In light of some recent stomach problems and challenge diets, I've had to make some fairly large reductions in the variety of foods I can eat. For the past six years, I've only needed to restrict gluten, a protein found in a number of common grains; now, the elimination list also includes a broad spectrum of carbohydrates, mainly dairy products and certain artificial flavorings, including high fructose corn syrup, aspartame, and sorbitol.
Obviously this is fairly difficult for me to handle, as the reductions took effect immediately, dropping the lion's share of my go-to foods out entirely. As a result, I've been forced to find alternatives for those foods with vital nutrients and to abandon those which weren't necessary.
The first couple weeks were absolutely no fun. My persisting symptoms coupled with a lack of comfort food made for a very, very bad time. It was difficult to resist the temptation of chocolate, ice cream and other assorted delicacies. As I progressed through the diet and symptoms began to taper off, I transitioned into the challenge phase, in which certain food groups are added to observe the effects and then removed. It was torture.
As the diet continued, however, I started to notice that I was exhibiting some odd behavior – I was eating more varied and healthily. Beyond that, I was actively looking for new foods I liked and new ways to prepare and combine food I already ate. It sort of caused a dietary epiphany.
In addition to changing my eating habits, I've also needed to take a step back and look at other parts of my health that could be causing problems. I've outlined a lack of exercise as
So as I sit here drinking a sugar-sweetened soda and eating plain tortilla chips, it is clear to me that even though I hate the situation I'm in – I'm still not totally recovered, mind you – the experience has had some very positive effects on my lifestyle. Interesting how the very things which you take to be destroying your life can help you to rebuild it.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Metacognition: Replication
A great deal of my writing this year has been an examination of the moral fallibility of the human race. It is a disturbing and fascinating topic that does not see enough attention in popular media. More recently, however, I've focused on another kind of fallibility in humans: physical. A long and infuriating string of illnesses basically defined this quarter for me, and it gave me a bit of insight into life in bad health.
Thus was born Replication, a speculative science fiction short story with dark undertones and no redeeming characters. This kind of writing is extremely uncharacteristic for me: I do incorporate fairly dry humor into my writing but the absence of any hope or positive message was out of character. I felt like this was the final push to be done and focus on getting back to good health.
The story began as a fairly comedic work. I wanted to satirize someone overconfident in their own abilities and physical strength, and so I modeled Johannes Koenigsmann as a narcissistic executive who did little work past founding his company. At this point I contracted my first sinus infection, and the story took a pretty dark turn as a result.
Originally I intended to have Kayne embarrass himself at a press conference by trying to demonstrate a revolutionary leap in biological technology which failed miserably. As the story progressed, however, the character developed into too intelligent a man to humiliate him in an entertaining way. I went back to the beginning of the story and modified the character to make him absolutely unredeemable and decided that he would have to learn a lesson the hard way. And so, Kayne loses an eye in a horrifying public display.
Replication stands as the darkest piece I've written to date, and will probably remain in that position for a while to come. The story was a unique way for me to take stock of what was going on and I'm happy to say that it got me through all right.
Thus was born Replication, a speculative science fiction short story with dark undertones and no redeeming characters. This kind of writing is extremely uncharacteristic for me: I do incorporate fairly dry humor into my writing but the absence of any hope or positive message was out of character. I felt like this was the final push to be done and focus on getting back to good health.
The story began as a fairly comedic work. I wanted to satirize someone overconfident in their own abilities and physical strength, and so I modeled Johannes Koenigsmann as a narcissistic executive who did little work past founding his company. At this point I contracted my first sinus infection, and the story took a pretty dark turn as a result.
Originally I intended to have Kayne embarrass himself at a press conference by trying to demonstrate a revolutionary leap in biological technology which failed miserably. As the story progressed, however, the character developed into too intelligent a man to humiliate him in an entertaining way. I went back to the beginning of the story and modified the character to make him absolutely unredeemable and decided that he would have to learn a lesson the hard way. And so, Kayne loses an eye in a horrifying public display.
Replication stands as the darkest piece I've written to date, and will probably remain in that position for a while to come. The story was a unique way for me to take stock of what was going on and I'm happy to say that it got me through all right.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Change of Mind: Once
I have never felt particularly comfortable discussing the concept of love. It's not a particularly masculine concept by any stretch, and it's an outpouring of emotions that can really make me feel vulnerable. I'm going to try to overcome that barrier here.
