some will be happy to burn a few credits in summer classes, and some are excited to ship off to military training (although I can't fathom why.) But I'm guess I'm getting at is that things have changed. You don't realize what you have until it is gone, to sum it up in a cliché. I'll just miss the way things used to be. It is pointless to be a trout in the stream of things, because regardless of how hard you thrash, the flow is overpoweringly unidirectional. I'm not trying to fight it, I'm just reminiscent.
Conversely, I am ready for all of the pools, block parties, lazy afternoons, and ice cream I can cram in between other "mature, responsible college student" activities. Everything will still be there, I suppose. Let's do it.
"Summer nights and my radio,
that's all we need, baby...
Don'tcha know?"
-Van Halen
Current Mood: Calm
Listening To: "Growing Up" by Bruce Springsteen
Cold War of Philosophy (One of Many)
What is life? Is it a series of free experiences that gauges the future from the past? Or is it a heavily structured process based on social and scientific laws? The question is persistent: is life a clean canvas, an unwritten story open for thought and soul to flow onto by the imaginative pigments and penmanship of the empiricist? Or is it the construction of a tower, the creation of a design—a process based instead on equations, logical methods, and research-proven techniques of the rationalist? It appears to be a two-pronged fork: as an example, students choosing their major veer towards the right-brained intuitiveness and subjectivity of art, or the left-brained analytic processes and objectivity of math and science. Empiricism versus rationalism is a battle between two giants of philosophy. In the polarization of ideas, however, it is overlooked that there is a possibility of a third route. That route is an unbeaten path between the paved roads of romanticism and reason, one unexplorable by the oversized tanks by right and wrong, but only by the lone motorcycle of truth. That truth is that experience and reason may coexist with equal importance in life.
“To be is to do,” are the words of Immanuel Kant. Experience is important in life because it is life—it would be nonexistent without experience. The simplest days spent on the couch, at school and at the dinner table with family are filled with as much experience as are the greatest days of our lives spent on tropical beaches and mountaintops with spectacular views. Empiricists use these experiences to build themselves and their ideas. To fully immerse oneself in life is to fill that capacity for experience, and to experience is to learn. It is using this method that Pirsig was able to conceive so many philosophical questions—the simple yet immersive experience of his cross-country trip with his son contained the spark needed to ignite the gunpowder of imagination. Anyone may become a philosopher with their experiences as material. Past successes and failures, along with the power of the human imagination, can create a future that only exists in dreams in the present. “It is beyond a doubt,” Kant said, “that all our knowledge begins with experience.”
But there is a catch. Kant continued, “…although all our knowledge begins with experience, it does not follow that it arises from experience.” Therefore, experience is important, but not the sole principle upon which our lives are built. While the romanticists open their arms to the influence of experience and the flow of the holistic approach, the rationalists beg to differ. It is generally agreed upon that life is a series of experiences, but those who follow this romantic philosophy too freely are dangerous. Romanticism is too irrational, too unpredictable and devious. Die-hard romanticists are dreamers, detached from reality and any seriousness in life. Those who have no structure or constraints can easily fall to vices and be overcome with self-interest, become the criminals, the greedy, and the pathetic.
Quite to the contrary, the rationalists shun the frolicsome, mystical indecisiveness of the empiricists and instead revert to established universal laws. Many of the principles upon which modern science, mathematics, medicine, and engineering are based have been proven effective. Reason is the concrete component that contributes to the creation of concrete things, and is therefore more beneficial to humanity than something that is abstract. According to rationalists, it is better to use the established methods to pinpoint a solid future, rather than firing blindly and hoping to hit something, whatever that something may be. Motorcycle maintenance would certainly not be possible without the logic of reverse engineering and the very tangible knowledge presented in instruction manuals. Humans need structure not only to advance but also to survive—with no social structure the world would be absolute chaos. It seems that humanity would exist as a less turbulent and more perfected race with reason as its exclusive principle.
As with experience, however, there are arguments against reason as that single principle. To empiricists, reason is too concrete—too gray and colorless, too predictable. Rational thinking to them does not leave room for creativity or emotion, only what is controlled and predefined. Rationalism is a machine. Also, even reason, as concrete and correct as it seems, may itself be a false floor. Pirsig suggested that even the most widely used and apparently solid laws of reason are “ghosts.” Because scientific laws have been thoroughly researched and consequently taught, they are believed to be the absolute truth, when in fact the possibility that they may be wrong is still very real. People were once inseparable from the scientific “laws” that the Earth is the center of the universe, or that it is flat, but in time those laws were proven to be incorrect. In fact, it took somewhat empirical thought processes to break the attachment to those ideas, and to establish new ones in accordance with modern reasoning. In that sense, reason is as much of a product of the human imagination as free experience. The true “reason,” assuming it exists, may be something just out of reach—the asymptote of an equation that we build upon while we learn, a goal that we unconsciously strive for. The building blocks of that equation are our experiences, and the entire rational philosophy is reduced itself to empiricism.
With both philosophies being validated and simultaneously nullified, one pondering this debate is left in a state of ambivalence. When in this philosophical limbo, one would feel pressured to agree with one side or the other, when that may not in fact be necessary at all. As Pirsig stated, “Persons tend to think and feel exclusively in one mode or the other… and as far as I know, no one now living has any real reconciliation of these truths or modes.” The reconciliation is the third path, the necessary key to a philosophical compromise. It is possible that the empiricists and rationalists will remain on opposite sides of the 38th parallel of thought. They will remain in their nuclear bunkers, as did the Capitalists and Communists, respectively—as enemies, engrossed in their own ideals. In the world of philosophy, though, black and white should not exist but as various shades of grey. The truth of the matter is that experience and reason both exist in life. Though it may be overlooked, artists utilize some sort of process in their work, as engineers integrate creativity into theirs. Left-brain and right-brain are irrelevant in the big picture—they are still part of the greater function of one brain. It is necessary for them to coexist, and with equal importance. Without reason, experience is unguided and precarious, but without experience, reason is nothing more than a dead, rigid structure. The debate is simply a turbulent surface to a vast ocean below that is calm and homogeneous.
Perhaps experience changes us. Perhaps it is the awl that constantly chips away at the marble, refining the details of our being from the day we are born until the very last minutes of our lives. Like fragments of rock, the small bits of ineptitude that are removed each day by our experiences will never be a part of us again. We cannot glue shavings of marble back on, should they be mistakenly removed. Likewise, once we have experienced something, it is permanently part of our past. When we are born, we are a simple block. Now, no two blocks are the same—each has unique swirls, chips, and rough spots—predispositions, if you will, to what we may become. They will always remain with us, but it is experience that truly defines us. By the time we die, our experiences have sculpted from that block a distinct figure, a statue of our lives. Perhaps that statue is the very face of reason, that reason is not the basis on which our lives are lived like its proponents suggest, but rather the goal that is approached through experience. As Kant said: “All our knowledge begins with the senses, proceeds then to the understanding, and ends with reason. There is nothing higher than reason.” But maybe that’s all wrong—it could be that reason is the method through which that statue is sculpted, and experience is the artistic license. Perhaps everything is predefined, with the final figure in the blueprints, and a few mistakes as experiences in the construction. Regardless, the key conjunction between the two should not be “or,” but rather “and.” In any case, both exist. Really the epic battle between empiricism and rationalism is nothing more than a Cold War—two very different ideas, each with valid points, staring into each other’s steely eyes in a circular dispute. Both are right, both are wrong, and both just are. That is the importance of experience and reason in life. They are life.
