I ordered some Christmas presents from Amazon a few days ago. Today I got an email that began like this:
Greetings from Amazon.com.
We thought you'd like to know that we shipped your items, and that this completes your order.
It was on Facebook. I'm so glad to know they think I'm a heroin addict. Maybe this is why Facebook is having trouble selling ad space.
This was in one of my classrooms several months ago. I took it home intending to blog about it. And it ended up in my basement, sadly unblogged. Until now, that is.
I took the quiz. As you can see, the only question I answered "no" to is "wanting to make better grades." (It's a bit ironic, I think, that this advertisement for improving one's literacy is itself not exactly well written. "Wanting to make better grades"? That sounds like a Facebook status when you're too lazy to delete the "is." Come on.)
I guess I have inefficient reading habits. Mostly because I don't pay attention a lot of the time. I try to read Giovanni Pico della Mirandola (which is, by the way, the most awesome name ever) while surfing Facebook. I try to breeze through Dante during my Econ class. But I seriously doubt this seminar would have helped me. I read faster than anyone I know.
Let's look at those laudatory quotes.
Says a senior accounting major: "I learned more about improving my reading in this one hour, than in my entire educational history." Really? This improved your reading more than your going through all of elementary school? Where you actually became literate? And you still can't put a comma in the right place?
Says Terry Clancy, an Aerospace Engineering major: "My semester GPA increased from a 1.97 to a 3.28. Thank you for helping me." What is he doing as an engineer that requires strong reading skills? It's not like he's reading Joyce or Derrida. Reading mathematical equations isn't that hard.
I did not know that eating before an exam can be detrimental to my score. I guess I'd better stop eating, lest I have to take any tests in the future. Nor did I know that studying for more than an hour at a stretch lowers my retention. Then again, I don't think I could stand an hour of solid studying. I take breaks about that often. And highlighting and underlining are not the best ways to study. That doesn't mean they're horrible. They're often better than just plain reading.
Okay, this has stopped being funny, even to me. So I'm going to stop writing.
I had an Econ final at seven-thirty this morning. Determined not to miss it (like I have my last three seven-thirty classes. And my last nine o'clock class. And like I should have my last ten-thirty class), I set my alarm for five-forty-six. After getting out of bed at five-fifty-eight, I showered and got ready to leave for school. My plan was to leave at about six-fifty, giving me forty minutes to get to school. I left at about six-fifty-five. Thirty-five minutes left. That should be plenty. I've made it there in twenty before.
Everything was fine until I passed Gilbert on the two-oh-two. Then, just as I entered the three mile stretch where there is no exit, the traffic inexplicably congealed into a solid mass. Luckily, I typically travel well below the speed limit to save gasoline, so I didn't have to stop. Once I got past that mess, I was still making fairly good time. But then about Alma School, the same thing happened again.
I was stupid. Forgive me. I got off the freeway. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Three hundred times stupider than riding a bicycle from Tempe to my house. (And yes, I only included that to increase the number of numbers I put in this post.)
I got on Eighth Street going west. I have no idea why. What was wrong with University? Why did I choose to go on a road with a thirty-five mile per hour speed limit? And CONSTRUCTION? And a truck that drove through the construction on Rio Salado Parkway and then decided to turn around THROUGH THE CONSTRUCTION? THROUGH THE CONSTRUCTION! WITH A TRAILER!
Needless to say, I was pretty peeved when I got to the parking garage at seven-twenty-nine by the three-minute-behind clock in my car. I parked quickly, realized I wasn't between the lines, backed out, and parked somewhere else with no cars within five spaces of me. Then I ran to the business building to take my test. About twenty yards away from the entrance I realized that I had remembered to bring an extra eraser, but no paper. Oh well, I would just write on the test paper.
So I did. The test wasn't bad, though I did momentarily forget how to find a competitive equilibrium when the government spends a variable amount. The fact that I probably don't need to get above a fifty percent didn't hurt, either. When I gave the test to the teacher, indicating that I had forgotten to bring paper, she shrugged and gave that little "whatever" frown.
Then I went over to the music building to return my candle to Doc. I left it on the top of the name placard outside his office. I was surprised it balanced. I walked back to the Institute parking, grabbing a newspaper on the way, and realizing that it was a really, really lame collection of fake stories. They weren't even funny, most of them. I got to my truck, and noticed something really awesome. There were cars all around me, except in the parking spot directly behind me. I could back straight up into that stall and then just drive out. So I did. I drove home without incident.
Happy now, Leah?
Why do we humans do what we do? The answer is obvious: we act because we want to. In short, we do things because they are in our own self-interest. Yes, there are people who do don’t do so, but we have special names for them, names like “masochist” or “psychopath.” People generally act in their own rational self-interests.
Of course, this leads to a problem. As we all know, there is more than one person in the world. At some point, their self-interests are bound to conflict. What then? Many situations like these are called market failures, in economic terms. The traditional solution? Government intervention.
But government is not famous for its stunning efficiency or heartwarming friendliness. No, it seems like more of a seething morass of faceless bureaucrats who spend their time finding new ways to torture each citizen who walks in demanding service. But there is another problem with government—not its inhuman bureaucracy, but the fact that the law of self-interest doesn’t stop at the door of the White House (or Congress, or the FCC, or the IRS, or the FDA, or the Federal Reserve or…).
Elected officials act in their own self-interests. Voters act in their own self-interests. Regulators act in their own self-interests. Thus, even if the government should act to correct a market failure, there is no reason it will—or will do so correctly. After all, it was the same self-interest that got us into the problem in the first place.
For example, let’s look at monopolies. Since they have no competition, they are often overpriced, poorly run, and inefficient. We’ll use Microsoft as our representative monopoly. I find Microsoft’s software slow, buggy, and expensive. Windows is an awkward, bloated piece of junk.
Now compare that to, say, your local Department of Motor Vehicles. I don’t think it would be too far of a stretch to call the service slow, the procedures buggy, and the system, as a whole, expensive. Both are monopolies, and both represent a failure to align people’s self-interests.
How does this come about? Consider that the average voter bears very few of the direct costs of a new government program. Many Americans pay no income tax at all, so anything they get from the government is essentially free. We could end up with a group of citizens in the lower tax brackets voting themselves perks mostly at the expense of the higher tax brackets.
Or consider the case of financial regulators. If they enact and enforce stringent rules, conservatives will roundly criticize them for stunting economic growth. But in a massive collapse, what happens but cries for more regulation? Since public workers often want to expand their programs, these regulators might actually want to provoke crises.
