When (and how) to argue

65. After my brother joined the military, my mother began forcing my father and I to go to church as part of a ‘family activity.’ They bribed, lied, and cheated to get me to go. So I went, reluctantly. It’s funny, because at the time, I hadn’t been a Catholic in 6 years, so my going there only served to drive us further apart as I reacted like a teenager and sulked.

I get into arguments on a fairly regular basis. I suspect the reason for this is that I like to make grandiose claims and Nobody catches on to my tongue-in-cheek, finger-wagging spectacles. EVER.

But as often as I argue, I used to argue much more regularly. In my youth, I used to really like arguments. Sometimes I would argue positions I didn’t support just because I liked seeing people fluster as they tried to explain to me why slavery was wrong or why clothing was not optional. I’m actually a bit ashamed of that now.

But as I grew and matured (read: grew tired of bickering), I stopped seeking out arguments. Then I stopped continuing arguments even when they came to me. This went on to such a point that now I only ever argue for two reasons:

1. To disavow someone of their ignorance.
2. To get to the truth of the matter.

The second reason is the reason I prefer. There’s nothing worse than arguing with a smug-faced bastard who’s just humoring you by pretending to listen to your point with no intention of even analyzing his own. Believe me, I’ve seen that from every angle: it happens a lot when dealing with smart people.

But arguing shouldn’t be that way. A true argument should be between people that have opposing beliefs, or rather, one person that believes something and another that does not (yet) buy into it.

Continue reading When (and how) to argue…

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nabµf # 8 of 29

64. My parents once promised me a new video game if I placed in the top 5 in a local spelling bee. I did not, but lied and said I placed sixth, hoping they would give me some leeway. They did not. I was impressed, but insulted. Also, after this story took place, my teacher, Rosangela “Espiritu Santo” Rogers asked me to lie to everyone and tell them I’d won the Spelling Bee. Yeah, she didn’t belong in the education system.

There was a spelling bee at Young Pixel’s school and Young Pixel decided that he wanted to participate.

Unfortunately, too many students were participating, so they decided to split the total in two. Pixel’s group would compete first. The best five would then go up against the best five of the second group.

Young Pixel, an avid reader, did not misspell a single w6rd on the first day. Then, when he had to go up against the best of the best, he missed two words and ended up receiving second place. Pixel was sad because he didn’t get a trophy, but happy that he didn’t have to move on to regionals.

The teacher, however, had different plans. Not trusting the fellow that won first place, she decided to fudge the numbers and move up Young Pixel to the regional Spelling Bee.

She advised Young Pixel to study up on his Latin and Greek, but Pixel wasn’t hungry, so he didn’t. During the contest, Pixel made it through the first round with ease. His teacher was very excited because she found out that she would go with him to nationals if he won.

Unfortunately, the Bee got a lot harder by the last round and Pixel was eliminated like a Senate reform bill. His teacher was devastated, feeling Young Pixel had violated some sort of unspoken agreement. And from that point on, she seemed to find his work to be D quality.

Obviously, he soon died of dysentery. D-I-S-S-I-N-T-E-G-R-A-T-E.

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Wow, that took a dark turn at the end…

63. For years my favorite number was 35. That just seems silly to me now, because it’s 100011 in binary.

Dear World,

I’ve decided to start treating you all as a single person, much like Anne Frank did to “Kitty.” (Her dog.) Presumably this will make it easier to dump you later on in the year when I stop blogging. Or maybe it’ll make it harder.

Actually, I’m seriously beginning to fear the summer. I’ve sort of mentioned my plans on leaving the country and touring the world (here), but I haven’t updated you in almost four weeks, so here goes.

Originally, I was going to go see my little cousin graduate in July.  After that, I wanted to take advantage of the trip to see the home country. Then I decided I should, while I’m in the area, go around the planet and visit my friends in Australia. A quick e-mail survey suggested that I should arrive in Australia (pronounced “Oz”) right after my cousin’s graduation July 11.

… THEN I called another cousin for her birthday and found out that she graduates May 30. This put me in an odd bind, because I was born May 29, and I didn’t know if I wanted to be gone for my birthday. But, after a protracted internal monologue, I realized I wasn’t planning on having a birthday this year anyway. In case you missed my tweet: I’ll be 25 until further notice. This means that I was now born in 1982 until May 29, after which I will have been born in 1983. Besides: my birthdays have been lame for a while now. I think a grand total of three people remembered me when I turned 22 (and one of them was me).

SO, the final plan is thus: Leave May 20 for Mexico, see a graduation, tour three or four states and visit family, see another graduation, return to New Mexico July 14. Then, July 15, I leave for Australia and spend time with friends over there and return August 7 in time for my friend Jcak’s wedding. I’ll have a week’s vacation then to pack up all my stuff, move across the country to North Carolina, and find an apartment in time for the August 19 orientation.

*PHEW!* I’m not sure where I’ll fit blogging in that schedule, but I’m sure I’ll have a few minutes to spare between exhaustion and unconsciousness. Some people think I cut it too close: I say they’re lucky I give them air holes at all.

How do I get the money, you ask?

Simple: I sell drugs to children.

(My streams of consciousness are like white-water rapids, but this is what happens when the Internet goes down and I lose valuable hours of browsing and blogging.)

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Ghost in the Machine

62. Every time I go somewhere, I have to carry books, a laptop, a notebook, or anything else. I have to. It’s my way to never forget stuff: I just make sure there’s always something to remember.

This is supposed to illustrate the philosophical problem of the ‘ghost in the machine,’ which basically says that, if natural explanations can be given for everything, then the supernatural explanation for agency is superfluous. So, basically, I used the word ’soul’ because it meant more people would understand it… sort of. Anyway, sorry, I posted this at 11:58:39 last night from my laptop in my car off borrowed Internet. I was in a bit of a hurry.

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A Photo Project

61. When I was in high school, I always had to have four pockets for my four objects of necessity: my wallet, my keys, my cell phone, and my camera. Then I upgraded cameras in 2003 to a camera that couldn’t fit in my pocket and I stopped taking pictures. Also, it broke and I didn’t have the $400 to buy another one.

I have several brilliant ideas on what to write about today, but I’m sort of saving them for Tuesday/Wednesday/Thursday, because the Google says that those are the days most people read the blog.

So what does one write about when they fully expect only 70 percent of their usual freaders to see it?

That’s the question.

And here’s the answer: I have a new project. For those of you not in the know, last year I calculated hugs. (I hugged 163 people by the end of the year). Last birthday I started counting who hugged me when. (Results here.) Before that, I’ve done far less ambitious and scientific projects.

This year, starting on my birthday, May 29th, I will take ONE (1) photograph every day for one full year. This photograph can be a picture of myself, of my desk, of other people, an illustrative photo of what went on in the day, or a photo of a drawing or of something else. I’ll save them all in my computer and eventually upload them all into a special section of this site. The idea is that this will remind me of what I did at various times in my life and serve as a sort of lame-o diary.

But first! I must buy a camera from the “e” bay.

Continue reading A Photo Project…

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