My attempt at being a Googlewhack
Pirahna skateboard!
I pondered the greatness of cultivating a school of pirahnas. They make for great attack pets, I thought. But!
They are very limited on land. (Flop. Flop. Flop.)
No matter!
Give them skateboards!
But!
How will they move?
The answer is obvious.
Telekinesis.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
For those of you who aren't aware, Penny Arcade is organizing the Child's Play charity again this year, where video gaming fans buy toys for childrens' hospitals around the world, just in time for the holiday season. It was basically started by Gabe and Tycho to show the world that not all video gamers are violent, anti-social assholes, and of course to help sick kids.
It's a really good cause. Plus, one of the hospitals you can donate to is our very own Children's National Medical in D.C. I had surgery there when I was ten. They help you not feel scared, and they're good people.
It's a really good cause. Plus, one of the hospitals you can donate to is our very own Children's National Medical in D.C. I had surgery there when I was ten. They help you not feel scared, and they're good people.
Friday, December 02, 2005
(E-mail to Steve aka Theodrek: December 2nd, 2005)
Hey Steve, I had a dream about you last night. It was really weird; there
were like tattoos all over your face, and you were on fire. It was pretty
badass.
Anyway, how was your Thanksgiving? It snowed for the first time this year
on Thanksgiving night, but it all melted by morning. My holiday was pretty
boring; I went home and basically spent like the whole four days trying to
put together a 900 piece jigsaw puzzle. I still haven't finished. I got to
see my nephew Nathan again- he's two, and he's starting to talk, though
not anything coherent. According to my roommate it snowed again this
morning too, but I missed it.
My apartment is all Christmas decorated now. It's pretty sweet. We
actually still have like this foam skeleton from Halloween hanging from a
noose. We can tell everyone it's Jesus rising from the dead..
(Dang, wrong holiday) Oh well.
Catch ya later,
-Angie
Hey Steve, I had a dream about you last night. It was really weird; there
were like tattoos all over your face, and you were on fire. It was pretty
badass.
Anyway, how was your Thanksgiving? It snowed for the first time this year
on Thanksgiving night, but it all melted by morning. My holiday was pretty
boring; I went home and basically spent like the whole four days trying to
put together a 900 piece jigsaw puzzle. I still haven't finished. I got to
see my nephew Nathan again- he's two, and he's starting to talk, though
not anything coherent. According to my roommate it snowed again this
morning too, but I missed it.
My apartment is all Christmas decorated now. It's pretty sweet. We
actually still have like this foam skeleton from Halloween hanging from a
noose. We can tell everyone it's Jesus rising from the dead..
(Dang, wrong holiday) Oh well.
Catch ya later,
-Angie
Friday, November 25, 2005
Why I Love the West
America gets the shaft a lot, by her own people. We like saying how culture-less and devoid of moral value we are, but I think that's only because we don't notice what we have. We're like cultural fish- do fish know what water is? I've been talking to Matt a lot; the implicit assumption being that he finds Eastern theology and philosophy to be superior to Western thought, though he never says as much. But you wouldn't convert to Buddhism and be pissed off at capitalistic society if you didn't pretty much reject Western thought, no?
I happen to like the West a lot; honestly, I find it a lot easier to be jaded by America (and her ideals) when you live there. Duh. Maybe if you lived in China you'd find being Chinese a real drag. This isn't to rag on anybody, I just think everybody finds everyone else's culture cooler than their own. So: here's my semi-facetious List of Things that're cool or unique about America and/or Western civilization.
- black people. Yeah, Africa also has black people. But only America has African-Americans. Take that, Africa!! Jazz is ours!
- John Locke's social contract
- separation of church and state
- The premise that all citizens have a right to due process, and equal rights under the law
- The concept that the law is a separate entity from the person administering it.
- Representative government.
- Counter culture. In countries over 400 years old, people actually care about respectability, social standing, family honor. I bet in Japan even the Goths are polite. While in other countries, like China, defying social mores is seen as criminally subversive and disgraceful to your family, here, you're just mocked and ostracized. Go tolerance!
- Suburbia. Suburbia has a reputation for being mundane and soulless, but in actuality, it was born from a beautiful dream. Millions of families, weary soldiers, factory women, and resolute immigrants, dreamed of single-family homes with hardwood floors and spacious gardens where their children could play and live a better life. Flowers would be planted, trees climbed, the air fresh in the morning with the birds singing and at night filled with a thousand stars. Did it happen? Well.. like all dreams, for some people, yes, for some people, no, and for some people, they got what they wanted but still weren't happy, and for others, they didn't get what they wanted but were. Nonetheless, suburbia is our soul, and no one else's.
- Cafeteria tater tots. Only in America!
- Social mobility. In China, you knew your place and were content with it. Thus, "All Is Right Under Heaven." In the U.S., it's hard and nearly impossible, but you can claw your way to the top, you greedy bastard.
- John Maynard Keynes: the concept of the government providing economic opportunities for the poor
- The idea that God Loves You (every person infinitely and equally).
- Newgrounds, and other pointless, juvenile, humor.
- Christmas. We are so the best Christmas partiers.
- Modern medicine. Your illness is due to a directly observable cause that could in theory be replicated in a laboratory, not an "imbalance of yin and yang."
- Computers.
- Star Wars.
- embrace and acknowledgement of constant social change
- Tex-Mex. Can you get good Tex Mex in Britain? Well, CAN YOU???
- I have the right to riot.
- Civil Disobedience.
- Dungeons and Dragons.
- What an individual does is fundamentally his/her own decision.
- Romanticism : the pursuit of extraordinary experiences, strong passions and flights of imagination above all, and the Heroic Individual.
- An ideal person is well-rounded, one who proficient in the ways of art, literature, politics, war, natural sciences, ethics, sports, and music. In China, a good person... studies. And works hard.
- love of rebellion and challenging authority. My parents are Chinese, and they get upset whenever a comedian makes fun of George Bush, not because they like Bush, but because making fun of a national leader is "Unseemly." See... see.. this is why Chinese people aren't funny.
- perspective in painting.
- fiction is valuable because it is a representation of general truths, even if the characters act immorally. Art and free speech are forms of expression and should not be censored.
- The concept of news media as an impartial entity separate from a ruling government or other powerful organization.
- The insane idea that good urban planning will somehow improve the masses.
- National identity as a matter of citizenship and obedience to the law, not ethnic or religious background.
- Shopping as a passtime.
- Tourism, the family vacation and roadtrips as a passtime.
- cheese steaks.
America gets the shaft a lot, by her own people. We like saying how culture-less and devoid of moral value we are, but I think that's only because we don't notice what we have. We're like cultural fish- do fish know what water is? I've been talking to Matt a lot; the implicit assumption being that he finds Eastern theology and philosophy to be superior to Western thought, though he never says as much. But you wouldn't convert to Buddhism and be pissed off at capitalistic society if you didn't pretty much reject Western thought, no?
I happen to like the West a lot; honestly, I find it a lot easier to be jaded by America (and her ideals) when you live there. Duh. Maybe if you lived in China you'd find being Chinese a real drag. This isn't to rag on anybody, I just think everybody finds everyone else's culture cooler than their own. So: here's my semi-facetious List of Things that're cool or unique about America and/or Western civilization.
- black people. Yeah, Africa also has black people. But only America has African-Americans. Take that, Africa!! Jazz is ours!
- John Locke's social contract
- separation of church and state
- The premise that all citizens have a right to due process, and equal rights under the law
- The concept that the law is a separate entity from the person administering it.
- Representative government.
- Counter culture. In countries over 400 years old, people actually care about respectability, social standing, family honor. I bet in Japan even the Goths are polite. While in other countries, like China, defying social mores is seen as criminally subversive and disgraceful to your family, here, you're just mocked and ostracized. Go tolerance!
- Suburbia. Suburbia has a reputation for being mundane and soulless, but in actuality, it was born from a beautiful dream. Millions of families, weary soldiers, factory women, and resolute immigrants, dreamed of single-family homes with hardwood floors and spacious gardens where their children could play and live a better life. Flowers would be planted, trees climbed, the air fresh in the morning with the birds singing and at night filled with a thousand stars. Did it happen? Well.. like all dreams, for some people, yes, for some people, no, and for some people, they got what they wanted but still weren't happy, and for others, they didn't get what they wanted but were. Nonetheless, suburbia is our soul, and no one else's.
- Cafeteria tater tots. Only in America!
- Social mobility. In China, you knew your place and were content with it. Thus, "All Is Right Under Heaven." In the U.S., it's hard and nearly impossible, but you can claw your way to the top, you greedy bastard.
- John Maynard Keynes: the concept of the government providing economic opportunities for the poor
- The idea that God Loves You (every person infinitely and equally).
- Newgrounds, and other pointless, juvenile, humor.
- Christmas. We are so the best Christmas partiers.
- Modern medicine. Your illness is due to a directly observable cause that could in theory be replicated in a laboratory, not an "imbalance of yin and yang."
- Computers.
- Star Wars.
- embrace and acknowledgement of constant social change
- Tex-Mex. Can you get good Tex Mex in Britain? Well, CAN YOU???
- I have the right to riot.
- Civil Disobedience.
- Dungeons and Dragons.
- What an individual does is fundamentally his/her own decision.
- Romanticism : the pursuit of extraordinary experiences, strong passions and flights of imagination above all, and the Heroic Individual.
- An ideal person is well-rounded, one who proficient in the ways of art, literature, politics, war, natural sciences, ethics, sports, and music. In China, a good person... studies. And works hard.
- love of rebellion and challenging authority. My parents are Chinese, and they get upset whenever a comedian makes fun of George Bush, not because they like Bush, but because making fun of a national leader is "Unseemly." See... see.. this is why Chinese people aren't funny.
- perspective in painting.
- fiction is valuable because it is a representation of general truths, even if the characters act immorally. Art and free speech are forms of expression and should not be censored.
- The concept of news media as an impartial entity separate from a ruling government or other powerful organization.
- The insane idea that good urban planning will somehow improve the masses.
- National identity as a matter of citizenship and obedience to the law, not ethnic or religious background.
- Shopping as a passtime.
- Tourism, the family vacation and roadtrips as a passtime.
- cheese steaks.
I believe that humans are born rational and noble, and that everything we do should enhance the happiness and virtue of people. I believe in the march of progress that was dreamed of in the Great Enlightenment, that slowly and surely, through rational science and the pursuit of knowledge, through contemplation of beauty and love of goodness, the world is becoming a better place, and that one day everyone will live in perfect happiness. Through civic involvement, public works and charity, bit by bit we better humanity. I believe that through the cultivation of art, music, and literature, I can become a better and more virtuous person.
They call me "agnostic," yet as sure as the ground beneath me, I know that all these things are true. A God may guide us in our development, may create us, may take us when we die. Yet all the things I say above are true, or lightning strike me down.
We are not born evil. We will not be thrown into a fiery Hell. We do not sin for loving the world that we were born to love. I embrace God as my god, but not Jesus Christ.
I am not Christian, but my faith is strong.
(Now stop giving me Jeebus pamphlets, people!!)
They call me "agnostic," yet as sure as the ground beneath me, I know that all these things are true. A God may guide us in our development, may create us, may take us when we die. Yet all the things I say above are true, or lightning strike me down.
We are not born evil. We will not be thrown into a fiery Hell. We do not sin for loving the world that we were born to love. I embrace God as my god, but not Jesus Christ.
I am not Christian, but my faith is strong.
(Now stop giving me Jeebus pamphlets, people!!)
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Apparently the Idaho state House of Representatives has this bit of legislature regarding "Napoleon Dynamite."
...
No words.
...
No words.
Monday, November 21, 2005
| You Are 20 Years Old |
 Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax. |
| You scored 82 Heterosexuality, 10 Homosexuality, and 39 Asexuality! |
| You are either straight or bisexual (with an interest in the opposite gender) with a moderate to high sex drive. The higher your score in heterosexuality, the more you are attracted to the opposite gender. A higher asexuality score means that you place a bigger emphasis on the emotional aspects of a relationship and less on the physical. |
 |
My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
|
| Link: The 3-Variable Sexuality Spectrum Test written by kitsunechild on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test |
| This Is My Life, Rated | |
| Life: |  7.7 |
| Mind: |  7.1 |
| Body: | 7.3 |
| Spirit: | 8.2 |
| Friends/Family: |  5 |
| Love: | 6.9 |
| Finance: | 6.9 |
| Take the Rate My Life Quiz | |
Thursday, November 17, 2005
A model of San Francisco.. made out of Jello by artist Liz Hickok.
@___@
For that matter, I don't know if I've linked to it already, but:
Lego High Fantasy
@___@
For that matter, I don't know if I've linked to it already, but:
Lego High Fantasy
Monday, October 24, 2005
Sometimes people are on a political spectrum so wild that one can only speculate. To the visible light reds and blues of the Democrats and Republicans, we can add the ultraviolet glow of Anarchy, the infrared of Communism, and the mind-destroying gamma radiation of Ass Crazy which makes you puke and die. Still others are on the political spectrum frequency that aliens use on people wearing tin foil hats.
Shining examples like a lighthouse in a storm, a fire in the forest, a redneck's tooth...
Ah, yes, Matt! Just to clear things up, Matt is awesome. Just not politically.
Over a series of AIM conversations I have been bludgeoned with a series of political views which are only marginally palatable through a curious paladinly combination of utter conviction and sordid charisma, usually of the "interesting anecotes" variety. Matt, you see, is from the monkey-with-cymbals school of politics: "Look at me, I have a cymbal, look at me, I have a cymbal, look at me, I have a cymbal, aren't I loud?" *clang clang clang clang clang* Yes, Matt is an Anarchist, which, for those of you laymen, is where the Libertarians send their crazy uncles to die.
I have not argued with him extensively on AIM, simply because I am bad at arguing. Bad. Seriously. However, just because I am not articulate does not mean my arguments are wrong. By this logic, since every knows that engineers have no speaking skills, they are wrong about everything. This. Is. Not. True.
