At a recent social event I met a woman who was, unmistakably, very intelligent. The intelligence pulled me in quickly and I was eager to discover how this particular mind was applying itself to the world. She said that in that in school, she studied a particular scientific discipline, as well as…
Sorry, guy. Here’s the problem with your argument: you don’t have one. As others have said, ethics are based on social norms and are always shifting. By splitting an objective item (One man is master over another) into subjective halves, and using the result of your loaded binary question as a litmus test that would prove or disprove whatever hypothesis you had (because I refuse to believe you were simply curious - open minds don’t judge or point) , you end up simplifying the topic “ethics” to the point where you’re not even talking about ethics anymore.
And then, to take the answer (which is “Um, sorry, that question carries so many preloaded assumptions that to give an answer in terms of right or wrong without regard for any kind of middle ground - for instance, let’s say, enslaving a man to keep him alive - would be irresponsible and a disservice to my field of knowledge.”) and extrapolate from it that your conversation “partner” has given up (on what? Your question?) is laughable.
I don’t even know why I spent time writing this, I’m pretty sure you’re just trolling anyway. At least I hope.
"In the Future, I will own 7 cars," and other lies you can't disprove.
Lying to yourself is easy, I thought.
It’s easy to wake up in the morning and think, “I’m Batman,” and then walk through your apartment in your underwear. No matter that the stuff in the apartment is nothing Bruce Wayne would touch with his own fingers. Alfred’s? Maybe. It’s easy to believe in something that isn’t real, like the characters on Seinfeld, the band infant Sorrow, or Miley Cyrus’s career.
Okay, it’s not easy. Because belief - deep-seated body-rocking-I-saw-it-and-it-happened-to-me belief - isn’t something you can convince yourself to do. You’re not Batman. You won’t own 7 cars, because you know what you’re going to achieve. Cars aren’t part of the formula.
Everyone has an internal, to-the-core impenetrable belief about themselves. And that belief, true or not (there is no thing as objectivity, is there) will govern how you live your entire life. It becomes the person you are. Your belief - that basic, I am this and I am not this and I will never become this and I am okay with this belief - is everything you end up becoming.
I’m not saying that if you can control this belief that you will get everything you want and be happy, (I’m not a Secret guru or anything) because you can’t control this belief. You can deaden it, numb it, brainwash it for a while, get yourself to do crazy amazing or terrible things, but it will always be there, under the surface. You are who you are, and it has to do with how you were raised and how you reacted to things as a child. You formed an initial belief about yourself and your place in the world, and while everything you learned after that became like dishes stacked in a sink, you are still the sink.
"I used to think water-boarding was a sport," and 19 other jokes that I wrote but I would bet a million dollars have already been written so I don’t use them.
My wife is definitely the one who encourages the art purchases in our house hold. We hit several shows every year and our favorite by far is the one at Boston Mills which is coming up in a couple weeks! We can’t wait!!
We were discussing it today and my wife says to me, well…
Reality may be getting an upgrade sometime soon, cautions Rick Warren, Chief Executive Scientist at the Academy for the Scientific Study of Human Accumulative Temporal Statuses (ASSHATS). Just what kind of upgrade can we be expecting?
"We’re getting another dimension," Warren says. "Like, a whole extra one outside of the two we already have." And his team of Junior Scientists agree - there’s something fishy going on in the future, and soon it’s going to be going on in the present too. What the Junior Scientists don’t agree on is what the third dimension will be, although there are plenty of theories.
"I think it has to be smell. What if we could, you know, touch smells?”
"It’s time. Time is the third dimension. Imagine if you could do something, and keep doing it, over a unit of time instead of just all at once. Wouldn’t that be wild? Just think how great sex could be!"
"Did you know they’re hypothesizing three-dimensional televisions? Like, think about this. A TV that actually sits in your apartment.”
How soon can we expect this change in reality?
"Could be four or five months. But I don’t know. Remember how long it took for the world to change from black and white to color? People had been predicting that since man’s discovery of fire, and it only just happened when Judy Garland killed that witch."
Questions aside, one certainty remains. If the world gets another dimension, no matter how world-shattering or jarring it may be during the first few days, after a week the third dimension will be taken for granted.
After a week, people will act as if it had been there the whole time.
Man Finally Enters Theater; Realizes “Now Showing” Doesn’t Mean He’s Late
by Adam Holwerda
SPARKS, NV - After more than five decades, Ron Smith of Sparks finally did something amazing - he saw a film in a theater.
“You know, I can’t tell you how many times I tried. I’d drive up, for instance, to see Pulp Fiction. And on the marquee outside, it said, ‘Pulp Fiction - Now Showing!’ And I was pissed, because I’d checked the time, and I was supposed to be early. So I waited around, hoping the sign would change, but it never did. Eventually I just got tired of waiting, and I drove home.”
Ron has had many similar experiences throughout his 56-year-long life. His children fondly recall his attempt to take them to Shrek almost a decade ago.
“We got there,” Susan Smith, 18, says, “and we kept telling him ‘Dad, let us go in! It probably just means the previews are playing!’ but he just sat there. ‘Nobody gets out of the car,’ he said, ‘You have to see the whole movie, or else there isn’t any point.’ So we waited for the next showing. And the next one. All the cups in the car were filled up by the time we went home.”
“He could never figure it out,” son Steven Smith, 21, says, “He’d go there late at night and just sit, looking at the sign, wondering who the hell was inside watching Jurassic Park at three in the morning. I guess he just figured the projectionist never went to sleep.”
