Moons are cool. Happy New Year's Eve and Happy National Hangover Day.

Three problems with Pascal's Wager:

1) It is logical, too logical, as it turns out. If the idea is to prove by compelling logic that you would do well to believe in god, a positive hypothetical, then you should believe in every positive hypothetical similarly formulated. Such as the Evil Easter Bunny, who will chew you to bits for eternity if you don't believe in him. Might as well believe in him too, right? Along with wizards, lawn gnomes, Apollo, etc. You've got the same to lose if you don't.

2) Which god or gods do I wager on?

3) Most of the gods I know of allegedly want you to believe in him because he loves you and you love him, not because you solved an elementary problem of logic.

I'm an analogy whore, but I think this one I came up with is pretty good and worth sharing. The analogy demonstrates the problem of the modern day faithful. Religion is the Titanic, modern day faithful are the crew, enthusiastic passengers, and admirers, and Science is the iceberg.

For years leading up to its first outing at sea people spoke of the unsinkable ship, the Titanic. Ooohs and Aaaahs, it was the greatest thing imaginable. An engineering masterpiece, another of humanity's milestones. The ship was touted as not only improbable of sinking but impossible of sinking. Enough engineers, mariners, captains, and sea-know-whos repeated this doe-eyed idea enough times until invariably everyone accepted it as gospel truth.

When the ship first hit the iceberg hardly any of the passengers knew what was happening, just as essentially nobody in the 1500s knew that Copernicus was happening. The news leaked slowly (pun intended); the widespread response - laughter. The ship is not sinking, this is an unsinkable ship. The sun is not the center of the universe, the Earth is, as we all know from repeating the Bible.

As water began to fill the lower compartments and the ship began to lean more people were convinced of the truth. This was a slow process. It took just under three hours for the ship to sink. That's a pretty healthy allotment of time to convince another human that the metallic structure they are standing on is in fact headed to the bottom of the ocean in the near future, especially if they have retained all five sensory modalities of which to accept and interpret empirical evidence. However, it is estimated that the hesitation, confusion, and general reluctance to act contributed to hundreds of the ensuing deaths.

Even so, there were still reports of crewmen and the enthusiastic onboard insisting that the ship was not sinking, as it was unsinkable, they tenaciously reminded all. That's when a frantic passenger pulled such a deranged person to the side of the ship, pointed to the crack in the hull, pointed to the angle the ship made with the water horizontal, pointed out the cries below, pointed to the water in the lower compartments, maybe even stuck their foot in it (in short, appealed to physics, not an idea, as insight to capital T, and readily pertinent, truth). And that's when the deranged person repeated, wide-eyed, "this is an unsinkable ship."

Science VS. Religion is wrong, and Science AND Religion is wrong. The correct format is Religion THEN Science. Science is not an alternative to Religion, nor an explanatory comrade. It is a successor. It doesn't facilitate, or help, or do anything in conjunction. It outdates, it nullifies, it is an entirely different approach to attaining truth altogether, period. It is a realization that repeated mantras and abstract, feel-good ideas give way to empirical, physical, inductive evidence.

It took about three hours to realize that the Titanic could, in fact, sink, and there were undoubtedly a few people drowning in the ocean after the ship had gone under, thinking bewilderdly, "that was an unsinkable ship." I think the transistion stage for Science to become fully accepted and Religion fully understood as backward will be somewhere on the order of 1,000 years. Copernicus was about 1550 so I'll give it till 2550. Of course Science's congregation is always growing, Religion's always dwindling, just as more and more people decide to scramble for a lifeboat when they discover water rising.

Ask yourself this question - what is the value of remaining on a sinking ship, once you realize it's sinking?

Now everyone have a very merry and un-delusional Christmas!

COLD SNOWY, MA. It's so incredibly cold and the snow is so incredibly snowy and piled high. Just watched the Incredibles. Fourteen degrees.

COLD SNOWY, MA. Help! Stop. Impending blizzard! Stop. Trapped with disarmingly cute little brother and sister! Stop. Much World of Goo playing....find on internet, $20. Stop. Down to very last blanket! Stop. Will signal again soon. Stop.

The 27 phenomenon has reached new heights. I can't see or hear or look at the number without feeling a surge of joy. 27 brings all the memories, events, and people associated to the fore, and makes me happy. It is a semantic network completely saturated with positives. A sizeable number of people are insisting that they will get 27 tattoos; the 27th of this month marks the two year anniversary of ours.

On Saturday Matthew, Jason, Antonio, and I played in a beer pong tourney along with many others. M's team won and we continued playing afterwards, culminating in the 4:30 a.m. no shirt challenge game, which M and I won. T's girl interest's brother was there. He ran Boston representing the BAHston fire depAHtment. He is cool.

On Monday a guy walked into the Steiner Ranch Steakhouse and shot the manager point blank, killing him. He left immediately and was last seen abandoning his Chevy Blazer on Bullick Hollow road and disappearing into the woods! They closed off Bullick Hollow that night, a road I drive the entire length of just about every single day. I was at the White's house when I heard the news, about a mile from the spot where he vanished. He is still at large.

Last night, a cold rainy night, I was driving Bullick Hollow and after I crested the big hill, just before 2222, I saw two to three KVUE Austin news vans on the side of the road. I wish I had slowed down more, but all I saw in passing was about two or three raincoat-adorned people in a semi-circle shining flashlights onto....SOMETHING! Gracious me! What did I miss?!?! At 2222 I came upon another news van heading away, and at that point had a sudden sensation that I had just barely missed something. I opted to take 620 returning home later that night instead of the usual Bullick Hollow.

Met a police car on my run today...on the cross country course! Looking for pot smokers, no doubt. My beloved course - overrun by druggies!

I've been reading novels lately. Reading is truly great, it's life in print. A person can experience a lot by just reading. Like in Anton Chekhov's short story The Bet, a guy agrees to voluntarily imprison himself for fifteen years for a sum of money. After fifteen years of thinking, reading, and writing, but never leaving his confinement, he no longer desires the money because his life expereience has been so enriched in the interim.

The mark of a truly great novel is when you think about the characters not as characters in a book, but as real people that you have come to know. They influence your life. You have conversations with them, you find yourself asking, "What would ______ do, say in this situation?" The best execution of this I have encountered so far is Tolstoy's Konstantin Levin.

Do we run because we are afraid of the bear or are we afraid of the bear because we run, or, alternatively, do we cry because we are sad or are we sad because we cry? I've thought about this problem since my Religion and the Emotions class sophmore year at Davidson and I've always been partial to James-Lange (we are afraid because we run, we are sad because we cry) because it makes more logical sense - we are evolved animals that arose from other evolved animals that didn't and don't need a therapy session to figure out whether we are afraid enough to run from predators, we just do, i.e., action, motion precedes feeling. Instinct and overt communicable signals (crying) comes first.

But humans are complicated as fuck, and now I think that this controversial question has no meaningful answer, bogged down by cumbersome convolutions scientific, semantic, and philosophical. Neither James-Lange nor Cannon-Bard are fully correct. Schacter and Singer offer little: "cognitions are used to interpret the meaning of physiological reactions to outside events." Thanks guys. Cognitions are used for everything.

The answer is that the question itself is simply beyond our capacity to answer precisely. But William James wins for having the coolest and most logical, aesthetically pleasing theory.

There is a place in San Marcos called the Eskimo Hut. They serve alcoholic drinks to go. The drinks come in a styrofoam cup encased in a plastic bag. The consumer is provided with an oversized straw to poke through the bag to reach the contents. Products are thus consumed while driving - all of this is legal. Only in San Marcos would there exist a pronounced effort to circumnavigate the perfectly reasonable drinking while driving law. But the margaritas are good!

The greatest Facebook story since Brody Rukus or whoever (If this group reaches 100,000 I'll have a threesome with my girlfriend, and all the resultant tributary groups...remember the brilliance?) is the group "Kick a Ginger" created by a 14 yr old boy. Supposedly nationwide physical attacks on redheads have ushered in a veritable neo-prejudice, with "authorities" now charging the boy with a hate crime. I'm sorry and perhaps a little mean but that is downright hilarious...the attacks, not the charge. Don't charge the boy. Charge the kickers. And laugh at the same time.

Following is a running story, but it's not really about running. In the spring, prolly in March, I went for a two hour long run, hoping to get about 16 or 17, on the River Run/golf course/Grey Rd. loop (single 13+ mile loops are great) in Davidson, NC. Now I left around 2 or so in the afternoon, and I had only eaten a bagel that day, and I don't think I had eaten that much the day before. Because around 90 minutes in I started to feel pretty...different. Things were...changing. I started weaving and feeling a little dizzy, but it wasn't necessarily a bad feeling. At 110 minutes I forced myself to stop because I didn't know what the fuck was going on and I feared, but only slightly, for my physical self. I stumbled across campus in the direction of my apartment and everything was entirely funny, I was laughing a lot. I was also ridiculously fucking hungry and not thirsty at all. Weird? You'd think after 15 miles a person would be thirsty. No, just ravenously hungry.

