Depending on how familiar you are with the online community, you may or may not be aware of the recent debacle surrounding Sony and its millions of playstation network users worldwide. I'm one of them. Figurative torches and forks-for-pitching are being raised by angry online mobs, disappointed that their credit card information, address, phone number, and name, along with their playstation IDs and passwords were obtained by a shadowy figure who lives in the seedy underbelly of the illegal computer manipulation world -- a haxorz. People are angry.
I don't really do angry.
I remember the last time I got really angry. I was 14 and I had just ordered chicken balls from a local chinese restaurant I love. Being a gluttonous little 14-year old, I wanted them all, and my brother decided to take them from me by force. While he tried to rip them from me, I swung at his face. I missed, and he didn't hit back. He made it clear in no uncertain terms that I had almost made a big mistake. I have a wonderful brother. Even so, that was more spontaneity than it was anger. But I digress.
Aside from the fact that it's been years since I was properly angry, many are. A criminal broke into an institution and stole our information. While we expect the people we give our information to to go to means to protect it, they can't be invincible. Nobody can. Every one everywhere -- Google, Microsoft, Sony, Hotmail, Facebook, Yahoo: they are all subject to the actions of hacking thugs.
Maybe this makes us uncomfortable because it's in the digital world which many don't well understand, but this liability is no different from the liability of banks, workplaces, retail stores, etc. Physically or digitally, they are subject to crime, and by being born on this Earth you have run the risk of being victimized. Still, we accept that while doing what we can to stop it, the joy of the evenings we spend with our loved ones eating home made lasagna around a game of Trivial Pursuit supercedes the rare moments in our lives when crime afflicts us, and usually, noneffectually.
Why then are so many angry?
Because we need someone to blame.
The truly creative lengths to which we will go to find people to blame is often astonishing. Some examples of these are so omnipresent, we understand them implicitly. We may defend our children to a fault: It may be the teacher, the schoolmate, the video games, the media, but it certainly wasn't my child's nature that caused him/her to act this way. Then there's always the ubiquitous 'other side,' an opponent to be blamed. Whether republicans blame democrats, the French blame the Americans, or the Yankees blame the Mets. Then, blasphemously, in anger and dejection, we blame God for our hardships, abandoning all logic. It may make no sense to attribute to God omnipresence, allowing him to do everything, while denying that in his omniscience he knows best what should be done. It makes little difference: Without an exterior target on which to focus our negativities, we would surely explode. In fact, it is so pivotal that this role be filled that we have an elected official to carry the blame for all hardship to happen in our country -- the President of the United States.
Many things affect the approval ratings of the President. Gas prices are a big one, the laws being passed are another, and of course the economy -- all things which the President has either no part in, or a lesser part than many other key players. After all, the construct of the constitution is designed in such a way as to explicitly deny any individual such control over the country. When President Bush decided to go to war in Iraq, his decision was ratified by the Senate, 100 elected officials from both sides of the political spectrum. President Obama can't 'pass' a healthcare law at all, he can only present it to be voted on, and voted on it was, by the other dozens of people we elected. Why then do we blame these men for actions they do not, ultimately, have the final say on?
Well, this is why.
After all, if we didn't have someone to blame, why we'd have to be reasonable. We'd have to become informed voters who follow our senator's decisions in the house, and what lobbyists he meets with. We'd have to acknowledge that our greatest economic troubles are not the nation's, but the fact that we rack up credit card debt without remorse and purchase houses we can't afford. We'd have to invest in renewable energy sources and maybe trade in our hummers for a prius - or, heaven forbid, a leaf. We'd have to accept that society's problems are caused by -- big shocker -- society. That is, us, the collective 'we.' We would have to accept that we are to blame.
That sounds like no fun at all.
As long as it's someone else's fault, and not mine -- I don't have to change myself.
Which is great. Right?
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Evil Fruition
Some fruits are evil.
