Archive for January, 2005
For many people, nothing compares to a nice rump stake, a lamb roast or some slices of bacon. Yet I find that people generally have the most absurd double standards when it comes to meat.
Do you eat steak? Would you eat kidneys? Do you eat chicken? Would you eat chicken feet? Do you eat lamb? Would you eat a dog?
The Crocodile Hunter strongly believes that Australians should not eat kangaroos. They are not endangered, in fact they are becoming somewhat of a pest, yet he has strong convictions against eating them. But eating cows are OK according to him, just not Kangaroos.
I think this is all crap, and that it?s all hypocritical. And the worst part is that most meat eaters can?t understand us vegetarians. They think its one of the craziest ideas ever, and couldn?t fathom doing that, yet they honestly believe that foreigners eating cats is disgusting. Well I?ve got news for you ? you are doing the exact same thing that they are. One type of animal life is not worth more or less then another so don?t pretend that you are taking some sort of higher moral stand.
Later,
Kung Fu
January 1st, 2005
On the first day of my high school psychology class the professor went around the room asking everybody questions. When he got to me he said ?who are you?? ?I?m Ryan? I said, cheerfully adding in a ?nice to meet you!? He gave me a quick look over before saying ?yeah, it says that on my list, but who are you?? Thinking for a moment, I gave the same answer many of you might have given back then: ?I?m a senior, captain of the wrestling team, the fireman?s son; I play hockey.?
If you would have asked me that question last month, you?d have gotten basically the same answer. ?I?m Ryan, a 20 year old computer engineering major. I work at [fortune 500 company?s name left out], play hockey and I?m dating Nicole (a 19 year old Chemical engineering major, played tennis, etc..) My father is the deputy fire chief. You know, drives the red car!
It may have taken me about 4 years, but after a new major, a new job and losing a girlfriend, I now realize how juvenile my answer to his question was. I was doing exactly what he expected me to do; conforming to yet another of society?s bad habits.
What are we? A very profound question it is, yet how would you answer? From the moment we enter this world, we are defined by what we do. In school we have the jocks, geeks and burnouts, in high school it gets worse. After school, we have students, blue collar workers and slackers, after work we have careers. If anyone has been to a funeral lately, I?m sure you?ve heard the deceased referred to by his or her profession; Homemaker, doctor, policeman, ventriloquist, etc. Can you tell me who your friends are without telling me what they do?
We define ourselves and others by what we do, yet does it hold any truth? I just quit my job, switched my major and lost my girlfriend. Almost everything that once defined me as a person has now changed, but am I the same person? If yes, then what is it that defines me as a person?
Wait, let me take some of that back, it?s not everything we do, it?s just what we do that defines us. Take screwing up for example. One can go to college, get a degree, work an honest job for below average pay, volunteer at church, donate to charity, and coach his son?s t-ball team. One too many nights out drinking with the guys however, and he?s forever labeled a felon.
Once he?s labeled though, he can forget about that pay raise, coach of the year award, or invite to the church picnic. It just doesn?t seem right. It?s like an old friend once told me. ?You can build a thousand bridges in your life, but if you suck one dick, you?ll never be referred to as a bridge builder, only a cocksucker?.
January 1st, 2005
What are friends for do you think? To make you feel happy, to fill the void of not having a member of the opposite sex love you, to steal the girl that you have loved for months, to steal all your CD?s and play mind games with you saying they never took them in the first place? I think friends are there to make you feel happy, the more you have the happier you are. Popularity is such a confidence booster. Confidence leads to happiness, and happiness leads to being able to enjoy life.
Think about it; the only reason we want to live is to make ourselves happy. You?re not happy, you don?t want to live. A reason why you might not be happy? No friends; no one to bitch your problems too. No matter how much you think you want to make someone else happy (possibly by doing something that might disadvantage you), it always comes back to you?re doing it because it will benefit you somewhere later in life. Note I know this is probably only in my mind and maybe I am actually the only selfish person in the world, but hey this is what discussion is for, tell me if you think this is total bs.
