I recently had a birthday. Due to a quirk of the calendar, my birthday tends to fall on days early in the week. Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays particularly (next Friday or Saturday birthdays: 2004, 2005 and 2010). So generally I don't do a lot on my own to celebrate it. But occasionally I'll get some things for my birthday that are particularly unusual. Like the time I got to buy dinner for two even though someone else had invited me.
(This is the point where I start complaining about some slight that happened years ago, but over which I still harbor some small resentment. This is one of a number of small but indelible stains on my soul that will ultimately keep me from attaining spiritual purity, deny me nirvana, and force me to be reborn again and again and again! Will my soul never know peace?! But anyway, here's the story in question...)
A couple of years ago, my then-girlfriend decided it would be good to take me out to the Olive Garden, but refused to drive after sunset (it's a long story). Which meant I had to drive. Which meant she could have a glass of wine. Or two.
With her cold medicine.
After which she passed out at the table. Stone cold asleep. Out like the proverbial light. Fortunately, the waiter who had found a candle to put in my birthday cheesecake saw the situation and carefully and quietly brought me the check so as not to wake the girl. Needless to say, she wasn't in any condition for much birthday fun afterwards. Dammit.
(That's about all for the harping on the past. It's bygones now. No big deal.)
This year I caught a head cold and got the dirtiest look I've seen in the last seven months. The cold I probably caught from being exposed to a parade of over-worked, under-immunized and over-tired English students. The dirty look I got from a Russian prostitute who was apparently off duty and enjoying a little shopping with her friends. Maybe my necktie was too offensively knotted for her...
I also got a bunch of really cool books and toys and music from the people I know who aren't Russian prostitutes and exhausted language students. Someday I'll develop photos and post them. Until then, why don't you make do with this instead?
Anyway, happy birthday to me.
30 September 2002
16 September 2002
What's the point of social science?
To talk about people's habits and stuff, but act like it's really something quantifiable and predictable.
For example: The Heisenberg Certainty Principle.
A grant proposal is in the works.
To talk about people's habits and stuff, but act like it's really something quantifiable and predictable.
For example: The Heisenberg Certainty Principle.
A grant proposal is in the works.
I live in an apartment that has been used to house foreign teachers for some time. There were at least four different people who lived in this place at one time or another. And each of them seems to have left different types of things here. Some of it was fairly innocuous, some of it was just garbage, and some of it was highly personal. Like books.
A person's choice of books or music is almost like a relief map of their personality. Certain assumptions can (and will) be made about them based on their preferences. If there's nothing but romance novels on the shelf, it's safe to guess that it probably wasn't a football loving guy. And if it's all military history and investment books, it's probably not the property of a dreamy young woman. Of course, if more than one person has left things, it's a little harder to guess what kind of person left which stuff.
For example:
There were a couple of Kurt Vonnegut books left here. Well, a lot of people like Vonnegut, so that doesn't narrow anything down very much. And a couple of Heinlein books. Inexplicably, a lot of people also like Heinlein, but they usually tend to be guys, so that doesn't narrow it down much.
[Theory 1: At least one guy lived here]
There were also some cookbooks. A lot of people like to cook. Or think they're going to learn to cook. Since I haven't seen anything like a food stain on any of the cookbooks, I tend to think that they belonged to someone in that second category.
There was also a couple of Agatha Christie books. And a couple of spy novels
More specifically, there were three John Gardner books. Including "On Becoming A Novelist" and "The Art Of Fiction." So there was one person here who was probably an English major at school. An English major who was planning on becoming a writer. An English major who was probably planning on getting a novel out of their experiences in Japan.
[Theory 2: One guy and one English Major]
There were also a couple of well reviewed, recently published novels. Novels that were mostly about young, resilient women dealing with a man's world that they had to break the rules in.
[One guy and one female English major]
But there were also a couple of magazines, all from fall 1997 or spring 1998. Two Newsweeks, one Atlantic monthly, and a Maclean's.
[One of them was probably a Canadian]
Two issues of Shape magazine.
[So the female English major was the Canadian...]
