Self Doubt

Self doubt is like a poison. It usually starts with someone else. They pierce your ego with a barb that introduces the possibility that you may be wrong. From there it can slowly work its way around until at last it has consumed your very worldview. No action you make is free from analysis by your own conscious. Like a cytokine storm, your body works against you. Purging self doubt is a long and laborious process, with varying degrees of difficulty depending on the source of your doubt. The more respected the source, the harder the purge. Complete sublimation of insecurity often requires that the initial source acknowledge their own mistake in doubting you.

What can you do?

Two things: surround yourself with vapid yesmen and support your ego through the lack of complaint from those around you. This is an easy but dangerous method, as it lacks any doubt whatsoever. This may lead to unrealistic worldviews and harmful decisions as a result.

The second method is much harder, but much more healthy. Learn to accept criticism without internalizing it. Discover the truth of the statement: if someone says something about you, no matter how much you respect their opinion, it isn't always true.

Both are a sort of armor against the poisonus effects of doubt. Like all things, however, doubt has a place in the psyche too. Learn to understand your failings, to accept them, to be aware of when your failings are affecting your judgment. Every human has flaws; that is why we are human, however, flaws don't entail correction in every situation. To attempt to perfect yourself, you merely deny your nature and create a perverse mockery of your self. You must embrace your flaws, live with them. Self awareness is truly the path to enlightenment.

However, remember this: self awareness and self conciousness are not the same. The importance of embracing your flaws is not that you attempt to fix them, but that you understand them and know them well, so the next time someone attempts to poison you with self doubt through one of these flaws you can dismiss it as irrelevant, since you're already aware of this part of yourself.

Swine Flu is not a threat

Swine flu panic. Isn't it great? too bad it's completely unfounded. There are so many more ways you can die from simply walking outside than catching a readily curable disease.

Regional Developments

Hey, looks like it's Tuesday again.

This is the picture that should have gone with that other post. It's things like this that make me think "Civil War." The rhetoric is simply getting far out of hand. Far, far out of hand. I mean, I laugh at this sign, but the man holding clearly believes this is true.

Oh, Shit, Today Is Tuesday.

Oh, man, now I kinda regret this idea. Maybe I'll just discuss my creative writing process. I write sporadically, but when I do, I end up writing a whole bunch. As an attempt to get myself to write more, I decided to write a thousand word story once a week. Natch, it didn't pan out. I end up with tons of starts for a story and several longish stories. I've posted some portions of those longer stories here. Anyway, I write a lot of things not a lot of which I'm particularly happy about. I like writing dialogue best and descriptions least.

Unfortunately, I'm not in a writing mood right now. I did just stumble upon a great idea (Japan becomes a communist country in the 50's), but I have no passion for the actual labor of putting words to paper. This has also ended up reflecting on the essays I've done lately. I dunno, it's just part of the cyclical nature of my hobbies. If I had to guess, I'd say I'm into videogames again right now. Hopefully next will be music or something.

This post needs more pizazz. So, Georgia threatens to leave the union (link full of boring legalese, just trust me here) right on top of Texas governor Rick Perry threatening the same at the laughable Chicago Tea Parties, basically an excuse for right wingers to go outside and get mad at the president under pretenses that they don't like taxes more than they don't like the idea that a black man is president. Even better, the site that "spontaneously" popped up to support this was actually purchased in August of 2008. It still worries me, though. Especially all the rhetoric surrounding this sort of nonsense. Articles about Rick Santelli's rant titled, "The Shout Heard Round the World," and the very idea of a tea party theme all suggest the American revolution, as if somehow the current democratic administration is comparable to George the Third's reign. All of this spells upcoming war to me. Maybe that'll get us out of this recession.

Just hosting this image, nothing to see here. If you click on it, you'll notice the high resolution. At some point when I remember, I'm getting this turned into a poster.

