Something that would have made me happy

So apparently there was a big interview yesterday with three ASU journalism professors and Joe Arpaio. Since he's Arpaio, and this is ASU, a bunch of stupid protesters came out and started singing a parody of "Bohemian Rhapsody" with (rather poorly written) lyrics criticizing the sheriff. ("How do you...just kill a man? Let him wither on his route, Criminalized and shut out, Because you perceive a threat to your privilege?") Arpaio, being Arpaio, quickly became irritated, and the protesters ignored calls for peace. Fed up, he left the interview.

Now, what would have been really awesome is if he had sung as he left: "Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go! Gonna leave you all behind and face the truth..."

Doing math

Every once in a while I have to do a math problem that for some reason I simply can't fathom. I pound away at it for hours, typically realizing that the problem was much simpler than I was trying to make it. I used this sheet of paper while trying to work out a couple of Linear Algebra problems on Wednesday. Half computation and half doodling, they show my approach to problem solving.

Fred

I'd like you all to meet Fred.

Fred is the guy who narrates everyone's Facebook statuses. He sits in the cloud all day, doing the tedious work of informing everyone of what you are doing. Fred's is a thankless job, but he never gives up. He keeps slogging along, no matter how tired he is or how ticked at his wife.

Sure, he messes things up once in a while. Or at least we think he does. Like when someone says "Sanjay Telemann is going to the store with my brother." We think Sanjay just messed up and should have said "his." But the truth is, Sanjay's going to the store with Fred's brother. Just think about how Fred feels about that. He's stuck up there in the cloud while every single member of his family and all his friends go do fun things with people whose statuses Fred writes. You'd think Fred would give himself a break once in a while and write himself into your status, but he's too nice. He's happy enough just to do his job, working all day and all night just to make you happy.

Next time you change your Facebook status, be sure to thank Fred. Without him, none of this would be possible.

Great regular flavor

My favorite brand of toothpaste is Colgate. It comes in a very nice tube, with a fancy flippy-type cap instead of something I have to unscrew every time. It's pure white, so it doesn't turn into weird-colored foam when I brush my teeth. It doesn't dry out my mouth like some toothpastes. But best of all is the taste. No toothpaste tastes better than Colgate. It's just that great regular flavor, y'know? It's the most normal thing in the world, the flavor of Colgate. The tube even says so: "Great Regular Flavor!" it announces. I find it reassuring that my toothpaste has no pretensions to being extraordinary. It simply wishes to be as regular as possible.

And it succeeds. Whenever I just want to feel average, I go and brush my teeth. I know the great regular flavor of the Colgate will efface all my worries and pains. Scrubbing my teeth, tasting that exquisite normalcy, feeling the absolute ordinariness of the mounting foam, my tension and stress melt away in sheer mundanity. Sometimes I don't even bother with the toothbrush and instead squeeze mounds of that bland paste directly into my mouth so that I don't have to wait a single second for the unremarkable sensation of that great regular flavor.

I don't know what I would do if not for my stash of 200 tubes of Colgate. I sometimes go through two or three a day. I have nightmares where I run out and sometimes have to go as long as two hours without that unexceptionally minty freshness. When I wake up, sweating profusely, I throw on some clothes and rush to buy more of that intensely average elixir.

I used to hide it. I was ashamed of my love of the ordinary. The exotic, ecstatic ordinary. No more. I will shout it to the world: The great regular flavor of Colgate sustains me! I eat it by the spoonful! It makes a great hair gel! Deodorant too! I bathe with it! An ice cream topping! Butter substitute! Cake frosting! House paint! Industrial adhesive! I LOVE COLGATE!

Non-music majors in my choir

Music majors in my choir by section

The YSA fireside

There was a YSA broadcast tonight, and my parents strongly encouraged (read: ordered) me to go. I tried to get Taylor Kerby to go with me, but he was lame and wasn't dressed and wanted to read the Qu'ran instead. So I went alone, which is really lame.

I tried to sit by myself, but our ward's sole RM also came alone and had no one else to sit next to, so he sat by me. I took fairly copious notes, but I did it on my iPod so it looked like I was texting the entire time. I was proud of myself: I only checked my Facebook maybe five times during the whole fireside!

Here follows a summary of my notes, often verbatim.

The broadcast began with a random montage of people giving service. It looked like it might be part of some Mormon ad, but no, it just cut straight from that to the Mariott Center.

"Elder Uchtdorf will be introduced later as this evening's speaker." Dang. You totally ruined the surprise for me.

The organist's name is Tom Sawyer. lol.

At least the conductor can lead music. Often they can't. But he does look like the gay kid on Glee, except with glasses.

There are people singing the song in sign language. Or maybe they're just being very inappropriate and acting out the words. "Eyes that are wet now ere long will be tearless."

The institute choir singing for this devotional sounds like an institute choir. I wish our church music programs were more demanding. The audio feed cut out for part of it.

As Pres. Uchtdorf was introduced, he looked straight at the camera and smiled. For a long time. My gosh he's photogenic.

So there was this ugly duckling, see? And his mother at first thought he was somehow a turkey, but when she saw he could swim, she decided he was just really dang ugly. Taunted by the other ducks, he decided to leave, and nearly froze to death when winter came. All alone, he longed to join a majestic group of swans flying overhead, but was afraid they would kill him, because he was ugly. But he decided he didn't care if he died. They didn't kill him. But wait! He's a swan now!

Yeah. We may all seem like ugly outsiders but we're really eternal beings of infinite worth. And it will make sense sometime.

Those who reject revelation and insist on tangible evidence must be agnostic on the issue of premortal and postmortal existence. We have the answers because they have been revealed, not because we have reasoned them out or tested them scientifically. Philosophers would have killed for what we know. I'm sure.

Y'all have many problems. Now I'm gonna answer some of your questions. The hard ones.

Question 1: "I'm unhappy and depressed. Sometimes it seems like the world would be a better place if I were not in it." That's not even a question!

Don't commit suicide. Get help if you're depressed. But if you're not depressed, remember that everyone feels that way.

Shakespeare was wrong. "To be or not to be" is not the question. There is no such dichotomy. Pres. Uchtdorf would rather have Hamlet say "Knowing that I am a child of God, what should I do to fully live up to this potential?"

Don't choose to dampen your thoughts with Zorro!

It is well for you to laugh. Unless you believe the Doctrine and Covenants.

Surf your fellow man together.

Question 2: "I'm so lonely. Will I ever find my soulmate?"

That whole story about a woman who finds a genie and asks for world peace, is told that's too hard, then asks for the perfect man, then the genie asks "how about that world peace?"

Yeah. No one's perfect. Quit whining. There is not one right person. I fell in love with my wife the moment I saw her, but if she had married someone else I would have found someone else to marry. President Uchtdorf is sleeping in the garage tonight.

Your only chance to find perfection is to create it together with your spouse, since neither of you will come in perfect.

Once you commit to being married your spouse becomes your soulmate. Your thoughts and actions should turn from looking to creating. That sounds vaguely dirty.

What if you don't get married? Be persistent. I fell in love with Harriet long before she fell in love with me. (Pres. Uchtdorf's a stalker) I was persistent but despaired of convincing her I could be anything more than a friend. And who wants that? So I joined the Air Force and came back. "You have matured," she said, and I married her in a few months. "Aww," says the audience.

Just because you have been rejected one or two times, or three or four, or a couple hundred is no reason to get discouraged.

Find a woman you love and then ask her to marry you.

Women, be gentle. Men, ask.

OMG HANGING OUT IS TEH EVILZ! You should be one on one more often, the better to face temptation.

Don't bother with elaborate dates. Just walk a young lady home from church. I hope you all brought dates to the fireside and are going to walk them home. Your goal is not to get a million views of the video of your date on YouTube.

Some people will never get married. They're totally cool. Pain and despair. Your prayers are heard. In the resurrection the righteous desires of your heart will be fulfilled. Don't wonder whether you're defective. Just do good stuff.

