Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Halloween
I'd always heard conflicting accounts of Halloween's origins, so I decided to do a little research on the matter. This account, from HistoryChannel.com, appears to be fairly solid.
"Halloween's origins date back to the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain (pronounced sow-in).
The Celts, who lived 2,000 years ago in the area that is now Ireland, the United Kingdom, and northern France, celebrated their new year on November 1. This day marked the end of summer and the harvest and the beginning of the dark, cold winter, a time of year that was often associated with human death. Celts believed that on the night before the new year, the boundary between the worlds of the living and the dead became blurred. On the night of October 31, they celebrated Samhain, when it was believed that the ghosts of the dead returned to earth. In addition to causing trouble and damaging crops, Celts thought that the presence of the otherworldly spirits made it easier for the Druids, or Celtic priests, to make predictions about the future. For a people entirely dependent on the volatile natural world, these prophecies were an important source of comfort and direction during the long, dark winter.
To commemorate the event, Druids built huge sacred bonfires, where the people gathered to burn crops and animals as sacrifices to the Celtic deities.
During the celebration, the Celts wore costumes, typically consisting of animal heads and skins, and attempted to tell each other's fortunes. When the celebration was over, they re-lit their hearth fires, which they had extinguished earlier that evening, from the sacred bonfire to help protect them during the coming winter.
By A.D. 43, Romans had conquered the majority of Celtic territory. In the course of the four hundred years that they ruled the Celtic lands, two festivals of Roman origin were combined with the traditional Celtic celebration of Samhain.
The first was Feralia, a day in late October when the Romans traditionally commemorated the passing of the dead. The second was a day to honor Pomona, the Roman goddess of fruit and trees. The symbol of Pomona is the apple and the incorporation of this celebration into Samhain probably explains the tradition of "bobbing" for apples that is practiced today on Halloween.
By the 800s, the influence of Christianity had spread into Celtic lands. In the seventh century, Pope Boniface IV designated November 1 All Saints' Day, a time to honor saints and martyrs. It is widely believed today that the pope was attempting to replace the Celtic festival of the dead with a related, but church-sanctioned holiday. The celebration was also called All-hallows or All-hallowmas (from Middle English Alholowmesse meaning All Saints' Day) and the night before it, the night of Samhain, began to be called All-hallows Eve and, eventually, Halloween. Even later, in A.D. 1000, the church would make November 2 All Souls' Day, a day to honor the dead. It was celebrated similarly to Samhain, with big bonfires, parades, and dressing up in costumes as saints, angels, and devils. Together, the three celebrations, the eve of All Saints', All Saints', and All Souls', were called Hallowmas."
"Halloween's origins date back to the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain (pronounced sow-in).
The Celts, who lived 2,000 years ago in the area that is now Ireland, the United Kingdom, and northern France, celebrated their new year on November 1. This day marked the end of summer and the harvest and the beginning of the dark, cold winter, a time of year that was often associated with human death. Celts believed that on the night before the new year, the boundary between the worlds of the living and the dead became blurred. On the night of October 31, they celebrated Samhain, when it was believed that the ghosts of the dead returned to earth. In addition to causing trouble and damaging crops, Celts thought that the presence of the otherworldly spirits made it easier for the Druids, or Celtic priests, to make predictions about the future. For a people entirely dependent on the volatile natural world, these prophecies were an important source of comfort and direction during the long, dark winter.
To commemorate the event, Druids built huge sacred bonfires, where the people gathered to burn crops and animals as sacrifices to the Celtic deities.
During the celebration, the Celts wore costumes, typically consisting of animal heads and skins, and attempted to tell each other's fortunes. When the celebration was over, they re-lit their hearth fires, which they had extinguished earlier that evening, from the sacred bonfire to help protect them during the coming winter.
By A.D. 43, Romans had conquered the majority of Celtic territory. In the course of the four hundred years that they ruled the Celtic lands, two festivals of Roman origin were combined with the traditional Celtic celebration of Samhain.
The first was Feralia, a day in late October when the Romans traditionally commemorated the passing of the dead. The second was a day to honor Pomona, the Roman goddess of fruit and trees. The symbol of Pomona is the apple and the incorporation of this celebration into Samhain probably explains the tradition of "bobbing" for apples that is practiced today on Halloween.
By the 800s, the influence of Christianity had spread into Celtic lands. In the seventh century, Pope Boniface IV designated November 1 All Saints' Day, a time to honor saints and martyrs. It is widely believed today that the pope was attempting to replace the Celtic festival of the dead with a related, but church-sanctioned holiday. The celebration was also called All-hallows or All-hallowmas (from Middle English Alholowmesse meaning All Saints' Day) and the night before it, the night of Samhain, began to be called All-hallows Eve and, eventually, Halloween. Even later, in A.D. 1000, the church would make November 2 All Souls' Day, a day to honor the dead. It was celebrated similarly to Samhain, with big bonfires, parades, and dressing up in costumes as saints, angels, and devils. Together, the three celebrations, the eve of All Saints', All Saints', and All Souls', were called Hallowmas."
