Pandas and Koalas: How I Learned That I Am A Horribly Biased Person (And Why You Are, Too!)

How do you get people to not like Obama? You give them nonbiased, factual information that shows Obama's policies helped the economy and improved the country.

There's this logical fallacy called confirmation bias where people prefer to read information that supports their point of view over information that doesn't. And by people, I mean you. I know, you're sitting there thinking "Yeah, confirmation bias is really bad, it's horrible, I hate that everyone else does it, but I would never do it, I'm a fair and balanced human being who carefully weighs the pros and cons of every option." Well, bad news: You're not. You are just as susceptible to confirmation bias as anyone else.

To make matters worse, there's another thing called disconfirmation bias where if you read information that doesn't agree with your point of view, you are far more likely to argue against it, see faults in it, think it's bad evidence, not pay attention to it, and so on. Again, you may think you don't do this. You are wrong.

Taking these options into consideration, the conclusion is this: The most politically savvy of us (so-called "sophisticates") also tend to be more biased politically. As you expose yourself to more information, the combined factors of confirmation bias and disconfirmation bias make you more and more keen to read the side you're leaning towards.

As we learned in political psychology, this leaves us in a lose lose situation: Either (a) You are informed, but extremely biased, or (b) You are not biased, but horribly uninformed. Almost everyone falls into one of these two groups. This, to put it as succinctly as I can, sucks.

A simultaneously scary and hilarious example of this was a political experiment wherein at the onset of the 2003 Iraq war some conservatives were asked if they believed there were WMDs in Iraq. About 30% of these people said yes, they believed there were WMDs in Iraq. Then, they were given a nonbiased, 100% factual investigation showing the extreme lack of evidence the Bush administration had re: WMDs in Iraq. The investigation demonstrated, in a nonpartisan, evidence-based fashion, that Iraq probably never had WMDs.

After reading the report, 60% of them believed there were WMDs in Iraq.

My response to this was slackjawed bewilderment. And this isn't a pocket case, either. Psychologists repeated the experiment with the Bush tax cuts (34% believed the cuts helped the economy, they were given nonbiased, factual information showing that the cuts did no such thing, then 60% believed the cuts helped the economy).

They did another experiment with vaccination, showing groups of anti-vaccinators several kinds of pamphlets: A story about a kid who didn't get vaccinated and got measles, scary pictures of kids with measles, and factual information that showed vaccines do not cause autism. In the former two groups, the opinions didn't really change much. In the final group, the one with factual information, people more strongly resisted vaccination. It's a situation that parodies itself.

We were given a final dose of this when our professor brought up the issue of pandas vs. koalas. This is a pretty unimportant issue. I didn't care about it. She even told us not to care about it. Then she brought up information on why pandas are cuter than koalas, and koalas just sleep all day and do nothing, and pandas are great, there are movies about them (Kung Fu Panda), bamboo is awesome, etc.

As she was talking I started to really, honestly think that koalas are better than pandas. This issue that had been profoundly unimportant a minute ago, an issue I had been explicitly told not to care about, had suddenly become something I cared about. We even had a mini debate in class on which species is better. I put up a valiant fight. But why? Why did I so passionately defend koalas, a species which I now realize is pretty bad?

Because I, too, am pretty bad. But it's okay, because so is everyone else.

-Me

On Being Authentically Present

Here's something my friend Abigail said (not perfectly quoted, as my memory kinda like the Titanic: Seemingly invincible, but actually a complete disaster*) that has stuck with me: "Never miss the chance to let someone know that you are truly, authentically present with them." I dedicate this post to her.

I really like this advice, partly because it made me realize how little people are truly, authentically present with each other, and partly because it made me realize how important it is to try to . Cell phones, stress, multitasking, or just random, unrelated thoughts/priorities can frequently get in the way of truly meaningful human connection.

I think this is why I like board games. When you're playing a board game with someone, you are connected and present with them on some fundamental level. It's different from a video game because it's tactile, immediate, you're all looking each other in the eye; it's different from just hanging out because there's some aspect of the game grounding you all together -- you're all thinking about strategy or in-game events, not about your own individual lives.

One of my favorite high school teachers taught me that when someone is sad, oftentimes the most helpful thing you can do is to just be there for them. Just be present. There's no need to pry, to analyze, to say anything at all -- the mere act of being with them, distractionless, silent, can prove tremendously helpful and therapeutic. Just by being present, you are letting them know that they are a priority in your life; that you understand and respect their privacy; that whenever they want to talk, because this is about them, you will be there, waiting to listen. That's powerful. Silence can speak volumes.

I was on a camping trip when I and someone else sat at the top of a hill admiring the vast expanse of forest stretching out beneath and around us. It was a beautiful scene. We both sat there, silent, and in the silence we both understood that the other person was present, really, authentically present, that both of us had nothing on our minds but the forest in front of us. In that one brief moment we -- well, at least I -- experienced a deep, powerful connection. A connection not romantic, not familial, not even friendly; just human. The moment was as compelling as it was rare.

As David Foster Wallace put it, "Everything in my own immediate experience supports my deep belief that I am at the absolute center of the universe; the realest, most important person in existence." There's no way around this reality. But in those rare moments of true, authentic human presence, we can glimpse behind the veil, briefly grasp the fact that we are not at the absolute center of the universe, that there is someone right next to us who is just as human and vulnerable as we are. That is a beautiful thing.

I wish I felt it more.

-Me




*Also surprisingly vulnerable to icebergs.

Paint With All The Colors Of The Wind Song Parody

I don't think you're an ignorant savage

But I've been so many places, there is a lot I know.

Allow me to explain, to expand and help your brain

To let your people bloom and grow!

Bloom and grow

You really own whatever land you land on

The Earth is just a dead thing with no name

And I know ev'ry rock and tree and creature

Has a price, has a value you can claim.

I think the world's most valuable people

Are the people who give jobs to me and you

And if you walk the footsteps of an employer

You'll learn things you never knew you never knew

Have you ever seen a stock price climb to the moon

Or found a young capitalist to thank?

Can you harness the power of compound interest?

Can you take your painted colors to the bank?
Can you take your painted colors to the bank?

Come invest in the future of your people
Learn about the resources in the Earth
You'll be rolling in the riches all around you
And for once, you'll know precisely what they're worth

Free trade and exploration are my brothers
Profit and wealth are my dearest friends
And we are all connected to each other
By a medium of exchange that'll never end

How much wealth does this fertile land hold?
If you shut me down, then you'll never know
And you'll never know your people are doomed to fail
For whether we are white or copper-skinned
We all need the power of modern medicine
Your backwardness and ignorance, rescind

You can walk the Earth and still
All you walk is Earth until
You can take the Earth's resources to the bank

On Intent

Consider the following experiment:

There are two people, Adam and Steve. Adam is given $10 and told to divide the money between himself and Steve. Adam has to give each person a minimum of $1. After he finishes dividing, Steve can choose whether to accept or reject the division. If the Steve rejects, no one gets any money.

Let's say you're Steve, and Adam has partitioned the money so that he will get $9, and you will get $1. What would you do?

In psychology, "rational choice theory" (RCT) is a model of human behavior that says people do things to maximize their own benefit and minimize their own cost. According to RCT, the most rational way for Adam to act is to give himself $9 and Steve $1. This gives him the most benefit. The most rational way for Steve to act is to accept whatever offer Adam gives, because he gets money that way. There is absolutely no cost to these actions by Adam or Steve.

This experiment was actually done, and for the Steves who were offered $1, 30% of them rejected it. This is very interesting to me, because it shows that people are often not perfectly rational actors.

Let's say you had a one-time use button which, when you pressed it, would give you $1, and the experiment was to see whether you'd press that button. Of course you would! Now, let's say that when you press the button, you get $1, and a random stranger receives $9. Would you still press it? I'm going to venture "yes". It's free money.

The difference between the button and the experiment is intent. In the button example, no intent exists. The button is a lifeless thing, a means to an end. Press it and two people get money. But if the button is a person who willingly chose to only give himself more money than you, you are more inclined to hurt him back. Notice how the results of pressing the button and accepting the deal are exactly the same: two people get money. There is no cost. However, with intent added in, everything changes.

This is the same reason first degree murder is more severely punished than manslaughter (although, sidenote: To me, "manslaughter" always sounds way worse than "murder"): Intent. Even though the result is the same (the loss of a life), the intent changes everything.

Intend good things, and don't forget to appreciate the blueness of the sky.

-Me

Just Go Ahead And Don't Read This One

Idea: It's like gum, but bitter. Bitter gum, to remind us of the plight of the proletariat.
Name ideas:
"Juicy Fruits of our labor"
"Stride forward and embrace the revolution"
"Big Red, like our ideal state" (Credit goes to my friend Steven for that one. In related news, it's also the best one.)