Question 3: "Can I remain faithful?"

What does that even mean? You mean not sin? Or not doubt? I'll answer both just in case.

So sin. There's an intertropical convergence between South America and Africa. There are huge thunderstorms moving across the equator. They look pretty. But if you're a pilot, you avoid them. Within them are huge chunks of hail and lightning.

It should be the same when you see things that can cause spiritual harm (LIKE PORNOGRAPHY) Temptation wouldn't be temptation if it weren't appealing. (LIKE PORNOGRAPHY) Some choices lead to disaster (LIKE PORNOGRAPHY) so choose the right. Pornography is evil. (LIKE PORNOGRAPHY) Bad. Avoid, avoid, avoid. (LIKE PORNOGRAPHY) Don't assume you can put the nose of the plane just inside the thunderstorm. (THAT SOUNDS VAGUELY DIRTY)

So doubt. How do you find out if the gospel is true. Is it all right to have doubt? We are a question-asking people because we know that inquiry leads to truth. (HALLELUJAH) Revelation comes as a response to questions. God can give us answers to what we asked. And what we should have asked. Questioning is the first step to a testimony. Don't be embarrassed. Just ask with real intent and faith.

Ask questions but doubt not? Not everything will make sense. (Like that) If everything made sense it would be evidence that it was fabricated by a human. (Sure.) Questions can strengthen your testimony rather than shake it. I'm really glad Pres. Uchtdorf is not Bruce R. McConkie. There will always be people telling you you are ugly ducklings. Remember who you are.

The choir tried very hard to avoid saying "help of the helpless Lord" instead of "help of the helpless, Lord" and only succeeded in making it sound awkward. They may have the tone quality of Concert Choir, but at least they're in tune.

Then after the fireside I talked to my cousin briefly and then went home.

This is what I look like when I think about colon cleansing

Seen at sltrib.com.

Game Theory is awesome

From this week's homework:

Suppose there are k snee[t]ches born with stars and k ≤ n. Now suppose Sylvester Mcmonkey Mcbean charges a price of p to either get a star removed or added. Assume that 0 < p < 1. So if a snee[t]ch decides to add a star (if born without one) or remove a star (if born with one), then p is subtracted from his/her payoff. Find all the Nash Equilibria.

Grr

I was standing in line in the Institute cultural hall, waiting to buy lunch for a dollar. A sister missionary comes in, hushes the crowd, and indicates a young woman who would be asking a blessing on the food. "Gentlemen, take off your hats," she requested, apparently oblivious to the fact that the person giving the prayer was wearing a baseball cap substantively identical to those many of the men wore. She prayed, and I noted aloud that she had been wearing a hat. While a couple of males near me in the line agreed that this was silly, a girl near us piped up with "well, girls are just special that way."

I'm sorry, but no. If we're going to use the Pauline pronouncement that it is a shame for a woman to pray with her head uncovered, we should (a) require women to wear hats while praying and (b) forbid them to speak in church. There's no reason to reject one rule from Paul while keeping another.

Perhaps this tradition made more sense in an era when women's hats were considerably different from men's hats, but now when the most popular style of headwear for both genders is the baseball cap, there's no reason not to ask all people to take their hats off during a prayer.

For Taylor Kerby, another awkward moment

Tonight I went to a rehearsal of John Adams' On the Transmigration of Souls, which was held in downtown Phoenix. I have nowhere to park in downtown Phoenix. So I decided to park somewhere in Tempe and ride the light rail there. Mostly out of habit (and also due to the fact that I couldn't find the Park and Ride), I parked near Michael's apartment. This was my first mistake. You see, a couple of other people in the choir live in the same apartment complex. I knew this; in fact, one of them had previously seen me walking to the complex and inquired if I lived there. It's kind of awkward to explain that, no, I don't live there, but I park there sometimes because my friend lives there.

The trip to the rehearsal passed uneventfully, but on the way back, I was the only other person to get off at that stop. This led to another inquiry about whether I lived at Rancho Las Palmas, to which I again replied no. Of course, my car was parked right across the street from said complex, and I didn't want to have to explain why I was following them home when I didn't live there. So I did what any reasonable person would do: I walked the opposite direction. After a couple of traffic cycles, I figured the coast was clear, and proceeded on my way to the apartment. Everything seemed under control.

Then disaster struck. As I rounded the final corner, I heard the voices of the two other choir members who had gotten off at Dorsey Lane. I couldn't very well walk over to my car in front of them after conspicuously walking the opposite direction at the stop. So I did what any reasonable person would do: I ran back up the street. After waiting a while longer, I again proceeded down the road. They were still there, talking by a car. Apparently they didn't both live there. The street was fairly dark and my car was on the opposite side from theirs, so I snuck over to my car. I didn't want them to see me, so I did what any reasonable person would do: I entered from the passenger side door. This way, my truck was between me and them, so hopefully they wouldn't see me. As a bonus, my dome light is nonfunctional, so I did this all under cover of darkness. Then I buckled my seatbelt, turned the car on, switched on the headlights, shifted into gear, pulled into the apartment complex entrance, backed out the opposite direction, and drove away.

I really hope they didn't notice it was me.

Meditation and proxy confirmation and the rosary

While in Nauvoo, I sat through roughly 200 iterations of the proxy confirmation prayer: "(Name), in the name of Jesus Christ we lay our hands upon your head for and in behalf of (other name), who is dead, and confirm you a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and say unto you, receive the Holy Ghost. Amen." Listening to this repetition of a set prayer reminded me of the rosary.

As one prays the rosary, a series of repeated prayers including the Hail Mary and the Lord's Prayer, one is to contemplate the prescribed mystery: perhaps the virgin birth, or the resurrection. I always thought that wouldn't be particularly conducive to meditation. Perhaps I was wrong. 200 confirmation prayers repeated did assist in keeping my mind on the subject of the Holy Ghost and confirmation. They also assisted Jorgen in falling asleep. Perhaps if I had been vocalizing the prayers it would have been different, but I'm not sure whether that would have aided or hindered my meditation.

I also found it interesting that even though we Mormons often rail against the "vain repetitions" of Catholic prayer, we did what could be interpreted in the same way while barreling through names to be confirmed.

Thoughts

I looked at the sacrament meeting program today, and noticed the section on the back listing names and addresses of missionaries currently serving from our ward. Not too far in the future, my name and address will be on that list. I wonder who will make use of it. I almost certainly wouldn't. I think I've written my grandparents, who have gone on three missions, a grand total of four times. And if I do that poorly at communicating with such close family, it's easy to extrapolate my record at writing to other people: zilch. Even people I know and am on friendly terms with I write nothing to.

All this is to say that I probably don't deserve to be written to while on my mission. If the measure we mete will be meted to us again, it seems I'm due for approximately two letters. Maybe I'll get one each Christmas. Or maybe save one for my 21st birthday. It's so hard to choose. So I'm now terrified I won't receive any appreciable mail while serving in Fiji or Finland or the Falklands. (I really doubt there's a Falklands mission. Really, really doubt it.)

Of course, there is a simple solution to this: deathbed repentance. I could simply unleash a deluge of missives on every missionary I know. But I don't know where to start. ("Hey, Robson. I'm writing you because I'm deathly terrified no one will write me when I go and I don't want to ruin my karma. Sooo, um, how's the...work...going, Elder?") Even then, if I'm writing for the express motive of building up correspondence karma, I doubt it will be very effective. So I'm going to have to do something like write letters of my own accord, because I genuinely want to know what's going on and think they want to hear from me. Dang it. That's hard.

I don't start conversations. I'm bad at it, and it seems inconsistent with my personality. I think someone suddenly receiving a raft of epistles from me would be somewhat surprised and rather frightened. And I really can't think of anything to talk about beyond the standard "how's the work?" Which is generic and lame. No missionary wants to receive a letter asking that. I certainly don't. But what else is there to talk about with a missionary? "So, gone on any dates recently?" "How many companions have you gotten to hate your guts yet?" "Have you shaken the dust off your feet at someone who's rejected you yet?" "How many evil spirits have you had to cast out?"

