The bent knob.

Our democratic system has a major fault. A nearly invisible flaw that will eventually drive our nation, both our economy and society, into the ground. It is the fact that not every one can go for higher education.

A democracy, or rather, republic, requires that every voter be educated in order to be aware of the issues being voted on. In a perfect democratic society, every person would be aware of all issues facing the world and the nation. They would be scientists of every nature, and artisans of every genre. They would have the knowledge to make every political decision, and know every faucet of history and law. This is, of course, ridiculous. But in order to make for a perfect democratic system, that would be necessary.

In loo of perfection, we can settle for a system that work well. One that functions, despite the imperfections that result from uninformed decisions. This system, however, would require that every person have at least a college degree.

Right now, America only requires that a person have a high school degree. With a high school degree, a person can get a very low paying job. They can read a newspaper. But they are less likely to know the more important facts about the world around them. A person with only a high school degree within the current society has not gotten many of the advantages, such as a focused instruction on a certain topic, that would help them to inform others in an authoritative manner. Without this focus, there is less information circling, and it is easy for wrongheaded ideas to slip through the societal filter. Without this protection, propaganda becomes more powerful, and thus power can be transferred to less people. Over time, such power becomes focused in a few, and instead of a democracy, an almost aristocracy develops.

This does not mean that the developments that result from limiting higher education actually benefit the rich. On the contrary, they become a powerful dampener to lives of the wealthy. Limiting the number of people able to go to college results in less people becoming scientists and artists. Thus, there are less developments. Innovation, with regard to the people who potentially could create it, is more of a gamble then a system of predictability. Thus, with less people within college, there will naturally be less people coming up with good ideas. Those good ideas include medicine and other technology, let alone the entertainment. Thus the quality of life, including for those who have money, will deteriorate. In essence, the rich will have money, yet live only as well as the middle class would have if education were universal.

So the solution is universal higher education. Education should be not only a right for everyone, but also a duty to the society. In order to serve a country dependent on voters for decisions, education should be of the utmost importance. It is only when we focus on education that we can regain the prominence that the United States has enjoyed in the past. Though it is not perfect, with everyone being educated to their utmost ability, democracy will be able to lead us into a much better future, as so many groups of people that were kept from it upon our country's inception now have access, if only they had the resources.

The Human Animal

Like it or not, humans act like animals. Perhaps that, despite what theists and others will say, is because we are essentially just animals ourselves. We eat, we sleep, and we die. We just like to think of ourselves as somehow a cut above everything else. Perhaps we are destined to be more, but just saying we aren't animals doesn't hold any water.

Sure, we know how to use fire. And create it. And we know how to use other tools. Yet when it comes to our social practices, it seems we are backwards. The most dangerous practice that humans share with animals is the tendency to form groups.

Forming groups is important for the survival of any animal species. If all the animals of a certain species were to band together and work as a single unit, they would eventually run out of resources. This is especially true of predatory animals. Think of wolves, for example. If all the wolves within a certain biosphere were to band together, they would be cooperating to capture food. When they compete, they kill off members of each others' groups, thus reducing the number as a whole. But if they cooperate, they will only grow in number, thus overwhelming the supply of prey, and leading to the eventual starvation of the wolves in the area. Thus, groupings within animals is important.

Humans, however, have developed tools. In current times, these tools include weapons that could easily devastate whole cities. Yet we have kept our tendency to form groups. These groups are better known by other names. We call them races, nationalities, religions, social classes, and genders. We separate ourselves, instead of working together. We do this in a time in which we no longer need to worry about gathering enough to eat. Instead, populations starve as others stuff their bellies and their store houses next door. We bomb each other instead of make peace. We hate instead of cooperate. And we oppress instead of discovering the what mutual respect could bring. With the aforementioned weapons, we run the risk of annihilating ourselves.

It is in this, that I believe most of our problems lay. Ideas, such as racism, should have been dropped into the void of the past long ago, yet it is still a very current and powerful issue. Humans are still very willing to hate. We still identify mainly by our nationalities, thinking of the people from other countries as potential enemies, instead of part of the human race as a whole. Religionous bigotry is a mere biproduct of a need to segregate ourselves. Those with money still horde it, instead of sharing it, and potentially improving their own lot as well, as many of those who could not afford education might have brought advances that would have improved life. And we still see a need to force people into regimented and rigid gender classes, that serve to hurt every person, as people's ability to give voice to speech is stiffled.

So, instead of something more, we seem to still be animals. As time goes on, we ebb between progress and regress, always on the cusp of discovering a new existence. But for now, we stand still with the wilderness, with our eagerness to destroy ourselves.

Game Copyright Protection Frustrations, Part 2

Another option to DRM presents itself. This tactic, however, puts the responsibility back in the hands of the customer. If the industry really wanted to end pirating of their games, they should move away from such hard solutions like software protections. They would be better served by a soft approach. This tactic involves a little bit social education. The more cynical might call it propaganda, though it does not rely on the stretching of truth, or the outright deceptions that are so common in many forms of advertising.

What this tactic involves is making public the damage that pirating does, not only to the companies, but to the consumer, and the industry in general. Showing the creators of the games on TV talking about how much pirating hurts their art. Show the trends of pirating, and how it relates to the numbers of sales of the game. Show how that trend relates to the relative amount of money spent on games. Start websites discussing the problem. Get spots before movies talking about how bad pirating is. Show how pirating has affected other industries.

Most importantly, however, get the fan community involved. Every large game company has fans that are loyal. Tap into that loyalty. Instead of pushing them away by putting in protections, pull them in. Have the heads of the company, or more importantly, the developers of the games, go on the forums and ask for the fan's aid in combating piracy. This will not only increase loyalty, but also make those who would otherwise get a pirated game think about saving up, as they would then feel a sort of kinship with the game developers. It makes the company less of a monstrous entity, and more of a community. Then ask those fans to help out by being watchdogs, letting the company know of places where the games are being pirated.

Just as importantly, make sure those fans know that the company is puting trust into the hands of the customer. Clearly state in the advertisements that there will be no software protections that will be put into the game. Let them know that there will be extra benefits that will be added to the game as time goes on, support for the game will not be dropped. Explain how continued pirating would make continuing support fiscally unfeasible. This will make the fans more likely encourage their friends not to pirate. If pirating continues, then drop support for the game, making clear that pirating was the culprit. By shifting the negative attitude from the game companies to the pirates, the pirates will lose the popular support. This will also serve to improve the image of the gaming industry, as will as reduce the number of people willing to pirate games.

Right now, the issue of copyright protections on games is hurting the image of gaming companies. They seem like big corporations out only for an extra buck. Brand loyalty is slipping, as fans cease to identify with the company that is producing the game. If pirating is to lose ground, this image has to change. Otherwise, the unending war between potential customer and creator of software will eventually drag the industry down.

Game Copyright Protection Frustrations, Part 1

First, let me state that I am not in any way on the side of pirate-ers of software. I understand that many wish to play the games, yet cannot afford them. These are hard times. It goes without saying that the easiest way to get the games for many is through illegal means. This, however, is a disservice the people that spent hours of love and hard work creating the games that those pirates profess to admire. By pirating, those who find ways to illegally distribute or obtain the games are hurting the industry, reducing the chances of better games being developed. Such is not the "cool" or "underdog" thing to do, it is simple theft. It isn't as if games keep people alive, and that the fans can't wait for the titles to hit the bargain bins. There is no defense for such actions. There are many good things that the underground computer community does for our society, but pirating games is not one of them. And as for the idea of stealing games only being hurtful to the big corporations, it is untrue. It hurts those of us that are willing to pay for the games. In fact, it even hurts those who are getting the pirated games. When corporations believe that high quality games will not sell as well due to pirating, they won't be willing to pay as much for the talent necessary to create great games, and thus we start to end up with carbon copy cliche's instead of real entertainment. Or even worse, they start to go to rediculous measures to keep their copyrights safe. Which leads me into my point.

It seems that big game companies are starting to put what can only be described as trojans on their software. They stay on the computer even after the game is removed, and often can cause the software to not run on the computers of those who actually paid for the game. Sometimes it as limited numbers of installations. Other times, the "protection" interferes with the ability of the game to even install at all. This is all in the name of preventing possible online theft. This all sums up in the fact that DRM hurts the customer. And ironicly enough, it isn't even a fool proof way of preventing piracy. With the proper editing of the software, DRM can be bypassed. So in effect, protection software like DRM only serve to make the product less appatizing to those who would legitimately pay for the game.

And that is a big problem, especially for those companies who are using such "protection". By using such devices in the attempt to prevent pirating, they are effectively reducing their own sales. So what happens, is that everyone loses. The game company sees its profits cut. The potential customer either buys the game and is unpleasantly surprised, and thus tells friends not to purchase the game, or simply avoids the purchase. Fans are dissappointed, and the brand name is damaged. The only people who keep on course is those who pirate.

"Digital rights management -." Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Web. 22 Nov. 2009. .

The post that ran away.

A little while ago I was writing a blog, but then I had a movie, and couldn't.

Mandatory Blog Post #3: Anger at the mark.

