They had grown up next door to each other, on the fringe of a city, near fields and woods and orchards, within sight of a lovely bell tower that belonged to a school for the blind.
Now they were twenty, had not seen each other for nearly a year. There had always been playful, comfortable warmth between them, but never any talk of love.
His name was Newt. Her name was Catharine. In the early afternoon, Newt knocked on Catharine's front door.
Catharine came to the door. She was carrying a fat, glossy magazine she had been reading. The magazine was devoted entirely to brides. "Newt!" she said. She was surprised to see him.
"Could you come for a walk?" he said. He was a shy person, even with Catharine. He
covered his shyness by speaking absently as though what really concerned him were far away--as though he were a secret agent pausing briefly on a mission between beautiful, distant, and sinister points. This manner of speaking had always been Newt's style, even in matters that concerned him desperately.
"A walk?" said Catharine.
"One foot in front of the other," said Newt, "through leaves, over bridges---"
"I had no idea you were in town," she said.
"Just this minute got in," he said.
"Still in the Army, I see," she said.
"Seven months more to go," he said. He was a private first class in the Artillery. His uniform was rumpled. His shoes were dusty. He needed a shave. He held out his hand for the magazine. "Let's see the pretty book," he said.
She gave it to him. "I'm getting married, Newt," she said.
"I know," he said. "Let's go for a walk."
"I'm awfully busy, Newt," she said. "The wedding is only a week away."
"If we go for a walk," he said, "it will make you rosy. It will make you a rosy bride." He turned the pages of the magazine. "A rosy bride like her--like her--like her," he said, showing her rosy brides.
Catharine turned rosy, thinking about rosy brides.
"That will be my present to Henry Stewart Chasens," said Newt. "By taking you for a walk, I'll be giving him a rosy bride."
"You know his name?" she said.
"Mother wrote," he said. "From Pittsburgh?"
"Yes," she said. "You'd like him."
"Maybe," he said.
"Can--can you come to the wedding, Newt?" she said.
"That I doubt," he said.
"Your furlough isn't for long enough?" she said.
"Furlough?" said Newt. He was studying a two page ad for flat silver. "I'm not on furlough," he said.
"Oh?" she said.
"I'm what they call A.W.O.L.," said Newt.
"Oh, Newt! You're not!" she said.
"Sure I am," he said, still looking at the magazine.
"Why, Newt?" she said.
"I had to find out what your silver pattern is," he said. He read names of silver patterns from the magazine. Albemarle? Heather?" he said. "Legend? Rambler Rose?" He looked up, smiled. "I plan to give you and your husband a spoon," he said.
"Newt, Newt--tell me really," she said.
"I want to go for a walk," he said.
She wrung her hands in sisterly anguish. "Oh, Newt--you're fooling me about being
A.W.O.L.," she said.
Newt imitated a police siren softly, and raised his eyebrows.
"Where--where from?"
"Fort Bragg," he said.
"North Carolina?" she said.
"That's right," he said. "Near Fayetteville--where Scarlet O'Hara went to school."
"How did you get here, Newt?" she said.
He raised his thumb, jerked it in a hitchhike gesture. "Two days," he said.
"Does your mother know?" she said.
"I didn't come to see my mother," he told her.
"Who did you come to see?" she said.
"You," he said.
"Why me?" she said.
"Because I love you," he said. "Now can we take a walk?" he said. "One foot in front of the other--through leaves, over bridges--"
They were taking the walk now, were in a woods with a brown-leaf floor.
Catharine was angry and rattled, close to tears. "Newt," she said, "this is absolutely crazy."
"How so?" said Newt.
"What a crazy time to tell me you love me," she said. "You never talked that way before." She stopped walking.
"Let's keep walking," he said.
"No," she said. "So far, no farther. I shouldn't have come out with you at all," she said.
"You did," he said.
"To get you out of the house," she said. "If somebody walked in and heard you talking to me that way, a week before the wedding--"
"What would they think?" he said.
"They'd think you were crazy," she said.
"Why?" he said.
Catharine took a deep breath, made a speech. "Let me say that I'm deeply honored by this crazy thing you've done," she said. "I can't believe you're really A.W.O.L., but maybe you are. I can't believe you really love me, but maybe you do. But--"
"I do," said Newt.
"Well, I'm deeply honored," said Catharine, "and I'm very fond of you as a friend, Newt, extremely fond--but it's just too late." She took a step away from him. "You've never even kissed me," she said, and she protected herself with her hands. "I don't mean you should do it now. I just mean that this is all so unexpected. I haven't got the remotest idea of how to respond."
"Just walk some more," he said. "Have a nice time."
They started walking again.
"How did you expect me to react?" she said.
"How would I know what to expect?" he said. "I've never done anything like this before."
"Did you think I would throw myself into your arms?" she said.
"Maybe," he said.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you," she said.
"I'm not disappointed," he said. "I wasn't counting on it. This is very nice, just walking."
Catharine stopped again. "You know what happens next?" she said.
"Nope," he said.
"We shake hands," she said. "We shake hands and part friends," she said. "That's what
happens next."
Newt nodded. "All right," he said. "Remember me from time to time. Remember how much I loved you."
Involuntarily, Catharine burst into tears. She turned her back to Newt, looked into the
infinite colonnade of the woods.
"What does that mean?" said Newt.
"Rage!" said Catharine. She clenched her hands. "You have no right--"
"I had to find out," he said.
"If I'd loved you," she said, "I would have let you know before now."
"You would?" he said.
"Yes," she said. She faced him, looked up at him, her face quite red. "You would have
known," she said.
"How?" he said.
"You would have seen it," she said. "Women aren't very clever at hiding it."
Newt looked closely at Catharine's face now. To her consternation, she realized that what she had said was true, that a woman couldn't hide love.
Newt was seeing love now.
And he did what he had to do. He kissed her.
"You're hell to get along with!" she said when Newt let her go.
"I am?" said Newt.
"You shouldn't have done that," she said.
"You didn't like it?" he said.
"What did you expect," she said--"wild, abandoned passion?"
"I keep telling you," he said," I never know what's going to happen next."
"We say good-by," she said.
He frowned slightly. "All right," he said.
She made another speech. "I'm not sorry we kissed," she said. "That was sweet. We should have kissed, we've been so close. I'll always remember you, Newt, and good luck."
"You too," he said.
"Thirty days," he said.
"What?" she said.
"Thirty days in the stockade," he said--"that's what one kiss will cost me."
"I--I'm sorry," she said, "but I didn't ask you to go A.W.O.L."
"I know," he said.
"You certainly don't deserve any hero's reward for doing something as foolish as that," she said.
"Must be nice to be a hero," said Newt. "Is Henry Stewart Chasens a hero?"
"He might be, if he got the chance," said Catharine. She noted uneasily that they had begun to walk again. The farewell had been forgotten.
"You really love him?" he said.
"Certainly I love him!" she said hotly. "I wouldn't marry him if I didn't love him!"
"What's good about him?" said Newt.
"Honestly!" she cried, stopping again. "Do you have any idea how offensive you're being? Many, many, many things are good about Henry! Yes," she said, "and many, many, many things are probably bad, too. But that isn't any of your business. I love Henry, and I don't have to argue his merits with you!"
"Sorry," said Newt.
"Honestly!" said Catharine.
Newt kissed her again. He kissed her again because she wanted him to.
They were now in a large orchard.
"How did we get so far from home, Newt?" said Catharine.
"One foot in front of the other--through leaves, over bridges," said Newt.
"They add up--the steps," she said.
Bells rang in the tower of the school for the blind nearby.
"School for the blind," said Newt.
"School for the blind," said Catharine. She shook her head in drowsy wonder. "I've got to go back now," she said.
"Say good-by," said Newt.
"Every time I do," said Catharine, "I seem to get kissed."
Newt sat down on the close-cropped grass under an apple tree. "Sit down," he said.
"No," she said.
"I won't touch you," he said.
"I don't believe you," she said.
She sat down under another tree, twenty feet away from him. She closed her eyes.
"Dream of Henry Stewart Chasens," he said.
"What?" she said.