Two Victoria's Secret catalogs and a copy of Cheri ("Nipple Hickey Lesbos Leave their mark"?!)
[...or not.]
And on and on it goes. Who left the copy of The Basketball Diaries? Who wrote notes about all the words they had to look up in The God Of Small Things on the inside of the front cover and explanations of what they thought were important thematic points in the margins? Was it the same person who left a handwritten note in a copy of Memnoch The Devil describing (what I can only consider) a profoundly crappy idea for another vampire-coming-of-age story. I guess I'll never know. And in a way, that's probably best. I don't really want to know whose life and dreams filled up this apartment before I moved in. And I really don't want to know what kind of person chooses such shitty books to schlep across the Pacific ocean.
Come on, four Agatha Christie books?
A person's choice of books or music is almost like a relief map of their personality. Certain assumptions can (and will) be made about them based on their preferences. If there's nothing but romance novels on the shelf, it's safe to guess that it probably wasn't a football loving guy. And if it's all military history and investment books, it's probably not the property of a dreamy young woman. Of course, if more than one person has left things, it's a little harder to guess what kind of person left which stuff.
For example:
There were a couple of Kurt Vonnegut books left here. Well, a lot of people like Vonnegut, so that doesn't narrow anything down very much. And a couple of Heinlein books. Inexplicably, a lot of people also like Heinlein, but they usually tend to be guys, so that doesn't narrow it down much.
[Theory 1: At least one guy lived here]
There were also some cookbooks. A lot of people like to cook. Or think they're going to learn to cook. Since I haven't seen anything like a food stain on any of the cookbooks, I tend to think that they belonged to someone in that second category.
There was also a couple of Agatha Christie books. And a couple of spy novels
More specifically, there were three John Gardner books. Including "On Becoming A Novelist" and "The Art Of Fiction." So there was one person here who was probably an English major at school. An English major who was planning on becoming a writer. An English major who was probably planning on getting a novel out of their experiences in Japan.
[Theory 2: One guy and one English Major]
There were also a couple of well reviewed, recently published novels. Novels that were mostly about young, resilient women dealing with a man's world that they had to break the rules in.
[One guy and one female English major]
But there were also a couple of magazines, all from fall 1997 or spring 1998. Two Newsweeks, one Atlantic monthly, and a Maclean's.
[One of them was probably a Canadian]
Two issues of Shape magazine.
[So the female English major was the Canadian...]
Two Victoria's Secret catalogs and a copy of Cheri ("Nipple Hickey Lesbos Leave their mark"?!)
[...or not.]
And on and on it goes. Who left the copy of The Basketball Diaries? Who wrote notes about all the words they had to look up in The God Of Small Things on the inside of the front cover and explanations of what they thought were important thematic points in the margins? Was it the same person who left a handwritten note in a copy of Memnoch The Devil describing (what I can only consider) a profoundly crappy idea for another vampire-coming-of-age story. I guess I'll never know. And in a way, that's probably best. I don't really want to know whose life and dreams filled up this apartment before I moved in. And I really don't want to know what kind of person chooses such shitty books to schlep across the Pacific ocean.
Come on, four Agatha Christie books?
09 September 2002
This just in:
Poor nations screwed again
America: "Did someone say something? I wasn't listening..."
The UN Earth Summit is over, and nothing is being done. Again. Even though there's countries that will probably be gone within less than a century.
What are you going to do about it?
What can any one person do about it?
Poor nations screwed again
America: "Did someone say something? I wasn't listening..."
The UN Earth Summit is over, and nothing is being done. Again. Even though there's countries that will probably be gone within less than a century.
What are you going to do about it?
What can any one person do about it?
26 August 2002
Finally, the summer heat has broken and the weather is cooling off. It's actually possible to sleep at night again. But, of course, I'm wondering about a few things. That's what I do...
Thought 1: Two weeks ago I went to Yokohama for a short vacation. And there I was able to meet my cousin. It's very odd, finding someone who you appearantly have some connection to but so far from everything that you would expect to be connected to. While he was a witty, fun and all-around good guy, it was surprising how different we are.