It is truly a sign of how far away from the ideal we have moved when we declare that we will not support those who need aid within this country. What is disturbing is the movement away from providing welfare programs, taking that money that could be used to help people, and moving it away to support war, the ultimate in hurting people aside from genocide. Perhaps it is the animal side of our minds that drives us to view those whom we see as not being contributors as evil. Perhaps, in older, ancient times, this view would have helped our tribes survive. We would leave the sick and the old to die alone, caring little for their suffering as we moved on to find resources. We are not held to such animal urges anymore, with all the advancements we have we could provide for everyone. Wealth could be spread among everyone. Instead, it is focused on the few, and those who are without are left without.
The reading drove home how dangerous the depraved view that somehow people who live on welfare are less then human is. It drives people to stay in abusive relationships, it forces people to live on less and expect less. It brings to the forefront the question: when are people going to think about their group instead of themselves. The obvious greed in the idea of telling people that they should not take welfare when they need it most is astounding. To tell women they should live in abusive relationships rather then try to make a life on their own to protect their kids shows how selfish our society has become. Poverty should be the enemy, not the impoverished. Instead of revile, society should act with compassion.
The views of society are obviously meant to keep the poor from rising up in the social ladder. Why else would programs that helped the poor be ended. It is the evil by the rich and powerful that says that people should be content with less. They merely do not want to share what they have. They do not want competition. They hate the ideals that America stands for.
Education is obviously the most powerful way in which people can gain a better life. That is why the rich desire to give less and less to education, ensuring that costs rise, and less and less people can compete with them. Education should be free; yet it is one of the most expensive undertakings that a person can push into. Education has become a barrier, instead of a ladder.
Which is why more programs like Access are needed. We need to provide people with a way to gain a foothold in the economic realm. Without such footholds, people will slip in greater and greater numbers into poverty. And even the rich cannot escape the consequences if our society collapses because of this greed. If correcting steps are not taken, this disastrous future is all but inevitable, as society is already showing signs of a possible collapse.

Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time, the world worked like it was supposed to. People gave to each other through charity, the sick were looked after without asking, nobody was allowed to suffer when it could be at all avoided. The people did not have everything, but what they did have, they shared. Even when they didn't have enough, they would break their own meals and provide for each other. There was no need for a government, because no one would willingly kill each other, as it reduced the hands that could provide.

Painful Writing

I wonder how people deal with the idea of contradictory statements. Often, these statements feel as if they are saying the same thing, yet they are actually saying the opposite. It is not a practice that is new to the world, though it has, in the past, been quickly pointed out within the US. This has become especially popular in recent years, after the election of President Obama.

Kairos (For Class: Mandatory)

I remember the very first practical lesson I learned when I was in the Journalism major. That practical point was about timing. Timing is practically everything when reporting. It is much like using bread. Wait too long and the bread gets stale. Sometimes it even grows mold. Issues are not important forever, they, for the most part, come with use by label. A fire might go out in a few hours, and then the story on it wafts away like so much smoke. Then something else happens. Timing has a lot to do with how affective an argument is, a fact that is often forgotten in the real world.

The most effective arguments focus on an issue that is currently on the minds of the populous, or at least on the minds of the target audience. A good example right now would be the health care debate. The question on whether we should ensure everyone is a powerful subject. Combining this with the current economic crisis can make an especially effective argument for the public option. Since the cost of health care is going up, and the income of the average person is going down, it makes sense that everyone would rather have health care cheaper. Looking at that fact, it becomes clear that the only way to make the greedy health insurance providers lower their prices is through competition. The public option is a very obvious example of competition, since it would be not be answerable to stockholders and would therefore be more likely to not cheat the client in the name of profits. Without the current economic crisis, the argument would be significantly weakened, since people could afford to pay the premiums until now.

Another argument made stronger by current events is the argument for programs to combat poverty. When the economy was good, the topic of poverty was hardly touched, as it was easy for the average person to look at their jobs and feel secure. Now, however, there is the real possibility for practically anyone to lose their job. This creates a feeling of urgency to argument for better welfare programs. As people lose their jobs, they lose their source of income, and thus are vulnerable to the possibility of dipping into the poverty line. This is especially true of those who had good jobs, as there is certainly time needed to adjust spending habits to the new income level. As the public watches the increase in homelessness and unemployment, they begin to consider the possibility that they may to lose their jobs. They start to identify with the poor on a level they did not previously consider, as they themselves have to cut back more and more. It is one thing to say you pity the poor and want to contribute time and resources to helping them. It is entirely another when you fully understand what it is like to have to survive on less, and then desire institutions that would help you. Providing a net for people who don’t have enough money is essentially to restarting the economy, and right now the argument for strengthening that net is especially powerful.

The Online Death. (For Class)

There have been many that have documented and commented on the tendency for some of the online society to forget the real world. People play and play on online games, becoming disconnected from the people they love for the people on line that barely know they exist. It seems, this is where convenience is leading to the death of the real society.
There is much communication in the real world that can only be interpreted though body motions. A smile, a hand gesture, a raised brow, all of these things provide flavor to the meanings of the sentences that a person verbalizes. This cannot be communicated online. In its most extreme forms, such as flicker, such communication as intonations are completely absent. There is very little emotion that can be expressed in such a limited form. Yes, writing as an art form can convey a lot of meaning and emotion, but that is not the focus of the discussion. People online are not practicing that art form, and thus are merely spewing what they are thinking at the time.
That is, perhaps, what is so attractive about online communication. It provides a channel through which people can safely ignore the emotions of others. It is this safety that is so addictive. Real relationships take time and emotional investment, and such is nearly impossible with a virtual connection.
The danger is the investment of emotion into the online entertainment industry. People start to feel as if they are truly connected to those who are on the other side of the wire. People feel they have relationships with a character they met online. This is ironic, since there is no reason for people online to tell the truth. They can lie about their gender, financial situation, and hobbies. Without a picture, and sometimes even with a picture, the reality is never as verifiable. Thus people invest their time with what is often a fake relationship.
In the end, the connection can easily be cut. A new game is invented, so those people lose track of each other immediately. Such is true of when a new form of instant message becomes available. So, even the most honest online relationship is merely temporary. Such things, without becoming rooted in the real world, are doomed to die.
It is thus, necessary for people to get off of their chairs, and find a real relationship in the community around them. If they think they have found a real relationship with the virtual world, they need to find and solidify that relationship outside the computer. A life without true connections leads to loneliness and depression, as the unconscious eventually realize such is not real. Breaking away from the computer can be hard, however. The feeling of community without emotion cannot be found elsewhere.
And that is the caveat. It is necessary to take risks, especially within relationships. It is necessary to experience the dangers inherent in true relationships

The Newsy Reality (For Class)

Why is it that our news seems to be so bombastic in their declarations of possible evil. Instead of news, we get entertainment. When we should be hearing about the war, about natural disasters, about heinous murders and about things that would naturally affect the audience, we get something different. We get sex scandals, high school food menus, and empty sidewalks of places where there was a protest. Instead of getting information that might affect us, we get assaulted by a sitcom, where everything is for the most part, about nothing.

I remember my journalism classes. We were taught that the news organization was built to safeguard the public from the possible abuses of the government, and to provide information that would directly relevant to the reader. In the earlier times, the newspaper would be picked up because the information in it was essential. If the reader did not know that there was a dangerous killer in the area, people would not be safe. If they did not know that a possible financial bust might be in the future, they would continue to spend on frivolous things. If they were unaware that corporations were the driving force behind stopping health care reform, they might decide against supporting something that would ultimately help them. Without such information, the reader has very little reason to consider the news organizations important.

As such information became less and less a part of the news, the news programs had to make their shows more and more like an entertainment show. Now, in the extreme, we hear so much about how the latest celebrity dresses, or about the newest diet drug. We hear very little information that only a dedicated journalist could provide.

This is more important that the average person would believe. It not only affects the way a single person acts, but also the way in which the country acts as a whole. Without that essential information about the true motives of the law makers and the politicians, as well as information on why certain laws are being passed, a democracy cannot function. It will inevitably become an aristocracy, with the people in power creating laws that are detrimental to the public on a whim. Without such information, the United states will cease to be a democracy, and become an oligarchy, ruled by those with the money to pay for air time, with a public distracted from their declining way of life by sound bites. It is paramount that people demand that their news act in their best interest.

Ironically, it is the internet that is bringing the news back into order. A place where information runs free, corporations cannot hide the information behind a wall of trivia. With the internet, the truth cannot be held back, as someone will inevitably post it, sometimes even from outside of the America. It is ironic, that the wild west of the information would is bringing order to a country that is slowly losing its grip on freedom. It is therefore, paramount, that the public be educated in the use of the internet as a source of information.

Forget (For Class)

When I was working on my computer when I realized, that the world was not what I thought it was. When we think of people, we fail to consider those who are not in our immediate circles. Why is it that when we hear reports of a war, only Americans are really mentioned. Is it that we don't consider those other people to be actual people, like us? Is it that they don't matter in our world view? How is it that reports of our wars only mention how those wars are humanitarian in interest, when in reality, they cause innumerable deaths on those we are supposedly helping?

