tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69911967164529166982024-02-19T07:50:56.765-05:00Whatever Comes to Mind...Logo under (re)construction.NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.comBlogger84125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-78906939059661638862013-04-09T04:53:00.000-04:002013-04-09T04:53:17.467-04:00This is not funny.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
You know you live in an "upper-middle-class" white neighborhood when you are considered a suspect in a daylight robbery case for walking around wearing a hoodie and sunglasses.<br />
<br />
It's almost like the Trayvon case, only instead of the neighborhood watch, it was [township name] <b>police</b> and instead of gun, it was a savage German Shephard police dog (K9 unit), a police cruiser, a patrol car, and a whole lot of intimidation techniques, including targeting exhibited weaknesses such as a) fear of dogs, b) panic disorder, and c) years of institutionalized oppression.<br />
<br />
And instead of being black, the suspect is guilty of being slightly less WASP-y looking than the rest of the residents, and he was talking on an expensive smartphone, which indicates that he is either planning a robbery or selling drugs, because people who wear black and have long hair and piercings and facial hair are criminals, especially if they look masculine.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
--<br /><br />I am SO glad I get a full tax refund.<br />
<br />
Our schools suck, our roads may as well be made of cobblestones and bits of broken glass, and our police department has nothing better to do on a bright Sunday afternoon than bring three on-duty patrol vehicles (including the K9 unit) to confront a twenty-year-old going for a walk...because he was going for a walk..and utilize every intimidation technique in the book to make sure he is beaten down and knows his place, and scared enough that he wouldn't dare lodge a complaint, because he looks like an easy target and with all those pockets on his pants it would be simple to plant an ounce of weed on him. Maybe more!<br />
<br />
Isn't it sad that we are FORCED to support "law enforcement" like this? <br />
<br />
--<br /><br />I'm terrified right now, because if you couldn't guess, the "suspect" named above was/is <b>me</b>. <br />
<br />
I already have a terrible fear of law enforcement, which is exactly what they want. They intimidate people into keeping quiet, just like a good servant of a nanny state ought to.<br />
<br />
I'm sick of it, though. I am <b>targeted</b>, and I even made the mistake of telling them I have panic attacks and I'm afraid of dogs.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I had a complete panic attack and nervous breakdown, in broad daylight, <b>on the r<span style="font-size: large;">oad in front of my <span style="font-size: large;">house</span></span></b></span>, <span style="font-size: large;">and the police officer asked if I needed an ambulance, and I guess I said no, so he <b>drove away, leaving me there on the ground hyperventilating and unable to see<span style="font-size: large;">, hear<span style="font-size: large;">, or speak clearly.</span></span></b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">The wors<span style="font-size: small;">t part is that I don't remember <span style="font-size: small;">his name. Joe, I think. Last name was It<span style="font-size: small;">alian. Bald. Or balding? Big gu<span style="font-size: small;">y. Instantly scary. I wish I could have run away, but he <span style="font-size: small;">probably would have sho<span style="font-size: small;">t me. I was<span style="font-size: small;"> at the bottom of my d<span style="font-size: small;">riveway. My house. Where I live<span style="font-size: small;">. I wish I <span style="font-size: small;">could have run away. I should have. I should have run as soon as I saw police anything. But they would shoot me. <span style="font-size: small;">There is absolutely nothing to say they wouldn't, and here's why:</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I <b>said</b> I was having a panic a<span style="font-size: small;">ttack. I managed to choke those words <span style="font-size: small;">out. If <span style="font-size: small;">a panic atta<span style="font-size: small;">ck is not <span style="font-size: small;">interrupted (and there<span style="font-size: small;"> are many ways so to do), it <span style="font-size: small;">can cause a myriad probl<span style="font-size: small;">ems relating to oxygen depr<span style="font-size: small;">ivation and extreme <span style="font-size: small;">h<span style="font-size: small;">ormonal<span style="font-size: small;">/neurotransmitter influx. A serious panic attack can turn into <b><span style="font-size: small;">cardiac a<span style="font-size: small;">rrest</span></span></b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> if not treated. It is a <b>medi<span style="font-size: small;">cal issue.</span></b><span style="font-size: small;"> It is a healt<span style="font-size: small;">h concern. It is <b>clear and present danger</b> with regards to the indi<span style="font-size: small;">vidual. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">And the police <b>drove away.</b> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">They left me there, on the ground, gasping for breath, sweating bullets <span style="font-size: small;">on a 35-degree<span style="font-size: small;"> day in wintertime.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">They <span style="font-size: small;">are liable for so many things. Th<span style="font-size: small;">ey <span style="font-size: small;">can lose their <span style="font-size: small;">jobs, their careers, their pensions, their badges, their firearms licenses, their benefits, their tax breaks, and their diplomatic immunity (let's get real here, connections get you places). </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">They can be liable fo<span style="font-size: small;">r lots of money in damages. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">If <span style="font-size: small;">only I kne<span style="font-size: small;">w how to complain, and to whom, and about what.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I am too scared, though. I am too scared that they will laugh<span style="font-size: small;"> at me, <span style="font-size: small;">or arrest <span style="font-size: small;">me for badmouthing the police, or for thought cr<span style="font-size: small;">imes, or <span style="font-size: small;">plant weed on me (don't deny that it happens, again, let's get real). I<span style="font-size: small;">'m also scared that<span style="font-size: small;"> the more likely situation w<span style="font-size: small;">ould come true - th<span style="font-size: small;">at they'<span style="font-size: small;">d simply deny it.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">And since it's the word of a police off<span style="font-size: small;">icer against the word of a mentally di<span style="font-size: small;">sabled, unempl<span style="font-size: small;">oyed</span> 20-year<span style="font-size: small;">-<span style="font-size: small;">old</span></span></span> c<span style="font-size: small;">ollege dropout, well...you can probably guess how that would go.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">--</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">On 5 April 2013, between 1300h and 18<span style="font-size: small;">30h<span style="font-size: small;">, <span style="font-size: small;">a home in <span style="font-size: small;">[my <span style="font-size: small;">neighborhood] was burglarized. The s<span style="font-size: small;">uspect(s) stole jew<span style="font-size: small;">ellery from the master bedroom<span style="font-size: small;"> as well as "<span style="font-size: small;">items"</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> from the rest of the house after forcing the door in.<br />
<br />
The police seriously suggested "don't keep your jewellery in the master bedroom."<br />
<br />
What the actual fuck? That sounds an awful lot like "she was dressed like she was asking for it." Like, seriously, how reactionary can you get?! Holy shit. It's 2013.<br />
<br />
The suspect(s) remain at large.<br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I'm going to hide out places and try and catch the actual burglar(s).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">In the unlikely scenario they target our house (it might look like an easy target, but it also doesn't look like there's anything valuable inside, because there's not, and the other houses look empty and richer in general because they are both) I crave the opportunity to jump them and viciously attack them for their crimes against me. It's because of people like them that I am being intimidated into not going for walks around my own damn neighborhood in broad daylight. I can instantly think of several weapons in my room alone and a multitude downstairs (we have three knife blocks in the kitchen...three...really?)</span><br />
<br />
--<br />
After all, it's probably just some kid in a hoodie.</div>
NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-782311548779954442013-04-08T18:11:00.001-04:002013-04-08T18:11:43.273-04:00A History of...What You Make of It! (pt. I)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I was reading a discussion - yes, a discussion, not a comment war,
for once - on the state of black Americans. Not "people of color," just
the black ones.<br />
<br data-mce-bogus="1" />
It's actually a great
discussion. Ordinarily if a white person (or, really, anybody) was to
say something like "it's not the buildings, the school lunches, white
people, or poverty that's the problem - it's the parents not instilling
the correct values in their kids," they would be instantly deemed a
hateful racist bigot. <br />
<br />
But...they'd be correct. And also not a hateful racist bigot, but that goes without saying. <br />
The
miserable state of public education in the United States, especially
parts of the South and Southwest, has been well-known and
well-documented for decades. Decades. I mean, it's not like it magically
got better as soon as the Civil Rights Movement finally saw success,
but then inexplicably became shitty again in the recent past.<br />
<br />
I live in Newtown Township, Pennsylvania, which is comprised entirely of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Newtown_Township,_Delaware_County,_Pennsylvania" target="_blank">the town of Newtown Square</a>. Newtown Square has grown considerably, and in fact is continuing to grow, but our population is still roughly 12,300. Newtown Square itself is, according to the 2000 census, 96% white. It's logical to assume that this hasn't changed very much. Well, perhaps not <i>logical</i>, but availability heuristics usually make sense around here.<br />
<br />
All the new constructions are aimed at rich families, mostly because Episcopal Academy moved to Newtown Square several years ago and, I'll admit, it's a good school. The campus is kinda ugly and industrial-looking, but that's probably just because it lacks the character of a place that wasn't built, you know, within the last five years. At least all <i>their</i> students with cars/licenses can park on campus!*<br />
<br />
In any case, Newtown Square and its immediately surrounding areas, except for places like Chester, Marcus Hook, and parts of Upper Providence and Marple Townships, unmistakably exhibit obvious reminders of this area's history as a country (and later, "suburban") retreat for rich Philadelphians, all of whom were white, and a fair amount of whom were actually European. By that, I mean that they are inhabited by rich, or at least "upper-middle-class" white people.<br />
<br />
So, in the end, it makes sense that rich black people wouldn't necessarily want to live in a development full of rich white people. Who would?** They're uppity and rude and generally very conservative and, more often than not, religious. In a bad way.*** I'm glad I live in a neighborhood that is mostly retirees and young families. In my neighborhood, at least, people are more down-to-earth, especially the older people.<br />
<br />
I mean come on, who can live to 60+ and still think it's sensible to have their heads in the clouds? Some of my neighbors definitely remember the Civil Rights Movement itself, and lots of them were affected in some way or another by the Vietnam War. And there was other stuff that happened. Lots of stuff. Is it in all of our history textbooks? I doubt it.<br />
<br />
I remember one time, when I was much younger, talking to a woman who lived a few houses down. I don't recall her name, for whatever reason - assuming I even knew it at the time - but I do remember she just looked like the kind of "little old lady" you'd see at church, or the grocery store, or post office...you know. She wasn't "frail", but definitely old. And she was white. And she told me about how she got kicked out of her home once for marching <b>with</b> black people demanding civil rights - apparently her father was not fond of the idea of her attending college with black people!<br />
<br />
Think about it - somebody alive in the 2000s who remembers <b>this</b>. Crazy how far we have come. Crazy, too, how far we have yet to go.<br />
<br />
-- <br />
<br />
I live with my family in Newtown Square. We are not rich white people. We aren't WASPs. In fact, there's more evidence asserting my father's grandparents were Jews, not Russian Orthodox (what kind of people were trying to get <i>out</i> of Russia in the early 20th century, remember?) like I've been told. And I'm not a Protestant. And there's <i>much </i>more "Saxon" in us than "Anglo." And that also doesn't matter a fucking bit, because we're American, and that's so much simpler and easier to say.<br />
<br />
My parents are not old. When I was born, my mother was 28 and my father was 33. That's the age when most couples have children, assuming one or both went to some institute of higher education and then either worked or went to graduate school and <i>then</i> got married, and didn't have kids right away until they knew they could support a family. You know, how responsible (or, admittedly, sometimes overly-cautious) people approach the idea of having kids.<br />
<br />
So now, both of my parents are still well under 60. My mother isn't even 50. Oh, and her mother is still alive, as is <i>her</i> mother...my great-grandmother...it was a different time, I suppose!<br />
<br />
My father is not old enough to remember the Civil Rights Movement actually happening. He was five when the Act was passed in 1964. My mother was an infant! Oh, but their parents...their parents knew. Their parents had been brought up in a naturally racist culture, even my paternal grandmother (who was born in what is now the Czech Republic). My mother can speak at length about her late father's extensive vocabulary****, including a vast arsenal of racial slurs. Go figure.<br />
<br />
Contrast with my father's family - namely his mother and older sister. His mother was a social worker with an impressive resumé. She attended Smith College (you know, the highly-selective and very highly-regarded all-women's college? one of the only such schools in the country? that one) and was apparently so good at what she did that her dissertation was <a href="http://books.google.com/books/about/The_Use_of_a_Psychiatrist_in_Family_Case.html?id=Y8OkPgAACAAJ" target="_blank">published</a> in 1945.<br />
<br />
1945. Woman. <i>Immigrant</i> woman. At a <i>very good</i> college. Hell, <i>at <b>a </b>college</i>! Published author. Highly regarded social worker. My late grandmother.<br />
<br />
How many women do you think went to college in 1945? Your guess is as good as mine. But I'll bet a fair amount of my non-existent money that there were not nearly enough to say with any degree of sincerity that women were held to standards as high as men were.<br />
<br />
She went to college, graduated, <b></b>and <i>then</i> got married and raised three children. And worked. She touched the lives of hundreds of people, if not more. She lived to help others. She quietly set an example that is still evident today.<br />
<br />
My paternal grandmother died of natural causes in October 2006, in a way a relief to her children and grandchildren. She had been in declining health for years, since I was quite young, and had suffered from a form of dementia for the year or so leading up to her death. I can understand why my father has changed so much since his mother died, especially after losing his father (whose story would occupy another five pages at least) in 1984.<br />
<br />
It's all very complicated, isn't it? I shall have to continue this story another day...<br />
<br />
-JB </div>
NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-87310630499718836602013-03-22T18:37:00.000-04:002013-03-22T18:37:17.141-04:00Confessions, pt. I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>I'm not going to put this on the Dickinson "confession" page, since I don't need to be anonymous because I'm not scared.</i><br />
<br />
I dislike it when people assume that I am a white, heterosexual, cis-gendered male, and <i>really </i>dislike when they assume I have what is commonly referred to as "white privilege."<br />
<br />
I don't care to go into much detail on this point, so I'll just say it now - I am a feminist. Got it? Good. :) <br />
<br />
I'm white, that's obvious. I'm Saxon, though, not Caucasian. In terms of <i>recent</i> <i>heritage</i>, calling all white people "Caucasian" is like calling all black people "African."* My ancestors didn't come from the Caucasus region. They came from Saxony. A <i>really</i> long time ago, if you want to go <i>way</i> back, I suppose they were likely some kind of Goth culture, and probably mingled and/or fought with the Celts, who also make up a small part of my ancestry. I don't really know. I am fascinated with genealogy and the like, but haven't researched my own history prior to roughly 1702. But I'm not Caucasian. <br />
<br />
<b>I'm queer</b>. I'm in a relationship with a female, but I am not heterosexual! Being queer unfortunately still serves to effectively eliminate much of what people believe are afforded the "typical" American white male. I can marry my current partner**, sure, but I am equally likely to be attracted to someone of the same biological sex, and wish to marry them*** - which presently would be denied outright in <i>the vast majority</i> of the United States, including my home state, which once again is planning to put forth a bill defining marriage, which is completely unconstitutional!<br />
<br />
