tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18294910517975441562024-02-06T23:11:50.889-06:00Strange Attractors: On Thriving in ChaosAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.comBlogger66125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-91130561106086163262015-07-03T19:38:00.000-05:002015-07-03T19:38:32.135-05:00Getting Outside the Box--a Study on Limits and PotentialWeird things happen when you mix math with words. Weirder still are the outcomes of mixing math and inspiration. But you know what? It can be done. And (shout-out to all the nerds out there) it's <b>beautiful. </b>If you don't believe me, just go read some Alan Lightman. It can be done. <div>
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You ever heard that lame, over-used and under-understood aphorism, "<i>think outside the box</i>"? As if all our thought processes and ideas were contained in some kind of Pandora's box, and the really good ones were found just a few inches removed from our cardboard heaven--we just have to stick our hands (or our heads) outside of our box for three small seconds to see the bright, shiny ideas outside of it? The very idea that our own way of thinking isn't enough to solve problems is kind of an insult to human intelligence (not that I am generally incredulous of human stupidity). </div>
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However, if you peer at it closely enough, you'll find some truth to the statement (you may have to tilt your head and half-blink your eyes). While we don't have to do something new and unheard of to solve problems or have genius ideas, it is possible for us to put limits on ourselves--a combination of ideas, resignation, and/or general apathy that limits how far <i>inside </i>our little box we go to pull out the really good stuff. </div>
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Any high-school graduate (I hope) will remember what a limit is. It's a barrier; an impassable line or point past which a certain function cannot progress. Here's a nice little Google image to help you out (and to save you from Googling it in a new tab, which I know you were <b>all </b>about to do). </div>
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<img height="111" src="http://www.math.rutgers.edu/~greenfie/currentcourses/math151/gifstuff/logistic_tree.gif" width="200" />There are a couple of things you need to notice about this limit (pay attention, class): (1) In the early stages of the graph, the limit is non-existent, or at least non-influential. Notice how (close to the 0), the graph looks like it could keep on going up forever. Also, (2), notice how the line becomes flatter and flatter more quickly once the limit starts exerting its influence. The line doesn't stop all of a sudden and say, "Well, I've reached my limit. Guess I'm done now." Instead, it's a gradual curve, something that slows the function down over time, kind of like a plane landing and slowing down gently instead of all at once. Also, (3), notice that the line <b>never actually hits the limit. </b>It still goes up, always inching closer and closer to the limit (the number 12), but never getting there. It just goes incrementally slowly.</div>
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Compare that graph to your own progression--up represents you reaching more of your potential, and vice versa for down. At the beginning, I would posit that each of us starts with unlimited potential and the ability to soar upward endlessly. But as time goes on, something starts to slow us down, eventually making us reach a wall where we progress at a painstakingly slow rate towards our own limits or mediocrity. These limits can be anything, as intense and sudden as a tragedy or disaster, or as slow as general psychological heuristics--we just get used to something happening a certain way with a certain level of success, and lose the ability to imagine it any other (more profitable or successful) way. We lock ourselves inside our box, and see small improvements as big steps forwards, even though we are in reality trapped by our own standards. </div>
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This may seem like a stretch (especially to the non-mathematically minded #sorrynotsorry), but the manner of framing the issue with this mathematical model is quite understandable when we understand <b>how </b>to break free from those limits. How do we convince ourselves that we can surpass mediocrity? How can we return to our original, unbounded rate of progression, and reach our <i>full </i>potential? For that answer, we turn back to the wonderful world of mathematics. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgReP7x9BqkEXpd1a1K7-DVvcMUnmlQyMIZft08atcrxIN65Xb5yvK-87KjtiDY5_OwwaiWMLFI9DKKLiR9NqPfGaqrx6GKroOThBnngqL8fE5CwxoABUmQmenZXf_2fzsRGO8wkqPF5jdq/s1600/Limits.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgReP7x9BqkEXpd1a1K7-DVvcMUnmlQyMIZft08atcrxIN65Xb5yvK-87KjtiDY5_OwwaiWMLFI9DKKLiR9NqPfGaqrx6GKroOThBnngqL8fE5CwxoABUmQmenZXf_2fzsRGO8wkqPF5jdq/s400/Limits.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Look at this new and improved guy. Again, we're going with the potential thing here. As you an see, he started off pretty slowly, but he really started taking off--that is, until he hit point A. At point A, he got complacent, cozy. His progression petered off until he began to approach his particular limit (the red line). </div>
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And then what? Something happened at point B that changed him--he suddenly left the limit behind; he <b>soared right through it</b>. What did he take right there, and how do I get some? </div>
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The mathematical definition of point B is a <i>point of inflection</i>, when a graph goes from being "concave down" to "concave up" (or vice versa, but we're trying to stay positive here). In that single point, the limit was forgotten. And what's so dang beautiful about it is that while the results happened gradually and over time, the shift from <i>limit </i>to <i>no limit</i> didn't; it happened <b>instantaneously. </b>In a single moment of time--a solitary point--we made the decision to get out of our box. To ditch our limit. And then, we did it. </div>
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So that's the inspirational part of all of this. Mediocrity may not be easy to leave behind--in fact, it's a steep, uphill climb. But that climb--and its success--comes from one single moment. The point of inflection. It could be as simple as a renewed determination to be better and improve. It could be the moment you sit down and <i>plan </i>what you will change to break your limits. It could be just saying "I've wanted to for all this time, and now, I'm <b>really gonna do it</b>." It could even be as simply as just <i>identifying </i>those limits. But it can be done. </div>
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So look for your limits. Figure out what they are. And <b>get out of that box. </b>Here's a clip that, while admittedly stemming from my least favorite genre of movies, will inspire you to do it. </div>
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<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/-sUKoKQlEC4/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/-sUKoKQlEC4?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
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And, just in case you were wondering...here's the secret to <b>doing it</b>. </div>
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<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/XCoDKY18jMg/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/XCoDKY18jMg?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
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There's my mathematical inspiration. Go reach your full potential! #Mathpiration #Itsathing</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-82948385638202439392012-10-30T13:09:00.003-05:002012-10-30T13:09:56.158-05:00The Zombie Apocalypse The world has ended.<br />
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And when I say "the world," I mean "Brigham Young University." (After all, here at BYU, "The world is our campus," so they're not really that different.) We seem to have a small zombie infestation here.<br />
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Now, there's no need to call CDC. We don't need to be quarantined (yet). You see, us crazy freshman are playing a surprisingly intense game of Humans vs. Zombies.<br />
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Yes, I picked this picture just because of the picture I posted in my last article. I'm just so clever, aren't I?<br />
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So, this game is basically just a prolonged game of tag. You start with 3 Original Zombies. They have to turn somebody else into a zombie (by tagging them) within 48 hours, or they starve to death. Humans can shoot zombies with Nerf guns or socks (for those college kids too poor and/or stingy to invest in a Nerf gun), and stun the zombies for some period of time.<br />
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I signed up for this game mostly because it was our hallway's idea to play, so I had to be part of the preparations anyway. But this has escalated into probably the most intense game of my life.<br />
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My roommate is already a zombie. My hallway goes to class only as a pack, and only by taking a circuitous route of backroads and less-traversed pathways. I have had to fight for my life 4 times in 24 hours.<br />
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And now? Someone stole the darts from my Nerf gun.<br />
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I say someone. Really, the only possibility is my undead roommate, since the darts were in my gun before I went to sleep. But he's feigning ignorance. And I suppose it's also possible that I hid them from myself in my sleep (yes, I have been known to do that), but that doesn't make a whole lot of sense.<br />
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There is an upside from holing up in my room instead of bolting for the Canon Center just to get lunch—you get to read this blog post! You have the undead to thank for that.<br />
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WRITING UPDATE:<br />
As far as my NaNo plans go (for those of you who actually READ the last post, and didn't comment on it—shame on you), I have decided to write short stories instead of a novel. I'll still try to turn out the 50,000 words like all of the rest of you crazy writers, but most MFA programs prefer short stories as writing samples, and I don't have a good enough idea to just write a novel. I'll keep you updated, as usual. With the oncoming apocalypse, I can afford to stay in my room Thursday and Friday and write, so maybe I'll have some significant news by then. If I'm still alive.<br />
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Until then.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com0Helaman Hall Dr, Provo, UT 84606, USA40.250735 -111.64796740.0568865 -111.96382399999999 40.4445835 -111.33211tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-11110584236685854872012-10-25T15:51:00.000-05:002012-10-25T15:51:07.281-05:00HELP! (I need somebody)And not just anybody.<br />
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So, the majority of my readers and/or followers (if such people still exist out in this cyber-world) are writers, and being writers, are familiar with the concept of NaNo WriMo. But, for the benefit of my non-writer viewers, and for the purpose of making this blog post seem longer, I will explain.<br />
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November is National Novel Writing Month. You write an entire novel in a month.<br />
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Wow. That was a long explanation.<br />
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So a bunch of people here at BYU are getting together to do this. And when I say "getting together," I mean posting on a communal wall in Facebook. But it sounds fun, and while I write pretty fast, I've never actually participated in NaNo. So I think I'll give it a shot.<br />
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Here's the kicker—I don't really have anything to write about.<br />
