I have convinced my mom to get new carpets for the middle floor. Joy of joys -- no more horrid stench. A carpet man is coming tomorrow to measure. The house must be cleaned for him. Ohm ohm. I don't know what's been wrong with me lately -- ever since I recovered from a very minor cold, I haven't been sleeping well and I have no energy to do anything, like exercise or clean the house. My eyes sting and are dry. I keep rubbing them, hoping to dig out sharp, dry eye boogers that I suspect might be causing the discomfort. Also, it's hot, and my feet and upper lip are sweaty.
The physical sensation of being alive is unpleasant; there's always something wrong. Right now, my eyes are dried out and sensitive, and my brain is still over-caffeinated from yesterday evening, when I ate dinner with mrs. White, having 3 glasses of sweetened iced-tea and two pepsis. Maybe I need to fast for a week. I've heard that fasting clears all of the toxins out of one's body (whatever that means), and is a good thing to do occasionally. At first I thought this might merit a web search, but then I realized that I'd come up with thousands of pages on weight loss. Let me see what I get, actually, when I search for pages about the benefits of fasting, and perhaps fasting technique. I'll use my secret weapons against the commercial internet: google university search and wikipedia.
Most things I'm finding say that fasting can be beneficial but to consult a physician before embarking. I found this (below, in the block-quote), which is sort of interesting, and has implications for me. I'm finally convinced that I have some kind of mild temporal lobe epilepsy. I never really believed the doctors, because I was being stupid. But the trick to understanding epilepsy is in fully understanding that it has a pretty broad definition: abnormal neuron firing at unexpected times, aka seizures. This doesn't necessarily involve jerking, rolling one's eyes and drooling on the floor, but can also include sudden burst of rage, myoclonic jerks, and odd behavior. I should read up on temporal lobe epilepsy. Epilepsy was historically considered a sacred disease (similarly to most mental illnesses), and many well-known persons of the 'creative genius' ilk have had some kind of epilepsy.
Diagnosis is a bad habit. It's lots of fun, and arguably useful in expediting treatment of lots of people, but it's not really useful to apply to a single person. Lines of demarcation that are hard to draw around things and between any two things are even more difficult to draw around brain functioning and pathology. To my knowledge, everything going on in the brain boils down (boiled brains!) to neurotransmitters or electrical impulses. Disorders of these categories of functioning (haha, there we go again with categories -- lines of demarcation -- pay attention!) can be treated with drugs to stimulate/impede a particular neurotransmitters or group of neurotransmitters, or drugs that stimulate/impede neuron firing. I've had professionals tell me that I have something wrong with my neurotransmitters, and also that I have something wrong with my neurons. My point, that it's not really meaningful in either academic or practical terms to differentiate between one mental disease and another, is illustrated by the popular 'grab bag' approach to psychopharmacology: prescribe a series of things until something works, because antidepressants have anticonvulsant properties, anticonvulsant have antidepressants properties, etc. Administering drugs to 'improve' brain functioning is much more of an art than a science, as I suppose is (and should be) all medicine.
Anyway, here's the thing that relates the thing to the thing:
Fasting has been used to prevent seizures since ancient times; in fact, a 2000 study of epileptic mice suggests that a restricted caloric intake while on a balanced diet can lead to measurable seizure reduction among all age groups.
Whenever I think about my brain, my head starts to hurt.
I wonder if the strange ways in which my brain works should be looked at as a gift rather than as a burden. Certainly all of my 'gifts' (music, art, writing, etc) come from the same place as my 'problems' (depression, temper, sensitivity, confusion, etc). It's all one subject: my own little tangle of neurons that worked sort of unusually to begin with, and I'm sure wasn't helped to conform to standards by the severing of several thousand neurons in my right temporal lobe. But hey -- it still works, more or less. I've heard of bones breaking and re-growing stronger than they were before. Maybe something like that can happen in neurological structures, too. Humans are such weird animals. Really, our hyper-evolved brains are either going to be the death of us or our salvation. It could go either way.
