I Blame The Community

It is you who are to blame, everyone, for this misfortune. I, as victim, clearly, am blameness. Not only am I blameless, in fact, I should be lauded for enduring my ordeal. It was horrible, I was frightened out of my wits. It was also a fascinating interaction with a part of the community I never get to experience. The part of the community I hate. Which, in this case, turns out to be all of it.

Ever read the book It Takes a Village by our dear friend and guiding light Hillary? You should. Because it does take a village. In fact, an entire community. And you guys sure let the ball drop on this one.

The Problem With This Conversation Is That It Is Not About Me

I am so interesting, guys! Seriously, like, your grandmother dying of cancer is nice and all that, but I just got this new pair of sunglasses! Also, let me tell you something about the fine art of tanning. What people do NOT realize.. excuse me sorry I am talking here let me finish my story, your grandmother is already dead her story can wait... so the thing about tanning is you have to rotate sides at least once every thirty minutes! Isn't that fascinating? Aren't I just a well of important facts that you want to drink from deeply, letting my wisdom run down your throat like so much ambrosia and ichor?

I am very cool, you know.

I Do Not Drop Things

I merely set things down on thin air.

With mixed success.

Well, I've Already Managed to F*ck This Up

Seriously? Who's idea was it to put me in charge of this? I genuinely could not be less qualified. Well, I could have no limbs.

Guys, one of you should probably stop laughing and call the department head. These flames are spreading at an alarming rate. Whoever put me in charge of this should be fired. Clearly. The fact that within moments of taking over I have caused this mess is indicative of a really poor decision making process. I mean, who puts the alcoholic in front of the bottles labeled "non-potable?" Is that some sort of perverse challenge? Are you trying to see what happens when you put an semi-literate speed freak in a contained space with lots of expensive equipment and flammable materials? Well congratu-fucking-lations. Jerks. Now will someone PLEASE hand me a gas mask and the atropene epi-pen.

My Mother Complains About My Celphone Bill During 30 Minute Long Phone Conversations

"I cannot believe how expensive your phone bill is this month! What, are you calling China? You want from I should have a heart attack when I open the envelope for the bill? Oy, let me tell you something, in my day, phones were made of peacock feathers and the Wizard of Oz himself had to dial them for you. But did he charge $110? You bet he didn't! How much did he charge?... That's right I am asking you... You know perfectly well how much he charged because I have told you before! Don't.. No quiet you don't make me put uncle Moiven on... Yes, he charged 3 cents and not a penny more! I tell you, you kids with your interwebs and your e-mails and your constant need to give yourselves epilepsy what with the blinking lights and STOP INTERRUPTING ME WHEN I AM TALKING! Listen to me when I speak... I can wait. ... I can wait. ... ...

...

STOP INTERRUPTING ME!"

Many, many minutes pass.

"And that reminds me, will you get your cholesterol tested again?"

*Dialtone*

I Have Joined the Pen15 Club

You should too.

Things and Carats / An Interesting Ontology

So there is a store here in Laguna Beach called 'Things and Carats.' Presumably, what they do is sell things and, also, diamonds. This seems to me to be a very strange way to advertise selling diamonds. Then I realized, hey, maybe it isn't that weird if in your universe there were only two types of objects: diamonds and not diamonds. That is quite a worldview. The universe composed of two neat piles, diamonds and not diamonds. Certainly much more orderly than the mucky chaotic quagmire the rest of us inhabit.

This reminded me of my own ontology, in which there are also only two types of objects in the entire universe: me and everything else. From the point of view of my computer, for instance, there are only two people (read: login accounts) in the entire universe, RealityGrip and NotRealityGrip.

Now I just have to figure out what to do with all these freaking diamonds.

I Am Very Sunburned

Sunburned is a kind, and therefore, inaccurate term. A term that conjurs up laughable images of redness, smiling faces in the sun, embarassing tan lines, etc. The reality of sunburn is much harsher. I always forget how weird it feels to be sitting indoors in the dark and feeling like your skin is burning and remember, ah, yes, I cannot wait to get skin cancer. That will be great! Yay! Melanoma! And no, I do not think cancer is funny.

Jokes about cancer are funny though.

I am going to hell.

It Is Freaking Impossible to Train These Ninjas

These men bring shame to my name. My unrevenged father curses at me from the afterlife for such gross idiocy as performed by these idiot so called ninjas. Are their spines made of individual strands of dried spaghetti? One would have to assume so granted the ease with which they snap. Never before have I seen the ground run so red with such cowardly blood.

Perhaps it is the perpetual fear of reprimand that makes them perform so ill. Perhaps I am so horrid they would rather seek death than live in my vassalage. Perhaps it is my own failure through leadership.

No, definitely not.

Perhaps it is genuinely the skill of my opponent that allows these men to be cut through like the softest of silk?

Most certainly not.

Everyone is at fault but me.