"Dream of your wonderful husband-to-be," he said.
"All right, I will," she said. She closed her eyes tighter, caught glimpses of her
husband-to-be.
Newt yawned.
The bees were humming in the trees, and Catharine almost fell asleep. When she opened her eyes she saw that Newt really was asleep.
He began to snore softly.
Catharine let him sleep for an hour, and while he slept she adored him with all her heart.
The shadows of the apple trees grew to the east. The bells in the tower of the school for the blind rang again.
"Chick-a-dee-dee-dee," went a chickadee.
Somewhere far away an automobile started nagged and failed, nagged and failed, fell still.
Catharine came out from under her tree, knelt by Newt.
"Newt?" she said.
"H'm?" he said. He opened his eyes.
"Late," she said.
"Hello, Catharine," he said.
"Hello, Newt," she said.
"I love you," he said.
"I know," she said.
"Too late," he said.
"Too late," she said.
He stood, stretched groaningly. "A very nice walk," he said.
"I thought so," she said.
"Part company here?" he said.
"Where will you go?" she said.
"Hitch into town, turn myself in," he said.
"Good luck," she said.
"You too," he said. "Marry me, Catharine?"
"No," she said.
He smiled, stared at her hard for a moment, then walked away quickly.
Catharine watched him grow smaller in the long perspective of shadows and trees, knew that if he stopped and turned now, if he called to her, she would run to him. She would have no choice.
Newt did stop. He did turn. He did call. "Catharine," he called.
She ran to him, put her arms around him, could not speak.
_
Friday, April 16, 2010
Saturday, April 10, 2010
100% Perfect Girl by Haruki Murakami
One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.
Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.
But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.
"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.
"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"
"Not really."
"Your favorite type, then?"
"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."
"Strange."
"Yeah. Strange."
"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"
"Nah. Just passed her on the street."
She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.
Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.
After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.
Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.
Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.
How can I approach her? What should I say?
"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"
Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.
"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"
No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?
Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."
No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.
We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.
I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.
Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.
Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"
Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.
One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.
"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."
"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."
They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.
As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?
And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"
"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."
And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.
The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.
One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank.
They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.
Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.
One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:
She is the 100% perfect girl for me.
He is the 100% perfect boy for me.
But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.
A sad story, don't you think?
Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.
Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.
But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.
"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.
"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"
"Not really."
"Your favorite type, then?"
"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."
"Strange."
"Yeah. Strange."
"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"
"Nah. Just passed her on the street."
She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.
Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.
After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.
Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.
Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.
How can I approach her? What should I say?
"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"
Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.
"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"
No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?
Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."
No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.
We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.
I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.
Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.
Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"
Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.
One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.
"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."
"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."
They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.
As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?
And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"
"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."
And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.
The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.
One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank.
They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.
Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.
One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:
She is the 100% perfect girl for me.
He is the 100% perfect boy for me.
But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.
A sad story, don't you think?
Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Stress
A lecturer, when explaining stress management to an audience,
Raised a glass of water and asked;
'How heavy is this glass of water?'
Answers called out ranged from 20g to 500g.
The lecturer replied, 'The absolute weight doesn't matter.
It depends on how long you try to hold it.
If I hold it for a minute, that's not a problem.
If I hold it for an hour, I'll have an ache in my right arm.
If I hold it for a day, you'll have to call an ambulance.
In each case, it's the same weight, but the longer I hold it,
the heavier it becomes.'
He continued,
'And that's the way it is with stress management..
If we carry our burdens all the time, sooner or later,
As the burden becomes increasingly heavy,
We won't be able to carry on. '
'As with the glass of water,
You have to put it down for a while and rest before holding it again.
When we're refreshed, we can carry on with the burden.'
'So, before you return home tonight, put the burden of work down.
Don't carry it home. You can pick it up tomorrow.
Whatever burdens you're carrying now,
Let them down for a moment if you can.'
So, my friend, Put down anything that may be a burden to you right now.
Don't pick it up again until after you've rested a while.
Here are some great ways of dealing with the burdens of life:
* Accept that some days you're the pigeon,
And some days you're the statue.
* Always keep your words soft and sweet,
Just in case you have to eat them.
* Always wear stuff that will make you look good
If you die in the middle of it.
* Drive carefully. It's not only cars that can be
"Recalled" by their maker.
* If you can't be kind, at least have the decency to be vague.
* If you lend someone $20 and never see that person again,
It was probably worth it.
* It may be that your sole purpose in life is simply to be kind to others.
* Never put both feet in your mouth at the same time,
Because then you won't have a leg to stand on.
* Nobody cares if you can't dance well.
Just get up and dance.
* When everything's coming your way,
You're in the wrong lane.
* Birthdays are good for you.
The more you have, the longer you live.
* You may be only one person in the world,
But you may also be the world to one person.
* Some mistakes are too much fun to only make once.
* We could learn a lot from crayons...
Some are sharp, some are pretty and some are dull.
Some have weird names, and all are different colours,
but they all have to live in the same box.
*A truly happy person is one who can enjoy the scenery
on a detour.
Raised a glass of water and asked;
'How heavy is this glass of water?'
Answers called out ranged from 20g to 500g.
The lecturer replied, 'The absolute weight doesn't matter.
It depends on how long you try to hold it.
If I hold it for a minute, that's not a problem.
If I hold it for an hour, I'll have an ache in my right arm.
If I hold it for a day, you'll have to call an ambulance.
In each case, it's the same weight, but the longer I hold it,
the heavier it becomes.'
He continued,
'And that's the way it is with stress management..
If we carry our burdens all the time, sooner or later,
As the burden becomes increasingly heavy,
We won't be able to carry on. '
'As with the glass of water,
You have to put it down for a while and rest before holding it again.
When we're refreshed, we can carry on with the burden.'
'So, before you return home tonight, put the burden of work down.
Don't carry it home. You can pick it up tomorrow.
Whatever burdens you're carrying now,
Let them down for a moment if you can.'
So, my friend, Put down anything that may be a burden to you right now.
Don't pick it up again until after you've rested a while.
Here are some great ways of dealing with the burdens of life:
* Accept that some days you're the pigeon,
And some days you're the statue.
* Always keep your words soft and sweet,
Just in case you have to eat them.
* Always wear stuff that will make you look good
If you die in the middle of it.
* Drive carefully. It's not only cars that can be
"Recalled" by their maker.
* If you can't be kind, at least have the decency to be vague.
* If you lend someone $20 and never see that person again,
It was probably worth it.
* It may be that your sole purpose in life is simply to be kind to others.
* Never put both feet in your mouth at the same time,
Because then you won't have a leg to stand on.
* Nobody cares if you can't dance well.
Just get up and dance.
* When everything's coming your way,
You're in the wrong lane.
* Birthdays are good for you.
The more you have, the longer you live.
* You may be only one person in the world,
But you may also be the world to one person.
* Some mistakes are too much fun to only make once.
* We could learn a lot from crayons...
Some are sharp, some are pretty and some are dull.
Some have weird names, and all are different colours,
but they all have to live in the same box.
*A truly happy person is one who can enjoy the scenery
on a detour.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
The 10 Biggest Misconceptions We Learn in School
from: smilepanic.com
1) Einstein got bad grades in school Generations of children have been heartened by the thought that this Nobel Prize winner did badly at school, but they're sadly mistaken. In fact, he did very well at school, especially in science and maths. Jury explains this as being down to Americans interpreting Einstein's 4's as D's. Karl Kruszelnicki, however, explains that it was all to do with changes to the system of marking at Einstein's school (back in1896).
2) Mice like cheese While any young child could tell you this, any mice would (if they could speak rather than squeak) explain otherwise. It appears that mice enjoy food rich in sugar, as explained in the Times, as well as peanut butter and breakfast cereals. So a Snickers bar would go down much better than a lump of cheddar.
3) Napoleon was short He was actually around 5ft 7, completely average for the 18th/19th century.
4) Thomas Edison invented the light bulb. Edison invented a lot of things - in fact he's one of the most famous inventors of all time - but the light bulb wasn't one of them. What he did was develop a light bulb at the same time as the British man, Joseph Swan, who came up with it originally.