Dawn
Woke up at 5:20 A.M. this morning and rode the bike. Had to wait until almost 5:45 to actually hit the road, however, because it was still too dark for comfort.
Dawn is a strange time of day. The light bounces off the clouds above, casting everything in an unearthly gloom. Also, there are almost no shadows- since the light comes from directly above, everything appears to be set in place with an eye toward a third grader's view of the world. There's little perspective, just muted greens and greys.
At times, I felt like I was riding through northern England, passing across the foggy moors in The Hound of the Baskervilles. I almost expected Holmes to question me about my unusual behavior, or be chased by the hideous fiend myself.
On the way back home, I was awarded by a burst of orange and salmon clouds breaking over the eastern sky.
Dawn is a strange time of day. The light bounces off the clouds above, casting everything in an unearthly gloom. Also, there are almost no shadows- since the light comes from directly above, everything appears to be set in place with an eye toward a third grader's view of the world. There's little perspective, just muted greens and greys.
At times, I felt like I was riding through northern England, passing across the foggy moors in The Hound of the Baskervilles. I almost expected Holmes to question me about my unusual behavior, or be chased by the hideous fiend myself.
On the way back home, I was awarded by a burst of orange and salmon clouds breaking over the eastern sky.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Survival
Apparently there's a new strain of the bird flu that's resistant to vaccines. It's still not able to pass from human to human, but it's apparently still evolving. Which is troublesome, to say the least.
Once a virus does gain the ability to transfer from human to human, it would probably trigger a worldwide pandemic. Borders would be closed off, of course, but in the world we live in people can travel so easily and quickly that it would probably be a futile effort.
Every year in this area, when we get a week-long ice storm, people panic and buy everything at the grocery stores. After Hurricane Katrina, gas was nigh impossible to find for about a solid week. I can't imagine the chaos that would ensue if a worldwide pandemic began. In truth, the pandemic wouldn't kill us- our asinine reaction to it would.
Granted, the chances of it happening are slim- probably less than 1%. But the consequences of what would happen if that event are triggered is so great and catastrophic that it warrants preparation. It could literally determine life and death.
(In torts, there's something called a cost/benefit analysis. You don't build glass two inches thick when the chance of someone breaking it is slim. The extra cost isn't worth the possible benefit. In this case, however, if the glass breaks (even though the chance is small) the shards could change the world.)
So, I'm going to start accumulating a survival kit, just in case something nasty- worldwide pandemic, terrorist attack, nuclear war- decides to pay a visit.
I'll start listing the items as I acquire them.
Once a virus does gain the ability to transfer from human to human, it would probably trigger a worldwide pandemic. Borders would be closed off, of course, but in the world we live in people can travel so easily and quickly that it would probably be a futile effort.
Every year in this area, when we get a week-long ice storm, people panic and buy everything at the grocery stores. After Hurricane Katrina, gas was nigh impossible to find for about a solid week. I can't imagine the chaos that would ensue if a worldwide pandemic began. In truth, the pandemic wouldn't kill us- our asinine reaction to it would.
Granted, the chances of it happening are slim- probably less than 1%. But the consequences of what would happen if that event are triggered is so great and catastrophic that it warrants preparation. It could literally determine life and death.
(In torts, there's something called a cost/benefit analysis. You don't build glass two inches thick when the chance of someone breaking it is slim. The extra cost isn't worth the possible benefit. In this case, however, if the glass breaks (even though the chance is small) the shards could change the world.)
So, I'm going to start accumulating a survival kit, just in case something nasty- worldwide pandemic, terrorist attack, nuclear war- decides to pay a visit.
I'll start listing the items as I acquire them.
Awareness
Scientists have recently released data which seems to suggest that elephants have passed the "mirror" test, meaning they have self-awareness. To the best of our knowledge, they join only the ranks of humans, chimpanzees, and -to some extent, at least- dolphins in that achievement. You can read the article here.Most animals see their reflection and instantly think that the creature peering back at them is another animal. Which leads to the countless videos on "America's Funniest Home Videos" of the puppy barking at the mirror.
The test basically involves putting a mark on the creature which can only be seen by looking into a mirror. When the animal looks into the mirror, it touches the mark. The elephants went even farther- one of them peered into their mouth and another used its trunk to stretch out and peer inside its ear. None of the elephants displayed social behavior, which would seem to suggest that they knew the reflection wasn't another elephant.
I don't know why I find this stuff interesting, but I do. There's something mystical about the fact that an elephant realizes it's an elephant.
Scientists speculate that the self-awareness is what is responsible for the social complexity present among the pachyderms. It also helps explain their altruistic behavior and sense of uncanny empathy. Without a sense of self-identity, you cannot grasp the concept that others have a self-identity. And without that concept, there's no reason to care about the well-being of another living thing. Life is merely something to be survived.
