I hate driving. So much. I cannot put into words how much I hate it. It's very inconvenient to abhor so vehemently something so integral to life. In order to be a fully functional member of society and live a decent life, I must be independently mobile.
But I simply cannot do it. After one epic fail at the driver's test, Dad began to grow alarmed at my shocking inability to effectively operate a motor vehicle. Now he takes me driving whenever he finds a spare second and it's stressful and awful and occasionally near-fatal.
I can do the basic things. I can drive around my little four-stoplight town without much problem. But put me on the highway and all hell brakes loose. (Get it!?)
In order to pass the test (and get back to the DMV, which I'm guessing is a slightly important part to passing the test) you have to switch lanes. This sounds simple enough, right? Well, I can't. I hesitate too much because I want to sit there and draw a map of the surrounding cars and calculate their speeds relative to mine as to find the optimum time to drive over, and there's really not that much time available... All in all, it seems as though I'll have to spend my life at places on one side of the road.
This frequent irrational panicking resulted in having a nervous breakdown in a random parking lot. I don't think my dad fully understood how much this driving thing plagues me until I quite uncharistically lost all of my composure, my ability to form coherent sentences, and just repeatedly beat my head against the steering wheel. With concerned patience, he talked me back into sanity until I even cracked a smile.
He must be the most patient man on earth. We've only been going through this driving fiasco since I turned 15. Still, he tries. I do make a little progress each time, but the leaps are so minute they're hardly detectable. But still he tells me "I did well" and that he's proud. He couldn't possibly be proud of the mess that was sitting in that driver's seat today.
At one point, he asked "would it help if somebody else taught you? Am I not doing this right?" and this alarmed me. I quickly reassured him that I wouldn't dare get into the car with anyone else. I hope he believed me. Anybody who could get into a car with someone who almost kills him at least twice daily, and not yell and scream at me, is a remarkable human being. My inability to drive my resign me to living with him for the rest of my life, but at least I know I'm safe with him.
Sep 26, 2009
Sep 23, 2009
A Weemba Whop, A Weemba Whop...
The world looks different set to music.
When I make my almost-daily pilgrimage to the bus, I always listen to music. Whatever song is playing makes everything appear differently, like background music in a movie. I just hit shuffle and the world shifts to suit whatever mood my ipod happens to be in.
Once, I was kind of stressed out and shook the ipod hastily to make it shuffle. "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" came pouring out of my headphones, instantly making everything around me look carefree and fun. The guy playing with his little dog in the parking lot, a group of kids doing something most likely borderline illegal in the back of a truck, a mother fussing at her son for being late to get picked up... and especially the barrage of students pouring out the school's doors and onto the buses. Goth kids just look hilarious against "A weemba whop a weemba whop". I bet everyone I pass thinks I'm insane though, since I'm probably smiling involuntarily.
On the actual bus, some random middle schoolers break out into a fight in the front, but all I can hear over the muffled cheers is "In the jungle, the mighty jungle..."
I have the feeling if my music was being played over an intercom like a movie, there would be more smiling and less fighting on the bus.
I don't always listen to happy songs about sleeping lions, but I think maybe I should. Life's more interesting as a montage.
When I make my almost-daily pilgrimage to the bus, I always listen to music. Whatever song is playing makes everything appear differently, like background music in a movie. I just hit shuffle and the world shifts to suit whatever mood my ipod happens to be in.
Once, I was kind of stressed out and shook the ipod hastily to make it shuffle. "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" came pouring out of my headphones, instantly making everything around me look carefree and fun. The guy playing with his little dog in the parking lot, a group of kids doing something most likely borderline illegal in the back of a truck, a mother fussing at her son for being late to get picked up... and especially the barrage of students pouring out the school's doors and onto the buses. Goth kids just look hilarious against "A weemba whop a weemba whop". I bet everyone I pass thinks I'm insane though, since I'm probably smiling involuntarily.
On the actual bus, some random middle schoolers break out into a fight in the front, but all I can hear over the muffled cheers is "In the jungle, the mighty jungle..."
I have the feeling if my music was being played over an intercom like a movie, there would be more smiling and less fighting on the bus.
I don't always listen to happy songs about sleeping lions, but I think maybe I should. Life's more interesting as a montage.
Sep 21, 2009
Typing and Typing and Typing...
I don't know why I'm so obsessed with defining things nowadays, as evidenced by recent writings.
Maybe it's a need to set parameters, unchangeable constants, unshakable realities. As the world shifts around me and pushes me forward, however reluctant I may be, I can try to give everything definition. I can try to dissipate my misty uncertainty.