I don't check the box for "M" when asked my "gender" and given only two choices, because I refuse to have anybody tell ME how to identify. If they ask for my <i>sex,</i> then yes, it is "M," as there are only two biological sexes. Nature would not work otherwise. A person is either biologically male or biologically female.**** Fun fact: in utero, we <i>all</i> start out female. That's why men have nipples, you know. "Gender" is a social construct. It is useful, but it's entirely artificial all the same. I happen to identify as <b>androgynous</b> or <b>gender-queer</b>. This doesn't have anything to do with my physical appearance, which happens to be rather masculine (though not overtly so, thankfully). It's how I feel about myself. I do not <i>want</i> to be a masculine man! It feels wrong to me. Additionally, I don't want to be a female. I sometimes act more feminine and display feminine traits, but I do not believe I am trapped in the wrong body.<br />
<br />
Fun fact (again): Some people are annoyed or confused by it, but I <b>really like</b> seeing people whose gender identity and/or biological sex is indeterminate! I love the mystery and the immense self-confidence it takes to express it in public (see: any Pride festival). My girlfriend happens to look very feminine and act like a girl and dress like a girl. Luckily she's not a super-girly-girl. She's very low-key. She's obviously female and I find her extremely attractive. There's plenty mysterious about her anyway. XD<br />
<br />
And my goodness, people, <b>I'm not upper class</b>. I act it because I went to a prep school with primarily upper-class people. I shouldn't act like it anymore, because let's be honest, I live in cow country and drive a (used) 2008 TrailBlazer that needs a lot of work because I can't afford a car of my own.<br />
<br />
<b>I'm not "rich." </b>If I had gone to public school and subsequently attended a public university or community college, I still wouldn't be "rich." This is, of course, presuming you mean "rich" in terms of PPP, or "purchasing power parity," which is for our intents and purposes synonymous with "cash on hand." I have three siblings. We happen to have all attended private schools our whole lives. Why? Well, lots of reasons. For one, it is my parents' choice. Two, my father attended the school that my brothers and I attended, so he knew it would be a high-quality education.<br />
<br />
Three, we were thoroughly unimpressed with our local school district when we moved here fifteen years ago and, to be honest, we still don't much fancy it. If anything, it's gotten worse. I happen to know the district high school is rife with drugs, both use and sale thereof, and I'm not just talking soft stuff like marijuana and benzodiazepines. For two, there's a shit ton of bullying, and we are all atypical and therefore targets. My brother is now an athlete, but he used to be an overweight butterball. He would have been fucking tortured. My other brother has ADD and plays the cello and guitar and is involved with the VEX robotics team. Besides the fact he wouldn't have those opportunities at a public school, he would have been bullied incessantly for not being athletic. None of us would have gotten any kind of special accommodations for our various learning disabilities. We would have been forgotten and blended in to the crowd and done very poorly academically as a result.<br />
<br />
Then there's me. I have Asperger's Syndrome, or AS, a form of high-functioning autism that would essentially put the finishing touches on the bullseye drawn on me by everything else about me that is different. I could never have come out at a public school. I would fear for my life. It was bad enough coming out at The Haverford School. It wasn't much easier being out at Dickinson, but for different reasons.<br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
I was miserable at Dickinson College. I was worse off there than I was at The Haverford School, and that's the truth. The people at Dickinson treated me terribly - professors and students alike, though mostly the latter - and I ended up retreating into a shell and simply not going to classes because I mentally could not stomach it. I also couldn't sleep or wake up like a normal person, and that still hasn't been fixed.<br />
<br />
Let me go on record now as saying the following:<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>I have had nothing but positive interactions with the <b>administrative staff</b> of Dickinson College. Stop making people like Dan Confer and Tim Poirier the butt of jokes and target of criticism. Let's see you do their jobs better!</li>
<li>The Disability Services department is <b>outstanding</b> and whatever you are paying people like Marni Jones, it isn't enough.</li>
<li>Accepting a bid from and subsequently pledging and becoming a brother of the <b>Delta Sigma Phi</b> fraternity (Theta Lambda chapter) together constitute what I truly believe to be among the best life choices I have ever made.</li>
<li>There is a lot of potential for <b>Spectrum </b>and the <b>Feminist Collective</b> to be major forces for good and positive change on campus and even in the broader Carlisle community, but they are being held back by an unfortunately large amount of members who simply must get off their high horses and regain an appreciation for logic and reason as well as rational debate. If I don't entirely agree with you, <b>that doesn't mean I am against you</b>. Grow up. Someday you will realize that it's people like you who actually <b>harm</b> the queer rights and feminist movements, respectively, because <i>no one </i>will take seriously somebody who is entirely convinced of their own inherent superiority.</li>
<li>If you complain about the food in the cafeteria, you better have your own personal chef and butler back home, or else you <b>are</b> (not sound like, <i>are</i>) a whiny, spoiled, sheltered little kid. It's one thing to say mom's cooking is better. I'd hope so, since mom doesn't have to prepare institutional-sized meals three times a fucking day. It's another to say "I pay $56K a year and <i>this</i> is what they feed me?" If you can afford the meal plan, you can <i>definitely</i> afford to simply buy and prepare (that means <i>cook</i>) your own food. Protip: I'm pretty sure that will actually be cheaper than a meal plan.</li>
<li>Girls, <b>please</b> stop assuming that men are all rapists. Just please, for your own sanity and our dignity, just stop. Wear whatever clothing you want. Just know that all people will judge by appearances regardless. Sorry, that's life. Wearing a super-short skirt doesn't mean you're "asking for it," obviously, but it does mean that you are comfortable with your body and want to show it off. Now, answer me this: are you trying to make other girls jealous, or do you want guys to notice you? Be honest. You can't dress like a "slut" (read: deliberately showing off your body, which is not bad, really, trust me, it's great) and then complain about men/people just wanting you for your body. In a loud, crowded room, I'm not going to notice your personality, and I probably won't even hear you if you're talking. I'm just gonna see DAT ASS and DEM TITTIES and suchlike. That doesn't mean I instantly want to fuck you. It doesn't mean that to any man unless he is what we call "immoral," meaning he believes women are inferior and can simply be "taken" and "used" for one's pleasure. Those people are called "rapists" and they are felons. The one kind of inmate the other inmates hate...yep, you guessed it. </li>
<li>On that note, most rapes aren't reported. That is sad. Stand up for yourselves. There are <b>so many </b>resources available to help you. You are not alone and you do not deserve to be a victim. Nobody does. But only you can take the first step towards ceasing to be a <b>victim</b> and becoming a <b>survivor</b>.</li>
<li>Guys, people wouldn't think we're all rapists if we toned it down a bit. Seriously, stop acting like a deprived animal. Have some self-respect. While you're at it, <b>have some respect for women!</b> As I literally <i>just</i> said, they aren't dressing sexily to give you the green light. And if that <i>is</i> their purpose, trust me, they will let you know one way or another. </li>
<li>Please stop buying kegs of Natural Light. It is ridiculously fucking stupid for people to stand around at a party and talk almost exclusively about how bad it tastes. A keg of Yuengling is literally $20 to $40 dollars more expensive <b>at the most</b>. Plus, if you are known as "the people who have good beer," well, you know...</li>
<li>Putting Vladimir brand vodka through a Brita filter several times doesn't work, sorry people. </li>
<li>I wish I had stayed at Dickinson, I truly do.</li>
</ul>
<br />
---<br />
<br />
* Lots of Caribbean people are black. Some of them are darker-skinned than many "black people" in the United States. Some Hispanic people <i>look</i>
"black" but you wouldn't call them "African-Americans," you'd call them
"Dominican" or "Honduran" or "Haitian" and so on and so forth as the
case may be.<br />
<br />
** Legally, I <i>can't</i>, yet, without parental consent. We'll both be 21 come July, at which point it is legal to obtain a marriage license and legal civil union independently of parents/guardians.<br />
<br />
*** I am pansexual, meaning I can find anybody attractive sexually and emotionally and everything in between. But that doesn't mean I want to fuck every person I see (in fact I find most people decidedly unattractive) - and it certainly doesn't mean I could leave my girlfriend at any time for somebody else! I wouldn't let go of her for the world. <br />
<br />
**** People are <i>very rarely</i> born with ambiguous genitalia. It's a very exceedingly rare genetic malfunction. They are no less healthy than anybody else, but determining their sex is entirely up to them and is often a very sensitive subject.</div>
NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-24990567275755878682013-02-18T11:52:00.002-05:002013-02-18T11:52:48.168-05:00The Desparate Delusion, pt. I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I recently found myself reading the blog of a very serious and heavily indoctrinated Christian man no more than 25 years old.<br />
<br />
I felt so sorry for him for having reached practically the point of no return in his absolute delusion, living in a fantasy world, entirely of his own construction, where his god and the Christian Bible - which he takes literally, although he does not say which version - are all that matters.<br />
<br />
It pains me knowing there are still (and always will be) people so weak of spirit and mind, people whose lives are so meaningless and whose existence is so frail that they invest all their energy in what they call "having faith."<br />
<br />
Reason, logic, and critical thinking, however - a potent triad often confusedly absent in "people of faith," especially when their "faith" is challenged - would sooner refer to this devotion to faith as, essentially, a dissociative defense mechanism. The problem is that the activation of this defense is a gross over-reaction to what is often nothing more than the observation or knowledge of some thought or action that is so different from the person's own that it is shocking and therefore must be "bad."<br />
<br />
A perfect example would be trans* individuals and their acceptance in modern culture. In the officially secular USA, discrimination and outright (usually church-sanctioned) hatred abounds. In India, also officially secular, the majority religion is Hinduism (80% or more of the population,) and because Hinduism has deities of ambiguous gender or sex (or species!), trans* individuals don't innately go against Hindu beliefs by simply existing!<br />
<br />
Interestingly, the Christian Bible says nothing about sex-changes or transgender individuals at all, although at some point I believe it does prohibit male genital mutilation.<br />
<br />
Pretty sure Islam encourages devout practitioners to cut out the clitorides of their wife/wives.<br />
<br />
In any case, I've grappled my whole life with trying to understand why people give themselves over to ANY doctrine or philosophy. I was always terrified of it. Terrified of not being in control of my life, of letting some invisible being manipulate me and the world around me according to some ancient texts...<br />
<br />
People turn to religion when their lives are so shitty that they have given up trying to regain control.<br />
<br />
Thus, religion is effectively a means of dealing with depression in varying degrees of severity for people without the resources, education, or mere willpower to find another way of facing their problems and dealing with their life.<br />
<br />
Religion is for cowards. Religious devotion, literal interpretation of texts, "having faith" - they are all simply a means of escape from the problems of the real world, a means of escaping what HUMANS do in the HUMAN world, of which the person in question is undoubtedly a part.<br />
<br />
Religion, therefore, when taken to such extremes, is practically indistinguishable from a serious mental illness.<br />
<br />
Think about it.<br />
<br />
Think about all the things religion asks of you, and think of all the extremes to which people will interpret those requests. Then, think of all the instances in which people DO reach those extremes. Realize it happens every single day.<br />
<br />
The Middle East is the way it is now for two reasons: The British Empire and Islam. It's mostly because of Islam (and subsequently Judaism,) but also because the Brits took a map of the Ottoman Empire after World War I and divided it with a ruler and pencil and pissed off the already angry Arabs in the area, since they were forced to be in the proximity of people with a different interpretation of their scriptures.<br />
<br />
Oh no, these people think differently...better kill them for the next hundred years!<br />
<br />
Religion is a mental illness.<br />
<br />
Religion drives people to murder. To murder many at once. To commit genocide.<br />
<br />
In America, we've seen some pretty awful shit lately. The mass shootings the media loves to pin on anything from "lax" gun control laws to violent video games and death metal are in fact committed by people with one thing in common: they are mentally disturbed or ill.<br />
<br />
Religion is indistinguishable from mental illness.<br />
<br />
Religion is a disease.<br />
<br />
It is the most potent and deadly in world history.<br />
<br />
Unless we as a race wake up very soon, religion will continue to destroy the world using as a weapon the very beings who created it - humans.</div>
NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-53869120965902196552013-01-23T15:57:00.000-05:002013-01-23T15:57:03.639-05:00Thoughts for a Friend<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>I do not ordinarily mix business and personal, nor do I often stray from my tendency</i> <i>to maintain consistent subject matter on each of my blogs or my many internet profiles</i>. <i>However, as this particular blog long ago wandered from the realm of photography and art, it is just as well suited for the occasional philosophical rambling or socially-conscious rant as it is for personal reflections. </i><br />
<br />
<i>This is the latter.</i><br />
<br />
<i>-- </i><br />
<br />
"Belief in fate is only failure to realize all our actions have a purpose."<br /><br />Though this message may seem positive, remember that some purposes are ill-intended, and some actions will not lead to the desired results. <br /><br />This particular quote is actually one of mine, pulled from a rather lengthy post of mine in a discussion thread on the old VenomScape Forums (now styled "NullCoding's 'venomscape'" and existing in a mothballed state) regarding religion. I do not recall exactly <i>what</i> aspect of religion was being discussed - perhaps it was as simple as "are you religious?" or a more complicated question of a distinctly philosophical nature, as the members of the forum and I were often prone to asking and subsequently discussing at great length.<br />
<br />
While I cannot currently locate the original thread, I definitely recall one of the major contributors to that particular (and, indeed, every) religious and/or philosophical discussion being one Nikolaas Kardinn. At the time, Nik (as he prefers to be addressed) was no more than fourteen years old, provided I am correct in placing the date of this discussion between fall of 2009 and winter of 2010.<br />
<br />
Nik was born on 4 May 1995 in Anderlecht, Brussels, Belgium, to a Flemish father and Franco-British mother. His mother was technically only a citizen of France at the time of Nik's birth, but due to EU law that has since been enacted, she (like all other native-born citizens of EU nations) is technically afforded rights of citizenship in both the UK and France (as well as Belgium). Because of his cultural and ethnic heritage, mostly on his mother's side, Nik was given two full names at birth - Nikolaas Matthijs Kardinn and Nicolas Matthieu-duBois Camerier. Only the former (Dutch) name is officially recorded, and thus is by default his legal name.<br />
<br />
Nik was affectionately called "Nico" in his childhood, but was taunted occasionally because that sounded like "neko," the Japanese word for "cat" Though the two words should ordinarily be pronounced differently, they sound about the same in a typical Dutch accent. Nico became Nik.<br />
<br />
Despite growing up in the idyllic and peaceful-looking Moortebeek village just outside the Brussels City Center, Nik's early life was not easy. His father left his job at a major urban construction company after the negligence of several relatively inexperienced workers resulted in an accident that hospitalized him for nearly four months; despite making a full recovery, he opted to seek employment in a different environment. This was not initially successful, and Nik's father remained unemployed for two years. His mother worked two jobs, but was actively seeking to move out of Belgium.<br />
<br />
In 2003, Nik's family moved to Birmingham, England after Chris Kröger, a distant German cousin, suggested that Nik could work in his music store and that his parents would likely find employment as well. This proved correct, despite his parents' initial reluctance to leave their home country. After searching for a place to live, they settled in Northfield.<br />
<br />
Nik began working for Chris' music store when he was only ten years old, supplementing his parents' income but also keeping much of his earnings for himself. His mother found work as an administrative assistant, and his father as a salesman of primarily Jaguar and Land Rover cars. This is the way things were for several years, up to and including (and a bit beyond) the time I first met Nik online in late 2006.<br />
<br />
However, recall that Nik's life was not without problems. Though it did not crop up in our first few conversations (why should it have?), I soon found out that Nik has a rare and apparently untreatable Circadian Rhythm Disorder, or CRD, which, as he put it, "made life bloody hard." CRDs are disruptions in the "biological clock," and can be naturally-occurring or else brought on by poor sleeping patterns or habits over time. Little is known about them overall, even with modern science where it is, and though I do recall one instance on VenomScape of Nik briefly describing his condition (including a name that at present escapes me), his particular case remains almost entirely a mystery.<br />
