Tagged - Enjoy, Sis

So my sister, Juli, virtual 'tagged' me from her blog, because she was "interested to see where [I'll] take this." I think you're supposed to list five things about yourself and then tag five people, or else you will be cursed with your secret crush not liking you, or the plague, or alcohol addiction...something like that.

Listed below are six -- how's that for taking things somewhere, huh, Juli?!? -- that you might not (and didn't care to) know about me.

1. Talk to me after I wake up - I don't always say everything that's on my mind, but if you want to catch me without a filter, do it after I wake up. I'll say exactly what I'm thinking. Anecdotal illustration: Back at the Y on a Sat morning, some friends I was planning on going to go paintballing with called me at 9am (I had forgotten):

-"Hello?" (italics in this narrative indicate dazed and confused)
-"Josh, hey, are you coming?"
-"Huh?"
-"Paintballing. We're waiting for you."
-I start crawling out of bed in my underwear: "Can I play with no pants?"
-"What? Uh...I guess...you could do that...you know, if you wanted..."

2. I punched a girl once - Casey was our FHE dad back at the Elms. For the activity he brought two pairs of boxing gloves and some slips of paper. We were to write who we wanted to see box each other on the slips. I ended up being pitted in The Octagon against a girl that had broken up with my roommate a few months back. I insisted I didn't want to fight her, but she kept coming at me, and the last time she did she swung with her left, I grabbed it, gave her a little tug to the ground, and gave her a little love tap to the right cheek. When I got home, the roommate asked "How was FHE?" "It was fine. I boxed your ex." slight pause -- "Sounds about right."

3. I clubbed a kid with my lunch pail - We might as well get the violent stuff out of the way. I had a sweet plastic Voltron lunch pail in Kindergarten. This kid on the bus ride home kept bugging me, so I smacked him over the head with it. The bus driver guaranteed me I was getting a ticket. When my stop came, I slid right off the bus. She probably mistook me for the other Asian kid on board.

4. I’m a contrarian – For some reason I like to make conversation difficult for people – but not in a confrontational way. I can’t explain it. Two illustrations:

Illustration 1

Friend: “Josh, you know you don’t always have to be contrarian.”
Me: “Yes I do.”

Illustration 2

Friend: “I ran 10 miles yesterday and I am sore.”
Me: “No you didn’t, and no, you’re not.”
Friend: “I’m pretty sure I know what I did and how I feel.”
Me: “Uh huh”
Friend Reconsidering Friendship: “I can’t believe I’m arguing with you about what I did yesterday.”
Me: “Believe it.”

5. I like baby food – Believe it. When I played in all-day soccer tournaments those little gerber glass jars of fruit puree (not that veggie puree…gross) had tons of nutrients needed to get some quick energy. Maybe that’s why I love those Naked and Odwalla smoothie drinks so much. They taste the exact same and cost about the same per ounce.

6. I make up words - As you all know from my B.E. entry, I make up words. This isn't all that unique, though, because I think a lot of people do. I do, however, specialize in verbs that represent a tendency that someone has, and base it on their name. Some examples:

• "Go ahead, just James Joyce me." JJ is an author famous for employing stream of consciousness. If I'm talking with someone but they keep getting tripped up b/c they can't seem to organize their thoughts, this is the phrase I use. (trans. "Just spew out everything on your mind and we'll sort it out later.")
• "He/she totally Paul Walker'ed that." I use this with actors and movies a lot, mostly with The Fast and the Furious franchise -- correction, let's call it a debacle -- in mind. (trans. "He/she took a movie that already looked horrible based on previews and made it even worse with their horrible acting.")
• "I just got my trash Shigeko'ed." I love my mom. One of the many loving memories I have of my childhood, I remember her always licking her thumb and aggressively scrubbing something off of my face. I didn't like it. (trans. "I was just treated in a rough manner by an otherwise well-intentioned individual.")

And the list goes on.

I break the mold and end the tagging here. I’m more of a reformer than any of the presidential hopefuls claim to be.

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Underground Addictions

Another confession.

Everyone has different smells that they enjoy. Most people like flowers or the ocean or new car or some other smell that is easily marketable in a Febreeze can.

For me, it boils down to sharpie markers and gasoline. Something about stepping out of the car at a gas station and having that smell hit my olfactories is -- how does that old cliche go? Like a warm blanket? That's not right, but I can't think of anything better.

Am I addicted? Well, you won't see me buying cases of extra-potent sharpies out of some guy's trunk in a 7-Eleven parking lot at 3AM. And you probably won't find me underneath an overpass huddled over a bucket of gasoline. Gas prices are so high now, drugs are probably cheaper anyway.

