Metaphors and Lies

Oma's Bunker

2011-09-25T09:29:00.000-07:00

My grandmother told us a story recently, and while I wasn't smart enough to turn on the voice recorder on my phone, I do want to write it down while it's still fresh in my mind. Some of the details might be misremembered by my grandmother, myself, or both, and some details have been filled in by a bit conjecture, but it is a true story. It is the story of the bunker.

Oma's Bunker

The Itjeshorst family lived on a small family farm outside of Dinslaken, Germany. They lived just next door to the Reinersmann's. These two families comprise my father's half of my family tree: my grandmother was born an Itjeshorst, my grandfather a Reinersmann.

During World War II, Allied pilots would occasionally drop their bombs on small farms outside of major cities, not because the farms were strategic targets of course, but because the extra weight of the bombs wouldn't allow them to reach their home bases. As one former pilot once told my father (not knowing that he had lived on such a farm), they would sometimes take target practice on the small farmhouses. While this practice was rare enough not to be a constant threat, such bombings did sometimes occur on a daily basis on the Itjeshorst and Reinersmann farms. Hence the need for the bunker.

It was a great undertaking. The walls were thick concrete (“Like that!” she says, holding her hands about a foot apart.) and the bunker itself was entirely underground, accessed by a hatch door. Oma remembers her father saying that while it might not have survived a direct hit by a large bomb, its structure was not disturbed by the smaller ones that fell around it.

While the size of the bunker is a matter of great internal debate to my grandmother (the memory is, after all, 66 years old), it was large enough to hold all that sought it. The entire neighborhood would come to the bunker when the air raid sirens sounded, just as they had all come to help in its construction. Oma jokes that if the bunker had collapsed, “the entire neighborhood would have gone down with it!” It was so large that it was even able to hold a British officer.

Captain Blackstock was an officer in the British armed forces, and a friend of Oma's father. She tells the story of a time when her father went to meet Captain Blackstock at his office (presumably in Dinslaken) for a hunting trip. My great-grandfather showed up to the office wearing his simple farmer's clothing, and received a rude and abrupt greeting from the British officer that answered the door, who was quite confused (and presumably embarrassed) by Captain Blackstock's warm “Itjeshorst!” a few moments later.

(This story was mirrored decades later when my father, Richard, wearing his electrician's work clothes, popped in on Mr. Smith of Smith-Barney, with whom he had been close as a child. The secretarial staff had a similar attitude, and similar surprising revelation, when Mr. Smith embraced my father.)

To preempt the question: no, I do not know what a British officer was doing in Western Germany in the early 1940s. I do know that he was warmly welcomed into the neighborhood bunker during air raids, and that my grandmother grew up with a picture of Captain Blackstock in the window above their kitchen sink, and probably heard his stories a hundred times in the years following the war. Captain Blackstock's story reminds me of the stupidity of war, and the greater power of human connection.

The last time Oma saw it, the bunker was about half full of water, an almost forgotten relic of an awful time. She and her second husband, Russ, went to see it during their trip to Germany in the early 1980s. The house is gone, sold to the city when the families emigrated to the United States, but that bunker will likely be there for a long, long time. For me, so will the memory of Oma telling its story.

The Tale of the AC Compressor

2011-06-04T20:12:00.000-07:00

I achieved a great personal victory today.

Though I had a lot of help, it still felt like such a victory because it was something I'd never considered myself capable of, and I like surprising myself. So here's the story.

I drive what I still think of as my dad's 1997 Lincoln Mark VIII, a car I've come to love over the two years I've been driving it. My dad had had it for quite a while, putting tens of thousands of miles on it, though it was I who pushed it over the 200,000 mile mark. Mary Todd (Lincoln, get it?) now has just under 216,000 miles, and her engine is running just great. However...

Lots of other things aren't. The Lincoln was ahead of its time in terms of accessories, with things like an air ride suspension system, onboard computer display, and other fancy - and relatively fragile - luxuries. So over the years, it's needed a lot of work. Just in the two years I've had it, my dad and I replaced a good amount of the air ride suspension system, the upper control arms on both sides, all 4 rotors, one caliper, and there's more that I can't remember. Before I had it, he and we had replaced or repaired so many parts and systems that the file that contains all the paperwork is about 4" thick.

But now, I was faced with the most serious thing I'd ever had to do to the Lincoln, and my dad isn't with us anymore. This is a (functional) AC compressor, and it is connected via the serpentine belt to just about every other motor and compressor in the vehicle. The compressor on the Lincoln was shot, not spinning freely, and screwing up the rest of the components on the belt, even threatening to shred the belt itself. Dad's Lincoln was very, very sick.

At a local dealer where I received the above diagnosis, I was faced with a $1052 estimate. Shit. The Lincoln is barely worth $2000 in its current condition, and I just plain ol' don't have a thousand bucks to spend right now. I could have spent the money on Wednesday, but eating lunch on Thursday would have been tricky.

Luckily for me, my dad had purchased the service manual for the Lincoln. This isn't the manual that comes with the car, but a digital copy of what the actual Ford mechanics use when servicing the vehicle. It's awesome. These 14 steps are the instructions for the removal of the AC Compressor. Holy shit. After initially rejecting the idea, I got good boosts of confidence from my step-mom, Loretta, and her brother Peter, and decided to do the work myself.

I got a compressor from a junkyard, and with the help of my buddy Chris, replaced the compressor in about 10 hours of work over two days. There were, as you saw, a lot of steps, hardly any of which were straightforward or easy. Like I told Chris, "If I ever meet the guy that designed this engine, I'm gonna shake his hand, and then punch him in the face." There was a lot of swearing and smashing of knuckles, but we got the job done.

Here are some pictures of the work. Regarding the "F*@# These Things" picture, these are the instructions for separating them - that was not fun, and my back still hurts. Also, I got very, very dirty during all this. This is me after washing my hands a bit.

After spending two hours replacing all the crap we'd pulled out, I started up the engine successfully and just started laughing wildly, giddy with excitement and a profound sense of accomplishment. I really wish Dad could have seen me do this. He would have been so proud of me at that moment. He also would have found the image of me giggling at myself in the car pretty funny.

So what's the end of the story? The Lincoln is once again running smoothly, though it needs an A/C recharge. Also, I think I'm now officially a "car guy," though I really have no idea what I'm doing. Thanks for the service manual, Dad.

My Dad

2011-04-19T12:50:00.000-07:00

This is the eulogy I gave for my dad at his memorial just under three months ago. I've been wanting to put it up here for a while, and for some reason today seemed like a good day to do it. It's here in its entirety.

I want to start off with a funny story of my dad’s, because he had a thousand of them. He couldn’t let any gathering of people pass by without a Rich Reinersmann story, and this one should be no different. As my friend John once said, “My favorite stories from your dad are when he’s being a hilarious ass,” so I’ll tell you one of those.

He was a construction manager for Toys ‘R’ Us at the time, and was working on the lighting. The ceilings are really high, so he and his partner were up on scissor-lifts. The other electrician was a big beefy guy, who later played pro football if I remember right, but he really didn’t like what they were working on that day – he was terrified of it in fact.

They had to make a ton of connections in the lights, and that meant they had two choices. They could either cut the power, go up the lifts, make a connection, go down the lifts, turn on the power to test the connection, turn off the power, go up the lift, yada yada yada. Orrrr…

They could make the connections live – with power still running through the lines. This part is what the other guy didn’t like (and here, by the way, is where my dad would have been able to tell you the guy’s full name, address, and what kind of car he drove). As the lines came into contact, they went POP! POP! POP! a couple times, but it was totally safe as long as you weren’t touching them. Still, and quite understandingly, the guy was nervous about it.

So as the guy is making his first connection, very nervously and slowly, my dad readies a big wrench, and just as the wires make their first POP!, he slams the wrench down on the deck of the guy’s scissor lift. The guy screams at the top of his lungs, drops both wires, and throws his own wrench clear across the store. Luckily, it didn’t go near anybody, but no so luckily for Dad, the big beefy linebacker guy was pissed. My dad was apparently a faster runner, though, so the story ends well.

But what I really came up here to say was this. By society’s standards, my father was not a great man: he didn’t cure any diseases, stop any wars, or solve any of the world’s problems. But he raised and loved four kids, was a great teacher, and had a network of close friends and relatives who loved him. So to me, and to those many lives he touched, my dad was a good man – a great man.

It says a lot about him that his ex-step-son TJ was at his wedding, visited him in the hospital, and was expecting my dad to be at his own wedding next year. Our mom and my dad haven’t been married since 1996, but if you asked him, my dad would always answer that he had four kids, always counting TJ as one of his own (sometimes even counting Casady as number five). His kids were so important to him, and it pains me to think of the years I missed out on being mad at him.

When my parents divorced, the kids gravitated toward our mom. And for a while, seeing only one side of the situation (and being kind of an angsty teenager), I hated my dad. I am so thankful that I got over those feelings and got to really know him as an adult – I’ll cherish these last seven or so years I spent with him especially closely. He of course wasn’t always perfect with us – he was human – but he helped raise us, and he loved us. He was a great man.

I can’t speak to the kind of teacher he was at the IEC apprenticeship program. I can say that he loved doing it so much, and he did it really well – his Teacher of the Year awards and the continuing relationships with some of his students speak well to that. I can tell you that god-knows-how-many scraps of paper, the walls of every project I helped him on, and every wall of our garage growing up were covered with diagrams and equations – the world was his impromptu blackboard, and he loved using it to teach. He was a great teacher, and a great man.

What I think speaks best about his character is this room full of people right here today, and I don’t just mean the number. It’s the depth of his relationships that I’m talking about. Everybody has a lot of acquaintances, but my dad had so many friends. I want to thank you all for coming today, and to let you know – if you didn’t already – that he loved you just as much as you love him. He was a great man.

I know I’m preaching to the choir here, and I don’t want to pretend that he was a saint or anything, but he showed me that there is real honor and pride to be had in being a Working Class Hero. That what you do for a living isn’t nearly as important as how you do it, and that your career isn’t nearly as important as your friends and family. He defined himself as a father, a husband, a brother, and a son, but most importantly as a friend – a real friend – to a great many people. And that’s how I’ll always remember my dad – as my friend.

These Are the Dreams I Had Last Night

2011-03-21T22:16:00.000-07:00

They are not happy dreams.

I was in charge of watching over Dad’s casket for the night following his death. His funeral would be in the morning. But the casket wasn't like other caskets, because he was (or was to be?) cremated. Instead of what you’d normally expect, it was like a shitty electric guitar case, though larger: rectangular, with a textured hard plastic body that was painted a faded light green. It was roughly the proper length, roughly six-and-a-half feet long, and close to the proper width, maybe 30 inches across, but it was only a few inches thick. The case was on a bed, on the left side (if you were lying in the bed). The bed and the room are unfamiliar to me. I was standing next to the bed on that same side, and pacing down its length.

When I got to the end to turn around, the case was gone, and Dad was there in his hospital gown, though not weak and thin like he was at the end. He was pale, though not deathly so. He was annoyed at one of the IV tubes, and was reaching around over the top of the bed, which was now tilted up at the head like a hospital bed. I became upset, because I knew I had to tell him that it didn’t matter: he was already dead. I moved to help him untangle the tubes and that’s when the dream ended.

The next dream took place a little while after his death – maybe present day. I was in the driveway of an unfamiliar house, and I was leaving. I was sad, though not about leaving. I get the impression I had been visiting its residents for the first time after Dad died, not unlike the recent trip down South that Liesel and I took to see Tante Emmy and Oma.

So I was getting ready to leave the house in an unfamiliar car, when for some reason I became aware (perhaps I just skipped the expository part of the dream; perhaps I just can’t remember) that I could instead take a very fancy black sports car instead. I decided to do so, and started to take my stuff – an overnight bag – out of the unfamiliar car.

When I got to the sports car, I noticed that the very large spoiler on the back was in fact two separate ones, and now red. It was more like a wing than a spoiler – raised up rather than flush to the trunk lid – but there was no center. It wasn’t missing, but intentional. Then I noticed that each piece was broken in the same way. The material was like a thick, very hard foam-core that had cracks in several places going front-to-back, getting progressively worse as they went toward the center of the car. The spoiler(s) would clearly fly off if I tried to drive it. I had the thought that I was lucky that it hadn't flown off on the drive here, and I didn’t notice that I had already identified the other car as mine.

The sports car was parked next to yet another car, which I knew belonged to a man that either lived or was just staying at this house. He was also an electrician, or I think just a hobbyist, and I went inside the garage to ask him if he could help clean some of Dad’s electrical stuff out of the house.

Here’s where the dream became strange, and really sad, though briefly nice.

