Day 56: Bullshit Brilliance

Feeling sore from top to toe
Listening to nothing
It's springtime for reals!
We have 6 weeks until summer break

"Impress me with your brilliance. But I don't want your bullshit brilliance."

-Professor Penny Campbell, Middlebury College lecturer in dance since 1985, while giving instructions for our spring midterm paper in The Creative Process class

Day 55: A Note of Appreciation from the Rich

Feeling like a refugee
Listening to the running copy machines nearby
It's 1:46 PM
I'm in the Main Library

A Note of Appreciation from the Rich
Found by GdK
Author unknown

Let's be honest: you'll never win the lottery.

On the other hand, the chances are pretty good that you'll slave away at some miserable job the rest of your life. That's because you were in all likelihood born into the wrong social class. Let's face it — you're a member of the working caste. Sorry!

As a result, you don't have the education, upbringing, connections, manners, appearance, and good taste to ever become one of us. In fact, you'd probably need a book the size of the yellow pages to list all the unfair advantages we have over you. That's why we're so relieved to know that you still continue to believe all those silly fairy tales about "justice" and "equal opportunity" in America.

Of course, in a hierarchical social system like ours, there's never been much room at the top to begin with. Besides, it's already occupied by us — and we like it up here so much that we intend to keep it that way. But at least there's usually someone lower in the social hierarchy you can feel superior to and kick in the teeth once in a while. Even a lowly dishwasher can easily find some poor slob further down in the pecking order to sneer and spit at. So be thankful for migrant workers, prostitutes, and homeless street people.

Always remember that if everyone like you were economically secure and socially privileged like us, there would be no one left to fill all those boring, dangerous, low-paid jobs in our economy. And no one to fight our wars for us, or blindly follow orders in our totalitarian corporate institutions. And certainly no one to meekly go to their grave without having lived a full and creative life. So please, keep up the good work!

You also probably don't have the same greedy, compulsive drive to possess wealth, power, and prestige that we have. And even though you may sincerely want to change the way you live, you're also afraid of the very change you desire, thus keeping you and others like you in a nervous state of limbo. So you go through life mechanically playing your assigned social role, terrified what others would think should you ever dare to "break out of the mold."

Naturally, we try to play you off against each other whenever it suits our purposes: high-waged workers against low-waged, unionized against non-unionized, Black against White, male against female, American workers against Japanese against Mexican against.... We continually push your wages down by invoking "foreign competition," "the law of supply and demand," "national security," or "the bloated federal deficit." We throw you on the unemployed scrap heap if you step out of line or jeopardize our profits. And to give you an occasional break from the monotony of our daily economic blackmail, we allow you to participate in our stage-managed electoral shell games, better known to you ordinary folks as "elections." Happily, you haven't a clue as to what's really happening — instead, you blame "Aliens," "Tree-hugging Environmentalists," "Niggers," "Jews," Welfare Queens," and countless others for your troubled situation.

We're also very pleased that many of you still embrace the "work ethic," even though most jobs in our economy degrade the environment, undermine your physical and emotional health, and basically suck your one and only life right out of you. We obviously don't know much about work, but we're sure glad you do!

Of course, life could be different. Society could be intelligently organized to meet the real needs of the general population. You and others like you could collectively fight to free yourselves from our domination. But you don't know that. In fact, you can't even imagine that another way of life is possible. And that's probably the greatest, most significant achievement of our system — robbing you of your imagination, your creativity, your ability to think and act for yourself.

So we'd truly like to thank you from the bottom of our heartless hearts. Your loyal sacrifice makes possible our corrupt luxury; your work makes our system work. Thanks so much for "knowing your place" — without even knowing it.

Winkin', Blinkin' and Nod - Eugene Fields

Winkin' Blinkin' and Nod one night sailed off in a wooden shoe;
Sailed on a river of crystal light into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going and what do you wish?" the old moon asked the three.
"We've come to fish for the herring fish that live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we" said Winkin' Blinkin' and Nod.

The old moon laughed and he sang a song as they rocked in the wooden shoe.
And the wind that sped them all night long ruffled the waves of dew.
Now the little stars are the herring fish that live in that beautiful sea;
"Cast your nets wherever you wish never afeared are we!"
So cried the stars to the fishermen three - Winkin' Blinkin' and Nod.

So all night long their nets they threw to the stars in the twinkling foam.
Then downward came the wooden shoe bringing the fishermen home.
Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed as if it could not be.
And some folks say twas a dream they dreamed of sailing that misty sea.
But I shall name you the fishermen three - Winkin' Blinkin' and Nod.

Now Winkin' and Blinkin' are two little eyes and Nod is a little head.
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies is a wee ones trundle bed.
So close your eyes while mother sings of the wonderful sights that be.
And you shall see those beautiful things as you sail on the misty sea
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three - Winkin' Blinkin' and Nod.

Day 54.9: If

If a child lives with criticism, he learns to condemn.
If a child lives with hostility, she learns to fight.
If children live with fears, they learn to be apprehensive.
If a child lives with pity, she learns to feel sorry for herself.
If a child lives with jealousy, he learns to feel guilty.
If children live with encouragement, they learn to be confident.
If a child learns with tolerance, he learns to be patient.
If a child lives with praise, she learns to be appreciative.
If children live with acceptance, they learn to love.
If a child lives with approval, he learns to like himself.
If a child lives with recognition, she learns to have a goal.
If children live with fairness, they learn what justice is.
If a child lives with honesty, she learns what truth is.
If a child lives with security,
he learns to have faith in himself and in those about him.
If children live with friendliness,
they learn that the world is a great place in which to live.

-The Watchman-Examiner

Night 54: Anger and love have no limits...