<br />
Nik had trouble sleeping as a baby, which is not at all uncommon. He also didn't sleep very much as a toddler, and indeed did not sleep much as a young boy either. However, it was not until his later primary-school years that his condition began to manifest itself as it does today. Nik would sleep for at most six hours, never much longer, after which he would be awake and active for roughly thirty-six hours before sleeping another six hours or so.<br />
<br />
This causes him to observe what is effectively a completely different calendar; his "days" are generally forty-two hours in length, which makes it impossible for him to attend a normal school or hold a steady, daily job.<br />
<br />
Despite his bizarre sleep-wake cycle, doctors consistently gave him a clean bill of health well into his teens. Initially, there were concerns that his neurological and/or physical development could be impeded by his lack of sleep, but several polysomnograms concluded that his brain activity was normal during sleep and in fact he attained a very high quality of sleep, with natural REM cycles, among other things. <br />
<br />
Nik grew to embrace his condition, once saying "I can't really change it, now can I?" He even considered touting himself as a "medical mystery," intentionally providing challenges to renowned doctors and neurologists the world over. In reality, Nik became more and more withdrawn. He did not often leave his room or his house unless he was working at Chris' music store. His eating habits were not very good; since he was awake for on average just under three times as long as the average person, he ate seven to nine meals a "day" depending on his appetite.<br />
<br />
Nik also has a very fast metabolism, though medically speaking it is nothing abnormal. As such, he maintained low weight and a very low BMI, and continues to do so. He was briefly a vegetarian, though the lack of protein in his diet (he strongly dislikes tofu) caused him to become very weak and low iron intake made him anemic. Physically, doctors can find no signs of adverse effects on his health resulting from his CRD in any way. Presently, at the age of 17, he stands 5 feet 9 inches tall (175 cm) and weighs about 145 pounds (66 kg).<br />
<br />
However, Nik's health could definitely be a great deal better. He was and is very open about his lifestyle and habits, despite being a generally private person, so I know a great deal more about how he lives than how he thinks. Nik started smoking at age twelve, stealing cigarettes from his mother, who had taken up the habit when Nik was two years old. Though also a smoker himself, Nik's father had cut down a great deal, citing rising tobacco prices and restrictive laws being enacted in the UK.<br />
<br />
Chris Kröger caught fourteen-year-old Nik smoking a Davidoff cigarette in an alley near his store one day. Rather than exhibiting the expected signs of surprise and disappointment, Chris exclaimed "where, er, how'd you get those? They're bloody expensive!" to which Nik replied, "At the store, and sure they are - but you pay me well enough." Chris (who was also a smoker at that time) agreed not to tell Nik's parents, but warned him that if they did find out, he would sooner back them up. Chris kicked the habit in 2011 after developing bronchitis made worse by the long-term effects of a fifteen-year smoking habit. He was in hospital for two weeks, where smoking was obviously prohibited, and upon being released decided that withdrawal symptoms would fade soon enough and he was better off without cigarettes anyway.<br />
<br />
Nik's parents separated in early 2008, though they have not (as yet) formally filed for divorce. He lives with his mother in their Northfield home; his father lives elsewhere in the West Midlands, though I do not personally know where.<br />
<br />
Nik's mother discovered his smoking habit, and though not pleased, admitted she had no right to make him quit, as she had no plans to do so herself. This was the first of several admittedly poor parenting decisions on her part.<br />
<br />
Nik picked up another bad habit from his mother - drinking. Heavily. It started innocently enough - at 16, he was legally able to purchase and consume beer provided he also ordered food. Chris happily bought him beer and liquor as well, and they frequently drank after or even during working hours (the store was rarely, if ever, busy). His mother also supplied him with alcohol through her own stash.<br />
<br />
Nik's mother was always a heavy drinker, but he was not conscious of the full extent of her alcoholism until his early teens. Despite swearing he would never drink, Nik eventually found he quite enjoyed alcohol, as it did not affect him at all the same way as it did his mother and others whom he knew. In fact, alcohol seemed to be about half as potent to Nik as an ordinary person. But because he enjoyed the sensation of "being at least mildly tipsy," Nik would usually drink practically twice as much as a "normal" person would to achieve the desired results.<br />
<br />
On 13 January 2013, while Nik's mother was spending time with family in Wales, he invited a friend over after hearing that he was in the area. Sean Evans, who had known Nik since he first moved to Northfield, said he would definitely drop by between 7 and 8 PM.<br />
<br />
At roughly 1930 GMT, Sean arrived at Nik's house. He had called Nik's mobile several times, but gone to voicemail, and had also sent several texts, which were marked "received" though he never got a reply. Confused (more than worried) at this point, Sean knocked at the door. He waited a minute and knocked again. He began to worry at this point. Knowing Nik hated the sound of doorbells, he rang it anyway, but still no answer.<br />
<br />
At 1947 GMT, Sean called Nik's girlfriend of nearly five years, who wishes to remain anonymous at this time. He asked where Nik was, to which she replied "at home," clearly confused as to why Nik's friend was calling her at work. When Sean informed her that he was unable to reach Nik in any way, she became very concerned and briefly explained the situation to her boss, who allowed her to leave immediately. She arrived at Nik's house at 2003 GMT; her 2002 Peugeot was caught on two different red-light cameras in the process.<br />
<br />
Using her spare key, she opened Nik's house and found it dark inside, though the outside light was on (in that area, commonly considered to mean somebody is home). She and Sean went upstairs, where they found Nik face-down on the floor of his room.<br />
<br />
There was nothing to immediately indicate any reason for this. Nik had never used hard drugs and indeed never even smoked marijuana. There were several empty liquor bottles, but they were dry and Nik's girlfriend recalled them being in that exact position the day before. He had no noticeable bruising and was not bleeding, indicating that he hadn't fallen very hard or was already sitting or lying down when he lost consciousness.<br />
<br />
Sean immediately phoned emergency responders, who arrived within ten minutes and rushed Nik to Queen Elizabeth Hospital. Upon arrival, he was declared unresponsive and unconscious pending further examination. Nik was breathing on his own, albeit shallowly and irregularly. He was hooked up to life support.<br />
<br />
Nearly three full days later, doctors stated that Nik was no longer unresponsive, as he was exhibiting normal responses to sensory stimulation, but that brain damage was still a possibility as it was rather difficult to determine how long he had been unconscious.<br />
<br />
Nik regained consciousness briefly on 19 January 2013 for almost an hour. Though he appeared unable to move or speak, he was clearly looking around the room and aware of his surroundings. A nurse asked him to blink twice if he could hear and understand her, and he did. He attempted to lift his head, but couldn't. He sighed in apparent frustration and fell asleep soon after.<br />
<br />
When doctors tried to wake him later that evening, he was unconscious again; this time, however, attempts to revive him were successful given the results of tests and diagnostics performed on him during his time in hospital.<br />
<br />
He was initially very confused and disoriented, though he is speaking coherently with doctors and hospital staff and has been fighting to remember exactly what happened leading up to his eventual collapse (of which he says he is unaware).<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Actually, I had not had a drink that day, I don't think. I don't really remember what I <i>did</i> do that day, though. My last memory is feeling suddenly quite ill, with pain somewhere in my abdomen, I think...I tried to sit down, but the headache got worse, and I think I lay down to try and sleep at some point. I suppose that's not what my body had in mind." </blockquote>
<br />
The exact sequence of events is as yet not completely clear to me, unfortunately, but from what I understand, it goes something like this:<br />
<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li>Nik begins to feel quite ill and his vision suddenly blurs sometime in mid-afternoon</li>
<li>He loses strength to stand or talk (or use his mobile phone) soon after, and sits down on the floor</li>
<li>Feeling worse, he lies down hoping whatever is happening would pass</li>
<li>Sometime after that, he loses consciousness</li>
<li>His body begins to go into insulin shock, causing a blood sugar spike (down)</li>
<li>Nik's organs begin to operate at much lower efficiency, with limited supply of energy <i>(had this been sustained, he would have suffered multiple organ failure in a matter of hours, from which recovery would be next to impossible)</i></li>
<li>Nik is found and rushed to the hospital</li>
<li>He is treated for over a week, after which point he is conscious and responsive with no apparent brain damage whatsoever, indicating that he was not deprived of oxygen for long (or at all)</li>
</ol>
But somewhere in that hospital stay, Nik underwent surgery to remove nearly twenty percent of his liver. It had failed. His much-larger-than-recommended intake of alcohol, coupled with his weakened immune system and already low blood pressure, had put far too much strain on his liver in too short a time. Additionally, because he is awake so much more than he sleeps, doctors postulate that the "real age" of his internal organs may actually be much older than seventeen, meaning they were operating at normal "awake" capacity for twice to three times longer than the average seventeen-year-old male.<br />
<br />
Assuming this theory holds water, that would mean Nik's liver was acting like it was anywhere between about 34 and 51 years old - definitely old enough to fail, especially considering his massive alcohol consumption. Doctors were shocked to hear of how much he drank on a daily basis; one said it would likely be enough to cause complete and likely fatal liver failure in an ordinary adult within a matter of months. Indeed, Nik was consuming between 100 and 150 euros worth of hard liquor a week (about $200).<br />
<br />
Needless to say, his whole life will change now, as will mine. If I do ever visit England, specifically Birmingham, I will likely not drink with Nik at some pub. Hopefully, I won't drink with him at all!<br />
<br />
At this point, I am exhausted from writing what is essentially Nik's life story. He has always wanted me to write his biography, often praising my skills as a writer and speaker as well as a lyricist. We have collaborated on songs in the past, and will do so again; he has helped with vocals on my songs "Pied Piper" and "Inventive," the latter of which was based on his own original lyrics. But he still joked often that I should chronicle his life's adventures, much like was done for Alexander the Great (the bard's name escapes me).<br />
<br />
I still expect great things from Nik, that much is for sure. I initially panicked, as I have lost friends before and do not wish to lose any more - certainly not at this time in our lives! But thanks to advanced medical science, he is going to be alright.<br />
<br />
I hope this reflection finds you all well. Remember that your choices will always affect you, whether you know it or not, sooner or later, for better or for worse. Remember that some purposes are ill-intended, and some actions will not lead to the desired results.<br />
<br />
Finally, I do hope Nik enjoys reading this. For someone who claims to be self-conscious, you sure do love being talked about ;) (just one thing people - promise not to pay <i>too</i> much attention to him, or he'll get cocky!)<br />
<br />
I will end with what I believe are fitting words from my song Rauha Aina Kanssanne, written in May of 2010 to show support for another friend going through hard times. Much of the song is written in Finnish, though I do suppose a translation to Dutch is not out of the question!<br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Peace be with you always,<br />Through the turmoil all around.<br />You're walking backwards down a road<br />Where the future's still unknown.<br /><br />No one has to tell you not to<br />Live your life like a scrap on the cutting room floor.<br />So cleanse your mind,<br />And let it shine.</i></blockquote>
<br />
- Jaska B, 23 January 2013</div>
NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-16843329755378911872012-12-25T12:37:00.001-05:002012-12-25T12:41:49.701-05:00A Multi-Cultural Atheist's Christmas and End-Of-Year Acknowledgements<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Typically, at the end of every year, I write some sort of post about what I've learned over the past year, how much I've changed, and how my life is different because of a great many powerful influences.<br />
<br />
Generally, I talk about people met, lessons learned, and experiences had, namely those which had and/or continue to have a profound impact on my life. It is not quite the end of 2012, but it is close enough, so here goes.<br />
--<br />
<br />
I’d like to wish you all a very merry Christmas and hope your holiday is full of family and happiness.<br />
<br />
This time of year is always somewhat difficult for me because I am
not very well off, don’t get along with my family sometimes, and am an
atheist.<br />
<br />
But Christmas is a whole lot more than what anyone tells you, be they
clergy, media, or retail fixtures large and small. Christmas is about
family and friends, joy and happiness, giving and receiving, and most of
all, love.<br />
<br />
To Abby: Felix Nativitatis, amica mea familiaris. <br />
To Ivan: H<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">yvää Joulua <i>and </i>s'rozhdestvom.</span></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">To Nik: Gelukkig Keerstfest and, why not, </span></span><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent"><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="fr"><span class="hps">joyeux Noël ainsi </span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent"><span class="short_text" id="result_box" lang="fr"><span class="hps">To the many I've met online in some capacity: Z'kaliadami, Anja (and others); buon Natale; </span></span></span></span><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">wesołymi świętami Bożego Narodzenia to a <i>surprising</i> amount of people; Frohe Weihnachten to those in the homeland, and many many more. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">To my beautiful and extremely-significant other: I'd say "buon Natale" if your family was a bit more...traditional? I don't know. Merry Christmas anyway - I love you and you are the best gift for which I never could have asked.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">To my crazy family: We are at least a unit. Thank you for being there. Even when you aren't, or don't think you are, or don't know if you can be. At least I have a family. I have two parents who are still married and three siblings who look up to me despite pretending they don't - and despite the fact I don't always set a great example.*</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">To my somewhat less crazy extended family: Since you all read my Facebook and stuff, and possibly even my blog(s), I'd like to thank you for putting up with me even if it means calling my parents to ask if I'm okay, if my sexuality has changed again, or just what the heck I'm talking/posting/writing about this time. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">To anyone I consider a friend and didn't list above: I care about each and every one of you and simply have a very hard time showing it. Merry Christmas.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">To anyone who also considers <i>me </i>a friend: You mean a hell of a lot more to me than it might seem. My life would be radically different without any one of you, and while I don't normally do this, I'd like to list some names, in absolutely no order whatsoever. You have all impacted my life for better or worse in the past year, and I would not be who I am had I not met you or interacted with you in some capacity.</span></span><br />
<br />
<b><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">Aurora, </span></span></b><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent"><b>Kevin W, Aaron, Solai, Nate E, Gabriel, Olivia A, Freda, Sam C, Sam P, Yessenia, Victoria G, Matt W, AJ, Kayla, Celeste, Sydney, Court, Galen, Misha, Stephen T (\m/), Mieke, Sara T, Becka, Greg, Alexei, Nasim, all my CTY co-workers, all the other RSA technicians, and all the brothers of the Theta Lambda chapter of Delta Sigma Phi.</b></span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">I would also like to take a moment to remember the many important people we have lost this year, specifically two who were important to me. </span></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent"><b> </b></span></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent"><b>Scott Pierre Kaplan </b>(age 17)</span></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent"><b>John (Jack) Michael McKeighan </b>(age 16)</span></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent"><br /></span></span>
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">--</span></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent"><br /></span></span>
I wish the very best to everyone else who celebrates this holiday, equally,
regardless of creed. Protestant, Catholic, and everything else here,
there, and in between.<br />
<br />
Atheists: chill out for a day or so. It’s not even the most important
holiday on the liturgical calendar. Just enjoy yourselves, okay?<br />
<br />
Jews and Muslims: have a fantastic day anyway. Go out somewhere.
