There has always been one certainty that I felt I could depend upon, as sure as death and taxes, and that is that people will apply a magnifying glass to whatever it is that they feel represents a defect. If one is homosexual, then that fact is magnified and obsessed over to the exclusion of all other facts. I have encountered people at work and elsewhere that assumed that I had AIDS or led a promiscuous lifestyle or did any number of things. It is always the elephant in the room. If one supports the legalization of marijuana, or objects to random drug testing, then that is interpreted to mean that one is a druggie or at least a pothead. People leap to astonishing conclusions without bothering to reevaluate their preconceptions. I have become leery about getting to know strangers. In my experience, people extract one fact or the other, then go behind one's back and gossip in order to make themselves look better by comparison to the "bad" nonconformist. This is at least the case in environments where the majority are conservative Republicans. Even the so-called Independents or "moderates" will show a double-face in order to curry favor with the bosses. One can forget about ideals, confidences, or promises of any kind.
Beware of the back-stab. I began as an open and trusting individual, a typical "naive liberal," I suppose. My back suffered a number of wounds before I learned not to trust others with personal information of any kind whatsoever. I learned to be reflective like a mirror. In response to questions, I learned to say, "I don't know," or "Not much I guess," or "Maybe." Then I would follow up with, "How about you?" I had learned early on, and capitalized upon the fact that all people love talking about themselves most of all. They are not interested in me or in anyone else near so much as themselves. In this way I avoided divulging much of any information about myself. Perhaps it was a mistake in some cases. Perhaps I misjudged others from time to time, but "burnt once, twice shy," as the saying goes.
It is the rare individual who has even the slightest shred of a scruple. If someone discovers a bit of information they find amusing or interesting, one can count on the fact that, whatever their promises to the contrary, they will share it with everyone that they possibly can, until it becomes the most often repeated story in the office.
In my last job in the corporate world, I was hard-working and the tasks I worked upon were difficult. How difficult, I do not think most people would believe. There were men who felt envious and worried about how I made them appear, so they would bring up my sexuality in conversation with others, because they perceived that was my weak point, my key vulnerability where I differed from others, yet they were the same as others. They would harp upon this point again and again without fail, as though it were their favorite tune in the entire world. This was a recurring theme throughout my career. My work was good, but I was gay, and would not lie about it, and so that held me back. All that matters is whatever is popular and in fashion. If gay is not considered okay in the workplace, then it becomes a personal liability.
I remember the lazy do-nothings and know-nothings, and they sometimes made as much, or more money than I did, yet all they ever did was stand around talking with others with their pot-bellies hanging out, carrying a mug of coffee in one hand and groping themselves with the other. I wonder how many of these the company chose to hire instead of people like me, and whether that really benefited the company over the years. It does not seem to me like organizations care very much who does the work or who doesn't. All that seems to matter is who cozies up to whom and who seems to fit the mold. Perhaps this is why many companies produce little except mountains of paperwork and complicated schemes designed to fleece their customers, or take advantage of their workers or even their own investors.
I felt under such enormous pressure to be like the others in order to fit in and be accepted by everyone that I began dating women at one point. I have written about that experience before on this blog. I am not sure whether I kept the entry or deleted it. I don't care about the stories. I wish I could delete the actual experiences, which were painful, pointless and sometimes humiliating. I never lied to anyone and never pretended to be anything that I was not. That strategy, of course, doomed any potential chances, but I still believe that honesty is the only way to proceed in matters of the heart. Dishonesty may succeed better in the short-term, but it creates circumstances that can result in harm later on.
Gays are not immune to cant. I got into an online flame war once with a gay man that liked everything else about me, or so he said--he may have been lying--but objected to my mention of marijuana. I suppose his motive in scolding me was that he felt I was making the gay community look bad. He said the mere admission of usage meant that a person was worthless, and if that person were gay, then he could justifiably be called a "faggot."
Some people do reveal their true character when engaged in dispute with others. If my opponent chooses to hoist the Nazi flag, then far be it from me to dissuade him from doing so. I will let others draw their own conclusions. I find it an amusing insult, considering the source, and do not feel belittled by the word. There was a time, in high school, when the word "faggot" wielded malevolent power over my emotions, but my old wounds have long since scabbed over, and I developed a certain degree of immunity to the toxin. It remains an unpleasant word, much like the n-word would be to a black person, but it will certainly not keep me up at nights worrying about it. Usage of the insult reveals more about the user and his prejudices than the target.
Most people are not interested in debate or in considering rational arguments of any sort. They are only interested in the acquisition of personal power, popularity, and prestige. If there is an opinion they think will make them appear macho, intelligent, cool, hip, or "right with God," they will seize that opinion, and use it to place themselves above others in the pecking order. Self-image is what people are concerned about, rather than deciding what is real or what is false.
The idea of sobriety is naturally appealing, and the idea of being a drug addict is not, and so many people choose to believe in the Prohibition, not just of hard drugs but also of Marijuana, because they do not wish to be associated with "druggies" or "hippies". The question of whether Prohibition is correct and proper never occurs to them or seems irrelevant, and they are not willing to even consider any arguments. They are concerned with their own self-image as a decent, upright citizen. They wish to think of themselves a certain way, as being on the side of "Law n' Order," whether or not "Law n' Order" is right or wrong.
I am reminded of how slavery was accepted and defended throughout the South prior to the Civil War. Everyone wished to be associated with the good, genteel, well-to-do plantation owners. No one wished to be associated with the penniless, uneducated African immigrants. Arguments against slavery were rejected in the South with great ferocity, and those Southerners who opposed slavery in public were ostracized from their communities. Such is the way of H. Sapiens, a species much concerned with self-image, prestige and conformity. Lies do prosper for a very long time, even when questioned, and even when extensive, devastating and well-researched arguments are advanced against them. People simply refuse to consider reason. They cling to a certain way of thinking or rather, unthinking.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
More Revealing than WikiLeaks Ever Was
Wikileaks presents one with a difficult issue to grapple with, in part because its actions concern the principle of freedom of the press, which has a long and checkered history. Traditionally, newspapers have been at liberty to disclose certain things that might be regarded as secrets by our government. This has been permitted for the sake of the public interest, on the theory that the public has a right to know what its servants are doing. I think that, had the U.S. not been at war, the political reaction against Wikileaks would have been much less than it is.
There is merit in Joe Lieberman's argument that the documents published by Wikileaks were illegally seized. The mainstream media does not seem to make a point out of it, choosing instead to focus upon the content and the repercussions. In effect, Wikileaks was performing a wiretap without a warrant or even any authority at all. Had a government agency acted in such a way, it would seem like Big Brother. Do not U.S. diplomats have a right to privacy? Are diplomats supposed to operate in dread that their remarks made in confidence will be one day published?
However, all the documents revealed by Wikileaks are as nothing, next to the revealing statements made by some immoderate politicians and pundits calling for the assassination of the founder of Wikileaks. Such remarks have been made before in regard to other nonviolent civilians and often followed by the spilling of blood.
"Win at any costs" is improper, I think. Otherwise, how are we to be distinguished from the enemy? If we are good, then we should act so. Words alone are not enough. I believe the Obama Administration has handled the situation well, at least in terms of not making any violent and illegal threats. Sarah Palin, for her part, has criticized the Adminstration for its supposed incompetence and called upon the full capabilities of Nato to be unleashed against Wikileaks. One Republican lawmaker wants to classify the founder in the same category as Al Qaeda, opening up the possibility of assassination with potential collateral damage. These sentiments are all familiar and have been observed many times before.
The long-term results of the Wikileaks disclosure remain unclear to me. It may be that the disclosures serve, rather than harm, the interests of those who complain the loudest about it. That seems to be the suspicion of the Russians. The Iranians believe it is an orchestrated attempt by the United States to dupe them. I don't know what to believe. The Wikileaks will be valuable to scholars, however. They will be the primary beneficiary. Only when the reports can be digested, summarized and interpreted will the public really benefit from them. It seems like too much raw data for a layman. I have not been motivated to read them, so far, in part because I find the information depressing, as it tends to reinforce what I already understand.
I do have grave doubts about the ethics of stealing private documents from the government, particularly in cases where no crime was being committed, although it could be argued that turnabout is fair play, as the government performs warrantless wiretaps nowadays and engages in what used to be thought illegal surveillance and espionage against its own citizens. Nowadays the government even has the right to poke about in people's underwear for no reason other than they seek to board a plane.
I do trust Hillary Clinton's judgment, in general, in matters of foreign policy, and if she believes that the disclosure is harmful, then I am inclined to think that they might be so. I did not vote for her in the Democratic primary of 2008, but remain an admirer. In retrospect, perhaps I should have voted for her after all. Obama has been a disappointment on gay issues. I think that Hillary Clinton has been unfairly savaged by right-wingers for what seem to be irrational reasons or just because she is an outspoken woman. She is far more polite and diplomatic than Ann Coulter on the right.
There is merit in Joe Lieberman's argument that the documents published by Wikileaks were illegally seized. The mainstream media does not seem to make a point out of it, choosing instead to focus upon the content and the repercussions. In effect, Wikileaks was performing a wiretap without a warrant or even any authority at all. Had a government agency acted in such a way, it would seem like Big Brother. Do not U.S. diplomats have a right to privacy? Are diplomats supposed to operate in dread that their remarks made in confidence will be one day published?
However, all the documents revealed by Wikileaks are as nothing, next to the revealing statements made by some immoderate politicians and pundits calling for the assassination of the founder of Wikileaks. Such remarks have been made before in regard to other nonviolent civilians and often followed by the spilling of blood.