A small narrative to inspire you...

While Dad was polishing his new car, his 4 yr old son picked up a stone & started scratching lines on the other side of it. In his anger, Dad took the child's hand & hit it many times, not realizing he was using a wrench. At the hospital, his child asked him "Dad when will my fingers grow back?"

Dad was so hurt, he didn't say anything. He went back to his car and kicked it a lot of times. Sitting back, he looked at the scratches; the child wrote "I LOVE YOU DAD"

Anger and love have no limits.
Pass on a blessing to someone you know.
Say hi, wave, and smile at a passer-by.

Day 54: How does Starbucks reward their employees?

Feeling ranty
Listening to nothing
It's a cold 30' Fahrenheit outside
I'm in one of the Main Library's study rooms

When you do something good, something admirable in everyday life, what comes out of it? And please, cut that karma crap.

Some people will go out of their way, take some time out of their busy schedule, and do something nice back.
Some people won't give a rat's ass about it.
Some people will be inspired.
Some people will slander you out of cynicism bullshit.

Guest author: V from ViolentAcres.

Last Thursday my husband and I had an inopportune meeting with a real estate agent to discuss a counter offer on a property I’m interested in.
Anyway, we get into town a good half an hour early, so I suggest we grab a cup of coffee while we wait. There’s a Starbucks nearby, so we stopped there.
Almost immediately, it’s our turn to order. However, it suddenly occurs to me that I have nothing but $50 bills in my pocket and I failed to bring any sort of debit card.
I turn to my husband, “Did you bring any money?”
“Nah. Left my wallet at home.”
“Shit.”
The dude who is waiting on us seems friendly enough, so I shoot him my most apologetic smile.
“Is it possible for you to break a $50 bill?” I ask.
He hesitates a little and then says, “Maybe. You might get a lot of ones though.”
“That’s OK,” I reassure him.
He roots through his drawer a little. Finally, he looks at me sheepishly and says, “I’m sorry, I can’t break it.”
“That’s OK,” I say again, “I’ll just check in my car and see if I can find some change.”
“Well, what were you going to order?” he asks.
“Two small cups of coffee.” I answer.
“Well, if that’s all you’re going to get, I’ll just give it to you for free.”
“Oh no, that’s OK,” I tell him.
A girl behind him appears with two cups of coffee and plops them down on the counter in front of us. The guy points to them and says, “See? They’ve already been poured. Go ahead and take them. It’s no big deal.”
So there I am, feeling like the biggest asshole in the world because I don’t even have any loose bills to tip him with.
My husband and I grab our coffee, thank the counter guy profusely and head on over to the cream and sugar table to fix it up. Inside, I am silently fretting because I know damned well that our ‘thanks’ will not pay the guy’s rent. It’s not like he can call up his landlord one day and say, ‘I don’t have the money to pay you, sir. But if it helps any, two of my customers said I was the nicest barista they’ve ever met!’
Suddenly, I get an idea. I snatch up one of the pamphlets sitting on the counter and start flipping through it.
“What are you reading?” my husband asks.
“I’m looking for the Starbucks corporate number. I’m going to call them and compliment the guy who just waited on us.”
“That’s a bad idea. What if they end up firing the guy for giving us free coffee?”
I hesitate for a minute because I can totally see a greedy corporate giant like Starbucks doing something that underhanded. Then, I say, “Well, I won’t mention anything about the free coffee. I’ll just tell them he gave us really great service.”
“I still don’t think you should bother with it,” he insists.
“Seriously, that guy is a barista at Starbucks. If I had a shitty fucking job like that, I’d want someone to call up the corporate office and compliment me.”
“Do what you want then.”
“Thank you. I will.”
I find the number, call it up, and navigate though this horrendously long computer system in order to reach a real, live, somewhat cognizant human being. I tell the operator that I’d like to comment about the service I received at a Starbucks. She fakes like she can’t fucking wait to hear what I’m about to say and takes down all of my information: name, address, location of the store I visited, time of day, that sort of shit. Then, her computer freezes. So I have to repeat all of my information. Then it freezes again. Patiently, I repeat all of my information for the third time because it’s really important to me that I follow through with this even though I’m dying to scream, “WHY IS IT SO FUCKING HARD TO LEAVE A FUCKING COMPLIMENT?”
At one point, she asks me the name of the gentleman who waited on me and I say, “Shit. I don’t know it. Hold on, I’ll find out.”
I walk back into the store and whisper to a guy sweeping the floor. “Who is that guy?” I ask while I point to the guy who waited on me.
“Uh…that’s Keith.” He says.
“Keith! His name was Keith!” I announce to the operator. I also mouth the words ‘Thank you’ to the dude sweeping the floor.
Finally, the operator finishes taking down all of my information and she is ready for my comments. “Keith was very helpful and friendly and gave me some of the best service I have ever received at any food establishment,” I tell her triumphantly.
The operator seems a little taken aback; it was almost as if she expected an 2 hour long rant about an empty half n’ half container or something.
“Well…that’s great,” she replies, “It’s not often people call in to say something nice.”
I figured. People are such fucking assholes sometimes. I shoot my husband a nasty look because he tried to talk me out of calling. He rolls his eyes in response.
But here’s where things started getting wonky…
“Do you mind if Starbucks sends you a coupon thanking you for your call today?” the operator asks me.
“Uh….why?” I ask, confused, “I’m not complaining. I already had a really great experience…” Not to mention, I already got free coffee.
“I know. We just like sending you a little gift to thank you for your feedback.”
Maybe I’m being petty, but I fucking hate the whole coupon thing. I feel like when I receive one, it invalidates every comment I’ve made. It’s almost as if the fat cats are saying to me, ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. We’re totally taking your comment seriously. Now please just take your coupon and shut the fuck up because we both know that’s what you really wanted.’
Well I, for one, didn’t want a fucking coupon. I wanted to do something nice for the guy who waited on me.
My husband whispers, “I told you so. They probably won’t even tell that guy’s manager you called.”
Desperate to prove him wrong, I ask the operator, “What will happen to Keith now that I’ve called?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, will he get anything? Like, you know, a small bonus? Or will my call at least be taken into consideration when it comes time for him to receive a pay raise?”
“Oh! Absolutely!” she responds, “At the end of every month, we fax these reports back to the stores. Then, they hang them up on the employee boards and say, ‘Way to go!’”
A Way-to-Go board.
A Way-to-Fucking-Go board.
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, STARBUCKS? I JUST SPENT 25 MINUTES ON THE PHONE SO YOU CAN PIN MY COMMENTS UP ON A WAY-TO-FUCKING-GO BOARD? KEITH WILL NOT GET ANY SORT OF BONUS OR LARGER PAY RAISE OR ANYTHING OF VALUE? INSTEAD, HE’LL JUST RECEIVE A FUCKING THUMBS UP FROM HIS DOUCHBAG MANAGER THAT WILL BE TOTALLY FORGOTTEN 5 MINUTES LATER SHOULD HE DROP A PLATE OF FUCKING PASTRIES? I HATE YOU, STARBUCKS, YOU CONDESCENDING GREEDY FUCKS! I HATE YOU!
If anyone is wondering why people in food service or retail always look so goddamn miserable, my phone call with Starbucks should put your mind at ease. Apparently, a multi-billion dollar company like Starbucks can’t be bothered to shoot an employee who goes above and beyond for customers a $10 bill to thank them for their hard work. Instead, they continue to get rich off of their backs while simultaneously “rewarding” them with meaningless gestures that hold no value in the real world. Those fucking bastards.
I held my temper with the poor operator because it’s really not her fault that Starbucks policy sucks ass. Towards the end of the call, she asked me if I’d be interested in doing a 10 minute survey where I describe my experience with her on the phone. At this point, I’d been on the phone for well over a half an hour, so I said, ‘Why not?’ The survey was incredibly pointless and tedious, but I finished it anyway. I gave the girl top scores. Now maybe she’ll get her name on a Way-to-Go board, too. Yay.
I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.