I barged into my apartment (totally hilarious) and into the kitchen. I grabbed everything I could find: chocolate, an apple, cookies, peanut butter, a banana...there was a lot, I don't remember it all, cream cheese, maybe? I attacked the apple first, and followed with the swiftest double take I've ever subjected my head too. What the fuck was I holding in my hand? Surely not an apple. But it fucking looked like an apple. What the hell was going on? It was mana from heaven, I was convinced. Nothing ever tasted so good in my life as that apple thing.

It was a weird and amusing experience. I've had similar run-induced things happen, but never one that severe, or fantastic, or whatever (once in Colorado I ran 12 miles in a blizzard and started feeling fuzzy at the end and got into the shower afterwards and the heat wouldn't go all the way up so I chanted Heat, Heat....Heat, Heat in high wailing voice, alternately laughing and despairing, until finally the heat gods heard me and the heat rose enough for me to just laugh, and be grateful that prized bodily possessions had in fact not irreversibly froze). I'm pretty sure I was undergoing intense episodes of runner's high with cannabis like symptoms (makes sense since apparently endorphins and cannabis are molecular analogs and have the same receptors in the brain) induced by having little readily convertible energy in my body at the time.

Those episodes were pretty intense compared to the more mild and more common form of runner's high that I occasionally get. That kind is prolly the best drug-induced state I've ever experienced, better even than alcohol even though the homunculus in my brain is saying "NOTHING is better than alcohol," and he is an erudite, wise homunculus. Mild runner's high has, count em, 0 negative side effects.

I promise I won't turn this blog into a self-help center but I will offer the following advice. The desire to extend it does not stem from any recent incident or revelation, just my general accumulation of experience and observation.

Do not take negative insults or attitudes personally, but those that are positive that can be construed as personal, take them that way. Some philosophers would have a field day with this piece of advice, a glaring case of logical inconsistency. Of course this approach is inconsistent, but what good is logical consistency if it doesn't make you any happier or content with your life? Furthermore, I think there is an element of truth in it anyway. For one, life and people are inconsistent, and it would almost seem that being consistently inconsistent is an appropriate corollary. For another, few people want to intentionlly harm others, directly or indirectly. Those that do are called pyschopaths; they lack the ability to empathize, and their numbers are few. So I would say that 99% of the time people get hurt by an individual it is because that individual is struggling with an issue more purely within themselves and is manifesting the struggle, and people get in the way. By no means do I condone the unintentional hurting of others, but it occurs, and I believe that the best way to cope is to not take it personally. Seriously, try it. It works.

Of course, take positive things personally - there is no downside to that. The whole point is to take the best parts of something and discard the bad. Now, is it too much to ask to carry this attitude elsewhere...like religion????

A ten minute conversation with an old grey-haired naked man at night in the middle of the hill country is an interesting experience.

"All right, round em up...it's election day!"

"Vote native."

I'm proud of myself for participating in Halloween last night for the first time in like eight years, since back when I couldn't even grow a beard (oh wait, nevermind). That includes not going to the Franklin St. party in Chapel Hill a couple years ago because I had shit to do the next morning. We learn from our mistakes.

Some notable costumes were: motivational speaker Matt Foley (guy even looked a lot like Farley, check), Colt McCoy (guy wouldn't shut up about his faith, check), anchorman Ron Burgundy, Hugh Hefner (would have been more impressive with a lady entourage), Captain America, Dick in a Box (didn't open it), Sarah Palin, Forest Gump (the runner), and Strawberry Blonde (she was a strawberry, but she was also very blonde). I was a person sized napkin, part of a five piece set including M, T, J, and Jonnce as a plate, spoon, fork, and knife, respectively. It was better than anticipated, although it fell apart when we didn't stick together.

There was much dancing, drinking, laughing, and changing venues. It was a shit ton of fun. M dropped me off at a quarter after five en route to catch his seven o clock flight.

Girls require Time and Money:

1. Girls = Time x Money

Time is Money:

2. Time = Money

Substitution property:

3. Girls = Money x Money = (Money)^2

Money is the Root of all Evil:

4. Money = sqrt(Evil)

Square 4 and substitution property:

(Money)^2 = sqrt(Evil)^2 = Girls

Therefore:

5. Girls = Evil

Math!

The evolutionary psychologist Marc Hauser and others have been demonstrating that more and more of our decisions, thoughts, and actions are in fact unconscious processes. Think of the implications of this! There are too many, so let's focus on one - to what degree you think you know yourself.

Probably most people think they know themselves completely (or at least subconsciously think they know themselves completely) but probably only know their conscious selves, and probably not completely. Often people are surprised at the way they think, feel, and act in novel or irregular circumstances. Moreover, people act differently in these circumstances than they themselves predict they would. This is a well documented human phenomenon. So, is one's self based only on regular and predictable circumstances? I would think not; are not people defined by heroic and extraordinary deeds and ideas? So a person should be more defined on how they would act.

Yet again, we do not know exactly how people would act because we are only aware of our conscious thoughts, feelings, and actions which have only some bearing on the outcomes. What percentage is unconscious? Do we know 50% of ourselves? Would that mean we know 25% of our close friends and family? 10% of acquaintences? 5% of Barack Obama?

I think we just don't know how much of ourselves we don't know.

I voted early today...for Bob Barr! Yes, the libertarian candidate. My grandmother has been telling me the past few weeks that I would lose my vote if I voted libertarian. Correction: John McCain and Barack Obama will lose my vote if I vote libertarian, but I will not lose my vote, and I didn't. The implication is that Barr has no chance of winning and I should therefore vote for the candidate who I like the most who has a chance of winning. Well, perhaps, if I particularly care for either McCain or Obama, and less for principle, but alas, for me it is the other way around.

First, voting on principle is not a waste of a vote. The most successful third party candidate was Teddy Roosevelt with his progressive Bull Moose party. He did not win, but that does not imply his pioneering move had no worthwhile effects. Subsequent Democratic and Republican campaigns realized that if they adopted some of his policies they would pull in more votes, so they did. In this indirect and more long term manner, policies espoused by third parties, if there are enough supporters, are adopted.

And secondly, focusing on long term considerations really sums up the extent to which I care about politics. The message I would like to send to the government in a vote is this: I don't care what the current administration's policies are, I just want administrations in general having fewer of them, and thus making fewer decisions about my life (not in the least taking my money). The government has been steadily growing in size since the late 1700s and I don't approve. This is, in a nutshell, mostly but not wholly, the purpose of the libertarian party.

"Take, for instance, the possible fat man in that doorway; and, again, the possible bald man in that doorway. Are they the same possible man, or two possible men? How do we decide? How many possible men are there in that doorway? Are there more possible thin ones than fat ones? How many of them are alike? Or would their being alike make them one? Are no two possible things alike? Is this the same as saying that it is impossible for two things to be alike? Or, finally, is the concept of identity simply inapplicable to unactualized possibles?"

-Willard Van Orman Quine, 1953.

Earlier this summer M & T and I found an old rusted-out car near Bull Creek. It was a Chevy Nova (no longer made) and it had prolly been there for many years. Because my twin cousins Rick and Jake, 8, love everything and all things car, I mentioned the find to them. Big mistake - or jackpot, whichever way you look at it. The endless questions and persistent insistences on taking them to see it continued until a few days ago I finally took them. Some of their amusing comments:

"Oh my god I see it!"
"Is this your car?"
"Is this my car?"
"The goat-man gave me this car."
"The guy who owned this car must have been a million years old ago."
"Here's a thousand dollars for this car."
"This car is forty to fifty years old."
"Where's the nition?"
"Here's the nition!"
"Are we going to drive it?"
"Jake! Get in the backseat!"
"So this is the car."
"Really fascinating."
"Why is this part blue?"
"Why is this part red?"
"This is the old famous rusty car!"

When I announced it was time to go I started walking back to the trail and looked back and without word to each other they had begun to collect parts they were planning to take home. It was amusing, indeed.

In wake of the Horns' huge victory today, I'd like to share the opening paragraphs of John Kelso's article yesterday in the Statesman:

"Every year about this time, I enjoy making ha-has about Okrahoma - make that Oklahoma - an overalls-ish state north of here that has a great football team made up largely of players stolen from Texas.
So, if Yokelhoma had suffered the misfortune of being located next to, say, Massachusetts, instead of football, OU would be really good at yachting."

This post is an exposition of my view of art, which has developed and slowly solidified as I have learned about, talked about, and seen more of it. !Caution!: you may disagree. That's ok, many people disagree with many of my views.

Of what is traditionally considered art, I acknowledge about 25% of it as art, about 25% of it as cool or interesting, but not art, more belonging in a category of other cool stuff such as juggling, and the remaining 50% as undiluted bullshit on the rocks. Art, in my opinion, is about the result, the final product. I don't give a shit about what you were thinking or how you got your idea or what you are trying to say. That should be expressed in words, not on a canvas or in a sculpture. Art IS about representation, and the better the artist represents the actual world the better the piece. The measure of art is technical skill, as seen in the product, not thoughtful expression or originality. Art should be measured more quantitatively, such as, but not limited to, a piece of art is better if fewer people can make it.