Current Mood: Relaxed
Listening To: "How to Disappear Completely" by Radiohead
“To be is to do,” are the words of Immanuel Kant. Experience is important in life because it is life—it would be nonexistent without experience. The simplest days spent on the couch, at school and at the dinner table with family are filled with as much experience as are the greatest days of our lives spent on tropical beaches and mountaintops with spectacular views. Empiricists use these experiences to build themselves and their ideas. To fully immerse oneself in life is to fill that capacity for experience, and to experience is to learn. It is using this method that Pirsig was able to conceive so many philosophical questions—the simple yet immersive experience of his cross-country trip with his son contained the spark needed to ignite the gunpowder of imagination. Anyone may become a philosopher with their experiences as material. Past successes and failures, along with the power of the human imagination, can create a future that only exists in dreams in the present. “It is beyond a doubt,” Kant said, “that all our knowledge begins with experience.”
But there is a catch. Kant continued, “…although all our knowledge begins with experience, it does not follow that it arises from experience.” Therefore, experience is important, but not the sole principle upon which our lives are built. While the romanticists open their arms to the influence of experience and the flow of the holistic approach, the rationalists beg to differ. It is generally agreed upon that life is a series of experiences, but those who follow this romantic philosophy too freely are dangerous. Romanticism is too irrational, too unpredictable and devious. Die-hard romanticists are dreamers, detached from reality and any seriousness in life. Those who have no structure or constraints can easily fall to vices and be overcome with self-interest, become the criminals, the greedy, and the pathetic.
Quite to the contrary, the rationalists shun the frolicsome, mystical indecisiveness of the empiricists and instead revert to established universal laws. Many of the principles upon which modern science, mathematics, medicine, and engineering are based have been proven effective. Reason is the concrete component that contributes to the creation of concrete things, and is therefore more beneficial to humanity than something that is abstract. According to rationalists, it is better to use the established methods to pinpoint a solid future, rather than firing blindly and hoping to hit something, whatever that something may be. Motorcycle maintenance would certainly not be possible without the logic of reverse engineering and the very tangible knowledge presented in instruction manuals. Humans need structure not only to advance but also to survive—with no social structure the world would be absolute chaos. It seems that humanity would exist as a less turbulent and more perfected race with reason as its exclusive principle.
As with experience, however, there are arguments against reason as that single principle. To empiricists, reason is too concrete—too gray and colorless, too predictable. Rational thinking to them does not leave room for creativity or emotion, only what is controlled and predefined. Rationalism is a machine. Also, even reason, as concrete and correct as it seems, may itself be a false floor. Pirsig suggested that even the most widely used and apparently solid laws of reason are “ghosts.” Because scientific laws have been thoroughly researched and consequently taught, they are believed to be the absolute truth, when in fact the possibility that they may be wrong is still very real. People were once inseparable from the scientific “laws” that the Earth is the center of the universe, or that it is flat, but in time those laws were proven to be incorrect. In fact, it took somewhat empirical thought processes to break the attachment to those ideas, and to establish new ones in accordance with modern reasoning. In that sense, reason is as much of a product of the human imagination as free experience. The true “reason,” assuming it exists, may be something just out of reach—the asymptote of an equation that we build upon while we learn, a goal that we unconsciously strive for. The building blocks of that equation are our experiences, and the entire rational philosophy is reduced itself to empiricism.
With both philosophies being validated and simultaneously nullified, one pondering this debate is left in a state of ambivalence. When in this philosophical limbo, one would feel pressured to agree with one side or the other, when that may not in fact be necessary at all. As Pirsig stated, “Persons tend to think and feel exclusively in one mode or the other… and as far as I know, no one now living has any real reconciliation of these truths or modes.” The reconciliation is the third path, the necessary key to a philosophical compromise. It is possible that the empiricists and rationalists will remain on opposite sides of the 38th parallel of thought. They will remain in their nuclear bunkers, as did the Capitalists and Communists, respectively—as enemies, engrossed in their own ideals. In the world of philosophy, though, black and white should not exist but as various shades of grey. The truth of the matter is that experience and reason both exist in life. Though it may be overlooked, artists utilize some sort of process in their work, as engineers integrate creativity into theirs. Left-brain and right-brain are irrelevant in the big picture—they are still part of the greater function of one brain. It is necessary for them to coexist, and with equal importance. Without reason, experience is unguided and precarious, but without experience, reason is nothing more than a dead, rigid structure. The debate is simply a turbulent surface to a vast ocean below that is calm and homogeneous.
Perhaps experience changes us. Perhaps it is the awl that constantly chips away at the marble, refining the details of our being from the day we are born until the very last minutes of our lives. Like fragments of rock, the small bits of ineptitude that are removed each day by our experiences will never be a part of us again. We cannot glue shavings of marble back on, should they be mistakenly removed. Likewise, once we have experienced something, it is permanently part of our past. When we are born, we are a simple block. Now, no two blocks are the same—each has unique swirls, chips, and rough spots—predispositions, if you will, to what we may become. They will always remain with us, but it is experience that truly defines us. By the time we die, our experiences have sculpted from that block a distinct figure, a statue of our lives. Perhaps that statue is the very face of reason, that reason is not the basis on which our lives are lived like its proponents suggest, but rather the goal that is approached through experience. As Kant said: “All our knowledge begins with the senses, proceeds then to the understanding, and ends with reason. There is nothing higher than reason.” But maybe that’s all wrong—it could be that reason is the method through which that statue is sculpted, and experience is the artistic license. Perhaps everything is predefined, with the final figure in the blueprints, and a few mistakes as experiences in the construction. Regardless, the key conjunction between the two should not be “or,” but rather “and.” In any case, both exist. Really the epic battle between empiricism and rationalism is nothing more than a Cold War—two very different ideas, each with valid points, staring into each other’s steely eyes in a circular dispute. Both are right, both are wrong, and both just are. That is the importance of experience and reason in life. They are life.
Current Mood: Relaxed
Listening To: "How to Disappear Completely" by Radiohead
Monday, March 16, 2009
Young & Stupid?
There is an overused phrase that tends to surface somewhat later in life, usually a couple of years after college. “Young and stupid,” people say, when describing the dumb things they did in their earlier days. Life is a learning process, of course, a slightly exponential curve of knowledge gained from birth until we are either dead or mostly incapacitated. Understandably, in our older years we tend to be more morally awake and aware of what is stupid and what isn’t, by the general consensus.
