Reflections on Perceptions

How do we characterize the way we see the world? One could argue that our awareness of the objects and colors around us has roots in biology; others might say that our ideologies shape our perceptions. But what happens when biology meets ideology? When the two separate spheres of science and humanity commingle is something new and disparate born from their happy marriage?

To use a very basic example, let’s think about the sun. What do we know about the sun, and how has a humanitarian or scientific approach shaped our beliefs about it? The Princeton dictionary defines “sun” as “a typical star that is the source of light and heat for the planets in the solar system” – a basic definition that very few would dispute. The definition, however, lacks any meaningful insight into the way the sun is interpreted globally.

If you were to observe the sun independently – isolated from a religious, astronomical, or historical background – what would you see? What would you think it symbolized? You could close your eyes and feel warmth, or watch it rise and set following an invisible path in the sky. Facts would slowly pile up, but would these facts be characterized with empirical analysis, or would you begin to answer questions about the object’s mystery with your own unique perspective?

Historically, of course, the latter occurred. Societies worshiped the sun as a deity. As a source of power and light, humans relied on the sun and it therefore invoked fear: when we depend on something so fervently, there is always the terrifying thought that one day it will cease to be there for us. In almost every primordial society there is evidence of stories explaining the sun’s rise and fall. Sun gods like Apollo (Greece) and Ra (Egypt) rode chariots to bring light to the sky every morning [see picture above]. Sun worship exists in many ancient religions, and some Judeo-Christian theologians argue that the first descriptions of Jesus Christ contain many parallels to Roman descriptions of the sun. [See Sol Invictus] Keep in mind that Christians observe “Sunday” as a day of rest and worship as well.

Centuries before the birth of Christ, a Greek philosopher Anaxagoras made one of the first scientific explanations for the Sun; he argued that it was a “giant flaming ball of metal,” but was sentenced to death for his modern beliefs. With the influx of astronomers and scientific theory regarding the solar disc in the sky, however, the myths and folklore pertaining to the sun slowly disappeared from Western culture.

And thus, when we try to define what the sun is today, we don’t describe a mysterious and powerful god ruling over the vast expanse of sky every day. We give facts about the Universe and cosmology. We think that we know what the sun is composed of physically, despite never being able to reach it personally. How did we come to rely on this specific perception of reality versus the primeval belief of the sun as an object of worship? It never ceases to astonish me that people can be deeply religious and believe in God and creation as laid out in Genesis, yet think that ancient societies’ belief in deities like the sun is just that – ancient.

So what can account for the emotions invoked by observing the sun? Why have artists and novelists been fascinated by its aesthetics and beauty? What inspires those reflective thoughts when watching a sunset? I find it personally fascinating that something we have so much scientific opinion about can also be quite astoundingly romantic.

Our conclusions about the world around us have deep humanitarian roots, but they are also characterized by a methodical and realistic evaluation of our surroundings. Can we ever observe the world independent from either perception? People say they identify with one or the other; they are a scientist or a humanitarian. I say that neither can exist without the other.

The Birth of Feeling

Just as there was a first instant when someone rubbed two sticks together to make a spark, there was a first time joy was felt, and a first time for sadness. For a while, new feelings were being invented all the time. Desire was born early, as was regret. When stubbornness was felt for the first time, it started a chain reaction, creating the feeling of resentment on the one hand, and alienation and loneliness on the other. It might have been a certain counterclockwise movement of the hips that marked the birth of ecstasy, a bolt of lightning that caused the first feeling of awe. Contrary to logic, the feeling of surprise wasn't born immediately. It only came after people had enough time to get used to things as they were. And when enough time had passed, and someone felt the first feeling of surprise, someone, somewhere else, felt the first pang of nostalgia.

It's also true that sometimes people felt things and, because there was no word for them, they went unmentioned. The oldest emotion in the world may be that of being moved; but to describe it -- just to name it -- must have been like trying to catch something invisible.

(Then again, the oldest feeling in the world might simply have been confusion.)

Having begun to feel, people's desire to feel grew. They wanted to feel more, feel deeper, despite how much it sometimes hurt. People became addicted to feeling. They struggled to uncover new emotions. It's possible that this is how art was born. New kinds of joy were forged, along with new kinds of sadness. The eternal disappointment of life as it is; the relief of unexpected reprieve; the fear of dying.

Even now, all possible feelings do not yet exist. There are still those that lie beyond our capacity and our imagination. Form time to time, when a piece of music no one has ever written, or a painting no one has ever painted, or something else impossible to predict, fathom, or yet describe takes place, a new feeling enters the world. And then, for the millionth time in the history of feeling, the heart surges, and absorbs the impact.