Chinese teenagers curse. A lot. I mean they curse so much it's like a verbal tic. Seriously, I still don't think you grasp what it's like. I'm talking almost every other word being "fuck". It's grating and awful to listen to. My roommate couldn't stand it and so terminated a friendship because of it today, which I thought was slightly drastic, but understandable. Here is a sample conversation (translated from Mandarin to English):

A: "Fuck"
B: "Fuck you"
A: "Fucking shitty"
B: "Motherfucker fuck"
A: "Fuck"
B: "Fuck"
A: "Shitty"

So yeah, not exactly gripping dialogue here.

I have no idea why this is the case. I wish it weren't. The cursing is almost surreal, like I've become trapped in an SNL parody skit of teenagers. Except it's not funny.

-Me

On Django Unchained

I recently watched Django Unchained. Here're my thoughts, which are poorly written (I have no idea how to write movie reviews):

The movie is all about escapism. Watching Django, a slave, straight up murder everyone perpetuating the institution of slavery,  is a lot of fun. Django is an unkillable, remorseless, quick-drawing sniper who, upon picking up a rifle, is somehow immediately capable of shooting a moving target several hundred feet away from him. His companion Dr. Scholtz remarks that he is a "natural", but then subjects him to a training montage anyway.

Watching the Scholtz/Django dynamic duo slaughter their way to fortune and justice was a cathartic romp of a good time. Outlaws and slaveowners are gunned down with no effort and all the moral high ground you can imagine. I've never felt this good about seeing faceless mooks explode into blood and gore. I think this is the only action movie I've watched that's made me laugh with the awesomeness of its shootouts. The two men are demigods, and I like that. It's ridiculous in a good way.

The brutality of the reality of slavery made me cringe, which is exactly what a slavery movie should make me do. This movie taught me what mandingo fighting was. It's absolutely disgusting to think that mandingo fighting not only existed at one point, but was somehow normal to people. The mandingo fight scene, the man getting torn apart by dogs, the variety of whipping scenes, and the "hot box" all made me gag. Good! Spare no expense depicting the evil of slavery.

Candie (I forgot his first name) is an interesting character in that he uses that pseudoscience of "phrenology" to justify the status quo. In reality, it's his slave, Steven, that actually figures things out. Steven seems to run the farm. He controls the slaves, which is why he hates Django. Django represents a threat to everything Steven worked so hard to build for himself. Steven is a despicable character, but only if the institution forcing him to act this way isn't also despicable.

Django Unchained is fun, it's escapism, and it's a good reminder of a dark chapter in American history. I liked it.

-Me

On Swallowing Pride

Here're the words that have been bouncing around in my head lately: Swallow your pride.

Everyone I've ever seen -- every janitor, every cashier, every homeless guy muttering to himself -- knows countless things I do not know, has had experiences I can not even imagine, has felt things I have never felt before. I have no doubt that there have and will be people who will experience a depth of happiness I will never experience, shoulder tragedies that would destroy me, fall more deeply in love, and so on.

Every thought I've ever had has in all likelihood been thought by someone else, and not just that, but thought more clearly and with more elegance. Noam Chomsky can articulate the injustices of the world better than thoughts about these injustices can even form in my mind. The same could be said about any subject ever: There will always be many people who can say things about their area of expertise better than I can even think them.

This is amazing. It's amazing to think that, whenever I am in the presence of a stranger, I am in the presence of someone who can teach me something. And I am in the presence of strangers all the time. In fact, there are millions of strangers briefly coexisting all around the world, their lives intersecting for just a moment, a moment filled with possibility.

-Me

Wasted Time

I wonder how much time is wasted every day.

I wonder how much time is wasted standing in line: To buy a meal, a ticket, to get into a concert or a convention or a sporting event, to use the toilet, to get a book signed, to stand in the checkout line, to get a discount, to see a movie, to use an ATM, to see a doctor or a dentist, to board a plane.

I wonder how much time is wasted in transit: Sitting on the bus, the train, the subway, the ferry, the taxi, the car, just waiting to arrive, a waiting so mundane and unimportant and worthless you'll forget it the instant it's over.

I wonder how much time is wasted just being bored: People sitting there, wishing their life was more interesting, ignorant to the abundance all around them, scrolling through Facebook and Youtube and Twitter and Facebook again, and then maybe Facebook a third time because maybe someone posted something I'll find interesting, even though that never happens.

I wonder how much time is wasted on stupid conversations: Conversations that don't and will never matter; mindless, rote dialogues that masquerade as human interaction but are really just meaningless exhalations forgotten within seconds; trite pleasantries and hackneyed platitudes worth less than the air they ride on.

I wonder how many breathtaking sunrises have been robbed of their glory by shitty, microtransaction-based cell phone games; I want to see precisely how many hours of human connection these games have stolen. How many hours of effort and productivity? How many hours of laughter and engagement? How many hours of doing something even remotely useful?

I wonder how many countless, painful hours people waste doing things they don't want to do just to pay a mortgage or a rent; I wonder how many dreams and souls have been crushed by this mindless tedium; I wonder how many people realize the absolute banality of their day-to-day existence as they slave away doing a job that a machine could easily do.

I wonder how many hours vanish due to carelessness or accident -- spilling a drink, forgetting a coat, misplacing the keys, losing a number, hitting the wrong button, dropping a camera, a typo in the paperwork, a misunderstanding.

I want to reclaim these hours, but I can't. All I can do is use what hours I have left, and, in light of all this wasted time, realize how precious my time is, and how amazing it is that I actually have any time at all, and to use it to do things that matter.

-Me

On My First Day Of College

Today was my first day attending classes at CU Boulder.

The first thing I want to say is, college is awesome. The second thing I want to say is, holy shit, college is awesome. It's the best place I've ever been, and nowhere else even comes close. I'm not exaggerating when I say that today I became so excited I got the chills, a sensation that occurred multiple times in all of my four classes. I feel like I belong here, like all my life has been leading up to this point and now here it is, and I don't ever want to leave it. All I feel is excitement and happiness. I'm shaking as I type this now. It's amazing.

The people are great. I'm surrounded by students and professors who are smarter, stronger, better-spoken, harder-working, more skillful, more creative, more thoughtful, and more attractive than I am, and I love it. I'm sure I'll emerge from their presence a better person, growing and learning the entire way. All of my professors emulate knowledge and experience and an eagerness to help me become as knowledgeable and experienced as they are. Bring it on.

I feel like the things I'm learning matter. I mean, I felt that way during high school too, but I feel it even more strongly now. Before today, I felt the importance of what I was learning in an abstract way, like "This will be important in the future, so learn it to build a strong foundation."(I also just like learning, so there was that.) But now, I feel like the things I'm learning matter on a pragmatic level as well, like "The math and science you're learning right now will make you money. Someone is going to pay you a high amount of money just to know this." That thought fills me with an almost overwhelming joy.

The environment is fantastic. I love the idea of a university, a place where people come together to share ideas and push the boundaries of human knowledge, a place where that knowledge is considered sacrosanct, a place where learning and discovery bloom and flourish. In fact, I love this idea so much, I've structured my entire life around never having to leave. And it gets better -- not only is a university a beautiful idea, it is real and I am living in one right now. I am a witness to the idea and I can tell you yes, it's even better in practice than it is on paper.

I am so lucky to be here.

-Me

On The Effectiveness Of Effort

Here's a thought that's been bouncing around in my head lately:

The smallest effort on your part can prove extremely meaningful.

A few words of comfort cost you mere seconds to say, but can salvage heartbreak and completely lift someone else's mood. Three seconds can improve the quality of the rest of someone's day, which could be upwards of eight hours. That is a huge return on investment.

A piece of trash lying in front of your path takes less than three seconds to pick up. It may take up to a minute to locate a suitable trashcan (it usually takes way less), but even then it's less time out of your day than waiting at a stoplight. Picking up that piece of trash takes as much effort as opening a door. The benefits far outweigh the costs.

Personal example: When I was cashiering and a customer came up with a crying child, I would get a little blank slip of paper, draw a smiley face on it, and give it to the child. This was 100% effective at stopping the crying, and it took me less than ten seconds to do. Try to picture the scene. A tired parent spends thirty to ninety minutes looking around a huge store for the few items they need, finally arrives at the checkout line, and their child begins crying. This is not a happy situation for any of the involved parties -- me included -- and it could take many minutes for the parent to calm their child down. Instead, I just draw the simplest smiley face ever and the problem ceases to exist. Ten seconds eliminates several minutes of frustration and unhappiness. I benefit, the parent benefits, the child benefits, everyone else in the checkout area benefits. Ten seconds.

