The Thing of My Happiness

Through clever manipulation of the waiting list, my insistent hounding of my adviser, and the inexplicableness of the English department actually adding sections instead of canceling them, I have gotten into another semester of Advanced Fiction. That means another semester of the academic system kicking my ass into actually doing some writing.

Of course, I'd feel better about it if I was actually able to attend the last meeting of my current workshop, but my sisters have seen fit to get married so friggin' close to each other. My bridesboy duties call me to Wisconsin. I'd hate to have all the manscaping I did to look good in the dress go to waste.

But overall, I'm just stoked about getting a chance to have my slacking bottom wound up into gear. I need me one o' them wind-up keys to shove into my behind every so often to get me into gear. Effective plus exciting. Everybody wins.

Alert the CDC! I am diseases!

I'm sick. Awesome. This'll make two out of the last three birthdays where I'll be infected with critters. For twenty, I had mono, what an adventure in laying in bed like a rutted fish. This year, I'll be serving up some unknown throat bid'ness. Nursemom says I ought to go to Urgent Care to get it checked out to see if I need antibiotics if it's strep. I'll do that tomorrow during the time I'd normally be at work, which I've taken off because I have a history of working myself too hard when I'm sick.

I wish I had me some Airborne. And as long as I'm wishing for stuff, I'd also like to wish for the stuff to actually do something. Don't mind me, when I get sick, I get more upset at useless supplements like Airborne and echinacea. I'm bitter like that.

On the looking up and up, I received a bit of lovlies today. I'm officially registered for another semester of Advanced Fiction. There's another semester of the academic setting forcing me to get some writing done in store for this guy. *thumbs in*

imagine this here thingum

I'd like for us to to go on a wondrous mind adventure on the magic carpet of our imaginations. Grab your fruit snacks and juice boxes, and away we go!:

Let's say that the ruling elite of this country came together to publish a book that was basically a serious of essays about how the world worked and how it ought to be run. It's a book that serves their interests, maintains the legitimacy of their position, and reinforces their methods and ideology.

Now fast forward a few thousand years and zoom halfway across the world. That book is no longer opinion but considered to be the end-all of all instruction and morality, though when it was written, it was just the opinions of those already in power. While it would likely make some very good points and may very well have been useful at the time it was written, ultimately it's a text that was written to be relevant for a civilization so far removed from the one that reveres it that using it as a road map of unquestionable truth to base every decision on would be pretty dang-ole preposterous.

You'd think, huh?

Poster for Ryan

I can only describe my feelings as "way fuggin' stoked."


It will soon grace my walls (once it makes it across the Atlantic). Damn you John Allison, I would go gay and go British for you. *whimper*

Happy Columbus Day

I swear, if I knew that exploiting an indigenous people would land me a holiday, I would have started doing so at a much younger age. Now I'm just playing catch-up.

I mean, come on, I have a reputation to live up to.

In Which I am a Slacker

I am a slacker. This fact is inescapable. I've come across few people who were genuinely motivated. Everyone else is like me to whatever degree. I imagine myself somewhere on the spectrum between ready-to-take-on-the-world and stoned-and-hungry-on-the-couch.

My noggin's been a-workin' lately about life, the universe, and everything. And any introspection on my part soon leads to thoughts of Life After College™. Until now, it's been grad school in some locale outside the southwest.

Except not.

There is no graduate school on my foreseeable horizon. Granted my horizon rarely stretches past a few weeks. That's me: few expectations and fewer worries. Does that make me Timon? If so, I need to find my Pumbaa. Jesse could be my Pumbaa. His bottomgas is most certainly foul enough, but he has direction (that sum'bitch) and is nowhere near rotund enough.

My life plan as it stands today: live, write, scratch at stuff, train attack kittens, and die by meteorite leaving my squalid legacy to my ruthlessly adorable feline companions.

Aeroplane Woes

I got to the Orlando airport around 10:20ish AM EST. That was over nine hours ago, and I'm settling in for the next 13 hours before my first real chance to get the hell out of here. That's the hazard of flying standby, I suppose. I have taken up residence in a phone cubby that no longer houses a phone. It's a defensible position for my stuff in case I fall asleep, and there are enough outlets to plug in my laptop and my phone. I am prepared for the long haul.

The trouble with not getting out until Monday (Buddha willing) is that I was planning on moving into my new house tomorrow while I'm (hopefully) 40,000 up in the air. Looks like I might have to take off work another day for the move.