With that in mind, look at our current financial crisis. It seems fairly clear that we had some sort of market failure—that the markets organized self-interest in a way that led to absolutely disastrous results. Some say that more regulation would have solved this problem. But what regulations would have stopped the pooling of debt, the risk spreading, and the insane housing speculation? Should we have, say, banned home buying? Would any regulator actually want to end the party? Did anyone foresee the full extent of the problems this would cause?
Of course not. What should have been done may be obvious now, but it was far from obvious then. Why would regulators have any better chance of seeing the problems than the people actually involved in them? Regulation as a cure-all is nothing more than a magical fairy that will stop anything bad from ever happening, and we can all live happily ever after. The end. Like any fairy tale, such a solution is appealing, but it’s not something to base a theory of governance on.
Welcome to the wonderful world of public choice economics. By beginning with the assumption that people are rationally self-interested and respond to incentives, it forms a somewhat cynical theory of political science that denies our power to produce a utopia through government.
Now, maybe the self-interested model of human behavior is not valid here. After all, it can lead to some fairly odd conclusions, like economist Amartya Sen’s sarcastic interaction between two perfectly self-interested humans:
“Can you direct me to the railway station?” asks the stranger. “Certainly,” says the local, pointing in the opposite direction, towards the post office, “and would you post this letter for me on your way?” “Certainly,” says the stranger, resolving to open it to see if it contains anything worth stealing (qtd. in Ooms 3).
But the standard economic model has proven remarkably robust in the financial world; why should it not in general hold in other fields? Indeed, so long as people do not generally have the public good as their overriding concern, their actions in a democracy will not serve the public good.
As much as I’d like to believe in the free market alone, I realize that it has its flaws. But I also know that market failure itself implies government failure.
Eight months ago, my friend, whom we’ll call Michael, because that’s his name, announced that when he went to college he was going to move into an apartment. He was going to spend $723 per month on rent. Plus utilities. No, he wasn’t going to get a roommate. And living in a dorm was out of the question. I thought this was the most moronic idea ever. After all, my own plan was to live at home and spend as little money on the necessities of life as possible. Any rational person would have agreed with me.
In June, when he finally moved in, he became the biggest cheapskate in the world. Food? Cheap bologna and white bread. Laundry? The bathtub works just fine. And he’s turned his air conditioning on exactly twice since he moved in. My disbelief and frustration grew without bound. How could he justify his huge monthly expenditures yet starve himself to death? The entire situation seemed an inane farce.
But I later had a redemptive change of heart. Not only did I realize that his apartment was actually rather nice (maybe even worth the $723 per month), but I realized that I shouldn’t care. Michael’s apartment rentership and its accompanying thrift didn’t hurt me. It didn’t even seem to be hurting him. He was responsible, studious, and even had fun once in a while.
I was suffering from a set of cognitive biases. Although I was absolutely wrong, I could summon vast logical arguments to show that what Michael was doing would eventually prove disastrous. I had convinced myself, by numerous infallible proofs (or so I thought), that Michael was not ready to own an apartment or live by himself. In one of these biases, I only paid attention to examples that bolstered my own opinion: doing laundry in the bathtub or sweating through 120º heat. I neglected the evidence that Michael was doing just fine. In fact, I still find it hard to muster a concrete example of his successful household management. Jeffrey Mishlove, in his book The Roots of Consciousness, calls this confirmation bias—seeking only for information that reinforces our extant prejudices. There are other cognitive biases, including the use of overgeneralized stereotypes and a reliance on extraordinary, well-publicized information. These cognitive biases are similar to optical illusions—what we think we see is not actually there; what we think we know is not actually true.
Because of these biases, no one should have the power to command, control, or coerce others. They make it impossible to objectively say if an action is right. Any judgment is filtered through these biases, making objective decisions highly unlikely. If I am absolutely certain that blue cheese salad dressing is a crime against humanity, should I be able to ban its sale? Probably not. The same is true even if I manage to convince a large group of people that I am right. After all, most of my friends agreed with me that Michael’s apartment would be a disaster. Even groups are not exempt from cognitive biases; indeed, biases are magnified through them in phenomena such as groupthink. Biases of individuals are not necessarily canceled or mitigated in group action situations. Psychological research indicates that groups are actually more likely to take extreme actions than individuals are (Moscovici 134). For example, cultural assumptions like racism are reinforced in group actions. Individuals exaggerate their views to align with community standards, thus increasing the power of the group’s views. Since all humans suffer from cognitive biases, not even a large group of them should impose their biases on others.
Enough of the veiled allusions. What I’m really talking about is government. A government inherently has the power to coerce, but due to the cognitive-bias problem, no government can hope to find what policies are truly optimal, even with the best intentions. Even democracies can act poorly due to the group manifestations of these flaws in thinking. No government can hope to be objective, even with masses of people supporting it. [1] Because of this, it is nearly impossible to have a government that will definitively do what is in the people’s best interest. It is extremely unlikely for any democracy to implement the best policy—if it even considers it. This means that government initiatives should only be undertaken with the utmost care. Only in the most compelling circumstances should a democracy’s coercive power be used, leaving most decisions to individuals where they can only hurt themselves.
Not even scientific analysis is exempt from this indeterminacy of policy. John Ioannidis, a medical researcher at the University of Ioannina in Greece, has demonstrated that the majority of scientific research does not contribute new information, but simply reinforces biases already present in the scientific community. This is not hugely surprising; after all, why should scientists be free of cognitive bias? [2] In fact, a number of French scientists in the early 1900s believed so adamantly in “N-rays,” a visible form of X-rays, that they hallucinated them in laboratory conditions (Mishlove). This dampens the power of an appeal to rational governance through science. A technocratic government built on scientific principles is as unlikely to be ideal as a democracy.
This all seems to lead toward Edward Abbey’s observation that “anarchism is founded on the observation that since few men are wise enough to rule themselves, even fewer are wise enough to rule others” (qtd. in Moncur). But let’s face it. It’s not at all likely that we will reach a state of anarchy in the near future, since most people’s biases—cognitive and otherwise—are skewed toward governmental power. And it’s far from clear that the absence of government would be better than an inefficient government. In light of this, it seems prudent to limit the power and scope of government within its own framework. Rather than actively undermining governmental authority, it is better to limit its power through the accepted mechanisms of government. Since governments faces the same judgment problem I did with Michael, we should make their default attitude permissive, not restrictive; “live and let live,” not “live and coerce.”
