Kaustik Games
This is cool. Matt and I are going to change the world with games.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
A Bizarre Semester
Damn...well I can be forgiven in my first week back at university. Hopefully these large gaps in my blog won't become the norm.
This semester is going to be very interesting class-wise; I'm actually rather excited about it, and expect that it will be a great way for me end my time at Penn. I am finally taking a class that explores modern literary criticism, a subject in which I have found myself increasingly frustrated by want of a theoretical basis. The catch: this class is a modern feminist class (not exactly the field in which I have the greatest interest - however I am told that it's a burgeoning forum of intellectual activity today). Oh, and it's in French. And it's entirely about Marie Antoinette (yes, that cult figure of history around whom so many myths pervade). In fact the professor wants to dispel the many falsifications history has attached to her personality (such injustices the result of, in her words, gender exploitation). As the only guy in there, it should be an interesting hour of debate.
The other course greatly piquing my interest because of its stark contrast with the business courses I am usually enrolled in is "Human Evolutionary Biology" - this is going to be awesome. I have always felt that to understand man, and therefore mankind, demands a mutlidisciplinary approach in which truth is corralled into narrower spaces of ambiguity by counter-directional vectors of intellectual probing and exploration. One of these undoubtedly has to be an understanding of man's animal origin, the source of our primal instincts and emotional quotient.
Interestingly, I have already started to question the validity of evolution. There is a lot of proof for different aspects to Darwin's theory (namely in six different areas: Comparative Anatomy, Embryology, Molecular Biology, Biogeography, Experimental Simulation and Paleontology) but never has the thepry of evolution been wholly provable, or at all demonstrable. I've been trying to find examples of "speciation" that exemplify the actual evolution of different species of animal as opposed to the typical text book examples of natural selection at work (yes, the air got dirty and there were more black moths than white moths, but never at any point did two different species evolve from what was known to be the same animal). No success, and the professor was also clueless.
This semester is going to be very interesting class-wise; I'm actually rather excited about it, and expect that it will be a great way for me end my time at Penn. I am finally taking a class that explores modern literary criticism, a subject in which I have found myself increasingly frustrated by want of a theoretical basis. The catch: this class is a modern feminist class (not exactly the field in which I have the greatest interest - however I am told that it's a burgeoning forum of intellectual activity today). Oh, and it's in French. And it's entirely about Marie Antoinette (yes, that cult figure of history around whom so many myths pervade). In fact the professor wants to dispel the many falsifications history has attached to her personality (such injustices the result of, in her words, gender exploitation). As the only guy in there, it should be an interesting hour of debate.
The other course greatly piquing my interest because of its stark contrast with the business courses I am usually enrolled in is "Human Evolutionary Biology" - this is going to be awesome. I have always felt that to understand man, and therefore mankind, demands a mutlidisciplinary approach in which truth is corralled into narrower spaces of ambiguity by counter-directional vectors of intellectual probing and exploration. One of these undoubtedly has to be an understanding of man's animal origin, the source of our primal instincts and emotional quotient.
Interestingly, I have already started to question the validity of evolution. There is a lot of proof for different aspects to Darwin's theory (namely in six different areas: Comparative Anatomy, Embryology, Molecular Biology, Biogeography, Experimental Simulation and Paleontology) but never has the thepry of evolution been wholly provable, or at all demonstrable. I've been trying to find examples of "speciation" that exemplify the actual evolution of different species of animal as opposed to the typical text book examples of natural selection at work (yes, the air got dirty and there were more black moths than white moths, but never at any point did two different species evolve from what was known to be the same animal). No success, and the professor was also clueless.
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
Canada rules, car accidents don't
http://www.cbc.ca/story/sports/national/2005/01/04/Sports/canada-russia050104.html
Canada dominates once again - I really can't believe how much we rock at ice hockey. Thank God for this with the NHL season cancelled. The acquisition of ultimate victory in our nation's favoured sport irrevocably musters a warm pride in my heart for the otherwise discouraging leaf that serves as our national symbol.
But, car accidents really do suck. It will never cease to amaze me how cultural differences manifest themselves on even the most mundane levels. Living in Paris last year, I was accustomised to the brutish parking procedure with which all parisiens managed to secure themselves a side-street lot in the cramped quartier latin - the ol' whack-the-other-cars-with-your-bumpers-till-there's-enough-space. On Sunday, a moron (for he can only be called that, as I can clearly not be held accountable in any regard) drove into an unmarked intersection and collided with me despite my having the right of way. We both still broke in time, but due to the -23 degrees weather that is gracing my Canadian winter, our attempts at damage mitigation turned into a spinning ballerina act as we glided across silky smooth ice, the trunk of my shitty 1990 horizon nicely denting the side of this guy's SUV. Damn. And so ensued 3 days of paperwork and phonecalls, and a lot of time spent worrying about whether I was going to have to fork over $2000 for repairs. Thankfully, I was spared.