Enjoy how empty most places will be. Walk around and look at all the
pretty lights. Happiness is non-denominational.<br />
<br />
Hindus: Join the other non-Christians. Sure, you have ten times as
many deities as they do, but at the end of the day, no one gives a crap.<br />
<br />
People who don’t fit any of these labels: If you don’t identify with
any “major” religion, or aren’t quite an atheist or aren’t entirely
agnostic, or have no idea what you believe or why, forget it and have a
wonderful day regardless. Everyone everywhere.<br />
<br />
Except the members of the Westboro Baptist Church. I hope the lights
on your trees short out and you are consumed by the resulting electrical
fire so we can picket your funerals before heading off to
after-Christmas blowout doorbuster sales.<br />
<br />
Yours truly,<br />
<br />
Jaska</div>
NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-32326438249884214572012-12-23T14:07:00.000-05:002012-12-23T14:07:01.189-05:00Tend Your Lamp Well (part 1)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today, I came across a pamphlet from a Presbyterian church my family attends every Sunday. The extent to which each of the five others with whom I live actually believe and follow the doctrine set forth by this particular religious institution varies and is actually kind of a mystery to me. I know that my father is very religious and my mother is very skeptical, that he is not an extremist and she is not an atheist, but that's about it.<br />
<br />
In any case, this pamphlet (entitled "Daily Family Devotions") caught my eye and as I read it, began to worry me, then offend me, and finally made me think a lot harder than I originally intended.<br />
<br />
It appears to be some kind of scripture study aid to promote family discussion. Now, I know my family would likely never do that, as practically nothing religious happens in my home besides them all going to church on Sunday morning. We have a Nativity scene and an Advent calendar (Playmobil-themed) and that is about it. My father is by far the most devout, and he would never sit down and talk with us about Bible verses, or scold our wrongdoings by asking "What would Jesus do?" Imagining him saying that doesn't quite work in my head!<br />
<br />
This pamphlet references Matthew 25: 1-13 and Proverbs 26: 13-16, which I will quote as they appear in the New Revised Standard Version (NRSV), used by the Presbyterian Church USA.<br />
<br />
Matthew 25 is the Parable of the Ten Bridesmaids, and reads:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="text Matt-25-1">Then the kingdom of heaven will be like this. Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. </span><span class="text Matt-25-2" id="en-NRSV-24008"><sup class="versenum"></sup>Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. </span><span class="text Matt-25-3" id="en-NRSV-24009">When the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them; </span><span class="text Matt-25-4" id="en-NRSV-24010">but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. </span><span class="text Matt-25-5" id="en-NRSV-24011">As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and slept. </span><span class="text Matt-25-6" id="en-NRSV-24012">But at midnight there was a shout, ‘Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.’ </span><span class="text Matt-25-7" id="en-NRSV-24013">Then all those bridesmaids got up and trimmed their lamps. </span><span class="text Matt-25-8" id="en-NRSV-24014">The foolish said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’ </span><span class="text Matt-25-9" id="en-NRSV-24015">But
the wise replied, ‘No! there will not be enough for you and for us; you
had better go to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.’ </span><span class="text Matt-25-10" id="en-NRSV-24016">And
while they went to buy it, the bridegroom came, and those who were
ready went with him into the wedding banquet; and the door was shut. </span><span class="text Matt-25-11" id="en-NRSV-24017">Later the other bridesmaids came also, saying, ‘Lord, lord, open to us.’ </span><span class="text Matt-25-12" id="en-NRSV-24018">But he replied, ‘Truly I tell you, I do not know you.’ </span><span class="text Matt-25-13" id="en-NRSV-24019">Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.</span></blockquote>
Proverbs 26: 13-16 reads:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="text Prov-26-13" id="en-NRSV-17155"><sup class="versenum">13 </sup>The lazy person says, “There is a lion in the road!</span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Prov-26-13">There is a lion in the streets!”</span></span><br /><span class="text Prov-26-14" id="en-NRSV-17156"><sup class="versenum">14 </sup>As a door turns on its hinges,</span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Prov-26-14">so does a lazy person in bed.</span></span><br /><span class="text Prov-26-15" id="en-NRSV-17157"><sup class="versenum">15 </sup>The lazy person buries a hand in the dish,</span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Prov-26-15">and is too tired to bring it back to the mouth.</span></span><br /><span class="text Prov-26-16" id="en-NRSV-17158"><sup class="versenum">16 </sup>The lazy person is wiser in self-esteem</span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Prov-26-16">than seven who can answer discreetly.</span></span></blockquote>
It would initially appear, of course, that the Parable in Matthew is about preparedness and self-reliance, thinking ahead and looking out for oneself. I'll get to this.<br />
<br />
Proverbs is a bit harder to interpret, which I expected, but my interpretations follow:<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>13 - I was reminded of a well-documented case in which a woman was being robbed or raped in an alley (I don't recall, but they're equally bad scenarios) and people in the nearby apartment buildings simply watched in horror, each thinking someone else would call 911. The moral here: If you see a problem, do something about it, or you are no better than the cause of the problem itself. </li>
<li>14 - I think this is just saying you need to get out of bed and do something with your life. Can't say I disagree.</li>
<li>15 - This is probably deeper than it looks. Don't get in too deep, perhaps, or maybe it means you shouldn't start things you are unwilling or unable to finish. Also a pretty good life lesson, but not exactly the focus of this post.</li>
<li>16 - I don't much like this one. The Bible has been translated, transliterated, interpreted, re-translated, and otherwise changed so much in its history that one can only imagine that very little remains of what was actually meant by its many writers. The phrasing of this verse makes it seem as though self-esteem is bad, does it not? I don't think that's what it means, but that's how it's phrased. I don't think that, when the Bible was being written, people necessarily had a concept of "self-esteem" as we do in the present time. This probably should be interpreted as "hubris." Someone with little motivation (i.e the lazy person) knows much about his self-worth, whilst the seven others whom we should believe are not lazy feel no need to focus on their self-image. To whom they are "answering" I can only assume, and this verse still gives me trouble even after thinking about it for some time.</li>
</ul>
But the pamphlet interprets the verses <i>for</i> the reader, one of the major pitfalls of any church (and indeed any organized religion). Organized religions exist to provide their interpretations of religious texts to those too "lazy" (apparently a Biblical word) to form their own. This leads to a large group of people under the impression that things are a certain way according to a single interpretation of what is, at its core, a book of history, life lessons, and moral guidelines, and that all other interpretations are wrong.<br />
<br />
That's why we have so many different sects of Christianity. That's why there are different branches of Judaism and Islam. There are different branches of Buddhism and Hinduism and (insert another religion here). All of them are ultimately correct about many of the same things according to objective morality and utilitarian good:<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Don't kill people.</li>
<li>Don't steal.</li>
<li>Don't hate people who have more than you, or are better than you in any way.</li>
<li>Don't hate people who have less than you, or are worse than you in any way.</li>
<li>Do not judge your quality of life by material things.</li>
<li>Forgive the wrongdoings of others as you would want to be forgiven for yours. </li>
<li>Treat others are you wish others to treat you.</li>
</ul>
I challenge you to find <i>any religion</i> that does <i>not</i> adhere to these, shall we say, commandments. Cults and fundamentalist or extremist groups obviously do not count. Find me a religious text that either does not include any one of these, or says the opposite anywhere in any way.<br />
<br />
You probably won't be able to. In fact, I know you won't be able to. All religions believe the same thing. They all provide a solid moral compass for those too lost to find their own.<br />
<br />
It's their interpretations of everything else that differ and ultimately cause issues or even conflict. That's the problem. People <i>want</i> to understand their world and everything in it. Ultimately, they do <i>not</i> want to be explicitly told <i>how</i> to speak, <i>how</i> to act, and <i>how</i> to think. Case in point - communist and socialist governments of the world are in the dustbin of history. You cannot control how people will think and subsequently how they will interpret any kind of doctrine or dogma, whether placed before them or shoved down their throats.<br />
<br />
This is what led me to write (at great length, apparently) about this pamphlet from the church. A lot of what it says bothers me. Partially, it's the message itself. A lot of the problems, though, are with phrasing, choice of words, and context. This will all have to wait until a later post. </div>
NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-72185119562675694172012-12-20T14:18:00.003-05:002012-12-20T14:18:55.672-05:00Things I have found pt. V<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As I've progressed from cleaning my room to cleaning out the boxes of stuff from college, I have so far found a whole lot of useless crap and some interesting things as well. Mostly useless crap.<br />
<ul>
<li>stuff from freshmen orientation, fall 2010</li>
<li>my barber scissors!!</li>
<li>earrings and stuff I thought I'd lost</li>
<li>more Chap-Stik. Really?</li>
<li>gum - into the trash</li>
<li>cough drops - same</li>
<li>Purell</li>
<li>some long feathery thing</li>
<li>green shoelaces that are way too long for anything I own</li>
<li>my old cell phone holster</li>
<li>some lab reports from Chem 132</li>
<li>my micro-economics textbook</li>
<li>a list of spawn codes for Skyrim</li>
<li>notes on how to read my own handwriting*</li>
<li>two pairs of lab goggles</li>
<li>a lot of school papers I really don't need</li>
<li>Advil</li>
<li>a strobe light. I hate strobe lights. So why?</li>
<li>a bracelet I got in Taiwan and thought I'd lost!</li>
<li>a bunch of mementos from Otakon</li>
<li>a notebook made of cut-up cereal boxes and random scrap paper</li>
<li>a card game called Would You Rather...? which, as I recall, is not as fun as it sounds</li>
<li>concert promotion cards</li>
<li>a bunch of papers I may as well recycle</li>
<li>more papers I should probably burn instead</li>
<li>another 12V power adapter**</li>
<li>a pile of floppy disks</li>
<li>some Torx screws for some reason</li>
<li>notebooks I used in my first and second years of college that I don't quite want to get rid of just yet</li>
<li>a bunch of CPU heatsinks and fans I definitely do not need</li>
<li>on that note, a Pentium II chip assembly!</li>
<li>two purple beach buckets</li>
<li>a note I wrote to my now-ex-boyfriend when I first tried to break up with him </li>
<li>a small watch (clearly for women?)</li>
<li>a quiz from Chem 132. Grade? 2 / 25, bitches</li>
<li>instructions on how to do the proper stretching for my back</li>
<li>a lime green drawstring bag with the Windows 7 logo on </li>
<li>black and red streamers, my favourite colours, but they're from when I decorated my tiny room in freshman year! </li>
<li>something that looks like a mousepad but is more likely a bottle/can opener helper thingy that says ACME</li>
<li>a $15 iTunes gift card I've yet to redeem (not like I buy stuff from the App Store all that often)</li>
<li>a coupon for a free copy of DiRT 4</li>
<li>some epoxy brads with cute stuff on them</li>
<li>(spare?) pieces of a shelving unit I had last year but seem to have misplaced. How the hell does one misplace a shelving unit?</li>
<li>Jenga (pronounced YEN-gah or HEN-gah)</li>
<li>a spinning disco light</li>
<li>a whole lot of (thin) guitar picks</li>
<li>a bunch of random sunglasses, many of which are either broken or look awful on me</li>
<li>the insert from a CD of Metallica's 1991 eponymous studio album</li>
<li>a CD case with inserts for Nirvana's Nevermind, complete with naked baby, but no CD to be found</li>
<li>Macintosh installation floppies (two of them) and one for Fonts. I'm not sure, but I believe it is system 7.x - could be wrong and may never know!</li>
<li>a Windows 98 SE boot floppy - old school and useless and I'll probably keep it anyway!</li>
<li>the cardstock to which a Barnes and Noble gift card was once attached. That's the one that's still in business, right? Okay, I probably have the card somewhere, because I don't read!***</li>
<li>a red plastic hourglass with red sand in</li>
<li>a piece of the bottom of a laptop's casing with a Windows XP Home Edition Gateway OEM product key</li>
<li>a mousepad stained with Nutella</li>
<li>a small red die-cast 1970s Mustang</li>
<li>old old magazines...?</li>
<li>model knights still in their packaging</li>
</ul>
* When I used to handwrite my notes, I did not use the traditional Latin alphabet, but rather a more geometric shorter-form system based on the Greek and Russian alphabets, as it encouraged me to be neater.<br />
<br />
** I have decidedly more power adapters and plugs and cords than I do things that actually use/need them.<br />
<br />
*** Be on the lookout for an upcoming post about "what's on my bookshelf!"</div>
NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-10139464044289295802012-12-20T13:08:00.000-05:002012-12-20T13:08:18.164-05:00Things I Have Found pt IV<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This is more of an addendum to the post about the "alcove," as my bookcase is right next to it.<br />
<br />
In addition to all that stuff I listed before, I have so far found these interesting treasures (or bits of junk, depending) near, on, and around my bookcase.<br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>a roll of masking tape</li>
<li>another flash drive, but it looks like it was run over by a car, because there's a good chance it was</li>
<li>a business card holder</li>
<li>a folding map of the United States and Canada in a leather case that looks like it's from the 90s</li>
<li>another damn Chap-Stik</li>
<li>a lanyard! how useful!</li>
<li>a bag of screws and cable ties</li>
<li>an issue of my prep school's newspaper from December 2010 (I graduated in June 2010)</li>
<li>a ticket to the Franklin (Institute) for Mummies of the World in June 2011</li>
<li>a fake gold medal</li>
<li>ticket to the Devon Horse Show earlier this year</li>
<li>a recipe for Spiced Asian Pear Salad - that's a keeper</li>
<li>several tabs from soda cans...or possibly other cans...</li>
<li>old receipts for cigs and gasoline and, for some reason, gum. Who buys gum with a credit card?</li>
<li>more little cigar wrappers</li>
<li>a pack of 18g horseshoes and plugs...for my lobes now I guess? cool.</li>
<li>a notepad with the name and logo of an oil company I don't think is still in business</li>
<li>a small form factor PCI slot cover</li>
<li>a neatly flattened empty lightbulb box. What is it with me and lightbulbs for crying out loud?</li>
<li>the $121 receipt from Wegman's in 2011 when I was alone for a month and then had to restock the entire house and went shopping with my friend while she was high and ended up buying random stuff like brie and baguette and cake-making stuff and tubes of icing and an organic lettuce</li>
<li>the actual original list from said shopping adventure</li>