[1] Indeed, the justification for paternalism disappears in a democracy: The people don’t know what’s best for them, so they need to be restricted. So who is going to restrict them? The people. Hmm.
[2] It is somewhat ironic to use a scientific study to show that scientists are subject to cognitive bias, but the only consistent conclusion is that scientists do suffer from bias. For if they were not subject to bias, then their conclusion would be correct, but this conclusion is that they do suffer from bias. However, if they are subject to bias, they simply managed to come to the correct conclusion in spite of it.
So my Human Event teacher mentioned that the price of rice in Costa Rica had doubled since last year. My first thought was "hmm. That'd be a great place to study Giffen goods."
These are my brother's oral rubber bands. Named Fred, apparently. 
This is the opposite side of the package. I understand the first caution. But the second? Heaven forbid Americans buy rubber bands without their orthodontists approving! (I also find it odd that it's worded as a warning, as if this were something to be afraid of. Beware of U.S. Federal law! Unauthorized rubber-band buyers will be prosecuted!) Honestly, what is the purpose behind this restriction?
I logged into my bank account today, and I was very pleasantly surprised to see Direct Deposit ARIZ STATE UNIV 1000.00 as the first item there. I had all but despaired of getting my AcaDeca scholarship from them; I sent an email that seemed to go nowhere a couple of weeks ago. But they gave it to me yesterday, and I didn't even have to call and shout at them! I thought they were just passing the buck, as I got two notices that it had been forwarded to the correct person. But they did it! Hurrah for ASU!
Two of my professors (English and Human Event) are ex-Mormon. One of them is now a vague theist; the other probably a secular humanist. My physics professor is at the very least a former Catholic. My econ professor is most likely irreligious or Russian Orthodox. My choir teachers are generic Protestants. And I'm pretty sure my Institute teacher is Mormon.
The most prominent faction in my Human Event class is apatheist (a blend of apathetic and theist—they just don't care), with disaffected Catholic close behind. I am one of two LDS persons in that class. We have one Muslim, who is very emphatic about what Islam is and is not. There are also a few apathetic Christians—one was surprised to find anything controversial in the Bible. (You know, stuff like marriage, divorce, and women.)
In my English class, we have again the apatheists, but also an evangelical atheist. (He's annoying.) Then we have a few traditional Protestants, and me. Ironically, our poststructuralist philosopher also apparently attends church services.
Who knows about any of my other classes? We have no inter-student interaction. Don't be ridiculous.
When I first came across By Common Consent, I considered it strange, fascinating, and vaguely heretical. After all, one guy there was talking about his expectation that women would be given the priesthood. It was just so unknown.
Then I started reading it regularly. At first, it was to get the thrill of reading something heterodox. But then something happened. By Common Consent started to feel normal. I felt at home there. I felt like I knew the contributors. It was no longer a strange foreign world. It was home.
Now I wonder how I could ever have thought it was weird. Even the writers with somewhat unorthodox views don't typically loudly proclaim them unless asked.
Anyways, there you go. I now live at By Common Consent. Unless I'm visiting Times and Seasons for a while. Or maybe I'm over to see if Feminist Mormon Housewives has decided to post something interesting yet (or ditch their ugly color scheme). Or I might be at Millennial Star to see how the ultra-conservative Mormon base is doing (even though they really aren't that conservative, that's the way I feel about it).
So basically the comparison is:
In Atlas Shrugged the productive members of society go on strike in order to bring the "looters" down.
In 3 Nephi the productive members of society band together in one area in order to starve the Gadianton robbers.
There you are, Leah.
So whenever someone says something like "Which store are you going to?" I want to correct it to "To which store are you going?"
But whenever they say "To which store are you going?" I want to correct them, saying the conventional wording is correct.
I'm so consistent.
Every once in a while, I'll have a thought. Something so stunningly deep, so deeply meaningful, so meaningfully eloquent that I cannot stand to lose it. So I go and write it down on my iPod. There's a handy little "notes" program that pretends to be a very miniature legal pad. With a keyboard.
So now I've decided to go through these notes and show you all how wonderful my little tidbits of thought are. Prepare to be stunned.
Note #1:
"Every time you give the prayer your future spouse gets hotter.
Why not every time you sing the hymn or give a talk?
Every time you ditch church your future wife becomes a bigger nag?
Every time you finish a Personal Progress requirement your future husband gets poorer? [I think I meant richer. Oops.]"
Note #2:
"Blog ideas
Rick Palmer
Thinking
Disneyland and the Gospel
Intuitive econometrics
Orthodoxy is humility?
Tragedy envy
Children of Eden and allegory
Children of Eden and religious revulsion
Paz De Cristoj [typo!]
Atlas Shrugged and 3 Nephi
Things I miss about choir
The best place to sit on the bus
I am not funny
See, Kayla, I can sound dumb too [hmm. sounds familiar]"
Note #3:
"Institute is awkward."
Note #4:
"Flu Awareness Month?
Is anyone not aware of the flu?"
Note #5:
"Peregrine falcons on Temple Square
Joseph Smith Sr reunion--ecumenicism
We glorify civil disobedience in china... 'I'm a government official. I'm going to forget your name.'
'No one ever told me about polygamy.'
I'm going to become Mormon because of NuSkin.
I wish I were a sister missionary..."
There are many more notes, but I think this gives you a taste of the erudition of my everyday thoughts.
Dave Barry started it. Mike Toludo (whoever he is) inspired it. And now, with the help of anagramlogic.com, I'm continuing it.
Michael Cates can be respelled:
(not necessarily accurate; as I become older and older, the disutility of thinking seriously about my death lessens, and thus this document will become more and more reflective of my actual wishes as time goes on.)
First of all, we’ll have to discuss who gets my stuff:
Any chat logs found on my computer become property of the other party to the conversation; for any group chats, each party gets a copy.
My school papers and notes are to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. (Or, more likely in this case, the person willing to take them away for the least amount of money.)
Michael Cates receives all my non-Vassals compositions written after 2005. He also receives my iPod. I wish I could give him my piano, but I can’t. Oh, but he does get my copy of the New Oxford Book of Carols. If he promises to use it.
William Ramsey receives the rights to Vassals on the Loose and any other operetta-related things we may have written. If he so wishes, he can dig through the piles of my past papers to find these things. Or he can just be satisfied with the Word and Finale files.