In hindsight, I believe the reasons for the Iraq war are obvious. It was not to free the peoples that were there, or to oust a government that is dictatorial in nature. It was not even to attack the terrorists that attacked us. It was to support the greed of the powerful corporations in America. Somehow, those corporations have convinced us that the people in those countries don’t really matter. We hear of thousands of deaths on the other side and don’t even flinch. We hear how we are helping those countries and don’t even ask. This is not to say that our soldiers are fighting for a horrible idea. They fight for what they believe in, and to protect their fellow man. It is, however, those who watch from high above that are truly to blame, those who give the orders at the highest level, and those who tell us those decisions are right.

It is because we are told that these things are right that we went into the war. But we believed them because we forgot to ask the why. We forgot to ask why it was Iraq, and not Afghanistan. We forgot to ask why the proof that was offered us was so shaky. We forgot to ask why we would focus only on the countries we know had oil. We, most especially, forgot the question the motives of those making the decisions, and how they might profit from the war.

For this I blame myself, as well as the rest of the public, for not asking. But just as significantly, I blame the news organizations, that should have looked deeper into the sources, into the reasons for our desire for war. If they had done the necessary research, many lives could have been saved. But they forgot to ask those vital questions in their fervor.

This time, we must be willing to ask. With this health reform, we need to ask who really wants the reform to end, who would benefit from there being to public option. It is so easy to watch the advertising on the news, and forget from where it came, so we do not have to research. We cannot, however, forget again. We must look deeper into the reasoning behind the decisions our politicians are making. It is important this time, to not forget to ask.

A little socialism is a good thing. (For Class)

I think everyone is aware of the fight for and against the public option. For those who are unaware, the public option is a program, much like Medicare, that operates by the amount that people pay into it (Flanagan). This acts as competition to the private insurance companies, and allows for more diversity within the system. The program, unlike the private insurers, would be held accountable to the public.
Private insurers are held to the demands of their stockholders, which in turn causes the company to run with a focus on profit. This is a system built to fail, as it provides incentives for the company to find any way to save money. In the insurance realm, this means not covering those who are already paying into the system. In normal competition, the need to provide a profit usually results in better products, as the companies compete for the money of the customer. In the health insurance industry, however, those some drives cause the companies to find ways to screw the customer, as it is simply cheaper not to cover the costs that the customer causes when the customer gets sick. Competition, in this case, reduces the quality of the product.
This would not be such a problem if there was more competition. There is, however, very little competition, as in each state there are only one or two health insurance companies, and usually only one available through any single business. This lack of option is another reason why the costs of health insurance is so high relative to the coverage it provides.
A public option thus would provide more diversity in the health insurance industry, and would allow for lower prices, thus people would be able to join it in larger numbers. It would also limit the number of times that the companies would drop people for inane reasons, because the customers would leave in droves for the public option. There is little reason not to have a public option, other than the insurance companies would suffer in their ridiculous profit margins.
I would argue for a harder line version. A single payer system, in which everyone is covered through a government run health care system. No one would be dropped, no extra money would be spent on lobbyists. With so many people suffering because they do not have health insurance, or have been dropped from their health insurance, there is very little reason for thereto not be a system that covers everyone. In other cases, such as fire fighters and police, there is very little argument for privatized industries for those areas. This is because such things are essential to the health and safety of the populous, and it is ridiculous that a person’s health is not to be considered as essential as those other institutions. Why do people have to die, just because they couldn’t afford to live?

Flanagan, Jerry. "What does the "public" in "public option" really mean? - Consumer Watchdog." Consumer Watchdog: Home. 31 Mar. 2009. Web. 01 Nov. 2009. .

A system in need of Aid. (For Class)

Now, I’m not really a socialist. I like capitalism in most instances, though like any system, I think it is quite flawed. Those flaws, however, are causing the education system to become less and less effective. There is no immediate money in education, since it is a long term investment, and in a system where profits need to be visible every year, that is a problem.

The system I am worried by is the education system. Specifically, the higher education system. Now, I’m not saying that the current system is totally bad. But it is heading in a troubling direction. As our economy sinks lower, the price for a college education rises higher. As less people can afford education, fewer people get the needed knowledge and qualifications for higher paying jobs, and thus can pay less into the system. As less money is paid into the system, the more a college education will cost. As this cycle continues farther and farther toward the ground, the United States falls behind. And then, we complain about our slipping in world status.

We focus on other things, because discovering that the United States is a beacon, slowly dimming, is a hard subject to broach. We blame it on the economy, on world events, on anything but the fact that other countries are starting to creep ahead because we look elsewhere for the source. Education, however, is at the heart of how well a country functions.

As a democracy, we depend on the ability for the public to make good, intelligent decision. In order to make such educated decisions, we need the public to have the knowledge to do so. That knowledge can best be gained by focusing on our schools.

By focusing, I mean spending more money. Hire more teachers. Make it a higher paying job. Cut costs for the average student. In fact, it would be great if everyone could attend college. This, in reality, is in keeping with the capitalistic and democratic ideal, which is the belief in an open market in which everyone can participate. If college was truly affordable, then more would attend, regardless of current economic class, and the cream would rise to the top. Given this focus, it would create lasting economic progress, as those graduates would bring innovations to all fields within the country.

Instead of this focus, we see less money spent on education, instead of more. As less money is spent on our education, the colleges have to let go of more and more teachers. Classes become bigger and bigger, and the level of education reduces. This is not even considering the talent that is dropped in the name of saving the bottom line. It reduces not only the quality of the education, but also the reputation of the education system.

Perhaps we need to attack the source of this problem. Perhaps it is time for those within the education to get loud about the issue. Politicians won’t push for change that isn’t strongly voiced by the public. Logically, why would they focus on a problem that has nothing to do with getting them elected? We need to make this issue one that is talked about everywhere, and bring education to prominence within the societal discussion.

Random Post: Part Two(For Class)

But I cannot lay the blame on only my teacher. ‘Teachers’ is a better description, as my writing habits were shaped by more then one person. I also blame my coaches as well. Always telling me to run, then watch the ball, then stop, then run again. Such habits leaped over into the other parts of my life. One such example is when I was in the house. I ran, I stopped to make sure the screen door was open, then ran right into the glass door. I’ve hated glass cleaners ever since. This is also apparent in my writing habits. I can write for long spaces of time, but as soon as I stop, I can’t write anymore. It’s like hitting that glass door. Knowing there is a beautiful word outside, yet unable to visit it because I have to sit down and wait for the world inside to stop spinning. Even when I am able to get past the glass door, something always distracts me, and again, I stop. Suddenly I am back within the home, unable to touch the beauty of my mind. Like that stupid singing above me right now. Sounds almost like a song I am familiar with, except the words are garbled. That probably has something to do with the walls between us. Suddenly I remember that I was supposed to do a post on racism. Thoughts are a big problem too, apparently. I’m writing, and suddenly I realize I am hungry. I get up, and then the computer falls into the water. After the shaking pain subsided, and my muscles unclenched, I realized that if I had not gotten hungry, I would never have been shocked. I would have spent my day gladly typing away, if not for that one, sinisterly disguised thought. It is like I am at war with my brain. Great warplanes whizzing about, chattering away as their machine guns blast at each other. See how the sound of the keyboard affects me even now? Those thoughts, sinister things, they conspire against me. Indeed, it is a conspiracy. My mind, body, and everything else in the world is determined to keep me from writing. If I have learned one thing in my days, it is that conspiracies exist. They are built to keep me in the chains of the mediocre, to never create anything that would wow the world. Yes, it all makes sense now, to be cliché. The world is out to get me, to stop me from writing interesting things. I will not stand for this tyranny, however. I have many times fought injustice. For example, when the bully started harassing me, I kicked him in the nuts. Everyone cheered, and I was the hero of the playground. At least for the ten minutes it took for the bully to get back up. Then everything hurt a lot, but for those few minutes, I was a hero to everyone. Perhaps it is time to be a hero again. I will stand up for-

Random Post: Part 1(For Class)

The hardest thing about writing is coming up with things to say. Often, it is easier to stick a fork in my eye then actually starting to write with a blank page before me. Perhaps this is because I have ADD. In laymen’s terms, that means I get distracted very easily. All that needs to happen is a sound creeping in from the outside. In fact, there is one happening right now. Sneaky bugger up stairs thinks that singing in the shower somehow will earn him rewards. Granted, I’m right below him soaking in the bath tub. It is, of course, my practice to sit in the bathtub with my laptop perched neatly on my knees. Adds needed danger to my writing, which helps grease the gears of my writing apparatus, my brain. But I must run back to the topic. Anyway, as I stated before, and stated out loud, the man upstairs is singing, and that his highly distracting. I’m thinking of getting my broom and hitting the ceiling. I’ve heard that makes people stop. But I don’t currently have a broom, so that means that I will have to go to the store to buy a broom. Perhaps I will go soon, but it is such a bother. I need to get that fork I talked about as well. Perhaps some aloe for my electricity burns, from the last time I decided to write. Burns do hurt quite a bit, which is why I have decided to soak, and thus have no option but to write. My computer was unhappy too, which is why it surprised me that it is working now. But, let’s get back to the subject. Writing is hard because often, I feel a need to say something grand. It is like my words are precious jewels, and each of them has to carry meaning. Meanings, a multiplicity of understanding and ideas bound and packaged neatly within a single utterance. That is what one of my earlier teachers once told me. I fully blame her for my current inability to write. Perhaps there are more people who carry the blame of my writers block. Of course, I am not to blame. One such person was my English teacher, and she would describe how each word has to not only have meaning, but also a place within the sea of other meanings. Simply moving the word over, under, or around its brothers and sister would result in an entirely new event within the reader’s mind. This, coupled with each word bringing new meaning when used in concurrence with certain others creates a maelstrom of confusion. How do I make a sentence when writing is such a delicate process. My teacher talked of beauty and roses, and all I heard was blood and thorns. I’m somewhat awkward, so I often would grab at meaning with fumbling grace, and impale the thorns in my hand. My teacher often would discourse on this after class. She would state how my words tripped over each other, and had characteristics like the humans I knew.