-excerpt from "The History of Love" by Nicole Krauss

Methuselan Memories

So as we slowly descend into summertime, I've noticed that people aren't as partial to good old fashioned fun as they used to be. In a society where we're all connected to our iPods on the bus, where we sit with our roommates in the living room, watching the tele, our PowerBooks on our laps (btw, that comes from personal experience), it's easy to get lost in the throes of techno-fun.

What ever happened to the type of fun that we used to have when we were little kids? I remember being completely satisfied with spending an entire day on the playground, immersed in the world I created for myself. I could easily sit in my room, totally happy with building a fort and pretending to be a lookout for some secret society.

I really believe that while our current society has many advantages over the world that existed in the 1980s and early 1990s, kids these days don't have the capacity to build their own imagination, because everything comes ready-made and processed for them already. That video game my brother played every day after school? All of the characters and premise come pre-programmed, all you have to do is push the right keys in the right order to win. Instead of having free time to envision a world of their own, children's time is structured around events and plans that their parents decide for them.

I remember daydreaming about my future careers, always having so many options to choose from. I aspired to be a surgeon, engineer, laywer, President of the United States. At a young age, I would answer questions about my future with confidence and ease, always believing that my dreams would be accomplished. Have we abandoned the curiosity of our childhood? Are we really growing as we grow older?

I'm left with a lot of questions that don't really have tangible answers. While it's perfectly easy for me to reminisce about my youth, it's certainly more difficult to address the unknown that looms in the distance.

With all these thoughts regarding growth and age, it struck me that I didn't really know that much about aging, other than the obvious. While modern humanity seems to have mastered the art of hiding any signs of age with botox, plastic surgery, and makeup, Mother Nature has been doing it on her own for quite some time.

Someone asked me the other day if I'd ever heard of the Methuselah tree. In 1957, a bristlecone pine tree was discovered by Edmund Schulman at 11,000 feet above sea level in the White Mountains of California. Scientists dated the tree to 4,789 years old when they found it; the estimated germination is in 2832 BC. That means this tree has been around longer than Jesus Christ himself. Currently, it's known as the oldest living organism on the planet, and no one knows its exact coordinates to protect it from vandalism. The tree was named Methuselah, after the man with the oldest recorded age in the Bible (at 969 yrs old).

It amazes me that the tree has survived for so long, in a nearly solitary state, against all odds. Just knowing about its existence is enough to convince me that no matter how much we think we know about the world, there's always something out there to trigger the curiosity of those who are not afraid to admit they still have a lot to learn.

"To die would be an awfully big adventure..."

I think it’s about time to write about the current object of my affection.

Of course, I’m talking about the book I’ve been reading the past week, The Serpent and the Rainbow: A Harvard Scientist’s Astonishing Journey into the Secret Societies of Haitian Voodoo, Zombies, and Magic by an extraordinary anthropologist/ethnobotonist Wade Davis.

I first came across the topic of Haiti and voodoo society in my cultural anthropology class at OCC (I guess my interlude at community college before transferring to Berkeley paid off). I think our culture’s fascination with macabre topics like zombies and voodoo takes root in our inability to define death.

Sure, we know on a very literal level what death is. But it’s extremely hard to specifically define death; one can say that it is the cessation of the heartbeat or complete brain inactivity, but modern technology makes it hard to actually pin down the moment of death. Refer to wikipedia’s debate over death: Definition of Death

The very concept of death piques our interest because it’s a force that we cannot control. I truly believe that anything outside our human realm of control or understanding increases our culture’s obsession with it, death being one of the more controversial topics because of what follows: the afterlife, or lack thereof.

In Haiti, the vodoun religion can be placed in historical context. In 1791, Haiti was mostly populated by African-born imported slaves. In this year, the black population launched one of the few successful slave revolts in history, lead by Toussaint Louverture, in which the nation overcame the French government and established the only independent black republic in the world. (Louverture is actually a SUPER interesting character, read more about his life here: Toussaint Louverture

Haiti’s African roots were not forgotten. The Haitian peasants organized into secret societies led by vodoun priests, practicing “voodoo” rituals where individuals were able to communicate directly with the many spirits who populate the everyday world. More importantly, Haitians believe that one’s spirit and soul can be captured by a master, a bokor.

This belief is central to the creation or phenomena of zombies. Through his study of Haitian society and interactions with bokors, Wade Davis made the important distinction of how victims of zombification are chosen. In a classic example, a man named Clairvius Narcisse contacted his family 12 years after his supposed death. He had gotten into a land dispute with his brother, who clearly wanted to get him out of the way. Instead of killing him, Narcisse’s brother did something much worse: he paid a bokor to make him into a zombie.