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That's why I need you! Yes, you. Leave a comment. Tweet me. Do whatever it is people do on Google+ (aside: is anyone else as completely confused by that site as I am?). Give me an idea of a story. I haven't decided what medium I'll do for the story—I'm not sure I'll actually do a real novel. I might do short stories, or a script. Or a sculpture. Not really. That was just the only other art medium I could think of that started with an "s". Regardless, leave me your ideas.<br />
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But not just any ideas. I don't want you to comment and say, "Write a book about a deranged girl and her vampire lover." (Yes, I just made a Twilight joke. Shoot me.) I want you to leave a comment (or some other form of cyber communication) with no more than the first five sentences. You can leave less, if you want, but I don't want a synopsis or a pitch or anything detailed. I just want a start.<br />
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Now, to be blunt, I will probably disregard ALL of your ideas. In fact, I might laugh at most of them (but I will not publicly mock them—promise. That should count for something.) But I need a jumpstart for my creative side, and it wouldn't hurt to get a little bit of reader participation on this blog, just so I know y'all are still out there. I'll try to keep everyone updated over the course of the month. That way, NaNo might hold me accountable to both writing and blogging. Wouldn't that be something?<br />
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Seriously, has anyone been paying attention to how many times I post about some new strategy to keep myself blogging? I must have done it at least 100 times by now. But who knows? Maybe this one will stick.<br />
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Leave your comments. I'll tell you what I decide next week, and we can get the ball rolling on November 1st.<br />
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In other news, it's snowing at BYU. The day after my birthday. WHAT IS THIS?<br />
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That is all.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-85151650743032087712012-09-27T15:09:00.001-05:002012-09-27T15:09:20.267-05:00Musings on MormonvilleFor the first time in my (rather pathetic and short) career as a blogger, I have a legitimate excuse for not blogging recently. <div>
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I am in college. </div>
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You have no idea how long I've waited to say (or type) that sentence. </div>
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Although honestly, it still hasn't hit me. The classes aren't really hard. At all. In fact, I'm typing this during my Introduction to Film lab, as we Twitter-stalk our TA to find out when his birthday is (it happens to be today—Happy Birthday, Joshua!). I still eat at a cafeteria; the only difference is now I eat there for almost EVERY MEAL. (Yes, I'm already sick of it). For all intents and purposes, I feel sort of like I'm on an extended vacation with midterms and lectures. </div>
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Of course, this is no way lessens my excitement. </div>
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So, at this point you should be wondering: why isn't this kid blogging more? He has all sorts of exciting stories to share. And it's true, I do. So I am going to make a conscientious (if not successful) effort to share these exciting stories via this significantly under-read blog.</div>
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That's right. Be excited. </div>
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Today, however, I'm going to let you down. I have no story to share today, because today I have done three things: go to my Book of Mormon class, take a 2.2 hour nap, and eat lunch. (I guess blogging during my film lab counts as a thing, but three things sounds better than four. Get over it.)</div>
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So I have no story. No writing sample. Nothing really of interest to share with any of you. Essentially, this blog post serves just to distract me from watching all the important parts of Super 8 to learn about linear narratives. You might as well just stop reading now. But I'm gonna keep typing. </div>
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I'm gonna be straight with you, and all of my Mormon followers/readers are not going to understand this at all. I was not thrilled to be coming to BYU. Don't get me wrong, I've been excited about college since the fourth grade. But BYU seemed...weird. In my (highly irrational) mind, BYU seemed like a college full of self-righteous Mormon kids with the same views and the same ideas, gathered together to take Mormon classes from Mormon professors and watch devotionals every Tuesday and all campaign for Mitt Romney. </div>
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But that's not what BYU is at all. </div>
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Sure, we're all Mormon. Sure, I haven't heard a swear word since Mid-August. But that doesn't lessen the ideological diversity that exists here. There's a club campaigning for Barack Obama. We watched a documentary about Satanic coal-miners in film. There's a Gay Pride flag in the windows of a couple dorm rooms on campus. And while each of these things has individually infuriated a large portion of people on campus, I love them. It shows me that I can be simultaneously in a community that shares my standards and not sacrifice individuality. </div>
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So keep that in mind. Just because a (HUGE) group of people share one core trait doesn't mean they're all the same, or even compatible with each other. Every person is a bundle of insanely complicated feelings, thoughts, and perception. Even Mormons can hang Gay Pride flags in their dorm rooms. </div>
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And that is why I love college. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com0Heritage Hall Dr, Provo, UT 84604, USA40.250735 -111.64796740.2264895 -111.687449 40.2749805 -111.60848499999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-50530311046089506472012-08-25T13:21:00.001-05:002012-08-25T17:53:58.970-05:00WRITING SAMPLE! Whereas the last writing sample that appeared on this blog was posted at its conception (and was downright awful), and—<br />
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Whereas the Texas State PTA Reflections contest is now over, so I don't have to worry about getting in trouble—</div>
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Therefore, I have decided to post my short story that one an Award of Excellence (like 2nd-4th place) at the State Level for Writing! (Yeah, it's also a little bit to show off—humor me). </div>
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So, without further ado, here is my short story, "One," inspired by the theme, "Diversity Means...." Note that it is short because it is exactly ONE word under the limit imposed by the PTA. Enjoy.<br />
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<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The door at the bottom of Stairwell Three has a lock. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I reach for the almost antique sensor pad. How have they not noticed this one? Locks are not needed. Why would anyone keep a secret from themselves? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The palm of my hand touches the cool metal. It doesn’t move. Doesn’t respond. But the words jar up the bones in my arm, up my elbow to my shoulder to my brain. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Samesamesamesamesame. Badbadbadbad. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I should report this. The Maker will want to know. A lock where no lock has the right to be. We have no secrets in the Facility. The place where we create Oneness. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But the building is not One. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I file the report quickly, lighting the inside of my eyelids with red streaks of discomfort. Disunity. The report is received at once. I should go. My job is done. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But my eyes drift back to the door. The handle is retracted into the steel frame, a handle that will not relinquish its secrets without a fight. The sleek metal door is marred only by the small scanner, the small square plate with a single word etched across the top in small, perfect lettering. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Diversity. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">#</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Do you have a dictionary?” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Cassidy looks up from the floor, startled by the question. “A dictionary?”</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I sit down next to her, moving a stack of discs to do so. “I need to look up a word.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She blinks once. Twice. “Something wrong with your eyelids, dufus?” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The smile at my nickname cannot be held back. I lean forward, brush back her black hair with one hand to whisper in her ear. “It’s not in the database.” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There is no need for caution. It doesn’t matter who hears—we’re all the same. Nothing can change that. We are all friends. All allies. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So I can tell, when Cas responds in an equally secretive whisper, that she’s mocking me. “Then it won’t be in the dictionary either, idiot. That’s where they build the database from.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I just need to check. Maybe they left it out.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Her grey eyes soften. “Dylan. They didn’t leave it out. It’s probably not even a real word.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I shake my head. That’s not it. No one would carve a fake word onto the only locked door in the Facility. But I drop it. Rifle through one stack of the shiny golden discs. “Any progress?” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The small girl swipes the top one from my stack. “I think I finally cracked the case of John 53428. He had a favorite color.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Really?” My eyebrows shoot upwards, disappearing into my black hair. “What was it?” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She thought for a moment, closed her eyes. “Almost a teal. But a little lighter. Do they have a name for that?” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I make a grab for the disc. “Let me see.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Cassidy holds it up to her chest. “No. Get your own.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I want to see his color.” I grab her arm, lean close. “Please?” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Cassidy giggles. “Since you asked nicely.” Then she leans forward to kiss me. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Behind closed eyes, the flash of red astonishes me. “John 14683. Report to Maker.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Cas breaks from me, looking ashamed. It is rare for a message to be private, but it’s obvious that that one was. And that she overheard it. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I touch her wrist as she stands. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I start to walk out of the grey room. “Dylan?” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Turning, I can’t help smiling at her bright eyes. Her soft face. “What was the word?” she asks. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It takes a moment for me to remember. “Diversity,” I tell her at last. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-align: center; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">#</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We were not supposed to have names. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Names were deemed useless after the Unism. After the Declaration of Oneness. At the same time that hair became black and eyes became grey, names became obsolete. Everyone was John and Jane. All we had to identify ourselves was a number. