Straight from the IDF.
When you encounter evil, it is your responsibility destroy it.
Showing posts with label nature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nature. Show all posts
Friday, November 16, 2012
Saturday, November 10, 2012
The American Crisis
These are the times that try men's souls: The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like Hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives every thing its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as freedom should not be highly rated.
~Thomas Paine, 1776
Tuesday, November 06, 2012
Voting for love of country
I was the first one at a the polls in my precinct.
Up early, I finally saw Orion for the first time since we moved. At no other time, early morning or 2am had I found The Hunter since we moved here over four months ago. It was a cathartic experience.
I overdressed for the cold, wearing my heavy coat over the shirt I set out for today. "TAKE BACK YOUR REPUBLIC" and under the striking snake: "TIME'S UP." Normally a little too provocative for my taste, but this is America, so if you don't like it, you don't have to look at it.
It was about 30 degrees, enough for the cold to sting, but not enough for it to bite. One person arrived shortly after me. We stood outside the door and talked about how glad we were to get it over with, while we rocked and fidgeted to keep warm.
Another man joined our vigil. Then another. Then another.
By the time the polls opened there were over 30 people lined up. There were even more by the time I left.
You don't have to bust the doors to vote. They're open from 6am to 6pm. Absentee and early voting is easy. So why did everyone show up?
You know why.
Up early, I finally saw Orion for the first time since we moved. At no other time, early morning or 2am had I found The Hunter since we moved here over four months ago. It was a cathartic experience.
I overdressed for the cold, wearing my heavy coat over the shirt I set out for today. "TAKE BACK YOUR REPUBLIC" and under the striking snake: "TIME'S UP." Normally a little too provocative for my taste, but this is America, so if you don't like it, you don't have to look at it.
It was about 30 degrees, enough for the cold to sting, but not enough for it to bite. One person arrived shortly after me. We stood outside the door and talked about how glad we were to get it over with, while we rocked and fidgeted to keep warm.
Another man joined our vigil. Then another. Then another.
By the time the polls opened there were over 30 people lined up. There were even more by the time I left.
You don't have to bust the doors to vote. They're open from 6am to 6pm. Absentee and early voting is easy. So why did everyone show up?
You know why.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
The Hunter and the Moon
My eyes opened without hesitation. I was lucid, and rested. A good start.
I put on the latest evolution of clothing selected for my pursuit. As I struggled toward my goal in the preceding months, clothing changed more than anything else. Past challenges, mistakes, and successes groomed my accoutrement beyond mere garb, and into nothing short of the purpose built machines of steel and polymer, and of plastic and silicone that I once regarded above simple garments. My clothes were tools. Good tools.
Quietly, I readied my equipment. Silence punctuated only by the backpack's zipper, and the M1A's action closing after one final chamber check. I kissed my dozing wife as I did every morning, and heaped straps onto my shoulders before stepping out into the stillness of a world frozen in the lull between drawn breaths.
The car beeped politely as it unlocked, and clicked gently as the trunk opened. I loaded the trappings of my current task into the eager car, and paused as I drew the trunk near closure. After a moment's hesitation, I slammed the trunk shut, hopped into the driver's seat, and drove off, trying to complete my intrusion upon the quiet as quickly as I could.
The traffic lights seemed to act more reluctantly as they granted me passage to the freeway. Free, at this unnatural hour, to exaggerate their lordship over my movements. The sparsely populated freeway lay before me, its usual cold indifference unchanged. It asks only that I get on and off as quickly as possible, and I do my best to oblige.
After a few curves, and appropriate application of the accelerator, I found myself completely alone on a stretch of the 12 lane freeway. Nothing in front, nothing behind. It felt wrong. Like aberrant actions in dreams; you feel that you must stop and question, but know that you won't be able to. I noticed the radio had been turned off.
I took my exit, and waited at the light. To my right, rows of closed shops leading to a city ready to burst to life. To my left, looming mounds of darkness silhouetted by moonlight. The light changed, and I turned left.
The darkness seemed to accentuate the twists and turns of the mountain highway. The drops off the shoulder had turned from slopes to beautiful valleys into an abyss whose glare hardened as each successful turn denied it of your substance. The will of the darkness pulsed rudely in the back of my mind, where I had banished it long ago. Far away, but never gone.
As the lights of men faded, the sky revealed the brightest of her bounty. Unfathomable gaseous monuments to our slightness deigned to share their light from impossible distances. A lifelong favorite cluster of these gods hovered over my destination. The oldest hunter known to this planet offered his consent before fading into the beginnings of the horizon's glow to leave me to my task.
I turned into the dirt clearing nearest my access point, quieted the car, and stepped out of my shell. As I moved the equipment off the car and on to me, my stomach growled loudly, threatening to expose me at my most silent if I didn't meet its demands. I opened the dense brick of nutrition I had brought along, and bit off a piece. Unlike the protein bars, this seemed to provide filling substance to my stomach, instead of small clumps of slow-release energy. My opponent sated, I adjusted the straps that clung to me, and closed the trunk.
The hunter gone, I now looked to the moon, which drifted imperceptibly toward a smaller mountain -my destination- on the horizon. It shined full, and urged me on with the knowledge that it too would soon be gone, and my magic hour lost. The moon somehow entranced me, and as an unintentional moment lost in contemplation elapsed, a shooting star appeared, and streaked in my intended direction before vanishing forever. Its swan song short, and without echo. But not unnoticed. My face brightened involuntarily at my luck, but my thoughts were still shrouded deep within my mind. I knew they had wished for something.
I put on the latest evolution of clothing selected for my pursuit. As I struggled toward my goal in the preceding months, clothing changed more than anything else. Past challenges, mistakes, and successes groomed my accoutrement beyond mere garb, and into nothing short of the purpose built machines of steel and polymer, and of plastic and silicone that I once regarded above simple garments. My clothes were tools. Good tools.
Quietly, I readied my equipment. Silence punctuated only by the backpack's zipper, and the M1A's action closing after one final chamber check. I kissed my dozing wife as I did every morning, and heaped straps onto my shoulders before stepping out into the stillness of a world frozen in the lull between drawn breaths.
The car beeped politely as it unlocked, and clicked gently as the trunk opened. I loaded the trappings of my current task into the eager car, and paused as I drew the trunk near closure. After a moment's hesitation, I slammed the trunk shut, hopped into the driver's seat, and drove off, trying to complete my intrusion upon the quiet as quickly as I could.
The traffic lights seemed to act more reluctantly as they granted me passage to the freeway. Free, at this unnatural hour, to exaggerate their lordship over my movements. The sparsely populated freeway lay before me, its usual cold indifference unchanged. It asks only that I get on and off as quickly as possible, and I do my best to oblige.
After a few curves, and appropriate application of the accelerator, I found myself completely alone on a stretch of the 12 lane freeway. Nothing in front, nothing behind. It felt wrong. Like aberrant actions in dreams; you feel that you must stop and question, but know that you won't be able to. I noticed the radio had been turned off.
I took my exit, and waited at the light. To my right, rows of closed shops leading to a city ready to burst to life. To my left, looming mounds of darkness silhouetted by moonlight. The light changed, and I turned left.
The darkness seemed to accentuate the twists and turns of the mountain highway. The drops off the shoulder had turned from slopes to beautiful valleys into an abyss whose glare hardened as each successful turn denied it of your substance. The will of the darkness pulsed rudely in the back of my mind, where I had banished it long ago. Far away, but never gone.
As the lights of men faded, the sky revealed the brightest of her bounty. Unfathomable gaseous monuments to our slightness deigned to share their light from impossible distances. A lifelong favorite cluster of these gods hovered over my destination. The oldest hunter known to this planet offered his consent before fading into the beginnings of the horizon's glow to leave me to my task.