Take Kazimir Malevich, a 20th century Russian painter. One of his most famous paintings is "black square", which hangs in the State Russian Museum in St. Petersburg. It consists solely of black oil on a canvas. That's it. He also painted "black circle." These paintings were instrumental in the Suprematist movement, which emphasized rebirth, transition, ferment, and commotion, which, of course, were feelings of 1915 Russia. Ok, here is how a conversation between Kazimir and myself would go:

Me - Honestly, Kazimir, I don't think it's very good. It's just black. It looks like it took 10 minutes.
Kazimir - Well, it represents the flavor of the times. There was great tumult and change in my country and I felt it all around me everyday. I was led...
Me - Sorry, but I can see the painting. I still don't think it's very good.
Kazimir - It's not just a black square. I was exploring geometric forms from the new position of...
Me - Yea, I know what geometry is. Look, dude, you're still talking. I think I know what you need (pulls out paper and pencil). Here, write down what you're thinking...I'm sure there is a lot of great stuff goin on up in that head of yours. I'm sure you have a lot of insightful things to say about Russia. Oh, better yet (sets laptop computer on desk). Here, sit down. This will be even easier. It's got Word 07.

Get the point? Most of modern art doesn't belong in the same sentence with true artists such as Da Vinci. Perhaps only he could have displayed such subtle and visually enigmatic technical skill. That makes it great. That's what art should be about. Black oil on a canvas is an insult.

Of course, this is what I think. You are entitled to hold your own inferior opinion (Wink)!

All right, time for some straight talk. Don't like what's going on in Austin right now. I don't like it at all. The city skyline is dotted with some six or seven cranes that are constantly in motion working on these disgusting, revolting, oh my god are you shitting me, holy hell you're blocking the fucking capital view so that some douchebag can fly down here and look at it all by himself for two weekends every year and feel good about that residential condos. If you're ever sick or ill or too full or something and feel the need to throw up, go to theaustonian.com and browse around. Takes approx. 2 min. Yes Austin is selling out like a little bitch. Austinites, those people who made, represent, and continue to carry on what Austin really is and is known for, deplore these developments unanimously. But that's part of capitalism, which is fair and square. That's why the loyalists should recognize and treat this atrocity for what it really is, not the result of economics and free enterprise, but a call to war. People have to stand up for principle. So, in the words of a friend, whose identity I will not disclose, "Hey, guys....does anybody know where I can find....large explosives?"

Who would have known it could be so nice here in the mornings this time of year? I guess I have forgotten, it being six years since I spent any time in Texas during September or October.

Google has this new feature where it predicts what you're typing into the Search bar based on number of previous hits that begin with what you have so far typed. I'd like to share what I think are some interesting predictions with you. The capitalized portions are the words that have been typed and the lowercased portions are the predicted aims.

How stuff works - 9.4 million.
How to kiss - 61 million.
How to make money - 66.4 million.
How to play guitar - 12.5 million.
How To make a website - 144 million.
How To get pregnant - 6 million.
How Do i live - 58.4 million.
How Do es criss angel walk on water - 129,000.
How Am i going to die - 140 million.
Why so serious - 63.6 million.
Why did i get married - 10.6 million.
Why Am i single - 63.3 million.
Why Am i here - 180 million.
Why Am i gay - 9.7 million.
Why Does sex hurt - 560,000.
Why Does love hurt - 1.35 million.
Why Does poop float - 739,000.
Why Are we here - 345 million.
Why Are people gay - 39.3 million.
How Often should you poop - 696,000.
How Often should I work out - 34.7 million.

And the star of the show:

Am I in love - 1.14 billion.

Consider that there are less than 7 billion people on the planet, that not everyone speaks English, is literate, has access to a computer, etc., and you'll realize the significance of that number. We are an uncertain species.

Go to YouTube and search for Noah Kalina. Watch his video. I discovered it yesterday in the Austin Museum of Art. It's something I really appreciate, especially because it is a work in progress. Also visit everyday.noahkalina.com.

My grandfather is the greatest man I will ever know. Perhaps this assertion puzzles you. What makes a man great? Frankly, I'm sure it would look silly on paper. It's more of a feeling or an understanding. Furthermore, this isn't a collective agreement amongst people. He is the greatest man I will ever know.

Nobody is perfect, and my grandfather is no exception. He's boring and dull. He was an accountant and likes to talk about money. He's close-minded and certainly not free from prejudice. But he has astounding qualities I believe I will find in no other person. His virtues are patience, acceptance, humility, and honesty. He is forcefully headstrong, and unearthly down to earth. What makes him the greatest, however, is the candid, disinterested approach he takes to everything. If he has thought something appropriate or worthwhile, he has done it. If he has thought something distracting or pernicious, he has abstained. He lives solely for justice, seeing life through a polarizing lens of two colors -right and wrong. His life is a manifestation of a rule. He is unaware that he himself exists.

He's also the only person I know who was born on the 27th of any month (this one). High five grandpa.

If allergies were a guy I would sue his ass. If they were a girl I would sue her ass as well. I would sue for ten years of red, watery, itchy eyes, nasal congestion, fatigue, malaise, running hindrances, detriment to my boyish good looks, and the loss of a life without these insurmountable hurdles. I would sue for a modest $50 million (acknowledging that the value between my current life and an allergies-free life is widely agreed upon to exceed double that). I would sue for negligence, the bastard having no reason whatsoever to be such a jackass. The judge would rule in my favor and I would be rich. I would travel the world giving inspirational speeches to people from all walks of life. My motto would be "Don't let life pass you by....sue that jackass guy."

I was just driving by the high school and noticed runners, flags, tents, screaming....Home CC meet! I'd arrived just in time for the guys race. Tracked down Timo (Coach Sheard), said hey, then stationed myself for primetime. Twas a slaughterfest. Our #1 runner, Parker, who recently broke Tim's 2 mile high school record (in 9:09) came through the first mile of the 5k in 4:41; most of the guys ran together and the #7 runner was through in 5:05. Now in my time our team was damn good, but this team would manhandle many intercollegiate teams. The neon polyester Tees and striped jerseys, a stark contrast to what we wore, were pretty fucking intimidating. They finished in places 3,5,7,10,11,12, and 13 - our #7 guy was ahead of most team's #1, and ahead of all team's #2 save one. Nuts!

How awesome is GoogleMaps? Very awesome is the answer.

Anybody else think the federal government is super sketchy? I hope the economy tanks so deep that somehow all my debt vanishes. Or maybe if I feign bankruptcy the feds will just bail me out? Sounds good to me.

Ordered some books. Darwin's Dangerous Idea: Evolution and the Meanings of Life, by Daniel Dennett and The End of Faith: Religion, Terror, and the Future of Reason, by Sam Harris. Richard Dawkins, author of the famous The God Delusion, Dennett, Harris, and the hilariously amusing, witty, snobby, over zealously intellectual Christopher Hitchens combined forces to produce The Four Horsemen (and surely also to promote their books) a taped discussion of religious faith, its influences, and the vulnerable state of open-minded reason in America today. I've watched some of it on YouTube, as well as some of Hitchens' and Dawkins' debates with intellectual priests and rabbis.

What's frustrating is the dearth of analytical books that propose a positive overall value of faith and religion today, and thus a balance to the message above. What does exist either collapses under the same simple, convincing arguments or is thoroughly unscientific or thin with little compelling evidence. So I'm reading multiple translations of the New Testament, striving to maintain an analytical eye, yet cannot get through more than a couple pages at a time without laughing out loud.

I'm about to finish The Elegant Universe, on superstring theory by Brian Greene (awesome), and Capitalism and Freedom, by Milton Friedman, not that I'm particularly interested but it's a classic. Up ahead is Cosmos, by Carl Sagan, and The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable, by Nassim Nicholas Taleb, who, interestingly, is a professor of Sciences of Uncertainty.

What do you get when you combine friends and camping and beer and driving a lot and liquor and family and listening to shitty (great?) music and cigarettes and friends and ping pong and swimming late at night illegally in a community pool? Sound sleep. Good solid REM-packed don't remember whether some of my thoughts were while awake or asleep sleep. It's nice. I don't know what happened to the one/night policy but it is needed again for sure. Nicotine sucks.

The bottle of Johnnie Walker is pleasingly juxtaposed.

Have you ever thought that other worlds exist within the same confines of spacetime that ours does? Prolly not, but Alea alluded to such a possibility last night. It results from disparate thoughts, but nonetheless may be possible.

First, superstring theory portends that all matter can be broken down into units of energy, and the differences in matter only arise due to the varying vibrations of those units, like musical notes. Just as certain organisms are only tuned in to a specific auditory range, we humans in our natural state may be tuned in to only some range or type of these vibrations. Perhaps there are types of matter that we are utterly unaware of, and further, cannot know.

Second, there are incredible advances almost daily in subatomic physics and indeed there are particles that exist that we would not encounter humanly, per se, discovered only through clever experiments and manipulation, such as neutrinos and muons, and their corresponding antiparticles. In fact, as you read this, billions of neutrinos are passing through your body, ejected from the sun and en route to some unknown destination.