Once I went into the garage to find the guy, the garage became more like the kitchen I have now, and the man was suddenly Dad. I immediately started crying and we started hugging. We were holding each other super tight and I had my hands on both his shoulder blades, which I could feel distinctly, as I could when he seriously began losing weight – like around Christmas 2010. I’m not sure if I could feel him losing more weight as I held him, but I know that I was aware of his thinness, relative to how he was in his prime. Still crying, I said, “I miss you so much, Dad.” To which he replied, “I know you do. It’s okay.”

That’s when I woke up, still crying. About an hour later, I called my therapist to make the first appointment of the new round of sessions.

The Terrifying Incident of the Bike Ride in the Nighttime

2011-01-16T19:46:00.000-08:00

I was super busy with school and work, and then super busy with relaxing myself into a Reddit-fueled stupor. It had totally skipped my mind that I even had a blog, let alone that one is supposed to write in these things. So, in order to distract myself from stressful things of the moment, I'd like to tell you about The Very Scary Bike Ride Through Kankan.

In order to properly tell you of this ride through Kankan, I should first say something of Kankan itself. It is the third largest city in Guinea, with between 140,000 and 207,000 people, depending who you ask (Peace Corps and Wikipedia, respectively). The de facto capital of the Haute Guineé region, it is a major hub in Eastern Guinea, and indeed the broader region. Here's a picture from Google Earth:

Click for larger version.

However (and this is usually the surprising bit), there is no electrical generation in Kankan beyond individual gasoline generators, nor is there any running water. While no one visiting Guinea or any other developing country is expecting a Four Seasons (although you'd be surprised some places), it is a little surprising to find such a large, culturally relevant city bereft of even the most basic infrastructure. I can't say for certain - the internet is, not surprisingly, just as bereft of information about the third largest city in a country no one's ever heard of ("New Guinea? Guiana? Ghana?") - but here's what I heard while I was over there.

Lansana Conté was the "president" of Guinea from 1984 until his death in December of 2008. During that time, he...ugh, he was a dick, okay? He did lots of mean things to lots of good people. The bit that's relevant is that, due to some sort of disagreement with the governor of the Kankan prefecture, he shut down and destroyed Kankan's hydro-electric power generation along the Niger. So the short answer is that Conté's a dick, and that's the main reason that Kankan has no power.

So let me set up this ride for you. I was at my house not far from the city center, and was biking to the Peace Corps Volunteer House on the outskirts of Kankan, where a goodly number of PCVs had gathered. Each region of Guinea had a volunteer house, and I was lucky enough to be placed in the same city as the one in my area. This meant that I would have had a constant stream of potential buddies to hang out with. Here is the route I took - click the caption to blow it up to a readable size.

Click for larger version.

The trip was just over two miles, but that wasn't part of the problem. With the amount of biking we'd been doing, I was actually in great shape (for me), and was quite comfortable riding long distances (again, for me). In fact, when I traced the route in Google Earth, I was really surprised at how short it was (until I remembered the time I walked it carrying a suitcase). No, the real problems were: the roads, the people, the darkness, and quite unexpectedly, the light.

THE ROADS in Guinea are...how to put this delicately...shitty. Real shitty. I very distinctly recall a particular pothole on the road to Moribaya that we drove into and out of. Though there was nothing like that in Kankan, the roads are definitely better suited to walking than any sort of wheeled transport. Biking is no problem - you just have to watch where you're going and make sure not to run into any of

THE PEOPLE, who expect you to know what the hell you're doing. As I said, I was quite comfortable on my bike, but I've only ever been called coordinated sarcastically. There were a lot of people on the roads, which have, obviously, no explicit nor implicit divisions between pedestrian, bike, and vehicle areas. So it's important to watch out for people, which is made particularly difficult due to

THE DARKNESS. It is dark. It is really goddamn dark. It's so dark that you can't see the hand in front of your face sometimes. There are a number of little lights by the side of the road wherever people are selling things or gathering to hang out, but generally speaking, it's friggin' dark. Luckily, I brought

THE LIGHT with me. Specifically, every one of us (as far as I know) brought a headlamp with us. They're terribly useful things in general, and particularly so for two specific uses: poopin' and bikin'. It is pretty frikkin' hard to hold a flashlight and do either of those activities (or both for that matter, but I don't know that anyone tried that). "But Dave," you may ask, "why would the light be a problem for your no-good-very-bad bike ride?" I'll tell you, and thanks for your question. The headlight is placed on the forehead, which, because of the normally super-helpful spread of the beam, puts a nice glare right across the front of my glasses, making it nigh impossible to see.

So I spent the right going extremely slowly, barely able to see through the glare of my light into the darkness, trying not to hit anyone or fall off my bike. So I went those 2 or so miles very slowly, and quite scared of, ya know, dying - or worse, looking silly on my bike. Once I got onto the newer road, it wasn't too much of a problem, though then I had the added difficulty with the sparse traffic.

Long story short (too late), I made it to the Volunteer house, where I vowed to never ever do that again.

Road Trips and Rifles

2010-10-31T21:08:00.000-07:00

A very good friend of mine is getting married next weekend. He lives in Georgia now, so I get to take a road trip (with another very good friend) all the way down there! Road trips are almost always fun, and this upcoming one reminded me of some of the road trips we took in Guinea. They were (sometimes) fun, so I thought I’d share a story or two.

Long-distance travel in the developing world is not the same as it is here: there are complications that would never have occurred to me. In the US, we expect that if we break down, we will have all the supplies and assistance we require within easy reach, even if they are expensive. We expect good, well-marked roads almost all the way to our destination; gas stations at reasonable intervals; food, water, and toilets readily available whenever we desire them; and we do not at any time expect to be required to defend our right to be on the road or to travel to a particular destination.

With few qualifications, none of these expectations could be met while traveling between African countries, or in many cases within an African country. Such was our experience in Guinea. The bit I want to highlight is the last one: barrages.

Literally, “dam” or “roadblock,” a more accurate translation in this case is “checkpoint.” They serve nearly no purpose in peacetime and, when I was there, Guinea had had a decades-long peace. They are staffed by bored, underpaid soldiers who had erected the most crude sort of barrier across the road, often just a brightly colored string or a series of tied sticks. So while I never understood why they existed, we quickly learned the procedures when encountering a barrage.

First and foremost, follow the lead of the driver (this assumes you are in a taxi – Peace Corps cars were generally just waved on through, even going around lines of waiting nationals). His demeanor and attentiveness were a huge clue for us. Being polite and proper are hugely important, particularly in this power dynamic, but anywhere in a culture that prizes so highly the quality of personal interactions.

Also, we put away anything electronic, particularly iPods, but anything American. The guards are going to want some sort of bribe, and you don’t want to give them any ideas about the nature of that bribe. (Though “bribe” is often too harsh a word, it is the most appropriate – “toll” is too soft and official-sounding.)

Bribing was something that Peace Corps Volunteers tried to avoid, too. Despite being comparatively wealthy, Peace Corps did keep us on a tight budget, and we wanted to avoid setting up the expectation that PCVs are easily parted with their money.

We encountered one particularly worrisome barrage on the long cross-country trip from Conakry to Kan-Kan. (My upcoming Philly-to-Augusta trip will take almost as much time, but cover nearly twice the distance. Ugh, those roads…) We hadn’t yet gone far when we were stopped and asked to pull off to the side. You’re expected to hand over your passport, but having surrendered those to Peace Corps (for just this reason – you really don’t want to have that confiscated), we used our PC identification cards.

It was not unusual, and it occurred here, for the soldier to collect the card from each passenger along with the driver’s paperwork (presumably vehicle registration, etc.). What happened to them varied: sometimes they were glanced at and handed back, other times they were studied carefully. At this barrage, they were all collected and taken to someone else to study, out of sight of our car. This instantly made everyone nervous.

Meanwhile, another soldier demanded that we open the hatchback, and we of course complied (really, we just failed to object as he opened it himself – we were still in the car). A more seasoned PCV in the front yelled back to me to watch him as he rifled through our things, so I turned around in my seat to “assist” him.

He immediately noticed our med kits – their cases were hard black plastic, and stood out easily in a country where a plastic bag is a sometimes precious commodity. He demanded to open it, but I was told to refuse, as he would certainly demand some of the medicine as a “toll.” I had my hand firmly covering the med kit, and he had his hand casually holding his rifle to his side (something I was acutely aware of, if not actively worried about).

I had let him know that it was medicine, but said it would all spill out if I were to open it. After much shouting in French and Sou-Sou (I almost spoke the former, and could say 3 words in the latter) between the soldier and our experienced volunteer in the front, a PC employee came over to talk with him. She had been riding in another car which was heading in the same direction, and had been (luckily) stopped near us. She carefully opened the case, explaining constantly how the medicine was for the next two years, and all had to remain with each volunteer. She did a great job, and we were on our way tout de suite.

A few hours later, that experience still fresh in our thoughts, we had another rough experience, but one that ended in one of the more surreal experiences I’ve ever had.

Once again, our IDs were taken out of our sight, but this time, something terrifying happened. In a country where being polite is highly prized, an officer (!) came up to the car and shouted as loudly and angrily as he could “I want to see each one of you, over there, one by one!” In French, of course – French sounds quite flowery and pretty when spoken between two Parisian lovers, but it can be pretty scary when it’s shouted by a man with a really big gun.

Quite nervously, we all followed the crowd toward a small hut on a low hill on the side of the road (again, there were the two other cars of PCVs that had been stopped at roughly the same time, but this time even the PC employee was stumped). These huts are very common, and during the hottest parts of the day, when the sweltering sun beats down mercilessly on the bored soldiers, the barrages become quite lax, allowing a quick pass-through to allow the soldiers an equally quick return to their shady hut.

Once inside, we were greeted, again quite loudly and angrily, by a man claiming to be a general (maybe, my French wasn’t to be heavily relied on at this point – suffice to say, he had decorations on his comparably well-pressed uniform). He had our stack of ID cards in his hands, and he barked out the top name in a voice that would any Marine drill sergeant jump.

“JAKE!” He pointed at the ground in front of him, and in my head I heard R. Lee Ermy follow up with “Front and CEN-ter!”

Jake walked up to the officer, who sweetly and politely said “Merci pour votre assistance.”

After laughing at the grand joke he had played on us, the officer gave a very moving speech thanking us for coming to Guinea and working to make his country a better place. He then handed Jake his card and told him to return to his taxi.

He called each of our names, with varying degrees of success, personally thanking each of us. It was a fun and moving experience, not the least due to the adrenaline coursing through my system.

Despite these two more colorful experiences (rather mild compared to some others I heard about), the barrages were largely uneventful – they served only to interrupt one’s music or already-fitful sleep. But more than that, they served to remind us that even something like a cross-country drive is a very different experience in Africa.

I’m quite looking forward to my upcoming road trip, where the most worrisome part is the traffic around D.C.

My Reading List So Far

2010-09-02T19:10:00.000-07:00

I mentioned Step 1 of the learning process is reading, so I thought I'd share my reading list as it stands so far. So if you wanna get me a present... :-)

Personal Accounts

The Masked Rider: Cycling in West Africa by Neal Peart

The Shadow of the Sun: My African Life by R Kapuscinski

An Unorthodox Soldier by T Spicer

~~A Long Way Gone by Ishmael Beah~~

Angola: Promises and Lies by K Maier

French Lessons in Africa by P Biddlecombe

~~This Child Will Be Great: Memoir of a Remarkable Life by Africa's First Woman President by Ellen Sirleaf~~

The Lost World of the Kalahari by Van Der Post (1958)

Journey Without Maps by Graham Greene (1935ish)

~~What is the What: The Autobiography of valentine Achak Deng by Dave Eggers~~

~~The Dark Child by Camara Laye~~

~~Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight by Alexandra Fuller~~

~~Long Walk to Freedom by Nelson Mandela~~

General/History

The Harmless People by Elizabeth Marshall Thomas

Fishing in Africa: A Guide to War and Corruption by Andrew Buckoke

The Scramble for Africa by Thomas Pakenham

African History: A Very Short Introduction by Richard Rathbone

The Bottom Billion by Paul Collier

African Genesis: Folk Tales and Myths of Africa by Leo Frobenius and Douglas Fox

Sunjata: A West African Epic of the Mande Peoples by David Conrad and Djanka Conde

Lonely Planet: Africa on a Shoestring by Hugh Finlay

Non-Africa-Specific Development Practices

What Works in Girls’ Education: Evidence and Practices from the Developing World by Herz and Sperling

~~Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortensen~~

~~Stones into Schools by Greg Mortensen~~

The Complete and Unabridged Reasoning for Rejoining Peace Corps

2010-08-27T12:56:00.000-07:00

Why do I want to join Peace Corps again?

I’ve heard this question again and again, from a lot of people. Surprised, worried, confused, they are concerned about me; and they don’t understand. So I thought I’d lay it all out here: The Complete and Unabridged Reasoning for Rejoining Peace Corps.

There are three principle reasons. All of them are simple and straightforward, yet at the same time each has many layers, and is more than it seems on the surface. I’ll deal with them one at a time. Presented in no particular order:

Reason #1: I want to learn.