The Dog

Once upon a time, there was a family, and it had a happy, tail wagging dog.

Now that dog, though it was good, watched for people who would break in, and was generally friendly to those who lived within the house. It was the best of watch dogs. Though it was bound by the views of the leaders of the family, it would do its best to bark when it thought those people were working against the rest of the family.

But then the family hired new caretakers, for the time not exceeding eight years. And they brought their own dog. Yes, that dog existed before, but it was not as strong. But the new caretakers stopped feeding the old dog, and made sure to fatten up the new dog. And the new dog beat up the old dog, and the old dog limped to the corner and shivered in fear.

It was during the new caretakers' watch that the house was vandalized, but worse, some of the family members were killed. It was the Jacobsons, an angry family that felt they had been ignored and crushed by the head family. And the caretakers were angry, and rightly so. The dog also yipped and growled and barked its own declaration of war. And so, after some considering, they decided to attack the Thompsons' house. This was because the Thompsons looked sort of like the Jacobsons, and they had some nice jewels that the caretakers desired. And the new dog did not get angry that they were going after the wrong family. So after the caretakers went over to the Thompsons' house and killed a bunch of their family, destroyed their house, and, admitedly, got rid of their nasty leader, they did not get the jewels. They also never found the vandals.

The caretakers had used a lot of the family's money to attack the Thompsons, and the house was left in disrepair, with a new family feud. Thus, after the eight years passed, the family elected new caretakers, but the new dog stayed. And it hated how the newer caretakers did not feed it as much as the old caretakers did, so it started to attack the caretakers, after the caretakers tried to repair the house, and replace the money that the old caretakers stole.

After a year, the new caretakers were upset, and they decided to get the old dog back into shape. They denounced the new dog, and the old caretakers. And the new dog was angry, and it kept calling the new caretakers traitors. And thus, the family came home, and decided what to do...

A Life Lost (For Class: Mandatory)

After reading Sander Scott's "Under the Influence", I immediately became aware of who the intended audience was. I know that many people will think that this essay was written with the general public in mind, to create awareness of a painful reality. It is not. It was written for those who shared his grief in some form, when watching someone destroyed by addiction, and to express the helpless anguish shared by those who have been touched by this evil.

In his essay, he creates a very close first person view. This very personal essay gives him the feeling of a journal writer, the audience witnessing his internal struggles. His reality becomes the reader's reality. Without having experienced some of the things that he describes, a reader would understand in a limited light, but would not be able to fathom the true pain that hides behind the words. For example, when he describes the feinting hope that would come every time it appeared that his father might have decided to stop, only one who has played witness to such hope can feel the true tug, and hear the tears in his words. This cycle of reaching for a dream one is helpless to enact, see it like a mirage, then watch it disappear, can only be understood by those who have watched someone dig their own grave with helpless commitment.

I can no longer hold back my bleeding heart. The main reason I know the pain he experienced is that I have felt it too, though on a lesser level, been hopeful and then watched my hopes crashing into splinters on the rocks of reality. Except, for me, it was my grandfather who drank, in fact drank himself to death.

I remember as crisp as yesterday, my early childhood with my grandfather. I was unaware of his drinking problems. I only remember then, he would spin me like a helicopter blade, his actions as graceful as any ice dancer. His laughs and my own shared a common tingle, one of mutual love.

It wasn't until we moved in with my grandfather, that I learned the deadly secret. My family sold our old house, and could not find a new one. While searching for a new home, I learned things I wish I never did.

There were not enough beds, so I would end up sleeping in the same bed as my grandfather. He did not abuse me, yet at night, with fetid breath, he would poke my back, thinking it was funny. After several weeks without sleep, my family moved me into another room, with a cot, as I was no longer able to sleep in his presence. It would not be until latter, that I learned what drove his actions.

Then, my grandfather had a stroke. This was the first time I learned of his drinking problems. My father would lament that he drank socially, but that it had become an addiction. I could see in my father what Sanders described, a hidden bitterness that colored his every description of his father. And as I had to care for my grandfather at times, I too started to share this bitterness.

When he was sent to the hospital, I dreaded every visit. No longer did I remember the joy of memories. I blamed him for his circumstance, and almost hated him for his mistakes. Even while in the hospital, a dying man, I heard rumors that he still asked for alcohol. While the hospital would not supply the six packs of bottles of beer for him, his addiction raged within his mind. For this I did not forgive him. As I watched him slowly dying, my father witness someone much closer pulling away, and his pain became my own. I almost did not know the man laying in the bed, covered with the flimsy white hospital gown.

It would not be until his death that I would see my own folly. I do not know if my memory is false, but it seems so real to me. He lay in the bed in his old house, rasping gasps as he stared into the ceiling. It seemed so long before his breathing finally stopped, his having drowned in his own saliva. In a family where everyone lived to be a hundred, he died young.

It would not be until a year or more latter that the personal shame would come. The memories flooded back, of happier times. And then came the most painful realization of all, that in the end, I never told him I loved him. That he gave me years of happiness, and that I never thanked him for it. In my own bitterness I took away the gift that I should never have stolen. And forever after, to this very day, I feel the anguish in my heart. And death does not forgive.

I do not like to drink. Like Sanders, I avoid drinking when possible, sometimes coming up with the lamest of excuses. Perhaps I am reading his intentions wrong, perhaps he meant to speak to everyone. But through the red veil of my emotions I cannot see it. All I can feel is that life I lost, an experience that, it seems, I share with others.

Sanders, Scott R. "Under the Influence." The Art of the personal essay; an anthology from the classical era to the present (1994): 732-44. Print.

Sexism Dead? (For Class: Not Mandatory)

I have often heard from the people I know that sexism is dead. I'll get to racism in the next post. Now, I'm going to admit that I am no feminist. But have to admit, on this issue, they are right. Sexism is all but dead. It is alive, well, and gone invisible.

By invisible, I do not mean that it is truly gone. What has happened, is that it has turned into a form that is not seen as an issue within our American culture. It has disappeared behind the curtains of the norm. It is this norm that rules our views on gender issues.

The first and most obvious, is how we view the young mothers within our country. Right now, they are viewed as examples of why sex during the teenage years is awful, and how important abstinence education is. People, especially the religious right, view these young mothers as problems.

Let's forget, for a second, that this is a tilted view. Looking back, during early times, marriage came much earlier. During the teenage years. At that time, it was the young woman's duty to have children. Now, there are all sorts of wrong things that are going on with that view. But it does point out that, biologically, both sexes are ready for sexual activities during such years. It should come as no surprise that they do have sex. With birth control, it is no longer necessary for teenagers to have kids, but when these measures fail, the community should become supportive, instead of indignant.

Now taking on the tilted nature of the view itself. It is certainly strange that people look down on the mothers, but do not even consider the fathers. In our society, it seems the common view to encourage men to have sex, and women to be abstinent. This is obviously a system built to fail. What is worse, is that the men don't seem to be held to the same responsibility as the women. Why is it not the responsibility of the fathers to supply as much support for the children? It all seems to go back to the religious view that women are the root of sin, and thus they are seen as the responsible party for such "societal evils" such as young pregnancies. Instead of building families, this view destroys lives.

Another slanted view that destroys lives is the view of prostitution. While men can be prostitutes as well, it is a common view within our society that prostitutes are mostly women. While I do not specifically condone the practice of prostitution, because the sex slavery that hides behind it, I do not believe in blaming the women. If the US government is to make policies on the subject, though I believe such things should be left to the community to decide and not a few politicians in Washington, it should be targeting the men. People will always go into undesirable jobs do to economic pressure. It is, therefore, the most logical action to target those who actually have the most choice when participating: the patrons. However, because sexism is still present, this is not the policy that we currently have, and we are wasting tax money and police force patrolling areas, looking to attack prostitutes, instead of trying to make an actual difference. This goes back to the view that women are responsible for such "evil", instead of those who patronize, and thus create, the industry.

It is important to recognize that there are many forms of racism that still exist. It is often invisible to those who do not examine their views. It is the questioning of such views that is most important, as many barriers to people's happiness could be removed through an investigation of society.

The Descending Spiral of Idiocy. (For Class, not mandatory)

It seems a mystery that the US is descending in the world of education. It seems that other countries, like India, are overtaking the US in that realm. How could such a superpower be lagging behind? The blame should not be shot at the teachers, or the students. It is not the fault of the immigrants. It is a lack of priorities within the government that is to blame.