Andrew Kurth receives all memorabilia relating to the fiasco that was Tigagech, as well as any of my voluntary writings previous to 2006.
Taylor Kerby gets anything he wants. That’s right, he can override anyone’s bequest listed here. But I’m sure he won’t. He’s just too nice.
Leah Francis gets my laptop. I think she also gets ownership of my blog.
My pecuniary assets will be completely liquidated, placed in $1 bills, and given out one by one to unsuspecting individuals. There will be a 10% margin of error for graft and embezzlement, if you absolutely must have some of my money.
If you aren’t listed here and you want something else that’s not listed here, talk to Taylor about it. And don’t be offended that you aren’t listed here. I may not have anything concrete from my relationship with you, but you can still have a piece of me.
My funeral will be joyous and lively. Crying on the day of my death is expressly forbidden. There shall be a 10,000 voice choir which will perform works by Ligeti, Messiaen, Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms, ending with Mozart’s Requiem. This will take a long time, so members of the choir can take individual breaks if needed. Beyond that, it should be a simple, refined affair. Follow the standard LDS funeral form, but keep in mind that anyone crying will be forcibly removed from the room, including speakers. And don’t give me any of this “tears of joy” nonsense. Two words: NO CRYING.
So, my English class currently consists of a set of three "Catapults" prepared each day. Sometimes I really like them and write great stuff for them. Other times, well...
Nothing I can write will better convey my contempt for this activity than a blank page. Actually, that’s not true. A satirical response will.
He reads Derrida and draws from it a life-force. He rails against society with the fury of a lion that has been tortured by an idiotic child with a BB gun. He aims to show his utter superiority—his tone, topic, and manner all convey this.
In order to disguise himself, he began shopping—finding a collection of items just strange enough to suggest that a real (though eccentric) person were buying them. He apparently wants to claim the persona of a young father sent on a shopping errand with orders to buy the hodgepodge of items the household is missing. While shopping, he became hungry and decided to grab a Snickers bar and eat it.
When the police finally found him, he was looking for the store brand of Cheerios, which were on sale. When he saw the police, he dashed off, dropping his Snickers bar, and the police gave chase, eventually catching him in the poultry section. His white, battered Hyundai Elantra was unharmed in the chase.
Then, of course, I would do every risky thing that I might ever want to do. After all, the potential loss is a lot smaller now: fewer than three days of life rather than my indefinitely greater previous potential lifespan. So, bungee jumping, cliff diving, and the rest.
I blink and the room changes. Stark, geometric slabs give way to nuanced, organic flows. Heavy substance flees for open space. Reason and thought retreat; exuberance and joy replace them. I blink again and the ordered world returns.
Because we do a lot of fun writing. Like this—the prompt was, in essence, you are Aladdin, trapped in the cave with the genie, and must choose a wish. Choose something awesome, or you're not getting out of the cave.
Let me get this straight. I’m trapped in a cavern, alone with my pet monkey and a genie, and I have to, this moment, pick the one thing I want most in this world? And it can’t be anything lame like a million dollars? I have to come up with a creative and unique wish that probably could only be fulfilled by a genie? At least the cave isn’t actively collapsing on me, so my decision time is only limited by how long I can last without food. And Abu, he’s a pretty big monkey, so if worst comes to worst…
That’s it. I know. I want food.
Not just any food, but all food. I want to be able to have any food I want, whenever I want. I am perpetually hungry; either I don’t want to bother preparing food for myself, I don’t want to spend money on food, or I don’t want to spend time eating it. This wish would at least get rid of two of those problems.
Or maybe I could just say that I never want to be hungry again; if I want, I can eat, but only because it tastes good. That way I don’t lose the marvel of a delicious meal, made all the better by the hard work I put into it.
Of course, I would still lose the increased enjoyment of food brought on by hunger. So I guess what I really want is the ability to control my hunger. When I want to be hungry, I’m hungry. When I don’t, I’m not. Okay? Now get me out of this cave.
Or, more accurately, I am not a Sun Devil. I don't subscribe to the sense of group identity that seems to define ASU students. I happen to attend ASU, but only because of the benefits it brings me. I don't attend ASU to join an arbitrary union of students bound by common allegiance to athletic programs. I attend ASU to 1) learn, 2) get a degree, and 3) get scholarship money. Honestly, does Michael Crow think he can buy my allegiance with a measly $15,000 per year? I have my own sense of group identity quite separate from anything ASU offers. I am probably more loyal to Red Mountain than I will ever be to ASU. And given my lack of conspicuous school spirit at Red Mountain, it's surprising I'm not plotting the demise of this great institution of higher learning.
In English today, we discussed the importance of considering audience when writing. To build this skill, the class broke into groups to come up with pro- and con- arguments intended for a particular audience. The topic: the drinking age.
None of the members of my group seemed to want to do anything. One seemed bored and unmotivated, another seemed unsure of his ideas, and the third seemed...drunk.
Maybe I'm being overly harsh. Maybe she was just really tired. Then again, maybe she was high. I don't know. But she seemed drunk. She didn't seem to have all her cognitive skills at her fingertips. She was giggly and sometimes burst out with random thoughts: "Oh, I just realized! A private eye could be a private eye, but also a private I, like a private investigator!" (This topic derailed our class for 5 minutes.) She complimented me on my handwriting several times. Except for my "d"s. She liked her own "d"s better. She sat on the table instead of a chair.
I guess I've done that before, though. In class, no less. But that was AcaDeca, not English 102. And I wasn't drunk.
And I feel really mean now. Still, the irony's too good to pass up.
This new announcement accosted me when I boarded the bus Thursday morning, shortly after the heartwarmingly maternal "Please watch your step" that the doors command when they open. It joins the perennial "Attention, passengers. The fare box will only issue passes when the correct fare has been paid." (I always mentally replace this announcement with "Attention passengers. The fare box will only issue passes when DEATH is on the line!" Wouldn't that be so much better?) And of course are the frequent (and frequently absent, when the system is broken) announcements of "Approaching (Street Name). Transfer to (Bus routes)." This announcement is rather funny when I get to ASU, because at the stop I exit at, there are a huge number of transfers. So the announcement goes "Approaching—College Avenue—Transfer to—Route one—Route forty-four—Route fifty-six—Route sixty-two—Route sixty-six—Route seventy-six—Route eighty-one—Route ninety-two...Orbit Circulator." There isn't a recording for every single stop, so they string together a bunch of recordings for each section of the message. It sounds as if the woman announcing pauses every two words to gather her thoughts.