The movie Once had a profound impact on my perception of what romantic types like to call true love, namely that it isn't necessarily true love. I used to believe in this more strict form of love - if it's true love, it shouldn't end. It can last forever. Both parties can somehow be together and rarely get angry or impatient with one another. They have the same interests, the same opinions, the same hopes and dreams.
This kind of love seems extremely appealing in theory. It would give you someone who understood you perfectly and would always be there. The connection would be infallible. But as I went through my early adolescent years I didn't see this kind of thing happening, to me or anyone else. I expected it to, and I didn't see it as unrealistic. But I really think I spent a lot of that time looking for the wrong thing.
The portrayal of a love story in Once is radically different from the traditional concept. It's not love at first sight, there's very little focus on a physical relationship, and they don't even end up together. It doesn't seem to make much sense, and the first time I watched the movie it left me pretty sad at the end, even though the characters were happy. It didn't feel quite right to me, like there was some kind of injustice that had occurred.
This time around, though, I took some different ideas out of it. I can't really say the Once single-handedly changed my ideas about love, but it did sort of "finalize" them in a way. I was able to appreciate the good things that came out of this much shorter, oddly resolved love. It was a different kind of experience: two people came together, had influence on each other and were both changed for the better. Then they parted ways. I think that speaks powerfully to the true form of love. Both were still happy in the aftermath, even though it hadn't "worked out" in the traditional sense.
The movie Once had a profound impact on my perception of what romantic types like to call true love, namely that it isn't necessarily true love. I used to believe in this more strict form of love - if it's true love, it shouldn't end. It can last forever. Both parties can somehow be together and rarely get angry or impatient with one another. They have the same interests, the same opinions, the same hopes and dreams.
This kind of love seems extremely appealing in theory. It would give you someone who understood you perfectly and would always be there. The connection would be infallible. But as I went through my early adolescent years I didn't see this kind of thing happening, to me or anyone else. I expected it to, and I didn't see it as unrealistic. But I really think I spent a lot of that time looking for the wrong thing.
The portrayal of a love story in Once is radically different from the traditional concept. It's not love at first sight, there's very little focus on a physical relationship, and they don't even end up together. It doesn't seem to make much sense, and the first time I watched the movie it left me pretty sad at the end, even though the characters were happy. It didn't feel quite right to me, like there was some kind of injustice that had occurred.
This time around, though, I took some different ideas out of it. I can't really say the Once single-handedly changed my ideas about love, but it did sort of "finalize" them in a way. I was able to appreciate the good things that came out of this much shorter, oddly resolved love. It was a different kind of experience: two people came together, had influence on each other and were both changed for the better. Then they parted ways. I think that speaks powerfully to the true form of love. Both were still happy in the aftermath, even though it hadn't "worked out" in the traditional sense.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Connection: Heart of Darkness and BioShock
Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness is, in my opinion, a fantastically artful piece of writing, but the story itself drew my attention for one central reason. In recent years I have come to be quite interested in the human psyche and its operation, manipulation and failure. Heart of Darkness dives fearlessly into an examination of human fallibility centering around the mysterious Mr. Kurtz, tales of whom tell of a highly intelligent man who truly puts his heart and soul into his work.
Marlow's further inquiries produce a disturbing insight into Kurtz's mind: a report written by Kurtz for the betterment of the International Society for the Suppression of Savage Customs. The report is described as a closely-knit seventeen-page masterpiece of rhetoric, but ends with an abrupt and messy "Exterminate all the brutes!" Marlow quickly realizes the partial truth about Kurtz that many others refuse to see: he has been consumed by the Darkness.
Enter BioShock, widely considered to be one of the best video games ever created. BioShock has been praised for a beautiful story and an immersive world, and is noted for its capacity to have an intense psychological effect on players. BioShock tells the story of Andrei Rianofski, a citizen of the Soviet Union who is sickened by communism and the complacency and apathy of the people under it. Embracing an objectivist philosophy, Rianofski (as Andrew Ryan) escapes the country at the end of World War II with a grand idea: he plans to build a massive underwater utopia and bring others of his philosophy with him. The city of Rapture is secretly completed in 1948, and Andrew Ryan and other selected elites flee there to escape the terror of the Cold War.
The player arrives in Rapture in 1960 after a mid-Atlantic plane crash dumps him in the water near a mysterious obelisk. Guided by a mysterious voice on the radio, the player is told a tragic story of corruption and greed that led to the collapse of Rapture society. As the player explores the now mortally dangerous ruins of Rapture, the cause of the Rapture Civil War becomes apparent: a chemical used for genetic modification called ADAM. Scientists in Rapture discovered in the early 1950's that female children can be used to cultivate ADAM at the cost of their humanity. These "Little Sisters" are guarded by supersoldiers known as "Big Daddies" who will attempt to mutilate the player on sight.