Frankly, it's upsetting because I don't expect this of them. Vegetables? Evil. This doesn't shock me, I've grown up with this knowledge. They seem to fit the bill for wickedness. They don't look good, they don't taste good, but the world thrusts them upon you and tells you you must have them. They cause you pain AND, if you're not very careful, the people you love and trust most will betray you by bringing their sordid filth into your homes. (Loving wife, with your pureed cauliflower in my nacho cheese -- I'm looking at you.)
On a side note, there are vegetables I do like. Namely corn and potatoes. I think that's it. Then the US Department of Agriculture starts actin' a fool. Corn and potatoes aren't vegetables? They're starches? As if your moving bacon from a meat to a fat wasn't betrayal enough. When I'm playing Scattergories, and someone rolls a P, and I see 'Vegetable' on that list, you better believe I'm writing 'pureed potato pie," because that's worth 3 points. Really though, I'm not astonished. After all, this makes all vegetables 'undesirables' for me, though I tolerate some, to please my eternal companion.
Back to the fruits.
Suspect #1 - La Tomate
The tomato is probably the most evil of all fruit. I don't want to close that door just yet, but, hey, I'm just sayin'. Besides it's similarity to America's greatest nazi enemy, as well as it's propensity to mutate into homicidal maniacs, the thing is just gross.
Fruits are supposed to be sweet. Everyone knows it. This is why you put fruits in ice cream, make fruit sorbets, and have fruit's and cream, or chopped preserved fruits on top of your cereal, or put small fruits in your pancake. I might just vomit, because I just thought of tomatoes in a pancake, tomatoes on my cereal, or worse yet, a tomato sorbet.
Adding to its strikes, this little red devil isn't even sure it's a fruit. Maybe it's a vegetable. Maybe it's some weird hybrid. Personally, I think it's probably a vegetable disguised as a fruit. That would make the most sense, considering it's at the top of my evil fruit list.
Tomato, you have only one redeeming quality, and that is that we can kill you, crush you, mash you up until you're no longer recognizable, then by diluting you down with sugar, salt, water, oil, and a few other choice ingredients, we can get ketchup, salsa, or spaghetti sauce. (No I'm not going to call it tomato sauce, I refuse to honor you like that.)
So as far as I'm concerned, ship 'em off to Mr. Heinz and let him have his way with 'em, in 57 different varieties. They deserve everything we can dish out.
Suspect #2 - Honeydew Melon
I don't think there's any such thing as a fruit that sounds more heavenly than honeydew melon. I hear that, and I'm thinking: this is going to be epic. The most famous melon of all has taught me that melons are wonderful things, and then you've thrown in words like honey (which makes me think of one of my favorite bears [there are lots of them] and awesome cereals at the same time) and dew, which feels good rolling off my tongue. Why, then, do I put you in my mouth expecting magic every time, but am routinely dissapointed? Some type of pavlovian learning should have occurred, but I suppose your promise is just so good, you fool me into hoping it will come true. Habitually.
Ultimately, Ms Honeydew Melon, your middle name is deception. Like the pizza you were planning on having for lunch that turned out to be covered in green mold, or the empty milk carton you discover the morning after buying your favorite sugary cereal, the crushing blow you deal to my hope is the Waterloo of my appetite.
Honeydew Melon, thanks for nothing. Like a bad girlfriend, you make me think I like you, then show me why I shouldn't.
Suspect #3 - Nanners
"Hold on!" you cry out, "Bananas?!" Yes, my friends, bananas. You might think you like bananas, but if you're like me and what I suspect to be all other sane people, you don't actually like bananas -- you like isoamyl acetate. This little wonder produces that fantastic banana smell and taste, which I adore in runts, muffins, and ice cream. If isoamyl acetate is the banana flavor, what then does the banana provide? Nothing. It is a gooey mess.
