They first met in a grocery store.
He was buying onions, she was buying asparagus. He first noticed her when she knocked a whole row of asparagus on the floor. He chucked and went to help her clean them up. His pant leg caught on the shelf of onions, and he found himself with a similar dilemma to that of the woman across the isle.
She let out a muffled giggle, and he gave a sheepish smile.
The vegetables rolled across the floor and scrambled together. They tried to carefully sort the onion from the greens, but ended up grabbing armfuls of both and hastily trying to shove them back on their respectable shelves before someone noticed.
They failed.
First it was a young teenage employee of the run-down grocery store. He thought about telling the manager, but decided he was too lazy.
Next it was an old lady who lived down the street. She scolded the young man and woman but forgot about the event several minutes later.
After that a dedicated employee who had been working at the store for nearly 20 years witnessed the chaos in section 1C, isle 13.4. She stormed towards the now-laughing couple and promptly informed them that they would now have to purchase every damaged item, and were never allowed in the facility again.
"What am I going to do with fifty plus onions?" he asked
"What am I going to do with so much asparagus?" she replied
They glanced back at the several employees pushing a number of full grocery carts across the parking lot in their direction.
"Let's have a feast." He said as he watched the employees slowly make their way towards them.
"Excuse me?"
"We'll cook onions and asparagus in every way conceivable, and then some."
"Um....okay....but I'm going to need you address and phone number so we can arrange a date for this, 'feast'".
The meal was set for a Tuesday night at four o' clock PM. She arrived exactly eight minutes late, and they began cooking immediately.
They deep-fried, sauteed, marinated, baked, seasoned, grilled, fried, boiled, and steamed for several hours, and at last with great satisfaction placed the last onion into a boiling pot of water.
"Now," he said, "we get to eat it all."
She laughed.
They kept in touch for the next year and quickly became close friends. On a friday of the next year they went to a local baseball game together. After several minutes of laughing and talking while they absent-mindedly watched the game he asked if this counted as a date.
She said yes.
Most would call them an odd couple: He was an artist and she was a businesswoman. He had a condo and she lived in an apartment building. He had a sports cards collection and she fancied porcelain and china dolls. She drove a brand new sports car and he drove what some would call a piece of junk while others would say it was an antique. She was energetic and active, he was down to earth and somewhat active.
Nonetheless, they fell in love and on their first, 'official' date he made her a porcelain doll. It wore a beautiful smile on its face and was wearing a lovely satin red dress. In its hands was placed a slab of porcelain with the phrase, 'love never fails' inscribed upon it.
She loved it.
They continued to see each other for almost another year, spending almost every moment they could together. She supported his artistry, and convinced the company she worked for to invest in his work.
He made her sculptures and paintings, and dedicated his car to her after he transformed it into an impression of the goddess of love: Aphrodite. They were happy together, and he came up with a grand scheme to ask her to marry him.
He planned a trip to Paris with money that he had been saving since before he met her. They were going to climb the Eiffel tower, and he would make sure it was timed so that when they reached the top the sun would be setting. Then he would ask her.
And then she left him.
They were at her apartment, arguing about something. It was late. She was angry at him, and he didn't know why. She told him to leave and come back in the morning so she could sort out her thoughts.
He went home and tried to sleep, but couldn't get his mind off of the argument. He was confused.
"What did I do?" kept running through his head.
He left the next morning in a hurry, and didn't think twice about eating breakfast.
When he arrived at her apartment, she was hesitant to let him in. They sat in silence for nearly half an hour, when he finally asked her what was wrong.
She told him she needed to move on, and that she couldn't see a future for them. She said she was sorry, and that it was fun while it lasted.
He said nothing, and stormed out the door. He slammed the thing shut so hard that several of her dolls fell off their shelves and shattered on the floor. She burst into tears as she began cleaning up the shards: The first doll he had ever made for her was one that had fallen. It was barely recognizable, save for the porcelain slab containing the phrase, "Love never fails". It was almost completely intact but for one chip which quite resembled a messy pile of asparagus and onions.
The elevator seemed to take forever in reaching the main floor. The satisfying, 'ding' finally came and the doors slid open. He walked quickly through the main lobby, his eyes misty with tears. He snaked through a small crowd of people and through the front doors of the fancy apartment building. He didn't bother to look before crossing the street: it wasn't usually busy. He didn't even hear the blaring horn of the oncoming bus, and barely felt the impact as he was thrown into the air by the fast moving vehicle. He felt cool air rushing through his hair, and opened his eyes one last time to see the ground moving towards him at an alarming rate.
Damn.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
First Impressions
Dedicated to Mark Butler
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A first impression is a horrible thing.