"Win at any costs" is improper, I think. Otherwise, how are we to be distinguished from the enemy? If we are good, then we should act so. Words alone are not enough. I believe the Obama Administration has handled the situation well, at least in terms of not making any violent and illegal threats. Sarah Palin, for her part, has criticized the Adminstration for its supposed incompetence and called upon the full capabilities of Nato to be unleashed against Wikileaks. One Republican lawmaker wants to classify the founder in the same category as Al Qaeda, opening up the possibility of assassination with potential collateral damage. These sentiments are all familiar and have been observed many times before.
The long-term results of the Wikileaks disclosure remain unclear to me. It may be that the disclosures serve, rather than harm, the interests of those who complain the loudest about it. That seems to be the suspicion of the Russians. The Iranians believe it is an orchestrated attempt by the United States to dupe them. I don't know what to believe. The Wikileaks will be valuable to scholars, however. They will be the primary beneficiary. Only when the reports can be digested, summarized and interpreted will the public really benefit from them. It seems like too much raw data for a layman. I have not been motivated to read them, so far, in part because I find the information depressing, as it tends to reinforce what I already understand.
I do have grave doubts about the ethics of stealing private documents from the government, particularly in cases where no crime was being committed, although it could be argued that turnabout is fair play, as the government performs warrantless wiretaps nowadays and engages in what used to be thought illegal surveillance and espionage against its own citizens. Nowadays the government even has the right to poke about in people's underwear for no reason other than they seek to board a plane.
I do trust Hillary Clinton's judgment, in general, in matters of foreign policy, and if she believes that the disclosure is harmful, then I am inclined to think that they might be so. I did not vote for her in the Democratic primary of 2008, but remain an admirer. In retrospect, perhaps I should have voted for her after all. Obama has been a disappointment on gay issues. I think that Hillary Clinton has been unfairly savaged by right-wingers for what seem to be irrational reasons or just because she is an outspoken woman. She is far more polite and diplomatic than Ann Coulter on the right.
Immersion
One of my problems, or virtues, depending upon how one looks at it, is my tendency to become completely immersed in intellectual work, whether it be writing, programming, or web design. Tunnel-vision results. I examine things so closely and intently that not much escapes me in the end. I see all, or close to all at least, although there are certain limitations relating to my skills and preferences.
I would say I'm a hard worker, because I'd rather work on what I consider to be meaningful projects than play games, read books, or watch television. I prefer active over passive entertainment much of the time. If I am not writing or coding, then I feel as though I am wasting time.
And I hate wasting time. What I fear most of all is not death. I fear the void: the emptiness, guilt and dread that comes from accomplishing nothing at all. The thought that I have wasted this existence. To exit this world without leaving any trace at all is my fear. If there is something in me, however trivial, that I think can be applied for the cause of good, then I want to apply it to its maximum potential.
I feel an urge to be productive, to excel, to do well, to make a good impression on others. Sometimes, I succeed in doing so. Occasionally I do fail. Sometimes results are mixed, and I am uncertain as to my evaluation. But I always try. And I keep at my work in isolation, even unpaid, without any encouragement, or with the thinnest token of appreciation. Maybe that means I'm a fool, a worker bee, a hack, a grind, and an overachiever, as others have called me. Who can be other than what they are? And what is the alternative? To do nothing? To idle away the hours in front of a video game or television set? What sort of existence is that? I prefer to create things, even if the creations are humble. I could not procreate, so I create in other ways to justify this existence. Otherwise, where is the meaning in life? To eat and sleep only? That is not meaningful.
I find myself falling into the same old traps, though. Sometimes I become too focused upon projects that no one else seems to care about. I am made to feel like Don Quixote by those who attach little or no importance to the projects. There are web sites I have worked on night and day. Sometimes I wonder if the effort is misspent or if it matters at all to anyone else besides myself. Perhaps it doesn't. I could be mistaken, a victim of tunnel-vision, failing to see the big picture because I am focused upon a thousand small details.
All may be vanity, but if so, there are many souls in the world engaged in similar occupations. I am not the only victim of make-work. Is it realistic to expect any appreciation or recognition at all in any of one's endeavors? How often does that happen? The billions of people in the world are all creating something, all working toward some end, and most labor without any feedback, or even in the face of blistering criticism, because it is their destiny. Because there is no "because." Life happens because it must. The universe happens because it must. How are human activities different from the interactions between oxygen and hydrogen? I think that everything is predictable, if one knows enough.
We are all slaves to one thing or another. Every one of us. I do not know anyone who is not a slave to something. Even those who number among my enemies, they too are slaves. It is because of the mortal existence. Life desires. What life desires varies, but it craves food and water, and at a higher level, power and prestige. Only the dead know perfect freedom, because they desire nothing. Life trades the freedom of nonexistence for slavery to the desires, which permit survival and thriving. We the living become slaves because we must in order to survive and thrive.
I sometimes find it difficult to disengage myself from a project, because work becomes a passion for me, an addiction. The government should ban work. There should be a Work Enforcement Agency to stamp out everything that leads to work, because it is more addictive than any drug. I suppose the government is doing its best in that regard. The unemployment rate is, after all, much higher now than when I graduated college.
I would like to have been a part of a team, at some point in my life, of people with a similar ideological and philosophical cast, who were trustworthy, honest and forthright. Instead, I found myself in various teams where cutthroat was the name of the game. No one trusted anyone else. I was amused by the paranoia I observed in others, until I felt it residing in myself. It is difficult to resist a prevailing meme for a long period of time. Complacency was rewarded, curiosity and innovation stifled. We engaged upon tasks that benefited no one save the shareholders, and only in the short-term, even in that narrow perspective. This is a common fate.
I think only in the distant future, if that, will it be possible for human beings to come together as teams where cooperation and cohesion is possible, rather than just hypothetical. Whether there will be a distant future for H. Sapiens is another question, and I haven't been optimistic about the answer. Although the Pax Americana has been surprising and encouraging, I don't know how much longer it can endure, with our economy and manufacturing sector in decline. American workers have footed the bill for worldwide security for decades, but such a high rate of expenditure cannot continue indefinitely.
I do resolve to improve in the art of disengagement. For me, all that is required is finding another project, preferably a better one. One must look for greener pastures. I don't kid myself that I can be without a project of any kind. I need something to ply my skills upon. My task involves finding a better project more suitable for me.
I would say I'm a hard worker, because I'd rather work on what I consider to be meaningful projects than play games, read books, or watch television. I prefer active over passive entertainment much of the time. If I am not writing or coding, then I feel as though I am wasting time.
And I hate wasting time. What I fear most of all is not death. I fear the void: the emptiness, guilt and dread that comes from accomplishing nothing at all. The thought that I have wasted this existence. To exit this world without leaving any trace at all is my fear. If there is something in me, however trivial, that I think can be applied for the cause of good, then I want to apply it to its maximum potential.
I feel an urge to be productive, to excel, to do well, to make a good impression on others. Sometimes, I succeed in doing so. Occasionally I do fail. Sometimes results are mixed, and I am uncertain as to my evaluation. But I always try. And I keep at my work in isolation, even unpaid, without any encouragement, or with the thinnest token of appreciation. Maybe that means I'm a fool, a worker bee, a hack, a grind, and an overachiever, as others have called me. Who can be other than what they are? And what is the alternative? To do nothing? To idle away the hours in front of a video game or television set? What sort of existence is that? I prefer to create things, even if the creations are humble. I could not procreate, so I create in other ways to justify this existence. Otherwise, where is the meaning in life? To eat and sleep only? That is not meaningful.
I find myself falling into the same old traps, though. Sometimes I become too focused upon projects that no one else seems to care about. I am made to feel like Don Quixote by those who attach little or no importance to the projects. There are web sites I have worked on night and day. Sometimes I wonder if the effort is misspent or if it matters at all to anyone else besides myself. Perhaps it doesn't. I could be mistaken, a victim of tunnel-vision, failing to see the big picture because I am focused upon a thousand small details.
All may be vanity, but if so, there are many souls in the world engaged in similar occupations. I am not the only victim of make-work. Is it realistic to expect any appreciation or recognition at all in any of one's endeavors? How often does that happen? The billions of people in the world are all creating something, all working toward some end, and most labor without any feedback, or even in the face of blistering criticism, because it is their destiny. Because there is no "because." Life happens because it must. The universe happens because it must. How are human activities different from the interactions between oxygen and hydrogen? I think that everything is predictable, if one knows enough.
We are all slaves to one thing or another. Every one of us. I do not know anyone who is not a slave to something. Even those who number among my enemies, they too are slaves. It is because of the mortal existence. Life desires. What life desires varies, but it craves food and water, and at a higher level, power and prestige. Only the dead know perfect freedom, because they desire nothing. Life trades the freedom of nonexistence for slavery to the desires, which permit survival and thriving. We the living become slaves because we must in order to survive and thrive.
I sometimes find it difficult to disengage myself from a project, because work becomes a passion for me, an addiction. The government should ban work. There should be a Work Enforcement Agency to stamp out everything that leads to work, because it is more addictive than any drug. I suppose the government is doing its best in that regard. The unemployment rate is, after all, much higher now than when I graduated college.
I would like to have been a part of a team, at some point in my life, of people with a similar ideological and philosophical cast, who were trustworthy, honest and forthright. Instead, I found myself in various teams where cutthroat was the name of the game. No one trusted anyone else. I was amused by the paranoia I observed in others, until I felt it residing in myself. It is difficult to resist a prevailing meme for a long period of time. Complacency was rewarded, curiosity and innovation stifled. We engaged upon tasks that benefited no one save the shareholders, and only in the short-term, even in that narrow perspective. This is a common fate.