More site-wide changes this morning. Don't worry, you didn't miss anything -- there hasn't been a side-wide structure change since complaints about 'offensive' content caused me to replace index.html with a warning page. This happened only about two months ago, but seems much longer. As I've remarked before, internet time is accelerated. There are at least two entries devoted to my inner turmoil regarding that incident. here is one, and the entry below it is related as well. Re-reading them, I'm reminded of my stint with .htaccess password protection. Good times.
This morning's change is related to the issue of reader filtering, usability and access control. In my estimation, the convenience and ease of navigation gained by bypassing the warning page outweigh its risk-management function; I hate having to scroll down and find that tiny little 'ok' every time I want to find the index and read a blog. So, no more warning page. Well, one can still access it (and is encouraged to do so), but it's no longer mandatory to click through it every time on the way to the juicy content. Now, it's directly to the archive index for you, faithful and smelly reader! Excitement.
Blog.html has been replaced with a filler page, in case people had it bookmarked (i can always fantasize). But hey -- it's important to maintain standards of site-quality, even if one has 1 visitor a week, and that visitor is one's grandmother. In all seriousness, this blog has about 5-20 readers a day, and I Care About My Readers. give me money, whores. Haha, just kidding. Sort of.
I'm blogging a series of five posts I made on the SDFbulletin board MARTIALART, which I created. I'm doing this for two reasons: 1. I'm lazy and don't want to write anything new today. 2. I want more people to see my bbs posts. I've edited the sloppy bbs-style up to the literary standards of my blog (ha). I added some content to the posts, too. So really, this is a fair-and-square blog entry.
It seems that certain hobbies and interests are over-represented here on SDF, such as guitar, programming (maybe obviously), and martial arts. I've talked to a lot of people here who have had some kind of martial arts training.
Along with pony-tails, programming, japanophilia, to some extent guitar playing, role playing games, science fiction and ___, martial arts joins the rank of preferred nerdy hobbies and behavioral traits.
You have two choices for follow-ups: 1. Speculate on why this is (why does a certain 'genre' of person gravitate towards the martial arts? What might be similar qualities that lead him/her to also gravitate towards, say, role playing games? What's the quality a person might have that would cause him to enjoy both science fiction novels and growing a pony tail? Why do nerds often have the same hobbies?), or 2. Talk about your own martial arts experience.
I have a taekwondo background, with minor smidgeons of hapkido, aikido, jujitsu, etc, thrown in over the years. Id like to get into tai chi, practiced as a fighting art.
The two principle western martial arts are greco-roman boxing and wrestling.
Back in the 70s, when bill 'superfoot' wallace, bruce lee and chuck norris were on the martial arts scene, and it came as close as its probably going to come to breaking into the mainstream, boxers would enter karate tournaments and just totally dominate. To try and counteract this phenomenon, the commissions implemented rules stating that combatants had to throw a certain number of kicks.
What happened next was that the boxers would go into the ring, immediately throw a few sloppy, poorly executed, useless kicks to fulfill their quotas, and then proceed to beat the sh*t out of the karatekas with their fists, just like old times.
This leads me to speculate on the possibility that i, as a westerner, should study western martial arts. For one thing, I don't have those gelatinous korean hips that facilitate taekwondo. Also, I'm big and strong (but not necessarily slow), and I feel that these qualities should be capitalized on.
Really, everyone should develop their own martial art.
Ok, here's my plan: PYTHON STYLE KUNG FU. Welll, not kung fu, because that has cultural implications. But I like the chinese tradition of animal styles of fighting. Python-style matt-fu?
Stance involves sitting there staring at your opponent, and the ability to take punches rather than get excited and wasting energy trying to block everything.
You pretty much stand still, but attack quickly, precisely and unexpectedly at vital areas (throat, knees, groin, temples, eyes, etc). These attacks are analogous to the python striking. Standing still frees the brain to enter the required zen state, as one isn't firing the motor cortex. The focus is on awareness and reaction rather than bouncing around like a monkey.