Being as petulant and critical as I admittedly am, I have a problem with that statement. Several problems, actually. Firstly, in the context it is usually used in, it treats stupidity as something that’s funny. In some cases, yes, stupidity can lead to doing things that are pretty funny, but I’m talking about doing things that are just downright brainless. Those of you who know me well know that I have a very, very low tolerance for stupidity. I guess I just don’t understand how wasting people’s time and resources could be funny in any way, especially when it involves doing something destructive or dangerous.
Secondly, I do not understand the concept of a stupidity threshold. That phrase suggests that at some point, people go from being imperceptive in exercising their free will to suddenly realizing that they’ve been acting like morons. It’s like the sonic boom of awareness—once people are beyond that barrier, they look back and start to laugh, like they just got a joke.
I’m sure that looking back I’ll have things I regret. I already regret some of the things I’ve done. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I was stupid. As of yet, I have a disciplinary record that is cleaner than Chris Brown’s image before he punched out Rhianna. There isn’t a thing on my traffic record, my police record, or my academic record—not even a single detention since my first day of preschool. This isn’t because I’m a perfect person, a goody-two-shoes white boy that’s totally full of himself. It’s because I look at each action as a choice, a possibility for different results. It seems that people only focus on the big decisions in life: college, marriage, career choices, and etcetera. But I think it’s more than that—life is affected just as much by the countless small and irreversible decisions we make on a daily basis as it is by those big choices. In order to keep yourself on track—to keep from letting yourself be “young and stupid”—it’s a good idea to calculate just a little more the consequences of your actions. I may sound like a chiding parent, but your image is in your own hands.
There will come a day when I’ll be sitting in a lawn chair having a cold one with some friends at a summer block party, or around a campfire out camping with some buddies, and they’ll start to talk about when they were young and stupid. They’ll talking about getting drunk and getting high, and everything they did when they were drunk and high, or at least the things they remember. And I will sit back in my chair and smile, because I will have nothing to say.
In order to prevent this from sounding totally egocentric, I will add a goal to this. I follow this goal, and I will pass it on to you: challenge yourself to raise your standards. Whenever you act, just use common sense. It shouldn’t be too much to ask. Am I saying to be more like me? No, I don’t like the sound of that. Be yourself. But make your youth something you can look back and be proud of, rather than something of a joke, parts of which you’d rather forget.
Being as petulant and critical as I admittedly am, I have a problem with that statement. Several problems, actually. Firstly, in the context it is usually used in, it treats stupidity as something that’s funny. In some cases, yes, stupidity can lead to doing things that are pretty funny, but I’m talking about doing things that are just downright brainless. Those of you who know me well know that I have a very, very low tolerance for stupidity. I guess I just don’t understand how wasting people’s time and resources could be funny in any way, especially when it involves doing something destructive or dangerous.
Secondly, I do not understand the concept of a stupidity threshold. That phrase suggests that at some point, people go from being imperceptive in exercising their free will to suddenly realizing that they’ve been acting like morons. It’s like the sonic boom of awareness—once people are beyond that barrier, they look back and start to laugh, like they just got a joke.
I’m sure that looking back I’ll have things I regret. I already regret some of the things I’ve done. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I was stupid. As of yet, I have a disciplinary record that is cleaner than Chris Brown’s image before he punched out Rhianna. There isn’t a thing on my traffic record, my police record, or my academic record—not even a single detention since my first day of preschool. This isn’t because I’m a perfect person, a goody-two-shoes white boy that’s totally full of himself. It’s because I look at each action as a choice, a possibility for different results. It seems that people only focus on the big decisions in life: college, marriage, career choices, and etcetera. But I think it’s more than that—life is affected just as much by the countless small and irreversible decisions we make on a daily basis as it is by those big choices. In order to keep yourself on track—to keep from letting yourself be “young and stupid”—it’s a good idea to calculate just a little more the consequences of your actions. I may sound like a chiding parent, but your image is in your own hands.
There will come a day when I’ll be sitting in a lawn chair having a cold one with some friends at a summer block party, or around a campfire out camping with some buddies, and they’ll start to talk about when they were young and stupid. They’ll talking about getting drunk and getting high, and everything they did when they were drunk and high, or at least the things they remember. And I will sit back in my chair and smile, because I will have nothing to say.
In order to prevent this from sounding totally egocentric, I will add a goal to this. I follow this goal, and I will pass it on to you: challenge yourself to raise your standards. Whenever you act, just use common sense. It shouldn’t be too much to ask. Am I saying to be more like me? No, I don’t like the sound of that. Be yourself. But make your youth something you can look back and be proud of, rather than something of a joke, parts of which you’d rather forget.
Current Mood: Calm
Listening To: "The Unforgiven II" by Metallica
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Don't Take Your Guns To Town
Michael Latz/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images2008:
July 27 -- One person was killed and eight others were wounded as a man opened fire inside a church with a shotgun in the city of Knoxville, Tennessee.
Aug. 1 -- A gunman took the lives of three teenagers and injured another near Menominee River in northern Wisconsin.
Aug. 13 -- A man forced his way into the Arkansas Democratic headquarters and fatally shot state party chairman Bill Gwatney.
Sept. 2 -- Six people were shot dead and two were wounded in a series of shooting incidents in Washington State.
Oct. 16 -- One high-school student was killed and three were seriously injured when a gunman shot at them near their school in Detroit, Michigan.
Oct. 26 -- Two people were killed and one was injured in a shooting incident at the University of Central Arkansas.
Nov. 23 -- A teenager shot dead a young man in a shopping mall in suburban Seattle. One person was also seriously injured.
Dec. 14 -- A man dressed in a Santa Claus costume barged into a Christmas Eve party in Covina, a Los Angeles suburb, and opened fire, killing at least eight people before taking his own life.
2009:
Jan. 24 -- Two people were killed and seven others wounded in a gun-shooting spree by unidentified assailants in a house in Wichita, Kansas.
On the same day, two teenagers died and seven others were injured when a gunman opened fire at a group of students outside a nightspot in Portland, Oregon.
Feb. 24 -- At least seven people were injured in a gun-shooting incident at the New Orleans' Mardi Gras festival.
Source Lu Yanan, Xinhua News, Beijing
That already is quite a list of deadly shootings, and that was before this week began. And what a week it's been:
On Sunday, some asshole showed up at a church in Maryville, Illinois with a .45 and a couple dozen rounds, shot the pastor in the face, and then proceeded to stab the people trying to disarm him.
Yesterday (the tenth,) another jerkoff blew away his mother, and then his dog for Christ sake, lit them on FIRE, and then continued to his Uncle's house where he left enough casings and bodies to be considered comparable to a drive-by in Compton. His next targets included his grandmother, GRANDMOTHER, and three random victims: a pedestrian, a woman in a gas station, and someone driving on the highway. One of his own .38 rounds relieved the police of their duty to blow his head off (I'm assuming it was a .38, because generally speaking, suicide by shotgun is difficult since the trigger is so far away.)
