April 3, 2002
... and a cloud floats past the red-tinged orb, engulfing the world in a dampened darkness. A few lurid beams from the setting sun descend through the fog, gently shifting as they fall, causing the misty droplets to shimmer as they drift through the evening air. A breath of wind parts the vapors, revealing the endless sea that lies beyond the weathered beach. The deep waters appear peaceful, rocking lightly and reflecting specs of light from the sun, creating a golden pathway to the horizon, but beneath the surface dark shapes dart away from the sun's rays, secluded from the world. The wind dies down, and the sunlight fades, to be replaced with feeble moonlight, leaving only the cool tingling sand to assure you that you are not asleep. High above, the faded moon smiles down upon the earth, although whether kindly or mockingly, is a matter of uncertainty. Through the mist, the moon seems a translucent planet, visible only at the edge of sleep, pulsing rhythmically to the beat of an unseen drum. The twinkling stars are but distant observers, enviously watching the moon in its airy dance through the heavens around the planet we call home.
If you would like to see the image that accompanies this story, press gently.
July 3, 2002
Don't look at me like that. I'm not going to kiss you.
I didn't ask you to.
Your eyes did.
Eyes are mere instruments for gauging appearances; appearances can be deceiving.
Eyes are the window to the soul.
Under the proper lighting, a window becomes a mirror, or distorts perception
completely. It's much easier to see what you want to see than what is really there.
Especially at night, under the influence of the dark...
July 31, 2002
He ran on endlessly without seeming to move far from his point of origin (much like a run-on sentence will circle continuously around it's intended point but never quite get there, although circling isn't quite the best description for the jagged course that such a sentence will often take) until the store employee calmly turned off the treadmill and watched the man fly into the plastic and fall in a crumpled heap to rest on the floor; finally when the store clerk managed to control his laughter he pulled the stranger up, pointed him to the store's exit, and warned him, ever so gently, that if he chose to run at full speed to said exit the automatic sliding glass doors would be unable to open in time and the man would fall unconscious to the ground, deprived forever of the unique opportunity to step on the banana peel just outside the door and go slipping through the parking lot, barely avoiding the massive cars around him while watching the raindrops splatter on the hard concrete.
He ran from the room with his tail between his legs, which was pretty hard because he had no tail and only one leg, but he ran nonetheless (well, not quite ran, but it's the whole idea behind it that really counts), tailless, and partially (although, of course, not completely) legless with his missing body part tucked between an existing one and yet another limb, all of which was funny because he was indeed a dog in his past life; or at least he thought he was, but the man in the white overcoat chasing after him seemed to feel that the whole case called for a second opinion.
December 2, 2002
Today I was talking to Andrew and we came across the topic of Saint Peter. We didn't actually have this conversation, but we would have, if it weren't for the fact that we both had to go somewhere.
Andrew: Wait, but don't people go to be judged before Saint Peter
prior to the decision being made of whether they go to heaven or hell?
Me: Oh yeah, that's right. I wonder how that works.
Andrew suggested that it had something to do with weight. Apparently, intangible souls have weight. I suppose that's what's weighing you down when you get a heavy conscience; it's the sin. Wouldn't it make more sense for it to be some sort of non-pure color? Oh, well. Inspired, I proceeded to ask Andrew whether he tried picking up every soul; those that he could lift would pass into heaven, while those too weighed down by sin would sink down into hell. That, I thought, would explain why no generation is ever worried about getting to heaven; sin tends to increase gradually in a population, and if Saint Peter is constantly lifting these souls then his resistance to the weight must increase further and further. Thus, as people increase in average sinfulness, the better ones still get to go to heaven and the worse ones, well, don't. Somehow Andrew wasn't very receptive to my ingenious idea (hmph.)
Traditionally,
he said, the process is thought of as a balancing act
(on a balance scale), with a feather on one side the soul on the other.
When did people invent the balance scale? I have a strange feeling that the religion
was first, but who am I to say? Imagine that though. You take an intangible soul and
place it on a balance. Wouldn't it fall through? A sigh from Andrew. All right, all right,
maybe it's the sin that's tangible. And getting back to the weight thing, small amounts
of sin must not weigh much, since everyone is somewhat sinful, but most
still get into heaven. I guess that's why it's so hard to notice. Like putting on make-up,
for example.
The next logical question is where does the sin manifest itself? Does it crowd around the heart? Does it pollute the mind and spread outwards? Does it appear in statistically random parts of the body? Maybe sin isn't even tangible. Maybe at the gates of heaven, where somewhere they're hiding a really big scale, there's a special device that keeps you floating—an object reminiscent of a magnet tugging at your sin. Maybe that's why sin doesn't weigh so much anyway. And also, why you don't feel it as much on earth; the magnet thing would be pretty far away. But that doesn't really work; then a heavy conscience would make you float. Which would be completely pointless as it would make you want to sin.
These questions may never be answered. Well, not in such a way that you'll be able to tell other people the answer. I know, I really shouldn't over-analyze everything so much. But it's just so fun.
Always remember,
said the teacher, this simple rule: i before e,
except after c, or when sounded as a...