Hmm. I wonder if our society could be responsible for the dilution of the personal identity? If somehow the omnipresent spectre of technology doesn't leech into our beings, until we're not sure where the soul ends and the LCD screen begins? And, as we all fall into the futuristic soup, we're hellbent on taking other people with us? Because if we feel like our life has no meaning, perhaps no one else's life does either?
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Scope
Today was a beautiful day. Just a hint of a breeze and the perfect temperature to throw on a T-shirt and shorts and go for a bike ride.
The weather had been surprisingly uncooperative this past week for biking, with the cold wind and rain. I'll ride in the rain- in the right situation it can be quite refreshing- but even I have my limits. I try to ride with an eye on the entire process- I don't want a ride to leave a bad taste in my mouth, as it might dissuade me from biking in the future. An individual brush stroke must be sacrificed, if it causes the overall painting to suffer.
Today, however, I knew I had to ride. The weather offered up no excuse. And although tempted, I was loathe to find one in my self.
I've grown accustomed to only using the lower gears. When I first began, I relied heavily on the first gear, the one where you pedal furiously and go very slowly. Of course, it's very easy to pedal. Now, I can complete my route almost entirely in third gear, which is tougher than it sounds. I move faster, but my legs make it appear like I'm plodding around. I imagine the cars that pass me must think I'm in awful shape, as most people equate pedalling furiously with speed.
Most importantly, I've lost weight. When I started, I tipped the scales at 204 pounds. Now, I'm around 190. That's a fourteen pound difference, which is even more impressive when the added muscle mass is taken into account.
I'm not generally one to toot my own horn. However, if one can't brag on their own blog, where can they brag?
The weather had been surprisingly uncooperative this past week for biking, with the cold wind and rain. I'll ride in the rain- in the right situation it can be quite refreshing- but even I have my limits. I try to ride with an eye on the entire process- I don't want a ride to leave a bad taste in my mouth, as it might dissuade me from biking in the future. An individual brush stroke must be sacrificed, if it causes the overall painting to suffer.
Today, however, I knew I had to ride. The weather offered up no excuse. And although tempted, I was loathe to find one in my self.
I've grown accustomed to only using the lower gears. When I first began, I relied heavily on the first gear, the one where you pedal furiously and go very slowly. Of course, it's very easy to pedal. Now, I can complete my route almost entirely in third gear, which is tougher than it sounds. I move faster, but my legs make it appear like I'm plodding around. I imagine the cars that pass me must think I'm in awful shape, as most people equate pedalling furiously with speed.
Most importantly, I've lost weight. When I started, I tipped the scales at 204 pounds. Now, I'm around 190. That's a fourteen pound difference, which is even more impressive when the added muscle mass is taken into account.
I'm not generally one to toot my own horn. However, if one can't brag on their own blog, where can they brag?
Hearsay
Tomorrow I take my Evidence Midterm. It's a "take home" test, which essentially means I'll be hunkered down in the library for seven hours working on it. It's sixty multiple choice questions. We're allowed to use outside sources, i.e. our textbooks, supplements, etc.
The problem is, understanding the concept of hearsay is like trying to nail down a Ziploc bag full of applesauce. The whole concept is incredibly amorphous.
A statement can be hearsay if used for one purpose, yet not hearsay if used for another.
A statement which is hearsay can be admitted, if it falls under an exception.
Hearsay within hearsay is admissible, if both items of hearsay fall within the exception.
Furthermore, it is sometimes arguable whether an act is itself an assertion. If it puports to show the truth, it's inadmissible. If it is merely an act, and has no assertive properties, it can be admitted. For example- does one use an umbrella to assert that it's raining, or merely to keep dry? Common sense seems to think the two are synonymous, but modern legal theory splits the issue with (seemingly) Solomonesque wisdom.
Lastly, often the hearsay rules exclude evidence which is highly reliable, yet doesn't conform with the rules. There doesn't seem to be an "equitable" exception to the hearsay rules, one where the judge can say, "Hearsay rules be damned, I'm admitting this."
Interestingly enough, the modern trend is quickly eroding the concept of hearsay. In other words, the exceptions are quickly engulfing the rule. Yet, just like the Rule of Perpetuities in Property, I have to learn it.
The problem is, understanding the concept of hearsay is like trying to nail down a Ziploc bag full of applesauce. The whole concept is incredibly amorphous.
A statement can be hearsay if used for one purpose, yet not hearsay if used for another.
A statement which is hearsay can be admitted, if it falls under an exception.
Hearsay within hearsay is admissible, if both items of hearsay fall within the exception.
Furthermore, it is sometimes arguable whether an act is itself an assertion. If it puports to show the truth, it's inadmissible. If it is merely an act, and has no assertive properties, it can be admitted. For example- does one use an umbrella to assert that it's raining, or merely to keep dry? Common sense seems to think the two are synonymous, but modern legal theory splits the issue with (seemingly) Solomonesque wisdom.
Lastly, often the hearsay rules exclude evidence which is highly reliable, yet doesn't conform with the rules. There doesn't seem to be an "equitable" exception to the hearsay rules, one where the judge can say, "Hearsay rules be damned, I'm admitting this."