5) Lemmings throw themselves over cliffs to commit suicide Why do we have such negative opinions of lemmings? The poor old things are sometimes so desperate for food that they do, according to the BBC "jump over high ground into water", but they aren't committing group suicide. Paul Jury blames Disney for showing the lemmings doing this in an early nature film. They've been tarnished ever since.
6) Water flushes differently in different hemispheres No it doesn't. Sorry!
7) Humans evolved from apes Darwin didn't actually say this, but he's been misreported ever since. What he did say was that we, and apes, and chimpanzees for that matter, had a common ancestor, once, a long, long time ago.
8) Vikings had horns/helmets with horns. This may upset an awful lot of people, but it's pure myth. According to the Jorvik Centre, it appears that Vikings may have been buried with their helmets and with drinking horns. When they were dug up by the Victorians, they assumed that the helmets had horns.
9) Columbus believed the earth was flat He didn't, you know. He may not have known how big the world was, but he wasn't worrying about falling off the edge of it.
10) Different parts of the tongue detect different tastes You do have different taste buds on your tongue and some are more sensitive than others. But they aren't divided into perfect, easy-to-teach sections.
1) Einstein got bad grades in school Generations of children have been heartened by the thought that this Nobel Prize winner did badly at school, but they're sadly mistaken. In fact, he did very well at school, especially in science and maths. Jury explains this as being down to Americans interpreting Einstein's 4's as D's. Karl Kruszelnicki, however, explains that it was all to do with changes to the system of marking at Einstein's school (back in1896).
2) Mice like cheese While any young child could tell you this, any mice would (if they could speak rather than squeak) explain otherwise. It appears that mice enjoy food rich in sugar, as explained in the Times, as well as peanut butter and breakfast cereals. So a Snickers bar would go down much better than a lump of cheddar.
3) Napoleon was short He was actually around 5ft 7, completely average for the 18th/19th century.
4) Thomas Edison invented the light bulb. Edison invented a lot of things - in fact he's one of the most famous inventors of all time - but the light bulb wasn't one of them. What he did was develop a light bulb at the same time as the British man, Joseph Swan, who came up with it originally.
5) Lemmings throw themselves over cliffs to commit suicide Why do we have such negative opinions of lemmings? The poor old things are sometimes so desperate for food that they do, according to the BBC "jump over high ground into water", but they aren't committing group suicide. Paul Jury blames Disney for showing the lemmings doing this in an early nature film. They've been tarnished ever since.
6) Water flushes differently in different hemispheres No it doesn't. Sorry!
7) Humans evolved from apes Darwin didn't actually say this, but he's been misreported ever since. What he did say was that we, and apes, and chimpanzees for that matter, had a common ancestor, once, a long, long time ago.
8) Vikings had horns/helmets with horns. This may upset an awful lot of people, but it's pure myth. According to the Jorvik Centre, it appears that Vikings may have been buried with their helmets and with drinking horns. When they were dug up by the Victorians, they assumed that the helmets had horns.
9) Columbus believed the earth was flat He didn't, you know. He may not have known how big the world was, but he wasn't worrying about falling off the edge of it.
10) Different parts of the tongue detect different tastes You do have different taste buds on your tongue and some are more sensitive than others. But they aren't divided into perfect, easy-to-teach sections.
Friday, March 05, 2010
Music Economic Model = Fail
The problem is the economic model no longer works. Here's the quick and dirty process of how things like video games get made and consumed.
Create Data
Create Storage Medium
Put Data Onto Medium
Sell Medium
Let's take music for an example. The difference between recordings from the 20s and those of today is in the medium. Records had their costs based on several factors - materials, manufacturing labor and technology, distribution, and non-replicability.
Compare that to digital data - no materials, no manufacturing, nearly unlimited distribution, nearly unlimited replication. The only cost is the electricity consumed and the computer hardware which it runs through.
Why could record companies charge $20 for a CD fifteen or so years ago? Because you couldn't copy them, or make them yourself. Then people found ways to rewrite discs and to burn their own. Suddenly a CD of music costs mere cents for the discs themselves and the electricity to put data on them.
The costs of artists actually making art hasn't changed. The cost of distribution has dropped. The total cost of producing art has dropped as a result. Consumers simply will not continue to pay the old prices which no longer reflect current costs.
My proposed solution? Artists return to patronage systems. Video game developers are directly paid by gamers to develop their games. Musicians are directly paid to create new music. Cut out the corporate middle-men, send them packing. I'm sure they can find equally underhanded and money-grubbing employment elsewhere. Such as Wall Street.
~D. Walker
DRM Fail
From Cory Doctorow:
DRM has no connection with preventing piracy. Pirates download the DRM-cracked versions. DRM on music is there to reduce the rights that you get in copyright -- the right to play your music on a competitor's device, the right to sell or give away your music, and so on. These rights are enshrined in law, but DRM is a loophole to copyright law, since breaking DRM is prohibited even for people who are making otherwise lawful uses.
The reason people break DRM is that is makes unreasonable, unilateral incursions on your property rights: your right to lawfully enjoy the products you purchase, in lawful ways. The reason I celebrate breaks to DRM is that they show:
1. That the technical hypothesis that DRM will prevent piracy is ridiculous
2. That the public has the capacity to reassert its rights under law and practice and restore the reasonable social contract between creators and audiences
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
We see the truth and forget it.
Art by Alex ColvilleWe see the truth and we forget it.
We hear the truth and we remember it.
We DO the truth and finally we understand it.
Are you willing to really understand?
no one falls in love by choice
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
stay or leave
Stay or leave
I want you not to go
But you should
It was good as good goes
Stay or leave
I want you not to go
But you did
So what to do
With the rest of the day's afternoon hey
Isn't it strange how we change
Everything we did
Did I do all that i should
That I coulda done
Remember we used to dance
And everyone wanted to be
You and me
I want to be too
What day is this
Besides the day you left me
What day is this
Besides the day you went
- Dave Matthews Band
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Great Explanation for TV Series - LOST
Found this in: http://www.lostaddictsblog.com/ written by Steve.
to Steve: you're a genius.
UPDATE: Now that the series has ended, here is The Idiot's Guide to Lost.
Let's go back to shortly after the turn of the Twentieth century, the days of Einstein and other early theoretical physicists. This was the dawn of the age of quantum mechanics, which provided new understanding and insight into physics at the sub-atomic level. New mathematics described the behavior of the tiny particles that make up all of matter in the universe. The math was clearly described in terms of numbers, symbols, formulas... however the application to nature as we know it was strange, weird, bizarre.
It was very difficult to wrap the human brain around many of the concepts of quantum mechanics, and the math alone was inadequate to explain the problems. Thus, physicists and mathematicians turned to "Gedanken Experiments," German for Thought Experiments. Applying the known concepts of quantum mechanics to situations in the "real world" allowed a conversation to take place in a way most anybody could (sort of) understand.
Before I lose you, here is an example. In the mathematics of quantum physics, time travel is THEORETICALLY possible. One of the most famous Gedanken Experiments is the Grandfather Paradox. If you could travel back in time, could you kill your grandfather? Logic tells you that no, you could not, for if you did, you would not exist. (Pause here and consider why Locke insists that "he can't" kill his father, he needs somebody else to do it.) The beautiful thing about Gedanken Experiments is that they are both scientific and philosophical, perfect fodder for a creative writer. In the case of the Grandfather Paradox, while they logic is clear, the actual experience of it is a mystery. Imagine actually standing there in the past, holding a loaded gun to the head of your grandfather... what would actually prevent you? "Something" would, some unknown mechanism of physics... and that is where the writers of "Lost" imagine for us.
"Lost" is a grand Gedanken Experiment, a test of science and philosophy. It asks the question, What if time travel were not only possible, but real, with technology developed in a manner as realistic and consistent with known theoretical physics as possible? And to make it even more dramatic, What if you could travel back in time, AND NOT KNOW IT? The passengers of Flight 815 have done exactly that, and the writers have made the audience go along with them, sharing the same sense of confusion and mystery.