Now I wake up this morning to a cup of coffee and a school shooting near Stuttgart. This time, some 17 year old cockchoke thought it would be a fuckin' blast to play dress up like R6 and blow away some teenage girls at his former school. He walked into the classroom and hit a number of children in the head with surgical precision, dropping them before they even dropped their pencils. Real swift, I hope you had fun when the Polizei filled you with more 9mm rounds than there are holes in the evidence of Saddam's WMDs.
This unfortunate series of events has led me to one question: WHAT THE FUCK?
This planet, United States in particular, is filled, crammed TO THE BRIM with hundreds of thousands of immoral, insecure momma's boys that are deluded with maniacal ideas because of their unhealthy obsessions with COD4. These antisocial creatures breed on hate and their own self-pity, until they "snap" (I think it's more of a "coming out of the closet,") and start spraying bullets like a pack of trigger-happy Hajis in al-Anbar (pardon the racial slur, I am not anti-Islam, just very pissed off.)
That out of the way, I reveal my intention for writing this. The hardcore leftists are bleeding out of the woodwork now like worms after a rainstorm, ranting and raving on their blogs that people should not be allowed to own guns. Their likely story would be that gun control is the root of all these shootings, and that videogames are evil. What? In my opinion that's as likely a story as suggesting that the Bush administration is in no way responsible for the total massacre of the international economy. I need say no more than "Second Amendment," but of course I will.
By default I am independent philosophically and politically, but as a headnote it should be known that gun control is one thing I'm very, very Conservative about. I hate how these people go on and on about banning all weapons permanently, and how it's all the gun manufacturers' fault and whatever. Here's why: they refuse to take responsibility for anything. Some of those people who sit on their damned iMacs drinking Starbucks and Snapple while blowing politics out their ass on their blogs are themselves the problem. And what is that, you ask? PARENTS. I hold parents responsible. As you may know, I am generally disgusted with modern youth and parents, these snobby, yuppie by-products that have mouths bigger than their brains. That is perhaps generalizing a bit too much, but it's true--all of these shooters were under the age of 40, the overwhelming majority were under 30, and some under even 20 years old. They are still under influence of things they learned--or did not learn--from their parents.
This leads me to the videogame point--parents blame videogames for all of these horrible instances. If I may retort: one, you're wrong, and I will explain why, and two, if videogames are the root of all evil in the world, then why the hell do you continue to feed cash into the filthy Rockstar machine so that your little Johnny can let his creativity run free (by which I am referring to rape, torture, and murder) and hack off heads in the comfort of your living room? Hypocrite. Anyway, if you do need an example of a case where videogames do not corrupt the mind, you can look straight at me, or the other 99.9999bar% kids that don't decide on school shootings as their favorite extracurricular activity. You must admit that you are only using videogames as a shield to cover up your poor parenting abilities that are the reason for Johnny's antisocial behavior. In nature vs. nurture, you ARE the nurture, and that plays an immense role in the development of the person.
Back to the "legality of guns" issue. Of course I don't think bazookas should be legal, or even fully automatic weapons, since the only intent of autos is to kill a large number of people or completely annihilate a paper target. But rifles, shotguns, and handguns? Firearms are as important to the American creed as the stars and stripes or saturated fat-laden cheesecake. Here's why outlawing them would be ridiculous. Marijuana is illegal. Do you (especially you college students,) know anyone that smokes Mary Jane? Okay, now apply that to guns. Whoever wants guns, for whatever purpose, will get them, illegal or not. In fact, the ones who get them illegally would be those more likely to carry out horrendous murders such as those committed on a (now) regular basis. Outlawing anything practical deprives it from the law-abiding citizens and limits it to those who break the law anyway. This is one of many items on a long list of reasons why firearms are still legal in this country.
In order to correct any extreme or baseless points, I will acknowledge the flaws in my argument. Not all of these shooters are to be put entirely at fault. Some of them are schizophrenic, or have other mental disorders which are valid reasons to say that they did not possess normal judgement. Not all of them grew up in an environment with poor parenting. However, when it comes to the point of mass-murder, I take this issue very seriously and permanently stick it to their records.
Also, there are many, many flaws in our gun laws that are full of red tape and ridiculous, LUDICROUS rules and exceptions that allow the wrong people to get the wrong thing. The government and gun lobbyists deserve some "credit" for these deaths, and I hold them partially accountable.
That being said, I'm going to go get a shotgun, and also a sidearm thanks to a giant gaping loophole in the California gun codes, and go refine my marksmanship at the RANGE (as opposed to at a school or shopping mall.) That way, when one of these chicken fucks approaches me on the street dressed in their best Sunday BDUs, I can disassemble their head onto the sidewalk before they kill someone whose life has some worth, like the 58 people lost to these pricks in the last 8 months.
And rest in peace.
Current Mood: Agitated
Listening To: "Sonne" by Rammstein
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Decisions, Decisions
There are several points in life at which you reach a major crossroads. There are, of course, many side paths and detours you can take that detail the journey, but whenever you are forced to go left or right, you need to think things through. There are no U-turns on this road.
Now, normally these crossroads are few and far between, but only months after the major decision-critical transition from high school to college, I find myself at another damned intersection. Right now I'm stopped at a red light, with some time to figure out which way I'll turn, but when it hits green again, I need to know exactly what I plan to do. To the left is a civilian life, and probably a good one, as an Aerospace Engineer. To the right is the military.
Here are my conditions:
1. I want to serve my country. I am a proponent of civil service, and believe that it is necessary for the betterment of society. I have committed some of my life to this, and would not hesitate to provide more. This pushes me right.
2. I want to fly. A life goal is to become a fighter pilot, or at least some sort of pilot. The military is the easiest way to reach this goal. This pushes me further right.
3. I have no intention of dying. I think war is an overly-glorified, tired-out human concept that does not belong in the modern world. I hate being affected by other peoples' stupidity, and would rather it not be the reason for my death. This pushes me left.
4. I do not want the military to dictate my life. I don't mind living the military life for awhile, but will not allow the government, or any group, ideology, or political institution to own me. This pushes me far left.
5. I want to make sure that I have a solid resume and good experiences for civilian life. I do not want a career in the military, just a term. This is neutral, I could either add military to my resume or just enter the workforce.
6. I have to be able to plan out a sequence. If I enter the military, it pretty much sets my personal life and other career goals back eight years. If I get married, I don't want to have kids while I am in active service. This sounds ridiculous coming from me now, since I'm only eighteen, but I want things to fall into place. There are certain things that will block me from being happy later on if I never accomplished them.
Here are options I am considering:
1. Take OCC: Officer's Candidacy Course is a rigorous, if not torturous entry course to the United States Marine Corps. If I choose this option, I will finish my Bachelor's degree, then go to Quantico, Virginia for the 10-week training camp, and enter the Marine Corps as an Officer. I like this option because I would love to become a Marine, but dislike it because my focus would not be in aviation.