I'm not much for conspiracy theories, but this tendency to sniff markers after unscrewing the cap isn't my fault. This was ingrained in me since my preschool days and I am not accountable... I blame Sanford.

"Who?"

You know, the company that decided to produce those scented colored markers that you used for coloring stuff when you were little. They teach you to get strung out before you can string simple sentences together! This preempts marijuana as the "gateway drug" by YEARS.

I seem to remember reading in one of my psychology classes that the best way to learn about something is to engage as many of the senses as possible; not just the sight and sound that are usually accompanied with school, but, if possible, to engage smell, touch, and taste as well. I suppose that this was Sanford's guise for this product. But do I really need to be reminded of what black licorice smells like when I'm struggling to just color within the lines? Honestly.

And how the hell is turquoise a representative color for mango?? (I looked up their product listing)

So thanks, Sanford. I may have a solid idea for what cherry smells like, but now I'm trapped in a cage of your making.

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Education, Education, Education

Snowshoeing took me to the "mountains" of West Virginia a couple of weeks back. It was my first venture into "The ----- State" ...I actually don't know what the state nickname is, and frankly, it's too late for me to care enough to look it up. Anyway, given Rye's semi-offensive jokes regarding the inhabitants of WV, I was expecting green, sprawling fields with rows and rows of bathtubs filled with fermenting moonshine, or toothless, bearded men donning 'coon skin caps firing shotguns at each other from the ditches on each side of the road. Something like that.

Crazy expectations, you say? You haven't heard the jokes that Rye tells.

On the return journey we had to pull over and flip around once. We pulled temporarily into a driveway which Dave said "look[ed] like it belong[ed] to a slasher." Below is the sign that was posted at the beginning of his driveway. A simple "No Trespassing: Private Property" probably would have sufficed; not only in preventing trespassers, but also in preserving this man's dignity by not exposing his ignorance to anyone who happens to pass by:

Let me type it out in case you can't see it well, and go through this like my 6th grade English teacher used to go through sentences, picking it apart piece-by-piece.

"Trespassers will b
percecuted to the full extent of 2 mungrel dogs which
never was over sochible to strangers
& 1 dubble brl. shot gun which aint loded with sofa pillers. Dam if
I aint gitten tired of this
hell raisin on my place."

On second thought, I will not pick this apart. I think it speaks quite clearly for itself.

If I were in any other state, I would say that this is so over the top that it is a joke. But when you're in WV, sometimes you just don't know --

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Guest Blogger: Begs What?

******Warning: NOT JOSH******

I am not Josh. But reading his blog inspired me to complain publicly about the things that bother me. So I now write about when people say “begs the question.” But first I will head off any and all of your questions:

1. Q: Who are you? A: Who am I? Who are you?
2. Q: Are you qualified to post on Josh’s blog? A: 1. I’m a doctor. 2. I already have a quote on here (see right hand side of page for hilarity). 3. I am related to Josh (And no: “I once stayed up with Josh all night drinking Dr. Pepper and watching Lord of the Rings and/or Jason Bourne and then went on a Betos run in the morning” does not count as related to Josh. It counts as “I should have worked harder in college.”).
3. Q: I don’t like you. A: That’s not even a question; try and stay on topic.
4. Q: Why would the phrase “begs the question” bother you? That’s weird. A: I’ll tell you why.

When was the last time you heard someone say “begs the question?” (Ha, who’s asking the questions now?). It was probably by some reporter on TV who said “President Bush is disliked by such a large majority of the population, it begs the question . . . how was he reelected?” Or, “The man had a firearm at the airport terminal, which begs the question . . . how did he get it through security?” Or, the 2-year-old child was found wandering the street at 2AM (near Betos restaurant, and I use the term restaurant loosely), which begs the question . . . where were her parents?” Well, whoever said these phrases, or phrases like unto them, are idiots! Hearing stuff like this completely Battlefield Earths me. What these people mean to say is “prompts the question” or “elicits the question.” It doesn’t beg the question! How does a question beg? Am I begging for the question to be raised?

Begging the question is a logical fallacy that presupposes a premise of an argument to be true, without proof other than the argument itself; and/or when the proposition of an argument is assumed in the premises. Here is an example that I often come across:

1. Mormons believe X
2. I don’t believe X
3. Anything I don’t believe is False

∴ Therefore, Mormonism is False

This arguer is begging the question because he is assuming #3 to be true without proof, and because he is assuming the proposition (Mormonism is False, see #2-3) in the premises. (Please note: the preceding argument is valid, meaning that the proposition follows from the premises (nearly all arguments based on circular reasoning are valid), but it is NOT sound—a sound argument must be valid and have all true premises). Are you paying attention? This is important.