<li>a Human Rights Campaign dog tag from the campaign to repeal DADT</li>
<li>more random receipts. really?</li>
<li>a bunch of Chinese magnets</li>
<li>a carbon monoxide detector. wat.</li>
<li>Windows 3.1 For Dummies! Finally! wait...oh that's right...we're on 8 now</li>
</ul>
</div>
NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-3254791762030297462012-12-16T13:11:00.003-05:002012-12-16T13:11:59.664-05:00Things I have found pt III<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today's project is this weird alcove-like place in my room. Being an alcove, it is a natural storage area and therefore has gotten filled with crap since oh, I don't know, 2009.<br />
<br />
I've been at it for under an hour. You know the drill. Here goes:<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>a bracelet from Pride in 2010</li>
<li>a landline phone</li>
<li>wire for said phone</li>
<li>a neatly coiled co-axial cable (for a TV)</li>
<li>Jenga</li>
<li>Bananagrams</li>
<li>a 6-in-1 glass fancy-looking game set (think chess, backgammon, etc)</li>
<li>a bag of boxes from building my first custom computer*</li>
<li>the sticks for my Chinese yo-yo (diablo)</li>
<li>a bunch of photos that were vandalized in the exhibit I discuss <a href="http://nullcoding.blogspot.com/2010/03/skys-limit.html">here </a>and <a href="http://nullcoding.blogspot.com/2010/05/fog.html">here</a>**</li>
<li>a list of all the damages, totaling $350 <b>(plus interest over 2 years, The Haverford School still owes me $420)</b></li>
<li>purple sunglasses that are not the ones my ex "borrowed"</li>
<li>3D glasses for some reason</li>
<li>Car and Driver from exactly a year ago</li>
<li>a floppy drive with BAD written on it...into the computer recycling box I suppose</li>
<li>jeans I drew on a long time ago...wonder if they still fit?</li>
<li>more stupid CFL lightbulbs - why do I have so many of these?!</li>
<li>CDs with labels that make no sense to me</li>
<li>a note from my brother from last year when he accidentally turned off one of my computers</li>
<li>an unopened 2012 calendar with an Astronomy theme. If I actually used a calendar, I'd be sad.</li>
<li>a purple bucket</li>
<li>about ten feet, maybe more, of thin plastic tubing</li>
<li>another expired Rita's coupon (exclusively for the Carlisle location, oh well)</li>
<li>one of those little wrappers from cigars that you don't have to remove, but I apparently collect</li>
<li>a box of bags of well-organized cables and cords and stuff I didn't remember I had</li>
<li>a very dusty umbrella</li>
<li>two Fender Frontman 15G guitar practice amps I knew were there but rarely/never use(d)</li>
<li>more books from school, most of which I also never used</li>
<li>my laptop bag from Peking University - it's too small for any laptop I actually use, though</li>
<li>who knows what's in that bag, anyway...I'm scared to find out but I'll have to eventually!</li>
<li>a weird squishy worm-like thing that is maybe a cat toy?</li>
<li>boxes of my framed photos (I knew those were there, don't worry)</li>
<li>a bunch of clothes hangers. Why? Why there?</li>
<li><b>my original white 1st-generation 4GB iPod Nano - it still works!</b></li>
<li>bags of disassembled, torn-apart cameras and cell phones - what the hell, Jimmy? really?</li>
<li>a parallel/serial cable - what's the use?</li>
<li>a memorial card from my grandfather's funeral in 2003 with "May the Road Rise to Meet You" on the back and Jesus on the front (the Catholic kind)</li>
</ul>
And I'm not even at my bookcase yet. Boy, that'll be some list.<br />
<br />
<br />
* I kept these for good reason - in case I needed to invoke manufacturer warranty, I would have needed the original box. But it's been long enough that I can safely get rid of them and hope that nothing goes wrong! <br />
<br />
** note this part of the post:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
...the fiasco with my March exhibit and the
disgustingly large amount of vandalism that occurred. Five of my photos
were damaged and roughly 10 others tampered with. Lots and lots of pins
were torn out of the walls, bent, or used to scratch or poke holes in my
photos. Most noticeable were the holes poked in my ear and eye in one
photo and the six on my face in another.</blockquote>
</div>
NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-17529279605500610292012-12-13T17:47:00.002-05:002012-12-13T19:04:17.997-05:00Things I have found pt II<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today (er, this evening) was clean-the-dresser-and-behind-the-dresser-and-everywhere-near-it day.<br />
<br />
At first it looked like this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLl5usledHjYJK9EpMzebV6x2Efu4hE2q019mqVGp6iOPhl_Un0bilyIAVml-D8mUgKYd5zRQ9NFOJEDIaxBFbj9vT9w824a_dfdUxHYtM813n_PKiIO_gZqsqlHluu2M3xGQpKdDcg197/s1600/2012-12-13+16.37.41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLl5usledHjYJK9EpMzebV6x2Efu4hE2q019mqVGp6iOPhl_Un0bilyIAVml-D8mUgKYd5zRQ9NFOJEDIaxBFbj9vT9w824a_dfdUxHYtM813n_PKiIO_gZqsqlHluu2M3xGQpKdDcg197/s320/2012-12-13+16.37.41.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I won't / can't post what it looks like now. I'm just taking a break. Too damn dusty.<br />
<br />
Anyway, here's the list, in no particular order:<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>a pin that says Go Fords!</li>
<li>twenty or so mismatched Legos</li>
<li>parts of what used to be some kind of purple model car</li>
<li>several rocks</li>
<li>a hunk of what is known as "Fool's Gold"</li>
<li>four small, intact, perfectly white seashells</li>
<li>five Chap-Stiks</li>
<li>a lacrosse ball</li>
<li>a pocket day-planner / calendar thingy for 2006 through 2008</li>
<li>a folding Chinese-style fan (intact)</li>
<li>a magnetic pelican</li>
<li>an empty pack of Djarum Black kreteks from when they were still allowed to be called "cigarettes"</li>
<li>a long piece of foam with no discernible use</li>
<li>a laser pointer with no batteries</li>
<li>batteries</li>
<li>several large plastic bags full of plastic bags</li>
<li>more Neutrogena for sensitive skin</li>
<li>still more paper clips</li>
<li>lots of staples. like, a lot of staples</li>
<li>a piece of paper with something written on it, can't tell, but the date indicated I was in fourth grade</li>
<li>another pair of lounge pants (that makes six)</li>
<li>a broken cigarette holder I bought in China and never used because, well, it was always broken</li>
<li>a receipt for something that looks important</li>
<li>a nearly-full spray can of Oust</li>
<li>several model cars I'd forgotten I had</li>
<li>Purell that was much less viscous than it's meant to be</li>
<li>GameBoy Advance cartridges for Golden Sun and, for some reason, The Hobbit</li>
<li>a wine cork from Funky Llama </li>
<li>a lot of Day of Silence stickers</li>
<li>a nametag</li>
<li>a magnet with my name on it from the Poconos</li>
<li>a tiny backpack</li>
<li>a vibrantly decorated notebook/calendar I never used :(</li>
<li>an orange teddy bear with Eric Lindros' name and number on (a former Philadelphia Flyer)</li>
<li>handheld Boggle</li>
<li>cough drops</li>
<li>a very large Dora the Explorer coloring book</li>
<li>two dredels</li>
<li>Predator on VHS</li>
<li>a watch on a carabiner (it's stopped)</li>
<li>a map of the MTA (Maryland's public transit system)</li>
<li>a 5-pound dumbbell</li>
<li>every card I got for graduation (no money in them though...I checked)</li>
<li>a letter from my aunt, the only part of which that caught my eye was "get yourself a <i>local</i> gay male shrink - they're easy to find in an academic place!"</li>
<li>a large piece of metal from my old computer desk</li>
<li>a totally gutted old Dell computer that had been completely obscured by stuff</li>
<li>bags of beer caps and tabs from cans</li>
<li>my megaphone!</li>
<li>a neatly-folded, perfectly clean area rug </li>
</ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
</ul>
I'm still cleaning...so let's see how this goes. I'm on a damn roll.<br />
<br />
By the way, here's what it looks like now:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGoCRL3VVgPjwwHA7Sa_SiCfvVjGvlM-2qAWmMvj3ijf4Ldjh0hWE14QdYlLS8a8QzH53gPlHw9RJmAwrSl-EE21JG4PiMmvSLeU72W6WVANe5cDLFpz3_JyoBucJSl6US-th-vsSLFqmw/s1600/2012-12-13+19.03.06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGoCRL3VVgPjwwHA7Sa_SiCfvVjGvlM-2qAWmMvj3ijf4Ldjh0hWE14QdYlLS8a8QzH53gPlHw9RJmAwrSl-EE21JG4PiMmvSLeU72W6WVANe5cDLFpz3_JyoBucJSl6US-th-vsSLFqmw/s320/2012-12-13+19.03.06.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-32719275771176693302012-12-11T21:05:00.000-05:002012-12-11T21:05:10.722-05:00Things I have found whilst cleaning my room<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Background: I drove back to Dickinson for the last time today and picked up all my stuff and officially moved out. This means my room in my parents' house currently looks like this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6jbtDY9bHVNv-otqzq5gb-xiDm70QrwhH0oW8BEFPfStChOC6IALleHexMysMWF1ED7HNT8dnMjXOozNe7jVxtnkqJ5nr0mdhuBjeJJgbZ4t25adh3R5HSi1IeXFIYDtTj_pE9MEEdT-m/s1600/2012-12-11+20.37.34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6jbtDY9bHVNv-otqzq5gb-xiDm70QrwhH0oW8BEFPfStChOC6IALleHexMysMWF1ED7HNT8dnMjXOozNe7jVxtnkqJ5nr0mdhuBjeJJgbZ4t25adh3R5HSi1IeXFIYDtTj_pE9MEEdT-m/s320/2012-12-11+20.37.34.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
So naturally, I need to clean it first and <i>then</i> move my stuff in and around and put it places where it belongs. Essentially, I'm redoing the place. I also need a new dresser. Not sure if that photo shows it, but the drawers are all broken and one actually fell out and won't go back in (or come out again) without a fight. Yup tomorrow's IKEA day cos I'm (we're) cheap.<br />
<br />
I took some more Adderall, continued drinking the 24oz of Sheetz Serious Dark Roast I got at about 3:30pm, and started cleaning with the area near my closet. Maybe I'll put computers there. Plenty of room. So far, here's what I've come across, in no particular order:<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>a watch (stopped) with no band - just a watch.</li>
<li>1GB of old desktop RAM</li>
<li>my middle school ID card (valid 2004)</li>
<li>the instruction manual for an iPad 2, in its nice little white sleeve</li>
<li>a small plastic moose</li>
<li>my brother's Lewis Structure and molecular modelling lab from last year</li>
<li>orange smoothie mix in a jug</li>
<li>a Backspace key </li>
<li>blue spray-on hair dye (sounds empty)</li>
<li>the cover to a scientific calculator. just the cover.</li>
<li>a Christmas stocking</li>
<li>flip-flops with multicolored cassette tapes on</li>
<li>a bag clip with a piece of ribbon tied to it</li>
<li>Neutrogena for sensitive skin</li>
<li>a few partially dismantled speakers*</li>
<li>two backpacks</li>
<li>a scarf in my school colors (no bitch it's not fucking from Harry Potter)</li>
<li>lots of mail from said school asking for money (unopened of course)</li>
<li>OpenSUSE 10.3 32-bit KDE on a CD</li>
<li>the other half of the spacebar for the keyboard my siblings used</li>
<li>a lot of pencils (???)</li>
<li>a Hot Wheels art-deco style delivery truck with the Trix logo and rabbit painted on </li>
<li>my ID card from freshman year, stating it's valid starting in September 2005...when I started eighth grade</li>
<li>a Day of Silence card</li>
<li>a Yuengling cap</li>
<li>a fortune saying "It is necessary therefore, it is possible" <i>(sic)</i></li>
<li>a collapsible 12-inch ruler with my last name on it</li>
<li>a purple bouncy monkey thing I can only assume one sticks to a car dashboard</li>
<li>a cloth bag with my prep school's logo...filled with rocks</li>
<li>a Fender bumper sticker, fuck yeah</li>
<li>a small note in my mother's handwriting explaining usage of significant figures in addition</li>
<li>a lot of multicolored paperclips, in a chain for some reason</li>
<li>a fuck ton of dust *sneezes again*</li>
</ul>
And I'm done! That was a play-by play of the area between my desk and my closet, which is this big:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5SQNxQzXhNZnjNxP-KfOK79UTsHBN5dinGS6Sh7DflAk-D-xtZSFNp0i7utW1q_8NkZIKQpM5Opg1Z45wSoeKlm6EBaARJ5oi-lFaAiZWyntViVzPyV1IZ7zV0IBmWWyroljDMlDcHaQ9/s1600/2012-12-11+21.02.21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5SQNxQzXhNZnjNxP-KfOK79UTsHBN5dinGS6Sh7DflAk-D-xtZSFNp0i7utW1q_8NkZIKQpM5Opg1Z45wSoeKlm6EBaARJ5oi-lFaAiZWyntViVzPyV1IZ7zV0IBmWWyroljDMlDcHaQ9/s320/2012-12-11+21.02.21.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
and now needs vacuumed.<br />
<br />
Also lol shoes.<br />
</div>
NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-91093305893749827652012-11-07T14:18:00.001-05:002012-11-07T14:18:20.810-05:00I am.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I say a lot of things that offend people or make them hate me.<br />
<br />
It's not my fault.<br />
<br />
Except, it kind of is.<br />
<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li><b>I am not a hardline conservative. </b>I am fiscally moderate. I believe government regulation can be a good thing but not to the point where it deprives people of what they've rightfully earned. I don't believe in "You don't need that gun/drug/other choice you make, so let's ban it."</li>
<li><b>I am actually very liberal. </b>I harbor an extreme dislike of religion and what it has done to our country. I don't understand, though, why we need "gay rights" and "women's rights" and "black rights" or whatever. Why not "human rights?" A few obvious exceptions - men don't need the right to have an abortion, naturally, and blacks don't need the right to marry another black person - but the fact that equality is so scarce in this country frightens and saddens me deeply. When I look at someone, I don't see a black man or a white woman or a gay Asian. I see people, and it frustrates me to no end that those we put in power don't see it the same way.</li>
<li><b>I am not anti-drug. </b>I am <i>anti-drug-abuse. </i>Whatever works for you. I say people who resort to drugs aren't strong enough to face the real world without them. I never said I'm not one of those people. In fact, I am. Which leads me to -</li>
<li><b>I am not mentally stable. </b>I have a form of autism known as Asperger's Syndrome. I also have clinical depression and anxiety disorders which lately have gotten so bad I can barely leave my house. I have terrible, crippling insomnia as well, which is why I barely go to class and feel like total shit all the time.</li>
<li><b>I am physically disabled. </b>I have chronic back pain as a result of many things, including a type of lumbar deformation known as Scheurmann's Disease. I don't know why it's a "disease" as there is no "cure," but it is what it is. My spinal column is compressed and causes severe pain after long periods of sitting or standing or even lying down. I can't walk very far and stairs are pretty much the devil's invention. </li>
<li><b>I am hurt and in pain. </b>Mental anguish, physical pain, you name it. When one doesn't sleep, one suffers. I do sleep, but it's a terrible quality of sleep and I feel worse than before when I wake up. I try to disguise it but I usually fail. </li>
<li><b>I am miserably lonely.</b> I have never been with a girl and my current relationship causes more pain than happiness. I have almost no friends and they leave twice as quickly as they come. All I want is to make my friends happy. I want to be there for them. I want them to lean on me because I know I am a good listener and sometimes I can even provide advice! I don't expect anything in return. I don't expect them to want me to confide in them, I don't expect them to hold me up, I don't expect blowjobs. Nothing like that. I am fairly selfless. I can't control the problems in my life by myself, but I can be there for others. I'd hope they'd be there for me too, but I don't demand anything of my friends beyond that they are my friends.</li>