Interestingly enough, the modern trend is quickly eroding the concept of hearsay. In other words, the exceptions are quickly engulfing the rule. Yet, just like the Rule of Perpetuities in Property, I have to learn it.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Twilight
The things one learns while attempting to garner a little information is just astounding.
Since tonight is the night we set our clocks back, I was curious as to how this would effect my bike riding. It had been getting darker sooner, and with the upcoming change it appears it will be practically impossible to ride after work for a while. I have a headlight and a tail light, but I don't really feel comfortable riding at night. They're more useful for twilight and/or dusk type situations.
I found the times for sunrise and sunset here. Once you enter in the data, it gives you not only the above-mentioned times but also the beginning and ending times for "civil twilight." Of course, I fully realize that the moment the sun goes down all is not dark, but I'd never heard the term "civil twilight" before. So I did a little research.
On this page I got my answer. Civil twilight is the moment the center of the sun is six degrees below the horizantal plane of the horizon line. In layman's terms, it means that after that time, you probably need a flashlight. There's still some ambient light, but not much.
I'd never knew such things were so defined. There's also a nautical twilight, which is where you can still see silhouettes. Astronomical twilight begins when the ambient light reflecting off the upper atmosphere is imperceptible, apparently.
What this means is that I'll probably begin riding my bike in the mornings before school. Where I live, civil twilight begins at 5:50 a.m., which is plenty of time to go for a 45-minute bike ride and still make it in plenty of time for class. As winter moves on, however, the days grow shorter, so the calendar is going to quickly compress on itself.
Sigh. I never knew bike riding involved the study of celestial objects.
Since tonight is the night we set our clocks back, I was curious as to how this would effect my bike riding. It had been getting darker sooner, and with the upcoming change it appears it will be practically impossible to ride after work for a while. I have a headlight and a tail light, but I don't really feel comfortable riding at night. They're more useful for twilight and/or dusk type situations.
I found the times for sunrise and sunset here. Once you enter in the data, it gives you not only the above-mentioned times but also the beginning and ending times for "civil twilight." Of course, I fully realize that the moment the sun goes down all is not dark, but I'd never heard the term "civil twilight" before. So I did a little research.On this page I got my answer. Civil twilight is the moment the center of the sun is six degrees below the horizantal plane of the horizon line. In layman's terms, it means that after that time, you probably need a flashlight. There's still some ambient light, but not much.
I'd never knew such things were so defined. There's also a nautical twilight, which is where you can still see silhouettes. Astronomical twilight begins when the ambient light reflecting off the upper atmosphere is imperceptible, apparently.
What this means is that I'll probably begin riding my bike in the mornings before school. Where I live, civil twilight begins at 5:50 a.m., which is plenty of time to go for a 45-minute bike ride and still make it in plenty of time for class. As winter moves on, however, the days grow shorter, so the calendar is going to quickly compress on itself.
Sigh. I never knew bike riding involved the study of celestial objects.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Politics
With the local elections coming up on November 7th, my area has been hit with yet another flood- this one of election signs scattered about on every available patch of shoulder. The larger intersections have giant emblems announcing their candidate's wishes, set up on large wooden posts and lit at night. The smaller, more numberous ones stick in the ground on little metal legs and flap in the wind.The part of Rankin County I live in has an open Supervisor position- which means everyone and anyone in my district is running for the position. I've counted at least six different candidates on my local bike rides- there's probably a few more. Needless to say, it's clear that whoever wins will keep the position until they grow feeble and/or die.
I'm not quite sure what a supervisor does, but I know they get an issued vehicle. Apparently one of their jobs is to drive on every road in their district during their elected term.
What I don't get is this- five or six people are running for the position, and yet not one candidate has stopped by, talked to us for a few minutes, and went on their way. This is a very small area- a candidate and a few volunteers could practically knock on every door in the space of a month.
Yet they don't, even though most people would be much more impressed by that than the effort it takes to have one thousand identical signs printed. Signs that give us no inclination of the man behind the well-designed advertisement.
I'm not voting, because my vote would be misinformed- similar to a lottery. I don't know who to vote for, or who not to vote for. I'd rather vote for the man I'd met, even if I didn't agree with his positions, if I could assure myself he was a candidate that intelligently reached those positions. Conversely, someone who agrees with me who is an idiot probably isn't a good pick. It truly is the measure of a man, at least as far as I'm concerned. I want someone who will do the job well, not someone who would do the job as I necessarily see fit.
But would be politicians simply see the problem of getting elected as something they can fix by throwing money at it- which is precisely why they make bad politicians once they're elected. We need candidates who will capture our respect- until then, the highway shoulders look like decimated theaters of war, as each candidate wages a furious attempt to decimate the landscape with their weapons of choice.
And the guy with the most signs will probably win.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Rain
It's been raining a lot lately. The Pearl River is straining her banks. The chocolate brown waters swirl and gurgle as they churn slowly past.
She's roughly half a foot from the normal bank, at which point she'll start to spread out into a wide behemoth over the flood plain. It's an awesome sight.
