The past few days I've been freezing, because of the refusal to wear appropriate clothing. It is April, I should be able to wear shorts and a t-shirt without freezing. So, the stubborn streak forces me to do so, even though I'm tremendously uncomfortable.
Why can't I just accept that there are things in this world beyond my control, like the weather? Because technology has given us the capacity to change, no, to master, so many things about our lives. It's no longer us versus environment.
It also makes those things which we can't change that much more difficult to accept. So, what happens when we finally get to the point when weather is perfect, and we can control it? Hell, China is attempting to seed clouds with silver in order to get them to rain early, so the Olympic opening ceremonies aren't dripped on. When does technology go too far? Has it already gone too far?
Monday, April 14, 2008
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Mario Party
Wii games are usually only fun when played multiplayer. Take, for example, Mario Party 8, which I have played single and multi. It is the multi which caused me to play for way too long today, keeping me from getting stuff done. Hence, obligatory short post.
***
I came in just under thirty-one minutes. Not exactly the time I was hoping for, but K.Q. was hungover, and R.L. wanted more just to finish, so we ran as a pack. Ah, well, next race. At least I finished.
***
"I guess we found out his weakness - bullets!" -LL Cool J, Mindhunters. I must now A) abuse this quote for GTalk, and B) watch this movie, just for this quote.
***
I came in just under thirty-one minutes. Not exactly the time I was hoping for, but K.Q. was hungover, and R.L. wanted more just to finish, so we ran as a pack. Ah, well, next race. At least I finished.
***
"I guess we found out his weakness - bullets!" -LL Cool J, Mindhunters. I must now A) abuse this quote for GTalk, and B) watch this movie, just for this quote.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Right Brain
I've been taking a few tests to determine whether I'm right brained or left brained, after this article. There are other tests I've taken, one said I was left brained, most say I'm right brained, though I'm fairly in balance, at least according to how close these tests are. Here's a table that lists some of the characteristics of both sides. You can google for a lot of tests.
It seems like in my life, I tend towards many more left brained individuals than right brained. This may go part way towards explaining why, well, I can't explain myself to others. Then again, it just might be a personal failing. It does help to explain why I'm so random at times.
Here's a relatively fruity article that makes me think that, to some extent, the author is trying to make himself feel better about something, but it's worth a read. This is a fun test describing the Stroop effect. Yeah, this is just me helping people waste time, but at least it teaches you a little about yourself. After all, according to Lyall Watson, "If the brain were so simple we could understand it, we would be so simple we couldn't."
It seems like in my life, I tend towards many more left brained individuals than right brained. This may go part way towards explaining why, well, I can't explain myself to others. Then again, it just might be a personal failing. It does help to explain why I'm so random at times.
Here's a relatively fruity article that makes me think that, to some extent, the author is trying to make himself feel better about something, but it's worth a read. This is a fun test describing the Stroop effect. Yeah, this is just me helping people waste time, but at least it teaches you a little about yourself. After all, according to Lyall Watson, "If the brain were so simple we could understand it, we would be so simple we couldn't."
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
All-season Greeting
As I'm running down the street, about three hundred feet downhill, a woman is getting out of her car, and she's looking back at me. Even though I've my contacts in, my eyes have gotten worse since I got the scrip, so the vision, she ain't crystal clear. I'm right now guessing she was wearing a red top and a black skirt, but I barely remember stumbling back from my run. She stares at me for about five seconds, as I measure two steps to be a second in my oxygen-deprived mind. I'm in a t-shirt and black shorts, just running. The most threatening thing about me might be that I'm hispanic to white people, and the hair is unkempt and shaggy. Beyond that, I'm not a threat.
The weird thing is that as she's climbing the stairs to her house, as I draw closer, she turns back and stares at me as I'm running past. I'm trying not to stare up at her, but this is kind of freaking me out. As a runner, I've grown accustomed to being a ghost, running past as people turn their heads away and pretend I don't exist. When I breach someone's personal space and line of sight, then they acknowledge me, but only then. No one sees me from a distance, and no one turns to stare at me.
The key? I need more automatic scripts. You know what I'm talking about. "Hi." "How are you?" "Good, you?" "Good." I just need to make a comprehensive list of what might happen to me in any given day, and then create an auto-script to deal with the initial exchange. Then, it gets impossible to predict. Some football coaches and chess players script their initial exchange; it must have some merit. Then again, they may have generic scripts, so I may actually need a catch-all script that covers around seventy to eighty-five percent of all situations.
Here's the problem: the only auto-script that could possibly cover all that is:
"Hi." *nod head and smile*
I already do that. Am I reduced to this genericism for the rest of my life? There's got to be a better script...
"Fuck off." *nod head and smile* - Too antagonistic.
"I love you." *nod head and smile* - Too protagonistic.
*punch other person/s in face* - May fight back.
*punch self in face until blood pours out of nose* - Takes too long.
"Sing opening refrain of "It's a Small World"* - Song stuck in head.
"Can you identify this rash?" - Too much potential to be registered as sex offender and/or too cool for this world.
*Execute the running man* - Too 80s.
*turn head away and keep walking* - Too damned effective.
*leaping hip check, like in NBA* - Too much potential to hip check short people in the head.
*Pound chest* - Too hurty.
*Waggle eyebrows* - Too ambiguous.
*Flash gang signs* - Don't know any.
"Goodbye." *nod head and smile* - Too perfect to pull off without looking like a jackass.
"Can you dig it?" - Too obscure a reference to The Warriors.
"Do you have the time?" - Too ridiculous if I am wearing a watch.
"Caw, caw, caw!" - Too plagiaristic of ravens, raptors and D.C.
*smooth eyebrows using index and pinky fingers simultaneously* - Requires far too much coordination and spittle.
*Pull out Nintendo DS, activate Pictochat, text "hello"* - Requires other person to have a DS.
I'll find a better auto-script, somehow. Damn it.
The weird thing is that as she's climbing the stairs to her house, as I draw closer, she turns back and stares at me as I'm running past. I'm trying not to stare up at her, but this is kind of freaking me out. As a runner, I've grown accustomed to being a ghost, running past as people turn their heads away and pretend I don't exist. When I breach someone's personal space and line of sight, then they acknowledge me, but only then. No one sees me from a distance, and no one turns to stare at me.