Unlike other fruits which are good to be eaten, like apples, watermelon, strawberries, etc., bananas are ugly and mushy. This is why we give them to little children, because they are not far removed from baby food. Similar to the honeydew that's not enough dew and no honey at all, the banana has tricked us into being it's friend. With it's chicanery on national television, the banana has fooled us into believing that we like it. How many people really want to just pick up a banana and eat it?
Not many.
The ways in which I like the banana flavor - the unsung hero isoamyl acetate - are many, but on it's own, just put that thing in my mouth and chew? I'll save it for the Donkeys. Donkeys, Kong.
In summary, vegetables are mostly evil, and they kicked out the ones that were good. Meanwhile fruit are generally good, but the evil ones need to be dealt with.
Qui moi? Well, none of this has much bearing on what I'm having for dinner tonight.
Frankly, it's upsetting because I don't expect this of them. Vegetables? Evil. This doesn't shock me, I've grown up with this knowledge. They seem to fit the bill for wickedness. They don't look good, they don't taste good, but the world thrusts them upon you and tells you you must have them. They cause you pain AND, if you're not very careful, the people you love and trust most will betray you by bringing their sordid filth into your homes. (Loving wife, with your pureed cauliflower in my nacho cheese -- I'm looking at you.)
On a side note, there are vegetables I do like. Namely corn and potatoes. I think that's it. Then the US Department of Agriculture starts actin' a fool. Corn and potatoes aren't vegetables? They're starches? As if your moving bacon from a meat to a fat wasn't betrayal enough. When I'm playing Scattergories, and someone rolls a P, and I see 'Vegetable' on that list, you better believe I'm writing 'pureed potato pie," because that's worth 3 points. Really though, I'm not astonished. After all, this makes all vegetables 'undesirables' for me, though I tolerate some, to please my eternal companion.
Back to the fruits.
Suspect #1 - La Tomate
The tomato is probably the most evil of all fruit. I don't want to close that door just yet, but, hey, I'm just sayin'. Besides it's similarity to America's greatest nazi enemy, as well as it's propensity to mutate into homicidal maniacs, the thing is just gross.
Fruits are supposed to be sweet. Everyone knows it. This is why you put fruits in ice cream, make fruit sorbets, and have fruit's and cream, or chopped preserved fruits on top of your cereal, or put small fruits in your pancake. I might just vomit, because I just thought of tomatoes in a pancake, tomatoes on my cereal, or worse yet, a tomato sorbet.
Adding to its strikes, this little red devil isn't even sure it's a fruit. Maybe it's a vegetable. Maybe it's some weird hybrid. Personally, I think it's probably a vegetable disguised as a fruit. That would make the most sense, considering it's at the top of my evil fruit list.
Tomato, you have only one redeeming quality, and that is that we can kill you, crush you, mash you up until you're no longer recognizable, then by diluting you down with sugar, salt, water, oil, and a few other choice ingredients, we can get ketchup, salsa, or spaghetti sauce. (No I'm not going to call it tomato sauce, I refuse to honor you like that.)
So as far as I'm concerned, ship 'em off to Mr. Heinz and let him have his way with 'em, in 57 different varieties. They deserve everything we can dish out.
Suspect #2 - Honeydew Melon
I don't think there's any such thing as a fruit that sounds more heavenly than honeydew melon. I hear that, and I'm thinking: this is going to be epic. The most famous melon of all has taught me that melons are wonderful things, and then you've thrown in words like honey (which makes me think of one of my favorite bears [there are lots of them] and awesome cereals at the same time) and dew, which feels good rolling off my tongue. Why, then, do I put you in my mouth expecting magic every time, but am routinely dissapointed? Some type of pavlovian learning should have occurred, but I suppose your promise is just so good, you fool me into hoping it will come true. Habitually.
Ultimately, Ms Honeydew Melon, your middle name is deception. Like the pizza you were planning on having for lunch that turned out to be covered in green mold, or the empty milk carton you discover the morning after buying your favorite sugary cereal, the crushing blow you deal to my hope is the Waterloo of my appetite.