Day 50: Culture Shocking

I'm currenty in Bethesda, Maryland

I'm watching some gun channel on TV

I'm here at a Middlebury alumni's house

I'm staying here for 4 days

I'm on an externship with a gastroenterology health practice

What are the top 5 culture shock moments for me?

-5. Public transportation needing a facelift! From Middlebury, you can go down to Burlington, a town close by, by bus only in the wee hours of morning. And come back during late afternoon. I'm assuming the rest of the US of A is pretty much like this.

-4. The food portions here are so much much much bigger than in Asia anywhere. I ordered an $8.95 sandwich meal and I almost blew myself up, literally. I was THIS close to imploding. And food is so expensive!!

-3. Really nice people ... but only in Middlebury - sorry! I was biking down Middlebury town one day (on someone else's bike, not mine!) and I dropped my map (yeah, a map lol) a meter behind me. I backpedaled to get it, but a guy picked it up, handed it over to me, and left. I was so impressed, I almost died.

-2. People here love Chuck Norris jokes. 'Your mom' jokes. 'That's what she said' jokes. And dead baby jokes.

Before I go to bed, I check my closet for the boogeyman.
Before the boogeyman goes to bed, he checks his closet for Chuck Norris.

How did the baby cross the road?
He was stapled to the chicken.

Sick Americanos...

-1. Cereal types. I went to this supermarket in town and there was this just one flipping huge aisle only stacked with cereal. YEAH. Lucky charms = party in my mouth. And COSTCO. Who in the world came up with shopping in a warehouse?? And it's an exclusive party because they make you pay like $50 a year for membership. And you sign up and you go in and the first thing you see is a mountain of car tires. I was so surprised, I exploded.



-ONE MORE. Amtrak and plane tickets are unbelievably expensive. To be honest, I wish I could fly to Philadelphia and New York to visit a few friends, bu MONEY DOES NOT FREAKING GROW ON TREES. I wish it did. Only for me, though.

And after taking a read over what I just wrote, I can say that this was a very selfish post :D

Hope everyone's spring breaks are going swell.
If you have some love and care to send over to me, please send them to:

2892 Middlebury College
Middlebury, Vermont 05753

I will send some back, with a pinky promise...

By the way, happy belated birthday to Moki Jensen.

Day 49: World Baseball Classic

Feeling crappy

I's 2:07 AM

So, South Korea didn't get to win the World Baseball Classic, even though they had earned a gold medal in the 2008 Beijing Olympics.

Bah.


Ichiro was really good. Darvish was really good, too.

And those Japanese runners are too good in stealing bases.

Grrrr.

Day 44: Political correctness schmorrectness

Feeling excited for spring break!
It's 4:45 PM and it's a good 50' Fahrenheit outside
School is kicking my butt

I said "retard" in my paper. People got mad. I almost got lynched. Well, no... not really.

Political correctness is "a term applied to language, ideas, policies, or behavior seen as seeking to minimize offense to gender, racial, cultural, disabled, aged or other identity groups. Conversely, the term "politically incorrect" is used to refer to language or ideas that may cause offense or that are unconstrained by orthodoxy." (wiki/political_correctness)

Being "PC" (politically correct) is a big thing here in the United States of America, a modern melting pot of people groups of all sorts shapes and sizes: indigenous, minorities, colors, sexual orientation, race, language, class, disabled, disadvantaged, dis-this, dis-that, dis-anything, and dis-everything. Because human beings of Earth have these things called feelings, something that animals and plants obviously don't have, they just choose to be unnecessarily overly sensitive about words and terms that are derogatory or ... uhmm... just directed towards them.