The key? I need more automatic scripts. You know what I'm talking about. "Hi." "How are you?" "Good, you?" "Good." I just need to make a comprehensive list of what might happen to me in any given day, and then create an auto-script to deal with the initial exchange. Then, it gets impossible to predict. Some football coaches and chess players script their initial exchange; it must have some merit. Then again, they may have generic scripts, so I may actually need a catch-all script that covers around seventy to eighty-five percent of all situations.
Here's the problem: the only auto-script that could possibly cover all that is:
"Hi." *nod head and smile*
I already do that. Am I reduced to this genericism for the rest of my life? There's got to be a better script...
"Fuck off." *nod head and smile* - Too antagonistic.
"I love you." *nod head and smile* - Too protagonistic.
*punch other person/s in face* - May fight back.
*punch self in face until blood pours out of nose* - Takes too long.
"Sing opening refrain of "It's a Small World"* - Song stuck in head.
"Can you identify this rash?" - Too much potential to be registered as sex offender and/or too cool for this world.
*Execute the running man* - Too 80s.
*turn head away and keep walking* - Too damned effective.
*leaping hip check, like in NBA* - Too much potential to hip check short people in the head.
*Pound chest* - Too hurty.
*Waggle eyebrows* - Too ambiguous.
*Flash gang signs* - Don't know any.
"Goodbye." *nod head and smile* - Too perfect to pull off without looking like a jackass.
"Can you dig it?" - Too obscure a reference to The Warriors.
"Do you have the time?" - Too ridiculous if I am wearing a watch.
"Caw, caw, caw!" - Too plagiaristic of ravens, raptors and D.C.
*smooth eyebrows using index and pinky fingers simultaneously* - Requires far too much coordination and spittle.
*Pull out Nintendo DS, activate Pictochat, text "hello"* - Requires other person to have a DS.
I'll find a better auto-script, somehow. Damn it.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Smash Tactics
I was checking out the internet for some advice on how to improve my Super Smash Brothers: Brawl skills. What I've found horrifies me. The competitive scene plays about twenty layers above my skill level. It's like we didn't even buy the same game. The basic tenets are the same. I base my game around the same basic principles I play almost every single fighting game.
Faster, weaker characters that can capitalize on mistakes
Play a more patient, defense-oriented game
Block often, then counter
Attack when they can't fight back
There are exceptions, but it mostly boils down to block their attack, hit back.
In contrast, here's a sample tactical sentence based on what I learned: "Zelda's Usmash can be comboed twice on the ground when at low percentages, but the opponent can DI out of it." Here's another, describing how to do a move that is legal within the physics system of the game, jumping while facing backwards: "To execute a RAR, dash, tap backwards, then forwards and jump. This way, you can lead with the Bair, which for most characters is their best approach."
My favorite example of how crazy fighting games can get? This is from a national championship for Street Fighter III, 3rd Strike. The repeated timing needed to execute the repeated parries is within fractions of a second, and it's almost robotic the way he executes. That, plus the way the crowd goes apeshit, makes me realize... I need a new hobby.
Faster, weaker characters that can capitalize on mistakes
Play a more patient, defense-oriented game
Block often, then counter
Attack when they can't fight back
There are exceptions, but it mostly boils down to block their attack, hit back.
In contrast, here's a sample tactical sentence based on what I learned: "Zelda's Usmash can be comboed twice on the ground when at low percentages, but the opponent can DI out of it." Here's another, describing how to do a move that is legal within the physics system of the game, jumping while facing backwards: "To execute a RAR, dash, tap backwards, then forwards and jump. This way, you can lead with the Bair, which for most characters is their best approach."
My favorite example of how crazy fighting games can get? This is from a national championship for Street Fighter III, 3rd Strike. The repeated timing needed to execute the repeated parries is within fractions of a second, and it's almost robotic the way he executes. That, plus the way the crowd goes apeshit, makes me realize... I need a new hobby.
Hair Cut
I made a vow that I wouldn't cut my hair until after this freaking race, and I've got less than a week to go. It's starting to get really long, though not as long as during my school days. Still, it's getting there. I could slick it all back given enough gel, but that seems a bit too ridiculous. The temptation to dress up goes hand in hand. Then I'd just look some wannabe 80s corporate raider fresh out of B-school, or whatever cute abbreviation they give business school.
Way I see it, I can shave my head bald, get a crew cut, or just get it cut a little shorter and continue to part it. Or, of course, slick it all back. Why is this so difficult? I don't know. For someone that tries not to give a damn about what other people think, this is certainly causing me a lot more grief than I'd anticipated.
At this rate, there's not going to be any resolution. I may well just stop a stranger and ask them before going into the barber's. Then again, I also have to find a barber. Stupid freaking barbers. I hate the barbers. I hate hair cuts. Shazbot.
Way I see it, I can shave my head bald, get a crew cut, or just get it cut a little shorter and continue to part it. Or, of course, slick it all back. Why is this so difficult? I don't know. For someone that tries not to give a damn about what other people think, this is certainly causing me a lot more grief than I'd anticipated.
At this rate, there's not going to be any resolution. I may well just stop a stranger and ask them before going into the barber's. Then again, I also have to find a barber. Stupid freaking barbers. I hate the barbers. I hate hair cuts. Shazbot.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Complaining Incessantly
With one exception, I really enjoy my coworkers. They're all incredibly capable people, easy to be around and work with, always helpful when I need assistance (and I need a lot). I'd also like to think they find me easy to get along with, not necessarily helpful, but also not a hindrance to their own work.
There's just one that frustrates me to no end. Sometimes, I need to marshal up the strength to interact with that coworker, before actually having to deal with the coworker. I've not had to do that in a very long time. It's not that this coworker is a bad person, I just can't reconcile the implicit arrogance and the air of superiority that make me feel like a second- or third-class citizen. (No, it's neither D.C. nor C.E.)
I think what hit home on this one was a meeting behind held in the lobby. This coworker was sitting on the two person couch, and rather than sit down next to them, I plopped down on the floor directly next to the couch. What made this worse was that a fellow coworker had also foregone the couchable seating. I made up some bullshit story about needing to sit on the floor after spending all day in a chair.
There have been times where he'll walk into my office, and almost immediately upon entry, I'll get so mad that I'll start to reverse his comments and throw everything right back at him that he says. Or when he's trying to make a joke, I'll either ignore him or say "Fuck you." I've even had to rant to officemates about him. Lord help me if we get posted to the same project.