Big Glasses and Little Umbrellas

And I'm off to sunny California to sip on big drinks with little umbrellas, or big umbrellas with little drinks. I don't quite remember the equation, but there is going to be sun, shade, and neon colored alcoholic liquids involved. It's okay to envy me. Hell, I envy me. The only reason I am ever interested in anyone else is because they remind me of myself.

I'm just super.

See y'all in a week.

Why Certain Movies Completely Miss Their Own Point

One can only be so ironic or detached from something when one is actively engaging in it. For instance, we all wear ironic t-shirts, it's the style of the time. But, however, if one were to wear a t-shirt with, say, a swastika on it, sure, it might be ironic, but is anyone going to notice that? Or are they just going to see some idiot wearing a swastika? The latter, I'd imagine. Though, on a sidenote, when a friend of a friend visited school and wore out a swastika t-shirt another good friend of mine, in his infinite humor and wisdom, noted, "Ah yes, I too once dabbled in fascism."

So, anyway, to make a more blunt example, one cannot commit murder ironically. The punchline to a funny joke cannot be stabbing someone in the stomach. To illustrate:

A: Hey man, want to hear a funny joke?
B: Sure man, I love jokes!
*A stabs B right in the stomach*
A: Get it? GET IT?!

See, funny in abstraction, but if one were to actually do that, one would probably go to jail (unless one had really, really good lawyers or a really, really good last name).

Similarly, certain movies simply cannot be taken seriously. 6 Degrees of Separation is a perfect example, in my opinion.

6 Degrees of Separation is a film about a young black con artist, played very, very well by a young Will Smith, who cons rich people all up and down the isle of Manhattan. The movie's technique for moving the story along is following these very same rich people from dinner party to dinner party to fancy reception, etc. and all the while they regale each other with stories of this young black con artist named Paul while Paul himself has totally slipped between the cracks. Cinematographywise, acting-wise, production-wise, this movie is quite good.

What makes this movie into a hypocritical non-reflexive act of cruelty is the fact that it is a work of non fiction. Young Paul was a real man who never saw a damned dime of profit and died of AIDS destitute sometime after this wildly successful movie came out. I am not promoting con artists, mind you. However, in effect, what this movie was, instead of being a warning about rich people simply telling other rich people interesting life anecdotes about the less fortunate while the world burns, is nothing but rich people telling other rich people interesting life anecdotes while the world burns, only in movie form.

Plenty, plenty other movies like this too.

It Could Not Possibly Be Above 60 Degrees Farenheit in this Library

Is this unbearable cold good for the books or something? Does it inhibit mold growth, or somehow slow the aging of paper? I cannot imagine it matters, actually, as it is substantially warmer in the stacks than it is where the public terminals are.

Next time, I am bringing gloves.

And I Declare Unto Ye, Oh Choir, That Which You Already Agree With / A Reaction to My School's Paper

And take heed unto my words, words which you yourselves would probably shout at me were you standing on this very selfsame soapbox. Let us all rejoice in our common opinion, questioning it not at all, instead, demonstrating to ourselves how right we are. And then we shall host the award show, whereupon we will grant unto ourselves many awards, shiny and noble and of the rarest metals, for having spoken to each other so meaningfully. For truly, this chatter accomplishes much.

Please, Steal My Beard Trimmer and Other Objects That Could Not Possibly Have Any Value to You Whatsoever

Like my nail clipper kit. Who the hell steals a nail clipper kit? I mean, seriously? My beard trimmer, my nail clipper kit, and my broken cel phone. Broken! Completely non functional! The only reason I had been keeping it was so that when I did get a new cel phone I could transfer the phone numbers over.

So, the story goes like this: we like to throw parties (refer to Andrew W.K.). I also like having many people come to these parties, so they can get their groove on, meet other new and groovy people, and, in general, get down with the funk. However, there is a phenomenon, and I hate to judge but I am going to anyway, of local residents of our campus town showing up to parties and stealing our shit. I genuinely do not understand what anyone would want with my beard trimmer. I understand when, on three non-consecutive occassions, an old friend's bike, her wallet, digital camera (twice), and laptop were stolen, or recently, when another friend's ipod was stolen. Or when our neighbor's laptop was stolen. This makes some sense to me. These are objects with resale value. A freaking beard trimmer? All it does is smell like my face and (poorly) trim beard hair. Also, does anyone else really want to use my old nail clippers? I mean, apparently so. But so did I.

The real kicker was when, one day, I returned home to my apartment, and, on the staircase leading up to my back porch, I saw two empty yellow cups. I knew immediately what had happened. Literally, someone had broken into my house and stolen my spare change. I wish that they had also stolen my homework, because that seems just as unlikely. I cannot imagine who would take them time to steal ~$25 in quarters. It just isn't practical! I was going to spend that money on beer!

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb / Objects are a Promotion to Their Own Use

So today Bush promoted nuclear proliferation by allowing India to double or triple its production of fissile material, while also selling India civilian grade nuclear fuel. This equation results in surplus product, i.e. fissile material that can be converted into weapons grade fuel and turned into bombs or sold to neighboring countries. Great! Neat!