I'll be honest: I don't notice these opportunities to help people very often, and even when I do notice them I'll rarely act on it. I think the reason we don't do these things more often is because we convince ourselves we're busy people, or maybe someone else will handle it, or maybe it's just not an important thing, or we just don't think about it. But these are all excuses for our own laziness, a laziness so profound it inhibits us from spending even three seconds to do the simplest, most basic acts of thoughtfulness and kindness. Even if you were a fruit fly, with a lifespan of twenty four hours, three seconds is a mere .0035% of your life. That kind of time spent to help a friend or your community is trivial at best. But if we were all constantly looking for the chance to help out, especially when it takes so little effort, the world would be a much better, much kinder place.

Actively look for chances to help people, and you might be surprised at how easy it is.

-Me

This Entire Story Took Place In Less Than Two Seconds

My mind can get kinda carried away sometimes. Example below.

I was at work today when I saw a ~7 year old girl and her ~9 year old brother walking together. The brother told his sister to do something, and then the sister said, "You're not the boss of me!" in the tone that all ~7 year old girls use when they say "You're not the boss of me!". Then I started thinking.

I thought about the fact that I was at work, and hence I had people who actually were the boss of me, people who have a great deal of control over my financial situation, people who could not only fire me but make it very difficult for me to find a job in the future. And if I tried to tell these people "You're not the boss of me!", then they would likely do exactly that, and I would be pretty screwed.

Then I imagined the ~9 year old brother growing up to be a genius entrepreneur who breaks ground in some revolutionary, billion-dollar industry in his mid-twenties, at which time I would be in my mid-thirties, and maybe I'd have a Master's Degree in some kind of engineering, and the boy's company would be looking for engineers, and so I would find myself working for the boy's company. I'd work hard, climb the corporate ladder and eventually find myself working at the company HQ, where the boy also works as the CEO and owner, and maybe even meet him personally, and see how successful he is, how much money he has, and nice cars, and attractive women, and why don't I have those things, and he's got youth and talent and charisma and money, and the majority of my paycheck is going towards a mortgage I'm slowly realizing I can barely afford, and I have a family to feed and children to send to college and dying parents to look after, and he's already ready to retire with no weight on his shoulders whatsoever. And slowly, this jealousy and bitterness begin to take over my life, and my work performance begins suffering. And the boy, who is actually a fair, intelligent, compassionate boss, calls me into his office one day and asks me what's wrong, and he knows I'm capable of doing better, and I say nothing's wrong because of course I say nothing's wrong, and then he tells me I need to improve my performance, and I say I will but then I don't, and then a few weeks later he calls me in again and says the same thing, and I say the same thing, and nothing happens again.

The third meeting is different. He calls me in and says if I don't start improving, he'll have to start considering termination, which is a lot of syllables to say "fired", and I am furious and desperate and terrified, and I yearn, yearn to tell him, to scream in his face, "You're not the boss of me!", except he actually is, and if I did that I would surely be fired and lose all ability to pay my mortgage and feed my family and survive, so I hold it in and just nod quietly. But inside, I am seething at him, and I realize I loathe my job, have always loathed it, and I complain about my boss nonstop, even though he's been nothing but kind and understanding and merciful, and I should have been fired months ago already, but the only reason I haven't is because he likes my personality or something, and he's even taken me out golfing a couple times. And my hatred and rage begins affecting my family life, and eventually my wife divorces me, and then I get fired, and I end up homeless on the street with nothing to my name, and now, finally, I can go up to anyone in the entire world and tell them "You're not the boss of me!" and be perfectly correct. But I don't want to. I just want a job, and a boss, and a nice salary, and most of all I want my wife and kids back.

So yeah. My mind can get kinda carried away sometimes.

-Me

On The Blueness Of The Sky

Go outside on a clear, cloudless day and look up at the sky.

Pay attention to one thing: How blue it is. Just that, nothing else. Don't think about how far away it is, how vast it is, how beautiful it is, how cloudless it is, how poetic it is, how nice it is. Notice only its blueness. Notice how the sky is really, incredibly, almost shockingly blue. It's a pure, soft blue, a blue you want to grab and put into your pocket and make pillows out of, a blue that makes other, different blues seem not as blue somehow. Let its raw, unrelenting blueness gently wash all other thoughts from your mind. Let it take your breath away.

While you're doing that, think about how many other people have been under a cloudless sky as you are now and not done what you're doing now; not noticed the blueness right above them, that blue expanse stretching forever into the horizon, have never noticed that blueness.

It seems like a big deal to me, for some reason, that there would be even a single person who has never thought about how incredibly, awesomely blue the sky is. How many other sources of wonder and awe do these people miss on a daily basis? How many do I miss on a daily basis? The answer is probably "too many".

It's ordinary to love the beautiful. It's beautiful to love the ordinary.

-Me

On The Supposed "Smallness" Of The World

It bothers me when people say "small world" in reaction to finding someone they know in a place they didn't expect, or finding out they share a friend with someone else. Like, "Hey, my cousin once sold you a hot dog! Small world!"

Fact: The world is not small. The world is, in fact, enormous. Think about the number of carpenters there are in the world. Now add that to the number of taxi drivers. Now add in all the electricians, the coffee shop employees, the alcoholics, the waiters, the lawyers, the insomniacs, the diabetics, the pilots. Realize you haven't even come close to being nearly semi halfway to being even approaching a hundredth of the way to thinking about all the people in the world.

If we actually lived in a small world, we would not say "small world" as a surprised or shocked reaction, or to mean "what a funny coincidence!". If we actually lived in a small world, encountering people we knew would be commonplace. We use the words "small world" to mean we are actually living in a huge world, a world so full of people and places it's amazing when we encounter someone we recognize. We use the words "small world" to express the opposite of what they mean.

On "This Is Water"

I recently watched David Foster Wallace's This is Water commencement speech (that's the transcript). Here is the video:

The speech resonated with me deeply, mostly because DFW says things I've been thinking about for a while, only in a much more eloquent, funny way.

As DFW says, here is a truth: Everything about my personal experience tells me that I am the center of the Universe. While others' feelings have to be communicated to me in some way, mine are right there. My emotions are immediate and urgent; yours are far away. I can feel the full profundity of my grief and ecstasy in a way that I can't even begin to understand yours. You are the same. We both perceive the other through our own frame of reference. A guy driving a Hummer cuts me off on the road -- how dare he get in my way? Perhaps, as DFW says, "the Hummer that just cut me off is being driven by a father whose little child is hurt or sick in the seat next to him, and he's trying to get this kid to the hospital, and he's in a bigger, more legitimate hurry than I am: it is actually I who am in his way."

There's a word, made up by the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, for the realization that every human being you see lives a life just as fulfilling, immediate, complicated, and filled with emotion as yours is: Sonder.

Feeling sonder can make you feel sad and small, but I think it's the way towards a true, genuine compassion that can transcend the most divisive boundaries. Make up stories about the people you hate. Give them all the excuses, while denying yourself those same excuses. Paint yourself as the villain, while giving them a rich, vivid life. You are only a background character. They are the hero.

DFW takes it a step farther. He says, "if you really learn how to pay attention, then... it will actually be within your power to experience a crowded, hot, slow, consumer-hell type situation as not only meaningful, but sacred, on fire with the same force that made the stars: love, fellowship, the mystical oneness of all things deep down." I'm not sure if more optimistic words have ever been spoken. The word choice is especially beautiful. The worldview DFW presents transforms an annoying, miserable situation into a sacred one, something on fire with love and fellowship. Amazing.

So what does DFW mean when he emphasizes the importance of repeating to ourselves, "This is water"? Well, at the beginning of the speech, he gives a parable about some fish:

Two young fish swim by an older one. Older one says, "The water's nice today." Younger fish says to the other, "What the hell's water?"

Repeating "This is Water" is our continual reminder to ourselves to notice the basic, human truths right in front of us. These are truths so fundamental to being human that everyone on the planet shares them. As DFW concedes, it is unimaginably hard to remain conscious of these truths. But sometimes we can catch a glimpse of it, the capital-T Truth peeking from behind the veil, and with it, understand more completely what it means to be alive and human.

-Me

Musings On A Machine-Driven Life

My current job (being a cashier) does not offer autonomy. Managers decide when I work, when I take my breaks, when I take my lunch, what I do when I work, if I'm doing a good job, and so on. At first, I thought that was the whole story -- people control what I do, and I'm fine with that, because there's nothing particularly difficult about it. A machine could do what I do with relative ease. Upon closer inspection, however, I realized people don't control what I do. Machines do. I undertake all interactions at my job through the conduit of the cash register. The register is everything. I use it to communicate with my managers and the customers I help. In a way, I am an extension of it -- and notably, not the other way around.

Computers write my schedule. They write my managers' schedules. They tell us when we can clock in, when we can clock out, when we can go to and return from lunch. They keep track of our inventory, how our store is doing, what we need to do as a result. They command us.

We have a self-checkout section in the store. Basically, the self-checkout registers do exactly what I do, except without me. The only thing stopping all the registers becoming self-checkout is the integrity of the customer. For some reason, this does not seem like a difficult obstacle to overcome.