Bioshock As a Reflection on Modern Global Politics, Or Why Underwater Genetic Zombies Matter

So, for those of you unaware, Bioshock is a recent, critically acclaimed interactive fiction for several platforms. I finally had a chance to play it a few weeks ago. It was very enjoyable, if not so much for the somewhat generic gameplay, but for the brilliant atmosphere. The game takes place in the year 1960, in an underwater Utopian community called "Rapture," established by a wealthy businessman known as Andrew Ryan to support his Lassez faire ideals, most closely related to Ayn Rand's philosophy of objectivism

Okay, Revamp Time

I read a thing somewhere about blogs and I decided to take its advice, which I'm not sure I remember. Anyway, this blog will now be updated weekly; on Tuesdays and any other day when I think of something. I also changed the layout to move the text an eight of an inch to the right and changed the background color by a shade, to reflect these troubled economic times, when people cannot afford to spend the extra electricity to keep this screen as bright a grey as it is. Hopefully you'll save approximately ten percent of your electric bill, which for me comes out to about $1.50. That dollar fifty can go towards other, more useful applications, like donating it to me.

Anyway. Expect new content from me rather more often. Instead of spending my time trying to be objective and talk as little about myself as possible, I will launch into full on opinion mode. Be prepared, ladies and gentlemen, for THE SPIN ZONE.

I am so totally clever and witty. People should pay me to mumble deprecating things about them.

Blog revamp time, details forthcoming. You may have already noticed the change in layout.

Oh God

I finally reread that essay i posted. Ugh. That has to be the worst work I've done yet far in college. uuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh.

Mixed Blessing

Turns out I got an 87% on that last essay. That's no good. It will only encourage me to write unserious things for this serious class.

Music Dump

I feel too lazy to edit out the ads these things add to the html embed code today. Sorry!

Celtic Ver0.45897364578936b - Thejakeman

Seriously, you should see the size of the code.

Kiss Me, Mr. Roboto ver 0.84823427346c - Thejakeman

Actually, It looks like they worked the code into the embedded player. Smart move.

After

But sometimes when I go back, I find myself unable to really expound on a topic. So then this happens:


