Sugar is Life

Having concern over my cafe bill, my dairy express bill, and my health, I decided at the beginning of the week that I would not purchase any sweets.

It had been getting pretty bad the week before, as I had gone to the DX at least three times for candy, not to mention the snack machines; and I had been purchasing the cafe dessert daily, if not multiple times per day. All of which resulted in me being over the cafe minimum pace, something I viewed as a serious problem.

So I made a commitment to not purchase any sweets for all of the next week.

It began simple enough. I caught myself purchasing a sheet cake at the cafe Monday morning, before I realized--as counter-intuitive as it may seem--that a cafeteria cake probably counted as a sweet: and thus, I promised not to purchase any more cafeteria sweets for the rest of the week.

I stayed up until 1am that night, due to a combination of practicing and homework. The next day, I had classes and work from 8am to 6:15pm, without break. It wore on me considerably, especially as I had to be late to two classes: once, so that I could get food; second, so that I could walk to Kretschmar and turn in my Calculus assignment an hour before it was due.

I then went to the Symphony to enjoy a concert, which took me to 10pm, at the conclusion of which I was considerably hungry. By that point the SAC was closed, as was the DX grill, leaving me with the options of whatever junk food I could rummage at the gas station. Chips were out of the question, because I had an oboe lesson the next day (and high-salt foods absolutely kill an oboist's endurance). Sweets were out of the question, because of my commitment. And that left...

"Well, you went all-out, didn't you?" my roommate remarked as I brought back a can of Pringles, a bag of popcorn (which is even worse than chips), and a chocolate bar, which I then proceeded to consume. After all, I had a test to study for. I eventually turned in a little past 1, after passing the point of diminished returns.

The next day, it's four o'clock, and I'm staring at my Calculus assignment which is due in an hour, and promptly decide "I'm not doing it." So I didn't. After the deadline had passed with me having spent the hour reading web columns and playing online poker, I came to the following conclusion: Sugar is an important part of my diet. What cure do I have for motivational distress syndrome without it?

Thus, in the interests of my mental and educational health, I have since proceeded to purchase a pint of Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey ice cream, and consume it plus a dinner of a serving of pasta, a serving of corn, and a slice of pizza in one sitting. I'd never had Chunky Monkey before. It was... interesting. They could have done without the walnuts. Definitely no walnuts.


"Sugar is LIFE!!!" (Mr. Bayer, my high school biology/chemistry teacher)

Ignoring the Cookie Cutter

My mind just won't shut up. It pipes in at the most inopportune times with messages intended to annoy me. It constantly wishes to be served with brain candy, refusing to take in the wholesome homework and long-term desires I ask of it. It reflects on life, and reflects it poorly at that.

And, having had enough, I've decided to shut it up. I'm staying awake as long as is necessary to drug my own mind into subconsciousness tomorrow. Then, maybe my brain capacity will be lowered enough that I don't have to worry about ADHD or whatever it happens to be called now.

Sadly, sleep-depriving the brain into sanity is only a temporary stopgap. Sooner or later, the chants will rise like a ghost from the grave, back to haunt me one more time, forcing my consciousness to deal with my worst fear: the possibility that I'm merely normal.

Not overly smart. Not overly talented. Not funnier than the next person. Not even crazy. Just average. And by average, I mean just like the next person, and therefore easily replaceable.

Isn't that everyone's worst fear? That your boss will find someone else to do your job? That your spouse will find someone else to confide and trust in? That your friends will move on after college, and maybe if you're lucky, they'll remember you at Christmas?

Society today praises the savant--everyone wants to be an expert at their own special little chore in life, be it making the best blueberry pancakes on this side of the Mississippi, or being the best among your friends at chugging beer. We need that sense of being unique, being special.

There's no room for balanced people. To be balanced is to be an expert at nothing. And to have no specialties is to be bland, average--replaceable.

To be average is to go unnoticed in life. A life unnoticed is a life without significance, and therefore without meaning. A life without meaning is a life that is not worth living. "A man who has not found something to die for is not fit to live." (Martin Luther King Jr.)

What if I'm just another cookie out of the mold? Normal? Heavens, no! Someone, please, kill me now! Anything to avoid a life without distinction...

I would rather be crazy.

Why the Earth needs to be saved

So this is apparently "Blog Action Day" and we're supposed to write about the environment.

Want me to write about the environment? Fine.

The reason the Earth needs saving and why people can't change is because it's just too hard.