<li><b>I am not a hypocrite. </b>As I said, I am not anti-drug. I believe that some things work for others, but not me. I have smoked marijuana before. It is terrible. It smells terrible, it feels terrible, and the results are terrible. It is not a drug for me. It makes me throw up and feel like dying. If it works for you, do it. I don't care. I have smoked cigarettes since I was 15. I smoke because I like it. I know the risks and it doesn't bother me. I have quit cold-turkey before and would do so again if need be. I like the taste and sensation. That's enough. I have been drinking since 18. I drink because, as I said, I am not strong enough to deal with the real world in social situations. Alcohol makes the autism shit go away. It fades and for once, I can be normal. I have a bizarrely high tolerance and have never experienced what people call "a hangover." In fact, when I drink at night, I feel great in the morning. I wake up super early and get lots of work done. Even whilst intoxicated, I am productive and happy and incidentally great at Chinese. I feel confident and have no inhibitions and am the life of the party. No one realizes I am "drunk." Even after more than ten shots of liquor, I just seem like a more grounded and normal version of myself. I have to drink to feel real. </li>
<li><b>I am not an alcoholic. </b>I only drink on weekends with friends. I never drink alone in my room (or anywhere). I don't see the point. I go months (in the summer) <b> </b>without drinking. I don't need it to survive. I need it to feel normal.</li>
<li><b>I am not okay. </b>I lose friends because no one likes being around someone as damaged as I am. I need a lot of serious help. I recognize this.</li>
<li><b>I am not suicidal. </b>Something tells me I still have a lot to live for. I have no idea why. I am failing school and friendships and relationships and life in general. I can't sleep and don't eat and do terribly on tests even when I take notes and study. I have no meaningful relationships in my life and the few people I would want to be with won't even entertain the idea. One even told me that it would ruin our friendship, which broke my heart. But I am not a threat to myself. I wouldn't even know how to do that! I don't have the means. Plus suicide is selfish, and if you've gleaned anything from this, you know I am not selfish.</li>
</ol>
</div>
NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-66298385168005683842012-10-28T19:12:00.002-04:002012-10-28T19:12:10.390-04:00We still name storms?!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm very entertained by the people freaking out about this "monster storm."<br />
<br />
It's a category 1 that will downgrade to tropical storm upon making landfall. The Susquehanna will flood with a light dew anyway, and did I mention Carlisle and the Cumberland Valley get more rain than the rest of the state normally?<br />
<br />
Maybe you all just can't deal with no electricity. It sucks, sure, but <i>suck it the fuck up</i>. The people so scared of this storm are the same scarf-wearing, tea-guzzling tumblr addicts who wear leggings as pants and were, in all likelihood, all into helping Japan after their earthquake/tsunami(s) and I'm sure were donating to the Red Cross when Katrina ravaged New Orleans.<br />
<br />
That's because those were <i>actual</i> disasters! This is nothing more than a huge rainstorm with stronger winds! (read: the hipsters got one right - savor it)<br />
<br />
At the same time, I am kind of excited. I haven't been in a hurricane since 2005. I remember standing out on the beach on Fripp Island, a 3-mile-long resort in the Sea Islands about 15 miles or so off the coast of Beaufort, South Carolina. Palmettos were blowing apart and the sand was being kicked up on the beach, but there I was observing 10-foot waves in a place where they're rarely more than a foot.<br />
<br />
My street floods if we get a few inches of rain, or even an inch, I don't know. The drains clog, you see.<br />
<br />
"Oh but what if a tree falls on your house?" What? There is ONE tree, and if it "fell," it would end up merely leaning on my house or my neighbor's shed, and would be a bit of a nuisance if anything. Plus this is the neighbor who's using power tools at 1 AM (not in a loud bothersome way, though). I'm positive he's got a chainsaw in there somewhere.<br />
<br />
"But everyone is cancelling school and classes and trains and planes oh my!" Where I come from, they cancel school if there's half an inch of snow because a) NO ONE fucking knows how to drive, or else they drive a Prius because their swollen heads are too far up their self-righteous asses to realize that trucks and SUVs serve a purpose beyond hauling your four kids to soccer and b) some townships, including mine, have yet to comprehend the idea of salting the road <i>before</i> it snows and then plowing it <i>after</i>, instead opting to do neither. Your fucking tax dollars at work (and our public schools suck, too).<br />
<br />
People need to stop being so damn sensitive! Maybe the media gets off on fear-mongering (see: election), or maybe people just crave a good apocalyptic experience (see: 2012), but either way, this has got to stop.<br />
<br />
I get the impression that maybe it's just a bunch of lazy, rich white kids who want two days off school to smoke the rest of their weed they bought with mommy and daddy's weekly allowance.<br />
<br />
<br />
Remember Irene? No, of course you don't.<br />
<br />
Unless, of course, you live in Vermont. In Reading and Woodstock, Vermont, Irene destroyed local businesses that served the population, ravaged farms and timber land, and washed out bridges as well as most of route 106. Route 106 is to those small towns what the femoral artery is the human leg.<br />
<br />
And you know what? Instead of waiting for the government's excuse of "aid," the supposedly "liberal commie baby-killing tree-hugging" Vermonters got in their trucks and fucking <i>re-built </i>the roads and bridges (also using it as an opportunity to make them better). My aunt's road got re-routed as a result since it had simply dropped off into a chasm after the storm (it's unpaved). They took <i>hundreds and hundreds</i> of dump trucks full of dirt all over and recovered faster than anyone expected.<br />
<br />
You people are ridiculous. These eco-friendly, tree-hugging, "save the planet" environmentalist types are the ones scared of Mother Nature? Really?<br />
<br />
This is why we are the laughingstock of the world.<br />
<br />
Go ahead. Find a Japanese student on campus and ask what they're doing to prepare for this monster storm. See how they react.<br />
<br />
No? Find someone from the South. Better yet, find a black person from the South (prepare for a slap across the face if they're from anywhere near Louisiana). <br />
<br />
Learn how to deal with the real world and take things as they come.<br />
<br />
Or, you know, stay inside and drink.</div>
NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-60571998988317552382012-10-11T10:11:00.000-04:002012-10-11T10:11:52.147-04:005 Years of No Closet Door<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The first person to whom I came out was myself, which is usually how it works. My whole life, I had struggled with the idea of being something other than straight. It came naturally to me, but I was always painfully aware of how difficult it would be if others knew. My father seemed a lot more hostile in those days - he was one of those people who used the word "queer" as a derogatory term instead of a simple, all-encompassing label for those who didn't identify with biologically normal sexual preferences.<br />
<br />
It took quite some time for me to work up the courage to tell my friends, and even then it was only a few. They weren't even friends I saw often, or at all (internet friends, mostly) - I certainly didn't tell anyone who went to my all-male private prep (not boarding) school. <br />
<br />
My mother did not take long to pick up on the fact she was driving me to a gay youth group. In fact, she asked me this the second time I'd gone, after we'd gotten home. She was very glad I was enjoying myself, since the previous month or so had been very difficult for me. I remember her exact words - "So, here's a question out of left field. Are you bi?" I wasn't expecting that, but I had had at that point fifteen years of learning that one cannot lie to my mother. So I said yes.<br />
<br />
Even if I had said "no," there would have been something in the way I said it that gave the real answer away. She sees through everything and picks apart the fallacies in whatever people say, which is why we get along on things like politics and religion - we're both a bit disillusioned.<br />
<br />
She went on to say how she was totally supportive and didn't really care, since I was still her son. Jokingly, perhaps, she added that if I end up with a guy, I'd have to adopt so she can have grandchildren. I pointed out that she has two other sons and a daughter.<br />
<br />
She told my father, who probably had a hard time understanding for a bit. He had raised my three younger siblings and I to be Christian, specifically Presbyterian, and to adhere to the typical ideals of a modern gentleman (or in my sister's case, a polite and reserved, yet empowered young lady). We were taught to say grace before meals, to tuck in our shirts, to hold doors for <i>people</i> (especially ladies), and to respect our elders. We were taught to obey <i>both</i> of our parents <i>regardless</i> of our misgivings. We were taught that we were naive, ignorant children with an as-of-yet undeveloped worldview, but that if we listened and learned, we would be as successful as our parents were.<br />
<br />
In retrospect, there was hardly anything old-fashioned about my upbringing. My father always listened to rock music, mainly classic rock and early psychedelic stuff like The Who, Fleetwood Mac, and the Moody Blues, all of whom to this day remain some of my all-time favorites as well. He loved technology, and still does. He is an Apple junkie. He has never once said anything is "of the Devil." And he's also the best teacher I've ever had. He never said anything to the effect of "you'll go to hell if you do/don't do this."<br />
<br />
With all that in mind, I can understand if he was a bit conflicted. It took only a few months for him to temper his language. I have not heard the word "fag" come out of his mouth in years, not that he ever used it liberally (for example, my pants were "faggy"*). He also stopped using the word "queer," as did my mother, though I've informed them both that is in fact not an insult - it's a lot easier to say "queer" than to recite the alphabet soup that is the list of all "different" sexual identities and preferences. Come on, LGBTQIAAsomethingsomethingsomething - no.<br />
<br />
He has not changed his views on things like marriage equality, although he also believes that abortion is murder. If I married a man, he might as well marry a cat, and a tree, and his car as well, because he really loves all of them. I informed him that he's allergic to the cat, his car will drain all his money, and the tree can't go with him to sign a civil union contract. In fact, none of those things have legal standing at all. But there are some things with which he just can't be reasoned. He always votes Republican, but gets downright mad when my brother asks for a cap gun - "We do <i>not</i> have guns in this house!"**<br />
<br />
My mother didn't care then and doesn't care now. She doesn't understand why my dad feels the way he does, but she's the one who married him. Apparently he's this stubborn on everything, like upgrading our internet service or buying new cell phones. He is always right regardless. It's not even a misogynistic thing at all - he needs to win every argument with everyone. He doesn't try to tell my mother she's wrong to be in favor of civil rights for queer people, probably because deep down he knows it's right.<br />
<br />
But, being me, I couldn't stop there. I couldn't just be "bi." Nope. I had to go and confuse everyone by saying I was gay, which started after I met a wonderful boy at OutFest on 13 October 2009. I am not ashamed to admit I fell in love with him after only a few hours of conversation. He was everything I'd been looking for - smart, introspective, somewhat cynical, and very attractive. I just didn't expect to find that all in a guy, but I realized I didn't care.<br />
<br />
At that point, I'd only recently broken up with my first girlfriend. It had only lasted about seven months, and was quite turbulent. It was very high-schoolish. She was kind of big, though not at all unattractive, and had a beautiful smile and larger-than-life personality that, at times, drowned out mine entirely. She was also bisexual and a practitioner of Wicca, of which I was incredibly suspicious. I don't even remember why we broke up, though I do remember it was on September 11th, 2009.<br />
<br />
When I met Gabriel, I had told myself I'd stay away from the dating scene, specifically girls. I wasn't even thinking about guys. It just wasn't on my radar. But over the next two months, we became closer and closer friends. I got the impression that he was very lonely and introverted, although his energetic Sicilian personality covered it up nicely.<br />
<br />
I was working on initial planning for my senior project at that point in time. I intended to make biodiesel from used vegetable oil. Gabriel, who at the time was very into chemistry, was helping me figure out the initial stuff I'd need to do. He was very interested in it, and I wasn't used to my friends having a vested interest in what was going on in my life, so I went with it.<br />
<br />
On 18 December 2009, I finally worked up the courage to actually ask him out. Prior to that, we'd seen each other only on Fridays, at the gay youth group, and always around other people. I sneakily passed him a note saying "we should go out sometime - just us." Not two minutes later, I got a text saying "I think that's a great idea." It's still saved in my old cell phone.<br />
<br />
On 23 December 2009, we went to his favorite sushi restaurant. This is indicative of the rest of our relationship, actually - we frequented Mexican grills, Indian buffets, and a fantastic Persian kebab place, all within five minutes of his house. Our first anniversary was spent at Hunan, a flawlessly authentic and upscale Chinese restaurant run by some old friends of my Chinese teacher. Gabriel was always quite impressed with my ability to speak Chinese, not to mention the doors it opened.<br />
<br />
We were initially very shy together. It took almost two years for that to end. It's hard enough to be out at an all-male private school. Even though most people I told just kind of shrugged it off and didn't seem to care ("I mean it's not like you look at me in the locker room or anything, so whatever"), there was still a heavily ingrained homophobia stemming from the unrealistic ideals of masculinity a large portion of the students strived towards. I never got made fun of for the way I dressed or acted, though it was definitely questioned. I frequently countered with "why do you wear sweatpants and sports jerseys? Because you like it? Okay, well this is <i>my</i> thing."<br />
<br />
It took me a long time to actually introduce Gabriel to anyone outside my immediate family, especially people at my school. In retrospect, I think it was more him than me. I think he was uncomfortable with me introducing him as my boyfriend when to his family and friends, I was "Gabriel's friend."<br />
<br />
I should probably clarify that Gabriel's parents are sort of grown-up hippies - they kept the mentality of freedom and liberation but also got jobs and a mature worldview. They aren't incredibly vocal gay-rights activists - they just don't care. It doesn't matter one bit that their son is dating another guy. They actually like me a lot, probably because they are both computer programmers and his dad is a musician.<br />
<br />
I said I was gay until August of 2011. Things got very complicated when I met a girl at college and tried my hardest not to fall for her. If you've ever seen a bad movie, or a good movie, or read a book, or studied basic psychology, you know that's a futile effort to make. The difference in real life is that the other person has no obligation to respond in kind. Long story short, nothing happened, but I took away the realization that perhaps I did like girls all along.<br />
<br />
I guess, in retrospect, saying I was gay was just easier when I was dating a boy. I certainly didn't feel attracted to girls while I was with Gabriel, and frankly I still don't. I'm very picky. I don't like feminine girls, the ditzy blondes and slutty brunettes of the world; I look at their eyes when we talk, not their chests, and frankly I don't like the herd mentality of your average female. But wait, there's more. I like girls with short hair, or tattoos, or facial piercings, or a totally unique fashion sense. Or all of the above. I think I may have just described every biker girl ever, but at least they exist.<br />