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But when you work in the Facility, you learn things. How to Unify minds. How to make them One. And what makes them so not One. Things change. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I met Jane 54092, she was just another Jane. The only difference between us was that she was a girl and I was not, the one distinction the Maker made. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I don’t remember when it was that she started becoming so much more. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The Maker’s door is just like the rest of ours—plain, grey steel with a riveted outline. There is no lock on his door.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The man’s grey eyes light when I walk in. “John.” The name is said with pride, as if it is inherently mine. “So nice to see you. Please, sit.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The room smells sweet. Sickly. I sit in the plush chair, wriggling to get comfortable. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Lines crinkle around the Maker’s eyes as he sits opposite the desk, his face becoming serious. “I got your message, John. But I’d just like to review the details.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Do you know what diversity is?” I ask the question before I should. It is a break from the expected—we are polite. Never rude. Never interrupting. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I’m sorry,” I say immediately. “I was distracted. I don’t know—”</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The Maker waves away my apology, not entirely immune to interruptions himself. “Diversity?” he asks. The word sounds foreign on his tongue.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“What does it mean?” I can’t help the softness that laces my voice. The eagerness. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He sits back. “There used to be so many differences. Eye color. Hair color. Short people. Tall people. Different skin colors. Different colors, can you imagine?” The Maker sighs, shaking his head. “But now, when all we know is Oneness, there is no need for distinction. That’s what diversity was, John—distinction.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Just—being different?” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The Maker shakes his head, still talking. “Once, people believed there was another Maker. A far better Maker than I, John. Far better. This Maker created the differences in people, wanted people to love and cherish them. That’s what diversity used to be. Freedom.” He closed his eyes, his wrinkles growing more pronounced. “So long ago.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There is silence for a moment. Then, the Maker opens his eyes again, looks at me. “We sent a squad down to the bottom of Stairwell Three. They did not find a door.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“They—” I am stunned into silence. “They didn’t find anything?” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Just a brick wall. No door.” The Maker leans forward, props his head on his hands so that he can inspect me. “And yet, when I got your message, I could see the door. Clear as day. How is this possible?” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I shake my head. “I don’t know, sir.” I cringe. Maybe he didn’t notice the title. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But his eyes narrow, and his jaws tighten. He did notice. “I have a theory,” he says, his voice slow and purposeful. I don’t say anything. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After a pause, the Maker continues. “I think, John, that you might not be quite One.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">You’re right, I want to say. My name isn’t John. It’s Dylan. And I am not One.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But I don’t say this. Instead, I hear my own voice. “What do you mean?” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You seem to be almost…independent.” His voice hovers over the word, covers it with slime and disgust. An insult. “But that’s to be expected. It takes a special person to see a special door.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The room suddenly seems very small. I am going to have to get out of here. “I don’t know what you mean, Maker.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The man sits back at this, the correct way to speak. The One way. “Quite right. Off you go, then.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">His grey eyes don’t leave the back of my skull until the door slides shut behind me. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-align: center; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">#</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was Cassidy who picked the names. Her voice was lighter back then, light and full of excitement. “I’ll be Cassidy,” she said, cheery. “And you’ll be Dylan. I like that name. It’s cute.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I raise my eyebrows, and she giggles. “Cute name for a cute guy.” She reaches for my hand, the way she used to before her mother disappeared. “We’ll be the only two people in the world with real names. Isn’t that great?” Her bright eyes stared at mine, filling them with light and wonder. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now, as I storm into her room, she looks at me with that same bright intensity. This time, though, she knows that something is wrong. “What happened?” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“He knows.” I grab a stack of the discs, move them to the closet. “He knows about me. The door must have been a set up.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Cas starts to move the discs with me. I keep talking. “I don’t know if he knows about you, too, but you have to hide. I’ll keep the discs safe, but you’ve gotta—“. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Dylan.” She says my name calmly. Coolly. “I’m not going anywhere.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I stop. “You have to. You have to get out.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“No. I’m staying with you. The only way out is through that door.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I try to shake my head, but lose grip of my stack of discs. They scatter around the room. “The door was a fake. The discs are important, you’ve gotta keep working.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“No, Dylan. The door’s the way out. We can leave. We’re different enough to do it. We’re diverse enough to open the door.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My hand pauses on one golden disc. There is a short, endless silence. “How did you know what it meant?” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“What?” Cassidy sounds distracted, but I hear the drop in her voice. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Diversity. How did you know what it meant? How do you know what’s through that door?” My voice is rising at pitch, and I realize I am standing over her. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Because I put it there!” she yells. “I put it there, and that’s why they took my mother. I found a way out of here. I found a way where we could be ourselves.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Then why didn’t we go? Why didn’t you tell me? I could have come with you.” I try not to let the pain infiltrate my voice. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Cassidy doesn’t do the same. Grief fills the gaps between her words. “In a world full of options, would you really have picked me? Diversity means freedom, Dylan. What if you didn’t choose me?” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Silence.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I step forward. Grab her hand, gently. “I will always want you. I don’t care how many choices I have.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When Cassidy looks at me again, there are tears in her eyes. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Now come on. We have a door to find.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-align: center; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">#</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The door waits for us at the bottom of the Stairwell. Just like Cas said it would. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“It would only show itself to someone with a real name. That’s why I gave us both names. So that we could leave someday.” Cassidy’s hand is shaking in mine. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“So what do we do?” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">She grins. “What do you think?” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Together, we place our palms on the small square scanner. Finally, a green light. New words jar up my arm, through our joined hands into my mind. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Goodgoodgood. Openopenopen.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The doorknob slides out of the frame, ready to turn. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“What’s out there?” I ask. My voice shakes as much as her hand. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The smile stays on her face. “Let’s find out.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The smile is still on her face when Cassidy shudders and collapses into me. A knife sticks out of her back. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Freedom’s what’s out there, Dylan.” The Maker stands at the top of the staircase, his grey eyes livid. “But freedom comes at a price.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Her hand has stopped shaking. Her eyes are glassy. Her face locked in a perpetual smile. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You killed her.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“That’s what happens to people who interfere. That’s what happened to her mother. Now her. Do you want to be next, Dylan?” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I meet his eyes, see myself reflected in his grey pools. See my own eyes, blue with sadness and rage and grief. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Blue. Almost a teal, but a little lighter.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“No,” I tell him. “I don’t want to be next. I want to be free.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">With Cassidy in my arms, I turn and run through the open door. Into freedom.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Into Diversity. </span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-56005919358521257372012-07-04T15:39:00.002-05:002012-07-04T15:39:17.132-05:00It's a BOSON!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq7Y1Tl_Qqcyc6XZZ8Ui6PS5aoKpwQb1PteMbx5tbp5mXovxCc9lXOc07ZmTqMQ8rJTzhSDswdLofzJUwDrxKptLvCDUl0QRm13qNl2n4cu9GQJ0Y7zENnMKLQqDqvT4Y7s7d_5Qz90Pma/s1600/hb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq7Y1Tl_Qqcyc6XZZ8Ui6PS5aoKpwQb1PteMbx5tbp5mXovxCc9lXOc07ZmTqMQ8rJTzhSDswdLofzJUwDrxKptLvCDUl0QRm13qNl2n4cu9GQJ0Y7zENnMKLQqDqvT4Y7s7d_5Qz90Pma/s1600/hb.jpg" /></a></div>
Behold--the God Particle.<br />
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Warning--NERD ALERT: This post contains unusually high levels of one or more of the following: Geek, Nerd, Dork, or Math. Readers Advised by the Surgeon General that reading this post may induce over-excitement about the microscopically tiny or macroscopically huge world of quantum physics, or may cause a lasting love of math. Continue at your own risk.<br />
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So they found it. The particle they've been searching for for years--the Higgs boson. But what is this particle--what does it do, what did they find, what does it imply for the future of quantum physics, and why on Earth would a bunch of physicists (who are usually not very religious) nickname an elementary particle the "God Particle"? All that and more--right here.<br />
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First, we must understand some basic principles of particle physics theory--without trying to bore you, I promise. At the quantum level, all of the quarks and elementary particles that collectively make up both matter and forces (yes, particles make forces like gravity--getting to that) can be explained through something referred to as the Standard Model of quantum physics. This theory, known as the "Theory of <i>Almost </i>Everything" because it still doesn't explain gravity or dark forces, has predicted several particles that MUST exist in order for the interactions that physicists have seen occurring for years to take place. One of these is the Higgs boson--a boson that gives rise to the Higgs mechanism, the mechanics by which all particles receive mass.<br />
