debitage
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My dad decided to get rid of it today. So he came into my room with a broom and a can of Raid, and went to work. When he was done he had me come into the bathroom (to get a better angle to see the nest), and proclaimed, "I broke it open and soaked the eggs. Ha ha ha!" Later my mom came by and told me that dad had knocked a big chunk of the nest onto the sidewalk, and there were wasps staggering around it like they were drunk. Now my dad is in his room with the stereo turned way up, rocking out to some old blues guitarist.
Ryan just called and gave me five more names of first-years who will be helping out with the Maroon-News orientation issue. I'm really surprised at how big a response we got, considering we start work on it in just over a week and the letters went out a week ago. Now we have to see if we can keep them on staff. Out of the ten people who worked on the Class of '02 orientation issue, only Alex and I are still on staff (and if Alex follows in the footsteps of past Senior Editors, we won't be seeing much of him around the office. Let's hope he's a Mike Karle instead of a Jon Egan). I had to drive today for the first time in a very long time, because a wheel fell off my dad's truck. He said it was just sitting in the Borough Hall parking lot and a wheel fell off. It's fixed now, but for most of the day I had to chauffeur my parents and my siblings around, because we were suddenly down to just one vehicle. It seems strange that only having one vehicle was such a hassle for us, especially considering all the places people were going (Borough Hall, Library, High School, grocery store) were in town. When I was little we lived a mile out of town and got by just fine on one vehicle. Maybe I just don't remember what a hassle it was because I was so young. There was so much stuff we didn't have back then. We didn't have a VCR until I was in third grade. We didn't get more than one TV station until fourth grade. We got our first video game system (a second-hand regular Nintendo) until I was in junior high. We didn't get a computer until two weeks before I left for college, and we didn't have the internet until a year later. Is this really progress? Or are we just creating more needs so that it's harder for the people who are behind in the game to catch up? Probably it's just an indication that I need to do this blogging when I'm less tired, so that there's a chance I might say something halfway original. I was looking at some online personality test (no idea which one, although they're all basically the same and the results are usually not much better than a horoscope anyway), and I came across a question something like "Your friends come to you for help with..." And I honestly couldn't pick any of the choices, because there wasn't a "none of the above." My friends don't come to me with their problems. The whole concept of close friends that help each other through tough enotional crises is completely foreign to me. Which I think proves that I hang out with some really smart people. Because if you have a problem (aside from a purely technical issue like "how do I do tables in HTML" or "someone needs to do the dishes"), coming to me is the last thing that will help. I want to be a sympathetic, loving person. But I'm a complete failure at putting that into practice. I have a gift for saying the complete wrong thing when confronted with a sensitive issue (and sometimes I even manage to screw up a non-sensitive issue). So I suppose it's good that I don't need much emotional support, because I wouldn't be able to return the favor (being a heartless bastard has its advantages). Maybe that's why I like the internet so much -- all I'm ever required or able to do for anyone is to enclose their name in a series of parenthesees: (((Some Person))). I still haven't started the write-up for my summer research. I told myself I'd do it the last week I was at Colgate, but it didn't happen. So I told myself I'd do it over the weekend when I was home. That didn't happen. It's Wednesday, and I haven't written a word. I don't even know how long it will be (there's no length requirement on this -- just however long it needs to be to do justice to my research). I have finished all the reading I have for it, although I know there's plenty more reading I ought to do (which is fine, as this is in some ways just a preliminary draft of my thesis). But I hate writing a paper when I know there's reading on the topic that I haven't done, information that I haven't considered. On the bright side, I do have a nifty flow chart depicting the snowballing nature of hunter-gatherer intensification, combining the political and economic aspects. Which I'm sure is a topic you're all passionately interested in. I reached the halfway point of Atlas Shrugged today. And I figured out what the problem is. Throughout the book, she's extoling Objectivism by setting her Objectivist protagonists against disreputable characters acting in the name of the "common good." It's pretty clear that she's trying to present a false two-option choice between Objectivism and a quasi-communist strawman version of altrusim. But today I realised an interesting contradiction in the way she does it. We're supposed to see Objectivism as better because it works -- Taggart Transcontinental and Rearden Steel are booming in the earlier part of the