I think only in the distant future, if that, will it be possible for human beings to come together as teams where cooperation and cohesion is possible, rather than just hypothetical. Whether there will be a distant future for H. Sapiens is another question, and I haven't been optimistic about the answer. Although the Pax Americana has been surprising and encouraging, I don't know how much longer it can endure, with our economy and manufacturing sector in decline. American workers have footed the bill for worldwide security for decades, but such a high rate of expenditure cannot continue indefinitely.
I do resolve to improve in the art of disengagement. For me, all that is required is finding another project, preferably a better one. One must look for greener pastures. I don't kid myself that I can be without a project of any kind. I need something to ply my skills upon. My task involves finding a better project more suitable for me.
Alcohol vs. Marijuana
I think that the reason so many people praise, use, and condone alcohol, while in some cases rejecting, maligning and condemning marijuana, has to do with the appeal of evil. Alcohol unleashes meanness and cruelty. Marijuana promotes passivity, calm, and reflection upon one's self and the world. Some want to do evil. It is their desire. Alcohol assists them in that goal by silencing the voice of conscience and reason. Once that voice is silenced, another voice may be heard.
The powerful voice of Thanatos suggests death and destruction through wars, the poisoning of the environment, and the persecution of minorities, in a world where there will always be minorities of one kind or the other, whether religious, sexual, ideological, or racial. One by one the disciples of Thanatos would have us slain, imprisoned, wounded, diminished, or poisoned. "Divide and conquer" is the means. Alcohol functions as a lubricant, when ideology proves an insufficient force.
Marijuana is recognized by the forces of darkness as the antithesis to alcohol and alcoholism. It is the Amethyst, the antidote, and evil-doers seek to crush it beneath the iron hammer of violence. Violence is what evil-doers know, practice, and preach. Violence is their solution to every flower that would break the surface of the earth, and it leads to an end that they have already foreseen, a silent and dead Earth, a twin of Mars the planet and their god.
The powerful voice of Thanatos suggests death and destruction through wars, the poisoning of the environment, and the persecution of minorities, in a world where there will always be minorities of one kind or the other, whether religious, sexual, ideological, or racial. One by one the disciples of Thanatos would have us slain, imprisoned, wounded, diminished, or poisoned. "Divide and conquer" is the means. Alcohol functions as a lubricant, when ideology proves an insufficient force.
Marijuana is recognized by the forces of darkness as the antithesis to alcohol and alcoholism. It is the Amethyst, the antidote, and evil-doers seek to crush it beneath the iron hammer of violence. Violence is what evil-doers know, practice, and preach. Violence is their solution to every flower that would break the surface of the earth, and it leads to an end that they have already foreseen, a silent and dead Earth, a twin of Mars the planet and their god.
It's About Time
Republicans depend on groups like the Family Research Council to "bring out the vote," because the primary Republican agenda, class warfare, does not.
Finally, the Family Research Council has been designated as a hate group. It's about time FRC was revealed for what it is. That Republicans have used them for so many years for political purposes is disgusting and symptomatic of the lack of ethics in the Republican Party.
Finally, the Family Research Council has been designated as a hate group. It's about time FRC was revealed for what it is. That Republicans have used them for so many years for political purposes is disgusting and symptomatic of the lack of ethics in the Republican Party.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Vote!
If I'm tired from work and feel like taking a nap, but there's a local election... I vote.
If it's raining and pouring outside, but there's a little runoff election involving a circuit court judge... I vote.
If I'm sick with flu and throwing up, but there's an election... I vote.
I don't give a damn if I'm on my death bed, I will crawl to the polling office on my hands and knees to vote.
Today the volunteers told me I was only one out of twenty-two people that showed up to vote in a runoff election. I replied, "That means my vote is worth more!" And of course it is.
I vote straight-ticket Democrat. The only exception would be if I have a reason not to like a particular Democrat, and that happens sometimes, especially when a Democrat tries extra hard to be like the Republicans. In those cases, I tend to vote Libertarian, and I'm thankful there is a third party candidate so that I can register my protest vote. A Democrat who talks Republican and votes Republican is for all intents and purposes a Republican. Strange creatures. I suppose they can't win the Republican primary, so they run as Democrats for that reason only. There are probably Republicans that have a similar story--I don't know.
I vote for candidates that are recommended to me by gay-rights groups. If there is a gap, an election where no one is recommended, then I research the candidate online to determine his views and style of thinking. I always favor the open-minded, tolerant, friendly, intelligent candidate, who does not brag about his Christianity, which is typically code for "hates gays" in today's political scene. If the candidate seems more intelligent than me, that's an asset. I prefer leaders to be more intelligent than me.
If it's raining and pouring outside, but there's a little runoff election involving a circuit court judge... I vote.
If I'm sick with flu and throwing up, but there's an election... I vote.
I don't give a damn if I'm on my death bed, I will crawl to the polling office on my hands and knees to vote.
Today the volunteers told me I was only one out of twenty-two people that showed up to vote in a runoff election. I replied, "That means my vote is worth more!" And of course it is.
I vote straight-ticket Democrat. The only exception would be if I have a reason not to like a particular Democrat, and that happens sometimes, especially when a Democrat tries extra hard to be like the Republicans. In those cases, I tend to vote Libertarian, and I'm thankful there is a third party candidate so that I can register my protest vote. A Democrat who talks Republican and votes Republican is for all intents and purposes a Republican. Strange creatures. I suppose they can't win the Republican primary, so they run as Democrats for that reason only. There are probably Republicans that have a similar story--I don't know.
I vote for candidates that are recommended to me by gay-rights groups. If there is a gap, an election where no one is recommended, then I research the candidate online to determine his views and style of thinking. I always favor the open-minded, tolerant, friendly, intelligent candidate, who does not brag about his Christianity, which is typically code for "hates gays" in today's political scene. If the candidate seems more intelligent than me, that's an asset. I prefer leaders to be more intelligent than me.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Arabs Want Us to Attack Iran?
Arab nations want us to attack Iran. Interesting and unexpected.
Who's gonna pay for it, hm? Us? Why should we? Seems like we've paid enough as it is. I think the collection plate needs to be passed around before the next war.
Who's gonna pay for it, hm? Us? Why should we? Seems like we've paid enough as it is. I think the collection plate needs to be passed around before the next war.
Picking Apart the GPL License
Using an author's essay or for that matter a programmer's code when he has asked you not to do so is uncool. Whether one has the legal right to do so is beside the point. The ethics of the matter are clear. The harm would be compounded by squandering his time on technical consultation without paying for that either and compounded beyond belief by engaging in a lengthy legal battle in order to defend the deed.
I find it difficult to comprehend someone paying his lawyer in order to avoid paying a programmer for his work, but that's apparently what happened in the case of JinChess versus IChessU.
I find it difficult to comprehend someone paying his lawyer in order to avoid paying a programmer for his work, but that's apparently what happened in the case of JinChess versus IChessU.
What is the Situation?
Reading the headlines of the day, it does seem like retardation is the lamentable situation around the globe. Folks are fooled by flimsy lies, whether from gossip, the media, religion, pseudoscience, or ideology. Wanting to believe something is a good enough reason to believe something. Wanting to be like so-and-so is a good enough reason to believe the same way so-and-so does. Advertisers and pundits exploit this vulnerability to their advantage.
Retardation is the situation. The question is, will the human race be able to survive long-term? The answer is unclear. I suppose it depends upon who controls the levers that run human society. If they number among the retards, then no, the human race can't possibly survive, due to the potency of our technologies, which are capable of destroying us in countless different ways.
I do hope the elite really are so in every way, not just in their fortunes. I wonder how much wisdom they have and whether they try to use their fortunes in the service of good. Certainly, some elites make a public attempt via philanthropy, trumpeted throughout the media, to make the world a better place.
If disaster looms, let it be in the future, after I am gone. I would not want to see it. If disaster looms, how sweet it was to live during a time of relative peace and prosperity. Ours might be a rare flowering of an endangered species that endangers itself.
Intelligence is common among life forms, but our superb excellence certainly is unique. It remains unclear whether intelligence will prove to be an advantage in the long term. The problem is that tool-making and tool-using is not enough. Sooner or later, one fashions tools or weapons that can destroy the entire species. Intelligence must be joined in lock-step with empathy and wisdom, or else it is a very dangerous thing indeed.
Retardation is the situation. The question is, will the human race be able to survive long-term? The answer is unclear. I suppose it depends upon who controls the levers that run human society. If they number among the retards, then no, the human race can't possibly survive, due to the potency of our technologies, which are capable of destroying us in countless different ways.
I do hope the elite really are so in every way, not just in their fortunes. I wonder how much wisdom they have and whether they try to use their fortunes in the service of good. Certainly, some elites make a public attempt via philanthropy, trumpeted throughout the media, to make the world a better place.
If disaster looms, let it be in the future, after I am gone. I would not want to see it. If disaster looms, how sweet it was to live during a time of relative peace and prosperity. Ours might be a rare flowering of an endangered species that endangers itself.
