This is stupid

Ok so drew walked away from his coputer while he was babysitting me cuz my mom and dad went to the sinfony and he sad that this blog was pretty cool for whitman so maybe what i rote on it would be pretty cool. my name is steven i am 11 and the coolest thing i think would be fall out boy or yin yan twins they are the best and coolest bands specialy on mtv which is my favorite show. sometimes the yin yan twins talk about slapping hos so once time my mom was getting out the shower and i walked in with a piece of wood which was my pimp cane and i slaped a ho. she got really mad and put me in my room but then i just started on the snoop dog video and rubbing my crotch so she heard it and came in and made me wear rubber pants because she said i was dirty and jesus was sad for me. then another time my dad came home with anoter one of my aunts and he said not to tell mom that aunt bambi was over but instead i went to get the webcam and watched dad annd bambi fight over who got to be king of the hill. so then dad saw me in the window and said that he wud rip my head off if i didnt give him the video but i had already put in on myspace and everyone friendedm e cuz i had my dad and bambi NAKED on myspace and everyone loves it. then one my day friend billy came over and we decided to go get some candyh but we didnt have any money cuz billy cant work legally and neither can i so we got some squirt guns and black spray paint and made real live guns. we got some masks from the daycare and went to selveneleven and told the guy give us your money and candey. he got really scared for a second and then blew billy away with a pump action. i was scared but then i jumped the counter and grabed a weird display knife and put it in his gut while he put two more rounds of buckshot into the ceiling but he mised and i got all the candy i wanted and lots of money and beer. this was the story of the first time i got drunk off of beer and drew drank some too and we both got PSPs.

love
steven

The Origins of Magic

There is a lot of academic onanism going on when it comes to the subject of mythology. People dedicate their entire careers to becoming experts in the religious and occult practices of ancient cultures. Magic is inherently tied to these ancient practices. When browsing the various dictionary sites, I found that finding a suitable definition for the word "magic" is very difficult. Defining "magic" as "the use of charms and spells" doesn't enlighten someone at all. The thing is, we all know what magic is from fairy tales and books we read. What magic is and does is ingrained in our souls. So, when it happens around us, everyone recognizes magic when it happens.

Now, I'm not going off on some nerd vision-quest. I am trying to tell you that magic is real, it's just been a little skewed over 10,000 years of history. Humans use the word magic to describe anything another human can do that can't be explained. For example: There is a japanese man named Takeru Kobayashi who repeatedly wins the Nathan's hot dog eating contest. He weighs 110 pounds. He competes against men who weight 300+. Plenty of people reference how they think Takeru is able to eat so many hot dogs while remaining so small, but nobody really knows. Any strategies someone comes up with could not be reproduced by anyone walking down the street. A physicist could tell me how n theory Tony Hawk was able to do a 900 degree spin on his skateboard in a half-pipe, but that theory couldn't be brought into practice by anyone other than Tony Hawk. The only explaination is that magic is somehow involved.

The first human to be able to make fire was probably the first magician. Since then, humans have just been doing crazy shit that couldn't be explained and so the blanket term "magic" was always used. I'm sure the witches burned in Salem were probably just freaking people out because they could "fly" but really they were pulling some sick varial heelflip to nosegrab action in the first skate park in human history. Rasputin was "magic" because he could always guess what you ate for lunch just by smelling your burps. ALWAYS. It freaked some people out after a while. Merlin, probably the most well-known magician of all time, was the first human to ever grow a beard.

Magic still happens today. You just have to look around. When someone throws a bowling ball and it jumps to the other lane and gets a strike, that's not luck, that's some dark magic that that person unwittingly summoned out of the abyss. When your drunk friend throws a dart behind his back and nails a bullseye, that's holy magic. Just keep your eyes open.

Sanskara

My psych class has been doing a lot of dream work lately. I used to be a big fan of Freudian dream analysis (mostly because it made me feel smart) but lately it's falling out of favor with me. The problem with Freudian analysis is that it is looking for universal patterns instead of context sensitive patterns. I understand that Freud believed that a suitcase represents the womb, but who cares? Freud was one guy and if you break down the elements he chose to imbue with symbolic significance, you start to get a picture of a pretty fucked up old man.

