Wonder Woman: "Nope, no dating for the Batman.. it might cut into your brooding time."
Batman: "One: Dating within the team always leads to disaster. Two: You're a princess from a society of immortal warriors, I'm a rich kid with issues -- LOTS of issues. And three: If my enemies knew i had someone special they wouldn't rest until they'd gotten to me, through her."
Wonder Woman (crushing stone with her bare hands): "...Next?"
So apparently today a bunch of police showed up at my parents' house searching for a fugitive. Dad found him hiding in the rabbit poop under Bun's cage. Somehow both the cop and the dog missed him. SCARY!
This is even worse than the phantom pooper who crapped in our shed and stole our machete. I think. Maybe I should teach my little sister some MCMAP
Since I forgot to post the results of the_armadillo and I's study from earlier this year, here you go. Enjoy!
I apologize if the tables are difficult to read.. LJ can be difficult when it comes to that sort of thing. The spaces don't want to stay, and if I try "rich text" mode, I'm told the paper is too large to post. The graphs worked because I was able to save them as jpegs. -----
Gateway Drug Precedence: Investigating Sequences of Use
Introduction Marijuana, the most widely used of illicit drugs in America (SAMHSA 2005; Marijuana 1988; Labouvie 2002), is commonly presented as “the gateway drug.” The concept of a “gateway drug” is the assumption that individuals will progress from using a lower-stage drug to upper-stage drugs in sequence; that a person is unlikely to proceed to an upper-stage drug without having first tried a lower-stage drug (Labouvie 2002). Our survey-based study operates under the assumption that gateway theory itself is valid (as indicated in our literature review), but with the theory that it may not be presented accurately. Our research question asks if there are correlations between the precedence and sequence of individual illegal drug use, and if there are any trends regarding the sequence in which respondents in our sample used illegal drugs. ( Read more... )
A moment is composed of feelings. Were time to stop, there would be no sound, no light, and no gravity. A moment is dark and void and without motion. The existence of a moment is wholly dependent on the next moment... and the prior. It is not a frame of time, but a perpetual movement, a symphony that won't stop. Just as with a symphony, any one note or chord does not carry the power of its siblings. The only moments that exist alone in the universe are manifest in memory, cherished chunks of life; products of countless other contributing moments, giving value long after their time has passed.
Prison is often seen as the antithesis of freedom. While most people acknowledge that being imprisoned is likely to change a person, the nature of that change either goes unaddressed, or is disregarded altogether. To have been convicted in America presages a social and legal stigma that follows an individual all his or her life, a stain that will not fade with time. Quite often, people have their own idea of what an ex-convict is. Humor me for a moment: Which of the following do you think best describes an ex-convict?
a) A crusty dirty old man, with no teeth and ratty clothes. b) A dangerous person who should be watched. c) A bigger, scary-looking guy with tattoos. Bald. Scary face. d) A ray of sunshine in anyone’s life.
Wanting to get a feel for the general attitude towards ex-convicts, I polled a college chemistry class, asking them to write down their first impressions upon hearing the term, “ex-convict.” The first three selections above are quotes from the responses I received. The fourth is how my ex-convict described herself. ( Read more... )
Overweightness and obesity are aspects of one of the least-talked about American cultural discriminations. Not only are overweight and obese people considered less attractive, but they are also assumed to be less intelligent, less responsible, and even less moral than others.
Yet another of our double standards. You're not allowed to be fat, but you'd better eat that American fast food and drink those lattes! To be "technically" overweight or obese does not necessarily mean you are unhealthy, either. You can be fit and fat at the same time; fit obese persons have half the death rate of individuals who are normal weight but unfit.
Your brother routinely makes anti-Semitic comments. Your neighbor uses the N-word in casual conversation. Your co-worker ribs you about your Italian surname, asking if you're in the mafia. Your classmate insults something by saying, "That's so gay."
And you stand there, in silence, thinking, "What can I say in response to that?" Or you laugh along, uncomfortably. Or, frustrated or angry, you walk away without saying anything, thinking later, "I should have said something."
