Philosophers is so stoopid

So my roomate just borrowed Fatal Strategies by Jean Baudrillard, a collection of essays by the Sociologist-Philosopher dealing with the rationale of present day humans dealing with the information age of technology and overload. I normally avoid more modern philosophers, since their theories seem to be overdeveloped and specialized to a particular area, as opposed to earlier philosophers which have stood the test of time and are more useful in their ubiquitous application. However I found myself getting sucked in after reading the back cover, and I am really enjoying parts of the book, but ONLY PARTS. This is because he, like many philosophers, choose to write in philosopher-speak. This is great if you are used to reading the jargon and overly complex structure of the inner circle of philosophers (like any specialized field).

However, this is confusing, because I would imagine that philosophers want to reach many people, to hopefully affect peoples thought patterns in a positive way and give them new interesting ideas that will change their lives and make them more fulfilled human beings. but then why no plain English? I have a degree in Biology and Sociology, and I have taken an introductory course in Philosophy as well as read countless sociology papers and read some other philosophy and related books on my own time. So why is it I can easily understand less than fifty percent of what he is trying to tell me? Does he not actually want me to know? Is it some sort of subconsious urge to exclude the majority of people?

I would hope not. His elegant portrait of modern day society is facinating, but lacking in what the layman needs to grasp it's full meaning - that is, in my opinion, concrete examples, easy to understand language, full definition of key terms and a style that lets someone focus on understanding the concept rather than struggling to relate what they are saying at the moment to the context of the rest of the paragraph.

That all aside, if you are okay with this style of writing, you should definitely check it out. Even if you have to read resummaries and interpretation by other people, on websites or wherever, its good stuff.

WHOOP!!! WHOOP!!! That's the sound of the Police!

Last night I was woken up by loud lights and bright sounds of the glorified security guards known as the Victoria City Police. It was probably my most hands off encounter with them, since usually when I see them they are telling us to pour out our beers. This time however, I have no clue what they were doing, since the car blasted their sirens in short bursts every once in a while but the lights were going bright and full tilt.

Since they weren't kicking down my door and yelling my rights at me, I tried to ignore it and go back to sleep. However, they didn't go anywhere, or stop sirening. For half an hour. And I only say 'they' because I found out the next day that people could hear them in other parts of Fernwood. I only heard this one because it was pretty much right beside my bedroom, about 30 or 40 feet away most of the time. I carefully peeked out the window, and they would drive forward for awhile, and then back up again. It didn't make any sense, and still really doesn't. I assumed they were tracking down some junkie that maybe stole a bike light or package of meat to sell for meth, but the interesting thing was, people had different takes on why they were there - a roomate said the police car was taken for a joy ride by some kids and were trying to annoy the neighborhood, and another suggestion was they were aliens, but of course nobody actually knew anything or had any proof. It may have been a training excercise, with the side effect of waking up the entire neighborhood. A training excercise for what? I dunno man, just seems like something they would do.

At one point I wanted to put some pants on and go outside, see who was running that thing and find out what was going on. Then I realized I had nothing to gain and everything to lose by stepping outside and drawing any attention to myself. Best case scenario, they would ignore me or tell me to go back inside, worst case, they would start asking me questions or get upset by my curiosity, which the police have been known to do. It has been drilled into their heads that they ask questions, not answer them. They are still just people though so they may have said something, but I'm still doubtful.

The next morning when my roomates and I exchanged stories, I mentioned that I thought about going outside, they said the similar thing, but that they didn't want to go near the cops since they didn't want to get randomly thrown in jail. This is the common sentiment of pretty much everyone. The police are avoided authority figures that tell you what to do. Sort of like parents for people over 18?

History is cool

Lately I've been reading The Histories by Herodotus, which reviews some major historical events while Greece and Persia are the major world powers. I am facinated by ancient history, partially because it's very close to fantasy, but also because it lays bare the fundamental problems and charms of humanity. Everything goes happens and bombards us so much in our day to day life it is difficult to even remember what life was like before the internet. In those ancient times news took a long time to travel, and news was pretty much all word of mouth. It helps me appreciate just how much we rely on each other, and how bizzarre it is to be antisocial. Really everything we are and can be relies on our ability to interact with others.

I always thought of myself as independant and uninterested and also not depending on other people. Nothing could be further from the truth. All my entertainment involves interacting or voyerism of other humans (via tv shows, movies and the internet). As hard as I may try to get away from these things, it will only lead me to other things directly connected to human interaction. Hanging out at coffee shops, dancing, anything.

Another impression left on me by The Histories is the insignificance of the individual human's life, in the grand scheme of history. People who did really amazing, brave and massively difficult things get a mere mention in this book that only a small percentage of Earth's population has even read. People rarely consider the artisans who constructed beautiful statues, buildings, tools and do not even know their names. They are washed away in a sea of people, most of whom are talented in some way, remembered indirectly or forgotten entirely, their work destroyed by other nameless people or even eroded by time itself. It helps impact on me that longevity is not something to be concerned with, merely that making things important and a priority to you is the only real reward you can hope for.

