I think everyone should have a hobby. I have been busy, studying for tests, trying to keep ahead of work, and fulfilling obligations with friends. Of course, the obligations were just that--obligations that merely added to the hectic events of the week. I can't decide which is harder: trying to be there for everyone who needs you or realizing no one really needs you. I seem to face both situations every so often. Everyone always seems to need help at the same time, or they are all perfectly happy on their own. I can never help just one person at a time!
This was one of the weeks where everyone needed something. Stress compounded stress. Several once-in-a-life-time (or at least, once-in-a-college-career) events were also available for this week only. I could not cut anything out of my schedule. Weeks like these have taught me that a person really can get pretty much everything done if he plans properly and focuses on just one day at a time. Sadly, they have also taught me that burn out sets in fairly quickly. The only solution I have found is to have a hobby.
It seems the most foolish idea in the world: to solve the problem of an overflowing schedule by adding yet another activity. Ironically, it is the insanity that enables me to remain sane. Watching TV shows or playing a game on the computer in the few moments I can horde for myself, I find myself still stressing about all of the stuff I have to do as soon as I am done. Once I get off, reality sucks me back into its vortex, and I respond, shoulders bowed, feet barely able to make it off the ground, reluctantly obeying the inevitable.
Hobbies, however, defy logic. They require concentration. I get involved in them, invest myself in them to the point of forgetting everything on my agenda. By the time reality punches me in the face, I am ready to spring after it. I am never sure whether I rush to follow and enjoy all it can offer me or if I am merely trying to fight it off. Either way, I am just happy I can move! I don't feel like I am walking on a treadmill, spending precious energy getting nowhere!
Time is too special to waste doing nothing. Waste it doing something you enjoy!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Desires of the Heart
I was not exactly on the look out for inspirational quotes when I heard this, so I cannot give proper attribution. Beyond the fact that the quoted person was a priest who had a prestigious degree in some sort of Aero-space-sciency-something-or-other, I don't know who said it. I guess that is okay, though, because I can't do justice to the quote, either.
Still, I thought the basic idea of the quote was profound: Look at the universe. See all of the stars, all of the planets, all of the infinite wonder. It is beautiful, amazing, and intricate. And all of it combined cannot measure up to the desires of a single human heart.
Still, I thought the basic idea of the quote was profound: Look at the universe. See all of the stars, all of the planets, all of the infinite wonder. It is beautiful, amazing, and intricate. And all of it combined cannot measure up to the desires of a single human heart.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
The Origins of the Nerd
Is it possible to pinpoint the precise moment when a person becomes a nerd? One would think it would be easy to see the warning signs as a sudoku book gradually fills and Minesweeper becomes one of the most frequently used applications on the computer. Of course, the emergence of the nerd might occur later in the developmental stage, as when the screen name "A Academic" possesses enough grammatical irony to both amuse and pain him.
"A Academic" grates on the nerves. Constantly, the name demands revision. The insertion of the proper article would transform the name into "An Academic," a much smoother and more intelligent sound. Sadly, the name of the blog and the pun would both be lost through the transformation. Such is the cost of being arbitrary in the search for academics.
Perhaps the first sign of a true nerd is the posting of a blog about the origins of nerdiness . . .
Whenever the nerd is born, however, he enters a needlessly vicious world. From the moment of his appearance, people are willing to bombarge him with mistaken grammar, faulty facts, or flawed arguments. The pain may even be self-inflicted, as when his screen name wavers between torment and a source of amusement.
These slight annoyances are, of course, the least of the nerd's worries. A far greater danger exists in the actual application of the word "nerd." Even the dictionary provides a less-than-favorable definition, calling him "socially inept." Worse, as unusual and wrong as it may seem, the dictionary definition contains no reference to a nerd's innate intelligence! One would assume that such an essential quality would be listed, but sadly any reference to intelligence was reserved for the geek. Even the geek could only claim talent in math and science, leaving all other fields barren of socially inept prodigies.
What of the brilliant but flighty Beethoven, who once entered a restaurant, seated himself, and then asked for the check without ever having ordered anything? What of Socrates, the short, ugly, unkempt philosopher whose life's accomplishments consisted mainly of revealing the stupidity of his contemporaries (for which intrusive criticism he was killed)?