A dream interpretation approach that I'm finding much more interesting comes from Fritz Perls' person-centered therapy. Perls' believed that everything in the dream, all the characters, the setting, the objects, the sensations and events, EVERYTHING IS THE DREAMER. There's this great example in a video where Perls (who looks like Karl Marx after a four day cocaine binge) is walking this student through a dream. In the dream, the student is going up a mountain path when he has a surreal encounter with a friend. The encounter isn't even interesting to Perls, he focuses entirely on just the path until the student realizes himself that he doesn't like being tread upon by others. He is the path. It's really powerful because instead of a doctor telling you what your dreams mean, Perls' approach allows the dreamer to discern the significance on their own. Remember, every fucked up thing that shows up in your dreams is self-created. You are what you dream and Freud only came up with a translation tool... Perls challenges his clients to write their own language.

Buddhists call things that reoccur in the mind "Sanskara". Sanskara are ideas, thoughts, feelings or events which continue to play out. Some people can't get over feelings of inferiority, the time they hit a deer on the road, or resentment at a peer for getting a promotion. However they manifest, I believe that Sanskara play an especially important role in Perls form of dream analysis. My theory is that you can combine the approaches of both Freud and Perls in order to create an interpretive method for your own dreams.

Here's how it works: Keep a dream journal for at least two weeks. Make sure that the paper and pen are close enough to your bed that you don't have to get up. Getting up ruins your remembering. Jot down every detail you can about the dream- it doesn't have to be chronological- sometimes I find that I begin remembering more as I'm taking notes. Resist the temptation to interpret! At the end of the two weeks, take note of tangibles which reoccur in your dreams. Not feelings, like "Oh, in my dreams I'm always lost". I'm talking about things- Racoons, Squash, Periodic Tables, whatever. Now continue your dream logging and the next time you have a dream with part of your sanskara present, take that dream into a counseling situation where you can work out the personal symbology. The important thing is to prepare yourself to know what to look for before moving forward and trying to recognize its significance. Within a few months, you can construct an entire dictionary of personal dream analysis.

The untested problem with this theory is that the human mind is real clever. Once I know what my dreams mean, my brain might start fucking with me. Reminds me of this Beck song, except I think he's singing it to a girl, but I like to sing it to my brain. And just for you curious cats out there, one of the elements of my sanskara is Zombies.

"You have: 87 unheard messages. First message..."

For me, Spring Break is officially over. For others, it will be over on Sunday evening. For another marginal group the big SB will never end because it continues on in their hearts year-round. These are the people wearing flip-flops in the dead of winter and talking about doing things "hella." The perpetual Spring-Breakers don't ever want to live anywhere other than Cancun or Daytona Beach, and undoubtedly their solution for ensuring eternal fun in the sun is something along the lines of teaching surfing lessons or selling fake passports.
When I say SB is over, don't think that anything has actually changed. The legitimacy of saying "I can do this thing I normally wouldn't do because it's SPRING BREAK" is no longer valid. You have to come back to the real world now, in theory. If its Spring Break and you stay up all night drunk and high playing video games, that's cool. Why not go for a pizza and take a nap in the bed of your pickup truck? Fuck it, it's Spring Break. If you did this when it wasn't Spring Break, people might call you a number of names, not the least of which might be "vagrant" or "transient" considering your unusual propensity to sleep in the beds of pickup trucks. Undoubtedly there will be those males at Whitman College and all other colleges around the country who decide this Sunday night will be the night they "party" the "hardest" becuase "it's the last night of Spring Break!" (I am using quotations a lot because you can't say the word "party" with a normal tone of voice; you have to try to mimic Sean Penn in Fast Times At Ridgemont High.) These sad souls will find each other like moths find a burning baby carriage. This is unexplainably sad. For whatever reason, dim-witted nostalgia for dim-witted pastimes is always sad. There are guys out there who really fucking liked the XFL, and it would be sad for me to meet these people and try to have a logical discussion about how shitty the XFL really was, despite the hotness and/or looseness of the team cheerleaders.
I am sure none of the readers of this fine electronic news source would ever dream of such a departure into Neanderthalism. But, if you really must send off Spring Break with a bang, try a new trick I learned and shoot a flare into a McDonald's dumpster. There are colors you wouldn't believe.

New Yorkers are Unhealthy

After spending the last four days in Manhatten I have come to a basic understanding: New Yorkers are unhealthy people. I observe this by their height, plain and simply. I'm a tall guy. Not hugely tall, but normally one of the three tallest people in any social setting (outside the basketball court, which I don't attend, so that solves that) but in New York I saw only two men during the entire trip who were noticeably taller than I. I got back to the Northwest and was immediately comforted by not being the looming giant on the subway or streets. I think there's something about the constant contaminating effects of surliness and toxins that stunts New Yorkers' height. I'm no scientist, but I know something about unhealthy living. And New York aint healthy.

