Just Assperimenting

I just want to see how this looks on my page, and see if it works. I did, however, make sure it is a wicked cool song for you to hear.

Sialorrhea

I'ma spit some words at you like a rapper with sialorrhea.

Google search for Thingzorz. I don't get it either.

You may or may not know me very well. So you may or may not know that I occasionally have problems with procrastination and overwhelm. I procrastinate the things until they have piled into a big mountain of THINGZORZ!!ARGH! and I am afraid to even touch it so I end up paralyzed with overwhelm and I do nothing and fail out of college.

This has understandably caused me some problems over the last 28 years (yes, even babies can procrastinate). I have struggled for some time to find a way to get things done and be effective in spite of these hurdles. And I believe I have found something that might have worked.

When I think about all that I need to do, my to-do list becomes an all consuming doom-beast and I end up cowering in fear. So, instead I absolutely refuse to think about the future. I exist now and only now. Just now. And then I pick something to do. Just one thing. I only have to do one thing. And then when I'm done with that, I relax a little. It is actually pretty nice. I'm never stressed, and I get things done. The only possible issue is that I occasionally let the relaxation sessions stretch out pretty long. But, every plan has a weakness and this one is pretty decent.

You know, there really wasn't any reason to share this with the world. But I thought it out while washing dishes this morning and I felt like writing. So, I got all sialorrhea on you guys and this is what happened.

Epitaph

Have you seen V for Vendetta? It is, after all, November 5. I imagine most of you have seen the film. Think now on the character V. And if you haven't seen the movie, think instead of Frodo or Boromir. Or, if you are unfamiliar with them, think of Batman and his battle with Gotham. If you are unfortunate enough to be ignorant of all of these, think of Nikola Tesla; a man who gave his life to science.

What do these men share in common? They are all men who accomplished. Mankind, as a whole, loves stories about men of their caliber. We love the idea of these characters. For myself, I find the concept of characters like this so fascinating that I read their story whenever I find it. What is it about these men that grabs our interest? What is it about these characters that pulls us into their story and compels us to care about them? I do not know you, so I cannot speak for you. But I can speak for myself. And so I will.

These men, these characters and their lives, are defined in my head by the same qualities. These lives that I read about are lives of purpose. They are lives of accomplishment. And they aren't just accomplishments of convenience. The stories that grip me are the stories of characters who pursue their goals with unwavering determination. They are the stories characterized by ambition and drive. By goals. By vision.

These are men who have thought long and hard about life and about the world in which they live. These are men who color their existence with vibrant hues of passion. Right or wrong, these men have determined exactly where they are going. Right or wrong, these men care so deeply, and believe so strongly, that they are willing to sacrifice everything in pursuit of their goal.

These are the qualities that I find so compelling. And I find them compelling because they are everything that I am not. They are everything that I wish to be. Where they have drive, I am lost. Where they have passion, I am listless. Where they have vision, I am confused.

These men are wearing out their lives striving to build monuments to their ambition; seeking to shape the world to their vision.

I can't help but wonder...

...what will be written on my tombstone?

Ethics. Who needs 'em....

I've got some thoughts floating around. Real good ones. Let's get started.

I think we can all agree that every person has some sense of what is right, and what is wrong. A person may have a very skewed view of right and wrong, but at least everyone has some sense of morality. And ever since humans have had these views of right and wrong, they have been arguing over who's set of rules is right. And that is why we have so many ethical systems. Let's review a couple of these.

Divine Command Theory-- This ethical theory states that right and wrong are based on what God likes and dislikes; what he commands and forbids. So, if this is true, an act is neither right nor wrong unless God has said something about it.

Individualism-- This is the idea that right and wrong is based around what any one individual decides. This one kind of sucks. But still, it's out there, and I thought I'd present it for your ridicule.

Hedonism-- The idea that right and wrong is determined by pleasure and pain. What is good, is what brings pleasure. What is bad is what causes pain. If this assumption is correct, there is a lot of discussion to be had over how to start applying it. But think on this if you want.