Intelligence is common among life forms, but our superb excellence certainly is unique. It remains unclear whether intelligence will prove to be an advantage in the long term. The problem is that tool-making and tool-using is not enough. Sooner or later, one fashions tools or weapons that can destroy the entire species. Intelligence must be joined in lock-step with empathy and wisdom, or else it is a very dangerous thing indeed.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Forbidden Blood
I have no fear of needles, would give blood if paid or in some cases if it were requested of me, and am not squeamish about the process. That said, never in my lifetime will I give blood, because it is forbidden of gays. And I have no problem with that. The only people that should be concerned are those that need my blood and the blood of people like me, which is to say, everyone else.
I could lie in response to the question, "Have you had sex with a member of the same sex since 1979?" I read online comments from one gay to the effect that he lied for the greater good of giving clean blood to those that need it. In such a case, where a man knows that his blood is clean, possibly because he has been tested and found to be HIV negative, or due to his practicing safer sex, or abstaining--as some do--then a lie is not necessarily unethical, but a white lie.
I still have a problem with lying due to pragmatic reasons. Lying in general is bad policy. I don't like having to remember that I have lied and having to censor my speech forever after in the future. If I were to give blood, I'd have to deny ever having done so to everyone else I met in the future, or else I'd be caught out as a liar, and not everyone may buy the "white lie" argument above. It's just a potential can of worms. I'd rather stick to the straight and narrow, or maybe not so straight.
There is a certain irony in the fact that my blood is much cleaner and healthier than that of most straight men. I appreciate that irony. There is a certain degree of irrationality in society. It would be difficult to argue that society is, or ever has been, rational or reasonable. Instead, I think the diagnosis must be for neurosis, with occasional bouts of psychosis. The world's allegiance is to Thanatos. Hence we have worldwide prohibition of a medicinal herb, and the commercialization and popularization of an addictive poison. Those who contribute to world overpopulation are given welfare and recognition, whereas those who remove themselves from the reproductive cycle are ridiculed, marginalized and punished by a variety of legal sanctions.
I could lie in response to the question, "Have you had sex with a member of the same sex since 1979?" I read online comments from one gay to the effect that he lied for the greater good of giving clean blood to those that need it. In such a case, where a man knows that his blood is clean, possibly because he has been tested and found to be HIV negative, or due to his practicing safer sex, or abstaining--as some do--then a lie is not necessarily unethical, but a white lie.
I still have a problem with lying due to pragmatic reasons. Lying in general is bad policy. I don't like having to remember that I have lied and having to censor my speech forever after in the future. If I were to give blood, I'd have to deny ever having done so to everyone else I met in the future, or else I'd be caught out as a liar, and not everyone may buy the "white lie" argument above. It's just a potential can of worms. I'd rather stick to the straight and narrow, or maybe not so straight.
There is a certain irony in the fact that my blood is much cleaner and healthier than that of most straight men. I appreciate that irony. There is a certain degree of irrationality in society. It would be difficult to argue that society is, or ever has been, rational or reasonable. Instead, I think the diagnosis must be for neurosis, with occasional bouts of psychosis. The world's allegiance is to Thanatos. Hence we have worldwide prohibition of a medicinal herb, and the commercialization and popularization of an addictive poison. Those who contribute to world overpopulation are given welfare and recognition, whereas those who remove themselves from the reproductive cycle are ridiculed, marginalized and punished by a variety of legal sanctions.
North Korea
The shelling of the island of Yeonpyeong by North Korea, resulting in civilian deaths, was an act of incompetence combined with evil. Evil and incompetence often go hand-in-hand. However, just because incompetence guided the deed does not mean the deed should go unpunished. There should be tangible consequences.
North Korea presents a serious and realistic nuclear threat, whereas Afghanistan does not. North Korea is devoid of any shred of ethics or indeed basic comprehension of the outside world. Their nuclear technology will be sold or given to any villain in the world.
North Korea presents a serious and realistic nuclear threat, whereas Afghanistan does not. North Korea is devoid of any shred of ethics or indeed basic comprehension of the outside world. Their nuclear technology will be sold or given to any villain in the world.
Mohamud, the Wannabe Bomber
“Mohamed Osman Mohamud, a naturalized U.S. citizen from Somalia and resident of Corvallis, Oregon, was arrested after he attempted to detonate what he believed to be an explosives-laden van that was parked near the tree lighting ceremony in Portland’s Pioneer Courthouse Square,”the FBI said in a statement on its website today.I know of a talented person from another country who loves the U.S. and would like nothing better than to be a naturalized citizen. It is my partner, who I would be willing to marry. He cannot become a citizen, due to the law against gay marriage, but anti-American wannabe terrorists from the Islamic world can. Is that justice?
Why grant citizenship to people from alien cultures who regard our culture and way of life as anathema?
Our government makes citizens out of our enemies and denies citizenship to our most loyal friends. Is that wisdom?
Friday, November 26, 2010
Alanis Morissette
Who knew that the music industry would offer up a Bodhisattva?
Do you derive joy when someone else succeeds?
Do you not play dirty when engaged in competition?
Do you have a big intellectual capacity but know
that it alone does not equate to wisdom?
Do you see everything as an illusion
but enjoy it even though you are not of it?
Are you both masculine and feminine, politically aware, and don't believe in capital punishment?
These are 21 things that I want in a lover
Not necessarily needs but qualities that I prefer
Do you derive joy from diving in and seeing that
loving someone can actually feel like freedom?
Are you funny and self-deprecating, like adventure, and have many formed opinions?
These are 21 things that I want in a lover
Not necessarily needs but qualities that I prefer
I figure I can describe it since I have a choice in the matter
These are 21 things I choose to choose in a lover
I'm in no hurry; I could wait forever
I'm in no rush cause I like being solo
There are no worries and certainly no pressure
In the meantime I'll live like there's no tomorrow
Are you uninhibited in bed, more than three times a week, up for being experimental?
Are you athletic?
Are you thriving in a job that helps your brother?
Are you not addicted?
These are 21 things that I want in a lover
Not necessarily needs but qualities that I prefer
I figure I can describe it since I have a choice in the matter
These are 21 things I choose to choose in a lover
--Alanis Morissette, "21 Things I Want in a Lover"
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Blessed Reticence
I say that reticence is blessed, because it will save me time and energy. I am not and never have been reticent by nature. I'm bubbly like champagne when in my element. I am cultivating reticence. It is best to be cautious when encountering strangers, either online or in the real world. Proceed with caution.
I contacted people associated with several different web sites recently in hopes there might be opportunities for cross-pollination of ideas. I regretted doing so. It was a waste of my time. It is usually a mistake to attempt to contact anyone on the Internet that one does not already know. The most probable response is tepid to ice-cold, if any response is offered at all. Common courtesy has gone out of style. Trolls, spammers, viruses and con artists have poisoned the online environment. People are unwilling or unable to conceive of a possible scenario where, instead of a mere annoyance, a new voice may represent a potential friend. There is an epidemic of impatience with other human beings.
In many cases, I sent email to a webmaster only to receive no reply at all. This is the most common scenario of all. I don't know whether my email gets lost in a spam folder, the webmaster simply doesn't check his email, or the webmaster's email address has changed, and he neglected to update it on his web site. In one case, I established contact with a webmaster whose site was static, with no updates in two or three years. He gave me terse, one-line responses to my messages. Many of these web sites are on the ropes, financially or otherwise, and their content will be lost forever in the near future. Since the webmasters are incapable of communicating with other webmasters, their fate is sealed, and no one will be able to help them.
On several web sites, I attempted to locate an email address for the webmaster, only to find that the page with the email address was blank. The webmaster had simply deleted his email address without removing the link to the email page. In other cases, an online forum was offered, but the forum software reported an error, and the forum never loaded. In one case, on someone's blog, I attempted to leave a comment, but found that I had to register in order to do so. I registered, and the software told me an email had been sent to me, which proved to be the case. The only problem was that the email was entirely blank, without any link or instructions, and my registration was invalid. It is obvious to me, based upon these experiences, that many webmasters are avoiding the public due to unpleasant experiences with spam, trolls, or other annoyances. Rather than arrive at an elegant solution for the problems, they simply remove themselves entirely from contact with the outside world.
On my blog, at least, it is possible for people to leave comments. At one time, I used to allow anonymous comments as well, but I stopped doing that because of spam and a flurry of insults from an anonymous troll. So, perhaps I am headed in the same direction as the others. The spammers are accomplishing rather dark ends that they themselves probably never considered in their selfish quest for pennies. Such is often the case with capitalists who never for a moment think of anyone but themselves, in the process polluting our world, destroying the economy through incompetence and negligence and creating new wars.
I don't think we have a civil society on the Internet, but rather atomization of selfish individuals who dwell in isolated fortresses, only peering over the ramparts on occasion to throw derision upon the other fortress-dwellers.
Based upon my thoughts above, I've decided to reinstall my email address in the right-hand column, in order to fight against the prevailing trend towards inaccessibility and remoteness.
I contacted people associated with several different web sites recently in hopes there might be opportunities for cross-pollination of ideas. I regretted doing so. It was a waste of my time. It is usually a mistake to attempt to contact anyone on the Internet that one does not already know. The most probable response is tepid to ice-cold, if any response is offered at all. Common courtesy has gone out of style. Trolls, spammers, viruses and con artists have poisoned the online environment. People are unwilling or unable to conceive of a possible scenario where, instead of a mere annoyance, a new voice may represent a potential friend. There is an epidemic of impatience with other human beings.
In many cases, I sent email to a webmaster only to receive no reply at all. This is the most common scenario of all. I don't know whether my email gets lost in a spam folder, the webmaster simply doesn't check his email, or the webmaster's email address has changed, and he neglected to update it on his web site. In one case, I established contact with a webmaster whose site was static, with no updates in two or three years. He gave me terse, one-line responses to my messages. Many of these web sites are on the ropes, financially or otherwise, and their content will be lost forever in the near future. Since the webmasters are incapable of communicating with other webmasters, their fate is sealed, and no one will be able to help them.