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Now, this is different than gravity. Interaction with the Higgs field--through the Higgs boson--gives any elementary particle--and thus all matter--its mass. Gravity, on the other hand, is an interaction between masses due to the curvature of spacetime. The boson in question is merely a byproduct of the interaction known as the Higgs mechanism--it doesn't really DO anything, but its existence provides even further confirmation for the theory that has come to define quantum physics in the past few decades--the Standard Model, or the GUT theory.<br />
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So, what does this imply for the future of physics? I mentioned earlier that the fatal flaw of the Standard Model was its lack of inclusion of the ideas of gravity. What particle, or field, or mechanism, allows for the curvature of spacetime and gravitational interaction? For years, scientists have been puzzling over the answer to this question--trying to unify the GUT and general gravitation in theories like Supersymmetry. Now that the Standard Model has been generally verified, the search for the Theory of Everything will continue--but at least now we now in what direction to proceed.<br />
<br />
Hence, the name--the "God Particle". No, it doesn't explain the creation. No, it doesn't prove the existence (or absence) of a God or Creator. No, it doesn't tackle metaphysics. No, it really doesn't do anything (besides prove the most modern theory in the world of the natural sciences).<br />
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What does it mean for the general non-physicist layman? Pretty much nothing. But remember, some of the most notorious advancements in technology came from (and will continue to come from) particle physics research. The World Wide Web was developed at CERN, after all. So keep your fingers crossed for some new toy.<br />
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And keep your fingers crossed for that Theory of Everything.<br />
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If you're curious, Wikipedia has <i>excellent </i>articles about math/physics related fields (the one on the Higgs Mechanism is especially enlightening). Yes, despite their reputation, Wikipedia is GREAT for everything except the popular stuff like Chuck Norris and Mormons.<br />
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That is all. See you soon.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com0Meridian, ID 83642, USA43.6121087 -116.391513143.5661227 -116.4704771 43.6580947 -116.3125491tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-29461276697280195802012-06-29T17:18:00.000-05:002012-06-29T17:18:05.249-05:00"The Night Circus"<br />
<div>
Hello, BlogWorld! I'm sorry I've been gone for such an infernally long time, but--as you all are <i>very </i>aware--I'm bad at posting. I promise to start posting more often (it's summer now, and I'm in a new town with nothing to do, so I have no excuse). I also promise to post more than book reviews, but I've read so many good ones recently, so that might be tough. Today's piece of modern literature (and yes, I said modern literature. There is such a thing, kids. Good books don't have to be old and boring): "The Night Circus" by Erin Morgenstern. </div>
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Here is the description from Amazon.com:</div>
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<a href="http://bks3.books.google.com/books?id=-9F9WaXUhRYC&printsec=frontcover&img=1&zoom=1&edge=curl&imgtk=AFLRE70jYQ2A361lbPpMSmO5n1FphC3kGV1Re-vCzSec8zfbR9Gmw4SQSY3x5Tol8vV3rfJplonAWDInxadbatTrl37nUbaKSm9DemoMOz_tFf64W0F72ygI7ZZHY-fmzqjwwlpN8BD5" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Front Cover" border="0" height="320" src="http://bks3.books.google.com/books?id=-9F9WaXUhRYC&printsec=frontcover&img=1&zoom=1&edge=curl&imgtk=AFLRE70jYQ2A361lbPpMSmO5n1FphC3kGV1Re-vCzSec8zfbR9Gmw4SQSY3x5Tol8vV3rfJplonAWDInxadbatTrl37nUbaKSm9DemoMOz_tFf64W0F72ygI7ZZHY-fmzqjwwlpN8BD5" style="background-color: white;" width="211" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not. Within the black-and-white striped canvas tents is an utterly unique experience full of breathtaking amazements. It is called <i>Le Cirque des Rêves</i> , and it is only open at night.<br /> But behind the scenes, a fierce competition is underway—a duel between two young magicians, Celia and Marco, who have been trained since childhood expressly for this purpose by their mercurial instructors. Unbeknownst to them, this is a game in which only one can be left standing, and the circus is but the stage for a remarkable battle of imagination and will. Despite themselves, however, Celia and Marco tumble headfirst into love—a deep, magical love that makes the lights flicker and the room grow warm whenever they so much as brush hands.<br /> <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">True love or not, the game must play out, and the fates of everyone involved, from the cast of extraordinary circus performers to the patrons, hang in the balance, suspended as precariously as the daring acrobats overhead.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"> </span><br style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Written in rich, seductive prose, this spell-casting novel is a feast for the senses and the heart.</span></span></span><br />
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Reading this, you might think that this is just another fantasy romance, equivalent to garbage such as "Twilight" (sorry, Stephanie Meyer.) No, sir. This book is filled with amazing imagination, vivid characters, and a plot so intricate and woven together, I'm surprised nobody in the film industry has claimed it (but as soon as I graduate, Morgenstern, I'm coming for you.) </div>
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But what good would literature be without a message? After all, that is the point of fiction, isn't it--a story set in even the most fantastic of worlds has no value if it cannot be applied to reality. And the message of "The Night Circus": Nothing is ever black-and-white. This book explores morality and ethics in all its many forms--the corrupting force of power, the danger of pride, the cruelties of enslavement--while maintaining a great story in a wonderful world (and yes, even a decent romance). This book will be impossible to put down (I stole my mother's Kindle to read it), and will leave you thinking long after you do. </div>
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So give up "Shades of Grey." This is the <i>real </i>expert on grey-scale moral quandaries. And there's no porn involved. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com0Meridian, ID, USA43.6121087 -116.391513143.5661227 -116.4704771 43.6580947 -116.3125491tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-18501891003195212782012-02-09T19:09:00.001-06:002012-02-09T19:09:20.469-06:00Going PostalAndrea Pearson, I am so sorry. <br />
<br />
I was supposed to review this book like three weeks ago, and completely forgot about it until I got an e-mail from Tristi. So not only is this a) late and b) off-schedule, but also c) written-in-a-hurry and therefore d) not-very-good. But it's here. So...sorry. Again. <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkdh_jik5eC6WRU2DgEMBRmuXfzULH5AdDDqI8QcIl9nx1IVLYEhOQoIMnndv5DZWvCTU30kCJAMA4bdLVQCd7IfJLaFlXcItTKzGz6X3Qi1RnaA7-hxurnd00saiVhL8l7O5dOSSxCTNr/s1600/EmberGodsLarge-662x1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkdh_jik5eC6WRU2DgEMBRmuXfzULH5AdDDqI8QcIl9nx1IVLYEhOQoIMnndv5DZWvCTU30kCJAMA4bdLVQCd7IfJLaFlXcItTKzGz6X3Qi1RnaA7-hxurnd00saiVhL8l7O5dOSSxCTNr/s320/EmberGodsLarge-662x1024.jpg" width="206" /></a></div>
So the book I read is called <em>The Ember Gods, </em>the second review in the Key of Kilenya series (for the previous review, as well as purchase information, click <a href="http://chaotic-gibberish.blogspot.com/#!/2011/09/key-of-kilenya.html">here</a>). Here's the blurb: <br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>Jacob Clark has just returned from the world of Eklaron, where he frustrated the
evil plans of the Lorkon and returned the magical Key of Kilenya to its rightful
owners. His quest is far from over, though—Aloren is trapped in Maivoryl City by
the Ember Gods, and Jacob can't return to save her until he receives the potion
that will protect his team from the corrosive influence of the
Lorkon.<br /><br />Balancing between this new world and his own proves tricky. Not
only has he started his first year of high school, but his magical abilities are
bringing him too much attention. He feels pulled by both sides, hoping he'll
figure out his special powers to save Aloren in time.</em></span><br />
<br />
Once again, I felt that Andrea Pearson's Middle Grade novel is just that much above and beyond the norm. The characters feel more real, the plot seems more substantial, and the dialogue has more flavor. Overall, <em>The Ember Gods </em>is a good read, well worth your time. <br />
<br />
First, the characters. The arcs that started in <em>The Key of Kilenya </em>continue to develop throughout the second book in the series, including some revelations (don't worry--no spoilers) about Jacob's past that I found creative and exciting. My one sort-of complaint in this category--one that isn't really Andrea's fault, just a plot thing--is that I didn't get to hear enough of Aloren. I really liked her character and her voice in the first book, but with the kind of huge plot problem of her being locked away for the majority of the second, I as the reader didn't get to hear much from her. Overall though, great job. <br />
<br />
Second, the plot. Again, Andrea strikes a clever balance between the magical and the mediocre, with Jacob forced to divide his time between his world and Eklaron. At times the plot leaps boggled my brain (for no more than a few paragraphs), but when looking at the book from a Middle Grade perspective (something I think we reviewers do far too little), the plot is absolutely perfect. Andrea is golden in the area of appealing to her audience and giving those little tykes something with which to keep themselves occupied. <br />
<br />
Finally, the dialogue. In <em>Kilenya, </em>I was relatively impressed with the dialogue, mostly with how it progressed the plot and the character arcs. This time, I knew enough about the story to focus on the dialogue for the sake of dialogue, and again Andrea succeeded. The dialogue is real, exactly tuned to the language of Middle Grade, and overall impressive. Again, I wish I could have heard more from Aloren, but that's the fault of the Lorkon, not Andrea. Kudos. <br />
<br />
So overall, I definitely reccommend <em>The Ember Gods </em>for any adventerous Middle Grade-rs, as well as for some slightly more (or less, depending on your point of view) adventerous adults. And I'm sorry for being late. <br />
<br />
Rating: 4 out of 5Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-65820737617923007812012-01-26T15:44:00.001-06:002012-01-26T15:44:22.938-06:00I'm Moving to the Moon<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEDUimzHVGkeAz0fhKYTgrF9ZpO3BJSeXGeloL3WV2CoFkGI0xOx3P_otCaYzXT1xXDT0GpvguvmhOevhgmnV_GzX6pL8vQaa-P9BdE1BpZ8N6fPR-eCbRGIV9JqAT7iPxT0ryC35_Uujc/s1600/gaz_giant_moon_colony_48cbf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEDUimzHVGkeAz0fhKYTgrF9ZpO3BJSeXGeloL3WV2CoFkGI0xOx3P_otCaYzXT1xXDT0GpvguvmhOevhgmnV_GzX6pL8vQaa-P9BdE1BpZ8N6fPR-eCbRGIV9JqAT7iPxT0ryC35_Uujc/s320/gaz_giant_moon_colony_48cbf.jpg" width="320" /></a>So Newt Gingrich today decided that he is going to put the first human colony on the moon by 2020, the "end of [his] second term." While that is a bit ambitious both technologically and politically (who assumes they'll have two terms--especially when like 6 Republican Congressman like him), I'm with Newt. <br />
<br />
And I'm coming with you. <br />
<br />
I am currently sitting in my lonely hotel room in Austin waiting for my (as of yet, unnamed) roommate to arrive. Why am I in Austin? The VFW Voice of Democracy Mid-Winter Roundup. <br />
<br />