I feel I have quite a few friends. I suppose they are there for me when I feel down, which is like always, but I don?t ever seem to tell them how I?m truly feeling, and as much as I forever need help and advice from other people I never ask or tell anyone. Why? I?m trying to figure it out. Maybe I feel I don?t believe I can trust them. But I can think of at least 3 people I?m positive I can trust. I think the main reason is that I?m embarrassed. It?s annoying too, seeming that I have great respect for any of my friends that come to me with a problem that has them really worried, yet I feel if I approach one of my friends with a problem of mine they?ll lose some respect for me. And I?m a person that cannot stand the idea that maybe someone is thinking anything remotely bad about me. Confidence I believe that would relate to.
Where was I going with this? Oh yeah. What do you think of people that aren?t really your ?close friends?? People that you practically just ?use? to help you through a tough time, to bitch about your life and all your love problems? People like this are sometimes not very close to you, e.g. you only talk to them on the internet or on phone, you never go anywhere with each other in person. They are normally very good at handling all of your life?s problems, hence that?s normally the only reason you talk to them. Would you call this using someone? The idea of always talking to someone to get desperately needed help about one of your problems can be brought back to the idea that friends are only there for your own personal happiness. Well let?s just say this idea is true, nothing deters the fact that these types of friends are gems (yes it rhymes, no I didn?t plan on it to).
Think about it, all anyone ever wants is for someone to listen to them. Everyone has a story to tell. But who ever wants to listen to someone else? Lots of people I?m sure, but wouldn?t you much rather be discussing your own problems? After all, your own happiness is all that matters in life, right? These special friends you can have seem to be happy to listen to you rant and bitch about your problems, and even throw in a few solutions here and there too, no extra charge. Having someone that you know will listen to you is a great feeling. They?re the people you can trust, don?t ever lose them. I know I?ve lost a few, I know I want them back, in fact I need them back. So here?s some advice from your friendly 16 year old teenager; don?t lose people you know you can trust, they?re hard to come by.
January 1st, 2005
It was a hot August afternoon; the mid-day sun was beating down hard on the pavement of the city below. A single drop of sweat rolled down his furrowed brow. Nervously he wiped it aside and flung it onto the pavement where it immediately evaporated. Two more beads formed on his forehead, but he hardly noticed. One of them rolled into his eye, but without blinking his eyes remained focused, his gaze was on the task ahead.
His eyes were staring straight ahead, his right arm slightly extended, glistening in the hot sun above. His hand was quivering, fingers shaking as they tightly gripped the hard, cold black handle of his revolver. With a slight tremor his jaw opened and he muttered out ?give me your wallet?.
Thoughts were racing through his head now. What was he doing? Did he really have to do this? Of course he did. There was no other way, this is what it had come to; he had to go through with it, but what did this mean? What had he let himself become?
It all started about a year earlier. It sort of just sneaked up on him on some idle Tuesday. He was a young man, mid thirties. Two kids, a wife, dog, house in the suburbs, he had it all. He was a shipping clerk, worked nights on the river. The pay was shitty, but it didn?t really matter. Linda, his wife took care of that. She was in politics; state representative for that matter. Everything was going swell.
Then it happened, that one day that started him on his downward spiral. Linda?s cancer finally caught up with her and she was taken from him at the age of 32. It?s also about this time that he began drinking heavily. For you see, it seems Linda had been having a secret affair. While he got the house and the kids, some Washington intern got everything else.
The kids were getting older now, one was even starting college. Unable to find means to support his children his drinking grew increasingly heavier. It wasn?t long before the county came and took his house, and then the drinking got out of control. He lost his job, the kids abandoned him and he was out on the street. Life looked pretty dismal, and if he didn?t get money soon, he?d surely end up dead.
A crow cawed and he caught a reflection of the sun?s hot rays from his car window. It was a 1982 dodge. Rusted, falling apart and barely able to drive it was his only possession; lately it had become his home.
He blinked once and twitched his head, perhaps in an effort to help concentrate on his task at hand. He could hear the crow cawing in the background as the man, scared for his life, shyly handed over his wallet. Opening the wallet, a look of shock came across his face as he removed exactly thirteen dollars from the billfold. He counted it again, hastily shoved it into his pocket and threw the empty wallet to the ground.
?Thirteen fucking dollars??, he said as the sun glared on his face from the nearby car window. The crow was getting louder now, almost to the point where it was becoming a nuisance. The cops would be here soon, and he was risking going to jail for a measly 13 bucks. This wouldn?t be enough to feed himself; let alone pay for another semester at Brown.