I turned into the dirt clearing nearest my access point, quieted the car, and stepped out of my shell. As I moved the equipment off the car and on to me, my stomach growled loudly, threatening to expose me at my most silent if I didn't meet its demands. I opened the dense brick of nutrition I had brought along, and bit off a piece. Unlike the protein bars, this seemed to provide filling substance to my stomach, instead of small clumps of slow-release energy. My opponent sated, I adjusted the straps that clung to me, and closed the trunk.
The hunter gone, I now looked to the moon, which drifted imperceptibly toward a smaller mountain -my destination- on the horizon. It shined full, and urged me on with the knowledge that it too would soon be gone, and my magic hour lost. The moon somehow entranced me, and as an unintentional moment lost in contemplation elapsed, a shooting star appeared, and streaked in my intended direction before vanishing forever. Its swan song short, and without echo. But not unnoticed. My face brightened involuntarily at my luck, but my thoughts were still shrouded deep within my mind. I knew they had wished for something.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Sorry for the delay. I'm starting to feel it again.
Hello, the one reader that stuck with me :) I'm starting to hit my stride again, and I'm reigniting my relationship with my muse. The problem with my smart post is that it's hard to follow it up with a post of my usual caliber. So I've been waiting until I've had something smart to say. How long this will last (or if it ever started) is completely up to you.
Who cares? Enjoy a ketchup post!
I just finished my 6 months probation at the new job, and have become a valued member of the team due to the fact that I actually do work. I was happy to get away from the small company BS, but now I'm getting an introduction in big company BS. It only bugs me a little bit, because instead of taking tons of time measuring how much work I'm doing compared to everyone else and adjusting so I only do the bare minimum, I just do my fucking job as much as I can without dropping the ball. It's amazing how much time and effort people put into not doing their jobs. Maybe amazing isn't the right word. As for that promotion I was working toward, I was assured that I would have gotten it had the job existed by the end of the trial period. More big company BS meant a reorganization in the middle of my trial period for the job. The job I was going for was one of the casualties. I aired my disappointment at the situation, and moved on. I know I'm good, and so do they, so I'm just going to keep doing what I've been doing.
I'm not sure that I've said much about my hunting intentions here, but I'm going to change that now. A few years ago I took an interest in hunting, and without a friend or family member who hunted, I reached out to the online community. Bad idea. I'm not sure if it's hunters or just Californian hunters, but they were almost uniformly dismissive, derisive, and even discouraging. Most seemed to think I could only hunt if it did it their way, and the rest were more than happy to help so long as I paid to join their club, paid for their land, and paid for any game harvested. "Ranches" were the next place I looked, but most in the area were canned hunts. I started seriously considering saving up for a trip out of state, but the more I read about Southern Californian deer, the more of a challenge it sounded like. Very few people hunt Deer zone 15 because of the few deer and continually low harvest rates. But if you know me, and you might, you know I like a challenge. So I figured; at worst, I go hiking, get some fresh air and exercise, and enjoy some nature. And at best, I go hiking, get some fresh air and exercise, enjoy some nature, and do something other people don't/won't/can't do because they think it's too hard. And I do it all myself, without paying dues, fees, and respect to people who don't deserve any of the above. So for the last couple years I've been slowly gathering enough information to feel like I'm starting to know what I'm doing. As I've drawn closer to that point, I've been getting more aggressive. I know my way around all the dfg and usfs sites, and I've called ranger offices for the details I couldn't find online. I've been hiking more, and spending lots of time on Google Earth plotting game trails and identifying accessible areas to inspect more closely on upcoming hikes. My boss's boss was a hunter when he was younger and is getting back into it, so he's been giving me tips and advice that have been really helpful. It's starting to get exciting.
I found myself in a magazine. I looked at the cover, and there I was, the headline article. I didn't know it at the time, of course, but something in the back of my mind told me to buy it from the airport duty free shop. As I read the article on the plane, I began to assemble the puzzle pieces in my life that made my story tragic and victorious. Having never seen the box the puzzle came in, I was a little afraid of the picture the puzzle made. There were very few happy endings for people like me. After some research and soul-searching, I decided that whatever may come in the future, I should embrace my gifts now and enjoy their fruits later. I dare believe that my triumphs over what I thought was my disease (could still be, I suppose), would apply to this congenital mental whimsy. Events have aligned since this decision that have lead me to believe it was the right one. All that is left is practice.
Part of the above has been more writing. "Tac" and many others are swimming around in my head, and they need to be let out. As with writing this blog, the exercise is more important than the result. But in practice, I'm trying to make the two of equal import. Half for you, the reader, and the other half for any potential publisher. And yes, The Walking Dead series will continue and be completed (under a new name, of course). Any other bits that don't quite fit in will wind up here, so I welcome your cheers or jeers.
Since the iPad, I've been hoping for an Android tablet to come along and sweep me off my feet. Even as the first real contender arrived, I argued against software, hardware, and price, and waited. The Galaxy Tab 10.1 and the Motorola XOOM arrived with honeycomb fully executed, but at a price I was simply not willing to pay. As I patiently pined for a proper price point, there were some rumblings about the nook color e-reader making a splash in the third party ROM scene. Starting at $250, it certainly looked interesting. Only recently did CyanogenMod 7 start to really come into its own on the nook, just as Barnes & Noble started selling them at $200 (see coupon code), and the decision was all but made. I put up a good fight for a few weeks, but lost (won?) in the end. The Nook color running CM7 is a perfect fit. I get a day of hard use out of the battery, movies played from any format I choose, netflix, the excellent browsing experience Dolphin Browser HD provides with Flash 10.1, e-reader apps (nook app not working for me, fixes available, but I haven't cared), unfettered android market access, multitasking, vnc/rdp on a usable screen, very usable soft keyboard (thumb tap, vertically) all in a light package. There are some issues, of course, the case seems plastic-y and feels like it might shatter if dropped, the screen can seem really sensitive doing actions beyond a quick tap, there's a little chop in my scrolling, it's heavier than the e-ink nook/kindle versions, none of the usual android home/back/menu/search hard buttons (replaced with a hide-able soft button bar which works fine, but still isn't hard), few hardware features (gps, compass, keyboard, camera, flash, etc), and a few minor polish problems with CM7 on the nook. Most of the cons are because it's supposed to be a $200 e-reader, and are severely outweighed by the pros. Plus, most of the missing features aren't required for my use. It has been an excellent improvement to my workflow, and just like my Droid, I know it will only get better with future releases.
A few weeks ago (not really sure when) our cable box, purveyor of mindless entertainment, killer of time, and server of empty mental calories, ceased its assault. When I discovered this I made some halfhearted attempts to fix it, and I told my wife, who said it had broken some time ago, but she forgot to tell me. I confirmed the internet and game consoles still worked, and decided to bring in the box for replacement later. Except I didn't. It's been a month, and we haven't missed it, so the obvious questions arises. Do we really need it? I know the answer is "no, we don't need it," and I know I'll miss some great shows (I can always find them online if I need to), but it really is only for entertainment, and it seems we're getting our entertainment elsewhere. After writing this out, the answer seems obvious.
I brought the M1A out to the range a few more times after finding a great deal on some American Eagle 308. I was reminded of what Jeff Cooper said about ammo stored being potential skill left to gather dust, and decided to shoot it up. A few hundred rounds later, I was ringing the 10 inch gong at 400 yards off irons. I've still got a couple hundred rounds of skill left, and expect to improve. The M1A seems to shoot right when it gets hot, but in its defense, I was getting it too hot to hold. I was getting ready to adjust the sights, when I just let it cool down a bit, and it was right back to normal. That rifle is still very nice.
My wife's employer decided not to renew their lease, and her job disappeared with the building. Fortunately, my new job affords a high enough degree of stability for her to take her time looking for the right job instead of just any job. She's taking some of her time to get crafty with some paintings she's been meaning to make and sell on etsy, giving her that time and opportunity is something I'm happy to do for her.
That's about it for now, see you soon.
Who cares? Enjoy a ketchup post!