However, on my blog, which I rule with an iron fist, I can rebuff and ridicule with impunity.
Example... (shining in the dark)... Matt is annoyed because the online political quiz places him as a "socialist." He is annoyed because he's an anarchist, and doesn't believe in the state. Well, that's fine, I say, but he can't be an anarchist who doesn't believe in the state and supports increased corporate regulation. If anarchy rules, corporations, which are just coalitions of the strong, will just do ... this is highly complex political terminology... "Whatever The Fuck They Want." If he strives to fight against corporate environmental exploitation with less government, he would do better by more clearly defining property rights so that corporations are directly accountable for what they pollute.
Response: "I don't believe in property."
..
You're an anarchist who doesn't believe in property?
"I think people should only be allowed to own what they can carry with them."
... so ok, people don't own anything themselves. Who owns things that can't be carried, like land, the mine, that table over there, that house? Oh, "everyone?" Who gets to use it then? "Everyone?" So you can take a crap on my sofa and I have to clean it up?
Holy shit, Sherlock, we have a word for that...socialism.
Provoking businessmen in the financial district is also silly. There's a small chance that you have made them realize the shallowness of their materialistic lives. Then they'll quit their jobs, run off to a commune or a cabin in the woods and grow hemp while beating on drums. In the meantime, those kids they'd been meaning to put in college with rising tuitions and their aging and ill parents that social security can't provide for and the spouse that's been laid off can go fuck off and die. ... Well, the larger chance by far is that you've just made someone's day marginally worse... worse not in a confrontational, thought-provoking, life-evaluating way, but worse in a, "Crazy hippie punk was yelling at me randomly in the middle of Baltimore" way. At least hoboes go away if you give them money.
Insulting the Riot Police is also a Bad Thing to Do. Now, The Man may command these police to taunt protestors in order to rile them up so they can arrest them, so insulting them is Just Desserts. I don't know. I agree that having police wail on protestors will also give you sympathetic press. Some. However, the "..and then they started hurling molatov cocktails and looting stores" press afterwards isn't worth it. People don't like protestors anyway because it blocks up traffic and creates trash, you don't have to get a reputation as "protestors that stir up violent conflict." It doesn't matter who started it, when people see protestors, they go, "Shit, it's them protestors again."
Shining examples like a lighthouse in a storm, a fire in the forest, a redneck's tooth...
Ah, yes, Matt! Just to clear things up, Matt is awesome. Just not politically.
Over a series of AIM conversations I have been bludgeoned with a series of political views which are only marginally palatable through a curious paladinly combination of utter conviction and sordid charisma, usually of the "interesting anecotes" variety. Matt, you see, is from the monkey-with-cymbals school of politics: "Look at me, I have a cymbal, look at me, I have a cymbal, look at me, I have a cymbal, aren't I loud?" *clang clang clang clang clang* Yes, Matt is an Anarchist, which, for those of you laymen, is where the Libertarians send their crazy uncles to die.
I have not argued with him extensively on AIM, simply because I am bad at arguing. Bad. Seriously. However, just because I am not articulate does not mean my arguments are wrong. By this logic, since every knows that engineers have no speaking skills, they are wrong about everything. This. Is. Not. True.
However, on my blog, which I rule with an iron fist, I can rebuff and ridicule with impunity.
Example... (shining in the dark)... Matt is annoyed because the online political quiz places him as a "socialist." He is annoyed because he's an anarchist, and doesn't believe in the state. Well, that's fine, I say, but he can't be an anarchist who doesn't believe in the state and supports increased corporate regulation. If anarchy rules, corporations, which are just coalitions of the strong, will just do ... this is highly complex political terminology... "Whatever The Fuck They Want." If he strives to fight against corporate environmental exploitation with less government, he would do better by more clearly defining property rights so that corporations are directly accountable for what they pollute.
Response: "I don't believe in property."
..
You're an anarchist who doesn't believe in property?
"I think people should only be allowed to own what they can carry with them."
... so ok, people don't own anything themselves. Who owns things that can't be carried, like land, the mine, that table over there, that house? Oh, "everyone?" Who gets to use it then? "Everyone?" So you can take a crap on my sofa and I have to clean it up?
Holy shit, Sherlock, we have a word for that...socialism.
Provoking businessmen in the financial district is also silly. There's a small chance that you have made them realize the shallowness of their materialistic lives. Then they'll quit their jobs, run off to a commune or a cabin in the woods and grow hemp while beating on drums. In the meantime, those kids they'd been meaning to put in college with rising tuitions and their aging and ill parents that social security can't provide for and the spouse that's been laid off can go fuck off and die. ... Well, the larger chance by far is that you've just made someone's day marginally worse... worse not in a confrontational, thought-provoking, life-evaluating way, but worse in a, "Crazy hippie punk was yelling at me randomly in the middle of Baltimore" way. At least hoboes go away if you give them money.
Insulting the Riot Police is also a Bad Thing to Do. Now, The Man may command these police to taunt protestors in order to rile them up so they can arrest them, so insulting them is Just Desserts. I don't know. I agree that having police wail on protestors will also give you sympathetic press. Some. However, the "..and then they started hurling molatov cocktails and looting stores" press afterwards isn't worth it. People don't like protestors anyway because it blocks up traffic and creates trash, you don't have to get a reputation as "protestors that stir up violent conflict." It doesn't matter who started it, when people see protestors, they go, "Shit, it's them protestors again."
Neoclassical X-TREME!* : Life and Law in Angie-Land
When we hire "public defenders," we should really mean it. The job of the "public defender" is to strive manfully against the prosecutor in the bloody ring of gladiatorial combat, to the entertainment of the jury. (Refreshments will be served). The prosecutor will be armed with a gladius, a helmet, and arm protection, while the public defender will be armed with a net and trident, wearing only a loincloth and an anointment of olive oil over his gleaming body.
This serves two purposes:
1) The "public defender" will now actually have an incentive to, you know, defend, the poor and the weak.
2) It might then actually be fun to do jury duty.
3) Every other country can have their fruity columns, nice inscriptions about Justice, Reason and Enlightenment, and call themselves "neo-classical." We're the only country that's hardcore about it.
*sponsored by Mountainus Dewus. Do the Dew.
When we hire "public defenders," we should really mean it. The job of the "public defender" is to strive manfully against the prosecutor in the bloody ring of gladiatorial combat, to the entertainment of the jury. (Refreshments will be served). The prosecutor will be armed with a gladius, a helmet, and arm protection, while the public defender will be armed with a net and trident, wearing only a loincloth and an anointment of olive oil over his gleaming body.
This serves two purposes:
1) The "public defender" will now actually have an incentive to, you know, defend, the poor and the weak.
2) It might then actually be fun to do jury duty.
3) Every other country can have their fruity columns, nice inscriptions about Justice, Reason and Enlightenment, and call themselves "neo-classical." We're the only country that's hardcore about it.
*sponsored by Mountainus Dewus. Do the Dew.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
| George Washington You scored 66 Wisdom, 69 Tactics, 49 Guts, and 28 Ruthlessness! |
Washington first served as a British officer during the French and Indian War, a war which he inadvertently helped to start. Afterwards, he resigned his post to marry Martha Dandridge Custis, a wealthy widow with two children. He was elected to the House of Burgesses and became a revolutionary leader at the outset of the American Revolution, attending both the first and second Continental Congresses. Washington was appointed Commander in Chief of the Continental Army in the American Revolutionary War (1775?83), leading the Americans to victory over the British, although sometimes in not the most scrupulous of ways. After the war, he served as president of the 1787 Constitutional Convention. Because of his central role in the founding of the United States and enduring legacy, Washington is sometimes called the "Father of his Country." |
 |
My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
|
| Link: The Which Historic General Are You Test written by dasnyds on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test |
| You are a Social Liberal (63% permissive) and an... Economic Liberal (38% permissive) You are best described as a:
Link: The Politics Test on Ok Cupid Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test |
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
*Actually Pakistani
So apparently there was a gimongous earthquake in Kashmir.
I don't know about you, but I'm all aid-ed out.
Sorry crying third-world Indian people! *
Judging by the marginal press this is getting, I don't think anyone else cares either.
Not even the Red Cross.
-... Oh! I saw the Wallace and Gromit movie. It was frickin' hilarious, you should see it.
So apparently there was a gimongous earthquake in Kashmir.
I don't know about you, but I'm all aid-ed out.
Sorry crying third-world Indian people! *
Judging by the marginal press this is getting, I don't think anyone else cares either.
Not even the Red Cross.
-... Oh! I saw the Wallace and Gromit movie. It was frickin' hilarious, you should see it.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Have you tried staying over at someone's house? It's pretty awkward if you don't set up a routine for yourself. Have you ever had someone else stay over at your house? Awkward same. You go, "Dum dee dum dee dum... so... there's not much to do." It's just that when you're by yourself in your own house, you don't notice it. And you feel stupid about those dumb things you do at home without even noticing it.
Anyway, he went home.
Anyway, he went home.
Monday, October 03, 2005
"I opened the cheese wrong and my dad started swinging at me."
--
I know that as a twenty-something man, in a fight you can give at least as much as you take. Yet something in me quick to burn feels this betrayal sunken deep. Sons are ageless; that's your boy you hit.
I think I should be angry, and I am, but many other things too. When you think about, you know, someone who hits their kid, you probably think of a big drunken redneck guy, right? but I've met his dad and I know he's not like that. I remember him coming in and cracking jokes when we were roleplaying, and the cozy, tidy kitchen with the smell of dirt from the garden on the wind through the window. The small, domestic-ish glass ornaments and those sentimental angel posters said things like, "God Bless This House." I thought, "It would be nice to have parents I could actually crack jokes with like that." It makes me feel ill how wrong I am.
So Chris went to his house to find them brawling and his mom screaming about calling the cops, and Chris fled shaken with him. No names.. people who know will know. For people who don't, it would be wrong that the first thing they learn about This Person is his troubled family. People are more than the sum of their problems. Once you learn something about someone, it attaches to their name forever.
--
You can all rot. That mournful way you look at me, your hellhole desk in your hellhole office. Try to "fix" me, cure the sick me, solve my problems, save me from my sins. I'm not human. I'm a problem, I'm a patient, I'm a "troubled youth" to file with the statistics of the people you have rectified. Well fuck that, who the fuck do you think you are to think you know me? I'm not sick, I'm not troubled, I'm not "special." Don't you dare drug me. To hell with you!
--
We spent the night at Marc's place playing Vampire, tearing innocent people to shreds, Sabbat style, laughing while This Person put ice on his hand. Awkwardly, I volunteered Jeremy's place for him to stay the night, and so he went home with us, and we talked about Linux and Exalted and tried on pirate hats and everything was hysterically funny all night and I was afraid to leave him alone in the dark.
-
Something in me quick to pain and sunken deep feels this: you may be keen to laugh in daylight, but night is a different animal when you have no one for whom to maintain your smile. No-family, no-house, no-job, absence of the ticking-tocking-turning winding of days. If you were to disappear into the streetlamps shining palely on the fog, what would they write for your eulogy? "No one from nowhere, survived by none"? What do you have for yourself but your name, and even then, what does it mean if no one knows it? Even if you were to be a monk, would you have wanted this?
I feel that I should make sure his pillows are soft enough, that he has enough blankets, that he has enough to eat that's to his liking, that the bathroom isn't gross, that he isn't bored to death in the daytime. Are those flies? I feel shame; I should keep the house cleaner. Does he want any drinks? 'Cuz we have drinks. They're tasty and cold. Ice for his hand? Bunny pillow?
"No," he says, "I'm fine."
--
He said, "Maybe I'll move in with ______."
And, can you believe it, I was jealous. There's only supposed to be one girl that does all this.
She had better give him backrubs and feed him grapes and wine from a golden cup...or you'll be hearing from me, young missy!
--
Boys are so stiff and alien to me. Boys don't cry. Boys don't hug. Boys don't ask anyone if they "want to talk." Boys laugh. Boys play roleplaying games. Boys ask for another Pepsi. Maybe he likes it better that way. He's been in the same group of friends since middle school. Chris still has the first monster he ever drew for their roleplaying campaign from when he was like, twelve. We were talking about it, and he just pulled it out of his notes binder, saying, "Oh, this?" like there was absolutely no reason for it not to be there. In their way which they deny, they love each other.
--
I am anxious. I need to rush home. I need to rush home to make sure he's still there.
--
Certain acts of bravery commend themselves, those that show full measure of devotion. On Sunday, Chris and John went to his house to face his parents and to get belongings from his room. Who are you, when all your worldly posessions fit in the trunk of a car? For all they knew, his parents could've hurled chairs and beer bottles at them upon arrival. They could've just called the cops. They didn't have to do it. They didn't have to face some person's parents' anger. They didn't have to deal with someone else's domestic problems. They didn't have to have that awkward moment when they show up at the door and say, "So.. we're here for...." But they did, and it seemed to make a universe of difference.
--
I know that as a twenty-something man, in a fight you can give at least as much as you take. Yet something in me quick to burn feels this betrayal sunken deep. Sons are ageless; that's your boy you hit.
I think I should be angry, and I am, but many other things too. When you think about, you know, someone who hits their kid, you probably think of a big drunken redneck guy, right? but I've met his dad and I know he's not like that. I remember him coming in and cracking jokes when we were roleplaying, and the cozy, tidy kitchen with the smell of dirt from the garden on the wind through the window. The small, domestic-ish glass ornaments and those sentimental angel posters said things like, "God Bless This House." I thought, "It would be nice to have parents I could actually crack jokes with like that." It makes me feel ill how wrong I am.
So Chris went to his house to find them brawling and his mom screaming about calling the cops, and Chris fled shaken with him. No names.. people who know will know. For people who don't, it would be wrong that the first thing they learn about This Person is his troubled family. People are more than the sum of their problems. Once you learn something about someone, it attaches to their name forever.