Oh, Gross! That's Gross!

With all this talk about academic-speak, I had to throw in two more cents.

(1). We at the Monstro often talk about 'mental or intellectual diarrhoea.' As seniors, we happen to be very good at it. Oh noes! A paper is due in 3 hours? Just poop something from your mind, and it'll probably be good.

G(r)eek that I am, I know the roots of the word dia- "through," rhoea- "to flow." I've always wanted to create the proper Greek noun to describe what's actually happening. The best I could come up with is phrenorhoea or noosorhoea. These words aren't particularly funny...I have done to myself a great shame.

Which brings me to my next topic!

(2). When you say something just way too nerdy (as I just have), whether in class (when you reference another class's material), among your friends, out to dinner, wherever! You have "nerded" yourself. That is to say, you have soiled yourself with "nerdery." When you commit this bungle, this faux pas of all social blunders, just announce it to your friends: "Oh dear, I've nerded myself."

Should you say it with enough deprecation (hint: practice saying it as if you HAD soiled yourself), you will certainly diffuse your embarrassment. Welcome back to the pack, noob!

(Note: I do not take responsibility for the consequences that may arise should you say this on a first date or among the elderly).

Anonymity

Over the last week or so, our Blogue has become active. People have been commenting more than ever before and to our great delight they are hiding behind that false visage of anonymity the internet provides. We are members of a community which makes up the vast majority of our readership. If members of that community feel confidently enough about their opinions that they would air them publicly, then they should certainly take accountability for those opinions. All members of the Blogue post under their own names and stand by their material, whether it's written in seriousness of jest. Play along and banter with us, riff even, just don't hide in the Federal Witness Protection Program.

To Those of Intellect

This post is inspired in large part by the largest and healthiest debate to come out of the blog so far, and with that I will attempt to cut it off at the knees as suck the soul from those who have participated.

I enjoy my share of intellectual discussion. I am as willing as the next person to engage in topics ranging from the legitimacy of the Core curriculum to the complications underlying the new world economy. I usually enjoy such discussion. But there is a point, an event horizon in many of these discussions in which my desire to participate ceases and instead my eyes narrow and my heart grows cold. I begin looking for sharpened objects or bludgeons instead of counter-points and questions. This point is when I discover that my intellectual discussion is not discussion at all. It is someone trying to casually get away with masturbation in front of my very eyes. Through subtle rhetoric, they are able to make me think that we are engaged in discourse, when in fact they are trying to have intercourse with my eyesocket. They are simply pleasing themselves with their knowlege and ability to bring to light my lack thereof. This is intellectual masturbation, and I have a mixed track record of wins and losses against people who engaged in this regularly, and they have a mixed record of surviving the occurences when I am defeated.

However, those who engage in intellectual masturbation sometimes make a DIRE mistake in their engagement of this sinful practice. They try to "bring the funny." Bringing the funny is making the innacurate assumption that just because you have proven to be intellectually superior to someone else by engaging in intellectual masturbation that it is an appropriate time to crack a joke at their expense. Those of true intellect know that there is a separation between knowledge and humor that must never be crossed. Look at every joke ever written that is intended for an academic audience. Math and science jokes are the worst. Cracking a joke about Kant will always get you punched in the grundle and never get you laughs, I know this because my CORE professor once said "Augustine Kant know Nietzsche about anything." She is dead now. And the authorities called it an "accidental lighting strike."

A new Core: antiquity, old shit, and modernity

I'm Aaron Motherfucking Mandel and here's some goddam shit as it comes to me.