I want to spend the rest of my life working in international development. Sometime in the last few years, I discovered a purpose – something I am passionate about. I always thought it was going to be U.S. politics, but it’s not. I want to spend my career “evening the scales,” so to speak.

But before I can start my career, I need to learn more. The first plan was grad school (scroll down a few weeks; you’ll see it), but the more I looked into it, the less I wanted to go. International development is a field where everyone is convinced that everyone else is doing it wrong.

“Improving infrastructure is the most important thing,” says one group.

“But how can we improve the infrastructure when the government is corrupt?” says another. “The first step must be to increase good governance.”

“An uneducated populace can’t run a country – education is top priority!” says a third.

“But children can’t learn when they’re sick! Improving health practices has to be first!” says yet another.

“You can’t have a healthy people without a healthy diet. Agricultural improvements must be made,” says another.

And so on.

If I were to go to grad school, I would learn a way. Any school I went to would have some philosophical bent to their teaching, which clearly isn’t working, because all the problems are still there! They’re even getting worse in some places. Where I was before, for instance, in Guinea, average income has stayed the same, but fallen relative to the rest of the region and the world. So the current methods aren’t working.

So my approach to learning and forming my own ideas has two prongs: reading and Peace Corps. I’ve begun reading every book I can find on Africa. I’ve started with personal accounts – autobiographical when possible – of life and struggle around the continent. After those, I’ll read about current development concepts and philosophies to find out what’s already been tried or thought of. Lots and lots of reading. From this, I’ll make my own opinions.

The second prong is Peace Corps. Reading books will never tell me all I need to know. I need to get myself on the ground, and live the life of someone in a developing country (or as close I can safely get, that is). Learning from my own experience about how life is, attitudes, preconceptions, misconceptions, and putting a human face on the problem will help me immensely.

Reason #2: I want to help.

This is the same reason I used when I went into Peace Corps the first time, and it has not changed. It’s the reason I want to go into international development in the first place. Peace Corps itself can do good. It’s possible not to – through no fault of their own, some volunteers will be neither harmful nor helpful, simply living in a community and only fulfilling the cultural exchange goals of Peace Corps. But it is also possible to accomplish a great deal.

It’s possible, that even after a career in international development; I will have only accomplished anything worthwhile during my two years in Peace Corps. I don’t think that in a world of almost seven billion people, anyone can expect to change the world. But it is absolutely possible to positively and significantly affect the lives of a small group of people. If I only wind up helping one family, or a few small businesses, or even a small village, it will be something, and worthwhile.

So I want to help. I think and feel that there is a moral obligation to help those who have been economically, politically, socially, and even personally subjugated for an unthinkable length of time, particularly when the blame for many of the conditions of these areas can be laid squarely at our feet. People wonder why Africa, South America and Southeast Asia struggle so much. It is no accident of geology or climate, nor is it the result of lazy or corrupt people. No, it all comes back to the European (that’s you, Whitey) peoples’ oppression of the Global South. Colonialism and neocolonialism have decimated these areas. It’s our fault, and we have to fix it.

My third reason is more personal.

I failed the first time, I really did. In a long series of quitting things, it was one of the worst. In just over two years, I quit a relationship, a job, another job, Peace Corps, and another relationship. In the past, I quit things for good reasons, though not without regret: I dropped out of college the first time because I couldn’t handle it then; I quit Chess Club in high school (yeah, yeah, Chess Club, I know I'm a nerd) because I wasn’t that good at it, and it wasn’t any fun. But these other things didn’t have those logical reasons: they were made from fear, or from depression.

So it’s personal, too. I have to do this, or I’ll just have to add Peace Corps to my list of unresolved regrets. I want to change this feeling in me – this regret. My best friend described it as “macho bullshit,” and maybe he’s right. That might be a part of it, but those other reasons aren’t just filler. There is absolutely a personal aspect to it, but there was the first time, too. There is for anyone joining Peace Corps or any other organization.

So those are my reasons, in full. If you have any questions, let me know.

Now, the other issue people are concerned about is my mental health. First, Guinea did not give me these problems; it exacerbated them. It’s a stressful environment, and not the place you want to try to work out issues of depression and anxiety. The good news is that I’ve started therapy, and I have high hopes for it. Over the next nine months, I hope to make some good progress, and set myself up to be better equipped to handle the stresses of Peace Corps.

Also, I know what to expect, to some extent. A lot of the stress comes from a fear of the unknown, and I now have some idea of what’s coming. Of course, the odds of being sent back to Guinea are pretty astronomical, but the general idea is there.

Now, I don’t know if Peace Corps is even going to accept me. First, they like to give people who haven’t already experienced it a chance to do so. Secondly, they don’t readily accept people who have ET’d (Early Terminated) back into the ranks, so to speak.

Okay, holy hell, that was a long one: 1,216 words! That’s enough for now. I hope that answers your questions (if you had them in the first place). If not, let me know! Thanks.

Peace

2010-08-07T20:27:00.000-07:00

'Cause I'm bored and this is neat, here is how to say "peace" in a bunch of languages:

Afrikaans	Vrede
Albanian	Pake
Aramaic (Syriac, Assyrian)	Shlamaa
Arabic	Salam
Bengali	Shanti
Bosnian	Spokoj
Burmese	Nyeinjanyei
Chinese (Manadarin)	He Ping
Creole	Lapé
Czech	Mir
Danish	Fred
Dutch	Vrede
Eskimo	Erkigsnek
French	Paix
German	Friede
Greek	Irini
Hebrew	Shalom
Hindi	Shanti
Hopi	Sipala
Indonesian	Damai
Irish	Sióchain
Italian	Pace
Japanese	Heiwa

Javanese	Rukun
Klingon	Rój
Korean	Phyongh’wa
Latin	Pax
Latvian	Miers
Norwegian	Fred
Persian	Sula
Polish	Pokoj
Portugese	Paz
Romanian	Pace
Russian	Mir
Scottish	Fois
Spanish	Paz
Swahili	Amani
Swedish	Fred
Tamil	Amaithi
Telugu	Shanti
Tibetan	Sidi
Thai	Santiphap
Turkish	Sulh
Vietnamese	Su Thai Binh
Welsh	Heddwch
Zulu	Ukuthula

(If you were to translate the right column, it would say "peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace peace." Just in case you weren't sure.)

Third Way

2010-08-07T18:17:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned in my last post, I'm thinking that grad school might not be the way to go, and that I'm going to re-apply to Peace Corps, as a more direct learning experience.

My big problem was that going to grad school to learn how to work in international development does not seem very productive. What I need to do is to either a) develop my own ideas on how to go about solving some of these seemingly intractable problems, or b) find someone or some organization that I feel is going about it in a good way. USAID was one of my first thoughts, and it might still be an option, but it has its problems.

Peace Corps was my first thought of an organization that would let me get on the ground and experience the problems first-hand. In this way, I could form my own opinions and work with other organizations on the ground.

However, a less radical solution came to mind the other day. While USAID (and many other organizations) require a master's degree for employment, there are also other who do not. This little nugget of information slipped my mind, and I decided to start poking around.

I found this: DevelopmentWorker.com. There are a bunch of jobs out there for people with bachelor's degrees. What I need to do now is to find one that a) requires only a bachelor's degree, b) will let me learn the things I want to learn, c) is smart about how they go about things, and d) isn't evil.

(Also, it wouldn't hurt if they paid half-decently.)

So this is my Big August Project. Check back for updates.

UPDATE: Jobs like this! (though, duh, I need to graduate first, but this serves as an example that, after only 15 minutes of searching, I found a job I'll be qualified for at a place I'd like to work.) So this plan is winning.

And this is one of the only songs I could find with the word "way" in it. Also, I gave up looking pretty quickly.

The Grand Master Plan of Dave

2010-08-03T10:26:00.000-07:00

So my plan has been, for the past year or so, to get my bachelor's in May 2011, my master's two years later, and go work for USAID (or some other such larger organization that is impressed by master's degrees).

Here's the thing: I don't actually want to do that.

It's just a plan - something that has logical steps and leads to a place where I think I should end up: job, security, etc. Said job also has the benefit of being in the field in which I'm interested: international development. I want to help equalize things.

Anyway.

This plan is not necessarily how I want things to go - it's just a way for things to go. The bit with the master's degree was only included because USAID requires one.

[Leave out for a moment that a simple Google search can tell you something about USAID: There are 903,000 page results for "USAID criticism" and 414,000 for "USAID praise." Admittedly, it's easier to criticize than praise, but still.]

Will a master's degree actually help, beyond employment at USAID (or an equivalent)? Will it teach me useful things, in a field where nearly everyone says that everyone else is going about it the wrong way? I don't know, but I don't think so. It will teach me one of the ways - if it did anything besides that, the program would be world-renowned for being so amazingly useful.

So the real questions are:

1) What will teach me the things I want to know?

2) What are the things I want to know?

3) What will I do with the things I want to know?

And the real answers are (my, I became a know-it-all pretty quick, huh?):

1) Experience, on the ground, in areas where I wish to work, and learning from personal accounts of other people's experiences on the ground in various areas around the world. (i.e., if it works in Kabul or Karachi, it might be applicable in other places.)

2) I want to know how to encourage mass social change in places that need it. Given my (limited) experience there (and the French), I'll probably focus on Francophone Africa. This could be related to education, health, economics, good governance, etc.

3) I will... uhh... at this point I don't think I can say, can I? I need to know what the things are before I know them (not to get too circular). However, if I may indulge, given the hugely successful CAI, the huge impact it can have, and the huge amount of data supporting its importance, I imagine I'll focus on educating young girls. Again, this is based only on my experience and reading so far. More of #1 is still needed.

So what does this mean for the plan? It means that the plan is flawed.

Grad school may not be the answer. As I'm thinking right now, it isn't the answer. I don't want to jump to conclusions (I never do that, right?), so I'll carry on with the grad school plan for a bit. But I want to give this serious thought.

If we take the first part of #1 seriously, it leads me to this conclusion: Peace Corps. Yes yes, I know, the first time around didn't exactly end well, but that's how it goes. Sometimes you have to, you know, saddle metaphor, sports analogy, military comparison, etc., etc.

My main reason for leaving was of course my mental instability, right? I get sad for no reason, etc. Well, that doesn't seem to be improving any, does it? And I'm living a pretty comfortable life here in the land of milk and honey. This tells me that my depression will follow me wherever I am. ERGO, I have no reason to hide from Africa anymore. A logical progression of facts leading to a conclusion - love those.

So, while continuing to explore the grad school option (and I must now think of it only as an option), I am also going to explore the possibility of returning to Peace Corps after finishing my undergrad work. That is the conclusion to which I have led myself. I feel like this is reasoned and mostly neutral (as neutral as one can be about oneself). If you disagree, please let me know.

This is going to be a great post and you will love it

2010-08-02T19:27:00.000-07:00

You know what really hooks people into a blog? Posting only every four to six weeks, and being fucking depressing. Those two qualities, my friends my friends, will bring them flocking to your site like lemmings to a cliff (which is apparently a myth, by the by). Learn these and 99 other blogging secrets in my new book, due out this fall...

In keeping with the above advice, I've studiously avoided this site entirely since my last post. That was cathartic though, that last one. It even got me and the ex talking again. It seemed like we might even patch things up, but I pushed her away again, because I'm a huge bag of dicks. At least this time, it seems to have been much more successful. She no longer feels sorry for my stupid ass; she just (quite appropriately) hates my guts.

That's probably for the best, I suppose. My head is as jumbled and screwy as ever. Since that last post, I've managed to push away 3 other people to the point that they've almost given up talking to me, and attempted a 4th. At this rate, I'll be good and alone by this time next year - all according to plan.

Oooookay, that was a bit of a self-indulgent pity party, wasn't it? Moving on...

On a more serious note, I am feeling quite like shit. The way I just explained it to my sister is that I feel like Bruce Banner (or David Banner in the 70s series) about to turn into The Hulk - so full of rage and uncontrollable feelings that I'm going to burst through my own skin.

But then it never happens. I stay me, on the floor, impotently rageful. They say that when women get depressed, they get sad; guys tend more toward anger. Maybe this explains some of my youthful rage; or maybe I just had a temper.

I don't really have anything to be depressed about: school is on break right now; the grad school process is coming along; I only have one more year left of undergrad; work is fine. I don't have any "romantic" prospects at the moment, but that's probably a good thing. I'll be moving in a year, and I need to be free to go wherever grad school takes me. (I'll be saying the same thing in grad school.)

But that's not how depression works. You just get sad: however well or poorly things are going is irrelevant. There's some little trigger: a wrong word from someone, a stubbed toe, even the proverbial spilt milk can start the spiral. And then I don't know why, but I just keep getting sadder and angrier, until I'm like this:

Barely able to communicate, filled with conflicting feelings: anger, sadness, self-pity, self-judgement, self-disgust, losing control of myself, lethargic yet antsy.