Honeydew Melon, thanks for nothing. Like a bad girlfriend, you make me think I like you, then show me why I shouldn't.
Suspect #3 - Nanners
"Hold on!" you cry out, "Bananas?!" Yes, my friends, bananas. You might think you like bananas, but if you're like me and what I suspect to be all other sane people, you don't actually like bananas -- you like isoamyl acetate. This little wonder produces that fantastic banana smell and taste, which I adore in runts, muffins, and ice cream. If isoamyl acetate is the banana flavor, what then does the banana provide? Nothing. It is a gooey mess.
Unlike other fruits which are good to be eaten, like apples, watermelon, strawberries, etc., bananas are ugly and mushy. This is why we give them to little children, because they are not far removed from baby food. Similar to the honeydew that's not enough dew and no honey at all, the banana has tricked us into being it's friend. With it's chicanery on national television, the banana has fooled us into believing that we like it. How many people really want to just pick up a banana and eat it?
Not many.
The ways in which I like the banana flavor - the unsung hero isoamyl acetate - are many, but on it's own, just put that thing in my mouth and chew? I'll save it for the Donkeys. Donkeys, Kong.
In summary, vegetables are mostly evil, and they kicked out the ones that were good. Meanwhile fruit are generally good, but the evil ones need to be dealt with.
Qui moi? Well, none of this has much bearing on what I'm having for dinner tonight.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Tricky, with Ham
My wife Krista and I read the Bible together every morning. My family did it and I assume hers did too. In addition to a refreshing start to the day, it helps me out on those occasional biblically themed crossword hints that pop up once a week or so.
We read a story that I later discussed with a friend. It's a tricky topic, which makes it all the more fulfilling to mull over. Not terribly surprising. My wisened French Canadian grandmother admonished frequently - "Nothing easy is worthwhile."
That might be overstating the point, but I hear you Nanny.
Our conversation had a lot to do with Cain, and later on with Ham, son of Noah. These people were both cursed, and their posterity after them. Ham reportedly fathered both the African and Arab nations, which raises an interesting question:
Could it be that the dearth of agricultural plenty that afflicts much of Africa and the Middle East be a result of one person's decision, thousands of years ago?
Is such a thing feasible? Is it believable? Does it fall under the range of possibility, albeit remote?
To clarify: Everything after this point is conjecture and I claim no belief that any race of people is cursed because of their ancestry. Just to clarify there.
Initially, we are inclined to say no, for obvious reasons. It doesn't seem very loving, or gentle, or kind. Definitely not fatherly. These are key attributes of God, without which religion fails. After all, if God doesn't love us, then what is the motive to return to live with Him? Every person knows that a hovel with loved ones is better than a mansion with your enemies.
Still... there's precedence. If not for this exact sort of behavior, then similarly initially eyebrow-raising God-directed cataclysms.
There are actions which, the Old Testament tells us, warrant punishment for up to three generations.
How does this make sense?
I think the answer lies in what we call terrible.
Assuming the existence of a God who loves us, and that the basic tenets of religion (that there is a life after this one, that we are rewarded for our goodness and punished for our wickedness, etc.) are true, it's obvious many things we think of as terrible aren't all that bad.
Dying? That would be like moving someone from one room to another.
Seperated from loved ones? Ultimately, the time we are separated from loved ones would be like a blink of the eye compared to the time we might spend with them hereafter.
Suffering? Well, okay. Suffering merits further attention.
Suffering seems entirely relative. As a good example, I have a magical phone. I think it's magical. I talk at it's little plastic casing, I tell it where I want to go, and the glass cover lights up with arrows and roads, showing me where I am, and where I should drive. I see things at stores, and I don't know if they're too expensive. I point my phone's camera at it, and it reads the barcode, then in a few seconds, scours the literally trillions of possible websites that might offer me the same product, then gives me a concise readout of what they would charge for it. Oh, I also talk to my friend in the Middle East on it. That's right. Other side of the globe.
