Apparently going to sleep with your contacts in is an extremely bad idea.  But I understand the motivation.  Heck, if I had contacts and didn't know better I'd see if they made dreams any more clear, too. 

Using twenty dollar bills to buy small things makes me feel like I'm *making* money.  I give them the twenty, and they give me tons of money back.  I only gave them one bill, and they give me back several bills and lots of coins. 

It's a good thing blood isn't an odorless, colorless liquid.  If it was, you could get shot and be like, "Oh no, I've spilled something on myself.  And I suddenly have an acute cramp.  Ouch."  Or it's wintertime and you think you're crying and have a runny nose ... when really, you have *serious* problems.

I feel bad for middle names; they must feel so left out.  Names are like a cruel game of monkey in the middle.  But sometimes on registration forms the middle name gets some credit: but it's only the initial!  That's like picking him to play on the team, but then only giving him ten seconds of playing time. 

Perhaps the middle name was meant as a backup for people with terrible first names.  Or for people like my friend, Stephen Joseph Stephens III.  (He goes by Joey).   

I like to buy donuts from one donut place, then go walk into another one eating it and say to the cashier, "You know, you guys really ought to lock your back door," and then run away real fast.

Have a wonderful evening, friends!

When you think to yourself, you are staring at your thoughts directly.  In this state of thinking to oneself, thoughts are in their initial state, bereft of words, simply seeming to us as the things they are—that is, whatever thoughts are, and are like. 

Sometimes a person will say or write that they were reading another's thoughts.  From my experience, however, I can say that when reading someone else's writing it is not the same as thinking one's own thoughts to oneself.  More accurately, reading should be described as reading about their thoughts; words, after all, are the description they put to the thought. 

So the claim is that thinking our own thoughts is much different than when we are reading the products of someone else's.  But does it have to be this way?  I think not.  (Heh.)  It seems that when reading, a person's eyes are moving over the words and the person is comprehending what they mean.  But if so intent, a person can then remove the words from the concept just described and look directly the at thought itself—as though it were their thought they thought on their own.  It is only fair, after all, to treat others' thoughts with the same consideration as we do our own (if we wish to truly consider them, that is). 

Here, simply, is the relationship that seems to me to be that between thoughts and words.  First we look at the thought.  Then, because we have a thing called 'language' we describe the thought.  But then, second hand persons read the words and in doing so are only wading on the surface.  They have not yet taken up the effort of moving their mind as close as possible to the original mental state of the author's mind.  The possibility exists, it seems, to remove the words one has just read, and look directly at the thought just described—as though it were a live, breathing creature of the mind right before you.  It is the difference between seeing a person on television and talking to a person right before you. 

Thus, a maxim I hold when reading is, 'Do not merely read others' thoughts; make them your own.' 

Does this seem true to you?

I gather from wandering around in bookstores that a good many books are marketed on the premise that people want to know about or learn to do a certain thing quickly.  They are books that have titles that run like 'guide to this or that' or 'introduction to such and such' or 'ten steps to learning blank.'  I don't like the assumption in this however.  It seems like this is making life literally out to be a checklist. 

Think about the full richness of any experience, such as camping in the woods, or reading and discussing Shakespeare's plays, or running a marathon.  It seems to me there is no shortcut to experiencing the full magnificence of any of these things.  If there is a book that purports to make these things simpler, then it seems to me it must be subtracting something from the experience.  The full experience consists in approaching the subject or activity from the standard human position and then experiencing it. 

Here is a thought experiment that I am constantly reminded of when I notice such books.  Consider picking up the book Writing Exceptional Poetry off the shelf in a bookstore.  Now ask yourself the question, did Edgar Allan Poe ever read this book?  Of course, the answer is no.  It seems the same is true of all history's greatest in any subject; none of them read the introductory or 'how to' book that you are holding in your hands right now, but were masters of their subject nonetheless.

Or there is another equally useful question you could ask.  Ask yourself, did the author read this book?  By ruminating this question you realize that this book obviously cannot be essential to achieving the end you have in mind.  There must be another way, the way that this author came to know these things, or the way Edgar Allan Poe became an astounding poet.  How did they do it?  How did they master such things, and learn about them? 