As the game progresses, it becomes more difficult for the player to defend himself from Big Daddies and the ever-present thieves and marauders around Rapture, and the player realizes the need for ADAM. And then, the first time the player catches hold of a Little Sister, BioShock begins to torture the player. Two options are provided: "Rescue" or "Harvest." Rescuing a Little Sister returns a small amount of ADAM and lets the Little Sister go; Harvesting returns large amounts of ADAM but leaves the Little Sister screaming in agony, and then dead. This decision must be made every time a Little Sister is found. Should he player not harvest a single one the entire game, the final leg of the story is next to impossible. However, harvesting Little Sisters causes the game to attempt to drive the player mad by recalling their screams during silent moments.
When I finished Heart of Darkness this game was all I could think of. Though the stories themselves are different, they both examine human downfall and make it uncomfortably clear just how close we may be.
Marlow's further inquiries produce a disturbing insight into Kurtz's mind: a report written by Kurtz for the betterment of the International Society for the Suppression of Savage Customs. The report is described as a closely-knit seventeen-page masterpiece of rhetoric, but ends with an abrupt and messy "Exterminate all the brutes!" Marlow quickly realizes the partial truth about Kurtz that many others refuse to see: he has been consumed by the Darkness.
Enter BioShock, widely considered to be one of the best video games ever created. BioShock has been praised for a beautiful story and an immersive world, and is noted for its capacity to have an intense psychological effect on players. BioShock tells the story of Andrei Rianofski, a citizen of the Soviet Union who is sickened by communism and the complacency and apathy of the people under it. Embracing an objectivist philosophy, Rianofski (as Andrew Ryan) escapes the country at the end of World War II with a grand idea: he plans to build a massive underwater utopia and bring others of his philosophy with him. The city of Rapture is secretly completed in 1948, and Andrew Ryan and other selected elites flee there to escape the terror of the Cold War.
The player arrives in Rapture in 1960 after a mid-Atlantic plane crash dumps him in the water near a mysterious obelisk. Guided by a mysterious voice on the radio, the player is told a tragic story of corruption and greed that led to the collapse of Rapture society. As the player explores the now mortally dangerous ruins of Rapture, the cause of the Rapture Civil War becomes apparent: a chemical used for genetic modification called ADAM. Scientists in Rapture discovered in the early 1950's that female children can be used to cultivate ADAM at the cost of their humanity. These "Little Sisters" are guarded by supersoldiers known as "Big Daddies" who will attempt to mutilate the player on sight.
As the game progresses, it becomes more difficult for the player to defend himself from Big Daddies and the ever-present thieves and marauders around Rapture, and the player realizes the need for ADAM. And then, the first time the player catches hold of a Little Sister, BioShock begins to torture the player. Two options are provided: "Rescue" or "Harvest." Rescuing a Little Sister returns a small amount of ADAM and lets the Little Sister go; Harvesting returns large amounts of ADAM but leaves the Little Sister screaming in agony, and then dead. This decision must be made every time a Little Sister is found. Should he player not harvest a single one the entire game, the final leg of the story is next to impossible. However, harvesting Little Sisters causes the game to attempt to drive the player mad by recalling their screams during silent moments.
When I finished Heart of Darkness this game was all I could think of. Though the stories themselves are different, they both examine human downfall and make it uncomfortably clear just how close we may be.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Blogging Around: Alex's "Get Organized" and Ethan's "The Past and the Future"
In response to Alex's Get Organized: Shaping up my Desk and my Work Ethic
In this entry, Alex details how he overcame laziness and apprehension to clean up his messy desk, and how doing so helped him with his work.
I smiled as soon as I read the title to this entry. It's a subject familiar to both my mother and myself, and recently, it's become somewhat of a battle - she hates the sight of it, but I rarely use it to do work anyway; I much prefer the office desk.
After reading this entry, though, I'm impressed by your ability to turn what was a jumbled mess into a place where you can do work efficiently. Maybe I can finally get some use out of the desk that's gone unused for so long.
I was also struck by how similar my reasons for not cleaning up are to yours - both general laziness and a fear of how time-consuming such an undertaking would be are big problems for me. I constantly use the excuse "It'll take too long; I can do it later," but of course, "later" never actually arrives.