There are several houses and cabins on stilts near the River where I live. I used to think it was because the River would flood occasionally, but that's only partly true. There's a large reservoir that's fed by the Pearl. It sits just north of Jackson. As is often true of large reservoirs, the houses near it are some of the nicest and most expensive ones in town. And since they're near the shoreline, it doesn't take much water before the leather sofa is floating in the living room.
How to fix the problem? Apparently, they open up the damn that holds the reservoir water. Which sends it rushing down the Pearl, covering everything remotely near it in a deluge. And since the structures south of the Pearl are worth far less, it's considered a good fix. (Way before Hurricane Katrina, the people of New Orleans did this, flooding several poor parishes to save their city.) The people who live south of the reservoir figured this out, and built with stilts.
I don't think it's going to happen this time, but I think about it every time the river rises. The houses are simple and bucolic, testaments to a time when shelter meant little more than a roof. And they are surely worth the attention of my fumbling brush and awkward pen.
She's roughly half a foot from the normal bank, at which point she'll start to spread out into a wide behemoth over the flood plain. It's an awesome sight.
There are several houses and cabins on stilts near the River where I live. I used to think it was because the River would flood occasionally, but that's only partly true. There's a large reservoir that's fed by the Pearl. It sits just north of Jackson. As is often true of large reservoirs, the houses near it are some of the nicest and most expensive ones in town. And since they're near the shoreline, it doesn't take much water before the leather sofa is floating in the living room.How to fix the problem? Apparently, they open up the damn that holds the reservoir water. Which sends it rushing down the Pearl, covering everything remotely near it in a deluge. And since the structures south of the Pearl are worth far less, it's considered a good fix. (Way before Hurricane Katrina, the people of New Orleans did this, flooding several poor parishes to save their city.) The people who live south of the reservoir figured this out, and built with stilts.
I don't think it's going to happen this time, but I think about it every time the river rises. The houses are simple and bucolic, testaments to a time when shelter meant little more than a roof. And they are surely worth the attention of my fumbling brush and awkward pen.
Philosophy
Carpe diem. Seize the day. People always say to live your life as if this day is your last. Enjoy the moment, because you don't know if you're getting another one.
That sounds good in theory, but it's not very practical.
What you would end up with is a lot of people quitting their jobs and running through the streets. They'd spend lots of time with loved ones (hopefully) and probably break several laws. A speeding ticket doesn't carry a lot of weight when death is imminent, after all.
Yet, regardless of the path they chose, for most (if not all) of them the clock would strike midnight. And guess what- no anti-Cinderalla would appear and turn them into pumpkins, or still their beating hearts. They'd wake up the next morning, with hangovers, no jobs, and a horrible driving record.
Perhaps the old saying has a different meaning- perhaps when we shuffle off this mortal coil we're meant to look back on our lives with pride. To know that everyday, we lived. Perhaps we didn't climb Mount Everest or win the Nobel Peace Prize, but we squeezed the little bits of glory and nobility from the hard rocks that litter this world, refusing to let our somewhat sordid surroundings define our existence.
Perhaps the saying is meant to infer that every day we live should be a measure of our lives, and our characters. In a way that, if someone were to pick a day- like a card- from the deck of our experiences, they'd more often than not find something decent and good. The husband or wife who selflessly supports their family. The waiter or waitress who always offers a smile, even when they don't feel like it. The underpaid security guard whose sense of duty and honor outweighs his compensation. Little things that don't seem to mean much at first glance, but upon closer inspection mean the whole world, at least to someone at some point in their lives.
That said, what would you do if you knew you had a year left to live? A month? A day? An hour? Five minutes?
The answer to that question is interesting, but immaterial. If the act is authentic, it will merely be a reflection of the life you've already lived. If it is forced, it is a hollow ending to a hollow life.
Each person has their own standard, and each person subconsciously measures their hypothetical response against that standard. One man's "nobility" is another man's "morality," which is another man's "hindrance." I shall not be the judge of that. However, if that standard radically changes in the face of death, it is no standard at all. The atheist who dies an atheist has at least lived according to a standard, regardless of the eventual outcome. His belief system was stronger than death. For this reason the Christians gave their lives in early Rome- the same strong belief system propels American volunteer soldiers to die around the world, as well as suicide bombers.
To summarize: it is paramount in human existence to develop a set of beliefs one is willing to represent, and eventually die with when the final day arrives.
The mass majority of the people on this earth (perhaps myself included) are merely wearing borrowed clothes. We hope to jump into our fitted tuxedo moments before the big celebration.
Problem is, it's usually a surprise party.
That sounds good in theory, but it's not very practical.
What you would end up with is a lot of people quitting their jobs and running through the streets. They'd spend lots of time with loved ones (hopefully) and probably break several laws. A speeding ticket doesn't carry a lot of weight when death is imminent, after all.