But I did get to go to Florida for almost nothing, food mostly as expense plus a bitchin' Apollo mission patch from Kennedy Space Center and other miscellaneous souvenirs. Hooray for Jake and hooray for Jesse who graciously allowed me to freeload. I figure I need to start practicing since I'm destined for a life of a egregious poverty, but on the upside, Sanlyn offered to give me tips on how to live off of food stamps (including what alcomohols you can buy). Hey, the gummint pays for my school and a significant portion of my rent, so why not my food? It's always been one of my closest held dreams to be a drain on the system, and I bet you I could pull it off all sexy-like.

I only have about 100 pages left of Prisoner of Azkaban as reading material, but I suppose I could go to the gift shoppe and pick me up some porno magz. I could read those articles for hours.

This is one more reason why UA is better than ASU

There really is nothing I can say about this:

Oh gee golly.

The Fourth

It occurred to me yesterday to make an ironically gung-ho patriotic blog posting for the occasion. At some point in my writing, I would have slipped in a phrase something akin to "Suck it King George." Or something to that effect. Of course it makes me wonder what the percentage of Americans is that could name the monarch the colonists were so peeved at and for what reasons.

But that's irrelevant. When have Americans ever let facts or historical context have any bearing on them getting drunk and eating too much? Or just getting their holiday on.

I did not do anything so productive as writing a blog post. Instead I spent most of the day watching Angel. Now that's celebrating America. It's certainly a more accurate representation of what we've done with our freedom than setting off fireworks or eating hot dogs and watermelon.

Although I would not have said no to some watermelon.

Mistaken Dead Status

I'm not sure what it was, but I always thought Bob Dylan was dead. The way that people talked about him and the musicians that are supposed to be operating in his legacy always gave me the impression that the guy was all deaded.

Woops. The value of my cultural retardedness is currently set to positive.

Pretty much crap

I have to write a five page paper for my 20th century philosophy final. And I dub it a complete waste of my time. No, wait, I'm going to extend that to the entire course. Any course where you can not go to 80% of the classes and have an A is poorly structured and poorly executed. It's not worth having. The material was boring, and all she did was read from the handouts that she provided. Why even bother with an instructor? I read the handouts and got As on the quizzes.

Now I have to write five pages about Putnam's "Why there isn't a ready made world" paper. It's essentially crap (the assignment, not Putnam's paper). She gave us an outline including every single point we need to cover to get full credit. The only effort required on our part is to rewrite what she wrote in the Putnam handout. It's complete regurgitation. I can understand a teacher helping her students do well, but if she'd done anymore, we'd have form essays we could just write our names at the top of.

I can understand that it's a survey of 20th century philosophy, but there was almost no exploration of the material or the philosophical implications of each philosopher's view. "This is what this philosopher thought. Now onto the next philosopher." It's pretty much the worst way to structure a class in philosophy (or any class, really, but especially philosophy which is nothing if you don't engage the material). I did exactly zero thinking for this class. That means that the teacher has failed. She did not do her job, and this paper is still a waste of my time.

I'm just bummed that I scheduled myself to work at OSCR during the class we filled out evaluations. I would have gone to market and brought home some friggin' roast beef.

Are these emotions I'm feeling? They make me feel funny.

I'm not sure what's come over me, but I've been going all fangirl gooshie over indie pop recently. So, I will continue along the vein of my last post with another video of a song I've fallen in love with. This one makes me happy and bouncy inside.

Maia Hirasawa - "And I found this boy"



Those damn Swedes and their infectiously good music...

What the hell, let's go crazy. From the UK with another song I'm smooshing over:

Lucky Soul - "Add Your Light to Mine, Baby"

Instant Favorite

I have all manner of love for this song. Ever since I heard it a few days ago, it's been stuck with me. I adore this song, and you will too unless you are completely devoid of all passion, desire, and heart. So, I give you Hello Saferide's "My Best Friend." Please commence falling in love with this band.



The singer reminds me of someone or a combination of someones, but I can't place it.

Persona Happenings

I had a slight let-down tonight. I was not voted into the Junior Editor position that I was running for. It's a bummer, but I secured Assistant Copy Editor. I mostly just wanted to get involved in the workings of the club, so I'm pleased even if I didn't get the job I wanted. That's the peril of running against an officer veteran, I suppose. Besides getting my antisocial bumparts involved in something, I get 3 units of upper-division credit to boot. That means I can decrease my course load during one semester next year. I'll probably drop a class from the Fall semester since there's one English class I didn't want to take in the first place. Hooray for 12 units.

