Wednesday, January 30, 2008

To whom do our physical bodies really belong? The following stories are real. Check it out:

A man decides to take an extended sailing trip, and ends up spending a number of days in the doldrums, with no wind to blow him anywhere. He had no radio to speak of, and the sea was calm and noiseless. Several days into his stagnation, he begins to hear an endless heavy metal guitar solo in his head. Hours and hours of endless thrashing a la Eddie Van Halen. When he describes the noise, he says that it is not the "song stuck in my head" type of low drone, but loud, distracting, like the soloist were playing just off the deck of the ship. Days later, the guitar gives way to a bagpipe, which keeps him company until he was able to return to shore. Several other people, deaf and hearing alike, report having other kinds of aural hallucinations whilst spending a lot of time in soundless environments.

A man slowly loses his sight as a result of a genetic disorder. He went from having full sight, to seeing mostly in black and white, to being completely blind. Years after losing his vision, he is lying on the couch listening to a story about sailors during the Revolutionary War, when a man passes into his transom, a man that he can describe down to the buttons on his vest. What's more, the two acknowledge the other's presence, and the sailor proceeds to accompany the blind man for the next few hours. He goes to his doctor, who tells him that many blind people experience the same thing. It's called Charles Bonnet syndrome, and it has occured with blind and sighted people alike (when sighted people are deprived of their vision for only a few hours). Besides the sailor, the blind man hallucinates of curtains, dresses, and other random objects. He says that he can now induce these hallucinations by eating tuna sashimi. Go figure.

Here's one we've all heard of: amputees can actually feel their former limbs for a lifetime after they've lost them. They ache, they get sore, they even itch, when the nerve endings that would cause any of these sensations have long since gone. It's interesting to note that Herman Melville actually included this symptom in the one-legged character of Captain Ahab, who lost his leg to Moby Dick. How's that for doing your research?

The strangest to me, though, is Alien Hand Syndrome. Sometimes, patients of brain surgery report losing control of one of their hands. Their hands may adopt separate personalities, and do things even to thwart the other hand, such as unbuttoning a shirt that the other hand is trying to button, or knock silverware out of the hand during a meal. Sufferers of AHS will give names to their foreign limbs, and may even create elaborate stories about the "occupier's" identity and past.

Many of these strange syndromes can be explained by the fact that neurons, when not being used, simply come up with work for themselves. If you're blind, for example, the neurons in your brain that receive visual signals get bored after a few years, and so invent things to see.

But what does that imply for the anima of the person him/herself? What about things like AHS, in which it would seem like, during brain surgery, the person has actually been divided into two pieces, and one bit of consciousness is trapped inside the hand, while the larger part, perhaps, takes control of everything else, like sight and speech?

The world is a crazy place.

End Transmission.

Monday, January 28, 2008

Many birthdays and deathdays and such to report upon.

First of all, happy birthday to Jackson Pollock today. Did you know he was from Wyoming? Huh. More on that later.

Also happy birthday yesterday to Mozart, touted by many to be the genius of his age. That may be true, but those of us in the Cello section sure get tired of playing page after page of his endless 8th notes. Am I right guys? Give it here. But seriously, folks, go put on some Mozart today, and just feel yourself getting smarter. So they say.

And now, of course, in the midst of all these historical B-days, a most happy and belated birthday to my big brother, Adam, first among men. So sorry I haven't called you (yet). As a matter of fact, this is just another episode in a long line of bad birthday treatment from me. Remember that time when I gave you a six-pack of Coke? Or was it even a six-pack? Terrible. Or that biography of Ronald Reagan? Geez. I might as well have waved from a passing car. Anyway, happy birthday, bro.

Sadly, President Gordon Bitner Hinckley died last night at the ripe old age of 97. As if anyone who reads this blog doesn't know that already. Well, most everyone. To the man who located his soul for me after my last transmission, if you return, go here.

I'm sad about the passing of an extraordinary leader of my faith, not to mention a genuinely good soul without whom the world is a little dimmer, but on the other hand, he died surrounded by family at the end of an indelible life packed to the rafters with selfless service, stalwart leadership, and a love for all mankind. President Hinckley, you will be missed.