Yet, regardless of the path they chose, for most (if not all) of them the clock would strike midnight. And guess what- no anti-Cinderalla would appear and turn them into pumpkins, or still their beating hearts. They'd wake up the next morning, with hangovers, no jobs, and a horrible driving record.
Perhaps the old saying has a different meaning- perhaps when we shuffle off this mortal coil we're meant to look back on our lives with pride. To know that everyday, we lived. Perhaps we didn't climb Mount Everest or win the Nobel Peace Prize, but we squeezed the little bits of glory and nobility from the hard rocks that litter this world, refusing to let our somewhat sordid surroundings define our existence.
Perhaps the saying is meant to infer that every day we live should be a measure of our lives, and our characters. In a way that, if someone were to pick a day- like a card- from the deck of our experiences, they'd more often than not find something decent and good. The husband or wife who selflessly supports their family. The waiter or waitress who always offers a smile, even when they don't feel like it. The underpaid security guard whose sense of duty and honor outweighs his compensation. Little things that don't seem to mean much at first glance, but upon closer inspection mean the whole world, at least to someone at some point in their lives.
That said, what would you do if you knew you had a year left to live? A month? A day? An hour? Five minutes?
The answer to that question is interesting, but immaterial. If the act is authentic, it will merely be a reflection of the life you've already lived. If it is forced, it is a hollow ending to a hollow life.
Each person has their own standard, and each person subconsciously measures their hypothetical response against that standard. One man's "nobility" is another man's "morality," which is another man's "hindrance." I shall not be the judge of that. However, if that standard radically changes in the face of death, it is no standard at all. The atheist who dies an atheist has at least lived according to a standard, regardless of the eventual outcome. His belief system was stronger than death. For this reason the Christians gave their lives in early Rome- the same strong belief system propels American volunteer soldiers to die around the world, as well as suicide bombers.
To summarize: it is paramount in human existence to develop a set of beliefs one is willing to represent, and eventually die with when the final day arrives.
The mass majority of the people on this earth (perhaps myself included) are merely wearing borrowed clothes. We hope to jump into our fitted tuxedo moments before the big celebration.
Problem is, it's usually a surprise party.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Boy
This is slightly silly, but someone may find some intrinsic value in it somewhere. I learned it long ago- either from my father or my grandfather. If you have kids, they might think it's a fairly neat trick. I still do, and I'm an adult.
1. Write the word "boy."
2. Connect a line here...
3. A line there...
4. Eyes to see and lips to speak...
5. Glasses to see better and a nose to smell...
6. Add a neck and some eyebrows...
7. A few finishing touches, and it's done:
1. Write the word "boy."
2. Connect a line here...
3. A line there...
4. Eyes to see and lips to speak...
5. Glasses to see better and a nose to smell...
6. Add a neck and some eyebrows...
7. A few finishing touches, and it's done:
Axle
Roughly a week ago today my wife and I were driving my 1988 Toyota Camry to work when we heard the following sound:Thwa-thwa-thwa-thwa-THUNK!!!
Luckily, we still had enough momentum to pull into a nearby driveway.
At first I was scared to death, thinking I'd blown my transmission, which would cost about $1600 to rebuild. My car cost $600. (My car has a "passing" gear, which makes it more complicated.) Luckily, the transmission guy (after I acted out the scene) gave a different diagnosis.
Turns out I dropped my right side drive axle- basically, the thing that connects to the transmission and makes the tire turn. That's a picture of it above, for the less than mechanically inclined. (If you're really bored, it appears that clicking on it will enlarge the image.) Since the axle nut cover had been removed, it had apparently broken before.
And although an axle sounds bad, it's great compared to the cost of a new transmission. Autozone had one in stock for $64.99, and I was able to pay a friend to slap it in. He was worried about it at first, but it wasn't too complicated. Along the way, I also replaced the brake pads. They were about worn down to nothing.
Apparently, the old axle simply fell out. The six bolts holding it in had somehow managed to work themselves out, probably over the course of a few years.
Now she's up and running again, and we have (semi) reliable transportation.
Archives
I officially have the Archives Special Project. Now all that's left is red tape. It'll be an interesting way to earn two hours worth of credit.
The Mississippi Archives have been relocated to a new building in downtown Jackson. It's named after William Winters, a former governor of the state. It's architecture is profoundly austere. On the outside, it appears to be a throwback to the old Greek temples- lots and lots of granite. On the inside, it resembles a large British aristocratic library. Dark, warm woods create a cozy and inviting atmosphere.
Libraries make me happy. Knowing that our society still decides to put more money toward making better and bigger libraries makes me happier still.
The fellow I met with seemed to share my passion for all things old- his eyes twinkled as he mentioned his past military service, and how he was looking forward to preserving and categorizing National Guard documentation from over one hundred years ago. He also introduced me to various individuals I'd be working with in the Department.
Perhaps the most exciting aspect of the project will be working with the VERY old documents- the ones that are so fragile, they're falling apart. I'll have to wear cotton gloves and operate in a near-freezing room, in order to protect the integrity of the documents. Basically, a much less exciting version of Indiana Jones. But a version nonetheless.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Biking
Biking is one of my favorite things in the world. Years from now, if an unknown uncle were to leave me millions, I'd like to think I'd still climb on my $53.44 Walmart bike and take it out for a spin.