Once someone is poisoned by a bokor, their metabolic heart rate declines rapidly due to an important ingredient in the poison: tetrodotoxin, secreted in the glands of the pufferfish. Actually, in Japanese culture eating small preparations of pufferfish with tetrodotoxin has become a delicacy and a form of art. Culinary chefs have to prepare the fish with just enough of the poison to leave a tingling sensation on the tongue of the consumer, but not enough to cause any actual damage. Read more about tetrodotoxin here: Tetrodotoxin

OKAY, so the person is reduced to a near-death state, pronounced dead undoubtedly, and is buried. BUT THEY AREN’T DEAD. The bokor is able to go to their grave at night, administer a special treatment (still very ambiguous of the ingredients) to revive the person, and take them as slaves. The newly created zombie will have clearly suffered psychological brain damage due to the poisoning, and because of frequent doses of the poison administered every so often, are reduced to a trance-like state in which they cannot control their own actions and are at the whim of their master.

You see, for Haitians, slavery is much worse than death. Think about the African slave trade and the history of all the ancestors who came to Haiti seeking freedom from enslavement. In creating a zombie, the bokor is essentially able to steal the person’s free will, one of humanity’s greatest treasures.

So those like Narcisse who are ousted by their family or local criminals often suffer the fate of angry families or communities. The priests are acting in the collective interest of the village; zombies are therefore created within the social matrix of Haiti’s complex religious society. It’s fascinating to me that politicians have very little control over the citizens of their country in Haiti. Because of their fervent vodoun beliefs, people put more trust in priests and bokors than their government; and many of those with political power are also extremely reliant on the advice of religious leaders.

It’s only been recently that the creation of zombies has been acknowledged by the government of Haiti and by anthropologists around the world, perhaps in the past 20 years or so. Here’s an excerpt from Haitian Penal Code:

Article 249. It shall also be qualified as attempted murder the employment which may be made against any person of substances which, without causing actual death, produce a lethargic coma more or less prolonged. If, after the person had been buried, the act shall be considered murder no matter what result follows.

To avoid the creation of zombies, many people will pierce the heart of family members who have recently died in order to ensure that they are actually dead and cannot be brought back to life.

I guess the fear of being buried alive was a worldwide phenomenon back in the day. Wade Davis talks about Count Karnice-Karnicki, who apparently invented a device to prevent premature burials. He attended the funeral of a young girl, and just as the first pails of dirt landed on the coffin, “a pitiful scream rose from the earth.” I guess from that moment on, premature burials terrified Karnicki, and he invented a contraption made of a box and a long tube fixed into the coffin. On the chest of the dead person a glass ball was attached to a spring in the box, and if the glass ball moved (like if the person started breathing), the spring was released, initiating a chain reaction where a flag sprang above the box and a bell rang for 30 minutes. The long tube allowed oxygen into the coffin while the person inside was being saved from his or her burial.

I had NEVER heard of this device before reading the book. Obviously, you wouldn’t see one adorning many graves today, but back in the late 1800s thousands of Frenchmen left specific instructions in their wills to ensure it would be placed in their tombs, and it was so popular in the US that societies formed to promote subsidized use.

I guess premature burial is probably a fear that not many of us have today, but our fascination with the chilling reality of death still holds.

So apparently, The Serpent and the Rainbow was made into a cheesy 1988 horror film. I would advise against seeing that, and instead urge you to read the book instead: The Serpent and the Rainbow

I promise you it’s worth it.

P.S. Kudos to those who can name the source of the quote in the title of this post. :)

Virgin Birth for Sharks?

After quite a long weekend of complete mayhem, I'm back.

Unfortunately, with not-so-great news for surfers and other people who like to dwell in the ocean.

It has now been confirmed that sharks can reproduce asexually.

I kid you not. Evidence: Captive Shark had "Virgin Birth"

After reading this article, I learned something I never knew before. Having sex actually increases the chances for genetic mutations to occur, meaning that species can adapt to their environment or develop new traits. But if animals are reproducing asexually, the chances of this happening are really rare. So while female sharks may be able to reproduce without finding a mate, it doesn't necessarily mean that our oceans will suddenly become as shark-infested as I might have first thought.

After looking into parthenogenesis (literally translates to "virgin birth" in Greek) I discovered that Japanese scientists were trying to use their experiment on parthenogenesis in mice to apply to humans.... see The End of Males?

Just thinking about the possibility of asexual reproduction among humans kind of fascinates me. I mean, sure, women can receive artificial insemination and become pregnant, but that sperm had to come from a guy. What happens when sperm becomes genetically reproduced??

Something in the meat?

So, I noticed that something was amiss in the Oddly Enough section on Reuters. All around the mid-west, calves have been popping out of their mothers with deformities. In two recent cases, it involved one calf with six legs and another with two noses.