This is probably a life lesson here. There are going to be people that rub you the wrong way. You just have to try not to flip out on them. I haven't been entirely successful, but I think I can do better, at least on the not flipping out. We'll see.
There's just one that frustrates me to no end. Sometimes, I need to marshal up the strength to interact with that coworker, before actually having to deal with the coworker. I've not had to do that in a very long time. It's not that this coworker is a bad person, I just can't reconcile the implicit arrogance and the air of superiority that make me feel like a second- or third-class citizen. (No, it's neither D.C. nor C.E.)
I think what hit home on this one was a meeting behind held in the lobby. This coworker was sitting on the two person couch, and rather than sit down next to them, I plopped down on the floor directly next to the couch. What made this worse was that a fellow coworker had also foregone the couchable seating. I made up some bullshit story about needing to sit on the floor after spending all day in a chair.
There have been times where he'll walk into my office, and almost immediately upon entry, I'll get so mad that I'll start to reverse his comments and throw everything right back at him that he says. Or when he's trying to make a joke, I'll either ignore him or say "Fuck you." I've even had to rant to officemates about him. Lord help me if we get posted to the same project.
This is probably a life lesson here. There are going to be people that rub you the wrong way. You just have to try not to flip out on them. I haven't been entirely successful, but I think I can do better, at least on the not flipping out. We'll see.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Foolish Children
I was researching MA, MFA, and PhD programs in (surprise, surprise) English the other day and night. What few I found made me realize I'd have to get the MA first, or at least enroll in a combo MA/PhD program. It hurts sometimes to look at these things, because it makes me realize how different my life could be. J.L. did make a good point that, even though I'd dreamt up some idealized version of what I'd be, there would still be that nagging pressure that something was missing in my life. And this is true, but at the same time, that choice would have been one I made.
My alter ego, J.C. (he of the thousands of credit card applications in college) is now teaching English at a third-rate college. He's had a book published to moderate success, both critical and commercial. He's now expecting his first child, and freaking out about what to read to it, what to sing to it, will he be a good father, etc. J.C. gave up video games a long time ago, because he couldn't find the time to play them anymore. He's also become a bit of a chain smoker, something that he's vowing to give up after the child's born.
Really, though, how different would it be if I'd gone to the Peace Corps for 2 years, then returned to pursue my Ph.D.? Well, I'd still now be in school, for one thing. I wouldn't be able to pay the bills, any of them. My hair would be thinning from the stress of thesis defense. I'd be having strange, unidentifiable stomach pains which happened to be the start of an ulcer. I'd probably be in a relationship with a fellow Ph.D. candidate, which would probably just make me want to strangle her and/or myself.
The big question is, how do I reconcile all of this, and move on? The simple answer is, I do not. It's nice to dream, and I may end up being the oldest person in my family to enter a Ph.D. program (72? Will I have enough left in my head to pull it off?), but at least it's something I can look forward to. And, for now, I guess I go to the bank and the grocery store and run some errands.
My alter ego, J.C. (he of the thousands of credit card applications in college) is now teaching English at a third-rate college. He's had a book published to moderate success, both critical and commercial. He's now expecting his first child, and freaking out about what to read to it, what to sing to it, will he be a good father, etc. J.C. gave up video games a long time ago, because he couldn't find the time to play them anymore. He's also become a bit of a chain smoker, something that he's vowing to give up after the child's born.
Really, though, how different would it be if I'd gone to the Peace Corps for 2 years, then returned to pursue my Ph.D.? Well, I'd still now be in school, for one thing. I wouldn't be able to pay the bills, any of them. My hair would be thinning from the stress of thesis defense. I'd be having strange, unidentifiable stomach pains which happened to be the start of an ulcer. I'd probably be in a relationship with a fellow Ph.D. candidate, which would probably just make me want to strangle her and/or myself.
The big question is, how do I reconcile all of this, and move on? The simple answer is, I do not. It's nice to dream, and I may end up being the oldest person in my family to enter a Ph.D. program (72? Will I have enough left in my head to pull it off?), but at least it's something I can look forward to. And, for now, I guess I go to the bank and the grocery store and run some errands.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Eight Minute
I know for sure that yesterday, I averaged an eight minute mile over two and a half miles. This I know because I passed each half mile marker in four minutes. Of course, because of that, plus the day before, my legs are done. I had to take a break today. Still, a break is good. Plus, I'm doing a lot better than I'd hoped.
It's all a matter of relativity. Originally, I picked an eight minute mile as my goal because I just wanted to get into average shape. Around ten years ago, I'd read the average human could run a mile in eight minutes. Now, it turns out, due to America's sloth, I'm doing much, much better than the mass of humanity.
Next goal? Six minute mile, with a seven minute mile as an interim goal. After that, We'll start shaving down in fifteen second increments. Pie-in-the-sky goal? Sub-four minute mile. I think I can sprint at a four minute mile pace right now, but only for short distances, so at least I can hit the speed (maybe?). Realistically, it's not going to happen, but I need some goal that's not quite so isolationist. Although, to be fair, even when I'm running outside, I'm still running by myself, so...
It's all a matter of relativity. Originally, I picked an eight minute mile as my goal because I just wanted to get into average shape. Around ten years ago, I'd read the average human could run a mile in eight minutes. Now, it turns out, due to America's sloth, I'm doing much, much better than the mass of humanity.
Next goal? Six minute mile, with a seven minute mile as an interim goal. After that, We'll start shaving down in fifteen second increments. Pie-in-the-sky goal? Sub-four minute mile. I think I can sprint at a four minute mile pace right now, but only for short distances, so at least I can hit the speed (maybe?). Realistically, it's not going to happen, but I need some goal that's not quite so isolationist. Although, to be fair, even when I'm running outside, I'm still running by myself, so...
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Brawl Fantasia
It turns out that you shouldn't play Super Smash Brothers: Brawl right before bedtime, as this will wire you to no end. Even as you close your eyes, the theme song races through your mind, you see Peach flying through the air (Ha-Cha! Who, me?), there are radishes tossed left and right. And, it was against good old G.B., my college nemesis in Super Smash Brothers: Melee. Now we have to get C.T. in one of these matches and make him lose his mind.