Since it's already dusky by the time I get home, I added a headlight and tail light to my bicycle a few days ago. I don't plan on doing any night riding, but it certainly gives you a certain peace of mind when you know there's a bright red LED light behind you. I noticed the cars reacted quicker when it's on, so that's good.
Also, it's turning colder. I bought a cheap hooded sweatshirt and some gloves. Not the actual biking gloves, as they're too expensive. It's amazing how Walmart can sell $14.00 bicycle gloves in the bicycle section and $1.50 gloves in the gloves section. But I guess they sell them, or they wouldn't keep it on the shelf. I also suppost I'm not as smart as Walmart, as they make a gazillion dollars a day.
On Saturdays, I go for distance. With little on my schedule and all day to ramble, I'm able to explore and push myself. I don't go exceptionally fast, but I grind out mile after mile. Last week I went roughly fifteen miles in a large loop that eventually went back home. Each weekend the loop gets larger and larger.
Sunday is an average day- one hour, roughly ten miles. Day for the legs to stretch out and rest a bit.
Tuesday is a speed day- I travel roughly eight miles, and push myself to complete it as fast as I can.
Thursday depends on how I feel. The only requirement is that I stay on the bike for at least thirty minutes. Anything shorter than that, and you're just having fun.
Wait, you might say- I thought you enjoyed biking? I do. But it's not just about having fun. Playing a video game is fun. Napping on the couch is fun. Biking is most rewarding when your legs are on fire and screaming as you push slowly up a hill. You think about the comforts of home sitting miles and miles away, and yet you force yourself to push harder in the cold and wet rain. No one is watching- you could easily stop for a moment and catch your breath. But you push on, because you've told yourself to finish. At that moment, it's anything but fun. But afterwards, when you've reached the top, you know you gave the effort that you could. There's something to that, I think.
There's an old saying that goes "No pain, no gain." I don't buy into it. If my knee twinges, I monitor it carefully. If it does it again, I go slow. If it does it again, I'm walking home or setting the bike to the easiest gear. Exercise is about pushing your comfort level and thereby increasing it, not injuring yourself.
That said, there have been days where I've been in so much discomfort climbing a hill where I wished I could have been anywhere but where I was- sitting in class, reading a book, eating a steak- but when I'm done, laying in the grass sucking air, there's nowhere else I'd rather be. And you can't drive a million dollar car to that place- you gotta get there on a $53.44 bike.
Which is quite the ironic bargain, when you think about it.
Since it's already dusky by the time I get home, I added a headlight and tail light to my bicycle a few days ago. I don't plan on doing any night riding, but it certainly gives you a certain peace of mind when you know there's a bright red LED light behind you. I noticed the cars reacted quicker when it's on, so that's good.
Also, it's turning colder. I bought a cheap hooded sweatshirt and some gloves. Not the actual biking gloves, as they're too expensive. It's amazing how Walmart can sell $14.00 bicycle gloves in the bicycle section and $1.50 gloves in the gloves section. But I guess they sell them, or they wouldn't keep it on the shelf. I also suppost I'm not as smart as Walmart, as they make a gazillion dollars a day.
On Saturdays, I go for distance. With little on my schedule and all day to ramble, I'm able to explore and push myself. I don't go exceptionally fast, but I grind out mile after mile. Last week I went roughly fifteen miles in a large loop that eventually went back home. Each weekend the loop gets larger and larger.
Sunday is an average day- one hour, roughly ten miles. Day for the legs to stretch out and rest a bit.
Tuesday is a speed day- I travel roughly eight miles, and push myself to complete it as fast as I can.
Thursday depends on how I feel. The only requirement is that I stay on the bike for at least thirty minutes. Anything shorter than that, and you're just having fun.
Wait, you might say- I thought you enjoyed biking? I do. But it's not just about having fun. Playing a video game is fun. Napping on the couch is fun. Biking is most rewarding when your legs are on fire and screaming as you push slowly up a hill. You think about the comforts of home sitting miles and miles away, and yet you force yourself to push harder in the cold and wet rain. No one is watching- you could easily stop for a moment and catch your breath. But you push on, because you've told yourself to finish. At that moment, it's anything but fun. But afterwards, when you've reached the top, you know you gave the effort that you could. There's something to that, I think.
There's an old saying that goes "No pain, no gain." I don't buy into it. If my knee twinges, I monitor it carefully. If it does it again, I go slow. If it does it again, I'm walking home or setting the bike to the easiest gear. Exercise is about pushing your comfort level and thereby increasing it, not injuring yourself.
That said, there have been days where I've been in so much discomfort climbing a hill where I wished I could have been anywhere but where I was- sitting in class, reading a book, eating a steak- but when I'm done, laying in the grass sucking air, there's nowhere else I'd rather be. And you can't drive a million dollar car to that place- you gotta get there on a $53.44 bike.