At work, I perform the task of a machine, at the command of computers (other machines). But it doesn't end there. I come home and use the computer to communicate with people and to entertain myself. I rely on them utterly. If computers stopped working tomorrow, it would destroy my current lifestyle. Not just me, of course. It would ruin countless lives. It would straight up kill the millions in hospitals who depend on machines even more than I do. Most money would be gone. There would be nothing.

I'm not sure if I should be scared, or really scared.

-Me

On Opposites

The word "opposite" means something diametrically different from another thing. Black and white. Happiness and anger. When you are an opposite, you have something that opposes you. Something antithetical to your nature.

But opposites are more alike than we realize. Consider a list of three words: "black", "white" and "Tuesday". Notice how Tuesday obviously doesn't belong in this list. Why? "Black" and "white", despite being diametrically different, have a lot in common. They're both colors, used to describe something perceived through sensory means. They're both present on a zebra. Meanwhile, "Tuesday" has none of those things in common.

That one's pretty obvious, so consider another list: "black", "white", and "green". Now these words are all colors, so why does green feel like it's the odd one out? I submit the following reason: Opposites belong together. Opposites, in addition to being different, complement and fill one another's voids.

There is a concept in the Chinese philosophy/religion of Taoism called yin-yang. Here's the pictoral representation:

Yin is the dark, yang is the light. Notice how they complete one another. Also notice how yin is present in yang and vice versa. The idea is this: Opposites do not merely belong together; they are a part of one another. If you look closely at the nature something, you will find its opposite hidden somewhere inside.

"Black" needs "white" to exist in a way it does not need "Tuesday" to exist; in other words "White" constitutes some part of what defines "black". A Maori proverb I like says, "Turn towards the Sun and the shadows fall behind you." Take the Sun away, and the shadows disappear. Take the shadows away, and there is nothing to turn towards anymore.

In happiness, there exists some element of grief. We can not have one without the other, because to be happy all the time is to lose our ability to contextualize what that means, what happiness is. Likewise, in absolute silence, there is a profound noise, a voice talking to me I call "me", and which you would also call "me" (but you would call my voice "you"). There is nothing louder.

I'm entranced by the paradox of opposites being part of one another. It adds dimension and profundity to an otherwise flat universe. If two diametrically opposed concepts can be more similar to each other than Tuesday can, there is some underlying harmony to the universe. Look for opposites in their opposites -- e.g. find war in peace, find strife in bliss, find tranquility in chaos, then do it the other way around -- and you'll see what I mean.

-Me

The Stanley Parable: Part Three: Our Relation To The Narrative:

There's a part in TSP where, after Stanley has thoroughly thrown The Narrator off track, The Narrator becomes agitated and decides to restart the game. As it turns out, the "restart" is fake; everything following it is all part of a preset storyline. This ties in with the illusion of choice, the last part of this series, but what's more brilliant is this: The player does not know the restart was fake. I had my suspicions, but after a few seconds of sameness I started to think it was an actual restart. When The Narrator started spouting new dialogue, I was surprised, and happy the game managed to decieve me.

When we take part in a narrative -- a book, a play, a movie -- we implicitly agree to a relationship with it. We are the entertained; the narrative is the entertainer. In the moment I described above, TSP reminded me: I was not the entertainer. I was never the entertainer. The game has a few preset, railroaded storylines. The only thing I get to control is what storyline I experience. When the game is capable of altering some aspect of the gamestate without my knowledge, it shows me just how little control I have in comparison to it. My relation to the narrative is not give and take. It is not fifty fifty. 

Example two: There is another ending in TSP where you're stuck in a small room. A prompt comes onto the screen telling you to push the "q" button. You push it. The Narrator delivers a small bit of dialogue, remarking on your lack of autonomy. Another prompt, telling you to push "t". You push it. A prompt, you follow, Narrator. Lather, rinse, repeat until The Narrator begs you not to push the button, to spare yourself, to prove that you are free.

Nothing forces you to push the button; in fact, The Narrator actively tells you not to. At the same time, nothing happens until you do push the button. The room doesn't change. There is no additional dialogue. So what happens? Eventually, you push the button. You sacrifice your autonomy for progression's sake. Nothing is the railroad that gets you back on track. It's refreshing to see railroading stripped down to its most basic element: Progression.

Let's look at Stanley's job in the story. He pushes a button when a machine tells him to. He then feels happy because a mind control device tells him to. We look at this job with disdain and laugh at how ridiculous it is; clearly it's ridiculous. But TSP has made us Stanley. We push the button. We feel happy. TSP is the mind control device. In a way, all video games are the mind control device that tells us to push a button and rewards us with happiness in the form of rewarding gameplay and a compelling story. This is our relation to the narrative.

-Me

The Stanley Parable: Part 2: The Illusion Of Choice And Determinism:

If you haven't already, go check out Part 1 of this series.

So my second favorite moment of TSP is when Stanley, after thoroughly wrecking The Narrator's story, arrives at two doors. The Narrator wants control back and so, after much internal deliberation, forcibly opens the door on Stanley's right. Stanley enters and sees a massive timeline of the story, indicating every choice -- every bit of The Narrator's dialogue, every instance at which you chose to wreck the story -- was predetermined.

Here's the best part: If you, the player, turn around, you see two doors behind you -- the same two doors you just saw, one of which you thought was forced upon you. Stanley's entrance into the room was inevitable, regardless of The Narrator's decision to open the door on the right. This minor detail reflects what the timeline is already showing you, only in a more powerful way. Every outcome has a script. You don't know when you are in control, and when the game is railroading you onto a narrative. You have no say over your autonomy.

Often, the illusion of choice satisfies us as much as an actual choice would. Truly open sandboxes are frightening; you've got all this sand and no idea what to do with it. Better to have a few tools and a set of loose blueprints than nothing. Better to have a clear goal than no goal. Better to embrace the illusion of choice than have bad options.

Writers often say the scariest part of their profession is the blank page.

The illusion of choice extends farther. Do we have any free will whatsoever?

That's a difficult question, so let's try to arrive at the answer in gradual fashion. The Socratic method will help us.

Imagine someone you really, really dislike. Think about all the vile, horrible things they do that cause you to dislike them. Now, ask yourself: If you had been raised in that person's circumstance, i.e. with the same genes, with the same family, with the same environment, would you act any differently? I don't think I would.

What makes you you? It must be your genetics, your family, your environment. People have been telling you what's right and what's wrong since you were born. Notice how none of these things are under your control. Your thoughts originate from exterior inputs. Your actions, every one of them, are traceable to situations beyond yourself.

Suppose after reading this, you say to yourself, "Wow, Weiliang is so wrong. I'll show him I have free will. I'm going to go outside and choose to pick up a particular rock. No one told me to go pick up that rock, but I did. This means I have free will." Yet the only reason you went out to pick up that rock was because you were reading this blog. You are only able to read this blog because I wrote it. This circumstance was outside of your control entirely. Meanwhile, the reason I started writing this blog was because I wanted to share my thoughts with other people; in other words, because of your existence.

It might be scary to think about the fact that we don't have free will (this idea is called determinism), but I think it's rather liberating. Imagine a judicial framework which subscribes to this theory. Such a system would recognize that a human being doesn't simply choose to become a criminal. Rather, criminals are borne out of the exterior influences of their environment. Such a system would focus on getting rid of the causes of crime, rather than punishing individuals for committing it. It would emphasize rehabilitation over degradation.

Think about what determinism says about love as a part of the human experience. Familial and friendly loves are woven into the fabric of existence. Romantic love is better. The universe conspires, on a daily basis, to ignite fires of passion and committment which bring even the most divergent people together. Look at someone you care about -- determinism says you are destined to have them in your life. Love is more powerful when we realize we have no choice but to experience it.

-Me

The Stanley Parable: Part 1: Relinquishing Free Will:

I recently played the game The Stanley Parable, and wanted to share my thoughts on it. I have a lot of thoughts, so these posts will come in no less than two parts. The second part will come later this week.

I highly recommend you play the game before you read this. However, I understand that many of you won't, so I'll tell you about it anyway. If you ever plan on playing this game, or even watching someone play this game, do not read on. I will ruin everything for you.

Here's the plot of TSP: A guy named Stanley works all day pushing buttons in an office. Then, one day, he finds his office building entirely abandoned.

This is where the player gets control. You, playing as Stanley, walk out of your office and eventually see a set of two open doors.

Accompanying you on your adventure is The Narrator. When you get to the two doors, The Narrator informs Stanley that he takes the door on his left.

This is the crux of the game. You, the player, get to choose which door Stanley takes. You can follow The Narrator's instructions, or disobey them. Your choices impact the story and every time you choose something different from the last time you played, you experience a different story. I want to talk about one of these stories, as I found it brilliant and thought provoking.