I once heard a TV commentator use the phrase “prompts the question.” It was amazing. For me, it was probably tantamount to the feelings most people had when the 1980 hockey team beat the Russians. Some people think that the phrase is misused so often that it should just become part of the common vernacular in its incorrect form. This is absurd. If enough people do something wrong, should it become OK? That’s pinko talk.

So I ask all of you to join with me in my fight against the incorrect usage of “begging the question,” which should only be used in critiquing an argument. It’s a good fight, because you only have to fight very infrequently, and you get to feel smart.

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"I'm a Moron" Series - Part 2: Battlefield Earth Viewing

The Series has returned slightly more quickly than I would have liked. This one was caused partly out of curiosity -- that's right, PETA, the very thing that killed the cat -- and partly out of an unfulfilled obligation to a friend from high school.

It was the perfect storm. My sisters had purchased a Netflix subscription for me, giving me access to movies I that I normally wouldn't pay to rent; a leaked video of Tom Cruise being interviewed about Scientology had just come out; I had some free time after work during the week... All I needed was some courage to watch one of the reputedly worst movies of all time, based on an L. Ron Hubbard book: Battlefield Earth.

Friends have heard me throughout the years frequently use Battlefield Earth as a synonym for unbelievably bad or terrible -- not just for movies, but as a universal standard: "Dude, don't eat there. Their orange chicken is SO Battlefield Earth" or "Don't take his class. He is a Battlefield Earth professor" etc etc. You get the point. I figured if I was going to use it, I should at least see the movie.

Okay, well, first of all, that's a lie. I don't think I've ever used Battlefield Earth as an adjective. But I wish I had.

Alright, alright. I'm delaying the inevitable. Here's my review:

This is the absolute worst movie I've ever seen. I loathe it. I despise anybody who had anything to do with it -- this includes myself. Anybody who owns this movie should consider medication. Even sitting at the bottom of a landfill, this movie is a complete waste of space.

I'm sorry. You want a systemized review instead of my wrathful rants? Here you go:

• Dialogue? You know when dogs first meet each other and sniff each other’s butts? I consider this more intelligent and meaningful interaction than what they tried to pass as “dialogue” in this movie. (-3 stars)
• Plot? Blows. (-20 stars)
  
• Character Development? Characters were one-dimensional: HORRIBLE (I've given up on my arbitrary star system by this point)
  
• Entertainment Value? I'd rather walk through snow barefoot, step on a rusty nail, then get shot in the knee. What the hell. Make it both knees.
  
• Special Effects? I think King Kong -- the 1930's one -- had better special effects.
  
• Overall - I usually give at least a star for having made a movie, but this film's existence is actually working against it in this category as well.
  

I've reflected on what I could have done with the two hours I squandered. I could have been enjoying a nice meal, taking a nap, reading Ja Rule's autobiography, getting my foot run over by an 18-wheeler, drinking a gallon of curdled milk -- any of these myriad of options would have been a less painful... and, quite frankly, more productive use of my time.

Filling up my bathtub, getting in, and dropping an electric appliance in with me.

Sorry, ideas just keep coming to me.

I've made some mistakes in my life. I'll admit that. I think we like to take mistakes as lessons to learn from and try to move on.

There is nothing to be learned from this one, except: DON'T WATCH THIS MOVIE.

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The Closest I'll Get to a Doctoral Dissertation

I don't like to brag, but I'm going to seize the opportunity of having my own blog and do so anyway.

A while back, I submitted a paper for publication to an Asian studies student journal at BYU called The Rice Papers. A few edits, some critique, and 1 1/2 years later, I found out that I was actually going to get published in said journal. If you are bored enough, as in considering watching a rerun of Full House-bored, click here to read. Trust me, I won't be insulted if you don't.

Thanks to Josh & Fran for seizing as many hard copies as they could get their vicariously (on my behalf) greedy hands on and mailing them to me for distribution. Thanks to Dr. Stoneman for mentoring. I will be heading downtown to the Smithsonian to magnanimously donate a copy for their keeping. Maybe I'll go to the National Archives. I don't know.

My only complaint -- you knew I couldn't do an entry without one, didn't you -- is the title: The Rice Papers. I don't know. You would think if you're going to go for a blanket stereotype of something, you would go strong. My suggestion was The Yellow Pages, but I suppose that that's more offensive than insinuating that all Asians live in houses with rice paper walls.

It's all subjective.

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