The backbone of any system is the power it has to affect change. Within the capitalist system, that power is money. Money, shunted into programs, determines how far those programs go. The best analogy is that of a jet plane. Just imagine the money as being fuel. When the program runs out of money, it and the ground get friendly. It may be able to sail for a little while on fumes. And the government seems to be determined to suck spending out of education, so it is not surprising the direction that the United States system is taking.

It is easy to blame this trend on the times. War, the economic plunge, and the medical insurance debate seems to make the education downturn a small and insignificant issue. The American government has, in the past years, spent so much money on a war. Then they spend it on things like billion dollar bailout for banks, who then spend large portions of those bailouts on their executives. Then the country gets caught up in a debate about an issue whose solution should be obvious, considering the percentage of Americans that are for a public option. The reason for this focus is troubling.

The reason is that all those other issues are short term, obvious threats now. The US has been drawn into the problems of today, unaware of the danger looming just a few years away. The country may be facing the last years of its supremacy within the world.

Education should be one of the main issues within America. It determines where the country stands, both commercially and technologically. Without a good education system, high paying jobs will be shipped out to other countries, as they will have the populous with the necessary skills to perform those jobs. Even more important, the technology developed by countries who have a good education system will stay within those countries for a time, as such countries will have the priority on such advancements. Thus by losing the leadership in education, the US is starting to lose its strength within world politics, as money equals power.

More disturbing, is the cyclical nature of a lag in education. As less money is poured into education, that education, which includes college, becomes more expensive, and less comprehensive. As less money is given to qualified teachers, as well as those teachers who are already within the system being let go because of cut budgets, the education that the next generation is given is destabilized as expertise flees from the system. The less comprehensive the education given to those going through the system, those who complete their high school years are less likely go to college. The less college graduates that a country has, the less high paying jobs stay within the country. Which equals less taxes and less money within the economy. With that drop of input, the amount of money put into education drops. And that continues the cycle. It is therefore of the utmost importance, when the economy collapses, to put more money into education, not less, to secure the future.

I have learned a lot since the last monologue that I posted. The book club that I have joined seems to be a cornucopia of information. But first I would like to discuss some of the ways in which I have learned to blend in.

Imported From Bashing Crosses

A Bed of Rags and Tears

The aroma of coffee entices you, filling your heart with the nostalgia built by a life of happy times. Outside, gentle squeak of swings are like a violin calling. You run down the stairs, every step plunging into the welcoming hug of the shag rug. The rays of the sun burst through the windows of the kitchen, warming rectangles on the tile of the floor. Dad is sitting at the table with the newspaper, waving his way from page to page, making the occasional grunt. The tangy smell of frying eggs and toast greets you. It’s Saturday, so no class threatens to touch your happiness. Mom looks over with a smile, sins of yesterday forgotten for the joy of today. Hoping onto the seat, you stare down at breakfast steaming its salutation with waving wisps of steam. You pick up the fork.

Then your eyes snap open, and it’s dark. Your hand plants on the frigid concrete of the alleyway ground, sweat dripping down the digits. It is always icy and dark in your new home. You pull the newspaper sheets way from your body. The cold of the air temporarily banishes the itch that runs along your skin with chronic consistency. You grip the biting brick of the building to pull yourself up. Looking at the exit of the alleyway, the sounds of cars and crowd return. And so does the voices. Judging, hating, frothing, the sound of their condemnation drags your heart down into the tar of the shadows. You remember. Father died a long time ago, smoking claiming another victim. Mother was taken not long after you entered college. At least you got the chance to say goodbye. It was a year after when the voices tore away the sanity of the world. You tried to continue, to make a life built on the American dream. But as reality and fantasy blurred, your scholarship, then your hopes, slipped away. One by one, everything you owned was taken away as debts mounted, till the only place left to sleep was on the street. In the voices of the crowd before you, you hear the mocking murmur. You beg for money and food, among the junkies and downtrodden, looking down so your eyes won’t betray your shame.


I once believed that the American dream could touch everyone. When I looked upon those who begged on the sidewalk, I did so with disdain. Hard work could build a life for anyone, and those who had less simply deserved less. They were lazy, perhaps less intelligent. But it was their fault they did not live like royalty. I looked at the rare examples of those who rose above their simple beginnings as proof.

I would have continued to do so, until I actually started to work for money myself. I have been unusually blessed, and did not have to worry about money at the time. But a lady I worked with did not have such luck. She had three kids, and two jobs. Working in the bakery of a supermarket simply could not supply for those she loved. I found out that every month, they had to worry about whether this month would be one of starvation. In worse case, she had to fear that they might lose the roof over their heads. I knew of no one that worked harder. Watching her, I realized how bigoted I was. Yet still, my belief in the idea of people making their own way held against reality.

It was not until I started volunteering that I realized that people, even those that were poor and destitute, were people as equal as any other. I was watching those who entered the food bank, when I saw a grungy Latino man enter. In knew that his clothes were, most likely, second hand. I felt the twinge of disdain building in my throat. I wondered, with a little shame even then, whether he was illegal. All this happened within the space of less than a second, right before his daughter entered. She was the picture of a cute kid. Even more surprising, she had earrings and her dress looked new. Then I realized what should have been instantly obvious. He had been spending all of his money on her, most likely so she would be spared ridicule at school. That twinge in my throat turned into disgust for myself.

Since then, I have met a number of people who have little money. I have even met a few who were homeless. All were just people. Their lives were less fortunate, but often it had nothing to do with laziness. A simple cruel twist of fate was all that was needed to steal their belongings away. Many homeless have mental problems, which builds a barrier against them entering the work force. People treat them like a disease, much like racists treated non-white people decades before.

The disease, however, is not the poor people. It is in our view of them. The bigoted thoughts I had before are echoed in the comments of the people around me. I wonder when the idea, that people could build empires from dust, turned into disgust for those who couldn’t.

Yes, here is when the fools will start spouting about the American Dream. What the defenders of greed forget, however, is that such a dream is not made alone. It is built by people coming together, pulling up those who fall.

Change starts with the views of the public. So, perhaps it is time to change the discussion. Instead of focusing on what the poor and the destitute are not contributing, let’s focus on changing the equation so that they are given the chance build themselves. Somehow the idea of America became about taking for ourselves. It is time to start finding out how giving gives back, truly turning rags and tears to riches.

The Smile Fatale

Psychic Abilities.

As I ended my last post announcing that I would be elucidating on my experiences with the book club members, I must now keep that sacred promise. I realize many of you may be unsure of how talking to mature women might relate to learning about girls our age. This will clear the smoke from the subject, as I relate some stunning information that I have gathered.

Women are psychic. No, not in the "your mother has eyes in the back of her head" way. I mean: actually having abilities beyond the kenning of men. I have drawn such conclusions from direct observation. And, there can be no better evidence then what we perceive with our own two eyes.

When I first observed the banter of the six women sitting at the table before me, I was struck by their infallible knowledge of each others thoughts. One would speak, and before she could finish, another would continue that thought. This did not cause any friction, because it was obvious that they both knew were the thought was leading, and thus left it unstated. I have never observed this with males. The most perceptive comment I have heard from men is "you look like you need a beer". Thus, some quality must be absent from men, but present in women.

Being a logical person, I eventually rejected the idea of this ability being magic based. While I am not a scientist, I use the scientific method of precluding magic, because otherwise I'd spend my days wondering if my mother knew when I did some... embarrassing things in the privacy of my room. So I came to the most logical assumption.

Females communicate through scent. This is not so radical an idea. Ants communicate via scent, especially when transferring information about the best path to food. Cats and dogs also communicate with scent, sometimes all over a couch.

But such a realization is just supposition without actually testing the theory. So, in the name of science, I gassed. I was absolutely silent. In fact, I was barely able to tell I did so. I definitely could not smell it myself. In spite of this, the lady across from me stopped and stared at me for the briefest of seconds, giving me the proof I needed. The conversation also experienced a momentary hiccup a few seconds latter. I never did smell it, which proves that women have a far better sense of smell then men. And that proves that women have what I have come to term: psychic smell.

Thus, from this realization, I suggest several things. The first is to avoid gassing in the presence of women. While the group I was with was quite tolerant, there is no guarantee of such. Second, try to wear multiple colognes, as this will confuse any woman you meet and allow you an opening to speak. Third, while playing an online role-playing game, try gassing. If the "female" does not react, then the character is most likely not a female at all.

I will have more information in the next installment.

Ichabod Worthington

Success!

I am proud to report some success in my endeavors. While it is not perfect, I have been able to infiltrate a group of females. The affect this success will have on my investigations cannot be measured. The best part is that they chose me, instead of my seeking them out.

Voices murmured in the air. Plates clanked, the smell of burnt grease floated like invisible smoke. The words on the glaring white page in front of me were a blur of grey, indecipherable lines. The restaurant glowed with light, catching people outside and through the glass window with its warmth. Despite all the light, a darkness haunted the area around my mind, a sea of dread suffocating me. They were all staring at me. I could feel their gazes beating down on me, needles of judgment. They were all laughing. They were thinking "Fatso" and "Failure", gaping at me in horror. They were the enemy. Everyone in the restaurant was watching me, even people on the sidewalks peeked at me with sidelong glances. I didn't belong. I didn't want to belong. Suddenly, it came back. I could hear it again. The sound of a belt whispering, and I knew he was coming again. The snap as the belt clapped against itself, I could see him through the white of the page. I shut the book with a thump, and was about to leave when I felt a soft hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, I saw you reading that book. Haven't met many college students who like feminist books. You know, you could join us at our table. I was also sort of wondering, are you ok?"