It is almost always wrong, and can often cause one to miss out on some of the greatest experiences of their life.
Kind of like that new guy on the bus. He moved into your small town from Toronto halfway through the semester because his parents were helping him quit the numerous drugs he was on. For the first few days he's on the bus all he does is talk about how different small town life is than in the city. He seems like a typical inner city drugee: spaced out, weird, thinks too much about life, etc. He always wears the same thing: black jeans, a plaid jacket, and a toque...even in the middle of summer. He's seventeen and he doesn't even have is G1 license. Your first impression is not a good one.
During his ranting about the city, he tells stories about all these different undergournd metal bands he used to play guitar for. One of them got kinda big. They even did the circuit tour of Toronto. They were thinking about trying to sign for a record deal, but then the drummer--a girl--quit because she broke up with the lead singer. Through casual talking, you tell him you play the drums. He asks if you want to jam.
The panic alarms begin to sound in your head: 'This guy is weird and kind of a loser, I don't want him coming to my house.' you make something up: "Can't man; family thing tonight." he buys it.
A few das later, he asks again. Suddenly you have a test to study for. Another time it's your only night to relax that week.
It's amazing what kind of excuses one can come up with on the spot.
Eventually you run out of ideas and a date to jam is set. He will arrive at seven on Tuesday, and you have to introduce him to your parents. What will they think of you if this is supposed to be one of your friends?
Seven o' clock Tuesday rolls around and the guy shows up ten minutes late. You've warned your parents about his weirdness so that they don't think any less of you.
After a quick hello you head to the basement for what turns out to be an amazing jam. If this guy has any talent it's guitar. He picks and sweeps and strums so fast and so well that there is almost no need for you to do anything.
More jams follow, and it becomes a weekly thing. This guy isn't completely as bad as he seemed the first time you met him. Still, the first impression stays: he does still spend lunch at the smoker's pit with the, 'tough', dirty, and poor crowd. And he does still wear the same clothes all the time.
A year passes, and not much changes. However it does seem that he always has his, 'meaning of life' chats with you whenever you need it most. The other night you had a three hour phone conversation about God. The day before he talked about how much drugs had screwed him over in life. It changed your mind about the party.
Today he told you he planned on going shopping over the weekend because he's absolutely sick of wearing the same thing every day. He's also getting out of the, 'star program' and being reinserted into the academic learning system. On top of all that, he quit everything, including smoking and drinking, for good. Finally, after three years.
The Monday after said weekend this new kid gets on the bus. He's wearing a brand new purple and white ecko sweater with snazzy blue jeans and a bright white toque. It appears he just got his haircut. He laughs at your open mouth stare: "I told you I was changing man." He says as he sits in his usual seat--across from you, "I'm just sick of living this stupid, no-brainer crap life. I need to do something with myself."
More time goes by.
Today you had a semi-serious argument with your girlfriend at school. It ended on a bad note, and millions of angry thoughts are racing through your head as you sit quietly on the bus ride home.
One of the drugees who the Toronto kid used to hang out with is sitting with him now, and they appear to be having a heated discussion. The drugee's stop comes first, and when he gets off the Toronto kid comes and sits with you.
"What was that all about?" you ask
"He's mad because I quit his band."
"Why'd you quit?"
"I told you man, I'm changing: starting over, gettin' a clean slate and all that jazz. Everyone in that band leads the lifestyle I just left. I can't hang out with them anymore. It's just not who I am."
"Oh."
"Yeah, and we were also talking about our opinions of life."
You roll your eyes: of course that's what they were talking about: "He seems to think that the only way to be happy in life is if you depend on no one and are the strongest. Basically survival of the fittest."
Here we go again, a lecture about life. You look out the window to see how much further your stop is.
"I totally disagree though. I think that happiness in life is found through, well," he pauses for a second, trying to find words: "you love your girlfriend right? I mean you guys have been together for like 3 years or some shit like that right?" he's waiting for a reply.
"Yea...of course I love her." suddenly the angry thoughts in your head stop.
"Yea, I mean you'd take a bullet for cuz she's the reason you wake up every morning right?"
"Yea...yea she is." you're starting to realize that where to go for a date is kind of a stupid thing to argue about.
"And I mean nothing would make you more happy--literally nothing--than to wake up every morning lying next to her and look into her eyes and tell her you love her right?"
"Right." You have an apologetic phone call to make when you get home.
"And whenever she says the same thing to you, or when she gives you a kiss on the cheek or whatever man that means the world to you doesn't it? That amazing feeling of having someone you can love and hold just makes your day right?"
"Yea."
"And whenever you're with her you're happy right? Like even if you're having a bad day just seeing her lightens your mood right?"