Thoughts on the Dominican Republic

The first thing I noticed after leaving the resort in Punta Cana was that, after catching an overpriced taxi from the airport to the bus station, and after embarking on a local bus that would "eventually" get me to Santo Domingo, was the seats that were always taken first (and therefore the 'best' seats) were the seats at the very front.  This contrasts with buses in Canada, where people space themselves out throughout the bus as much as possible.

According to my Lonely Planet travel guide, skin color gives an informal hierarchy where the lighter your skin, the more important you must be.  That didn't make me think they were metaphorically spitting on their king when I was snubbed by the locals.  Rather, I'm pretty sure it altogether had to do with my complete incomprehension of the spanish language, and in particular the extraordinary thickness of their accent.  This isn't to say I know not a word, for No habla Espanol is a nearly complete sentence.  I can speak some key words, and my comprehension is available, at times when I'm sober and people speak in one word sentences.  What I constantly found myself tripping over is when I feel like I've finally got my point across in a series of gorrilla-like grunts and gestures, and I feel like I can stride across that finish line of accomplishment, only to find the shoelaces of accent and talking speed have been tied together (and not in the good way).  I'm much happier not trying to speak the language at all, and consider myself a bit of a master of body language these days.  The Dominicans sour dispositions toward me only stings for as long as they and I are in the same room together.

The second thing I learned since stepping foot off the resort, which by the way is only full of "rich" white fatties and dispirited Uncle Toms - is that "friend" roughly translates into Dominican as "Whitey who will give me all your money."  Not to say that there weren't nice people, because I met plenty.  But they just don't seem as motivated as the tieves, hustlers, pimps and junk salesment to pick up the English language.  I was consistantly amazed by how few spoke English - it seems that an infinite amount of money (provided you place yourself in frequently Gringo'ed areas) can be made, and one can live a relatively easy life in an otherwise poverty stricken banana republic.  As it stands, the realm of English speaking Dominicans remains the realm of of every thug and lowlife eager for free pesos.  Take my last night there, for example, in a rapidly expanding town of Bavaro, about a half hour drive from the Punta Cana airport.  Punta Cana remains an anomoly in the Dominican weather system, knowing only blue sky and sunshine while the rest of the island chokes on floodwaters, floating islands of garbage, and backed up sewage systems.  Why until recently this has not been one of the more densely populated areas is beyond me.  But still much of it remains scrubland just waiting to be laid to torch.  More recently, however, every inch of its pristine white sands and sexy, picturesque beaches (that seem more real to me on a postcard than to be buried ankle deep into) is quickly being converted into overpriced resorts.  I can only assume the vision is of shipping more an more pasty North American and Europeans in, presumably with the end goal of creating some sort of island out of dollar bills that the owners of these resorts can build their own resort out of solid gold and spend their time on.

And it seems to be working.  Inside the Punta Cana airport, an assortment of gringos form long ribbons of flesh waiting to re-embark back to their country, or pour fourth from the arrivals section in waves, waiting to be whisked away to their relatively expensive home in the tropics for anywhere from 20 to 40 dollars american per trip.  I'm of mixed feelings of these resorts; after my experience I'm more than a litte bitter from "No habla Inglais" and a multitude of broken english variants of "give me money", and I can understand someone wanting to simultaneously get away and also not be confronted by these problems on vacation.
But this subsequently feeds back into the Domincan people a sense of elitiesm, that white people are collectively too good to be around them, and spending money in exclusive locations that they will only see if they are a meager employee of these institutions.  This happens instead of tourists spending money in the many, many local towns sprinkled throughout the Dominican (and always on the major roads).  This perceived elitiesm further frustrates the average Dominican, fuelled by American TV station dreams showing many, many nice things they will never be able to afford - and goes on to make them even more bitter towards the turistas that dare step off the resort property and try to interact with the population, despite the language barriers.  Which in turns embitters the visitors, choosing to isolate themselves on resorts moreso in a cycle that continues to continue.
(all my pics can be found at http://s111.photobucket.com/albums/n146/emaika/Dominican_Republic/)

Good news everyone! Brad Pitt's gonna be okay!!!!

i know everyone who gives two shits about pop culture has been wondering the same thing about their favorite popular celebrities (or perhaps even the ones they love to hate) that i have:

whats going to happen to this poor, oppressed peoples once the financial hardships of depression, recession, or maybe some new kind of ion sets in.