book, but as a rapid succession of restrictive laws are passed for the public good, the economy of the whole country goes down the tilet. So far, so good -- selfishness (lassiez-faire capitalism) brings prosperity, altruism (socialism) doesn't. But then it occurred to me why the "public good" laws seemed so terrible -- they weren't actually serving the public good. I want the restrictions lifted not so much because I see how unjust it is to Dagny and Hank and their fellow industrialists, but because she makes it clear that their immediate consequence is poverty for all. So we're presented with a false choice in the book. It isn't individual at the expense of the collective versus the collective at the expense of the individual. It's a choice between one system that serves the industrialists' self interest and the public good, and one that, while in the name of the public good, does neither. If she really wanted to be convincing (to the extent that a fictional economic situation would be "convincing"), she should show us one situation in which Rearden prospers and the public suffers, versus one where the public prospers at Rearden's expense, and try to get us to feel that the first is better. The second section of the book is titled "Either-Or," but what Rand is giving us is "both or neither." I suppose one could make the argument that she wants to show that trying to do things in the name of the public good will bring harm to the public, while allowing people to pursue their own self-interest is ultimately in the public interest. However, that seems like a contradictory position in the context of Objectivism -- be selfish because it's in the best interests of everyone. She's trying to sell us on selfishness by appealing to the altruist in us. And I'm not buying it. I just got the latest "Worm Quartet Update and Blatant Plug" email. Apparently WQ is playing its first live show ever in Syracuse on August 18. Which is something I would ordinarily shrug off. WQ is an ok band, and I've listened to his mp3s enough that I ought to buy the CD, but I doubt one man "electro-punk" would be much better live. However, the reason I'm mentioning this here is that WQ will be playing with, among others, the illustrious Dufus. That's right, two of the most obscure bands I know and like are playing a show together. I've never managed to keep a journal for very long. One summer (I think the one before sixth grade) I managed to write pretty much every day, but that ended as soon as school started again. A few years back my dad, inspired by the wisdom of his buddy Dr. Cyr, bought Eric and I hardcover blank books as an incentive for us to start keeping a journal. I think I lasted three days. When I first encountered the concept of the blog (in the form of wockerjabby's old layout), I felt really weird about reading it. It was like, despite the prominent link in Rabi's sig on the Brunching UBB encouraging people to read wockerjabby, there was something unforgivably intrusive about reading someone's journal. It took Dave entered the blog world that I got comfortable reading them on a regular basis. Now I'm a bit of a blog addict (as evidenced by how easily I was badgered into starting this blog). I have every intention of continuing to do this for as long as I have internet access. So the question becomes, why can't I keep a normal journal, but I blog with gusto? The answer (as far as I can figure out at the moment): because this format isn't private. I bother to write things here because I want to share them with people. It's an extension of why I write for The Maroon-News, or post on the Brunching UBB. I was beginning to lose interest in blogging during the time between BlogVoices' death and the installation of Reblogger (and may very well have quit if I hadn't been blogsitting for Dave), because the lack of response made me feel like I was just typing this for my own health. Though I respect Dave's decision to ditch Reblogger and SiteMeter from Yuccacentric, when I read his explanatory post I couldn't help but feel that I was looking at blogging the opposite way. I'm not doing this because it's of value to me, I'm doing it because it's of value to you (assuming you're reading this of your own free will, which is sometimes hard for me to understand). Or rather, it's of value to me only because it's of value to you. Since this is for an audience (and quite a mixed one at that -- Brunchmas, Colgate people, and my family), I'm obviously not writing my deepest secrets here. Which is how I want it. I don't like the thought of my deepest secrets being made concrete, in a form someone could read (even if precautions are taken to prevent that). I don't even like them written in a format I could go back and read later on. The example that comes to mind (which may be treading close to the line of deep secrets) is a crush I had on a certain girl through all of high school. The whole time, I avoided telling anyone, even my best friends. I certainly didn't ever write it down in any way. Midway through senior year I decided to see if I could. So I closed myself up in my room, got a scrap of paper, and scrawled something to the effect of "I like Liz" -- just a very brief sentence including her name. I looked at it for a couple seconds to confirm that I had indeed made my thoughts concrete in that fashion. Then I erased what I had written, scribbled heavily over the erased area, ripped