On several web sites, I attempted to locate an email address for the webmaster, only to find that the page with the email address was blank. The webmaster had simply deleted his email address without removing the link to the email page. In other cases, an online forum was offered, but the forum software reported an error, and the forum never loaded. In one case, on someone's blog, I attempted to leave a comment, but found that I had to register in order to do so. I registered, and the software told me an email had been sent to me, which proved to be the case. The only problem was that the email was entirely blank, without any link or instructions, and my registration was invalid. It is obvious to me, based upon these experiences, that many webmasters are avoiding the public due to unpleasant experiences with spam, trolls, or other annoyances. Rather than arrive at an elegant solution for the problems, they simply remove themselves entirely from contact with the outside world.
On my blog, at least, it is possible for people to leave comments. At one time, I used to allow anonymous comments as well, but I stopped doing that because of spam and a flurry of insults from an anonymous troll. So, perhaps I am headed in the same direction as the others. The spammers are accomplishing rather dark ends that they themselves probably never considered in their selfish quest for pennies. Such is often the case with capitalists who never for a moment think of anyone but themselves, in the process polluting our world, destroying the economy through incompetence and negligence and creating new wars.
I don't think we have a civil society on the Internet, but rather atomization of selfish individuals who dwell in isolated fortresses, only peering over the ramparts on occasion to throw derision upon the other fortress-dwellers.
Based upon my thoughts above, I've decided to reinstall my email address in the right-hand column, in order to fight against the prevailing trend towards inaccessibility and remoteness.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
The Tiger's Eye Ring
There are certain stones I prefer over others. One is the Tiger's Eye. A long time ago, a friend asked me to pick out a ring for her, and I chose the one with the Tiger's Eye.
#
In sixth grade, our homeroom teacher was a hip young lady, liberal enough to favor such things as field trips, unlike the old relics who never left their classrooms. She allowed us kids to go exploring by ourselves in the Epcot Center. Ever independent, Alice ventured off by herself. I was with my friends, David and Carol. They helped kill time and boredom. Together we acted like The Three Stooges. I played along with them for an hour, until I realized that I would much rather be alone with Alice than with my friends. However, she was nowhere to be seen. The building had several floors and was not exactly small. I looked within my heart. As sure as following a map, I walked up two flights of stairs, turned left, then right into another room, and found her.
She was alone, as expected and desired. When she saw me, she greeted me neutrally. She discussed the exhibits and the science behind them, which fascinated her. I recall nothing of what she said. She was simply thinking aloud. I liked watching her, being in her presence. Her mind was active and alive, never idle, and her store of knowledge was more than can be imagined for a girl of that age. She was full of contagious energy, eager to learn and discover. If there was anything she could not do, I was unaware of it. I was euphoric, feeding off of her energy.
She said, “Do you think we should go and find the others? The teachers may be wondering where we are. We shouldn’t make them worry.”
I shook my head. No! This was the last thing on earth I wanted to do! Rejoining the others would mean the end of our conversation. She would prefer the company of her friends, other girls. We went searching for the others, but I directed us to places where I felt the others would not be, until she gave up. My legs grew tired with the walking, but hers did not, and so we continued examining the exhibits. Eventually we came upon a gift shop, and Alice found it irresistible.
“Oh, do you want to go in?” she said.
“Not really. I have no money!”
“I do. My father gave me thirty dollars and told me to buy myself something nice.”
“Well, I’ll just wait outside.”
She was gone for about ten minutes. I remember wishing I had money and wondering whether it even mattered. She came out and asked if I would give her advice. I said yes, of course. She wanted to buy herself a ring, but couldn't decide which one to buy. She wanted my opinion. I had no clue about girls’ rings and said as much, but she insisted. I entered the store with her, took a careful look at all the rings, and chose the one with a tiger’s eye. She said she preferred another stone, a green one. I told her it was all right, and she should get the ring that she wants, not the one that I picked. I left the store and waited outside.
She emerged with a new ring on her finger. It was the tiger’s eye. She smiled, admiring her ring, and I smiled, very pleased.
Soon after that, we found the other students and the teachers. As expected, Alice deserted me to talk with her girlfriends. I rejoined my friends with regret. We walked around for an hour or so until it was time to head back to the bus.
All of us were waiting in line to go to our next destination, the airport. The bus was being refueled. Alice was in the middle of the line. My buddies and I were in the back. We were bored, standing around doing nothing, just waiting for the bus to arrive. David asked where I had been, because he had not seen much of me at the museum. I confided that Alice and I had gone off alone together, not realizing the implication. David’s eyes lit up in amusement. “You like Alice, don’t you?” I was startled into silence, and then denied it, too late. A grin spread across David's face. “Hey, Carol, guess what! He’s in love!”
They reacted as boys do at that age to the spectacle of love, giggling and doing their utmost to embarrass me. David began singing a silly rhyme:
Alice and Igor, sittin’ in a tree!
K – I – S – S – I – N – G !
First comes love, then comes marriage!
Then come Carol in a baby carriage!
This was a common schoolyard rhyme. The person in the baby carriage could be anybody at all, but using Carol was funnier than others, because he was a runt. A chorus developed. I did not participate. I was mortified. I told them to shut-up, but my threats were ineffectual, as I wasn’t any bigger than anybody else, except Carol, though Carol was strong and stocky and capable of defending himself against me. They started making comments about her breasts—far too small, in David’s opinion. So why did I like her? You can just imagine how Alice felt. She heard every word that was spoken. Noticing her deep scarlet blush, they laughed all the harder. I hated my so-called friends just then.
How to salvage the situation? I sensed that it was my duty to protect her. I approached her with arms outstretched and my palms raised, as if to say it’s not my fault. In retrospect, this was a stupid gesture, but I was young, and did not know what to do. I said, “Hey, Alice, I didn’t... I hope you don’t think that..."
Suspicion was written all over her face. Her face was livid, her eyes burning into mine like hot coals. She thought me the ringleader.
I said, “I’m sorry that they are acting this way, and...” I stopped. My words were not having any effect. She hated me for standing there, for drawing attention to us, because that was making things rather more embarrassing for her, not less.
Her anger I perceived as dark waves flowing from her body. I was startled by the thought of her as an enemy. She hissed, “Why don’t you just leave me alone! Go away!”
Our teacher seized me by the shoulder and snapped, “Get back in line, right this minute!” I was pushed back to my place in line, where I stood defeated. Alice smiled, saying, “Good!” Then she turned around and never looked at me again.
David said, “Look at him! He’s head over heels in love!” Carol made smooching noises. But seeing that I was in no mood for jest, and with the teacher now exercising new vigilance, the joke died away, though the damage was already done.
I foresaw that she would give the tiger’s eye ring away to one of her friends. She never wanted to see it again. In the days that followed, she was implacable. She avoided me. If I ever spoke to her, she ignored me.
After a few weeks, I conveyed a message seeking reconciliation through a mutual acquaintance, a girl named Shannon who had volunteered her services to me. This proved to be another indiscretion and resulted in a different girl’s feelings being hurt, though that was not my intention. I had failed to detect Shannon’s feelings for me, being focused upon Alice. If I had known that Shannon was interested in me, I certainly wouldn’t have agreed to her being our intermediary.
Alice responded with a written note dictating terms. I was to agree that we would only ever be friends, and I was never to mention the incident on the field trip again. I tried to see if there was any wiggle room, but her position was take it or leave it. I reasoned that friendship was better than nothing. I liked her company and hoped that she might come to appreciate me better in time.
A sad little sideshow then developed in the melodrama between Alice and me. Shannon sent another written message through David to me, but it was not from Alice, it was from her. She confessed that she liked me and gave me her phone number, asking me to please call. I was quite surprised, since I had not suspected this at all. I am sorry to say that I felt completely indifferent to Shannon. She was pleasant and polite, but unfairly treated by other boys owing to her proportions. Upon consideration, I borrowed Alice’s line (“friends only”). Unlike some boys, I have never been one to pretend just for the presumed prestige of having a girlfriend.
When I shared my opinions with David and asked what he thought, he agreed, and cruelly, without my permission, revealed my thoughts to Shannon, casting them in the crudest and most hurtful light. Weeping, she came to me and asked if it were true. I grit my teeth and lied as much as I could bear. I at first denied all that my insensitive friend David had said just to heal the hurt, but she became encouraged and pursued her cause, asking me whether I actually liked her. Alarmed, I felt compelled to concede that some parts of what David said had a small basis in truth. Shannon ended up by blaming David for his cruelty.
If I had been attracted to Shannon, we might have been happy together, because she was a decent person. Human beings are far too fussy about the physical appearance of their mates. I always have been, and the same can be said for Alice. Most people are judged unattractive due to weight, age, or facial bone structure. In truth, Alice’s rejection more likely finds its basis in my physical characteristics rather than any faux pas. Her boyfriends were not more refined than me. Brutes are forgiven a thousand slights, have they a handsome face. The best strategy for most people is to indulge the powerful passions of romantic love through movies and stories, rather than seeking it in reality. Experience the strong passions vicariously, if at all! This is my best advice.
A few weeks later, I spoke to Alice during recess, and she could not bring herself to snub me, since we had signed a peace treaty. Of necessity, I obeyed the ground rules she set down for our platonic friendship. I never spoke of the incident at the airport again, because it was forbidden to do so. She was firm and of an iron discipline, but hungry for conversation, so I endeavored not to bore her. She found in me a good listener, ready to absorb new ideas. Despite herself, she found my company agreeable.