He held the gun out, pointed towards the man. An elderly man, in his early 50?s stood there, eyes glazed, hands twitching, shaking feverously, muttering a silent prayer.
He stood there, grasping his revolver tighter and tighter each moment. He glanced around to see if there were any witnesses of his crime; there were none. What had he done? He risked never being able to see his kids again for little more than the price of a combo meal and a six-pack. A tear formed in his left eye as he thought about what he had let himself become. Angry with himself he vowed never again to let his emotion take control.
?CAW?, went the crow, disturbing his thoughts and causing him to jump slightly. As his stare returned to the victim he caught another of the sun?s reflections and was blinded for a second. Suddenly he heard the crow caw again, this time the animals screech was so loud it was deafening. The sound of 100 fingernails running down a chalkboard filled his head as the ringing still remained in his ears. His body tensed up and his squinting eyes caught one last glimpse of the sun. One last loud noise, and then there was blackness??.
( There are 2 more parts to this story, of which I shall post at a later date)
January 1st, 2005
I?m sure you?ve heard of the idea of quantum computing and how it can drastically change the world around us, and if you?re anything like me you?re both excited and scared. Being able to test multiple outcomes instantaneously would render cryptography as we know it useless, and vastly improve the superiority of machines. What if, however quantum computers could also help us to understand more deeply the concepts of reality, space and time, and even God.
Truth is, it can; and while they had no means with which to explain it, philosophers as early as the 18th century have understood it. I?m actually getting ahead of myself here, so let me start by explaining a few very very basic ideas of quantum mechanics and modern philosophy.
The theory of quantum computing relies heavily on the fact that subatomic particles appear to ?make decisions?. Not only that, but they do so based upon decisions made elsewhere. The shocking fact is that particles seem to ?know? the results of another decision made somewhere else Instantaneously .(that?s right, no time whatsoever) Better yet, somewhere can be as far away as 2 cm or a completely different galaxy. It doesn?t matter!
Now, if you picture a ?particle? as something that takes up space and has mass, this is definitely hard to grasp. You might be saying something like ?sure, they can communicate, but they have to shout, yell, sign, or send some sort of signal; and this takes time, HockeyGod, you?re insane!? Don?t worry, I was thinking the same thing too until I did some reading on it.
The typical physicist view goes something like this: Maybe, just maybe, particles aren?t really particles at all. Just like every tiniest part of a hologram contains the entire image, and each cell contains the information required to reproduce the entire organism, maybe each particle in fact contains the entire universe. An abstract way of thinking, but it does explain the observed phenomenon. We know particles are organic, maybe they are all part of one big, inseparable organic pattern.
I was reading this the other day when I remembered back to my Modern Philosophy class when we studied a guy by the name of Barach Spinoza. Spinoza is most famous for his one substance doctrine, which is basically a large and complex mathematical proof claiming that there can only be and is only one substance.
?Whoa, what do you mean one substance? I?m sitting here looking at my glass monitor typing on my plastic keyboard, how are you calling those the same?? Spinoza would argue that these are merely ?modes? of the same substance, similar to a wave in an ocean. They are 2 separate modes of one substance: water.
What if there was only one substance, one organic material that was home to all sub-atomic particles and the ?things? that they make up? This would surely allow for particles to ?communicate? with each other, as they are modes of the same thing, and thus would be able to instantaneously know what?s going on with each other. (eg if I heat this cup of coffee, it heats uniformly, each molecule does the same thing instantaneously)
Reading further into Spinoza?s doctrine, one sees that a substance must create itself, as it can not be created from another substance. (this would allow more than one substance, which he claims to have proved can?t exist).
We?ve already acknowledged that this substance is organic, and being the only one it must encompass all known attributes right? What if we called this substance God?
All powerful; creator of the Universe; exists within us all; all knowing; lives outside of time; etc?. I?m sure many religions could take comfort with this too. The sad part is, as long as we live in and experience the world, we?ll never be able to explain it, just observe it. Like a 6 yr old looking at a car. He can tell you what it does, but without being able to open the hood, he?ll never be able to tell you exactly how it works.