--
You can all rot. That mournful way you look at me, your hellhole desk in your hellhole office. Try to "fix" me, cure the sick me, solve my problems, save me from my sins. I'm not human. I'm a problem, I'm a patient, I'm a "troubled youth" to file with the statistics of the people you have rectified. Well fuck that, who the fuck do you think you are to think you know me? I'm not sick, I'm not troubled, I'm not "special." Don't you dare drug me. To hell with you!
--
We spent the night at Marc's place playing Vampire, tearing innocent people to shreds, Sabbat style, laughing while This Person put ice on his hand. Awkwardly, I volunteered Jeremy's place for him to stay the night, and so he went home with us, and we talked about Linux and Exalted and tried on pirate hats and everything was hysterically funny all night and I was afraid to leave him alone in the dark.
-
Something in me quick to pain and sunken deep feels this: you may be keen to laugh in daylight, but night is a different animal when you have no one for whom to maintain your smile. No-family, no-house, no-job, absence of the ticking-tocking-turning winding of days. If you were to disappear into the streetlamps shining palely on the fog, what would they write for your eulogy? "No one from nowhere, survived by none"? What do you have for yourself but your name, and even then, what does it mean if no one knows it? Even if you were to be a monk, would you have wanted this?
I feel that I should make sure his pillows are soft enough, that he has enough blankets, that he has enough to eat that's to his liking, that the bathroom isn't gross, that he isn't bored to death in the daytime. Are those flies? I feel shame; I should keep the house cleaner. Does he want any drinks? 'Cuz we have drinks. They're tasty and cold. Ice for his hand? Bunny pillow?
"No," he says, "I'm fine."
--
He said, "Maybe I'll move in with ______."
And, can you believe it, I was jealous. There's only supposed to be one girl that does all this.
She had better give him backrubs and feed him grapes and wine from a golden cup...or you'll be hearing from me, young missy!
--
Boys are so stiff and alien to me. Boys don't cry. Boys don't hug. Boys don't ask anyone if they "want to talk." Boys laugh. Boys play roleplaying games. Boys ask for another Pepsi. Maybe he likes it better that way. He's been in the same group of friends since middle school. Chris still has the first monster he ever drew for their roleplaying campaign from when he was like, twelve. We were talking about it, and he just pulled it out of his notes binder, saying, "Oh, this?" like there was absolutely no reason for it not to be there. In their way which they deny, they love each other.
--
I am anxious. I need to rush home. I need to rush home to make sure he's still there.
--
Certain acts of bravery commend themselves, those that show full measure of devotion. On Sunday, Chris and John went to his house to face his parents and to get belongings from his room. Who are you, when all your worldly posessions fit in the trunk of a car? For all they knew, his parents could've hurled chairs and beer bottles at them upon arrival. They could've just called the cops. They didn't have to do it. They didn't have to face some person's parents' anger. They didn't have to deal with someone else's domestic problems. They didn't have to have that awkward moment when they show up at the door and say, "So.. we're here for...." But they did, and it seemed to make a universe of difference.
From the New Yorker:
"Like the Freeman brothers, McGruder was born on the South Side of Chicago, though he didn’t stay there long. The McGruders—Aaron, his parents, and an older brother, Dedric, who is now a part-time political cartoonist—shuffled around some before settling, when Aaron was six, in the middle-class suburb of Columbia, Maryland.
So the suburb of Woodcrest in the Boondocks is inspired by Jeremy's (unincorporated) city of residence. ... Mortifying. I didn't think we were that white.
Like Frank Cho, who draws Liberty Meadows, Aaron McGruder went to UMCP and first debuted in the campus paper. As you may know, the Boondocks is a radical leftist comic strip about two angry black kids who move from inner city Chicago to the whitey 'burbs. Liberty Meadows is about a shelter for animals with psychological illness. Matt comments: "Maryland fucks people up."
"Like the Freeman brothers, McGruder was born on the South Side of Chicago, though he didn’t stay there long. The McGruders—Aaron, his parents, and an older brother, Dedric, who is now a part-time political cartoonist—shuffled around some before settling, when Aaron was six, in the middle-class suburb of Columbia, Maryland.
So the suburb of Woodcrest in the Boondocks is inspired by Jeremy's (unincorporated) city of residence. ... Mortifying. I didn't think we were that white.
Like Frank Cho, who draws Liberty Meadows, Aaron McGruder went to UMCP and first debuted in the campus paper. As you may know, the Boondocks is a radical leftist comic strip about two angry black kids who move from inner city Chicago to the whitey 'burbs. Liberty Meadows is about a shelter for animals with psychological illness. Matt comments: "Maryland fucks people up."
Friday, September 30, 2005
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
The trashbag skull-and-crossbones hung, the seaweed skeleton hanged. On screen and song through mist and fog, ol' Errol's Sea Hawk preyed, Penzance pranced with a piratey dance, and Sparrow cried "Parley!" We downed rum coke through cannon smoke and golden wine we drank. Jelly shots burned down our throats as we learned that there's such thing as too high a proof...
Arrs were arred, wenches busty, cap'ns were dashing, seamen lusty. Hookhands dual-wielded, patches elastic, the big tacky hoop earrings clipped-on and plastic. The pirate hat filled with doubloons passed around, and teeth went a-gnawing with gold to be found.*
Arrs and Avasts filled the near crack of dawn
the day after, one question:
"Why's the rum gone?"
*especially the chocolate ones, which are virtually indistinguishable from the plastic ones
Arrs were arred, wenches busty, cap'ns were dashing, seamen lusty. Hookhands dual-wielded, patches elastic, the big tacky hoop earrings clipped-on and plastic. The pirate hat filled with doubloons passed around, and teeth went a-gnawing with gold to be found.*
Arrs and Avasts filled the near crack of dawn
the day after, one question:
"Why's the rum gone?"
*especially the chocolate ones, which are virtually indistinguishable from the plastic ones
Monday, September 19, 2005
From Chris' plethora of interesting away messages... (which I've created a list for, as I have Jose's).
It goes to show that the (dismal) reality of human nature is best displayed when people have the opportunity to be directly and unlimitedly responsible for their own moral choices.
Why else do most roleplaying games end up so fucked up?
There was the AD&D campaign I ran that was a rip-off of the Wizard of Oz. You know, Dwarves for Munchkins and all that, with a high level Wicked Magic-User of the West. The campaign actually lasted quite a while to my regret.
I seem to recall the PCs killed the Dwarves/Munchkins to take their stuff and tore up the yellow brick road because they thought it might be made of gold. The PCs also killed the Wizard of Oz because he sassed them too much and set Scarecrow on fire because he gave poor directions.
Alex Anderegg, from RPGnet.
It goes to show that the (dismal) reality of human nature is best displayed when people have the opportunity to be directly and unlimitedly responsible for their own moral choices.
Why else do most roleplaying games end up so fucked up?
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Hey everyone, UMBC's blood drive is this Tuesday, the 20th, from 10am-4pm in the Commons. You can walk in, or make an appointment by emailing Erin Hood at hood2@umbc.edu. Appointments make it go faster doubly because a) if you have an appointment you'll get priority and b) the more appointments they get, the more staffers and equipment there'll be, making it go faster in general.
If you can't make Tuesday, there's a separate blood drive on Friday, the 23rd, on South Campus. Check it oot..
ALSO, there's a blood drive in Catonsville on Saturday the 24th at the Banneker Community Center from 10:00-3:00. It's reachable by the MTA Red Line, bus route #2.
27 Melvin Avenue
Catonsville, MD 21228
The Community Center's phone number is: 410-887-0959... Someone there should know what's going on.
If you give blood, you can make it to one of the drives. Unless a piano fell on you.
BTW, I'm trying to dedicate my life to public service. Which is why I spent Labor Day weekend clearing park trail with a machete on a stick*. Okay, so that's not the only reason. If anyone asks: Dungeons and Dragons made me do it.
*Weapon proficiency: weed whip
If you can't make Tuesday, there's a separate blood drive on Friday, the 23rd, on South Campus. Check it oot..
ALSO, there's a blood drive in Catonsville on Saturday the 24th at the Banneker Community Center from 10:00-3:00. It's reachable by the MTA Red Line, bus route #2.
27 Melvin Avenue
Catonsville, MD 21228
The Community Center's phone number is: 410-887-0959... Someone there should know what's going on.
If you give blood, you can make it to one of the drives. Unless a piano fell on you.
BTW, I'm trying to dedicate my life to public service. Which is why I spent Labor Day weekend clearing park trail with a machete on a stick*. Okay, so that's not the only reason. If anyone asks: Dungeons and Dragons made me do it.
*Weapon proficiency: weed whip
Thursday, September 15, 2005
So!
School is great... I moved into an on-campus apartment, which is very nice. It actually feels homey, unlike that one room which is a dorm, and the common room which nobody uses. I got myself a foil poster of one of those ostentatious 17th century world maps to plaster across the wall, and a pre-Raphaelite is going on my door. Jose has a giant Middle-Earth map on his ... ceiling... which makes for great staring at when you're lying on the floor. His walls are covered with his favorite artist.... Salvador Dali.
As given to abstraction as Jose is, I really should've guessed.
I actually have female friends this year. It's pretty fun actually living with girls. One of the downsides to being a nerd is that... it's hard to meet girls. Amber is sick and went back to So.Co. though. :( She and Katie are pretty awesome. Karissa is quiet and is always talking to her fiancee over webcam/voicechat, so it's like she's never around. Katie says Karissa says the same thing about me...
I'm trying to start a sci-fi and fantasy club on campus, if I can ever wade through the paperwork... I already have enough members to start out with.
My classes:
Roman Empire
Greek Life and Thought
Applied Statistics for Business and Economics
Household Economics <-- not to be confused with Home Ec
Theory of Public Finance
School is great... I moved into an on-campus apartment, which is very nice. It actually feels homey, unlike that one room which is a dorm, and the common room which nobody uses. I got myself a foil poster of one of those ostentatious 17th century world maps to plaster across the wall, and a pre-Raphaelite is going on my door. Jose has a giant Middle-Earth map on his ... ceiling... which makes for great staring at when you're lying on the floor. His walls are covered with his favorite artist.... Salvador Dali.
As given to abstraction as Jose is, I really should've guessed.
I actually have female friends this year. It's pretty fun actually living with girls. One of the downsides to being a nerd is that... it's hard to meet girls. Amber is sick and went back to So.Co. though. :( She and Katie are pretty awesome. Karissa is quiet and is always talking to her fiancee over webcam/voicechat, so it's like she's never around. Katie says Karissa says the same thing about me...
I'm trying to start a sci-fi and fantasy club on campus, if I can ever wade through the paperwork... I already have enough members to start out with.
My classes:
Roman Empire
Greek Life and Thought
Applied Statistics for Business and Economics
Household Economics <-- not to be confused with Home Ec
Theory of Public Finance
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Ring around the Rosie
SFX 87: huh, what's Defcon?
Katie98 KT: Hacker Convention
SFX 87: sketchy
Katie98 KT: no, its actually pretty well known.
SFX 87: well there are a lot of people who think they're hackers cuz it's 1337
Katie98 KT: Tech person from teh WashPost covered it.
SFX 87: well-known as it may be, it's still a hacker convention
Katie98 KT: yea, Phil was bitching about lots of people like that being there. but there's also lots of legit hackers.
SFX 87: that'd be like attending the "international spy convention"
Katie98 KT: *shrugs* aparently its really legit
SFX 87: "People Who Poison Drinks With Giant Rings" Convention. So that's why rappers have all that bling
Katie98 KT: LOL
SFX 87: Seriously, how does anyone fall for that shit?
Katie98 KT: going to a hacker convention?
SFX 87: no, poisoning people with giant rings
Katie98 KT: I don't understand about the poisoning thing.
SFX 87: oh, you've never read those old swashbuckler novels or whatever when the devious villain would poison people by having a ring, the "jewel" of which was actually a hinged capsule filled with poison powder?
Katie98 KT: nope
SFX 87: three musketeers and what have you. Well, I think those types should have a convention. And a union that will handle their liability lawsuits. "Gentlemen, we were going to have catering this year, but there seems to be an unfortunate illness.." X-TREME POISONINGS FOR GENERATION X... NOSE PIERCING POISON!!!!!
SFX 87: huh, what's Defcon?
Katie98 KT: Hacker Convention
SFX 87: sketchy
Katie98 KT: no, its actually pretty well known.
SFX 87: well there are a lot of people who think they're hackers cuz it's 1337
Katie98 KT: Tech person from teh WashPost covered it.
SFX 87: well-known as it may be, it's still a hacker convention
Katie98 KT: yea, Phil was bitching about lots of people like that being there. but there's also lots of legit hackers.
SFX 87: that'd be like attending the "international spy convention"
Katie98 KT: *shrugs* aparently its really legit
SFX 87: "People Who Poison Drinks With Giant Rings" Convention. So that's why rappers have all that bling
Katie98 KT: LOL
SFX 87: Seriously, how does anyone fall for that shit?
Katie98 KT: going to a hacker convention?
SFX 87: no, poisoning people with giant rings
Katie98 KT: I don't understand about the poisoning thing.
SFX 87: oh, you've never read those old swashbuckler novels or whatever when the devious villain would poison people by having a ring, the "jewel" of which was actually a hinged capsule filled with poison powder?
Katie98 KT: nope
SFX 87: three musketeers and what have you. Well, I think those types should have a convention. And a union that will handle their liability lawsuits. "Gentlemen, we were going to have catering this year, but there seems to be an unfortunate illness.." X-TREME POISONINGS FOR GENERATION X... NOSE PIERCING POISON!!!!!
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Anthropologies of Age
I unearthed a rather thought provoking blog while on a rather mundane google search of "panda names."
I think this is someone I'd like to meet, though of course because meeting people from the internet is creepy, someone I'd like to meet in a strictly neutral, strictly hypothetical non-threatening pocket dimension, free of the dual burdens of awkwardness and judgmentalism.
The quality of thought changes when you know you actually could meet someone, someone who's not just a nebulous text-spawning "person on the internet." If I went out and took Metro lines so and so, I could meet him... You know when something is "based on a true story," it's a better story? And so it is.