well it wasn't easy, but after struggling through some research related hardships of my own, i came up with some answers.  as it turns out, hollywood was barely affected by the great depression of 1929, compared to EVERY OTHER INDUSTRY.  for some ungodly reason, americans maintained their movie going habits and chose to watch escapist movies about 'fantasy' and 'hope' and 'love' rather than face reality with a few extra trusty cans of beans in their side pockets.  hollywood knew what people wanted MORE AMERICAN DREAM crammed down their throats with an extra helping of patriotism and optimism (for lube).

thats why i plan to take full advantage of this, should stephen harper get re-elected and careen our figurative economic b-52 on the 'same steady path' towards wall streets awaiting AA guns.  thats right, i'm going to use my ultra ghetto budget skills to set up a stage at my own house and perform plays using paper mache and sock puppets.  maybe i'll dream up some never thought of before screenplay and then sell it to hollywood later after they realize my mad cashing-in-on-the-depression skillz.  or i may just do some hipster puppetry remakes like resevoir dogs or boondock saints.  better yet, i'll just rip off movies they already made in 1929 and the early 30's before hollywood gets a chance to, then sell their fat asses back to them.  all this misery and sufferings gonna make me some mad green.

Only the beginning...

Something I haven't wanted to do for a while now has been to write on my blog about the impending economic crisis, what is going to happen, and how David Icke may or may not have known about it. Then, after a week of my not posting on my blog, I realized it may be on my mind for some years to come. Unfortunately, I may not have 2 hot wires to snap together to connect to the internet to continue writing, but if that happens, you DEFINITELY will not have a different set of wires to read it. That and most likely you will add to the increasing number of google searches for "Where is there food in " or "Where is there jobs in ".

Most of my life is about having a catostrophic view of life, the world, and virtually everything that anyone with power does in this world. You could call me cynical or jaded, but I'm just another animal, man, doing my animal things like I do best. You could call me the metaphorical polar bear in the zoo with the compulsive head sway. Some would question the bear and ask him "What are you doing? Stop swaying, dammit!!!" but I'm just gonna say "The bear lived his whole life in a zoo, and he doesn't speak any fucking english, so cut him some slack plz."

So now that your mouth is a-water with prospects of me talking about North American Unions and Neo Great Depressions, I suppose I can hold the information from you no longer. I've built up the suspense as big as it can go without the inevitable drop in attension span. Here's something that may not occur to you, and certainly hasn't occurred to those FAT CATS on WALL STREET:

What's going to happen to all our celebrities? Nobody will be able to afford cameras, television cable, movies, or gossip magazines. an entire branch of the WORLD economic secter will cease to exist, at least in our soon to be impoverished nations. What will the Brad Pitts and the Angelina Jolie's and the Jennifer Anison's do without having paparazzi (who i presume will be too impoverished from malnutrition to lift their pencil in question) hanging off their every move.

Also, celebrity money will be worthless too, so they won't be able to buy the latest fashions, and whatever else celebrities spend their money on. I realize your mind has just been blown, so before I bombard you any further, I will let what has already been said give time to penetrate to the WHATWHY part of your brain, and I will begin to at least attempt to answer this monolithic problem in my next installment.

Imma go home and practice dancing after i write this

If you know me you might know that I've been spending far too much time reading a lot about Michael Jackson, in my attempt to capture his essence and cram it into a ganster rap song. We're not here today to talk about my mania, or the irony of my obsession over pop culture, but instead we're going to talk about one of my other obsessions: dancing. You see in Michael Jackson's video/movie career, a common theme develops.

The guy, like all guys, has problems. But he solves his problems by DANCING and making his enemies his allies by dancing with him and producing some badass complicated coriography in the process. He however maintains total control, being the head dancer and still way better dancer than his adversaries, they merely following his lead the best way they can. Sometimes they exaust themselves by dancing without proper pre dance stretching, but most of the time after they dance a little while they just realize what a great guy he is and how can they kill a guy after he adds some boss moves to their repitoire. This isn't just an isolated zombie related incident, I mean the guy solves problems in outer space and everywhere with this One Size Fits All solution.

So I couldn't help but think of how much like real life this was. If my boss were to fire me for not doing my job properly, if I were an amazing dancer, I'd just be like

"Oh yeah, my performace has been somewhat atrocious Mr. Chu, but what do ya think of this?"

And then proceed to bust out in an uprock routine where I show him and whoever else happens to be in the room all sides of my feet before going into some downrock power moves before a one handed air freeze finale.

I guarentee you he'd forget all about what I did wrong and think only of the last experience he had with me, my amazing dance moves. Then he would offer me a raise and possibly try to stuff dollar bills down my pants, which I would accept out of politeness.

I'm a fan of quoting Johnny Cash, one line in particular "Get rhythm when you get the blues". I can guarentee you that in 1993 through 2006 amidst all the pedophelia accusations Michael was getting, that he was glad he was such a great dancer, because when you're nervous about showing up in court the next day or a 25 minute strip search, sometimes you just need to dance the stress away.