I was unable to find the complete one substance doctrine online, however I did find This Site which seems to explain it pretty well.
January 1st, 2005
The following is non-fiction:
?Holy shit, she?s still there,?
I said as I opened the blinds above my computer and looked out the window. I?d like to tell you her name, but I honestly don?t know it. I never really cared to learn it. It didn?t matter though, because there she was. Standing there, staring straight at me, wearing her black Capri pants and her flowery pink shirt which was now soaked with sweat; no doubt from spending the last 4 hours in the hot July sun.
I laughed, and headed to the kitchen to pour myself a nice frosty Heineken. It?d been over 3 hours since I watched her son drop her off. She got out of the car, waved goodbye and off he drove. I remember well, it was right around noon and I had just finished cleaning the car when I watched him pull up.
As I sipped the foam from my beer and headed back to my computer I casually glanced at the clock. The bright neon green numbers now said 3:30. ?What the hell is she doing?? I asked myself as I sat down to read the latest User Friendly and check out what?s new on dotCULT.
Perhaps she was watching something. Maybe she was lost in thought; possibly thinking of her late husband. He lived across the street from me for the last 10 years of my life but I don?t remember his name either. Is she locked out? No, the door is wide open. Is it possible to sleep standing up? That would be a pretty cool skill to learn??
6:00 ? I crawl out of the shower, thrown on my work clothes and re-open the blinds.
?what the hell? There is something seriously wrong with her.? Apparently I?m not the only one to notice now. In fact most of the neighbors are now outside probably wondering the same things that I am. Doesn?t bother her though, she?s been staring at the sky for the last 20 minutes. She doesn?t even know we?re all watching her.
I grab a quick bite to eat and head out for work. As I get in the car I notice a vehicle pull up into her driveway. Her son exits and together they both walk in through the open door and shut it behind them. I laugh and slowly drive off to work.
Now I know what it?s like to be lonely.
January 1st, 2005
I have finally figured out what bothers me about the American show ?Everybody Loves Raymond?. For those of us who don?t watch it, basically Raymond is a full time sports writer, while Debra is unemployed. Raymond never helps out with the house work, as Frank (his father) never did when he was working and Marie (his mother) was at home.
The fact that he never helps out around the house is seen as quite ridiculous. The show seems to create some sort of mood where you think that Raymond is so lucky to have Debra to do all those things for him, because he is practically useless.
But I think that is nonsense. She should cook, clean and pick the kids up from school. He works. He makes the money, from 9-5 (and frequently later) while she stays at home all day. Why should they share the housework? If Debra worked as well, then sure, they should both be cooking and cleaning but the fact is that he works and she is a housewife.
Its her job to cook and clean. This was once mentioned by Frank to Marie and was seen as one of the most shocking things ever said by him. Which is utter crap, because it is her job. Debra should quit complaining that Raymond never does anything around the house and do what she?s supposed to do.
Oh, and if anyone sees this as sexist you?re wrong. Because there is no reason why the roles couldn?t be revered… actually nothing would make me happier then marrying a professional woman and getting to stay home to do the chores.
January 1st, 2005
Author’s note- With the one-year anniversary of the Sept. 11 attacks looming just around the corner, the major TV networks are gearing up for a full-throttle slew of retrospectives, tributes, and interviews to give the event ‘meaning’ that it would somehow otherwise lack. Mulling over this, I decided to write my own feelings on the subject, focusing less on the attacks themselves and more on how we, as a society, assimilate disaster.
. . .
With paint in your eyes, it’s hard to focus on the end of the world. Sometimes, it’s easier just to stay in your own little reality, instead.
____________________________________________________________
The radio was playing all the usual corporate rock Muzak as my friend Case and I were painting the poolhouse for the Aurora public pool. In my mind, there was a floating little calendar on which I was checking off the days until the summer season was over for the Aurora Parks Department, because that’s the earliest that I could quit. Case, all misty-eyed from paint fumes and heartbreak, continued to complain about his girlfriend (well, ex-girlfriend). We were both holed away in our own little worlds that meant so much; our own little dramas that our lives comfortably revolved around.
The song on the radio stopped in mid-verse and the station DJ came on. I silently thanked the gods, because whoever that band was, they were crucifying the Beatles with an awful cover of “Eleanor Rigby”. As I thought about this, Case complained that his ex was disinterested in him. Our worlds continued to spin on.