But it doesn't really work. I guess it's my mind trying to play a trick on itself. Some sort of natural survival mechanism.
Or maybe I just want to find my own beliefs amongst a sea of other people's that float around in my head. Or are my beliefs just a collage of everybody's I've ever heard or read? Does anyone think original thoughts anymore? Are all the thoughts in the world used up? What would it be like to live in a world where everything I think is obvious was just being discovered, brand new?
Enough with the incoherent paragraph of rhetorical questions.
This blog has no point. No cohesive meaning I'm trying to convey. No preliminary thought went into this at all, as I'm sure is glaringly obvious as I just type and type. But it matches the state of my brain lately. Incoherent, incohesive. All those words that start with "in" and usually a "c".
I find the best thing to do when I feel like that is write and write and eventually I get to the bottom of things. No thinking, just typing. And a lot of sentence fragments for emphasis.
I'm sorry about this pile of nothing, but sometimes you have to get all the nothing out before you can get to the somethings.
Maybe it's a need to set parameters, unchangeable constants, unshakable realities. As the world shifts around me and pushes me forward, however reluctant I may be, I can try to give everything definition. I can try to dissipate my misty uncertainty.
But it doesn't really work. I guess it's my mind trying to play a trick on itself. Some sort of natural survival mechanism.
Or maybe I just want to find my own beliefs amongst a sea of other people's that float around in my head. Or are my beliefs just a collage of everybody's I've ever heard or read? Does anyone think original thoughts anymore? Are all the thoughts in the world used up? What would it be like to live in a world where everything I think is obvious was just being discovered, brand new?
Enough with the incoherent paragraph of rhetorical questions.
This blog has no point. No cohesive meaning I'm trying to convey. No preliminary thought went into this at all, as I'm sure is glaringly obvious as I just type and type. But it matches the state of my brain lately. Incoherent, incohesive. All those words that start with "in" and usually a "c".
I find the best thing to do when I feel like that is write and write and eventually I get to the bottom of things. No thinking, just typing. And a lot of sentence fragments for emphasis.
I'm sorry about this pile of nothing, but sometimes you have to get all the nothing out before you can get to the somethings.
Sep 18, 2009
You're Such a Smart Kid!
What is smart?
What is our criteria for intelligent?
These are terms we often apply to various people, concepts, all sorts of different things.
But the criteria couldn't possibly be universal. How does anyone decide what is intelligent?
For example, the seemingly unanimous response is that Martin Luther King, Jr. was an intelligent man. He fought for a worthy cause, helped people, gave amazing speeches with expertly crafted rhetoric, and now we celebrate his birthday as a holiday. He should be unquestionably considered smart, right?
Well, he also stuck his neck out on the line, put his family at risk, landed himself in jail, and eventually was murdered. Is it really the smartest thing to do to put yourself in that much danger? Would discrimination have not ended in there was no Martin Luther King Jr., if nobody ever heard "I Have a Dream"? I think it might've.
Not that I don't admire or appreciate King; I'm just trying to prove a point. If one considers bravery and strong convictions and good speeches intelligent, he definitely was. But if you consider simply doing what you need to survive the most intelligent life path, then Martin failed majorly.
So how do we decide what is intelligent and what is stupid? For all unanswered questions, I consult my friend dictionary.com.
Intelligent: having good understanding or a high mental capacity; quick to comprehend, as persons or animals
Interesting. The definition is just as vague and relative as the functional meaning of the word. "Good understanding"? "High mental capacity?" How do you decide those things?
What about smart? It's even broader in its functional definition. We use smart for everything!
7.
quick or prompt in action, as persons.
8.
having or showing quick intelligence or ready mental capability: a smart student.
9.
shrewd or sharp, as a person in dealing with others or as in business dealings: a smart businessman.
10.
clever, witty, or readily effective, as a speaker, speech, rejoinder, etc.
11.
dashingly or impressively neat or trim in appearance, as persons, dress, etc.
12.
socially elegant; sophisticated or fashionable: the smart crowd.
13.
saucy; pert: smart remarks.
14.
sharply brisk, vigorous, or active: to walk with smart steps.
15.
sharply severe, as a blow, stroke, etc.
16.
sharp or keen: a smart pain.
17.
Informal. equipped with, using, or containing electronic control devices, as computer systems, microprocessors, or missiles: a smart phone; a smart copier.
18.
Computers. intelligent (def. 4).
19.
Older Use. considerable; fairly large.
Wow. We really do use it a lot. I find the second definition interesting. It's almost the same as intelligent, so I feel less weird about using them almost interchangeably above.