Let's talk about what we know about time travel today. We are not talking about cheesy movies of the past, where one can travel back to the age of dinosaurs or the middle ages. In fact, in the "real" science of time travel, a few things are known by the constraints of physics and quantum mechanics.
There is a conceptual model of a real time machine, and it works something like this: A time machine must have two parts, essentially two portals, connected by a wormhole (or black hole or whatever you want to call it). Door #1 is built alongside Door #2. Door #1 is allowed to continue along the "present" timeline, while Door #2 is encapsulated in a bubble within space-time, thus separated from the present timeline. This would require a great amount of energy and technology obviously unknown today... but thanks to the writers of "Lost," it has been solved by Dharma Industries. The amount of separation would be only slight to begin with... say, 108 minutes. Since Door #1 exists in the present timeline, it can safely be located anywhere (Dharma headquarters?). Door #2, now operating in a different place in space-time, in the past, must be safely located in a remote location, for any type of interaction with it from the outside could be catastrophic.
There is a very important concept in time travel here, which is that you can NEVER travel back further in time than the creation of your time machine; Hence the impossibility of visiting the dinosaurs, etc. Now, if the two doors of your time machine were separated by only 108 minutes at the initial "event", but then allowed to just sit there, then both timelines would progress at the same pace, forever separated by only 108 minutes. Traveling to the past, but only by 108 minutes, would not be very interesting. Much more exciting would be to keep Door #2 back at the original time of its inception, while Door #1 continues to move forward in time. You could do this by continually "resetting" the clock on Door #2. Over time, the separation between the two doors would grow and grow, from minutes, to hours, to days, to years.
If you actually had the technology to achieve time travel in this manner, there are MANY profound questions you would have to test and answer in order to be confident that you could safely operate the time machine without catastrophically altering the future. The Grandfather Paradox is the most obvious, but actually only one of many questions.
ANSWER #1: What is the Dharma Initiative? It is the building and testing of a time machine, as described above. Door #1 is at the Dharma Headquarters, Door #2 is on the Island in the remote South Pacific.
The question isn't, Where is the Island? The question is, When is the Island? The answer to that depends on how long ago, in the present timeline, the time machine was created... approximately 14 years ago, I believe.
ANSWER #2: Why must the button be pushed every 108 minutes? This "resets"
the clock of Door #2 of the time machine, essentially holding it at the time of its inception in the relative past. If allowed to pass 108 minutes on the clock, then the time machine will lose the ability to reset itself. Why, then, must it be pressed by a person, and not just programmed to reset itself? This is because the controllers at Door #1 do not have control over Door #2 in the past, and should disaster strike, and nobody is left alive in the past at Door #2, it should be allowed to pass 108 minutes and no longer reset.
ANSWER #3: What happened when the clock was allowed to pass 108 minutes? Door #2 of the time machine lost the ability to reset, and will now continue to progress along a timeline into the future, locked at approximately 14 years separation from Door #1.
What are some of the other critical questions, like the Grandfather Paradox, that must be answered when considering time travel? Here is a great one:
What if a childless woman travels back in time and conceives a child?
ANSWER #4: A childless woman cannot travel to the past and conceive a child, because if she did, she would not have been a childless woman. In "Lost", both mother and child die before the birth, thus preserving the timeline and laws of nature. Perhaps the Others do not fully understand this, and brought in fertility doctor Juliet to see if they can overcome this obstacle.
Consider another:
What if a child travels back to a time before he or she was born? Perhaps nothing... but what if the child dies in the past, before being born? Again, impossible. ANSWER #5: The Others abduct children on the Island to protect them at all costs, for they cannot allow the catastrophic violation of the laws of nature of a child dying before being conceived.
And yet another:
If you travel to the past, will you be the "you" of the present timeline when you arrive, or the younger "you" of the past, or some combination of the two? I do not know, but I believe this offers insight into why John Locke can walk on the Island despite being paralyzed.
ANSWER #6: Locke can walk not because the Island has powers to cure, but because he has traveled back to a time BEFORE he was ever paralyzed. He is somehow a blend of the Locke of the present and the Locke of the past.
Who is Ben? I believe he is the creator of the time machine. The Others are his associates living in the time-space bubble around the Island and Door #2 of the time machine in the "past." They are managing it and testing the effects of time travel, and strictly controlling who exits this bubble into the outside world.
How does one arrive at the Island? There are two methods of traveling to the site (and time) of the Island. First is the controlled method via Door #1 at Dharma Headquarters. It is not via plane, submarine, or any other traditional method of transportation.
The other method is in the accidental collision with the time-space bubble that surrounds the Island, as happened with Oceanic Flight 815, the Portuguese woman's helicopter, etc. Despite the many theories that abound in online forums, the Others did not know that Flight 815 was coming or going to crash at the Island. It was a chance encounter. It was a disaster that created a paradox... what happens to a plane that crashes in the present, while entering the past? This leads to the question of whether the passengers are alive or dead, answered by talking about a cat.
Schrodinger's cat, to be specific. Again, quantum mechanics can be very strange. One of the strangest behaviors in particle physics is known as Superposition, which is the ability of a particle to occupy two different states simultaneously (like up and down, left and right, here and there, etc.). In the world we know, you cannot be both here and there, but in particle physics, a world of probability, chance, and duality, you can. How can one imagine this? Another great Gedanken Experiment was conceived, as follows:
Place a cat in a sealed, steel box, along with a bottle of poison. In addition, a radioactive element is placed within the steel box. The decay of this radioactive element triggers a hammer, which breaks the bottle, releasing the poison and killing the cat. For the observer, outside of the box, you do not know when this radioactive decay happens. Because of the laws of Superposition, the radioactive element can occupy both states simultaneously, for the briefest moment. For that blink in time, the bottle is both broken and intact... the cat is both dead and alive, at the same time. This is a puzzle of science, but more important perhaps is the philosophical question of what does it mean to be both dead and alive?
ANSWER #7: The passengers of Oceanic Flight 815 are dead at the bottom of the ocean. AND they are ALIVE on the Island. They are both dead and alive. I told you that you would love this one. Since they are alive in the "past" of the Island's timeline, can they return to the present in which they are dead? I guess that is the ultimate question that we will have to watch the show to find out.
A suggestion of an answer is found in Locke's/Sawyer's father. We were led to believe that he died in a car accident, and finds himself here on the Island. Of course he would think he's in hell! We believe that somehow Locke "willed" him here, but that was actually never said on the show. In fact, Ben said to Locke, "you brought him here." Perhaps what he means is this:
ANSWER #8: Locke's father did not die in the accident. I believe that we will find soon that Locke is going to leave the Island. The question that nobody asked Locke's father was when did the accident happen? See, Locke is going to return to the "present" timeline, and is going to pursue his father. He is going to find him, perhaps he is even going to cause his accident. He is going to drug and kidnap him, unable or unwilling to kill him by himself. He is somehow going to get him to Door #1 of the time machine and send him to the Island, where he already knows that Sawyer will kill him. Locke is going to "bring him here" to the Island... he just hasn't done it yet. When he is on the "outside" in the present, why is he going to do this? Because he has to, because it is destiny... for on the Island, it has already happened. You know Locke loves destiny.
I could go on and on. Why is there a zoo with polar bears?
ANSWER #9: The animals are on the Island for testing the effects of the various paradoxes associated with time travel. Perhaps another reason is that by keeping and preserving endangered animals, like polar bears, within this bubble in the past, there is a resource for their recovery should they become extinct in the future. Consider it a Noah's Ark.
How do the Others know so much about the passengers of Flight 815?
ANSWER#10: The Others have had perhaps years, with Dharma Industries in the present timeline at Door #1, to research each of the individuals, and transmit this information to the Island. To the audience and the survivors of 815, it seemed like the Others instantly knew about them. However, it likely required years of research to compile the files.
There are still mysteries that remain, and stories that we do not know how they will play out. With this explanation, though, the behavior of the Others is understood. They must protect the timeline AT ALL COSTS. That makes them seem evil to the survivors of 815, but in reality their intentions are to prevent catastrophe.
There are many other stories I haven't touched, but they are all consistent with this basic theory. This includes Desmond's apparent "time loop" he is experiencing, and many others.