I held my breath to catch my hyperventalation, then let go with a sigh. I grabbed the chair and turned toward the woman, and instantly though I was looking at my mother. The thought fadded as I realized they looked nothing alike, but the she was in her fifties. Frazzled black-brown hair and a thin nose, she had a gentle smile on her face. Over her should, a group of five women her age and older sat surrounding a round table, waving at me. I immediately recognized the opportunity to improve my research.

As it turned out, they were holding a book club meeting. I never liked books, more prefering the glare of a computer screen, with the internet's flying facts. They seemed nice enough, but that's how everyone seems before you get to know them. Strangely enough, they were accepting, something I never expected from non-Geeks. Perhaps it is an attribute age develops. But in any case, I've run out of room in this update.

So, look for an update next time to find out what I learned.

Ichabod Worthington

The first step is a long one.

I tried to meet with different women. And by that I mean... nothing has happened. And this leads to the first lesson I have learned.

Apparently, introducing yourself by declaring "Hello, I am a Geek, would you like to go out with me?" is ineffective. This may seem odd to many of you, as it has become somewhat of a badge of pride among our people. This feeling of kinship, it seems, does not extend to the rest of the populous. It is therefore necessary, for any Geek meeting an actual woman, to realize that they will not react with friendly emotions to such a declaration.

This discovery has lead to another realization. We have to camouflage ourselves. Letting our inner spirit burst forth in the face of the public is a societal taboo. It is thus necessary to act like the shadows that walk around us.

That's right. They are shadows. They are not like us. They do not have an understanding of the power of the computer spirit. How it draws forth creativity, how it brings an understanding of ourselves on a level that no other medium can meet. People who do not understand are shadows. And, the shadows are against us.

It is therefore necessary when we venture out of our Geek world to understand. Understand that because the world is against us, we must make an effort to protect ourselves. Think of it as your Hazmat suit. I will lay out the rules necessitated by our situation.


1) Do not call yourself a Geek. This would be like smearing yourself with steak juices and jumping into a dog kennel. Plus that's a horrible way of hiding. Think of an American spy running naked through the USSR, screaming "I am an American spy". That would be bad.

2) As a continuation of the above rule, make sure you deny any programming knowledge with extreme care. No one will be impressed by your knowledge of C++. In fact, they will probably think you are referring to your grades in an idiotic manner.

3) Avoid Geek lingo. Saying the word "leet" will immediately make your affiliation known. Then they will eat you.

4) Avoid playing video games with non-Geeks. While this may be an especially hard rule to keep, your unparalleled abilities in the digital world will be your undoing. If forced to play, make sure to lose, no matter how much doing so may irk your soul. Make sure to drool as you play, that way you will blend in with greater ease.

5) Avoid teasing females. While this may be acceptable in the digital world, you are usually dealing with other males anyway. Telling a female "your face looks like an ironing board" will have disastrous results.

6) Act like you are interested in sports. This is especially true of football. Be careful in your zest, however. Learn which team the non-Geeks are cheering for, commonly through observation. Cheer for that team. Cheering for the apposing team could lead to you getting beaten. Which would be unpleasant.

7) Most importantly, never stroke the people around you. Yes, it is amazing how "lifelike" they are. This is because they are actual real. Stroking them to confirm this fact, however, could lead to injury, even death. You just have to trust they are real.


Obviously, the outside world is a dangerous place. I will suffer so you may learn. The first step has been long and painful, so please appreciate this and use my advice.

Ichabod Worthington

A Geek's Lion Cry

All Geeks know the sacraments of our world view. Phenomenon, such WOW, may be used by the public at large, but the "masses" could never understand that such things are a lifestyle, not mere games. The fact that I can skip sleep for an entire week is a testament to the indomitable spirit, a spirit that is housed somewhere between my colon and my heart. Sometimes it rumbles and I have to get up to open the fridge. The fact that the said spirit tumbles over my belt, while physically unflattering, is a point of pride.

Yes, people may mock me because I look like Santa's deficient cousin. But I understand, as I know many of my fellow Geeks do, that my belly represents progress. No longer are we in the dark ages, where we had to use dice and pencils for our Geekery. No longer do we have to run to our friend's basement to play role-playing games on dusty old table tops. No longer do we have to swing fake swords at each other in the park, all the while trying to ignore the guy that came dressed to the game as an elven princess. Now, all we have to do is sit at a computer and press buttons.

I know, there are many other ways in which the Geek life can manifest. We have adherence to good grades and abhorrence of exercise, among others. The belief in the betterment of the fantasy world, however, is something around which any Geek can rally. And, as I have stated before, we now have the world at our fingertips.

Something that has always eluded us, however. It is the beautiful creatures that dance through our dreams: women. While we can have girl characters in our computer games, it simply is not the same. Yes, I have a 2D girl friend too, and I know many of you Geeks out there have favorites that you love. But, I'm sure you feel it too. Something is missing.

So, in the name of Geeks everywhere, I must step up and venture out. I'm going to attempt to learn all I can about the female race. I will go where no Geek has gone, despite the great terror I must face outside this room. Since I'm not a scientist, I'm going to have to use my own special brand of logic to understand what I learn. And then I will pass on this information to you. Through this venture, the mystery that surrounds women will waft away. We will be able to understand everything about them, so we can better discover them online. After this, we will not date other characters online, only to find out our "lesbian" partner was really just another guy. Because that is awkward.

Ichabod Worthington

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Arch of Heroes: Final Draft

“C’mon man, hurry up.”

I stood transfixed by the arch of elephant grass, towering before me. Greek heroes would pass through such arches when adventure beckoned them away to distant shores. Marble would hide the sun until it burst through the hole of the portal, lighting their faces with the cleansing warmth. They trampled rose petals thrown from a thousand lovers. While walking with brutes who would betray them, such heroes knew that just beyond lay truer hearts. The cheering crowd would yell:

“What are you doing? I’ll drag your ass if I have to.”

The tunnel had always been a conduit between the gated community and mine. The tunnel was dark from the roof grass that covered it, at times seeming a sinister pathway. On the other side, however, was a magical world of the rich, on mine was the every American subdivision. The houses were nicer, and the cars were sportier, and all I had to do was walk through the tunnel. To a kid of ten living in a run down rural subdivision, the other side was more then houses. It was a place where adventure breathed in the wind.

I entered the grass tunnel. I left behind the static world of my own subdivision. The tunnel before me merely led to the gated community on the other side, but in my mind it was the difference of two worlds. My world of existed as etched glass, but the world on the other side ran with vibrant colors. The emerald leaves pulled at my skin with itchy hairs. The rustle of the leaves gently tickled my ear, and the air darkened. Into the forest of green we charged, uninhibited by a past, unaware of the future. Blades cut red lines into my legs, yet I could not leave my comrades to fend for themselves in such darkness. A silhouette of a monstrous man appeared before me, and it was clear that this was the guardian of the path, the last obstacle before I could again draw free air. I knew such beasts are meant to be slain, yet I had no weapon to bear against the brute. With a courageous battle cry I lowered my shoulder towards the unaware foe, and charged, my only thoughts of freeing my friends, whom he had imprisoned.

“Ouch! What? Why… I don’t know why we brought you along.”

I had always been the runt of the group, the smallest of the group of miscreants with whom I stuck. Tolerated but not loved, seen but never truly trusted, I had always thought friendship was a mystery for someone else. In this other place, however, perhaps better people existed. I always came with that silent, unknown hope.

He picked me up. He was much older than I was, and bigger. Like a giant, and sometimes, just as mean. Captured by the cruel giant, heaved over his back like a sack of rice, I was destined for a death unfit for my status. Knowing fate would not intervene, I wriggled against the gargantuan human’s hold, but escape was not meant to be. We left the tunnel behind, the brightness of the outside world almost blinding me. Around me I saw glorious structures, perhaps from civilization long lost. The wind soared around me, a strong with the sour scent of vegetation and mud. The area was deserted, yet the giant and his brothers looked around with suspicious intent, perhaps fearing another would steal their precious meal. The giant dropped me to the ground, the ruin they had picked was blocked from the view by other such structures.

“Stay here. If you see anyone, yell. You got that? Okay.”

I could hear the creaking call of the chair swinger. The house across from me didn’t have mold growing from the beige wall shingles. The windows didn’t have dust clouding the panes. The back yard didn’t have weeds, and it was surprisingly well kept. The blades of grass did not vary in their height. It even had a tiny house for some hidden animal. I had never seen the house before. It hurt, however, that a house could be all that mine was not, so I didn’t really think about how my associates were casing the house.