Let's forego the explanations about different backgrounds and experiences. I'm not concerned about why we're different, that part is easy to understand. I'm concerned about how and why we happen to have any sort of connection at all. The same last name? Some shared DNA? What makes our connection more valuable than the connections that we would share if we were entirely unrelated by blood? Why is the idea of family so important?
Thought 2: Some people seem to be able to be happy fairly easily, others have more difficulty with it. Is it a skill that can be acquired? Is it like dancing or singing or making good coffee? Is there any reason to think that people can learn how to be happy? Or can people just learn how to do things that make them happy?
If mood altering chemicals like prozac make it easier to be happy, is it reasonable to think that a solution might be purely quantitative? That all one might need for a type of happiness is the addition or removal of a certain amount of certain substances. I'm not entirely sure where this train of thought is going, but it's been rolling around in my head for a while.
Thought 3: If America's current government is going to continue behaving as it has, is there any reason to think we won't face a series of attacks, famines, ecological crises and general reductions in the quality of life on the planet, all of which might have been easily avoidable?
I was just wondering...
Thought 1: Two weeks ago I went to Yokohama for a short vacation. And there I was able to meet my cousin. It's very odd, finding someone who you appearantly have some connection to but so far from everything that you would expect to be connected to. While he was a witty, fun and all-around good guy, it was surprising how different we are.
Let's forego the explanations about different backgrounds and experiences. I'm not concerned about why we're different, that part is easy to understand. I'm concerned about how and why we happen to have any sort of connection at all. The same last name? Some shared DNA? What makes our connection more valuable than the connections that we would share if we were entirely unrelated by blood? Why is the idea of family so important?
Thought 2: Some people seem to be able to be happy fairly easily, others have more difficulty with it. Is it a skill that can be acquired? Is it like dancing or singing or making good coffee? Is there any reason to think that people can learn how to be happy? Or can people just learn how to do things that make them happy?
If mood altering chemicals like prozac make it easier to be happy, is it reasonable to think that a solution might be purely quantitative? That all one might need for a type of happiness is the addition or removal of a certain amount of certain substances. I'm not entirely sure where this train of thought is going, but it's been rolling around in my head for a while.
Thought 3: If America's current government is going to continue behaving as it has, is there any reason to think we won't face a series of attacks, famines, ecological crises and general reductions in the quality of life on the planet, all of which might have been easily avoidable?
I was just wondering...
19 August 2002
Not much time before I go to work, so this'll have to be quick.
Two months ago I went to Albuquerque for my brother's wedding. After the ceremony, I went to a bar with my high school buddies.
'Cause that's what you do when you only have 28 hours in town between 26 hour travelling schedules.
What does that sort of nostalgia-soaked evening look like?
Damnned if I know. It was also fairly alcohol-soaked. But someone took pictures and this is what they look like.
(There seems to be some sort of editing glitch below, so please excuse any inconvenience it may cause...)
Two months ago I went to Albuquerque for my brother's wedding. After the ceremony, I went to a bar with my high school buddies.
'Cause that's what you do when you only have 28 hours in town between 26 hour travelling schedules.
What does that sort of nostalgia-soaked evening look like?
Damnned if I know. It was also fairly alcohol-soaked. But someone took pictures and this is what they look like.
(There seems to be some sort of editing glitch below, so please excuse any inconvenience it may cause...)
07 August 2002
It's almost O-Bon
Or Obon. Or something. I'm not too clear on the spelling. It's a traditional holiday that's something like a Japanese version of Dia de Los Muertos. Folks go back to the old homestead to clean off the family tombstones, leave offerings for the dead relatives and visit with the live ones. Most businesses give folks a couple days off to handle ancestral affairs.
Since I'm on the wrong side of the Pacific to easily visit my family, I'm just gonna hack around Tokyo for a couple of days. That is, if I can get out of Fukui.
Damn stupid night bus being damn stupid sold out tonight.
Of course, my own waiting until the last day to buy a bus ticket has no bearing on the situation.
No new pictures this week. Maybe next time I'll get around to posting the shots from Kyoto.
Or the ones from that weekend in Albuquerque in May.
Or not.