She warmed up to me sufficiently to teach me the Basic version of Dungeons and Dragons during recess. She played the Dungeon Master, and I played a rather clueless fighter stumbling about her dungeon, slaying goblins only because Alice fudged dice rolls out of kindness to me. I was fascinated by the colorful, gem-like, nontraditional dice that she used: a four-sided, eight-sided, ten-sided, and even a twenty-sided die! It was because of Alice, and out of boredom with an easy academic curriculum, that all of my friends and me soon went deep into the world of role-playing games.
We were to all play D&D for the next three years, cycling through the Basic edition to the Expert edition and finally ending with the Advanced version, a complicated system at which I became the master, absorbing every one of the many rules.
[The End.]
#
Epilogue:
I submitted an earlier version of this story to an online writer's group for critique. One writer praised it with many reservations due to stylistic errors, which I felt was the most honest and helpful response. I have great difficulty with style issues, such as logical errors, redundancies, telling instead of showing, and stating the obvious. One writer praised it too much, and I felt she was just being kind, in hopes others would treat her stories with a similar kindness. One panned it, and made a snippy comment about writers like me jumping on the "Harry Potter" bandwagon, which was strange, because I've never read HP, and the first draft of this story was written before HP existed.
One writer had a violent reaction against my story, and I do not know why, other than it had stylistic errors, as he pointed out, which I already realized at the time. Maybe he found my story too sentimental. Perhaps it is or was at the time in its earlier incarnation. Maybe he was competing with the other reviewers in cutthroat fashion, trying to sound witty and original. He told me, in public, to shove a broken glass bottle up my ass. I was not interested in anything else anyone in that group had to say after reading that. I envenomed a dagger that would do the maximum damage possible to his public reputation, which I perceived he valued, as it was the only possible motive for his insult. I posted my sharp reply without any concern for what the moderators might say, as they had said nothing to the troll. How deeply my poison dagger penetrated his black heart, I cannot know, because I left soon after the stab. For a week later, in my email box, I received thirty replies from various writers, as well as the moderators, and they ranged the gamut, sympathetic, neutral, and skeptical, all of which I ignored, because I had concluded the writer's group was not for me. The troll, however, did not dare to write back, although I had planned to ignore him as well.
Many people have difficulty coping with online trolls. Here is my advice. Don't read their words. You are in control of your own internet browser. Not anyone else. You can control what and who you read. If you are curious and want to monitor what is said, but fear getting caught up in a flame war, wait a month, six months, or a year, then read. In this way, it is a simple matter to avoid involvement. But once you have identified an online personage as being a troll, is there any point in reading anything that they say? Would you pay the slightest attention to such a person in real life? In all probability, no. You would ignore such a twit in real life. It is ridiculous to give more attention to online twits than to real-world twits and even rather unfair to the real-world twits. Also, just because a message is in one's email box does not mean one must read it. Consider the source. As one would not read spam, one should not read scum. Kill filters are a perfect solution, deleting such emails based upon the sending address.
I don't know who my writing is for or what the purpose is. Publishers have never been the slightest bit interested in any of my material. I enjoy capturing certain experiences and imbuing them with a permanence beyond my own memory. Whether they are later ignored or lost is not in my power to foresee. Most writing is lost. All writing prior to a certain point in ancient history has been lost. Better writers than me have been silenced forever.
Some people say, "Why bother writing?" But if that is the attitude one takes, one could take it further: why do anything at all? One does what one knows, likes, or thinks is important. Money is not the sole motivation for doing things, or it shouldn't be.
#
In sixth grade, our homeroom teacher was a hip young lady, liberal enough to favor such things as field trips, unlike the old relics who never left their classrooms. She allowed us kids to go exploring by ourselves in the Epcot Center. Ever independent, Alice ventured off by herself. I was with my friends, David and Carol. They helped kill time and boredom. Together we acted like The Three Stooges. I played along with them for an hour, until I realized that I would much rather be alone with Alice than with my friends. However, she was nowhere to be seen. The building had several floors and was not exactly small. I looked within my heart. As sure as following a map, I walked up two flights of stairs, turned left, then right into another room, and found her.
She was alone, as expected and desired. When she saw me, she greeted me neutrally. She discussed the exhibits and the science behind them, which fascinated her. I recall nothing of what she said. She was simply thinking aloud. I liked watching her, being in her presence. Her mind was active and alive, never idle, and her store of knowledge was more than can be imagined for a girl of that age. She was full of contagious energy, eager to learn and discover. If there was anything she could not do, I was unaware of it. I was euphoric, feeding off of her energy.
She said, “Do you think we should go and find the others? The teachers may be wondering where we are. We shouldn’t make them worry.”
I shook my head. No! This was the last thing on earth I wanted to do! Rejoining the others would mean the end of our conversation. She would prefer the company of her friends, other girls. We went searching for the others, but I directed us to places where I felt the others would not be, until she gave up. My legs grew tired with the walking, but hers did not, and so we continued examining the exhibits. Eventually we came upon a gift shop, and Alice found it irresistible.
“Oh, do you want to go in?” she said.
“Not really. I have no money!”
“I do. My father gave me thirty dollars and told me to buy myself something nice.”
“Well, I’ll just wait outside.”
She was gone for about ten minutes. I remember wishing I had money and wondering whether it even mattered. She came out and asked if I would give her advice. I said yes, of course. She wanted to buy herself a ring, but couldn't decide which one to buy. She wanted my opinion. I had no clue about girls’ rings and said as much, but she insisted. I entered the store with her, took a careful look at all the rings, and chose the one with a tiger’s eye. She said she preferred another stone, a green one. I told her it was all right, and she should get the ring that she wants, not the one that I picked. I left the store and waited outside.
She emerged with a new ring on her finger. It was the tiger’s eye. She smiled, admiring her ring, and I smiled, very pleased.
Soon after that, we found the other students and the teachers. As expected, Alice deserted me to talk with her girlfriends. I rejoined my friends with regret. We walked around for an hour or so until it was time to head back to the bus.
All of us were waiting in line to go to our next destination, the airport. The bus was being refueled. Alice was in the middle of the line. My buddies and I were in the back. We were bored, standing around doing nothing, just waiting for the bus to arrive. David asked where I had been, because he had not seen much of me at the museum. I confided that Alice and I had gone off alone together, not realizing the implication. David’s eyes lit up in amusement. “You like Alice, don’t you?” I was startled into silence, and then denied it, too late. A grin spread across David's face. “Hey, Carol, guess what! He’s in love!”
They reacted as boys do at that age to the spectacle of love, giggling and doing their utmost to embarrass me. David began singing a silly rhyme:
Alice and Igor, sittin’ in a tree!
K – I – S – S – I – N – G !
First comes love, then comes marriage!
Then come Carol in a baby carriage!
This was a common schoolyard rhyme. The person in the baby carriage could be anybody at all, but using Carol was funnier than others, because he was a runt. A chorus developed. I did not participate. I was mortified. I told them to shut-up, but my threats were ineffectual, as I wasn’t any bigger than anybody else, except Carol, though Carol was strong and stocky and capable of defending himself against me. They started making comments about her breasts—far too small, in David’s opinion. So why did I like her? You can just imagine how Alice felt. She heard every word that was spoken. Noticing her deep scarlet blush, they laughed all the harder. I hated my so-called friends just then.
How to salvage the situation? I sensed that it was my duty to protect her. I approached her with arms outstretched and my palms raised, as if to say it’s not my fault. In retrospect, this was a stupid gesture, but I was young, and did not know what to do. I said, “Hey, Alice, I didn’t... I hope you don’t think that..."
Suspicion was written all over her face. Her face was livid, her eyes burning into mine like hot coals. She thought me the ringleader.
I said, “I’m sorry that they are acting this way, and...” I stopped. My words were not having any effect. She hated me for standing there, for drawing attention to us, because that was making things rather more embarrassing for her, not less.
Her anger I perceived as dark waves flowing from her body. I was startled by the thought of her as an enemy. She hissed, “Why don’t you just leave me alone! Go away!”
Our teacher seized me by the shoulder and snapped, “Get back in line, right this minute!” I was pushed back to my place in line, where I stood defeated. Alice smiled, saying, “Good!” Then she turned around and never looked at me again.
David said, “Look at him! He’s head over heels in love!” Carol made smooching noises. But seeing that I was in no mood for jest, and with the teacher now exercising new vigilance, the joke died away, though the damage was already done.
I foresaw that she would give the tiger’s eye ring away to one of her friends. She never wanted to see it again. In the days that followed, she was implacable. She avoided me. If I ever spoke to her, she ignored me.
After a few weeks, I conveyed a message seeking reconciliation through a mutual acquaintance, a girl named Shannon who had volunteered her services to me. This proved to be another indiscretion and resulted in a different girl’s feelings being hurt, though that was not my intention. I had failed to detect Shannon’s feelings for me, being focused upon Alice. If I had known that Shannon was interested in me, I certainly wouldn’t have agreed to her being our intermediary.
Alice responded with a written note dictating terms. I was to agree that we would only ever be friends, and I was never to mention the incident on the field trip again. I tried to see if there was any wiggle room, but her position was take it or leave it. I reasoned that friendship was better than nothing. I liked her company and hoped that she might come to appreciate me better in time.