Perhaps I'm being overly self-conscious. Maybe those would be good questions to ask. I'd like receiving them. But it's still hard to hold a conversation, even over a medium such as the postal service, with someone I don't normally talk much to. So have pity on me and write me letters on my mission, even if I don't write you any.

An awkward moment

Some time ago Taylor Kerby asked me to tell the story of one of my most awkward moments. I couldn't think of any at the time, and so I promised him I'd write a blog post about them. Here it is.

I'd imagine no one else involved has the slightest recollection of this moment. My embarrassment began when I heard the words: "No, you idiot, *NSYNC! What makes you think I like that stupid spider?" I was in fourth grade, and I was even more pop-culturally illiterate than I am now. Previously I had read a book of African folk tales about a spider named Ananzi, and had shown it to one of my friends. We'll call him Devin, because that was his name. A few days later we were writing sentences using our spelling words, and our teacher asked some of us to read them for the class. Devin had read his: "It is true that I like *NSYNC." I was sitting near him and was appalled! He had totally butchered the name of that African spider! So I hurriedly whispered a correction: "You mean Ananzi!" Then came the aforementioned reply. I was mortified. I still am, ten years later.

*NSYNC! It was *NSYNC! How did I not know that's what he was talking about!

Dumb facebook ads, part III

(even though parts I and II were not explicitly labeled as such)

I know. I've tried other farm games before and the thing that's always driven me away from them is that everything happens so slowly. But now I can play a fast-paced, exciting farm game WITH MY FRIENDS. It doesn't get any better than that.
(Sorry if this offends you, Michael.)

Nauvoo Pageant, the last night

I got up way too early this morning to see the "Trail of Hope" vignette, which is really a series of brief vignettes from the lives of people who left Nauvoo to go west. It was powerful and meaningful. Unfortunately, I had (a) only gotten a few hours of sleep and (b) not eaten breakfast yet, so I was pretty miserable when we got back. I was looking forward to taking a nap, but we had to go have a family picture taken. Then we had a testimony meeting to go to. By this point, I was hungry, tired, and grouchy, so I didn't get much out of it. And once that was over, it was nearly time to have our cast meeting, so I never got my nap. So I wasn't too happy until we actually got to the pageant grounds.

There my father and I met Adam, a religious studies student at Wabash College in Indiana. He was not a member, and indeed the only person I've met there who wasn't. He was thoughtful and had good questions, the answers to some of which also helped me. He wanted to know how one differentiates between emotion and spirit, which is indeed a difficult question. He also asked how one reconciles the "dark underbelly" with one's faith. He was somewhat cool to the actual doctrine of the church. But that's okay. Anyway, we talked to a few more people, did the pageant, and went back and talked to Adam. He might attend church tomorrow.

We held a cast prayer, said some (somewhat teary) goodbyes, and departed. We're leaving tomorrow after church.

Nauvoo Pageant, night 4

Today began, as usual, with my waking up late in the morning. We did little until attending a vignette put on by some pageant cast members—"Letters of Joseph and Emma." It was somewhat underwhelming. I don't know how you can accurately portray the relationship between Joseph and Emma without mentioning the strain that polygamy caused. Thence we went to a talent show performed by the members of the Red Cast. We performed nothing, partly because we expected the other families to be a bit more serious about their talents than we were. This turned out not to be the case. It did remind me that I miss playing the piano, though.

Afterwards, my father and I attended another vignette, this one of excerpts from the King Follett Discourse. I liked it much better than the Joseph/Emma bit, although it too elided some of the more difficult doctrines taught in the sermon. I am impressed at Jeff Dickamore's ability to memorize such great swaths of the speech as he did. Then dinner and cast meeting. Referrals are good. But this time we're not telling you numbers. Because numbers are bad.

Preshow. This time, I partnered with my father to go talk with people. He's considerably better at that than I. I didn't say too much, and we got zero referrals, though not for lack of trying. (My dad is not particularly gung-ho about referrals, either, though.) And we had the pageant. Maybe I should describe it sometime, but not now. It's 1:30 here. After the pageant, we again got zero referrals. It's rather amazing how quickly the seating empties after the show ends.

But the night wasn't over yet. No, for we had the FAMILY DANCE. We headed over to the junior high school gym for an hour and a half of RAUCOUS PARTYING. And really not a whole lot of dancing, at least, not on everyone's part. We did a few of the basic line dances, a couple of slow dances, and a jitterbug, but most of the time was taken by THE DANCE OFF. Divided both by age and gender, contestants competed for the title of best dancer. All of the male contestants in the over 20 group happened to be core cast members. It was rather interesting to watch Brigham Young, Hyrum Smith, and Heber C. Kimball duke it out on the dance floor. (And MY DISTRICT LEADER won.) Brigham did the worm. One of the pageant work crew won the overall title; he was insanely good. Then we had NAUVOO IDOL, a karaoke competition. The winning team (out of four) ended up consisting of core cast members: Brigham, Heber, Hyrum, and whatever Brigham's wife's name was. THEN the night was over.

And now the night is really over; I'm going to another vignette at 8 AM and it's almost 2.

Random stuff I left out of previous posts about Nauvoo

So the full extent of my ruffianness consists in my running on stage, standing in a circle seething with other likeminded ruffians, waving a wooden rifle, and shouting my assent to destroy Joseph Smith. I don't even get a torch.

I wish I knew how to converse with people, especially outside of any meaningful context. Walking up to an arbitrary person and beginning to speak about anything meaningful seems incredibly difficult. This is related to the Nauvoo experience both in that I have to talk to audience members after the performance and in that we are to form a Zion-like community among the cast during the pageant.

Drinking lots of water is fun. Especially if you're sweating enough to not have to go to the bathroom. There's just a sense of accomplishment in looking at an empty quart bottle and knowing you drank it all in the last hour.

What kind of idiot designs a sink/faucet combination so that the faucet protrudes less than an inch over the edge of the sink? There's hardly room to do anything with that.

How did they manage to give me the wrong size of T-shirt? I clearly specified that I should receive a medium. Why did I get a large? Now I've had to spend $8.50 on a red cast T-shirt so I have something I can wear.

There's one young man in the cast who at first listen seems to be completely tone deaf. But if you listen closer, you realize that he's actually singing a sixth below the note he's supposed to. He does it in such a way that I'm relatively certain he's unaware of it.

The oxen holding up the baptistry in the Nauvoo temple are buried up to their ankles in the floor. Apparently some people speculated that these were oxen "in the mire," which rumor the temple president roundly denounced. Apparently, that's just the way things ended up: the saints had placed the oxen on a bare floor, which was then covered with a layer of red brick in a herringbone pattern. These bricks covered the hooves of the oxen. Then they copied it when they rebuilt the temple. So sometimes we inappropriately read symbolism into an unintentional artifact. Bad us.

Nauvoo Pageant, night 3

This morning there was an optional choir rehearsal for a musical number in tonight's cast meeting. I went, naturally. Sadly, it was musically rather pedestrian; we merely sang a hymn in unison. The director spent most of the rehearsal describing to us the differences between a secular choir and a church choir. His main emphasis was the dichotomy between the oneness of a Zion community (the church choir) and dependence on a director (the secular choir). I'm not sure I completely agree with his classification, but it's an interesting thing to think about with any choir. Afterward, he presented a powerpoint, during which I read my scriptures.

We were scheduled to do baptisms for the dead at 12:30. So we did. The font was nice and warm. I got to wear two sets of clothes, a practice called "double-suiting," so that I could begin by being baptized, change, and then be confirmed. I ended up sitting through a huge number of confirmations: probably over 200. Jorgen fell asleep a couple of times. But it was good. Spiritual. I liked it.