My associates ran around the house. They looked in all the windows as if they suspected someone was home. Then they huddled by the door, one of the barbarians trying to work the knob. I thought it past the capabilities of such brutes, to plumb the depths of such an ancient tomb took ingenuity, but as it turns out, strength is sometimes a substitute. Such treasures do not so easily gift strangers, and they were greeted by a wailing banshee, keening at their insolence. Invisible, it chased them and ignored the lone hero, sitting upon the knoll. Not so, however with Cerberus. It heaved itself upon thick legs, launching its log like body forward with every gallop. Doom approached with speed, staring into my eyes with evil intent.

I felt someone scoop me up and throw me across his shoulder. For a couple of seconds I felt my liver pinch and my throat swell. My comrades were with me all along. My comrades ran back, in the face of danger, to pull their fellow hero out of the fire. Fire represented by the slobbering wolf chasing after us. I could hear its heavy panting, its galloping footsteps as I stared into its face. It looked oddly happy, liquid dripping from the lolling tongue. It chased us back to the tunnel of grass. The dog monster, however, stopped with a yelp as it reached the end of its tether, and watched us with bloodshot, lonely eyes. We returned heroes, backs to the orange glow to the setting sun, victoriously rushing home.


Works Cited

Purdue OWL. "MLA Formatting and Style Guide." The Online Writing Lab at Purdue. 10 May 2008. Purdue University Writing Lab. 12 May 2008 .

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I have decided to move. Not that I'm going to be moving physically, but to a new topic. So far, trying to write a post on religion every day has proven to be elusive. By elusive I mean painful on a whole new level. I’ve lost hours of sleep attempting to research the topic, and then collapse in exhaustion at the end before writing even a single sentence. This obsession with correctness is driven by the need to avoid insulting anyone. By avoiding insulting people, I hoped to avoid bodily harm. But, alas, my favorite subject has turned out to a paper rose.

This, of course, does not mean that I will not write about religion. I will be updating this blog once or twice a week, as time permits. I’m a sucker for addictions. I will be moving all of my class related work to another blog. Hopefully, having to do no research will allow me to meet my class requirements. My teacher has informed us that the next section of class will be even more painful then the current, so this switch in expectations will help me to survive this already desperate semester.

And for the teacher, whose smirk is most likely twitching at the ends with the need to scream: “I told you so”. I am not admitting defeat. I will not surrender.

My new blog, named “A Geek’s Guide to the Female Race” will be absolutely un-researched, ill informed, and wholly ridiculous.

As stated before, I will not be closing this blog. I will be updating it every week, with another one of my impassioned arguments. I will be posting again soon.

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Religion is an easy target when aiming at unquestioning tragedy. Sometimes it seems as if extreme faith is alone in the bulldozing of reason. Thoughtless actions, however, have no religion.

Most people within the United States should be aware of the Oklahoma City bombings. It is hard to imagine that 168 people, including children, died because Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols believed that fighting the government was worth any cost.5 The key emotion here is fear. Fear that the government would take over and rule everyone’s lives. That fear caused so many deaths, and those deaths tainted any message they might have tried to send. With so many different mediums of communication, such use of violence is unnecessary.

But, they thought mass murder would be louder, so they slaughtered.

Blind beliefs do not always lead to violence. But it usually has victims anyway. Racism, while not as destructive or as prevalent as it used to be, still wounds. Segregation, while not supported legally any more, is still socially imposed.6 Such obstinate beliefs are built of ignorance, and keep people that might otherwise contribute greatly to society from gaining the means to do so. Such contributions might have even helped those who are committing the evil of racism.

But, people hate anyway.

More insidious are the views that do not seem so dangerous. Some people believe that religion is at the heart of all the evil in the world, and therefore wish to destroy it. In view of recent events, it is hard to argue that religion is purely benevolent. What seems to escape those who hate religion, however, is that religion is ultimately a tool. Some people use it to guide them, helping those in need. Many churches are connected to the giving of aid to people who need it. Some use religion as a cover for their own materialistic desires. The cases of sexual harassment committed by pedophilic priests are widely known. Religion has the potential to be good or bad, depending on how it is used. The wish to eliminate something for fear of it is still hate. Hating all religions is still intolerance, no matter how it is colored. Intolerance has the potential to be incredibly dangerous, and is almost always hurtful.

It is therefore extremely important to question any belief. The belief might seem innocuous to the one who holds it, but questioning the belief is necessary to understanding it. In the case of more controversial convictions, questioning might save lives. In the case of faith, it is even more important to query, as such will build and strengthen one’s own religion. Without looking inward, all that screaming faith is a bunch of hot air.

Citations

5) "Oklahoma City bombing." Encyclopædia Britannica. 2009. Encyclopædia Britannica Online. 15 Sep. 2009 .

6) "Racial segregation in the United States." Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Wikimedia Foundation, Inc, 16 Sept. 2009. Web. 20 Sept. 2009. .

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Imagine you’re in the cockpit airplane, with all those buttons, lights, and screens flickering in your face. You can hear yelling voices in the back, particularly the squealing babies. Through the glass window panes, the sight of a skyscraper towers above you. You grip the yoke, and for the tiniest part of a second your hand twitches upward, but your belief is absolute, America is subjugating Islam, so you stay the course.

Of course, by now you’ve figured out I’m talking about the events of 9/11. It is obvious that questions were not asked by the terrorists that flew into the two towers. The significant of these: was America really intent on subjugating the Islamic peoples? The estimated adult Muslim population in the United States had more than doubled between 1990 and 2001.1 The Islamic religion was expanding under the umbrella of democracy. If the United States itself had a vendetta against Muslims, it would have stamped their existence within its own borders first. Given Iraq’s stores of oil, greed rather then prejudice appears to have been the major driver in America’s presence within the Middle East. Even Osama bin Laden seems to concede the point that the American presence may have had an economic element in his fatwa.2

Given that the US’s presence within the Islamic powers was economically driven, it would have made much more sense to restrict the oil sold to the US, instead of attacking the interested country. Spreading news of atrocities that the Islamic fundamentalists claimed were committed by the US, especially by way of the internet, would have been an even better manner of attacking the problem, as it would have softened support for America. By, instead, using violence, the terrorists gave the US government the excuse it needed to place more troops in Iraq. This reaction should have been obvious. Had the terrorists asked questions and thought about their options instead of taking the road of violence, they might have avoided so much tragedy on both sides.

But, blinded by rage, they struck.

Of course, such blindness is not a trait of Islam itself. Rather, it is an addictive habit developed under anger, fear, and hatred. Killing someone for a cause takes an overabundant amount of all three. George Tiller’s murder stands as a recent illustration of where such actions lead.

Abortion, an issue well connected with the Christian right, has long been a bonfire of debate within the US. With his willingness to perform late term abortions and his successfulness in the field, George Tiller brought the wrath of anti-abortion activists to his door. The protests continued on for thirty years, with all the attempts to stop his practice without success.3 It is even arguable that his actions were criminal. But the end of his practice did not come in a court, but with a gunshot in his church.4 His killer’s rage at the deaths of so many unborn children demanded that the doctor’s life be ended. Perhaps, the murderer was able to write off the sin of murder as a necessary sacrifice in his own mind. He was also, apparently, blind to the fact that he was committing such a grave sin on sacred ground. The murder, however, cost not only George Tiller and his family, but also the cause that the murderer was fighting for. The negative publicity that followed the death of George Tiller hurt the position of Pro-life movement, making them seem like violent extremists. George Tiller’s practice might have ended more peacefully had negative press been given a chance to damage his reputation.

But, in ignorance of possible outcomes, the killer shot.

Citations

1) "Largest Religious Groups in the USA." World Religions Religion Statistics Geography Church Statistics. Adherents.com, Apr. 1999. Web. 14 Sept. 2009. .

2) "World Islamic Front Statement Urging Jihad Against Jews and Crusaders." Federation of American Scientists. Web. 16 Sept. 2009. .

3) Barstow, David. "An Abortion Battle, Fought to the Death." The New York Times - Breaking News, World News & Multimedia. The New York Times Company, 25 July 2009. Web. 15 Sept. 2009. .

4) Davey, Monica. "Witness Tells of Doctor’s Last Seconds." The New York Times - Breaking News, World News & Multimedia. The New York Times Company, 28 July 2009. Web. 15 Sept. 2009. .