Spurgeon’s Tower of Isolation and Intentionally Long Essay Titles

The Ant of the Self is one of a new breed of “high” literature concerning the typical minority experience, written, ironically enough, by a very atypical minority. Fortunately, the story lacks the usual pretention towards “understanding” the average minority and instead acknowledges the unusual experience of the author, ZZ Packer. Yes, why is it that modern authors feel the need to squeeze meaning into every line? But it is the status quo. Apparently, writing throwaway fiction is no longer considered an art. I mourn the dozens (Thousands? Millions?) of unpublished authors who go about peddling their trashy romances, predictable mysteries, boring Sci-Fi’s but cannot find a home for these rough, uncut literary gems. Why, oh society? Why do you ignore those in need of a voice? Instead you invite pretention and desecration as a viable alternative to the true works of fiction. But I digress. The story is written with the purpose of demonstrating the isolation that one (likely her, from a biographical standpoint) feels when you don’t quite fit in to any particular portion of society. The author does this through the character of Spurgeon in his approaches to the situations with his father, the Million Man March and the small child he sees at the end of the novel are written.
Without fail, Spurgeon assumes the worst of his father, from his assumption that his father would never pay him back to the assumption that he had mugged someone for money at the end of the novel. Though these assumptions are rarely contradicted, they serve to provide a window into Spurgeon’s perspective of his father. He is perpetually at odds with his dad, constantly correcting him, as in “You mean stockbroker. A stockbroker advises about stocks. Not an accountant,” (77) or insulting him, as in “He’s so stupid, he’s brilliant; so outside of the realm of any rationality…” (82) It’s through this sort of verbal conflict, as well as the ubiquitous analysis of his father’s every movement that Packer creates to the world of isolation that Spurgeon inhabits. Indeed, Spurgeon feels just as isolated from his mother, as it was “…clear that the only man of this house was Jesus.” (85) Spurgeon also subconsciously judges his father’s actions, adding connotations and seeing emotions or intentions that may or may not be real from beginning: “…as if trying to get them [words] through my thick skull,” to end “…as if he’s congratulating me.”He spends a great deal of time focusing on the differences between himself and his father, looking to distance himself intentionally from the undesirable aspects of his father. Just as publishers intentionally distance themselves from authors they don’t approve of. If your name isn’t bigger than the title on a book, they don’t care. Look what happened to Kafka! He died before he was really published! If only they had cared, he might still be alive even today!
Later at the Million Man March, Spurgeon typifies the black men at the march as somewhat menacing as in “…wearing stern looks and prison muscles.”(91) He is constantly worried that one member or another of the crowd would hurt him exemplified by “One man looks like he wants to beat the crap out of me.” (90). He designates the whites outside the picket as simply being aloof, or interestingly enough, also scared of the blacks as shown by “Quite a few whites also stop to look as if to see what this thing is all about, and their nervous, hard smiles fit into two categories: the ‘Don’t mug me!’ smile, or the ‘Gee, aren’t black folks something!’ smile.” (88-89) This emphasizes the disconnect Spurgeon feels with his own race as well as the races of others. As he so dramatically explained to members of the march, he’s not interested in the black nation or other issues beyond “debate purposes.” Just as major publishers aren’t interested in the short fiction works of names they haven’t heard of. They spend their days counting all the money they’ve made of the latest James Patterson novel, or counting revenues from the latest Evanovich tripe, but do they think of the little guy? No. Not once. After all, the little guy isn’t making them money. But fiction is about so much more than that. It’s art! Printed art, word for word!
At the end of the story, Spurgeon is dead tired, beat from his father and the trek to the train station. He witnesses a boy with his father at five in the morning, and immediately begins to construct a negative, depressing story about the boy and his father: “…kid in the hot sun for hours…cold night for longer.” (102) When he’s proven wrong at the end, he realizes his folly and how disconnected he really is. His isolation comes crashing down on him like a tidal wave when he realizes how unhappy he is, contrasted by the kid’s happiness, stating that the kid was “the happiest I’ve seen anyone, ever.” (103) Despite this, he simply sits through the pain of his realization and lets it pass. Just as society has let so many great works of fiction pass, simply slip through their fingers like so many diamonds hidden within snow.
Packer worked hard to create a feeling of isolation. As the book jacket states, her characters are on the periphery of society, unable to move to the center for one reason or another. Spurgeon is clearly unable or unwilling to accept a place in one or another society that he belongs to. He refuses to be black, he refuses to be white, he refuses to be his father, and he refuses to bend; choosing instead to remain in his tower of moral rectitude rather than meet the world at a level plain. Even at the end, after his life changing fight, he continues to think badly of the station attendant, the man with the child, and the little old white lady talking to herself. The way he approaches the world around him makes this evident. But weep not for Spurgeon, for he shall not weep for himself. Weep not for the unpublished novelists of this world, for they shall not weep for themselves. John Kennedy Toole might still be alive today, if publishers cared. They said his novel “isn’t really about anything.” How wrong they were.

This is why I get 'c's.

Before

See, I'm down with writing essays. I can totally do structure and stuff and whomp out a good page in like fifteen minutes. But sometimes that's all I can write without feeling like I'm repeating myself. Here is a prewrite (errors included) of a recent essay. Before quotes and whatnot are applied.

Packer’s intentions in The Ant Of The Self is to emphasize the isolation Spurgeon feels from the world around him. She does this through the character of Spurgeon in the way he approaches the situations with his father, the million man march and the small child he sees at the end of the novel.
Without fail, Spurgeon assumes the worst of his father, from his assumption that his father would never pay him back, to the assumption that he had mugged someone for money at the end of the novel. Though these assumptions are rarely contradicted, they serve to provide a picture of the way Spurgeon views his father. Indeed, he felt just as isolated from his mother, as it was “clear to him that the only man of this house was Jesus.” He spent a great deal of time focusing on the differences between himself and his father, looking to distance himself intentionally from the undesirable aspects of his father.
Later at the million man march Spurgeon typifies the black men at the march as somewhat menacing, constantly worried that one member of the crowd would hurt him or another. He again designates the whites outside the picket as simply being aloof, or interestingly enough, also scared of the blacks. This emphasizes the disconnect Spurgeon feels with his own race. As he so dramatically explained to members of the march, he’s not interested in the black nation or other issues beyond “debate purposes.”
At the end of the story, Spurgeon is dead tired, beat from his father and the trek to the train station. He witnesses a boy with his father at five in the morning, and immediately begins to construct a negative, depressing story about the boy and his father. When he’s proven wrong, finally, at the end he realizes his folly and how disconnected he really is. His isolation comes crashing down on him like a tidal wave. Despite this, he simply sits through the pain and lets it pass.
Packer worked hard to create a feeling of isolation. As the book jacket states, her characters are on the periphery of society, unable to move to the center for one reason or another. Spurgeon is clearly unable or unwilling to accept a place in one or another society that he belongs to. He refuses to be black, he refuses to be white, he refuses to be his father, he refuses to bend; choosing instead to remain in his tower of moral rectitude rather than meet the world at a level plain. The way he approaches the world around him makes this evident. But weep not for Spurgeon, for he shall not weep for himself.

