...Are horrible.
Period. (just in case you didn't notice the one that I put in)
I don't know where they come from, but they distort your perspective and make you wish you lived in a monastery in Siberia, when what you're depressed or worried about really isn't that bad. It's all about perspective.
This isn't going to make me die... It isn't even going to ruin the rest of my life... It isn't going to ruin the rest of my academic career, it isn't even going to ruin my year. It isn't going to cost me money, most likely, and if it does, what's money, anyhow... Chances are, this isn't even going to ruin my week. Just one day, and even that's iffy...
I just wish I had seen all this yesterday...and the day before...and the day before...
Oh well...I know it now.
Thank God for perspective...
Friday, November 21, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Names
"What is in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet..."
Yes, I know, it's cliched... It's one of the few lines of Shakespeare that everybody knows.
But what if Shakespeare was wrong?
Maybe the Montagues should be proud of their heritage, no?
I like my name. It's not so much because it's a wonderful sounding name, or because it rolls off the tongue, like Theophilus de Gorgonzola the Fifth, or even because my name is spelled correctly, unlike some others that are pronounced the same way. I like my name because it means me. Whatever Shakespeare says about the utter randomness and illogicity of family feuds in Verona, names are important.
Names are important because we have no other handle on the true existence of something. We can describe an object or a person, but only in terms of other things. People have intmimated, for instance, that describing me is nearly impossible. However, all it takes for someone to invoke the experiences and images connected with me is my name being spoken.
When words fail, there are names.
Yes, I know, it's cliched... It's one of the few lines of Shakespeare that everybody knows.
But what if Shakespeare was wrong?
Maybe the Montagues should be proud of their heritage, no?
I like my name. It's not so much because it's a wonderful sounding name, or because it rolls off the tongue, like Theophilus de Gorgonzola the Fifth, or even because my name is spelled correctly, unlike some others that are pronounced the same way. I like my name because it means me. Whatever Shakespeare says about the utter randomness and illogicity of family feuds in Verona, names are important.
Names are important because we have no other handle on the true existence of something. We can describe an object or a person, but only in terms of other things. People have intmimated, for instance, that describing me is nearly impossible. However, all it takes for someone to invoke the experiences and images connected with me is my name being spoken.
When words fail, there are names.
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