So there it is. Or, I'm out of my mind. Time will tell.
Steve
to Steve: you're a genius.
UPDATE: Now that the series has ended, here is The Idiot's Guide to Lost.
Let's go back to shortly after the turn of the Twentieth century, the days of Einstein and other early theoretical physicists. This was the dawn of the age of quantum mechanics, which provided new understanding and insight into physics at the sub-atomic level. New mathematics described the behavior of the tiny particles that make up all of matter in the universe. The math was clearly described in terms of numbers, symbols, formulas... however the application to nature as we know it was strange, weird, bizarre.
It was very difficult to wrap the human brain around many of the concepts of quantum mechanics, and the math alone was inadequate to explain the problems. Thus, physicists and mathematicians turned to "Gedanken Experiments," German for Thought Experiments. Applying the known concepts of quantum mechanics to situations in the "real world" allowed a conversation to take place in a way most anybody could (sort of) understand.
Before I lose you, here is an example. In the mathematics of quantum physics, time travel is THEORETICALLY possible. One of the most famous Gedanken Experiments is the Grandfather Paradox. If you could travel back in time, could you kill your grandfather? Logic tells you that no, you could not, for if you did, you would not exist. (Pause here and consider why Locke insists that "he can't" kill his father, he needs somebody else to do it.) The beautiful thing about Gedanken Experiments is that they are both scientific and philosophical, perfect fodder for a creative writer. In the case of the Grandfather Paradox, while they logic is clear, the actual experience of it is a mystery. Imagine actually standing there in the past, holding a loaded gun to the head of your grandfather... what would actually prevent you? "Something" would, some unknown mechanism of physics... and that is where the writers of "Lost" imagine for us.
"Lost" is a grand Gedanken Experiment, a test of science and philosophy. It asks the question, What if time travel were not only possible, but real, with technology developed in a manner as realistic and consistent with known theoretical physics as possible? And to make it even more dramatic, What if you could travel back in time, AND NOT KNOW IT? The passengers of Flight 815 have done exactly that, and the writers have made the audience go along with them, sharing the same sense of confusion and mystery.
Let's talk about what we know about time travel today. We are not talking about cheesy movies of the past, where one can travel back to the age of dinosaurs or the middle ages. In fact, in the "real" science of time travel, a few things are known by the constraints of physics and quantum mechanics.
There is a conceptual model of a real time machine, and it works something like this: A time machine must have two parts, essentially two portals, connected by a wormhole (or black hole or whatever you want to call it). Door #1 is built alongside Door #2. Door #1 is allowed to continue along the "present" timeline, while Door #2 is encapsulated in a bubble within space-time, thus separated from the present timeline. This would require a great amount of energy and technology obviously unknown today... but thanks to the writers of "Lost," it has been solved by Dharma Industries. The amount of separation would be only slight to begin with... say, 108 minutes. Since Door #1 exists in the present timeline, it can safely be located anywhere (Dharma headquarters?). Door #2, now operating in a different place in space-time, in the past, must be safely located in a remote location, for any type of interaction with it from the outside could be catastrophic.
There is a very important concept in time travel here, which is that you can NEVER travel back further in time than the creation of your time machine; Hence the impossibility of visiting the dinosaurs, etc. Now, if the two doors of your time machine were separated by only 108 minutes at the initial "event", but then allowed to just sit there, then both timelines would progress at the same pace, forever separated by only 108 minutes. Traveling to the past, but only by 108 minutes, would not be very interesting. Much more exciting would be to keep Door #2 back at the original time of its inception, while Door #1 continues to move forward in time. You could do this by continually "resetting" the clock on Door #2. Over time, the separation between the two doors would grow and grow, from minutes, to hours, to days, to years.
If you actually had the technology to achieve time travel in this manner, there are MANY profound questions you would have to test and answer in order to be confident that you could safely operate the time machine without catastrophically altering the future. The Grandfather Paradox is the most obvious, but actually only one of many questions.
ANSWER #1: What is the Dharma Initiative? It is the building and testing of a time machine, as described above. Door #1 is at the Dharma Headquarters, Door #2 is on the Island in the remote South Pacific.
The question isn't, Where is the Island? The question is, When is the Island? The answer to that depends on how long ago, in the present timeline, the time machine was created... approximately 14 years ago, I believe.
ANSWER #2: Why must the button be pushed every 108 minutes? This "resets"
the clock of Door #2 of the time machine, essentially holding it at the time of its inception in the relative past. If allowed to pass 108 minutes on the clock, then the time machine will lose the ability to reset itself. Why, then, must it be pressed by a person, and not just programmed to reset itself? This is because the controllers at Door #1 do not have control over Door #2 in the past, and should disaster strike, and nobody is left alive in the past at Door #2, it should be allowed to pass 108 minutes and no longer reset.
ANSWER #3: What happened when the clock was allowed to pass 108 minutes? Door #2 of the time machine lost the ability to reset, and will now continue to progress along a timeline into the future, locked at approximately 14 years separation from Door #1.
What are some of the other critical questions, like the Grandfather Paradox, that must be answered when considering time travel? Here is a great one:
What if a childless woman travels back in time and conceives a child?
ANSWER #4: A childless woman cannot travel to the past and conceive a child, because if she did, she would not have been a childless woman. In "Lost", both mother and child die before the birth, thus preserving the timeline and laws of nature. Perhaps the Others do not fully understand this, and brought in fertility doctor Juliet to see if they can overcome this obstacle.
Consider another:
What if a child travels back to a time before he or she was born? Perhaps nothing... but what if the child dies in the past, before being born? Again, impossible. ANSWER #5: The Others abduct children on the Island to protect them at all costs, for they cannot allow the catastrophic violation of the laws of nature of a child dying before being conceived.
And yet another:
If you travel to the past, will you be the "you" of the present timeline when you arrive, or the younger "you" of the past, or some combination of the two? I do not know, but I believe this offers insight into why John Locke can walk on the Island despite being paralyzed.
ANSWER #6: Locke can walk not because the Island has powers to cure, but because he has traveled back to a time BEFORE he was ever paralyzed. He is somehow a blend of the Locke of the present and the Locke of the past.
Who is Ben? I believe he is the creator of the time machine. The Others are his associates living in the time-space bubble around the Island and Door #2 of the time machine in the "past." They are managing it and testing the effects of time travel, and strictly controlling who exits this bubble into the outside world.
How does one arrive at the Island? There are two methods of traveling to the site (and time) of the Island. First is the controlled method via Door #1 at Dharma Headquarters. It is not via plane, submarine, or any other traditional method of transportation.
The other method is in the accidental collision with the time-space bubble that surrounds the Island, as happened with Oceanic Flight 815, the Portuguese woman's helicopter, etc. Despite the many theories that abound in online forums, the Others did not know that Flight 815 was coming or going to crash at the Island. It was a chance encounter. It was a disaster that created a paradox... what happens to a plane that crashes in the present, while entering the past? This leads to the question of whether the passengers are alive or dead, answered by talking about a cat.
Schrodinger's cat, to be specific. Again, quantum mechanics can be very strange. One of the strangest behaviors in particle physics is known as Superposition, which is the ability of a particle to occupy two different states simultaneously (like up and down, left and right, here and there, etc.). In the world we know, you cannot be both here and there, but in particle physics, a world of probability, chance, and duality, you can. How can one imagine this? Another great Gedanken Experiment was conceived, as follows:
Place a cat in a sealed, steel box, along with a bottle of poison. In addition, a radioactive element is placed within the steel box. The decay of this radioactive element triggers a hammer, which breaks the bottle, releasing the poison and killing the cat. For the observer, outside of the box, you do not know when this radioactive decay happens. Because of the laws of Superposition, the radioactive element can occupy both states simultaneously, for the briefest moment. For that blink in time, the bottle is both broken and intact... the cat is both dead and alive, at the same time. This is a puzzle of science, but more important perhaps is the philosophical question of what does it mean to be both dead and alive?