Superpositive Idiocy
You know Bubble Tape? There's now several photos of me with an entire roll jammed in my mouth attempting to blow a bubble. I apparently sounded like I was born with developmental issues. The things you do to cheer people up. I guess I should be glad it wasn't a mouthful of caltrops.
Boy, I hope I can trust everyone involved to not start sending those around.
Boy, I hope I can trust everyone involved to not start sending those around.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Run Lost
I went running after work. Dropped my stuff off, went outside, walked through the parking lot, and started running. In unfamiliar environs, one of my primary rules from now on has to be to only follow streets, and to not deviate onto trails unless I am sure I can find my way back. Yeah, K.T. got his ass lost.
This, despite purchasing a GPS yesterday. Problem is that it was designed for cars, not for running. I'm awful glad that I didn't carry it with me. It doesn't cradle well in the hand, and I have no pockets in my shorts. All I can take, realistically, is the keys. From now on, I must also find a way to take water.
After a few minutes of running down main streets, I find a trail, and decide to give that a go. One thing leads to another, and I see a sign for a four mile run. A bit more than I'd planned, but it's probably a loop, right? This I follow, all the bikes passing me in both directions. Finally, I come out of the woods and onto a main street, one I've never seen before.
Now, this would be the perfect time to turn back, but this is not the K.T. option. I pick "left" and go. And go, and go, and go. At one point, I have to stop in 7-11, and find a clerk that has no grasp of English or directions. She tells me what I finally discover is the proper way to run, but pointed me in the exact opposite direction. I run perhaps half a mile down the street, then find several police officers waiting outside a motel.
I ask two for directions, and one tells me I won't be running to my destination. The other tells me the information I need. I'd like to use this opportunity to have proven the first officer wrong. He said I wouldn't be running two miles. Not only did I run two miles, I probably ran more because I got lost several more times.
Did I mention I started running near sunset?
Somehow I found my way to an armed forces recruitment center, and the lights were all on. Now, I'm what you would call a wartime pacifist, in that I believe in violence until it's my ass on the line. Still, Directions are directions. In I go asking for directions, and they're amazed at just how far/how lost I am. One man, with a particularly deep voice, asks if I'm trying to get any smaller. Another asks me what school I go to, and I realize he thinks I must be around 20. I tell him I've graduated for a while.
Later, after giving some convoluted directions, he asks what school I graduated from, and I loathingly admit UMDLaw. He sits back a little and asks if I'm a lawyer. I give him the auto-spiel, that I'm barred to practice law in Maryland, but am not currently doing so. This impresses him enough to try to recruit me, this kid who is a lawyer and has run three miles or so and gotten lost. Me, I'm not one to spit in the face of someone that's just given me directions, so I listen to a bit of his spiel, then give the phone number for a call back tomorrow. Hey, options are good, and I just got recruited for the army.
On my way back, I had to stop someone to confirm I was going in the right direction. She spoke in an accent I can't place, some British, maybe Australian accent? She also had some of the most jagged teeth I've ever seen in a person, but not shaved down. More organic, like stalactites (ceiling) and stalagmites (ground). Apparently, I scare people when running, because she wouldn't really look me in the eyes, or even look at me. Well, either that or she was shy about talking to strangers, which is entirely possible, as she said she'd just moved there.
Another twenty minutes, bringing my total up to an hour, and I find my way home, stumbling the rest of the way. There's a car parked in front of the door, so I walk around and go to another door, constantly checking reflective surfaces to see if that guy's following.
No doubt, I need to get lost more and see what else happens.
This, despite purchasing a GPS yesterday. Problem is that it was designed for cars, not for running. I'm awful glad that I didn't carry it with me. It doesn't cradle well in the hand, and I have no pockets in my shorts. All I can take, realistically, is the keys. From now on, I must also find a way to take water.
After a few minutes of running down main streets, I find a trail, and decide to give that a go. One thing leads to another, and I see a sign for a four mile run. A bit more than I'd planned, but it's probably a loop, right? This I follow, all the bikes passing me in both directions. Finally, I come out of the woods and onto a main street, one I've never seen before.
Now, this would be the perfect time to turn back, but this is not the K.T. option. I pick "left" and go. And go, and go, and go. At one point, I have to stop in 7-11, and find a clerk that has no grasp of English or directions. She tells me what I finally discover is the proper way to run, but pointed me in the exact opposite direction. I run perhaps half a mile down the street, then find several police officers waiting outside a motel.
I ask two for directions, and one tells me I won't be running to my destination. The other tells me the information I need. I'd like to use this opportunity to have proven the first officer wrong. He said I wouldn't be running two miles. Not only did I run two miles, I probably ran more because I got lost several more times.
Did I mention I started running near sunset?
Somehow I found my way to an armed forces recruitment center, and the lights were all on. Now, I'm what you would call a wartime pacifist, in that I believe in violence until it's my ass on the line. Still, Directions are directions. In I go asking for directions, and they're amazed at just how far/how lost I am. One man, with a particularly deep voice, asks if I'm trying to get any smaller. Another asks me what school I go to, and I realize he thinks I must be around 20. I tell him I've graduated for a while.
Later, after giving some convoluted directions, he asks what school I graduated from, and I loathingly admit UMDLaw. He sits back a little and asks if I'm a lawyer. I give him the auto-spiel, that I'm barred to practice law in Maryland, but am not currently doing so. This impresses him enough to try to recruit me, this kid who is a lawyer and has run three miles or so and gotten lost. Me, I'm not one to spit in the face of someone that's just given me directions, so I listen to a bit of his spiel, then give the phone number for a call back tomorrow. Hey, options are good, and I just got recruited for the army.
On my way back, I had to stop someone to confirm I was going in the right direction. She spoke in an accent I can't place, some British, maybe Australian accent? She also had some of the most jagged teeth I've ever seen in a person, but not shaved down. More organic, like stalactites (ceiling) and stalagmites (ground). Apparently, I scare people when running, because she wouldn't really look me in the eyes, or even look at me. Well, either that or she was shy about talking to strangers, which is entirely possible, as she said she'd just moved there.
Another twenty minutes, bringing my total up to an hour, and I find my way home, stumbling the rest of the way. There's a car parked in front of the door, so I walk around and go to another door, constantly checking reflective surfaces to see if that guy's following.