So what is there to do about it, and why am I posting this? To both questions, I say "no idea." 1 - Muddle through, bury my head in some books and movies and see where it comes out. 2 - To get it off my chest, to announce feelings to world in a search for that same temporary catharsis, to get some pity from some other people? Who knows?

At some point, I should be able to afford more professional assistance, but for now, this is all I got. I will, in an effort to be less whiny and more interesting, attempt to occasionally post some thoughts that are less about me and more about... well, anything else. The world, science, space, the meaning of life... all that good stuff.

Until then, play with the fishies at the bottom of the blog.

Things are not exactly going my way.

2010-06-21T19:40:00.000-07:00

Some things are, just not “things,” in balance.

Things that are going well right now:

School is progressing steadily and with a plan, and while grad school is still hazy, I have a small list and good options.
Liesel is living here and that’s fun so far. I’m sure we’ll annoy each other, but we’re doing well.
My D&D character looks like he’ll be fun to play. Chris is kind of annoying, but the group as a whole is a fun one.
I’ve reconnected with Kate, and that makes me happy. She’s a great person.
Finally started having limited contact with Jess again, and that’s a good thing. Although the positive effects are tempered by negative associations with Guinea (see below), I think she’s getting something out of it, and I am too, and that makes me happy.
The apartment is nice, and feels homey.
Work is boring, but I can do homework there, and there are some good folks there. Pay isn’t too bad, either. Every little bit helps.
I have good friends, and although none of them is perfect, they help, each in their own way.

So some things aren’t so bad. My life is not horrible, and I have some good things going for me. But for whatever reason, either actual or perceived, I can’t get these things out of my mind:

My heart was just broken. As cliché as it is, I feel an actual pain – an aching sort of empty feeling – in my chest, just below my sternum.
I have no goddamned clue how I’m going to afford grad school. I’m not going to into a field with a high salary, so I don’t want to take on loads more debt, but I don’t really see a way around it, despite my confident talk. I don’t even know what a fellowship is.
I un-friended all of the Guinea people on Facebook, and I’ve cut off all communication with all of them. I don’t want to be reminded of that place, and if I could Eternal Sunshine it out of my mind, I would.
I fully expect to live my life alone. My “prospects,” if you’ll excuse the crass term, are all unrealistic or unattainable or just plain out-of-my-league (or some combination thereof). Also, I don’t see how I can possibly sustain a real relationship without first addressing:
My morbid depression. I’m struggling to get up in the morning and go to school and work. Luckily, I am a creature of habit and that helps me get out of bed. But I feel like this all of the time and I hate it. I don’t wish for death, but I wouldn’t kick it out of bed.
I feel like a confused little boy almost all of the time.

So some things aren't so good. I hate to whine, or bother or burden, and good lord a blog is not the place to air things like this, and I really don’t want my parents reading this because neither has any idea how to deal with it (though who does, I suppose). But I need to get this off my chest a little, even if it’s just in this ridiculous forum.

I’m fully aware that many of the things on my “bad” list are things I’ve done to myself, and I look no farther than a mirror when I seek someone to blame.

Perhaps one more list would help, of things I want:

I want a loving relationship. As stupid as it sounds, I’m too old to have one-night stands (also too laughably nerdy) or short-term flings. It’s just not me. I want someone who will let me love them and will love me back. But I’m scared of opening myself up like that again. The first time I ever really opened myself up, I got burned badly. And I’ve thrown away two relationships that were great for me in the past 4 years, because I was too stupid and immature to deal with them.
I want to have a good grad school experience. I want a grad school that will 1) prepare me for work in international development, 2) set me up for employment in said area, 3) be a fun learning environment where I experience a manageable amount of stress, 4) be located near friends or at least be a place where I can make friends.
I want to really reconnect with Kate, and even though the school is great, the main reason I want to relocate to Los Angeles is her. She is a great person that really understands me, and has been there for me as much as she has been able. The reverse is just as true. I want to be near people with whom I have that kind of connection and understanding.
I want to stop feeling so sad all the time. It’s hurting relationships with friends, and makes me snap at family members. I feel nauseas most days, and I’m always tired. I need to address this, but there are obstacles. Not barriers, but obstacles.
I want a jetpack.
I want to stop feeling guilty about 1) leaving Erika the way I did, 2) quitting The Container Store the way I did, 3) quitting the Obama campaign the way I did, 4) quitting Peace Corps the way I did, and 5) leaving Jess the way I did. DOES ANYBODY SEE A FUCKING PATTERN?!
I want to feel comfortable with my sexuality.
I want to start exercising again.
I want more.

All of these things are true, although of course they are not equally weighted. That is true for all three lists, but especially for this last one.

I’m not particularly adept at peering into my own mind, and I don’t want to try tonight. This was written in a stream, more of a word-vomit than an essay. So I’ll apologize for its whiny subject matter, presumably poor grammar, and lack of closure.

Also, while this is somewhat cathartic, when I’m depressed, I prize more than anything my solitude, so please don’t go crazy on me. I don’t even know if anyone reads this.

A Diverse, Strange, and Fascinating Sound: "Crystal Castles" and "Crystal Castles II"

2010-06-18T09:12:00.000-07:00

“Dancy-screechy-boopy-boppa-boingo-boingo” is how Crystal Castles’ two albums were first described to me, and the description is apt. Or so I thought; there is much more going on beneath their façade of just another electronic/house/dance fusion group. After listening to both albums once, I was left with a strong impression of only two or three songs, but intrigued enough to delve once again into their confusing world of melded genres, haunting vocals, and screeching grinds laid over entrancing beats.

After my second time through, I was hooked. Throughout both albums, it is the mash-up of diversity within a consistent sound that creates the appeal that brings me back again and again.

I. Crystal Castles
With some songs evoking impressions of an electronic Beethoven symphony, and others little more than club beats, their self-titled album is a diverse first offering. Throughout, they experiment with otherworldly sounds and effects, but consistently come back to an eminently listenable album full of catchy beats and clever hooks. On this, their 2008 debut, they seem reluctant to stray too far from a comfortable dance club sound, except for one thing.

At first distracting, Crystal Castles peppers the front half of the album with sounds that seem to be from an 8-bit video game, instantly reminding the listener of Super Mario Brothers or Donkey Kong. After recovering from the initial surprise, these effects become part of the larger merging of noises and sounds that create the album’s unique signature.

“Magic Spells” leads the charge among the spacey, ethereal pieces, with a simple beat set to overarching tones, a-rhythmically floating above the main piece. Essentially lyric-less, with only a few seconds of quiet, distorted speech, “Magic Spells” foreshadows the more overtly symphonic songs of the group’s more mature second album.

In a sharp contrast, “Air War” is the most danceable song of the album. With occasionally nonsensical lyrics (such as “bronze by gold heard the hoofrons”) repeating over themselves, the song relies on its beat and hook to draw in the listener, and they do their job well. I normally rely almost exclusively on lyrics for my musical enjoyment, but when the beat drops at 1:20 or changes altogether at 2:25, I would defy anyone not to start dancing a little, whether in a club or driving a car. Finishing with a 30-second flourish that demands to be called “Airy”, the song forces the listener to contemplate the “War” of the title.

The group’s biggest departure from the standard club tracks is with the fifth song “Xxzxcuzx Me”, filled with the video game noises at this point familiar to the listener. Set to a pounding, thumping bass beat and distorted, half-screamed vocals, the song is a one minute and forty-five second assault on the ears. The lyrics here are more substantial, but hide their meaning behind metaphors of a robot revolution, from the robots’ perspective: “Just because we don’t feel flesh/ doesn’t mean we don’t fear death.” These three selections bookend the album’s diverse catalog, with variations on the three themes melting together to fill the remaining 13 tracks of this hour-long album.

II. Crystal Castles II
To self-title an album is to declare that the album represents you completely: it is you. To self-title a second album is to declare a fundamental change in the music: that while the first is who we were, this is who we are now, and Crystal Castles’ 2010 follow-up album, Crystal Castles II, does exactly that. It is difficult to overstate the amount of growth that took place in the two years separating the albums, and I will try to avoid too much hyperbole. But Crystal Castles’ second effort has a profoundly different sound than their earlier work: more refined and mature, sacrificing only a little of their experimental feel. Still possessing of a wide range in style, each track feels like a grown-up version of an effort on the first album.

While none of the tracks would be entirely out of place at a club, they are all more complex than the usual fare. Thoughtfully crafted, taking care to avoid the repetitive clichés of the trance genre, each track is also easily distinguished from the others. From the dark brooding on “Year of Silence” to the club beat of “Baptism” to the screeched lyrics and hard beats of “Doe Deer”, Crystal Castles has not abandoned the diversity that made their first record so memorable.

After a screeching intro track, the listener is treated to “Celestica,” a nearly radio-ready song with intelligible lyrics and an engaging hook. By no means a pop song, its bridge breaks down into an ethereal pause in the pulsing beat, picking up again to finish strongly. On the other end of the spectrum, “Violent Dreams” is far from what its name implies. A peaceful symphony, it gives the impression of softer artists like Enya, but with a hint of darkness below the surface of the breathy lyrics and pulsing string effects.

But the song that steals the show is the memorable “Empathy”. A melding of different Crystal Castles styles, it has a pounding beat over a string of catchy notes, diffuse sounds, and background lyrics. One of their few songs with a message (or at least one not obscured by metaphor), the chorus breathes “You must work in symmetry/ you must earn their empathy.” Addictive and sensual, “Empathy” is the stand-out track on the record, the center of a solid piece of work by a group hitting their stride with their sophomore album, a place where many groups struggle to repeat earlier success.

Crystal Castles does not repeat their first album’s successes, instead creating new ones while still breaking new ground and avoiding a mainstream sound.

III. Summary
Neither of Crystal Castles’ albums is an easy listen. They demand attention and consideration, and do not accept being played softly in the background. Their diversity makes them difficult to fit into any situation: some songs are too slow for clubs, most too fast for relaxation. They force the listener to really listen, a laudable quality into today’s world of pop acts churned out by the dozen. There is heart and soul – and more importantly, thought - put into each track; there are no throwaway songs to be skipped over.

While some of the effects and sounds may seem discordant or even annoying to some listeners not used to the more experimental aspects of electronic music, they are quickly made familiar. You may not connect with Crystal Castles’ difficult sound on the first listen, but give them a second try, and you’ll enjoy this eclectic mix of genres and feelings. The songs are complex, and do not play well at low volume or on tinny speakers; all of their complexity and tonal range must be experienced to appreciate them.

So when you listen to Crystal Castles’ extraordinary albums, use your best speakers, and turn them up. Otherwise, Crystal Castles will sound like cheap glass houses.

I could have a MAID

2010-05-28T11:02:00.000-07:00

Next up, for your consideration, American University’s MAID: Master’s of Arts in International Development.

Let’s discuss the positive first: It’s in DC, right up close to where I want to work. A lot of grad school is making connections with those in your field, and my field is in DC. Also, I’m familiar with the city; I have friends and family there. All points for AU.

The course work also looks great, although there is an overwhelming enormous selection(scroll dowwwwwn). Holy crap on a cracker. They’re diverse, they’re varied, there… are WAY too many to choose from. Big points here, but it’ll be hard to choose.

Also, it’s a big school, so there would be a higher chance (if not a high one) of getting a fellowship/TA position, so the price tag might not hurt as much. Though there will also be more competition for those few positions.

But wow, does the tuition ever hurt. At $1,237 per credit and a 42-credit program, plus semesterly fees, it comes to about $58,000 total. Cheaper than Claremont, but more than some Mercedes.

Also, it’s a big school, and while that does have some benefits, it also means there’ll be a lot of students. I can’t find any info regarding class size, though.

So I’m pretty sure the competition is now between AU, AGS, NC State and Claremont (though Claremont would have to blow me away on a visit, or guarantee a free education, to justify the 80 grand tuition).

AGSIRD

2010-05-28T10:39:00.000-07:00

That’s American Graduate School of International Relations and Diplomacy.

While the title implies the sort of institutionally-focused education I’m expressly not looking for, the courses speak differently. There is an easy opportunity for specialization, and one of the three possibilities for said specialization is….you guessed it, African Studies. And the only extra work to specialize is “extensive reading” from a certain booklist, and a comprehensive oral exam. Plus one point for AGS.

The tuition is a little odd, and before I can discuss it, I need to explain why it’s odd. The school is in Paris, France, and the tuition is in euro. I know, I know. It’s a little crazy, and at once the biggest obstacle and one of the biggest attractors for me. Logistically, it’s a nightmare. Where do I live; what do I do with all my stuff; do I really want to live in Paris? So there are challenges. Also, a school this small will have no opportunity for fellowship/TA stuff, so all of that 40 grand is on me. Minus one point.