Utilitariansim-- With this theory, actions are right if and only if they lead to greater good for a greater number of people than any alternative action. Again, this leaves us open to lots of discussion. But, there it is.

Kant-- Not totally sure on this one, but I am pretty sure Kant believes that actions are right or wrong in and of themselves. There are rules that we must follow, and the rules must not be broken in any situation. Something like that.

Okay...there are some theories. I don't care which you chose to believe. If you don't like any of them, I can give you some more to mull over. But, having put those in your mind, I'd like to transition now into meta-ethical territory. What is good? Where does it come from? I am going to talk about a couple things now. If at any point you disagree, please put your opinion in the comments. I will read it. Also, if you are aware of any relevant research, please direct me to it.

Regardless of what moral theory you hold, you have to cede that every person on Earth learned morality from their parents and the society they were raised in. I think it is wrong to challenge you to a duel to the death. However, in the past, that was perfectly acceptable. Even encouraged, in some situations. And this is simply a product of society. Of course, not all of morality is specific to individual cultures. Much of morality overlaps across the majority of civilization and history. For example, it is almost always wrong to kill someone for no reason at all. But where does this come from?

When I look at the very root of things, I don't really find a reason why something is bad. What I end up seeing is that we don't like something, so we called it bad. Then we taught all our kids it was bad, and now the whole world thinks it is bad to disrespect your elders.

The question I want you to all think about is this: What makes something good or bad?

I know some of you are going to be divine command theorists, and tell me that God said so, and that's that. But why did God say it was wrong for me to use your femur as an axe handle? I want someone to explain to me the source of right and wrong. Is it something ephemeral that exists in dark energy of the universe? Something we tune into as we grow older? What caused that? Why are some things right, and some things wrong?

And, if you can't explain this to me, or simply don't care to, then tell me what ethical code do you adhere to? What set of rules do you use to determine the right or wrongness of your actions?

The Colors of Life

There are very few stories that have not already been told. In fact, this story differs from others you have read only in specifics of names, dates, places. But this story will be told here, and it will be told again elsewhere, because stories are more than names, places, and events. Stories are how we know we have souls. The words of a story go beyond simply being sound waves and stir something much deeper. Stories are the flaxen cords that connect our souls together and weave the grand fabric that is humanity. And though this story is written down, not all stories are. Most, in fact, are being told as you live them. The story of you. The story of how you lived, loved and eventually died. Some stories connect many souls together. This one, however, is the story of just two.

In a tree, on a hill, in a field not unlike the field you are thinking of now, there was a little boy. In this little boy's hand, there was a bird. I don't know what kind of bird it was, but I do know the little boy loved it very dearly. The boy and the bird had shared much together, and their story was beautiful.

Well before this moment in the tree, the boy was walking home from school on a very normal day. The day was very normal, like most of the days in his life. If days could be described by colors, the boys days were mostly the color of an average yard in an average suburb. Green, but not vibrant. Brown, but not dead. On this very normal day, as the boy walked home, he had an experience that was brilliantly different from every other very normal day so far. If his very normal days were greenish-brown, this moment was every color of the rainbow, swirled together with all the light the sun had ever seen fit to share with the earth. The source of this brilliant and vibrant moment was the singing of a bird in a tee nearby. The boy was entranced by the beauty of the bird's song, and he moved closer to better hear the cacophony of beautiful color that the bird was singing.

A few moments later, after singing every note in its heart, the bird stopped and looked down at the boy. The boy extended his hand and the bird saw fit to come say hello. The boy talked to the bird and tried to describe the beautiful experience the bird had given him. The bird seemed to smile kindly, but obviously did not understand how deeply the boy had been influenced. Still, the bird immediately enjoyed the boy's company. The bird decided to stay in the boy's hand all the way to his house.

The boy did everything he knew to make the bird's home perfect. He gave the bird a home, he kept it clean. He fed the bird. He talked to the bird. He gave everything he could to take care of this most beautiful thing, this bird that had come into his life. And in return, the bird sang to the boy. The bird brought this boy more happiness than anything he had ever experienced. And he in turn sought to make the bird happy.