That's right. I am a top 10 finalist in the State of Texas VOD Scholarship Contest. I'll be letting you know (those of you that are interested, that is) how the specific ranking turns out after the banquet Saturday (probably Sunday, unless you check my Twitter @alexstoryman), but for now, I just get to be excited that I made it this far. <br />
<br />
Other than that, I really have nothing to say. I got to ride an airplane today. Well, really two. Have I made it clear yet how much I love airports? <br />
<br />
Well, I do. <br />
<br />
And maybe one day, I'll be in an airport (or something similar) en route to the moon. <br />
<br />
Until then, I'll be chillin' in Austin.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-72776886808146713892012-01-21T10:16:00.001-06:002012-01-21T10:16:22.757-06:00The Fault in Our Stars<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivtXd4rOIcv_8aQumT8oQyUwGhUIcgKe-Hm4iHRT82LVVyTKoqzJoz2LrEecKfv6pqLucm1ahcM_B0_LIjPJQCA4mU3F1C1P-4zkUAuFo5bipAQgg4tSmlt4wWSK5B5fvpK6mYQXw32fHG/s1600/fault_stars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivtXd4rOIcv_8aQumT8oQyUwGhUIcgKe-Hm4iHRT82LVVyTKoqzJoz2LrEecKfv6pqLucm1ahcM_B0_LIjPJQCA4mU3F1C1P-4zkUAuFo5bipAQgg4tSmlt4wWSK5B5fvpK6mYQXw32fHG/s320/fault_stars.jpg" width="218" /></a>So I have a problem. Well, to put it more accurately, you have a problem. You see, I have so little time on my hands that it restricts the number of books I am able to read. This means that I only read the very best books available, and you have to sift through reviews that really only consist of "Wow, this book is amazing."<br />
<br />
Wow. This book is amazing. <br />
<br />
John Green never ceases to amaze me. I am not--strictly speaking--always a great fan of YA contemporary because of the <em>teenage boy/girl </em>writing that ususally accompanies the storyline, in which an author insists on writing dirty-mouthed, horny teenagers who want nothing more than to cuss/hate their life/get laid. When the author <em>doesn't </em>do this, though, the powerful storyline comes through to grab your heartstrings and hold them hostage. <br />
<br />
And John Green's storyline in <em>The Fault in Our Stars </em>in the most powerful yet. <br />
<br />
Here's the jacket blurb: <br />
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<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">Despite the tumor-shrinking medical miracle that has bought her a few years,
Hazel has never been anything but terminal, her final chapter inscribed upon
diagnosis. But when a gorgeous plot twist named Augustus Waters suddenly appears
at Cancer Kid Support Group, Hazel’s story is about to be completely
rewritten.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">
</span></em><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">Insightful, bold, irreverent, and raw, The Fault in Our Stars is
award-winning author John Green’s most ambitious and heartbreaking work yet,
brilliantly exploring the funny, thrilling, and tragic business of being alive
and in love.</span></em></div>
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I really don't have words to describe how much this book moved me. I went from laughing to crying to cracking up to bawling in a span of about thirty seconds. It is touching, deep, moving, philosophical, humorous, and beautiful all at once, as it addressess some of the most important questions ever to lodge themselves in human consciousness: will I be remembered? Is love really forever? And, perhaps most importantly--why are eggs only a breakfast food? <br />
<br />
Fantastic book, and a great read. I will definitely try to find some more <em>good </em>contemporary. <br />
Rating: 6 stars / 5 stars (an extra one for the Shakespearean title)<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-69104520849945491692012-01-14T16:25:00.001-06:002012-01-14T16:25:39.810-06:00Posting of the BlogWow. I wish I had something to say. Sometimes, I think the posession of this blog--and the necessary maintenance that accompaines it--makes me much less of a vocal person than I normally am. Does that make sense to anyone else? <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgff_qk4EBhc1Fz7CrPsgLXj4eoLIj8_KlmFmMT6CbPbIhw8SZXE7YYFZv1MzunrPHY6h0FodK_NWKc3StOwD5p30PkMWBymwaDc10BQPdwiRNWA-4hFB1_xFpgjuM6R_GW6wRpiTLJBABo/s1600/GarfieldLazy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgff_qk4EBhc1Fz7CrPsgLXj4eoLIj8_KlmFmMT6CbPbIhw8SZXE7YYFZv1MzunrPHY6h0FodK_NWKc3StOwD5p30PkMWBymwaDc10BQPdwiRNWA-4hFB1_xFpgjuM6R_GW6wRpiTLJBABo/s320/GarfieldLazy.jpg" width="320" /></a>I could be putting another book review on here, as those are 1) the most successful things I post; 2) the easiest things I post; and 3) the most applicable things I post. Also, I've read a lot of books lately. But I'm not going to. Why? <br />
<br />
Because I am lazy. <br />
<br />
So what, then, am I going to be posting about? In all honesty, nothing. I'll give you an update on my quest for publication: so far, I have three rejections, one partial request, one full request (YAY!), and one who has neglected to this point to respond. So far, so good. <br />
<br />
Other than that, I really have nothing to talk about. I have a new book idea (or six). Not that I can call them ideas--they're far less substantial than an idea is generally accepted to be. But here's the first sentence of my next project, <em>Solipsa: </em><br />
<br />
"The world ended the way it was always going to end--on Facebook." <br />
<br />
And that...is all I've got. We'll see where it goes from there. Right now, actually. Because, since my options are 1) continue reading <em>1984; </em>2) read Chapter 9 of McConnell's Economics Textbook; or 3) stare at the computer and arbitrarily hit keys, I think I'll pick the last one. Wish me luck. <br />
<br />
And maybe, you'll get a book review soon.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-21864806758043083802011-12-28T13:37:00.004-06:002011-12-28T13:37:55.829-06:00That Awkward Moment...when you finish a book and wander around your house in a daze for hours because your life has lost all meaning. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitQhhC48X8DQIl-3fIcQ3nC8HaURfDpHsQHZnuca4Al9FgksLFlUMBerG_ADqt-32z3SNS1YnWliZX2HagsAA1ngxO3yZDLpSakc1hEeP5rGwfiHHLPOSCA9c8FP-AUiBGFkUKQqUkOIrp/s1600/amberspyglass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitQhhC48X8DQIl-3fIcQ3nC8HaURfDpHsQHZnuca4Al9FgksLFlUMBerG_ADqt-32z3SNS1YnWliZX2HagsAA1ngxO3yZDLpSakc1hEeP5rGwfiHHLPOSCA9c8FP-AUiBGFkUKQqUkOIrp/s1600/amberspyglass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitQhhC48X8DQIl-3fIcQ3nC8HaURfDpHsQHZnuca4Al9FgksLFlUMBerG_ADqt-32z3SNS1YnWliZX2HagsAA1ngxO3yZDLpSakc1hEeP5rGwfiHHLPOSCA9c8FP-AUiBGFkUKQqUkOIrp/s1600/amberspyglass.jpg" /></a>It's been a long time since I've read a book that was that good. But wow. Philip Pullman, you did it to me again. <br />
<br />
Really, this is a review for all of the <em>His Dark Materials </em>trilogy, even though the picture only shows <em>The Amber Spyglass. </em>Here's the synopsis Amazon gives for the whole series:<br />
<b><br /><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Golden Compass</span></em></b><em><span style="font-size: x-small;"> forms the first part
of a story in three volumes. The first volume is set in a world like ours, but
different in many ways. The second volume is set partly in the world we know.
The third moves between many worlds.<br /><br />In The Golden Compass,
readers meet 11-year-old Lyra Belacqua, a precocious orphan growing up within
the precincts of Jordan College in Oxford, England. It quickly becomes clear
that Lyra's Oxford is not precisely like our own—nor is her world. In Lyra's
world, everyone has a personal dæmon, a lifelong animal familiar. This is a
world in which science, theology and magic are closely
intertwined.<br /><br /><b>The Subtle Knife</b> is the second part of the
trilogy that began with The Golden Compass. That first book was set in a
world like ours, but different. This book begins in our own world.<br /><br />In
The Subtle Knife, readers are introduced to Will Parry, a young boy
living in modern-day Oxford, England. Will is only twelve years old, but he
bears the responsibilities of an adult. Following the disappearance of his
explorer-father, John Parry, during an expedition in the North, Will became
parent, provider and protector to his frail, confused mother. And it's in
protecting her that he becomes a murderer, too: he accidentally kills a man who
breaks into their home to steal valuable letters written by John Parry. After
placing his mother in the care of a kind friend, Will takes those letters and
sets off to discover the truth about his father.</span></em><b><br /><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Amber
Spyglass</span></em></b><em><span style="font-size: x-small;"> brings the intrigue of The Golden Compass and The
Subtle Knife to a heartstopping close, marking the third and final volume as
the most powerful of the trilogy. Along with the return of Lyra, Will, Mrs.
Coulter, Lord Asriel, Dr. Mary Malone, and Iorek Byrnison the armored bear,
The Amber Spyglass introduces a host of new characters: the Mulefa,
mysterious wheeled creatures with the power to see Dust; Gallivespian Lord Roke,
a hand-high spy-master to Lord Asriel; and Metatron, a fierce and mighty angel.
And this final volume brings startling revelations, too: the painful price Lyra
must pay to walk through the land of the dead, the haunting power of Dr.
Malone's amber spyglass, and the names of who will live—and who will die—for
love. And all the while, war rages with the Kingdom of Heaven, a brutal battle
that—in its shocking outcome—will reveal the secret of Dust.</span></em><br />
<br />
I read these books first when I was seven or eight despite the warnings of grown-ups who thought the books were way too anti-religious. I got all the way to the end of <em>The Amber Spyglass, </em>past all the atheist themes and anti-Christian stuff and was just find...until (spoiler alert) Will and Lyra had to part. I was shocked and devastated, and threw down the books promising never to read them again. <br />
<br />
And now, when I thought I was a little wiser and stronger, I read them again. And I cried all over again like I did when I was seven, but WOW! The ending is phenomenal. <br />
<br />
For those of you who are Mormon, or who are devoutly religious, these books are definitely a challenge to read. <em>The Golden Compass </em>and <em>The Subtle Knife </em>aren't too bad--really, they just seem anti-Catholic--but <em>The Amber Spyglass </em>is a little more candid. But if you can not get offended and see Pullman's point (or even just get past it enough to enjoy the storyline) you will be blown away. And I can guarantee that you will cry at the ending. I think I will be depressed for the rest of this day, and probably for the rest of the week. <br />
<br />
But hey. That's when you know the book is good, right?<br />
<br />
Rating: 5/5. (I promise--I won't give every book I review a 5. We just got lucky.)<br />
<br />
Don't forget! If you see this post, please give me a book to read!!! Please. <br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-68349698311928130032011-12-23T12:55:00.002-06:002011-12-23T13:04:04.873-06:00Review--"Out of My Mind."<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ZGqyCRh2pvgyNJzN5AdXZalyB4LX8MTMhb3CofUcI-ZoTO2r-1XZ0x2YiQC99rFgRTSFv7gHltpMF-3BLA03Yxd0L42KhskNp6J1gZwYH2xrd2KaC13WpjcDXB5ZDlbjufMa6X0TBXHc/s1600/out+of+my+mind.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ZGqyCRh2pvgyNJzN5AdXZalyB4LX8MTMhb3CofUcI-ZoTO2r-1XZ0x2YiQC99rFgRTSFv7gHltpMF-3BLA03Yxd0L42KhskNp6J1gZwYH2xrd2KaC13WpjcDXB5ZDlbjufMa6X0TBXHc/s1600/out+of+my+mind.jpg" /></a></div>
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As promised, here is the first book in my review series--Sharon Draper's <em>Out of My Mind.</em> Here's the jacket info:</div>
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<em>Eleven-year-old Melody has a photographic memory. Her head is like a video
camera that is always recording. Always. And there's no delete button. She's the
smartest kid in her whole school—but no one knows it. Most people—her teachers
and doctors included—don't think she's capable of learning, and up until
recently her school days consisted of listening to the same preschool-level
alphabet lessons again and again and again. If only she could speak up, if only
she could tell people what she thinks and knows . . . but she can't, because
Melody can't talk. She can't walk. She can't write. Being stuck inside her head
is making Melody go out of her mind—that is, until she discovers something that
will allow her to speak for the first time ever. At last Melody has a voice . .