the paper up, and stuffed it into the bottom of the trash can. So any offline journal has nothing to say besides a dry recording of the day's events. With no audience, I have no motivation to say anything important. And in fact, I would tend not to. I don't like to set down thoughts just for the sake of recording them, because they'll change and develop into something better if I keep going over them in my mind. And I hate having old versions hanging around. I have at least six versions of the first chapter of my novel. Once I find one that satisfies me, I intend to throw the others out. Drafts are fine for getting feedback (which is what I do here), but I prefer to present the world (and myself) with only the finished product. A normal journal would trap my thoughts in an immauture stage, without bringing much benefit. Also, I'm too lazy to write consistently unless people are expecting it of me. This evening I went to the park to hear the Hazelton band play. It was a nice change of pace. And they played my favorite Sousa march, "El Capitan." But the director had no effective stage presence whatsoever. In introducing songs, he would make comments like "this song has a fast section, followed by a slow section, and then the fast section comes back." Just now I have confirmed the veracity of the Oracle at Auntie Anne's, by consulting The Potato. The Potato answered with a seemingly unambiguous "ayup." However, ayup is a Maine phrase. The origin of the phrase and the questionable intellectual heritage associated with that state may allow certain reinterpretations of what the potato meant. This which would lead us to question if the suckitude of Maine exists independently of our need to tease April-Lyn and disparage Zomberg. There are clearly deep philosophical issues associated with the use of "ayup." I finished Chariots of the Gods?, by Erich von Däniken, today. Sweet mother of Clinton this is an inane book. The premise is that all myths about gods visiting humans are referring to visits from aliens. I can't even begin to describe how blatant his errors in simple archaeological facts are. And then there are the gaping holes in his logic. How anyone can read this and take it seriously is quite beyond my comprehension. I suppose it's telling that the bulk of the book is spent decrying the close-mindedness of the establishment, and it's only as an afterthought that he remembers to try to provide any evidence for his theory. I can't even call it a theory, though, because that implies it has a basis in something. The only basis von Däniken has is the assumed colossal unimaginative stupidity of ancient people. Then I started Atlas Shrugged. And I actually like it. I'd been warned that Rand's writing was horribly dense and melodramatic, but the story has flowed along quite well so far. The glorification of ruthless capitalism is painfully obvious, so there's a possibility that I may get tired of that after several hundred more pages. And I find myself barracking for James Taggart instead of Dagny, even though I know Dagny is supposed to be the heroine. We'll see how it goes. I need to stay focussed so I can read AS and still have time to read Inferno before school starts again. I mean, no matter how great Ayn Rand is, how can she compete with diagrams of Hell? Music is kind of a weird thing for me. Playing music is really important to me. I can't imagine the last six years without being in various bands (thank you Kristin and Rebecca for talking me into joining marching band at the last possible minute and thus reawakening my interest). I get a huge feeling of accomplishment and belonging when I'm performing, or even just rehearsing. Hockey games are one of the most fun things I get to do at school. So sophomore year, I went to a Colgate hockey game (first round of the ECAC playoffs, home vs. Yale) that the band didn't play at. And even though it was an exciting game, and we won, the experience seemed really hollow. The whole time I just wanted to go over and stand with the Yale band. Well, except for when they were playing "Uncle Fucker." (I realised that I still know the words to at least the whole first verse of that song. Darn you, Gary, for borrowing Mike's South Park CD!) But the thing is, I'm a terrible musician. You'd think that since I've been playing for 12 years (minus the five months I was in Australia), I should be pretty good. Anything else I value so much -- drawing, writing, origami, web design -- I work at and work at, to get things right. I'll freely admit what a perfectionist I am. But that doesn't happen with music. I practice infrequently, just enough to keep my skills from regressing. I know a little more about how music is put together than I did a few years ago, but my ability to play it -- even just basic scales -- is no better. I listen to too much John Mars and not enough Miles Davis. And though I complain about it to myself (and now here in public), I really can't motivate myself to practice more. Learning to play the piano is on my list of things to do before I die. But if I can't master the trumpet after 12 years, how am I going to manage an instrument that requires thinking about several notes at once? I suppose I'll just console myself with the fact that I'm pretty good at air drums. |
For no reason I can ascertain, someone changed the icon for the IE shortcut on the desktop of this computer to a little picture of a tree.