"Definitely." What were you even mad at her for?
"Yea that's what I was trying to tell that guy man: happiness isn't about dominating and being the toughest and strongest around. Happiness is about finding that special someone who makes you feel like no one else can feel man. I honestly envy you two and I'm sure that like a whole bunch of other people in the school do to because you guys have somethin special, especially for high school man I've never seen a couple that's so happy in my life before."
"Thanks man."
"Yea no problem. you see what I'm sayin though, right?"
"Yea man I definitely see what you're gettin at."
"Ok cool. Anyway that's my rant for the day." He laughs, "Hey man you free to jam tonight? Since I don't have a band anymore we'll be able to jam more often."
"Yea man for sure, what time do you think you'll be over?"
A first impression is a horrible thing.
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A first impression is a horrible thing.
It is almost always wrong, and can often cause one to miss out on some of the greatest experiences of their life.
Kind of like that new guy on the bus. He moved into your small town from Toronto halfway through the semester because his parents were helping him quit the numerous drugs he was on. For the first few days he's on the bus all he does is talk about how different small town life is than in the city. He seems like a typical inner city drugee: spaced out, weird, thinks too much about life, etc. He always wears the same thing: black jeans, a plaid jacket, and a toque...even in the middle of summer. He's seventeen and he doesn't even have is G1 license. Your first impression is not a good one.
During his ranting about the city, he tells stories about all these different undergournd metal bands he used to play guitar for. One of them got kinda big. They even did the circuit tour of Toronto. They were thinking about trying to sign for a record deal, but then the drummer--a girl--quit because she broke up with the lead singer. Through casual talking, you tell him you play the drums. He asks if you want to jam.
The panic alarms begin to sound in your head: 'This guy is weird and kind of a loser, I don't want him coming to my house.' you make something up: "Can't man; family thing tonight." he buys it.
A few das later, he asks again. Suddenly you have a test to study for. Another time it's your only night to relax that week.
It's amazing what kind of excuses one can come up with on the spot.
Eventually you run out of ideas and a date to jam is set. He will arrive at seven on Tuesday, and you have to introduce him to your parents. What will they think of you if this is supposed to be one of your friends?
Seven o' clock Tuesday rolls around and the guy shows up ten minutes late. You've warned your parents about his weirdness so that they don't think any less of you.
After a quick hello you head to the basement for what turns out to be an amazing jam. If this guy has any talent it's guitar. He picks and sweeps and strums so fast and so well that there is almost no need for you to do anything.
More jams follow, and it becomes a weekly thing. This guy isn't completely as bad as he seemed the first time you met him. Still, the first impression stays: he does still spend lunch at the smoker's pit with the, 'tough', dirty, and poor crowd. And he does still wear the same clothes all the time.
A year passes, and not much changes. However it does seem that he always has his, 'meaning of life' chats with you whenever you need it most. The other night you had a three hour phone conversation about God. The day before he talked about how much drugs had screwed him over in life. It changed your mind about the party.
Today he told you he planned on going shopping over the weekend because he's absolutely sick of wearing the same thing every day. He's also getting out of the, 'star program' and being reinserted into the academic learning system. On top of all that, he quit everything, including smoking and drinking, for good. Finally, after three years.
The Monday after said weekend this new kid gets on the bus. He's wearing a brand new purple and white ecko sweater with snazzy blue jeans and a bright white toque. It appears he just got his haircut. He laughs at your open mouth stare: "I told you I was changing man." He says as he sits in his usual seat--across from you, "I'm just sick of living this stupid, no-brainer crap life. I need to do something with myself."
More time goes by.
Today you had a semi-serious argument with your girlfriend at school. It ended on a bad note, and millions of angry thoughts are racing through your head as you sit quietly on the bus ride home.
One of the drugees who the Toronto kid used to hang out with is sitting with him now, and they appear to be having a heated discussion. The drugee's stop comes first, and when he gets off the Toronto kid comes and sits with you.
"What was that all about?" you ask
"He's mad because I quit his band."
"Why'd you quit?"
"I told you man, I'm changing: starting over, gettin' a clean slate and all that jazz. Everyone in that band leads the lifestyle I just left. I can't hang out with them anymore. It's just not who I am."
"Oh."
"Yeah, and we were also talking about our opinions of life."
You roll your eyes: of course that's what they were talking about: "He seems to think that the only way to be happy in life is if you depend on no one and are the strongest. Basically survival of the fittest."
Here we go again, a lecture about life. You look out the window to see how much further your stop is.
"I totally disagree though. I think that happiness in life is found through, well," he pauses for a second, trying to find words: "you love your girlfriend right? I mean you guys have been together for like 3 years or some shit like that right?" he's waiting for a reply.