Then it was time to prepare for the pageant. We went to the chapel, had a cast meeting (20% of the audience last night gave a referral) at which the choir assembled this morning sang, and held a district meeting. (We can get even more referrals.) We played some game involving laying down on the floor, crossing arms, and slapping the floor in sequence. I still don't know why. (Referrals are good!) Then we sang "Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam." (By the way, we need to get referrals.)

I actually talked to people before the pageant. And actually challenged a couple to consider people who might like receiving a copy of the pageant music (attached to a missionary, of course). But afterwards, I talked to basically zero people. Geoff had told me to meet him at the front of the stage again, which I tried to do. But it's really hard to meet someone who isn't there. By the time I had abandoned hope of the appearance of Geoff, half the people had left, and everyone else was either leaving or in the middle of a conversation with other pageant members. On the bright side, though, we did perform the highland fling for a man who promised to post it on YouTube.

It again didn't rain. It's expected to tomorrow and Saturday.

Nauvoo Pageant, night 2

I slept in this morning, and was awakened by my siblings turning on the television and watching SpongeBob SquarePants. In a general malaise, I wasted most of the morning. My parents had previously gone to the temple, and when they returned, my father decided to take a nap. We finally actually did something around 2 PM. At least, some of us did. Others stayed at the condo and played computer games. (Cough...Jarom and Jarett) The rest of us observed a blacksmith's shop, got "prairie diamond" rings, and then went to a kitschy gift shop. And then we had to run back to get ready for the pageant.

We had another cast meeting. This one wasn't nearly as inspiring to me as last night's. They decided to emphasize referrals. And counting the number we got. And the percent of the people who attended who gave one. And how one family went and texted all their nonmember friends asking if they could refer them. They got forty referrals just from that! Shouldn't you all be more like them?

So when we got to the pageant grounds there was a considerable expectation for referral-getting. I failed miserably. I'd like to blame the climate of intense missionary pressure, but that had little to do with my failure. I simply declined nearly every opportunity I had to talk with anyone. When I did talk with someone, the conversation petered out into nothingness and I had to flee in a moment of distraction. Worse, I had Jarett with me, constantly trying to kiss me or proclaiming that he was bored. He didn't want to start conversations either. For that matter, neither did Jorgen. So my pre-pageant missionary experience count is still at exactly naught.

Oh, outside the pageant parking lot were some nice anti-mormons handing out literature clearly intended to look like it came from the Church. They didn't do too well; their graphic design was nothing like that used in our church materials. I don't think the LDS Church has ever used that font. Nor do we print things in the Watchtower magazine style. Within was some information that was briefly disturbing, but that on reflection was nothing to be concerned about. The authors hew to a literalist reading of the Bible, using out-of-context prooftexts to "disprove" LDS doctrine. They seem to expect every word a prophet utters to be scripture. And in general, they present a rather uncharitable reading of Joseph Smith and LDS beliefs.

The pageant went normally. I mentioned to Geoff (who is our district leader and plays Heber C. Kimball) that I had performed rather miserably before the show, and he offered to go with me to talk to people afterward. So we did. He is a referral machine. That's not necessarily a good thing. His basic plan seemed to be: Greet someone ("Hi! How did you enjoy the pageant?"), briefly discuss their reaction to the pageant ("Oh, it was great." "Good, I'm glad you liked it."), ask them whence they came ("Where are you from?" "We're from Utah."), and pump for referral ("So, do you have any nonmember friends you think would enjoy a copy of the music from this pageant?" "Um, sure. But we've already filled out five of these tonight. I'm starting to run out."). (Really, I'm giving it a bit of an uncharitable reading. He was more considerate than that, and the people we talked to were more enthusiastic.) I soon went to help take down the temple, escaping that world of induced missionary contact. On the way home, I learned that referrals are only supposed to be given for people who are over 18. That pretty much nullified every referral we got, since they all came from youth. Oops.

Oh, and it didn't rain.

Nauvoo Pageant, opening night

I stayed up far too late last night, and woke up tired. Our district had been assigned to help clean up the school, so we went over there around noon. Our assignment was to pick up trash in the gym, hallways, and some of the bathrooms, sweep the halls, and do some basic maintenance of the bathrooms. So of course we cleaned all the bathrooms, swept the gym, beat out the floor mats, swept the hallways, and did someone's hair. Well, the last one my mom did, but we had to wait for her. Someone in blue cast was trying to do her own hair, and my mother volunteered to help.

We actually patronized one of the fine business establishments in Nauvoo for lunch. Then we learned how to make shoes. On the way back to the condo, we again patronized a business establishment, this time to buy some frozen custard. It was delicious. And we got ready to go pageant.

We first met as a cast at the chapel for a brief but touching fireside. As we left, we noted that the sky had become ominously gray and the wind was picking up. A few minutes after we got to the pageant site, the rain began. It rained fairly steadily until a few minutes before the pageant ended. It's hard to visit with people before the pageant when most of them are running for shelter. Also if you have no idea how to hold a conversation. Which I don't. Anyways, the pageant thankfully started, although a bit late, and we did it. Strangely, my vest's coloring somehow ran through to my white shirt, leaving a greenish-black stain all over the back. And I got mud on my pants. Both pairs. (My costume includes two pairs of pants. We change clothes to become progressively lighter throughout the show. At least, some people do. I really only become lighter right before the finale, when I change from dark pants, a coat, and a black vest into light pants and no vest.)

Afterwards we were supposed to talk to audience members and convince them to give us referrals. I didn't do so well at that. I only struck up a conversation with one family, and it petered out. Then when I left, nearly everyone was being talked to. (Rain seems to have a restricting effect on the size of the audience.) So my tally of missionary experiences rests at exactly nil. I guess there's always tomorrow. It had better not rain.

Nauvoo Pageant (rehearsals), the last three days

Not a lot notable has happened the last three days, and I've been too lazy to chronicle it anyway. So here goes.

Saturday: Rehearsal. But not much. It rained a good deal, and in the morning we met in the high school to run through some dances with the YPMs (No, I'm not telling you what the acronym means. You'll have to figure it out yourself.). Afterward, we sat at the feet of our directors and heard the story of old: the history of the Nauvoo pageant. We also learned about the music thereof—there are only three original themes in the music; all the others are hymn melodies. They listed a number of hymns used in the score, many of which I had noticed, but others of which I had not. Then we had copious free time, which was mostly wasted. And then a runthrough of the pageant, in light rainfall. Thereafter we lit sparklers and watched fireworks from across the Mississippi. It was foggy, which made the fireworks look really cool.

Sunday: Church. Their YSA class is actually somewhat functional, even though pageant members probably tripled its size. Elders quorum has a tradition of having each attendee introduce the person next to him, apparently at every meeting. I'd imagine that would get somewhat annoying at times when there aren't three zillion people in town for the pageant. In the evening we went to see the core cast perform "Our Story Goes On," which is a kind of cheesy musical revue with a story and a moral. I was less impressed with it this time than I was two years ago. But it was still enjoyable and at times touching. They did take many songs completely out of context, e.g., "Bring Him Home" from Les Miserables as a father's plea for his prodigal son, but they still fit.

Monday: We had a normal-type rehearsal in the morning and then had the day off until 7, when we were to meet for our final dress rehearsal. Have I explained the different casts? Here goes: The core cast consists of the people with speaking lines. They stay for the length of the pageant. There are five family casts, identified by colors, that rotate through, each performing in the pageant for a week. We're in the red cast, and on Monday the blue cast arrived. The blue cast will participate in the finale of the pageant and do a few stagecrew-like things for us while they learn the pageant. Then the yellow cast will come, followed by the green and gold casts. So we met the people in the blue cast who are in our district on Monday. So, dress rehearsal went just fine. Although the blue cast wasn't very good at following the conductor during The Spirit of God. How hard is it to follow a bouncing flashlight? We finally had actual houses on the sides of the stage, which was a nice change. Afterward I was unsure of whether I should go visit with people in the audience, so I kind of wandered around until some nice blue cast members offered me referral cards. I went with them to help convince others that they were in the cast, as they had not received their costumes yet. We talked with an LDS family from Georgia. They couldn't think of anyone to refer, since they had just moved there and only knew the people they had met in their ward. Then I went home, read the 17th Police Beat Roundtable, ate scrambled eggs, and wrote this.