<br />
I also had an odd experience where I realized I was very attracted to a good friend of mine who happened to be transgender and planning to have operations and hormone therapy. He turned out to be a terrible friend and treated me like dirt when I last saw him, causing me to waste a lot of bus fare and an entire weekend, and that was that - but it started as something more than just wanting to be friends.<br />
<br />
I realized that this makes me pansexual, or omnisexual, or polysexual (take your pick). In the end, I don't care about how a person identifies in terms of gender. I don't care about the particular group to whom they are attracted (as long as I'm potentially in that group). I don't even really care what they look like. I'm a lot more attracted to what makes that person a person than what makes that person a <i>homo sapiens</i>, if you know what I mean.<br />
<br />
I also realized that I don't like the term "bisexual," since it implies there are only two. Two what?<br />
<br />
I believe in science, and science says there are only two biological sexes: male and female. That is nature. Life would not work if there were any more or any less. Males need a female in order to reproduce. That's it. That is evolution. Two sexes. So, I suppose "bisexual" is a perfectly okay label for someone who determines their attraction based on the other person's genitals...but come on, does anyone really think that way?<br />
<br />
Science also says that "gender" is not a biological concept at all, and is entirely psychological. Of course I'm not one of those people who claims that "gender doesn't exist" - that's almost as naive as saying "I don't see race." When I see someone, I instantly apply labels to them. That's a black man. There's an Asian woman. And I'm a white (not Caucasian, please, I'm from Saxony!***) guy. But they're all just people. The black guy might be a flaming homosexual and the Asian woman might have been born male. So what?<br />
<br />
I don't care about someone's gender identity either. I'm sure there are people who could never be with anyone who was transgender. That doesn't make them terrible people. I could never be with a very or even somewhat religious person. It's called "attraction," and absolutely no one understands how it works.<br />
<br />
In fact, I don't care about my own gender identity. I certainly don't see myself as masculine. Let's be honest - I'm really not. I also don't think I'm particularly feminine. I'm just kind of in between. If I had my way, I would pass off as completely androgynous, but I have a male body and facial structure and fat distribution and, at the end of the day, a male brain. I'm fine with my body on a basic level (I mean, I could be in better shape and I have a lot of back problems), and I don't care if people see me as male. I can't really avoid that, and I can't present femininity very well, so I give up. I'm genderqueer. I don't really have a gender identity, but I am a male. Just not a man's man, you know?<br />
<br />
It is National Coming Out Day - three years to the day since I met Gabriel, in fact - so there, I've said it - I am pansexual and genderqueer, but I'm far too many other things for that to make any difference. <br />
<br />
--<br />
* In his defense, I used to and still do wear very tight jeans. They may not be "faggy," but they're definitely pretty gay. <br />
<br />
** Discharging firearms is illegal in our township unless you have a hunting permit that's in-season. Plus, there's nothing to shoot at besides skinny, sickly deer that would yield no meat.<br />
<br />
*** My dad's family originates in Lower Saxony, and my mother's in Ireland and Prussia. I suppose this makes me an average Anglo-Saxon, making my family the least-waspy WASPS ever.</div>
NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-92029777571543856872011-11-27T22:09:00.000-05:002011-11-27T22:09:19.721-05:00Kaleidoscope Kitteh<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCG3vJvW4Tjbc8FNMCMYd00YFU8xhzifFAtHMc3W6e6U_4c64IFHcBHNKKSEtsILbnfT0l3eSYmHMUlCeY4pfdsVoiv_ds2f_IZda8iWMqD-qi60yRlK43iIFDEiS1t8D9QCOutQSiqSmW/s1600/kal_kitty.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCG3vJvW4Tjbc8FNMCMYd00YFU8xhzifFAtHMc3W6e6U_4c64IFHcBHNKKSEtsILbnfT0l3eSYmHMUlCeY4pfdsVoiv_ds2f_IZda8iWMqD-qi60yRlK43iIFDEiS1t8D9QCOutQSiqSmW/s320/kal_kitty.gif" width="320" /></a></div><a href="http://nullcoding.tumblr.com/">nullcoding.tumblr.com</a><br />
<br />
<br />
</div>NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-63626791531600991242011-11-08T22:10:00.001-05:002011-11-08T22:10:22.694-05:00What language(s) do you speak?<p class="formspringmeAnswer">Chinese, English, German. Can read many more but speaking is eh.</p><p class="formspringmeFooter"> <a href="http://www.formspring.me/nullcoding?utm_medium=social&utm_source=blogger&utm_campaign=shareanswer">Ask me anything</a></p>NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-40776846037874965132011-10-18T20:42:00.000-04:002011-10-18T20:42:40.993-04:00Orion Proximity<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidpDjS2km2Yv0u5dQ-3AFuL-BethBOxmhjMSihmxc6teR38gaF2aoJYoDYK1PUVFV5FqQs6mn7GoNkTx-c5IvyoP1PQ2_JrpiAKhAbUv0P-VAGflh_ODor1UAEYSiCUuOKRewCcTtxP9-G/s1600/orion_proximity.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidpDjS2km2Yv0u5dQ-3AFuL-BethBOxmhjMSihmxc6teR38gaF2aoJYoDYK1PUVFV5FqQs6mn7GoNkTx-c5IvyoP1PQ2_JrpiAKhAbUv0P-VAGflh_ODor1UAEYSiCUuOKRewCcTtxP9-G/s1600/orion_proximity.gif" /></a></div><br />
This is how a Nikon D60 can capture stars we can't see with the naked eye.<br />
<br />
Also, this animation (actually only three photos, but tweened to appear as though they fade in and out) shows how at longer exposure lengths, more and more stars are revealed and captured as pixel data, though are not necessarily bright enough to register as a discernibly different value such that one can actually make them out; that is, the camera will have captured a very dim or distant star, but it will appear so faint in the image you might not even see it.<br />
<br />
Unless, of course, you were to artificially increase exposure through editing of NEF data; the brightest (and noisiest) photo in this animation shows how increasing the exposure to 175% original whilst bumping up the black depth dramatically changes the depth and population of the starfield around Orion's belt, a well-documented and highly active nebula. </div>NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-5689482908169091652011-10-05T00:14:00.000-04:002011-10-05T00:14:42.066-04:00Hi!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Hi, I’m Jimmy.<br />
<br />
I’m a nerd. I collect computers and then run them all at once to search for prime numbers. So far I’ve found over a thousand.<br />
<br />
I’m a musician. I collect instruments from around the world and teach myself to play them. I play eight. I suck at reading music and have only ever taken lessons in guitar. For fourteen years.<br />
<br />
I’m a photographer. It started with my high school yearbook. In 2010, 75% of the pictures in there were mine. A <a href="http://fav.me/d2fayxd">photo</a> sold at one of my exhibits now hangs in the office of the governor of Colorado.<br />
<br />
I’m pansexual. And genderqueer. The world may not be ready for that, so I accept “bi” and “male.” I’m not changing my body anytime soon. The only reason I rarely tell people any of this is because it involves so much explanation.<br />
<br />
I’m a gamer. I admit to playing OpenArena, Urban Terror, and the original Doom, Quake, and Wolfenstein series voraciously. OA is my favorite. If I’m not the best on my team, I’m disappointed. I also have a bit of an addiction to solitaire.<br />
<br />
I’m (still) a nerd. I run a distributed computing grid amongst all the computers I own and some I don’t. I participate in 32 scientific and math-based research projects. I’m currently ranked 808th out of 2,268,748 worldwide based on CPU time contributions.<br />
<br />
-<br />
<br />
I’m shy. In person I’m very modest. I would never say most of this stuff in real life. Not because it’s exaggerated, made up, or that I’m ashamed of anything in particular. I just think I come across as an arrogant prick whenever I talk about myself. Am I actually? Doubt it. Lots of people don’t like me, but not for good (or any) reasons.<br />
Honestly, if this was my biography, what would you think of me?</div>NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-90551491750543108222011-05-19T11:10:00.000-04:002011-05-19T11:10:54.875-04:00Little Things About Me that I Don't Mind You Knowing!I felt like getting some of this out there. Have a nice day, internet.<br />
<br />
<br />
-<br />
<br />
1. My life has never, ever been devoid of cats.<br />
2. I wear retainers.<br />
3. I have a line of scars on my left eyebrow; I had stitches there when I was 5. <br />
4. I have never been to Europe.<br />
5. I have spent very little time in New England, but people say I talk like I was born there.<br />
6. My teeth have been an odd shade of yellow since I was 15.<br />
7. I have been drinking coffee since I was 15.<br />
8. If I wash my hair more often than every other day, it becomes dry and falls out!<br />
9. I am probably allergic to grass, but have never been tested.<br />
10. Lots of people think I'm anorexic. Thanks, people.<br />
11. I have only ever sold one photo print to someone who wasn't a family member*.<br />
12. I commandeer computers partially because I'm a total nerd and partially so I can use them to participate in <a href="http://sites.google.com/site/nullcoding/boinc">BOINC</a>.<br />
13. I judge my boyfriend by how productive <strike>in Minecraft</strike> he is.<br />
14. I am, in fact, a homosexual.<br />
15. I failed my driver's test twice.<br />
16. I have been collecting business cards since I was 10.<br />
17. I have an affinity for tropical fruit. <br />
18. I suspect I have a thyroid condition which makes me intolerant of heat. <br />
19. If my thyroid is fine, then I suppose I just can't handle heat.<br />
20. I don't exercise much - not always because of my back or ankles, but usually because I simply lack the motivation!<br />
21. I had practically no female friends until I went to college.<br />
22. I have been blogging for over 5 years, but am still unsure if anyone reads it/them.<br />
23. I don't like wearing sandals or flip-flops. <br />
24. I really enjoy ice-skating and am somewhat jealous of my siblings, who are quite talented and do so competitively.<br />
25. I can tell you what's wrong with your diesel, but not your normal gasoline car.<br />
26. I have a night light. It's a USB lava lamp and the computer is never turned off, so…<br />
27. I own 20+ pairs of shoes, but you'll probably only ever see me wearing one or two different pairs.<br />
28. No, I cannot understand what the Asians at the next table are saying. They don't <i>all</i> speak Mandarin Chinese.<br />
29. I collect computer parts. This has come in handy more than I'd like to admit.<br />
30. I handle my truck like a sportscar because sometimes, it acts like one.<br />
<br />
* I believe <a href="http://fav.me/d2fayxd">that photo</a> is now in the office of the governor of Colorado.NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-72601013876437201312011-05-02T02:09:00.000-04:002011-05-02T02:09:35.230-04:00Always look on the bright side of death.<span data-jsid="text">Many of my friends are not American citizens and thus have shown skewed reactions to the recent assassination of Osama bin Laden in Pakistan. While the circumstances of his death are rather odd ("</span>U.S. officials had received specific information about where bin Laden may have been hiding in Pakistan"<span data-jsid="text"> - <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2011/WORLD/asiapcf/05/01/bin.laden.obit/index.html?hpt=T1">CNN</a>) and in typical military fashion, came to the public as a complete surprise, it is by no means unwelcome news.</span><br />
<span data-jsid="text"><br />
</span><br />
<span data-jsid="text">Within several hours of the President's emergency speech, someone put up signs in my dorm saying "Is it ever right to celebrate the death of another human being? America, we're smarter than this." I can only imagine this person is not American, or is a new-age hippie - the kind of extreme liberal who thinks Obama is a failure. </span><br />
<br />
<span data-jsid="text">Yes, it is right to do so. Minds are constantly set at peace by the execution of murderers, rapists, and serial felons. The execution of Saddam Hussein - <i>who was originally our friend</i> - was met with cheers and a sense of relief. Go ahead, think of more examples. And please don't say "the Bible" or "Jesus." Jesus, in typical fashion, would have forgiven Osama as he waited to face Satan.</span><br />
<br />
<span data-jsid="text">As long as I still live here, don't fuck w<span class="text_exposed_hide"></span><span class="text_exposed_show">ith us. I see the good sides of this country shine from time to time, and am just as patriotic as the next guy. I'll sing along to Toby Keith while drinking shitty American beer and eating pork BBQ for as long as we do good in this world.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span data-jsid="text"><span class="text_exposed_show">Don't push the buttons of someone who stands up for a country that still treats him like a second-class citizen. Just don't. </span></span>NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-35970144690809551682011-03-23T16:14:00.000-04:002011-03-23T16:14:36.306-04:00It's that time of year?Odd that my last post was in December, and it was called "Goodbye 2010." I didn't mean for the "goodbye" part to become semi-true or all-encompassing. Honest, I didn't mean to disappear.<br />
<br />
In fact, I didn't notice until just now. I haven't even thought about writing a blog post lately. I probably forgot I had a blog. Who reads blogs anymore? People just want their constant feed of 140-character-or-less sound bytes which are ever-so-friendly to the increasingly short American attention span.<br />
<br />
Also, when did dubstep get so popular? I mean, I don't do any drugs or anything, and I really enjoy listening to it as well. Is this a new or recent thing? Because, frankly, I'd not heard of it until maybe January or so.<br />
<br />
I still take pictures. No, really, I do. I have a ton lying around waiting to be processed or uploaded. Many are family photos with an artistic touch to them - my youngest two siblings are figure skaters, which is an art form in itself - and then there are the loads of snow pictures from home and <a href="http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=613361&id=853730421&l=62578a1637">a bunch from the ice storm</a> we had here in PA a few months back.<br />
<br />
Also, I hope people got a chance to see <a href="http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=598302&id=853730421&l=a5d0caba11">2010 - The Year in Photos</a>. This is something I've done for two years now and which I hope to make a tradition; I collate what I believe to be the best photos I've taken all year and put them in an album. Usually, they have something to do with me personally, but often they include my friends and family. Sometimes they're pieces I've shared on some website or in an exhibit and am trying to sell.<br />
<br />
That's another thing. I still have no job, because I'm at college. I'm applying for one soon, for the summer, but as of now I have no income and boy do I need it. Knowing that people like looking at my photos is great. Knowing that people might even want them hanging in their homes or offices or something is even better.<br />
<br />
Usually, I say that I pursue my multitude of hobbies for my own edification. And usually, that works out just fine for me. But really, without any outside motivation, I quickly lose interest. There comes a point when I feel like I've exhausted the possibilities at present, and I move on to something else. It's all part of being introverted and introspective. I do a lot of little things because they add up after awhile and make me me. I love computers because I love what they can do and what I can make them do. I love photography because it's a form of visual art I feel I can actually "do". I love playing and (re)mixing music because often, people other than me find my songs to be "good."<br />
<br />