Both were happy. The boy cared for the bird; the bird sang for the boy. But as time went on, the boy noticed that the bird seemed to carry a weight. The bird sang just as beautifully, but there was less light. The colors were all there, but not as bright. This made the boy very sad. He loved the bird. He truly did. And he wanted the bird to be happy. He thought and he thought, wondering what invisible weight was burdening the bird. And then, one day, he understood. He understood that the bird, his closest friend and dearest love, was a bird.

And that brings us back to the tree on the hill in the field. The boy had climbed the tree with the bird because birds do not belong in houses. They belong in trees. And above all, birds fly. The boy knew that for the bird to be truly happy, it would have to fly. And the boy could not fly. He was just a boy.

As he sat there in that tree, he looked at the bird. Though he held the bird in his hand, it was hard to see through the tears. He cried. He told the bird that it was time to fly. As soon as he released the bird, it was gone. High and far, the bird flew, until all the boy had left was a hint of song, floating over the field with flashes of yellow and hints of blue.

The boy went home. He was terribly sad to have lost his dear friend. But he knew that the bird was somewhere flying high in a perfect sky. He knew the bird was truly happy, and this made him smile.

Time went on, and the hurt was buried in memories of happiness. The bird was gone, but it had left the boy with memories of joy. The bird had shown the boy what true happiness is. And sometimes, as the boy walked through greenish-brown days, rays of brilliant color would float down from the sky. The bird was still singing for him. The bird did not forget the boy. And the boy loved the bird. And the bird loved the boy. But birds need to fly, and he was just a little boy...

Hello Nasty

I am currently listening to this album:

I don't know if any of you listened to this record, as a whole, but I am 98% certain that 61% of you have heard the track Intergalactic. It was a relatively successful hit in the year 1998 when I was 14 and still thought I was a bad ass rebel for buying a "rap" album. If you listen to this in its entirety you will see how uninformed I was. I did not understand what rap was. My dad's criticism, "If you want rap, why are you buying an album from three Jewish white boys?" rings a bit too true. Uninformity aside, this album had an interesting story that parallels my adolescent experience. I bought this record because I had recently seen VH1 and had the epiphany that it was bringing enlightenment to my backwater village. It just so happened that one of the videos played on that episode of the “Top 10 Countdown” was Intergalactic. So, I bought the album because TV told me it was cool. It then sat around for a couple months before I got the courage to get out an album with an “EXPLICIT LANGUAGE” sticker. Eventually, I did and I subsequently listened to this record for some months until it became apparent (or I thought it was apparent) that this album was not considered cool. Cool Beastie Boys was the 1986 album, License to Ill with the iconic track No Sleep Till Brooklyn. As it happens, I hate that song. In fact, I hated it then but could not admit that fact, lest I be ridiculed and perceived as "out of the loop." So, in a misguided effort to seem cooler, I gave my Hello Nasty album to Jordi Steenstra, presumably because he liked it. After all, he told me he did.

However, I think he was lying. A few weeks later I found the album lying in the grass of his yard, cuddling the porch like a hobo cuddles the pillars of an overpass. This album was released right around the time marketers realized they didn’t have to put all CD’s in the same crappy plastic box and could use more traditional packing materials like card stock. And I found it in the grass. Weeks without a home and the fancy new packaging fared about as well as a Hallmark card. (Are you still listening to this record?) So, I secretly rescued it, bringing it home to my bloated CD collection. Despite the case being in the early stages of decomposition the actual disc cleaned up nicely and I moved it into my regular rotation. I loved this record. In fact, I still love it. It is a funky fusion of hip hop, rap, jazz, and whatever else they feel like. And it’s good. To be fair, I am speaking only of the sounds. I have no idea what any of the lyrics are. 14 years later and I still don’t know. I may have a condition that prevents me from learning lyrics. But anyway, I was talking about how this paralleled my adolescence. But, in the interest of promoting cognitive development in our (make sure you listen to track 14, at the very least) society of lazy brained tech addicts, I am going to leave it to you to figure out how my life is like my relationship with this CD. Please leave your thoughts in the comments section below. If you do, I will send you a special gif. Thank you.