Even though no one else was running for Assistant Copy Editor, I think what really secured my winning it was me saying, "I'm used to being a bitch-boy. I was one at my last job" during my pseudo-speech. I am a bitch-boy. I could be your bitch-boy.

There Are No More Heroes

It is very seldom that the death of anyone, especially a public figure, moves me to any kind of emotion. When a public figure dies, it's usually expressed that the death of anyone is sad. I disagree. Death is not sad in the way that most people wish it to be sad. It's a very selfish emotion, really. It affects us to the extent that we will miss the person that is now gone. Death is not sad. Life, I think is sadder than death. Life is sad because there is so often no point when there ought to be.

My selfish emotion is in response to the death of my hero. It was one of my cherished dreams to meet him someday just so he could tell me I didn't know anything. He chain smoked for decades and died because of brain injuries from falling. It's an ironic death that I think he would have appreciated. I ought to say something personal about how I am a better person for reading his work and have a better understanding of my relation to humanity and the world, but I don't think he ever wanted people to be like him. Sometimes I feel like I think he must have that life would be better if we couldn't recognize just how wrong things are. "Life is no way to treat an animal," as it were. And because it's what he would want to be said about him:

Kurt Vonnegut is up in heaven now.

So it goes.

Re: Can't Tell the Difference

I think I give people too much credit. That sounds odd coming from me, but I really do. Today I made a stop to deposit some yellow before meeting with my Milton professor. On the wall above the, ahem, "ATMs" there were some tags, and this addition: "TAGGERS R GAY" with a darling little arrow. I thought that was pretty ironic, and I had to catch myself because I had been thinking that the person who wrote it understood the irony of his actions. I have no way of knowing one way or the other, but it seems far more likely to me that the guy scrawled it up there without appreciating the irony of his actions.

But that's what's tricky about irony. It can be hard to distinguish without context. Like does Alanis Morissette know that most of the stuff she mentions in "Ironic" are not actually ironic and is she being ironic because of it? This is the web I'm tangled in with the "My Boobs are Okay" video I posted last week. I think I might be giving her too much credit, but then I realized that the song is essentially a remaking of "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas. Observe:



So is the crazy Norwegian girl making a commentary on the glorification of that kind of behavior, or is it just in the same vein? My brain is so whacked-out on literature right now that I have no idea. It's highly probable that I'm simply looking at it too hard and seeing something that isn't there.

As bonus fun, I offer this lovely (and real) commentary on the attitude "My Humps" praises. It's amazing how all credibility in the lyrics is lost when they're slowed down and articulated. Oh those crazy feminists and their "ideas" about "equality" and "not selling your body like a socially sanctioned prostitute." They're so quaint. I mean, seriously, when was the last time one of those types got laid? I'm going to have to quote me some Chasing Amy when I say, "All every woman wants, be it mother, senator, or nun, is some serious deep dicking." Think on that for a moment as you watch this "My Humps" parody:

I'ma Gonna Be a Bridesmaid!

Or as my sister calls it: a bridesboy. I mentioned earlier that my sister Amanda got engaged to her man-type. Well, she called me on Sunday to ask me if I wanted to be a part of the wedding party, specifically if I would be one of her bridesmaids. I, of course, said yes. Seriously, I'm out of theatre now, so my opportunities for dressing up in a dress all pretty without people throwing garbage at me have been drastically (and unfortunately) reduced.

They'll be getting married in the fall (October 25 if I recall correctly). It should be fun. I haven't been to many weddings.

I'm still in negotiations with her about dress color and style (I would like something that shows off my lovely lady lump), free license for hairdos, and the open bar situation.

A Cop-out/Blatantly Atheistic Easter Post

(Image Source)

I hope everyone fulfilled the true spirit of Easter and had some rousing shag sessions. Of course using condoms and/or birth control does violate the spirit of a fertility festival. So, I hope y'all enjoyed your non-fertile spring festival. And a Happy Belated Equinox!

A Disturbing Similarity

There's construction going on at UMC right now that's right on my route to go from the lab to the main hospital. I pass by the site almost every day. Today, I saw a pile of stuff on the site. It contained: a flannel shirt, gloves, a big thermos, a lunch box, and several things I couldn't identify. Then I looked over into the rest of the site and saw a construction worker wearing: a helmet, a handkerchief under the helmet covering his neck, stained and worn-out jeans, a worn-out hoodie, and one of those reflective vest dealies.