Case #1: Calf Born With 6 Legs
Case #2: New Calf Has 2 Noses

Can someone please explain why this is happening? It's extremely disturbing.

Ode to my Eyesight

Earlier today, I took out my contacts and then sat at my desk to immerse myself in my studies. Some time passed, and I looked up at the clock to see what time it was. The clock is on the opposite wall of my room, roughly 12 feet away. I could not read the time.

Um, apparently I am practically blind. My eyesight has deteriorated SIGNIFICANTLY, and I haven't noticed because I wear contacts everyday. This brief panic attack made me think about my vision and the way I see the world, quite literally.

I distinctly remember when the optometrist first explained that the world around me was not supposed to be blurry. It was a problem with my vision, he explained, with the way my eyes saw the world. The remedy, of course, was glasses: small enough to fit the face of a fifth-grader. They were only meant to be worn when distance prevented me from seeing clearly; I wore them in school, at the movies, watching television. As the years passed, I grew to associate distance with chaos; the further away I was from an object, the more obscure it seemed. From 20 feet away, the face of my best friend was impossible to differentiate between the face of a stranger. If I couldn’t read the sign, it was impossible for me to follow the rules.

I remember the initial shock of realizing that not everyone saw the world this way. I don't know if my dependency on glasses made my eyesight worse, or what. But when I first started driving at the age of fifteen, I panicked. I couldn't read street signs, and the freeway was a complete jungle.

How could my eyes betray me? How could the way I saw the world naturally not be an accurate representation of reality? I thought that it was subconscious; I could physically train myself to return to the near-perfect vision of my childhood. I regretted all those nights spent straining to read books in the dark, afraid my parents would scold me for staying up past bedtime.

I made the switch to contacts because, well, it was the law. I had to see clearly to drive. I realized instantly that wearing contacts was a way to hide my imperfection. It was kind of a secret now, no one had to know that the way I saw things was any different from the way others did.

But sometimes I rather enjoyed the weakness of my vision. It’s almost comforting to know that my surroundings can become a little softer, a little less perfect and sharp.

Small Pleasures

"That man is richest whose pleasures are cheapest."
-- Henry David Thoreau

I decided to take some time out of studying to make a stream-of-consciousness list of small things that make me happy...I think it's important to dwell on the little aspects of daily life that can make or break your mood.

Here I go.

- Solid water pressure in the shower. Honestly, I think this is one of the most under appreciated things in life. Weak showers are just unacceptable.

- The satisfaction you feel after doing laundry. Don't know if it's because I'm proud of the fact I haven't fucked it up, or it amuses me that everyone tells me I have to separate my whites and darks and I don't and I truly enjoy small rebellions like that. (Nothing traumatizing has ever happened to my clothes -- they are either very durable or I've just been lucky)

- When you make eye contact with a complete stranger and can smile and acknowledge each other's existence. This happened to me today walking across the street, some random person and I recognized the presence of another human being and smiled at each other. It makes me super sad when I think that people just walk around absorbed in their own worlds, with either their iPod or cell phone permanently attached to their heads. There's this quote from the movie "Waking Life" that I like:

I know we haven't met, but I don't want to be an ant. You know? I mean, it's like we go through life with our antennas bouncing off one another, continuously on ant autopilot, with nothing really human required of us. Stop. Go. Walk here. Drive there. All action basically for survival. All communication simply to keep this ant colony buzzing along in an efficient, polite manner. "Here's your change." "Paper or plastic?' "Credit or debit?" "You want ketchup with that?" I don't want a straw. I want real human moments. I want to see you. I want you to see me. I don't want to give that up. I don't want to be ant, you know?

- The way steam curls up from a hot cup of tea. I know it sounds bizarre, but I really like watching it, it relaxes me.

- Writing with Sharpie markers. It's really satisfying.

- Appreciating the time of day right after the sun sets, but before it becomes night (best time ever)

- Waking up before your alarm goes off so you can just chill in bed without worrying about oversleeping

- Having someone tell me they've already read a book that I recommend to them...it makes me feel like I know the person well enough to judge what they'd like!

- When unexpected friends call you and say that they were just thinking about you and want to know what you're doing...because normally when people call out-of-the-blue there is a specific reason or request behind the call.

- Getting a letter from my pen pal(s)

- Making to-do lists, and then crossing out everything on it before throwing it away

- Not losing my keys in the morning (this is a very, very rare occurrence, and thus it makes me happy when I can actually find them the first time around)

- When I know more about what's happened in the world than my mom and can fill her in on the news (another rare occurrence to be savored)

- Aesthetically pleasing things in general

- Hearing other people use words that I enjoy tremendously, such as "glisten," "nefarious," "tomfoolery," "nonsense," "deliberate," "mischievous," "retrospectively," "shenanigan," "exceptional," and "certainly." Just say those words out loud, they are incredibly enjoyable.