But the good news is that as the euro keeps dropping relative to the dollar, the school keeps getting cheaper and cheaper. Last year, the €30,000 was equal to $45,000. Now, it’s just $37,000. And that’s for the whole program! Even adding in $1000 a pop for flights, it falls well below the cost of American University’s $55,000ish, and WAY below the Claremont School.

Let’s talk size. There are currently 60 students at AGSIRD. Not per class, or per year, but in the whole program. There are 10 professors. Quick, I’m a political science student – somebody do the math. Holy crap: that is great math. One more point for AGS.

The courses are in English, and the degree is accredited through Arcadia University.

So the only thing keeping me in North America is how much of a pain in the ass this would be. Also, Paris is holy-shit expensive. (Though LA and DC ain’t exactly cheap.)

From Georgia Tech to NC State

2010-05-25T18:44:00.000-07:00

Okay, screw Georgia Tech. Waaay too focused on the whole political science, governments are great and shouldn't-we-all-work-for-the-DoD-if-we're-good-Americans thing.

Moving on.

NC State's program isn't bad, appears to be highly customizable, and not as based in the bureaucracy as GT's. There are no courses which focus on Africa, obviously an area of importance to me. They have requirements of living overseas for at least 12 weeks and a foreign language proficiency, both of which I've fulfilled. Again, like Pitt, the courses seem fairly run-of-the-mill, and while that isn't necessarily a bad thing, it's certainly not a point in their favor.

Tuition: here is where NC State really shines. It's only $3000 per semester for residents, and only $9000 for non-residents. Taking the time to establish residency would be well worth it, but even still, it's cheaper than any of the others so far. With a program of 36 credit hours, we're looking at between $12k and $36k. At least half the price of Pitt and Claremont. So that's a benefit, should I have to pay for school. Though paying out-of-state tuition really bugs me - states' rights and separate regulations are ridiculous in this day and age.

North Carolina is also home to some of the happiest people in the country, not counting the pot-heads in Oregon and the oxygen-starved in Denver. Beautiful place, cheap living. Definitely a point in its favor.

So far, I'd rank them Claremont, NC State, Pitt. GT's not on the list.

University of Pittsburgh's GSPIA

2010-05-25T18:14:00.000-07:00

That's Graduate School of Public and International Affairs.

So Pitt's program isn't quite as impressive as the Claremont School's, but it's not bad. 16 total courses, and the degree would be a Master's of International Development, with a major in one of three areas. I would choose Nongovernmental Organizations and Civil Society. A little more institutional than I'd like, but arguably more marketable. It does include a major research paper, and leaves some of the courses up to later decisions, emailed prior to each semester. The paper is expected, but I don't like the idea of not knowing what I'm buying into.

So money. While my initial thought was that Pitt would be cheaper, I was apparently mistaken. The price is just about the same as Claremont, at 17k per semester times 4, bringing the total to about 70k after fees etc. However, living in Pittsburgh would be significantly cheaper than living in Los Angeles, and don't forget: we're operating under the "don't pay for grad school" myth here. So money is no object, right?

I think the most important thing here is that the courses don't really get me excited. Even as I've been writing this, I've been writing it off. Next, let's look at Georgia Tech.

The Claremont Schools' Claremont Graduate School

2010-05-25T17:55:00.000-07:00

First things first: Tuition. Totals about 72k for the program. Or 54k plus a big research paper. Not sure which is worse, but there are a lot of courses that I'd like to take, so the four semesters (48 units) instead of three (36 units) maybe wouldn't be so bad. It'd be 3 at a time. They charge a bunch more per credit for more than 3, and there are very few semesterly costs, so it's more cost efficient. Clearly, they mean for 3 at a time to be the best deal, so that's what I'd go with. Back to money.

First, people keep telling me "Never pay for grad school." I need to look into this more, and the Honors College lady is the place to start (though I should probably learn her name first). Second, they have a pretty well-organized financial assistance page, which is encouraging.

Third, it's in freaking California. Not only would getting there be a problem, but I don't know what I'd do with my car, which probably couldn't make such a trip. Regardless, it would cost $1000 to get there by car. Let's see. 3000 miles divided by 20 mpg would be 150 gallons, so $450 in just gas, plus motels and food. Yeah, probably $1000. So the $250 on the plane ticket would be cheaper. Maybe sell the car? There's plenty of both university-provided and -sanctioned housing available. I don't know how much it costs, but some of them are furnished! They're probably more expensive, but within walking distance, but I can't imagine housing is exactly cheap. Comparable to DC, though so is West Chester for some damn reason.

Also, I have a few friends out there that I might be able to live with should the need arise. But let's call that Plan B. Suffice to say that there are logistical concerns.

In short, I like this school, and if it were closer and cheaper, it would be a no-brainer. But it's not, so it's...a brainer?

Expect a second one of these on the other current contender, University of Pittsburgh.

Doot dee doo...

2010-05-04T16:28:00.000-07:00

I think I've run out of things to say at the moment, or maybe I'm just all writing-ed out. I've written, let's see here...19 bafuckingjillion pages for school this semester, and my mind is fairly empty. Ooookay, let's revise that. This semester wasn't actually so bad - maybe 60 or 70 total pages, I don't know. But it sure felt like a lot. I'll add it up soon and update.

So to the 4 people that read this, give me another week or so, and I'll be talking about something that I find interesting. Probably...something to do with the developing world. I haven't really talked about that so much. Ooh, or perhaps my big plans for the Future. Who knows? Will this keep you in suspense, dear reader? Or will you forget this in 45 seconds because this page has expressed nearly nothing? :)

Okay, I'm really just procrastinating now. I have a paper to do, and I don't wanna. Alas and alack, I must! "By my troth, I am off!"

May the Fourth be with you!

Mid-Post Re-Evaluation

2010-04-25T17:51:00.000-07:00

What if my best days are really behind me?

I have issues with sadness and regret, with looking back and wishing I could have done things differently (who doesn't?). I look forward and see things going so well, but they never seem to realize. I don’t harbor illusions of an easy life, free from hardship and worry, but my continuing visions of how my future should be are never the same as what actually comes to pass. I’m beginning to wonder if it ever will be as good as I imagine.

So what if Jack had it right? “What is this is as good as it gets?” What if I’ve already had my best days? The thing is, I don’t recall any “best days.” Yes, the bad days are easier to remember than the good ones, and I don’t mean to say that there haven’t been good times, because of course there have been. But I don’t recall any time when I was really happy with everything going on. Never has each area of my life been free from big concerns or negatives. Fiction Plane sings “Everything will never be okay/ there’ll always be some part of you in pain” but does this have to be true? Can’t everything go well at once, at least for a little while?

I just sketched out my next big bullshit plan, and it just seems like a pointless exercise. These things aren’t going to happen the way I think, and the idea of a plan seems increasingly ridiculous.

Hang on hang on hang on. I’m talking about two different things, I think. One, I’m letting myself wallow in a depressive state wherein my malfunctioning brain is trying to convince itself that life is going to get worse and worse every waking minute. If I continually think that the best days are in the past, then that’s the logical conclusion. Two, I’m lamenting the fact that the future is unknowable. Of course it is! It’s the future! My plans may wind up (and history shows that this is true) as bullshit, but the question remains of whether or not I should continue to make them. It seems to me, on first blush, that to have a direction is a good thing, even if that direction may change a thousand times in the uncertain future. So I’ll continue to make plans, perhaps trying to become less emotionally attached to them, treating them more as rough outlines than the Blueprint for the Rest of My Life. Third (yes, there are three now), I was bitching that I can’t remember nor conceive of a time when my life had all its ducks in a row. Well…the only response I can have to that is…waaah. No shit and oh well, ya big crybaby.

Well, this was awfully cathartic. I feel much better now, thanks!

Music: From (at the beginning) The Vines' "Winning Days" to (at the end) "Rock With Me" (but i'm embedding the above Fiction Plane song, 'cause it's great)

NWO

2010-04-14T06:28:00.000-07:00

Wow, haven't posted in 2 weeks! School's been kicking my ass. As evidence, here's another paper I did for school. I especially like how I structured it. Also, I like how I create a whole new world order! :D

Are states a force for good? Do they stand in the way of the moral goals of humanity, and if so, what alternative do we have? And what compromises must we make between the existing international structure and this alternative? Here, I will propose that states do obstruct larger, moral interests, and that the only alternative, however difficult to realize, is the dissolution of the state as a concept. I will also put forward that the only compromise possible between the two systems is one in which the existing states ignore each other’s sovereignty to the point that they render themselves meaningless. In other words, it is no compromise at all.

Before we start the discussion of a world without states and its implications, we must establish why the state-based system is failing its people. It is not the concept of an individual state that limits the rights and abilities of its people, but the willingness of other states to allow their conception of a state’s sovereignty to prohibit them from intervening in situations which might otherwise call for action. To (over)use Peter Singer’s illustration of 1972, if you are passing by a pond and see a drowning child, you have an obligation to save it, as long as you would not lose something of equal moral value (e.g., your life). Even if you are wearing a very expensive suit which will be destroyed by the scummy pond water, Singer argues that you have, in effect, no choice in the matter: it is obligatory (Hoffman and Graham 475). To illustrate how this analogy relates to my argument against the state, put the pond and drowning child behind a fence or other property line, with the proprietor simply watching the child struggle. If this person is perfectly capable of saving the child (perhaps even having pushed him in), then we have an analogy of a government (or other force) willingly harming its citizenry. If the owner is unable to help, then the analogy is one of a humanitarian crisis. Either way, I would argue that even though you are not being asked to help (or perhaps even told not to) by the proprietor, there is still a moral obligation to save the child. To bring the analogy back to reality, it is not the existence of the fence that causes the child to be harmed, but the passerby’s willingness to let the fence bar him from saving the child.

Once we get into the real logistics of “crossing the fence,” problems abound. Martha Nussbaum raises this issue when she speaks of the detriment to a free, democratic state if there is a forcible intervention from another. She says that “such interventions may destabilize the world” or lead to tyranny by “more powerful states,” and she certainly has a valid argument (Nussbaum 257). What if crossing the fence creates more chaos and harm than one drowned child: is it still worth it? Would a policy of intervention by a strong power lead to its tyrannical hold on the rest of the world’s states, bending them to its moral view? These questions are important, but they avoid the real issue: the state that allows its citizens to come to harm is only as at fault as the system that supports that state’s right to do so. If there was no fence, there would be no problem in going to the child.

So much of Nussbaum’s work in Frontiers of Justice is focused on the idea of the individual human being as an end in itself, but she allows concerns of logistics and practicality to impede her theory, without ever giving it a chance to really flourish on its own. Nussbaum herself asks this question in the same section: “What is the rationale for this deference to the state, if one believes that one can justify certain moral principles as binding on all?” and she answers only with “prudential reasons” (ibid). This is not a fault, but it does not allow us to really see the world to which her theory takes us.

In Frontiers of Justice, there are two Martha Nussbaums: the one that supports her theory and allows it to apply to the modern world, and the one who allows prudential reasons to limit that theory. In a critique of John Rawls’ justification for not intervening in an economically dire situation in a sovereign state, she allows herself to embrace her theory to point out Rawls’ inconsistency, while setting the stage for committing that same inconsistency later. In Rawls’ Law of Peoples, he argues that if a state has the basic structure in place to right its own wrongs, then it should be left to its own devices. Nussbaum argues that Rawls would never support that same line of logic when dealing domestically with a poor family, rather than a poor nation (Nussbaum 240). But Nussbaum later makes the same argument when she speaks of prudential reasons for not interfering. She argues that we should not interfere if a nation is “above a certain threshold in terms of democratic legitimacy,” unless the injustice being committed is of a significant enough nature as to outweigh this requirement (Nussbaum 258). Her reasons are a little different, but they come from the same place. Rawls and Nussbaum both seem afraid to let the idea of the individual as a moral end take its full course, seemingly because it will inevitably lead us to a conception of the world in which national sovereignty is obsolete.

The concept of national sovereignty is only a few hundred years old, and has outlived its usefulness. In today’s modern world, states are not the only international actors and they are even more interconnected than ever before. Nussbaum remarks that Hugo Grotius, in the seventeenth century, had commented on the interdependence of nations, reasoning that there are times when it is appropriate to interfere in “the internal affairs of nations” (Nussbaum 19). Given how greatly international politics have changed in the past 350 years, it is reasonable to assume that our views on the sovereign state system should also change. Only in a world in which we are not hiding behind arbitrary borders, flags, and uniforms can we actually bring a measure of moral equality to everyone.

I suffer no illusions that a change to such a system would be anything less than globally catastrophic, but I believe that the decision-making process should be different. We should absolutely consider the implications of our theories, but (forgive the stolen terminology) it should occur at a second stage. In the first, as Rawls would undoubtedly approve, we should establish certain moral assumptions, and see where they take us logically. Then, after having designed a theoretical system of how things should be, we then consider how much of the theory is possible (or even plausible). By not allowing the theory to really flourish, we deprive ourselves of the process of developing it, from which more implications and discussions may spring.

