Great Balls of Fire

I was blessed enough to get to spend a few days in Hood River, Oregon. More precisely, I suppose I should say around Hood River - there was a good deal of camping in the woods, far away from anything resembling a town. I spent the night of August 11 around Bulo Point, i.e. some really dark woods on a hill, following the recommendation of someone I met in a bar (classic Brendan move, by the way. Taking the advice of strangers in bars is probably what will kill me).

If you want to feel really small without taking hallucinogens, go out to someplace with zero light pollution when there's a meteor shower, go to sleep, wake up at 2 in the morning, crawl out of your tent, think about how far you are from other people, then stare at the sky for a while until you get cold. It worked for me.
Anyway, I started thinking about that argument against the existence of God that says humans can't be that important because we are so tiny in comparison to the rest of the universe that to think we play any special role in the plans of an omnipotent being is foolish. From there, I pondered on how those tiny flecks of glitter in the sky are actually flaming balls of gas undergoing constant nuclear fusion, and hey, that's pretty cool.

Flashback to all those times my mother shouted at me for sticking magnifying glasses between (mostly) flammable objects and the sun. I'm an admitted and unrepentant pyromaniac. Do not ask me for a light if you like your eyebrows. 

There I was, watching the twinkling of violent explosions light years away, thinking "Cool. Fire!" And then I had another thought. "I really like the idea of a God who makes gigantic glowing orbs of destruction and energy and flame for fun." Because if I were an omnipotent being, I'm pretty sure I would make those, too, and I'd never get bored of the things, so I'd make sure they lasted a long time, and I'd also keep churning'em out in giant fire factories so I'd never run out. Unlike humans. I'd probably get bored of those after a few thousand years and stop making the things. 

I initially meant this to be a comforting post, but now I realize that the conclusion to draw is that either there is no God, or if there is, he and I think alike, and I'm not entirely sure which one is more terrifying.

The most terrifying Venn Diagram I have made yet

A Little Help for my Friends #1

When I first started this blog, I was under the impression that I would soon be making a fortune off of it in a matter of weeks. Little did I know I was actually right!*
*if you count broken dreams as a fortune


Actually, the blog hasn't made me any money (surprise!), mostly because I think only a sadistic person would give me money to write these posts.

I am about to suggest you reach for your wallet, however (in case you didn't already sense that coming). Not for me, however. My friends Colin and Neil (who also have friends) are in a band together, and they're pretty awesome. Don't take my word for it, though. You can listen to their music here.

They're putting together an album and need funding for it. If you like their music, you can donate and listen to more of it here (ithis is the important link to click on, folks).

Over the next couple of days, I will be posting a list of reasons to donate to their campaign. To kick it off...

Reason 1: They are fantastic musicians, and you will get to brag to friends, co-workers and strangers that you are a true patron of the arts.

Reason 2: I will be hosting my own competition. Whoever donates using the most obscenely funny name wins a prize of my own creation (sure to be good). At the moment, Haywood Jablomi is in the lead. I won't say who he is, but he's probably handsome, charming, and a devilishly good blogger. Full details of this contest, my stunt double, and more (perhaps more compelling) reasons to donate to follow!

Definite (Confusion) Articles

The other week I was in the desert when I noticed once again how self-centered man as a general species is (or at least, English speaking man is). For a fleeting moment, I had cell phone service, and I received a message from a friend asking me if I wanted to grab a beer with him that night. "Can't, sorry" I replied, "I'm in the desert." 

Or tried to reply. I didn't have enough service to actually send a message. Even if I had, I realized how frustrating for my friend that would have been. Naturally, his next question would have been "Which desert?" Then I realized that English speakers have a serious problem when it comes to describing their location. It's always "the spot." 

"I'm in the desert."

"I'm at the beach."

"I'm in the mountains!"

"Can't talk now, I'm at the movies" (all of them!)

It's as if being someplace immediately transforms it into "the" place. Look back at the first sentence; I did it there!

Normally I'm a stickler for precision in speech, but I don't have a solution this time. Instead, I'd like to propose that every time you fill in this Mad Libs sentence - "I'm ______ (preposition) 'the' ________ (location)" - you take a moment to ponder how non-unique you are. Hopefully, it will make you a more thoughtful, compassionate person. 

Awards? Sign Me Up!

So, for some reason, I was nominated for an award. I'm not normally the sort of person who's eligible for awards. Normally, people who report information that leads to my arrest are eligible for rewards. It's a bit different. But yes, as a graduating senior, I was asked to submit a personal statement as to why I should be given cash (!) and recognized as awesome. Writing something along those lines was harder for me to write than you might imagine (mostly because I wrote it while watching the super bowl and had Dorito dust on all of my fingers but my pinkys, so I was only typing with those). Still, I thought I'd share it with you, because it's just serious enough not to be thrown out, but just shitty enough not to be taken seriously (I'm not even going to mention the joke of a resume I submitted.) So here you go: my analysis of my four years at Columbia and what they've meant to me.

I didn’t want to go to Columbia. I grew up in this city. Why should I stay here for college? Then, I started to consider the other colleges I was admitted to. This one is too small. This college exists in a bubble. What would I do there for four years? One by one, I eliminated every other school from the list of colleges I wanted to attend until only Columbia was left. Then, I signed above the line, dropped an envelope into a mailbox, and I was committed to going to Columbia. At the time, the decision seemed anti-climactic. With the hindsight granted by four years, I see how fitting it is that I began my adventure at Columbia in that manner.