Let's be honest here- what the heck? Somewhere along the line of history not too long ago, this somehow took an ugly turn and transformed into a yucky thing.

The best personal example I can come up with derives from having to write a creative paper for one of my classes.

So, one day, I was writing about how this imaginary alien race called the Zorquians viewed Earth's supposed-to-be-the-damn-truth biological history.

Here's what happened.

On Earth, it took underwater organisms 500 million years for them to evolve into ones that could live on dry land (like plants, for example).
On Zorq, however, it took them less than one million years.

Again, Zorq is non-existent, because it's imaginary. It's unreal. It's fictional. REMEMBER that (as well as this 4.6 billion year long evolutionary history, too, I suppose).

Thus, I wrote this: "Unlike Zorq, Earth's retarded life forms took them a painstaking 500 extra million years for them to evolve for them to be able to live on dry land."

Is there anything wrong with that sentence? Hmm... Let's see. Nope, not really. The organisms on the Zorquian planet evolved so much flipping faster than the ones on Earth! It only took them, say ... only a small portion of the time it took the human species to evolve into what they are. Or you can also say that Earth ones evolved 500 times much slower than the ones on Zorq.

So what does this mean? Well, compared to Zorquian organisms, Earth's must be really slow in development!!! NO DUH! And you can legitimately use the word 'retarded' for that reason and definition.

But some people here agree to disagree.

My paper was displayed on a screen for my whole class to see, and you can guess what happened when someone pointed out the R-word in my paper. The professor hurriedly corrected my political incorrectness, but I thank those who did not take my horrible terminology seriously. Sheesh.

It was even funnier when he commented:

"Well, that word (he didn't even bother to say the actual word out loud) IS used correctly, but... uhm... yes, it's not politically correct."

Doh.

I'm sorry that I used the R-word on some prehistoric group of organisms that existed millions of years ago on Earth. And for crying out loud, you can't really get mad at some non-existent alien race for thinking that they were ret- I mean, slow in development!!

Alright. Fine. I respect you sir. I understand where you are coming from. I will try to use that R-word less often in the future. I will try to be more political correct in the future, because the world should be a very happy and peaceful place where everyone will avoid mentioning and talking about possibly hurtful things.

But you know what, professor, I genuinely thank you for correcting me. I should be more careful in a sensitive community like ... Middlebury College. Probably anywhere in the United States.

But there is one case when you shan't use that word: when joking around and stuff. What if someone the other person was close to was really a retard? It's like pointing a "yo mama" joke to a classmate whose mama just passed away last week! Congratulations, you just became a butthole!

Anyways.

Enjoy a post from, again, V from ViolentAcres. This woman rocks my world.

I’m sick of political correctness.

I’m sick of wondering if the term African American is the only one available to me or is it ok to call someone a ‘black guy.’ I’m sick of covertly wording a sentence to describe someone only to leave out their color because I’m not sure how to do it non-racist-ly. I’m sick of avoiding conversations about race relations because an overheard repeated insult might just earn me an ass whooping. Sure, I could dart my eyes around and breathlessly whisper, “Then he said the N-word!” But seriously, now! The N-word? Are we fucking children here?

Nigger. There, I said it.

What’s more is that lots of other people still say it, too. They just say it quietly and behind closed doors. Race relations have not improved just because white people know that black people have guns now, too.

My questions is: How are we supposed to improve race relations if we’re too scared to talk about them?

Also, am I allowed you call you gay? Or do I have to sound all dry and technical and say ‘Homosexual?’ I am not scared or intimidated because you enjoy ... in your .... On the contrary, I applaud you because a ... in the ... never caused an accidental pregnancy and I’m all for less episodes of ‘Super Nanny.’ I have absolutely no religious objections to man on man love and I think pearls look pretty on boys. My only beef is that I’m not sure what I’m allowed to call you anymore. On top of that, I’m not sure what I’m allowed to call my brother anymore. I used to call him a fag, but I don’t want you to be offended when I insult my fucking brother.

Again: How are we supposed to learn that you’re just like us (only with better fashion sense) if we avoid interaction with you simply because we don’t want to accidentally offend?

Additionally, will you men please stop apologizing after you say anything that can even remotely be seen as sexist? If you quote a statistic you read that says women aren’t usually as good at math as men, I promise I won’t run out of the room in tears. I know that you are not implying that a scientific study totally absent of gender bias proves that women couldn’t possibly be good at math EVER so I should get back into the kitchen RIGHT NOW and make you a chicken pot pie; you are simply pointing out that men, as a whole, are a little better at math. The truth is I’m not good at math. And that’s ok because I do own a calculator. Men and women are different sometimes, but that doesn’t mean they are fundamentally unequal. I’m ok with that. So stop apologizing.

Besides, it would be kind of hypocritical of me to bitch and moan that men don’t understand women only to take offense every time you delve into our brains.

All Muslims are terrorists. Jews are stingy with their money. Chinese women all know how to put on acrylic fingernails. Christians are bigots. Hispanics know everything there is to know about drywall. If you’re a geeky teenage boy and you read a book about vampires, you’ll shoot up your school.

Is any of this shit true? I’d ask, but I don’t want to offend.

Political correctness does not create a more tolerant society. It creates a society of people secretly consumed by resentment because one honest slip of the tongue can earn them a label as an intolerant boob. Political correctness limits speech and creates hatred where none existed in the first place.