My favorite path was when you follow The Narrator's instructions every time. This story has Stanley finding a mind control device deep underground which controlled the emotions of the workers in the office building, keeping them happy while they pushed buttons endlessly. Stanley, upset and aghast that he had no autonomy all this time, turns the device off and finally becomes free from its influence.

Here's what's so brilliant about the ending: You, the player, were not free whatsoever. You obediently followed the narrator's every instruction; you pushed the buttons the computer told you to. You were doing what Stanley does, day after day. You sacrificed every part of your own autonomy. Even better, you lose all control of Stanley at the end of the story and have to just watch him walk around, all while The Narrator sings about how free he is. The game functioned as a mind control device for you -- the mind control device Stanley supposedly turned off in the story.

There's more. TSP is a commentary on video game design. Video games with stories often provide the player with the illusion of choice; however, everyone who plays the game experiences the exact same story in the end. This phenomenon is known as railroading. TSP mocks railroading while simultaneously asking, "Could it be worth it to sacrifice your autonomy to experience a story?". After all, the game designers worked so hard on the game.

If you answered yes to the above question, another follows: "Are we, as humans, willing to sacrifice our own free will just to be happy?" We typically think of free will as one of the most precious elements of the human experience. If someone offered to make all your decisions for you, and this caused you to be the happiest you've ever been, would you take the deal? Would you willingly become Stanley, pushing buttons all day under the influence of a mind control device?

Why not? After all, if you've experienced this ending, you've already made that choice.

-Me

On My Job

I got a job recently.

My first two days of the job were orientation. The vast majority of orientation involved watching Computer-Based Learning modules, or CBLs. CBLs could last anywhere from fifteen minutes to two hours, and you basically sit there listening to someone narrating instructions on some aspect of your job. At the end, you take a quiz to check if you learned everything. There were tutorials on spill cleanup, hazardous waste disposal, spill cleanup, another one on spill cleanup, and many other things. I completed around twelve hours of CBLs in total, over two days.

Now, loathe as I am to disparage them, these CBLs were not what I would describe as "fun" or "interesting". In fact, I may be inclined to describe them the opposite way. Example: Halfway during the CBLs, I noticed that if I pulled my earbuds' audio jack out of the computer very slightly, the voice of the narration became distorted -- like Darth Vader talking over a staticky radio. I listened to the rest of my CBLs this way, and it was the most fun I had during the experience.

As I sat there, I recalled my relatives back in China who were getting paid less than a dollar an hour to inspect some screws. Think about this. My time is worth nearly ten times as much as theirs is. The work I do in one month is equal in value to the work they do in the better part of a year. Someone who makes $100/hr looks down on my job with equal disdain, and they can't even see my relatives from where they're standing.

These facts are a little disturbing to me. It's scary to think that our employers dictate the value of the very time we have. Time is a communal part of the human experience, yet our hours and minutes are worth wildly different amounts.

-Me

On Song Rampages

I go on song rampages.

When I hear I song, there is chance it will become a Rampage Song. This means I listen to the song nonstop for anywhere from a full weekend to two weeks (depending on quality). I don't listen to any other song for the duration of the rampage -- no radio, nothing.

What's weird is the song doesn't even have to be of good quality for it to become Rampage material. Here are some songs I don't even like which somehow made it on the list:

Payphone -- Maroon 5
Why Does the Sun Shine -- They Might Be Giants
Check Yes, Juliet -- We The Kings
Fine By Me -- Andy Grammer
Angels of Death -- Immortal Technique

Feel free to make fun of me for this list, and rest assured there are ten times as many good songs I've rampaged.

Let's talk about how these rampages feel. First, the songs are usually pretty catchy. I'll bob my head or beatbox or sing along to them (whichever is appropriate -- sometimes all are). This phase lasts for a few dozen listens. Eventually, the song is no longer discrete. It blends in to my environment -- it is a fifth wall in my room, another dimension of my car, another element of my existence. It follows me, or do I follow it? It doesn't matter. It exists as I exist.

Better still is what happens afterwards: Song association. I listened to Here I Am Aive -- Yellowcard for two weeks straight while writing a math essay. Now, whenever I hear that song, I immediately think about math. In fact, it's weird to listen to it without doing math. Similarly, I have song associations for going swimming, playing tennis, driving, and certain video games.

I think the following Charles Bukowski quote is appropriate:

"Find what you love and let it kill you."

-Me

On The Lorax

I watched the Lorax recently. The plot is as follows:

A boy named Ted lives in Thneedville, where everything is artificial because all the truffala trees (read: trees) have been cut down. He likes a girl named Audrey, who has heard of trees before and really wants to see one. Wanting his relationship with Audrey to progress to the Next Level, Ted decides to go get a tree. (This is his only motivation to get trees, ever).

Ted's opponent is the insidious Mr. O'Hare, who is so evil he actually sells air to people. It's in O'Hare's interest to keep trees away from Thneedville because trees provide clean, fresh air which just won't gel with his plans of making more money. O'Hare prefers to keep the air polluted so people will buy his air. This is one of the most over-the-top caricatures of corporatism and anti-environmentalism I've ever seen. It's a laughable character. But O'Hare does have one scene-stealing moment (more on that in a bit).

In a development that surprised precisely zero people, Ted succeeds in obtaining a truffala seed from some guy with the unfortunate name of "The Once-ler" who tells him to plant it in the middle of the city. (Why the Once-ler didn't just plant it himself, I have no idea). He rallies the city behind him and they sing a song about it:

My favorite part of the song -- of the whole movie, actually -- comes at 1:30, where the villainous O'Hare sings a solo:

My name's O'Hare, I'm one of you
I live here in Thneedville toooo
The things you say just might be true
It could be time to start anew
And maybe change my point of viewww
(beat)
Nah! I say let it die!

Then, in a moment that made me actually laugh out loud, the guy starts singing "Let it die, let it die" while dancing and clapping. The music cuts out and it's just him, goin' crazy a cappella. At the end of his impassioned, impromptu solo, he asks, "C'mon, who's with me?" with a big smile on his face. Of course, it fails miserably.

The reason this was so funny is because my mind conceived of a scenario in which O'Hare actually changed everyone's mind. Imagine: After several bars of "Let it Grow", O'Hare sings his solo, starts dancing, clapping -- then people start nodding to the beat, the music cuts back in, and everyone's jumping around, dancing, clapping joining him, singing "Let it Die". Cut to Ted standing in utter disbelief as the people rally around O'Hare and raise him up. Everything returns to normal and Ted still doesn't have a girlfriend.

This idea was so funny to me that I composed the song Let it Die for the fun of it. For best results, read the lyrics while watching the video above so you get the tune.


You don't know me but my name's Vee
I just teach Thneedville history
And we're only here cuz there's no trees
So I say let it die

My name's Ben, and my name's Dirk
We think the Lorax is a jerk
And those dumb trees will never work
So we say let it die

Let it die, let it die
Trees will make the children cry
Plant a seed inside the earth
It's not a blessing, it's a curse
Let's celebrate O'Hare's rebirth
We say let it die

My name's Sal and I am three!
I really like artificial trees
They come prepackaged with batteries
I say let it die

I'm grandpa Dan, I'm old, I have grey hair
I remember when trees were everywhere
My allergy raised the price of my healthcare
So I say, let it die!

Let it die, let it die
Trees will cut your knees and thighs
Maybe it's just one tiny seed
But trees' bark will make you bleed
Let's never change the life we lead
We say let it die

My name's Ted, I'm one of you
I live here in Thneedville toooooo
The things you say are just not true
It must be time to start anew
We have to change our point of viewww
So I say let it grow
Let it grow, let it grow
You can't reap what you don't --
C'mon, who's with me?

Nobody!

Youuu greedy dirtbag!

Let it die, let it die
To truffalas, we say goodbye
Plant artificial trees inside the Earth
We'll always know those trees' market worth!
Let's celebrate those truffalas' dearth
We say let it die

We say let it die
Let it die, let it die
There's lots of air for us to buy!
It's just one tiny seed
But it has the capacity
To destroy this city's economy
Kill our jobs and society
O'Hare's air is nearly free
We say let it die


I had additional lines for lobbyists, economists, and biologists but there's no room in the original song for them. Oh well.

-Me

On Mao

One of my new favorite card games is Mao. It's a game wherein you are initially under the control of an authoritarian dictator. No one ever tells you what the game's rules are; rather, you have to figure them out as you play. Whenever you make a move that is contrary to the game's rules, you get punished.

As you begin to figure out the rules of the game, you can start punishing other people whenever they break a rule -- and even make rules of your own. Each round, a new rule appears. Because of this, the game's complexity and ridiculousness increase rapidly, until everyone is under an oppressive bureaucracy of dozens of rules and playing a single card can result in many punishments.