. but not everyone around her is ready to hear it.</em></div>
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All I can say is...wow. </div>
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This book blew me away. The greatest thing about YA contemporary are the characters and how <em>real</em> they are, and Melody is no exception. She amazes me, and makes me feel just the slightest bit guilty for all the things I have in my life that she doesn't. Even pressed between pices of paper and little black marks, this girl impresses me with her dedication and endurance. I could never have done what she did. </div>
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Draper fantastically weaves a story together built of little more than the thoughts of a crippled girl, and makes you laugh and cry simultaneously with her voice. An amazing book from an amazing author. </div>
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Rating: 5 stars (out of 5)</div>
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If you read this post, give me a book to review. Or several. I'm almost out of good books to read. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-6780528365608686802011-12-19T10:36:00.001-06:002011-12-23T13:05:49.115-06:00Arcs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX6b-d3zJBVQi8XDfLV-FqmxWi34oSjc-p5dU_j-l2THZwWndeQGvokJ4SwQZXINXaUGna4lQ_M9CKlbPj3VO-h0ecL0TxdprMiOGXROztivYn1R8jAUw38YmCizOFNpaxnrtLvc2IX4s0/s1600/lost.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX6b-d3zJBVQi8XDfLV-FqmxWi34oSjc-p5dU_j-l2THZwWndeQGvokJ4SwQZXINXaUGna4lQ_M9CKlbPj3VO-h0ecL0TxdprMiOGXROztivYn1R8jAUw38YmCizOFNpaxnrtLvc2IX4s0/s320/lost.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Specifically, those of characters, plots, this blog, and the rest of my school year.<br />
<br />
First, a bit of good news. Actually, a lot of good news. My voice essay for the Voice of Democracy Scholarship Competition is a State Finalist! That means, in January, I will be in Austin for fancy banquets and tours (not, I think, though, to meet Rick Perry.) Whoo!<br />
<br />
Still waiting on agent feedback. Of course, I kinda sent it off at the very worst time for the agents, but I didn't really have a better option, being in school and all that. The countdown to graduation has begun. Well, no. It began awhile ago. It has begun in earnest now.<br />
<br />
So my dearest mother thinks I need to blog about something useful. I know--what does she think this blog is? A writing blog? But, to honor her request, I will blog about something near and dear to my heart--LOST.<br />
<br />
LOST, and its semi-sequel ONCE UPON A TIME (abbreviated here as OUAT) are largely character-driven TV shows. You take a set of believable characters--almost to the point of being stereotypical--and then you subvert their archetypes by revealing their back-stories and putting them in weird interactions with each other. So basically, they're the best things ever, and the writers of these two shows are the people who have made me want to be a TV show writer. Thanks, guys.<br />
<br />
For example. In LOST, you have a set of characters. You have the hero/doctor. The pretty girl. The fat guy. The pregnant girl. The junkie. The outdoors-man. The bad Asian (arranged?) marriage. The caustic Southern. But this isn't who they really are. The hero is afraid of failure. The pretty girl is a criminal. The fat guy is cursed. The pregnant girl isn't helpless. The junkie used to be religious. The outdoors-man is a cripple. The Asians are deeply in love. The Southern watched his parents die. All of the characters have something in their past that makes them different. Unique. And that is what makes a show breathtaking.<br />
<br />
So what do you do with these characters, then? In a show like LOST, with a metaphorical Hell on the island, the only way to kill a character is to actualize him (actually, this goes for a lot of shows--they're just more subtle about it). Like Boone. This is the first character to die in the show, one who is incestually (ish) involved with his stepsister. Ugh. Anyway, before he dies, Boone undergoes a transformation. He lets go of Shannon, stops being useless, and finally gets himself involved with actively trying to get off of the island. And then...he dies. So sad.<br />
<br />
The basic goal of any TV show is to get all the characters to where they are supposed to end up. You actualize them, make them happy. Sometimes, if it's earlier on in the show, you kill them. If it's later, you leave them happy (although usually not perfectly happy--you don't want a gooshy ending).<br />
<br />
So there's my useful blog for the day on character arcs. Also, I want to introduce a book reviewing series on this blog, for two reasons. 1) I enjoy the practice and 2) I REALLY need good books to read. So, since the majority of people who see this blog post will be writers, I want you to leave a comment below of one or more awesome books that I can read. Any genre will do, preferably YA, but I will NOT (no exceptions) read Women's Fiction, Paranormal, or Romance. Sorry. Not gonna happen. If those are all the books you read, I exempt you from the Book of Awesomeness Comment Rule.<br />
<br />
Have fun. See you soon. Ish.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-46703224582496880942011-12-15T20:10:00.003-06:002011-12-23T13:09:21.067-06:00I need to post.No, really. I <strong>need </strong>to post. But I don't know what to talk about. And I have the strangest idea that nobody is listening anyway. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3SbE8Ov40X4DomMUGGo_CG4OKfcQHoZY84auAsKP3CAMn6IejWvBfx1Jpd9H7y_omwopFr4-D2UfAcoTJ3Wbfm8v4Z4Yh5iXLk3zom4t7Yy_U3K4KbhCR5DaMtTcldSuSaQTMbPJXptWw/s1600/FLASH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3SbE8Ov40X4DomMUGGo_CG4OKfcQHoZY84auAsKP3CAMn6IejWvBfx1Jpd9H7y_omwopFr4-D2UfAcoTJ3Wbfm8v4Z4Yh5iXLk3zom4t7Yy_U3K4KbhCR5DaMtTcldSuSaQTMbPJXptWw/s320/FLASH.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I sent <em>Flash </em>off yesterday, and already have one partial request! Hooray! (Yes, you guessed it--that's why I need to post. Keeping up the Internet presence and all of that). So you will all be hearing more about that very soon. <br />
School...is school. Finals are almost done, and then we are on the home stretch! Guess that means I should start writing a speech, huh? <br />
Ooh. What's a graduation speech supposed to be like? <br />
<br />
I know you quote random sources, like Benjamin Franklin and Hannah Montana, but what am I supposed to <em>say</em>? Congrats, class of 2012! Don't get too fat before the twenty-year reunion?<br />
No. No, let's not do that. I'll come up with something better than that. <br />
What about you? Ideas? What should a graduation speech be to you? <br />
Oh! And also, I finally (finally) restarted piano lessons. My first lesson consists of: Debussey's <em>Reflection, </em>(I think that's what it's called, but I'm really too lazy to go look. I literally just woke up--hence the rambling?); Braum's <em>Rhapsody 2</em>, and Bach's <em>Invention 1</em>. My teacher requested that I only practice on a grand piano from now on. <br />
So...anyone got a grand? I'll buy it from you for five bucks. <br />
And now that I have a) rambled incessently on the Internet so that y'all know who I am; b) given you an update on my life; and c) left you with a deep and insightful question (the graduation speech one, idiot), I think my work here is done. Because I have nothing else to say. <br />
And, I'm tired. So goodnight. You might just (if you're lucky) see me in the morning.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com0Midland, TX, USA31.9973456 -102.077914631.8896166 -102.2358431 32.1050746 -101.9199861tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-70130167758694977482011-11-03T15:35:00.001-05:002011-11-03T15:35:30.774-05:00Well.<br />
What should I blog about? This is me, sitting in English. The most productive class of the day...and we're done in twenty minutes. <br />
<br />
Yeah. College did wonders for my senioritis.<br />
<br />
On the upside, there's a debate tournament on Saturday. And the pumpkin chunkin' is tomorrow. It's where the physics kids build trebuchets and litter the band field with pumpkin shells.<br />
<br />
Yeah. It's pretty much awesome.<br />
<br />
So how are y'all? I noticed that no one looks at my blog anymore. Not that I blame you. It's not like I'm good at posting.<br />
<br />
I wrote a short story for the Reflections contest. The limit was 2000 words and this story was exactly...2000 words. But I'm pretty proud of it. It's about diversity, so of course it's super dystopian. Sort of like Harrison Burgeroune. but more awesome--cause it's mine.<br />
<br />
I've also decided to enter the photography contest, so I need some ideas. The theme is 'diversity means...' so what do you think? Let's hear your suggestions.<br />
<br />
You should note though: the deadline is tomorrow. So if you have ideas, you better tell me like NOW. I promise not to steal them. <div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiwVXwcxAyiy2vx_sahlgpxrTcGtGE0bUyrHBC_wghyphenhyphen7ykX85LKHRW9HtafR04cNUr6goXa0TiLbQIaZkin05y79YvPYTJgOWxTbkR8RHWMQ2mNRZvQKgs7pY1J4QmbDIMoy9IGlJWSIvS/s640/blogger-image-987393821.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiwVXwcxAyiy2vx_sahlgpxrTcGtGE0bUyrHBC_wghyphenhyphen7ykX85LKHRW9HtafR04cNUr6goXa0TiLbQIaZkin05y79YvPYTJgOWxTbkR8RHWMQ2mNRZvQKgs7pY1J4QmbDIMoy9IGlJWSIvS/s640/blogger-image-987393821.jpg" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-35727551150677660632011-10-30T21:10:00.001-05:002011-10-30T21:10:57.224-05:00Once Upon A TimeThere was a boy who went to church with complete strangers. And didn't get eaten.<br />
<br />
In fact, no one even talked to me. I bet they thought I was just some random college kid who was a tad inactive. It was nice to get a feel for it though.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow, I get to go to school (like a real boy--I'm on a fairy tale kick) I'll be going to Chem 101, TMA 114, ECON 110, and BUS MA 241. Sounds pretty legit.<br />
<br />
The only problem? It'll only heighten my readiness to be done with high school. <br />
<br />
But I digress. Have any of you seen Once Upon A Time?<br />
<br />
Wow.<br />
<br />
It's legit. Like way legit. Like the est television show I have ever seen except for LOST and the occasional Doctor Who. Congrats, guys on writing two awesome shows in a row.<br />
<br />
Hopefully that'll be me in a few years. <br />
<br />
What do y'all think? What're your impressions with the show? Right now, my fingers are crossed that we get a second season. That's all I want.<br />
<br />
By the way, the picture is completely random. It's my mother dearest, making faces at me over her Smash Burger cup. I thought you'd enjoy it. <div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsfxzQ7MaV3jxA1jw1N92dfroKG3auSs48mzAbYYyCFzm9LKdP3uuOeY1aCyG7akKNs4lKbKv7S-AStllHKRb4BfZTul8YYLDOVP4k_kog8aptwQLnyKvgPuW0x__0KyHF4R75dm-LidZ/s640/blogger-image--35396002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsfxzQ7MaV3jxA1jw1N92dfroKG3auSs48mzAbYYyCFzm9LKdP3uuOeY1aCyG7akKNs4lKbKv7S-AStllHKRb4BfZTul8YYLDOVP4k_kog8aptwQLnyKvgPuW0x__0KyHF4R75dm-LidZ/s640/blogger-image--35396002.jpg" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com0Pleasant View Provo40.257175 -111.653525tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-12821638982910273032011-10-29T18:00:00.001-05:002011-10-29T18:00:50.653-05:00Why does it smell like frozen cows?I don't know, Mom. I honestly don't know.<br />