I have an idea; how about we drop all this politically correct bullshit? How about we all talk to each other openly and honestly without making certain words off limits and without deeming certain subject taboo? How about we eliminate the fear of offending our fellow man and replace it with an honest attempt at understanding our fellow man? Go ahead, ask me anything. I won’t cry and I won’t tell you what a bad person you are. In return, however, I might want to ask you a couple of questions. Please don’t pistol whip me because you didn’t like my phrasing. Real tolerance comes from education, so let’s all quit being afraid to raise our hands in class.

We might just end up loving each other after all. Or we might end up hating each others' guts. But, either way, we’ll be loving and hating for all the right reasons.

Have a great spring break, everyone.

Day 41: Season Change

It's Monday

Still feeling sleepy

I think one of the most charming aspects of coming here to Middlebury, Vermont is the change in season. As I may have mentioned before, the summer here is still cooler than the supposed "winter" in Bangkok, Thailand.

And the coming of spring doesn't just bring with it warming weather and greening trees.

Wait for it...........

Intramural sports!

I'm not that good of a soccer player, but since intramural soccer season is coming up for the spring semester, heck - why not?!!? And I got a few shirts from Ebay for real cheap, too. Wow... the things you can do with a debit card in this country.

Lydia (left) and Nejla (right), a crazy duo

The building in the photo above is my ghetto dorm hall - Battel

That's the Chateau, the French language hall

Some people with too much free time playing frisbee

These are some shots taken from the second floor of the Main Library

That glorious building in the center reside the mathematics and economics department people

Day 38: Nothing in Particular, Really

Feeling sleepy
Listening to nothing
It's two in the morning
It's really cold outside

Unless you've been living under a rock, you should definitely have felt the profound effects of the global economic crisis that's going on right now.

My school's food quality has experienced a recession quite recently, inciting campus-wide riots and demonstrations every single day.

Can you think of any effects in your local area? Organization? School? State? Town? City? Country?

Apart from that.

On that bulletin board, I actually wrote another message several days ago:

Stop being selfish, judgmental, and racist!

And someone wrote an anonymous comment on it:

... this is the winner!

I just thought it was funny because what I wrote applies to many people here and in general. And it's even funnier how we become hypocrites ourselves.

Humans are funny people.

Day 36: Last Lecture

Feeling like kicked in the groin and the shins

Listening to your breathing

It's 10:33 AM

I'm really tired

As part of the "Last Lecture" series on campus, a question was posted on a cork board in the school library (and among other places):

"If you could give one last piece of advice to your friends and family, what would it be?"

Small pieces of paper were left on an adjacent table so that people could give anonymous feedback.

A few of the responses:

- Smoke up

- Stop caring about grades so much

- Don't fill up your nalgene in the dining hall

- Listen

- Talk nice about others behind their backs

- Treat others as you would want them to treat others (?)

My responses:

- Be Korean

- Stop talking, start walking

Use a Trust-O-Meter to Find Dependable People

By Martha Beck from O, The Oprah Magazine, March 2009

I'm writing this in the African bush, where I've just watched five lions dismantling a dead buffalo, a hungry leopard stalking impala, and several baboons snitching part of my own breakfast when my back was turned.

No matter how faulty your trust-o-meter, it's never too late to debug the system.

Out here, my safety depends on the knowledge, courage, and selflessness of just a few human beings. Some of these people I know well; others I've barely met.

We are of various colors and creeds, sharing only a conflict-riddled ancestral history. Yet I feel safer at this moment than I once felt in my suburban American bedroom.

It's not that I'm blind to life's fragility or the dangers around me. It's just that I possess a gift offered by many mistake-filled years: At my age, I have a pretty good idea what and whom to trust.

It's because I've learned to depend on a handy little inner mechanism -- you've got one too. Call it a "trust-o-meter," a bit of hardware preinstalled on your hard drive the day you arrived, tiny and vulnerable, from the stork factory.

Ever since, your trust-o-meter has been programmed up the wazoo, first by caregivers, then by you yourself. If your inner software is working well, your trust-o-meter is guiding you safely through life's many hazards. If it isn't, you smash into one disappointment or betrayal after another.

The good news is that no matter how faulty your trust-o-meter, it's never too late to debug the system. Trust me on that

Or not.

Read this -- then you make that call.

Step 1: Testing the system

"As soon as you trust yourself," wrote Goethe, "you will know how to live."

To discern between people who might save your life and those who might ruin it, you must be reliable, honest -- in a word, trustworthy -- toward yourself. And we do this far less often than most people realize.

I'm about to reveal one of my favorite life coaching tricks, which I've used on literally thousands of people. In the middle of a speech or coaching session, I'll suddenly say, "Are you comfortable?"

Most people look startled, squint at me as though I'm a few chocolates short of a full box, then assure me that yes, they're comfortable.

"Really?" I'll say, earnestly.

Yes, they insist, getting a bit annoyed, they're totally comfortable.

Then I ask this: "So, if you were alone in your bedroom right now, would you be sitting in the position you're in at this moment?"

It takes them all of 0.03 seconds to answer, "No." But it takes them much longer to come up with the answer to my next question:

"Why not?"

Some people will just sit there blinking, as if I've asked them to explain why they didn't invent spaghetti. It takes them much consternated thinking to come up with the answer -- which is, of course, that the positions in which people sit in public settings are generally much less loose than the positions they adopt when unobserved, in a room designed for rest and relaxation.

In short, they're a bit uncomfortable.

Now, the problem here isn't the discomfort itself -- people can handle a world of hurt if necessary. The problem is that they aren't conscious of their own discomfort, even though it's obvious. They lie to my face in clear daylight, believing they're telling the truth even though they know (and I know...and they know that I know) they're lying.