I asked myself: what other profession do these two sights bring to mind? The answer seemed obvious to me: a homeless person. Now, I don't mean to conflate the two because only one group provides a viable service. In case you couldn't figure it out on your own, I'm talking about homeless people. The provide an indispensable service to any community they're in.

Let's face it, if there we no homeless people, how would we be able to practice lying convincingly. Without the repeated practice of "Sorry, I don't have any change" and "Oh, I don't carry cash. I only use plastic," we would never be able to work up to more important lies. I'm pretty sure society would break down without these intrepid individuals taking one for the team. So next time someone gets up in arms about homelessness being a problem, you should say, "Homelessness is essential to our way of life! And I absolutely did not sleep with your wife." You'll be golden. And don't forget to thank the stinky guys by "accidentally" dropping some money by them some time. We can't let them think we'd give it to them willingly or they might be inspired to turn their lives around and get jobs and stuff. We certainly can't have that if we want to maintain our comfortable way of life.

Can't Tell the Difference

Do you ever find yourself faced with something where you can't tell if it's brilliant or mind-numbingly stupid? This is how I feel about this video. I'm not sure if it's making a serious social point about that endearing class of women that survive on their physical appearance or if it's glorifying that behavior as a right and privilege of being an attractive woman.

I felt the same way about some of the submissions I read for Persona this semester. Without context, I couldn't tell if the pieces were fabulous or inane drivel. It's amazing how close those two are when operating in satire. There's a fine distinction between the model and the actual object. So what's the reality? Once they start imitating one another, that distinction blurs. Then we get Hyperreality.

Thank you Baudrillard for keeping me from believing that anything actually exists. Thanks a ton. You know what, Baudrillard? YOU don't exist! How do you like that, huh? That's right, you're dead, so there. That makes me the winner by default on account of dead philosopher.

Where's my medal?

My Dream April Fool's Joke

I thought of the ultimate April Fool's Joke today. It would involve massive coordination, extensive persuasive skills to get people to play along, and for me to be the head of NASA.

I would make a press release on April 1st revealing that the first moon landing was, indeed, a hoax. The others were genuine, but that first one was faked. There would be a sincere apology on behalf of NASA, and an appeal for understanding of the situation at the time. The competition with the Russians was fierce and a desire not to let the promise to JFK go unrealized.

The moon hoax loons would go ape shit bananas. I think most would realize the gag, as most people do on April 1st, but perhaps some would believe it. And that would be a beautiful thing.

Now I just need to become the director of NASA.

Now I Can See the Resemblance

I've never seen a Virgin Mary or Jesus sighting in food/oil/building windows/doors/clouds that couldn't be attributed to pareidolia. UNTIL NOW! I really think Jesus is trying to tell us something here. To make a life-size appearance in chocolate like this is incontrovertible evidence that Jesus has something to say to us. (I guess he doesn't realize that we have cell phones now, but who am I to criticize the preferred communication method of the Son of the Lord God Almighty?)


Ooooooooor.... there's a sculptor that has the Christ Camp (mostly the Catholics) all in a huff in the lead-up to Easter with this exhibit. I say they ought to be flattered. I mean, if I was to sculpt their deity out of something brown, it sure wouldn't be out of a material as tasty and pleasantly aromatic as chocolate (if you catch my meaning). Besides, with all the creepy sexual connotations to the Christian worship tradition, I would think they'd be happy to finally get a peak at the holy package.

(Image source)
(Article source)

People and Things

A big problem that many people have with divine justice is summed up in the question, "Why do bad things happen to good people?" This moral indictment of God's sense of justice has been repeated so many times that I've gotten completely sick of it.

What we ought to be asking is "Why do good people happen to bad things?" Did any of you whiners ever stop to consider what it's like for the bad thing to have a good person thrust upon it? I bet you didn't, you inconsiderate bastard. That bad thing may have had serious plans for happening to a bad person, and now it's been deprived that. All that preparation, work, self-sacrifice, and dreaming have gone to waste on account of that good person. It's a real shame, but not as big of a shame as the whole lot of you not realizing that.

Bowling and Other

I got back recently from the bowling night fund raiser for Persona Undergraduate Literary Magazine (buy one when they come out at the end of the semester). It was fun. Five tickets including my own isn't too bad of an effort on my part, I think. The night was fun. Fluke among flukes, I beat Jesse in our second game with what has been confirmed as my best game. I pulled a very respectable 169. I savored a few moments of bliss from this along with some banter with Katy about the folly and ridiculousness of the music industry (always amusing) and other things (also amusing). And now Brigid and I can plan our romantic interludes without so much secrecy since Jesse gave me the okay to have quick, guilt-free sex with her. He's such a generous fellow, really. I mean, I wouldn't prostitute out my girlfriend unless I was getting money out of it, but I guess I'm just old fashioned in that way. You're a real pal, Jesse.