2. Take OTS: Officer's Training School is essentially the OCC of the Air Force. It isn't quite as rigorous, since it is the Air Force instead of the Marines (not quite the same reputation,) but it is longer, at 13.5 weeks. I would also enter this after graduating with my 4-year degree. I like this option because it is much more likely to get me a pilot slot than the USMC, but dislike it because AFROTC and USAFA units are chosen for the slots before OTS. It's kind of the bottom of the barrel.
3. Take AFROTC: Air Force ROTC is a series of courses I can take here at San Jose State. I would have to do mandatory physical training, which I am essentially doing anyway, and take a number of classes. I like this because it would pretty much guarantee me a slot in the Air Force, and has better chances of getting me in the air. I highly dislike it because I do not want the military to interfere with my college life. I want to experience college and the military separately.
4. Skip the military: I could enter the workforce right away. There are lots of options available to me in the industry. Aerospace is a cyclical business, and is currently at a low point, so I think there should be plenty of career opportunities around graduation time. My goal of becoming a pilot could be achieved with a private license further down the line. But it sure ain't a fighter pilot.
In any case, I think I have a pretty good shot at my goal of becoming a pilot. It is a highly ambitious, almost headstrong, and extremely competitive goal, but I think I can do it. My GPA is solid, I would pass the military IQ testing without many problems, and have a number of key things on my resume that gear me towards flight (Eagle Scout, BSAE degree, possibly a double major, and some upcoming aerospace internships.)
However, I am apprehensive about the whole idea since pilot's contracts are 8 years, and I want to be absolutely, fail-proof sure that this is what I want to do for eight years of my life. It is a long time. You probably can't remember much from eight years ago--that was 5th or 6th grade. When planning things out like this, you really begin to realize how short life is.
Now, normally these crossroads are few and far between, but only months after the major decision-critical transition from high school to college, I find myself at another damned intersection. Right now I'm stopped at a red light, with some time to figure out which way I'll turn, but when it hits green again, I need to know exactly what I plan to do. To the left is a civilian life, and probably a good one, as an Aerospace Engineer. To the right is the military.
Here are my conditions:
1. I want to serve my country. I am a proponent of civil service, and believe that it is necessary for the betterment of society. I have committed some of my life to this, and would not hesitate to provide more. This pushes me right.
2. I want to fly. A life goal is to become a fighter pilot, or at least some sort of pilot. The military is the easiest way to reach this goal. This pushes me further right.
3. I have no intention of dying. I think war is an overly-glorified, tired-out human concept that does not belong in the modern world. I hate being affected by other peoples' stupidity, and would rather it not be the reason for my death. This pushes me left.
4. I do not want the military to dictate my life. I don't mind living the military life for awhile, but will not allow the government, or any group, ideology, or political institution to own me. This pushes me far left.
5. I want to make sure that I have a solid resume and good experiences for civilian life. I do not want a career in the military, just a term. This is neutral, I could either add military to my resume or just enter the workforce.
6. I have to be able to plan out a sequence. If I enter the military, it pretty much sets my personal life and other career goals back eight years. If I get married, I don't want to have kids while I am in active service. This sounds ridiculous coming from me now, since I'm only eighteen, but I want things to fall into place. There are certain things that will block me from being happy later on if I never accomplished them.
Here are options I am considering:
1. Take OCC: Officer's Candidacy Course is a rigorous, if not torturous entry course to the United States Marine Corps. If I choose this option, I will finish my Bachelor's degree, then go to Quantico, Virginia for the 10-week training camp, and enter the Marine Corps as an Officer. I like this option because I would love to become a Marine, but dislike it because my focus would not be in aviation.
2. Take OTS: Officer's Training School is essentially the OCC of the Air Force. It isn't quite as rigorous, since it is the Air Force instead of the Marines (not quite the same reputation,) but it is longer, at 13.5 weeks. I would also enter this after graduating with my 4-year degree. I like this option because it is much more likely to get me a pilot slot than the USMC, but dislike it because AFROTC and USAFA units are chosen for the slots before OTS. It's kind of the bottom of the barrel.
3. Take AFROTC: Air Force ROTC is a series of courses I can take here at San Jose State. I would have to do mandatory physical training, which I am essentially doing anyway, and take a number of classes. I like this because it would pretty much guarantee me a slot in the Air Force, and has better chances of getting me in the air. I highly dislike it because I do not want the military to interfere with my college life. I want to experience college and the military separately.
4. Skip the military: I could enter the workforce right away. There are lots of options available to me in the industry. Aerospace is a cyclical business, and is currently at a low point, so I think there should be plenty of career opportunities around graduation time. My goal of becoming a pilot could be achieved with a private license further down the line. But it sure ain't a fighter pilot.
In any case, I think I have a pretty good shot at my goal of becoming a pilot. It is a highly ambitious, almost headstrong, and extremely competitive goal, but I think I can do it. My GPA is solid, I would pass the military IQ testing without many problems, and have a number of key things on my resume that gear me towards flight (Eagle Scout, BSAE degree, possibly a double major, and some upcoming aerospace internships.)
However, I am apprehensive about the whole idea since pilot's contracts are 8 years, and I want to be absolutely, fail-proof sure that this is what I want to do for eight years of my life. It is a long time. You probably can't remember much from eight years ago--that was 5th or 6th grade. When planning things out like this, you really begin to realize how short life is.
Current Mood: Contemplative
Listening To: "Walking On My Feet" by Moonbabies
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Obituary: Aline Martins
Graduation day was a good day, bittersweet for sure, but upbeat. During the commencement ceremony I tuned out the rambling of the administrators for a few minutes, and took a freeze frame of our class. That group of people, I was certain, would never be completely together again. You know the drill-- some go off and become doctors, some lawyers, some street bums, and go wherever they may roam. There are reunions, of course, but not everyone shows. What I really wondered though is who wouldn't make it that long, who we would lose along the way.
Which brings us to now, almost exactly seven months later. Aline Martins realized my sad prediction on Monday, the sixteenth of February, 2009. The number of surviving '08 graduates is permanently one less.
I don't believe she was in the sea of purple gowns and yellow tassels that I scanned over in June, since she graduated in San Ramon. She was part of our class in spirit, though. I was with her from Alisal to Mohr, to Harvest Park, and into the Amador years. Having never been in many classes with her, I did not really know her well, but still can't help feeling remorseful at the loss. Life is sobering. From what I can gather, she was the type that countered that effect, a pleasant person to be around. She was a beautiful girl, and a beautiful soul. It is a likely thesis that the good die young. Here's more proof.
We will continue. We will continue to work towards becoming doctors and lawyers, or whatever we are each working towards. Regardless of whether we knew her well or not, our lives have been affected, if not minutely, by her death. It will be one less name on the list of guests at the first reunion, one more photo on the formidable wall.
To her family; her parents and brothers, and those who were closer friends than I: I am sorry for your loss. We all lose those close to us eventually, and must move to accept it. It is unfortunate that Aline's passing was so soon. She will be missed, I'm sure.
A toast to Aline Martins.