A sad little sideshow then developed in the melodrama between Alice and me. Shannon sent another written message through David to me, but it was not from Alice, it was from her. She confessed that she liked me and gave me her phone number, asking me to please call. I was quite surprised, since I had not suspected this at all. I am sorry to say that I felt completely indifferent to Shannon. She was pleasant and polite, but unfairly treated by other boys owing to her proportions. Upon consideration, I borrowed Alice’s line (“friends only”). Unlike some boys, I have never been one to pretend just for the presumed prestige of having a girlfriend.
When I shared my opinions with David and asked what he thought, he agreed, and cruelly, without my permission, revealed my thoughts to Shannon, casting them in the crudest and most hurtful light. Weeping, she came to me and asked if it were true. I grit my teeth and lied as much as I could bear. I at first denied all that my insensitive friend David had said just to heal the hurt, but she became encouraged and pursued her cause, asking me whether I actually liked her. Alarmed, I felt compelled to concede that some parts of what David said had a small basis in truth. Shannon ended up by blaming David for his cruelty.
If I had been attracted to Shannon, we might have been happy together, because she was a decent person. Human beings are far too fussy about the physical appearance of their mates. I always have been, and the same can be said for Alice. Most people are judged unattractive due to weight, age, or facial bone structure. In truth, Alice’s rejection more likely finds its basis in my physical characteristics rather than any faux pas. Her boyfriends were not more refined than me. Brutes are forgiven a thousand slights, have they a handsome face. The best strategy for most people is to indulge the powerful passions of romantic love through movies and stories, rather than seeking it in reality. Experience the strong passions vicariously, if at all! This is my best advice.
A few weeks later, I spoke to Alice during recess, and she could not bring herself to snub me, since we had signed a peace treaty. Of necessity, I obeyed the ground rules she set down for our platonic friendship. I never spoke of the incident at the airport again, because it was forbidden to do so. She was firm and of an iron discipline, but hungry for conversation, so I endeavored not to bore her. She found in me a good listener, ready to absorb new ideas. Despite herself, she found my company agreeable.
She warmed up to me sufficiently to teach me the Basic version of Dungeons and Dragons during recess. She played the Dungeon Master, and I played a rather clueless fighter stumbling about her dungeon, slaying goblins only because Alice fudged dice rolls out of kindness to me. I was fascinated by the colorful, gem-like, nontraditional dice that she used: a four-sided, eight-sided, ten-sided, and even a twenty-sided die! It was because of Alice, and out of boredom with an easy academic curriculum, that all of my friends and me soon went deep into the world of role-playing games.
We were to all play D&D for the next three years, cycling through the Basic edition to the Expert edition and finally ending with the Advanced version, a complicated system at which I became the master, absorbing every one of the many rules.
[The End.]
#
Epilogue:
I submitted an earlier version of this story to an online writer's group for critique. One writer praised it with many reservations due to stylistic errors, which I felt was the most honest and helpful response. I have great difficulty with style issues, such as logical errors, redundancies, telling instead of showing, and stating the obvious. One writer praised it too much, and I felt she was just being kind, in hopes others would treat her stories with a similar kindness. One panned it, and made a snippy comment about writers like me jumping on the "Harry Potter" bandwagon, which was strange, because I've never read HP, and the first draft of this story was written before HP existed.
One writer had a violent reaction against my story, and I do not know why, other than it had stylistic errors, as he pointed out, which I already realized at the time. Maybe he found my story too sentimental. Perhaps it is or was at the time in its earlier incarnation. Maybe he was competing with the other reviewers in cutthroat fashion, trying to sound witty and original. He told me, in public, to shove a broken glass bottle up my ass. I was not interested in anything else anyone in that group had to say after reading that. I envenomed a dagger that would do the maximum damage possible to his public reputation, which I perceived he valued, as it was the only possible motive for his insult. I posted my sharp reply without any concern for what the moderators might say, as they had said nothing to the troll. How deeply my poison dagger penetrated his black heart, I cannot know, because I left soon after the stab. For a week later, in my email box, I received thirty replies from various writers, as well as the moderators, and they ranged the gamut, sympathetic, neutral, and skeptical, all of which I ignored, because I had concluded the writer's group was not for me. The troll, however, did not dare to write back, although I had planned to ignore him as well.
Many people have difficulty coping with online trolls. Here is my advice. Don't read their words. You are in control of your own internet browser. Not anyone else. You can control what and who you read. If you are curious and want to monitor what is said, but fear getting caught up in a flame war, wait a month, six months, or a year, then read. In this way, it is a simple matter to avoid involvement. But once you have identified an online personage as being a troll, is there any point in reading anything that they say? Would you pay the slightest attention to such a person in real life? In all probability, no. You would ignore such a twit in real life. It is ridiculous to give more attention to online twits than to real-world twits and even rather unfair to the real-world twits. Also, just because a message is in one's email box does not mean one must read it. Consider the source. As one would not read spam, one should not read scum. Kill filters are a perfect solution, deleting such emails based upon the sending address.
I don't know who my writing is for or what the purpose is. Publishers have never been the slightest bit interested in any of my material. I enjoy capturing certain experiences and imbuing them with a permanence beyond my own memory. Whether they are later ignored or lost is not in my power to foresee. Most writing is lost. All writing prior to a certain point in ancient history has been lost. Better writers than me have been silenced forever.
Some people say, "Why bother writing?" But if that is the attitude one takes, one could take it further: why do anything at all? One does what one knows, likes, or thinks is important. Money is not the sole motivation for doing things, or it shouldn't be.
How Many People Believe the Craziness?
How many Americans believe the distortions of FOX News and other rabid right-wing media pundits, who do nothing but lie all the time? Judging by the recent election, plenty. Here's an article in the Irish Times on the subject. I know why the right has gotten into the habit of calling liberals "Nazis." They misapply the term because they fear its being used, with better accuracy, upon themselves. They torture, start wars, discriminate against minorities, and spy upon their fellow citizens.
If the Right is again installed into power in Washington, D.C. in 2012, then the number of calamities the United States must face will multiply. I expect more war, more pollution, more negligence, and more corruption. The poor will get poorer, and the middle class will continue its vanishing act.
If the Right is again installed into power in Washington, D.C. in 2012, then the number of calamities the United States must face will multiply. I expect more war, more pollution, more negligence, and more corruption. The poor will get poorer, and the middle class will continue its vanishing act.
Friday, November 19, 2010
No Eval
Early in the semester, I was planning to give my conservative professor a bad evaluation, due to her habit of preaching on religious and political subjects unrelated to the subject of the course. I changed my mind. I have decided not to fill out any eval. Hear no evil, see no evil, fill out no eval.
Why the change of heart? She's got her flaw--the preaching--but her qualities compensate for the flaw. On a personal level, she has really won me over with her politeness and fairness. When someone is polite, that carries much weight with me. So maybe I'm a pushover. I don't care. The bottom line is that she's better than most of the other professors I've had.
Why the change of heart? She's got her flaw--the preaching--but her qualities compensate for the flaw. On a personal level, she has really won me over with her politeness and fairness. When someone is polite, that carries much weight with me. So maybe I'm a pushover. I don't care. The bottom line is that she's better than most of the other professors I've had.
Psychic Power?
I watched a documentary this evening on Robert Jahn, a Princeton scientist who researched psychokinesis. This led me to check out a web site where anyone can test themselves for psychokinetic ability. A javascript picks a number, either 0 or 1, hundreds of times, and the goal is for the user to influence the computer somehow to pick more of a certain result.
I performed seven tests, but the site informed me my results were statistically inconclusive. Nevertheless, each result slightly favored the digit that I wanted the computer to pick.
I decided to favor 0's.
0's: 526
1's: 498
I decided to favor 1's.
0's: 505
1's: 519
I decided to favor 1's.
0's: 498
1's: 526
I decided to favor 1's.
0's: 500
1's: 523
I decided to favor 0's.
0's: 525
1's: 499
I decided to favor 0's.
0's: 522
1's: 502
I decided to favor 0's.
0's: 539
1's: 485
Weird, huh? I tried to examine the javascript, but it is encrypted somehow. However, there is no way for the site to know which digit I preferred. Perhaps my results are just a coincidence. Also, as the site noted, my results are not statistically significant.
I performed seven tests, but the site informed me my results were statistically inconclusive. Nevertheless, each result slightly favored the digit that I wanted the computer to pick.
I decided to favor 0's.
0's: 526
1's: 498
I decided to favor 1's.
0's: 505
1's: 519
I decided to favor 1's.
0's: 498
1's: 526
I decided to favor 1's.
0's: 500
1's: 523
I decided to favor 0's.
0's: 525
1's: 499
I decided to favor 0's.
0's: 522
1's: 502
I decided to favor 0's.
0's: 539
1's: 485
Weird, huh? I tried to examine the javascript, but it is encrypted somehow. However, there is no way for the site to know which digit I preferred. Perhaps my results are just a coincidence. Also, as the site noted, my results are not statistically significant.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Evil is a Burden
Doing evil is a burden on the soul. Sometimes I hurt another unintentionally with careless words, spoken without thinking. My filter is not intact. Sometimes I blurt out what I am thinking, having calculated it is socially acceptable, without evaluating whether the words will hurt another person's feelings. Sometimes it is difficult to really know whether a remark will be taken in jest or taken ill. I think fatigue plays a role in this ethical lapse. My body may be taxed by a virus, and my mind exhausted by fatigue. I may have slept poorly the night before. I have many excuses, but nothing seems to ease the pain of knowing that one's words have done psychological harm to another, especially a person that one otherwise admires.