I think he's smarter than me also. Not smarter necessarily IQ-wise (I couldn't judge, but I wouldn't be surprised) but just in the "Oh, I never thought of that," category, a certain level of self-awareness. Maybe this is the difference between old people and young people, what "maturity" is. (Asking me to define "maturity" is like ... well... Blind people don't dream in color, from what I've heard. When people who are born blind are asked, "Do you wish you could see?" they say, "How could I wish it, when I've never known it?") It's only a theory I have; my actual contact with people outside my age group is rare. More anthropological fieldwork on my part must be done.
Unfortunately, whenever I talk to anyone older than me, it's within a hierarchical context: parents, relatives, teachers, bosses, "superiors"1 even informally. In the case of the blog, I have spontaneously been handed the revelations, stripped of formality and rank, of someone older than me, but not old enough to be "old." You can tell, I think, just from the writing style- reading things by people older than you is like dropping a pebble into a deep pool, watching it sink, and watching the ripples. I can't explain why. It just is.
When I was younger, and my parents kept using the "when you're more mature" line on me, I thought rebelliously that, surely the consciousness of a twenty year old and the consciousness of a forty year old were similar? Your IQ does not improve so much after a certain age. If education were the issue, then a ten year-old public school American brat would be more "mature" than an 80 year old peasant from a third world country. It's not so much about family status and responsibility either- there are thirteen year-old wives and avowed bachelors to the grave. Between age 10 and age 20 a person goes through revelations of seismic magnitude, and compared to that, I didn't think the mental difference between someone, say 25, and 45 was a difference in "maturity" so much as a difference in physiological, economic, social conditions.
That was a theory, and theories can be disproved.
I know I am smarter now than when I was twelve. Smarter than when I was eighteen. How it happened and the nature of this "wisdom" is a mystery. At any age, you dwell within your consciousness. All of the world, for its great size, can be encompassed inside my head, and vast as the universe is, it cannot be bigger than my mind.
So. I enjoy watching thoughts bloom...
Sorry for the two philosophy-babble posts in a row.
1 Except for lower-class adults. Un-PC, but true. Consider: My boss is "Dr. Mitch." The janitors at Harbor are "Sheila and Lynette." My dentist is "Dr. Miyamoto." My school bus driver was "Bobby." The esteemed culinary expert cum tv celebrity is (the honorable) "Iron Chef Kenichi." The food services employee working the dining hall cashier is "Valerie." Us young'ns are taught to address adults (I'm a "college girl," emphasis on "girl," hence not a "real" adult) as superiors, but if forms of address have any social implication, then what am I to think? I still find addressing adults by first name abhorrent. Sometimes I will call the janitor "Ms. Sheila."
I unearthed a rather thought provoking blog while on a rather mundane google search of "panda names."
I think this is someone I'd like to meet, though of course because meeting people from the internet is creepy, someone I'd like to meet in a strictly neutral, strictly hypothetical non-threatening pocket dimension, free of the dual burdens of awkwardness and judgmentalism.
The quality of thought changes when you know you actually could meet someone, someone who's not just a nebulous text-spawning "person on the internet." If I went out and took Metro lines so and so, I could meet him... You know when something is "based on a true story," it's a better story? And so it is.
I think he's smarter than me also. Not smarter necessarily IQ-wise (I couldn't judge, but I wouldn't be surprised) but just in the "Oh, I never thought of that," category, a certain level of self-awareness. Maybe this is the difference between old people and young people, what "maturity" is. (Asking me to define "maturity" is like ... well... Blind people don't dream in color, from what I've heard. When people who are born blind are asked, "Do you wish you could see?" they say, "How could I wish it, when I've never known it?") It's only a theory I have; my actual contact with people outside my age group is rare. More anthropological fieldwork on my part must be done.
Unfortunately, whenever I talk to anyone older than me, it's within a hierarchical context: parents, relatives, teachers, bosses, "superiors"1 even informally. In the case of the blog, I have spontaneously been handed the revelations, stripped of formality and rank, of someone older than me, but not old enough to be "old." You can tell, I think, just from the writing style- reading things by people older than you is like dropping a pebble into a deep pool, watching it sink, and watching the ripples. I can't explain why. It just is.
When I was younger, and my parents kept using the "when you're more mature" line on me, I thought rebelliously that, surely the consciousness of a twenty year old and the consciousness of a forty year old were similar? Your IQ does not improve so much after a certain age. If education were the issue, then a ten year-old public school American brat would be more "mature" than an 80 year old peasant from a third world country. It's not so much about family status and responsibility either- there are thirteen year-old wives and avowed bachelors to the grave. Between age 10 and age 20 a person goes through revelations of seismic magnitude, and compared to that, I didn't think the mental difference between someone, say 25, and 45 was a difference in "maturity" so much as a difference in physiological, economic, social conditions.
That was a theory, and theories can be disproved.
I know I am smarter now than when I was twelve. Smarter than when I was eighteen. How it happened and the nature of this "wisdom" is a mystery. At any age, you dwell within your consciousness. All of the world, for its great size, can be encompassed inside my head, and vast as the universe is, it cannot be bigger than my mind.
So. I enjoy watching thoughts bloom...
Sorry for the two philosophy-babble posts in a row.
1 Except for lower-class adults. Un-PC, but true. Consider: My boss is "Dr. Mitch." The janitors at Harbor are "Sheila and Lynette." My dentist is "Dr. Miyamoto." My school bus driver was "Bobby." The esteemed culinary expert cum tv celebrity is (the honorable) "Iron Chef Kenichi." The food services employee working the dining hall cashier is "Valerie." Us young'ns are taught to address adults (I'm a "college girl," emphasis on "girl," hence not a "real" adult) as superiors, but if forms of address have any social implication, then what am I to think? I still find addressing adults by first name abhorrent. Sometimes I will call the janitor "Ms. Sheila."
Thursday, August 25, 2005
On the Nature of Youth
St. Augustine said, with whatever authority can be conferred upon dead saints, that people, even while they sin, even in the state of their own wretchedness, reach out to God. No one murders for murder's sake, for evil's sake, for the black abyss that claims them after death. People kill and execute other acts, for greed, for glory, for the sake of a woman, for the countless things that they believe life worth living for. Greed, ambition, lust, all of these sins yet at their core strive for comfort, joy, power, rapture, love, all of the things that are the essence of God who is every goodness.
However you regard St. Augustine, I have hope, while others have despair, for the youth and the future of the world. While parents, preachers, and politicians shake their fists over video games, music videos, teen sex, drugs, piercings, youthful disrespect, degeneracy, the general decline of Western Civilization, whatever it is these days that draws fashionable old-timey criticism, I look upon the world with the restless hope of the young, and because I am young, have the luxury to dream.
We play our violent video games, destroying aliens and saving the world because we dream of valor. We watch our thuggy rap tv in defiance of compliance, brown-nosing, softness, compromise and complacency. Through harsh lyrics about pride and strife we seek integrity. We do our drugs like the cloud-seeking shamans of old in pursuit of epiphany and rapture, visions of colors and stars and music. We have sex at sixteen hoping to know the pinnacles of love, this great emotion that shakes the axles of the world. We wear gang colors to know the meaning of loyalty, family, and sacrifice, to take a bullet for a brother, to do jailtime for a sister, to understand the meaning of strength. We bring guns to school in hope of immortality and recognition, because as Machiavelli says, if we have not love, then fear will do.
At school, with clear backpacks and metal detectors and security guards, the first thought of adults should not be, "Does he have a gun?" At the CD shop the first thought should not be, "Is she going to shoplift?" When the news reports a vandalism or a theft, the first line should not be, "Authorities think teenage hoodlums did it."
At the school they should say, "Hello, Sitting-By-Yourself-In-The-Corner, what's your name?" because the best way to stop a killer is not to take away his ability, but his intention. At the shop they should ask, "What sort of music are you going to make?" or "Excuse me, can you help me reach that box up there?" Perhaps if she is expected to help instead of expected to harm, she will. In the news, perhaps the story should be, "Members of local high school pitch in for children's hospital."
When we ask, "How should we live?" we want answers. When we ask, "How should we love?" we want answers. When we ask, "How will I find the meaning of valor, honor and faith?" we want answers.
"Don't do drugs and stay in school," is not an answer.
There is not one teen who does not dream. If we dream in the wrong places, wrong though they may be, wicked though they may be, at least we dream.
We want to change the world; give us a way to do it.
St. Augustine said, with whatever authority can be conferred upon dead saints, that people, even while they sin, even in the state of their own wretchedness, reach out to God. No one murders for murder's sake, for evil's sake, for the black abyss that claims them after death. People kill and execute other acts, for greed, for glory, for the sake of a woman, for the countless things that they believe life worth living for. Greed, ambition, lust, all of these sins yet at their core strive for comfort, joy, power, rapture, love, all of the things that are the essence of God who is every goodness.
However you regard St. Augustine, I have hope, while others have despair, for the youth and the future of the world. While parents, preachers, and politicians shake their fists over video games, music videos, teen sex, drugs, piercings, youthful disrespect, degeneracy, the general decline of Western Civilization, whatever it is these days that draws fashionable old-timey criticism, I look upon the world with the restless hope of the young, and because I am young, have the luxury to dream.
We play our violent video games, destroying aliens and saving the world because we dream of valor. We watch our thuggy rap tv in defiance of compliance, brown-nosing, softness, compromise and complacency. Through harsh lyrics about pride and strife we seek integrity. We do our drugs like the cloud-seeking shamans of old in pursuit of epiphany and rapture, visions of colors and stars and music. We have sex at sixteen hoping to know the pinnacles of love, this great emotion that shakes the axles of the world. We wear gang colors to know the meaning of loyalty, family, and sacrifice, to take a bullet for a brother, to do jailtime for a sister, to understand the meaning of strength. We bring guns to school in hope of immortality and recognition, because as Machiavelli says, if we have not love, then fear will do.
At school, with clear backpacks and metal detectors and security guards, the first thought of adults should not be, "Does he have a gun?" At the CD shop the first thought should not be, "Is she going to shoplift?" When the news reports a vandalism or a theft, the first line should not be, "Authorities think teenage hoodlums did it."
At the school they should say, "Hello, Sitting-By-Yourself-In-The-Corner, what's your name?" because the best way to stop a killer is not to take away his ability, but his intention. At the shop they should ask, "What sort of music are you going to make?" or "Excuse me, can you help me reach that box up there?" Perhaps if she is expected to help instead of expected to harm, she will. In the news, perhaps the story should be, "Members of local high school pitch in for children's hospital."
When we ask, "How should we live?" we want answers. When we ask, "How should we love?" we want answers. When we ask, "How will I find the meaning of valor, honor and faith?" we want answers.
"Don't do drugs and stay in school," is not an answer.
There is not one teen who does not dream. If we dream in the wrong places, wrong though they may be, wicked though they may be, at least we dream.
We want to change the world; give us a way to do it.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Security
I just spent like the last half hour trying to convince the bank on the phone that I am indeed Angela C, the bearer of Angela C's credit card.
See, I went to UMBC to turn in my timesheets to the econ department secretary so that I can get paid, and then I went to buy food. Well, I had intended on bringing (Jeremy's) pasta, but he had no sauce except an annoying frozen one that needed thawed/boiled. I didn't mind but he was like "Nooo, it doesn't reheat well... You could just get something at the Commons" and I was like, "The Commons probably aren't open" and he was like "yeah they are" and I was like "I have no cash," but it seemed like he was loathe to have me eat his pasta so I gave up the cause.
SO, it turns out that the Grille is actually cash only. I went to the ATM to get money out, grumbling cuz I'd have to pay a "convenience" fee for using another bank's ATM, but I dinnit know my PIN number. (I hate this, BTW. I have too many numbers to remember already, you'd think they'd do a password or something.)
Okay, fine, I go to the OTC and get myself a hotpocket... via credit card. No problem.
Then, since I'm there, I go to the Bookstore to get textbooks. It takes me a while to do that, I'm kind of distracted by all the nice shiny books there and the cute tiny freshmen. Anyway, I try to pay for them (it's like a $200 purchase, and I only bought a fraction of what I need) but the card won't clear, so the cashier makes me show photo ID, and then she has to call the bank and ask them.
Well it turns out they froze the account cuz of my PIN number fiasco. So they ask me a few security questions, where I make a total retard out of myself by being hesitant/getting them wrong.... There's nothing quite so infuriating as having a stranger ask me questions about myself and getting them wrong.
"So where do you buy your books from?"
"Amazon?"
"Uh.. no." (I think the correct answer is supposed to be B&N...)
"What's your current address?"
"(address)"
"No, your current address."
(Turns out the correct answer to the current address question was last year's dorm address, which is, of course, no longer current.)
I sound like such a moron, not remembering my own address. Well I'm not. I don't need to know my address because I know precisely where I live. Only people who don't know where I live know my address. Ex: I don't need to see my nose either to know it's there. Besides:
A) It's not my address, seeing as I don't own the place
B) Anyone I care about knows how to get there. It's that room, over there, at the end of the hall. Yeah, that one.
C) The door has my name in big cheerful letters on it.
D) If you've got the right room, my roommates will be there to tell you whether I'm in or out.
E) Everyone knows I'm "Michelle's Roomie" anyway so all you've got to do is find Michelle.
F) Call me or AIM me to tell me you're coming, and I'll let you in.
G) Nobody sends me mail anyway except for spammers.
(Corollary: I've never sent myself postcards.)
Most importantly:
H) I don't live there anymore.
Same with:
"What is your work/cell phone number?", ... when I told them my actual cell phone number (since I don't have a work number), that was the wrong answer. Apparently the number they wanted was last year's dorm phone. I'd forgotten what it was, so I had to look it up on my cell call list before they were satisfied. Not knowing your own phone number also makes you look stupid.
Well, I finally managed to convince them somehow that I was indeed myself. I closed the purchase on my textbooks, and went out to retrieve my bookbag from the bag check. As you know, the Bookstore doesn't let people bring their bags into the store, for security reasons. They take your bags and give you a little plastic card with a number on it, which you return to them when you get your bags back. But it turns out that in the mess I'd lost the card somewhere in the store..