New music!

Yay for creativity sparked by limited tools! One day, I'll have internet again and I'll go back to making super obvious songs out of samples. For now, I must dig into my own musical collection to snip bits out of and otherwise desecrate the original artist's work.

Incidentally, I found out I was wrong. Hip-Hop is not my most listened to music. Which means I'll have to go back to answering that question with "yeah, I like instrumental Hip-Hop, Eighties synthpop, and vulgar Post-Disco/White Rock-Rap fusion."

Do I sound pretentious?

It's official

I finally queryed my music collection, and I can now say that my favorite music is Hip-Hop. Which says nothing of what variety I actually listen to, but is interesting nonetheless. I'm happy to have an answer. Peace out, homie G's.

Pulchritude

Finally, something I'm happy about. I was bored. And I made this! Yay!

Why Do I Have A Blog Anyways?

People (Who I assume are trendy) frequently ask me "Oh, do you have a myspace/facebook/xanga(seriously)/whatever?" So I'm forced to deny ownership of any of these means of personal expression. I say, no, but I have a website! And their faces droop, saddened by the realization that they won't have the opportunity to pry into my personal life, or whatever it is that motivates people to spend hours on myspace/facebook/xanga/whatever filling out little quizzes and messaging long chains of personal tell-alls to one another. I tell them of my website, I give them the address, and then they don't bother visiting, because a blog is somehow inferior or at least less entertaining than a social networking page.

On the one hand, it makes me a bit sad to see a personal connection swing and miss, but on the other, I honestly have no interest in most of the things that people who frequent myspace/facebook/xanga/whatever do. I actually do have a myspace, though I razed it when I realized I wasn't interested in vainly attempting to keep lines of communication open with people from my past. it's under "thejakeman16." I also started a facebook page, mostly so I could see all these relatives my dad keeps meeting over it. It's under my name, which you should know if you've been paying attention. Back to the point of this post, I have a blog simply because it seems like the best way to organize myself. And I hate things that aren't blogs. I even hate most blogs, especially when they get flashy, or preachy, or all personal.

I hate most things. :/

My Political Beliefs

Like all opinions, this is subject to change. And hope. Yes, I can.

I am a fiscal conservative and social liberal.

Fitting a vast breadth of opinion and thought into one phrase always leads to some oversimplefication. I believe the only thing that government should be supplying are things that the people cannot or can't be trusted to provide. These things are pretty much limited to Laws and Police, Fire services, Access to medical assistance, Transportation (especially to government mandated activities, like school), Water, and Defense. Anything beyond that is frivolous, as far as I'm concerned. Socially, however, I honestly don't care what people do, as long as it doesn't interfere with other people's capacity to live.

Some Terrible Music

Just to prove that I have been making some, though not necessarily the best. My internet has again been down for some time, so I'm more or less using the same samples. On the bright side, I'm finally getting some sort of hang of using a synthesizer, as you can hear at the end of Amped. Bad habits to work on: Making a song that's really a couple of songs squished together. The style ends up being jarring. Also, don't change the tempo mid song. It just doesn't seem to work.

This song is probably the most presentable. I just put a bunch of piano together with synth and hoped for the best. On an unrelated note, isn't it interesting how the word hope and pray are more or less synonyms?

This one I'm most grouchy about. It started out as a "alright, let's make a metal song, and turned into a string of unrelated, but nice sounding, guitar bits. It's a slur on the Ulroch name. All the more reason to post it then. :p

Now, this one..... it started as some sort of slow Hip-Hopish beat, but then I was like, whoa, this sucks and I turned up the tempo and threw in a half speed music bed and some square lead. The result is kinda weird, but I like the synth. First time I feel like I really nailed a self made synth section without it sounding forced.