On a totally unrelated note, I happen to find this website absolutely hilarious. It's all the typical Christian fallacies brought together in what can be best described as a convention of the nutty and the illogical. (I think religions should have conventions, just so I can make puns about them conning) Anywhozzle, take a look if you have a strong stomach. Such concentrated doses of logical fallacies rock my insides harder than a vat of jalapeñocheesebeefgrease.

One last thing: I think I have the answer to why the Christian church has been so fixated on sex and sexuality for so long. I believe it has something to do with the first seriously organized conception of the Christian faith, the Roman Catholic Church, having their leader dress up to be shaped like a penis.
Seriously, the dude's hat is all phallic-y. I suppose if you're going to be a bunch of total pricks, you ought to dress the part. Let's not forget that Mother Theresa was Catholic, and she was fucking awful.

Deathly Hallows Cover

The cover art for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was released today. So, I thought I would share because I'm just so damned excited about it. The release date is July 21st, and I can barely contain my schoolgirl-esque glee.

Here's the UK children's cover (Because the adult version is lame):


And here is the full US cover (which is the artwork that I prefer):

Source

Fisting and God's Will

...some couples may wonder if it is appropriate for a wife to fist her husband if he enjoys anal stimulation. In most cases, a wife indulging her husband’s desire to receive light anal play is not problematic in the context of a healthy sexual relationship. A wife may even anally penetrate her partner with a strap-on dildo if he enjoys this, and if their respective roles as husband and wife are secure outside of the bedroom.

However, because of the intense nature of the act of fisting and the degree of surrender and submission involved in being fisted, a couple should first look deeply into their own hearts and pray for guidance as to whether it is wise for the wife to fist the husband. They should undertake this only if their relationship is such that the husband can assume a submissive and passive role during a sexual act, while afterward still maintaining his role as the spiritual head of the household and leader in the marriage. Our article on Christian BDSM also addresses this issue.

I seriously could not make this stuff up. Make sure to check out the other articles on there as well. It is seldom that I have no words. This is one of those times.

New Title

I thought I would take the time to say something about my new title. I'm becoming more and more of a lit nerd as time goes by, so I'll admit it's a reference to a poem by William Wordsworth: "Intimations on Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood." But since I'm an American and I demand short, quick, and clever titles that still give a sense of the entire work (that don't at all put any pressure on the writer. At all.), I call it "The Intimations Ode."

Here's the stanza:

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But He beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.

I like it because it's an image of a loss of innocence. But knowledge replaces innocence which is ultimately a favorable trade. That's a very cursory explanation, but I'm at work and I ought to be reading Paradise Lost.

Two Special Kinds of Joy

I'd like to take a moment out of my usually bitter attitude to mention two things that just make me happy.

The first: that feeling you get just before you're tipsy. Everything just seems better in that ever-so-floaty state. I wish I knew the amount of alcohol and the rate I would have to consume it in order to maintain that feeling over longer periods of time.

The second: finding an unexpectedly good parking spot. I always try the lot near the Engineering building for my Thursday night shift, but I never actually expect to get a spot, as it's a small lot and in a high traffic area. In that case, I have a back-up lot that's unpleasantly further away. But every once and a while, I get a spot, and it fills me with simple-hearted glee. This is compounded when I know it's the last spot in the lot, and I see cars coming in after me. That's joy plus schadenfreude. That's the best of both worlds, baby.

First Choice

I've been doing a wee bit o' research on grad programs, and I think I've come up with my top choice. It seems to be everything that I want in a school. It would probably send me into horrific amounts of debt as it's a private college in New York. Sarah Lawrence, you and I shall be cleaved to one another. Oh yes, it shall be so.

...please let me into your school

Conclusion

I have decided that too many people I know are getting married and/or spawning. I was fine when it was still, "Hey, you know RandomPerson from high school? They're baking baby batter into baby cakes." And since baby cakes sound disturbingly delicious, I was fine. Now with the sister-type getting all engaged-like, it feels like they're closing in, and the two half-used rolls of aluminum foil we have in the house might not be enough to keep them from infiltrating my brainpan with thoughts of soccer practice and gift registries.