What about when I don't have my phone? I suffer. It's hard to not have my phone, and I whine and complain like a big baby until I get it back.
Ten year old me knew no such suffering. The greatest source of suffering for ten year old me? Probably that my parents didn't want to get me pokemon. No surprise I don't suffer from that anymore - pokemon is but one more feature of the magical phone.
My grandmother suffered for not being able to communicate quickly and easily with her family when she moved to my grandfather's province. This suffering has been eliminated in my life.
My great grandparents suffered to grow enough food to last them through the winter. It pains my heart to think of them, but such a concern for modern me is outright laughable. It is winter. I drove through McDonald's on my way to work and picked up a sausage and egg McGriddle. Yum.
It's not an uncommon motif to examine these strange phenomena. Many are the tv shows and movies where a modernite goes back anywhere from 50 to 4000 years and initially suffers without what he considers a commonality, then adjusts, and soon finds his quality of life equal, if not improved, by what he has learned.
That injustices exist is undeniable, but the effect they have on the respective sufferers is an assumption we make even though we are completely incapable of doing so.
How much does a hungry Ethiopian child suffer? I can't say. But I'll have a hunch that he actually suffers less than a person living in poverty here in the United States in a ghetto. Even the poor here in America have much more than many suffering in Africa, but suffering is a comparison we make ourselves rather than an objective state of being.
The starving Ethiopian knows only starvation, as does his family and those around him. It fits the status quo and so, while inconvenient and painful, it does not hinder his ultimate ability to find happiness. The poor ghetto resident often lives in starvation but is surrounded by wealth which is out of his grasp, sometimes only for the time being, sometimes for life.
The physical pain for the hypothetical Ethiopian is undoubtedly greater, an empty stomach hurts, and the emptier it is, the more painful. But in all likelihood, his happiness remains higher than an average white male in America who, though the owner of a house and car, has recently lost his job.
(Someone might interject and say things like 'Then the white man is wrong and should realize how much he has.' This statement only proves the point being elaborated here. We invite the unemployed white man to make a new comparison, and stretch the spectrum of his vision -- but we are still asking him to evaluate his suffering based on comparison.)
Individually, our power to assess the relative suffering of each individual is weak. Suffering is a state of mind.
Hopefully this realization doesn't cause us to be less empathetic to those starving in third world countries, but rather more empathetic to those suffering around us. The $1.50 we donate to a telethon probably, after all, will relieve less human suffering than we could by working on being a better listener, maybe inviting a friend over for dinner, or asking a coworker why they look blue.
After all, just like Adam and I concluded in another conversation on another day: We're not arguing that our feelings aren't ridiculous -- we're arguing that they are still our feelings, and thus, need to be addressed.
We read a story that I later discussed with a friend. It's a tricky topic, which makes it all the more fulfilling to mull over. Not terribly surprising. My wisened French Canadian grandmother admonished frequently - "Nothing easy is worthwhile."
That might be overstating the point, but I hear you Nanny.
Our conversation had a lot to do with Cain, and later on with Ham, son of Noah. These people were both cursed, and their posterity after them. Ham reportedly fathered both the African and Arab nations, which raises an interesting question:
Could it be that the dearth of agricultural plenty that afflicts much of Africa and the Middle East be a result of one person's decision, thousands of years ago?
Is such a thing feasible? Is it believable? Does it fall under the range of possibility, albeit remote?
To clarify: Everything after this point is conjecture and I claim no belief that any race of people is cursed because of their ancestry. Just to clarify there.
Initially, we are inclined to say no, for obvious reasons. It doesn't seem very loving, or gentle, or kind. Definitely not fatherly. These are key attributes of God, without which religion fails. After all, if God doesn't love us, then what is the motive to return to live with Him? Every person knows that a hovel with loved ones is better than a mansion with your enemies.
