The Question Paradox

One day, where a large international conference of the world’s smartest philosophers was taking place, an angel appeared and said, “I’m here as a messenger from God. You may ask me one and only one question and I will reply truthfully. What would you like to know?”
The assortment of philosophers huddled together to discuss what question that they wanted to know the answer to.
Feeling clever and sure of himself, one philosopher proposed the first question: “What would be the best question for us to ask, and what is the answer to that question?” However this would count as two questions and couldn’t be asked.
The next question proposed was, “What would be the answer to the best question to ask?” That would at least give them an answer, but it was declined because the answer could have been something like, “yes” or “thirty”.
Finally, one question was approved by the group: “What is the ordered pair whose first member is the question that would be the best one for us to ask you, and whose second member is the answer to that question?” The philosophers reasoned that this was the safest and most clever question to ask the angel.
When asked this question, the angel replied, “It is the ordered pair whose first member is the question you just asked me, and whose second member is this answer I am giving you.”
The question that was asked was obviously the wrong thing to ask, but why? The philosophers had devised a nearly-foolproof question for the angel, but after reading this submission from http://www.mendhak.com/118-a-list-of-paradoxes.aspx, I came to realize that the philosophers had devised the most foolproof question. And that was the problem, it was too perfect. In fact, it was the best question they could ask, which is the question that they were asking for. How clever.

The Raven Paradox

What if there was an ornithologist, which is a scientist who studies birds, who wanted to determine whether or not all ravens were black. The easiest and most reasonable thing for him to do would be to go outside and look for a raven that wasn’t black. Smart, right?
On the contrary, if he went outside and sees tons of ravens and every one of them was black, his theory would be supported, but never proven. However, each new black raven that he found would add a little more evidence that all ravens were black.
But now suppose that he was lazy. Instead of looking for ravens, he decided upon using another method that he devised.
Because the statement “all ravens are black” is logically equivalent to the statement “all nonblack objects are nonravens”, he decided to look for nonblack nonravens to prove his point. Now he didn’t even have to search in the woods to find evidence, which included brown chairs, orange oranges, or anything else that wasn’t black or a raven.
But how is it possible that searching for orange oranges would contribute to the hypothesis that all ravens are black? In reality, it wouldn’t be a very bright idea to confirm a hypothesis on the number of nonblack nonravens that one could find. In theory, however, it’s possible. The evidence that finding a brown chair would provide may be infinitesimal, but it would still provide an example of an object that wasn’t a nonblack raven. What’s more is that finding most nonblack nonravens would provide examples of nonwhite nonravens. How would it be possible for one fact to support two contradictory claims?
This is now known as the Hempel’s Ravens Paradox and it was devised by Carl Hempel in 1946.

Like They Do On The Discovery Channel

"I don't blog. I don't like to blog. So why am I blogging?" -From the mastery of Aleksis Rae.

We all like to feel special. We all enjoy a little self-value. Consequentially, when asked if we are the dominant race in our little world we'd almost certainly reply "Of course!". However, when asked why we always hesitate and stutter.
For example, there was a time when my scientific dad and his religious ladyfriend were watching a show about monkeys. It was then that she was asked if she believed in the Darwin theory. Her response?
"Of course not. We're nothing like monkeys."
"But genetically, we're nearly the same."
"Well.. They can't speak."

With all due respect for Miss Alice, I think this portrays the ignorance of humankind. And the possible ignorance of other animals, too. You heard me.
You and me baby are nothin' but mammals.

But, but, We're special in some ways! Right, Miss Alice? Right-o.
For example, we're the only species that can create and enjoy art. That's what they say. Well, that's a meager accomplishment, seeing that art has no benefits outside of human enjoyment.
Bolder claims say that we're the only ones who are aware of our existence, which can't be proven.
We're the only ones who can alter out environment, explore the realms of space, the list goes on. All in an attempt to separate ourselves for the others, to be better than the rest of the world's little creepy crawly things.
Well, an ant can lift a thousand times it's own weight. We can't do that. In fact, almost every creature can do something that the others can't. And I'm sure that they understand that they're the dominant species as well.

Thanks, Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, for the insight. And remember: To the dog, he isn't the pet. You are.