"Yea...of course I love her." suddenly the angry thoughts in your head stop.
"Yea, I mean you'd take a bullet for cuz she's the reason you wake up every morning right?"
"Yea...yea she is." you're starting to realize that where to go for a date is kind of a stupid thing to argue about.
"And I mean nothing would make you more happy--literally nothing--than to wake up every morning lying next to her and look into her eyes and tell her you love her right?"
"Right." You have an apologetic phone call to make when you get home.
"And whenever she says the same thing to you, or when she gives you a kiss on the cheek or whatever man that means the world to you doesn't it? That amazing feeling of having someone you can love and hold just makes your day right?"
"Yea."
"And whenever you're with her you're happy right? Like even if you're having a bad day just seeing her lightens your mood right?"
"Definitely." What were you even mad at her for?
"Yea that's what I was trying to tell that guy man: happiness isn't about dominating and being the toughest and strongest around. Happiness is about finding that special someone who makes you feel like no one else can feel man. I honestly envy you two and I'm sure that like a whole bunch of other people in the school do to because you guys have somethin special, especially for high school man I've never seen a couple that's so happy in my life before."
"Thanks man."
"Yea no problem. you see what I'm sayin though, right?"
"Yea man I definitely see what you're gettin at."
"Ok cool. Anyway that's my rant for the day." He laughs, "Hey man you free to jam tonight? Since I don't have a band anymore we'll be able to jam more often."
"Yea man for sure, what time do you think you'll be over?"
A first impression is a horrible thing.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
My Picture
This was another assignment for class...it's rather old though...just thought I would post it. I was unable to upload the picture being talked about in this blog, sorry guys. (It's a human pyramid of about 7-9 grade 6 kids)
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Every time I look back on this photo, I remember what a loser I was and how naive about everything I was. I thought I had a lot of friends, but in all honesty everyone in this photo consists of every person I associated with until half way through grade eight. I had no idea James would become a very good friend of mine, didn't realize I would be working with Caleb Chan for several years, and never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined I was to be lucky enough to be dating Jazmyn Norrie through high school.(all people in this photo)
This photo was taken at my eleventh birthday party. I organized the whole party myself: I decided what we were going to eat, drink, who was going to be invited, what games we were going to play, what was going to be in the goody bags, and I even decided when the party would start and end. It was a fun enough party, half the time was spent outside building snow forts and snow men.
Whenever I look at this picture I gasp in disbelief at how much that room has changed. There are two enormous bay windows on the far left wall, and the walls, floor, and ceiling are now decorated in a sweet smelling pine. That table was burned along with the old, rickety, chairs, and the stereo speaker barely visible on the far left has been replaced with a warm and inviting wood stove. The couch has been moved to another area, and an antique coffee table sits smack dab in the center of the room. It's quite nice.
Every time I look at this photo I'm shocked at how much people have lost or gained weight, and how I haven't communicated with some of them in several years.
Every time I look back on this photo I remember what a loser I was and how naive about everything I was. I wish I could go back and warn the eleven-year-old version of myself about life, eggs, and rotten fruit. I wish I could warn him of the dangers of not doing math home work and joining band. I wish I could warn him about tests, exams, essays, and little writing assignments that McCallum hands out now and then.
Time Flies.
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Every time I look back on this photo, I remember what a loser I was and how naive about everything I was. I thought I had a lot of friends, but in all honesty everyone in this photo consists of every person I associated with until half way through grade eight. I had no idea James would become a very good friend of mine, didn't realize I would be working with Caleb Chan for several years, and never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined I was to be lucky enough to be dating Jazmyn Norrie through high school.(all people in this photo)
This photo was taken at my eleventh birthday party. I organized the whole party myself: I decided what we were going to eat, drink, who was going to be invited, what games we were going to play, what was going to be in the goody bags, and I even decided when the party would start and end. It was a fun enough party, half the time was spent outside building snow forts and snow men.
Whenever I look at this picture I gasp in disbelief at how much that room has changed. There are two enormous bay windows on the far left wall, and the walls, floor, and ceiling are now decorated in a sweet smelling pine. That table was burned along with the old, rickety, chairs, and the stereo speaker barely visible on the far left has been replaced with a warm and inviting wood stove. The couch has been moved to another area, and an antique coffee table sits smack dab in the center of the room. It's quite nice.
Every time I look at this photo I'm shocked at how much people have lost or gained weight, and how I haven't communicated with some of them in several years.
Every time I look back on this photo I remember what a loser I was and how naive about everything I was. I wish I could go back and warn the eleven-year-old version of myself about life, eggs, and rotten fruit. I wish I could warn him of the dangers of not doing math home work and joining band. I wish I could warn him about tests, exams, essays, and little writing assignments that McCallum hands out now and then.