In the spring of 2004, the Southern Poverty Law Center gathered hundreds of stories of everyday bigotry like these from people across the United States. They told their stories through e-mail, personal interviews and at roundtable discussions in four cities: Baltimore, Md.; Columbia, S.C.; Phoenix, Ariz.; and Vancouver, Wash.
People spoke about encounters in stores and restaurants, on streets and in schools. They spoke about family, friends, classmates and co-workers. They told us what they did or didn't say — and what they wished they did or didn't say.
And no matter the location or relationship, the stories echo each other.
When a Native American man at one roundtable discussion spoke of feeling ostracized at work, a Jewish woman nodded in support. When an African American woman told of daily indignities of racism at school, a white man leaned forward and asked what he could do to help. When an elderly lesbian spoke of finally feeling brave enough to wear a rainbow pin in public, those around the table applauded her courage.
Speak Up! echoes that applause, encouraging everyone to take a stand against everyday bigotry.
My chemistry teacher was explaining how paradodecylbenzenesulfonate works in water (you see, the main carbon chain is hydrophobic while the so3- substituent is not) by describing how a musk oxen herd will form a ring, horns pointed out, with their young in the center. Except it would be a sphere. A floating sphere of musk oxen. Can anyone please render a sphere of defensive musk oxen for me? Maybe floating in space?
Hey, I'm doing a survey for a graduate-requirement research course regarding drug use. Please, your help would be greatly appreciated, as I need 150 respondents by February 9th.
Our sampling frame consists of individuals who have ever used or currently use an illegal drug besides marijuana. Whether or not you have used marijuana is included in the questions, but is not the focus of this project, so if the only illicit drug you've ever used is marijuana, don't worry about it.
If you or anyone you know has ever used an illegal drug, please click here to participate in our survey, or send them this link:
Giant squid, once believed to be mythical creatures, are squid of the Architeuthidae family, represented by as many as eight species of the genus Architeuthis. There is also a species called the Colossal Squid, but that's just French for "Oh Shit! A Giant Squid!" For our purposes, they are one and the same.
Giant squid are deep-ocean dwelling animals that can grow up to 20 meters long! - For those of you who don't know the metric system, that's like 10 football fields! Wow! And amazingly enough, except for one detail, they reproduce just like people do: "the male of the species has a prehensile spermatophore-depositing tube, or penis, of over 3 ft in length, which extends from inside the animal's mantle and apparently is used to constantly inject sperm-containing packets into the female squid's arms." PREHENSILE! WAY COOL!
Sperm whales, however, take this waving about of the genitalia as a snide comment about their name (they're very touchy about that) and will attack giant squid on sight. Some think that the sperm whales are just compensating for a cruel irony, which would explain also why they buy huge trucks that never go off-road. But that's a species of a different color.
Being as big and randy as giant squids are all the time requires plenty of sustenance. Their diet consists mostly of wood and ninjas. This is why they attack ships all the time, and is retroactively the reason we ever began mining mineral ore: to make metal ships so we woulnd't get ett (I bet you didn't know how important they were historically! Be sure to check out the picture captions here for more history). They have evolved to be extremely sensitive to the sound waves produced by electric guitars. This explains why you never see ninjas rocking out in a pirate ship after flipping out and beheading the crew. The whole scenario is a giant squid's wet dream (a horrifying spectacle best left unmentioned). A meal like that could feed them for a month.
Giant squids tend to worship Cthulhu, but definitely can't speak Japanese very well.
I had a pleasant surpise last weekend at drill. I got promoted! I was just on the verge of being sure that it would never happen, but I walk in at 0531 Saturday morning for 0530 formation, apparently right after they'd called my name to fall in behind formation for promotion. (This says something about their organization; I wasn't even supposed to be there that day and they were looking for me.) I've been a lance corporal since May 1, 2003, and I'm a corporal now. That is, a Level 4 Human Marine.
This means more responsibility and $50 worth of uniform items. I think I'll get them tailored when I have the new insignia and stripes attached; I've gained about 50 lbs since boot camp. I think 20 of it is body hair. As a non-commissioned officer, I'm now authorized to get a NCO Sword. It's mostly used for ceremonial purposes, but I'm pretty sure that technically it's still authorized for use as a sidearm. Think about that for a minute. Tempting if I ever find myself in a combat situation, but I'll be sticking with the Beretta.
