My math professor, earlier this semester, gave me back a homework with a note "I don't understand what you were trying to do here. Please see me in my office hours, and re-do this assignment." and no grade. He did on two different occasions (a different assignment each time). It was terrifying!
On the other hand, in his office hours he said that he wanted me to do well in the class, "and not any of the other ones, ha ha I'm kidding", and that the other assignments I'd turned in were, "some f---ing good s---".
Aaaaaaaaaaanyways, I didn't manage to get them done by the time the last final was turned in, and he emailed me to say that I could turn them in "whenever youre ready, within reason.".
And, so, I finally finished them and turned them in a couple minutes ago, and he responded about 30 seconds later with "Thnaks".
I am recording these events for posterity because it's weird enough that future me will not believe they truly happened otherwise.
Advice that I keep giving to myself which I would consider really stupid if anybody else gave it to anybody else.
"Hope is a coin toss between vindication and disappointment. It's better not to gamble."
"When you read the Gallup Morality Poll statistics, always double the number of wrong/hedonistic/bigoted/otherwise-than-your-own responses, to account for the fact that people are self-conscious and often put the responses that they think are expected."
"When bad and unfair things happen, cheer yourself up by remembering your own flaws, that way, you can feel like you deserve it (it hasn't ever worked before, but it will this time)."
"You don't have time to go outside, do your homework, or read a book, but you totally have time to play Solitaire"
"You can totally play Solitaire for only five minutes"
One day I realized I could play Solitaire by simply pressing H Enter H Enter H Enter H Enter H Enter H Enter H Enter H Enter H Enter as fast as I could.
Didn't win every time, but hey. When I did win, I got excellent scores.
I have forgiven 2018. I was too harsh on it. It wasn't as bad a year as it could have been, though it was a loss of many of my hopes, and a few of the most precious constants.
I will, however, be grateful to 2018 for my new job (which I love), and the old joy of a centennial Armistice Day.
I have forgiven 2018. I was too harsh on it. It wasn't as bad a year as it could have been, though it was a loss of many of my hopes, and a few of the most precious constants.
I will, however, be grateful to 2018 for my new job (which I love), and the old joy of a centennial Armistice Day.
You have my sincerest sympathies, empathizing, and celebrating for your new job. I hope this year is better for you.
On the one hand, college is a blessing and a great opportunity to learn and to gain important skills that will help me make more money later in life, and I appreciate that.
On the other hand, the university smells like coffee and I hate the garbage generation that I'm in.
On the plus side, I get to check out books I would otherwise have no access to, which is a good motivator for doing homework.
It's just that, I knew them when they were just kids, 'cause I was a kid then, and I can't take them seriously when I know they used to be kindergartners.
I mean, come on, I was in middle school practically yesterday it seems, how the heck are people younger than me having children?
Also, when things happen that disappoint or upset me, my instinct is to blame the youngest generation of adults.
I mean, I'd give practically anything for things to be as good as they were in 2010-or-earlier, so logic dictates that the generation that came of age since then is the generation that made the world what it is now, because if any of the older generations were going to ruin everything they'd have done it already.
And, also, if it's only my generation (and maybe the Baby Boomers before them, but to a lesser extent) that are terrible, then that means the rest of past humanity is still free to be ranked as good, which is, for me, an incredibly comforting and optimistic view of history and of humanity on average (I see things way too statistically).
and given two models (A, in which virtue increases with time, and B, in which virtue decreases with time) which converge at the current virtue level,
the cumulative virtue (up to the present) assumed in model B is greater than or equal to the cumulative virtue (up to the present) assumed in model A. (And, depending on the steepness of each model, it is likely that model B assumes a greater overall cumulative virtue).
Therefore, the more optimistic historiography is an "regression/ancestor-worship" narrative rather than a "progression/descendant-worship" narrative.
Also, I need to stop trying to combine history, statistics, mathematics, and prediction, because Psychohistory only works in Foundation, and trying to do psychohistory in real life just makes you sound like Time Cube or some other crazy internet rant.
My grandfathers were both in WWII, so, by some measures (or, as Obi-Wan Kenobi would say, "a certain point of view"), that makes both of my parents Boomers (though among the youngest of that generation). I mean, if you squint and don't think about it.