To that end, the idea of the individual as a moral end leads us to a radically different place than a support of the sovereign state system. Nussbaum quotes Hobbes and Locke as saying that humans in the State of Nature are all essentially equal in “basic powers, capacities, and needs” (Nussbaum 30), and that is certainly true. All else being equal, so are humans in large part equal to each other. But it would be hard to argue that all humans are in large part equal today. Physically and mentally, we are certainly capable of being equal, but our political situations keep us from exercising our full capabilities. In this respect, leaving the State of Nature has made us less equal than if we had remained in it. Surely this requires remedy. I am not proposing an anarchic return to the State of Nature, but a return to that sort of equality where a person is only limited by their desires and drive. Our current political structure is what is limiting human equality, and if the state is the part of that structure that is the problem, then it stands to reason that it must change or be eliminated. Nussbaum proposes changing the system while maintaining the sovereign state system, and so I will address the possibility of a world without states.

That’s not quite accurate, though. There can’t be a world completely without states: anarchy may be attractive on paper, but in reality requires each individual to possess a level of benevolence that is more than unrealistic. So a world with one state is a more accurate term. What would this state look like and how would it act? Would regions have a high degree of autonomy as in the current structure of the European Union, or would they be ultimately at the mercy of a centralized government, as in the “states” of the United States? How would the multitude of peoples and cultures be safely protected, while still maintaining a common conception of the good?

I do not pretend to be a nation-builder, but one can imagine how such a system might work. If Nussbaum were to design this society, it would simply be a very large Well-Ordered Society (to steal Rawls’ label) encompassing all citizens of the world. Her arguments on nationality would become obsolete, and in the most idyllic view, so would war, famine, etc. It is not a difficult task to imagine a perfect world, where all people are governed as equals – as ends. What becomes difficult is what to do with those peoples who do not wish to join the super-state; there are several options, but first we must consider their reasons for not wanting to join.

First, we must assume that we have already explained the reasoning behind the society and its creation, as that would be the inevitable first step. Assuming that these people understand, but simply disagree with the system, or an aspect of it, should they be given the option of not being a part of the society? If they are forced to join (and the society accepts this), then we have essentially formed a repressive democracy – clearly, an undesirable moral result. Another option would be to allow them to be in the society, but with a separate legal status, “opting out” of those aspects of the culture to which they object. But this would lead us to a fractured society, as any other reasonable group would also find such a unique arrangement desirable. Thirdly, they could be allowed to form their own society according to their rules (although there may be cause for some consultation with the larger society), but this would lead to a serious problems. It would again be opening the door for other groups to follow suit, essentially recreating the sovereign state system. The only feasible option then is to choose a variant of the second option, with a multitude of regions, each with its own particular set of capabilities beyond a basic required set for the society as a whole. Each region would then need some degree of autonomy, yet still be answerable to the world society. There would need to be a delicate balance between allowing self-determination and preventing the existence of intra-regional policies that would cause the super-state to intervene heavy-handedly.

The problem is how to sustain such a nebulous system in the long-term. Easily fractured and systematically diverse, such a loose conglomeration of conceptions and peoples would be unwieldy at best. It would be all too easy to assume that everyone would come to agree on the society’s principles, but even Nussbaum doesn’t believe this. While she claims her list of capabilities as “fully universal,” her first way of ensuring a pluralistic view is to “consider the list as open-ended and… subject to supplementation (and deletion)” (Nussbaum 78, parenthetical phrase in original). So we must allow for a multitude of views on what capabilities are provided to each community within the grand society, but there must also be a social minimum that applies to all. It is a difficult line to walk, and one that would need to be worked out on a case by case basis. This is where I believe Nussbaum’s theory takes us: to a one-state society, bound together by a certain understanding of rights and capabilities for all, and diversified internally to allow for variation beyond the pan-cultural minimum. I believe the description of such a society warrants further study, analysis and debate, but it is beyond the scope of this paper.

Again, I suffer no illusions as to this argument’s realism, and Nussbaum’s compromise of reasonable intervention may be adequate. What it lacks in urgency, it makes up by being comprehensive. She has allowed for many contingencies and variations of circumstance, but she is content to let injustices go on in democratic, reasonable societies, confident that the empowered populace will eventually address the problem. Considering the current injustices around the world in democratic, though perhaps not reasonable nations (e.g., the controversies surrounding minarets in Switzerland, burkhas in France, and sexual orientation rights around the democratic world), there is a difficulty. Either we must be very patient, have a very high standard for “reasonable” nations, or be willing to accept less severe violations of human rights in democracies. Any way it is handled, it is something of a hole in the theory’s construct. The topic again deserves much further consideration than can be addressed here.

Either through the super-state system or Nussbaum’s system of reasonable intervention, it is clear that the current, flawed sovereign state system must be altered. When a state either causes or allows injustices to befall its people, there is no moral argument that can reasonably deny the obligation of the rest of the world to come to their aid, regardless of the wishes of the failing state’s government. Perhaps the super-state system is unworkable (it certainly has its flaws), but we need a system that goes beyond Nussbaum’s reasonable intervention idea to fully address the moral inequalities of the various states.

Capital Letters

2010-04-01T18:08:00.000-07:00

Primeval man "could walk upright as men now do, backwards or forwards as he pleased, and he could also roll over and over at a great pace, turning on his four hands and four feet, eight in all, like tumblers going over and over with their legs in the air; this was when he wanted to run fast …Terrible was their might and strength, and the thoughts of their hearts were great, and they made an attack upon the gods ... Doubt reigned in the celestial councils. Should they kill them and annihilate the race with thunderbolts, as they had done the giants, then there would be an end of the sacrifices and worship which men offered to them; but, on the other hand, the gods could not suffer their insolence to be unrestrained. At last, after a good deal of reflection, Zeus discovered a way. He said: 'Methinks I have a plan which will humble their pride and improve their manners; men shall continue to exist, but I will cut them in two and then they will be diminished in strength and increased in numbers; this will have the advantage of making them more profitable to us. They shall walk upright on two legs, and if they continue insolent and will not be quiet, I will split them again and they shall hop about on a single leg.'"
—Aristophanes, Plato’s Symposium

For a long, long time, I've been taken up with the idea of soulmates. I've said before that I do believe in the phenomenon of love, but this is something more. Aristophanes' (presumably drug-addled) speech above is often cited as the source of the modern conception of the soulmate, and it has interesting conclusions. It is said that, because Zeus split us all in two, thus creating the genders, we will spend the rest of eternity searching for our (literal) other half. This concept can be thought wonderful or terrible, should it be true. We might be each destined to meet someone with whom we will find ourselves in the deepest love and sharing the deepest connection. Or we might be cursed to search fruitlessly for this person, never satisfied with the person we find ourselves with. But what I'm more concerned with is the existence of the concept itself.

I've often thought of this in a grammatical context: should I use capital letters or not? Is this person The One or just the one? "the one" is the person who you find, that is wonderful and loving and all those great things, and this in indisputable. "the one" is the one you fall in love with, and there might not be any better feeling (except a nice MLT, where the mutton's nice and lean...). But "The One" is that soulmate - the person who is all those same things that "the one" is, but also fulfills this sort-of mystical quality of being absolutely perfect for you. This can lead into dangerous territory.

We are all humans, and none of us is perfect. A believer in such a system of soulmates will never be satisfied, because their significant other is (uhh...probably) human! I know it sounds like I'm trying to make a rational argument against a work that is basing its claims on a Greek (right?) god, but bear with me a little.

I can't say that soulmates don't exist, but I'm not a believer. Why not? Because I don't believe in the soul. I also don't believe in predestination, "everything happens for a reason," or that anything is "meant to be." And yes, for the record, when I get too into this line of thought, I get sad. I wouldn't be human if I didn't.

I would absolutely love to find The One (and I wouldn't mind meeting Keanu Reeves [come on, you knew that joke was coming]), and I'd also love it if The One was a real concept. But it's like the philosophical argument of existentialism: "Do I exist?" If the answer to the question won't change your behavior, then the question isn't important.

Does "The One" exist? I don't know. It'd be great, sure, if everyone's One was attainable. But I sure as hell know for a fact that "the one" exists, and I'm not going to wait to see if my One is living in a yurt in Turkmenistan. I'm going to jump on the opportunity.

Constitutional Crisis

2010-03-19T20:28:00.000-07:00

Not sure why I continue to post school stuff here, but what the hell? This is a reaction paper for my US Foreign Policy class. Enjoy.
_______________________________________________

Who holds the power to decide America’s foreign policy? Who should have the power? The answers to these questions are, unfortunately, not the same. In large part, the power to decide where the United States sends its troops, what actions they are allowed to take, and even where the distinction falls between foreign and domestic policy resides with the Executive branch and its agencies, and even more so with the President himself. However, despite being designated “commander in chief” by the US Constitution, the Congress retains the right to declare war. Much of the tension, and indeed the foundation of the debate, lies in the ambiguity of the Constitution on this very matter. How these few passages (concerning the Presidency and the Congress in the foreign policy arena) are interpreted in today’s modern context causes a great deal of confusion and mistrust.

In Article II of the US Constitution, the Presidency is described in four sections, only one of which actually provides the President with any powers. Section 1 describes the manner in which a President is to be elected, Section 3 is mostly concerning the State of the Union, and the fourth concerns his impeachment. Only in Section 2 is the President described as being “commander in chief of the Army and Navy of the United States,” and is given the power to make treaties (but only with the consent of the Senate). These are the President’s only foreign policy powers as described by the Constitution. The Congress, however, in Article I, Section 8, is given extensive powers over the military. Examples include declaring war, raising armies, governing the military forces, and in even more broadly, “to provide for the common defense.”

The tension between what powers a “commander in chief” has over those who “provide for the common defense” is clear. Can, constitutionally speaking, the President command his troops to war without Congress first declaring war? Along that line, what is the definition of war: any time Americans are called to fight? Or is war a special state of action and readiness beyond just military force? The Constitution remains silent on these questions and more, and the potential conflicts inherent in the document are abundant. The President can make treaties, but if Congress can declare war, couldn’t each use their respective power toward the same nation? Not that it’s probable by any stretch of the imagination, but it certainly is constitutionally possible. In some respects, the US Constitution is a far-reaching document, predicting future behavior well in a variety of areas. But in this regard, the framers could not have predicted the state of the world nor modern technology. In 1789, it would have been unthinkable, for instance, to prohibit tapping the phones of suspected terrorists who were US citizens, because neither phones nor terrorists (of our current definition) existed!

But the constitutional conflict is not the only source of tension and confusion. Congress itself has muddied the waters with the War Powers Act of 1973, giving the President the ability to essentially make war for up to 60 days without congressional approval. Putting aside the fact that the Supreme Court has never challenged this, despite it being flagrantly unconstitutional, the act in itself has caused controversies. According to James Baker and Warren Christopher, in a joint Op-Ed from their organization, the National War Powers Commission, to The New York Times in 2008, “no president has recognized its constitutionality.” This sort of statement forces me to think that yes, the presidency is too powerful, and yes, there are not enough checks on the powers of the office. “No president has recognized its constitutionality?” The fact that any president could think to deem a law constitutional or unconstitutional, which is so far beyond the scope of his powers that it makes him nearly an emperor, is bad enough. But that fact that this opinion has been held by every president since Richard Nixon is bizarre at best.

If the president can choose to ignore a law, and that choice be essentially ignored by Congress, because he considers it unconstitutional (irrespective of that fact that he’d be right), then there truly are not enough limits on his power. But both parties are at fault here in expanding the powers of the Presidency. I do not have any advanced training or education in constitutional law, but it seems to me that Congress cannot pass a law which changes the Constitution without amending it directly. The War Powers Act of 1973 blatantly ignores Article I, Section 8, giving the President what are essentially Congressional powers for a limited time. Given the fact that the land invasion of Iraq in 1991 took only three days to reach Baghdad, it seems ridiculous to think that a president would not need congressional approval until day 60, although he must inform them within 48 hours. The fact that Congress passed the resolution to limit the President’s powers shows how far they had swung in his direction already. Compared to the Constitution, they were ceding power, but compared to how Presidents had been treating the armed forces, they were in fact restraining his power.

Among the modern presidents, none are guiltless in their extra-constitutional exercising of power, and although few have caused any uproar over their actions, former President George W. Bush stands out as one who, so to speak, took the ball and ran with it. Again, Congress itself is partly to blame for this increase of presidential power. By granting the President “all necessary and appropriate force against those…he determines” were involved in the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001 in the “Authorization for Use of Military Force” of September 18, 2001, Congress essentially ceded some of its power to the President, and gave up some rights of oversight. The President himself was endowed with the ability to wage a war outside of legislative interference, which again, is an undeniably extra-constitutional state of affairs. But Congress was of course not entirely to blame; President Bush took some liberties all on his own.