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Arch of Heroes: Draft 3

“C’mon man, hurry up.”
I stood transfixed by the arch of elephant grass, towering before me. Greek heroes would pass through such arches when adventure beckoned them away to distant shores. Marble would hide the sun until it burst through the hole of the portal, lighting their faces with the cleansing warmth, as they trampled rose petals thrown from a thousand lovers. The cheering crowd would yell:
“What are you doing? I’ll drag your ass if I have to.”
The tunnel had always been a separator between the gated community and mine. Always a different world. On the other side was a magical world of the rich, on mine was the every American subdivision. The houses were nicer, and the cars were sportier, and all I had to do was walk through the tunnel.
I entered the grass tunnel. I left behind the static world of my own subdivision. The tunnel before me may only lead to the gated community on the other side, but in my mind it was the difference of two worlds. The difference was that of static etched glass and painted murals in which the vibrant colors ran. The emerald leaves pulled at my skin with itchy hairs. The rustle of the leaves gently tickled my ear, and the air darkened. Into the forest of green we charged, uninhibited by a past, unaware of the future. Blades cut red lines into my legs, yet I could not leave my comrades to fend for themselves in such darkness. A silhouette of a monstrous man appeared before me, and it was clear that this was the guardian of the path, the last obstacle before I could again draw free air. I knew such beasts are meant to be slain, yet I had no weapon to bear against the brute. With a courageous battle cry I aimed my shoulder towards my foe, and charged, my only thoughts of freeing my friends, whom he had imprisoned.
“Ouch! What? Why… I don’t know why we brought you along.”
He picked me up. He was much older than I was, and bigger. Like a giant, and sometimes, just as mean. Captured by the cruel giant, heaved over his back like a sack of rice, I was destined for a death unfit for my status. Knowing fate would not intervene, I wriggled against the gargantuan human’s hold, but escape was not meant to be. We left the tunnel behind, the brightness of the outside world almost blinding me. Around me I saw glorious structures, perhaps from civilization long lost. The wind breathed around me, a strong with the sour scent of vegetation and mud. The area was deserted, yet the giant and his brothers looked around with suspicious intent, perhaps fearing another would steal their precious meal. The giant dropped me to the ground, the ruin they had picked was blocked from the view by other such structures.
“Stay here. If you see anyone, yell. You got that? Okay.”
I could hear the creaking call of the chair swinger. The house across from me didn’t have mold growing from the beige wall shingles. The windows didn’t have dust clouding the panes. The back yard didn’t have weeds, and it was surprisingly well kept. The blades of grass did not vary in their height. I had never seen the house before. It hurt, however, that a house could be all that my house was not, so I didn’t really think about how my friends were casing the house.
My friends ran around the house. They looked in all the windows as if they suspected someone was home. Then they huddled by the door, one of the barbarians trying to work the knob. I thought it past the capabilities of such brutes, to plumb the depths of such an ancient tomb took ingenuity, but as it turns out, strength is sometimes a substitute. Such treasures do not so easily gift strangers, and they were greeted by a wailing banshee, keening at their insolence. Invisible, it chased them and ignored the lone hero, sitting upon the knoll. Not so, however with Cerberus. It heaved itself upon thick legs, launching its log like body forward with every gallop. Doom approached with speed, staring into my eyes with evil intent.
I felt someone scoop me up and throw me across his shoulder. For a couple of seconds I felt my liver pinch and my throat swell. My friends actually cared about me. My comrades ran back, in the face of danger, to pull their fellow hero out of the fire. Fire represented by the slobbering sausage chasing after us. I could hear its heavy panting, its galloping footsteps as I stared into its face. It looked oddly happy, liquid dripping from the lolling tongue. It chased us back to the tunnel of grass. And we returned heroes, backs to the orange glow to the setting sun, victoriously rushing home.

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Arch of Heroes: Draft 2

“C’mon man, hurry up.”
I stood transfixed by the arch of elephant grass, towering before me. Greek heroes would pass through such arches when adventure beckoned them away to distant shores. Marble would hide the sun until it burst through the hole of the portal, lighting their faces with the cleansing warmth, as they trampled rose petals thrown from a thousand lovers. The cheering crowd would yell:
“What are you doing? I’ll drag your ass if I have to.”
I entered the grass tunnel. I left behind the static world of my own subdivision. The tunnel before me may only lead to the gated community on the other side, but in my mind it was the difference of two worlds. The difference was that of static etched glass and painted murals in which the vibrant colors ran. The emerald leaves pulled at my skin with itchy hairs. The rustle of the leaves gently tickled my ear, and the air darkened. Into the forest of green we charged, uninhibited by a past, unaware of the future. Blades cut red lines into my legs, yet I could not leave my comrades to fend for themselves in such darkness. A silhouette of a monstrous man appeared before me, and it was clear that this was the guardian of the path, the last obstacle before I could again draw free air. I knew such beasts are meant to be slain, yet I had no weapon to bear against the brute. With a courageous battle cry I aimed my shoulder towards my foe, and charged, my only thoughts of freeing my friends, whom he had imprisoned.
“Ouch! What? Why… I don’t know why we brought you along.”
He picked me up. He was much older than I was, and bigger. Like a giant, and sometimes, just as mean. Captured by the cruel giant, heaved over his back like a sack of rice, I was destined for a death unfit for my status. Knowing fate would not intervene, I wriggled against the gargantuan human’s hold, but escape was not meant to be. We left the tunnel behind, the brightness of the outside world almost blinding me. Around me I saw glorious structures, perhaps from civilization long lost. The wind breathed around me, a strong with the sour scent of vegetation and mud. The area was deserted, yet the giant and his brothers looked around with suspicious intent, perhaps fearing another would steal their precious meal. The giant dropped me to the ground, the ruin they had picked was blocked from the view by other such structures.
“Stay here. If you see anyone, yell. You got that? Okay.”
I could hear the creaking call of the chair swinger. The house across from me didn’t have mold growing from the beige wall shingles. The windows didn’t have dust clouding the panes. The back yard didn’t have weeds, and it was surprisingly well kept. The blades of grass did not vary in their height. I had never seen the house before. It hurt, however, that a house could be all that my house was not, so I didn’t really think about how my friends were casing the house.
My friends ran around the house. They looked in all the windows as if they suspected someone was home. Then they huddled by the door, one of the barbarians trying to work the knob. I thought it past the capabilities of such brutes, to plumb the depths of such an ancient tomb took ingenuity, but as it turns out, strength is sometimes a substitute. Such treasures do not so easily gift strangers, and they were greeted by a wailing banshee, keening at their insolence. Invisible, it chased them and ignored the lone hero, sitting upon the knoll. Not so, however with Cerberus. It heaved itself upon thick legs, launching its log like body forward with every gallop. Doom approached with speed, staring into my eyes with evil intent.
I felt someone scoop me up and throw me across his shoulder. For a couple of seconds I felt my liver pinch and my throat swell. My friends actually cared about me. My comrades ran back, in the face of danger, to pull their fellow hero out of the fire. Fire represented by the slobbering sausage chasing after us. I could hear its heavy panting, its galloping footsteps as I stared into its face. It looked oddly happy, liquid dripping from the lolling tongue. It chased us back to the tunnel of grass. And we returned heroes, backs to the orange glow to the setting sun, victoriously rushing home.

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Arch of Heroes: Draft 1

“C’mon man, hurry up.”

I stood transfixed by the arch of elephant grass, towering before me. Greek heroes would pass through such arches when adventure beckoned them away to distant shores. Marble would hide the sun until it burst through the hole of the portal, lighting their faces with the cleansing warmth, as they trampled rose petals thrown from a thousand lovers. The cheering crowd would yell:

“What are you doing? I’ll drag your ass if I have to.”

I entered the grass tunnel. The emerald leaves pulled at my skin with itchy hairs. The rustle of the leaves gently tickled my ear, and the air darkened. Into the forest of green we charged, uninhibited by a past, unaware of the future. Blades cut red lines into my legs, yet I could not leave my comrades to fend for themselves in such darkness. A silhouette of a monstrous man appeared before me, and it was clear that this was the guardian of the path, the last obstacle before I could again draw free air. I knew such beasts are meant to be slain, yet I had no weapon to bear against the brute. With a courageous battle cry I aimed my shoulder towards my foe, and charged, my only thoughts of freeing my friends, whom he had imprisoned.

“Ouch! What? Why… I don’t know why we brought you along.”

He picked me up. He was much older than I was, and bigger. Like a giant, and sometimes, just as mean. Captured by the cruel giant, heaved over his back like a sack of rice, I was destined for a death unfit for my status. Knowing fate would not intervene, I wriggled against the gargantuan human’s hold, but escape was not meant to be. We left the tunnel behind, the brightness of the outside world almost blinding me. Around me I saw glorious structures, perhaps from civilization long lost. The wind breathed around me, a strong with the sour scent of vegetation and mud. The area was deserted, yet the giant and his brothers looked around with suspicious intent, perhaps fearing another would steal their precious meal. The giant dropped me to the ground, the ruin they had picked was blocked from the view by other such structures.

“Stay here. If you see anyone, yell. You got that? Okay.”

My friends ran around the house. They looked in all the windows as if they suspected someone was home. Then they huddled by the door, one of the barbarians trying to work the knob. I thought it past the capabilities of such brutes, to plumb the depths of such an ancient tomb took ingenuity, but as it turns out, strength is sometimes a substitute. Such treasures do not so easily gift strangers, and they were greeted by a wailing banshee, keening at their insolence. Invisible, it chased them and ignored the lone hero, sitting upon the knoll. Not so, however with Cerberus. It heaved itself upon thick legs, launching its log like body forward with every gallop. Doom approached with speed, staring into my eyes with evil intent.

I felt someone scoop me up and throw me across his shoulder. For a couple of seconds I felt my liver pinch and my throat swell. My friends actually cared about me. My comrades ran back, in the face of danger, to pull their fellow hero out of the fire. Fire represented by the slobbering sausage chasing after us. I could hear its heavy panting, its galloping footsteps as I stared into its face. It looked oddly happy, liquid dripping from the lolling tongue. It chased us back to the tunnel of grass. And we returned heroes, backs to the orange glow to the setting sun, victoriously rushing home.