Then the DJ said something that stopped us both.
“Uh, we really, uh, don’t know exactly what is… exactly what’s happening, but it seems that… yeah, it looks like two commercial jets have crashed into the World Trade Center in New York… and we’re getting reports hat a third plane has hit the Pentagon in Washington D.C.”
It’s at this point that a drop of fresh paint fell from the ceiling and landed in my left eye with military precision.
Case stopped in mid-sentence of his anguish and asks, “What’d he say?”
With my face stuck under a water faucet and the raw nerves of my eye screaming in pain, I shrugged, completely forgetting how much I hate this job and how pissed I am about the paint.
The DJ goes on to say, “that this looks like an attack.”
I looked up at Case, who was distorted and blurred because of the water in my eye. We were both trying to think of something clever and appropriate to say, something to fill in this gap of conversation and give this situation meaning, the kind of thing someone would say in a movie.
Fortunately, the opening strains of Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb” came on the radio and saved us from having to say anything. We probably wouldn’t have said much, anyway. Case couldn’t think of anything to say about his former flame. I forgot what I was so upset about. Our worlds came to a crunching, universe-grinding halt and were frozen on their axis’. We tried to get back to work, but ended up just sitting and listening to the radio reports, shaking our heads.
Later, on my lunch break, I went to my girlfriend’s house to watch the news. It’s a school day, but her classes were canceled because of an anonymous bomb threat. It’s a coincidence that, at the time, I didn’t find so funny.
As we watch CNN, we’re shown the same three clips: two of them show the second plane plowing through the Trade Center at different angles; the third clip showed the destruction at the Pentagon. These clips are on a loop that plays every five minutes. After a few cycles, they begin to seem more like movie clips than disaster footage. My girlfriend says the same thing. Already, we began to digest what has happened, and subconsciously start to accept it. Already, it started to become something far away, projected to us on a repeating pattern of television pixels: red, green, blue.
Red, green, blue.
Angle 1: shot from above.
Red, green, blue.
Angle 2: shot from below.
Red, green, blue.
Angle 3: Aerial shot of the Pentagon.
Already, on another network, a reporter was coughing up vague but meaningful quotes from John and Robert Kennedy. Already, CNN was giving the event an ominous, piano-based theme song. Already, someone in the room was asking, “They ever find the intern that the senator, or whoever, killed? What’s her name? Darva Conger?” Already, the tragedy and scope of what happened began to dwindle. Already, I began to hate my job, and dread going back to work at 1:00.
Everyone’s little worlds were fighting to start spinning again, lest they confront a situation that was just too real to deal with.
Back at work, my boss blames everything on Muslims. Only, he calls them “sand-niggers.” He says how, after work, he’s going to Wal-Mart to buy some ammo for his at-home gun arsenal, just in case there’s an invasion. I ask him if he really thinks that our little town in Missouri is going to be invaded. He stared back at me, confused, muttering, “you never know what those crazy camel-bangers will do.” I thought, tonight he’ll fall asleep with a shotgun tucked between his legs, and he’ll be that much more of a man. I said this out loud, but the sarcasm was lost on him.
Back at the poolhouse, our eyes red from paint fumes, Case and I wondered who could have orchestrated the attack. Then, after a few minutes, I asked, “how many days ‘till the summer season is over?” Case didn’t know. He asked me, “should I call her?”
We fight so hard to maintain a pattern. It’s so much easier to fall in line. It’s easier to disassociate yourself from tragedy than to embrace it, to face up to it. It’s easier to see it all as some far-away movie, something to be watched on TV. It’s easier to curl up with your little worries and dramas that give your life meaning than to accept something that makes you so insignificant in comparison.
When I get home after work, some of my friends come over and watch the coverage on TV, with all the repeating images and pixels.
Red, green, blue.
One of my friends said, “Come see this crash footage. CBS has an angle that the other networks don’t have yet.”
Red, green, blue.
Another asked, “If Bush comes on TV tonight, will they still air Survivor afterwards?”
Red, green, blue.
And I started to wonder if the summer season for the Parks Department ends in September, or is it in October?
Red, green, blue.