ANSWER #7: The passengers of Oceanic Flight 815 are dead at the bottom of the ocean. AND they are ALIVE on the Island. They are both dead and alive. I told you that you would love this one. Since they are alive in the "past" of the Island's timeline, can they return to the present in which they are dead? I guess that is the ultimate question that we will have to watch the show to find out.
A suggestion of an answer is found in Locke's/Sawyer's father. We were led to believe that he died in a car accident, and finds himself here on the Island. Of course he would think he's in hell! We believe that somehow Locke "willed" him here, but that was actually never said on the show. In fact, Ben said to Locke, "you brought him here." Perhaps what he means is this:
ANSWER #8: Locke's father did not die in the accident. I believe that we will find soon that Locke is going to leave the Island. The question that nobody asked Locke's father was when did the accident happen? See, Locke is going to return to the "present" timeline, and is going to pursue his father. He is going to find him, perhaps he is even going to cause his accident. He is going to drug and kidnap him, unable or unwilling to kill him by himself. He is somehow going to get him to Door #1 of the time machine and send him to the Island, where he already knows that Sawyer will kill him. Locke is going to "bring him here" to the Island... he just hasn't done it yet. When he is on the "outside" in the present, why is he going to do this? Because he has to, because it is destiny... for on the Island, it has already happened. You know Locke loves destiny.
I could go on and on. Why is there a zoo with polar bears?
ANSWER #9: The animals are on the Island for testing the effects of the various paradoxes associated with time travel. Perhaps another reason is that by keeping and preserving endangered animals, like polar bears, within this bubble in the past, there is a resource for their recovery should they become extinct in the future. Consider it a Noah's Ark.
How do the Others know so much about the passengers of Flight 815?
ANSWER#10: The Others have had perhaps years, with Dharma Industries in the present timeline at Door #1, to research each of the individuals, and transmit this information to the Island. To the audience and the survivors of 815, it seemed like the Others instantly knew about them. However, it likely required years of research to compile the files.
There are still mysteries that remain, and stories that we do not know how they will play out. With this explanation, though, the behavior of the Others is understood. They must protect the timeline AT ALL COSTS. That makes them seem evil to the survivors of 815, but in reality their intentions are to prevent catastrophe.
There are many other stories I haven't touched, but they are all consistent with this basic theory. This includes Desmond's apparent "time loop" he is experiencing, and many others.
So there it is. Or, I'm out of my mind. Time will tell.
Steve
Sunday, August 09, 2009
whet's fer ye..
132 This means ‘What's for you won’t go by you'. “It’s Scottish,” she explained. The picture captures the moment she was asked to imagine a big hairy Scotsman, in a kilt - a trick that worked so well, it has been repeated on other SOTMs. Taken in offices off Tottenham Court Road, London.
from: somoneoncetoldme.com
Sunday, August 02, 2009
Absence
Until recently, one could actually achieve absence. One could go somewhere and be gone. The traveler would send postcards. The postcards would have pictures of beaches or statues. They would be eagerly awaited and gratefully received. Absence was simple. It was an absolute condition, soon relieved by presence. Presence was also an absolute condition.
No more.
Now absence and presence are contingent and variable, matters of degree and form. A person may cease responding to e-mail and achieve a sort of absence although he or she remains in place. Or a person may go to India and yet be as present as always.
A version of us is always present. We are over-connected. We spy on each other from afar.
The quality of our absence is thus degraded. Absenceness is a precious resource we are fast running out of. Soon there will be nothing but presence. We will wish we could go away but will not be able to. The pain of constant presence will be too much for some to bear; it will be a torture like that of sleep deprivation. There will be a rash of virtual suicides, in which people disconnect themselves and appear to be dead. We will have virtual funerals for them. This will all come in time.- by Cary Tennis
No Matter How Lonely
by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Orange Juice: Lies and Truth
What isn't straightforward about orange juice?
HAMILTON: It's a heavily processed product. It's heavily engineered as well. In the process of pasteurizing, juice is heated and stripped of oxygen, a process called deaeration, so it doesn't oxidize. Then it's put in huge storage tanks where it can be kept for upwards of a year. It gets stripped of flavor-providing chemicals, which are volatile. When it's ready for packaging, companies such as Tropicana hire flavor companies such as Firmenich to engineer flavor packs to make it taste fresh. People think not-from-concentrate is a fresher product, but it also sits in storage for quite a long time...
So parse the carton for us. For example, what is the phrase "not from concentrate" really about?
HAMILTON: In the '80s, Tropicana had a hold on ready-to-serve orange juice with full-strength juice. Then this new product, reconstituted orange juice, started appearing in supermarkets. Tropicana had to make decisions. Storing concentrate is much cheaper than full-strength juice. The phrase "not from concentrate" was to try to make consumers pay more for the product because it's a more expensive product to manufacture. It didn't have to do with the product being fresher; the product didn't change, the name simply changed. Tropicana didn't want to have to switch to concentrate technology.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Does God Hate Women?
By Ophelia Benson and Jeremy Stangroom
Reviewed by Johann Hari - 02 July 2009
Authors Benson and Stangroom dismantle the logic of those who cite religion to justify the perpetuation of misogynistic abuses around the globe
A directory of divine misogyny
After all the arguments for subordinating women have been shown to be self-serving lies, what are misogynists left with? They have only one feeble argument that is still deferred to and shown undeserving respect across the world, even by people who should know better: “God told me to. I have to treat women as lesser beings, because it is inscribed in my Holy Book.”
Ophelia Benson and Jeremy Stangroom are the editors of Butterflies and Wheels, the best atheist site on the web. In Does God Hate Women? they forensically dismantle the last respectable misogyny. They argue: “What would otherwise look like stark bullying is very often made respectable and holy by a putative religious law or aphorism or scriptural quotation . . . They worship a God who is a male who gangs up with other males against women. They worship a thug.”
Every major religion’s texts were written at a time when women were regarded as little better than talking cattle. Their words and commands reflect this, plainly and bluntly. This book starts with a panoramic sweep across the world, showing – with archetypal cases – how every religion has groups today thumping women down with its Holy Book.
In Zamfara State in northern Nigeria, a pregnant 13-year-old girl called Bariya Ibrahim received 180 lashes of the cane in 2001 after being pimped by her father. The state’s attorney general said: “It is the law of Allah, so we don’t have anything to worry about.” In Jerusalem, ultra-Orthodox Jews have set up “modesty police” who terrorise young women who talk to men or show ordinary parts of their bodies. They break into their homes if they are seen with men; they force them to sit at the back of the bus, away from the men; and they even, in one recent instance, sprayed acid in the face of a 14-year-old girl.
In the areas of India still dominated by orthodox Hinduism, a widow is still expected to commit suicide when her husband dies, or go into isolation in an ashram. One – a septuagenarian woman named Radha Rani Biswas – fled and now begs on the streets of Vrindavan. She said: “My son tells me: ‘You have grown old. Now who is going to feed you? Go away.’ What do I do? My pain has no limit.” And on the directory of divine misogyny goes, running through Catholicism, Mormonism and more. Benson and Stangroom note: “Religion doesn’t necessarily originate ideas about female subordination, but it lends them a penumbra of righteousness, and it makes them ‘sacred’ and thus a matter for outrage if anyone disputes them.”
Methodically, they go through the excuses offered for these raw abuses of human rights by the religious, and their apologists.
The first – especially beloved of the Vatican and Islamists – is that women are not being treated worse, just “differently”. They claim that it accords a woman special “dignity” to trap her in the home. But this is an abuse of language. As the authors note: “Permanent consignment to a limited and lesser role in the world is not what ‘dignity’ is generally understood to mean . . . The smallness and intimacy and relatedness of home are fine things, but not if one is confined to them permanently.”
The religio-misogynists then claim that it is “racist” or “imperialist” to oppose such abuses. This merrily ignores how women within these cultures protest against their treatment – very loudly. They aren’t objecting to being imprisoned in their homes, or having their genitalia cut, or being stoned for having sex, because a white person told them to. Benson and Stangroom put it well: “Multiculturalism by definition makes a fetish of cultures, and it is almost impossible to do that without treating them as monolithic. As soon as you admit that all cultures have internal dissent and nonconformity, the whole idea of protecting or deferring to particular cultures breaks down into incoherence.”