I just finished my 6 months probation at the new job, and have become a valued member of the team due to the fact that I actually do work. I was happy to get away from the small company BS, but now I'm getting an introduction in big company BS. It only bugs me a little bit, because instead of taking tons of time measuring how much work I'm doing compared to everyone else and adjusting so I only do the bare minimum, I just do my fucking job as much as I can without dropping the ball. It's amazing how much time and effort people put into not doing their jobs. Maybe amazing isn't the right word. As for that promotion I was working toward, I was assured that I would have gotten it had the job existed by the end of the trial period. More big company BS meant a reorganization in the middle of my trial period for the job. The job I was going for was one of the casualties. I aired my disappointment at the situation, and moved on. I know I'm good, and so do they, so I'm just going to keep doing what I've been doing.
I'm not sure that I've said much about my hunting intentions here, but I'm going to change that now. A few years ago I took an interest in hunting, and without a friend or family member who hunted, I reached out to the online community. Bad idea. I'm not sure if it's hunters or just Californian hunters, but they were almost uniformly dismissive, derisive, and even discouraging. Most seemed to think I could only hunt if it did it their way, and the rest were more than happy to help so long as I paid to join their club, paid for their land, and paid for any game harvested. "Ranches" were the next place I looked, but most in the area were canned hunts. I started seriously considering saving up for a trip out of state, but the more I read about Southern Californian deer, the more of a challenge it sounded like. Very few people hunt Deer zone 15 because of the few deer and continually low harvest rates. But if you know me, and you might, you know I like a challenge. So I figured; at worst, I go hiking, get some fresh air and exercise, and enjoy some nature. And at best, I go hiking, get some fresh air and exercise, enjoy some nature, and do something other people don't/won't/can't do because they think it's too hard. And I do it all myself, without paying dues, fees, and respect to people who don't deserve any of the above. So for the last couple years I've been slowly gathering enough information to feel like I'm starting to know what I'm doing. As I've drawn closer to that point, I've been getting more aggressive. I know my way around all the dfg and usfs sites, and I've called ranger offices for the details I couldn't find online. I've been hiking more, and spending lots of time on Google Earth plotting game trails and identifying accessible areas to inspect more closely on upcoming hikes. My boss's boss was a hunter when he was younger and is getting back into it, so he's been giving me tips and advice that have been really helpful. It's starting to get exciting.
I found myself in a magazine. I looked at the cover, and there I was, the headline article. I didn't know it at the time, of course, but something in the back of my mind told me to buy it from the airport duty free shop. As I read the article on the plane, I began to assemble the puzzle pieces in my life that made my story tragic and victorious. Having never seen the box the puzzle came in, I was a little afraid of the picture the puzzle made. There were very few happy endings for people like me. After some research and soul-searching, I decided that whatever may come in the future, I should embrace my gifts now and enjoy their fruits later. I dare believe that my triumphs over what I thought was my disease (could still be, I suppose), would apply to this congenital mental whimsy. Events have aligned since this decision that have lead me to believe it was the right one. All that is left is practice.
Part of the above has been more writing. "Tac" and many others are swimming around in my head, and they need to be let out. As with writing this blog, the exercise is more important than the result. But in practice, I'm trying to make the two of equal import. Half for you, the reader, and the other half for any potential publisher. And yes, The Walking Dead series will continue and be completed (under a new name, of course). Any other bits that don't quite fit in will wind up here, so I welcome your cheers or jeers.
Since the iPad, I've been hoping for an Android tablet to come along and sweep me off my feet. Even as the first real contender arrived, I argued against software, hardware, and price, and waited. The Galaxy Tab 10.1 and the Motorola XOOM arrived with honeycomb fully executed, but at a price I was simply not willing to pay. As I patiently pined for a proper price point, there were some rumblings about the nook color e-reader making a splash in the third party ROM scene. Starting at $250, it certainly looked interesting. Only recently did CyanogenMod 7 start to really come into its own on the nook, just as Barnes & Noble started selling them at $200 (see coupon code), and the decision was all but made. I put up a good fight for a few weeks, but lost (won?) in the end. The Nook color running CM7 is a perfect fit. I get a day of hard use out of the battery, movies played from any format I choose, netflix, the excellent browsing experience Dolphin Browser HD provides with Flash 10.1, e-reader apps (nook app not working for me, fixes available, but I haven't cared), unfettered android market access, multitasking, vnc/rdp on a usable screen, very usable soft keyboard (thumb tap, vertically) all in a light package. There are some issues, of course, the case seems plastic-y and feels like it might shatter if dropped, the screen can seem really sensitive doing actions beyond a quick tap, there's a little chop in my scrolling, it's heavier than the e-ink nook/kindle versions, none of the usual android home/back/menu/search hard buttons (replaced with a hide-able soft button bar which works fine, but still isn't hard), few hardware features (gps, compass, keyboard, camera, flash, etc), and a few minor polish problems with CM7 on the nook. Most of the cons are because it's supposed to be a $200 e-reader, and are severely outweighed by the pros. Plus, most of the missing features aren't required for my use. It has been an excellent improvement to my workflow, and just like my Droid, I know it will only get better with future releases.
A few weeks ago (not really sure when) our cable box, purveyor of mindless entertainment, killer of time, and server of empty mental calories, ceased its assault. When I discovered this I made some halfhearted attempts to fix it, and I told my wife, who said it had broken some time ago, but she forgot to tell me. I confirmed the internet and game consoles still worked, and decided to bring in the box for replacement later. Except I didn't. It's been a month, and we haven't missed it, so the obvious questions arises. Do we really need it? I know the answer is "no, we don't need it," and I know I'll miss some great shows (I can always find them online if I need to), but it really is only for entertainment, and it seems we're getting our entertainment elsewhere. After writing this out, the answer seems obvious.
I brought the M1A out to the range a few more times after finding a great deal on some American Eagle 308. I was reminded of what Jeff Cooper said about ammo stored being potential skill left to gather dust, and decided to shoot it up. A few hundred rounds later, I was ringing the 10 inch gong at 400 yards off irons. I've still got a couple hundred rounds of skill left, and expect to improve. The M1A seems to shoot right when it gets hot, but in its defense, I was getting it too hot to hold. I was getting ready to adjust the sights, when I just let it cool down a bit, and it was right back to normal. That rifle is still very nice.
My wife's employer decided not to renew their lease, and her job disappeared with the building. Fortunately, my new job affords a high enough degree of stability for her to take her time looking for the right job instead of just any job. She's taking some of her time to get crafty with some paintings she's been meaning to make and sell on etsy, giving her that time and opportunity is something I'm happy to do for her.
That's about it for now, see you soon.
Friday, April 29, 2011
I am very smart.
I recently finished Atlas Shrugged, which turned out to be the most important book I've ever read. The most important thing I took away from it was the title of this post. I am very smart.
I'm not kind of intelligent, I'm not weirdly smart, I don't just happen to figure things out. It is neither freaky nor scary that I understand, learn, comprehend, correlate, and retain a wide variety of information about a wide variety of topics faster than almost anyone I know.
I will no longer feel the need to make excuses for my intelligence, because I was conditioned to do just that, and never realized it until Ayn Rand wrote about people who intentionally limit your potential by making you feel bad for being better than they are.
At work, I am excelling at my tasks and surpassing coworkers who have been doing for years what I've been doing for 4 months. I knew I was good at my job, but I didn't have enough experience to know just how good I was. Coworkers have asked me to help them with things they should have been able to do. At the time it confused me, but after I realized why, I had to laugh. These people knew I was smarter than them, and I still didn't.
But how dare I think like this? I should hide my talent. I should bury my skills. I should pretend they are an accident. What would happen if I made someone feel bad about themselves?
It is smug.
It is vain.
It is prideful.
It is unseemly.
It is antagonistic.
It is condescending.
But it is the truth.