I will note that in anticipation (optimistic, yet cautious) of the future, I will try to provide a note such as this for everyone I outlast.
Current Mood: Distant
Listening To: "Into the Blue" by Moby
Sunday, February 15, 2009
People Can't Drive
Something occurred to me today during my grueling 5 hour drive from Sacramento to Northstar. Californians cannot drive. These people are thoroughly incapable of operating heavy machinery. They can’t do it.
Military pilots know all specifications of their equipment. They know the entire anatomy of their aircraft, exactly how it operates, and possible solutions to problems that might arise. They can control engine, avionics, communications, and navigation devices simultaneously.
Californians know that they have a car that hopefully makes other people envious, that it has two pedals and some sort of wheel for turning, and a bunch of useless additional electronics shit that they can’t operate without reading a 400-page manual that was written in a dim room by some poor soulless engineer. Given that it was composed by engineers, come to think of it, they probably wouldn’t understand it anyway, should it ever leave the dark recesses of the glove box. Speaking of which, who the hell keeps gloves in their glove box?
Point being: People can’t drive.
Here’s what I saw today (keep in mind that it was well below freezing with 4+ inches of snow on the road and low visibility):
-I saw an AWD Subaru with chains on. How they decided which axle to put them on is beyond me.
-I saw a minivan with chains on the rear tires. All minivans are FWD, so the chains were doing nothing. I avoided this vehicle.
-I saw an Escalade ESV going 60 miles per hour in heavy snow. He had street tires on with low tread. 4WD doesn’t do anything without snow tires in these conditions.
-I saw a line of 8 cars tailgating each other (within 6 feet) while traveling at 40mph. According to the laws of physics, tailgating in low-friction environments guarantees a pileup if any of the cars in the line slams on their brakes.
-I saw a number of people cut off trucks when changing lanes. If I was a truck driver, and someone cut me off, and I was going downhill, I would run them over. No jack-knifing for me. Of course, in the state of California, only a small percentage of people know how to drive cooperatively with big rigs on the highway.
-I saw a guy in a Chevy Tahoe with 4WD, and he was going a good speed, but he had a trailer with chains on it. And what, exactly, are those chains doing for you?
-I saw somebody in an old Mercedes going about 55mph with chains on. I will laugh in your face when they fly off and wrap the axle. American stupidity is usually able to trump German engineering.
Here’s my solution. “If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball,” right? Okay then, so take that idea and apply it to this situation. If you can fly a plane, you can drive a car. So, with that in mind, we get everybody who wants to renew their license, and take them out in the desert somewhere, and put ‘em in a Cessna or something. Then, you tell them to take off, fly for 5 minutes, and then land. If they land, they get their driver’s license. If they crash, then they have unfortunately rendered themselves incapable of driving on CA roads and must take the test again. Now, I spy a loophole—if someone has a pilot’s license, they get to take off and land from a carrier, and then they can get their license.
The gist of this plan is that most people will be scared away from applying for the license, and only competent people will apply. The skilled will pass. Why can’t driver’s-ed be like flight school? Flying aircraft is statistically much less dangerous than driving a car for precisely this reason.
I love California for a lot of reasons, but GOD some of the people here are STUPID.
Military pilots know all specifications of their equipment. They know the entire anatomy of their aircraft, exactly how it operates, and possible solutions to problems that might arise. They can control engine, avionics, communications, and navigation devices simultaneously.
Californians know that they have a car that hopefully makes other people envious, that it has two pedals and some sort of wheel for turning, and a bunch of useless additional electronics shit that they can’t operate without reading a 400-page manual that was written in a dim room by some poor soulless engineer. Given that it was composed by engineers, come to think of it, they probably wouldn’t understand it anyway, should it ever leave the dark recesses of the glove box. Speaking of which, who the hell keeps gloves in their glove box?
Point being: People can’t drive.
Here’s what I saw today (keep in mind that it was well below freezing with 4+ inches of snow on the road and low visibility):
-I saw an AWD Subaru with chains on. How they decided which axle to put them on is beyond me.
-I saw a minivan with chains on the rear tires. All minivans are FWD, so the chains were doing nothing. I avoided this vehicle.
-I saw an Escalade ESV going 60 miles per hour in heavy snow. He had street tires on with low tread. 4WD doesn’t do anything without snow tires in these conditions.
-I saw a line of 8 cars tailgating each other (within 6 feet) while traveling at 40mph. According to the laws of physics, tailgating in low-friction environments guarantees a pileup if any of the cars in the line slams on their brakes.
-I saw a number of people cut off trucks when changing lanes. If I was a truck driver, and someone cut me off, and I was going downhill, I would run them over. No jack-knifing for me. Of course, in the state of California, only a small percentage of people know how to drive cooperatively with big rigs on the highway.
-I saw a guy in a Chevy Tahoe with 4WD, and he was going a good speed, but he had a trailer with chains on it. And what, exactly, are those chains doing for you?
-I saw somebody in an old Mercedes going about 55mph with chains on. I will laugh in your face when they fly off and wrap the axle. American stupidity is usually able to trump German engineering.
Here’s my solution. “If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball,” right? Okay then, so take that idea and apply it to this situation. If you can fly a plane, you can drive a car. So, with that in mind, we get everybody who wants to renew their license, and take them out in the desert somewhere, and put ‘em in a Cessna or something. Then, you tell them to take off, fly for 5 minutes, and then land. If they land, they get their driver’s license. If they crash, then they have unfortunately rendered themselves incapable of driving on CA roads and must take the test again. Now, I spy a loophole—if someone has a pilot’s license, they get to take off and land from a carrier, and then they can get their license.
The gist of this plan is that most people will be scared away from applying for the license, and only competent people will apply. The skilled will pass. Why can’t driver’s-ed be like flight school? Flying aircraft is statistically much less dangerous than driving a car for precisely this reason.
I love California for a lot of reasons, but GOD some of the people here are STUPID.
Current Mood: Tired
Listening To: "All the Things That I've Done" by The Killers
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
I Wonder
I'm sitting here staring at the mirror. Staring at myself. It's 1:41 in the morning.
I received an e-mail from my Aunt earlier this evening, whose husband has terminal cancer. It was short and sweet, but essentially she said that he is expected to live for 15 hours from this very minute. Being who I am, I sent a long, three page e-mail in response. I didn't talk much about his condition, and in fact I avoided using the term "death" or "dying" entirely. I wrote about simple things, important things in life, and sent some pictures. I was certain to make it humorous. And it seems funny to me that I spent so much time writing this letter to a person who may never read it. He may have already passed on in his sleep on this ordinary night. The sun will still come up tomorrow.
Perhaps he will surprise the doctors and live to see another day, a week even, or a year. Who knows. But as I sit here staring at this mirrored glass, I wonder why I care about trivial things, when my Uncle could have stared into the same surface a few hours ago, instead wondering whether he would ever see that face again. His own face.
I sit and stare. And wonder.
I hope he will rise with the sun tomorrow. I hope he will read my letter. Maybe I will get to call him. Life is strange.