Do you find that last sentence confusing? Welcome to denial, which, oh, honey, it's true, ain't just a river in Egypt.

The baffling thing about denial is this: You have no idea you're in it. Rather than thinking, "I am now displaying unwarranted trust," you just fee... off. Confused. Maybe a little crazy. Maybe a lot crazy. Something seems wrong, and over time, it feels wronger and wronger.

Those of us with badly calibrated trust-o-meters usually think the wrongness must be in us, that if we can somehow think or work or love better, our painful relationships with the alcoholic racist stalkers in our lives will somehow become perfect.

For those of us who want to know if we have defective trust-o-meters, the evidence is blessedly obvious: Our relationships and life situations don't work.

We're lying to ourselves, pretending we're at ease when we know we aren't, so, in the converse of Goethe's dictum, we don't have a clue how to live. We're often rudely awakened, bitterly disappointed, shockingly betrayed.

If this happens to you once, perhaps it's bad luck. If it happens repeatedly, there are bugs in your system. To check, take the Trust Test. If your score indicates that your trust-o-meter functions well, you can stop reading now. But if the quiz reveals a problem, it's time to recalibrate.

Step 2: The scientific method

All child-rearers -- myself among them -- are confused, mistaken, or ignorant about some things, so don't waste time insisting that your parents fix every glitch in your programming.

Just start using the scientific method to reboot your trust-o-meter. This involves three basic steps: making predictions about how the world works, looking for evidence to either support or disconfirm those predictions, and changing your hypotheses in light of what you see to be true.

Start by thinking of someone important to you, and rate your trust in that person on a scale of 1 to 5 (1 = lowest possible trust, 5 = highest). Then, evaluate the person by recalling your observations of his or her behavior.

Here are a few obvious questions I've found very helpful in quantifying the trustworthiness of people in my own life. The first three are the "yes" questions; if Person X is completely trustworthy, you'll answer yes to all three. The second three are the "no" questions -- if Person X deserves your trust, the answer to all three will be negative.

The "yes" questions:

1. Does Person X usually show up on time?

2. When Person X says something is going to happen, does it usually happen?

3. When you hear Person X describing an event and then get more information about that event, does the new information usually match Person X's description?

The "no" questions:

4. Have you ever witnessed Person X lying to someone or assuming you'll help deceive a third person?

5. Does Person X sometimes withhold information in order to make things go more smoothly or to avoid conflict?

6. Have you ever witnessed Person X doing something (lying, cheating, being unkind) that he or she would condemn if another person did it?

These questions might seem trivial. They're not. As the saying goes, "the way we do anything is the way we do everything." I'm not saying we have the ultimate power or right to judge others. But if you trust someone whose behavior doesn't pass the six screening questions above, your trust-o-meter may well be misaligned. ...

By the way, if you're now rationalizing Person X's behavior with arguments like "But he means well" or "It's not her fault; she had a terrible childhood," your trust-o-meter is definitely on the fritz.

These are the small lies we use to tell ourselves we're comfortable when we aren't. It's not the end of the world if Person X lies to you. Lying to yourself, on the other hand, can make your life so miserable, the end of the world might be a relief.

Step 3: Learning to trust everyone and everything

So what does it mean to "trust people who aren't trustworthy"? I pondered this earlier today, as I watched the lions devour the buffalo, the leopard attack the impala, the baboons stealing breakfast.

I am very wary of these beasts, but that doesn't mean I don't trust them. I depend on them deeply -- to do what they usually do. Lions and leopards can be trusted to eat animals about my size. Baboons can be trusted to steal food whenever possible. Because I know this, I adapt my behavior to avoid getting eaten or pilfered.

By the same token, if someone in your life pulls in a dismal score on the Trust Test, perpetually failing to keep promises, tell the truth, quit drinking, or show compassion, this is exactly what you can depend on them to keep doing.

Addicts can be trusted to lie. Narcissists can be trusted to backstab. And people who reliably do their best, whose stories check out against your own observations, can be trusted to stay relatively honest and stable.

When you spot faulty programming in your trust-o-meter, you may experience some deep grief. You'll have to acknowledge what you already know, deep down: that your alcoholic dad may never be reliable, that you may have picked an irresponsible partner, that the friend who never supports you probably never will.

You may face some tough choices as your debugged trust-o-meter directs you away from familiar negative patterns and into new behaviors. But as you more accurately predict what will happen, you'll feel a new, growing confidence. Your life will begin to work.

This is why I feel so much safer today, in the bushveld, than I once did in my home. Yes, it's a jungle out here, but it's a jungle everywhere. Life, in fact, is just one big wilderness. But you were born for this wilderness, and you have the instruments to negotiate it safely.

Does that thought feel comfortable? Really, truly comfortable? As soon as it does, you've found your way to the first part of Goethe's promise: You can trust yourself. And because Goethe was a trustworthy person, you can rely on the second part of his promise following automatically. You really will know how to live.

Day 35: My Crew Coach

Feeling exhausted from practice
It's 6:41 PM and it's -3' Celsius outside

"Each and every one of you are stronger than you know, and my job is to kick the shit out of you so that you can discover it."

-Noel Wanner, Middlebury College Crew Coach, talking to the team after practice about how he was disappointed when several guys quit during their 4 x 1,000m sprints

Day 34: How to Gamble Well

Listening to Phynn feat. Tiff Lacey - Try Again (Original Mix)
Feeling so frustrated at myself - why am I here?
It's -1' Celsius and it's very cold outside
I'm inside the Main Library

Have you ever felt so frustrated, mad, or upset at yourself that you had to divert yourself to something more relieving, like bloodying a wall? Or maybe you couldn't help but let loose tears of intense anger? Maybe even anger isn't even the right word?

