For reasons that I'll not get into, I am subscribed to the Molecular Cell Biology (a fancy name for Bio folks) mailing list. Sometimes there are interesting emails where someone who doesn't get enough attention at home decides to fire off an email that's incendiary and intended to get a response; sometimes there are not-so-interesting emails where people are asking about classes, selling things they don't need, or asking around for open housing.
There's one particular breed of email that I find rather irritating.
Every now and then I'll come across an email where someone will be asking about when the best time to take a class is. And this is fine, when someone wants to know who a good professor is. What I find irritating is when someone will ask when it's best to take a course so that the curve is lower, or the material is easier, or so on so forth. Trying to find a good professor to properly learn is one thing; trying to find a time where one can get by with the absolute minimum amount of effort necessary and come out with the semblance of knowing the material when in reality they know next to nothing cheapens the work of everyone who's gone through courses looking for more than the quickest way out.
Granted, not everyone is here to learn; some people are just here for a shiny piece of paper (which isn't even all that shiny, only a small part of it is). And sure, people say that once you get a job, what you really know doesn't really matter because they'll have a training program for you anyways. But this isn't a matter of practicality; it's of principle. Certainly, one could go about with a pragmatic frame of mind and seek to find the easiest way from point A to point B, but doing that seems so...unrefined.
In any case, people will continue doing as they so please, regardless of what I think.
I haven't written anything in a long time. I've had thoughts on things I could write about - whether or not there's value in art, whether or not there's such a thing as a difficult word, other things that have been topics of debate between friends and I which were never really resolved. As they say, I have a need to be right. I'm inclined to agree. But if I'm wrong I'd like to be proven without reasonable doubt that I'm wrong, and shown what's right instead. I appreciate a well developed argument that lays mine to waste.
I suppose I'll take a quick moment to lay down a simple foundation for my arguments before moving along to other, more pressing thoughts on my mind.
I had a conversation with Lisa a while back on whether or not art has any value. The motivation behind the question is that if people will take a given work of art, interpret it, and then argue that their perspective is right, then what does the original intent of the artist matter? For example, if one were to take a novel and analyze it, drawing great conclusions on the meaning of life from it, and all the author really wanted to do was tell a story of fluff and nonsense, does the author's intent matter at all? Given time, after the artist has passed away, nobody will know for sure what exactly the artist meant to say (unless the artist made it explicitly clear), and people will make their own interpretations. At this point, the original intent of the artist has become moot. It would seem, then, that art as a form of self expression is pure nonsense. If what you intend to say isn't understood by people (who will instead make up their own meanings for it), then your self expression is nothing more than miscommunication. So, then, what is the point of art? The only real response I can think of is that it's purpose is in inspiring your fellow creature. A noble enough end of itself, I suppose, but it feels somehow...lacking.
On to words...
I was out with Shannon, Erica, Daniel, and Ria one night when the topic of whether or not there's such a thing as a difficult word came up. Since everybody seemed to side with the "yes there is" except me I decided to ask some other folks what their thoughts were....and it seems most everyone except me thinks there is such a thing. What's interesting, though, is that only one person I know thought to ask "what do you mean by hard?" Oh what nonsensical arguments have sprung forth from a discrepancy in definitions! But for this argument the intuitive understanding of what makes a word difficult willl suffice. My argument goes like so: A word, in and of itself, has no meaning. It's just a collection of symbols. The only difference that exists among words is how commonly used it is. Certainly, in some alternate existence, a word considered "difficult" here could be considered "simple" simply on the basis of it being commonly used. But if a word can become simple just by being used more commonly, then the word itself can't be difficult. On the other hand, I'd say that using good diction is difficult. Chaining words together in a way such that their meanings are enhanced by one another is a difficult task; but this does not make for difficult individual words. I suppose one could claim long words are harder than short ones, and that seems to hold a bit of water. Asides from that, though, it doesn't seem to me like there's any real inherent difficulty in a word, only in choosing the proper situation to use it in.
Now then, on to current thoughts...
I've heard interesting comments on me lately. They've ranged from how I have a need to be proper, to how I'm "mad pimp," (which obviously isn't true, as I'm sure you're thinking as you laugh at how outrageous that idea is). I wonder what spawns these comments, though; it's interesting to see how other people interpret my behavior.
I feel a bit sad, though I've no real reason to be. Things are going pretty well, all things considered. I just wish I had a little more time.
It's getting to be spring. Looks like it'll be time to put my coat away soon.
Every now and then, I want to slow things down in my life. I rarely have time to sit down and eat, as I'm most always rushing from one thing to another. It'd be nice to go out for food with someone, but I hate imposing my schedule upon them, making them rush through their food.
Sometimes I think my life would be easier if I had more Evil Points(tm). I could take advantage of women without regret. I could use people to elevate myself without feeling bad about it. But where does the value lie in a life like that?
I feel a lack of inspiration. Friends of mine tell me that I talk about women too much. Women are my muse; they are what inspire me to do things. For surely, if love can inspire one to elevate oneself above one's own potential, just a hint of affection could inspire me to put forth a bit more effort in my life.
I am stuck on a girl I have no reason to be stuck on, and should've gotten over long, long, long ago.