<br />
Well, I've already typed this post twice. Apparently blogger does not work on a iPad safari. So I got the app. Maybe it'll work this time.<br />
<br />
I really don't have that much to say. Being stuck in a car all day isn't conducive to great blog stories. Right now, I'm just struck with a intense sense of wanderlust. <br />
<br />
Have you ever looked out at the plains you're driving past and just wanted to disappear out there? To just walk out there, find a decrepit old building, and make it your home for a few days, weeks, months? That's exactly how I feel right now. <br />
<br />
But that's not quite an option right now. So I continue onward and upward to the great conglomeration of downtown Utah. And I sit here blogging about completely random things. <br />
<br />
Sorry if you wanted a real post, by the way. Aside from my mom's ridiculous question, there isn't really a funny story that I can tell you. In fact, there's not really much of anything that I can tell you.<br />
<br />
And I really hate typing a blog post twice. I'm gonna try to take a picture for you of the altogether too appealing landscape we're driving past. Right now, it's not as interesting as I thought New Mexico though. But I'll find something.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow, I go to decide my future. Well, okay, it's not as morbid as all that. But it's a big deal. My future rests on this visit. <br />
<br />
Ugh. The future. But, as I learned from Emily Dickinson--via John Green, via Margo Roth Spieglman--"the future is composed of nows." <br />
<br />
So. Let's start with that picture.<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEsGEtwAoD9QLLCZcSH_zpld7-PgR5vGdULkbVZEnLXWQ6bC8zgu47AjvdqvEkjytbnJCoxtJmSAGr_BtdB2D_RQ1qZll7l_93_jBjmMh54WmEIot9oyWLBUZml7PlwMNdCJPABcmTJV7e/s640/blogger-image-394071946.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEsGEtwAoD9QLLCZcSH_zpld7-PgR5vGdULkbVZEnLXWQ6bC8zgu47AjvdqvEkjytbnJCoxtJmSAGr_BtdB2D_RQ1qZll7l_93_jBjmMh54WmEIot9oyWLBUZml7PlwMNdCJPABcmTJV7e/s640/blogger-image-394071946.jpg" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com0Americas (null)39.038764 -110.252954tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-14565995885715297102011-10-28T19:41:00.001-05:002011-10-29T18:03:57.658-05:00Off!<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtiksis3CB3r3DujfGnA7eS6iYFHqf-u3Cv3p11DpJqZP1Al1rZWi11MO-pt9ZEzFMQAU0PnOHRCpYKRZW1eQnOggtRgczJxO9Rw6CBJIhWl8LdLNJkQRjMXJB9PBKGUbiCybOEuoITzRY/s1600/photo-711701.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtiksis3CB3r3DujfGnA7eS6iYFHqf-u3Cv3p11DpJqZP1Al1rZWi11MO-pt9ZEzFMQAU0PnOHRCpYKRZW1eQnOggtRgczJxO9Rw6CBJIhWl8LdLNJkQRjMXJB9PBKGUbiCybOEuoITzRY/s320/photo-711701.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668707915902724274" /></a></p>Road trip!<br />
<br />
We're off to see the--no. Not wizard. I'm off to see the great and wonderful Brigham Young University. And so, stuck in a car, I have finally decided...to blog. <br />
<br />
I know. I'm pretty much the worst blogger ever to roam the blogosphere. I shouldn't be allowed to live. This blog would be so awesome...if it's author would take the time to post. I have an iPhone, so I should be able to blog anywhere, even with a picture. Blame it on senior year. But I am trying. <br />
<br />
So'd you see my books? Mom was magnanimous enough to let me stop at the library before we left, so I stocked up. Kristin Cashore is my hero. Does anyone know if she's published Bitterblue yet, or when it's set to come out?<br />
<br />
Ten books (one of them mine) and a newMayday Parade CD. I think I should be set for the next few days, don't you?<br />
<br />
So tomorrow--wait. Sunday (days blend in the car) I'm going to church in a BYU student ward. By myself. All alone. For three hours. With college kids. That'll be fun. <br />
<br />
At least I'll have something to blog about. <br />
<br />
So you may wonder why exactly a Mormon is visiting BYU? Does he have another choice? Isn't he already convinced? <br />
<br />
Um. No. Right now, I'm trying to decide--either BYU or Boston U, which has an awesome film program and an even more enticing dual degree system. BYU--as far as can be told from the website--is questionable in both aspects. So we are en route to the Palace of the Cougars to investigate. <br />
<br />
What do you think? Especially the Mormons out there--is a non-church school okay? Better? Worse? Crazy? Dumb? <br />
<br />
Well, feel free to share your opinions. As for me, the Internet connection is so slow that this has taken over an hour to post. I am done. Mayday Parade calls. Maybe I'll read Freakonomics next. <br />
<br />
And I promised. There will be a post tomorrow. <br />
<br />
<br />
-- <br />
<div>Alex Hoagland</div> <div>Follow me at <a href="http://chaotic-gibberish.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">http://chaotic-gibberish.blogspot.com</a> </div> <div>or <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/Alexstoryman" target="_blank">http://twitter.com/#!/Alexstoryman</a> </div><br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-70140447323550941932011-09-30T15:42:00.001-05:002011-12-23T13:13:24.127-06:00The AnswerI found the answer.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbwPCDvu5NgmnovENwj4L22fSv9c-W6OD1gzYvBU1ayrc_Xt48HHbC1kwhf_P5a1ucb7_bHhgyUDoGmYokHNEYXhEjX3dBhsO_bK0H_ZGawRvLePyIkrisSoEGueDTT8hnYYnsGk-13hls/s1600/the+answer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbwPCDvu5NgmnovENwj4L22fSv9c-W6OD1gzYvBU1ayrc_Xt48HHbC1kwhf_P5a1ucb7_bHhgyUDoGmYokHNEYXhEjX3dBhsO_bK0H_ZGawRvLePyIkrisSoEGueDTT8hnYYnsGk-13hls/s1600/the+answer.jpg" /></a>No really. I found the solution. I'm sitting here in AP English lit, waiting for the bell to ring. But then, I remember. I can blog mobile-ly!<br />
<br />
So, in the hopes that attaching an image to my email will register it as a picture, I have attached a picture of my bored English group. Or I will. Once I take it. Let's see how sneaky I am.<br />
<br />
Answer: not so sneaky. But I got my six weeks grades--7 100s. Look out, Hunter Drozd. Sneaky Alex is sneaking up on you.<br />
<br />
So who's taking the SAT tomorrow? Who's gonna get a 2400? Thats right. This kid.<br />
<br />
What should I blog about...? There's nothing exciting going on. I have to write an essay on the impact of new media on peace--like Facebook, YouTube, etc. And I'm super excited about a short story idea I have. I'll let you know how it goes. <br />
<br />
Tomorrow, you'll hear about the college application process. Until then, we wait till 3:55. I've only wasted 10 minutes of this class. <br />
<br />
Ugh.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-37156771542334078302011-09-28T20:57:00.000-05:002011-09-28T20:57:33.758-05:00Bruised KneesOkay. I promised a post. A real post. <br />
How 'bout a real short post? <br />
<br />
As you can see, Chaotic Gibberish has been enhanced (or, as my debate teacher would say, "refreshed and rejuvenated.") Because of this, it has now become necessary for me to post often, and to include pictures. Something I've wanted to do anyway, but now I have a legitimate reason to. Tonight, the picture won't be great, since I took it with my iPhone (yes, I'm rubbing it in.) but you can expect more artistic and creative photos once I get my camera out there (or steal other people's pictures from Facebook.)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQyzTouBWrLONLJIcBTT8Df7Gv_4Ta2i0vAFWbm7xEwVEhQn-Wo6-vt2rCVZ_IUBvOlH2YvbfcNKxzsmlCVSiSN0pwi6MrFtTxu2_Lt-DG5GVFOZLqAmtVIBXKARwqZPW63f0hoNdtBdpJ/s1600/IMG_0014%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQyzTouBWrLONLJIcBTT8Df7Gv_4Ta2i0vAFWbm7xEwVEhQn-Wo6-vt2rCVZ_IUBvOlH2YvbfcNKxzsmlCVSiSN0pwi6MrFtTxu2_Lt-DG5GVFOZLqAmtVIBXKARwqZPW63f0hoNdtBdpJ/s320/IMG_0014%255B1%255D.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
Yeah, I told you. Not a great shot. But you get the idea. This is what Mormons do in their spare time. <br />
<br />
Yeah. We're weird. <br />
<br />
Midget baseball. Playing baseball on your knees, with a marshmallow and a spatula. Sounds great in theory, yet decidedly less so in practice...on a hard wood floor...minus the knee pads. Let's just say there will be about twenty people walking around school tomorrow with purple knees, ankles, and elbows. <br />
<br />
So that's my evening. Now I have to make a Prezi over The Canterbury Tales (if you don't know what <a href="http://www.prezi.com/">Prezi</a> is, check it out--coolest presentation software ever.) <br />
<br />
As for my plan of action. To make this blog successful (and fun--at least for me.) I have decided to change the blog posting schedule. I will post short blurbs about my life every day--for the most part. I'm not promising 100% dedication; I will miss a day. Don't freak out if I do. <br />
<br />
Also. Autofill Thursday is indefinitely postponed. Well, not postponed. Evolved. Every boring day where I can't think of a funny story to tell, I will do something similar to Autofill Thursday, whether it be a random fact, story, or Google Autofill. They'll be fun. I'll even keep the label to Autofill Thursday, so you can find all the funny random pages in the same place. <br />
There's the plan. Think I can stick to it? <br />
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No. Neither do I. <br />
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But, as a token of appeasement, please enjoy this video of me rockin' that spatula. See you tomorrow. <br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-87670554704846694512011-09-18T19:36:00.002-05:002011-09-18T19:36:55.757-05:00Key of KilenyaSo, I apologize for the two-week hiatus. I wish I could promise that it will be gone for good, but...school is way busy. After this, I may go off the radar again for awhile. But don't give up on me just yet. <br />
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First, a couple personal messages. To Jude--I'm sorry. I won't be talking about your animal rights thoughts just yet. I will get there. I promise. To Andrea Pearson--I'm sorry I'm a day late. Life got to me, and on top of that, Blogger decided to hate me on the one day I needed it. At least it's only one day. <br />
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All right. For those of you who don't know, today is my day to review Andrea Pearson's <a href="http://www.kilenyaseries.com/p/purchase-information.html">Key of Kilenya.</a> So here we go. <br />
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<em>The Key of Kilenya </em>is a middle-grade fantasy novel written and published by Andrea Pearson this year (2011). First, a little background: <br />
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<em> "When two vicious wolves chase fourteen-year-old Jacob Clark down a path from our world into another, his life is forever changed. He has no idea they have been sent by the Lorkon--evil, immortal beings whoa re jealous of powers he doesn't know he possesses--powers they desire to control. </em><br />