Time Flies.
Monday, January 19, 2009
The Truth
**This is an essay I wrote for a practical exam and it turned into something I did for fun rather than for a school project...even though I still handed it in. Also note that this essay is not a reflection of my personal opinion in its entirety.**
What is truth? The Intermediate English Dictionary tells us it is, "That which is true". Oxford says truth is, "Something that is true". and the Senior Dictionary of Canadian English sees truth as, "That which is in accordance with the fact or facts". These definitions fail to answer the previously stated question of, 'What is truth?' and leave us with more questions as, 'What is fact?' and, 'If truth is that which is true, what is true?'. The truth is--isn't this ironic?--there is no real definition of truth or fact, because truth is a matter of opinion, and changes with respect to different perspectives. No one was there, 'In the Beginning' and so no one can say how modern life came to be due to the fact that there is no complete, one-hundred percent factual evidence, and so each individual born on this earth must always choose a belief according to their own respected opinion. How does one attain his or her opinion? There are many factors which can effect opinion, three more important factors being where the person was raised and who raised them, where the individual lives as an adult and what their government may or may not enforce as truth, and finally, where a person draws the line for reality.
It is said that a person is most impressionable as a child. If this is true, then whatever their parents teach them, and whatever culture or environment they are raised in, will be the largest influence on their opinion of truth later on in life. Of course, one's opinion of truth must agree with the latter statement in order to agree with the former. However when we observe children such as Piscine Molitor Patel in the book, Life of Pi, we see several instances during which this statement is indeed proven true. The first and most obvious of these is Pi's lessons from his father about animals. Sometimes Pi tells us directly that his father taught him something, and other times it is implied, such as the time Pi talks about zoos and people confusing them with captivity: "Well-meaning but misinformed people htink animals in the wild are, 'happy' because they are, 'free'".(16) Pi goes on to argue that this is not the case, and his argument is quite convincing. It influences one's opinion of truth on the subject. Pi has either drawn the conclusions himself, or--more than likely--has been told so by his father at a young age in response to a question such as, 'Daddy, wouldn't the animals be happier if they were free?'. The second example of Pi's influence from his father is the lesson received concerning the horrible danger of putting your hand in a tiger's cage: "'Tigers are very dangerous,' father shouted".(37) Pi believes this to be true because his father told him, and demonstrates his belief when Richard Parker joins him in the lifeboat later on. Finally, the fact that Pi spent the greater part of his childhood in India may have some influence on his curious religious beliefs, simply because I believe religion to be more diverse in that part of the world. (But hey, I'm from Parry Sound; What do I know?)
This leads us to our next point of influential evidence: Where an individual chooses to live their adult life could have a great impact on their opinion of truth. Perhaps the government enforces a certain religion, or perhaps that neighborhood has a vast majority of indiviudals who share a common belief or idea. Whatever the case, even if it is subconscious, most people will find themselves agreeing with the opinions of those around them. This is evident in, Slaughter-House-Five, with Billy constantly talking about the Tralfamadorians and what they believe: "Billy Pilgrim says that the universe does not look like a lot of bright little dots to the creatues from Tralfamadore"(87). Billy was in the company of the Tralfamadorians for an extended period of time, and throughout his life afterwords, and when he went back and relived his life before Tralfamadore, he looked upon everything with a Tralfamadorian outlook. Billy did not, of course, choose to live on Tralfamadore, but nonetheless, his opinion of truth was influenced by Tralfamadorians to such an extent that is changed his outlook and view on life entirely.
Everyone knows that the story of Tralfamadore isn't true, and I'm sure that if Kurt Vonnegut was still alive he would confirm such. The reason for this is that most everyone agrees that the sotry of Tralfamadore crosses the line of reality. There are, however, those who may choose to believe the story--despite the very visible, 'fiction' printed on the spine of the book--beacuse their line of reality extends further than others. For example, Billy's, 'reality line' extends ridiculously far, whereas the Japanese men who interview Pi in, Life of Pi, choose to believe Pi's second story because it doesn't involve tigers or man-eating islands: "He thinks we're fools...Mr. Patel, we don't believe your story...Banannas don't float...you don't really expect us to believe you do you? Carnivorous trees?...These things don't exist...Your island is botanically impossible...No scientist would believe you...We know enough to know the possible from the impossible"(324-328). They have a more, 'realistic' reality line according to popular world view. The two men repeatedly insist that Pi's sotry is not true because of what they have seen in life; they believe what they see. It is their method of drawing the line for reality. Some have faith, some investigate for proof and evidence, some believe what they hear from, 'wise men', and some--like the two Japanese men--choose to, 'believe it when they see it'. Every one has a line which they establish in their own way.