Now I was planning here to go off on some tangent about how extraordinary lives can begin from anywhere on the planet, but I'm tired of writing, and I'm willing to wager that you're pretty tired of reading this.

Anyway, I've got to get to class.

Cheers.

End Transmission.

Monday, January 14, 2008

Alrighty then, I've been tagged, so I gotta come up with six things that no one knows about me.

I'm pretty forthcoming with information about myself, so this might take a few minutes.

1) I am fascinated by New Zealand. This one time in third grade I did a report on the country, and I dressed up like Sir Edmund Hillary, and ever since then I've always wanted to go there and hike around.

2) Top five historical people I would like to meet after I die (excluding religious people who you are probably going to be required to meet with, anyway): Abraham Lincoln, JS Bach, George Mallory, Pablo Casals, and Jimmy Stewart.

3) In another life, I'd love to be a firefighter, or paramedic.

4) I have zero interest in living in, or even visiting, the south of the US. None at all. Ever.

5) I have had this recent fascination about where people feel their souls inside their body. I had a recent conversation with my sister, who can "feel her soul" right behind her face, like it's hiding back there. I can feel my soul like a little distended, Y-shaped creature that lives behind my eyes and has two long limbs that stretch down into my arms and into my hands. Weird, eh?

6) I'd really love to learn how to cook. Really well.

Alright, tag to Josh Holyoak, Greg Corey, Patty Day, Rob Ferre, Derek Wright, and one other person who happens upon this blog for the first time.

End Transmission.

Thursday, January 10, 2008

How to live in a Hostel:

1) Try to avoid, if possible. Visits are okay, but don't move in to the joint.

2) Pack light - the less stuff you have to futz with, the better. On the flipside, you don't want to be wearing the same pants for five days. Just don't plan on the luxury of being able to dress according to mood.

3) Abandon your sense of privacy. It is very difficult to be alone in a hostel, especially if you book a bed in the "24-bed male/female" room. This can make going to the showers a little tricky (private stalls, though, so rest easy), but if you plan ahead and make a "bathroom bundle" out of your towel and delicates, it's not too big a deal (but, oh yeah, bring flip flops!). Also, the sooner you get over having to share a couch with a stranger in order to have a good read, the sooner you'll be able to have a comfy seat by the fireplace. If you want to avoid talking to people, bring headphones. See below:

4) Bring appropriate earware. Earplugs for the night-time, headphones for the daytime, or while your walking to wherever you're going. The earplugs are especially important, since there are perhaps a dozen things that will conspire to keep you up at night, if you don't. Snoring is the most obvious of these. If you spend a considerable amount of time in a hostel, the number of people you share a room with who seem to have, or to have developed, the capacity to out-snore a pack of bears will truly shock you. That's only a mild exaggeration. The principle of night-time earware carries over to eyeware, as well. Flashlights, though they cast a less ubiquitous beam than a room light, are still visible to nearly everything in the room and can be a major annoyance when your bunkmates are waving them around at 3:00am looking for their toothbrush.

5) Get up early. It's good for you, and you'll have first pick of bagels at the breakfast bar.

6) Enjoy the experience, for all the weirdness that it is worth. Take advantage of what hostels were made for: providing cheap room and board for people who want to see an interesting place.

7) Appreciate your home when you return there.

End Transmission.

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

Okay, people need to take ten minutes and see this.
Especially if you are one of those people who is aware of the fact that Mike Huckabee is running for president.

Monday, January 07, 2008


Alright, Napalm readers, welcome to 2008: Year of the Napalm.

Just kidding.

So an awful lot has happened since I blogged last, and most of it bears mention, but I'm looking for some kind of common thread to unite it all so that y'all don't have to read nine screens worth of text about me playing my father-in-law at raquetball over the break.