Third, there are common threads of experience reported by individuals who take certain mind-altering drugs. For example, many people on LSD report the sightings of small, elf-like creatures that in description largely conform to the reports of others.

Is it possible that drugs affect the mind, tampering with the harmonics of matter and energy, in such a way that clue one in to different notes of life? Are these individuals varying their spectrum of human experience that allows them to sense matter that doesn't just exist in their mind, but exists in reality, in fact, right before them, while not being sensible without the induction. Physicists are now contending that there are some eleven dimensions in the universe. How high will that figure eventually rise to? How many unknown frequencies and types of matter surround us? I'm inclined to think that the presence of other worlds swirling around us is not only possible, but probable.

Wow. And it's not just her, at 44 my god. It's also the brilliant, in your face wisdom of John McCain. It's not about reaching to conservatives, or catching Hillary's lost and disgruntled women. It's about garnering that special large group - the cynics. The sarcastic, laid-back people who aren't serious or flat out don't care about politics. Well, they'll care now. A mother of five V.P.I.L.F. I was wavering, but this emphatically ends that.

Last night at the Democratic Convention keynote address speaker and former Virginia governor Mark Warner said that if we mustered our will we could outcompete and outhustle the citizens of other nations, including those on the rise like China and India, while leaving no American behind. Now what the fuck. What exactly does that mean? Are you saying that if we put the effort in, everybody conveniently born here or comes here can prosper, while everybody else will indirectly fail, suffer, and perish? Sounds great. Patriotism, truly one of humanity's admirable virtues. Dictators often desire the triumph of one group over another by distinction of race. Patriots desire the triumph of one group over another by distinction of geographical whim. Please someone demonstrate that these faulty aims are not largely the same.

Today's entry is a tribute to drinking. Oh but it's not what you think! I'm not talking about alcoholic drinks. I'm talking about drinking, the act of, an affinity I share with my former roomate, Andrew. So wonderful, so enjoyable. Liquid > solid. Drink > food. Drink > eat. If I could obtain all my nutrients via oral liquidation I would prolly do it. I've already cut down on solid vegetables in favor of delicious V8. Mmmmm, milk, water, gatorade, coke, so many delicious things to drink!!!

I've solved a mystery, part of one anyway. Often I finish a run with my chest and arms covered with dead ants. Vexing, because ants, as you know, live on the ground. I had always explained this conundrum by the brushing up against overhanging branches, because many of the trees here in central Texas are ant infested. Nay, the answer is much simpler. Upon closer inspection, the small dead ones have wings. Beg your pardon, highnesses. Solenopsis invicta, or the red imported fire ant (RIFA), has undergone two critical mutations recently. Traditional territorial defense communication has broken down, leaving an intensified war raid attitude among all RIFAs, against anybody and anything, including their own. Secondly, one queen per colony, crux of formic hierarchy, has broken down as well, with several queens occupying a single colony. The result is an exponential increase in number and aggression among one of the most numerous and aggressive species in existence. The amount of queens that end up on my post-run chest is testament to the sheer number that patrol the ground. In central Texas, total invicta numbers have increased 40 fold in the last 25 years, while all other total arthropod, ant, and other insect numbers have fallen. Invicta is responsible for more extinctions in the area during recorded history than any other known phenomenon.

Why do we have flying dreams? Did we used to fly? The explanation for falling dreams is convincing. Haven't you ever had a dream where you experienced a falling sensation, followed by a violent kick and waking up? Our arboreal ancestors slept in trees. Some of them fell out and died while sleeping. The quick penetrance of the falling sensation into one's sleep was therefore advantageous; those who didn't have the dreams are not around anymore. Then why do we have flying dreams, perhaps more common than falling dreams? Are we descendants of flying hominids that glided from tree to tree?

I had such a dream a few nights ago. My flying dreams are more vivid, realistic, and are accompanied by the same sentiments than most of my others. I don't skyrocket straight up, I always steadily climb around an angle of 20 degrees from the ground. I have a feel for the air more like a conscious airplane than a nimble bird. After a while I feel like I'm going to lose momentum and I come down. When I get really high I feel like it's because of the wind, or something else, outside my control. Once I get really high I wake up before coming down. The dreams are always exciting. In this particular dream I flew away from a Halloween party because I had forgotten something that I felt I needed. The guy at the door said "Remember to use _____." I don't remember what ______ was but I thought to myself that the guy was an idiot because I don't need _____. The flying ghoul-like creature elicited screams from outsiders and this made the flying ghoul feel powerful.

On a Puerto Rican ranch in 1995, eight sheep were discovered dead, each of their chests having small incisions, and exsanguinated, or completely drained of blood. Near San Antonio in 2004, a rancher reported a hairless dog-like creature attacking his livestock. Unidentifiable bodies were found in Cuero, Texas, where 30 mutilated chickens were documented in one year. Other exsanguinated bodies have been found, other sightings reported, escalating in recent years. Few types of farm animals have been spared. Most believe that the bloodthirsty beasts are coyotes with severe cases of sarcoptic mange, and the incisions and exsanguination explained by the activities of sadistic cults. But I know better; it is the work of chupacabra.

The chupacabra, Spanish chupar, to suck, and cabra, goat, is a relative of the vampire bat but has developed fox and canine-like characteristics. Nocturnal and reclusive, they have successfully remained unknown to humans, covering the southwestern United States and Mexico. This is what they prolly look like:

Deadly chupacabra

Chupacabra with a good haul

Video footage caught by a DeWitt county sheriff this month, near Cuero. Curiously long chupacabrish snout.

Nessie, Bigfoot, yetis, banshees?!?! Prolly no. But Chupacabra, Yes! More T-shirts please.

I took a dip in the lake today. More like moving from the sauna to the hot tub, given the heat. Temperature predicament aside, it was refreshing, even if came about from the mere act. I was reminded of a funny conversation my brother and I had there earlier in the summer. We humans always think about how wonderful and liberating the ability to fly would be. The weightlessness! But what if we weighed very little, with a great surface area, or what if another organism were conscious with similar characteristics. Would they not look longingly at us humans, with our amazing ability to swim under water. The weightfulness! The grass is always greener on the other side.

Today I had to get 8 small photos of myself. No big deal right? Well Walgreens charged $35. Are you kidding? No value deal? Screw that. Across the street to Not Just Mail. No dice. Ahhh Sam Walton you genius. I can always rely on you for what I need. Once at Wal-Mart I located the section of the store that would serve my particular daily need. $10, much more reasonable. But I had to wait an hour. No problem. I was on the fringe of the Austin urban sprawl, and I felt like an hour mosey drive through the undeveloped hill country. And that's what I did. One of the few moments in my life when I wished I had a truck.

A couple of nights ago I tried dip, because, hell, I try new things. That shit will knock you out.

The heat wave is upon us. Unbearable, intolerable, cruel heat. The dog days of summer. Hundred plus days ad nauseam. One cannot venture outside between 10 and 5 without water involved in some capacity. And I love it. I will be sad to see it go.

My grandmother just slumped into her chair and exclaimed aloud, "Where has all my energy gone?" My grandfather leaned over the kitchen counter and pronounced matter of factly, "Nineteen hundred and forty."

Houston is one large big city! Too big, and too large. It's almost less of an urban sprawl and just a freeway sprawl. Gross. The human parasite desperately needs to come to terms with what it's doing. Or we need to launch into space, the new frontier. That's why James is going to design space suits. That's why we were in Houston yesterday. Actually, I think he just enjoys engineering. Schphshshf.

But seriously, overpopulation. This is the only real problem people....people. Not global warming, not taking America the next step to communism, not the endangerment of our cherished values. Our cherished values are going to change with the inexorable shift of the prevailing zeitgeist and that is more out of our hands than we are able to realize or admit. We can educate the world about sex, we can distribute birth control, we can save valuable resources, we can raise the average quality of life not only of today's world citizens, but more importantly, of tomorrow's. This is an is that is also an ought. This is a permanent issue, always has been, always will be. Let's focus on it rather than on transient issues that will be forgotten tomorrow and distract from the real future.

Sour Power! Do you guys remember this stuff?!?!? Sugar, salt, and the right amount of flavored Kool Aid mix. Fill in Ziploc Bag and dip Sour Power until your money runs dry! We sold this shit for 5th grade Business Fair! I think we made $75!!! I'm going to go make some now!!

Mmmmm, that's good Sour Power. I definitely got gloriously sick many a time as a 12 yr old entrepreneur gorging myself on this stuff. Surprising they even let us sell it. Sour Power is not sanitary; everything you touch gets a saliva-salty-sugary-Kool aid touchup.

In 6th grade one day Calbano and I went to a discount store that no longer exists on Buttercup Creek Blvd. We bought $12 worth of gumball packs, each containing 5 gumballs the size you get out of a machine for a quarter. Each pack was 20 cents. 60 packs. The cashier lady asked us what we planned on doing with so much gum.

"We're going to sell it and make a profit!"
"You know that is illegal right?"
"No, how can that be illegal?"

The lady proceeded to expound on economic principles that we ultimately rejected. Calbano had an oversized army jacket equipped with a plethora of pockets. We sold every last one of those packs for $1 each. We had repeat customers. The bottom of his jacket hovered 4 inches over his Airwalks. You could just barely make out the Jncos. We walked away from that enterprise with $60, $30 each. It was a good week.