Most of my life, people have stuffed me into the "smart" category. "Smart kids" in the gifted and talented program, at the "smart school". A nerd. But I never really liked being considered "smart" based on the fact that I get good grades. It doesn't take a Martin Luther King, Jr. to memorize a bunch of stuff and regurgitate it for a test. It doesn't take "intelligence" to tell a teacher everything they want to hear. So how do A's make me "smart"? It took me forever to make this website let me stop italicizing. A lot of people would consider that a "dumb" move.
I guess this boils down to one of those annoying debates on relativity, which can be applied in pretty much every situation. Humans view everything through their own experiences, so virtually nothing is universal. It's all relative. That doesn't really stop me from wanting to define everything.
Nobody ever comments these, but if anybody would like to weigh in on what they consider "smart" or "intelligent", I'd love to hear some thoughts other than my own. Anybody, anybody?
What is our criteria for intelligent?
These are terms we often apply to various people, concepts, all sorts of different things.
But the criteria couldn't possibly be universal. How does anyone decide what is intelligent?
For example, the seemingly unanimous response is that Martin Luther King, Jr. was an intelligent man. He fought for a worthy cause, helped people, gave amazing speeches with expertly crafted rhetoric, and now we celebrate his birthday as a holiday. He should be unquestionably considered smart, right?
Well, he also stuck his neck out on the line, put his family at risk, landed himself in jail, and eventually was murdered. Is it really the smartest thing to do to put yourself in that much danger? Would discrimination have not ended in there was no Martin Luther King Jr., if nobody ever heard "I Have a Dream"? I think it might've.
Not that I don't admire or appreciate King; I'm just trying to prove a point. If one considers bravery and strong convictions and good speeches intelligent, he definitely was. But if you consider simply doing what you need to survive the most intelligent life path, then Martin failed majorly.
So how do we decide what is intelligent and what is stupid? For all unanswered questions, I consult my friend dictionary.com.
Intelligent: having good understanding or a high mental capacity; quick to comprehend, as persons or animals
Interesting. The definition is just as vague and relative as the functional meaning of the word. "Good understanding"? "High mental capacity?" How do you decide those things?
What about smart? It's even broader in its functional definition. We use smart for everything!
7.
quick or prompt in action, as persons.
8.
having or showing quick intelligence or ready mental capability: a smart student.
9.
shrewd or sharp, as a person in dealing with others or as in business dealings: a smart businessman.
10.
clever, witty, or readily effective, as a speaker, speech, rejoinder, etc.
11.
dashingly or impressively neat or trim in appearance, as persons, dress, etc.
12.
socially elegant; sophisticated or fashionable: the smart crowd.
13.
saucy; pert: smart remarks.
14.
sharply brisk, vigorous, or active: to walk with smart steps.
15.
sharply severe, as a blow, stroke, etc.
16.
sharp or keen: a smart pain.
17.
Informal. equipped with, using, or containing electronic control devices, as computer systems, microprocessors, or missiles: a smart phone; a smart copier.
18.
Computers. intelligent (def. 4).
19.
Older Use. considerable; fairly large.
Wow. We really do use it a lot. I find the second definition interesting. It's almost the same as intelligent, so I feel less weird about using them almost interchangeably above.
Most of my life, people have stuffed me into the "smart" category. "Smart kids" in the gifted and talented program, at the "smart school". A nerd. But I never really liked being considered "smart" based on the fact that I get good grades. It doesn't take a Martin Luther King, Jr. to memorize a bunch of stuff and regurgitate it for a test. It doesn't take "intelligence" to tell a teacher everything they want to hear. So how do A's make me "smart"? It took me forever to make this website let me stop italicizing. A lot of people would consider that a "dumb" move.
I guess this boils down to one of those annoying debates on relativity, which can be applied in pretty much every situation. Humans view everything through their own experiences, so virtually nothing is universal. It's all relative. That doesn't really stop me from wanting to define everything.
Nobody ever comments these, but if anybody would like to weigh in on what they consider "smart" or "intelligent", I'd love to hear some thoughts other than my own. Anybody, anybody?
Sep 10, 2009
A Load of Cliches and a Silly Commentary on Humanity
It's easy to be cynical and write everyone off as all the same, or simple. But what is easiest is not always right. Rarely, really.
It seems like, with people, there's always a little something you don't know about them that makes you see everything else in a different light. It's surprising how much everything really does have a reason, even if it's sometimes hard to see. Buried way down deep inside is a motivation for every behavior, no matter how absurd.
Generally, I do think people can be placed into categories, but we don't recognize just how many categories there are. There are a bunch of different traits, disorders, tendencies, whatever that we can have, but there's just so many combinations possible that it creates the everybody-is-a-unique-snowflake allusion.