January 1st, 2005
Tomorrow is the day you?ve all been hearing about. Yes, tomorrow is the anniversary of the September 11 attacks on the world trade center and pentagon. It?s hard to believe it?s been a whole year already, but what an event filled year it has been.
9-11 is supposed to be a day of remembrance, a day of courage, and a day of patriotism. To this writer, however, the use of the word anniversary is just plain sickening. Anniversaries are supposed to be happy times. We have wedding anniversaries, commemorative anniversaries, our nation?s anniversary, and many others. An anniversary is a joyous time, a time for rejoice and celebration. I see no reason for any of those things here.
Today is merely September 10. For lack of a better word, it has it?s own special anniversary too; A day that is surely not worth celebrating, but definitely should not be forgotten.
Think back to September 10, 2001 for a minute. Save for the Chandra Levy search, nothing really newsworthy was happening. But this isn?t about any significant event that happened on September 10th, oh no not at all, it?s about our way of life and how it was much different then.
For, on September 10, 2001 the Bill Of Rights actually had meaning, it was so much more than the after-dinner napkin the Bush administration has turned it into.
September 10, 2001 was one of the last days where we as Americans were truly free. Since September 10, 2001 Americans have been given new rights. For example:
- The right to have religious and political institutions monitored by government without any suspicion of criminal activity.
- The right to be jailed or detained without having been charged of a crime, and the right to NOT confront witnesses against oneself.
- The right to have all electronic conversations including telephone, fax and email monitored without probable cause or criminal suspicion.
- The right to have all jailhouse conversations between inmates and attorneys monitored and recorded; and in some cases even used against you in court.
- And the right of the public to NOT be allowed access to subpoenaed documents, immigration hearings, or even a lawyer to defend yourself against certain charges.
Yes, September 10,2001 is definitely worth remembering, for it was the day before Americans started giving up rights to protect themselves from terrorism.
It?s the day we allowed the government to do whatever they wanted in the name of ?terrorism?. Take away our rights, Limit our freedoms, House soldiers in our homes and Tax our tea, but for God?s sake, don?t question our ?patriotism?.
Yes, remember September 10, 2001. It was the day before democracy died.
January 1st, 2005
This is a reader submission from True Blue.
Quickly the girl sat up, turning off the radio and taking off her headphones. The tears started to flow freely, she hugged her knees to her chest and sat on her bed, staring at the doorknob. The door?s locked, she told herself. But the memories… the memories of seeing his form hovering over her in the darkness, watching and waiting for the right time…. Her sobs were the silent sobs of one who was accustomed to crying late at night when the house slept.
At a knock on the door she rose, wiping some tears away, and opened the door to let her mother in. Her eyes rose to meet the taller woman?s gaze, then she went back to sit on her bed. Her mother sat down beside her, held her in her arms like a little girl. Her shoulders and her breath shook. She closed her eyes to keep out the fear, but it just came through her eyelids.
“Just cry… let it all out… that?s it. Don?t be afraid to be noisy, just let go…” The girl laughed to herself. It seemed impossible to be noisy now, after all those years of silent crying. Silent solitary crying. Through it all I?ve never had a shoulder to cry on, and now that I have one I almost don?t know what to do with it, she thought. In a way it?s better to be alone, then I don?t have to worry about how what I?m doing affects other people. Or worry about whether the person knows exactly how I feel. But it?s better to have someone to cry with; that way I know I?m not alone. She stopped crying and walked to the door.
“I?m sorry I scared you,” said her mother.
“It wasn?t you who scared me.”
“I know, but I wish I hadn?t been the one to bring it all back to you.”
“Doesn?t matter.” She stared at the doorknob, it wasn?t the one her brother had turned those years ago, it was new. She looked at the refection of light on it?s shiny surface, saw out of the corner of her eye some hair tumbling down from it?s place.
“I guess I?ll go back to bed then…” her mother walked through the darkness to her own bedroom, the girl walked into the bathroom, closed the door and flipped on the light. She gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was blank, her eyes wide and fearful. For a while she stayed there, as if waiting for something to happen, for some magical thought to click in her head. The bathroom door clicked open, the light switch clicked off. The door to her room opened and closed silently. A light went off inside, and the house was left dark and silent.
January 1st, 2005
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