On South 1st street, not far from Town Lake, quite obscure and nearly escaping identification, lies G & S Lounge. A very homey place run by a hispanic guy named Jimmy who lets his two dogs roam all night, the dive bar is a far cry from the usual scene at 6th. It's fully equipped with the grandest array of antiquated arcade machines, pool tables, and backdoor patio tables for smoke and easy discourse. And the amenities don't stop there. Free popcorn and freezer-chilled mugs compliment the widest selection of imports and domestics one could hope for. The place has found a warm spot in my heart.

After an extended hiatus from running due to none other than the aforementioned biking incident, I have resumed. And it is great; I do love to run. Especially in the rain.

to go see the Dark Knight.

I'm jealous of people of the future. Why? They will have better sex. The further into the future the people, the better sex they are going to have. Outrageous! Unfortunate! True!

Anything that makes sexual intercourse more enjoyable will never be selected against. Surely this is the reason why sex is enjoyable in the first place, as a (fantastic) incentive to procreate. Therefore, it is likely to assume that sex is becoming more and more pleasureable. Hence the envy of those future nymphos and satyrs.

On the other hand, sex must have been less pleasureable for our ancestors. Weird. Like there was only a vague interest to bone. Maybe they half-assed it.

Our second to last day we punted the river Thames. That is, we enjoyed an outing of punting, that is, pushed a pole against the river bottom to propel the punt, that is, a shallow boat having a flat bottom and square ends. Healthy relaxation on a simple water-going vessel wine accompanied. Throw in rare Oxford sunshine. Terrific. The trip all in all was, to quote, epic.

Several hours of flight, little sleep, screaming babies, bacon and egg breakfast tacos. 3 of those blow, 1 reigns.

Arrived with thoughts of sleep but was met with James, Rick, and Jake inspired fossil hunting and a trip southward with James to pick up his $740 92 Corolla.

A couple days ago we returned from an amazing roadtrip through Scotland. Truly a special place. The landscape is covered with green and livestock everywhere you look. And the coast is never far. We stopped at St. Andrews and the Dunnottar Castle, which both overlook the North Sea, and both among the most beautiful places we've seen. Our last day we spent at Loch Ness driving along the lake and viewing some waterfalls and old bridges. All recommended.

It is silly to attach undue significance to words. The most notable example is cussing, cursing, cuss words, curse words. These words often carry the sense that they should not be uttered, for their own sake, regardless of circumstance. This is stupid. Today people are increasingly using them for emphasis, as an adverb. "It is so fucking hot out" expresses the same sentiment as "It is really really hot out," and arguably better. Some will retort that these words have connotations that involve something socially taboo. That pretentious dynamic is waning, happily so.

The heart of the matter is that it is the tone and attitude in which one expresses that is important, not which specific word or phoneme is uttered. In the movie Three Men and a Baby one of the dads is found reading a murder recap in the news to the infant, and one of the other dads asks him why he's doing that. He replies in the same tone in which he is reading, "It isn't the story itself that matters, it is how you read it."

Two days ago we cavorted around London and it was enjoyable. We strolled on the Thames, so much larger there than here in Oxford, and in the modern Tate museum. Then we passed out heavily on the return bus. The previous night of heavy drinking prolly contributed to heavily passing out. Yesterday, America Day, we got drunk and listened to hits of the 90s. Then we played ping pong at the park. Inebriation lends oneself to exponential prospect of injury, as both Tony and I have sustained serious such injuries on our feet, mine resulting from a ghastly bike wreck. It is likely that I will never wear sandals on a bicycle again. We've also been playing Scrabble which is a terrific game.

Yesterday we watched the Russian bear, Marat Safin, defeat the Spaniard Feliciano Lopez in the quarterfinals at Wimbledon. It was a great experience and we were lucky to get into the queue early enough to get into Court No. 1. There was a spectrum of people there, ranging from the ultimate affluent to people who just wanted to get drunk at a big party. It reminded me a lot of the Kentucky Derby and I imagine other sporting events like major golf championships are similar. The pound wrecks havoc on the wallet.

Charles Darwin is on the ten pound note. I love this country.

Just got back from a run with Tony on THE RIVER THAMES!!! Now settling down, maybe?, after a couple nights of relentless juggernaut debauchery. The trip here included the obligatory all day debacle at Satan's House of Fun (Chicago O'Hare). But oh well, here now. A quick initial scan of this place reveals that these two are unequivocal alcoholics. Yesterday we went for a walk around the colleges and the surrounding countryside. Very nice. Leapt some fences and got lost. The landscape makes me want to grab a gun, jump on the back of a horse, and sniff out the fox. Perhaps going to Wimbledon soon to admire Federer or Nadal, or any Slavic female.

Going out at night
Shouldn't include such a morning fight
But the toils of painting
To the point of nearly fainting
Preclude fully enjoying what's right.

I have only just now fully appreciated the following argument that the reality of the existence of a qualified idea of a Christian, or any benevolent God, is defensible.

The traditional charge against a benevolent Being is that there is suffering and pain in the world and a benevolent Being could not have let this happen if it is in our interest to love Him. This is a valid and weighty charge. Specifically, a benevolent Being cannot be simultaneously omnipotent and omniscient, or else ceases to be benevolent. Most Christians and proponents of the reality of benevolent Beings do not acquiesce to the charge, and hence the contradiction. But a benevolent Being could forgo His omnipotence by introducing free will and resultant suffering, with the condition that free will allows a world in which a greater degree of benevolence is realized in spite of the introduction of pain. I do not accept the possibility of a benevolent Being retaining his omnipotence and only desires not to intercede in the world. In my opinion, as soon as a benevolent, omnipotent Being decides not to save an innocent person from suffering that Being has ceased to be benevolent.

I do not like this position, and hope that it is untrue, but I believe that anyone must admit that it is defensible, i.e., it is possible. I do not like the position in the sense that I do not agree with the supposed God's contemplations of what constitutes benevolence, I think I'd rather remain in blissful ignorance. Perhaps that is only opinion, and thus we are led to the first dead end.

The other dead ends, more important, are highlighted by the fact that this position does not address more fundamental problems implicit in accepting it. It does not prove the reality of free will as against determinism, and it does not prove the reality of the existence of a benevolent Being, or any Being, for that matter.

Perhaps it does have some utility in justifying the reality of suffering, if an acceptance of free will is allowed, regardless of source.

Ahhhh 6th Street; that is where I found myself, accompanied by Matthew and Antonio, on Saturday night, after a delightful afternoon at the Hutt's graduation party and a dissapointing finish at Belmont. We arrived on said street at a stately 12:40 a.m. and proceeded to imbibe as much as possible before the closing. This required Cheers Shot Bar, where tequila, flamins, and a host of I don't remembers were thrown back in due course. Our bid to exit last out of Cheers successful, I next asked 2 very attractive women if they had a dispensable cigarette, to which they replied, "No. We don't smoke." I assured them that I did not engage either, and then systematically lowered my standards until I obtained one (the one cig per night/week/month policy is working wonderfully).

Once the longer than necessary time was spent finding the car, we arrived at Antonio's place where he promptly passed out. Not keen on ending the night on such a sour note Matthew and I seized his keys, a mini Heineken keg, our wits, and set out. We ended up at River Place Park where 7 years ago an innocent water tower was thrust into an intoxicated Timothy's line of sight, where he infamously proclaimed that "the moon sure is large tonight," as if the celestial orb adjusted its size with the changing of the day. Interestingly, it did appear lunarlike with scrutiny, however, the many extra thousands of miles in diameter or the unexplained, sudden proximity required should have been immediate suspect.

After definitively identifying the future of our country and the impossibility of a solution I dropped Matthew off and drove home, both of us to enjoy the comfort of our own beds, falling asleep about 6:30 a.m. I woke up at 10, drove to Matthew's and woke him up. We filled ourselves with Cammie Pontrello-made egg, cheese, and bacon bagels and were jarred to life by a loud text message that read "Car location, status, plan of action?" I reassured Antonio in a responsive text that his car was at the police station, totalled, and we were merely awaiting his bond money.

The remainder of the day was spent at the lake, at Jason's parent's house. It was magnificent, a perfect day for laking, sunning, drinking, swimming, jumping, and listening to classical music. I couldn't think of a better way to spend turning a hangover back into a pleasant drunken state.

There is no magazine in existence on Evolutionary Theory, or even on recent advancements in evolutionary topics. This is a situation that demands rectification. I won't believe for a second that an insufficient amount of material exists and will exist to provide for a regular publication.

I always loved the explanation of why an open, empty hand signifies a friendly greeting. An extended and empty hand reveals to the other person or people that you possess no weapon and therefore do not pose a threat. In the old days, I think that if you were not a foe, you were by default a friend.

In an article about romantic love during a discussion about the chemical synchronization of women's menstrual cycles the author shared the results of a study which revealed that strippers who are ovulating make an average of $70 in tips while those who are not make an average of $50 (a night...the only stripper I ever knew told me she made about $60k a year). Male sensory apparatus in tune, check. But it is known that during ovulation women's breasts and lips swell, among other changes, so is the increase solely due to this or is there some more intuitive factor at work?