So what is truth? It is a matter of opinion which changes with respect to different perspectives, and this opinion develops through childhood influences, envrionments lived in as an adult, and where a person draws their, 'reality line'. It's true; these are not the only things that influence an individual's opinion of truth, but they are three of the larger influences. Is any of this true? Well, that all depends on one's opinion.
And that, dear reader is the truth.
(according to Isaac James Golle)
What is truth? The Intermediate English Dictionary tells us it is, "That which is true". Oxford says truth is, "Something that is true". and the Senior Dictionary of Canadian English sees truth as, "That which is in accordance with the fact or facts". These definitions fail to answer the previously stated question of, 'What is truth?' and leave us with more questions as, 'What is fact?' and, 'If truth is that which is true, what is true?'. The truth is--isn't this ironic?--there is no real definition of truth or fact, because truth is a matter of opinion, and changes with respect to different perspectives. No one was there, 'In the Beginning' and so no one can say how modern life came to be due to the fact that there is no complete, one-hundred percent factual evidence, and so each individual born on this earth must always choose a belief according to their own respected opinion. How does one attain his or her opinion? There are many factors which can effect opinion, three more important factors being where the person was raised and who raised them, where the individual lives as an adult and what their government may or may not enforce as truth, and finally, where a person draws the line for reality.
It is said that a person is most impressionable as a child. If this is true, then whatever their parents teach them, and whatever culture or environment they are raised in, will be the largest influence on their opinion of truth later on in life. Of course, one's opinion of truth must agree with the latter statement in order to agree with the former. However when we observe children such as Piscine Molitor Patel in the book, Life of Pi, we see several instances during which this statement is indeed proven true. The first and most obvious of these is Pi's lessons from his father about animals. Sometimes Pi tells us directly that his father taught him something, and other times it is implied, such as the time Pi talks about zoos and people confusing them with captivity: "Well-meaning but misinformed people htink animals in the wild are, 'happy' because they are, 'free'".(16) Pi goes on to argue that this is not the case, and his argument is quite convincing. It influences one's opinion of truth on the subject. Pi has either drawn the conclusions himself, or--more than likely--has been told so by his father at a young age in response to a question such as, 'Daddy, wouldn't the animals be happier if they were free?'. The second example of Pi's influence from his father is the lesson received concerning the horrible danger of putting your hand in a tiger's cage: "'Tigers are very dangerous,' father shouted".(37) Pi believes this to be true because his father told him, and demonstrates his belief when Richard Parker joins him in the lifeboat later on. Finally, the fact that Pi spent the greater part of his childhood in India may have some influence on his curious religious beliefs, simply because I believe religion to be more diverse in that part of the world. (But hey, I'm from Parry Sound; What do I know?)
This leads us to our next point of influential evidence: Where an individual chooses to live their adult life could have a great impact on their opinion of truth. Perhaps the government enforces a certain religion, or perhaps that neighborhood has a vast majority of indiviudals who share a common belief or idea. Whatever the case, even if it is subconscious, most people will find themselves agreeing with the opinions of those around them. This is evident in, Slaughter-House-Five, with Billy constantly talking about the Tralfamadorians and what they believe: "Billy Pilgrim says that the universe does not look like a lot of bright little dots to the creatues from Tralfamadore"(87). Billy was in the company of the Tralfamadorians for an extended period of time, and throughout his life afterwords, and when he went back and relived his life before Tralfamadore, he looked upon everything with a Tralfamadorian outlook. Billy did not, of course, choose to live on Tralfamadore, but nonetheless, his opinion of truth was influenced by Tralfamadorians to such an extent that is changed his outlook and view on life entirely.
Everyone knows that the story of Tralfamadore isn't true, and I'm sure that if Kurt Vonnegut was still alive he would confirm such. The reason for this is that most everyone agrees that the sotry of Tralfamadore crosses the line of reality. There are, however, those who may choose to believe the story--despite the very visible, 'fiction' printed on the spine of the book--beacuse their line of reality extends further than others. For example, Billy's, 'reality line' extends ridiculously far, whereas the Japanese men who interview Pi in, Life of Pi, choose to believe Pi's second story because it doesn't involve tigers or man-eating islands: "He thinks we're fools...Mr. Patel, we don't believe your story...Banannas don't float...you don't really expect us to believe you do you? Carnivorous trees?...These things don't exist...Your island is botanically impossible...No scientist would believe you...We know enough to know the possible from the impossible"(324-328). They have a more, 'realistic' reality line according to popular world view. The two men repeatedly insist that Pi's sotry is not true because of what they have seen in life; they believe what they see. It is their method of drawing the line for reality. Some have faith, some investigate for proof and evidence, some believe what they hear from, 'wise men', and some--like the two Japanese men--choose to, 'believe it when they see it'. Every one has a line which they establish in their own way.