Then the gentler, nicer apologists for religion arrive. They say that misogynists are simply misinterpreting the holy texts, which are in fact about love and compassion and kindness. But the authors point out this is certainly not the God of the texts who orders his followers to commit mass murder, including of women and children, and explicitly says women are inferior beings.
So, in order to defend their God, the apologists often have to lie about what He and His Prophets “say” in the texts. Cherie Blair, for example, claimed in a lecture: “It is not laid down in the Quran that women can be beaten by their husbands.” But it quite plainly is. The Quran says: “If you fear high-handedness from your wives, remind them [of the teachings of God], then ignore them when you go to bed, then hit them.”
Karen Armstrong – one of the most egregious defenders of superstition – repeatedly claims that Muhammad was an emancipator of women. Yet it is explained in the Hadith (the sayings and traditions of the Prophet) that he married a prepubescent child, and that when he was given two slave girls he gave the ugly one away to a friend and kept the beautiful one, Maryam, to use sexually. It is a strange model of female emancipation, to sleep with children and slaves.
There are people in all religions who have – through theological contortions – managed to leave behind literal readings of the text and invent a less foul God to believe in. It is not for atheists to say that one group of believers is right and the other is wrong, as we think they’re all wrong. We can note that the less literalist a believer is, the easier he is to live beside, but we will only discredit literalism and force reform if we are honest about the words of the texts, rather than trying to soft-soap believers.
By the end of this book-length blast, Benson and Stangroom have left religious hatred of women in rubble. Anybody not addled by superstition will have to conclude that such bigotry deserves neither respect nor deference. It does not deserve the taboos that today surround it. It deserves the opposite: contempt – and relentless, unyielding opposition.
Does God Hate Women?
Ophelia Benson and Jeremy Stangroom
Continuum, 208pp, £14.99
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Failing and Flying
by Jack Gilbert
Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew.
It's the same when love comes to an end,
or the marriage fails and people say
they knew it was a mistake, that everybody
said it would never work. That she was
old enough to know better. But anything
worth doing is worth doing badly.
Like being there by that summer ocean
on the other side of the island while
love was fading out of her, the stars
burning so extravagantly those nights that
anyone could tell you they would never last.
Every morning she was asleep in my bed
like a visitation, the gentleness in her
like antelope standing in the dawn mist.
Each afternoon I watched her coming back
through the hot stony field after swimming,
the sea light behind her and the huge sky
on the other side of that. Listened to her
while we ate lunch. How can they say
the marriage failed? Like the people who
came back from Provence (when it was Provence)
and said it was pretty but the food was greasy.
I believe Icarus was not failing as he fell,
but just coming to the end of his triumph.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Stiglitz: America's double-standard on economic crises infuriates the poor world
|
Nobel-prize-winning economist Joseph E. Stiglitz contrasts the American response to its economic crisis with the measures it shoved down the throats of poor countries during their crises, and discusses why rich-world double-standards ("Buy American/European" provisions in bailouts that only discriminate against poor countries) contribute to a global disillusionment in the values that the rich world nominally espouses: democracy, transparency, and so on.
Among critics of American-style capitalism in the Third World, the way that America has responded to the current economic crisis has been the last straw. During the East Asia crisis, just a decade ago, America and the I.M.F. demanded that the affected countries cut their deficits by cutting back expenditures--even if, as in Thailand, this contributed to a resurgence of the aids epidemic, or even if, as in Indonesia, this meant curtailing food subsidies for the starving. America and the I.M.F. forced countries to raise interest rates, in some cases to more than 50 percent. They lectured Indonesia about being tough on its banks--and demanded that the government not bail them out. What a terrible precedent this would set, they said, and what a terrible intervention in the Swiss-clock mechanisms of the free market.Wall Street's Toxic Message (via Memex 1.1)The contrast between the handling of the East Asia crisis and the American crisis is stark and has not gone unnoticed. To pull America out of the hole, we are now witnessing massive increases in spending and massive deficits, even as interest rates have been brought down to zero. Banks are being bailed out right and left. Some of the same officials in Washington who dealt with the East Asia crisis are now managing the response to the American crisis. Why, people in the Third World ask, is the United States administering different medicine to itself?
Many in the developing world still smart from the hectoring they received for so many years: they should adopt American institutions, follow our policies, engage in deregulation, open up their markets to American banks so they could learn "good" banking practices, and (not coincidentally) sell their firms and banks to Americans, especially at fire-sale prices during crises. Yes, Washington said, it will be painful, but in the end you will be better for it. America sent its Treasury secretaries (from both parties) around the planet to spread the word. In the eyes of many throughout the developing world, the revolving door, which allows American financial leaders to move seamlessly from Wall Street to Washington and back to Wall Street, gave them even more credibility; these men seemed to combine the power of money and the power of politics. American financial leaders were correct in believing that what was good for America or the world was good for financial markets, but they were incorrect in thinking the converse, that what was good for Wall Street was good for America and the world.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
How to Rescue the Mars Rover, by Julian, Age 7
Spirit, the Mars rover, got stuck on
May 9th around a low plateau with thick deposits of sandy soil. When the rover's wheels hit these patches of dirt, the wheel can't grip and just spins.
A 7-year-old kid named Julian suggested a way to get it unstuck, and the drivers were so impressed by it that they’re sending him a reward.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Crippled by Indecision? The 10-10-10 Rule.
Making radically changing life decisions can often be a process that often leaves us doubting, sleepless and paralyzed to do anything else.Should I get a divorce?
Should I quit my job?
Career or full-time motherhood?
In 10-10-10, the namesake book by Suzy Welch, the 10-10-10 rule is proposed to make the process more manageable. When facing to make a difficult choice, ask yourself these questions:
What will be the consequences in 10 minutes?
In 10 months?
In 10 years?
These questions not only reveal the immediate impact of the decision made, but also, if it matters and how it matters in the long term. Here is an except of the article:
Fifteen years ago, she was a sales representative for a pharmaceutical company. She loved the job, and the job loved her. The first in her family to attend college, she was looking forward to a long and successful corporate career. Then came marriage and two children.
My friend tried to keep working, but one day, when she returned from a week on the road, the nanny put her son in her arms, and he didn't recognize her. She quit, telling herself she would go back the minute she could.
That minute never came.
She has three children now, the youngest a baby. "The other day, I was cleaning the refrigerator and Sammy was crying his head off, and inside I was screaming, "What have I done?"
"10-10-10 reminded me." Both the 10-minute and 10-year scenarios made her shudder. "Short term, I'm looking at a lot of diapers and spit up," she said, "and long term, I'm seeing a big black hole. Kids gone, but so is my career."
image source, Link
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Obama Admits US Involvement in 1953 Iran Coup
Summary: For the first time, a President of the United States has admitted that Cold War policy was less about spreading freedom and more about protecting corporate hegenomy in the face of decolonization.
In an act of conciliation towards Iran, Obama acknowledged that the CIA engineered the 1953 overthrow of the democratically elected Prime Minister after he ordered the expropriation of his nation’s oil fields from a British corporation. The United States then installed a brutal dictator who used violence and terror to keep Iran open for business.
Of course this is common knowledge. Obama smartly recognizes that such admissions may lesson the distrust most Iranians have of America.
At root, conciliation is simply another strategy to regain some control over Iran’s vast oil fields (the Iraq method won’t be viable for another decade or so). The minions of neo-liberalism are trying to get a foot in the door. Iran would do well to add another dead-bolt.
[Posted By STOPSTRIPMINING] LinkDo Parents Love Their Kids Equally?
We've often known as kids that our parents play favorites. And while they've constantly denied it, there's always that sibling who is more coddled and showered with fringe benefits.
According to the book No Two Alike, many parents admitted to favoritism:
"In two separate studies, British and American parents of two small children were asked whether they felt more affection for one than the other. More than 50% admitted that they did. The overwhelming majority of these parents - 87% of the mothers and 85% of the fathers in the American study - said they favored the younger child".
Link
Wow. Seventh Level.