Generation X would be my oldest cousins and youngest aunts, but it's easier to group it as a Greatest Generation-Boomers-Garbage Generation thing (in which Generation X does not does not exist/matter and Generation Z somehow matters even less and nonexists/unexists/potato/disexists even harder).
It is weird to hear my mom tell me about how as a kid she was worried that the Boomers would get all the Social Security money and there'd be none left for her.
Amnyways, it blows my mind to think of more than four generations alive at the same time, even though I know it doesn't work like that (as a kid I thought that there were just certain years in between generations when all the teenagers were just growing up, in which no kids were born).
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
I really like the book , but I'm not sure if it's in the public domain yet.
So, have an athbash-ciphered six pages. Those of you familiar with Athbash should be able to see why the Euripides-Aristophanes dynamic is one of interest to me.
XSZKGVI E
VFIRKRWVH
Yrltizksb rh mvevi zm vzhb gzhp---ovzhg lu zoo dsvm rgh
hfyqvxg rh z klvg. Drgs xziv dv nzb gizxp srn wldm,
And, yes, I am compulsive enough that I typed the non-Athbash version into Notepad and made sure that the line-breaks and indentations were the same as in the physical book.
Also, yes, I am paranoid enough that I used the Athbash program I made in java a few semesters back so as to not leave evidence that I visit enciphering/deciphering sites.
Additionally, yes, I am disappointed that there is no secret message going top-down explaining that T.R. Glover has hidden treasure for the first reader to find this message (if I'm ever an author, I'm going to hide easter eggs like that in my books).
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
Hey Aliroz...I don't know how extensively you played the new Smash Bros, but from what you played of it, which character did you enjoy the most?
I love Princess Peach, naturally, but I'm best at playing Inkling.
Therefore, 4(X^3) + (X^2) + (2X) + 5 will be divisible by 6 for X=5 and X=7.
Thus, since it works for 5, 7, and 11, I can arrogantly assume it works for all numbers X such that X is not divisible by 2 and X is not divisible by 3. This arrogance is called induction, but it is not induction. True induction would require me to give a proof of why it should be so. But ah'm feelin' lazy.
NOTE: Don't try to fix it by restarting Steam. People have tried that and seemingly lost their entire friendlists, wishlists, and inventories are gone.
Apparently,the entire archive of the old Skyrim forums is gone.
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
I was literally going to respond to that post with a photo of myself sitting in my room with the walls full of clocks behind me but I wasn't home at the time
Anyways, back when I left here for a while, I got a job at a book-warehouse (as in, the place where books go when nobody wants them).
There were big gaylord crates of books that would be picked up by crane-looking things, turned upside down, and dumped out onto conveyor belts. Any book missing any pages or with any crease in its spine was considered "not sell-able" and put in the recycling crate. Any book without an ISBN (for example, any book written before they had ISBNs) was considered "Not sell-able" and put into the recycling crate. Any book with water damage was considered "ruined" and put in the disposal crate. Any other book, we would scan and hope that it was (a) on the list of books that Amazon wanted and (b) that the quota for that book that day hadn't been met yet.
Any book with any hand-writing was considered "not sell-able". We were told to be "picky, like only sell the books you would actually buy". We were supposed to each do thousands of books every day. They measured it by weight and by crate.
There are fewer books in the valley I live in at the end of each year then there were at the beginning, I'm sure of it.
I have condemned more books than I have ever read, more than I will ever read. I condemned rare dictionaries and books of scripture to be destroyed and recycled and sent out "deluxe gay pulp erotica" to be sold on Amazon. I condemned people's journals.
I once had in my hands a book printed in 1826, full of recipes, with family photos, letters, and recipe cards stuffed between every page. Every page had generations of notes in the margins. It was before ISBNs, so the rules were to recycle it. But every time I tried, I found that it was back on my desk.
I should have stolen that book, and tried to track down the family who owned it. There must be heirs to such a bounty of knowledge and history, or at least it belongs in a museum, or at least it should be scanned, it's unique!
I could not, however, steal it. I could not break the law and disappoint my parents... I showed it to my boss and he became interested in it. I last saw it, hours later, in his hands, as he read it at his desk. At least, I think that was the book, it was a book of the same size, shape, and color. I hope it was that book.