Current Mood: Sad
Listening To: The Refrigerator in the Common Room
Friday, January 30, 2009
To Infinity, & Beyond?
Infinity. Forever. Eternity. Endlessness.
These words are used on a daily basis, usually with some sarcasm, or extreme exaggeration. “I’m going to be doing this homework forever,” or, “that desert road looks like it keeps going forever.” People use these words, but never really consider what they mean.
Have you ever, if not for just a few seconds, thought about eternity? About the seemingly impossible likelihood that time had no beginning, and has no end? It seems that, when your mind wanders into that uncharted territory, you feel an imminent and inescapable sense of hopelessness. It is a horrible experience.
Why? Infinity is not a concept that can be comprehended by any human being. It is an unfamiliar warp of the laws of anything. Human beings, so used to the logical, finite logarithms and patterns of nature, are not in any way capable of understanding eternity. The largest numbers we ever encounter in our lives are usually limited to the trillions (that’s 1x10^12.) Perhaps, if we counted every blade of grass on the planet we would likely still be under the realm of the twentieth power. So take a trillion, and set it to the trillionth power, and imagine that number being printed by a (very fast) printer—giving you enough pages of zeros to stack to the moon (and simultaneously eliminating every source of paper pulp in existence.) It’s a lot.
But continue. The galaxies of the universe (which, as far as we are concerned, have no limits,) are rapidly and inexplicably accelerating away from each other, into nothingness. Time and space will continue to the infinite power. Scary?
This of course brings about the question, “Kevin, what concoction of banned substances are you on?” I’ve mentioned numerous times before that I think too much, and in this case it really was way too much. I was watching the Discovery Channel the other day about the phenomena of eternity, and I started to really delve into it. Really think deep into it. I was attempting to imagine what eternity would be (will be, rather) like. This idea is charged with a high mental voltage, and whenever you try to think about it, the shock of such a concept forces you to retract at once. Perhaps it was intended for human understanding to be limited at some point, to protect us, or constrain us, or whatever. But this time, I kept going, trying as hard as possible to understand it.
It was terrifying. It was like the worst cognitive collapse from an overdose of a horrendous drug cocktail. It was like the hand of whatever grabbing control of my brain. I don’t even know why I’m trying to explain what it was like, because it was really inexplicable. I ended up sitting on my bed shaking until I could fixate on something concrete and limited in size, like a can of Pepsi on my desk.
My advice to you is to never in your living days purposefully think about this. It is petrifying. What you should do instead is lead a normal, dumbed-down human life, and not think or philosophize about things you will never understand…and appreciate the easing notion that the “endless” desert road is wonderfully finite.
“Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, but an eternal ‘now’ does always last.”
-Abraham Cowley
These words are used on a daily basis, usually with some sarcasm, or extreme exaggeration. “I’m going to be doing this homework forever,” or, “that desert road looks like it keeps going forever.” People use these words, but never really consider what they mean.
Have you ever, if not for just a few seconds, thought about eternity? About the seemingly impossible likelihood that time had no beginning, and has no end? It seems that, when your mind wanders into that uncharted territory, you feel an imminent and inescapable sense of hopelessness. It is a horrible experience.
Why? Infinity is not a concept that can be comprehended by any human being. It is an unfamiliar warp of the laws of anything. Human beings, so used to the logical, finite logarithms and patterns of nature, are not in any way capable of understanding eternity. The largest numbers we ever encounter in our lives are usually limited to the trillions (that’s 1x10^12.) Perhaps, if we counted every blade of grass on the planet we would likely still be under the realm of the twentieth power. So take a trillion, and set it to the trillionth power, and imagine that number being printed by a (very fast) printer—giving you enough pages of zeros to stack to the moon (and simultaneously eliminating every source of paper pulp in existence.) It’s a lot.
But continue. The galaxies of the universe (which, as far as we are concerned, have no limits,) are rapidly and inexplicably accelerating away from each other, into nothingness. Time and space will continue to the infinite power. Scary?
This of course brings about the question, “Kevin, what concoction of banned substances are you on?” I’ve mentioned numerous times before that I think too much, and in this case it really was way too much. I was watching the Discovery Channel the other day about the phenomena of eternity, and I started to really delve into it. Really think deep into it. I was attempting to imagine what eternity would be (will be, rather) like. This idea is charged with a high mental voltage, and whenever you try to think about it, the shock of such a concept forces you to retract at once. Perhaps it was intended for human understanding to be limited at some point, to protect us, or constrain us, or whatever. But this time, I kept going, trying as hard as possible to understand it.
It was terrifying. It was like the worst cognitive collapse from an overdose of a horrendous drug cocktail. It was like the hand of whatever grabbing control of my brain. I don’t even know why I’m trying to explain what it was like, because it was really inexplicable. I ended up sitting on my bed shaking until I could fixate on something concrete and limited in size, like a can of Pepsi on my desk.
My advice to you is to never in your living days purposefully think about this. It is petrifying. What you should do instead is lead a normal, dumbed-down human life, and not think or philosophize about things you will never understand…and appreciate the easing notion that the “endless” desert road is wonderfully finite.
“Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, but an eternal ‘now’ does always last.”
-Abraham Cowley
Current Mood: Uncomfortable
Listening To: "Time" by Hootie & The Blowfish
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Marine
I have mentioned something before, but never really explained it. I feel that I need to clarify it for myself, if not for everybody else.
~
I want to be a Marine. My ultimate reasonable goal is to fly aircraft as an Officer for the United States Marine Corps.
I am not at all one of those war junkies you see in the movies, and probably know from school. I am too intelligent for that. War is a terrible concept borne from the instability of human nature. It is an awful, primitive, destructive behavior. Anyone who gets pumped at action flicks and target shooting with .22s thinks they can be a great warrior, and they are wrong. You see what happens to them in the movies. Their eyes are eventually opened, permanently sobered from their intoxicated state of giddy, trigger-happy, senselessness.
No. I do not want to be a part of the armed forces to fire weapons, to take the lives of other people. I am too gentle a being. I do not want to continue the favorite, deadly pastime of the human race. I don't want to live the military lifestyle because I think it would be "cool." I do not want to sacrifice several years of my life so I can shove people around because I look official in a uniform. I do not want to scream orders and demean people.
I want to be a Marine because I want to participate in the ultimate public service. I want to help people, to rescue citizens of this great nation from their rooftops after a hurricane. I want to provide aid for people in need around the world. I want to be a leader, to lead good men and women to do good things. I want to be an example, a role model, a guiding hand.
I want to be a Marine because of my family. My grandfather served as a field surgeon in the U.S. Army on the torn battlefields of Germany, a brave and dangerous job for a Jewish man, escaped from the grasp of the Third Reich. My grandmother was a nurse in the Army, who attended to severely injured and dying soldiers on the home front. My other grandfather flew F4F Corsairs over Guadalcanal and later F6 Hellcats over Korea for the Marines. They contributed their part for this country, and I feel that it is necessary for me to do the same. Each generation must continue the tradition of service to the nation, and the world, to bind us together as one, strong people.