Since I'm on the wrong side of the Pacific to easily visit my family, I'm just gonna hack around Tokyo for a couple of days. That is, if I can get out of Fukui.
Damn stupid night bus being damn stupid sold out tonight.
Of course, my own waiting until the last day to buy a bus ticket has no bearing on the situation.
No new pictures this week. Maybe next time I'll get around to posting the shots from Kyoto.
Or the ones from that weekend in Albuquerque in May.
Or not.
31 July 2002
Worth noting:
In February, was consistently colder in my apartment than outside. My refrigerator was often warmer than my bathroom. Now that it's August, it is consistently hotter in my apartment than it is outside. Given that it is around 33 C here (that's like 91 Fahrenheit) with consistent 75% humidity, I'm none too comfortable wearing a suit and tie every day.
Even though Japan is years ahead of the rest of the world in personal technology (the cell phones here are just incredible), there is a strange reluctance to adopt something as radical as a central heating or cooling system in most buildings and homes. Perhaps it's a plot by the companies that sell fans, small air conditioners and space heaters.
Even though Japan is years ahead of the rest of the world in personal technology (the cell phones here are just incredible), there is a strange reluctance to adopt something as radical as a central heating or cooling system in most buildings and homes. Perhaps it's a plot by the companies that sell fans, small air conditioners and space heaters.
29 July 2002
What's the point?
I realize that whole schools of philosophy are devoted to this question, and that one hastily written post isn't going to add anything substantial to the pursuit of an answer, but I would like an answer. To be more specific, I would like an answer that seems to have some logic that I can agree with and understand. There ought to be some valid reason for doing things, right? I mean, why the hell should I go to work? Or take a shower? Or eat? What purpose is served by my continued existence? For that matter, what purpose is served by anyone's existence?
Do I add something valuable to the condition of life on Earth? And is what I add worth more than my existence costs in terms of energy, other people's time, or raw materials? Am I a waste of oxygen? Could the food I eat be put to better use?
Starvation is bad, right? Starvation leads to death. Which is bad, right? Maybe the other side of the question is more important. Is it good to feed people? Is it good to keep people alive? What's the value in living? Of course, we don't really have a choice about being born, so there's not much we can do about the whole arrival here. But why is staying alive so important?
Are people supposed to do something? Anything? Making babies, however much fun the conceptive act may be, doesn't strike me as being a good enough reason by itself. If all people are good for is reproduction, then dogs and bees and ants are much better at it than we are.
Hmm. It looks like I really need two questions answered here:
1. To what degree is human life valuable?
2. How was that answer arrived at?
Any thoughtful or amusing answers should be sent to the author. Any replies concerning "God's plan," "The Lord's Will," or "Jesus Loves"-anything will be mirthlessly laughed at, then deleted.
I realize that whole schools of philosophy are devoted to this question, and that one hastily written post isn't going to add anything substantial to the pursuit of an answer, but I would like an answer. To be more specific, I would like an answer that seems to have some logic that I can agree with and understand. There ought to be some valid reason for doing things, right? I mean, why the hell should I go to work? Or take a shower? Or eat? What purpose is served by my continued existence? For that matter, what purpose is served by anyone's existence?
Do I add something valuable to the condition of life on Earth? And is what I add worth more than my existence costs in terms of energy, other people's time, or raw materials? Am I a waste of oxygen? Could the food I eat be put to better use?
Starvation is bad, right? Starvation leads to death. Which is bad, right? Maybe the other side of the question is more important. Is it good to feed people? Is it good to keep people alive? What's the value in living? Of course, we don't really have a choice about being born, so there's not much we can do about the whole arrival here. But why is staying alive so important?
Are people supposed to do something? Anything? Making babies, however much fun the conceptive act may be, doesn't strike me as being a good enough reason by itself. If all people are good for is reproduction, then dogs and bees and ants are much better at it than we are.
Hmm. It looks like I really need two questions answered here:
1. To what degree is human life valuable?
2. How was that answer arrived at?
Any thoughtful or amusing answers should be sent to the author. Any replies concerning "God's plan," "The Lord's Will," or "Jesus Loves"-anything will be mirthlessly laughed at, then deleted.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