I think I made my point. Studytime awaits!

Not Your Average Breakfast

Something has gone awry at the local grocery store in Suffolk, UK. It appears that a chick can be hatched from eggs bought at the supermarket. Hmm. I'm pretty sure you're supposed to eat those eggs, not use them to hatch chickens.

Read on:Chick Hatches from Shop Egg

This brings up a lot of questions for me. As an occasional egg-eater and carnivore myself, it makes me VERY wary of the eggs I'm going to purchase in the future. I mean, if potential chicks could be hatched from them, I'm not too sure how I feel about scrambling them with bacon.

Then again, I guess all the eggs you buy could have been potential chickens no matter what. Any animal product you buy and eat, in that sense. I think this egg-hatching has just thrown everything off for me. Cute furry baby chicks....or delicious fried eggs?

I CAN'T DECIDE.

Transvestite Killers Run Free...

...in Chile. It just came to my attention that the justice system in Chile is practically moot. Take, for example, the case of Andrea Sanchez.

Sanchez, a transvestite, was found brutally murdered in her (his? I don't know what is politically correct anymore) apartment November 2004. The man who killed her was arrested at the scene of the crime -- a pretty easy case to bring to court. Victor Vicencio Marin (the murderer) spent 3 nights in jail before paying $1,000 and being released.

The case has been going on for two and a half years, even though Vicencio admitted guilt. Sanchez's mother has been struggling to pay for lawyers to keep Vicencio in jail, but to no avail. Last month, court reached the following decision: Vicencio has a 4-year suspended sentence unless he commits another crime.

HE DOESN'T EVEN GO TO JAIL. Does anyone else see something wrong with this? You have a confessed killer, all the evidence, and yet... no jailtime.

Apparently, this is not just a one-time case in Chile. Transvestites aren't very tolerated and have become a prime target for excessive and unnecessary violence. Eleven crimes similar to Sanchez's murder have taken place since 2002, and not one of the murderers has gone to jail.

Click here for the full story: Confessed Transvestite Killer Avoids Jail

Open Forum & Closed Cages

I have recently mended my erroneous ways and opened up posting for non-registered users, which means anyone is free to contradict or agree with me!

Meanwhile, in other parts of the world, certain people decided it would be fun to enclose themselves in a cage surrounded by angry felines.

Observe.


This was only one "stop" for German performance artist Arnd Drossel, who was on a 220-mile roll through the German state of North-Rhine Westphalia to raise money for psychiatric patients. To quote:

He accepts that some observers will judge him 'a stripe short of a tiger' for including this particular area of the Stukenbrock Safari Park on his route.

But he insists his protective capsule - 250 high-grade steel strands welded into something resembling a massive ball of wool - is strong enough to keep him safe. Drossel, 38, who designs furniture for a living when not suffering for his art, will eat, sleep and move in the ball.

He propels it by simply shifting his weight in a walking motion, and aims to cover 13 miles a day.

'I got the idea for this because, about a year ago, I hit a low and
realised how little help there was out there,' he said.

'I set about thinking of a way to publicize those who need psychiatric help and came up with this.

'Basically, the whole concept is about finding the courage to do something and inspire courage in those who have lost their confidence along with much else.'

[Thank you thisislondon.co.uk]

Public Transportation & the Collective

I often witness public transportation -- buses, planes overhead, BART, trains -- and think about how underanalyzed it is. Public places are a favorite source of entertainment for the people-watcher at heart, and I have found that public transport sets the stage for an interesting assortment of situations and combinations, leaving much to the imagination.

It's very rare that you find yourself on a bus or plane where everyone is silent. More often than not, you overhear things you wish you hadn't, or maybe wish you heard more of. How many cell phone arguments, sketchy conversations, or outright ridiculous scenarios have you come across while on the bus? For me personally, the answer is more than I can count.

Growing up, I never took public transport save airplanes. Buses in Irvine were out of the question -- a social suicide of sorts -- limiting my experience to airplanes. I became fascinated with the microcosm of society that existed, all the life stories that unfolded from take-off to landing.

I couldn't edge away from that tugging feeling that while on-board, we were all apart of a mysterious trick-of-the-eye; that perhaps the passengers were somehow apart of a collective. After all, when seen from below, everyone is apart of the machine -- every passenger sits in its belly, their identity hidden by great hulks of metal. We are all arriving at the same destination, anticipating what lay before us as the wheels slide across the runway. Our individuality, is, of course, retained by who we are and what will become of us once we step off the plane.