Then, in keeping with the name, the ultimate focus is on getting ahold of the opponent and squashing him, usually with the goal of suffocation or joint-breaking.
Essential, imitating the movements and combative behavior of a reticulated python or boa constrictor.
Training would emphasize retaining a cold, emotionless, instinct-driven zen state (like a snake's reptilian brain engenders), on ignoring attacks ('taking a punch'), quickly maneuvering the arms for choke holds and joint locks, and perfecting non-telegraphed, quick strikes to vital areas. It also helps, in python-style, to be 6'4", 265 lbs, and move in a slippery sort of way.
This is why everyone should develop their own martial art. I should develop a martial arts school where the prospective student would come in, be evaluated, and then trained according to his or her own natural patterns of movement and thought.
Im sure you've experienced this: organizations that are operated more like businesses than schools, that cater to 10 year-olds, whose parents purchase 'ranks' for $300 (the black belt test at my school was $250, which was the main reason I didn't get it. Even at 16, it seemed cheesy to me), and for whom the bottom line eclipses the martial spirit.
Places like these are more concerned with avoiding lawsuits than proper training, and discourage contact sparring as well as any practical applications. They have clientele to whom they must cater: soccer moms and their greasy little ninja-turtles.
So, how can the serious prospective student avoid these schools? Walk across western china and camp out outside a monastery until they let you in?
How best to avoid the 'McDojo'? The kiddie belt-factory?
I have a burgeoning theory about martial arts and netris. I was thinking about possible correlations between netris ability and other things, like driving, programming, etc. But I think that I've found the clearest link -- martial arts ability. It seems that the people who are accomplished netris players have also had martial arts training, almost without exception. It would seem to make sense -- looking for spatial opportunities and visually processing information quickly are central to sparring.
Also, simply hand-eye coordination is a trait shared by martial arts and netris enthusiasts. Might the correlation of abilities extend to video games in general and martial arts? Maybe, but I think netris in particular encourages study of correlative relationships. Fitting descending blocks into shapes has similar aspects of planning and execution as fitting a strike past one's opponent's guard.
Tell me your thoughts.
I'm posting an email dialog between james and me, because I think it's funny.
From: james
To: moiToday I have my last exam!!! Quantum mechanics!!
--
From: moi
To: jamesI have the answer key:
1. A
2. C
3. A
4. B
5. D
6. D
7. A
8. C
9. 58
10. Trick question -- they don't.--
From: james
To: moiThe sample final can be found at
Www.umich.edu/~pberman
Under 'current information'.
The exam, unfortunately, isn't multiple choice, and I don't think 'b' is an appropriate response to 'In general terms, explain the relationship in quantum mechanics between symmetry, degeneracy, and dynamical constants of the motion.'
--
From: moi
To: jamesHahahahahaha
That's great :D
One man's pattern recognition is another man's dada.
In 'general terms,' eh? Answer: the symmetry, degeneracy and dynamical constants of the motion all affect one another.
This kind of thing amuses me, just because it is, literally, dada to me. It's utter nonsense. And it's something -- ironic? Metaphoric? Wistfully poignant? Maybe just 'funny' -- how what is a cogent, structured language for one person is a jumble of meaningless chicken scratches for another. One man's pattern recognition is another man's dada. That's a good quote; I think I should become famous for that. Anyway, here is the practice exam james mentioned (watch out, it's a PDF file). The exam is truly something else. I think my favorite question is this one, because it manages to make no sense whatsoever despite using english words and avoiding obscure greek symbols:
Estimate the magnetic field strength for which the Zeeman splitting equals the spin-orbit coupling in the n = 2 state of hydrogen.
Hmm...I'll say 'two.'
I was supposed to call HIRRS today if they hadn't called me, which they hadn't, so I did. The last time I was at HIRRS, their vocational counselor was a few minutes late. I thought nothing of it, and read magazines in the lobby. When she arrived, she explained, with the knowing glimmer of adversarial psychology in her eye, that she had been deliberately late to see how I would head-injuredly react to this (start eating magazines, throwing feces, etc). I couldn't help but think she'd been stuck in traffic or wanted to catch the last few minutes of oprah, and had ad-hoced her way into this scheme of testing my cognitively impaired patience.