GRAH!!!
I blame Jeremy. See! If only you'd let me eat your pasta!
I just spent like the last half hour trying to convince the bank on the phone that I am indeed Angela C, the bearer of Angela C's credit card.
See, I went to UMBC to turn in my timesheets to the econ department secretary so that I can get paid, and then I went to buy food. Well, I had intended on bringing (Jeremy's) pasta, but he had no sauce except an annoying frozen one that needed thawed/boiled. I didn't mind but he was like "Nooo, it doesn't reheat well... You could just get something at the Commons" and I was like, "The Commons probably aren't open" and he was like "yeah they are" and I was like "I have no cash," but it seemed like he was loathe to have me eat his pasta so I gave up the cause.
SO, it turns out that the Grille is actually cash only. I went to the ATM to get money out, grumbling cuz I'd have to pay a "convenience" fee for using another bank's ATM, but I dinnit know my PIN number. (I hate this, BTW. I have too many numbers to remember already, you'd think they'd do a password or something.)
Okay, fine, I go to the OTC and get myself a hotpocket... via credit card. No problem.
Then, since I'm there, I go to the Bookstore to get textbooks. It takes me a while to do that, I'm kind of distracted by all the nice shiny books there and the cute tiny freshmen. Anyway, I try to pay for them (it's like a $200 purchase, and I only bought a fraction of what I need) but the card won't clear, so the cashier makes me show photo ID, and then she has to call the bank and ask them.
Well it turns out they froze the account cuz of my PIN number fiasco. So they ask me a few security questions, where I make a total retard out of myself by being hesitant/getting them wrong.... There's nothing quite so infuriating as having a stranger ask me questions about myself and getting them wrong.
"So where do you buy your books from?"
"Amazon?"
"Uh.. no." (I think the correct answer is supposed to be B&N...)
"What's your current address?"
"(address)"
"No, your current address."
(Turns out the correct answer to the current address question was last year's dorm address, which is, of course, no longer current.)
I sound like such a moron, not remembering my own address. Well I'm not. I don't need to know my address because I know precisely where I live. Only people who don't know where I live know my address. Ex: I don't need to see my nose either to know it's there. Besides:
A) It's not my address, seeing as I don't own the place
B) Anyone I care about knows how to get there. It's that room, over there, at the end of the hall. Yeah, that one.
C) The door has my name in big cheerful letters on it.
D) If you've got the right room, my roommates will be there to tell you whether I'm in or out.
E) Everyone knows I'm "Michelle's Roomie" anyway so all you've got to do is find Michelle.
F) Call me or AIM me to tell me you're coming, and I'll let you in.
G) Nobody sends me mail anyway except for spammers.
(Corollary: I've never sent myself postcards.)
Most importantly:
H) I don't live there anymore.
Same with:
"What is your work/cell phone number?", ... when I told them my actual cell phone number (since I don't have a work number), that was the wrong answer. Apparently the number they wanted was last year's dorm phone. I'd forgotten what it was, so I had to look it up on my cell call list before they were satisfied. Not knowing your own phone number also makes you look stupid.
Well, I finally managed to convince them somehow that I was indeed myself. I closed the purchase on my textbooks, and went out to retrieve my bookbag from the bag check. As you know, the Bookstore doesn't let people bring their bags into the store, for security reasons. They take your bags and give you a little plastic card with a number on it, which you return to them when you get your bags back. But it turns out that in the mess I'd lost the card somewhere in the store..
GRAH!!!
I blame Jeremy. See! If only you'd let me eat your pasta!
Monday, August 22, 2005
Otakon was frickin' awesome. I had a lot more fun this year than last.
Yay, Jeremy! It's a lot better with him there. Also, I think he's finally mastered the art of driving into downtown Baltimore. Also, I was better at finding my way around and scheduling things this year.
Bumped into Lauren there too. That was frickin' awesome. Small, small world.
I had a costume of sorts, on Sunday, if wearing a giant yellow foam World of Warcraft exclamation mark on my head can be considered a costume. Damn the torsion power! It kept falling over, or keeling over in the wind. Plus, I had to take it off to go through doors and low ceilings.
A bunch of people took my picture (most of 'em thinkin' I was from Metal Gear Solid) - I hope none of them get online or you'll have pictures of me in a bike helmet with a styrofoam sphere and a high-density foam block attached to it. I ran into two other people who had forms of punctuation attached to their heads too.. that was amusing. Plus I bumped into a bunch of guildies from my server. The number of WOW junkies at Otakon was just incredible.
(The number of people who went as Full Metal Alchemist characters... less so.)
Jeremy went as Larva from Vampire Princess Miyu and ended up being glomped by an uncomfortable number of girls.
I can also say with perfect confidence that while he was dressed as Larva, (and when we went down to the Inner Harbor), he freaked out/awed a bunch of little kids ("Are you a magician?"), and homeless people did not ask him for money.
Yay, Jeremy! It's a lot better with him there. Also, I think he's finally mastered the art of driving into downtown Baltimore. Also, I was better at finding my way around and scheduling things this year.
Bumped into Lauren there too. That was frickin' awesome. Small, small world.
I had a costume of sorts, on Sunday, if wearing a giant yellow foam World of Warcraft exclamation mark on my head can be considered a costume. Damn the torsion power! It kept falling over, or keeling over in the wind. Plus, I had to take it off to go through doors and low ceilings.
A bunch of people took my picture (most of 'em thinkin' I was from Metal Gear Solid) - I hope none of them get online or you'll have pictures of me in a bike helmet with a styrofoam sphere and a high-density foam block attached to it. I ran into two other people who had forms of punctuation attached to their heads too.. that was amusing. Plus I bumped into a bunch of guildies from my server. The number of WOW junkies at Otakon was just incredible.
(The number of people who went as Full Metal Alchemist characters... less so.)
Jeremy went as Larva from Vampire Princess Miyu and ended up being glomped by an uncomfortable number of girls.
I can also say with perfect confidence that while he was dressed as Larva, (and when we went down to the Inner Harbor), he freaked out/awed a bunch of little kids ("Are you a magician?"), and homeless people did not ask him for money.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Good Morning, Edward Said!
I've been watching Going Tribal, a Discovery Channel reality show about this British marine who goes to live with various tribes for a month. I find it to be quite interesting, though on the Discovery Channel forum a bunch of anthropologists are stirring up a ruckus.
I concur that the advertising is retarded. "Oohhh, watch the white man try to survive a month with the CANNIBALS!!!" Plus, the generic "tribal" drumbeat, the cliche spiral pattern and leet flame motifs get a thumbs down. You know if they did a show called "Going Oriental" and had a bunch of geishas, dragons and Jackie Chan in the trailer, (with ying yangs and that "chop suey" font), I'd be pretty pissed off too. It'd be almost as bad as the description* UMBC dining services wrote of our Chinese takeout. Anyway, the show itself is actually pretty good, though I think that the hour-long episodes are too short to give us anywhere near a comprehensive understanding of various cultures. True to its reality show nature, you get all the crazy shit, ("I'm Bruce Parry, watch me drink cow blood!") but not so much normal things.
Of course, all the anthropologists are screaming, "Cultural Imperialism!" I think the anthropologists should pull their heads out of their asses and be glad a show like this was even made, and is widely watched. One of the criticisms I saw was, "OMG how dare the Discovery Channel send a normal joe, and not a trained anthropologist!" I find that to be a paternalistic and imperialistic statement in itself. So the only people who can "study" foreign peoples are "trained scientists"? So the only contact indigenous people should have with the outside world should be people sent there to study them? God. The Suri and the Kombai, among others, are living and breathing people, not Jane Goodall and the monkeys. They should have the final say over who to invite into their homes to live with and befriend, not scientists who want to "protect the natives from cultural contamination." Explorer Bruce Parry never claims to be an objective scientist doing a scholarly documentary. His show is merely the memoir of his personal experience and how it changed him. It's not the be-all-end-all authority about a people, and nothing ever will be. If someone produces a reality show about living in Japan or England or Sweden, will the anthropologists jump on his ass too?
Anthropologists are also annoyed that Bruce Parry spins his experience as being exciting and dangerous. This annoyance is understandable, since for ages anyone who wasn't white has been labeled an exotic, wild savage. To which I respond... exotic, wild, or no, living miles away from the nearest modern medical facility is dangerous. Having bows drawn on you by a dozen Indonesian tribesmen is dangerous. Living in Sudan on the border between two warring ethnic groups, in the middle of a civil war, is dangerous. Parry made it quite clear that his hosts were hospitable and kind, but be that as it may, anyone in his situation is in great danger, regardless of the disposition of his companions. It's a hard life, and it does a great disservice to the people involved to pretend that, "Ladeedadeeda, there's no war or disease here! We live in Rousseau's paradise!"
Bruce Parry has balls. Give him credit for that.
--
*"Pungent spices. Delicate, aromatic sauces. Intricate and imaginative combinations of vitamin rich vegetables and chicken, beef, or pork. Mein Bowl provides exotic, high quality food that nourishes the body and soul and creates a positive flowing chi. It's everything that you look for in an Oriental restaurant-and a little bit more. A meal at Mein Bowl isn't just a meal; it's a visit to another culture!"
I've been watching Going Tribal, a Discovery Channel reality show about this British marine who goes to live with various tribes for a month. I find it to be quite interesting, though on the Discovery Channel forum a bunch of anthropologists are stirring up a ruckus.
I concur that the advertising is retarded. "Oohhh, watch the white man try to survive a month with the CANNIBALS!!!" Plus, the generic "tribal" drumbeat, the cliche spiral pattern and leet flame motifs get a thumbs down. You know if they did a show called "Going Oriental" and had a bunch of geishas, dragons and Jackie Chan in the trailer, (with ying yangs and that "chop suey" font), I'd be pretty pissed off too. It'd be almost as bad as the description* UMBC dining services wrote of our Chinese takeout. Anyway, the show itself is actually pretty good, though I think that the hour-long episodes are too short to give us anywhere near a comprehensive understanding of various cultures. True to its reality show nature, you get all the crazy shit, ("I'm Bruce Parry, watch me drink cow blood!") but not so much normal things.
Of course, all the anthropologists are screaming, "Cultural Imperialism!" I think the anthropologists should pull their heads out of their asses and be glad a show like this was even made, and is widely watched. One of the criticisms I saw was, "OMG how dare the Discovery Channel send a normal joe, and not a trained anthropologist!" I find that to be a paternalistic and imperialistic statement in itself. So the only people who can "study" foreign peoples are "trained scientists"? So the only contact indigenous people should have with the outside world should be people sent there to study them? God. The Suri and the Kombai, among others, are living and breathing people, not Jane Goodall and the monkeys. They should have the final say over who to invite into their homes to live with and befriend, not scientists who want to "protect the natives from cultural contamination." Explorer Bruce Parry never claims to be an objective scientist doing a scholarly documentary. His show is merely the memoir of his personal experience and how it changed him. It's not the be-all-end-all authority about a people, and nothing ever will be. If someone produces a reality show about living in Japan or England or Sweden, will the anthropologists jump on his ass too?
Anthropologists are also annoyed that Bruce Parry spins his experience as being exciting and dangerous. This annoyance is understandable, since for ages anyone who wasn't white has been labeled an exotic, wild savage. To which I respond... exotic, wild, or no, living miles away from the nearest modern medical facility is dangerous. Having bows drawn on you by a dozen Indonesian tribesmen is dangerous. Living in Sudan on the border between two warring ethnic groups, in the middle of a civil war, is dangerous. Parry made it quite clear that his hosts were hospitable and kind, but be that as it may, anyone in his situation is in great danger, regardless of the disposition of his companions. It's a hard life, and it does a great disservice to the people involved to pretend that, "Ladeedadeeda, there's no war or disease here! We live in Rousseau's paradise!"
Bruce Parry has balls. Give him credit for that.
--
*"Pungent spices. Delicate, aromatic sauces. Intricate and imaginative combinations of vitamin rich vegetables and chicken, beef, or pork. Mein Bowl provides exotic, high quality food that nourishes the body and soul and creates a positive flowing chi. It's everything that you look for in an Oriental restaurant-and a little bit more. A meal at Mein Bowl isn't just a meal; it's a visit to another culture!"
Monday, August 15, 2005
Tears of St. Lawrence
Friday was aptly named, being that I spent it at Matt's place cooking up veggie tempura and attempting to roll sushi. We played an Oriental Adventures style game based on Exalted mechanics. After a night of pretending to be Asian, we went outside, tried to catch the meteor shower, failed, and went home. The Leonids, by the way, are also known as the Tears of St. Lawrence because they fall near his feast day. St. Lawrence is famous for being burned alive on a gridiron, and is reported to have said, "Now you may turn me over, my body is roasted enough on this side." I don't know what it is with Catholic saints all being more famous for dying in a hideous manner than for doing good deeds. My sister's church, for example is lined with pictures of bleeding Korean martyrs. I personally, think it would be more important to learn how to live well than to die well.
--
Went to Atlantic City on Saturday.
Hot as balls on the beach, lots of old people, little Chinese men, chain-smokers at slot machines, and shiny lights. Carl made $200 on poker. He calculates that as basically earning $60 an hour. Congratulations, Carl. He has a reputation in roleplaying games for making deals with demons in exchange for dark power, and usually dying in hideous ways, so this isn't surprising. (Mike Robbins even made a comic series called, "The many deaths of Carl.") I also got an economics lesson. I couldn't gamble legally (since when has the gambling age been 21???) and the minimum bets on craps were like $10. Blackjack was like $20. As opposed to um, Guild Wars, which costs $50 and will last me a year.
Old Senate fogeys like complaining that video games are sinful. You all have probably heard the big scandal about Grand Theft Auto's Hot Coffee mod (which I, undoubtedly like thousands of others, promptly downloaded after all the press). While I find games like GTA distasteful, and I know parenting is a hard job even without video games, the only way to get a mod like Hot Coffee is to... mod.