So what is truth? It is a matter of opinion which changes with respect to different perspectives, and this opinion develops through childhood influences, envrionments lived in as an adult, and where a person draws their, 'reality line'. It's true; these are not the only things that influence an individual's opinion of truth, but they are three of the larger influences. Is any of this true? Well, that all depends on one's opinion.
And that, dear reader is the truth.
(according to Isaac James Golle)
Friday, January 9, 2009
The Lecture
Time is quite possibly one of the rudest and most despicable things on earth.
It has not feelings for others and no respect for authority. It sees no value in human life and is indifferent to death. Neither does time care for the importance of ancient and historic relics. The eiffel tower could collapse tomorrow and time would continue on its way, barely giving the wreckage a glance.
Time takes whatever it wants, whenever it wants, and however it wants. It can go about this in a sneaky and crafty way, so that we barely notice until the last minute when it is too late to retreive that which is lost, or time can rip the possession from your arms faster than a bolt of lightning. Whether it be child, spouse, novelty item, friends, collector's items, grandparents, education, or your very own life, time always has its way.
Time always breaks its promises, and keeps absolutely no secrets, no matter what it may tell you.
When time gets bored, it picks away at monuments and finds new ways to torture slowly dying people, both young and old. It will slowly crumble massive mountains while giving false hope to younger, smaller towers of rock and earth, knowing that it will eventually do the same to them.
In fact, false hope happens to be time's favorite, 'game' to play with all inhabitants of the earth. This, accompanied by time's unending level of patience, provide it with decades and centuries of, 'entertainment'.
Isn't it ironic then, to call a death untimely, or be surprised by the deterioration of well-aged artifacts? Is it not ironic to become annoyed with a late package, or to find yourself frustrated with the constant failure of your brand new alarm clock?
Is this not the very nature of the devil that is time? Why then do we continue to satisfy our worst enemy's love for sorrow, frustration, anger, and distress?
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to interrupt but it is drawing near midnight and the professor is old and needs his rest."
"I don't need rest! I will not let time get the best of me!"
"Then you will go to bed so as not to be grumpy and tired tomorrow morning...that would only satisfy time's lust for disorder."
"I see, this is very untimely of you Mrs. Philips."
"I know, I'm sorry."
The Untimely End
It has not feelings for others and no respect for authority. It sees no value in human life and is indifferent to death. Neither does time care for the importance of ancient and historic relics. The eiffel tower could collapse tomorrow and time would continue on its way, barely giving the wreckage a glance.
Time takes whatever it wants, whenever it wants, and however it wants. It can go about this in a sneaky and crafty way, so that we barely notice until the last minute when it is too late to retreive that which is lost, or time can rip the possession from your arms faster than a bolt of lightning. Whether it be child, spouse, novelty item, friends, collector's items, grandparents, education, or your very own life, time always has its way.
Time always breaks its promises, and keeps absolutely no secrets, no matter what it may tell you.
When time gets bored, it picks away at monuments and finds new ways to torture slowly dying people, both young and old. It will slowly crumble massive mountains while giving false hope to younger, smaller towers of rock and earth, knowing that it will eventually do the same to them.
In fact, false hope happens to be time's favorite, 'game' to play with all inhabitants of the earth. This, accompanied by time's unending level of patience, provide it with decades and centuries of, 'entertainment'.
Isn't it ironic then, to call a death untimely, or be surprised by the deterioration of well-aged artifacts? Is it not ironic to become annoyed with a late package, or to find yourself frustrated with the constant failure of your brand new alarm clock?
Is this not the very nature of the devil that is time? Why then do we continue to satisfy our worst enemy's love for sorrow, frustration, anger, and distress?
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to interrupt but it is drawing near midnight and the professor is old and needs his rest."
"I don't need rest! I will not let time get the best of me!"
"Then you will go to bed so as not to be grumpy and tired tomorrow morning...that would only satisfy time's lust for disorder."
"I see, this is very untimely of you Mrs. Philips."
"I know, I'm sorry."
The Untimely End
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Conclusion
So that's it. I hope you enjoyed it and like what you saw...it wasn't really that good was it? I didn't think so. Most other people have said the same thing. But, I mean, it's one of the only ways I can express myself, you know? I just wish I could be better at it, then maybe I could make money doing it! Oh well, better luck next time right? Oh...no next time? Okay. I should probably get going anyway, see you around? No? Oh...okay, bye then.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
The Artist
First off, I would like to say this particular story is dedicated to Kevin Millington because he has not only been an inspiration to me, but also a great friend and at times, a mentor.