The two corporals I went to Pennsylvania with were promoted to sergeants at the same time. For the next few months, I'll be drilling at Fort Lewis instead of in Portland with one of them and one of our newer Marines. They're both good guys, but the sergeant is expected to do sergeant administration duties which he doesn't know yet, and the corporal (me) is expected to do corporal administration dutes which I don't know yet, and the lance corporal will be expected to say, "Hey, I'm just a lance corporal." It should be a learning experience full of acting like we know exactly what we're doing, getting back to people with their questions, and clandestine calls back to Portland for guidance. This duty does, however, put me very close to the greater Tacoma area, so I'll have to explore some possibilities...
There is one lance corporal who has been in longer than me in our platoon. She's one of my favorite Marines because we see eye-to-eye on a lot of things - particularly the exact amount of excited we are to be at drill at any given time (typically "not very at all"). A knowing look can relay so much. She hasn't been able to get promoted because she's in the "body control program (BCP)," a highly flawed fitness qualification group. Basically if you are above a certain weight for your height, you can't get promoted until you make and maintain that weight. She is a Latina around 5'4" tall and is probably in just as good of shape as I am in. Buuut, because she is solidly built and has large breasts, she's stuck in BCP. This happens to male Marines too, if they are particularly muscular (if you're male and have large breasts you probably deserve to be in BCP). The criteria is based only on height and weight, so people get stuck in a rut because of how they're built. Does that seem right to you?
I mentioned that she was Latina, right? For some reason I get along really well with people frm Spanish-speaking origins, when I'm in a situation where we interact. It's easier for me to connect with them than with whiteys for some reason I can't quite gauge. Like my wrestling practice partner in high school was just as motivated as I was about practice ("not very at all") so we could slack off together while making it look like we were working hard. I connected better than most other recruits with the recruit who was our platoon chaplain's aide in boot camp who left behind a huge family. The gangster from LA who joined the Marines to get out of that rut and support his little brother and sister. Recruit Morales, whose name-tape frequently read names like Wannabe or Shitbag because he had the same last name as one of our drill instructors. Little Lopez, signed up for infantry, who was about 110 lbs and had a horrible bruise on his shoulder just from carrying a rifle (He's probably been to Iraq 2 or 3 times now; I hope he's doing alright). And also like mom's friend who grew up in Spain, whose family suffered under Franco - I gave him Musashi, and he gave me a secret martial art and a cobra in a bottle. Good people, all, who I instinctively got along with. Does that make me racist?
It's taken me sixteen-and-a-half years of school to become an academic student. What changed?
I guess I have goals now. For the longest time, school existed for me as an institution based upon grades, to the neglect of education. Yes, you would get your education, but as a side effect to the oh-so-important Grades. Since I was very young, this seemed a fallacy to me, and I was jaded early against the system, instead doing what I felt was more benefit to my own practical education. I didn't fully realize that actuality of how any given concept can be made real in its consequences. Even then, it's not so much that I actively resisted good grades, I just never saw the need to change my ways to enable myself to earn them.
While I still maintain today that social activities, extracurricular books and even some media exposure is valuable to the education of today's youth, I've accepted the importance of grades. This is symptomatic of a greater paradigm of mine which desperately believes that the world can exist as I think it should, without the inefficiencies, inconsistencies, dichotomies and redundancies that are so glaringly apparent to me. I see my sister slipping down a similar path, and now find myself in the role of the adult trying to explain to the teenager how life really is. I'm thankful that she actually listens to me (anything Dad says becomes "oppression"), but it's difficult to change. She, like I at that age, doesn't have any goals because there is no clear path and real life seems so far away.
Do you remember when high school was an eternity? Promptly, it becomes a twinkle, light years away, and we are faced with ourselves.