Life is not an art museum where we may simply take a few moments of time to absorb each work's beauty.  There is no knowing how deep life goes or what the deep looks like until we have actually swam the depths.  Continually while traveling through life we will notice a detail and want to be its master.  In the fantasy of the mind, life is this series of paintings for us to quickly inspect, as many as we can, and then die.  We want to know things, without really knowing them.  But is life not a thick wood, rather than a checklist?

It seems to me that shortcuts are illusory; true experiences are had the same way today they always were.  If you want to know what is in the book before you, don't read it, become the author.  Thoroughgoing dilettantes don't ever really know or experience anything at all. 

I recently watched Harvey again and I just love it so much I had to write about it.  We all have a beautiful simplicity as children, a heart of imagination, and the assumption is we grow up, get serious, and face the real world.  Harvey is the argument that it doesn't have to be this way. 

I don't think that it does have to be that way, a world where the assumption of the masses is irritable cynicism.  I am on the conveyer belt of aging, helplessly being forced into adulthood.  But I am not being helplessly forced into thinking that just because of this fact my imagination must be supressed, my regular face in public must be serious and composed, and my daily attitude must be that life is like going through a lawsuit.  Memo to the adult world: the imagination and cheerfulness do not have expiration dates.  Their operation may be implemented in full force at any time. 

But of course there are serious elements to life.  But while life's content may seem to us painful and important, it does not preclude that we can be cheerful through such times and even sometimes laugh at our misfortunes.  In fact, because of this dual nature to life, I think it is best to describe life as an extremely serious sitcom. 

Here Dr. Chumley is a psychiatrist explaining to Elwood P. Dowd that his sister Veta was trying to have him committed for treatment:

Dr. Chumley: This sister of yours is at the bottom of a conspiracy against you. She's trying to persuade me to lock you up. Today, she had commitment papers drawn up. She has your power of attorney and the key to your safety box, and she brought you here!
Elwood P. Dowd: My sister did all that in one afternoon. That Veta certainly is a whirlwind, isn't she?
Dr. Chumley: Good heavans, man!  Haven't you any righteous indignation?
Elwood P. Dowd: Oh, Doctor.  Years ago my mother used to say to me, she'd say, "In this world, Elwood, you must be" - she always called me Elwood - "In this world, Elwood, you must be oh so smart or oh so pleasant."  Well, for years I was smart.  I recommend pleasant.

"The cold be frontin'!" 

I would never want to be a taxi driver.  Because if I was, everywhere I would go, I would always feel like there was someone behind me.

The letter 'h' is quite presumptuous.  It shows up in words where it is simply unneeded.  He's like the guy that wasn't invited to the party.  Everyone else is just asking, "What is he doing here?"

On the other hand, the letter h seems to be the most popular guy in town.  Everyone wants to be with him.  G, c, t, w, s, p—they all seem to goad him on.  And h makes time for them all; the letter h is a player.  Through their sponsorship, h unashamedly showboats why he's thoroughly praiseworthy. 

When I have a job in the winter, and when it's a really frosty day, I want to join my coworkers outside for a smoke break.  Only I won't light the cigarette.  I will simply blow away my foggy opaque breath and make sure to leave before they notice how long my cigarette is lasting.

Back to last post, another good paradox involves sleep.  No one can remember the last moment before they fell asleep the night before.  But if this is true, it means that neither can they remember the moment before the last moment before they fell asleep.  But then, what is the last moment they remember, and why can't they remember the next one, if they were not yet asleep? 

Italian to do!  Arrivederci! 

Paradoxes are great; perhaps almost as great as puns.   For instance:

This picture is impossible.  Why?  Because it's a pair o' docks. 

Now that gives me a frisson!  But that was a pun, and the topic of interest here is paradoxes.

There are two kinds of paradoxes, some being actually irresolvable condundrums, and others being merely counterintuitive.  Here are some hard paradoxes:

1. Do not obey this sentence.

2. I'm giving up Catholicism for lent.

But there are also soft paradoxes:

1. People feel good for doing work, but still desire to not work.

2. Suffering people strongly assume the cessation of their suffering will bring them unending happiness, and then their suffering ends and they are still not content.