She told me, on our last meeting, that if I didn't hear from her on Monday I was to call her on Tuesday. In light of her ploy to assess me with a scheme of engineered lateness, fabricated or not, I can't help but think that she not calling me on Monday, my calling her today, her not being in the office, and the phone mail system being broken, necessitating my calling the receptionist back, are all part of an elaborate plot to test my cognitive functionality. HIRRS is a nonprofit organization, and I believe it gets most of its funding from state taxes. This leads to perhaps not the most efficient organizational behavior. The Maryland department of rehabilitative services keeps on mailing checks to HIRRS regardless of whether the carpet in the hallway is clean, there are typos in the newsletter, the vocational counselor is on time, etc. HIRRS is undriven by the profit motive, engendering a pattern of behavior that has been acculturated into entities like the DMV and the food stamps office (HHS, I think). For HIRRS, this operational clumsiness generates a wonderful opportunity for 'testing the cognitively impaired patience' of head-injured clientele; as administrative glitches manifest, it makes sense to incorporate them into treatment plans.
What's doubly ironic is that the two paragraphs above might be construed as a hostile reaction to the alleged planned lateness of my voc rehab counselor, and might in turn lead to an analysis of me as maladaptive. But this mini-rant was a reaction not to my counselor's lateness, but to her telling me that her lateness was engineered as an analytical tool. However, maybe that was the plan all along: to gauge my reaction to her use of psychological trickery, rather than my reaction to her lateness. Three steps ahead of the game at all times...
That's my sardonic wit for the day.
I guess this kind of paranoiac reaction falls under the category of over-analysis, a common technique in generating conspiracy theories. Conspiracy theories like this one (everything that goes wrong at HIRRS being part of their evaluation of clients) are difficult to disprove, and that's their beauty. Sure, it's *possible* that george w. Bush, the bin laden family and arial sharon engineered the 9/11 attacks as excuses to clamp down on global dissent and tighten corporate/government control over oil resources, but the people who believe things like this are absolutely convinced of it, and won't look at any evidence (or the things they provide as 'evidence' to support their claims don't actually constitute proof of anything). These people are very black or white...very unpostmodern. Their truth and reality are unsubjective. Essentially, conspiracy theorists, like followers of abrahamic religions, employ very immature and childlike ways of interpreting reality.
It's raining again. Just this morning, the sun was out. The plants enjoy it, including mrs. White's lawn, which I will mow again in a few days.
My mom bought a new chair for the computer, and the degree to which this effects my life is disturbing. It raises to the forefront of my consciousness that I have been, almost literally, sitting here for two years. I enjoy the chair, though. It's nice. I was gradually destroying the dining room chairs, one at a time, until my mom stepped in and bought this one. I haven't fed abner yet today; I should go over there soon. It's grotesque and rainy today, and I'm still a bit sick.
I think I'm borderline agorophobic. Hehe, diagnoses and disease names are such bullshit. It's amazing that industry is allowed to flourish. But anyway, when I think of leaving my house, I get a really creepy sensation. Maybe it's time to make a list of things that I would like again.
God, I hate my life. I wish I would just die. Well, after mrs. White gets back -- I don't want abner to get hungry.
Mrs. White comes back at the end of this week. At this point, I'm in the home stretch: abner has been given his course of antibiotics, the lawn has been mowed, and the plants have been watered. I will likely mow the lawn again on Friday morning, hours before I pick up mrs. White at great falls, so as to properly earn my keep.
Mowing the lawn is kind of fun, in a way. It amounts to making a display of 'look at me and my morally upstanding self -- I'm caring for my property as a good american should.' everyone sees you mowing your lawn, and is reminded of your wealth, of your attainment of the 'american dream.' there's something about doing yard work that has a 1950s morality to it, a wholesomeness, even though it's completely ridiculous. I certainly wouldn't want to do it every day, nor even every year, but the contrast with my usual lifestyle is nice. I can pretend that this well-cared for house and property are mine, and proudly brandish a lawnmower, collect the papers from the front yard, feed the cat, etc. It's fun for two weeks or so.