I like Mao for a lot of reasons. For one, it's a brilliant political satire of Communist China and the police state system. Hidden rules are everywhere, and you, the citizen, are brutally and mercilessly punished for violating laws you never even knew existed. You must blindly struggle through this dark, mysterious world, desperately careful to avoid any missteps. As people begin to acclimate to the game, they are eager to punish their fellow compatriots -- who were just as blind as they were -- and learn to always praise Mao, to never question the ruleset, to under no circumstances disobey the dictates of the state. The threat of punishment silences everybody. Loyalty becomes of the utmost importance. The law is king, is god.

Mao is also a good metaphor for life. No one knows all the rules of life -- although some may know a few more rules than others -- nor is there any win condition. Rather, life just keeps on increasing in complexity as you and a few friends try to stumble through it together. The more you figure out, the more you become aware of your own ignorance. Laws are mutable and relative. People in positions of power have tremendous amounts of control over people not as lucky. The desire for success and the desire to satiate your own curiosity counterbalance the tendency of life to harshly punish anyone's mistakes. Life doesn't care who you are or what you've done in the past. A punishment is a punishment.

The game is hilariously fun. Laugh as people curse in frustration, and then punish them for cursing. Cackle as they constantly misplay cards, and then punish them for their errors. Guffaw as the people who were once your friends begin to experience a deep, burning hatred towards you, and then punish them for their animosity. Become nervous as you see them slowly figure out the rules, see their eyes light up as they punish someone for the first time. Panic as the ever-expanding ruleset spirals out of your control, out of everyone's control, so that the game becomes an unintelligible chaos, a whirlwind of cards flying to and fro, hither and yon. Play Mao.

-Me

On Rules

Rules are weird.

For one, you don't want too many rules. Too many rules leads to a restriction on creativity, growth, and innovation; progress becomes bogged down in a labyrinth of bureaucracy in which any hope of newness dies. Too many rules easily leads to abuse of authority, oppression, and the stifling of individuality. I'm picturing mounds of paperwork and the U.S. Congress. Neither of those is a particularly attractive image.

Too few rules doesn't work either. Even Fight Club, the ultimate anti-establishment anarchist organization, had rules (two of which I'm currently violating).

Think about the game of chess. Given a chess board and a full set of chess pieces, and being told nothing else, it's not easy to have fun. There's nothing substantive there; the board is just a piece of wood, and the pieces are the worst set of action figures ever conceived. But add in the rules of chess, restrictions on how pieces move, how to capture, win conditions, and so on -- then, there springs out a rich, complex strategy game, loved by some of humanity's greatest minds. By making the board and pieces more restrictive, by imposing more constraints on piece interactions, we've actually increased the amount of stuff we can do with them. We've turned a wood platform and some figurines into a deep, multifaceted battle of wits and planning.

Similarly, math and science are kind of like rules we use to understand and describe reality. Logic, a ruleset on how to think, has guided our thought process from the invention of the wheel to quantum supercomputing. Progress is achievable only through a framework whereby we have some rules on how to think. The human construct of language is a ruleset on how to make noises and create symbols in the same way other people make noises and create symbols. In this way, we can communicate within a framework.

I'm not sure what to think about rules. Do they impede progress, or do they facilitate it? Probably both. The truth is usually complicated.

-Me

On Timing

Here's a thought experiment that's been bouncing around in my head lately, and I apologize in advance for its rather morbid nature: What is the worst day you could be diagnosed with terminal cancer?

You first thought might be your birthday or Christmas, but I beg to differ. On those days, you have the full support of your friends and family, ready to comfort you. No, I submit that the worst time to receive this news would be on April Fool's Day.

The first of April is a cutural construct that immediately demolishes any trust between you and your companions, replacing it with a pervasive, resonant paranoia that refuses to go away. Not only are your words worthless on April Fool's Day, you also have to suffer through others' merriment and hilarious pranking while staring death in the face.

In fact, April Fool's Day changes a lot of things. If the September 11 terrorist attacks had happened on the first of April, I feel like the American cultural landscape would be very different. I imagine a cruel god ruling this universe, laughing at his own brilliance, already planning his next big caprice.

My point is this: Timing is everything. An Olympic sprinter trains his whole life, gives up his favorite foods and activities, relentlessly pushes his body to the limit every day, undergoes a grueling exercise regimen that sacrifices his friends and family, takes steroids to further enhance his performance, risking everything -- then on the day it counts, he starts a tenth of a second too early and gets disqualified. He starts a tenth of a second too late and loses.

Computers designed for trading stocks know when a particular stock is worth .01 cents more in Chicago than in New York. They will buy millions of shares of this stock in New York, then immediately resell them in Chicago. This price disparity only exists for nanoseconds. A single miscalculation in price, and investors lose millions of dollars in less time than it takes for you to blink your eyes.

A surgeon coughs while performing a delicate surgery and kills the patient. A woman is late for her train by two seconds and meets the love of her life at the station. James Earl Ray blinks and misses his shot on Martin Luther King, Jr. Every millisecond is the same length of time as any other millisecond, but some of them have the capacity to alter the course of human history.

What's the takeaway here? Attentiveness. Focus. Importance. Each of your milliseconds matter. Make the most of them.

-Me

That One Time I Created A Chemical Weapon

I've liked science since I was young. For example, I conducted an experiment when I was nine or ten years old: I wanted to see what would happen when I combined a cheap packet of hot sauce, Listerine mouthwash, and toothpaste (brand forgotten). I did not have any kind of hypothesis -- even to this day, I am unsure of what I was hoping to accomplish. Lacking the proper equipment, I emptied a nearby box of dominoes and mixed all the components together in the domino box. I also diluted the contents with some water, for whatever reason. Then I went to bed, excited for the results.

Later that night, a horrible smell woke me. Turns out the domino box was not at all watertight (I has stupidly assumed it was watertight because it was made of metal, although now I suspect it may have been made of faux metal) and the hot sauce mouthwash toothpaste concoction was leaking everywhere. Horrified, I tried to dump the evidence -- but the smell quickly permeated the house, waking my father. To my surprise, he helped me clean up the mess without saying a word of reproach. (Years later, during a visit to China, he would repay me in kind by snoring so loudly it registered on the Richter scale. Seriously, I could feel the floor rumbling.)

This early version of the hot sauce Listerine toothpaste experiment was imperfect, and so would undergo another iteration when I was in seventh grade. I'd learned from my previous mistakes. This time, I set a goal in mind: To create the most vile-smelling mixture of solutions I could find. I wanted to be able to market this thing as a chemical weapon of some sort, produce some odor so damaging the UN would ban its manufacture on a global scale. I don't know why I wanted to do this; something about watching the world burn, maybe.

The finished product was a mixture of hot sauce, Axe body spray, insect repellant, sunscreen, yeast, and some other mysterious item I've forgotten. My friend assisted me in its production. We mixed the ingredients with noses pinched, placed the finished product in a tiny, watertight container, covered it in cellophane, and let it sit for a month in my friend's desk drawer. During this month, we both forgot about it. Then I went over to his house one day, he happened to open his desk drawer, and we rediscovered our experiment. We reached for the cellophane cover, removed it --

Imagine that smelling a delightful flower is like your nose getting a massage. A rotten egg is like if someone gently tossed a pillow at your nose. The smell of our creation was like a nuclear apocalypse, except if fecal matter had the properties of Uranium-235. This analogy may have gotten away from me.

I'm not sure why it smelled so bad. Something about yeast fermenting? That mystery ingredient I failed to remember? Something ironic about Axe body spray? 

Anyway, my friend's dog went crazy and we almost spilled the stuff all over ourselves. The very fact that we didn't was an aversion of a national tragedy. We immediately rushed outside to bury the disgusting substance, which we barely accomplished without passing out. We have never spoken of it since, although the mention of chemical weapons has made us glance at each other uncomfortably. For all I know, the mixture is still buried in a park somewhere. I leave the exact location undisclosed to save the UN the trouble of banning it globally. Woe to the human race should some madman -- someone who actually wants to watch the world burn -- discover it.

Lesson learned: Science can be dangerous.

-Me

P&W Sickness, Chiccadilly

I apologize in advance for the rambly and somewhat incoherent nature of this blog.

Politics and War has become so popular at my school that I've made it a rule to never, ever talk about it during school hours. That's how sickening it's gotten. There's one person who vowed to never play it because it was so popular, but then all his friends only talked about it when they were around him, peer-pressuring him until he was forced to play it. He now plays it every day, constantly. I never see him offline. It makes me sad.

Here's what's so weird: P&W is pretty much exactly the same -- and as fun -- as manipulating a spreadsheet. Everything is numbers: Resources, dollars, military. There is no strategy, no mechanics, nothing but numbers. You just want the numbers on your spreadsheet to be higher than other people's numbers. That's it. I intended the game to be a tertiary, two minutes a day kind of thing. It now dominates a significant proportion of my class population.