Nauvoo Pageant (rehearsals), day 5

We had an awesome dress rehearsal today. But first this morning we had a normal-type rehearsal. It was hot. And we're definitely getting better. Then they gave us the whole afternoon off. We had like 7 hours before we had to be back for our dress rehearsal. Sadly, I squandered most of that reading Mormon blogs online. (Seriously, the Niblet nominations are awesome. As is Keepapitchinin.)

So then I got dressed. I must say I look rather dashing in my costume. (NB: after I looked around to find those links, I got about 15 more posts to read, and thus stayed up an extra two hours reading them and other posts linked to from them. You'd better enjoy them.) Anyway, we sang, danced, and acted in the rain. Because it rained while we were performing. It was cool. Yeah. Then we went back to the condo.

Nauvoo Pageant (rehearsals), day 4

We ran straight through the pageant twice today. I wanted to do it again, but no one agreed with me. I don't know why. I mean, it was only 9:15 PM!

At 7 AM we learned to build the onstage temple, which is a complicated process almost, but not quite, entirely unlike building an actual temple. This temple is essentially two-dimensional, with a façade consisting of a quilt. Basically, a connected series of six posts is rotated up through the stage to stand vertically as a backdrop. Upon this foundation three tall frame-chunks are added, locked in place with two pins. A separate tower with the tower part of the temple is rotated up as the façade is lifted. Then about five minutes after it's finally finished we just drop the whole thing back down behind the stage. I get to do my part to make the stage unsafe by removing the rear restraining rails before the temple is raised or lowered.

Then we ran through the pageant. It went reasonably well, and we were even 8 hours ahead of schedule. Woohoo!

After lunch (and a nap) we went to the high school gym and carefully reviewed the blocking of the show on a powerpoint. This was a good idea. Then the costume people came and told us some things to do and some things not to do. For instance, your waist is not right above your hips. It is where you bend. So wear your pants around your waist. Yeah. Also, our stage is not solid. Indeed, there are many work crew member who have to be under the stage. And the stage has holes in it that they need to look up through. So you need to make sure that they don't see anything you wouldn't want them to see, if you get my drift. (Apparently, a couple of years ago, the young women decided not to wear petticoats or bloomers, and the young men in the work crew got around to keeping a count of red panties versus blue panties. Yeah.)

Then we did the whole pageant thing again. It was cool. Yeah.

Nauvoo Pageant (rehearsals), day 3

I can't even remember what we did this morning. Oh, we laid sod. Story: so there's this big field where they hold games and activities before the pageant, and it happens to have flooded recently and be rather muddy and hard to use, not to mention barren of grass. So they got some local member to volunteer his lawn, cut it up into chunks and drove it over to the field, where whenever a trailer arrived we ran off and unloaded it onto the ground. He must have had a huge yard, because there were at least 5 large trailer loads of sod.

We were out on the stage this morning, went over the first half of the pageant, had district meetings, and, I think, learned a bit of what followed. Lunch. Then music practice at the high school. Got our actual costumes. I wasn't assigned a hat, even though one of the sisters distributing costumes swears that everyone is supposed to have a hat. Did I mention I get to wear a cravat? It's blue. And awesome.

Dinner. Again we rushed to inhale enough calories for the rest of the night. This was because (a) we had to wait for Jorgen to be fitted for a pallbearer costume (NB: I had an urge to spell that "paulbare" for some reason.), (b) we went shopping, and (c) we happened to lock ourselves out of the condo. We got back in with assistance from the administration.

Back to the stage. We learned the rest of the show. The second half is really kind of boring. Lots of standing around and acting sad and/or working hard. Joseph goes to Carthage, dies, and then Brigham Young's in charge and makes us build the temple. Then we get kicked out. (Sorry I spoiled the ending for you.) It really is a very powerful story, despite the way I've trivialized it here. I do wish it had included a bit more historical detail, but I'm kind of a stickler for that. Anywho, that ended the day.

I really ought to be more friendly and conversant with the other cast members. Why does it have to be so difficult? And why do the young men have to act like...young men?

Nauvoo Pageant (rehearsals), day 2

It all runs together. I have a hard time remembering what was today and what was yesterday and what was in that third day that had to have gotten in there somewhere because it all seems too long ago to have been today but I'm pretty sure it wasn't yesterday.

Anyway. This morning began with a "morningside" at which the mission presidency and temple presidency regaled us with spiritual thoughts, mostly relevant to their respective callings. I wanted to fall asleep. Something about the Nauvoo chapel is intensely soporific; I couldn't stay awake during Sacrament Meeting either. Then we moved to the grove of trees near the pageant stage, where we were told to drink water (two quarts a day), to not get lost or leave stuff lying around, to drink water (and/or Gatorade), to not die of heatstroke, to drink water, what to do in event of a tornado warning (go to an open area and lie down), not to walk through the grove at night, and to drink water. Then we had district meetings. Jarett refused to pray, the little bugger.

After taking absolutely FOREVER doing those things, we FINALLY got on stage at about 10:30 AM. And what did we do? I can't remember. I think we pretended to do the welcome dance. Oh, and we practiced meeting the Woodruffs arriving from yonder far off lands and carrying their luggage for them. And stuff about watching the Prophet. And exploding on stage. Then we ate lunch.

Thence we went to the high school for more rehearsal not in the sunlight but in an air-conditioned gymnasium. We tried to learn a long complex dance scene culminating with the Highland Fling. I didn't do so well at it. Then I got fitted for a costume. I GET A CRAVAT! IT IS AWESOME! But my pants are kind of tight. Then we went to eat dinner. But not only did we leave a little late due to the costume fitting, but my parents saw fit to visit some sort of extremely small farmer's market, leaving us with even less time. So when we got back to the condo it was a desperate race to consume enough calories to get through the rest of the night. This was at roughly 5:30, by the way. It had already been an eternity since I woke up.

We went back to the stage for our 6:00 rehearsal. Our family gets to falsify sickness while the Apostles come around and heal us. Jorgen and I get to lay out a long, wide burgundy ribbon representing Young Street after entering from upstage left. This fact they drilled into our heads. Street-throwing, as they call it, is an art. Then we marched in a parade. With guns. Well, fake guns anyway. And then it was over. Apparently we've learned half the pageant now.

On a side note, DEET is lame. Icaridin is way better.

Nauvoo Pageant (rehearsals), day 1

Today began our Nauvoo pageant participation, though logistics and meetings consumed most of it. After registering early in the morning, we attended a get-to-know-you social event, where we didn't really get to know anyone. (I find that these things don't really work; it's doing whatever it is you're supposed to do together that really acquaints you.) We were introduced to some of the logistics of the pageant pre-show, had lunch, and then listened to some devotional material presented by the mission president and our artistic director. We then met our district leaders. Each district is headed by a main character in the pageant; ours is led by the people portraying Heber C. Kimball and Vilate Kimball (weird name, I know). They are very nice people, genuinely caring and excited to be there. We actually got somewhat acquainted with them and the other few people in our district (our family composed the bulk of it) and then had dinner and FHE. We came back for our very first actual rehearsal at 7. What followed was two hours of blocking and choreography. Thankfully, it was already mostly determined and things went very smoothly. At the beginning of the pageant, I get to run in from upstage, jump over a trunk, grab a girl standing atop said trunk and lift her down, then run to go watch an arm-wrestling competition, all in about 20 seconds. We went further, learning the entire opening dance, and then we learned a line dance for some other part of the show. At the end, I was informed that I was to be a "ruffian" when called upon, who would prey upon the Prophet Joseph. This was just after a bunch of others were informed that they were to portray apostles. And now I'm home.