I think the Core program needs an overhaul, in fact it probably needed it sometime shortly after WWII and definitely before Bill Clinton crafted a tenuous peace in the middle east while getting his dong serviced in the oval office. I say this about the Core program because one semester is supposed to be antiquity and the other modernity. I have no problem with the texts chosen, as they are a pretty good primer for the western canon, as good as any semester long set could be at least. However, the "modernity" tag troubles me. In it, we read some shakespeare, enlightenment philosophy, darwin, and then finish with something like Toni Morrison. Now I grant you that the ideas of most of these people form the basis for what we have now in our modern institutions of government and general societal structures. However, the amazing thing about the texts of "modernity" is that in their time they were absolutely cutting edge, they took down a monarchical structure that had held for centuries and reversed the Catholic Church's stranglehold on what was scientific truth. However, that is all old shit. Sure, it is the basis for modernity, but I would posit that we are living in a time right now that is completely unexplained or unexplainable by locke, rousseau, hobbes, kant, darwin, etc...Technology has made the world a lot smaller, metaphorically. Interstate commerce is available at the push of a button, international business and trade is the norm, and companies that do business in many countries of the world rule the market. Airplanes make it so that with moderate capital and 18 hours I can be fucking a Thai whore in her country of birth. None of the folks that Whitman has us reading for "modernity" talks about any of this stuff, and they can't be expected too, since most have been skeletal for 250+ years. That would be fine if their ideas still dictated the current state of things but I don't think that they do. The current state of the world requires for me something beyond the limits of liberal political theory and enlightenment philosophy which is concerned with insular state sovereignty and advancement through individual rebellions against old monarchies. This age of easy internationalism and seamless information requires new scholarship, scholarship that will relegate the current selection of modernity to "old shit", sandwiched in between antiquity and whatever this new beast is that we are developing. I would therefore propose a third semester of core, devoted to true modernity, learning about how the internet has become a geopolitical weapon of the masses but maybe is just a false sense of empowerment for the common man (opiate?) when all is really controlled by Rupert Murdoch and a few other fools who breathe and dream just like you and me, but can control the fates of millions instantaneously, is this the new age of kings?

Yeah, okay Aaron, except then I wake up and read the news and realize that we are still fighting wars over religion and nationalism, I suppose some things never change, although I did vote for Dennis Kucinich.

just some thoughts as they came to me.

Also, I am wondering whether from the third floor of the library I could jump into that native american canoe without taking the whole shebang down with a crash into the foyer. If i could be gently lowered into it without fear of fattification causing a break I would totally spend the night in there.

smart talk

I have come to notice over the years that just about anyone can enter the ranks of highly intellectual conversation if they just teach themselves a few key phrases and insert them at appropriate moments. So here some of my advice for fellow scammers of intellect.

good word to use: plethora
setting: in any discussion where you want to seem open-minded and diverse
example: "the plethora of options and viewpoints makes me really glad, i love choice"

good word to use: dichotomy
setting: whenever you make a comparison.
example: "the dichotomy between A and B is powerful. There is a powerful dichotomy."


and the best word of all, Whitman-style: Problematic
setting: whenever you want to complain about something, which should be all the time.
example: "I find this text very problematic."


So there you have it, just about anyone can save themselves with a grand ol' dose of the BS in the form of these and a few more handy catchphrases. You guys think I'm missin any?

The Scare Game

The Scare Game is easy to play and you play by yourself, so you can do it anywhere at any time.

Remove yourself from the modern conveniences of modernity (like lightbulbs, TV sets, self-cleaning ovens, and bilingual Tickle-Me Elmos) and ensure that you are somewhere that is sufficiently dark and uncomfortable. I must stress all these as equally important to the Scare Game, otherwise you won't achieve the goals of the game. The next part is easy: think something up to scare the shit out of yourself. I very much enjoy exercises in imagination, but people rarely toy with the dark side of their brain and instead spend all the day long fancying rainbows and unicorns. You will find that in the beginning it is hard to frighten yourself when you're TRYING to be scared, but keep it up. Think of the most terrifying thing you can. I will give you some of my favorite one-player Scare Game inventions:

FIVE, the fifth and Satanic Teletubby. I thought of Five when I was in high school and the Teletubbies were cool to second-graders and rave kids who sucked on pacifiers and wore big billowing pants. Five is black, unlike the bright colors of the other tubbies, and the symbol on his head is a pentogram instead of a fun circle or square. Five has the ability to "blink" in between this plane of existence and the fourth dimensional hell. Five has hollow white eyes and sharp, pointy teeth. Try walking alone through the woods and imagining Five blinking in and out of reality behind trees slowly approaching and no matter what direction you run he's always in front of you. Five is scary.

THE MOON MAN, a scary man from the moon. The moon man was thought up on nights when I would have to walk between my house and our shop to get various things. Sometimes my imagination would get out of control and I would imagine red glowing eyes staring at me from a distance. I don't know what the moon man looks like, I only know his eyes. They always watch me. No matter where I go, even in my dreams, they watch...

See how fun the Scare Game can be? It's even more fun if you get a group of friends together because more imagination means more fucked up terror for everyone to enjoy.