As I am not an expert on foreign policy, it is hard for me to form an opinion with any real merit on the situation. What I will say is that it is probably not a good thing we are violating nuclear non-proliferation treaties by allowing India to expand its nuclear program, if for no other reason than the precedent it sets when dealing with other countries.

However, it seems to me that the larger danger than governments that are our allies expanding or creating nuclear programs is the danger posed by the many thousands of warheads in former Soviet nations. Governments and organizations that want a nuclear arsenal, presumably, want one as a nuclear deterrent, to be a player on the field of the nuclear powers. This creates a shift in economic and political ties, and forces neighboring governments to take them more seriously, etc. Aiding in a nuclear program of an allied nation can also be seen as a particularly close type of alliance, in that by providing allied governments with nuclear technology and fuel we can help regulate their nuclear programs and also there is the implicit understanding that you do not bite the hand that feeds you. So, all this aside, I do not find it as upsetting that certain governments want a small nuclear arsenal. It is much more of a concern that there are literally thousands of high yield nukes in former Soviet nations that will surely, one way or another, find their way to the black markets within our lifetimes. For these objects simply to be sitting around means that there is a reasonable chance they will be used.

An analogy:
Recently a friend dropped off a sack of 250 super rubber bouncy balls at a friends house. It resulted in literally months of chaos, as because they were lying around we were inclined to constantly throw them at each other. And, not just that, they started showing up in the strangest places. They would literally get caught in my clothing and wind up in other houses, in the bathroom, in my backpack, etc. As a result, we one day decided to disarm. The balls were all gathered and stuck under a friend's bed, and, since then, though we continue to beat the hell out of each other will all manner of blunt objects, we have yet to have a bouncy ball fight. So, the moral of the story, if you don't want to use something, you probably shouldn't have hundreds or thousands of them lying around.

So while we are worried about India, North Korea, and Iran building nukes, why don't we finish destroying some of the tens of thousands that were produced in Soviet Russia?

This Statement is False

We (read: undergraduate philosophy majors) have a variety of terms for classifying levels of bullshit. To steal directly from Wittgenstein, let us review:

sinn / sense Statements given to us by the natural sciences have sense. Sense can be understood of as meaning, import, usefulness, etc.

sinnloss/ senseless Statements about logic or math can be understood as senseless. 'This statement is true.' '1 + 1 = 2' 'It is either raining or it is not raining.' These statements carry no information. As my prof. put it, they are 'true by courtesy.' Such statements are true by virtue of the definitions of the words they use, therefore, they have no actual meaning.

unsinnig / nonsense Statements such as 'the true is more identical than the beautiful' 'the house man spotted the wooly' are nonsense. Clearly. These statements do not have anything analyzable for truth or falsity; to call them either true or false would be a misnomer, as they are just pure crap.

So what do you guys think is unsinnig?

Disclaimer

Should have done this from the start:

Disclaimer:

Use or reproduction of any material herein without express permission, written or otherwise, of the proprietor of this blog (read: me) will be frowned upon highly (read: prosecuted with all directness appropriate for the nature of the specific incident in question).

All material in this blog is fake, it is NOT representative of the opinions or ideas of the author, nor representative of anything really worthwhile for all that matter. If something bothers you, comment about it. Taken out of context, I imagine any number of statements on this blog could be misinterpreted or be incriminating. So let's not do that.

Certain Things Do Not Have Opposites

For example, there is no opposite to driving. 'Crashing' cannot technically be termed a type of driving, as it is, more accurately, failing to drive. Similiar to flying. No opposite to flying. Sitting there? Somehow I do not think that qualifies. So what is the opposite of driving or crashing?

Oh yes. That. Sitting here and drinking beer. That will do nicely.

The Ontology of Glaven

Glaven
Gl*a*ven
Noun

A fist covered in flaming naptha thrust repeatedly into the air, primarily when rocking out at parties. Refer to Andrew W.K. and / or Mr. T. beating in the ass of your father while enacting scenes from www.realultimatepower.net.
"Dude, raise that fucking glaven!"



Glorf
Gl*orf
Noun

1. Unidentifiable liquid that smells of inorganic origins.
"Dude, your floor is covered in glorf. Nasty."

2. Liquid of organic origins that is produced by one's body accidentally.
"Dude, I just totally glorfed on your desk. Sorry."

I Am Covered In Some Sort of Viscous Blue Goo

Perhaps partially dried Listerine? Hard to say; it certainly lacks a minty aroma. Smell hard to identify, perhaps some sort of industrial solvent? I dearly hope that is not the scent of my acetone and polyester hot pants melting. They are but a thin layer of security between me and this godawful goo. Yes. Yes. It is most certainly eating through my clothing. Ruling Listerine out. The blueness, so vivid, almost a cobalt hue. No time to consider anymore. That is definitely burning.