Back to the original pronouncement. It's extremely well enunciated. So much so that I can hear the explosive initial "p" briefly overload the microphone. And do they really have that serious a problem with it? I know occasionally elementary school students will leave items on buses, but that problem diminishes as the students age. On a bus used by the general public, no one should be leaving their personal possessions.
Isn't it great how much amusement I can get out of analyzing such quotidian things as the announcements on buses?
There are a number of facts about fonts everyone should be aware of. Calibri often induces an uncontrollable desire to hug the printed word. The use of Arial has been linked with terminal unoriginality. And Times New Roman, well, Times New Roman has a tendency to drive readers to murder.
Who wouldn’t, after seeing those demonic curves, those mind-crushingly heavy lines, those rapier-sharp serifs? The “h,” “m,” and “n” seem to bind the free human spirit and cram it within a single letter. The absurd “g” with two constrictive loops handcuffs the eyes and chains them to the dense, heavy print upon the page. The alternating lines, one ridiculously thick and the next paper-thin, make for a blatantly dull, impenetrable block of text that seems to quash the soul beneath its heavy load. The letterforms of Times New Roman puncture the human consciousness, leaving gaping holes of revulsion and repugnance.
And then they are repeated. And repeated. And repeated. Repeated. Repeated. Times New Roman cannot be evaded. It permeates our world. Every student paper, every hastily contrived flyer, every amateur website employs this deadly font. Times New Roman follows us everywhere. There is no escape. It surrounds us, crushing our souls with its banal arcs and lines. We must end this torture. Humanity deserves better.
Please refrain from using the typeface Times New Roman.
I wish I were a music major. Not only are they incredibly focused and dedicated, they get to take a number of amazing classes that are verboten to us mundane economics, philosophy, math, or engineering majors. I would enjoy taking classes such as music theory, music composition, or ethnomusicology, but I chose not to major in music, and these classes are reserved for music majors .
I had never seriously planned on majoring in music; my idea was to get a music minor in conjunction with a more profitable degree. But that plan burned to ashes in a spectacular pyrotechnic bonfire when I learned the requirements for ASU’s music minor. The requirements were absurd. Not only would I be required to learn the “Fundamentals of Music Notation” but I might have to study “Elvis Presley,” “Hip-Hop,” or “The Beatles.” And this intensive course of study would be added to such erudite courses as “Mac Literacy for Musicians” and “Concert Attendance.”
That’s sarcasm, by the way. The course of study prescribed by ASU’s music minor is ridiculously simple. It requires no performance, theory, or study of traditional art music. It is a conglomeration of throw-away music history courses that seems to be intended for lackadaisical liberal-arts students looking to pad their academic resumés.
It could be so much better. A music minor could be a music major in miniature—a taste of the incredible voyage that those brave souls who study music education, composition, or performance embark upon. ASU’s music minor could, in its 21 credits, be far more meaningful.
My proposed music minor would consist of one semester of music theory, three semesters of ensemble performance, two semesters of studio lessons, as well as two of class piano, a semester of ethnomusicology, and six elective credits to be used in the fields of history and theory. This would be a deeper, broader study of music than is currently offered, yet fit in the same number of credits as the current program.
I must confess, though, that this selection of classes is not entirely my own. All of these classes are required in the first two semesters of a BA in Music degree. A minor in music is much more meaningful when it draws from the same basis as the programs offered to music majors. This proposed minor could even help grow the music major programs by showing students the joys of the study of music. It certainly would benefit me; I’d be able to take the music classes I want without devoting my entire life to the pursuit of a music degree.
Of course, this program will probably never be implemented because it would require the music school to do the unthinkable: open music classes to non-majors.
My ASU 101 teacher asked that this week. To a class of freshmen. At ASU. The second biggest party school in the nation.
Apparently it had something to do with a stress quiz that we took. Getting married causes a lot of stress, after all. And some people had had incredibly high scores on the test. So maybe he assumed that they got married recently?
(Sorry about the weird iridescent moire patterns—the scanner I used isn't very good and apparently it didn't align very well with the halftoning used on these ads.)
These were on the back of a couple of magazines from the 1950s that for some reason I have in my basement. (I'd tell you the whole story but it's long and convoluted... Fine. So for some reason, Bro. Hutzler found himself in possession of a large quantity of music related material dating from the 1930s to the 1950s. And for some reason he decided that he would give it to my mother. So he did. And this stack of old musty, disintegrating magazines was in a box with a huge Marlboro logo on it. I decided not to ask questions. Anyway, I was bored one day and I looked through it and found these ads. Not only did I find them, I found them hilarious.)
Bob Jones University is the Evangelical equivalent of BYU. (Their initials are even almost the same.) It has even more of a reputation for nerdy religionism than BYU does, apparently for good reason. Can you imagine BYU running an ad like this?
So if I study at Bob Jones University, I'll be sent to fiery purgatory? Or maybe I'll get heartburn? Not really a stunning endorsement of BJU. Then again, maybe they're just trying to warn potential students of the average temperature in South Carolina. It almost makes me want to go to BJU, just so I can shout "My heart is aflame!"
And modernism is sin. I wonder what this ad's copywriters think about post-modernism... And in order to be righteous, apparently you must be "aggressively" taught the gospel. I can only be faithful if I have gospel truths pounded into my head on a daily basis?
BUT IS KEEPING THE FAITH ENOUGH?
I'm on the bus. It is 3:42 PM. I left ASU at 2:35. I'm still five miles away from my bus stop, where I get off and drive five more miles home. I hate public transportation.
For about half an hour a rather giddy woman sat next to me. She kept trying to start conversations. "I need a pedicure. [to the teenage boy across from her] Do you want a manicure? Get it? MAN-icure?" No one took her up on her offer of such a reasoned, erudite dialogue, but this didn't stop her. She continued to talk as if she were holding a great conversation. Occasionally she mentioned how much fun riding the bus was—how many people you meet and friends you make. Occasionally she coaxed a word or two out of someone with an energetic "Right?" I couldn't decide whether she was drunk or just slightly crazy. Did I mention that I hate public transportation?