Sometimes the girls that bug me the most are the ones who aren't aware of the standard social protocols that most folks are aware of. I find they have a tendency to lead the unsuspecting on without knowing it (or maybe they do), and it's sad to see it happen.
I want someone to convince me that marriage for passion is the right way to go. Thus far, I've only seen passion fall apart. Convince me the movies are right.
I'll be in a new place with a new identity in four months; maybe it's time to change.
I love the night. Everything feels so much more natural in it.
I hate spam. I'm sure most people around hate spam too. So I was thinking that it'd be rather amusing if, upon receiving spam, one were to take the reply address and subscribe it to all sorts of mailing lists. Gay porn, straight porn, child porn, animal porn, all sorts of porn. Stock marketing, tech marketing, health marketing, things you never knew existed until two minutes ago but now desperately need marketing, all sorts of marketing. And maybe throw in a few academic mailing lists that are generally populated by less than intelligent creatures while you're at it.
It's questionable whether or not that'd do anything, since it stands to reason that some sites might use fraudulent email addresses in their reply-to fields. But then that'd be really amusing too. Just imagine a spammer sending out a mail, only to receive 200-odd bounces saying this other mailing list's reply address doesn't exist. It reminds me of the time that some folks decided to get together and subscribe the mailing address (house mailing address that is) of one of the larger spammers in the world to random ads here and there and have his entire mail box flooded with random junkmail.
Hilarious.
I'd been meaning to go down to Stephanie's house for a while, and wanted to see my grandparents and uncles as well. They live down in Sunnyvale/Cupertino/Saratoga (I get confused exactly where). I decided around Wednesday or Thursday or so that I'd pop on down for a day or so and then maybe run by and see my grandparents before heading back. The original plan was for me to go down on Friday, work on getting their network up and running, then some more on Saturday morning finishing up anything I'd missed, and then seeing my grandparents and uncles for the afternoon/night before taking off for home so I could code Sunday. It didn't quite work out that way.
Friday I ended up rushing out of the house to try and get to Sunnyvale in time to catch the last bus to Saratoga. The plan was like so: Emeryville --> F bus to San Francisco --> Walk 30 minutes to Caltrain station --> 1 1/2 hours on Caltrain --> 40 minutes on line 54 bus --> 10 minute ride from Stephanie's parents to their house (and this is the shortened version that I found, after a previous trip had taken something to the tune of 9 hours). As it stood, my time schedule would work out so I had about a 5 minute buffer between each stop.
Apparently, 5 minutes isn't enough of a buffer.
The F line was late by 15 minutes, so I wound up at the Caltrain station 5 minutes after the train I needed to catch had left. So I waited a half hour and caught the next bus, hoping there'd be some way for me to make it and catch the last bus ride still. As it so happens, I got to that bus stop 5 minutes after the bus had passed by. Damn. So I ended up having to call Stephanie and have her dad come pick me up (which I hate doing, because it's a 20, 30 odd minute drive, and I don't like inconveniencing them so).
Eventually I got to their house, and spent Friday fixing some computers, spending some time with their family. Saturday was spent doing some more computer stuff, then out with Stephanie and a friend of hers shopping, and then an orchestra performance at Stanford later that night, which Stephanie's sister was playing in (the only reason we went, I'm told). I ended up staying at their place Saturday night as well.
Sunday I didn't get up until sometime around 1:30 in the afternoon. Very not good. My plan had been to go see my grandparents/uncles in the morning, but what ended up happening was I went with Stephanie's family out to eat lunch, have some milk tea, and then we went to my grandparent's house, where we chatted a bit before Stephanie's parents had to go, and my uncle was due to be coming to take us all to dinner shortly. Then it was some nice dinner with my grandparents and my uncle (sadly one uncle couldn't make it), and then my uncle drove me back to my place, saving me a rather longish trip on the Caltrain/walking/bus.
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Having come back now, I find myself feeling rather empty and listless. What I love most about going to see Stephanie and her family is how close her family is. Her brothers will talk to their parents as if they're all just friends, and everyone seems to be so happy with each other, even though they have their moments where they get tired of one another. Being there with them makes me feel like a part of their family; they're all really nice to me. Always asking me if I want something to drink, something to eat, is it too cold for me, is there something I want to do, something they can help me with, something I want, anything at all. I feel really bad when they pay for things like food when we go out to eat, though. It's bad enough that I'm imposing by staying at their place and eating their food, drinking their drink. To make things more complicated, the day I was leaving they decided to buy me this computer game I had been looking at earlier and was contemplating buying x_x They tell me it's a gift for all my help (but I don't feel like I've really done anything). They're all so nice to me, but I don't feel like I've done anything for them. I have this terrible problem with showing appreciation for people and things they do for me. When people give me things all I can do is say thank you, I don't look excited or give any real outward appearance of being particularly happy.
I guess in the end I don't really want anything material. I just like being there with people, sharing in their moments, in their memories, in their lives. That in and of itself is a gift more precious than anything money could ever buy.
Now that I'm back in Berkeley, I feel more empty than I have this entire year. It's true, what they say: you never know what you've got 'til it's gone.