But all this requires at least some degree of outside influence or motivation. If someone says he'll pay me to restore an old photograph, I'll be more than happy to set aside some time in my otherwise-hectic day and do that for him in a timely and efficient manner. If someone wants to buy one of my prints, I'll go out of my way to get it to her.<br />
<br />
If no one wants me to restore photos, I won't do it, because I have other things to do. If no one wants to buy my prints, I'll stop making them. There's no point in taking lots of photos if no one is going to buy them, or even if there's no proof that people look at them!<br />
<br />
That's why I'm making a few changes in my <i>modus operandi</i>. For one, I am going to watermark every one of my photos. Also, I will stop using the Creative Commons license I've been using. Now, no one may link to my photos or have them on their site without my permission. No one may make derivative works without my permission.<br />
<br />
Obviously there are exceptions to this. If there are copyrighted items in my photos then legally I can't claim to own the photo itself in its entirety. This is something many people fail to realize. One that comes to mind is "Vices" and "Vices II," which contain (among others) the trademarked names Dr. Pepper, Anheuser-Busch, Marlboro, and Camel. I doubt anyone would buy those prints, though; they're just kinda funny and a bit worrisome to people who don't know me (stop worrying, you).<br />
<br />
It's not hard to get permission to use my work in something, either. It's just polite to ask, you know? I'll likely take it as a compliment if you want to put one of my photos on your website or something like that. And since I do a lot of digital art, I can't think of a good reason to suppress those works. Especially once one considers that a lot of my digital works contain stock images. Similarly, a lot of the music I make uses at least a few royalty-free samples, although I tend to modify them extensively.<br />
<br />
That all seems a bit...incoherent. Would it be better to just beg for money?<br />
<br />
For those of you who don't know, I am at college in central Pennsylvania. I am 18 years old. I live with my family when I'm not at school. I do not live in Brooklyn. I own neither a fixed-gear bicycle nor a Holga. I don't like Pabst Blue Ribbon or Camel Turkish Gold(s). I can't grow a<strike>n ironic mountain-man</strike> beard. I don't hang out in Starbucks. I can't afford Starbucks. Starbucks can't afford Starbucks. <br />
<br />
I'm taking an economics class.<br />
<br />
When someone has a problem with their computer or one of its components, all they need to do is call or e-mail me directly. But when <i>I</i> have such an issue, and can't fix it myself, I need to spend hours lost in a literal web of dead ends and vague/incorrect links and instructions written in broken English. You try searching a website hosted in Taiwan for an address, phone number, or e-mail in America. It is not easy and not a particularly great way to spend a Wednesday afternoon.<br />
<br />
If you can think of a good way to spend a Wednesday afternoon, just go do it. It's almost over, for crying out loud.NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-70491164277553972832010-12-31T13:42:00.000-05:002010-12-31T13:42:34.652-05:00Goodbye 2010Before I even start with the "ten whatevers", I thought it would be funny to go back to the last part of my "<a href="http://nullcoding.blogspot.com/2009/12/goodbye-2009.html">Goodbye 2009</a>" post. <br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>My plans for 2010 include, in no particular order, setting up a website, getting a job/car, and keeping my academic performance consistent...</i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Ok, first one: no. Not even close. I have a <a href="http://sites.google.com/site/nullcoding/">Google Site</a>, but I had it in 2009 as well. I want my own site on a server I own and operate. Now that I actually know about web servers, though, this should be much easier. Gonna get me a dual Xeon...</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">Second one: almost and no. Still not quite sure what happened with the job for which I applied recently, since it would appear that nothing went to the right people and no one got the right information, including me. I don't have a car, and don't know why I wanted one. I'm at college...which leads us to</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">Third: I'll let you guess the quality of my academic performance; your guess is as good as mine since I have yet to find out how I did on final exams and papers. I will, however, say that college is going better than I ever could have anticipated and my experience is pretty consistent, as I had said I'd wanted.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">--</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">So, the "ten things" format may not be as viral as it was last year, but here we go. Be on the lookout for a photo album as well. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">Ten things to remember:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">"Whiteout," "Snowmageddon," and like terms; my car ends up in a snowbank; I end up under my car.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">Limit our ethnic eateries to three - Persian, Mexican, Indian - and patronize them in a cycle.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">"Anywhere Left to Turn," failure of a reception, a teacher's one-up-manship, vandalism, still no compensation.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">Chem lab biodiesel success.<br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">13 years later, saying goodbye.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">The best souvenirs from Pride are kittens.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">Bumper stickers only annoy your parents if they're on their car. The message is agreeable on someone else's.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">Living alone with two cats and an Infiniti for a week.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">Celldweller remixes...Celldweller/Sybreed mashups...Celldweller rap remixes...and on and on and on and on...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">Drayer 2nd floor is my home...no matter how I come across, I love you people.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">Ten quotes:</span><br />
<div style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; line-height: 24px;">"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: small; line-height: 15px;">If you do something right, no one has to know you did anything at all." - anon.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 15px;"><span style="color: black;">"That old guy with the pipe...he's a neuroscience professor...ok, looks like someone I'd want to have lunch with." - me</span></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 15px;"><span style="color: black;"> </span><br />
</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 15px;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span><div style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: small; line-height: 15px;">"That doesn't working!" - anon</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: small; line-height: 15px;"> </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: small; line-height: 15px;"> "We're both freshmen now..." - Chris</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: small; line-height: 15px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: small; line-height: 15px;">"Go sit outside and count the stars; let the dust lie where it may." - Blinde Instinkt, <i>Mind Like a Sieve</i></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: small; line-height: 15px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: small; line-height: 15px;">"Et mirakel er behæft / ved de tanker af mænd...men jeg vill ikke give i." - Blinde Instinkt, <i>Alaia Alazne (Joyful Miracle)</i></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: small; line-height: 15px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-size: small; line-height: 15px;"><span style="color: black;">"No one has to tell you not to / live your life like a scrap on the cutting room floor." </span><i style="color: black;">(Kenenkään ei tarvitse kertoa teille, ettei / Elä kuin romu katkaisumallissa lattialle.) </i><span style="color: black;">- J. Börner, <i>Untitled Tribute</i></span></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div>"Trap me in this empty room. / In making your devices known, / Your identity ceases to be your own." - Blinde Instinkt, <i>Untitled</i><br />
<br />
"I said I'd build a city up, / And I surpassed the sky. / I said I'd stop the entropy, / And no one asked me why." - Blinde Instinkt, <i>City on Paper</i> <br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">"I love you." - GDA</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">--</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">No time for life lessons or anything like that here. There are far too many. That's why I write.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">Here's to 2011. As this fortune cookie thing taped to one of my monitors says, "It's high time for one of your most promising ideas."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">Isn't it always?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">Happy New Year.<br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><br />
</span>NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-78437223728449017722010-12-23T11:22:00.001-05:002010-12-23T11:22:25.994-05:00What made you fall for your current partner?<p class="formspringmeAnswer">Oddly appropriate day to ask this! To be perfectly honest, it was one of those cliché novel-type things where "it just clicks."<br /><br />We met at OutFest in October of 2009, and had such a great long conversation about...just about everything. It's hard to say why, but the "falling for" pretty much started right away. :)<br /><br />...not quite sure how to put it better, actually.</p><p class="formspringmeFooter"> <a href="http://formspring.me/nullcoding?utm_medium=social&utm_source=blogger&utm_campaign=shareanswer">Ask me anything</a></p>NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6991196716452916698.post-9513083371271645772010-11-30T01:13:00.000-05:002010-11-30T01:13:54.250-05:00College Loves MeIt's a bit too late for this, perhaps.<br />
<br />
By "late" I don't mean what the clock says. It is nearly 0100 hours and I have class at 0930, but have not run into any problems with missing Chinese in favor of sleep.<br />
<br />
By "late," I mean what the calendar says. It is November 30th (or at least, it has been for about 40 minutes), meaning that on Wednesday it will be December, and 2010 will fast be drawing to a close.<br />
<br />
<i>This begs the cliché question - where did the time go?</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Did anyone notice I have made only one blog post the whole time I've been at college?</i><br />
<br />
The first semester is almost over, yet the second semester is still rather far off. Thanksgiving break is over, too, having passed by all too fast while still fulfilling what it needed to. In the odd period of time between now and the beginning of my winter holiday, which is well over a month long, I've got almost nothing to do. It would appear as though I have two final exams alongside two papers to write (for one class). I'm still not sure how well that all will go, but there have yet to be any problems.<br />
<br />
In fact, for all I am doing and have done here at college, there is very little to write about. I've encountered about as many roadblocks as I'd expected - obstinate people and financial insecurity to name a few - but perhaps it's a reflection on my realistic expectations and overall preparedness that I feel as though college is simply the next step up. Not 13th grade, not overwhelming-workload-place. Pretty much exactly what I expected, I'm getting.<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Naturally, there are a slew of things no one could anticipate or plan for. How was I to know, for instance, that my MacBook would die after being here for less than a month? And how could I have possibly imagined the toll that distance can take on relationships? </i><br />
<br />
Resolution rises from the ashes of conflict and confrontation. It always does. There are so many reasons for which I'm thankful I found Gabriel, for one. It is hard to believe we've been together for nearly a year now. I suspect the strength of our relationship is founded in our ability to resolve any issue through a form of malleable compromise in which neither party feels put-upon or disadvantaged. No argument between us ever ends with a clear winner or loser, something of which I've become acutely aware given the growing tension between my father and me.<br />
<br />
<i>It's hard to find solace in knowing what someone does for me while knowing what he stands for, always aware of the conflicts and increasingly pessimistic that we will ever find common ground. </i><br />
<br />
Gabriel represents everything I've unconsciously been searching for in a person, a fact I've only just begun to realize as the physical distance between us forces me to come to terms with the degree of reliance we now have upon each other. He's as much a part of my life as my laptop or my daily coffee - a comparison seemingly unflattering, initially, but think about it. My laptop is always there and always reliable, a powerful entity that does exactly what I need it to, often without my asking it. My daily coffee, well...that's just a given. Hence, comparisons to boyfriend. Being away at college has made me realize what it means to be interdependent and revealed the immense benefits it affords.<br />
<br />
<i>College is supposed to be a time to find yourself. Everyone starts from the proverbial "clean slate." No one knows anyone initially. It's a chance to forge new friendships, find a new niche, expand your horizons, change or eliminate your comfort zone. The independence of college life is the catalyst for molding you into the person the world will eventually know. </i><br />
<br />
Initially, I was a bit worried. I admit it - what if I didn't "find myself" at all, or what if I found myself to be exactly what I thought I was? That is, what if the person I thought I was in high school is actually who I am?<br />
<i> </i><br />
<i> </i>Of course, that's not true. First of all, the person I was in high school is actually the person I was during my senior year, with a few select parts of the person I was in my junior year. Nothing else counts for anything in the long term. For all intents and purposes, I was a nobody. I have little to no recollection of my first two years in high school, and I barely remember any of middle school and anything prior to that. Medically, that can be explained...that sounds ominous, doesn't it?<br />
<br />
A big concern was, perhaps, that I would "find myself" in an environment devoid of anything familiar to me - family, friends, relationships, pastimes, fixtures of my home life, et cetera. Luckily, this looks not to be the case, as I've found that the college environment affords many more opportunities to appreciate what I may or may not have left behind. I believe it was Socrates who said that "a man is the sum of his convictions," a permutation of which I frequently use: "all your past experiences and actions have shaped how your present and future actions will affect your future experiences."<br />
<br />
<i>In a sense, it's been proven to me that you can't know where you're going unless you know where you've been. You are who you were; you will be who you will be. </i><br />
<br />
I wish I could write more, I really do. It is getting rather late, though (according to the clock this time.)<br />
<i> </i><br />
Sorry for the ridiculous lack of activity on my DeviantArt page. I have quite literally done nothing in the last month and a half.<br />
<br />
Also check out the new layout of this blog. I'm going to make a new logo soon, too. In fact, I'll be doing a lot, including making a bunch of computer-related posts and showing you how I've tweaked my system(s) to be optimal performance machines.<br />
<br />
And of course, more semi-personal, quasi-philosophical stuff. Whatever people will enjoy reading - I'll write it.<br />
<br />
:)NullCodinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11307209676045355138noreply@blogger.com0