Comparatively, a bus is composed of an ebb and flow in passengers. People get on at a different stop, get off at another, and the sense of unity felt in an airplane is almost absent. One of the similarities, of course, is that we give up a little of our freedom when stepping onto a vehicle of public transport. Our paths are at the mercy of others: bus drivers, captains, train conductors. A mutual, unspoken trust is formed whenever the ride begins -- the passengers abide by certain rules and the drivers will fulfill our need to arrive safely.

Whenever I take the bus (or fly on a plane for that matter) I always like to wonder about the people around me -- where they are coming from, where they are going. It's nice to know that for a brief period of time, whether it be suspended in midair or on a city street -- you can share something tangible with strangers.

A Hybrid Humanity

In a recent bout of procrastination, I turned to a trusted source for distraction: The Secret Language of Symbols (a book I purchased recently for the whopping sum of $2.50 at Pegasus Bookstore). Turning to a chapter I had not yet read, I began to immerse myself in the world of hybrid creatures. To quote:

Hybrid creatures have two main functions: they bring together the symbolic strengths of different animal, and they represent the fundamental unity of existence. They carry a positive symbolic meaning; they inhabit a dimension that spanned this, and other worlds, and thus could serve not only to help mankind in the struggle against dark forces but also to act as messengers from the gods and as sources of wisdom in themselves. To the minds that invented them, hybrids presented no inherent contradictions, because if all creation was interconnected, there was no reason why certain ingredients should not be permutated in new and different ways. There is much evidence that the ancients did not separate imagination and reality in the way that is habitual to us. If something could be imagined, there was a sense in which it must really exist.

I’m wondering if humans have become hybrid creatures. Taking the thread of my last entry, and also Sean’s comment to that post, I was struck with the thought that perhaps technology has become an extension of human existence. We define ourselves through the technology we use, express ourselves creatively (hello, blogs), solidify friendships, make plans, educate ourselves (and yes, I include wikipedia among that category)… it seems like every aspect of human behavior, even down to sex (cyber, anyone?), can be technologized.

In a book I re-read recently – Anthem by Ayn Rand – the world has somersaulted into the future losing technology and the concept of individuality. Humans work physically and mentally to survive, absent electricity/machines/etc. One man treads debaucherous territory when he discovers, randomly, the power of electricity flowing through two connected wires. Through his discovery, he redefines himself and consequently establishes the idea of the “ego”.

I found it both interesting and poignant that Rand illustrates the power of humans to assert individuality through the discovery of technology – but it makes complete sense when you think our current situation. Written in 1937, the world had not yet spiraled into what it is today, but her allusion to a future where we define ourselves through the technology we use still holds strong.

Take, for example, the “Get Chipped!” campaign run by Applied Digital Solutions – the implant of computer identification chips in our bodies (a non-reversible process). Not only are people getting their dogs chipped, but they have now introduced the possibility to implant a computer chip in your newborn baby.

The chip is pictured below:


Their website Get Chipped! explains that it would prevent baby-switching in hospitals, provide patient identification in emergency situations, and apparently to prevent residents in old-age homes from “wandering off”… hmm. A device that could track where you are, who you are, in any location globally? Sounds like we’re entering into a Brave New World indeed.

I’m a little scared, to tell you the truth.

For all the Pen-Pals

The forces of capitalism are at work! As of May 14, 2007, the new first-class postage stamp will cost all letter-writers and bill-payers 41¢. [Postal Rates Set to Rise]

FORTY-ONE CENTS. If you write fifty letters, that adds up to $20.05. Forget about huge wedding invitations. No wonder so many people are using the Internet and Evite to inform people of their matrimonial ceremonies, baby showers, bar and bat mitzvahs! Recently, I was informed that my sister's friend from high school had a webpage for her impending marriage. So much for calligraphers, they can pretty much kiss their jobs goodbye.

Anyway, I'm a big letter writer. People scoff, shake their heads in disbelief, mock me -- what have you -- but I truly believe in the sanctity of the written word! WRITTEN word. As in, hand written. Doesn't anyone feel a sense of nostalgia when happening upon old letters from friends? APPARENTLY NOT ANYMORE, because no one WRITES letters!

I have two regular pen-pals myself. A local one, and an international friend (Paris, in case you were curious). It's been almost a year and a half since we started writing, and it's quite interesting to read the series of letters. A few of my Mormon friends went abroad (South Korea, Mexico, Peru) and I exchanged letters with them during that time.

There's something so satisfying in receiving a letter other than advertisements and bills in the mail. You can open up a letter and the words on paper remain unchanged even after months or years of being hidden away. The only thing different about the letter seems to be how you've changed in the time elapsed.