There's a billion paths our lives can take and all these small, varied circumstances mold people into the complex creatures they are. Unless we follow a person around every second of every day, we'll never completely understand what, to use a cliche, makes them tick.
I guess my point is that we shouldn't judge people, but that's stupid because we are always going to judge people. It cannot be helped. Plus it sounds dreadfully after school specialish. I guess, then, that my point is we should keep an open mind about people and allow the inevitable judgments to be altered by inevitable developments as you get to know a person.
After all, who wants to be over-simplified?
It seems like, with people, there's always a little something you don't know about them that makes you see everything else in a different light. It's surprising how much everything really does have a reason, even if it's sometimes hard to see. Buried way down deep inside is a motivation for every behavior, no matter how absurd.
Generally, I do think people can be placed into categories, but we don't recognize just how many categories there are. There are a bunch of different traits, disorders, tendencies, whatever that we can have, but there's just so many combinations possible that it creates the everybody-is-a-unique-snowflake allusion.
There's a billion paths our lives can take and all these small, varied circumstances mold people into the complex creatures they are. Unless we follow a person around every second of every day, we'll never completely understand what, to use a cliche, makes them tick.
I guess my point is that we shouldn't judge people, but that's stupid because we are always going to judge people. It cannot be helped. Plus it sounds dreadfully after school specialish. I guess, then, that my point is we should keep an open mind about people and allow the inevitable judgments to be altered by inevitable developments as you get to know a person.
After all, who wants to be over-simplified?
Sep 7, 2009
Everybody's a Winner
I've heard my generation occasionally referred to as the "overpraised generation". I usually hate when they name generations like that because it's so generalizing and usually judgmental. But in this case, I have to agree.
Nobody loses anymore. I think to be a well-rounded and well-functioning human being, you have to lose sometimes. After all, you can't know the joy of victory if you don't know the sting of defeat.
Even as a little kid, I hated those "everybody gets a prize" games. It cheapens the prize. Why work at all if you get the same result no matter the amount of effort? I never considered myself overly competitive, but a little competition is fun and healthy.
Why did we eliminate "loss" from our vocabularies? Because somebody's feelings might get hurt. Well, I hate to break it to all those parent-by-the-self-help-book parents, but the kid is going to come up short eventually and because they never had to deal with second place growing up, they're not going to know how to deal with it. Instead of being a little kid crying at the end of his first youth league basketball game, he'll be a grown man crying when he doesn't get a promotion at work. Which is better?
Whenever my dad's side of the family gets together, a game of 500 Rummy always commences. I don't remember ever not knowing how to play 500 Rummy. I think it's an instinctive familial gene. Anyway, this weekend was no different. I have horrible luck in cards, and I was in a very distant fourth place. I'm talking negative numbers. But I was still having a lot of fun, talking trash with my grandparents. I know a lot of kids that could not have fun in last place.
I appreciate the fact that my parents (and grandparents!) have always let me lose. Dad never let me win 500 Rummy once in my life, even when I was very young. I am bad at sports, so knowing how to lose is invaluable skill.
Family tradition states that the person that wins has to sign the bottom of the page "El Champo" and the score sheet hangs on the nearest refrigerator until the next rematch. When we left my grandparents' house this weekend, three sheets hung on the fridge, none of which with my name signed at the bottom. But I still could reflect positively on the whole weekend. Thanks, Mom and Dad, for making an expection of me, a member of the "overpraised generation."
Nobody loses anymore. I think to be a well-rounded and well-functioning human being, you have to lose sometimes. After all, you can't know the joy of victory if you don't know the sting of defeat.
Even as a little kid, I hated those "everybody gets a prize" games. It cheapens the prize. Why work at all if you get the same result no matter the amount of effort? I never considered myself overly competitive, but a little competition is fun and healthy.
Why did we eliminate "loss" from our vocabularies? Because somebody's feelings might get hurt. Well, I hate to break it to all those parent-by-the-self-help-book parents, but the kid is going to come up short eventually and because they never had to deal with second place growing up, they're not going to know how to deal with it. Instead of being a little kid crying at the end of his first youth league basketball game, he'll be a grown man crying when he doesn't get a promotion at work. Which is better?
Whenever my dad's side of the family gets together, a game of 500 Rummy always commences. I don't remember ever not knowing how to play 500 Rummy. I think it's an instinctive familial gene. Anyway, this weekend was no different. I have horrible luck in cards, and I was in a very distant fourth place. I'm talking negative numbers. But I was still having a lot of fun, talking trash with my grandparents. I know a lot of kids that could not have fun in last place.