To pique your interest, though, I can tell you about my current status: I'm currently sitting in the "living room" of my beloved hostel here in San Francisco. As I blog, I'm enjoying my $1 dinner of a Nature Valley Oats 'n Honey bar and a Fruit by the Foot - a meager dinner that I somewhat regret settling for in lieu of finishing my half a turkey sandwich that I bought for lunch. On my walk home from work, I gave it to a homeless man, who, when I handed it to him and explained to him that it was a delicious sandwich, asked me, "well....what kind?"

Okay, zoom out a little. I just got a new job with a translation agency in San Francisco. It's a promising company, and a very promising job, so I'm happy about it. I'm happy that I've found a niche in the world for people of my skillset that will allow me to provide for my family. Apparently that's a pretty rare thing in my field, the being financially successful thing, a fact emphasized by the fact that most translators I have met are not the primary breadwinners of their family. But that is neither here nor there.

So I've been up here this week, and part of last week, and perhaps most if not all of next week, learning the ins and outs of the company so that I can work from our Marina abode whilst I finish my education.

And that's all there is to say about it, I think. I mean, truth be told, I could go on and on about it, but perhaps not in blog form. Maybe ask me about it next time you see me or something.

Anyway, it was a good holiday. Lots of Romney time, which was good. My two nephews were awarded (or punished?) with a pair of marshmallow guns to shoot each other with. They're lots of fun. I, myself, was ecstatic about the increase in my book collection, and the collector's edition of Star Trek II, the Wrath of Khan. Sooo nerdy....

My dad and I spent a whole evening passing a scrabble board back and forth as we watched a couple of hours of Planet Earth. Which, if you haven't seen, I highly recommend dimming your lights one weekend, turning off your phone, and watching. We live on a crazy mother of a planet.

The day after Christmas we drove down and had a week with the Larsens. They're a great bunch, and it's clear to see why Sheri is so rabid about moving back there. Yes, I did play racquetball with Gordon, and no, I didn't win.

We also attempted to uphold the Larsen Family Tradition of hot-tubbing in the New Year, with a jump in the freezing cold pool right on the stroke of 12. Well, I had to drive out early, and Gordon had to go to work at 5:30, so all 11 of us decided to celebrate New Years at 12:00, EST. We barely made that, actually, on account of the pool water that overflowed into the hot tub so often that we were freezing our cabooses off. We all thrashed about, trying to find the warm spot, which of course translated into more cold water coming into the tub. Ah, it was a great time. Good memory for the kids, ya know?

Anywho, Jan. 1st I caravan-ed back to Cali with our friends the Toons (no jokes, please), and now, here I am.

Since my return, it's been a pretty introspective time, as I've been away from my wife and child, and I've had plenty of time to sit on my duff and ponder about my weird little universe.

And, sorry to disappoint, but I haven't really come up with anything really profound or insightful to say, other than that I think that it's good for people to interact with humans on a regular basis. On a social level, I mean. After a whole day in the car, followed by five days of pretty much work and sleep and talking to the dog, I've caught myself doing some awfully peculiar things.

1) I've counted up to 100,000,000,000 using binary (not as hard as it sounds, actually)

2) I figured out the following: If you estimate that Sheri and I and Siena will each live for one hundred years (a figure that's more for mathematical convenience than for anything else), and if you equate that century to a period of 365 days, I have lived up until nearly midnight on April 19; Sheri is passing the afternoon sometime on March 29th, and Siena is just approaching midnight on Jan. 1st. I did the math several days ago, so I may not be remembering too accurately how it all worked out.

3) I've mapped out my radio so that you can listen to NPR all the way from Salt Lake to Vegas to San Francisco

4) And lastly, I've had no problem in telling everyone about all of this.

Even more amazing is the songs that have gone through my head. Isn't it weird what songs your brain pulls out of nowhere to entertain you while you walk or type or do anything? I mean, the theme song to I Dream of Jeanie, Phantom of the Opera, old cello pieces that I don't even remember the names of; the most constant, though, is the music that comes out of this little glowing plastic star that Siena likes to watch. It cycles through about a dozen classical pieces, all simplified down to this electronic-style stuff. It plays the most hypnotizing version of "Minuet #3" by Bach. It gets stuck in my head at least once a day.

Alright, so that's enough for now. I miss my family.

End transmission.