Finally, I ran into another snake on a run a few days ago. Every time it freaks me the hell out. I've become extra-sensitive as twigs and sticks that look even remotely like snakes elicit the same reaction. Still, when it turns out to be an actual snake I freak the hell out. It's definitely one of the strongest emotions I've experienced. It is a fact that our ancestors were much smaller than we are now, but I wouldn't be surprised if snakes were also much larger than they are now, and that the relationship between snakes, or their ancestors, and our ancestors was much more predatory. It would not be surprising because it would account for such a ridiculous reaction to an animal that is really quite benign. Even so, this snake decided to retreat my advances, and it did so with amazing speed. It slithered furiously, scaled a four foot rock (the time in which its body covered the length of the rock yet was still moving was a little longer than I would have preferred), and crashed through the further wood, the sound of which was also less than preferable.

I have discovered the accessible, free, and superior online Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. It will wholly supplant Wikipedia in consultation, for it is more reputable, explanatory, succinct, and the writing is of a higher caliber. I find it very exciting; it discusses philosophical topics, movements, histories, and notable individuals. Please check it out for yourself.

Yesterday I went out on the back porch to find my 83 year old grandfather reclining in the shade on the rocking chair, gulping down some suds. We talked for a while about everything and nothing, some of my college courses, and interestingly he started asking some of the same fundamental questions that I am always asking myself, like whether thoughts are substantial or not. In the course of clarifying his question, he mentioned that thoughts occupy time, and I immediately realized that that affords a very good argument, in my opinion, against the immaterial nature of thought.

The reasoning is as follows:

Given the limitations of current science and the inability of deduction or other methods to convincingly demonstrate the immaterial nature of thought, questions of space or position, and causality pertaining to, cannot address the issue. However, no one would deny that thought occupies time; that is, thought processes inherently use the property of time. Because time and space are the same thing, thought must occupy space, and therefore must be material. Even if you think the idea of space and time the same fantastic, you can only fall as far back as Einstein, who indisputably (unless you reject science) revealed that space and time are related, that is, they affect each other, i.e., a change in one induces a change in the other. The changes are usually too small to notice in our humble worldframe, but nevertheless they do occur. Thus the most credible position an immaterialist could take is that thoughts are related to space, and that is very dubious and most unsatisfactory, indeed.

I came across these humorous Pearls of Wisdom today in Thoreau:

"One farmer says to me, "You cannot live on vegetable food solely, for it furnishes nothing to make bones with; and so he religiously devotes a part of his day to supplying his system with the raw material of bones; walking all the while he talks behind his oxen, which, with vegetable-made bones, jerk him and his lumbering plough along in spite of every obstacle. Some things are really necessaries of life in some circles, the most helpless and diseased, which in others are luxuries merely, and in others still are entirely unknown."

"Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes."

A survey of town names in Texas reveals a pattern - many of the names are those of major cities or countries elsewhere. Though this makes sense, it's still interesting. The following list is not exhaustive.

Town names in Texas:

Albany
Amherst
Athens
Atlanta
Bellaire
Beverly Hills
Boston
Breckenridge
Bunker Hill Village
Carthage
Charlotte
China
Cleveland
Corinth
Detroit
Dublin
Edinburg
Egypt
Florence
Hollywood Park
Iraan
Ireland
Italy
Jamaica Beach
Jonestown
Lexington
London
Memphis
Miami
New York
Normandy
Omaha
Palestine
Paris
Pasadena
Petersburg
Pittsburg
Portland
Princeton
Reno
Scotland
Sudan
Trinidad
Troy

And a few of my favorites:

Robert Lee
Santa Anna
Happy
Log Cabin
Lone Star
Matador
Cactus
Sharp
Cut and Shoot
Gunsight
Gun Barrel City

This morning, ironically, I woke up in the city of my birth - Tyler, Texas. Apparently it was more of a town 24 years ago. It was a much needed night of sleep after some 30 straight hours driving on the road. During those hours, however, my mother and I made some 1,800 miles from Pepperell, Mass. to Tyler. We stopped in Long Valley, New Jersey and scaled Schooley's Mt. to discover the house that we lived in back in 92 painted green. We had hoped to find the house that my parents and I lived in for a year in Tyler, but no dice. The alleged location was just off Texas Highway 155 on County Road 1125. The subdivision was not where it was supposed to be and a different one had taken its place. Upon further scrutiny, we noticed that the shades and even the direction of the road changed just off the highway. Alas, it appears the house and the neighborhood are no more.

Police on the highway are like great white sharks patrolling the high seas. The sentiments experienced by drivers cannot be all that different from terrified fish: the sinking feeling in your gut when the cruiser lurches, lights blazing like barred teeth, the ensuing relief when it nabs the helpless victim to your immediate right who was merely swimming along with the school, and the final blissful schadenfreude as you swim on. The great whites increase in size and number once you cross into Texas, and they wear ten gallon hats.

Lemonade tastes better when small kids make it and it costs 25 cents a cup. Today in a small town called Downesville in the Catskills my bro, sister, mom, and I perused antique stores and ate lunch at the town Diner. My sister took Polaroid shots, my bro bought "The Invisible Man" by H.G. Wells for 25 cents, and I thought about how I never really noticed Memorial Day until I came to a small town where American flags, parades, and Army figurines dominated the land and counterscape. After some more driving, some walking, some sundaes, Barq's Root Beer Floats....we crossed into the birthplace of the Revolution, located a phat motel with a jacuzzi....and settled into a game of Haahhhts.

Show me the way to go home
I'm tired and I want to go to bed
I had a little drink about an hour ago
And it gone right to my head
Wherever I may roam
On land or sea or foam
You will always hear me singing this song
Show me the way to go home
-Jaws

A touch homesick.

Studies at the National Institute of Health indicate that patterns and tendencies of alcohol consumption among monkeys closely reflect those of humans. Individuals vary in their choice of alcohol type and in amount consumed. With regularity and predictability, some monkeys don't drink, some monkeys drink a little, some drink to get drunk, and some drink until they pass out. Isolated monkeys drink more than grouped monkeys. Subordinate monkeys drink more than dominant monkeys. Interestingly, consumption among monkeys increases after stressful periods, such as after a strenuous 8-5 day of various other testing activities. Also interesting, there were no reports of monkeys virtually drinking themselves to death, though this occurs in humans.

These results support the opinion that cocaine is more dangerous than alcohol, as monkeys, as well as other animals including some humans, will self-administer cocaine until death.

A most exquisite of potential exquisite happenings happened today. We were on Franklin St. in Chapel Hill. We wanted Mexican so we tumbled down some stairs to a basement restaurant called Bandidos. I was incredulous. However, once I entered I was immediately put at ease by the closeness and the bright colors...yellow, green, RED! Mexcio!

There were FOURTEEN lunch specials! I had 2 beef tacos, rice, and beans....for $4.95! I was so happy. $4.95. But that's not all. Unlimited chips included....and Iced Sweet Tea! Thoughts of permanent residence raced through my head as I helped myself to a large cup of El Scorcho sauce from the extensive sauce bar. I sat down and dug in to the chips as the waitress brought my Iced Sweet Tea.....GARGANTUAN! A few moments later my plate was placed before me....GARGANTUAN! I was blissful, waxing idyllic in spice. A few moments later (or hours...I don't know) the waitress returned to ask if I wanted a refill of my huge Iced Tea. I sat shocked, muttered a few incoherent ramblings, and the glass was refilled.

Margaritas...$2.95. Beers...$1.75. I ran.

Later on, we were locked out of the apartment, and I had the privilege of employing my climbing skills. Scaling the backside psuedostratified rock wall of the apartment, I obtained the rail, hauled myself up, unlocked the door, and contemplated how that was more difficult than it would have been 5 years ago.

I often (really often) wish I could go back into the past. I wish I could go back and live with Australopithecus africanus. That would be the shit. I just wish I could so I would better know, ya know?

I wonder if time travel is even theoretically possible within the parameters of causal determinism. It seems like it's quite possible; it merely requires the reversal of universe expansion. But that doesn't sit well with me, it seems that one's own presence in the midst of that reversal necessitates an insincere reversal, and a change. If time travel is defined as returning to the unadulterated past, exactly as it was, then I am inclined to think it is not possible, simply because one's own presence makes it a novel situation. Surely, all other facets of the situation could have existed exactly as before, but because one's self is included, it is the past and one's self, and unless one's self is nothing, which is impossible, then the past plus one's self is not the past, and time travel in the sense that we talk about is rendered impossible.

If we acquiesce to the change, the future will necessarily be altered. A host of problems arise. What if you went back into the past and shot your great-grandfather? Then how do you even exist? Even if one argued that this was possible by allowing repeat cycles that included singular changes, this would still fall prey to the argument outlined above. Traveling back through vast quantities of time (space) could occur, but this would still happen in the same direction of the space-time continuum, and thus, be part of the future. This is analogous to turning around 180 degrees while walking on a train that is moving in the same direction as you were initially walking, but now backpedaling. Everything would look like the past but you are still moving in the same direction. Furthermore, contemporary events would cease to exist - this is easier understood after considering a less self-centered and perhaps more convincing argument.