On Thursday, I had an engagement to take the Collegiate Learning Assessment at 5:30 PM at ASU. I drove to school, hoping to avoid the huge waits associated with riding the bus home at that time of night. But since I don't have a parking permit at ASU, I parked at Michael's apartment, which is less than a mile away from campus. The test was inane, and I finished in 20 minutes. I walked over to the Orbit bus stop and waited for the Jupiter forward bus. Supposedly, they come every 15 minutes. And I waited. Well, there went the Mercury bus. And I waited. I walked over to the other bus stop, wondering if I had missed something. And I waited. Another Mercury bus went by. And I waited. Finally the Jupiter bus barreled past the stop, flashing a rude "DISCHARGE ONLY" from its electric sign. And I waited. I finally got to Michael's apartment at about 7:30. Did I mention that I hate public transportation?
It's now 3:57, and I'm still two miles away. Did I mention that I hate public transportation?
This paper is not the best I could write. I don’t believe I have ever done my best at anything, nor do I believe that anyone else ever has.
After all, what does it mean to do my best at an action? If I am truly doing my best, there is no change that I could make that could improve the outcome of the action. But in any action, there is always room for improvement. I could have spent an extra hour writing this paper. Or an extra two hours. Or even longer. If I truly wanted to do my best on this paper, I would have dedicated my life to it from the time I learned of the assignment until five minutes before class. This is not a very likely or desirable situation.
This complaint is, in theory, easily resolved, merely requiring a few qualifying words: “to do my best under the circumstances.” But this merely substitutes the implausible with the unknowable. If I were to state this, I would be claiming to be able to solve an incredibly complex optimization problem involving dozens of variables over large ranges. I would have to account for such disparate inputs as amount of sleep, time spent choosing ideas, time spent writing, caloric intake, emotional state, and many others. Even if I had a miraculously omniscient function giving me the quality of my work given each of these inputs, finding the maximum thereof would be incredibly difficult.
Then there is the difficulty of defining the “circumstances.” What set of constraints should I place on my productivity? Should I allocate a set amount of time? Should I take my emotional state as a given? Should I assume that I had to go to that party Friday night? Should I consider myself responsible for mistakes I made years ago that hindered my intellectual development? Not only are the constrained maxima unknowable, so are the constraints themselves.
If I were to believe that I had done my best on this paper, I would be engaging in self-deception. There is no justification for stating that I have done my best. All I can say is that it should be good enough.
I wrote this for my English class; another person in the class had written a paper arguing that God was immoral, and while on the way comparing the relationship between God and man to that of a father and child. He implied that he now had the moral standing to judge God, which is what prompted this particular argument against that paper.
My six-year-old brother Jarett loves to play games on the computer. Before doing so, he is required to obtain permission from my mother. Of course, he frequently flouts this requirement and plays whenever he can. When caught, he protests with a complaint like “That’s not fair!” or “You are wrong, mister!” To an adult, this situation is fair, and my mother is not in the wrong, but explaining these facts to Jarett is fruitless. He simply does not (and cannot, until he is older and more mature) fully understand the morality of the situation. He does not know everything that my mother knows and thus is not in a position to judge her actions. He does not realize that not only does the computer not belong to him, but his parents have the right to limit his access thereof for his own benefit.
So it is with humanity’s relationship to God. We are His children, with emphasis on the childlike aspect. We have not yet developed the spiritual strength and maturity to understand God’s adherence to a strict moral code, just as my younger brother has not yet developed the mental faculties and maturity to understand why he is not allowed to use the computer. Nor do we even have access to all the information God has. Even if we did, we would be unable to comprehend it all.
Those who rail against God’s perceived moral flaws suffer from a vital misconception—since they are physically adults, they must have the moral and spiritual right to judge God. But we are all still children in God’s eyes. None of us has developed the perception or acumen that He possesses, and none of us has His boundless knowledge. We cannot presume to judge God on our limited knowledge and weak conception of eternal morality. To do so is equivalent to Jarett’s announcing to my mother that she has “a million hundred thousand forty-seven minutes [of time out].”
So a long time ago, I was thinking about procrastination. And I came up with some interesting ideas about it, ideas that I wanted to blog about. So I put the title of this post down, and ignored it for three months. (Of course I have problems with procrastination. Why else would I be thinking about it?
In any event, I was reading a P.J. O'Rourke book which contains a description of cocaine addiction. He gives an interesting depiction of an addict drinking coffee in very self-destructive ways, clearly aware of what it is doing to him, yet simply not caring. I would quote it for you, but I don't have the book any more. Just take my word it was very funny.
And very poignant. When I procrastinate, I sit in front of my computer browsing the internet, searching for some sort of distraction so I don't have to do work, knowing full well the sort of damage this is doing to my future. I know that I will have to do the work at some point, but I don't care. At times I've even thought as far as "This is really hurting the future me. Is this website really worth it?" but somehow my thought process stops there.
Procrastination is an addiction.
This is a picture of Jorgen I found in a scrapbook. In my basement. The most interesting thing is the bib labeled "Spit Happens." I found this hilarious when I read it, mostly because it was very late at night. (Yes, that's the kind of thing I do rather than go to bed on Sunday nights.) I pointed this out to Jorgen. Of course, I had to explain the joke to him.
He's now scarred for life.
One of the parts of the musical Children of Eden that intrigued me the most was the very anthropomorphic character of the Father. Within the story he is not some perfect deity with perfect knowledge; in fact, in the second act, Noah seems to teach God a thing or two about love and family. Rather than being theologically accurate, the play is more of a cosmic drama with familial relations as the theme.
But as I watched the show, I tried interpreting this as an interesting view of the Garden of Eden story--trying to pull a fairly orthodox LDS interpretation out of the play. And I realized that for most of the first act, I could see the Father's actions as legitimately godly. The key was in interpreting him as playing a role in his interactions with humanity. Rather than making the story boring by giving perfect, obviously morally correct commands, he increased the conflict and tension by seeming to be selfishly motivated and perhaps even mistaken.
To accept such commandments requires a leap of faith, and when this is combined with possibly imperfect human messengers, we have a pretty interesting story. To me this sheds a bit of light on topics like the black priesthood ban, polygamy, and most of the Old Testament. What happens if we see God as purposefully appearing enigmatic and perhaps immoral in order to require faith in Him?
I found this sticker on a car while we were at Disneyland. Being myself, I had to take a picture of it. My dad said he saw a similar sticker affixed to Disneyland (yes, Disneyland itself) but we couldn't find it later to take a picture of it.