No doubt, I need to get lost more and see what else happens.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Silicon Suffering
And now, I have joined the ranks of the technologically addicted. Despite my distrust of technology, and the fear that it pervades our lives, I've purchased a Global Positioning System. This is in reaction to the piles of printed Google maps in my car, somewhere around eighty or so. There's also a good chance that this will help me from getting physically lost. No, this is an incredibly inaccurate statement. When I get lost, this will help me get found.
Ultimately, this will serve to make me a weaker human being, though more on time. Look at cell phones. I used to be able to remember phone numbers after a couple of repetitions. Now, I just guess blindly, and would be absolutely lost without my cell phone. It also lets me communicate with anyone at any time, at all times. Convenient? Yes. A crutch? Yes.
There is a certain part of me that has been struggling with directionality (physically, not morally). I was getting better, mildly, with knowing where things were, only because I was forced to drive everywhere, and maps can only take you so far. There was some sort of map overlaying itself upon my neurons, an almost instinctual sense of locale (re-)emerging recently.
Now, if I need go anywhere, or if I need find any location, out comes the device, in goes the address, and directions emerge, like some sort of tiny god. Six months, and I will be completely lost without it. It even has a walking mode, which I could probably use to determine how far I've run in a given day. Increased reliance makes me weaker.
Technology had, has, so much potential to improve our lives, but does it really serve to improve us? No doubt that all the tech in my life is nothing short of miraculous, but it also makes me unable to function without it. There is probably no time during the day spent without electronic technology. Hell, look at me typing on this laptop.
This is the root of my technophobia. The inventors, the innovators, they're applying their skills and talents, and thus improving themselves. These advancements get duplicated, and the rest of us leech off these benefits. My job is worthless in terms of human development. My education is worthless in terms of human development. My drive to create, as I find it hard to admit, is fairly worthless in terms of human development.
That is perhaps the only good thing about technology, that it was supposed to give us the time, the energy, the freedom to develop within, rather than struggle just to survive. Well, the struggle is gone, and many of us waste our inherited freedom. It's depressing to have to accept, and hard to follow. But, hey, at least I'll know exactly where I'm going.
Ultimately, this will serve to make me a weaker human being, though more on time. Look at cell phones. I used to be able to remember phone numbers after a couple of repetitions. Now, I just guess blindly, and would be absolutely lost without my cell phone. It also lets me communicate with anyone at any time, at all times. Convenient? Yes. A crutch? Yes.
There is a certain part of me that has been struggling with directionality (physically, not morally). I was getting better, mildly, with knowing where things were, only because I was forced to drive everywhere, and maps can only take you so far. There was some sort of map overlaying itself upon my neurons, an almost instinctual sense of locale (re-)emerging recently.
Now, if I need go anywhere, or if I need find any location, out comes the device, in goes the address, and directions emerge, like some sort of tiny god. Six months, and I will be completely lost without it. It even has a walking mode, which I could probably use to determine how far I've run in a given day. Increased reliance makes me weaker.
Technology had, has, so much potential to improve our lives, but does it really serve to improve us? No doubt that all the tech in my life is nothing short of miraculous, but it also makes me unable to function without it. There is probably no time during the day spent without electronic technology. Hell, look at me typing on this laptop.
This is the root of my technophobia. The inventors, the innovators, they're applying their skills and talents, and thus improving themselves. These advancements get duplicated, and the rest of us leech off these benefits. My job is worthless in terms of human development. My education is worthless in terms of human development. My drive to create, as I find it hard to admit, is fairly worthless in terms of human development.
That is perhaps the only good thing about technology, that it was supposed to give us the time, the energy, the freedom to develop within, rather than struggle just to survive. Well, the struggle is gone, and many of us waste our inherited freedom. It's depressing to have to accept, and hard to follow. But, hey, at least I'll know exactly where I'm going.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Assorted Thoughts
I think (I know) I have a soft spot in my heart (my head) for people that are different, because that's been the basis for my entire life. However, this doesn't extend to people that piss me off. If you're overtly disdainful towards me, or you take advantage of my good nature, yet you're still different, this creates a slight internal conflict, in that I hate you. Oh, wait, that's not a conflict at all, I just end up hating you.
***
I went to La Madeleine to get some food, and ordered a tart (which, at first, I thought said tort. Those of you that are familiar with my hatred of torts will understand). While sitting in front of the fireplace, I looked up at the ancient books on the shelves, all in French. Most were bolted somehow to the shelving, but I happened to pick up one. Though in French, it didn't take too long to figure out that it was a legal dictionary. Fuck you, universe, fuck you.
***
People themselves are willing to do a lot of things, provided they don't have to plan. This has borne itself out through repeated anecdotes. The half-baked corollary is that, if you want something done, do it yourself. Planning is a bitch, because it's extra work, and it's just easier to let "the other guy" do it. Unfortunately, you can't keep expecting "the other guy" to do anything. Look at Kitty Genovese. An entire apartment complex refrained from contacting the police, either assuming someone else would do it, or not wanting to get involved. Take a stand, damn it.
***
Singulair has been linked to an increase in suicide. I took Singulair for about a year. When the inevitable class action lawsuit drops, I'm gonna get paid. Granted, I'm only gonna get paid about $10, but still. Best part? The Singulair didn't really even work on my asthma.
***
People drop hints all the time. You notice little details, the out of the ordinary or what have you. It's all just a matter of pattern recognition, one of the basic human skills. The key is higher level critical/analytical thinking, putting together all those disconnected details into something more concrete, drawing conclusions, making educated assumptions. Continually, over the past few weeks, I've been picking up on information, but then filing it away and doing nothing with it. Then, someone mentions something, and everything falls into place. However, I could have easily figured it out myself had I just made that leap and interweaved everything.
Oh, also, people pick the strangest times to reveal dark secrets. I'm trying to eat, damn it.
***
I went to La Madeleine to get some food, and ordered a tart (which, at first, I thought said tort. Those of you that are familiar with my hatred of torts will understand). While sitting in front of the fireplace, I looked up at the ancient books on the shelves, all in French. Most were bolted somehow to the shelving, but I happened to pick up one. Though in French, it didn't take too long to figure out that it was a legal dictionary. Fuck you, universe, fuck you.
***
People themselves are willing to do a lot of things, provided they don't have to plan. This has borne itself out through repeated anecdotes. The half-baked corollary is that, if you want something done, do it yourself. Planning is a bitch, because it's extra work, and it's just easier to let "the other guy" do it. Unfortunately, you can't keep expecting "the other guy" to do anything. Look at Kitty Genovese. An entire apartment complex refrained from contacting the police, either assuming someone else would do it, or not wanting to get involved. Take a stand, damn it.