You see, people aren't too concerned about the difference between driving a car to work and taking public transit. It's all the same to them, even if the reason public transit takes longer is because no one takes it, therefore the funding for it doesn't exist. But it's habitual to drive a car. And old habits die hard. The car is just right there in the driveway--it's easier.

Same with every other environmental thing. Why wash bottles and carry them all the way to the recycling can when you could just toss it under the sink?

My family had no problem switching to a composter when the county provided a free, minature compost container for the kitchen, and a larger one that could be taken to the curb once a week for pickup. As long as environmentalism is easy, habitual, and inexpensive, all people are environmentalists.

But that first moment it becomes difficult, and BAM--everyone stops. The green people should take notice. They need better marketers. And philosophers, for that matter.


"Hope springs eternal... as does laziness."

An Examination of Republican and Democratic treatments of unwanted wars

The War of 1812:

Ancestors of the Republicans: [declares war]

New England: This war is stupid. We're losing tons of money because of it. If you don't stop, we'll declare independence.

Ancestors of the Republicans: Sure you will. Do whatever you want. We are fighting a war.

New England: Fine, we'll stay. But we still hate your guts.


The American Civil War:

New England (and the rest of the north): You need to give up your property for the benefit of mankind.

The South: You even try to do that and we'll declare independence.

New England: Sure you will.

The South: [declares independence]

New England: In the name of all that is just, good, and holy, we must fight.

[Millions of people die.]

The South: Fine, we'll give up our property. But we hate your guts.


The Second Iraq War:

Republicans: [declares war]

New England (and the rest of democratic America): This war is stupid. We're losing tons of money. If you don't stop, we're moving to Canada.

Republicans: Sure you will. Do whatever you want. We are fighting a war. Besides, you aren't going to Canada--it's too cold.

Democrats: I hate you.

A Gentle Reminder

I was walking through the music building a few minutes ago, when I ran into the janitor. Usually, passing whoever happens to be the janitor that night (it frequently changes) is a wordless encounter, but as I passed, I thought it would be Christian of me to wish a "good evening" to someone who is used to being treated as one social class lower than the students.

Before I could speak, he initiated the conversation with a "Where are you from?"

I replied, "Canada."

In semi-decent english--I'd say the last step before fluent, but definitely not mistaken for fluent--he replied "I'm from Lao." [I'm not even going to try to replicate his accent/grammar mistakes, so all his quotes have been corrected to perfect english. My memory isn't that good.]

My mind got thinking. Lao? Where's that? Does he mean "Laos?" Hmmm... so you don't pronounce the 's'. Good to know. "Lao? Is that between Thailand and Vietnam?"

He seems a little surprised that I know where it is, but only a little. You know where it is because you're from Canada. An American wouldn't have known where it was. [Probably true. Then again, most Canadians wouldn't have known where it was either.]

There's a lot of Lao in... what is it called? Ontario? [Side note: hearing someone who's never been to southern ontario pronounce oh-ZHA-wah always cracks me up. But the height of comedy is hearing someone who lives in Toronto say it that way. oh-ZHA-kah is a major city in Japan. OSH-uh-wah is a city near Toronto.]

Yes, that is the province I'm from. I'm from Toronto, actually. Are you from the capital city, or the countryside?

He tells me he's from a small village in the centre of the country. Then he tells his story.

He used to serve in the Lao army. Then, the communists took over the country. (Having China and Vietnam as your country's two biggest neighbours tends to do that.) He didn't like the communists, so he built a raft out of three banana trees, and put himself and his wife on it. Then, at night, he sailed across the Mekong river into Thailand, where he hoped to get refugee status.

The Lao communists were shooting anyone trying to leave the country for obvious reasons. (In case the reasons aren't so obvious, communism is about power to the proletariat. If the proletariat leaves, the country has no power. Hence, each "prole" is a valuable state asset.) The Thai were shooting many people trying to get across the river, because the communists were trying to infiltrate their country with the refugees. The river was six to seven miles wide. That was why they crossed it at night.

While they crossed, they saw many other people beside them fail to make it. A mother carrying an infant. Children. Bodies just floating in the river, some with holes in them. They made it to a refugee camp after being questioned by a Thai border patrol. There they had their first child. A second child was born in a Filipino refugee camp where they spent six months, before finally getting permission to enter the US, where they moved to Walla Walla, and had two more children.

His son is now a welder in Seattle making $27 an hour. His wife cannot work, because she was hit by some agent orange that got blown downwind from Vietnam. He works in Walla Walla as a janitor.

His children don't listen to him, he says. In Lao, that would never have happened. But here, the culture is different.

Your children don't know what they are missing.