Whilst trying to find information on this warning that Disneyland could cause cancer and reproductive harm, I stumbled across a few choice related items:
MSDS for water
An MSDS, or Material Safety Data Sheet, tells you what is hazardous about a particular substance. In this case, it's for water.
An interesting discussion on this. A mouse had one of these warnings affixed to it, saying that you should wash your hands after touching the mouse.
I won't add any more; it's already quite enough.
So I'm living at home while attending ASU. The only problem? ASU is 25 miles away from my home. And gas is expensive. (Not to mention the whole thing about me not quite having a drivers license yet.) So I figured what I would do is drive to the nearest bus stop, park there, and ride the bus to ASU. I figured it'd take a bit longer, but nothing bad.
I finally decided to look up my route this afternoon. My first result was that it would take me 1 hour and 38 minutes to get to ASU. (Well, after the statements telling me that I lived so far from the nearest bus stop that I would die of dehydration before walking there.) That means I would have to get up for Physics as early as I did for Singers last year--and I doubt they would let me hold choir rehearsal on the bus. And Michael wanted me to switch to a 7:35 AM Physics class. Hello, waking up at 3 AM.
I did manage to get it down to 1:07 by going to a different bus stop. But I could attend South Mountain Community College and get there faster than ASU. Of course, without that $15,000 scholarship, I wouldn't be going anywhere...
Anarcho-capitalism is an intriguing political ideology involving the elimination of all government and the use of businesses to provide things like law, police, and national defense. For someone like me who typically despises governmental coercion, it's a pretty tempting idea. But I really don't think it's a very feasible idea.
First of all, the strongest form of anarcho-capitalism uses the existence of a natural law which all people agree upon in order to justify any use of force by private individuals. This law includes the right to life, liberty, and property. Under this law, it is unjust for anyone to take any of these things from you without your consent--even, say, democratically elected officials. Unfortunately, as evidenced by the existence of, say, governments, not everyone believes in this extreme natural law. If they did, or even a majority did, the government would be much smaller than it is now. So this doesn't bode well for an anarcho-capitalist society actually working or coming into existence.
But some anarcho-capitalists argue that even if we don't all agree on morality, if the costs of a law implemented by some group of people exceed its benefits, the company enforcing that law will go out of business. This is all well and good, but what actually happens to measure these costs and benefits? That's right, people get killed. Equilibrium would be found, but not without considerable bloodshed. Furthermore, who's to say that, for example, radical anti-oatmeal activists would hire someone to enforce a law against growing oatmeal and are willing to spend far more in defense of this goal than pro-oatmeal groups are willing to spend to defend the grain? Divorcing the use of force from any restrictions regarding its morality leads to a lack of regard for others' rights and liberties. That doesn't sound like a libertarian utopia to me.
A somewhat weaker, but still valid opposition to anarcho-capitalism comes from an efficiency standpoint. It is probably more efficient to have a single monopoly on the use of force than it is to have a multitude of different companies, each enforcing a different set of laws over a different area for different subscribers. But there are a number of technological and economic solutions to this problem--we could have somewhat standardized competing law systems, like those for credit cards today. And with more advanced technology, the provision of protection for only a subset of subscribers becomes easier. Still, I think it's more likely that a monopoly on force is most efficient.
So, in summary:
blah blah blah everyone has to agree on morality
blah blah blah no one agrees on morality
blah blah blah equilibrium found in human lives
blah blah blah efficiency
NOTE: I wrote this quite a while ago, as you can probably tell, but never finished it. Now I have. However, I didn't actually, if you want to be technical, have the book when I finished it. Nor did I actually read the whole book. But I did skim it. And get the general idea of it.
Now that the AcaDeca season is over, I'm reading. A lot. I went to the library yesterday and grabbed Strapped: Why America's 20- and 30-Somethings Can't Get Ahead by Tamara Draut. From rifling through it by the bookshelf, I expected it to be inane and whiny. I was right. The book is laughable in its misunderstanding of the world at times, and the book suffers from several endemic flaws.
While the book appears copiously researched and supported, with 28 pages of endnotes, many of Draut's more controversial points are supported not by statistics or scientific studies, but with anecdotes. Stories about people like "Wanda" and "Anna" and "Ed" make up a large portion of the book, without any way to verify their narratives or ask for clarifying details. Of course, she never uses examples of youth that are doing well. (note that I began to reconsider this after I wrote part of it. But I think it's still a good point, partially because I'm too lazy to rework it.)
What's worse is her apparent yearning for someone or something to blame every problem she perceives on. When pondering why so many youth are stuck in credit card debt, she doesn't think about, say, the actions of said youth in respect to their credit cards. No. She blames Congress, the Supreme Court, and credit card companies. For as we all know, in the early 1980s, Congress deregulated credit cards, and that, of course, forced thousands of youth to get credit cards and max them out. And the Supreme Court made a decision that basically let credit card companies charge whatever interest they wanted. Heaven forbid! And those evil, nasty, greedy credit card corporations. We all know they just prey on the youth of America and force them into debt peonage. Exactly what happened. Nothing to do with adolescents looking at the massive availability of credit and going overboard.
But her least obvious fallacy is also her most pernicious. In her final chapter, offering a wide range of "solutions" to these problems (like mandatory paid maternity leave), she states:
It is often said...that todays younger generation suffers from a sense of entitlement....The truth is that the overwhelming majority of young adults suffers from something quite the opposite....they expect too little from our society.
Yet by reading the book, it's clear that she is, indeed, afflicted by a sense of entitlement. Aside from the fact that most of the government programs she proposes, would, in fact, be entitlements, she seems to think that she and these youth do deserve certain perks. Language like "is this too much to ask" (possibly in the book) belies a fundamental sense of entitlement, an assumption that life owes us something.
I'm just glad I don't owe her the $11.16 the book costs on Amazon.
I've been learning a little bit of Latin recently, and I've found out some interesting things about pronunciation. The most interesting thing is that the letter v is pronounced w--the opposite of German. This leads to an interesting pronunciation of Julius Caesar's famous statement "veni, vidi, vici." This would be pronounced "wenny, widdy, wikky." That sounds utterly absurd. How did anyone ever take him seriously?
I don't understand why textbooks that teach Latin insist on using the classical pronunciation. Not only is it harder and more complicated than Ecclesiastical or Vulgar Latin, it completely ignores the fact that languages evolve over time--even dead ones. I don't pronounce things the same way Shakespeare did, and I certainly don't speak the same way as Chaucer. Why should we pronounce our Latin the same way Julius Caesar did?