When I was very young, my mother told me that when the kids made fun of me for being so smart, it was because they were jealous. I rejected that notion immediately, and never revisited the premise. It took decades for me to realize it, but it is completely true. Yet the opposite was what I would have said without a thought before that realization.
What other self-limiting falsehoods lie in the unchallenged corners of my mind, planted long ago by the enemies of my ability?
What buried truths lay undiscovered?
Who have I become with these mental blocks placed in my path?
But more importantly...
Who could I be if I remove them all?
Is there a limit to my potential if I remove them all?
Is there anything that could stop me if I remove them all?
There's only one way to find out.
...by the way; who told you you weren't as smart as me?
Edit after comments: What if the people who are the engines of this world are not that way because of their natural ability, but because of their state of mind?
I'm not kind of intelligent, I'm not weirdly smart, I don't just happen to figure things out. It is neither freaky nor scary that I understand, learn, comprehend, correlate, and retain a wide variety of information about a wide variety of topics faster than almost anyone I know.
I will no longer feel the need to make excuses for my intelligence, because I was conditioned to do just that, and never realized it until Ayn Rand wrote about people who intentionally limit your potential by making you feel bad for being better than they are.
At work, I am excelling at my tasks and surpassing coworkers who have been doing for years what I've been doing for 4 months. I knew I was good at my job, but I didn't have enough experience to know just how good I was. Coworkers have asked me to help them with things they should have been able to do. At the time it confused me, but after I realized why, I had to laugh. These people knew I was smarter than them, and I still didn't.
But how dare I think like this? I should hide my talent. I should bury my skills. I should pretend they are an accident. What would happen if I made someone feel bad about themselves?
It is smug.
It is vain.
It is prideful.
It is unseemly.
It is antagonistic.
It is condescending.
But it is the truth.
When I was very young, my mother told me that when the kids made fun of me for being so smart, it was because they were jealous. I rejected that notion immediately, and never revisited the premise. It took decades for me to realize it, but it is completely true. Yet the opposite was what I would have said without a thought before that realization.
What other self-limiting falsehoods lie in the unchallenged corners of my mind, planted long ago by the enemies of my ability?
What buried truths lay undiscovered?
Who have I become with these mental blocks placed in my path?
But more importantly...
Who could I be if I remove them all?
Is there a limit to my potential if I remove them all?
Is there anything that could stop me if I remove them all?
There's only one way to find out.
...by the way; who told you you weren't as smart as me?
Edit after comments: What if the people who are the engines of this world are not that way because of their natural ability, but because of their state of mind?
Sunday, March 13, 2011
What gun for asteroid?
I'm sure you've all seen the unbelievable devastation caused by the tsunami in Japan by now, and I must ask all the preppers out there... What preps for a 20 foot, 30 MPH wall of water?
My brother and I were talking about this on the way out to the desert yesterday, and we were at a bit of a loss. To me, it feels like the "What gun for X" hypotheticals about outlandish scenarios you might find yourself in, and what gun you would choose.
The only thing we came up with was strapping a boat to your roof, or some kind of floating ocean hamster ball.
The destruction in the videos is so relentless, so complete, thatit's almost it IS unbelievable. It is a force of nature from which we have no defense.
May be a helipad on your roof?
My brother and I were talking about this on the way out to the desert yesterday, and we were at a bit of a loss. To me, it feels like the "What gun for X" hypotheticals about outlandish scenarios you might find yourself in, and what gun you would choose.
The only thing we came up with was strapping a boat to your roof, or some kind of floating ocean hamster ball.
The destruction in the videos is so relentless, so complete, that
May be a helipad on your roof?
Saturday, February 05, 2011
Some things change, some things never change.
It has been a little over a month since I started my new job, and I'm starting to feel like a normal human being again.
The sleep pattern is starting to be the norm, I'm getting over this weird cold that just seemed to linger for a few weeks, the new job stress took a couple hits when I got my first customer survey back (perfect), and some guy who's supposedly awesome was impressed with my work. Things are starting to feel normal again. But not that kind of normal I had at the last place, where things were slowly sliding downhill, and you never really realize that stress until it's gone.
Real normal.
Feels damn good.
I called my old paintball buddy when I decided to go paintballing the next day. The same old paintball buddy who had grown accustomed to me turning down every offer of an outing due to me being on call or some other engagement. And I do mean every. I went so far as to explain to him that I really did want to go, and to continue inviting me, but cosmic forces seemed aligned to prevent me from going paintballing with him.
Kharmicly, he was unable to go due to a prior engagement, however he hooked me up with one of his friends who asked him if he wanted to go the same day.
We hit it off immediately, all he had to do was mention "phantom" and "machine shop" and I could tell we were going to be best friends. He and his friend are stock class players, and run phantoms, so I told him I'd bring mine and we'd make it a triple. Since it'll just be three of us, he recommended we join a walk-on and take them to school. My kind of pump players.
I hit the local shop (the only one that's left) after work, and it turned out the shop owner was there. We started talking kit, and it turned out he was on the socal paintball scene for 12 years. When he found out who I knew and what I used to do, we caught up on common friends, and the ones who were no longer with us. We talked about the scene, the drama, how some things changed, and how other things never changed.
A lot of those times are over. There are glimmers of hope, but the scene is a shadow of what it used to be. The economy is to blame as much as silly drama.
The halcyon days of southern California paintball.
It made me sad that it was gone, but I was still happy to have been a part of it. It felt strange to talk about "the good old days." I'm only 27...
But time marches on, and the oppressive cost of doing business in California, and the high insurance rates for "shooting sports" forced fields to make up their costs by requiring players buy field paint instead of bringing their own. This paint was usually low quality and high cost to maintain the necessary margin the field needed to stay in business. This made players seek lower cost forms of playing, hence an uneasy spike in pump play.
Generally pump play is the polar opposite of the "Agg Kidz" (HK kids) I fought against in the sport. It's really easy to get your aggression going with 2 grand of kit slinging four cases of paint a day. "Whoops, lit up that last guy on the bunker, and he turned out to be a scared little kid just trying out the sport. Guess he won't be back! High five!" I'm hoping the return to pump play brought a return to focus to the game style down here, but I suppose attitudes don't necessarily have to change when play style changes. But I'm hopeful, and I'm going to find out today.
Blogging should return to normal once I get this new schedule figured out, and determine where it fits in it. I used to be able to write bits and pieces at work, but that won't be the case now. I'll be back. Don't worry.
The sleep pattern is starting to be the norm, I'm getting over this weird cold that just seemed to linger for a few weeks, the new job stress took a couple hits when I got my first customer survey back (perfect), and some guy who's supposedly awesome was impressed with my work. Things are starting to feel normal again. But not that kind of normal I had at the last place, where things were slowly sliding downhill, and you never really realize that stress until it's gone.
Real normal.
Feels damn good.
I called my old paintball buddy when I decided to go paintballing the next day. The same old paintball buddy who had grown accustomed to me turning down every offer of an outing due to me being on call or some other engagement. And I do mean every. I went so far as to explain to him that I really did want to go, and to continue inviting me, but cosmic forces seemed aligned to prevent me from going paintballing with him.
Kharmicly, he was unable to go due to a prior engagement, however he hooked me up with one of his friends who asked him if he wanted to go the same day.
We hit it off immediately, all he had to do was mention "phantom" and "machine shop" and I could tell we were going to be best friends. He and his friend are stock class players, and run phantoms, so I told him I'd bring mine and we'd make it a triple. Since it'll just be three of us, he recommended we join a walk-on and take them to school. My kind of pump players.
I hit the local shop (the only one that's left) after work, and it turned out the shop owner was there. We started talking kit, and it turned out he was on the socal paintball scene for 12 years. When he found out who I knew and what I used to do, we caught up on common friends, and the ones who were no longer with us. We talked about the scene, the drama, how some things changed, and how other things never changed.
A lot of those times are over. There are glimmers of hope, but the scene is a shadow of what it used to be. The economy is to blame as much as silly drama.
The halcyon days of southern California paintball.
