A Long Way From Anything

You know you're really a dork when you roll on the floor laughing after reading some of Thoughts Arguments and Rants. Or, if you prefer, here are a few of my favorites:

Break up lines of Philosophers:

• The Cartesian: I’m having doubts about us.
  
• The Logical Positivist: Any goodness of our relationship is unverifiable. It’s meaningless.
  
• The Kantian: I like you, but I just can’t see universalizing you.
  
• The Fregean: I love you under an old mode of presentation.
  
• The Zeno: I can’t get across to you.
  
• The Hobbesian: Go away, you’re nasty, brutish, and short.
  
• The Kripke: You and I are essentially different.
  
• The Zeno: This isn’t going anywhere
  
• The Zeno: No matter how close I try to get to you, you always seem so distant.
  
• The Socratic: What do you mean by "I"? What do you mean by "Love"? What do you mean by "You"?
  
• The Berkelyian: Our relationship existed only in your mind.
  
• The Moorean: There, there... this doesn’t mean that you are not desirable.
  
• The Platonic: Well, now that I’ve seen you in the sun
  
• The Lao Tzu-ian: It’s just not the way
  
• The Hsun Tzu-ian: I just dont like your evil side.
  
• The Russellian: It is always true that it is false that there is an x such that x is our Relationship.
  
• The Existentialist: I just feel so alone.
  
• The Ayn Randian: I just want to be alone.
  
• The Adam Smithian: I’d rather use my "invisible hand" than sleep with you.
  
• The Post-modernist: I don’t even know who you really are
  
• The Heisenbergian : Our relationship is moving so fast, I don’t know at what point it is any more.
  
• The Schrodingerian: When I realized what were exactly my feelings for you, they collapsed.
  
• The Carnapian: The claim that we would break has been confirmed.
  
• The Quinean: I’m sorry, but you don’t mean anything to me anymore.
  
• The Lockean: Compared to my last partner, I’m not getting nearly enough, nor as good.
  
• The Moorean: The value of our relationship is less than the sum of its parts.
  
• The Heideggerian: I’m just not comfortable with being-in-this-relationship.
  
• The Meinongian: I think we should break up, but we can still be together.
  

Time to drive home and pass out now...

Somedays I love being in college. I know I bitch about it a lot, but there are times when I love being in this environment. Today for example: Walking to one of my classes I ran across a girl and her boyfriend. I say her boyfriend because he had in his hand a leash leading to her dog-collared neck. I just had to smile at that. I mean, everyone loves kink at home, but who's willing to walk around in public wearing a leash?!? I laughed and chuckled to myself all the way to class...

Later, sitting in my "Senior Seminar" class, we had a really good discussion. As weird as it may sound, this is one of my favorite things in life. Well into the class time our little group argued about concrete particulars and a metaphysical concept of identity. I was especially proud because the on-the-spot theory I came up with amazed my Prof. It seems he had published a paper in the Southern Journal of Philosophy a little while ago using the same theory (and no, I've never read his paper). The look on his face when I was spouting it off...

Still later in my Abnormal Psychology class we were discussing Dissassociative Identity Disorder (also known as multiple personality disorder) when the prof. announced he had brought a special guest for us to meet. An older lady stood up and lectured for probably about thirty minutes about her struggle with DID. I can't tell you how interesting that was. She has re-integrated most of her personalities, but at one time she had over 80 of them. Fascinating stuff. The human mind has so much power it blows me away at times.

So now I'm slightly regretting that I'll be graduating next semester. I'm actually starting to want to stick around just so I can take more classes. More Poli Sci especially...I just haven't taken a lot of them. But life is calling...well, maybe it's only sending a postcard...hmm...it could just be my stomach growling though.

Wow. That's all I can say. This past week has been a myriad of confusing experiences. To begin my saga, it seems I finally found a job in the economic hellhole that is Carrollton. Despite the fact that the University here has 10,000 students, there is not a bookstore in town, nor was there a coffee shop (until last month). You can imagine how hard this makes a job-search. I was offered a web-design gig by the Sociology Department and accepted. It's not a lot of hours, but it should get me something other than Ramen noodles for dinner...