Fact of Life #1: If some hacker accesses areas of the game that were intentionally locked off, that's not the game developer's fault. That's hacking. Duh.
Tons and tons of unfinished code remains in all games as a matter of course, which can't be deleted, only locked off. If someone goes out of their way to hack the game, who's fault is that?
Fact of Life #2: Fourteen year old boys will masturbate. I don't know why parents are so shocked to hear this. "Oh, my little Johnny would never touch his weewee!" Talk to your kids about sex. If you slap your son everytime he looks at a breast, he'll grow up neurotic. This isn't to say, give your kids smut, but don't, you know, go ballistic.
Jack Thompson even condemned the Sims as being sinful. In this life simulation game where you can do anything from getting a job or getting married to washing the dishes or reading the newspaper, Thompson gets his panties in a jumble because in the game you can take a bath or change baby diapers. Woe is me, the lustful nudity! Nevermind that all nekkid people, even kids, are covered up by a blur. Supposedly there are hacks that can remove the blur. Nevermind that naked Sims look like Barbie/Ken dolls, without nipples or genitalia. Nevermind that EA (the company that makes the Sims) cracks down harshly on any such mods that they find. Nevermind that the Sims is the best and most popular example of a game that doesn't rely on sex or violence for entertainment. Nevermind that the Sims is the game that best reaches out to older gamers and women. Nevermind that violent crime this decade is the lowest it's been in history. No no no, Jack Thompson is on a crusade.
Jack Thompson says that game companies are to blame because they encourage modding, nevermind that most modding is the creation of new levels or different character models. Counter-Strike, the first person-shooter where you fight terrorism, started out as a mod for Half-Life and got so popular it's now a separate game. In the case of the Sims, the mod community mostly does innocuous things like custom-designing wallpaper for your house or a new spring outfit for your daughter. While we're busy persecuting game companies for what a very small minority of modders do, why don't we start arresting celebrities for public indecency, since porn sites are photoshopping their heads onto naked bodies?
Of course, like gambling, all the outcry will die down once they realize how much video gaming contributes to the economy...
Hypocrites.
Friday was aptly named, being that I spent it at Matt's place cooking up veggie tempura and attempting to roll sushi. We played an Oriental Adventures style game based on Exalted mechanics. After a night of pretending to be Asian, we went outside, tried to catch the meteor shower, failed, and went home. The Leonids, by the way, are also known as the Tears of St. Lawrence because they fall near his feast day. St. Lawrence is famous for being burned alive on a gridiron, and is reported to have said, "Now you may turn me over, my body is roasted enough on this side." I don't know what it is with Catholic saints all being more famous for dying in a hideous manner than for doing good deeds. My sister's church, for example is lined with pictures of bleeding Korean martyrs. I personally, think it would be more important to learn how to live well than to die well.
--
Went to Atlantic City on Saturday.
Hot as balls on the beach, lots of old people, little Chinese men, chain-smokers at slot machines, and shiny lights. Carl made $200 on poker. He calculates that as basically earning $60 an hour. Congratulations, Carl. He has a reputation in roleplaying games for making deals with demons in exchange for dark power, and usually dying in hideous ways, so this isn't surprising. (Mike Robbins even made a comic series called, "The many deaths of Carl.") I also got an economics lesson. I couldn't gamble legally (since when has the gambling age been 21???) and the minimum bets on craps were like $10. Blackjack was like $20. As opposed to um, Guild Wars, which costs $50 and will last me a year.
Old Senate fogeys like complaining that video games are sinful. You all have probably heard the big scandal about Grand Theft Auto's Hot Coffee mod (which I, undoubtedly like thousands of others, promptly downloaded after all the press). While I find games like GTA distasteful, and I know parenting is a hard job even without video games, the only way to get a mod like Hot Coffee is to... mod.
Fact of Life #1: If some hacker accesses areas of the game that were intentionally locked off, that's not the game developer's fault. That's hacking. Duh.
Tons and tons of unfinished code remains in all games as a matter of course, which can't be deleted, only locked off. If someone goes out of their way to hack the game, who's fault is that?
Fact of Life #2: Fourteen year old boys will masturbate. I don't know why parents are so shocked to hear this. "Oh, my little Johnny would never touch his weewee!" Talk to your kids about sex. If you slap your son everytime he looks at a breast, he'll grow up neurotic. This isn't to say, give your kids smut, but don't, you know, go ballistic.
Jack Thompson even condemned the Sims as being sinful. In this life simulation game where you can do anything from getting a job or getting married to washing the dishes or reading the newspaper, Thompson gets his panties in a jumble because in the game you can take a bath or change baby diapers. Woe is me, the lustful nudity! Nevermind that all nekkid people, even kids, are covered up by a blur. Supposedly there are hacks that can remove the blur. Nevermind that naked Sims look like Barbie/Ken dolls, without nipples or genitalia. Nevermind that EA (the company that makes the Sims) cracks down harshly on any such mods that they find. Nevermind that the Sims is the best and most popular example of a game that doesn't rely on sex or violence for entertainment. Nevermind that the Sims is the game that best reaches out to older gamers and women. Nevermind that violent crime this decade is the lowest it's been in history. No no no, Jack Thompson is on a crusade.
Jack Thompson says that game companies are to blame because they encourage modding, nevermind that most modding is the creation of new levels or different character models. Counter-Strike, the first person-shooter where you fight terrorism, started out as a mod for Half-Life and got so popular it's now a separate game. In the case of the Sims, the mod community mostly does innocuous things like custom-designing wallpaper for your house or a new spring outfit for your daughter. While we're busy persecuting game companies for what a very small minority of modders do, why don't we start arresting celebrities for public indecency, since porn sites are photoshopping their heads onto naked bodies?
Of course, like gambling, all the outcry will die down once they realize how much video gaming contributes to the economy...
Hypocrites.
Friday, August 12, 2005
Check out GrowRPG, a great flash game/turn-based strategy/ experiment in chaos theory.
Basically, this is a game in which you build an RPG world turn by turn. So one turn you may "build" a forest, the next a mountain, the next a town. After everything is built, then the hero sets off on his pre-planned adventure through the world you just made, on his quest to slay the great evil. The outcome of his quest is determined not so much by his actions, but by the order in which you build features of the world. A forest that is grown earlier is denser, a town that is built near an ocean can construct shipyards while a town near a forest makes lumber mills, a castle that is well-fortified earlier can repel an attack while a weaker castle smolders.
What's interesting about it, besides being a fun game, is that it gets me to wonder to what extent success or failure is based upon individual actions/decisions, and to what extent it depends on circumstances. In each game, the hero does mostly the same things, but his world determines how well he does, or sometimes even how he does certain things. Play it. You'll understand what I mean.
Basically, this is a game in which you build an RPG world turn by turn. So one turn you may "build" a forest, the next a mountain, the next a town. After everything is built, then the hero sets off on his pre-planned adventure through the world you just made, on his quest to slay the great evil. The outcome of his quest is determined not so much by his actions, but by the order in which you build features of the world. A forest that is grown earlier is denser, a town that is built near an ocean can construct shipyards while a town near a forest makes lumber mills, a castle that is well-fortified earlier can repel an attack while a weaker castle smolders.
What's interesting about it, besides being a fun game, is that it gets me to wonder to what extent success or failure is based upon individual actions/decisions, and to what extent it depends on circumstances. In each game, the hero does mostly the same things, but his world determines how well he does, or sometimes even how he does certain things. Play it. You'll understand what I mean.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
A Church completely made out of Legos
Oh, and while you're at it... The Brick Testament, a rendition of the Bible, as told in Lego.
Oh, and while you're at it... The Brick Testament, a rendition of the Bible, as told in Lego.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
I Hart Darth, the cutest Star Wars webcomic out there.
I found the link via Manic Graffiti, the cutest World of Warcraft webcomic out there.
I found the link via Manic Graffiti, the cutest World of Warcraft webcomic out there.
Monday, August 01, 2005
SMITE!!
I'm proud to announce that I am no longer a PvP virgin.
This Saturday, me and Jeremy ran a level 27 orc hunter all the way down Stonetalon Peak.
He got away. (Paladin and warrior vs. Aspect of the Cheetah... catching runners = no. We did ensure, however, that all he could do is run... like the little Horde girlie-man that he is. :P)
(But Angie! You outnumbered him two to one! And a level 50 mage joined up with you to frost-shock him!)
HUSH! GREAT VICTORY FOR THE ALLIANCE!
Warsong Gulch, here I come!
I'm proud to announce that I am no longer a PvP virgin.
This Saturday, me and Jeremy ran a level 27 orc hunter all the way down Stonetalon Peak.
He got away. (Paladin and warrior vs. Aspect of the Cheetah... catching runners = no. We did ensure, however, that all he could do is run... like the little Horde girlie-man that he is. :P)
(But Angie! You outnumbered him two to one! And a level 50 mage joined up with you to frost-shock him!)
HUSH! GREAT VICTORY FOR THE ALLIANCE!
Warsong Gulch, here I come!
So! What's going on with me?
I'm being a research assistant for my econ prof
(Props to Dr. Mitch!)
What I'm doing is I'm cross-referencing 19th century marriage records to the 1851 census in Britain, to see if whether adult literacy rate (as determined by whether people sign their marriage license or just X it) matches up with their childhood educational backrounds.
So.. uh.. lots of Excel database stuff, really. And entertaining facets of 19th century life.
I don't think "farmer's widowed pauper" or "spoon polisher" or "pearl button cutter" really flies on resumes anymore. Or "gentleman."
This one time I was reading the job description for this guy, who described himself as a 'inge filer.' I was really confused until I read the other records, in which his son described the filer as being a locksmith.
Apparently he's a hinge filer.
Fuckin' Cockney!
I'm being a research assistant for my econ prof
(Props to Dr. Mitch!)
What I'm doing is I'm cross-referencing 19th century marriage records to the 1851 census in Britain, to see if whether adult literacy rate (as determined by whether people sign their marriage license or just X it) matches up with their childhood educational backrounds.
So.. uh.. lots of Excel database stuff, really. And entertaining facets of 19th century life.
I don't think "farmer's widowed pauper" or "spoon polisher" or "pearl button cutter" really flies on resumes anymore. Or "gentleman."
This one time I was reading the job description for this guy, who described himself as a 'inge filer.' I was really confused until I read the other records, in which his son described the filer as being a locksmith.
Apparently he's a hinge filer.
Fuckin' Cockney!
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Game on the Brain
Did you hear? Some paladin won the roll on Baron Rivendare's Epic Mount. It's one of the rarest drops in the game. In Character, I wonder how this obscenely lucky lawful-good Holy Knight of the Light, champion of chivalry and justice, is going to justify that pimped-out undead steed named Deathcharger.
I have a really hot wallpaper of Arthas Menethil (not Arthas Terenas*, you fools!) on my desktop. This is one of him back when he's human, not the Death Knight one which proliferates the internet, because frankly I don't want that psychotic smile gleefully Cheshire-catting me every time I start up Windows.
I wonder whose face the artist used for reference?
--
Some guy made a replica of Frostmourne. You know you're pretty sad when you have less of a life than Arthas.
--
Excerpt from a hilarious editorial honoring Arthas with the Dumbass of the Month Award:
The rest of it is even more entertaining.
--
*Really now. I don't understand why this misnomer persists. Nobody goes around addressing real monarchs by last name, so why start the habit with fictional, computer game ones? You'd feel pretty dumb referring to Queen Elizabeth (I) as "Queen Tudor."
Did you hear? Some paladin won the roll on Baron Rivendare's Epic Mount. It's one of the rarest drops in the game. In Character, I wonder how this obscenely lucky lawful-good Holy Knight of the Light, champion of chivalry and justice, is going to justify that pimped-out undead steed named Deathcharger.
- "He was.. uh.. on sale."
- "He's gentle! Really!"
- "Those obsidian horns are for decoration!"
I have a really hot wallpaper of Arthas Menethil (not Arthas Terenas*, you fools!) on my desktop. This is one of him back when he's human, not the Death Knight one which proliferates the internet, because frankly I don't want that psychotic smile gleefully Cheshire-catting me every time I start up Windows.
I wonder whose face the artist used for reference?
--
Some guy made a replica of Frostmourne. You know you're pretty sad when you have less of a life than Arthas.
--
Excerpt from a hilarious editorial honoring Arthas with the Dumbass of the Month Award:
"Quote: "It's time to fight fire with kerosene!"
Key Appearances: Warcraft III: Reign of Chaos, because once he's doing the whole Undead bit he's no longer qualifiable.
Qualifications: Poor ability to think out consequences of actions, ignorance of obvious progression, lousy hair, looking half-drunk, not having played Starcraft far enough to pick up on this particular plot twist
Redeeming Point: Really, I have no beef with undead Arthas whatsoever.
Damning Point: This is essentially saying that he's smarter dead than alive.
Inaccurate Statement: "Arthas just didn't know where his path was leading."
Correction: Hmph. Sure. That shit didn't fly with Kerrigan, either."
The rest of it is even more entertaining.
--
*Really now. I don't understand why this misnomer persists. Nobody goes around addressing real monarchs by last name, so why start the habit with fictional, computer game ones? You'd feel pretty dumb referring to Queen Elizabeth (I) as "Queen Tudor."
Excessive Profanities
Some fucker on the World of Warcraft forums spoiled Half-Blooded Prince for me.
What's ironic about this is that he had the spoiler in his sig, which I missed completely because I don't read forum sigs anyway. However, some well-intentioned fuckers further down the thread were saying things like, "Hey, you should change your sig," and "You shouldn't post sigs like that here," which, of course, made me curious. So I scrolled back up to read it, like a dumbass fucker.
You fuckers!
Some fucker on the World of Warcraft forums spoiled Half-Blooded Prince for me.
What's ironic about this is that he had the spoiler in his sig, which I missed completely because I don't read forum sigs anyway. However, some well-intentioned fuckers further down the thread were saying things like, "Hey, you should change your sig," and "You shouldn't post sigs like that here," which, of course, made me curious. So I scrolled back up to read it, like a dumbass fucker.