Which is quite the ironic bargain, when you think about it.
Lighthouse
The last few weeks have been exceptionally strange. So much has happened that it's impossible to delineate it with any sort of representational accuracy, much less attempt to cast it in a negative or positive light. Like a frosted mirror, it thwarts reflection and merely gives off muted shades of color and light.
There is, however, an overriding theme to the silhouette- a grand design among the shadows, it appears.
Usually I wish the architect would call, but alas, he generally only leaves about unfinished plans.
This time I not only got a blueprint- I got two of 'em.
I'd been struggling with the direction of my life for quite some time. It reeks of being trite, but I was a sailor lost in the darkness of the sea. The salt hitting the face, the wind picking up, and no sense of direction. I had a beautiful boat but no port to steer toward.
In a word, I was lost.
I still went through the motions- all good sailors do, knowing that the next island is just over the horizon. At least, they hope so. And their actions reflect that hope, as if their beliefs could change the truth.
At long last, I hit shore.
A week ago the career placement lady ran an opening for a Special Project with the Mississippi Department of Archives. I'd been thinking about working for the Archives after graduation for some time, so to say the announcement was coincidental or fortuitous would be an understatement. From what I gather, these Projects are quite rare- just getting a chance at all is remarkable.
What's even weirder is that I'm the ONLY person who replied. Which is ridiculous (at least in my schema) because working at the archives is perhaps the most interesting thing I could imagine doing. Digging through history and making it accessible to those who wish to know it seems to be the antithesis of every Orwellian novel I've ever read- and a supremely rewarding task. That, and I like old books.
Secondly, I interviewed for a JAG position roughly a month ago and I think it went well. In a few days, I'm going to send off an application for their summer internship position. The process is selective, but I'm hoping it works out. I could easily find myself working overseas.
Once, while biking, I was lost. Not to say lost, exactly, but I didn't want to have to turn around in order to get home. So I took a right and hoped the road I was on would get me there. Along the way, I saw a gentleman in his front yard. I asked him (weary and ragged of breath) if this was the way to the convenience store (i.e., home for my purposes). He said yes. Happily, I sped easily up the next hill. That's when it hit me. The hills don't bother you as much when you have a purpose for overcoming them.
Life, it turns out, works the same way.
There is, however, an overriding theme to the silhouette- a grand design among the shadows, it appears.
Usually I wish the architect would call, but alas, he generally only leaves about unfinished plans.
This time I not only got a blueprint- I got two of 'em.
I'd been struggling with the direction of my life for quite some time. It reeks of being trite, but I was a sailor lost in the darkness of the sea. The salt hitting the face, the wind picking up, and no sense of direction. I had a beautiful boat but no port to steer toward.
In a word, I was lost.
I still went through the motions- all good sailors do, knowing that the next island is just over the horizon. At least, they hope so. And their actions reflect that hope, as if their beliefs could change the truth.
At long last, I hit shore.A week ago the career placement lady ran an opening for a Special Project with the Mississippi Department of Archives. I'd been thinking about working for the Archives after graduation for some time, so to say the announcement was coincidental or fortuitous would be an understatement. From what I gather, these Projects are quite rare- just getting a chance at all is remarkable.
What's even weirder is that I'm the ONLY person who replied. Which is ridiculous (at least in my schema) because working at the archives is perhaps the most interesting thing I could imagine doing. Digging through history and making it accessible to those who wish to know it seems to be the antithesis of every Orwellian novel I've ever read- and a supremely rewarding task. That, and I like old books.
Secondly, I interviewed for a JAG position roughly a month ago and I think it went well. In a few days, I'm going to send off an application for their summer internship position. The process is selective, but I'm hoping it works out. I could easily find myself working overseas.
Once, while biking, I was lost. Not to say lost, exactly, but I didn't want to have to turn around in order to get home. So I took a right and hoped the road I was on would get me there. Along the way, I saw a gentleman in his front yard. I asked him (weary and ragged of breath) if this was the way to the convenience store (i.e., home for my purposes). He said yes. Happily, I sped easily up the next hill. That's when it hit me. The hills don't bother you as much when you have a purpose for overcoming them.
Life, it turns out, works the same way.
You Can Kiss My Ash
Sometimes all that's needed is a little change. A different look. A slightly different perspective on this thing called life. Hell, even I was getting tired of the "I hate the fact that I'm a law student" vibe. Who wants to read that stuff? I don't know, but I was sure getting tired of writing it. And like a self-fulfilling prophecy, all that depressing prose was starting to feed the very situation that made life depressing. A few weeks from now, at the rate I was going, they would have found me in a dumpster with my mouth stuffed full of Valium and hundred dollar bills. Not a pretty way to go, that.Also, the last few weeks, I've noticed that my mood has lifted considerably. I'm back to my old self. So I began to wonder- if my old blog could drag me down, could a new and different blog lift me up? It's worth a try. So, like a phoenix, I'm rising from the remains of my burnt carcass.
So this is it. I hope people enjoy it.