For months, I could not bear to read paper books because of the guilt. I refused to do e-books or audio-books on principle, so only books on tape it was. But, even then, I couldn't enjoy it like I used to.
Eventually, I got fired from that job, for not being fast enough to make their minimum quotas. I've never, in my heart of hearts, been able to consider myself a good person book-wise since.
Maybe they'll let me be a librarian someday, but I'll never let me. The world is dying, our history is dying, and we are destroying it every day.
For a long time, I just hardened over these thoughts, until I could scab them over and not feel it anymore.
But, my grandmother kept decades of journals, and they are being scanned and preserved, all of them. And her boxes full of photographs. They will be kept safe and never sold.
And, somehow, the gulf between the person she was, the life she lived and the people she loved; and the wretched traitor I am, it makes me weep.
Only since December have I been able to truly enjoy a print book. From Pericles to Philip, by Glover. 1926 printing. The university has the old book, and there are notes in the margins from at least one past student. It's one of my very favorite books now. I wonder whether I ought to buy it, to save it from ever being sold by the University. But if I did so, I'd be removing it from all future students, all future people who might be needing it, might be needing the things this book has given me.
Do you hold something safe and tight forever against a dangerous world, or do you let it be free to live and die and be lost forever, but to have been seen and enjoyed?
How can we be generous with our treasures, our time, our attention, and our love?
I don't think it was wrong not to steal the book, but I do think it's wrong that the company wouldn't let people take home condemned books if they wanted them at the end of the day.
You gave the book a chance by giving it to your boss. That's better than what might have happened to it had it never even come to your facility - it might have just been thrown in the trash. Perhaps none of the family wanted it and that's why it ended up there. You'll never know, and although it's a neat little piece of history, not ever neat little piece of history can reasonably be saved.
I would have had a lot of trouble doing that job too. Unfortunately, though, it's a job that is necessary - all those books that had a chance at finding new homes did because of you and your coworkers. If you hadn't existed, those books would have just been ALL thrown away.Handling excess books isn't easy, but it's necessary.
The reason they don't let people take home condemned books is that, when they did, the rates slowed down as people looked for books that they wanted or could sell themselves. It would honestly have felt worse, choosing which ones to truly save and which ones to either let-be-recycled, let-be-destroyed, or let-be-sold-to-Amazon-by-the-company-I-worked-for.
You gave the book a chance by giving it to your boss. That's better than what might have happened to it had it never even come to your facility - it might have just been thrown in the trash. Perhaps none of the family wanted it and that's why it ended up there.
It wouldn't have been thrown in the trash. If people were willing to do that to their books, they'd do it themselves. The reason they donate books to thrift stores and such is because they think that those books will be read/put-on-a-shelf/given-a-chance, because they don't know that, at such places, seven out of every eight books ends up in a crate that goes to a warehouse like the one I worked at (I used to work at a thrift store before I worked at the warehouse). Even libraries and book-stores have depressingly high rates of getting-rid-of-things.
You're not thinking of how many people might count as the family. Any descendant of the original people who had it in 1812, or any descendants of anyone who had it since then, has a claim on it. Probably some elder passed away and his or her family couldn't keep everything and just ended up donating unopened boxes due to a lack of time, space, or money. In any case, it belongs to humanity.
I would have had a lot of trouble doing that job too. Unfortunately, though, it's a job that is necessary - all those books that had a chance at finding new homes did because of you and your coworkers. If you hadn't existed, those books would have just been ALL thrown away.Handling excess books isn't easy, but it's necessary.
I refuse to accept that it is necessary. The world is NOT thus. Thus have we made the world. Thus have I made it.
If I'm ever a writer, I won't have my books be printed with recycled paper. I don't want my works to be horrid Frankenstein's Monsters strewn together from the guts of better books.
Then again, considering Amazon's near-monopoly on physical books, electronic books, and audiobooks, becoming an author is merely being complicit unless I find some way to prevent people ever selling my works in a way that makes money for Amazon.
Comments
I am recording these events for posterity because it's weird enough that future me will not believe they truly happened otherwise.
Didn't win every time, but hey. When I did win, I got excellent scores.
Never heard of them. I like Ike.