According to Charlie Savage of The Boston Globe, in his article of April 30, 2006, Bush “claimed the authority to disobey more than 750 laws enacted since he took office, asserting that he has the power to set aside any statute passed by Congress when it conflicts with his interpretation of the Constitution.” Perhaps Bush’s most famous ~~attempt to establish a theocratic dictatorship~~ success in expanding presidential power was the domestic spying program, in which Americans who were suspected of terrorist activity had their phones tapped without a judge’s warrant, as the law requires. Many of Bush’s signing statements dealt with national security, an area where he felt that his role as commander in chief trumped that of congressional (or judicial) oversight. This claim does have a (very thin, weak) legal leg to stand on: President Bush was the “commander in chief of the Army and Navy of the United States,” which, under only a slightly broader interpretation, would include all those agencies and groups tasked with protecting the United States from foreign threats.

I continue to focus on the Constitution here because it is the largest part of the foundation on which the government is built. It is a flawed document, made by flawed people, but it has survived for more than 220 years, through protests, riots and a civil war. And now it’s biggest threat comes from a power-hungry executive branch, a weak legislature, and a complacent court, not willing to exercise its judicial review (which, admittedly, was something of a power grab for them as well). It’s one thing to be concerned over the United States’ behavior (e.g., torture, extraordinary rendition) and the problems that it causes overseas, or the reduced civil liberties at home, or the danger of a President committing us to a war that Congress doesn’t approve of. These dangers are caused by all parties involved not knowing where the limits of their power lie, and not having the political will to push back when something as heinous as the Joint Resolution of September 18, 2001 was passed. But these fears are small when compared to the crisis we may have over the Constitution itself being ignored or actively subverted. This is where the real danger lies: if it becomes so commonplace to ignore laws, ignore precedent and ignore the separation of powers, then this might not just be a crisis for constitutional scholars and liberal bloggers, but for every citizen and resident. A military cannot have questions about from whom or what organization they are to take their orders. To take this argument to its extreme would be nothing more than a doomsday-crying flight of fancy, and I will not indulge myself, but these are serious issues that are not going to go away on their own.

The issues of presidential power may not be as apparent in our calmer era at the moment. Yes, we are still engaged in two wars, but the atmosphere of thought surrounding them is not the same urgent drum-beating of late 2001. But the prevailing thought that President Barack Obama will not use his executive power and privilege to the same extent that former President Bush did has several problems. First, there will be other presidents, and some of them will be as hawkish as Bush. We cannot simply trust that all future presidents will ignore the power with which they have been endowed by precedent. Power is an attractive force. Secondly, according to Sharon Teimer of the Associated Press, in her article of March 16, 2010, President Obama’s administration has “cited the [deliberative process] exemption [to Freedom of Information Act requests] at least 70,779 times during the 2009 budget year, up from 47,395 times during President George W. Bush's final full budget year.” While this is a very different arena, it showcases the willingness of an administration to keep a mindset of ‘executive privilege’ about them. The extra powers given to the Presidency, starting with the War Powers Acts of 1947 and 1973, and including the more recent concession of power from Congress to the President, must be either repealed, rewritten or reviewed by the Supreme Court. In addition, all areas of ambiguity or confusion about what activities each branch may engage in should be made as clear as possible. It may not be possible to eliminate all legal and constitutional ambiguities, but they can certainly be reduced. While we may have a handle on it now, we cannot predict what the future will bring to this very delicate constitutional crisis.

Self Control

2010-03-18T18:58:00.000-07:00

Self-control is an odd thing, isn't it - analogous to Orwellian doublethink. It contains the ability to have a thought and its opposite in mind simultaneously. I want to do something, and yet I do not. Only one of these can be objectively true. Even a debate analogy is ridiculous - with whom am I debating, if not myself? (None of my other personalities are usually so vocal!) No? Not sold on it? Okay... Perhaps a better analogy is a tug-of-war, with each desire on an end of a rope. But this too is preposterous, because the person on both sides is the same - you. It still involves an amount of doublethink.

Now, doublethink is in reality far too strong a word, for doublethink involves no debate. In the mind of a doublethinker, there is no conflict, no tension, no contradiction is holding two opposite beliefs or opinions at the same time. While the entire condition of self-control revolves around the conflict to abolish one of these opinions or desires. We desire a conclusion even more than a particular conclusion. How often have you heard this: "I don't care what you choose, just pick one!" or "I wish someone could make this decision for me." So whenever you think something like this, take a certain pleasure in it, because it means you are still sane. Two and two still make four, and you don't yet love Big Brother. But back to the self-control.

We exercise our self-control for a variety of reasons, but it really only boils down to one: the repercussions. For some examples: one decides not to play the video game, kiss the girl, or murder our sister's cheating boyfriend because these actions have negative consequences: one would play the video game to the detriment of household chores or homework; one would kiss the girl, risking a slap in the face or some such thing; one would murder the cheating boyfriend for fear of jail time (and one's sister being pissed). The fear of consequences keep us in line.

But that's not entirely the case, is it? Now we get into a debate of morals and ethics. I feel murder is wrong is almost any circumstance, and so would not kill the boyfriend. I choose not to steal from my neighbors not because I fear prison but because theft is an unethical act. (Also, they lock every single one of their windows. Seriously? You're on the third floor, lighten up.)

I have two points of rebuttal to my ethical argument, but first there is the religious one. In some religions - some - there is an otherworldly punishment for evil deeds, which clearly implies that despite one's deity telling you not to do something, you'll still do it. Even though one's Supreme Being, creator of all or holder of all wisdom prohibits an action, you still might do it, so they have to have an actual punishment. So the ethical argument fails for those sorts of religions.

But even if you aren't religious, there are still reasons to doubt the efficacy of a purely ethical reasoning for prohibiting oneself from an action that one desires to do. First, ethics are inherited from ancestors: maybe parents, who got these beliefs from their parents and so on. But these beliefs did not spring from a place of generosity and kindness - they came from a place of societal order. If we're going to have a society, we have to have rules. Eventually, these rules become more than codified, they become ingrained in the psyche of the community members. So the ethics are really just a desire to maintain order - to avoid repercussion.

Secondly, since each person has their own conception of the good, we essentially all make our own morality. Therefore, there is no objective measure of what is right or wrong. If I thought it was right, I would steal. If I thought it was okay, I would murder, and so on. The ethical argument only works while we still maintain our ethical stance on an issue. If you hit my sister, I'll burn your house down. Tit for tat. Arson and murder (yes, you'll be in the house) are not acceptable behaviors, but I'm willing to suspend my ethical belief for an extreme circumstance. And since I also define what constitutes an "extreme circumstance," the system is meaningless. The convicts are running the prison, and they've all decided they're not guilty.

So that might be taking the argument to an extreme, but it gets my point across, and it is this: self-control is a weird concept, one I've always struggled with. I say we do away with it - sound good? ;)

Music: The White Stripes - "I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself"

The [Borg] Continuum of Need

2010-03-16T20:37:00.000-07:00

This is the paper for Political Thought I just finished. Mooostly done - maybe some touch-up, but I thought I'd throw it up here for kicks.

Chance plays a large part in the life of every person – every living thing, really. Where will that tree fall? Which disease will I contract? Will the car accident sever the wrong vertebra, or just leave bruises? There are random conditions that are temporary and those that are permanent. Some of these are mildly inconvenient, and some of them are absolutely debilitating. There is a continuum between them; there is no stark divide between those that are temporary and inconvenient – a broken arm or the common cold – and those that are permanent and incapacitating – a severed spinal cord or a persistent vegetative state. Indeed, the other combinations are possible: temporarily incapacitating and permanently inconvenient. In many, perhaps all, of these conditions, some degree of dependence on another person is required. This need many manifest itself in a variety of ways: a helping hand to get out of bed or open jars, a driver to take a person to work or the doctor, or even a full-time caretaker to clothe, bathe, or even feed a person.

But even those of us without significant physical or mental impairments rely on others for a great deal. John Donne was the first to say, in Devotions upon emergent occasions and seuerall steps in my sicknes - Meditation XVII (sic), “No man is an island” (1624). Indeed, no person can successfully navigate all the pitfalls and dangers of today’s world alone. But even if a person was able, physically and mentally, to make their way through life completely alone, would they want to? A fuller account of Donne’s words follows: “No man is an island, entire of itself...any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.” Although Donne’s words may have a spiritual meaning to him (and many others), the basis is unchanged: human beings are social animals. We are not a race of hermits, but constantly intertwined, each community in its own way.

The way the members of a small village in the African Bush rely on each other is no less significant than the way a bed-ridden person relies on his caretakers. The interplay between members is not just beneficial, but necessary to their way of life. I can cite no sources here; I must rely on my own experience in rural West Africa. Every member of a village relies entirely on the other members of the society, and not just politically or economically, but for the continuation of their way of life. The degree to which their lives are interwoven is hard to overstate, but I can say that for all people, there is a reliance. For some, there is an absolute reliance, and here it is easy to identify a continuum. In these small villages, the severely mentally and physically handicapped simply do not survive, and so we only have the able-bodied and able-minded among which to draw a comparison. There is absolutely a continuum of dependence: some exhibit it only slightly, while others do so entirely. But again, “No man is an island.”

But even in our society, it is easy to see how we are all impaired in some way to an extent that we rely, however slightly, on others. This dependence is easy to see in those that have a significant disability, but it is just as real for those of us that are only slightly impaired. Even the most able-bodied among us need others for social interaction, as Donne says. There are those who enjoy their solitude, certainly – we all do – but very few of us are capable of existing without any form of interaction. And that interaction is a form of dependence. It is not as readily apparent as the kind of physical dependence of one who cannot get out of bed, or who cannot form meaningful relationships with their peers easily, but it most certainly exists. Our permanent dependencies may, for a lucky few, be only social, but they are just as real, and their absence just as damaging.

In addition to permanent conditions, there is also the matter of temporary dependence. There are people in comas, otherwise fully “productive” members of society, who for a short time are fully dependent on others for every aspect of their survival. Or for other, less severe examples, there are car accident victims, wounded soldiers, and those with temporarily debilitating diseases such as influenza. Socially speaking, people who encounter times of great stress or sorrow will very often turn to those around them, relying on their friends, family, and professional help for stability and to regain their mental and emotional footing. This again is a type of dependence, less severe, but no less real than that of a person socially challenged by a condition such as Asperger’s syndrome.

There is absolutely a major difference between the type of dependence that a person with a lifelong, incapacitating condition has toward those around him and the rest of the continuum of need. A person who requires only social interaction from those around him has such a different level of dependence than a person with a severe mental of physical disorder that he does not even equate the two conditions, but they are alike. Each needs the others around him to fulfill functions that he himself cannot – the very definition of dependence. Even between those who, like a person in a persistent vegetative state – the most extreme example of dependence we may encounter outside the womb – are completely dependent on those around them, and those who only require a great deal of care, such as those with severe disorders, there is still a small continuum, with room to place many other, slightly different cases of dependence. So while there is a major divide between the extremes, a definite line at any point becomes quickly blurred and confused when studied more closely.

So while there are cases of dependence so extreme that some cannot relate to the experience, and cases so minor as to be perhaps negligible, these cases are related. Each person relies on another, just as we all do. John Donne, in the same work – in fact, in the same paragraph – wrote, “All mankind is of one author, and is one volume.” Again, his words have an overtly religious tone, but there is a corollary to this discussion. We are all inextricably linked, and whether that link is as overt as that of a professional medical practitioner or as subtle as a shoulder to cry on, it exists. It is only chance that divides us among the heavily dependent, and the largely independent. The random events of our lives and random artifacts of our genetics determine more of our existence than we may be comfortable with. There is a continuum of benefit and detriment, good luck and bad luck, and independence and dependence.

Literalism and Belief

2010-03-14T08:15:00.000-07:00

Why do we persist in relationships that make us unhappy? Why do we chase after love that has gone? Why are we so afraid to live life alone? Why do we need that companionship? Is it all biological? Is love just an evolutionary advantage? Is love real – does it exist?

I don’t believe in much that I can’t see. I’m an atheist, although not in the literal sense of the word – “against theism.” I simply lack a religion. Some people – some atheists, even – define atheism as a religion, but I disagree. I don’t doubt that it can be such for some people, but for me, it certainly isn’t. I have no tenets, no rituals, no taught beliefs.

I have decided for myself how it is appropriate to act, and I act accordingly. That is all I have – my own code of ethics and morals. Yes, these were undoubtedly fixed in my mind early on by my quasi-religious upbringing, or the more religious upbringing of my parents. Therefore many of the values I hold are consistent with major religious values. But I do not hold them still because of any agreement with a particular religion. Any value or belief I hold is one that I have found to be consistent with my world view.