***
Singulair has been linked to an increase in suicide. I took Singulair for about a year. When the inevitable class action lawsuit drops, I'm gonna get paid. Granted, I'm only gonna get paid about $10, but still. Best part? The Singulair didn't really even work on my asthma.
***
People drop hints all the time. You notice little details, the out of the ordinary or what have you. It's all just a matter of pattern recognition, one of the basic human skills. The key is higher level critical/analytical thinking, putting together all those disconnected details into something more concrete, drawing conclusions, making educated assumptions. Continually, over the past few weeks, I've been picking up on information, but then filing it away and doing nothing with it. Then, someone mentions something, and everything falls into place. However, I could have easily figured it out myself had I just made that leap and interweaved everything.
Oh, also, people pick the strangest times to reveal dark secrets. I'm trying to eat, damn it.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Moving On
It's strange, attempting to leave as few traces of myself in this apartment as I possibly can. I will inevitably fail, and not just because there's a smell I can't identify. No, it's more that, much as with every person I have ever met, I change them in some fashion. Many, it happens in an imperceptible fashion, some, more deeply. Here, I have lived for a year. If nothing more than skin flakes, or my scent, or the holes in the wall where I nailed a white board, part of me remains (and no, I don't feel like spackling).
I know this is the rule for nature, that you leave it as you found it. Problem is, you can't always remove yourself. You're part of the environment. We all come from the earth, just as we all return to the earth. To attempt to disappear is just impossible. We are tangible, we are real, we are more than what just ghosts. Impossible to be forgotten. Even the homeless people we pass on the street, when they disappear, someone knows about them, they leave a mark. Even just a stain, it's still a mark.
Yet, here I am, scrubbing away, burning candles, trying to evanesce, because I must. Household ninja. Know that I would not do this, if I did not have to. But in four days, it will be complete, and I will have disappeared from here, moved on to a different place. A better place? Blue heaven only knows.
***
So, I didn't quite work things out, and will be living out of the office for a bit. I've rented out a storage space, crammed as many of my boxes and bags in there as I can, locked it up, and now I've just kept some essentials, which I've now ensconced in my office.
It'll be interesting. How long can I possibly live out of a place of work before someone notices, and tells me to leave? I don't know, but if I have to, I'll just go to a Motel 6.
Here's the tentative plan for the next four to six weeks. Shower in the gym across the way lets me keep myself somehwat clean. There are only so many clothes one person can wear, which I've hidden in my desk, and a few cardboard boxes around my office. I'll just keep small supplies of food in my office and the fridge. Probably also leave for a few hours after work, then return later at night, once most everyone has left. Then, since I normally get to work pretty early, no one will notice when I roll out of the office in yesterday's clothes.
I think the worst part of all this is that I'm forgetting something very important, but don't know what that is. As usual in my life, when I do remember, it'll be too late to make a difference. Wish me luck. I'm now an itinerant worker.
I know this is the rule for nature, that you leave it as you found it. Problem is, you can't always remove yourself. You're part of the environment. We all come from the earth, just as we all return to the earth. To attempt to disappear is just impossible. We are tangible, we are real, we are more than what just ghosts. Impossible to be forgotten. Even the homeless people we pass on the street, when they disappear, someone knows about them, they leave a mark. Even just a stain, it's still a mark.
Yet, here I am, scrubbing away, burning candles, trying to evanesce, because I must. Household ninja. Know that I would not do this, if I did not have to. But in four days, it will be complete, and I will have disappeared from here, moved on to a different place. A better place? Blue heaven only knows.
***
So, I didn't quite work things out, and will be living out of the office for a bit. I've rented out a storage space, crammed as many of my boxes and bags in there as I can, locked it up, and now I've just kept some essentials, which I've now ensconced in my office.
It'll be interesting. How long can I possibly live out of a place of work before someone notices, and tells me to leave? I don't know, but if I have to, I'll just go to a Motel 6.
Here's the tentative plan for the next four to six weeks. Shower in the gym across the way lets me keep myself somehwat clean. There are only so many clothes one person can wear, which I've hidden in my desk, and a few cardboard boxes around my office. I'll just keep small supplies of food in my office and the fridge. Probably also leave for a few hours after work, then return later at night, once most everyone has left. Then, since I normally get to work pretty early, no one will notice when I roll out of the office in yesterday's clothes.
I think the worst part of all this is that I'm forgetting something very important, but don't know what that is. As usual in my life, when I do remember, it'll be too late to make a difference. Wish me luck. I'm now an itinerant worker.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Puzzle Ball
I have a puzzle ball on my desk. It's composed of six of whatever the shape is if you take the cover off a baseball. It cost me two quarters from a vending machine. Here it sat on my desk for weeks, until I shook it, and heard something rattle inside.
Well, I had to have that, whatever it was.
There is probably an elegant solution to disassemble the thing, some sleight of hand, perhaps a twist of fate. Maybe a bed of nails is involved. Would it make me wait? I don't know, and I still don't know. After five minutes of trying to slide every piece every which way, I found out by squeezing in on a panel, several other panels would almost peel back from the main structure. At this point, I could wedge my finger under, and eventually brute forced it open. The entire structure collapsed on cue, leaving me with six almost identical pieces, and the directions. Yes, the directions. For assembling it.
There are a few things I have to say here. One, at least it wasn't the instructions to disassemble it. Two, you sick bastards are going to tell me how to put it back together? Three, that was my prize?
At least I didn't resort to the hammer on my desk, as was the original plan. Alexander the Great, meet Gordian knot. But what does it say about us, about how we approach this, how we approach anything? Have I really become (was I always) a person that brute forces a solution, rather than finesse it? Is this going to be a detriment to my way of life?
The damned thing is no longer as strong as it was when I first got it. After a few seconds of pressing on it, it bent inward and collapsed.
The other question this raises, why do I see everything as a puzzle that can be solved? I know that there are lots of things that can't be solved, and some things that shouldn't. Well, I know this in my head. In my heart, I see things that are broken, and try to fix them. Note this is akin to shaving the corners off a sphere. What part of me is so insistent on order? Probably the same part of me that is obsessed with Tetris. But Tetris is so simple, so intricate. I brute forced the hell out of that sphere.