In other news, I'm a fan of hidden identity games -- games where you try to figure out who other people are. I invented one today called "Chiccadilly" (because, and this has nothing to do with the game whatsoever, my favorite spoonerism is "Chiccadilly Pickadee". It rolls right off the tongue). Here's how it works:

There are three basic roles in the game: President, Diplomat, and Assassin. Each game, you receive one of the cards. No one but you knows what your card is. Two people trade cards. Only one trade can happen in a game -- once two people trade, the game ends. If the President trades with the Diplomat, they both win. If the Assassin trades with either President or Diplomat, the Assassin wins.

There are possibilities for a lot of other roles: Bodyguard (goal is to trade with Assassin), Trader (goal is to trade with anyone), Traitor, and others. I think this game has a lot of possibilities in terms of design space. It's also a lot of fun. Go play it.

-Me

On Numbers And Mysteriousness

I saw a cool proof that the sum of all the positive integers, 1+2+3+4+5+..., is equal to -1/12. Here it is.

This math proof is weird, and I'm not sure I buy it. (Wikipedia seems to agree with it.)
However, I seem more willing to accept it than other people. Why?

We typically conceive of numbers in terms of discrete objects. When I think of "1", I think of a single item. This helps me wrap my head around the concept, and generally it works very well. However, numbers are not discrete objects. They are conventions, constructions, things that do not exist anywhere but our minds and math publications. You're not going to go out and find 2 somewhere out in the universe, floating or otherwise. This can be more clearly seen when we look at complex numbers. The square root of negative 1, i, is unimaginable. i objects won't ever exist. Numbers are ideas.

Yet numbers' lack of objective, solid-state existence does not preclude them from forming the foundation of any technology we have. Numbers give us everything from the convenience of microwaves, to the exchange of goods for currency, to space travel. My point is simply this: Ideas are powerful, especially when you can transcribe them into solid-state existence. The most complicated, intricate achievements and innovations we have as a species come from the most seemingly basic idea of numbers. This basic idea, too, has grown into bizarre esotericisms, seemingly divorced from the objective realities we experience through our sensory perceptions.

This brings me back to the idea that the sum of all positive integers is equal to -1/12. Apparently, through mathematics I'm nowhere near smart enough to comprehend, this sum has actually proven useful in fields such as complex analysis and string theory. I'm not sure what "proven useful" even means; I'm just going with Wikipedia on this. Perhaps more astoundingly, the proof does not require anything other than the most rudimentary understanding of arithmetic and algebra. It's remarkably elegant and concise. It's also a little -- no, a lot -- mysterious, and I'm not sure if it ever won't be a lot mysterious -- to me, or to the most brilliant mathematician in existence.

I think there is some element of this world that will always remain a lot mysterious to us. I'm fine with that. In fact, I think I kind of like it.

-Me

Politics and War

So there's this game called Politics And War. It's a turn-based strategy game where you build up your nation by collecting resources, trading on the global market, and building a military force. Currently, around 715 active players exist.

Initially, I found it as a fun way to spend ~10 minutes a day; a "tertiary" game that doesn't demand a lot of attention. What I didn't expect was P&W to become extremely popular at our school -- so much so that someone paid $20 in real life to get money in the game. In fact, the Palmer alliance (The Corn Shuckers) is 18 nations strong and still climbing rapidly; we rank in the top 20th percentile for alliances and have no intention to stop growing. Then end goal is to become the absolute best alliance in P&W in the world. This goal is not too big of a stretch.*

One mechanic in P&W is the necessity of farms to feed your people. Farms, however, take up a lot of space and are a bit unwieldy in that respect -- you would much rather not have to build any farms and instead be able to focus on military, commerce, or resource production. I thought of a clever strategy to circumvent this limitation, however: I have built a total of 24 (read: a shit ton) farms and am putting up massive amounts of free food in the alliance trade system. As a result, no one else needs to get any farms for the rest of the game. I proudly dubbed this system TIFIS, or "The Instant Food Injection System".

Here's where things get really interesting: One scumbag took all of the food in Tifis today (this was over 900 food -- to put this in perspective, you only need about 20 food/day when you're starting out), left the alliance, and is planning on attacking people in the alliance.

The plan is to destroy this guy, absolutely and utterly. There will be no mercy.

-Me

*The best thing about P&W is how new it is. By joining at the ground floor, we all have an enormous advantage over people who join later.

On A Card Game

I like card games. In fact, I liked card games so much that my siblings and I made one. (Actually, I forced them to help me make it).

Cleverly titled "A Card Game", the card game shamelessly stole ideas from every place imaginable. (Read: I stole ideas from every place imaginable). The very concept of the gameplay was lifted almost directly from an online game. What's more, the first cards off the press were based on the blandest, most mundane fantasy characters, with names such as "Regular Healer" and "Normal Knight". Those were their actual names.

Then, I gradually stole names from other genres, making "sets": There was a set based off of Winnie the Pooh characters (Piglet allowed you to take permanent control of the other player's cards and was way too strong), a set based off of A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (Vogon Poetry instantly killed anything), a set based off of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (they crawled out of Portable Toilets), and so on. The best set was the Harry-Potter-But-Also-Animal-Puns set, which started off either (a) when I accidentally drew Harry Potter looking too much like a cow, or (b) when I accidentally drew a cow with a lighting-bolt-shaped scar. I forget which. Regardless, the error inspired such brilliances as "Albus Dumbleboar", "Professor McDonaldgal" (as in Old McDonald), "Ginny Ferrety", and "Severus Snake".

I'm proud of A Card Game. Despite the fact that it suffers from crippling balance issues, insane deck sizes, and way too many awful cards, it was still a lot of fun. I don't really play it anymore, although I still possess almost every card I made. Every one of them has awful, hand-drawn pencil art that could be easily outdone by a third grader. It's hilarious.

-Me

P.S. I wish I could post pictures, but my current phone is bad at doing that.

Parallel Universes, An Infinity Machine, And Permanently Great Hair

There's a theory in quantum mechanics called the parallel universe theory. It basically says that for every possibility, there exists a universe for that possibility. What are the implications of such a theory?

Assume the theory is true. I flip a coin. The result could be either heads or tails, right? According to the parallel universe theory, at the very instant I flip the coin, the result is actually both heads and tails. This is a phenomenon called "superposition", which says that something exists in all possible states of its existence until it is observed. (Sidenote: Superposition is made awesome in the Schrödinger's cat thought experiment, in which a cat is both dead and alive.) I'm not making this up -- it's weird, but so is all of quantum mechanics.

Now I take a look at the coin. The instant I look at the coin, the universe splits into two different universes: One where I got heads, and another where I got tails.

In fact, the universe splits like this every time something happens, constantly. Barack Obama wins the 2008 election: Universe splits (into a universe where Obama won, and a universe where McCain won). Sam Walton founds Walmart: Universe splits (into one where he does, one where he doesn't). I take a sip of water: Universe splits. Again, I'm not making this up.

Let's go back to the coin example. You may be asking yourself: So what? Even if this is true, the "me" that got tails can't see or interact with the "me" that got heads. We are in different universes, we have separate consciousnesses, and we can't influence each other in any way. For all intents and purposes, we are different people. Well, you're mostly right. But let's take this idea a little further.

Say you make a machine -- here dubbed the Infinity Machine, or iM* -- that can detect whether the coin is heads or tails. If the coin is heads, it does nothing; if the coin is tails, it sets off every nuclear bomb in the world simultaneously. (Stay with me, here.). In effect, what the iM does is destroy the world in every parallel universe in which the coin was tails. (I will address the moral quandary of this in a little bit; please continue staying with me.) Notice the power of such a machine. With the iM, you can control the outcome of any event.

For example, what if you reconfigure the iM so it goes off whenever you don't win the lottery? Then the world in every parallel universe in which you don't win the lottery is destroyed, and the only universes that matter are ones where you win the lottery. All consciousness will cease when you don't win the lottery; basically, you've guaranteed that you will always win the lottery.

If this constant lottery winning seems dubious to you, remember: The parallel universe theory says that for every possibility, there exists a universe. No matter how unlikely a thing is, there is a universe with that thing happening. There is a universe where I've won Sexist Man Alive twenty years in a row and am still going strong.** There is a universe where I am exactly the same, but can somehow breathe fire. There is a universe where the events of "A Bug's Life" happened exactly as they appeared onscreen, and then Flik the Inventor made the movie "Antz", except called "Personz" and with people. There is a universe where I made an actual, functioning Iron Man suit, but I only use it as a Halloween costume. I can't emphasize how not-making-this-up I am right now.

As you can see, the possibilities with the iM are endless (infinite, even). Set it to go off when you don't win the lottery, but don't let your imagination stop you there. Set it to go off whenever you don't have great hair. Set it to go off whenever a kind, trustworthy man doesn't give you free ice cream every day. Set it to go off whenever any of these things don't happen -- then you would always win the lottery, always have great hair, and always get free ice cream. You control the outcome of any event, always.