<em>"The inhabitants of the new world desperately need Jacob's help in recovering a magical key that was stolen by the Lorkon and is somehow linked to him. If he helps them, his life will be at risk. But if he chooses not to help them, both our world and theirs will be in danger. The Lorkon will stop at nothing to unleash the power of the key--and Jacob's special abilities."</em><br />
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This book is imaginative, thrilling, and fun. I loved the imagination and emotion Andrea managed to weave through the entire quest and plot of the book. I will try not to give away any spoilers (so that all you blog-readers will go read it--purchase link above the cover art!), but I want to say a few wonderful things about this book. <br />
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First, the plot. Andrea manages to take a typical, middle-grade plot line and elevate it to a new level of imagination. Unique creatures, exciting encounters, and mysterious journal entries combine to give the reader a reason to keep reading, something I have a hard time finding in the typical middle-grade novel. Kudos to Andrea for making this read interesting and worthwhile. <br />
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Second, the characters. Again, Andrea manages to insert her own unique style without crossing any boundaries. Her characters are humorous, intense, and in some cases downright strange (I'm thinking of a crazy old man with nuts), yet convey the story nicely and with ease. There are almost no duplicate characters--each has a voice the reader can recognize and fall in love with. Again, kudos. <br />
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Third, the dialogue. This is where I feel Andrea truly shone as a writer. Not only does she convey the storyline and necessity of the quest with the conversation, but she also manages to inject humor, romance, and even a little bit of good ol' Mormonism into her characters' language (don't worry, all you non-believers. You wouldn't recognize it unless you were a Mormon. You can read the book religion free). Andrea takes the parameters for a normal middle-grade novel and elevates them to the next level, giving the book a fresh and appealing feel. <br />
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So, overall, I have to recommend <em>The Key of Kilenya. </em>The plot, characters, and dialogue all combine to make the novel an enthralling, entertaining, and enjoyable read. Good job Andrea for all your hard work! Check out her website <a href="http://www.kilenyaseries.blogspot.com/">here</a>. <br />
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And yes. I expect you to review my book, Andrea. Once it's published. Or done...<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-60926223587844543932011-09-06T19:38:00.000-05:002011-09-06T19:38:13.453-05:00Justice and Animal Rights?Debate, debate, debate. Oh, how I've missed you. I have no idea what I'm going to do if there's no L-D in college. Probably drop out. And go back to high school. (HA! Just kidding. I'll never go back to high school for the world.) <br />
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So the resolution for this month (and next month) is <em>Resolved: Justice requires the recognition of animal rights. </em>Connor and I just could not figure this resolution out for at least twenty minutes. Justice? Animal rights? What do those have in common? <br />
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But the more I worked on my cases, the more in love with this resolution I fell. This is awesome. Literally. Awesome. I'm so excited to debate this. It's gonna be great. <br />
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So what are your thoughts? Since my followers were so pitiful last time with the discussion of humanitarian intervention, I'll offer an incentive. If you leave a comment, and it's relatively intelligent and topical, I'll repost it and discuss it. With a link to your blog attached. Free advertising. In exchange for words. (So I guess advertising is a penny for your thoughts--haha get it?? No. You don't.) <br />
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Just to be fair, I'll start the conversation. Cause it's a pretty confusing topic. L-D is highly philosophical, so this resolution deals with what <em>should </em>exist. Should animals be given rights? Is that the just thing to do? At first glance, of course, the answer is yes. But quickly, several questions arise. What rights are we talking about? If we discuss the right to life, what about hamburgers? It's not like the lions will give up eating us. And what about animal research? One of the most valuable things we do (and, contrary to poopular belief, 94% of all animal research is painless) would be sacrificed for the happiness of beings who cannot even feel happiness. Is that truly the just thing to do? <br />
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And another thing. If justice hinges on the concept of animal rights (which it would, if we affirmed the resolution), wouldn't that incorporate animals into our justice system? Can a cat use a crosswalk? Can an armadillo pay taxes? Wouldn't we have to dole out the death penalty to a dog charged with battery or manslaughter? The obligations associated with rights could not be fulfilled by animals. And what about all of the justice for the past hundreds of years that did <em>not </em>hinge on animal rights. Was all of that unjust? Do we have to go back to slavery and tyrannical rule? No. <br />
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My final idea is that this resolution is inherently speciest. If justice is required to recognize animal rights, i.e. humans have to extend rights to animals. They have no concept of justice. And this in itself creates an instant hierarchy with humans as superior to animals. Is that just? Even if we as humans represent moral agents, doesn't that destroy the necessity of arguing whether or not animals <em>should </em>have rights? With the resolution being so obviously speciest, there is no way to debate why animals should or should not have rights. Instead, we should argue about inherent rights--whether animals already have rights outside of humans. And...they do not. As proven by the obligations argument. If a lion steals a carcass from the hyenas, can they sue said lion? No. Justice does not exist in the animal kingdom, and neither does life. You do not get handed life in the animal kingdom. You fight for it. Handing out free life would stall the evolutionary process. <br />
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And that's only the ideas for the negative case. Isn't this an awesome resolution? <br />
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Again, comment. I'll give you free advertising!! I just want a discussion about this. I want to know what other people think about the resolution/my responses to it. I want a debate without a debate (if that makes sense.) <br />
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Hope to hear from you soon!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-36409817437130071372011-09-01T20:10:00.001-05:002011-09-01T20:10:16.651-05:00Tired So tired. School does that. Mind you, it's not that it's exhausting because it's difficult--it's exhausting because it's not. Ugh. <br />
But this is a blog so I can pretend to be peppy even though I am so not! And it's Thursday! (See, adding ! makes things peppy. See? No, you don't!) Today's question is "What do i..." but I'm not doing too many because I have a debate case to write. But we'll talk about that Tuesday. <br />
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<strong>Question One: </strong>What do I want to eat? <br />
<strong>Answer One: </strong>Um. Pizza. I just had Cici's, and that was the first thing on my mind. Although I just ate (redundant much?), so thinking about food just makes my stomach hurt. <br />
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<strong>Question Two: </strong>What do I need for a passport? <br />
<strong>Answer Two: </strong>An ID, some money, and a criminal record. Okay. Maybe not the last one. I just wanted to know if you're paying attention. Generally, records are kinda bad for passports. They don't like to let criminals venture to other countries. <br />
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<strong>Question Three: </strong>What do I want to do with my life. <br />
<strong>Answer Three: </strong>Don't start a blog. That is the most unfulfilling job in the history of the universe. (Although I must admit--this question is pretty thought-provoking for a high school senior. What do I want to do?) <br />
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<strong>Question Four: </strong>What do I want for my birthday? <br />
<strong>Answer Four: </strong>A cake. And maybe some ice cream. Oh, and presents. Presents are good. Oh, you mean what kind? Don't ask me. Or Google. <br />
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<strong>Question Five: </strong>What do I need for P90x? <br />
<strong>Answer Five: </strong>Uh, I don't know what that is. Let me go google it to make sure it's clean. Fitness? Workouts? No wonder you need to work out, if you use the Internet to answer every question you have instead of getting up and walking (waddling) to find the answer! Come on! <br />
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But seriously. I don't know. Go find out. <br />
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And that's all. Tune in next time (on Tuesday) for an interesting discussion on justice and animal rights. Or at least I hope it'll be a discussion. Join me to find out. See you then. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1829491051797544156.post-41286167632759371642011-08-30T16:35:00.000-05:002011-08-30T16:35:42.127-05:00GUESS WHAT???????????!?!?!?!???I finished my book. <br />
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Yep. Actually, I finished it a couple of weeks ago. I forgot to tell you. I know, I know, how can an author <em>forget </em>that he finished a six-month long project of love and devotion (yeah, right)? I'll tell you how. <br />
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Start school. <br />
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You know how when you stop doing something you hate for a long time, you start to maybe think that that thing you stopped isn't actually so bad, and might actually be entertaining? And then you start it again, and...realize how much you detest it. That's what school does to me. I have what you might call a bad case of senior-itis--I'm ready to graduate. I like to refer to it as...I can't put up with stupid people. And where is a better place to find a large quantity of stupid people (of all ages, even) than a high school? <br />
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But I'm not here to dwell on that. I'll complain later, once I have a real (and finny) gripe. For now, just listen to the sound of my excitement. Well, okay. Watch it. <br />
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WHOOOO!!!!!!!!<br />
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Okay. I'm done. Now to start the editing......<br />
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Maybe I'll go read some of the <em>Aeneid </em>first. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041194011434131488noreply@blogger.com0