Don't know why this concerns me so. I'm too damned close to it. Someone needs to stare at me for a few days and "Tell me what the fuck is wrong with meeeeeeee...."
Well, I had to have that, whatever it was.
There is probably an elegant solution to disassemble the thing, some sleight of hand, perhaps a twist of fate. Maybe a bed of nails is involved. Would it make me wait? I don't know, and I still don't know. After five minutes of trying to slide every piece every which way, I found out by squeezing in on a panel, several other panels would almost peel back from the main structure. At this point, I could wedge my finger under, and eventually brute forced it open. The entire structure collapsed on cue, leaving me with six almost identical pieces, and the directions. Yes, the directions. For assembling it.
There are a few things I have to say here. One, at least it wasn't the instructions to disassemble it. Two, you sick bastards are going to tell me how to put it back together? Three, that was my prize?
At least I didn't resort to the hammer on my desk, as was the original plan. Alexander the Great, meet Gordian knot. But what does it say about us, about how we approach this, how we approach anything? Have I really become (was I always) a person that brute forces a solution, rather than finesse it? Is this going to be a detriment to my way of life?
The damned thing is no longer as strong as it was when I first got it. After a few seconds of pressing on it, it bent inward and collapsed.
The other question this raises, why do I see everything as a puzzle that can be solved? I know that there are lots of things that can't be solved, and some things that shouldn't. Well, I know this in my head. In my heart, I see things that are broken, and try to fix them. Note this is akin to shaving the corners off a sphere. What part of me is so insistent on order? Probably the same part of me that is obsessed with Tetris. But Tetris is so simple, so intricate. I brute forced the hell out of that sphere.
Don't know why this concerns me so. I'm too damned close to it. Someone needs to stare at me for a few days and "Tell me what the fuck is wrong with meeeeeeee...."
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Under Advisement
People don't want legal advice, they want peace of mind.
One of the images from The Time Traveler's Wife is that of Henry always running, literally and figuratively.
[Spoilers ahead]
When he loses his feet to frostbite, that's the beginning of the end. Still he travels, though it is but a matter of time before it's all over. His physical inability to run mirrors his inability to escape his destiny.
[Spoilers behind]
After my heavyweight bout with the flu, where it went Mike Tyson, bit my throat, then collapsed in the fifth round, I've resumed the running. However, I can't run from the law. Today I got a completely random phone call from someone asking for legal advice. It was probably a good thing, because the call demonstrated that I still understand Mandarin Chinese, and I still remember enough of the law to fake an answer.
I've had to answer enough of these random calls/emails/questions/prayers to know that, ultimately, what people want is not the legal advice. They want peace of mind. They want a shield. They want for the law to not stave in their heads with obscure mumbo-jumbo.
I'm a little torn about the entire process. There are those people that will find me when they suspect I've value to them, then forget me until the next time I've value to them. Of course, I think I can save the world, even though I no longer have the inner drive/desire to do so. So, I'll keep helping. But, really, what's the point? More and more, I'm just offering security. Especially talking to someone, I'll tell them a) to calm (the fuck) down and b) that everything will be OK.
It still bothers me that our legal system no longer protects the innocent, just the person with the best stand-in. Our trial by jury may as well have remained a trial by ordeal. Everyone in that courtroom suffers. Was there a point where it all went wrong? Money? Fame? Power? I recall an episode of Justice League (yes, the cartoon) where they mentioned that the lawyers shared the punishment given to their client. This helped solve the problems of their legal system. If you follow the rules as a lawyer, you're never in trouble. The client shoulders the burden. Big business could give a crap, but what about the normal person?
One of the images from The Time Traveler's Wife is that of Henry always running, literally and figuratively.
[Spoilers ahead]
When he loses his feet to frostbite, that's the beginning of the end. Still he travels, though it is but a matter of time before it's all over. His physical inability to run mirrors his inability to escape his destiny.
[Spoilers behind]
After my heavyweight bout with the flu, where it went Mike Tyson, bit my throat, then collapsed in the fifth round, I've resumed the running. However, I can't run from the law. Today I got a completely random phone call from someone asking for legal advice. It was probably a good thing, because the call demonstrated that I still understand Mandarin Chinese, and I still remember enough of the law to fake an answer.
I've had to answer enough of these random calls/emails/questions/prayers to know that, ultimately, what people want is not the legal advice. They want peace of mind. They want a shield. They want for the law to not stave in their heads with obscure mumbo-jumbo.
I'm a little torn about the entire process. There are those people that will find me when they suspect I've value to them, then forget me until the next time I've value to them. Of course, I think I can save the world, even though I no longer have the inner drive/desire to do so. So, I'll keep helping. But, really, what's the point? More and more, I'm just offering security. Especially talking to someone, I'll tell them a) to calm (the fuck) down and b) that everything will be OK.
It still bothers me that our legal system no longer protects the innocent, just the person with the best stand-in. Our trial by jury may as well have remained a trial by ordeal. Everyone in that courtroom suffers. Was there a point where it all went wrong? Money? Fame? Power? I recall an episode of Justice League (yes, the cartoon) where they mentioned that the lawyers shared the punishment given to their client. This helped solve the problems of their legal system. If you follow the rules as a lawyer, you're never in trouble. The client shoulders the burden. Big business could give a crap, but what about the normal person?
Monday, March 24, 2008
Percussive Heartbeat
Log out. Sign off. Turn off. Tune in. Escape all the technology, the electrical trappings that ensnare us within an open prison. We've become so reliant on it that any strong EMP blast would utterly destroy us, not because we couldn't survive, but because we wouldn't know how to survive.
But, I digress. Flick off everything that tethers you to modern society. Close your eyes, take a breath, and cover your ears with your hands. Hear that? That womb-like onrush that's somehow strangely soothing, even though you might not be able to place why? That's your heartbeat. That's the drumbeat to the theme song of your life.
Ever had one of those moments where you wished that you had a song, your song, that would play whenever you entered a room? Mine is BLUE from the Cowboy Bebop anime series. Well, that's what I always wished it was. Turns out, my true theme song is just my simple heartbeat. And yours is, too.