Still... there's precedence. If not for this exact sort of behavior, then similarly initially eyebrow-raising God-directed cataclysms.
There are actions which, the Old Testament tells us, warrant punishment for up to three generations.
How does this make sense?
I think the answer lies in what we call terrible.
Assuming the existence of a God who loves us, and that the basic tenets of religion (that there is a life after this one, that we are rewarded for our goodness and punished for our wickedness, etc.) are true, it's obvious many things we think of as terrible aren't all that bad.
Dying? That would be like moving someone from one room to another.
Seperated from loved ones? Ultimately, the time we are separated from loved ones would be like a blink of the eye compared to the time we might spend with them hereafter.
Suffering? Well, okay. Suffering merits further attention.
Suffering seems entirely relative. As a good example, I have a magical phone. I think it's magical. I talk at it's little plastic casing, I tell it where I want to go, and the glass cover lights up with arrows and roads, showing me where I am, and where I should drive. I see things at stores, and I don't know if they're too expensive. I point my phone's camera at it, and it reads the barcode, then in a few seconds, scours the literally trillions of possible websites that might offer me the same product, then gives me a concise readout of what they would charge for it. Oh, I also talk to my friend in the Middle East on it. That's right. Other side of the globe.
What about when I don't have my phone? I suffer. It's hard to not have my phone, and I whine and complain like a big baby until I get it back.
Ten year old me knew no such suffering. The greatest source of suffering for ten year old me? Probably that my parents didn't want to get me pokemon. No surprise I don't suffer from that anymore - pokemon is but one more feature of the magical phone.
My grandmother suffered for not being able to communicate quickly and easily with her family when she moved to my grandfather's province. This suffering has been eliminated in my life.
My great grandparents suffered to grow enough food to last them through the winter. It pains my heart to think of them, but such a concern for modern me is outright laughable. It is winter. I drove through McDonald's on my way to work and picked up a sausage and egg McGriddle. Yum.
It's not an uncommon motif to examine these strange phenomena. Many are the tv shows and movies where a modernite goes back anywhere from 50 to 4000 years and initially suffers without what he considers a commonality, then adjusts, and soon finds his quality of life equal, if not improved, by what he has learned.
That injustices exist is undeniable, but the effect they have on the respective sufferers is an assumption we make even though we are completely incapable of doing so.
How much does a hungry Ethiopian child suffer? I can't say. But I'll have a hunch that he actually suffers less than a person living in poverty here in the United States in a ghetto. Even the poor here in America have much more than many suffering in Africa, but suffering is a comparison we make ourselves rather than an objective state of being.
The starving Ethiopian knows only starvation, as does his family and those around him. It fits the status quo and so, while inconvenient and painful, it does not hinder his ultimate ability to find happiness. The poor ghetto resident often lives in starvation but is surrounded by wealth which is out of his grasp, sometimes only for the time being, sometimes for life.
The physical pain for the hypothetical Ethiopian is undoubtedly greater, an empty stomach hurts, and the emptier it is, the more painful. But in all likelihood, his happiness remains higher than an average white male in America who, though the owner of a house and car, has recently lost his job.
(Someone might interject and say things like 'Then the white man is wrong and should realize how much he has.' This statement only proves the point being elaborated here. We invite the unemployed white man to make a new comparison, and stretch the spectrum of his vision -- but we are still asking him to evaluate his suffering based on comparison.)
Individually, our power to assess the relative suffering of each individual is weak. Suffering is a state of mind.
Hopefully this realization doesn't cause us to be less empathetic to those starving in third world countries, but rather more empathetic to those suffering around us. The $1.50 we donate to a telethon probably, after all, will relieve less human suffering than we could by working on being a better listener, maybe inviting a friend over for dinner, or asking a coworker why they look blue.