Bravo on cleaning your desk up, and best of luck working on it.
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In response to Ethan's The Past and the Future
In this entry, Ethan explains two dilemmas he had during the first semester and how he's going about fixing them.
It's fascinating to me how similar our experiences in this year's English class (and most of our writing careers) were. I had that exact same philosophy before this year: catch hold of the general idea and run with it. My results were about the same as yours.
A suggestion for the writing: certainly don't be afraid to scrap ideas that aren't working out for you, but I wouldn't advise totally forgetting about them either. They can come in handy later, as your second idea will often be connected to the original.
As for your grades, that's a perfect way to go about school. I've realized something more this year, too: it's more fun when you don't have to worry about other people's assessments of you, and you'll consequently get better grades anyway.
In this entry, Alex details how he overcame laziness and apprehension to clean up his messy desk, and how doing so helped him with his work.
I smiled as soon as I read the title to this entry. It's a subject familiar to both my mother and myself, and recently, it's become somewhat of a battle - she hates the sight of it, but I rarely use it to do work anyway; I much prefer the office desk.
After reading this entry, though, I'm impressed by your ability to turn what was a jumbled mess into a place where you can do work efficiently. Maybe I can finally get some use out of the desk that's gone unused for so long.
I was also struck by how similar my reasons for not cleaning up are to yours - both general laziness and a fear of how time-consuming such an undertaking would be are big problems for me. I constantly use the excuse "It'll take too long; I can do it later," but of course, "later" never actually arrives.
Bravo on cleaning your desk up, and best of luck working on it.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In response to Ethan's The Past and the Future
In this entry, Ethan explains two dilemmas he had during the first semester and how he's going about fixing them.
It's fascinating to me how similar our experiences in this year's English class (and most of our writing careers) were. I had that exact same philosophy before this year: catch hold of the general idea and run with it. My results were about the same as yours.
A suggestion for the writing: certainly don't be afraid to scrap ideas that aren't working out for you, but I wouldn't advise totally forgetting about them either. They can come in handy later, as your second idea will often be connected to the original.
As for your grades, that's a perfect way to go about school. I've realized something more this year, too: it's more fun when you don't have to worry about other people's assessments of you, and you'll consequently get better grades anyway.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
New Beginnings
Sometimes, in order to make something better, you have to scrap the whole thing.
I've always known this. The hard part has been making it work. I've unfortunately lived much of my life under the impression that if something on my work isn't criticised, it's "good enough," and doesn't require improvement. Regardless of whether or not the former is true, the latter is almost never true.
This was the biggest problem I had with writing my poem this semester. I had a lot of trouble letting things go because I couldn't bring myself to acknowledge that, even if they were good enough for someone else, they weren't good enough for me. It took me three painfully similar drafts to realize that I had gotten myself stuck in a terrible rut.
The "final" draft of my poem still isn't where I'd like it to be, but I'm oddly proud to say it looks nothing like the first draft, or the second or third. Interestingly, though, it still retains the same story and tone, but in much more comprehensible language that couldn't have worked without scrapping the previous drafts.
The poem, of course, wasn't the first time I ran into this problem. Earlier in the year, the Orlando essay served as a warning for me about getting too attached. I was unable to force myself to cut much of the early work, resulting in an irritating lack of clarity in much of the essay.
The essay also taught me something that seems fairly self-explanatory: Don't start writing until you actually know what you're writing about. I started out with what I thought was a pretty good idea of what I wanted to write about but realized after a couple paragraphs that I couldn't think of a thesis.
I made the stupid decision to try and push through, and completed a jumbled mess that required another brainstorming session to fix - except it never got fixed, and much of the original, subpar content made it into the final product.
I've learned my lesson about having a focus, but I'm still tentative about cutting the original content. I guess that's something I'll just have to get comfortable with.
I've always known this. The hard part has been making it work. I've unfortunately lived much of my life under the impression that if something on my work isn't criticised, it's "good enough," and doesn't require improvement. Regardless of whether or not the former is true, the latter is almost never true.
This was the biggest problem I had with writing my poem this semester. I had a lot of trouble letting things go because I couldn't bring myself to acknowledge that, even if they were good enough for someone else, they weren't good enough for me. It took me three painfully similar drafts to realize that I had gotten myself stuck in a terrible rut.
The "final" draft of my poem still isn't where I'd like it to be, but I'm oddly proud to say it looks nothing like the first draft, or the second or third. Interestingly, though, it still retains the same story and tone, but in much more comprehensible language that couldn't have worked without scrapping the previous drafts.