Okay, let's talk about morality. You have a machine that can do anything; the only problem is that it ends countless lives by destroying entire worlds. My question is: If everyone's consciousness ends at the same time, is that such a tragedy? There will be no more human emotion in the worlds you've destroyed, no one to feel sad about their destruction. Moreover, countless worlds will live on. If you make an iM that gives you great hair, only universes where you have great hair will matter.

Perhaps it seems arrogant to say that the quality of your hair dictates whether human consciousness will cease or persist. But again, consciousness will only cease for those universes you have bad hair in; all others will continue to blossom and spiral out into their endless possibilities. The infinite bad hair universes you've destroyed will become inconsequential compared to the infinite good hair universes that would have existed anyway. They'll be a drop in an ocean of possibilities.

What about all the animals, environments, and natural beauty you've obliterated? Well, remember: Every fish, tree, and rock will continue to exist in the worlds the iM hasn't destroyed; the only difference is, in the worlds where they do exist, you will have great hair. Again, consciousness ends when you get bad hair. You don't get to see those bad hair universes getting destroyed. You don't feel the emotional impact of their loss, you can't contact them in any way whatsoever. You just get to know that you will always have good hair, no matter what. You will only know about universes where you have good hair, and never have to worry about it.

-Me

*Because lowercase "i"s seem to be in style these days.
**That's this universe.

TEWWG, Framing Devices, And Storytelling

We've started reading Their Eyes Were Watching God, a book by Zora Neale Hurston, in English class. It's really good, but I'll get to that in a minute.

I like to think about the ways we tell stories, both to ourselves and other people. Oftentimes, the craft (or the method by which we tell a story) is just as important as the content -- if not moreso. Our gestures, our tone of voice, our excitement, and our expression are all of significance in the storytelling experience. That's why I so enjoy the literary trope of the framing device.

A framing device is a technique in which a secondary story "frames" a primary story, or a sort of justification for a story's existence. For example, in the sitcom How I Met Your Mother, the episodic events (the "primary story") are all framed within the context of Ted telling an absurdly long and increasingly unbelievable story to his kids (the "secondary story"). Within the primary story, other people tell shorter, tertiary stories. The show leverages its framing device in clever ways, allowing for unexpected plot twists and clever revelations.

Another example which I like is the tale of One Thousand And One Nights. There existed a cruel Arabian king who would marry a woman each day, spend the night with her, and have her executed in the morning. Lather, rinse, repeat. Seeing people slaughtered around her each day, a woman named Scheherazade came up with a plan to stop the insane ruler. She married the king and, on their wedding night, began to tell him an intriguing story, which she ended on a cliffhanger. Come next morning, the king decided to spare her for an additional night so he could hear the end of the story. The next night, Scheherazade concluded the story in the middle of the night, then immediately began to tell a different story, which she again ended on a cliffhanger. Lather, rinse, repeat, and before you know it Scheherazade had survived 1001 nights. At the end of it all, she told the king that she had no stories left and was ready to die -- but the king had fallen in love with her and kept her as his wife. Mission accomplished.

The stories told over the thousand and one nights include adventures like The Seven Voyages of Sinbad, Aladdin, and Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. The story of the story of these stories is inspiring and exciting. In addition, there are other narratives characters in Scheherazade's stories tell (these would be "tertiary"). A story within a story within a story, and I love each level of it. (If you go down another story level, though, that's Limbo, which isn't a good place to be. Especially with your ex-wife.)

Similarly, the plot of Their Eyes Were Watching God is framed as a woman, Janie, telling a story to her friend Phoeby. The story weaves from first person to third person seamlessly; the former allows immersion in the 1900s America setting of the novel, while the latter delivers beautiful, poignant prose. (The question "Did marriage compel love like the sun the day?" resides in a top spot in my personal Best Sentences Ever hall of fame.)

TEWWG is a powerful look into race identity, black American culture, and the coming of age of a young woman. I recommend reading it.

-Me

A Quick Thought Regarding Quidditch

I realize that I'm not the first person to have thought of this, but I feel like it needs saying anyway.
Quidditch has the worst rules I have ever heard of in a sport, and that includes all of these. Let's review them, in case you forgot:
1.) Three chasers try to throw the quaffle through a ring. This earns 10 points. The keeper tries to keep the enemy chasers from doing this.
2.) Two beaters try to injure the enemy team with bludgers. They do this by using bats.
3.) The seeker's goal is to catch the golden snitch, worth 150 points. Once someone catches the snitch, the game is over.
I showed this to my seven year old brother and he saw the gaping hole in this system within sixty seconds. Here's the problem: Catching the snitch is literally all that matters.
Yeah, I know there was that one world cup where the team that caught the snitch lost, but that's because neither team was playing correctly. If we assume that each position on the team is only allowed to touch their respective ball (e.g. only seekers are allowed to catch the snitch), then the best way to play Quidditch is this:
Have everyone on your team fly around your goal so the enemy team can't score. At the same time, have your players constantly look for the snitch. Once someone sees it, immediately inform the seeker where it is and have her beeline straight for it while you bludgeon/distract the hell out of the enemy seeker. Seriously. You should have your eyes locked on that golden ball the instant it is released, and once you find it, you immediately tell your seeker where it is so she can get it. You should be tracking that thing like you are the NSA and it's the American people, because catching it means victory. Guaranteed.

Imagine if in basketball, all the rules were the exact same -- except there's a really difficult jigsaw puzzle on the side you can do, and if you successfully complete it, your team gets 250 points and the game ends. If that were the case, I'm pretty sure there would be a lot more jigsaw puzzle solvers in the NBA than there are now. That's all I'm saying.

-Me

On Paradoxes

One time in middle school, I saw someone trade away their pencil for two sticks of chewing gum. One minute later, I saw that same person complain about how they had no pencil. <Insert trite but appropriate meme here>

This other time, I gave a beggar $5. Later that day, I found $20 on the street.

My point is, life is weird. And nothing better shows the weirdness of life than a paradox (well, two).

I recently stumbled on the Two Envelopes paradox, which basically says the following:
There are two unmarked, identical envelopes, each with some amount of money inside. One envelope has twice the amount of money than the other. You get to choose one of the envelopes and take all the money inside. Once you choose an envelope, before you open it, you get a chance to switch envelopes.

Here's the problem: Mathematically speaking, it is always in your best interest to switch envelopes. The logic is as follows:

Assume the envelope you chose has $100 in it. Then the other envelope either contains $50 or $200. There's a 50% chance of either one. You, being the math genius you are, know that your expected payoff is equal to (Probability1*Payoff1)+(Probability2*Payoff2). In other words, the expected payoff for switching envelopes is .5*50+.5*200 = 25+100 = $125. The envelope you're holding is worth $100 -- so it's in your interest to switch.

But... you can apply the same logic you just used, again. It's always mathematically beneficial to switch envelopes.

It gets weirder when you realize that the paradox is only possible because you have the opportunity to switch envelopes. If you didn't have this opportunity, then the probability of  you getting the envelope with more money in it is a straight up 50%. But when you're allowed to switch, you become trapped in an infinite cycle where it's always better for you to do so.

Another paradox I find to be interesting is the Sorities Paradox. (This one is named after a Greek philosopher, so you know it's a Big Deal.) It says the following:

1.) Fifty million grains of sand is clearly a heap of sand.
2.) If you remove a single grain of sand from this heap, it will still be a heap of sand.
3.) One grain of sand is not a heap of sand.

The trouble is that, given (1) and (2), you can keep removing single grains of sand from a heap of sand, forever and ever, and you'll always have a heap of sand -- so (3) can't possibly be true. But (3) is clearly true. So where does a "heap" of sand end?

Similarly, I can "prove" that there are no big numbers. We all know that 1 is a small number. If you take 1 and add 1 to it, we get 2, which is also clearly a small number. So if you add 1 to a small number, you get a small number. Repeat the process infinitely, and you see that there are no big numbers. But there are. 10^1000 is obviously an enormous number.

Weirder still, I can use this exact same logic to prove that there are no small numbers. If we start with 10^1000 and subtract one, it's the same thing, except reversed. How does this work?

Referring back to the original sand question, people have tried to claim that a "heap" of sand isn't actually a thing. Therefore, Premise 1 is flawed; therefore, everything about the paradox falls apart. In the same way, you could claim that "small" and "big" numbers are not real boundaries. I guess this explanation works, but I'm not satisfied with it. I mean, 1 is obviously a small number, and 10^1000 is obviously a big number... Right? It seems like a bit of a cop-out to me.

Anyway, the point of all this is that sometimes, we have to be happy with weirdness. We have to embrace it. Because if we don't recognize and come to terms with how strange the world is, we might just switch envelopes forever.

-Me