“Adventure is, by its nature, a thing that comes to us. It is a thing that chooses us, not a thing that we choose,” G.K. Chesterton wrote; my experience at Columbia only shows how right he was. I arrived on campus with a jaded attitude, a spoiled child given a gift he does not appreciate, though only because he doesn’t know how to appreciate it (sort of like how I cried when my grandmother gave me blocks when I was little). The four years I have spent at Columbia were a gradual process through which I learned how to appreciate the adventures of friends and learning that Columbia offers (I also ended up really loving the blocks).

I initially searched for people with the same values as mine at Columbia, and at the end of my freshman year, I had a circle of friends not much different than my high school friends. This changed sophomore year, when I became an resident adviser. I naively thought that I would be giving back to Columbia by being an RA; in reality, I took much more from the job than I ever could have given. Through residential programs, I met some of my closest friends, many of whom I had little in common with other than being an RA. I was arrested with one of those friends. If that doesn’t mean I met one of my best friends through Residential Programs, I don’t know what does.

Unlike most of the people I spoke with when I was a first year, I had no idea what I wanted to study. It seemed that everyone else had their goals set, and I was the only student wandering around lost. I took classes, I learned, and I got decent grades, but I didn’t take pleasure from my coursework. After having considered a majoring in German, French, physical education and math, I abruptly declared my intention to major in Earth Sciences. Then began the adventure. Unfortunately, I can’t explain how drastically my attitude about learning changed once I started studying something I was passionate about, especially within the confines of one page. I will only say that, as a sophomore, I felt ready to graduate; as a senior, I wish I had three more years.

Ultimately, I came to Columbia to learn (this is where I tie this all back to the core curriculum; get ready). As a senior, I’ve learned how little I know compared to how much knowledge is out there. Had I paid more attention reading Plato’s Apology (an addition to our lit-hum syllabus) or to the Zhuangzi taught in Professor de Bary’s colloquium on major Asian texts, I would have learned my lesson much earlier. Socrates was proclaimed the wisest of men because he knew he knew nothing; Zhuangzi wrote “Your life has a limit but knowledge has none. If you use what is limited to pursue what is infinite, you are in danger.” Columbia has given me the humility to understand how hard I need to work if I wish to accomplish anything great (like graduate, for example). Well, good. I have the friends I made here. I have what knowledge comes from four years of applied studies. To the world that awaits me after I graduate, I say, “Bring it.”

On an unrelated note, someone arrived at my blog by googling "Brendan is uncool." Thanks a lot. Dick. But hey. I hope all is well with you guys.*
*except whoever searched "Brendan is uncool."

Tragedy

Because of the nature of recent events, this post may strike a more serious, meditative tone than usual (because that's really challenging to do). But yes, this post is my meditation on tragedy.

The recent tragedy that occurred was that my bike was stolen. I don't really expect the company that printed "Save Darfur" shirts to start printing "Please give a nice, well-meaning college student his expensive bike back," but that's the reaction I'd like to see. Then I'd like to get it back. More realistically, whoever stole my bike will sell it for a few hundred dollars to some customer who may or may not know that it's stolen, but who definitely doesn't care. So, that's sad.

But is this bike theft a tragedy? And if so, why? I've provided a few examples of situations that could be called tragic; I'm curious to know which of these really is tragic, and if there's something that sets them apart from those that aren't. I've done some evaluations on them myself, see if you agree with my logic...

Rules: Determine if the situation is actually 'tragic.' Read my interpretations afterwards.
1) That was horrible! He died in a tragic hang gliding/sky diving accident!
2) Boy, that hole-puncher tragedy was the worst thing that happened in the office last year. I can't believe she lost a leg from that.
3) That game of railroad chicken ended tragically for everyone on roller-blades.
4)  Tragically, he choked on a peanut m&m. Saving him with the Heimlich maneuver was the work of a moment, but the peanut m&m was wasted.
5) Man, what a tragedy that was when I found out that girl I met at the party was my cousin!

Answers:
1) Not tragic. He knew what he was getting into when he started pretending he was a bird. If anything, this was a very informative learning experience, but of limited usefulness, because once the lesson absorbed (approximately when the ground absorbed him), his ability to apply what he learned drastically decreased.
2) Tragic. And puzzling. Really, who would have thought this could have happened? And now she has one less leg, and the hole puncher is all stained.
3) Not tragic. If anything, morbidly amusing for the wonderful mental image it can create.
4) ABSOLUTE TRAGEDY. Any time a peanut m&m is wasted, it is a tragedy. This seems self-explanatory.
5) Tragic. Presumably, there is one less beautiful girl out of the dating pool. In case she remains in the dating pool, the product of that love would probably be a tragedy, a lot like in Jude the Obscure. Ew.

What I'm driving at is that tragedy, like a good ambush,  contains an element of the unexpected; it can't just be something upsetting that happened. On the opposite side, comedy should contain an element of the expected. Take this cookie monster clip for example. How will it end? Without even clicking, you know the answer. He will eat cookies destructively. And you will, at the very least, chuckle, if you have a heart.

The funny thing about my bike theft is that in a way, I did expect it. As I was locking it up, I noticed that the rack wasn't attached to the ground, and thought that thieves could conceivably take the whole rack. In this light, my bike being stolen  was pure comedic genius. But on a slightly more profound level, I think it really was a tragedy. Yes, I had conceived that it could have been stolen, but I did NOT expect it. I naively didn't think anyone would do such a thing, and wasn't concerned about it. The tragedy here is partly that my bike was stolen unexpectedly, but mostly that I've unexpectedly lost a good bit of faith and trust for man.

Sorry to get all profound on you, it won't happen often.