Thank you Kevin.
Everything was beautifully horrific.
The majestic Colors flowed and came together to create a chaotic unity.
Fiery and explosive yellows and oranges here, gooey and dripping reds and browns there. It truly was marvelous: Fit for a king, but suitable for no human being whatsoever.
I took a moment to sit back and admire the work of art that had practically created itself right before my astonished eyes.
Da Vinci would be dumbstruck, and I'm sure Picasso would have a thing or two to say. This was the type of picture one would have to see firsthand at a museum in order to really appreciate its elegance, never mind silly things like cameras. They wouldn't be able to capture the supreme emotion one experiences from a sight such as this.
Beautifully horrific.
That's what it was. No other words in my vast wardrobe of diction could describe what it was I looked upon. Besides these two excerpts of the English language, I was speechless.
Someone needed to see this.
I would have leapt into action right then and there but found myself paralyzed with a mixture of fear, awe, delight, and disgust.
So I sat there and looked on, trying to discern the meaning and reason for this masterpiece. What exactly inspired this thing?
Was it anger?
Jealousy?
Hate?
Could it be hope?
Happiness?
Joy?
What encouraged the creation of it?
As I gazed on my mind became transfixed with this new found inquiry.
How did it come this far?
How did it reach this point of seemingly detestable glory?
As I dwelled more and more upon the annoying question I reached somewhat of a revelation.
Beautifully horrific.
It was disgusting. Iwas revolted. How can man allow such an abomination to the world exist?
Violent emotions came over me. I wanted to destroy it, to wipe it off the face of the earth, to send it to the pits of hell where it belonged!
How can man look upon this with admiration, or even indifference? I wanted to reach out and be rid of it.
But I could not.
I slumped back against the cold, blood-spattered cement wall as the gruesome battle of Saigon continued before my sore eyes.
I am but one poor man, and war is kept alive by many rich and important men from all over the world. The never see this. They never take the time or the opportunity to look upon the carnage which I unwillingly see and take part in every day of my life.
They sit at home, reaping the hell-approved benefits war so faithfully brings to them like a well-trained dog.
That's what war is: a multitude of well-trained dogs clawing, tearing, biting, ripping eachother apart in order to defend their master's territory. They call it modern, organized warfare.
I call it sickening.
Thank you Kevin.
Everything was beautifully horrific.
The majestic Colors flowed and came together to create a chaotic unity.
Fiery and explosive yellows and oranges here, gooey and dripping reds and browns there. It truly was marvelous: Fit for a king, but suitable for no human being whatsoever.
I took a moment to sit back and admire the work of art that had practically created itself right before my astonished eyes.
Da Vinci would be dumbstruck, and I'm sure Picasso would have a thing or two to say. This was the type of picture one would have to see firsthand at a museum in order to really appreciate its elegance, never mind silly things like cameras. They wouldn't be able to capture the supreme emotion one experiences from a sight such as this.
Beautifully horrific.
That's what it was. No other words in my vast wardrobe of diction could describe what it was I looked upon. Besides these two excerpts of the English language, I was speechless.
Someone needed to see this.
I would have leapt into action right then and there but found myself paralyzed with a mixture of fear, awe, delight, and disgust.
So I sat there and looked on, trying to discern the meaning and reason for this masterpiece. What exactly inspired this thing?
Was it anger?
Jealousy?
Hate?
Could it be hope?
Happiness?
Joy?
What encouraged the creation of it?
As I gazed on my mind became transfixed with this new found inquiry.
How did it come this far?
How did it reach this point of seemingly detestable glory?
As I dwelled more and more upon the annoying question I reached somewhat of a revelation.
Beautifully horrific.
It was disgusting. Iwas revolted. How can man allow such an abomination to the world exist?
Violent emotions came over me. I wanted to destroy it, to wipe it off the face of the earth, to send it to the pits of hell where it belonged!
How can man look upon this with admiration, or even indifference? I wanted to reach out and be rid of it.
But I could not.
I slumped back against the cold, blood-spattered cement wall as the gruesome battle of Saigon continued before my sore eyes.
I am but one poor man, and war is kept alive by many rich and important men from all over the world. The never see this. They never take the time or the opportunity to look upon the carnage which I unwillingly see and take part in every day of my life.
They sit at home, reaping the hell-approved benefits war so faithfully brings to them like a well-trained dog.
That's what war is: a multitude of well-trained dogs clawing, tearing, biting, ripping eachother apart in order to defend their master's territory. They call it modern, organized warfare.
I call it sickening.
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