Er,

Are we supposed to have a testimony of Scouting? I certainly don't. Apparently this brother does. Sigh for testimony meeting.

Three grand keys by which the correct nature of Jakob Hansen's reaction to a lesson may be known

1 There are two kinds of Sunday School lessons in church, namely: those which Jakob likes—
2 For instance, that one time we went through and actually talked about the scriptures and he had a number of insights.
3 Secondly: those which he is ambivalent about. (Those which he dislikes are not true lessons.)
4 When you teach a lesson, watch his reaction carefully.
5 If he doth close or cover his eyes, bow his head, and massage his temples as though teachest, ye may know that what thou teachest is ill-considered, unreasonable, or poorly thought out. Please revise your thoughts.
5 If he hath a vaguely pleased countenance, sits back, and contemplates, thy lesson doth contain insight and he doth like it. Good job.
6 If he openeth a notebook or his iPod and beginneth to write, all bets are off. He may be doodling, making fun of you, or recording insights from your lesson. Good luck telling which.
7 These are three grand keys whereby ye may know whether any lesson pleases Jakob Hansen.

(Apologies to Joseph Smith and D&C 129)

On demand when price equals zero

The City of Mesa Library allows patrons to check out CulturePasses—free tickets for a museum or other educational/cultural location. At first they just threw them all out there and let the patrons go on a feeding frenzy.

Then, beginning May 20th, they decided that they would put out a certain number at the beginning of each day, to ensure that everyone had an opportunity to get a CulturePass.

Now, beginning June 15th, they will put CulturePasses out at random times each day, again to ensure that everyone has an opportunity to get a CulturePass.

I predict that next, the library will allow each patron to enter a lottery for the CulturePasses.

That's not awkward

On a whim, I ran this blog through a website that gives it an MPAA rating. I got this:



Why? I used the word "sex" once, the word "missionary" four times, and the word "shoot" ten times.

A brief history of Vassals on the Loose, part II

Part I.

When we last left our protagonists, their operetta was beginning to take a definite form. We had the two main groups of characters, and a general idea of how they would interact. The Barbarians, having moved to England for no particular reason, had decided to make a peace offering to the British Vassals. Unfortunately, due to their yokelish naivete, they planned this offering to be one of weapons, a dangerous present to the bloodthirsty Brits. This culminated in a battle scene containing some of my proudest lyrical accomplishments. I was able to plagiarize from not just one, but TWO of my favorite humor writers in creating a chant for the British.

Shoot me, shoot me, shoot me,
GO BRITS!
Shoot me, shoot me, shoot me,
GO BRITS!
...

"Shoot me, shoot me, shoot me" came from one of Scott Adams' books; he described the American victory in the Revolutionary War as due to the fact that the British marched around in straight lines chanting "Shoot me." "GO BRITS" I lifted from Dave Barry. This was one of the phrases that the British soldiers supposedly formed when marching to battle. (The Hessians, of course, had huge problems with this, as they were German and had to translate said phrase into comically long German words.) I am still incredibly proud of that chant.

We hadn't yet come up with a conclusion to the battle, and this turned out to be one of the most volatile parts of the operetta. Indeed, the battle was originally unscripted, centering around a musical background. We slowly added more and more dialogue and sung lines until it became a full act in itself. We still couldn't find an appropriate conclusion, though we tried various methods of reaching an agreement between the two sides. One involved a song sung to the tune of Handel's Hallelujah Chorus with the lyrics

Epilepsy! Epilepsy!
Epilepsy! Epilepsy! Epilehehepsy!
[I think you get the drift]

You really don't want to know why.

Meanwhile, we fleshed out the initial relationships between the Vassals and Barbarians. This is where our true absurdist genius came in. We had roughly a page and a half of dialogue between two equally dysfunctional characters who really don't know what they're doing. One of my favorite parts comes when Hector, the Barbarian Chief, describes a package of weapons to King Henry:

Hector: That comes with a caboose.
George: A caboose??
Hector: Oh, no, not a caboose. Oh, what do you call it, a. . . a . . . Oh, yes, a ballista piloted by one of these 3 fair maids.
[maids appear dressed in bright red dresses and covered with grease]
Maiden the first: YO [very masculine voice]
Maiden the second: YO! YO! [even more masculine voice}
Maiden the third: YO! YO! YO! [really masculine voice]

I initially balked at the "covered with grease" line, choosing to redact it to "doing aerobics," but it has grown on me. Something about it is simply unparalleled in its absurdity.

The basic form of the play now complete (we also added a fourth act showing their lives after the battle), we were now free in our adolescent hubris to pursue the production of this inestimable piece of art.

Mormons are WEIRD

Case in point:



Because I want to begin acting like a missionary in the unimportant mundane ways far before I actually go on a mission. Of course. That's how one prepares for a mission: waking up early, cutting one's hair short, wearing white shirts all the time, and refusing to leave the side of one's companion. This is exactly what our young men need to prepare them for missions.

Seriously, is a missionary planner so hard to master? Do we really need to turn our 18-year-olds into planner-toting Stephen R. Covey freaks? Quit trying to sell your product by making tenuous connections between it and missionary work.

Thoughts from a sacrament meeting

When I return from my mission, I will not make a series of vaguely connected mission stories the sole content of my talk. Nor will I bear my testimony in the language I spoke on my mission. Unless that language is English, in which case I'll make a joke about it.

Also, when asked to introduce my family to the ward, I will not proceed by describing the spiritual gifts each of them has been blessed with. No. I will not.

Further, if I have only a few minutes to speak, I will not waste half my time reminiscing about how wonderful the returned missionary's talk was. This is the devotional equivalent of small talk: a way to waste time when you don't have enough content to fill it.

On motivation

So two weeks ago when I decided to start posting daily, I figured it would make me think and come up with something creative to say every day. I'd get the feeling of accomplishment of doing something worthwhile, along with the catharsis of self-expression. Yeah right. I should have known that I would put it off until late each night, giving me a few minutes to hastily cobble together something that passed for a post. That's not an accomplishment. That's not interesting to read or write. So I'm back where I started. I need to blog more, but it needs to be meaningful blogging. Making it a daily task makes it feel like a chore that I must do, but if it's not scheduled, I don't do it. Ideas?

Ionesco

wrote plays. I've been reading a few of them. They're quite interesting.

I'd say you need to see these quotes in context in order for them to make sense, but that would be lying.

Mr. Martin: I traveled second class, madam. There is no second class in England, but I always travel second class.

Mrs. Smith: There, it's nine o'clock. We've drunk the soup, and eaten the fish and chips, and the English salad. The children have drunk English water. We've eaten well this evening. That's because we live in the suburbs of London and our name is Smith.
Mr. Smith: [continues to read, clicks his tongue]

The Fire
The polypoids were burning in the wood
A stone caught fire
The castle caught fire
The forest caught fire
The men caught fire
The women caught fire
The birds caught fire
The fish caught fire
The water caught fire
The sky caught fire
The ashes caught fire
The smoke caught fire
The fire caught fire
Everything caught fire
Caught fire, caught fire.

(Those were from The Bald Soprano)

Pupil: It's easy. Not being able to rely on my reasoning, I've memorized all the products of all possible multiplications.

(cough. Michael.)

Professor: ...In Spanish: the roses of my grandmother are as yellow as my grandfather who was Asiatic; in Latin: the roses of my grandmother are as yellow as my grandfather who was Asiatic. Do you detect the differences? Translate this into...Romanian.

Now didn't I warn you, just a little while ago: arithmetic leads to philology, and philology leads to crime...

(From The Lesson)

Mother Jack: Gaston, come here! Your son, your son adores hashed brown potatoes!
...
Father Jack [aside]: Can it be that all is not lost? That would be too wonderful, but not a moment too soon.

(From Jack, or the Submission)

See, Michael, your "quotes" are nothing new. People have been doing things like that since the 50s.

Next up, Waiting for Godot.

I'm so glad to be 18, part 3

Jury duty looks pretty appealing. Just look at those comfy chairs. One of them even has two pillows on the seat!