Weird,
replied the student.
January 14, 2003
This is the exact conclusion that I turned in to my teacher along with
my lab, except for comments in [brackets]. I lost 1 point
(out of 25) for making it too cute.
The purpose of this experiment was to determine, experimentally, the molar volume of hydrogen gas and to compare it to the theoretical volume of an ideal gas. The means to our ends lay in setting up a reaction between magnesium and hydrochloric acid. After having measured and tied down our very own strip of the alkaline earth metal known to many as magnesium, we thoughtfully deliberated whether it would be more fun to pass out from not breathing or from inhaling the fumes rising from the hydrochloric acid that we were pouring into our glass tubes. We then drowned the carefully measured out 5mL of HCl in a sudden cascade of H2O (read water), tearing apart the hydrogen and chloride ions (laughing mercilessly at their feeble struggle). We then submerged our piece of magnesium (3cm, 0.032g, 0.0013 moles) and trapped it, too, in the glass tube. Grinning from ear to ear, we clamped our fingers over the small hole in the stopper. Furiously, the air strove to break in as we flipped the little world inside the beaker upside down and hid the entrance into the tube deep underwater in a strategically positioned beaker. We watched the acid slither down towards the magnesium, watched as the magnesium bubbled in fury, watched it disappear with a final wave of bubbles ... Suddenly we found ourselves with more hydrogen than we knew what to do with. Dazed, we rifled through our notebooks, searching for the next step, the next piece to the puzzle, while still trying to make a mental note to watch for bubbles the next time we got mad. Finally, a clever student realized that, seeing as this was the first lab of the semester, there was only one possibility, and dashed off. The class turned as one to gaze at the student as she returned proudly holding a large yellow cylinder. Beaming, she filled the cylinder nearly to the top with water and transferred the tube there, meticulously guarding against the eager air. Skeptically, we [all pulled out decks of cards] and followed suit. We were particularly surprised to observe the water's lack of motivation to try to resist the attempt to even out the levels within and without the tube. My partner keeping a close watch over the droll water in case it suddenly tried something, I read from the convenient labels on the tube that we only had 0.0352 liters of the gas. Still not knowing what to do with it, we decided to measure its temperature, just in case. The temperature, we determined, was 22.9°C over what it should have been, and the pressure 19.9 torr under. [Poor thing had a fever]. Typical; life is always trying to mess you up. Finally having a use for the gas laws we [well some of us] had learned in class, we converted the real volume into what it was supposed to be: 0.037 liters at STP. Why, with only 0.0013 moles of hydrogen around, that meant that the molar volume of hydrogen [we obtained] is 24 liters per mole. Unbelievable! They'd given us the wrong theoretical value! But in the end I caved in to the stern looks from my friends and admitted that it was I who had been 8.6% wrong. Such was the end to our little experiment. Except that we still had no idea what to do with the hydrogen. [My chemistry teacher felt that this sentence deserved special commendation and put a checkmark by it]
Admitting that my partner and I had made a mistake was difficult, but the process was eased by the realization of how many things could have gone wrong. Think about it. Our rulers, our barometers, our thermometers, even our graduated tubes could have been calibrated incorrectly ([panting] or... we could have... misread them... I guess). Any number of materials could have been substituted for the magnesium and acid. The calculations could have re-arranged themselves when we weren't looking. The buttons on our calculators could have snuck over to talk to their friends. God could have even changed the properties of the hydrogen to deter us, making it appear that we had carelessly allowed a squadron of air molecules to battle their way inside. You just never know.
This lab taught me that not all labs must exceed the time limit set down for us [although previous labs have taught me that teachers really see this not as an impossibility, but as an incentive]. It taught me that ideal gases are not so different from real gases [except for the fact that ideal gases don't exist]. And it taught me that the universe is just waiting to sabotage you.
August 6, 2003
(edited September 16, 2004)
People often ask, Well, how'd you like (something)?
How does one respond to a question like that?
Picture the following scenario:
A man walks up to a child and asks How'd you like today?
Perhaps the child can compare it to something she likes.
Well, sir, I don't know if you like this to the exact same extent as I do,
but sir, I liked my day today just like I like a warm chocolate bar
on a Friday evening when the day has gone mildly wrong.
That's exactly how I liked today.
However, this response is not accepted very well at all.
Now don't you kid me young lady, how'd you like today?
says the man,
slight irritation audible in his voice.
Plan b: the man might want an adjective describing her enjoyment of the day.
Well, sir, to be honest, I liked today rather quietly.
I didn't tell anyone I liked it. I didn't laugh even.
You know how sometimes you just laugh out of pleasure when you like a day?
Well I didn't do that. So I'd have to say I liked it quietly.
The man is entirely nonpulsed by such a strange response. Maybe it's a joke?
Listen, you tell me right this very second how you liked your day or there'll be trouble,
I swear it.
Uh-oh. Now what? The man might want to know what facilitated her enjoyment, she tentatively decides.
Sir, please don't be angry; I'm sorry that I'm a little slow on the uptake,
but I think I know what you're saying now.