It almost never stops, save ever-brief moments of suspense-ridden torment/peace. It's amorphous, everchanging to reflect whatever's occurring around you. It's versatile enough to fit any main song that you want, though you might have to fiddle (hah hah) with it to get it to fit just right. But most of all, it's unique, and it's your own beat, and though someone, or something, will eventually take it from you, they'll never possess it. It's as unique and essential to you as anything there is in this world.
The Doctors, and I capitalize it for they are the closest things atheists have to gods these days, the Doctors would have us refer to these heart beats as "lub-dubs". Valve open, valve close. Valve open, valve close. This basic mechanism for sustaining life, and I can ascribe to it so much more, if only because I have learned to see everything as a product of everything else (this also explains why it is so easy for me to explain strange and/or difficult concepts, yet so hard for me to fully grasp something).
What does it mean? We all search for meaning in our lives, whether we realize it or not. As part of that, just as we see faces in anything vaguely reminiscent of two eyes, a nose and mouth, we tend to look towards something, anything, in order to find, discover, realize, understand. Have I answers? Nay. All I ask is that, maybe, just maybe, the answers might be closer than you hope. Listen, listen deep within yourself, and maybe you won't hear anything. Maybe there aren't answers.
And maybe there are.
But, I digress. Flick off everything that tethers you to modern society. Close your eyes, take a breath, and cover your ears with your hands. Hear that? That womb-like onrush that's somehow strangely soothing, even though you might not be able to place why? That's your heartbeat. That's the drumbeat to the theme song of your life.
Ever had one of those moments where you wished that you had a song, your song, that would play whenever you entered a room? Mine is BLUE from the Cowboy Bebop anime series. Well, that's what I always wished it was. Turns out, my true theme song is just my simple heartbeat. And yours is, too.
It almost never stops, save ever-brief moments of suspense-ridden torment/peace. It's amorphous, everchanging to reflect whatever's occurring around you. It's versatile enough to fit any main song that you want, though you might have to fiddle (hah hah) with it to get it to fit just right. But most of all, it's unique, and it's your own beat, and though someone, or something, will eventually take it from you, they'll never possess it. It's as unique and essential to you as anything there is in this world.
The Doctors, and I capitalize it for they are the closest things atheists have to gods these days, the Doctors would have us refer to these heart beats as "lub-dubs". Valve open, valve close. Valve open, valve close. This basic mechanism for sustaining life, and I can ascribe to it so much more, if only because I have learned to see everything as a product of everything else (this also explains why it is so easy for me to explain strange and/or difficult concepts, yet so hard for me to fully grasp something).
What does it mean? We all search for meaning in our lives, whether we realize it or not. As part of that, just as we see faces in anything vaguely reminiscent of two eyes, a nose and mouth, we tend to look towards something, anything, in order to find, discover, realize, understand. Have I answers? Nay. All I ask is that, maybe, just maybe, the answers might be closer than you hope. Listen, listen deep within yourself, and maybe you won't hear anything. Maybe there aren't answers.
And maybe there are.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Emo Post
So the way writing works in my life is in cycles. I get depressed, and keep sinking until I start writing. It lifts me up until I stop being depressed, at which point I stop writing. Once I stop writing, I slip back into depression. Had I more insight and more perspective, I would just write every single day and avoid the mass of depression. Granted, people get depressed on a regular basis, and you can't dodge it. Still, the writing might stave off so much of it.
I will say, more often than not, Writ isn't enough. A lot of the time, it's just a half-assed diary that I put up because I feel compelled to. Except, lately, I haven't felt compelled. Right now, there's nothing new I can add here that's of any worth. Will that stop me from posting? No, but it severely curtails the frequency of posts.
I think I want to tell a story. That's all I ever really wanted to do. Realistically, it's not something I'll ever be able to make a living off of. Probabilistically, what'll end up happening is that someday (somehow, someway, somehope), I'll get married, and have kids, and they'll be the ones I tell my stories. And they won't laugh. Well, they will, but they won't laugh at me.
I will say, more often than not, Writ isn't enough. A lot of the time, it's just a half-assed diary that I put up because I feel compelled to. Except, lately, I haven't felt compelled. Right now, there's nothing new I can add here that's of any worth. Will that stop me from posting? No, but it severely curtails the frequency of posts.
I think I want to tell a story. That's all I ever really wanted to do. Realistically, it's not something I'll ever be able to make a living off of. Probabilistically, what'll end up happening is that someday (somehow, someway, somehope), I'll get married, and have kids, and they'll be the ones I tell my stories. And they won't laugh. Well, they will, but they won't laugh at me.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Compulsory Post
Q.L. gave me the influenza, complete was a one-oh-two point seven fever at one point. That temperature was a new record in my lifetime, and I will say I am not that ashamed that I couldn't immediately convert thirty-nine point four Celsius into Fahrenheit, mostly because at the moment, I was sweating and freezing. If you have never had the chills and sweated simultaneously, I would recommend you do so.
This was easily the sickest I have been in over ten years. I felt the following at various points over the past several days:
-sweating and chilly
-mild shaking
-body-wide pain, like I had pestles grinding me from the inside
-inability to concentrate, not even on video games (yeah, that's how bad it got)
-exhaustion
-sharp muscle pain
-sore throat
-bloody phlegm (what ultimately sent me to the doctor, a little delirious in the process)
-runny nose
-stuffy nose
-sharp hatred for all sick children (Q.L. caught the influenza from her kids)
-coughing
Often times I've wanted to take sick leave in the past, but just because I didn't feel like getting up. This has been the only time in recent memory I was entirely worthless.
It's also amazing how being sick for about a week can set you back for the month. Expect even fewer posts (right...) while I play catch-up for the next six to fourteen weeks.
This was easily the sickest I have been in over ten years. I felt the following at various points over the past several days:
-sweating and chilly
-mild shaking
-body-wide pain, like I had pestles grinding me from the inside
-inability to concentrate, not even on video games (yeah, that's how bad it got)
-exhaustion
-sharp muscle pain
-sore throat
-bloody phlegm (what ultimately sent me to the doctor, a little delirious in the process)
-runny nose
-stuffy nose
-sharp hatred for all sick children (Q.L. caught the influenza from her kids)
-coughing
Often times I've wanted to take sick leave in the past, but just because I didn't feel like getting up. This has been the only time in recent memory I was entirely worthless.
It's also amazing how being sick for about a week can set you back for the month. Expect even fewer posts (right...) while I play catch-up for the next six to fourteen weeks.
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