If one were to travel through time, surely one would not bring contemporary events with them; that is, the occurence of events would not depend on a singular presence. Therefore, the past, future, and, indeed, all points in time would have to be occuring ALL the time. To arrive in another point in time would necessitate that point in time existing at that moment. This reality would require an infinite array of parallel universes, each experiencing a different point in time of this same world, ALL the time, simultaneously. Because this would necessitate distinction in space, and time and space are the same thing, this reality must be impossible.

It seems to me that time travel cannot occur even theoretically, and, interestingly, seems to put an ultimate limit on what can happen in this universe.

Black Label, Maker's Mark, Red Label.

This afternoon I composed a poem. I don't compose many, and I thought I would share this one with you. It's based on an inside joke with my girlfriend; perhaps you will find it humorous anyway.

O Shree

Shree, how did you
Become so Shreeful?
Shreefully, you consume
Salad.

Shree, where did you procure
the Shreeness of your
Face?
From whence forth such Shrealty
Cometh?

Shree!

How I long to Shree your
Shree in my Shree,
Shree.

Come with me, Shree,
I will guide you.
Compelled, am I, by
your
Shrealty.



May > ________.

Nominalism is the doctrine that abstract concepts, ideas, and universals exist only as spoken words and have no other independent existence. We describe Joey and Fluffy as cats both, not because of some intrinsic "cattiness" quality, common to each, that has a real, ideal, or metaphysical existence of its own, but rather because both cats fall into an acceptable range of physical stimuli that we agree to describe as the spoken word "cat." Blood and fire ants do not carry less-than-ideal forms of "redness," rather, they both reflect light within the range of particular wavelength that we, in our supreme intellectual capacity, decided to call red.

To declare that each and every physical stimuli has its own universal is to maintain that all possible stimuli or, moreover, combination of stimuli, have ideal copies, and thus every possible real situation exists seperately and is somehow more "ideal;" this constitutes an infinite regress and an unnecessary multiplication of entities, illogically complicated and explaining nothing.

The admirable philosophy of universals is perhaps Plato's best, and many philosophers after him. But I am inclined to believe that nominalism has a greater probability of being more correct, though I do not necessarily want that to be the case.

Today's run included an unexpected detour to the bottom of Lake Norman. I ran the Davidson landing route, which consists of a semi loop around the aforementioned lake through the connected backyards of the waterfront houses. It's May in Davidson, which means it's hot during midday. Not Texas hot, but hot enough to run shirtless, sweat admirably, and desire to immerse oneself into natural bodies of water. At the spot of choice I kicked off my socks, shoes, and as I was wearing glasses I kicked them off as well. I jumped in. Marvelous.

As I was lacing up my shoes and taking off again, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated and contentedly wet, I shook my head violently in order to somewhat dewet my hair. Brilliant. Off went the glasses over the dock into about 9 or 10 feet of murky lake water. I contemplated my predicament and quickly realized that no, I could not afford new ones and, no, I would not just wear contacts until I could afford new ones.

I entered the lake from the shore, some 25 feet away from the target, hoping in vain that I would come upon them without any water over my head. Once I reached the target I went under and discovered the approximate distance from the surface to the lake bottom, half defeated, half incredulous, and half excited for the obvious adventure of the day. I proceeded to methodically check around the target spot by sinking to the bottom and feeling around in sweeping motions with my feet. After about 5 minutes of this I brushed up on what could be glasses, grabbed at the spot with my hand, and resurfaced with my Ralph Lauren Chaps, aged 3.45 years. If my glasses could speak English, they would have described my facial expression as triumphant.

John and Andrew's Power Hour Volume 3.

Some funny quotes of late:

"You know you're going to get drunk tonight, and don't try to cherie your way out of it. Cherie! Cherie!" - Alea

"You're a racist." - Myself
"No, I just don't like old people...or Asians." - Alea

"I hate tree-sex." -Alea (Allergies)

A fifth of Maker's Mark for two: Pleasant, not too expensive, lasts the duration of the night. Recommended.

Today I was happy because one of my two 27 shirts came up in the T-shirt rotation, and today is the 27th. Happy 27th! Drinks all around!

Pure amazement.

Who tells themself, "I want to be a landlord. It sounds interesting, and I believe I have the knack for it."

Assholes. Assholes who struggle with fulfillment, sense of purpose, and general goodwill. Assholes who fail to stir up a sufficient amount of drama on their own, and thus turn to others to satisfy their needs. Select landlords could appropriately be compared with leeches.

Let's collect leeches and assign them landlord duties across the nation. Think much would change? We could even throw the landlords into the swamps.

I ran 2:52:45 (6:36/mile) in Boston yesterday. Not exactly what I had planned, but not bad either. The course is mysteriously hard and you can't exactly put your finger on it. It's hard to swallow that downhill running would make you that tired. Greg (former teammate) and I held 6:15 through about the half, where he faded; during the 15th mile I started to slow down, although it felt like I had been slowing since the 11th. Once I reached the hills I was already feeling very worn out. Allergies may have had something to do with it as I had a sore throat and sore red eyes for about 4 days before the race. So it was a slugfest from the hills to the finish, but a fun slugfest nonetheless. The Texas crowd was unbelievable. Seriously, I had "Go Texas" and "Hook em Horns" almost constantly throughout the entire race (because of my Texas running outfit). I saw a sign that read "Austin rocks Boston." The Sox were playing the Rangers that morning at Fenway, and a group of guys had constructed an updatable scoreboard and had propped it up along the course. They yelled "Rangers gettin canned" as I ran by. During the 23rd mile I heard "Alright Lance" and Lance Armstrong and his entourage zipped by me on my right. I was a little pissed, I thought he had been ahead of me the whole time. Nope, taking it conservative so he could negative split. Another former teammate, Jobaker, ran 2:39. My dad, Kat, and Alea were in Natick at the 10 mile mark and they made it back to Boylston St. in time for the finish, which was awesome. It was a great experience overall.

It was inevitably going to happen again sooner or later. A few days ago I went for a run on "Hidden Army Base." That's the name of a particular route; it's sort of hidden, but doesn't have anything to do with the army. It's actually on private property owned by Ingersol Rand, some business company that embodies the epitome of horrible, senseless corporate work.

I was running by the security station and I heard a loud "Hey!" I increased my pace and played deaf. He yelled again but I was out of the vicinity pretty quick. Apparently, though, he radioed for backup because a security car drove by me, stopped, and turned around. I dashed off into the woods where the trail lead, and hoped that the guard wouldn't follow me towards the ends of the property.

But she did, an old woman. I thought she was going to be ratchety, crotchety, and mean. But she was actually really nice and just told me that it was private property and I couldn't run there. "Even after work hours?" in my most innocent voice. I had dealt with this before - the entire team had been kicked off the property more than once.

The peculiar thing, however, was that as I was taking off and she was walking back to her truck, she said, "You come in by the baseball field?"
"Yea," said I, thinking about the beloved entrance of my beloved Hidden Army Base route.
"Watch out for the snakes."

WHAT?!1?

"Haven't you seen the signs?"

No!

"That area is infested with copperheads."

!!!!!!

INFESTED!...COPPERHEADS!

"Be careful on your way out."

Now I've run Hidden Army Base for 5 years now and I have never seen a copperhead, or a warning sign about snakes. Was she fibbing? trying to scare me? updated security guard tactics and strategery??!?!? Was she telling the truth?!?!?! Had there been several near misses????! Oh god!

Needless to say the way out by the baseball field was intense - my senses were heightened to the max. Every sound was movement, every stick a venemous snake. Towards the exit I was high-stepping at full speed. I burst out onto the pavement and into safety.

She was prolly lying but I don't care. INFESTED! COPPERHEADS! In the same sentence! SCARY!

On Sunday I had a very productive day of watching the Masters. I was pulling for Tiger, but he came up short, pun intended. Not sure why I'm such a big Tiger Woods fan but it's really entertaining to watch him play in the majors. It can even be better than playing golf (Wii golf of course...playing real live actual reality golf is simply embarrassing and not fun at all).

Perhaps you knew better but I thought Tiger Woods was straight up African-American. No, he's 1/4 Chinese, 1/4 African-American, 1/4 Thai, 1/8 Native American, and 1/8 Dutch. He's got Africa, Asia...Old World, New World. Add that he's a Buddhist, an American citizen, and married to a Swedish model. And his name is frikkin Tiger, as in the ferocious beast that terrorizes the jungle. Jesus Woods would have been just as suitable.

He could have gone to any college with his ethnic background.
"Tiger your test scores aren't exactly remarkable and your grades don't indicate that you have the necessary study habits for an instituion of our caliber."
"My mom is from Thailand. I have a Native American grandparent. I have a Chinese grandparent on both sides. Are you familiar with Punnett Squares?"
"Yes, yes...I see. Well. I believe you will find Harvard quite agreeable Mr. Woods."