There's even something satisfying about the letter-writing process itself. Sealing an envelope happens to be one of the smaller things in life that can make me very content.

I chalk it all up to our so-called "modern" existence, the dependence on the Internet, cell phones -- technology -- for communication. I'm no hypocrite; I'm writing all of this on an ONLINE BLOG (oh, the irony!) but I think it's important to take a step back sometimes and realize how much things have changed. Our parents never relied on AIM or text messaging to make plans with friends, ask someone on a date, etc.

And also, I know this sounds cheesy and perhaps I'm a closet romantic, but think of the soldiers in WWI, WWII and Vietnam. Think of how letters from family member or lovers, or the act of writing a letter to them, may have helped the soldiers through all the trauma they were enduring.

Is the Internet a blessing or a crutch? I think a little of both. You don't have to agree with me. But I think you should acknowledge all the shortcomings of techno-communication, or stop to appreciate tangible communication (letters, face-to-face conversation -- you'd be surprised at how many people I encounter who lack conversational skills) once in a while. That's all I'm asking.

On Spiders & Sex

Those Brazilian scientists are always up to something. A new thread of beliefs argues that spider venom has been proven to cause erections.

Don't believe me? Click here: Spider Venom Could Boost Sex Life

Toxins in Phoneutria nigriventer -- the Brazilian Wandering Spider -- have been known to cause long and painful erections. Men bitten by this spider, however, do claim that their sex lives have improved significantly post-bite. A natural substitution to Viagra? Perhaps.

RIP Goldfish in a Bag

Remember the halcyon days of summer as a child, where you would go to the county fair and throw darts at balloons to get a stuffed animal? My fondest memory (besides the kettle corn... ice cream...cotton candy...deep fried chicken wings...OK I'M DONE) was always trying to win a goldfish. You know. You threw a little ping pong ball into a rotating arena of glass bowls, hoping for the one that the goldfish was swimming around in. You got extremely excited when you won, got a little annoyed after having to carry it around the rest of the day, but nevertheless whipped up some exotic name for it and brought it home. Then you proceeded to get bored with it after a few days, it eventually died and you were hysterical for about 5 minutes, before discovering that you hadn't played with your Barbies in a few hours and they needed attending to.

Well, at least, that's how my life went.

NO MORE OF THAT. The children of the future will never get the joy of taking home a little fishy in a plastic bag.

RIP Goldfish in a Bag

Apparently, it's been illegal for quite some time now. I HAD NO IDEA. I mean, I'm all about animal rights blah blah blah...but come on. Prize goldfish RULED.

A Plethora of Porn

There seems to be a trend in the SF Chronicle's "Bondage File" (that's the title they've given to their Weird News section, which makes complete sense given the theme of this post). Two articles about pornography -- both two separate events, but nonetheless. [There is also a trend of people dying in bathrooms on mass transportation, click Dead Man Travels Unnoticed on Train and Passenger Found on Jet Bathroom for those articles. Apparently some sort of system needs to be worked out where crew members check bathrooms to make sure people aren't DEAD.]

Anyway, back to porn. The first article deals with the unearthing of a time capsule sealed by the Class of 1957 at the University of Washington. Apparently, amidst class yearbooks and other such nostalgia, some punk from the 80s had slipped PORN into the mix. [Porn Slipped Into Wash. Time Capsule]

The second article also deals with unwanted porn. Except this time, the audience is children looking to watch a kid-friendly show on the Disney Channel. [Kids Tuned to 'Handy Manny' Get Porn]

Apparently, the show is "Handy Manny" -- where a man entertains children with his "talking tools". SO MANY SEXUAL INNUENDOS, and not enough time to list them all.

The Widower

Two things.

1. According to Sudanese law, if a man is caught sleeping with a girl, he is forced to marry her to "save her honor." I'm not even going to start in on that, but interestingly enough, "girl" can also translate into "animal." Specifically...goat.

Sudan's famous goat 'wife' dies

NO JOKE. Bestiality? Debauchery doesn't even BEGIN to describe bestiality. Try to wrap your mind around the concept of sleeping with, and then "marrying" a farm animal. Get back to me if you can list any positive consequences of this unholy union.


2. When I was trying to figure out what to name this post, I typed "The Goat Widow" but realized that didn't seem right. A widow is a female who loses her husband, and in this case it was the other way around. What was a male widow called? I wondered. Hmm. APPARENTLY, "widower". Makes no sense to me. Can someone explain how the extra two letters makes it a male noun? Wouldn't "widower" refer to the person who is dying, thus creating a widow??

I'm lost.

When the dog bites/when the bee stings/when I'm feeling sad/I simply remember my favorite things/and then I don't feel so bad!