Yes, they don't. Back home they would be starving, poor, and have no future.

But at least they would listen to you. Either way, what are you supposed to do?

My grandparents escaped from China before the communists took over. They fled to the Philippines, where one of them still lives, and the other lies buried. My mother moved to Canada in 1972.

China? There are many Chinese in Lao. They aren't really Chinese any more because they left their country. They are Lao-Chinese. China and Lao are very friendly because they are both communist. Many things from China now in Lao. I bought a motorcycle for my brother from China for $500. If I had bought from Japan, same motorcycle would be $1500. But they say China is very cheap. Japan products last longer.

Even if my country now has TVs, microwaves... I still don't like the communists.

I remember there was a Canadian in Lao. There were Lao working for him.

I cringe, fearing my countrymen have stained their honour by supporting a regime responsible for the deaths of thousands of their own people. I am ashamed. But then, I remember the bigger picture.

I am blessed. Your children are blessed.

Yes, they are. Nice talk.

Good evening.

Attendance Sheet Dilemma

I was in class two days ago, and the attendance sheet reaches me. I sign it, and as I look it over, I notice that a certain student in the front row has been missed because of where he was sitting. Part of me feels responsible (guilty?) to get this person a chance to be “present,” so I debate for a moment about whether or not to send the sheet down its original path, or to risk a few stares and send the attendance sheet on a detour. I hand the paper to the girl in front of me, and whisper (I wouldn’t want to disturb class, would I?) to her to pass the paper to the person in front, and then return it so that it can continue its journey around the classroom. She takes the sheet, looks it over, then slides it under her binder and ignores it. I quickly assume that she failed to hear me, assumed the attendance sheet made it all the way around, and was holding it to the end of the period before returning it to you. Suddenly, I felt responsible for the missing initials of everyone beyond me. I wanted to repeat my whisper to her again, but thought that to be excessively confrontational, especially on the off-chance that she had heard me the first time. I began to feel the “frown” of the rows behind me, as I was responsible for causing their absence. It became an all-encompassing thought, so much so that I was unable to concentrate on the class, and could only think about that sheet, stopped where it was. I became filled with worry and fear.

Eventually, with five minutes left in class, she suddenly looks startled, takes the paper, and hands it back to me. I hand it back to her, and repeat what I had originally whispered the first time a bit louder. She replies that she cannot reach him. So, I send the paper down the row, and I don’t remember if it made it all the way through by the end of class.

Now, I’m not telling you this story to suggest there’s something wrong with the attendance system, or to cure my conscience in the event that someone was indeed missed yesterday (well, maybe some of the latter). Mainly, I’m wondering what this story says about the kind of person I am.

Am I a person controlled by their guilt? Am I a person who has an inferiority complex? Or do I have a proud, controlling complex, and whenever I fail to get my way, assume that the other party musn’t have known my intentions, because everyone loves to do what I want them to do? Do I assume/judge too much? Do I stress over nothing? What kind of person goes through a story like this?

Stream on Human Rights and Government

Are human rights good for humans?

When a government fails its citizens, the citizens are responsible to revolt and replace the government. That idea is straight out of Rousseau and Locke, who started the human rights era. But since then, we've seen the pendulum swing too far the opposite way.

When an election is held where the voters are uneducated, the election becomes an immature popularity contest, of elementary school form.

As someone once said, "you need money to make money." With governments that last a maximum of four years around these parts, campaigns have become all about short-term promises, with people voting for whoever will give them what they want right now. And politicians, realizing the nature of the game, borrow against the long-term in order to get into office. Because of how short-sighted modern day democracy is, we are crippling our future.

Furthermore, most politicians we elect are old. They can say, just as Louis XIV of France once did, "Just keep the economy going long enough for me to die." Why would you expect any politician to worry about an environmental problem that won't emerge until long after they are dead?

Countries were often managed better during the monarchial era, because kings often ruled for 50 or 60 years. They were concerned about the future. And if a particularly stupid king took the throne, the people would revolt and a better equipped person would take control. The long-term view mattered back then; especially when their children's throne was at stake.

Poorly managed countries lead to poor futures. And when we speak of modern democracies, poor politics today means poor education policies, and therefore less intelligent voters in the future.

People have become so bombarded with information and data from "experts" that they no longer know how to think for themselves, but simply cite the most agreeable expert. A society that cannot think for itself is a society that is going nowhere. A democracy that cannot think for itself is a nation that cannot elect a proper government, and is doomed to failure.

Is the very concept of a short-term democratic government a parasite of the present feeding off the future? Can democracy by its very nature come with an expiry date?