You fuckers!
Friday, July 15, 2005
Jose Needs to Get In On This Action
Hey guys! Today I found some D&D Style Porn!
It's pretty well-written, actually. And hot.
The author is a developer for White Wolf now.
...
I fear for Stone Mountain.
Hey guys! Today I found some D&D Style Porn!
It's pretty well-written, actually. And hot.
The author is a developer for White Wolf now.
...
I fear for Stone Mountain.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
I was trawling for info about the new The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe movie, and in the process have discovered that Narnia is pretty much totally ruined for me as a Grown-Up. Ever since I discovered the whole Christian Allegory thing. Not as fun anymore. This is why I think people should read as much as possible when they're kids, because adults just don't get excited about as much.
I remember when I was like 15, 16, and finishing some books that I'd started a few years earlier, or rereading things, and not enjoying them as much, and thinking to myself, "Oh, shit, shit I'm growing up!" Then I'd cram as much reading into my schedule as possible, reading in a passionate, shark-like frenzy (you know, pages and viscera flying everywhere- you've all seen the Discovery Channel) so that I'd finish all my campy juvenile fantasy adventures before I got too old to enjoy them.
Anyway, now I don't like Narnia so much because I keep finding more and more that could possibly offend me. I don't try to look, honest. It's self-defeating. I like enjoying my childhood. But bothersome things just... kind of appear, like those Magic Eye pop-ups I used to not be able to see either.
For example, today I was reading this thing about Susan (oh btw, this whole blog is about the Chronicles of Narnia so if you haven't read them for some Godforsaken reason, go do it) today, and how she didn't die at the end of the series because she needed to repent. I didn't think much about Susan when I read the books as a kid. Oh, she can't come back to Narnia because she acts like a selfish teenager. I didn't think much about it. Really, the only reaction I had was one of vindictive pleasure; I knew too many selfish teenagers even as a kid and was glad girls like them weren't allowed. You know, the mean girls who won't let you sit with them at lunch...
*sniff*...
ANYWAY. Thinking of it now, she seems like a terribly tragic character, not because of what's written about her, but what's not. Here you have this girl, who isn't let into heaven because she's concerned with material things. She's obsessed with makeup and clothes and parties and acting grown up. I feel sorry for her. I can see her in a dark room in England, night-dimmed in the dark lonely countryside, the little tendrils of emotion, of sin and subversion crawling out from her head and over her body, thoughts about boys and new sensations and Nazi bombs falling over this other Eden, turning from a girl to a woman alone, listening to the breathing of her brothers and sister, too young to understand, and how lonely that must have been. She wears lipstick and nylon, the book says, which is why she can't come to Narnia anymore.
Imagine this- Imagine you are a woman of power, gentle and beloved, respected and feared in turn. Imagine you are a queen. Imagine that armies ride out in your name, fleets sail under your banner and a strong west wind, barbarian princes hammer at the gates for your love. You have a splendid castle, a sumptuous table, servants, song, and sword that wait upon you. You are noble and you are wise, and by this your country flourishes in music, wonder and undimmed beauty.
One day, you are hunting in an unfamiliar forest, an aura of foreboding creeping on you like vines. You strain against its power, shying away from it, but your siblings urge you onward, so on you go. With a strange sensation twisting your body and a torrent of alien thoughts, your old life vanishes in an instant. You look down at your arms, not recognizing your body. You stare into a mirror, not recognizing your face. You are a queen no longer. Your country, your home, your people, your friends, your power, your wealth, are gone, and all you are is a scared, vulnerable girl in World War II England as the bombs keep falling, where there is no nobility and no wisdom, only despair and sacrifice. Unlike our memories, you have no photographs, no souvenirs, only what you can grasp in your memory as your memory fades.
When you see your parents again, over a middle-class, English dinner, they seem young to you, younger than you just were. You are powerless again. You, who once commanded a kingdom, must appease two foolish adults, strangers who you have not seen in decades. Initially, they humor you and your childish pretenses at royalty. They humor your pretenses at acting much older than you are, commanding and regal.
Peter takes the mantle of eldest; bossy, annoyingly responsible, and pragmatic. Lucy and Edmund enthusiastically scramble for the next adventure. Only you seem to feel some longing for your past life. Because you are older, your parents tell you that you have a responsibility to act mature, that you're setting a bad example by playing these frivolous games with your younger siblings. Your friends think you're mad. Honestly, how could you have aged to adulthood in a day? Honestly. And you think they're right... Anything like that is completely preposterous, there's no proof, it's all in your head. What silly games you played as a child.
And if what you saw with your own eyes, touched with your own hands, isn't here, never was, then why should you believe in what you can't see, can't touch, isn't here, never was?
Why should you believe in God?
You pretend to move on, socializing yourself to distraction, grasping at phantoms, holding court among your remaining subjects, cliquish girls and lovesick schoolboys. You remember your lost glory that no one else seems to remember, the games you played as a child. Once you were a queen (in those old imaginary games, of course). What are you now? A secretary, a housewife in Cold War Europe? Nothing you can do will rival what you once were.
You are broken. Your entire family died in a railway crash many years ago.
I remember when I was like 15, 16, and finishing some books that I'd started a few years earlier, or rereading things, and not enjoying them as much, and thinking to myself, "Oh, shit, shit I'm growing up!" Then I'd cram as much reading into my schedule as possible, reading in a passionate, shark-like frenzy (you know, pages and viscera flying everywhere- you've all seen the Discovery Channel) so that I'd finish all my campy juvenile fantasy adventures before I got too old to enjoy them.
Anyway, now I don't like Narnia so much because I keep finding more and more that could possibly offend me. I don't try to look, honest. It's self-defeating. I like enjoying my childhood. But bothersome things just... kind of appear, like those Magic Eye pop-ups I used to not be able to see either.
For example, today I was reading this thing about Susan (oh btw, this whole blog is about the Chronicles of Narnia so if you haven't read them for some Godforsaken reason, go do it) today, and how she didn't die at the end of the series because she needed to repent. I didn't think much about Susan when I read the books as a kid. Oh, she can't come back to Narnia because she acts like a selfish teenager. I didn't think much about it. Really, the only reaction I had was one of vindictive pleasure; I knew too many selfish teenagers even as a kid and was glad girls like them weren't allowed. You know, the mean girls who won't let you sit with them at lunch...
*sniff*...
ANYWAY. Thinking of it now, she seems like a terribly tragic character, not because of what's written about her, but what's not. Here you have this girl, who isn't let into heaven because she's concerned with material things. She's obsessed with makeup and clothes and parties and acting grown up. I feel sorry for her. I can see her in a dark room in England, night-dimmed in the dark lonely countryside, the little tendrils of emotion, of sin and subversion crawling out from her head and over her body, thoughts about boys and new sensations and Nazi bombs falling over this other Eden, turning from a girl to a woman alone, listening to the breathing of her brothers and sister, too young to understand, and how lonely that must have been. She wears lipstick and nylon, the book says, which is why she can't come to Narnia anymore.
Imagine this- Imagine you are a woman of power, gentle and beloved, respected and feared in turn. Imagine you are a queen. Imagine that armies ride out in your name, fleets sail under your banner and a strong west wind, barbarian princes hammer at the gates for your love. You have a splendid castle, a sumptuous table, servants, song, and sword that wait upon you. You are noble and you are wise, and by this your country flourishes in music, wonder and undimmed beauty.
One day, you are hunting in an unfamiliar forest, an aura of foreboding creeping on you like vines. You strain against its power, shying away from it, but your siblings urge you onward, so on you go. With a strange sensation twisting your body and a torrent of alien thoughts, your old life vanishes in an instant. You look down at your arms, not recognizing your body. You stare into a mirror, not recognizing your face. You are a queen no longer. Your country, your home, your people, your friends, your power, your wealth, are gone, and all you are is a scared, vulnerable girl in World War II England as the bombs keep falling, where there is no nobility and no wisdom, only despair and sacrifice. Unlike our memories, you have no photographs, no souvenirs, only what you can grasp in your memory as your memory fades.
When you see your parents again, over a middle-class, English dinner, they seem young to you, younger than you just were. You are powerless again. You, who once commanded a kingdom, must appease two foolish adults, strangers who you have not seen in decades. Initially, they humor you and your childish pretenses at royalty. They humor your pretenses at acting much older than you are, commanding and regal.
Peter takes the mantle of eldest; bossy, annoyingly responsible, and pragmatic. Lucy and Edmund enthusiastically scramble for the next adventure. Only you seem to feel some longing for your past life. Because you are older, your parents tell you that you have a responsibility to act mature, that you're setting a bad example by playing these frivolous games with your younger siblings. Your friends think you're mad. Honestly, how could you have aged to adulthood in a day? Honestly. And you think they're right... Anything like that is completely preposterous, there's no proof, it's all in your head. What silly games you played as a child.
And if what you saw with your own eyes, touched with your own hands, isn't here, never was, then why should you believe in what you can't see, can't touch, isn't here, never was?
Why should you believe in God?
You pretend to move on, socializing yourself to distraction, grasping at phantoms, holding court among your remaining subjects, cliquish girls and lovesick schoolboys. You remember your lost glory that no one else seems to remember, the games you played as a child. Once you were a queen (in those old imaginary games, of course). What are you now? A secretary, a housewife in Cold War Europe? Nothing you can do will rival what you once were.
You are broken. Your entire family died in a railway crash many years ago.
Friday, July 08, 2005
Atheist Summer Camp
@____@
O....kay.
Check out the New York Times article about it that's linked on the site too.
@____@
O....kay.
Check out the New York Times article about it that's linked on the site too.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
To Terrorists: If you hate America, attack America. If you hate our government and our armies and our guns, attack those. We will be waiting for you. Don’t attack our friends, people who have nothing to do with our war, people who are good and decent or maybe not, but don’t deserve to die. Don’t attack our colleagues. Don’t attack our relatives, our children, our teachers, our scientists, our doctors, the people who make a city live and breathe.
Today should have been happy. Today should have been about the Olympics, a global event, though a flawed event, a celebration of peace. And for the first time in years, leaders of great countries were arming themselves against poverty, disease, and ignorance. There is urgency to it now.
To G8: don’t stop until the horror is over, don’t stop until the rage is over, don’t stop until the despair is over, don’t stop for anything because more than ever we need you.
To the people of London from the people of America: We love you as our own. God bless you, the Merciful, the Compassionate. Peace be with you, wherever you go.
Today should have been happy. Today should have been about the Olympics, a global event, though a flawed event, a celebration of peace. And for the first time in years, leaders of great countries were arming themselves against poverty, disease, and ignorance. There is urgency to it now.
To G8: don’t stop until the horror is over, don’t stop until the rage is over, don’t stop until the despair is over, don’t stop for anything because more than ever we need you.
To the people of London from the people of America: We love you as our own. God bless you, the Merciful, the Compassionate. Peace be with you, wherever you go.
Because We Love Bono
I'm an econ major and I've been hoping for G8 to succeed for a long time now. What is G8? Well, it's a summit of eight developed countries around the world deciding how to combat global poverty and environmental depredation. They're trying to do it by getting debt cancellation for third world countries and dedicating 0.7 percent of gross national product (among developed countries) for foreign aid. For those of you who are going "Huh?" basically this means that every one hundred dollars you spend, seven cents goes overseas. Currently, at least for the US, only 0.18 percent of GNP goes overseas, or ... 1.8 cents per $100. To put *that* into perspective, that's $15 billion dollars for foreign aid per year compared to $450 billion dollars for military expenditure. $15 billion dollars for all of Africa. Our $15 billion dollars is $12 per sub-Saharan African per year. That means you could probably buy an African like... a t-shirt. 0.7 percent of GNP would be $70 per African per year, which could buy them safe water, anti-malarial and anti-AIDs drugs, contraception, the beginning of investment in improved farming, like, say, fertilizer and irrigation. The village could afford, oh, a truck.
Another thing to think about: The top 400 richest people in the US put together earn 69 billion dollars. The combined citizenry of Botswana, Uganda, Nigeria and Senegal earn.. $57 billion. So basically the 400 richest people in the US earn more than 161 million people in Africa.
It's about time for G8.
I'm an econ major and I've been hoping for G8 to succeed for a long time now. What is G8? Well, it's a summit of eight developed countries around the world deciding how to combat global poverty and environmental depredation. They're trying to do it by getting debt cancellation for third world countries and dedicating 0.7 percent of gross national product (among developed countries) for foreign aid. For those of you who are going "Huh?" basically this means that every one hundred dollars you spend, seven cents goes overseas. Currently, at least for the US, only 0.18 percent of GNP goes overseas, or ... 1.8 cents per $100. To put *that* into perspective, that's $15 billion dollars for foreign aid per year compared to $450 billion dollars for military expenditure. $15 billion dollars for all of Africa. Our $15 billion dollars is $12 per sub-Saharan African per year. That means you could probably buy an African like... a t-shirt. 0.7 percent of GNP would be $70 per African per year, which could buy them safe water, anti-malarial and anti-AIDs drugs, contraception, the beginning of investment in improved farming, like, say, fertilizer and irrigation. The village could afford, oh, a truck.
Another thing to think about: The top 400 richest people in the US put together earn 69 billion dollars. The combined citizenry of Botswana, Uganda, Nigeria and Senegal earn.. $57 billion. So basically the 400 richest people in the US earn more than 161 million people in Africa.
It's about time for G8.
Friday, July 01, 2005
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
This is fucking awesome:
"The example is of the Noble Women of Tortosa in Aragon, and recorded by Josef Micheli Marquez, who plainly calls them Cavalleros or Knights, or may I not rather say Cavalleras, seeing I observe the words Equitissae and Militissae (formed from the Latin Equites and Milites) heretofore applied to Women, and sometimes used to express Madams or Ladies, though now these Titles are not known.