The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Seventh Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
Take the Dante's Inferno Test
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
| Level | Score |
|---|---|
| Purgatory (Repenting Believers) | Very Low |
| Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers) | Very Low |
| Level 2 (Lustful) | High |
| Level 3 (Gluttonous) | Low |
| Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious) | Low |
| Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy) | Very High |
| Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics) | Moderate |
| Level 7 (Violent) | Very High |
| Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers) | High |
| Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous) | Very High |
Take the Dante's Inferno Test
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
I Need A New Dream
March 13, 2008 | Dear Cary,
My husband and I have been happily married for 11 years. We learned some time ago that fertility might be a challenge, and it has been. We hoped to see our abiding love and commitment writ small in toes, sweet cheeks, milk burps. Instead, we've seen success turn into soul-crushing defeat over and over. Often there are no successes -- there is just more defeat. We are sad and tired.
I keep thinking that being infertile must be a little like being an addict. Early on, when everything still seemed possible, we said to ourselves, things might be bad but I'll never ... I'll never (lie, cheat, steal, turn tricks) have a screen name like "MOMMY2B," or mortgage the house, or ask strangers on the Internet for their interpretation of my menstrual period, or resent the effortlessly fertile, or measure my grief against another's, or buy Ancient Chinese Secrets, or name a baby whose heartbeat you never get to hear. You know, like these other poor bastards. But you go down the road and these are the things on the road. You do things that surprise you, good and bad. You let people down and hate yourself for it. You wonder if you should stop, but can't.
The meds and the tests and the advice and the waiting and the hope and the money slowly took over our life, until nothing else seemed that important. Our circle of friends changed. We become more isolated. People who don't know invariably ask when we're having kids (you guys love kids so much, you should have some!). People who do know look at us with pity. Sometimes they can't look at us at all. I think they fear having to see our naked and writhing heartbreak, or having to consider the many times they complained about their sleepless, colicky nights and envied our freedom.
Many couples like us choose adoption. We could love any child that entered our home. But we will not, cannot, get on a new merry-go-round of waiting and disappointment. We're out of resources in all the ways that matter. Many people won't understand that, given the strength of our desire for a family. But that decision is "right" for us given our circumstances. We made it together and we will live with it the best we can. So the end of the road could really be the end: childlessness.
Our grieving began some time ago. But I did not expect the overwhelming sense of purposelessness I get every time I think about being childless in the end. I believe we are here to live in service. Very few of us have the experience of a saint or a martyr, and give everything. Most of us are simply meant to strive to be vital, happy, grateful, respectful, generous, loving, kind, productive. To give as much as we can as often as we can, but to be basically just ... ordinary. I thought my contribution would be the quiet and humble goodness of that striving, and that we'd offer our community a family raised in that way.
I work hard and am successful professionally. I'm strong. I was lucky enough to have choices, and smart enough to make good ones. My husband and I have accomplished a lot together. We try to live consciously. This isn't about baby fever. We planned for and dreamed of a certain kind of life, knowing it would make us profoundly, contentedly happy -- but it will never happen. I can't think of anything to do next that would be as fulfilling as raising our family. Make more money for corporate America? Get a dog? Travel? Go back to school? That stuff seems reasonable, but only for the short-term. We are regular and enthusiastic volunteers, but sorting cans of food-bank green beans isn't deeply fulfilling compared to, say, the first day of school. Nothing I can think of gives me the peaceful contentment I felt imagining 20 years of family dinners followed by the chance to do it all again as a grandmother. I've come to a blank spot that I can't fill, and it stretches past the horizon.
I know many other people's problems are much worse than ours. We do try to be patient and grateful. Our love for one another has grown, a blessing and comfort. We didn't think we wanted a lot for ourselves, but I guess it was still too much. I don't know if I can get over it. When the life you wanted and sacrificed for is gone before it even starts, what do you do next?
Barren: adj., lacking inspiration or ideas -- Merriam-Webster
Dear Barren,
This is a very moving letter. You have poured your heart out. I feel as though there isn't much I could say that wouldn't sound trite. You have probably heard it all.
So let's say the simple, basic, true thing first: You are suffering.
You are suffering the loss of a dream.
Let's just sit here with you a minute. We don't have answers. We are not gods. We can't change biology.
So what do you do?
I suggest that you grieve seriously and hard, that you dedicate yourself to your grieving and that you make of your grieving a project as robust as your quest for a child.
I suggest that you go on retreat somewhere alone. Take a week or two weeks alone somewhere, a spiritual retreat if you are spiritual or a secular retreat if you are secular, but a retreat that fosters quiet. Rest. Just rest. Rest and do not speak much. Sleep a lot. On the first couple of days just rest and sleep and walk and do not speak much. Eat and read and write in your journal and walk around and sleep and rest and do not watch TV. Do not talk on the telephone or use the Internet. Let your senses come back to you.
Avail yourself of massage and heat, water and sun, herbs and oils and meditation. Heal yourself. Be taken care of.
Take notice of the things around you and their beauty.
Let a new dream come to you.
You need a new dream. That's the thing. You had a dream and perhaps because it did not seem such an outlandish dream you invested everything you had in that dream. So now you're depleted. You're grieving the loss of this dream.
I know you will get through it. I know that. You would get through it regardless. But will you get through it in a gentle, strong and beautiful way, or will you get through it violently, by lashing out, by allowing your hurt to take shape as blame and resentment? That is why it would be a good idea to go away for a week or two and be taken care of.
You must grieve the loss of this dream and prepare for something new. You must find something to look forward to, some joy, some vision of life to sustain you.
A reader sent me a book a few weeks ago called "When Things Fall Apart," by Pema Chodron, a Tibetan Buddhist.
Buddists talk about suffering. They say we struggle against the truth and in struggling against the truth we suffer.
The Buddhists say relax, slow down, take notice.
I like the Buddhists! I like their style!
You are facing the truth. You see it. It is right in front of you.
So what do you do? You grieve.
You feel this.
And you wait for a new dream to come to you. It will come. Don't worry. It will come.
By Cary Tennis Original Link HERE.
Saturday, March 01, 2008
What Men Wish You Knew About Them -- The Heroes Inside Us by Walter Kirn
This is the great secret. This is the great truth.
We don't particularly value our own existences.
It starts around age 3 and never stops: the process of rehearsing all the ways in which we might gloriously die. We've barely been born when we start mock-perishing. The first time I bit the dues was in an ambush by three or four boys who'd armed themselves with sticks that were either machine guns or swords, I don't remember. Nor do I remember which force of evil I alone was resisting that fateful day when I first fell backward on the grass, clutched my heart, and let out the sight that tells a man's foes that they may have killed his body but they'll never vanquish his spirit. I was five years old, but the whole performance felt instinctive.
Women are enocuraged to give life. Men are encouraged to give it up. The basic scenario, ofcourse, involves standing up to the bad guys on behalf of some innocent person or high ideal. The other basic scenario involves being one of the bad guys - the baddest of all. Either way the ending is the same. We fall, we sight, there's a pause, we get back up, and then the next day we pretend to die again.
We don't always die in combat. That's just one way. Sometimes we die from exposure or starvation while exploring the arctic or trekking through the jungle. Sometimes our rocket ship crashes en route to Mars or our race car hits a wall during the last lap of the Daytona 500. Sometimes the smoke inside the burning house that we've rushed into to rescue the little girl's kitten is just too think and toxic to withstand. And sometimes we die from simple overwork while laboring selflessly to support our loved ones or save the ranch from bankruptcy.
What doesn't change is the satisfaction we take - in our fantasies, that is - at going down fighting with our boots on. What also doesn't change is our suspicion that we might not be mourned as deeply as we imagine or honored for as long as we might hope. That stirs a certain resentment in some men.
Since kindergarden we've been demonstrating our willingness to die at practically any moment for virtually any cause, and the women who will outlive us don't appreciate it. Yes, today we're grouching about the phone bill or failing once again to mow the lawn, but tomorrow we maybe out defending the homeland or pursuing an armed robber down a dark alley. Women shouldn't forget this. What looks like a husband napping on a sofa is really a hero of tomorrow dreaming his own selfless demise.
The least a women can do is let him sleep.
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