It made me sad that it was gone, but I was still happy to have been a part of it. It felt strange to talk about "the good old days." I'm only 27...
But time marches on, and the oppressive cost of doing business in California, and the high insurance rates for "shooting sports" forced fields to make up their costs by requiring players buy field paint instead of bringing their own. This paint was usually low quality and high cost to maintain the necessary margin the field needed to stay in business. This made players seek lower cost forms of playing, hence an uneasy spike in pump play.
Generally pump play is the polar opposite of the "Agg Kidz" (HK kids) I fought against in the sport. It's really easy to get your aggression going with 2 grand of kit slinging four cases of paint a day. "Whoops, lit up that last guy on the bunker, and he turned out to be a scared little kid just trying out the sport. Guess he won't be back! High five!" I'm hoping the return to pump play brought a return to focus to the game style down here, but I suppose attitudes don't necessarily have to change when play style changes. But I'm hopeful, and I'm going to find out today.
Blogging should return to normal once I get this new schedule figured out, and determine where it fits in it. I used to be able to write bits and pieces at work, but that won't be the case now. I'll be back. Don't worry.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Being a good guy
Last week, my wife dropped me off at the shop where my car was waiting for me. I had already paid for it earlier and had the keys, so I just hopped in and got ready to leave. The mechanic who took care of me ran out, and knocked on my window. Apparently a guy in an RV broke my tail light backing up to leave. He left a complete note with his name, address, and two phone numbers. The damage was very slight. There was a deep scratch in the bumper, and outer plastic of the tail light was broken with no body damage. Perfect broken tail light.
I called him that weekend, and he asked that I get an estimate so he can figure if he's going to have his insurance take care of it, or just pay out of pocket. I said it was no problem, and that I would get some estimates. I was a little concerned about damage I couldn't see, and looked up shops that could get me an estimate. It wasn't until I started considering how much time it was going to take to get fixed that it even occurred to me to change it myself.
I checked eBay, and found I could get a replacement tail light assembly for $70, so I went out to the car, and spent about 30 minutes taking apart all the trunk paneling I could to get to the poorly located nuts that held the tail light in place. I could swap this out easily, and the scratch on the bumper was cosmetic. My car was far from brand new, and scars show character.
I considered asking for $300 to cover the damage, and just replacing the light myself. If I involved his insurance, his rate would very likely go up enough to make a one time $300 expense make sense. He'd be fine with it, and I'd have a little extra money in my pocket during these no OT times. It was the capitalist thing to do. Both people would be happy with the transaction. But one would probably be happier.
The more I thought about it, the harder it was to rationalize. Especially when it would have been easy for him to just drive away. Maybe $200 would be better? I didn't really feel good about profiting from this guy's mistake, but my time was still valuable. Bah, I'll just chalk it up to experience working on the car. $70 for the light, $30 for my labor. An even $100.
I called him up and told him I took apart my trunk to get behind the light, and saw I could replace it myself, and that I found a replacement light on ebay for $70.
John: So how much do you want?
ET: Figure 30 for my time. An even 100.
J: You sure?
E: Sure. [jokingly] But I am kind of giving your a break on my normal hourly rate though.
J: How about $150?
E: If that's what you want to pay, I'll take it.
We set up a meeting at the Starbucks I code at in the mornings.
The next morning he called to say he had arrived, and I told him where to find me. He was a little younger than I figured for RV folk, late 40s early 50s, pattern baldness around a well tanned head, short salt and pepper hair and beard. I half-closed my laptop, and stood slightly to shake his hand.
John: Nice to meet you.
ET: Nice to meet you too.
J: Thanks for being a good guy about this... [he seemed to think, "lord knows this could have gone the other way"]
E: No problem.
J: Well, here's the $150... [counts out $130] Wait a minute... I seem to have lost $20 on the way here. Hang on. [begins toward the door]
E: [I make a quick visual recount] Wait, John, you don't... [he was out the door]
[Is this a game? No. He counted it out in front of me, he's got a note, and he left me with the money. I hide the money under the handwritten notes and pen he brought. No point in leaving it sitting out. He returns, and I decided against making a joke about "what money?"]
J: [He seemed to notice that I looked very at home in my little section of this Starbucks. That's not good. I'm sick of this place already] You here often?
E: Every morning. I'm starting a business and working, so it's 5 every night, here to work on the business, then off to work.
J: Well, it's good what you're doing. [he counts it again and sighs] $130. I just came from the bank, and I got $140 out and had this $10. Not sure where that $20 is, but it looks like it's costing me $170. [takes out his wallet]
E: Forget about it.
J: No, no, I said $150.
E: It's your call, man.
J: Here you go. And I wrote up a quick note saying that I paid you for a broken tail light and bumper damage, if you don't mind signing it.
E: [It was a simple note, nothing lawyerish, not even printed on a printer] Of course. [I signed the simple document, and handed it back to him]
J: Did you want a copy?
E: Not necessary. Actually, there is one more thing... Since the accident, [I rubbed my neck emphatically] I've been having some neck pain...
J: [he grinned broadly] Really? And where were you during the accident again?
E: Well, I was a few miles away, but me and my car... we just have this bond...
J: [laughter]
E: You know, you thanked me for being a good guy about it, but you made it easy by being a good guy first.
J: Well, the first thing I did was go inside to see if they'd give me your number, but they couldn't because of client confidentiality or something, so I left them that note to give to you.
E: Well, I just appreciate you doing the right thing.
J: Thanks for being a stand up guy about this. Well, I gotta get back to my sick wife.
E: Oh! I hope she feels better.
J: It's cancer.
E: Oh...! [I could feel my eyes begin to water slightly. Over empathy strikes again!]
J: [he didn't break eye contact, his face didn't change from the pleasant expression he had the whole conversation, he didn't miss a beat] Don't worry about it, life goes on-- you're young, and you're here, makin' it happen. Thanks again for being a good guy about this.
E: [I barely croaked out:] Thanks. [not what I wanted to say, but it was what came out]
I can't believe I almost profited from this man.
If I said $300, he probably would have been less friendly, and less likely to open up to me. I would have continued on my merry way, $230 richer (or $296 if just got some red brake tape) and never given it a second thought. I would have never known that I created an unexpected expense for this man who's probably going through the hardest time in his life. Hell, even if he told me, there's no way he would have accepted his money back.
He was just some random jerk who smashed into my car, and inconvenienced my life. But after a few minutes with him, I have this connection to him that would never allow me to do what I could have just as easily do to some stranger. But that's what confuses me; technically, he's still a stranger. We're probably not going to hang out later, or talk about how my tail light is doing at the 5 Year Broken Tail Light Reunion. I only know a few things about him, and will probably never see him again, but I'll never regard him as some random jerk again.
This has been something I've pondered for a long time.
Sure, his problems aren't my problems, and I could have just as easily been self-righteous about giving him a moderately expensive lesson to remind him to be more careful when he maneuvered his RV. He could also just as easily have been fucking with me, and enjoying a big laugh at my expense on the drive home. But I'm glad I did what I did, and the lesson I learned will stay with me.
I called him that weekend, and he asked that I get an estimate so he can figure if he's going to have his insurance take care of it, or just pay out of pocket. I said it was no problem, and that I would get some estimates. I was a little concerned about damage I couldn't see, and looked up shops that could get me an estimate. It wasn't until I started considering how much time it was going to take to get fixed that it even occurred to me to change it myself.
I checked eBay, and found I could get a replacement tail light assembly for $70, so I went out to the car, and spent about 30 minutes taking apart all the trunk paneling I could to get to the poorly located nuts that held the tail light in place. I could swap this out easily, and the scratch on the bumper was cosmetic. My car was far from brand new, and scars show character.
I considered asking for $300 to cover the damage, and just replacing the light myself. If I involved his insurance, his rate would very likely go up enough to make a one time $300 expense make sense. He'd be fine with it, and I'd have a little extra money in my pocket during these no OT times. It was the capitalist thing to do. Both people would be happy with the transaction. But one would probably be happier.