I also think watching movies is a sort of paradox, since you know that they are made incrementally and the people in them are acting, yet you still believe they're true while watching them.  "They are acting, and I believe them." But that is probably moreso an instance of doublethink.

Here are some other paradoxes which have either arisen recently or are thematic in my life.

1.  Defending an idea to a person increases their doubt that it is true. 

This came up in my mind when I imagined explaining to an acquaintance why I missed an event he invited me to attend.  I had only met him recently, so I was worried he might doubt that I actually wanted to attend if I didn't show up.  Thus the question in my mind was, what would he conclude if I explained to him all of the actual reasons that prohibited me from attending?  It seemed in thinking about it that such explanation would only confirm his skepticism that I had never wanted to attend.  This is because if I defended myself that would imply I thought I needed to defend myself.  If on the other hand I simply passed over the point with casual apology, and carried on amiably then it would demonstrate that I didn't need to explain myself, and he would understand that I was not intent on avoiding it and then justifying doing so. 

James 3:13 somewhat implies this principle, that true ideas need no defense: "Who is wise and understanding among you? Let him show it by his good life, by deeds done in the humility that comes from wisdom." 

2.  A person desires company when alone, and to be alone when with people.

A possible reason for this one is that the person is desiring desirable company, but the company they in fact find is undesirable.  They want not just company, but optimal company, people who relate to them in precisely the way they want. 

3.  Ultimate reality is definitely one way, yet our minds can only weigh the alternatives through what seems to be true to us.

When two people debate the truth of a proposition, they both use reasons to support their side.  To each of them, their reasons seem better and their position seems right.  But who is right?  When we examine both of their reasons, and we agree with one of the positions, what are our minds doing?  It is weighing, using some sort of indefinable internal scale of rationality, which side seems to be ultimately correct.  Though reality is definite, our minds, which we use to decide on the definite, are indefinite.

4. "For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it."

All the immediate evidence seems to suggest that life is all about each of us individually.  This is because we can are in constant awareness of our own thoughts and happiness.  I am always with myself; am I not the main character of everything?  Thus, it seems I ought to always act in accordance with my own immediate self-interest.  And yet we find that not only should we forfeit our obsession with our individual selves (which seems contrary to all the evidence), but that doing so is in our self interest.  Life is not about us; and we all are all the better for recognizing such.

Paradox #1 was a recent thought, I've experienced #2 in the past, I am reminded of #3 whenever two confident people debate their ideas, and #4 is thematic and challenging for me.  Paradoxes clutter life's domain, and Scripture as well; what others stand out to you?

R: Excuse me, T, are you busy?
T: Oh no, not at all.  What can I do for such a close friend?
R: Yeah, you know we actually have been neighbors for a long time.
T: Yep.  Every since we moved here from Latin all those years ago.
R: I've really appreciated your company, because to be honest, Q's never around. 
T: Well c'mon now, you know the reason Q can't spend much time in words is because he's in the movie business.  I think he's on the set of the new Bond movie right now. 
R: Yeah, glamorous life for him.  At least he didn't take U with him. 
T: Why would I have gone?  I'm not the least bit interested in movies.
R: No, not you, U.
(They stare at one another blankly)
R: Well I was just wondering if you've seen I around anywhere.
T: Oh yes, yes, last I checked he was on the deck talking with some other vowels.
R: Thanks!
T: Not a problem!