Today I got a phone call from my friendly neighborhood Marines recruiter. We spent a good 10 minutes talking, and because I have no backbone, I was unable to tell him to get off the line. I finally told him I'd think about it and call back. What really bugs me about this is not so much that the military is advertising itself, but that it's advertising itself in a way that is illegal for private businesses. My home phone number happens to be on the national Do Not Call registry, so normal telemarketers are forbidden from calling it. But military telemarketers? They're just fine. I even forbade Red Mountain from sharing my phone number with the military, and they still called me. If anything, the military should have MORE restrictions on its advertising. But they have an apparent free reign to call and harass youth to join the military.
Okay, rant's over. Though if Andrew remembers, he once predicted that I would end up in the Marines. That just gives me another reason to reject them.
By popular demand (This is not as I actually gave it; I cut and added several things at the last minute):
Fellow students, as we stand here on the cusp of the completion of our journey here at Red Mountain High School, we look back on the years on which the sun is setting. We see the trials and joys, the devastations and excitements. We look forward to the glorious dawn which will rise on our new lives. We are the future. And we remember that this is not an ending, but a beginning. This is the first day of the rest of our lives. We must remember to hold on to our dreams, to stay strong in our hopes of a bright future. Class of 2008, we made it!
Now that I’ve gotten through the mandatory clichés, we can get on with what I actually want to say. Oscar Wilde once noted that “In this world there are only two tragedies. One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.” This is truly a sad day. Many of us are at this very moment getting what we want. It seems great—we’re finally free of the shackles of high school education. But after the buzz wears off, in a week or so, we get the question “now what?” It sinks in that it’s over, and we need to find something else to do with our lives.
Humanity is progression; without a goal, something to work toward, it seems pointless and absurd. Sure, relaxing and having fun is enjoyable for a little while. But eventually you fall into a malaise with no goal, no purpose, nothing to do. You realize that not only is the journey half the fun, it’s all the fun. Unfortunately, many of us simply ignore this epiphany and go back to watching American Idol.
I myself realized this just recently. I was on the Red Mountain Academic Decathlon team, and I had a goal. I was going to break the state record. Dedicating much of my life to the necessary study and practice, I did. After the awards ceremony, I was able to bask in the glory for maybe 30 minutes. Then I realized that I had nothing to do anymore. I realized that I needed a new goal. I understood that a life must have purpose; like a piece of music, it must be performed with an end in mind.
So do something. Fill the void left in your life after high school. Have a goal, a purpose, a reason to live. This doesn’t have to be something huge, nor does it have to be permanent. Don’t feel like you have to know exactly what you’re doing with your life right now. Feel free to search for what you really want to do, looking for a purpose. Indeed, searching for a purpose could morph into a purpose itself. But a life without any purpose is, quite honestly, no life at all.
The reason we celebrate graduation is that every one of us has reached the completion of a goal, and with the completion of that goal, we pass a milestone. It’s up to us to choose to keep moving.
Finally, I’d like to thank a few people, starting with all the teachers I never met, who taught all the people I never knew, for obvious reasons. I’d like to thank the people who offered to write my speech for me. You know who you are, Andrew and Will. I’d also like to thank the one who actually did write my speech for me. Oh, and all the standard people—parents, friends, teachers who I actually had, etc. Thank you too. Lastly, I’m sorry, Taylor Kerby, about the fauxhawk.
Lastly, I’d like to thank you all for sitting through my speech.
Going through the collection of records that, for some reason, ended up in my room, I found this (sorry about the picture quality):
David Rose and his Orchestra play The Stripper and other Fun Songs for the Family. Mmhmm.
I've wanted to listen to this for a while, but now that I've recently hooked my record player up again, I brought it out and gave it a spin. The title track sounds like the soundtrack to some burlesque show, as the cover seems to indicate. The rest of the record is more bland big-band music from an era when the big band was going out of fashion. Blah.
The title still makes me like this record, though.
In a thread over at By Common Consent, I came across this castigation of the play Jesus Christ Superstar by the First Presidency:
We feel it is our responsibility to warn our people against the present-day wave of musical performances which are aimed at the destruction of sacred principles which form the very foundation upon which we stand. One of these is the rock opera, ‘Jesus Christ Superstar.’ We consider this musical a profane and sacrilegious attack upon true Christianity. It strips Jesus Christ of His divine attributes.Its prevailing theme presents the falsehood that our Lord—and this is quoting from a statement of one of the characters—is “just a man just the same as anyone I know,” and picturing Him absolutely as consorting, as all other men, with women of questionable repute.
To the dismay of those who worship Him as the Savior of mankind, as the divine Son of God, He and His apostles are portrayed in earthly roles living below Christian standards. We encourage members of the Church and good men everywhere to oppose this kind of entertainment.
This is a little odd because my mother happens to have a copy of the score to said musical in the basement. Granted, it's there along with Saturday's Warrior and others from that genre of ultra-mormon 70s-era music, but it's there. I wonder if she just never heard about the statement. Then again, maybe she just ignored it...
Today, one Michael Cates could be heard railing against the Arizona Clean Elections Act in the passing period between 5th and 6th hour. Now everyone knows that we need this law to ensure that our elections are squeaky clean. So I was indignant to find that Michael was supporting the repeal of this law, the return of our state politics to its dirty past. We must keep our elections pure from the defiling corruption of Michael Cates! We must keep our ideological purity and straightness to continue on the path to true socialism!
/sarcasm
CVS pharmacies operate a chain of "MinuteClinics" where patients can walk in with a minor complaint and quickly get seen by a doctor and quickly be treated. Massachusetts recently approved these for their state. But Boston's mayor is railing against these clinics, saying that "allowing retailers to make money off of sick people is wrong." Mmmhmm. What do doctors do, then, if not make money off sick people? What about pharmacies? I don't think he's very smart.
But the best thing is the comments thread after this blog post on reason.com. Some guy named MCW started arguing for socialized medicine, but the debate quickly degraded into this:
MCW:
Why do you think the Justice Department failed to break up Micro$oft even though they are an illegal monopoly? Because corporations have the power, not even the government can stop them right now.
Thats why I use Linux and Firefox.
bigbigslacker:
Chevrolet has an illegal monopoly. That's why I drive a Ford.