Yeah, I don't think I want to join the military. Not with this guy, at least.



There don't seem to be many people, um, recreating here. I guess it's just an invitation to sully the beautiful landscape with my raucous celebrations as soon as I reach the age of majority.



Um. Not that I was planning on it or anything, but if I were to commit a sex crime, I don't think it would involve Barbie dolls.



Quote from the text accompanying this: "Oh come on — I just grabbed her butt — so what's the big deal?"

No, I don't want to smoke. Gross.



Yes. The first thing on my mind when I finish vandalizing a concrete wall is "Oh no, I've just made myself vulnerable to a tort case!"



I want this car. Do I get this car when I turn 18?



OH YEAH? WELL WHAT IF I WANT TO VOTE AGAINST AMERICA???



In conclusion, turning 18 seems to be stupid and full of visual non sequiturs. Please keep this in mind as you become a legal adult.

My thought processes

...shudder. Here are three pages of my rambling thoughts as I desperately tried to develop a thesis for my Human Event paper.

My paper will discuss the topic of artificial intelligence (and really, artificial humanity) with perspective provided by our later readings (especially Jonas). It will include discussion of the nature of thought, the inner self, and the essence of humanity. Essentially, I plan to answer the question "What would it mean for a machine to possess human intelligence?" [this was the topic I assigned myself.]

Alan Turing, [This was my attempt to begin writing the paper before I gave up and began brainstorming.]


Artificial intelligence does not mean artificial humanity
Def intelligence: ability to solve the same problems humans do: engineering, proofs, etc. Still deterministic in some sense
Humanity would be the soft things. Conversation, art, music. Is it distinguishable? Is that the issue? I think not. The question is ultimately whether the computer experiences the same thing as a human while producing it. It may be possible to program a computer to produce output indistinguishable from Bach’s, using a set of rules. This is not essentially different from passing the Turing test. The question is the computer’s inner life. And since it’s almost definitionally impossible to tell…

But perhaps we could have a circumscribed turing test, where the bounds of conversation are set. We might require that the computer need to answer truthfully every question. And simply ask it the question “are you self-aware” If it doesn’t understand, not aware. Else, aware.

Why should we want our computers to be indistinguishable from humans in order to be intelligent anyway? They should be their own form of intelligence.

Does intelligence = sentience? How do we tell if something is sentient? Ask it? Can we say computer sentience is ultimately untestable? In fact, the sentience of others is ultimately untestable. Reasonable assumptions -- if it is constructed like me and acts like me, it’s self aware? Build biological computers? Err on the side of caution? Does it come in degrees? Is it possible in a quantized mechanism?

But if the computer is completely deterministic, how can we say it has free will?

The sentience of another being is ultimately a matter of faith, as we could never experience being them.

Thesis: The question of a machine’s possessing a human intelligence is ultimately untestable. While we may indeed produce

-intelligence/problemsolving is easier than sentience is easier than humanity.
-can a machine be human? Without emulating the biological components?
-is something sentient? Must use heuristics; leaves room for doubt.
-if it acts sentient without being programmed so, pretty good guess is that it’s sentient.
-turing test not sufficient for humanity or really even sentience.
-we can analyze human conversation as a stochastic sequence of linguistic events, but that doesn’t mean that each element doesn’t have a reason
-my sentience, at least, cannot be reduced to a physical explanation, since no physical explanation generates consciousness; no physical explanation is being me.
-since I have sentience, which is nonphysical, it’s not a big logical leap to allow for free will apart from physical determinism.
-if I can’t tell whether a machine has sentience or not, a good ethical rule of thumb would be to treat it as if it did.

Can a computer think? It’s unclear: any position must be flexible with regard to new evidence.
From a reductionist perspective: yes. From a radical science/Jonas perspective, maybe not.
But there’s always room for denial.

Nature of thought/sentience: a feedback loop? Creativity?

Can a strange loop (as Hofstader calls it) really demonstrate sentience? Things are not merely their outward manifestations. Scientific theories are, but I. Experience. Reality. That is not an outward manifestation. Whatever it is, it’s a mystery; I wouldn’t be surprised if there were never a scientific answer. But to make a computer sentient, we need an answer to exactly what sentience is (unless it happens on accident). But then the question of whether a computer is sentient is the same as whether another human being is sentient.

a) can I imagine myself in their shoes?
b) Do they seem to have external motivation?
c) Do they seem to have internal motivation?
d) Do they seem to have volition?
e) Do they attest to their sentience? (Note here sentience would be separate from communicative intelligence.)

Volition and sentience seem to go hand in hand, but they are separable. Specifically, volition requires sentience.

Indeed, (e) is so great an indicator that it may override the others, as in a turing test. But with a computer we have a few more things to check:
a) has the computer been programmed to imitate human action? At some level imitation becomes reality, but if it merely does a probabilistic conversational choice…
b) Does the creator understand how it works? If so, that should make us a bit more skeptical.
c) Deprived from input, can it still act humanlike? (sensory deprivation chamber?)

It could be sentient and intelligent without being indistinguishable from a human, though. (stochastically, at least. Just as Shakespeare and Milton are distinguishable for the most part.)

THE TURING TEST IS A RED HERRING!

Intelligence is ultimately creative, not communicative. And it does require either society or proof of volition. Is intelligence inherently sentient?

But ultimately this is a matter of faith, just as the acceptance of science is a matter of faith.

Could a computer be human?


Characteristics of humanity

Problem solving
Sentience
Socialization
Volition
Creativity (included in volition?)

If all of these are possessed by a machine, then we may say that that machine’s intelligence is at a human level. Unfortunately, several are unverifiable unless one is the machine. (Ooh. Then in theory we could have a sentient being made up of sentient beings by having a huge group of humans follow the program of the computer.) How do we know if a computer is truly self-aware? Or if it has volition? We don’t. All we have are heuristics. And we can guess. And have faith. Same as science. Booyah.

This brainstorming is actually two-thirds of the length of my paper.

I'm so glad to be 18, part 2

When I'm 18, I finally have the opportunity to bloody my knuckles giving that woman what she deserves.



And I can, um, hang myself with the dual nooses of, er, drugs and narcotics? Shirtless? Seriously, what IS that?



Trying to get a job, I think, will be somewhat difficult. Especially if I'm looking for a job involving antique typewriters.



Not only can I take out my frustration on my spouse, but I can also send slugs of lead at high velocities through panes of glass! Just what I've always dreamed of doing!



Moving into a half-victorian, half-soviet-bloc apartment like this has never been high on my list of priorities, but I guess I'll find time to do it once I turn 18.



Aww. After I've been divorced for several pages, I can finally get married. And sloppily sew a heart onto my shirtsleeve. Because I wear my heart on my sleeve. Get it?



To be continued yet again...

Forget this write a post every day thing. I'm not writing something every day just for your amusement, especially if you're not going to read it.

Oh, wait. Shoot.

Father Zossima

A quote from Father Zossima, an Orthodox priest, in The Brothers Karamazov:

For know, dear ones, that every one of us is undoubtedly responsible for all men- and everything on earth, not merely through the general sinfulness of creation, but each one personally for all mankind and every individual man.

My thoughts on hearing this while listening to the audiobook:

Hey, that's pretty awesome. Father Zossima is quite insightful. I love Orthodox monks.

My thoughts if I had heard this in a Sunday School lesson:

Yeah right. That's ridiculous. Man, I wish these people would think about what they say before they say it. I hate Mormons.

I'm so glad to be 18 (or, something not quite from my basement)

I got this at some point during high school. I am quite excited to find out what happens when I turn 18:



It looks lovely. Hoping to have my hopes for the future crushed further, I open the booklet. Here I learn that it teaches me my "Legal Rights & Responsibilities upon Becoming An..."



And also, apparently that 18-year-olds get clocks with wings or something. And alcohol. Alcohol is important. It's the first topic:



Of course, I'm not allowed to drink it. There are a lot of punishments for drinking it. So they want you to know that. But! I "can finally get my own bank account."