I am reminded of an ancient incident. Possibly no one remembers it now except for me. I learned certain lessons from the experience, but don't always practice what I know 100% of the time. To be sure, when I'm fully rested, my batteries fully charged, I usually conduct myself better.
#
In my tenth year, my friend Joe was out with a cold. For the first time that year, I sat alone in the school cafeteria at lunch. I was eating a dry and leathery soybean burger and washing it down with sips of chocolate milk, a nasty combination. I wasn’t in the best of spirits, and I felt it was just as well that Joe wasn’t at school today, because I might say the wrong thing and offend him.
The night before, I had played my mom and dad at Risk for three hours. The two of us eliminated Mom’s military forces in less than thirty minutes. The game changed into a battle between my father and me. The game was longer than most, spanning three hours, but in the end, I lost as my father invaded my stronghold in Australia and destroyed the last of my armies. I wept. My father shook his head in anger. He said, “Why are you crying? You’re taking all of the fun out of the game for me. Why are you taking it so seriously?”
I had cried because my dad wasn’t a great military genius. Losing to my dad meant that I wasn’t as clever as my idol, Napoleon. I was not born to dominate others, to conquer and to rule. My fate would be different. If I wasn’t borne to be a conqueror, then I must become one of the vanquished. This is why tears fell from my eyes. All I ever wished to do back then was be the last one standing in all the games I played.
#
From the corner of my eye, I saw Alice standing before me with her tray in her hands.
Alice said, “Is it okay if I sit here?”
My heart quickened with surprise. I looked away and waved my hand in the air. “I guess.”
She took a step toward me and then paused. “Sure you don’t mind?”
My voice softened. “Nah, make yourself at home.”
She laid her tray on the table and sat down. As she opened her chocolate milk carton, I said, “How come you’re not sitting with your friends?”
“Oh, I don’t know. They’re kind of boring sometimes.”
In a sarcastic tone, I said, “Well, I’ll try my best not to bore you, then.”
She laughed, as though I was just teasing her. Her eyes were gleaming with happiness. I couldn’t imagine the reason. She was insane. I took another bite of the bland soybean burger. She took my cue and started eating. After we had finished our food and were sitting idle, she said, “I was in gifted class all day yesterday. You might have missed me.”
The mention of this gifted class struck a bad chord in me, because I desperately wanted in. “Missed you?” I said coolly.
“Gifted class is so much fun!” She smiled.
I gripped the empty carton of chocolate milk until it crumpled in my fist.
"We did an experiment in gifted class yesterday. The teacher had us all bring old shoeboxes from home. We lined them with aluminum foil and placed them on windowsills where they caught the Sun. We did something else and then around lunchtime, we found that the hot dogs were cooked and ready to eat! It was a demonstration of solar power. Neat, huh?”
“You know what?”
“What?”
“I don’t care about your stupid hot dogs. That’s what.”
She stared at me with surprise and hurt written upon her face. “I thought you were interested.”
“I’m tired of hearing you brag about the stuff you do in gifted class. So you go to gifted class! Big deal! I heard from other people that you’re stuck-up, and I have to agree. You’re just a big fat snob!”
Two or three kids turned around and looked at her, with smiles written on their faces, pleased by the unfolding drama. Alice‘s face assumed a bright red hue. Alice was on the verge of tears when she said, in a quite reasonable tone, “W-Why are you saying these things? What have I ever done to offend you?”
“Alice, we all know you think you’re smarter than everyone else! But you’re not as smart as you think you are! So just buzz off with your solar-powered hot dogs!”
She cried. Right there in the cafeteria, in front of everyone. Those who take pleasure in the suffering of others grinned at the spectacle. There was one exception. A black girl with kind-looking eyes, Charlotte, appraised the situation at a glance. She scolded me for making Alice cry.
I opened my mouth to make a witty retort, but changed my mind. In a flash I had full awareness of what I had said. I felt diminished, much diminished. In a low voice, I said, “I’m sorry, Alice.” She would not look at me. With more urgency I said, “Please forgive me.” I tried to touch her hand, but she flinched away. Through her tears, she said, “Stay away from me!”
I learned on this day that there are words that cannot be taken back. If we could live our lives over again, how perfect we would be! Each vulnerable moment would be rehearsed. Forewarned, we would avoid many temptations.
An apology only ever works in part, not in whole. The wound remains. Sometimes apologies are not accepted. People clutch the evil words that others have said to them, but dismiss praise as false or worthless, even when the praise carried more sincerity than the rash criticism spoken in haste. The analytical mind is implicated in this, because it is hungry for knowledge. There is more information contained in the exception than the norm. The analytical mind focuses upon exceptions--bad things--to satisfy its craving for answers, which may lead to a distorted perception of the overall reality. People think things are worse than they really are. In this way, they place limits upon their powers of perception. They see part, but the totality escapes them.
I am reminded of an ancient incident. Possibly no one remembers it now except for me. I learned certain lessons from the experience, but don't always practice what I know 100% of the time. To be sure, when I'm fully rested, my batteries fully charged, I usually conduct myself better.
#
In my tenth year, my friend Joe was out with a cold. For the first time that year, I sat alone in the school cafeteria at lunch. I was eating a dry and leathery soybean burger and washing it down with sips of chocolate milk, a nasty combination. I wasn’t in the best of spirits, and I felt it was just as well that Joe wasn’t at school today, because I might say the wrong thing and offend him.
The night before, I had played my mom and dad at Risk for three hours. The two of us eliminated Mom’s military forces in less than thirty minutes. The game changed into a battle between my father and me. The game was longer than most, spanning three hours, but in the end, I lost as my father invaded my stronghold in Australia and destroyed the last of my armies. I wept. My father shook his head in anger. He said, “Why are you crying? You’re taking all of the fun out of the game for me. Why are you taking it so seriously?”
I had cried because my dad wasn’t a great military genius. Losing to my dad meant that I wasn’t as clever as my idol, Napoleon. I was not born to dominate others, to conquer and to rule. My fate would be different. If I wasn’t borne to be a conqueror, then I must become one of the vanquished. This is why tears fell from my eyes. All I ever wished to do back then was be the last one standing in all the games I played.
#
From the corner of my eye, I saw Alice standing before me with her tray in her hands.
Alice said, “Is it okay if I sit here?”
My heart quickened with surprise. I looked away and waved my hand in the air. “I guess.”
She took a step toward me and then paused. “Sure you don’t mind?”
My voice softened. “Nah, make yourself at home.”
She laid her tray on the table and sat down. As she opened her chocolate milk carton, I said, “How come you’re not sitting with your friends?”
“Oh, I don’t know. They’re kind of boring sometimes.”
In a sarcastic tone, I said, “Well, I’ll try my best not to bore you, then.”
She laughed, as though I was just teasing her. Her eyes were gleaming with happiness. I couldn’t imagine the reason. She was insane. I took another bite of the bland soybean burger. She took my cue and started eating. After we had finished our food and were sitting idle, she said, “I was in gifted class all day yesterday. You might have missed me.”
The mention of this gifted class struck a bad chord in me, because I desperately wanted in. “Missed you?” I said coolly.
“Gifted class is so much fun!” She smiled.
I gripped the empty carton of chocolate milk until it crumpled in my fist.
"We did an experiment in gifted class yesterday. The teacher had us all bring old shoeboxes from home. We lined them with aluminum foil and placed them on windowsills where they caught the Sun. We did something else and then around lunchtime, we found that the hot dogs were cooked and ready to eat! It was a demonstration of solar power. Neat, huh?”
“You know what?”
“What?”
“I don’t care about your stupid hot dogs. That’s what.”
She stared at me with surprise and hurt written upon her face. “I thought you were interested.”
“I’m tired of hearing you brag about the stuff you do in gifted class. So you go to gifted class! Big deal! I heard from other people that you’re stuck-up, and I have to agree. You’re just a big fat snob!”
Two or three kids turned around and looked at her, with smiles written on their faces, pleased by the unfolding drama. Alice‘s face assumed a bright red hue. Alice was on the verge of tears when she said, in a quite reasonable tone, “W-Why are you saying these things? What have I ever done to offend you?”
“Alice, we all know you think you’re smarter than everyone else! But you’re not as smart as you think you are! So just buzz off with your solar-powered hot dogs!”
She cried. Right there in the cafeteria, in front of everyone. Those who take pleasure in the suffering of others grinned at the spectacle. There was one exception. A black girl with kind-looking eyes, Charlotte, appraised the situation at a glance. She scolded me for making Alice cry.
I opened my mouth to make a witty retort, but changed my mind. In a flash I had full awareness of what I had said. I felt diminished, much diminished. In a low voice, I said, “I’m sorry, Alice.” She would not look at me. With more urgency I said, “Please forgive me.” I tried to touch her hand, but she flinched away. Through her tears, she said, “Stay away from me!”
I learned on this day that there are words that cannot be taken back. If we could live our lives over again, how perfect we would be! Each vulnerable moment would be rehearsed. Forewarned, we would avoid many temptations.
An apology only ever works in part, not in whole. The wound remains. Sometimes apologies are not accepted. People clutch the evil words that others have said to them, but dismiss praise as false or worthless, even when the praise carried more sincerity than the rash criticism spoken in haste. The analytical mind is implicated in this, because it is hungry for knowledge. There is more information contained in the exception than the norm. The analytical mind focuses upon exceptions--bad things--to satisfy its craving for answers, which may lead to a distorted perception of the overall reality. People think things are worse than they really are. In this way, they place limits upon their powers of perception. They see part, but the totality escapes them.
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