Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Research of Humans
One of the most annoying things is when attempts are made to define people in general. According to research you are defined as the 70% that do this or the 30% that don't. You're in the 92.5% of people who are inevitably are like this, or in the 7.5% who aren't. You are classified as 60% this kind of human, 30% of this kind of human, and 10% of this kind of human. You automatically fit into one or more of the sections that are apart of this study of humans. What is not generally understood is that:
No!!! You're absolutely wrong!! I am 100% one-of-a-kind! I don't fit into any "researched" category.
Now, what in the world does this have to do with anything. I may have gotten a bit wordy and too involved with my own pet peeve for this to make any sense but, allow me to make my point.
Love is equally undefinable. There is no division of percentages that can define love. Love is so undeniably different and subjective that there is no research to be made. It expresses itself in so many strange and diverse ways, that researchers don't even know where to start. Love can only be attempted to be defined by each individual. Personally. With no help. With a lot of experience. And luck.
If I had to define it... Ah, maybe I won't yet. I haven't had the experience. Or the luck.
No!!! You're absolutely wrong!! I am 100% one-of-a-kind! I don't fit into any "researched" category.
Now, what in the world does this have to do with anything. I may have gotten a bit wordy and too involved with my own pet peeve for this to make any sense but, allow me to make my point.
Love is equally undefinable. There is no division of percentages that can define love. Love is so undeniably different and subjective that there is no research to be made. It expresses itself in so many strange and diverse ways, that researchers don't even know where to start. Love can only be attempted to be defined by each individual. Personally. With no help. With a lot of experience. And luck.
If I had to define it... Ah, maybe I won't yet. I haven't had the experience. Or the luck.
Sunday, February 8, 2015
Something I Regret
When I was about eight years of age, I lived in a state that was not Utah(clinging to anonymity). At this time, I had a fascination with Air Soft guns. Every time I was taken to Wal-Mart I would have to take some time to go admire the humane weaponry. Then, at Christmas time, my grandfather recognized my fascination and bought me a brand new, fully automatic Air Soft gun; and ammunition to accompany it. I was elated!!! I was overly excited to go show off my new "toy" to everyone I knew.
About a day later, my friend Richard and I were looking for something fun to occupy our time. Of course I insisted that we go have a battle with Air Soft guns. I would, naturally, have my new fully automatic gun, while Richard was stuck with a single shot pistol. We went out into the field next to my house to have our battle. We began, and both of us were too scared to expose ourselves to each others fire. We eventually got over our fear and started to have a good time, and amass a good collection of welts.
We were in the middle of a battle, when I noticed that there were about four boys watching our battle from the Boys & Girls Club that neighbored the field that Richard and I were in. I saw a perfect opportunity to show off my prized Air Soft gun to the spectating boys. So, in the heat of our battle, I made my way over to the fence that divided us from the spectators. Trying to make it look as natural as possible, I used some bushes right by the fence for cover. The boys, to my delight, at the fence began to admire my weapon. They began to question me about my gun, and I answered every one of their questions with pride. Soon the question asked:"How much does it hurt to be shot." I tried my best to explain it to them. They weren't satisfied by my explanations, so they continued to ask for details. Quickly thereafter, one of the boys asked me to shoot him so he would know what the sensation felt like. By the time Richard walked over to join the conversation, the four boys were doing jumping jacks and begging me to shoot them. I looked over at Richard, feeling uneasy. He looked at me and said, "Might as well give them what they want." So I opened fire on them. They all doubled over when the pellets from my gun hit them in the stomach, and yet they still asked for more. They literally asked. So I gave my gun to Richard and told him to continue to give them what they wanted.
While he opened fire on them, I ran to my house and retrieved my BB gun, which is much more powerful. The moment they saw me run out with my BB gun, to my regrettably immense satisfaction, they bolted. Richard and I retreated to a secluded portion of the field to reminisce on our activities of the day. While thus reminiscing, two representatives from the Boys & Girls Club walked over to us. They asked us if we had shot some kids with Air Soft guns. We answered in the affirmative. They then told us if such an occurance happened again, they would be obliged to call the police on our behalf. I had never been so terrified in my life. I came to regret that we were almost reported to the police in the following weeks, months, and years. But now, it's just a funny story.