So after an awesome night at the police station filing accident reports, I came home and played 3 hours of chess with my Dad. I beat him twice, but playing white both times. My black game doesn't fare as well. But we spent most of the time playing endgames, the heart of chess. Is it possible to mate with only a knight and bishop? We couldn't figure it out.
Canada dominates once again - I really can't believe how much we rock at ice hockey. Thank God for this with the NHL season cancelled. The acquisition of ultimate victory in our nation's favoured sport irrevocably musters a warm pride in my heart for the otherwise discouraging leaf that serves as our national symbol.
But, car accidents really do suck. It will never cease to amaze me how cultural differences manifest themselves on even the most mundane levels. Living in Paris last year, I was accustomised to the brutish parking procedure with which all parisiens managed to secure themselves a side-street lot in the cramped quartier latin - the ol' whack-the-other-cars-with-your-bumpers-till-there's-enough-space. On Sunday, a moron (for he can only be called that, as I can clearly not be held accountable in any regard) drove into an unmarked intersection and collided with me despite my having the right of way. We both still broke in time, but due to the -23 degrees weather that is gracing my Canadian winter, our attempts at damage mitigation turned into a spinning ballerina act as we glided across silky smooth ice, the trunk of my shitty 1990 horizon nicely denting the side of this guy's SUV. Damn. And so ensued 3 days of paperwork and phonecalls, and a lot of time spent worrying about whether I was going to have to fork over $2000 for repairs. Thankfully, I was spared.
So after an awesome night at the police station filing accident reports, I came home and played 3 hours of chess with my Dad. I beat him twice, but playing white both times. My black game doesn't fare as well. But we spent most of the time playing endgames, the heart of chess. Is it possible to mate with only a knight and bishop? We couldn't figure it out.
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
First
I'm only 3 days late - 2 if you believe that nights are extensions of the previous day - which is not bad. Most of my resolutions for 2005 are likely to remain permanently unfulfilled. I'm simply trying to provide some rationale for the start date of my blog, if only because when (if ever) I wade through the archives of this journal, I will be forever curious as to why I didn't start writing on the arbitrary beginning of our cruise around the Sun. Laziness, I guess.
I am feeling relaxed, and refreshed, though not in the vigorous, energising way as after a good run. The holidays have started to take their toll...I am guilty of far too much drinking with family and friends, and too little production. Strangely, this is not altogether a good feeling - despite my increasing desperation to jump off the exam and paper treadmill as the end of the semester approached - it's the same every year - there is something amazingly satisfactory about stumbling home in the wee hours of the morning from the study halls, watching the rising sun through my bleary eyes and smiling inwardly at the amazing feat of endurance I have just pulled. But as I stretch myself more and more thinly over the widening maw of academic demands, the energy deficit becomes critical, and I crash, and burn. Two Christmas weeks of almost complete torpidity seem to be the perfect remedy, reinvigorating the bodily battery for another 4 months of fervent mental application, and increasing the odds that I'll make it to 30 before my hair turns grey. So? Well, there was that "but"...
I just feel better when I am being pushed, as I think most people do. How can a man (or woman) reach his maximum potential without first discovering his limits, and then challenging the boundaries they define? 2 weeks of R&R are 2 weeks during which those boundaries, encircling us entirely, can sag inwards, like an elastic material that needs force to define its own shape. In the same way, our own limits and abilities are partly defined by the energy we exert in trying to push those limits outwards. And it's not static. Leave it alone, and you lose ground. Yea, sucks.
So, instead of waiting for the start of the final semester of my senior year, I am going to try and overcome the inactivity into which I have sunk a little in advance. I have 5 days and much to accomplish - I need to get my resume together, finish (start?) applications to law schools, and drink excessively (hey, it's the holidays). I also have a choice to make. A choice of direction. Because right now, I have none, and that's going to be a problem when I finish university in four months and am bewildered as to what I am doing for the rest of "life". Or, so modern society tells me. In any case, enough money to support my lifestyle would be a fairly high priority in this regard. That, and avoiding any occupation (scholastic or otherwise) that will render me an avid participant in Russian Roulette contests.
Expect more on that note.
Finally, a mission statement might be appropriate for my first post. I am peripatetic (in the less specific, non-aristotelian nature of the word). I love this word, and think it is one of the most accurate adjectives that can accompany my name. Travelling philosophers are the province of myth and legend, into which I would like to write myself as markedly as possible. I'm a neoromantic who attributes far too much value to the notions of glory and self-sacrifice, one who delusively believes in the betterment of mankind over the happiness of a man. Faith in a dream greater than oneself is a liberating and enlightening ascent into the brilliantly platonic, where imperfect men can bathe in the golden light that radiates from perfect ideas. If only I knew how.