The more I thought about it, the harder it was to rationalize. Especially when it would have been easy for him to just drive away. Maybe $200 would be better? I didn't really feel good about profiting from this guy's mistake, but my time was still valuable. Bah, I'll just chalk it up to experience working on the car. $70 for the light, $30 for my labor. An even $100.
I called him up and told him I took apart my trunk to get behind the light, and saw I could replace it myself, and that I found a replacement light on ebay for $70.
John: So how much do you want?
ET: Figure 30 for my time. An even 100.
J: You sure?
E: Sure. [jokingly] But I am kind of giving your a break on my normal hourly rate though.
J: How about $150?
E: If that's what you want to pay, I'll take it.
We set up a meeting at the Starbucks I code at in the mornings.
The next morning he called to say he had arrived, and I told him where to find me. He was a little younger than I figured for RV folk, late 40s early 50s, pattern baldness around a well tanned head, short salt and pepper hair and beard. I half-closed my laptop, and stood slightly to shake his hand.
John: Nice to meet you.
ET: Nice to meet you too.
J: Thanks for being a good guy about this... [he seemed to think, "lord knows this could have gone the other way"]
E: No problem.
J: Well, here's the $150... [counts out $130] Wait a minute... I seem to have lost $20 on the way here. Hang on. [begins toward the door]
E: [I make a quick visual recount] Wait, John, you don't... [he was out the door]
[Is this a game? No. He counted it out in front of me, he's got a note, and he left me with the money. I hide the money under the handwritten notes and pen he brought. No point in leaving it sitting out. He returns, and I decided against making a joke about "what money?"]
J: [He seemed to notice that I looked very at home in my little section of this Starbucks. That's not good. I'm sick of this place already] You here often?
E: Every morning. I'm starting a business and working, so it's 5 every night, here to work on the business, then off to work.
J: Well, it's good what you're doing. [he counts it again and sighs] $130. I just came from the bank, and I got $140 out and had this $10. Not sure where that $20 is, but it looks like it's costing me $170. [takes out his wallet]
E: Forget about it.
J: No, no, I said $150.
E: It's your call, man.
J: Here you go. And I wrote up a quick note saying that I paid you for a broken tail light and bumper damage, if you don't mind signing it.
E: [It was a simple note, nothing lawyerish, not even printed on a printer] Of course. [I signed the simple document, and handed it back to him]
J: Did you want a copy?
E: Not necessary. Actually, there is one more thing... Since the accident, [I rubbed my neck emphatically] I've been having some neck pain...
J: [he grinned broadly] Really? And where were you during the accident again?
E: Well, I was a few miles away, but me and my car... we just have this bond...
J: [laughter]
E: You know, you thanked me for being a good guy about it, but you made it easy by being a good guy first.
J: Well, the first thing I did was go inside to see if they'd give me your number, but they couldn't because of client confidentiality or something, so I left them that note to give to you.
E: Well, I just appreciate you doing the right thing.
J: Thanks for being a stand up guy about this. Well, I gotta get back to my sick wife.
E: Oh! I hope she feels better.
J: It's cancer.
E: Oh...! [I could feel my eyes begin to water slightly. Over empathy strikes again!]
J: [he didn't break eye contact, his face didn't change from the pleasant expression he had the whole conversation, he didn't miss a beat] Don't worry about it, life goes on-- you're young, and you're here, makin' it happen. Thanks again for being a good guy about this.
E: [I barely croaked out:] Thanks. [not what I wanted to say, but it was what came out]
I can't believe I almost profited from this man.
If I said $300, he probably would have been less friendly, and less likely to open up to me. I would have continued on my merry way, $230 richer (or $296 if just got some red brake tape) and never given it a second thought. I would have never known that I created an unexpected expense for this man who's probably going through the hardest time in his life. Hell, even if he told me, there's no way he would have accepted his money back.
He was just some random jerk who smashed into my car, and inconvenienced my life. But after a few minutes with him, I have this connection to him that would never allow me to do what I could have just as easily do to some stranger. But that's what confuses me; technically, he's still a stranger. We're probably not going to hang out later, or talk about how my tail light is doing at the 5 Year Broken Tail Light Reunion. I only know a few things about him, and will probably never see him again, but I'll never regard him as some random jerk again.
This has been something I've pondered for a long time.
Things would be very different if everyone realized that all the nameless, faceless people they pass by every day had the same hopes, fears, ambitions, insecurities, loves, hates, and life that they had.
When people start seeing themselves in other people; how could they do wrong?
~From post A Blog's Purpose
Sure, his problems aren't my problems, and I could have just as easily been self-righteous about giving him a moderately expensive lesson to remind him to be more careful when he maneuvered his RV. He could also just as easily have been fucking with me, and enjoying a big laugh at my expense on the drive home. But I'm glad I did what I did, and the lesson I learned will stay with me.
Wednesday, October 06, 2010
Mad Rush - Philip Glass
[direct link]
I've been discovering Steve Reich lately, and this was on one of his playlists. I usually have the music playing in the background as I work or do something else, but when this came on, about half way through I realized that I wasn't working. I was just listening, staring right through my computer screen, and letting the music move me.
Music should move you like that.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Monday, August 09, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Sometimes people vanish from the face of the Earth
Last week we celebrated the finalization of my parents' divorce.
Wow. That is such a strange sentence to write out. Almost as strange as the fact that we were celebrating what would have been crushing mere years prior. I guess it should be a reminder that life will always surprise us.
My former mother decided to celebrate by sending my dad a picture of herself smiling, with the caption, "Look at me I'm Happy!!!!" Dad, having not physically seen her for quite some time, was surprised, and forwarded the picture to my sister. My sister called to warn me, then forwarded it to me. The warning wasn't enough.
She had obviously undergone a few plastic surgeries, and her face barely looked as I remembered.
I called my sister immediately. Previously, we had talked about how she had changed into a different person in all aspects but her appearance. The commonly heard phrase was "this person walking around in mom's body." But now we talked about how she had completed the transformation. That woman really IS someone else now. Inside and out. My mother is gone. I've already mourned her loss, but this was still hard to see.
I wonder how many other people are out there, tightly coiled just beneath the surface, ready to spiral out of control at turn into a different person over the course of a few mere years. So sad, these unbalanced people. More sad, those around them who can't see it because they are blinded by love and kinship.
Wow. That is such a strange sentence to write out. Almost as strange as the fact that we were celebrating what would have been crushing mere years prior. I guess it should be a reminder that life will always surprise us.
My former mother decided to celebrate by sending my dad a picture of herself smiling, with the caption, "Look at me I'm Happy!!!!" Dad, having not physically seen her for quite some time, was surprised, and forwarded the picture to my sister. My sister called to warn me, then forwarded it to me. The warning wasn't enough.
She had obviously undergone a few plastic surgeries, and her face barely looked as I remembered.
I called my sister immediately. Previously, we had talked about how she had changed into a different person in all aspects but her appearance. The commonly heard phrase was "this person walking around in mom's body." But now we talked about how she had completed the transformation. That woman really IS someone else now. Inside and out. My mother is gone. I've already mourned her loss, but this was still hard to see.
I wonder how many other people are out there, tightly coiled just beneath the surface, ready to spiral out of control at turn into a different person over the course of a few mere years. So sad, these unbalanced people. More sad, those around them who can't see it because they are blinded by love and kinship.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
"You're all assholes."
Through a bit of luck, I was off on a day when my friend was speaking at a local hacker meeting. I was going to be anti-social, but I dragged myself there, and was rewarded with some interesting conversation.
One guy told us about a talk he saw called "You're all assholes." So named because they took suggestions on what to do the talk on, and got suggestions like "Email," "Websites," and "SSH." At which point they realized their attendees were all assholes. The talk continued, mostly about how you were supposed to be attending the meeting because you wanted to engage in a high-level discussion about application and network functions, but instead, were attending because you don't understand basic computing.