After all, just like Adam and I concluded in another conversation on another day: We're not arguing that our feelings aren't ridiculous -- we're arguing that they are still our feelings, and thus, need to be addressed.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Another Diagnosis
So, I have ADD.
At least it would explain a lot. This morning during my microbiology techniques class, somewhere in the middle of his lecture on the myriad uses of caenorhabditis elegans, my teacher looked up at me and burst out to my and the classes surprise -- "Would you stop playing around with your ****ing phone?" he said in frustration, looking at me. Sheepishly I apologized and put the phone away.
I don't mention the professor by name, because I like him. His outburst is a reflection only on his proclivity to outburst, and not on his quality as a professor. Furthermore, I can't blame him. I felt bad; Not terrible. While I caused the eruption, I also asked the most questions in class and felt very involved. What was so important I had to have my phone out for?
I was discussing the merits of the newest generation of Pokemon with my friend James.
My mother has told me many a time that had I been born into any other family, I would have been drugged. I believe her.
In grade 1, I was put in a separate desk behind the rest of the class. During a parent teacher conference, my parents asked why I was so far removed. My teacher explained it was because of my tendency to tip my desk over, crashing to the floor.
When I was in grade 7, a teacher I will always love -- because she read us The Hobbit even when we were "too old" to have stories read to us -- took me aside to talk with me.
Mme White wanted to talk about my constant disruptions. I told her, as I had told many people before, that I was bored. Either I knew what was being taught, or I had no interest in it. She taught me to draw when I was bored, and focus my attention on a secondary activity. This has served me well over the years, and I should probably stick to notebook rather than cell phone activities in my graduate level courses.
If you're talking to me, know that my mind is wandering. Don't take it the wrong way, and know that I'll wander back. I'm still storing what you're saying, and I'll process it when my tandem is done, but my thoughts don't travel in trains -- they're more like kangaroos.
Ultimately, this little 'handicap' of mine has hindered me little in my waltz through life. I'm now working on my doctoral research and I feel like I have accomplished much, including becoming an OK cook, priest, husband, and picking up a few languages. My mother's balance of tolerance and strictness guided me through piano lessons and to my eagle scout, and I feel great.
What if I had been born into another family?
What if I had been drugged?
As Mormons, we eschew any mind altering substances whenever possible. (Obviously some medicinal drugs have their place for which I'm grateful.) It seems obvious to me why we have this policy. Man has a long history of "solving" it's problems with substances. With the first lager brewed thousands of years BC, it's long been one of our favorite pastimes.
My dad has two doctorates, one in a traditional medicine field, and one in a more homeopathic variety. He has explained the difference to me like this: If a rubber band is tight on your finger and hurting it, traditional medicine will give you painkillers to stop the pain, and homeopathy will teach you how to remove the rubber band. Some rubber bands can't easily be removed, so both disciplines have their place, but the central distinction remains crucial.
Man would, historically, rather solve it's problems with a patch than find the source of the problem. It is an easier fix, one which doesn't require us to change who we are and how we act.
I apologize openly to my parents, family, many teachers, church leaders, wife, and future acquaintances for this, one of the many diagnoses that make me me.
Gratefully, I know none of my friends would want to change this about me. I struggle to concentrate, people care about me, and we somehow work through solving human problems in human ways, rather than with substances.
I know how incredibly odd and intensely strange many of the world's great figures were - Winston Churchill; Albert Einstein; Ernest Hemingway.
How many Churchills, Einsteins, & Hemingways are we snuffing out of our generation in our efforts to help them be more... normal? A concerning thought.
At least it would explain a lot. This morning during my microbiology techniques class, somewhere in the middle of his lecture on the myriad uses of caenorhabditis elegans, my teacher looked up at me and burst out to my and the classes surprise -- "Would you stop playing around with your ****ing phone?" he said in frustration, looking at me. Sheepishly I apologized and put the phone away.