He would ace every class, doesn't matter the subject. On tests he would cross out "explain the significance of the supernatural motif in nineteenth century British literature" and write "1/4 Thai + 1/4 AA + 1/4 Chinese + 1/8 Dutch + 1/8 NA + Enlightenment + retractable claws = A. The teacher would write "I've never had anyone explore the mathematical side of this question....well done."

He shot a 48 on a nine hole course when he was 3, something I could not do right now. I'm not at all joking. That 40 month old kid would beat me at golf. When I was 40 months old I took a shit on the neighbor's driveway and then ran back to my treehouse. I actually had a conversation with my dad and brother once about how there are prolly 15 or 20 Tiger Woodss in the world right now, except only the Tiger Woods had golf exposure and was able to capitalize on his innate talent. He can benchpress 300 lbs and lifts weights just so that he can hit the ball further. Allegedly he's going to be the world's first billionaire athlete in 2010.

I can't imagine that it's much more preferable to be that famous with that much recognition. However, maybe he's great at being famous, too.

The governor of Kansas, one of Obama's potential VP picks, spoke at a rally on campus this afternoon. In the introduction President Ross alluded to her bravery and courage in visiting this school, "at the hands of which her now national champion Jayhawks narrowly escaped defeat."

There was the usual hoopla about Davidson gaining national recognition and also the usual hoopla about change being good. I registered to vote in the North Carolina primary but I'll re-register for the main election in Texas.

Fargo is a masterpiece. It seems weird to me that I didn't see the movie until tonight. I also saw Dr. Suess' Horton Hears a Who recently, and it was enjoyable. Thank God for Dr. Suess.

Causal theories of the mind can't account for abstract thoughts? Or for thoughts of things that don't exist? Abstract thoughts don't exist....and you cannot think of anything that doesn't exist.

Sure I can, you will say. I can think of Santa Claus and unicorns, and those things don't exist.

You can think of red, and beards, and old men (all of which exist) and you can think of a combination of those things. Similarly, you can think of horns, the color purple, horses, and fluffy tails (all of which exist) and a unicornable combination of those.

I can think of heaven, and the number 3, you will say. Those are abstract thoughts and they don't exist.

When you think of heaven, what is it exactly that you think of? Clouds? Angels? Green hills? Waterfalls? Our pictoral notion of angels is a combination of things that exist, the rest of these things clearly exist. When you think of the number 3, it is either a visual three or an auditory three, (If you deny this you are deceiving yourself, be honest) both of which exist.

Here's a thought experiment: Try to think of a color that doesn't exist.

Conclusion: There are no such things as abstract thoughts, only thoughts of things that do exist on an increasing scale of complexity. Please comment if you feel so inclined.

Steph Curry on Conan O'Brien tonight.

Every day at Summit Coffee we have a trivia written below the blends and varietals of the day. Today's was "Which continent gets the least amount of precipitation?" (Antarctica) If you get it right you get 10 cents off your total, which usually ends up in the tip jar. Ploy?

A year ago today Brett, one of the managers, came up with the trivia. It read "Which major corporation is running Summit Coffee out of business?" The answer was "Starbucks...we're closing August 31, 2007." It was an April Fool's joke.

However, Brett succeeded in making multiple customers, that's more than one, literally shed tears. A guy who owns a shop down Main St. went out on the back porch and lost it.

Small town people man. Don't mess with em.

One shot from the Final Four.

Some interesting facts:

1) Sunday night, after we beat Georgetown, Davidson College was the #1 Google Search. Laughably, Davidson University was #4.

2) The Trustees fully funded any Davidson student who wanted to go to the game, including ticket, bus fare, and hotel. That story alone made espn.com.

3) Stephen Curry had over 2,000 facebook friend requests the day after we beat Georgetown.

4) The College Union Bookstore averages daily sales of $1,700. Last week daily sales averaged $35,000.

5) Davidson's transfer rate increased 1,200%, and one person even sent in a full blown regular application. The application deadline was January 2, son.

6) LeBron James loves Stephen Curry.

7) President Tom Ross just met with Barack Obama. The first thing Obama said to him was "Those Wildcats...Steph Curry is really something."

Meanwhile, I've run 83 miles in the past 7 days of running and my body is tired.

So I'm sittin here listening to T.I. and Prince (rare find) reading about Texas.

I found an interesting race, the Marathon 2 Marathon Marathon in Marathon, Texas. Marathon, Texas is located in Brewster County in West Texas about 70 miles south of I-10 at Fort Stockton. It is home to 2,455 people. I then went to the hompage of the Marathon 2 Marathon Marathon. At the top of the page it reads, "THE HARD PART IS GETTING THERE." Mmmm, this should be good.

Race description: 2,800 square miles of mountains and canyons broken by sand dunes and forests. Surrounded by Mexico and invaded by smugglers, cacti, and mountain lions. Home to deer and elk, sandstorms and outlaws. Loved by many, despised by others, but home to the adventuresome. A harsh country with the gentle touch of a desert shower. A blossom among the rocks. A tarantula waiting for its next meal. The cry of a peregrine, the wail of a young javelina chosen as a meal by a passing coyote. Destination for the adventurous.

I can't wait to run this race.

I noticed their high end hotel, the Gage Hotel, and then I saw that Marathon is 70 miles west of Sanderson on Texas State Highway 90, where I know that land is sold for 100 dollars an acre. Something in my brain clicked, and I realized that I have been to Marathon before and I have been in the Gage Hotel. It must have been in route to Big Bend National Park many years ago, but I've definitely been there. It was a strange revelation, but quite interesting. One never knows what one will find perusing the Internet.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Marathon_texas_gage_hotel.jpg

http://www.marathon2marathon.net/

In the College Union basketball goals have been set up and there are loose basketballs floating around everywhere. Today Alea and I played STEPHEN instead of the traditional HORSE.

Had Nietzsche been a distance running coach, he would have endorsed the workout I did today. I did the start out at the course/Pines/Greenway/River Run/Grey Road combo but with a twist. I got to the two major hills on Grey Road at around 13 miles at regular pace. Then I increased pace up and and back down those two hills for the next 45 minutes. It was tough. I passed a biker on one of the uphills, the both of us huffing and puffing. It was prolly a 20 mile run.

I did this to simulate the Boston course, which is steadily downhill from the start to mile 16, but from mile 16 to 21 you regain half the elevation you lost in the four 'infamous' strategically/critically/cruelly/evilly placed Newton Hills, of which Heartbreak, the fourth and final, is over half a mile long. 16 to 21 miles of running is also the range in which the human body switches from using available free glucose, convertible simple sugars, and stored glycogen to fat reserves. Runners call this "hitting the wall" and at that point running becomes significantly more difficult. Cruelly placed indeed. A lot of my training has been on hilly terrain and I should be well prepared.

Anyways, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

Davidson a 7, 8, or 9 seed? Shit son....

Dr. Robb, the chair of the Philosophy Dept at Davidson, comes into Summit Coffee on a regular basis and orders a large black roast. He moves smoothly but languidly, as if asking his immediate environs "Do I have to move now?.....now?.....now?" He talks in a similar manner. His demeanor and mannerisms are prototypical of a philosophy chair. He teaches Philosophy of Mind.

Alea, who's in the class, informed Dr. Robb that I, her boyfriend, serves him coffee every morning. She also told him that I read more for the class than she does and that she has trouble finding texts and handouts because I misplace them. Allegedly he was impressed when I got excited about a Dan Dennett handout. He told her, "If he brings me coffee he can sit in on class."

Score.

And these guys really have it going on.

I just finished Keith Campbell's "Body and Mind." I figured I would expose myself to alternate theories but, surprisingly, the read did nothing to convince me that reductionism, or central-state materialism, as he calls it, isn't the ticket. He concocts an 'epiphenomenalism', believing that certain inner states of mind are indistinguishable from behavioral diagnoses and outer investigation, such as types of pain. For example, we can deduce that a man is experiencing a burning pain if he acts in burning-pain-alleviating ways and if he describes his pain in burning-pain terms. But we cannot really know that he describes it as such and acts in the same manner and experiences the same pain, and not, for example, a crushing pain. He may be an 'imitation man', and there is no way of knowing.

I credit Campbell for diagnosing a problem, but his solution is more of the same, in my opinion. There is no way of knowing what another man's mind is truly like. However, the more logical route is to acknowledge that science, inductive reasoning, and physical observation has not produced the answer yet. Though that is unsatisfactory to the ears, or eyes, guessing that there is a spiritual, non-physical cause and basis is more of the same and will likely meet the same end that similar guesses have endured since the rise of science. Moreover, why assume that another man's mind and inner states, with reference to his behavior, are significantly different in the first place? If a man has burned his finger, is crying in pain, puts ice on his finger, treats it tenderly....I think it is safe to assume that his burning sensation is quite like my burning sensation. Why assume a significant difference?

Dualism and the rest aren't really worth mentioning.

The Mind-Body problem arises from (4) incompatible propositions, while any (3) are mutually compatible:

(1) The body is a material thing
(2) The mind is a spiritual thing
(3) The mind and body interact
(4) Spirit and matter do not interact

I reject (2)

The mind is the brain, and nothing more.