The final point of the talk was; if you're not personally interested enough to look up some basic information yourself by spending the day at Barnes and Noble or the library with a pen and notepad (recently found one of my old notepads) or (at the risk of sounding "kids these days have it so easy") do a simple fucking google search and just start reading, then you are never going to have the complete knowledge necessary to effectively consider all possible attack vectors, and effectively exploit them.
Almost any human can learn or do just about anything if they have the drive to do it. But there is a difference between someone who can do something, and someone who wants to do something.
This is why enthusiasts will always beat the people who are only doing something because it's their job.
The enthusiast will do the extra research, work the extra hours, and return the next day excited to continue.
We were expanding on this point to a newbie, and I started listing the things you need to know and be able to do to be an effective hacker, and surprised myself with all the things I've taught myself the years in order to accomplish my goal. Esoterica abound.
But I still do it, because I still love it.
The old saying about finding out what you're good at, and finding out what you love doing is still very much in effect. I just wonder if my generation had time to find out what those things are.
One guy told us about a talk he saw called "You're all assholes." So named because they took suggestions on what to do the talk on, and got suggestions like "Email," "Websites," and "SSH." At which point they realized their attendees were all assholes. The talk continued, mostly about how you were supposed to be attending the meeting because you wanted to engage in a high-level discussion about application and network functions, but instead, were attending because you don't understand basic computing.
The final point of the talk was; if you're not personally interested enough to look up some basic information yourself by spending the day at Barnes and Noble or the library with a pen and notepad (recently found one of my old notepads) or (at the risk of sounding "kids these days have it so easy") do a simple fucking google search and just start reading, then you are never going to have the complete knowledge necessary to effectively consider all possible attack vectors, and effectively exploit them.
Almost any human can learn or do just about anything if they have the drive to do it. But there is a difference between someone who can do something, and someone who wants to do something.
This is why enthusiasts will always beat the people who are only doing something because it's their job.
The enthusiast will do the extra research, work the extra hours, and return the next day excited to continue.
We were expanding on this point to a newbie, and I started listing the things you need to know and be able to do to be an effective hacker, and surprised myself with all the things I've taught myself the years in order to accomplish my goal. Esoterica abound.
But I still do it, because I still love it.
The old saying about finding out what you're good at, and finding out what you love doing is still very much in effect. I just wonder if my generation had time to find out what those things are.
Friday, July 02, 2010
I want to write an astronomy textbook.
So at the end I can write; "tl;dr It's turtles all the way down."
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
You're talkin' 'bout my generation???
Wanna get down on those kids these days? Read this first.
Everything he said lines up with my upbringing.
Being told in elementary school to test for the gifted classes because it would look great on my college resume. Spending weekends and summer doing community service, because "Everyone's going to have great grades, you've got to be well rounded to stand out on your college application!" Looking through the club catalog endlessly, trying to find something that interested me in the slightest because that "shows that I have a passion for my education, and will add to my college application." We considered hyphenating my last name to make it more obviously reflect my latino heritage because white males have a much harder time getting into college than minorities. I can't count the amount of times I was told that the student loans for college wouldn't matter, because I'd be making 200k a year in my profession, whatever it was going to be. Every "B" was a death sentence, because every student who could took every AP course they could, and worked between 3 and 8 hours on homework every night so they could get the coveted 5.0 GPA, and "guaranteed" acceptance to the college of your choice. The years of preparation and months of endless studying sessions cramming for the SATs, because if you messed up on them, you could kiss college good bye. I knew those kids because I was smart too, and seeing what they did to maintain their impossible grades made me feel sorry for them. Especially when one of them got an A- through no fault of their own. The anguish these kids felt over their college aspirations crumbling to dust didn't make much sense to me at the time.
Now it just makes me feel mad at their parents.
Parents who told their children that perfection was not only achievable, but required. They parroted the dogma of the education experts as if it were their own, and fought for the ideal as if it were the only thing one could be expected to do.
We didn't need the perfection you never attained.
What we needed was the rebellious spirit your generation held in such high regard.
We needed that spirit so we could use it against you, and stop you from turning us into little academic machines.
We needed to be allowed to grow up to be well adjusted adults, with some basic idea of who we are.
Now those of us that have achieved academic perfection by eschewing personal growth have stepped out into the world, turned back to our parents who gave us what they presented as The Secret Formula for a Happy Life, and ask, "Now what?"
To which you reply, "I dunno, but times are tough, and you gotta pay rent if you're going to stay here. The Subway down the street is hiring."
Then you complain that my generation is full of socially maladjusted adolescents and slackers???
Fuck you.
Fuck.
You.
They say every generation is like their grandparents' because kids rebel against their parents. I hope that my generation figures out that it is owed one childhood of mirth and discovery, and makes sure the next generation has one.
I began to wonder how the Boomers managed to break the cycle of rebellion, but the answer is all over that first paragraph. Fear. If you didn't go to college you were going to be a failure. The Boomers' fear of failure made their kids failures.
I guess that leads us to an interesting conclusion about the Boomers; they felt like failures themselves. They must nothave felt feel that what they did with their youth was valuable. I'd tell you to keep your self-loathing to yourself, but it's obviously too late for that.
I don't like that it now sounds like I'm blaming all this on the Boomers, but like the guy says, the only alternative is to blame children for doing what they were told.
Everything he said lines up with my upbringing.
Being told in elementary school to test for the gifted classes because it would look great on my college resume. Spending weekends and summer doing community service, because "Everyone's going to have great grades, you've got to be well rounded to stand out on your college application!" Looking through the club catalog endlessly, trying to find something that interested me in the slightest because that "shows that I have a passion for my education, and will add to my college application." We considered hyphenating my last name to make it more obviously reflect my latino heritage because white males have a much harder time getting into college than minorities. I can't count the amount of times I was told that the student loans for college wouldn't matter, because I'd be making 200k a year in my profession, whatever it was going to be. Every "B" was a death sentence, because every student who could took every AP course they could, and worked between 3 and 8 hours on homework every night so they could get the coveted 5.0 GPA, and "guaranteed" acceptance to the college of your choice. The years of preparation and months of endless studying sessions cramming for the SATs, because if you messed up on them, you could kiss college good bye. I knew those kids because I was smart too, and seeing what they did to maintain their impossible grades made me feel sorry for them. Especially when one of them got an A- through no fault of their own. The anguish these kids felt over their college aspirations crumbling to dust didn't make much sense to me at the time.
Now it just makes me feel mad at their parents.
Parents who told their children that perfection was not only achievable, but required. They parroted the dogma of the education experts as if it were their own, and fought for the ideal as if it were the only thing one could be expected to do.
We didn't need the perfection you never attained.
What we needed was the rebellious spirit your generation held in such high regard.
We needed that spirit so we could use it against you, and stop you from turning us into little academic machines.
We needed to be allowed to grow up to be well adjusted adults, with some basic idea of who we are.
Now those of us that have achieved academic perfection by eschewing personal growth have stepped out into the world, turned back to our parents who gave us what they presented as The Secret Formula for a Happy Life, and ask, "Now what?"
To which you reply, "I dunno, but times are tough, and you gotta pay rent if you're going to stay here. The Subway down the street is hiring."
Then you complain that my generation is full of socially maladjusted adolescents and slackers???
Fuck you.
Fuck.
You.
They say every generation is like their grandparents' because kids rebel against their parents. I hope that my generation figures out that it is owed one childhood of mirth and discovery, and makes sure the next generation has one.
I began to wonder how the Boomers managed to break the cycle of rebellion, but the answer is all over that first paragraph. Fear. If you didn't go to college you were going to be a failure. The Boomers' fear of failure made their kids failures.