After accepting the job last Wednesday, I thought I was on a roll. I had finally found a job after nearly two months of searching. I could do no wrong. Then I went to go see my lady friend in Atlanta. Everything was going well until one of my "better" talents reared it's ugly head. We were drinking shiraz and discussing the horrible things people think about eachother. I was relating how generally after two weeks or so of dating someone I start noticing all their faults. She emphatically agreed with me...and then asked me what I thought about her. Maybe I was a little drunk, maybe I was a little ticked off about something pretty offensive she had said a few minutes earlier...whatever it was, I did something stupid. I told the truth. I should know this by now, but women rarely want the full and unabashed truth out of a man. Hell, make that people in general do not like full disclosure. We can see this in all aspects of life. The mandated social courtesies in the military make it possible for fighting men to live with and take orders from one another and not kill eachother. I violated this "social lubrication" that night and sincerely pissed her off. So, I am, needless to say, no long associated with her in that manner. It's a shame, she is a very nice person. As I told Crickie once though: "I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I had to remove it though to make room for my foot."

So, for a few days I was pretty down. Then today I walked into the newly opened UPS Store to buy some packing peanuts for some things I sold on eBay. Talking with the owner about boxing up a strange item, he tried to sell me their packing service. I politely refused and mentioned that I previously worked at a UPS Store for 2+ years. He then offered me a job. And well, if you know me, you know I can't resist a job. So I go in on Saturday to finalize things with him.

After this I was in pretty good spirits...mind you, I wasn't relishing working two jobs and taking 19 hours of classes, but I was happy that in a short while I wouldn't be subsisting so far below the poverty level. Then I got home, loaded up my calender and proceeded to punch in my appointment with the Owner. I then looked at my schedule. The class I skipped this morning (because I stayed up late last night finishing up a paper for another class) had something pretty important today: A test. I missed a frickin' test! I slapped my forehead and proceeded to ask myself how I could be so stupid...then I checked the syllabus. No make-ups...but...we have 5 tests and a final that counts as 3. So, my missing the test lowered my maximum possible test average to an 87.5. Not disastrous I know, but when I'm expecting a 4.0 this semester, that's kinda depressing. But, along with other assignments, I should be able to pull a low "A". No more mistakes though. No matter how stupid I am. If you can belive it, this is the first time something like this has ever happened to me...

Well sports fans, a little hiccup has come in the way of my path to blogdom. You see, due to a financial crunch this year I no longer have internet access at my house. So all future posting on this blog will have to be done from the lovely disinfectant-smelling confines of the Humanities Building's computer lab. Just wanted to let you all know in case you notice some changes. Take care.

A little hip-shot of my trail of thought:

Supposedly after my graduation this spring I'm going back to Europe for a little vacation. I can't wait to get back to Ireland (I miss decent beer, good weather, tasty scones, and beautiful Irish women). Because so many of my ramblings come from my travels, in a certain way I'm running out of stories to tell. All of my friends have heard my tales time and time again. This bothers me (the fact that all of them begin "So there I was, drunk in Ireland..." doesn't help at all). It reminds me of What Mr. Sartre said in his novel Nausea:

A man is always a teller of tales, he lives surrounded by his stories and the stories of others, he sees everything that happens to him through them; and he tries to live his own life as if he were telling a story. But you have to choose: live or tell. - p.56

In the context of this, so many things in my life could be attributed to this desire to tell a story. So many aspects of my personality could be reduced to psychoanalytic babble. For that reason alone I almost feel secure in rejecting Mr. Sartre's ideas. To follow his method would necessarily invalidate large chunks of my life. Using his theory though, my love of my heritage could be called into question. Compounding this is something Mr. Robert Heinlein once said: "people who boast of ancestry often have little else to sustain them." I would certainly hope not. In a way though this is possible. I have always sought out things to give my life meaning. But is this a bad thing? Should we not seek to be and do something great with our lives?