WITH EGGS! HOW AWESOME IS THAT!?!?! And when I'm buying shiny new things with the money in that bank account, it's good to know that I, as a consumer, can be protected:



That consumer obviously wasn't protected. And she paid the price. Look at that ugly purse. It's HORRID!

Blah blah blah I can make contracts:



And put myself into exorbitant debt...



...buying ugly gift bags from the seventies.

And also be arrested by policemen who don't know how to use actual handcuffs. Or maybe that's just the Mafia.



Best of all, I can FINALLY cut up an apple ALL BY MYSELF! With a REAL KNIFE!



I mean get divorced.

That's not the worst of it. But I think that's enough for now.

Another contender for Worst Church Song Ever

This was in the March 2009 New Era. You'd think they'd avoid something this stereotypically cheesy in a magazine intended for teenagers.

1. Sometimes when I’m feeling scared,
I kneel down and say a prayer (THAT DIDN'T RHYME!)
and ask Him to help me through the day.
Sometimes when I’m feeling sad
for hard times that I have had, (Okay, forget what I said about rhyming. Stop. Stop!)
I ask Him to help me find my way.

CHORUS
Then a message will come from my Father up above
in a song or a dream or in beauty that surrounds me. (Certainly won't be THIS song.)
If I try to obey and remember to pray (We've got to get the standard Sunday School answers in there somehow!)
I’ll see the tender mercies of the Lord.

2. Sometimes when I’m all alone
and long for my heav’nly home, (Yeah, I do that all the time.)
I ask Him to help me feel at peace.
Sometimes when I’m feeling pain
or standing in pouring rain, (Because standing in the rain is comparable to being in agony.)
I ask Him to help me feel relief. (Sorry, "relief" does not rhyme with "peace." Not even close.)

3. Sometimes when I just don’t know
the path I should choose to go,
I ask Him to help me make a choice.
I know He is always there
to guide me through simple prayer
And help me to hear His loving voice. (This verse wasn't too bad. Except for know/go. And there/prayer. And choice/voice.)

Are there no Mormons that can write decent song lyrics? I'd hate to see the songs the New Era REJECTS for publication.

College students are dumb

I wrote that last post sitting in the basement of the Memorial Union. Behind me to my left was a table of girls. You could tell they went to ASU. (That is, they were party students.)

Two of the girls were planning to live together after the summer was over, and so they were discussing their living arrangements. One of them mentioned that she went around in her underwear all the time at home, but wouldn't lounge around naked. The other girl was totally fine with that. After all, she said, "we're girls." This was totally fine with the rest of them. But they did have standards. Yes, they did. One girl mentioned that she went around with guys in their boxers all the time. This was too much for one of the other girls' delicate sensibilities, and she retorted "well, you're a whore."

But the plan for living together was progressing quite nicely. One potential problem was smoking, but it was quickly resolved. "You don't smoke in the house, do you? Because I'm allergic to cigarette smoke." "No, I don't. Well...once in a while I'll smoke in my room, but mostly when I'm going to bed and I'll just lay there on my bed, smoking." "Well, I'm not really really allergic. And you're not going to stick it in my face and try and get me to smoke, are you?" "Oh, no, I'm not like that." Both sides seemed eager to please, trying not to make anything seem at all like a deal-breaker.

In turn, each called her parents, seeking to inform them of (and perhaps seek permission for) their plans. They stressed the "better living conditions" that they would experience in this new residence. One saw fit to talk with her father about her sister's recent move in with her boyfriend. Her father hadn't heard. And the sister herself had just broken up with another boyfriend.

Mingled with this was one girl's explanation of how religiously she was raised. Her family went to church EVERY SUNDAY! And to Bible Study one day a week! And even SUNDAY SCHOOL! College had really opened her eyes to the world, though. She wasn't religious anymore. Why would she be? She prefers to wander about the house not-quite naked.

Then came the zinger. It was Cinco de Mayo, right? One of them realized this and decided to, instead of using its standard name, make the absolutely hilarious move of calling it "Cinco de Drinko." Yeah. Not even the almost clever version "Drinko de Mayo," but the random concatenation of half the name of the holiday with a faux-Spanish word describing their favorite activity. But here comes the zinger: they weren't "party animals." No, they considered themselves respectable college students doing their best to broaden their horizons through higher education. I'd hate to see what they considered "party animals."

College students are dumb.

The art of the multiple-choice test

I rather enjoy a well-written multiple-choice test. I can even appreciate a somewhat mediocre one. But some tests that I've encountered just turn my stomach. Taking a multiple-choice test that was thrown together with no consideration of distracters or potential objections is not fun.

I had to take such a test yesterday. My new purpose in life is to make all multiple choice tests of the mediocre or better variety. In other words, I will eradicate all awful tests.

My first task is to educate the world in the true art of the multiple-choice test. So we begin with a short diagnostic quiz:

1. How frequently do you use the answer "none of the above" in your multiple choice tests?
a) maybe once a test
b) every page or so
c) about every other question
d) It is my favorite phrase; I sometimes use it more than once per question.
e) none of the above

2. How about "all of the above"?
a) as infrequently as possible
b) whenever the question number is prime
c) whenever the question number is divisible by a prime
d) as frequently as possible, especially where it makes no sense
e) all of the above

3. Do all of your questions have the same number of choices?
a) yes
b) no
c) all of the above

4. Does every question have an unambiguously correct answer?
a) of course
b) yes
c) mmhmm
d) sure!
e) none of the above

5. Are your distractors reasonable?
a) yes
b) green
c) I LOVE UNICORNS!!!
d) 3
e) Good day sir. My name is Frederic Armand. I am here to meet with you on the topic of the growing unrest in our natal village. Do you expect to be able to meet with the mayor regarding the rebellion led by Mr. Nance?

6. What is a distractor?
a) a wrong answer
b) a right answer
c) Oh, look! Ponies!
d) something meant to confuse the test taker
e) all of the above

7. In a test
a) which uses question stems with answer choices to fill in the blanks, I make sure all the completions are parallel
b) questions are asked
c) people are supposed to give the right answer
d) I make sure to have only one wrong answer per question
e) green

8. Do you use those weird College Board style test questions with the Roman numerals?

I. Only when appropriate.
II. Yes.
III. No.
IV. Every single question.
V. Huh?

a) I only
b) II only
c) III only
d) IV only
e) V only
f) I and II
g) I and III
h) I and IV
i) I and V
j) II and III
k) II and IV
l) II and V
m) III and IV
n) III and V
o) IV and V
p) I, II, and III
q) I, II, and IV
r) I, II, and V
s) I, III, and IV
t) I, III, and V
u) I, IV, and V
v) II, III, and IV
w) II, III and V
x) II, IV, and V
y) III, IV, and V
z) I, II, III, and IV
aa) I, II, III, and V
ab) I, II, IV and V
ac) I, III, IV and V
ad) II, III, IV, and V
ae) I, II, III, IV, and V
af) You thought I'd stop there, didn't you?
ag) all of the above
ah) none of the above
ai) You think I'm done now? Hah!
aj) I doubt you'll be able to enter this option on your scantron. Too bad it's the right answer.
ak) Just kidding. THIS is the right answer.
al) Okay, now I'm done.

9. As a test author, I appear to test takers as
a) intelligent, articulate, and considered
b) barly litrate
c) really really nitpicky
d) absurdly pedantic
e) the teacher

am) Did you really think that was seriously the last answer? That's too bad.

11. How many typos to yo make per tes?
a) zero
v) 1-ten
c) fifteen
d) 27
w) all of th eabove

11. On my tests, takers wonder whether what the question is asking
a) never
b) frequently
c) True
an) Fnord
d) False
e) Strongly agree

SCORING: If you still haven't figured out what you're doing wrong when you write multiple choice tests, you should probably just give up now.

































ao) Made you look.