"Don Raymond, last Earl of Barcellona (who by intermarriage with Petronilla, only Daughter and Heir of King Ramiro the Monk, united that principality to the Kingdom of Aragon) having in the year 1149, gained the City of Tortosa from the Moors, they on the 31 of December following, laid a new Siege to that place, for the recovery of it out of the Earls hands. The Inhabitants being a length reduced to gread streights, desired relief of the Earl, but he, being not in a condition to give them any, they entertained some thoughts of making a surrender. Which the Women hearing of, to prevent the disaster threatning their City, themselves, and Children, put on mens Clothes, and by a resolute sally, forced the Moors to raise the Siege.
"The Earl, finding himself obliged, bythe gallentry of the action, thought fit to make his acknowlegements thereof, by granting them several Privileges and Immunities, and to perpetuate the memory of so signal an attempt, instituted an Order, somewhat like a Military Order, into which were admitted only those Brave Women, deriving the honor to their Descendants, and assigned them for a Dadge, a thing like a Fryars Capouche, sharp at the top, after the form of a Torch, and of a crimson colour, to be worn upon their Head-clothes. He also ordained, that at all publick meetings, the women should have precedence of the Men. That they should be exempted from all Taxes, adn that all the Apparel and Jewels, though of never so great value, left by their dead Husbands, should be their own.
"These Women (saith our Author) having thus aquired this Honor by their personal Valour, carried themselves after the Military Knights of those days."
-Ashmole, The Institution, Laws, and Ceremony of the Most Noble Order of the Garter (1672), Ch. 3, sect. 3
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
I was in DC with Jeremy on Saturday for the Battle of the Barbecues, but it was hot (DC in high summer at noon) and overcommercialized. We were horrified that these vendors actually expected us to pay for our food, those capitalist bastards. So after we bummed around for free samples we went to the Natural History Museum, where all the exhibits were "temporarily closed for your convenience." We went into the Gems and Minerals exhibit and looked at shiny rocks. After that, we went to the Hirschorn (aka Donut Museum) despite our displeasure with modern art and looked at shiny God-what-is-thats.
Went to dinner at Teaism, a trendy Asian-style cafe by the National Archives.
I went up to the cashier and ordered some noodles. The cashier boy looked at me funny. "Would you like anything else?" he said.
I looked at him harder, squinted my eyes, and then suddenly yelled, right there in public, "HOLY FUCK YOU'RE NICK S!"
I waved my arms around and pointed like I saw Bigfoot and generally acted like a spazz.
Lesson: Sometimes I don't see people because I don't expect to see.
Went to dinner at Teaism, a trendy Asian-style cafe by the National Archives.
I went up to the cashier and ordered some noodles. The cashier boy looked at me funny. "Would you like anything else?" he said.
I looked at him harder, squinted my eyes, and then suddenly yelled, right there in public, "HOLY FUCK YOU'RE NICK S!"
I waved my arms around and pointed like I saw Bigfoot and generally acted like a spazz.
Lesson: Sometimes I don't see people because I don't expect to see.
Friday, June 03, 2005
Am in Hong Kong, y'all.
I saw a funny ad. It goes like this: "If you are sneezing, it is for three reasons. One, you have a cold. Two, you have allergies. Three, your coworkers are talking about you behind your back. For the first two, there's (Trademarked Overthecounter Medication). For the third, you're on your own." <--- Jeremy will get this. Nobody else who reads my blog will.
***
Something you'll notice about Victoria Park is that there are a lot of people practicing martial arts. Mostly it's flocks of old women doing tai chi to some brassy Chinese oldies blasting from a radio, or little kids from some kung fu school swinging quarterstaffs. Which is not to say that all Chinese people know martial arts, but a larger proportion of them do than Americans, and they tend to congregate in public places. I think Victoria Park is the only park in the world where a large portion of the populace has swords.
("But I wanna play on the swings!"
"Practice your kata! Then you swing!"
"Sifu!"
.. "Hold your head up! Head up! Arms out! Straighter! Very good! - Don't stab the joggers!")
***
Went to Central today, the Manhattan of Hong Kong's New York. Were going to look at an art exhibit but it was over, so we walked around looking at the Bank of China Tower and the International Finance Center, which are basically the trademark shining glass giants of Hong Kong's skyline. They command a legion of window-washers, which provide a positive externality; shiny buildings mean moralized, productive workers. Inside, they're black marble and grey basalt, monochromatic basilicas, gleaming and white, catwalks with black fountains, ovals and arcs and slanted transparence. It's a sign of high GDP. This is good. The economy is wonderful. The most beautiful buildings of the 15th century were churches, glory be to God. The most beautiful buildings of the 21st century are banks. Glory be to Mammon.
***
-Have had some trouble adjusting to the shotgun seat of the car being on the left.
***
My grandpa has been in the hospital respiratory ward under observation, ever since x-rays of his lungs showed some scarring. Apparently it's from an old lung infection, so it seems like a false alarm. There's also something wrong with his lymph nodes which causes water build up in his cells, I'm not really sure, but the only way to find what that is is to draw bone marrow from his spinal cord, which they don't want to do. He also has low hemoglobin and is getting a blood transfusion so he'll be staying there a few days. Strangely enough, though I know I'm supposed to care, I don't really all that much. I don't feel very much of anything. I've been visiting him every day and standing around stiffly not having anything to say (I never have even when he's not sick) until he says that I shouldn't trouble myself and can leave. My mom says my silent visits make him happy anyway, just having someone there, but they don't make me feel any less useless.
I saw a funny ad. It goes like this: "If you are sneezing, it is for three reasons. One, you have a cold. Two, you have allergies. Three, your coworkers are talking about you behind your back. For the first two, there's (Trademarked Overthecounter Medication). For the third, you're on your own." <--- Jeremy will get this. Nobody else who reads my blog will.
***
Something you'll notice about Victoria Park is that there are a lot of people practicing martial arts. Mostly it's flocks of old women doing tai chi to some brassy Chinese oldies blasting from a radio, or little kids from some kung fu school swinging quarterstaffs. Which is not to say that all Chinese people know martial arts, but a larger proportion of them do than Americans, and they tend to congregate in public places. I think Victoria Park is the only park in the world where a large portion of the populace has swords.
("But I wanna play on the swings!"
"Practice your kata! Then you swing!"
"Sifu!"
.. "Hold your head up! Head up! Arms out! Straighter! Very good! - Don't stab the joggers!")
***
Went to Central today, the Manhattan of Hong Kong's New York. Were going to look at an art exhibit but it was over, so we walked around looking at the Bank of China Tower and the International Finance Center, which are basically the trademark shining glass giants of Hong Kong's skyline. They command a legion of window-washers, which provide a positive externality; shiny buildings mean moralized, productive workers. Inside, they're black marble and grey basalt, monochromatic basilicas, gleaming and white, catwalks with black fountains, ovals and arcs and slanted transparence. It's a sign of high GDP. This is good. The economy is wonderful. The most beautiful buildings of the 15th century were churches, glory be to God. The most beautiful buildings of the 21st century are banks. Glory be to Mammon.
***
-Have had some trouble adjusting to the shotgun seat of the car being on the left.
***
My grandpa has been in the hospital respiratory ward under observation, ever since x-rays of his lungs showed some scarring. Apparently it's from an old lung infection, so it seems like a false alarm. There's also something wrong with his lymph nodes which causes water build up in his cells, I'm not really sure, but the only way to find what that is is to draw bone marrow from his spinal cord, which they don't want to do. He also has low hemoglobin and is getting a blood transfusion so he'll be staying there a few days. Strangely enough, though I know I'm supposed to care, I don't really all that much. I don't feel very much of anything. I've been visiting him every day and standing around stiffly not having anything to say (I never have even when he's not sick) until he says that I shouldn't trouble myself and can leave. My mom says my silent visits make him happy anyway, just having someone there, but they don't make me feel any less useless.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Stab, Stab, Stab the Evil Infidel
Go watch Kingdom of Heaven. It's about the Crusades. It's seriously awesome. It has some phenomenal writing that never takes the easy road, and by some miracle makes a "medieval epic" seem fresh.
Spoilers: The Muslims win. Kay was cheering. I was mortified. Kay! You can't be cheering for the "bad guys!"
...
No, I don't care if you're Muslim, Kay.
BAD GUYS, I TELL YOU!!!!
Go watch Kingdom of Heaven. It's about the Crusades. It's seriously awesome. It has some phenomenal writing that never takes the easy road, and by some miracle makes a "medieval epic" seem fresh.
Spoilers: The Muslims win. Kay was cheering. I was mortified. Kay! You can't be cheering for the "bad guys!"
...
No, I don't care if you're Muslim, Kay.
BAD GUYS, I TELL YOU!!!!
Been going to UMCP a lot lately. Went a few weeks ago to attend a lecture about the role of video games in military training. Got to hang out with Silvia for a bit too. When I called her, she was like a few blocks from me. Small world.
Went down this weekend too to use the library, and also dropped by the United States Botanical Gardens (ooh, lots of plants. Moving on) and the Museum of the Native American Indian. Architecture = awesome. I haven't been through much of it, but the collection seemed kind of "eh" to me. This may be politically incorrect, but I can't say I'm too impressed with things made out of bits of leather, beads and rocks. The guns and swords were very impressive though. It does occur to me that the coolest thing about the Native American museum was the European artifacts. Do I care? Not really.
Went down this weekend too to use the library, and also dropped by the United States Botanical Gardens (ooh, lots of plants. Moving on) and the Museum of the Native American Indian. Architecture = awesome. I haven't been through much of it, but the collection seemed kind of "eh" to me. This may be politically incorrect, but I can't say I'm too impressed with things made out of bits of leather, beads and rocks. The guns and swords were very impressive though. It does occur to me that the coolest thing about the Native American museum was the European artifacts. Do I care? Not really.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
It's called.. guessing.
| Great Gamer GM says drop 2d10, aanndd... you roll 66% ! |
Not too bad- not too bad at all. You're not exactly a first generation gamer, and you probably have other hobbies besides rolling dice and slaughtering orcs, but you've managed to collect enough knowledge to impress even the most experienced gamer. Pull out a few more nights for gaming and spend some more time with the obscure books, soon you're well on your way to becomming the Ultimate Gamer. |
 |
My test tracked 1 variable How you compared to other people your age and gender:
|
| Link: The Real Gamers use Dice Test written by luminasita on OkCupid Free Online Dating |
Friday, April 22, 2005
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Went to U Penn a few weeks ago to look at their archaeological collection. They have the world's most extensive collection of Roman glass and the world's largest rock crystal, among other things. I really wish I was an archaeologist there- just their museum has a brown brick Byzantine facade, a stone fountain on the wall between the gates, and a bowl-shaped fountain in the middle of the courtyard circle. I don't know how U Penn's academics are (I know it's hard to get into and expensive) but I'm a sucker for good architecture. Apparently their department is in the middle of doing field research in Egypt though, which should count for something. Plus, a campus in the middle of Philadelphia makes me drool. The campus itself looks like a real city, but not in an intimidating way. Look at my campus- stuck off the exit of a highway and with architecture of 70's cinderblock, brick and cold glass. All our art exhibits are either displayed in some room in the Fine Arts Building, or in the gallery of the library.
Also in the same trip went to the Academy of Fine Arts, where you aren't allowed to take pictures. Took a look at city hall, which is pretentious yet awe-inspiring, and Reading Market, where I had a cheese steak. Duh.
Also, went down to DC for the last crowded day of the cherry blossom festival, and walked all over the National Mall.
This weekend, went to historic Ellicot city, and Patapsco State Park.
Yeah. Maybe more later.
Also in the same trip went to the Academy of Fine Arts, where you aren't allowed to take pictures. Took a look at city hall, which is pretentious yet awe-inspiring, and Reading Market, where I had a cheese steak. Duh.
Also, went down to DC for the last crowded day of the cherry blossom festival, and walked all over the National Mall.
This weekend, went to historic Ellicot city, and Patapsco State Park.
Yeah. Maybe more later.
Thursday, April 07, 2005
I always thought it rather one-sided how history teachers always present the Persian Wars as freedom's war against oppression and cruelty.
From Plutarch's Lives of Themistocles, as translated by John Dryden:
When Themistocles was about to sacrifice, close to the admiral's galley, there were three prisoners brought to him, fine looking men, and richly dressed in ornamented clothing and gold, said to be the children of Artayctes and Sandauce, sister to Xerxes. As soon as the prophet Euphrantides saw them, and observed that at the same time the fire blazed out from the offerings with a more than ordinary flame, and a man sneezed on the right, which was an intimation of a fortunate event, he took Themistocles by the hand, and bade him consecrate the three young men for sacrifice, and offer them up with prayers for victory to Bacchus the Devourer; so should the Greeks not only save themselves, but also obtain victory. Themistocles was much disturbed at this strange and terrible prophecy, but the common people, who in any difficult crisis and great exigency ever look for relief rather to strange and extravagant than to reasonable means, calling upon Bacchus with one voice, led the captives to the altar, and compelled the execution of the sacrifice as the prophet had commanded. This is reported by Phanias the Lesbian, a philosopher well read in history.
From Plutarch's Lives of Themistocles, as translated by John Dryden:
When Themistocles was about to sacrifice, close to the admiral's galley, there were three prisoners brought to him, fine looking men, and richly dressed in ornamented clothing and gold, said to be the children of Artayctes and Sandauce, sister to Xerxes. As soon as the prophet Euphrantides saw them, and observed that at the same time the fire blazed out from the offerings with a more than ordinary flame, and a man sneezed on the right, which was an intimation of a fortunate event, he took Themistocles by the hand, and bade him consecrate the three young men for sacrifice, and offer them up with prayers for victory to Bacchus the Devourer; so should the Greeks not only save themselves, but also obtain victory. Themistocles was much disturbed at this strange and terrible prophecy, but the common people, who in any difficult crisis and great exigency ever look for relief rather to strange and extravagant than to reasonable means, calling upon Bacchus with one voice, led the captives to the altar, and compelled the execution of the sacrifice as the prophet had commanded. This is reported by Phanias the Lesbian, a philosopher well read in history.
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