But then again, as John Wayne once said: "It is my heritage to stand erect, proud, and unafraid." So maybe ensconing oneself in heritage is not a bad thing.

I got a wonderful compliment yesterday. After arguing for what seemed like hours with someone that I find terribly annoying, I was quite surprised when they said they enjoyed our conversation. I was taken aback and frankly amazed. I always try to be polite and civil in my everyday life but this was something new. I doubt she knew how much she was irritating me. She then proceeded to tell me that she misses people who argue the way I do. Apparently even though we disagree on virtually everything, she felt that I still respected her and was impressed that I remained civil throughout the ordeal. I take this as a very high form of praise - especially considering my track record. Respecting people as persons is something that I've struggled with for a long time; especially in regard to the female gender. Hopefully this is a sign that I've made some sort of progress...

I have never really liked shaving. The process of dragging a sharpened piece of steel across the area of my body where several huge arteries and veins are is a somewhat uncomfortable process. In contrast to this, in the media I often see how much women supposedly like men who are smooth. In my head I have scenes ranging from James Bond to those idiots you see in MTVs Spring Break. The classic image of a man in a tuxedo holding a woman close as she suggestively caresses his cheek. The message is always the same: women like men who are smooth. While I have dated women that felt this way it seems that a recent trend (only within the past two years) have preferred me scruffy. Interestingly enough this has also been the period where I have been under the influence of the "Shave every %*$#@*^$ day" Marine Corps. I swear I can hear God laughing sometimes...

I went out for a run this morning, doing just 2 miles. I've been meaning to do that more lately, but I just haven't been motivated. Quite frankly I'm still pretty depressed. I'm getting all my work done but I just don't have that fire in my belly that I had last year. I'm getting better with time though. Physically I'm doing okay, the knee isn't really hurting anymore, it is, however, a little tender sometimes. Classes aren't too bad though. I feel a little crazy for saying that when I'm taking 19 hours. :) The Corps is pissing me off right now. I still haven't received my last paycheck from them and it's been almost two months. I'm seeing now why my Dad told me the Corps treats its people like crap. Okay, enough whining. I hope all of you are doing okay. Something interesting next time!

From Cancer Giggles:

I Like Monkeys

The pet store was selling them for $5 a piece. I thought that odd since they were normally a couple thousand each. I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I bought 200. I like monkeys.

I took my 200 monkeys home. I have a big car. I let one drive. His name was Sigmund. He was retarded. In fact, none of them were really bright. They kept punching themselves in their genitals. I laughed. Then they punched my genitals. I stopped laughing.

I herded them into my room. They didn't adapt very well to their new environment. They would screech, hurl themselves off of the couch at high speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into its third hour.

Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive: they all died. No apparent reason. They all just sort of dropped dead. Kind of like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. Damn cheap monkeys.

I didn't know what to do. There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my room, on the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase. It looked like I had 200 throw rugs.

I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work. It got stuck. Then I had one dead, wet monkey and 199 dead, dry monkeys.

I tried pretending that they were just stuffed animals. That worked for a while, that is until they began to decompose. It started to smell real bad.

I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in the toilet and I didn't want to call the plumber. I was embarrassed.

I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortunately there was only enough room for two monkeys at a time so I had to change them every 30 seconds. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so it didn't all go bad.

I tried burning them. Little did I know my bed was flammable. I had to extinguish the fire.

Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in my freezer, and 197 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed. The odor wasn't improving.

I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys and to use the bathroom. I severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better.

I tried throwing them way but the garbage man said that the city wasn't allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him that I had a wet one. He couldn't take that one either. I didn't bother asking about the frozen ones.

I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts. My friends didn't know quite what to say. They pretended that they like them but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in the genitals.

I like monkeys.