R: Hello, I?
I: Yes, R, how is going old chap?
R: Oh. My. Gosh.  I have been waiting to meet you in person for years! I cannot tell you how much I'm indebted to you!
I: Well what do I have to do with that?
R: I beg your pardon? 
I: If you want to thank you, then do it.  Y is around here somewhere.
R: But I wanted to thank you.
I: Then do it.
R: Thank you.
I: No, you isn't here.
R: I'm not sure what I am missing.
I: I'm not missing anything.
R: Well, what about me?
I: Me isn't here either.  I'm thinking me is with him.
R: You're with him?
I: No, me is.
R: But I just wanted to thank you.
I: You is extremely kind, and will be glad to hear it.
R: I believe it's 'You are kind' and 'I am glad to hear it.' 
I: Don't tell me what I believe!  That's stereotyping!
R: I'm sorry.
I: No I'm not!
R: Oh. Right.
O: Someone say my name?
R: Oh, hi, O.
O: (Sigh) Such a boring state.  It's only good for growing corn and presidents. 
R: You aren't a fan of corn?
O: I don't know, want me to find you?
R: But I'm right here.
O: I is right here.  But the question is, where is you?
R: I don't know.   
I: Well I could probably find you.  Anything else other than that?
R: Let me think.
I: Again, me's probably with him.
R: Who? You?
I: That's possible as well.  And he might be there too.
R: I'm confused.
O: I is confused. 
I: Guys, I am right here.  Don't talk like I'm not.
(awkward pause)
R: I should probably go.
I: How rude! I'm staying right here.
(R nervously glances at I, then walks away.)

EDIT: This was somewhat confusing; sorry.  If you got lost, the red exit signs designate the nearest way out.  Thank you and come again.

Yesterday was the first day of my life to ever have punctuation to it. 

As you may know from watching the news, the South was ravaged by quite the storm yesterday, and apparently the remnants of it were sweeping through Ohio starting in the middle of last night.  I had stayed up late last night doing Italian when I finally called it quits around 2:30 A.M.  The rest of my family had gone to bed, so I turned off all the lights and headed up to my room.  I was right by the side of my bed and in the process of sitting down on it before I lay down when one of the weirdest moments of my life happened.  The room was completely gray and dark to me—but then flashed completely white.  The reality of darkness changed so suddenly and to such effulgence I was quickly stunned into shocked inquiry.  The room (in that quick moment) looked as though I was Frodo and I had just put on the ring and was now in the spirit world where I could see what the wring wraiths originally looked like. 

And then, a brief pause of perfect silence later ...

BOOM! 

My existence was startled and shaken as I leapt straight up, frantically flailing in the air and landing on the ground as the stentorian sound's gradation bounced downward like a bowling ball down a bowling alley.  I am almost completely certain it hit my backyard for how bright and loud it was. 

The cat that lives in my house was so scared it came into my room and laid down on my bed—even though we despise each other.  It truly was a moment unlike all the rest around it—a spike in the graph!  Since I was climbing into bed, it was, if you will, an exclamation mark on the day. 

As a young child I would be terrified that there was an evil monster under my bed.  In fact, sometimes as I lay on my bed I would simply accept that the evil monster was really rhythmically breathing and waiting for me directly underneath my bed.  But there was a rationale for convincing myself how to fall asleep.  My reasoning was that if I stayed on top of the bed, then I was safe.  The only 'move' the evil monster had was the from-under-the-bed-swipe at my foot if I would step on the floor while getting out of bed.  So I would fall asleep completely accepting the evil monster being under my bed, knowing that we had the mutual understanding that the rules were that he could only swipe at my feet.

Stuffed animals are convenient replacements for pets.  You don't need to feed them, clean up after them, or take care of them at all.  But they are still soft and cuddly and there whenever you need them.  Having pets, I'm afraid, is a dated concept.

I hate navigating unfamiliar websites in trying to locate some sort of information that is needed.  Sometimes a website will seem like an infinite labryinth, where each link will lead to more links, and you aren't even sure if the last link was on the right path. 

Wind is propoganda for where you should move.  It whispers gently, 'Move this way, move this way.'

The Oscars are coming up; what could be weirder.  If you win best actor, when they give you the award it is like saying, "Here. You are really good at pretending to be someone else.  Good job."  Then perhaps their speech will follow suit: "Thank you.  I tried really hard to be someone else.  My pretending was not easy.  I'd like to thank all these people for helping me be someone else."

Sleepytime!  Perhaps I'll have more crazy dreams. (Last night I was in a mammoth hotel in Los Angeles when a lightning storm attacked the city and all the power in the whole city flickered on and off, until it went out for good.  Then people with guns stormed the room I was in in the hotel and captured me.)  Goodnight!