Sometimes, we make the same errors over and over again, up to the point where your dignity is crushed into nothing. You ask yourself - how was that possible? Why? Why me?

I feel cheated.

But it's life.

Life's not FAIR.

Life IS unfair.

Do you believe that?

Neither of us wants to admit it.

Why does all this s--t happen?

It's life.

So stop taking risks?

Fall down seven times...

Get up eight?

Exactly.

Life is all a gamble. You never win more than you are willing to risk, willing to lose. As life goes on, you learn to risk as little as possible.
Gamble as little as possible.
Lose as little as possible.
And you learn to fold early.
After all, gambling is a sin, isn't it?

But when all is said and done, have you really won?

That Dangerous Glee

That Dangerous Glee

We had both had to sacrifice two weeks of pocket money for the cherry bombs. It was our first investment together, and it would be our last.

We took turns throwing the little balls of gunpowder at passing cars. Hiding in the hedge row, we were hysterical little monsters, giggling maniacally every time our tiny bombs met a car wheel and induced a frightened face or honking horn from the bewildered drivers.

Soon, however, something more exciting caught my eye.

A swift dance of gray fur, a darting flash of blue black eyes.

I stretched out my hand. I could not help it, an instinct perhaps. I wanted the mouse to touch me.

But I was so astonished when Little One didn't run away. I had never touched such small, delicate creatures before. He was soft and lovely and had beady eyes and sharp claws that clung to th back of my hand like a friend in need. I couldn't understand why he didn't run away.

Sam hadn't noticed the mouse, but he had used up all the cherry bombs and was already looking for more mischief. He tugged at my sleeve, but I just wanted to stay with my newfound friend.

"Go prank call the Fowlers," I suggested, "I'll meet you at my house in a minute."

But he had already caught sight of my treasure. I tried to push him away, but even at seven, he was already stronger. After a futile struggle, he managed to grab the mouse from my hand as though it were a candy or a toy and not much more.

Sam's eyes were alight with that dangerous childhood glee that knows no bounds. He held the mouse tightly in between his two palms and slowly pressed them together.

I began to feel sick.

Suddenly, he let out a huge scream that made me jump right out of the hedge row and into the road. Sam's left hand was wet and ruby red and in the other hand held the friendly little mouse that was swinging by the tail.

I smiled.

Laughed.

Fell over in the road cackling, and his angry tears only made me happier.

Suddenly, I saw Sam's arm raised.

He wouldn't.

No.

No!

It came crashing down against a tree trunk, smashing the friendly mouse to pieces.

The air became heavy.

Everything was quiet.

We both looked at each other, both aware that something had happened.

That something had changed.

I didn't cry. I just looked at Sam. I knew it was time to go home, away from this monster.

Sam ran after me trying to get my attention but I wouldn't look at him again. I refused to. Behind me, he lay down in the road, promising not to move until I came back and made friends with him.

But I didn't care if he got run over today. I wouldn't. I would refuse to.

I just ran. Ran back through the woods. Ran home.

Day 32: Children of the Past

Feeling mellow
Listening to Nature's Kingdom - Kirsty Hawkshaw
It's 10:17 PM and raining

Why do we cry when we ought to be joyful?
Why do momentous occasions bring forth tears?
Are they simply tears of joy, or is it something deeper, more profound?
That feeling like you've lost something, that your life or the life of someone very close to you is turning down a new road, and we are overcome by the most genuine and overpowering sense of nostalgia.

We look back down that road and see how far we come, and the realization of how much we love each other is enough to cause us to weep.

It is the realization of our own mortality, the progression of our lives, fighting against the inevitable, not wanting to grow up, wishing we could be children forever.

But why do we exert such futile efforts?
To want to fight the Invincible?
To evade the Inevitable?
To run from the Inescapable?

We want to fly, second star to the right and straight on till morning. Run away from the future, and never, ever grow up.

Time is so amazing, it blows my mind every time I think about it.

Think back to your earliest childhood memories.
Think back to your mischievous elementary school times.
Think back to your middle school years
Think back to your high school freshman year and how it was just a few years ago
Think back to your senior year of high school - that was just last yer!
Think back to your first day in college...

What do you feel?

Day 31: Supposedly D-5

Listening to Battleship Grey - Kirsty Hawkshaw
It's 12:37 PM
It's 7' Celsius - very warm now!

"There are those who dance to the rhythm that is played to them, those who only dance to their own rhythm, and those who don't dance at all."

"Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why they call it the present."
-Jiri Kilian

I was reading this book on third culture kids the other day, and its intro was basically a very depressing narrative of an American girl having to forever leave Singapore, a place where she spent the whole twenty years of her life. Now, the college-bound girl had tears and snot running down her face as the plane carried her off and away from her so-called home.

She thought she was a part of Singapore.
She thought she belonged there.
She thought she would never have to detach herself from the countless memories that she shared with her Singaporean classmates, Singaporean friends, and Singapore itself.
She thought she had an identity.

She was having a identity crisis. Miss Cry-Baby kept asking herself- Who really am I?
Do I really belong anywhere?
Will I fit in with the Americans?
Will I ever have a place I call home?
Will I be moving around like this my whole life?
Am I going to experience these feelings over and over again until the day that I die?
And probably most importantly - Why is this happening to ME?

To be completely honest, I was laughing at her. I thought she was ridiculously emotionally weak and that she needed to suck it up. She basically got screwed over by her parents' decision of sending her to a liberal arts college in New England area. Some expatriate kid was just pitying herself because she obviously, as you can see for yourself, couldn't cope with a simple change of location. I mean COME ON.

A month later, I find myself laughing again.