I don't mention the professor by name, because I like him. His outburst is a reflection only on his proclivity to outburst, and not on his quality as a professor. Furthermore, I can't blame him. I felt bad; Not terrible. While I caused the eruption, I also asked the most questions in class and felt very involved. What was so important I had to have my phone out for?
I was discussing the merits of the newest generation of Pokemon with my friend James.
My mother has told me many a time that had I been born into any other family, I would have been drugged. I believe her.
In grade 1, I was put in a separate desk behind the rest of the class. During a parent teacher conference, my parents asked why I was so far removed. My teacher explained it was because of my tendency to tip my desk over, crashing to the floor.
When I was in grade 7, a teacher I will always love -- because she read us The Hobbit even when we were "too old" to have stories read to us -- took me aside to talk with me.
Mme White wanted to talk about my constant disruptions. I told her, as I had told many people before, that I was bored. Either I knew what was being taught, or I had no interest in it. She taught me to draw when I was bored, and focus my attention on a secondary activity. This has served me well over the years, and I should probably stick to notebook rather than cell phone activities in my graduate level courses.
If you're talking to me, know that my mind is wandering. Don't take it the wrong way, and know that I'll wander back. I'm still storing what you're saying, and I'll process it when my tandem is done, but my thoughts don't travel in trains -- they're more like kangaroos.
Ultimately, this little 'handicap' of mine has hindered me little in my waltz through life. I'm now working on my doctoral research and I feel like I have accomplished much, including becoming an OK cook, priest, husband, and picking up a few languages. My mother's balance of tolerance and strictness guided me through piano lessons and to my eagle scout, and I feel great.
What if I had been born into another family?
What if I had been drugged?
As Mormons, we eschew any mind altering substances whenever possible. (Obviously some medicinal drugs have their place for which I'm grateful.) It seems obvious to me why we have this policy. Man has a long history of "solving" it's problems with substances. With the first lager brewed thousands of years BC, it's long been one of our favorite pastimes.
My dad has two doctorates, one in a traditional medicine field, and one in a more homeopathic variety. He has explained the difference to me like this: If a rubber band is tight on your finger and hurting it, traditional medicine will give you painkillers to stop the pain, and homeopathy will teach you how to remove the rubber band. Some rubber bands can't easily be removed, so both disciplines have their place, but the central distinction remains crucial.
Man would, historically, rather solve it's problems with a patch than find the source of the problem. It is an easier fix, one which doesn't require us to change who we are and how we act.
I apologize openly to my parents, family, many teachers, church leaders, wife, and future acquaintances for this, one of the many diagnoses that make me me.
Gratefully, I know none of my friends would want to change this about me. I struggle to concentrate, people care about me, and we somehow work through solving human problems in human ways, rather than with substances.
I know how incredibly odd and intensely strange many of the world's great figures were - Winston Churchill; Albert Einstein; Ernest Hemingway.
How many Churchills, Einsteins, & Hemingways are we snuffing out of our generation in our efforts to help them be more... normal? A concerning thought.
Monday, March 21, 2011
From whence comes goodness?
I told Trevor today that I was going to start a blog, and he asked me about what. This question first caught me by surprise, then manhandled me.
It occurred to me then that most people have themed blogs, based on ideas they love discussing. Politics, comics, food, books, movies, etc. -- all the things they have me fill out my favorites for when completing the archetypal internet profile. I love all these things. If my blog won't be themed, it should at least be good.
Then what makes things good?
Some things are just fantastic; Some things improve other things simply by being there, with their aura; Interestingly, there are things which are so very bad they have become, somehow, good again, going full turn -- this formula doesn't always work though, and some things are so bad that they are only bad, and heaven help the fools who brought those ideas to fruition.
Is there anything ubiquitously good, and not in the moral sense, but in quality so overarching that one can't help but accept the universality of it's epic nature? Perhaps.
For now, I'll have to hope that I'm good enough to keep this readable.
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