So, my course of action is this: the next person who is closely connected to me that gets engaged/married/impregnated is going to have their sex changed, forcibly, by me. I won't go into all of the gory details, but it would involve either a hard kick to the testicular area to create a pseudo-vaginal cavity or voodoo magic and a kielbasa sausage. Do not provoke me.

Also, my congratulations to you Amanda, I am very happy for you. *emoticon*

Pseudomamma

This has got to be the weirdest thing I've seen in a while. I sat for a while trying to think of an appropriate pun, but I came up with nothing. I am convinced that there has got to be some wordplay to be had with this. How could there not?

All Gussied-Up

Today while I was awaiting my new glasses to be completed, I took a jaunt over to Border's to gander at some books that I lust over. While looking for The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins, I see an unfamiliar section: "Metaphysical Studies." I am suitably confused since I already saw the Philosophy section, and Philosophy can't really be condensed into that single discipline even if I hadn't. As I approached to investigate, it struck me as to which section I had yet to see in the new layout: New Age. Lo and behold, Metaphysical Studies cobbles together tarot, Nostradamus, crystals, and other such vagueries.

Does this remind anyone else of creationism transmorgified into intelligent design? Same loony business with a new name to make it sound more intellectual and beard-strokey.

Sharing is Caring

I'm going to disclose something that happened to me because I love you all so tenderly:

I vomited so hard that my nose bled.

For All the Wrong Reasons

I came across an interesting insight today. It is as such:

When gay marriage is made legal, it won't be because it's the right thing to do; it'll be because the commercial possibilities of having them will be realized. Because, if I can speak stereotypically for a moment, who would throw a more elaborate wedding than two gay men?

Filing Taxes

Me: I think it's ridiculous that they keep that 54 dollars. I don't make enough money for them to keep that. I want that 50 dollars back!

Jesse: It pays for the services that the government renders you.

Me: They can render me a fucking blow job!

Seperated from Reality

The other day I was walking along with someone; let's call her Ms. Bootless. We were passing by some storage tanks that held liquid oxygen. For whatever reason, there were crewmen there venting off some of the O2. It looked really cool. The pipe it was venting out was coated with frost all along it's length. Fabulous science!

But that's not really the point. Ms. Bootless got all weirded out and didn't know what they were doing. She crossed the street and wouldn't go near it. "Why are they doing that? What is that?" she asked. I told her they were just releasing some liquid O2, that it was just oxygen. It didn't matter to her, and she said she wasn't going to go near it.

Now this event may not seem like a whole lot to someone who is not acquainted with Ms. Bootless. She bothers me, and it took me a long time to figure out why that was. And now I think I have a decent idea of why she bugs me so much. Here's the thing: I still have this silly idealistic notion that every person is worth something. She disconfirms that fanciful notion of mine.

Life, as I see it, builds toward something. It's different for everyone, and no one goal is intrinsically more "worthy" than any other. Ms. Bootless isn't building toward anything. She's said enough to the effect that she wants to just be in heaven so her troubles will be over. Setting aside my first reaction to that, it strikes me as a futile existence waiting for life to end. Where's the fulfillment in that? That's just subsistence with no meaningful prospects, completely setting aside the metaphysical garble that is the afterlife.

Either that, or she's just annoying.

Does this make me weird?

I spent my lunch break today writing. It started out with my opinion on the nonexistence of free will. How many twenty-one year old guys actually think about stuff like that? It moved from there into the changing ratio of human understanding vs. the realm of god. Through time, scientists reach their limit and attribute the out-of-reach portion to god. Then someone comes along and licks the problem that stumped the previous intrepid individual. It's a lesson of human limitations and the development of human knowledge.

My point is that, over time, the god explanation has been used less and less to cover an unknown. Now, it's a 'we don't don't know...but we will' attitude that I think is much better. Still though, people insist on throwing in the god card. As a species, we haven't discovered everything, but I think we've uncovered enough to where we should realize that the blanket explanation of big-sky-daddy is no longer necessary. There's a system in place where we can find answers, test them, accept them, and revise them.

Isn't that grand?

I just think we need to be careful. If ID is allowed to encroach on the already pitiful state of public education, we could forever lose our standing in the intellectual world. While Western society was entrenched in Church instituted Dark Ages, the Muslim world was the center of of scientific discovery. If that doesn't give you the willies about the power of religion induced promotion of ignorance, then yeah.

This is how I spend my time.