I appreciate the fact that my parents (and grandparents!) have always let me lose. Dad never let me win 500 Rummy once in my life, even when I was very young. I am bad at sports, so knowing how to lose is invaluable skill.
Family tradition states that the person that wins has to sign the bottom of the page "El Champo" and the score sheet hangs on the nearest refrigerator until the next rematch. When we left my grandparents' house this weekend, three sheets hung on the fridge, none of which with my name signed at the bottom. But I still could reflect positively on the whole weekend. Thanks, Mom and Dad, for making an expection of me, a member of the "overpraised generation."
Sep 2, 2009
Coping With Life's LazyBoy Chairs
I do a lot of weird things. Last night, I became conscious of one them that had become so second-nature, I forgot I even do it.
Whenever I'm in some sort of overwhelming or generally suckish situation, I pause for a moment to commit to memory this one moment of crushing dread. I then think about how great it will be when I'm on the other side of whatever is weighing me down and can think back on the moment and say "Yay! That's over!" This somehow provides me with a small comfort, and motivation to get through whatever it is I need to do.
I realized I was doing this last night. I was laying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, dreading the seemingly insurmountable amount of homework that lay ahead of me. Mother had forced me into an impromptu shopping trip for my brother, thus reducing my homework time by several pointless hours. I lay there, scanning my mental to-do list and dreading entering the homework-filled abyss. So I paused, and studied myself. I thought about how I felt, looked, and generally was.
A few hours later, three printed essays (one with three individual versions), an annotated article, a read 30 page boring textbook chapter later, I was again lying in bed, this time for slumber. I thought back to that moment earlier, before the homework was completed, and smiled. I'd gotten through it. I was somehow better than the person lying in almost the same place a few hours earlier. Accomplishment.
I know. I'm weird.
Realizing this bizarre thought process, I wondered why I do it. I think it all started when I was pretty young, maybe 6 or 7. My parents had travelled a few hours away from home to buy a new LazyBoy chair for the living room. I was with them. After purchasing the chair, they realized it wasn't going to fit in the back of the car. They had to stuff parts of it in the backseat, where I sat. For some reason, this required leaning heavy chair parts on my then-little legs. It was possibly the most uncomfortable physical position I've ever endured. The chair pressed my legs with enough pressure to restrict blood flow and I was so afraid they wouldn't awaken when the burden was finally lifted. (I was young, okay?) So I thought, "Think about how good it will feel when you get to crawl out from under this thing!" And, indeed, it felt great when after what felt like an eternity, the chair was removed. Ever since then, this same technique has gotten me through all of life's most unpleasant moments.
I bet you all are thinking, "Imagine how great it will be when I finish reading this blog post and can go on with my life..." Wish granted.
Whenever I'm in some sort of overwhelming or generally suckish situation, I pause for a moment to commit to memory this one moment of crushing dread. I then think about how great it will be when I'm on the other side of whatever is weighing me down and can think back on the moment and say "Yay! That's over!" This somehow provides me with a small comfort, and motivation to get through whatever it is I need to do.
I realized I was doing this last night. I was laying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, dreading the seemingly insurmountable amount of homework that lay ahead of me. Mother had forced me into an impromptu shopping trip for my brother, thus reducing my homework time by several pointless hours. I lay there, scanning my mental to-do list and dreading entering the homework-filled abyss. So I paused, and studied myself. I thought about how I felt, looked, and generally was.
A few hours later, three printed essays (one with three individual versions), an annotated article, a read 30 page boring textbook chapter later, I was again lying in bed, this time for slumber. I thought back to that moment earlier, before the homework was completed, and smiled. I'd gotten through it. I was somehow better than the person lying in almost the same place a few hours earlier. Accomplishment.
I know. I'm weird.
Realizing this bizarre thought process, I wondered why I do it. I think it all started when I was pretty young, maybe 6 or 7. My parents had travelled a few hours away from home to buy a new LazyBoy chair for the living room. I was with them. After purchasing the chair, they realized it wasn't going to fit in the back of the car. They had to stuff parts of it in the backseat, where I sat. For some reason, this required leaning heavy chair parts on my then-little legs. It was possibly the most uncomfortable physical position I've ever endured. The chair pressed my legs with enough pressure to restrict blood flow and I was so afraid they wouldn't awaken when the burden was finally lifted. (I was young, okay?) So I thought, "Think about how good it will feel when you get to crawl out from under this thing!" And, indeed, it felt great when after what felt like an eternity, the chair was removed. Ever since then, this same technique has gotten me through all of life's most unpleasant moments.
I bet you all are thinking, "Imagine how great it will be when I finish reading this blog post and can go on with my life..." Wish granted.
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