I don’t believe in much that I can’t see, but I do trust science. I trust those who spend their lives in pursuit of truths, and submit their findings to their peers for review. The open nature of scientific discovery and review makes it very unlikely that fraudulent information has been disseminated to the public. This is not to say that the general populace does not believe incorrect information. (For the record, Young Earth Creationists, Moon Landing Hoaxers, and 99.9% of all other conspiracy theorists are wrong. This is not just my opinion, but fact. Plain old wrong.)

So I do trust science: I believe that I am made of skin and bone and muscle and organs, which are all made of cells, which are made of organelles, which are made of chains of molecules, which are made of atoms, which are made of smaller particles, which are made of quarks, which may be made of tiny, vibrating strings.

And I believe that the Earth revolves around the Sun, which is in the Solar System, which is one of billions and billions of such systems and revolves around the center of the Milky Way Galaxy, which is one of billions and billions of galaxies and is “moving,” in a relative sense, away from all other galaxies, and that said “movement” began about 14 billion years ago in an event we (lamely, according to Bill Watterson) call the Big Bang.

I don’t believe in much that I can’t see, but I believe that 2+2=4. I believe that pi = 3.141529… and cannot likely be defined. I believe that cosine = uhh… Sorry, Mr. Peterson, I forget all that crap. But I totally believe it. What I mean to say is that I believe in some things that I don’t even understand. I don’t understand what a quark is, or how empty intergalactic space itself is expanding, but I believe it.

I don’t believe in much that I can’t see, but I believe in love. I have no proof of love. I am told by science that love is a particular set of chemicals being released into my brain, which starts and maintains a physical reaction so that I am more encouraged to stay with an advantageous mate. I reject this outright.

I do not reject its truth; I reject its singular nature. That is absolutely the physical, biological side of love. But any definition or description of love must demonstrate pluralism. If John Lennon had to take a whole song to define it, then we cannot rely on science alone for an explanation.

Love is the most complex emotion that we can observe. Hate is comparatively simple. Rage and joy, sadness and ecstasy, these things can all be understood. Love cannot. Love will drive some to madness, and others to ultimate happiness. It will make some cry and others shout with joy.

What we cannot explain is why – why, after hardship, rejection, or even physical violence –do we still chase after love? Is it that hardwired into us that we absolutely must have it? Is it simple loneliness – is our existence so founded on that deep a level of social interaction that we will sacrifice so much for such a connection?

Is it that chemical cocktail being released in our brains? Does that cocktail feel so good that we’re willing to sometimes destroy ourselves in an attempt to experience it, or even kill ourselves because we can’t get it? Is serotonin that powerful?

I don’t believe in much that I can’t see, but I believe in love. I usually need answers to my questions – that’s why I know a little about a lot of things (except about math, apparently – snore). But for love…I don’t know. I don’t think I want to know.

The mystery of love is maybe the biggest reason it’s so alluring. We can’t define it, but we know it when we see it (thank you, Justice Alito). I don’t know that if given the opportunity, I would choose to know the secret of love. Can’t say it wouldn’t be tempting, though.

I can say this: I don’t know what it is and I can’t see it, but I believe in love. (Awwwww...)

Music: John Lennon - "Love"

Revisionist History

2010-03-11T11:05:00.000-08:00

This started out as an essay on my experiences in leadership for the Honors College application at WCU, but quickly jumped the rails of the question and grew to 50% more than the word count limit. But I kinda liked it, so here it is. It's a bit stream-of-consciousness and rough and unedited, but whaddayagonnado - it's a blog.

I have a great deal of trouble deciding what the “most significant accomplishment” I have made in the past few years has been. As mentioned in the listing of other activities, I was a Field Organizer for Barack Obama’s campaign in Indiana, and served in Peace Corps in West Africa. These experiences changed my life and how I see myself on a fundamental level; the past 18 months have been some of the most tumultuous I have ever experienced. But the trouble I have is not in determining which experience was the greater of the two, or had the most impact on those around me, but if either had any impact beyond the psychological effects on me.

Neither experience ended in a satisfying manner - both ended abruptly and without much opportunity for closure. My time at the campaign ended very quickly: only a weekend passed between hearing of my acceptance to Peace Corps and leaving for the East coast to prepare. I’ve never quit a job so quickly. And Peace Corps takes no chances with health issues of any kind. A diagnosis of anything untreatable in-country is referred quickly up the bureaucratic ladder for a decision. Between that decision and my flight out of Conakry, only about 18 hours passed. So while I would have liked to have ended both experiences very differently, they were both quite rewarding while they continued.

I’m from the East coast - born and raised around Philadelphia - and except for a year spent in small-town Illinois, I’ve lived either here or in the suburbs of DC. So the environment of rural, red-state Indiana was very close to the culture shock I would experience later in Guinea. The amount of work that people were willing to put in to a candidate that most of the neighbors wouldn’t dream of voting for was staggering. The volunteers that came into my office day after day, after their 40-hour work weeks, time in the fields, or time spent caring for children, were extraordinary. I felt, and still feel, very privileged to work with such people. It’s hard to say if my unique contributions added anything to their experiences or willingness to work, but I like to think it did. One volunteer in particular, Marian Abowitz (whom I will never forget), actually volunteered more than 40 hours most weeks, and she was as motivating as she was motivated. She was my right arm during the hectic times, which quickly became all of the time, and she kept my spirits up when it seemed like no one would take my calls. She once told me that I was making a real and unique impact, not just being a body filling a role. If her flattery (which absolutely worked) is right, then I’m happy with my time on the campaign. FOs, DFOs, RFDs and every other acronym possible came into Indiana when McCain’s staffers all but pulled out of Wisconsin, and three of them took over my office. Marian told me that it took all of them to fill my shoes, and that was quite a boost as well.

Peace Corps was a very different experience. In reality, Guinea is nothing like rural Indiana (that could probably have gone unsaid). My thoughts on my experiences there could fill a novel. To parse it down, I felt like the proverbial fish out of water, but my choking was no proverb. We were barely out of training when I had to leave, but even that was a mind-altering experience. We were told that we would be leaders and teachers in our communities, and it terrified me. All of my friends that scattered around Africa and other parts of the world following the closure of Peace Corps/Guinea are braver folks than I. They are real leaders and teachers, despite and maybe because of their struggles.

I never got the chance to be a leader in Guinea, and I can’t get unbiased review of my impact in Greencastle, but I learned so much about what it takes to be a leader, a follower, a volunteer, and a member of a struggling community. I wish beyond reason that my contributions in either place could have been more significant, and maybe I’ll get that chance again someday. But these experiences did fundamentally change me. If I can cause even one other person to be as aware as I feel now, then I’ll be happy.

Sweet Emotion

2010-03-10T20:58:00.000-08:00

I've been having a really great week so far, and I was just mentioning so on Twitter when I found that I couldn't complete the tweet:

"This week has been awesome, despite some sad moments. Allthetime happy is not required for awesomeness. Sad can be just as...something."

Ignoring the made-up word "allthetime" (that is how I said it), I struggled with how to describe the fact that my week wasn't less rewarding because of the sad moments. I'm reminded of a "F.R.I.E.N.D.S." quote. Monica is concerned that Chandler has found out she isn't as maniacally organizational as she lets on. Paraphrasing, "Aw, Monica, I don't love you because of those things, I love you in spite of them."

But that's exactly backwards. I haven't had a good week in spite of the sad times, but in part because of them. Not to belittle the sadder parts, or to minimize their emotional impact, but the closeness, the emotional connection, and the...(for lack of a better word) realness added to the overall...quality of my week.

Words are failing me here, because I'm not happy about the sad things. In fact, I'm sad about them. Profound, I know. Sad things make me sad.

What I'm trying to get across is that sadness (pain, suffering, etc.) can not be seen simply as an evil to be tolerated until we can experience the happiness and joy of the world, but as an end in itself. (Just as Robert Smith) This is of course not to say that we should seek out sad things, or revel in sad situations, but that we should not curse the bad times in life when we experience them or look back.

This is of course easier said than done.

"Grief and sadness knits two hearts in closer bonds than happiness ever can; and common sufferings are far stronger than common joys." - Alphonse de Lamartine

Yeah, what he said.

Music: The Avett Brothers - "Laundry Room"

It is a hideous shade of green.

2010-03-05T14:28:00.000-08:00

It is a hideous shade of green.

It is soft, comfortable, and solitary. I know I will find solace in its curves. I know its contours, and its secrets – its quirks.

My chair…is fantastic. “Fantastic” is an appropriate choice: the comfort brought by placing myself in its cushioned embrace exceeds expectations to the point of fantasy.

Even the green is comforting. Knowing that no one will want such an ill-conceived color in their possession only ensures that it will remain in mine. The small dots of ivory and burgundy are hardly noticeable to most, but to me they speak of the great diversity of the chair’s pleasures – its character.

I can resist those pleasures no longer. I turn around to face away, and sink into its seat. I savor the sensation, not committing myself to the full experience. Slowly, I slide myself back until I am properly seated.

A sigh escapes me. The comfort of familiarity surrounds me.

The chair has abilities beyond most inanimate objects: it moves. I reach down the right side of the chair, and find the lever that transforms this simple piece of furniture into a masterpiece of experiences: a recliner.

As I recline back, fully committing now, my torso inclines backward, and my legs are lifted up. It travels farther than one might think possible, laying out almost flat.

I am reclined.

Now the real experience of reclining in this particular chair begins. This recliner has power – real power – beyond that of any normal piece of furniture.

This chair can fuckin’ fly…

I sink back into the hideous green and am absorbed into its fabrics. I am the recliner, and the recliner is me.

I/it lift off, out of the basement to which this 8th Wonder has been so casually relegated, high above the houses. The recliner/I carries ourself higher and higher, above the tree line, and above mountains I wasn’t aware of. We soar above clouds, and see the whole world for its true self, as our final power is revealed to us:

We speak the truth. We know the truth. We know all truths.

I now know how to fix it: how to fix every broken thing. Every struggle, every relationship, and every crisis to be faced by this small blue orb below us has now been laid out, along with every one of their solutions.

Together, the recliner and I, as one, will create a Utopia in which all may know their recliners as I know mine.

(A note: I have never done drugs.)

I wrote this a year ago

2010-03-05T14:15:00.000-08:00

The Meaning of Meaning

What does it mean to search for meaning? Does it imply that meaning must be certainly present and simply needs to be revealed? Or is it that meaning has been lost and needs to be recovered? Perhaps I cannot properly define my own search for meaning, and so I search for the meaning of the search for meaning. I fear I may confuse myself in a fit of redundant existentialism.

I am, in fact, on a search for meaning. This is not a physical search: I am not traveling the world or the cosmos in a quest to find a civilization or natural wonder that can provide meaning to the Universe. No, this is a purely intellectual exercise. This exercise will take place here before you, on these very pages. Or perhaps it will only take one page. Perhaps the meaning of existence, once probed, will present itself readily and quickly. Or it may become rapidly apparent that there is no meaning, and the search will end just as quickly, if perhaps less positively.

I have been attempting to decide what to do with my life. I recently found myself unsuited to several endeavors that I believed had the elusive “meaning.” I am now in pursuit of another such line of work, and I am not sure where to begin. I need to first define the meaning of meaning.

There are many ways to consider “meaning.” Is it the satisfaction one gleans from a job well done, or does it come from the process itself and not the end result? Is it the effect on the individuals with whom one interacts, or is it bigger? Does a work have real meaning only if that work has some larger positive impact on society?
It could be even bigger still. Perhaps one needs to look outside our narrow field of view. In this context, I am considering only our world. But in about four-and-a-half billion years, our Sun will exhaust its fuel, and expand to one thousand times its size, engulfing the Earth and extinguishing the human race. In the frame of the Universe, humans are insignificant at best and in reality almost non-existent.

So does meaning only come from making a permanent addition or change to the Universe, to Space and/or Time? Is that even possible? Is it possible for our race to make a lasting – truly lasting – mark on our surroundings? However, the Universe itself may eventually come to an end, and whether it is through heat death or the Big Crunch, the end result will be the same in terms of this exercise. Anything mankind can create, whether collectively or through the work of a single individual, will be destroyed.

If that is the case, then there is quite literally no point and no meaning in anything any of us might do. I do not believe in a deity or an afterlife, although the idea is much more appealing than my beliefs. Without such otherworldly intervention, there is no way to escape the idea that our existence is in fact absolutely meaningless.

As such, I see two options. I can choose to live my life only to bring myself happiness, reasoning that if there are no everlasting consequences, I may as well enjoy the experience for as long as possible. Or as another option, I can choose to end this clearly pointless existence to test my theory on the afterlife or lack thereof. That is a dangerous experiment, given the lore regarding the methods in which various deities treat those who end their own lives.

If in fact one of these deities does exist, there could be dire, unimaginably painful consequences for ending my life earlier than is “natural.” Logically, it only follows that one should choose the first option, as the second option simply brings an unavoidable event closer. There seems to be an opportunity to have one’s cake and eat it, too.

Barring any supernatural interference, the question of meaning will have to remain unanswered for now.