I have shared this story, and included some of the ways I felt during the time. I even bolded a few for you. I know it's a cliche argument, but a concrete one nonetheless. No robot could go through that heavy of a rollercoaster of emotions in that short of time. Therefore, I must be human... Pretty much.
About a day later, my friend Richard and I were looking for something fun to occupy our time. Of course I insisted that we go have a battle with Air Soft guns. I would, naturally, have my new fully automatic gun, while Richard was stuck with a single shot pistol. We went out into the field next to my house to have our battle. We began, and both of us were too scared to expose ourselves to each others fire. We eventually got over our fear and started to have a good time, and amass a good collection of welts.
We were in the middle of a battle, when I noticed that there were about four boys watching our battle from the Boys & Girls Club that neighbored the field that Richard and I were in. I saw a perfect opportunity to show off my prized Air Soft gun to the spectating boys. So, in the heat of our battle, I made my way over to the fence that divided us from the spectators. Trying to make it look as natural as possible, I used some bushes right by the fence for cover. The boys, to my delight, at the fence began to admire my weapon. They began to question me about my gun, and I answered every one of their questions with pride. Soon the question asked:"How much does it hurt to be shot." I tried my best to explain it to them. They weren't satisfied by my explanations, so they continued to ask for details. Quickly thereafter, one of the boys asked me to shoot him so he would know what the sensation felt like. By the time Richard walked over to join the conversation, the four boys were doing jumping jacks and begging me to shoot them. I looked over at Richard, feeling uneasy. He looked at me and said, "Might as well give them what they want." So I opened fire on them. They all doubled over when the pellets from my gun hit them in the stomach, and yet they still asked for more. They literally asked. So I gave my gun to Richard and told him to continue to give them what they wanted.
While he opened fire on them, I ran to my house and retrieved my BB gun, which is much more powerful. The moment they saw me run out with my BB gun, to my regrettably immense satisfaction, they bolted. Richard and I retreated to a secluded portion of the field to reminisce on our activities of the day. While thus reminiscing, two representatives from the Boys & Girls Club walked over to us. They asked us if we had shot some kids with Air Soft guns. We answered in the affirmative. They then told us if such an occurance happened again, they would be obliged to call the police on our behalf. I had never been so terrified in my life. I came to regret that we were almost reported to the police in the following weeks, months, and years. But now, it's just a funny story.
I have shared this story, and included some of the ways I felt during the time. I even bolded a few for you. I know it's a cliche argument, but a concrete one nonetheless. No robot could go through that heavy of a rollercoaster of emotions in that short of time. Therefore, I must be human... Pretty much.
Monday, February 2, 2015
Last night I had a dream
So last night I had a dream. In my dream the New England Patriots and the Seattle Seahawks were playing in the Super Bowl. During the course of my dream, the two teams played, and the Patriots, wearing yellow and red uniforms instead of blue, red, and white ones, won the game. On Sunday, the Patriots won the Super Bowl, just like my dream predicted.
The next night I had a dream that Mr. Nelson dropped all of his Creative Writing classes so that he could focus on the other classes he was teaching... Hmm...
The next night I had a dream that Mr. Nelson dropped all of his Creative Writing classes so that he could focus on the other classes he was teaching... Hmm...
Crayons
I've always hated crayons. They have never been precise. The left side of the brain always hates that. It's hard to get perfect symmetry when the crayon never writes where it's supposed to. Aaaaaaah!! It's so frustrating!!!!!
But of course, crayons forced the left side to give the right side a little room to maneuver. When the left side couldn't have its perfect symmetry, then the right side had to come in and create something out of the mess crayons made.
So crayons actually provide a creative benefit... Give the right side some spotlight...
... I don't care, I still like colored pencils better.
But of course, crayons forced the left side to give the right side a little room to maneuver. When the left side couldn't have its perfect symmetry, then the right side had to come in and create something out of the mess crayons made.
So crayons actually provide a creative benefit... Give the right side some spotlight...
... I don't care, I still like colored pencils better.
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