I want to be a Marine because I want respect. I want to be seen as an honorable person, one who is serious about setting goals, about putting others before self, about living a useful life as a decent human being. I want the Marine Corps to represent who I am, a model citizen, and I in turn can represent the values of the Corps.
But I am a Marine. In ink, I am a civilian by all means. I have not completed the rigorous physical, psychological, emotional reshaping and refinement of military training, Corps training in particular. I do not yet deserve the respect of donning the uniform of a hardened Marine. But being a Marine, however, is not about the uniform. It is not about the medals, the ranks, the details of military protocol. Those are all necessary for an organized military unit, but at the end of the day, that is not what military service is about. Being a Marine is something that lives within you. It is you. You hear them say "you don't understand." It is true that most people do not, and never will. I understand. It is about service, about values, and dedication to becoming the absolute best, polished, honorable, perseverant person that a human being can be. With respect to the United States Marines, I believe that I can grasp what being a Marine is about.
The Marine Corps is called a brotherhood. It is precisely that--a family. There is no closer bond between men than when they are charged with each other's protection, with each other's ultimate trust and respect. Friends come and go, and the best few remain. All Marines, however, share the common friendship of the corps, forever. And I wish to be a part of that fraternity.
Whether or not I will become a true Marine is a question that can only be answered by time. It depends on where my career path, my relationships, my life takes me. But it is something that runs through my blood with each breath, and will not cease until my final gasp, until I lie within a casket with no flag draped upon it. I can say that I believe a Marine lives within me, and that if I do not commit to serving in the United States Marine Corps, it is something that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I would like to become a U.S. Marine.
We will see.
Semper Fidelis,
Kevin L. Krakauer
Current Mood: Inspired
Listening To: "For You" by Johnny Cash & Dave Matthews Band
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Heavenly
Yesterday was by far one of the best ski days ever. Ever...ever.
You know you're in for a good day when the sun is out, the sky is clear, and the view of Lake Tahoe expands behind you on the first ride up the majestic Gunbarrel Express. You're in for a good day.
The first run of the day was around the summit, with the sun coming up over the Nevada desert. "Heavenly" was aptly named. There isn't a square inch of that mountain that isn't, well, Heavenly. If you listen to epic music on an epic mountain with epic views on an epic day, the place seems celestial.
I did a couple of speed runs to warm up on the Nevada side. The snow was absolutely perfect. It was odd though...it was definitely not powder, but it wasn't icy at all nor was it slushy in the least bit. Kind of buttery rather, it's really difficult to describe. Like a soft, slick powder slab. I'd never seen anything like it, but it was awesome.
By noon I was getting kind of hungry, and hot...it was 61 degrees. As I came up the lift on the last run before lunch, I noticed a sign at the top: "Mott Canyon: OPEN." I knew Mott Canyon was open but I really wanted to ski Kille..."Killebrew Canyon: OPEN." I turned on the lift and started choking Scott out of excitement.
Killebrew Canyon, you see, is the expert area of all expert areas. It is explored by very few, and actually skied by even fewer. Named after Hugh Killebrew, the former owner and operator of Heavenly, who was killed in a plane crash in 1977, Killebrew Canyon is legendary. It lies on the silent, powder-filled Northeastern boundary of Heavenly Valley. I was glad it was finally open, to say the least.
Completely forgetting about lunch, I traversed across the Milky Way Bowl, through the trees and over the Mott/Killebrew ridge up to Gate A. A is the highest drop-in at the summit point of the canyon. Unfortunately it was closed so I skied down to C. Gate C is a bitch of a drop-in, it's perched on top of a ledge that's so steep it's barely skiable. It's like an 85º angle. In fact, without my helmet or any spotters, I was debating whether or not to drop at all...but being Killebrew, I had to. After getting down to the canyon floor, I found a ski patroller. The guy looked like a total hick, with a full beard--the type of mountaineering ski patrol guy you would find in Killebrew rather than operating a mid-mountain lift. He was putting up signs near rocks and such, and I asked him who they were for. "You, I guess. You better let me stay in front of you so I can put up these stakes up ahead, or I might as well not be down here." He said he had a couple of drinks and asked me if I wanted one. I ended up sitting on the wall of Killebrew Canyon and drinking a Pepsi with a hippie patroller, talking about the conditions and related ski talk. It was amazing.
When I skied out of the trees at the base of Mott, the liftie did a double-take and then started grinning and doing a little dance. "Killebrew Canyon customer number one today, congratulations!" Lifties are always high as balls.
The best run of the day outside of Killebrew was the last run. Normally the last run is kind of depressing, especially if you're driving home right after. Not today. I was listening to the right song. I was on the right run, from the summit to the base along the Southern ridge. The sun was in the right place, igniting the lake with billions of flakes of light, and illuminating the snow with a golden hue. I was going the right speed, not too fast and not too slow. Just takin' my time. There are brief stints, lapses in time it seems, when everything is absolutely perfect. There's nothing on your mind, nothing to rush for, nothing planned, and no gravity to pull you back to reality. This was one of those. I can't remember when I've felt better.
Clichéd, yes, but all good things come to an end. At the bottom of my 15 minute cloud of perfection, reality called. Literally. My phone rang, and I was informed that my grandpa was back in the hospital. Fuck reality.
All in all though, a good day. A rare, heavenly, good day. Vita brevis. Carpe diem.
~
"Well I'm takin' my time, I'm just movin' on
You'll forget about me after I've been gone
And I take what I find, I don't want no more
It's just outside of your front door.
It's been such a long time. It's been such a long time.
Yeah. It's been such a long time, I think I should be goin', yeah
And time doesn't wait for me, it keeps on rollin'
There's a long road, I've gotta stay in time with
I've got to keep on chasin' that dream, though I may never find it
I'm always just behind it.
Well I'm takin' my time, I'm just movin' along
Takin' my time, just movin' along
Takin' my time, takin' my time..."
-Boston
Current Mood: Indescribable
Listening To: "Peace of Mind" by Boston
Friday, January 2, 2009
To Clarify
What is experience?
You are never what you were. Experience changes you. It is the awl that constantly chips away at the marble, refining the details of your being from the day you are born until the very last minutes of your life. Like fragments of rock, the small bits of ineptitude that are removed each day by your experiences will never be a part of you again. You cannot glue shavings of marble back on, should they be mistakenly removed. Likewise, once you have experienced something, it is permanently part of your past.
When you are born, you are a simple block. Now, no two blocks are the same—each has unique swirls, chips, and rough spots—predispositions, if you will, to what you may become. They will always remain with you, but it is experience that truly defines you. By the time you die, your experience has sculpted from that block distinct figure, a statue of your life.
Experience is why the old are wise. It is why the young are naïve. It is why soldiers may be solemn, and why rock stars may be wild. Experience is not a part of life. It is life.
Immerse yourself in your experiences...be a part of your life.
Current Mood: Thoughtful
Listening To: "Human" by The Killers
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