Because I love all of you so much, I decided to grace you with my favorite websites, so that you may partake in my adoration and hopefully distract yourself from everyday, mundane, realities.

And because I'm feeling generous, I'm even going to add my own commentary. Happy browsing, fellow procrastinators!

• PostSecret
• ...and thus began the unraveling of my Internet obsessions. When I first discovered PostSecret, I was naive to the many joys that the Internet offered. Sure, I Googled everything, including the full names of my friends (we don't talk about that time in my life), but when my Canadian lover Melissa sent me a link to PostSecret, I fell in love. Every Sunday, this guy Frank posts new secrets that people send in on postcards. It's become an art project of sorts, with severe privacy-intrusion-esque qualities. I feel like I'm reading someone's diary, and that's always a devious feeling. A+, Frank Warren.
  

• Astronomy Picture of the Day
• NASA + "Discover the cosmos!" + amazing pictures = daily dose of Extraterrestrial Excitement.

• Found Magazine
• Collections of notes, photos, random scribblings, etc. "found" by people all across America. (Perhaps there is a European edition in the making, which would be very entertaining indeed) I don't know WHY reading a 5-year old's scribbles on a post-it fascinates me, BUT IT DOES. The best found articles happen to be notes written angrily back-and-forth by 7th grade girls. One of my favorites appears to be an anti-Valentine's day poem: Roses Are Dead
  

• Go Fug Yourself
• I'm a girl. I like to see witty, sharp girls commenting on the ugly clothes worn by the rich and famous. End of story.

• Hot Filthy Library Smut
• I'm a bibliophile. Accordingly, pictures of books and fancy libraries excite me. Stare wide-eyed and enjoy.

I have so many other websites that I visit continually, including Craigslist.org, (the "Missed Connections" and "Men Seeking Women" are personal favorites of mine) but if I listed all of them it would take all of my blogging capabilities and to be honest, my brain is on overload from the list I just compiled.

Legality vs. Morality

To quote the San Francisco Chronicle,

"A man died of thirst during a wilderness-survival exercise designed to test his physical and mental toughness, even though guides had water. They didn't offer him any because they did not want to spoil the character-building
experience."

When I saw article, which you can read in full at the following link: Man Dies of Thirst During Survival Test, I was struck by a feeling of disbelief. My initial reaction was incredulity at the thought that Dave Buschow's trail guides had water and didn't give it to him, instead letting him suffer through delirium before finally collapsing from dehydration and exhaustion.

To my horror, after reading the entire article, I realized that the company that commissions these adventure treks--Boulder Outdoor Survival School--could not be held liable for their actions, because Buschow had signed a waiver agreeing that he was risking his life by signing up to take the $3,175 course.

Despite the fact that he basically signed a death wish, exercising his own free will to challenge his body during the 28-day course, I still felt that the trail guides had some moral obligation to help him. I mean, emergency situations call for emergency actions. It brings the question of responsibility into play: are we ultimately responsible for our own actions, owning nothing to those around us?

I should hope not. A world where legal contracts take precedent over good decisions and moral actions seems like a very bleak world indeed. And yet... isn't that the world we live in?

Embarking on a journalistic endeavor

Before I even begin to delve into my decision to tread the ambiguous territory of Internet blogging, I think it’s important to establish something.

I am a fast walker.

[Yes, I understand that this statement appears to have little to do with the creation of my blog, but as it is MY blog, and you are choosing to read, humor me.]

So I’m a fast walker. This is complicated by the fact that unfortunately, my legs are short- not conducive to fast walking. And yet, without realizing it, I can easily pass a stream of people on the sidewalk. When we walk, we usually have a starting point and a destination in mind. And I want to get to that destination, as quickly as possible.

I’m not sure if my parents inserted lifelong-lasting batteries into my calves when I was a child, or if I subconsciously make an effort to walk fast, but either way, it’s the truth.

Is my pace a metaphor for my personality? I thought about this the other day. I enjoy lazy afternoons, I enjoy not using my legs at all, actually. I detest running. I don’t want to rush through life. I don’t want to stay on one path from start to finish.

Why the fast walking then? When I try to walk slowly, my brain wanders. I think too much, about too many things. I lose track of where I’m supposed to be going. Impatience takes over. I need a controlled, constructed pace. No idling.

And thus, to come full circle, I wish to clearly explain that the creation of this blog is (excitingly enough) a way for me to go in many different directions at once, with immediate speed. I must give my good Russian friend Yevgenia credit, because she suggested the idea initially. But as I began thinking about it more and more, I realized that it might be a fine fit for my personality.

I invite you to share, discuss, argue, elaborate. As my Mass Communications professors like to say, the internet is a public forum. And so, read on, comrade.