Despite their embodiment of brilliance and obvious social ineptitude, these individuals are labeled "genius" rather than "nerd" or even "geek." Although most nerds may lack their sheer brilliance, it is a source of pride that few nerds exhibit such an extreme want of social grace. In fact, very few nerds have been sentenced to death for their difficulties in society.
The dictionary also fails to take into account that closet nerds might exist, nerds with social skills who bury their natural tendencies towards useless knowledge under a guise of normalcy. These nerds, especially, deserve the right to far nicer connotations for their given label. Is it really too much to ask that the name be re-defined to permit kinder thoughts to accompany the word "nerd?"
Indeed, "nerd" would be far better defined as "an inquisitive person, who longs to discover all knowledge about any subject. The person you would want on your team in a game of Trivial Pursuit." For instance, who but a nerd would discover the speculation that his label may have originated under the pen of Dr. Seuss? (He admitted a Nerd into his menagerie in If I Ran the Zoo.)
Clearly, the nerd deserves a better reputation than his current one. His afflictions are well-documented in the personal histories of geniuses, and he enjoys the prestigious background of a cameo appearance in a children's book. Only two arguments can logically follow from this fact: either the nerd should be awarded far more respect, or he should be locked in Seuss's zoo. A word of warning to all who undertake to solve this dilemma: nerds in cages cannot learn social skills and will make very hostile teammates in Trivial Pursuit.
"A Academic" grates on the nerves. Constantly, the name demands revision. The insertion of the proper article would transform the name into "An Academic," a much smoother and more intelligent sound. Sadly, the name of the blog and the pun would both be lost through the transformation. Such is the cost of being arbitrary in the search for academics.
Perhaps the first sign of a true nerd is the posting of a blog about the origins of nerdiness . . .
Whenever the nerd is born, however, he enters a needlessly vicious world. From the moment of his appearance, people are willing to bombarge him with mistaken grammar, faulty facts, or flawed arguments. The pain may even be self-inflicted, as when his screen name wavers between torment and a source of amusement.
These slight annoyances are, of course, the least of the nerd's worries. A far greater danger exists in the actual application of the word "nerd." Even the dictionary provides a less-than-favorable definition, calling him "socially inept." Worse, as unusual and wrong as it may seem, the dictionary definition contains no reference to a nerd's innate intelligence! One would assume that such an essential quality would be listed, but sadly any reference to intelligence was reserved for the geek. Even the geek could only claim talent in math and science, leaving all other fields barren of socially inept prodigies.
What of the brilliant but flighty Beethoven, who once entered a restaurant, seated himself, and then asked for the check without ever having ordered anything? What of Socrates, the short, ugly, unkempt philosopher whose life's accomplishments consisted mainly of revealing the stupidity of his contemporaries (for which intrusive criticism he was killed)?
Despite their embodiment of brilliance and obvious social ineptitude, these individuals are labeled "genius" rather than "nerd" or even "geek." Although most nerds may lack their sheer brilliance, it is a source of pride that few nerds exhibit such an extreme want of social grace. In fact, very few nerds have been sentenced to death for their difficulties in society.
The dictionary also fails to take into account that closet nerds might exist, nerds with social skills who bury their natural tendencies towards useless knowledge under a guise of normalcy. These nerds, especially, deserve the right to far nicer connotations for their given label. Is it really too much to ask that the name be re-defined to permit kinder thoughts to accompany the word "nerd?"
Indeed, "nerd" would be far better defined as "an inquisitive person, who longs to discover all knowledge about any subject. The person you would want on your team in a game of Trivial Pursuit." For instance, who but a nerd would discover the speculation that his label may have originated under the pen of Dr. Seuss? (He admitted a Nerd into his menagerie in If I Ran the Zoo.)
Clearly, the nerd deserves a better reputation than his current one. His afflictions are well-documented in the personal histories of geniuses, and he enjoys the prestigious background of a cameo appearance in a children's book. Only two arguments can logically follow from this fact: either the nerd should be awarded far more respect, or he should be locked in Seuss's zoo. A word of warning to all who undertake to solve this dilemma: nerds in cages cannot learn social skills and will make very hostile teammates in Trivial Pursuit.
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