The poem, of course, wasn't the first time I ran into this problem. Earlier in the year, the Orlando essay served as a warning for me about getting too attached. I was unable to force myself to cut much of the early work, resulting in an irritating lack of clarity in much of the essay.
The essay also taught me something that seems fairly self-explanatory: Don't start writing until you actually know what you're writing about. I started out with what I thought was a pretty good idea of what I wanted to write about but realized after a couple paragraphs that I couldn't think of a thesis.
I made the stupid decision to try and push through, and completed a jumbled mess that required another brainstorming session to fix - except it never got fixed, and much of the original, subpar content made it into the final product.
I've learned my lesson about having a focus, but I'm still tentative about cutting the original content. I guess that's something I'll just have to get comfortable with.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Get Organized: Spaghetti Code
An interesting part of my brain is that I am spectacular at organization - I just have trouble forcing myself to start the process. Once I begin, then, it becomes almost impossible to finish the job.
Being a programmer and developer, I have countless files in numerous locations on my hard drive that are in an inconvenient location or are simply no longer needed. The problem with many of these files is that I am a lazy coder - the code requires that the files be in their current location, and in order to change that dependency, I have to go back and edit the path in the source code and recompile, or combine the files into a single program, a process which takes even longer than the "quick fix."
As a result of this lack of resolve, I've put off any serious organization of my code files since I stopped using Visual Studio, which organizes the user's file for them. My preferred editor, Vim, goes for a minimalist approach and does no organization for the user. I began using Vim about a year and a half ago.
Programmers have a term that they use to describe code that is messy and unorganized: spaghetti code. I guess you could say my computer was full of spaghetti files. I had gotten lazy, and it was initially easy to work around the small inconveniences, but as the files piled up, it became impossible. There were source files in bin, tmp, usr, home, and countless other directories that the user isn't even supposed to touch.
I didn't realize before I began the project how much harder it was to bridge my coding from one part of the computer to another. Every time I had to switch terminals to grab a file it made me lose concentration (as I realized all too well in the Ludum Dare speedcoding competition, which I did not complete). As I organized, I got a feel for where everything was and exactly what would need to be changed.
When I finished, I felt moderately satisfied, but it wasn't until I got back to coding that I realized what a difference it had made. First of all, it had convinced me to use more efficient methods in my code, requiring less external dependency and decreasing compile time. It also allowed the programs to run significantly faster and with less system resources.
The process of code writing itself was also much easier and far less stressful - no longer did I need four file managers open at the same time to search for files, and many of the memory-hogging search scripts that had previously been necessary could be disabled. The process came quite a bit more naturally, as well - more time could be spent on content as opposed to organization and my code became quite a bit more concise and efficient.
Being a programmer and developer, I have countless files in numerous locations on my hard drive that are in an inconvenient location or are simply no longer needed. The problem with many of these files is that I am a lazy coder - the code requires that the files be in their current location, and in order to change that dependency, I have to go back and edit the path in the source code and recompile, or combine the files into a single program, a process which takes even longer than the "quick fix."
As a result of this lack of resolve, I've put off any serious organization of my code files since I stopped using Visual Studio, which organizes the user's file for them. My preferred editor, Vim, goes for a minimalist approach and does no organization for the user. I began using Vim about a year and a half ago.
Programmers have a term that they use to describe code that is messy and unorganized: spaghetti code. I guess you could say my computer was full of spaghetti files. I had gotten lazy, and it was initially easy to work around the small inconveniences, but as the files piled up, it became impossible. There were source files in bin, tmp, usr, home, and countless other directories that the user isn't even supposed to touch.
I didn't realize before I began the project how much harder it was to bridge my coding from one part of the computer to another. Every time I had to switch terminals to grab a file it made me lose concentration (as I realized all too well in the Ludum Dare speedcoding competition, which I did not complete). As I organized, I got a feel for where everything was and exactly what would need to be changed.
When I finished, I felt moderately satisfied, but it wasn't until I got back to coding that I realized what a difference it had made. First of all, it had convinced me to use more efficient methods in my code, requiring less external dependency and decreasing compile time. It also allowed the programs to run significantly faster and with less system resources.
The process of code writing itself was also much easier and far less stressful - no longer did I need four file managers open at the same time to search for files, and many of the memory-hogging search scripts that had previously been necessary could be disabled. The process came quite a bit more naturally, as well - more time could be spent on content as opposed to organization and my code became quite a bit more concise and efficient.
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