It wasn't very hard to like today, sir, really. I mean, it was a pretty good day.
It wasn't very stressful or anything. It was just right.
What with all the games we played and everything, well now, how couldn't I like it?
Ah. Finally an adequate response. But... still, it retains an air of strangeness.
Shrugging, the man walks away, leaving behind the confused little girl, quivering.
A while later, at home, the child recounts her day's experience.
Mother,
she complains,
a man asked me how I liked my day today, but he was very mean about it.
Soothingly, the mother coos,
Well, how did you like your day today, darling?
Sure of the answer this time, she boldly says,
Well, I told the man today that it wasn't very hard, what with all the stuff that happened today.
It took me a while to understand what he was asking, but I told him alright, and I meant it.
It was a cinch.
What, telling him was a cinch?
No, liking the day was a cinch. Telling him was hard. I kept trying to figure out
what he meant by
how did I like it.
Well, that's not a proper answer, honey. Seriously, how did you like your day?
asks the mother, concerned.
Well,
the child begins,
hardly daring to hope that it will work,
I liked it like a warm chocolate bar on a Fri–
What are you talking about? I asked you how you liked your day!
Desperately, the child whimpers, I liked it quietly, mama. I liked it in a quiet sort of way.
(edited January 17, 2004)
Okay, I have a question. America is supposed to be a society
that doesn't tolerate prejudice, at all, right? It is proclaimed that there is
no difference in the races, the sexes, the cultural backgrounds, etc. However,
the American government mandates that almost any official form (survey,
employment form, etc.) includes the person's race and gender. This is done in
order to promote equality in the races and genders.
Somehow, I can't quite follow that logic. As far as I can see, it clearly serves
merely to further separate the "equal" groups. First of all, if they are truly
equal, there would be no reason to promote equality. But then, maybe I just
live in the wrong century and don't know how blind some people can be. Still,
to me it is obvious that various races and genders and not truly equal; had they
in fact been equal, it would have been impossible to separate people into such
categories. Is the government saying that there is in fact a difference, but
they've chosen to tell us that there isn't, or that there isn't one but the
majority of the citizens don't understand this and therefore require it to be
explained? Perhaps they just found another way to waste government money, and
there's no way they're going to pass up an opportunity to do that... I guess
the reasons behind government actions will always remain too important for
common citizens to understand them. But it would be nice to understand the
government's self negating policies, at least on occasion.
September 23, 2004
I was fated to write this essay — I know, because I am writing it. Yet I only believe in fate to the extreme. A moment ago, I didn't know that I was fated to write these words; right now I don't know that I am fated to finish the job. That is, fate is irrelevant. A butterfly flaps its wings, infinity glows blue, and fate remains an oxymoron.
My meaning is simple: I believe in fate as far as science takes it. Ultimately, everything is controlled by fate — the future is entirely predictable, though I cannot discern it. Every event is caused directly by some other event; and, given that there exists some fundamental order to the universe, each event has only one possible outcome. As the song goes,
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.
Humans simply have not devised, and perhaps never will, any way to make meaning from the enormous quantity of different factors associated with, well, everything. Even if, somehow, humans were to finally conquer fate, to finally be able to predict the future, nothing would really be different. Knowledge of the future does not promote its change; if the future does not match the prediction, clearly the prediction is wrong. So, fate has no particular bearing on real life, except to provide philosophers with jobs and men and women with excuses.
I have found that people have a tendency to believe in fate as only relating to more "major" events in life. Complete predetermination not only boggles the mind; it's downright boring, too. If the future is fixed, forever, choices chained raw, then life loses its meaning, some would argue. Belief, purity, truth: to each of these dreams a band of followers clings as the justification, the reason for existence. Fate is the system: locked, rigid, cold, and a little damp. Yet, the system is not inconsistent with choice, nor does it coerce other abstract beliefs. The system precludes the random, true; but then, choices rarely are.
Still, that sort of fate just doesn't sell. Popular culture thrives on "the big events." Small things don't matter; the ends justify the means. Even in The Iliad, only the characters' ultimate fates seem to be sealed; certainly, the gods intervene in direct proportion to the importance of the character and the allure of the fate. This narrower definition of fate has far greater implications than the scientific clockwork analogy. In the popular system, choices still matter, yet at the same time, all things fated not to be aren't worth a pinch of time, nor of effort. Such complex fate works to simplify life: the big decisions have already been made. But then, it's the small things that count: a dozen roses, but only one marriage — thirty broken pieces of the heart, but only one divorce. Small is big. Sometimes, big is big too. Well, bad is good, so what else is new?
Back to the future — no — to fate. Ultimately, it only matters as a tool. I was, as it turns out, fated to finish this essay, just as you were fated to read it. But here, fate comes last. I could have convinced myself that I had to write the essay, that it was only a matter of time, and that I might as well start sooner rather than later, yet... Were you sure of your fate? I know I wasn't sure of mine. I can't predict my future. The most that I know of my fate is that part of it has already occurred, that the rest remains, and that from today's perspective, tomorrow is a mystery.