This inability to enter a theater crippled the elder Smith; made him socially awkward, limited his potential marital pool to the women who never suggested seeing a film. His wife, Nancy Smith, is blind.
“I never saw a problem with it,” she says. “And don’t quote me like that was an unintentional pun. I know being blind is funny.”
Like most people dealing with these kinds of obstacles and logical roadblocks, Ron just lived his life. He stopped trying to go to movies, because, in his words, “It was just like they were out to get me. Like the refrigerator light. When I closed it, I knew it was off, I just couldn’t ever catch it. For a long time I was convinced that as soon as I was out of sight, the sign would change to ‘Batman Returns - Playing in Ten Minutes.’ But I realize how crazy that sounds now. I mean, Batman Returns went right to video, didn’t it?”
What eventually changed for Ron? How did he conquer his misunderstanding? Simple, he says.
“The sign people were changing the letters on the marquee, so it no longer said anything was playing right then. So I went in. And what do you know, Avatar wasn’t playing for fifteen more minutes. Then, when I saw a smaller sign that said the marquee was ‘Now Under Construction’ and the guys were on break, it hit me. I’m just an idiot.”
How was Avatar, Ron’s first theater film since he was too young to read? He just shrugs.
Illegitimizing Perfection: What Jim Joyce's gaffe means for one of the greatest achievements in sports
by Adam Holwerda
Tonight will be Armando Galarraga’s first start since what became an instant sensation, a worldwide phenomenon - a one-hit shutout that shouldn’t have been.
Much has already been made of America’s stolen moment, and I don’t have to rehash what a simple Google or Bing search will reveal. So I’ll make something different of last week’s event. Namely, the following:
The Perfect Game is no longer perfect.
Baseball analysts and sports-writers (even the women of The View) have asked what this means for pitchers, for umpiring, for instant replay. We all held our breaths when we found out that Commissioner Bud Selig had the power to reverse the call, and we all suffocated when he chose not to. It truly has been an emotional week, one following so clear an injustice that umpire Jim Joyce, auteur of said travesty, owned up immediately. What does this mean for baseball’s future? I don’t know.
But I know what it means for baseball’s past.
What was once considered, in my mind, the greatest single individual achievement by an athlete in sports - pitching a Perfect Game - is no longer. (Maybe now it’s bowling a 300. Whatever it is, there had better not be an umpire involved.)
There have been 20 Perfect Games - excuse me, perfect games (the noun is no longer proper) in Major League Baseball history. Before what happened to Armando Galarraga happened, nobody knew it could. Nobody knew that an element outside of the field of play could cast the deciding vote in a split-second, at the apex of glory and, consequently, the precipice of shame.
Now we know.
Let’s try a thought experiment now. Imagine with me for a moment the most famous perfect game of all. Don Larsen’s. Game 5 of the 1956 World Series.
Imagine the first base umpire misses the same call Jim Joyce did. Ninth inning. Two outs. The should-be 27th out gets written in as a single. That famous picture of Yogi Berra and Larsen embracing never happens. The Yankees still win. But the quintessential perfect game, the most culturally relevant, situationally important pitching performance (some would argue) of all time, is now just a one-hitter. Fifty-four years later we don’t even mention it. There are only 19 perfect games.
How easy it is to imagine, now, with what we know. With what I experienced, with two feeds going, with the complete knowing that came with Austin Jackson’s ridiculous catch that I was about to be given a perfect memory of happiness and pride, that I was about to see something no Tigers pitcher, ever, had done - and I was. I got that gift.
And then - while I was in the air, lungs expelling emotion - it was taken away. I came down a defeated man.
If this is how easy it is to ruin a piece of history, if the players and the pitcher can be perfect but an umpire can mire at the last moment what is supposed to be one of the most sacred achievements in sports, I’m sorry to say that I can only conclude that it doesn’t deserve that distinction.
Whatever the perfect game was before this tragedy, it is now a pair of words. And that’s all.
This e-mail is making the rounds. I’d reblog it from someone, but that would seem pointless. What I really like are the bits about the Flaming Lips and “saying yes”:
The thing is, I really like saying yes. I like new things, projects, plans, getting people together and doing something, trying something, even when it’s corny or stupid. I am not good at saying no. And I do not get along with people who say no. When you die, and it really could be this afternoon, under the same bus wheels I’ll stick my head if need be, you will not be happy about having said no. You will be kicking your ass about all the no’s you’ve said. No to that opportunity, or no to that trip to Nova Scotia or no to that night out, or no to that project or no to that person who wants to be naked with you but you worry about what your friends will say.
No is for wimps. No is for pussies. No is to live small and embittered, cherishing the opportunities you missed because they might have sent the wrong message.
What matters is that you do good work. What matters is that you produce things that are true and will stand. What matters is that the Flaming Lips’s new album is ravishing and I’ve listened to it a thousand times already, sometimes for days on end, and it enriches me and makes me want to save people. What matters is that it will stand forever, long after any narrow-hearted curmudgeons have forgotten their appearance on goddamn 90210. What matters is not the perception, nor the fashion, not who’s up and who’s down, but what someone has done and if they meant it. What matters is that you want to see and make and do, on as grand a scale as you want, regardless of what the tiny voices of tiny people say. Do not be critics, you people, I beg you. I was a critic and I wish I could take it all back because it came from a smelly and ignorant place in me, and spoke with a voice that was all rage and envy. Do not dismiss a book until you have written one, and do not dismiss a movie until you have made one, and do not dismiss a person until you have met them. It is a fuckload of work to be open-minded and generous and understanding and forgiving and accepting, but Christ, that is what matters. What matters is saying yes.