"Ullage" is perhaps best explained by a dictionary definition:
(ull'-ij) n. 1: the amount that a container (as a cask or tank) lacks being full; wantage; deficiancy, for example, as might be lost by leakage in shipment or storage. 2: apparently, in the UK, ullage is also the amount left in the keg considered undrinkable; dregs. [from Middle English ulage, from Middle French eullage "the act of filling a cask," from eullier "to fill a cask," from Old French ouil "eye, bunghole," from Latin oculus "eye." Other etymology says this come from Old French oile oil from the filling of almost-full flask with oil to prevent evaporation.]
Blogs fascinate me. I can't explain why I haven't started one earlier, but I think they are a wonderful outlet for the ullage that the mind produces. Writing allows for the rearrangement and preservation of temporal ideas that might otherwise dissipate into the ether of the unrealised. And hopefully, somewhere at the bottom of the barrel, there will be a pint or two worth sharing.
I am feeling relaxed, and refreshed, though not in the vigorous, energising way as after a good run. The holidays have started to take their toll...I am guilty of far too much drinking with family and friends, and too little production. Strangely, this is not altogether a good feeling - despite my increasing desperation to jump off the exam and paper treadmill as the end of the semester approached - it's the same every year - there is something amazingly satisfactory about stumbling home in the wee hours of the morning from the study halls, watching the rising sun through my bleary eyes and smiling inwardly at the amazing feat of endurance I have just pulled. But as I stretch myself more and more thinly over the widening maw of academic demands, the energy deficit becomes critical, and I crash, and burn. Two Christmas weeks of almost complete torpidity seem to be the perfect remedy, reinvigorating the bodily battery for another 4 months of fervent mental application, and increasing the odds that I'll make it to 30 before my hair turns grey. So? Well, there was that "but"...
I just feel better when I am being pushed, as I think most people do. How can a man (or woman) reach his maximum potential without first discovering his limits, and then challenging the boundaries they define? 2 weeks of R&R are 2 weeks during which those boundaries, encircling us entirely, can sag inwards, like an elastic material that needs force to define its own shape. In the same way, our own limits and abilities are partly defined by the energy we exert in trying to push those limits outwards. And it's not static. Leave it alone, and you lose ground. Yea, sucks.
So, instead of waiting for the start of the final semester of my senior year, I am going to try and overcome the inactivity into which I have sunk a little in advance. I have 5 days and much to accomplish - I need to get my resume together, finish (start?) applications to law schools, and drink excessively (hey, it's the holidays). I also have a choice to make. A choice of direction. Because right now, I have none, and that's going to be a problem when I finish university in four months and am bewildered as to what I am doing for the rest of "life". Or, so modern society tells me. In any case, enough money to support my lifestyle would be a fairly high priority in this regard. That, and avoiding any occupation (scholastic or otherwise) that will render me an avid participant in Russian Roulette contests.
Expect more on that note.
Finally, a mission statement might be appropriate for my first post. I am peripatetic (in the less specific, non-aristotelian nature of the word). I love this word, and think it is one of the most accurate adjectives that can accompany my name. Travelling philosophers are the province of myth and legend, into which I would like to write myself as markedly as possible. I'm a neoromantic who attributes far too much value to the notions of glory and self-sacrifice, one who delusively believes in the betterment of mankind over the happiness of a man. Faith in a dream greater than oneself is a liberating and enlightening ascent into the brilliantly platonic, where imperfect men can bathe in the golden light that radiates from perfect ideas. If only I knew how.
"Ullage" is perhaps best explained by a dictionary definition:
(ull'-ij) n. 1: the amount that a container (as a cask or tank) lacks being full; wantage; deficiancy, for example, as might be lost by leakage in shipment or storage. 2: apparently, in the UK, ullage is also the amount left in the keg considered undrinkable; dregs. [from Middle English ulage, from Middle French eullage "the act of filling a cask," from eullier "to fill a cask," from Old French ouil "eye, bunghole," from Latin oculus "eye." Other etymology says this come from Old French oile oil from the filling of almost-full flask with oil to prevent evaporation.]
Blogs fascinate me. I can't explain why I haven't started one earlier, but I think they are a wonderful outlet for the ullage that the mind produces. Writing allows for the rearrangement and preservation of temporal ideas that might otherwise dissipate into the ether of the unrealised. And hopefully, somewhere at the bottom of the barrel, there will be a pint or two worth sharing.
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