I guess that leads us to an interesting conclusion about the Boomers; they felt like failures themselves. They must not
I don't like that it now sounds like I'm blaming all this on the Boomers, but like the guy says, the only alternative is to blame children for doing what they were told.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Something our mother gave us
I had a late-night bitch session with my sister at the local 24 hour diner over many many cups of tea. She just needed to vent about the people in her life, and their confounding personalities. People who do things without even knowing it, people who hurt other people to make themselves feel powerful, people who use people that feel obligated to put up with it.
We just kept coming back to "Why don't these people see what they're doing?" and "Why don't these people just say 'fuck off' and not let it happen to them?"
It is kind of strange to realize that a couple of 20 somethings are more self-aware and mature than middle-aged fathers and family members.
I guess that's one thing our mother gave us; the lesson that your natural reaction is not always the right one.
When we realized that we were subconsciously giving her a pass just because we felt like we were supposed to, we learned to rethink our feelings, and react according to the breadth of our consideration and logic. We saw right through her manipulative words, tone, demeanor, emotion, tears, peas, and right at the truth: she wanted to make us feel bad because she felt bad. She ran us through her 18 year course on manipulative people, and we've learned every trick in the book. Now, I measure the time I spend with my defenses down instead of the time I spend with them up, and my sister considers herself cold and impassive. But it's really just refusing to let anyone else control you by forcing your reaction.
Manipulative people say and do things intentionally to make you think or act a certain way. Even if it's an insignificant result, they do it because it makes them feel powerful. "I made him scared." "I made her feel bad." "I made him do what I wanted him to do." "I have control over how this person feels, and they don't even realize it!"
So don't react.
Because when manipulative people fail to manipulate you, they either try harder, or get frustrated. Either way, they become easy to identify, put into your list of people not to trust, and mentally prepare for in the future.
An unintentional comment made by a non-manipulative person will just be dropped (because they didn't mean for it to cause a reaction), or followed up quickly by an apology (because they didn't think before they spoke).
We also marveled at the thoughtless people who simply acted or reacted automatically, without considering what they were saying, who it would impact, or WHY their immediate reaction was what it was.
Self unaware people who damage their relationships because they don't think logically about their reaction. "Why am I angry about this?" "Is this really the person I should be mad at?" "Why am I about to say this, and how will it affect my loved ones?"
Unfortunately, my sister and I have little tolerance for broken people; people who act or react because they have some subconscious hang-up. It's not technically their fault, because most people don't know they're broken, and at the time, I'm sure the action feels natural and correct. But to lack the consideration to review your action in hindsight? That's not something we put up with for long.
So we surround ourselves with people we can trust, or at least understand. Not reacting, or reacting mechanically has made it easier to process the speech, tone, body language, and general feel of the speaker, and be a better judge of their character and personality. Once we find those people we can trust, we can lower the drawbridge and relax with them without worry. Or short of trust, we can enjoy their company in one capacity, but not others.
We're glad our mother gave us the ability to identify our demons and exorcise them, but it hasn't done a thing for our misanthropy :) Part of being a good judge of motives and character means not being able to ignore the machinations (intentional or not) of the people you are required to deal with. This makes some people intolerable. Even (and usually especially) the ones who manipulate others to be well liked.
Come as you are, and speak your mind freely as often as you can. Life is too short to spend with controlling people, and your happiness is too important to strain it dealing with the thoughtless ones.
We just kept coming back to "Why don't these people see what they're doing?" and "Why don't these people just say 'fuck off' and not let it happen to them?"
It is kind of strange to realize that a couple of 20 somethings are more self-aware and mature than middle-aged fathers and family members.
I guess that's one thing our mother gave us; the lesson that your natural reaction is not always the right one.
When we realized that we were subconsciously giving her a pass just because we felt like we were supposed to, we learned to rethink our feelings, and react according to the breadth of our consideration and logic. We saw right through her manipulative words, tone, demeanor, emotion, tears, peas, and right at the truth: she wanted to make us feel bad because she felt bad. She ran us through her 18 year course on manipulative people, and we've learned every trick in the book. Now, I measure the time I spend with my defenses down instead of the time I spend with them up, and my sister considers herself cold and impassive. But it's really just refusing to let anyone else control you by forcing your reaction.
Manipulative people say and do things intentionally to make you think or act a certain way. Even if it's an insignificant result, they do it because it makes them feel powerful. "I made him scared." "I made her feel bad." "I made him do what I wanted him to do." "I have control over how this person feels, and they don't even realize it!"
So don't react.
Because when manipulative people fail to manipulate you, they either try harder, or get frustrated. Either way, they become easy to identify, put into your list of people not to trust, and mentally prepare for in the future.
An unintentional comment made by a non-manipulative person will just be dropped (because they didn't mean for it to cause a reaction), or followed up quickly by an apology (because they didn't think before they spoke).
We also marveled at the thoughtless people who simply acted or reacted automatically, without considering what they were saying, who it would impact, or WHY their immediate reaction was what it was.
Self unaware people who damage their relationships because they don't think logically about their reaction. "Why am I angry about this?" "Is this really the person I should be mad at?" "Why am I about to say this, and how will it affect my loved ones?"
Unfortunately, my sister and I have little tolerance for broken people; people who act or react because they have some subconscious hang-up. It's not technically their fault, because most people don't know they're broken, and at the time, I'm sure the action feels natural and correct. But to lack the consideration to review your action in hindsight? That's not something we put up with for long.
So we surround ourselves with people we can trust, or at least understand. Not reacting, or reacting mechanically has made it easier to process the speech, tone, body language, and general feel of the speaker, and be a better judge of their character and personality. Once we find those people we can trust, we can lower the drawbridge and relax with them without worry. Or short of trust, we can enjoy their company in one capacity, but not others.
We're glad our mother gave us the ability to identify our demons and exorcise them, but it hasn't done a thing for our misanthropy :) Part of being a good judge of motives and character means not being able to ignore the machinations (intentional or not) of the people you are required to deal with. This makes some people intolerable. Even (and usually especially) the ones who manipulate others to be well liked.
Come as you are, and speak your mind freely as often as you can. Life is too short to spend with controlling people, and your happiness is too important to strain it dealing with the thoughtless ones.
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
Want to know how to build a time machine?
Stephen Hawking will tell you in simple, easily understandable terms.
Daily Mail: STEPHEN HAWKING: How to build a time machine
BONUS: He'll also shatter your preconceptions of time!
Daily Mail: STEPHEN HAWKING: How to build a time machine
BONUS: He'll also shatter your preconceptions of time!
Thursday, February 04, 2010
I cried because I had no shoes...
...until I met a man who had no feet.
Occasional guest poster at The Firearm Blog, Y-Man, is a Nigerian firearms enthusiast with severely (government) limited access to firearms, and even certain types of ammo. It's even difficult for him to get parts for his firearms.
In spite of those restrictions, he is fabricating parts for his Mossberg 500A, and changing birdshot into self-defense capable slugs.
The ingenuity is excellent, and goes to show; you can't keep a gunny down.
Check out his posts, and his latest one with videos!
It may also serve as a reminder to gun grabbers that the genie is out of the bottle. Unless you can wipe the memory of the world, enterprising individuals will always find a way.
Cheers Y-Man, from the other side of the world!
Betcha he's better with his one shotgun than most American gunnies are with any one of their dozens of guns.
Occasional guest poster at The Firearm Blog, Y-Man, is a Nigerian firearms enthusiast with severely (government) limited access to firearms, and even certain types of ammo. It's even difficult for him to get parts for his firearms.
In spite of those restrictions, he is fabricating parts for his Mossberg 500A, and changing birdshot into self-defense capable slugs.
The ingenuity is excellent, and goes to show; you can't keep a gunny down.
Check out his posts, and his latest one with videos!
It may also serve as a reminder to gun grabbers that the genie is out of the bottle. Unless you can wipe the memory of the world, enterprising individuals will always find a way.
Cheers Y-Man, from the other side of the world!
Betcha he's better with his one shotgun than most American gunnies are with any one of their dozens of guns.
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