I've decided that I really don't like cats. Even abner, who is probably the sweetest cat I've ever met, still bothers me with his catlike nature. For one thing, I'm allergic to cats, which I'm sure doesn't help my feelings any. But even if I weren't, I would still be confronted with their evil nature. I get the sense that everything they do, they do very clearly for themselves; they dont give a shit about you, but just want food and a mechanical device that administers pleasurable physical sensations. Feline nature represents to me a very clear example of psychological egoism: that everything one does, one ultimately does for one's self (eg, extinguishing a flaming baby merely so one will feel good about one's self afterwards).
While such motives are arguable for any entity, cats seem to bring them into relief. A cat would just as soon kill you as it would purr at you, if killing you served its interests more. Abner is a 'nice cat;' he seeks out human company, purrs constantly, and generally tries not to dig his claws into you. But he still hissed at me when I was trying to keep him from illegally exiting the house. Also, he climbed onto my lap when I was reading, and when I pulled the book out from under him, he dug his claws into my leg. In retrospect I concede that abner may have hissed at me because I was stepping on his paws when I tried to keep him from escaping, and that he was merely freaked out and taken by surprise by the book moving underneath him, but I'm still left with the sense that cats simply do not have a sense of others. Also, if you accidentally stepped on a dog's feet or took it by surprise, it would likely yelp, but not make aggressive gestures at you.
Cats are not social animals; their success over time depended on hunting alone and competing with their peers, whereas dogs evolved as pack animals for whom socialism and mutually supportive behavior engendered survival. The net result is that dogs are infinitely nicer creatures than cats, because they're programmed that way. The only conceivable advantage of a pet cat is that it's much easier to care for. You put less in, but you get less out of a cat. A pet cat is one step away from a fish in a bowl, iguana in a tank, or plastic plant in the hallway. They simply serve no purpose.
I think human nature is a compromise between feline nature and canine nature; somewhere between the social creature and the loner, the construction worker and the artist, the mongoloid and the autistic. I'm sure if I weren't allergic to cats that I would then feel better about them. As it is, I am left largely unable to appreciate cats on an aesthetic level, a level on which they win many of their fans (cleanliness, grace, odorlessness, being quiet, etc).
Having a cat is like having a pretty sculpture in your foyer -- you see its beauty, and you even think you have come to love it because it plays such a large role in your consciousness. You physically care for it, and this re-enforces the bond. But there is never a real relationship between you and the sculpture -- the sculpture is just a thing; a thing that doesn't care for you. 'loving' a cat is like 'loving' the characters on a TV show: inherently and necessarily unrewarding.
'Cat people,' when asked to defend their preference, most often point to the superior superficial aesthetic of cats: they are clean. They are quiet. They are easy to care for. They are not as destructive. I find that 'cat people' often exhibit low levels of social intelligence. They are incapable of sustaining relationships with others, and can't understand the value and mechanics of a mutually caring relationship. Of course cats are easier to care for. Is that the reason we choose our pets? Why have a pet at all, then? Wouldn't no pet at all be the easiest to care for? To value the aesthetics of something over it's ability to help forge a two-way, emotional, loving relationship borders on sociopathy.
'Cat people' are sociopaths. Note that I say 'cat people' rather than 'cat owners;' there are many cat owners who readily concede that cats are unsatifactory pets, but who are, for whatever reason, unable or unwilling to invest in a better companion. The label of 'sociopath' belongs to genuine cat people: those who actually prefer feline nature to canine nature, convenience or aesthetics notwithstanding. But even if cat owners are not necessarily to blame in the depths of their being, it's still clear that sacrificing relationship-building for aesthetics and convenience are traits of someone we wouldn't want as a manager, congressman, teacher, or any position of power which requires relationships with others and cooperative behavior. The relationship between the domesticated cat and the human being is a model for the decay of society.