I've got goals now, and I am forced to wonder if they are to be pursued at the rescindment of my greater ambitions. Do you shoot high or do you shoot realistically? I am gradually beginning to accept the idea of living for myself; I have that option as a privilege. The problem is that a big part of me wants to enable those who don't have that privilege to live for themselves. I've got it in me to be a leader, I know that, and I want to put it to use to fight social injustice, but how can I apply it? Do I let go of that drive until I'm independent and financially secure? By then will it be too late to make a difference?
A medical profession will be fine; I think I'll really enjoy being a physical therapist (or doctor, if I can swing it). Improving lives one at a time has its own sense of satisfaction, but every time I look at an insurance payment, I'll think of those who don't have that privilege and wonder what I could have done to fix it. I've got this distinct feeling that there is a greater purpose for me, and if it doesn't come to fruition I hope that I can be satisfied with all the little things I will have done. Otherwise I'll become a rather sad old man.
It has come to a point where most of my friends are graduating or have graduated from college:
What drives you? Do you have goals besides survival and self-sufficiency? What do you think you'll be doing with your life? Do you have a sense of purpose?
The nurse joked about how many hours it would take to shave my legs, then my doctor initialed each one, a reminder that both legs needed doing. They wheeled me into the operating room with old-style Mississippi blues in the background, said I was going to go to sleep now, and I was out. At some point I guess I stopped breathing (Mom snooped in the folder while I was recovering) and they had to clear my airway. Probably my tongue. No big deal.
Since then, I've been taking a Percocet pill about every six hours, and I'm quite coherent and lucid, provided I'm awake. My routine the last couple days seems to be awake for two hours, asleep for three, with slight variations. My legs don't really hurt, but their soreness and stiffness increase each day. I'm using the crutches to get around more often and it helps, but I'm a little concerned about humping my schoolbooks and computer around. Lucky for me I have a spectacularly supportive girlfriend.
So I spend this weekend in turns sleeping, studying and watching television in equal parts, living on Thanksgibbin' leftovers. Not too bad.
Tomorrow morning, Doc is going to slice open the lining of my afflicted muscles. I'll be under a general anesthetic, so if I don't wake up you're all invited to the funeral. Joy!
Either way, I may be too assed out on anesthesia and narcotics to do this later, so HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
On a side note: I'm getting out of class one whole day earlier than all you [lovable] twonchkins!
This is the point in the term where there are 3 weeks left and all of the professors are redoubling their efforts to make our heads pop off. It's kind of like that game at the carnival where you fill the balloon coming out of the clown's head until it bursts by shooting water in it's mouth from across the counter. Except you're the clown, and you have three or four people, all aiming at you, who just upgraded to firehoses.
I'm not going to rant about all the nonsense that's going on, but I will say one thing:
A student should not be marked down simply because the professor disagrees with their opinion. If they answer all of the questions with evidence, quotes & citations, it should be graded fairly. Infuriating!
I sit in chemistry and the numbers and symbols mean nothing. I can only read my textbook on the weekends. Tuesday and Thursday evenings are for the other three books and various readings. Monday I have referee meetings immediately after work, and Wednesday I have class til 9:20pm. Friday is for relaxing. The daylight hours are for classes. I have to write my papers in class. I'm never doing 18 credits and working again. Now that I'm somewhat serious about school, the anecdote about time applies:
In college you can have three of these things, but not all four: Good Grades, Sleep, A Job, Social Life.
With the few friends I still have close enough to hang out with, we play blind-bazooka-monkey with our schedules. So far I think I've gone 'out' once - perhaps twice - socially since school started. At least it's going by fast. I am starting to slip though - I'm just on the precipice right now of falling into my freshman-year trend of giving up on class. Only 5.5 weeks left until winter break.. at least it's going by swiftly. Three of my classes I think I'll do just fine in, probably get As or Bs.
I am worried about chemistry. I got a 66% on the midterm and class means nothing without having read the textbook, which I just don't have time to do before the first class of the week. It's poorly written and everything in it uses everything we're supposed to have learned prior so I grind through the text and try to teach myself at a rate of about a half-hour per page. I think I'd learn much faster if I could just sit down with someone who can functionally explain instead of just say how it is.
If I weren't working I'd have enough time, but I need the money. I went from summer to overwhelmed in about 3 days.
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existence_ltd's journal
satisfied.