I guess I got screwed over by my own decision to come over here?

I'm laughing because now I've become like Crying Pansy Girl in the plane. Sure, I'm a hypocrite with a ginormous tree trunk in my eye, so people! You are welcome to condemn me however you want (like I did to that sissy), but hey, at least I admit of having real human problems.

So many people nowadays just love acting as if their life is perfect. Lying to yourself is never a good thing, man.

Day 29: How to Get Free Ice Cream

Feeling sleep deprived again
It's 3:13 AM and -5' Celsius
I'm studying for midterms
Midterms suck

Guest author here is: V from ViolentAcres.
I just wanted to share with you some violently laughable substances.

"How to Get Free Ice Cream"

Oh, how I love global warming.

We’re a full two days past Christmas now and it has only snowed once so far. Today, the sun was out, the birds were singing, and it was a balmy 62 degrees. Because of this, I decided to go out for ice cream.

There’s a cute little frozen custard place one city over, so I hopped in my car and took a drive. When I got there, I noticed that they were having a ‘Buy two pints of ice cream, get one pint free’ promotion. There was a fat, older woman in line ahead of me taking advantage of the deal.

“Let me ask you something,” Fat Lady asked the young clerk behind the counter, “I’m going to be leaving these pints in my car for a few hours today. Do you think they’ll melt?”

There. That’s all it took to ruin my day. One stupid question asked by a partially retarded fat lady is all takes to make the sky suddenly seem dreary and overcast. I think my skin is getting thinner in my old age.

The kid behind the counter wasn’t fairing any better than I was. “Uh….isn’t it kinda warm outside?” she cautiously asked the Fat Lady.

“But, you see, I don’t feel like going back home to put these in the freezer,” Fat Lady pressed, “And these are frozen solid….”

What the heck did she expect the girl to say? Yes Ma’am, our amazing non melting ice cream is guaranteed to stay completely frozen in a hot car for up to eight hours?

The sad part is I could see the panicked expression in the poor girl’s eyes. She was mentally weighing her options. On one hand, she could accurately inform a grown woman who should know better that ice cream, left in a hot car for hours, will likely melt. But then Fat Lady will only keep on bitching about how she doesn’t have time to run home as if the ice cream shop has personal control over the daily schedule of their customers. On the other hand, she could reassure the woman that her ice cream would not melt only to have her show back up in the store 4 hours later threatening to sue because butter pecan ruined her leather interior.

Finally, I butted myself into the conversation, “I leave my ice cream in the car all the time and it never melts.”

Fat Lady turned to me and said, “Really?”

“Oh yeah. Absolutely. I think it’s magic.”

My obvious sarcasm was lost on her and Fat Lady was properly pacified. She gathered up her pints of ice cream and waddled out of the shop pleased as Hell.

“What a @#$%ing moron,” I said to the girl behind the counter.

“Definitely,” the girl agreed, “I just hope my shift ends before she comes back.”

“Well, you didn’t tell her the ice cream was magic. I did. So here’s my card. If she comes back, give her the card and tell her to sue me.”

The girl smiled gratefully and accepted my card. Her obvious relief was contagious and suddenly the day got brighter again. I may have just made myself the victim of yet another frivolous lawsuit, but hey, there are worse things in life.

Besides, I got a free ice cream cone out of the deal.

Day 27: Just Because I'm Poorer than You

Feeling dirty
Listening to Lost - Sunlounger feat. Zara, remix by Armin van Buuren
It's 9:05 PM and -20' Celsius outside

There are rich kids I know that I feel comfortable hanging around with.
Then there are rich kids I know that I don't feel so comfortable with.
They make you feel dirty.
They make you feel like some homeless street beggar asking for their money.
Those are the ones that need to <insert horrible way of dying>, like being given an overdose on painkillers, getting hit by a truck, then hung, electrocuted, burnt on the stake, and shot at the same time.

I grew up in a household that you can call relatively "poor". When I tell some of these kids that I can't afford a laptop, they give me the look of sadness, pity, or "you're so f-king poor that I'm laughing at you right now."

In contrast, kids in Middlebury College are mostly (well, almost all) from middle to high class families. They most usually get what they want, do what they want to do, and don't see finances as a big obstacle in their life. Woopee. Good for them.

But can I add this: If the economy is going bad, and your family's suffering, say, this much, then how bad would the lower class suffer? Are we poor people just too poor to count as people?

Anyway.

A lot of these idiots annoy me to the point that it makes me want to hate them with a passion. I mean, what the hell - does your wealth make you better than me?

Hmm.. what's a good example?

Okay.

Alright, there's this classmate sitting behind me in the library.

He has his laptop open and he's talking with the others that are seated around his table. I walk over, ask how it's going, and see his laptop showing his class registration table.

One of the four is an art class, so I slide my hand over to his laptop's touch-pad, but he slaps my hand away - "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Dude..." I just stand there.

I come back to him again some minutes later, and he's resting his eyes. I observe that his glasses are on the desk in front of him.

An excellent opportunity.

I pick up his glasses "in curiosity" and he shakes his head in total disagreement, "No, no, no, no... Put it down."

I put it down.

He's still unsatisfied. "On the other side."

Fag.

I leave the rich man alone. Have fun with yourself, poor b-tard.

Now, I'm not confused about "whether I was intruding or he was being a rich a-hole". And even if it was wrong for me - yeah, I admit that I shouldn't have even thought of trying to touch his wonderful laptop - to be invasive of his property, maybe he could've been nicer of letting me know? Or maybe his status and wealth and background automatically justifies his actions?

Ass.

We're humans, too.

PS: Oh, please, after reading, if you feel that I hate all rich kids, then learn to read properly. No joke.