The Parking Ticket Incident

So much for tomorrow, landlubber. Already a month of summer has slipped by and I haven't been able to resume my anecdotes about my junior-year initiation.
Honestly, too much time has passed and the events have escaped from my memory.
What I do remember, though, is the third and most compelling event; The Parking Ticket Incident.
Yes, it is in fact so monumental that it deserves its own title, possibly the entire title of this post.

See, one magical day my family and I were returning to our parked car after my brother's graduation. Rounding the corner, my dad spotted a meter maid and proceeded to run towards her, shouting, "Wait, I'm sorry! I'm right here!"
She looked at us, sneered, and despite my father's pleas she continued to write us a ticket.
A grim, stubbly bearded man frowned upon the frantic scene from the safety of his pickup truck. He fingered a quarter in his pocket. The merciless woman's face was contorted into a twisted smirk. "I saw red-"
"It ain't red." interrupted the man. The woman stared at him, challenging him. "What?"
"It. Ain't. Red.", he repeated. He pointed his finger towards the meter, which now held an extra ten minutes. She glared at the man and waddled away. My dad smiled and saluted our savior, who returned to his pickup and lit up a cigarette. We sat in silence as we were driven home.

Persistence

This is it. The end of Sophomore year. The transition from my current rank to an upperclassman as I perceive it will no doubt be a drastic one. As high-scholars, our class is no longer on the rotting end of the food chain. To me, that means alot already. Juniors have always been the hype beasts, the entrepreneurs, the whores. They've maintained my perception of those wild, sex-having, youthful scholars that you only see on television. I'm sure that this stereotype is totally inaccurate, but my point is that high school has always been associated with them, not the seniors.
Three truthful, meaningful events have occurred today to signify my transition from sophomore to junior:

I woke up at oneinthemorningsomething because I thought that I heard a tiny buzzing by my ear. After trying to fall back to sleep, I noticed that an irritating, scratchy lump had formed on the surface of my wrist. So I came to the conclusion that a mosquito had somehow found its way into my room.
"It's just one bite, it doesn't matter.", I told myself. Well, I did. At least until another bite formed by my armpit.
Peeved, I pulled myself out of bed and turned on the lights. After some thorough searching, I decided that the mosquito had left.
I killed the lights, jumped into bed, and pulled the covers over my neck. Despite this, it managed to bite my cheek, the only exposed part of myself left. I was furious and the rest of the night was comprised of some magical cycle of mosquito bites and getting out of bed to look for the culprit in paranoia.
At threeinthemorningsomethingg, the bastard flew up my nose. I snorted and sneezed, literally flung myself off of my mattress, and resumed my search. This was the last straw.
I closed the door to my bedroom and proceeded to check every square inch of the room around me. i found it, a tiny speck next to my pillow, and mercilessly smashed my palm into the wall. It died instantly.
That night I slept confidently on top of my sheets. It wasn't a warm night at all, I just enjoyed the satisfaction of teasing the rest of those little bloodsuckers.

The other two incidents of today will be explained tomorrow, when I'm staying awake on more than just spare caffeine.

Yellow Socks

Everybody relies on their senses to communicate with each other. But what if these senses weren't calibrated? What if what was green to me would be orange to you? Sweet was salty? There wouldn't be a way to compare, I wouldn't be able to say, "Jean-Paul, that sock is yellow" because although that sock is actually red (My red, not yours.) to him, he compares it to the yellow that he knows. Which is red. Get it?
And with all of these preferences, because everybody has to be different, nobody has a standard. Jean might love sweet foods, while I might love bitter foods. However, because the connotation of bitter is negative, I might assume that sweet is everyone elses' bitter. My taste buds could detect bitterness, while someone else could eat the same thing and detect sweet. How queer.

These simple adjectives are developed by what we assume as infants. (Which may be entirely incorrect.) The entire world is like that. In fact, our imaginations are limited to what we know. Everything is questionable, you see? But I'll save all of that for another post.

rheeeeak (12:05:22 AM): shouldn't you be out playing with firecrackers instead of this crap?
solarpoweredspaz (12:05:27 AM): Lol
solarpoweredspaz (12:06:12 AM): That's Viet, who make a bigger deal out of Chinese New Year's than the Chinese do.
rheeeeak (12:06:27 AM): LOL.
solarpoweredspaz (12:06:32 AM): Party animals.
rheeeeak (12:06:39 AM): that's so true.

For Natasha honey.

I apologize to my few readers for not posting since December. I hypothesized that a break would allow me time to think, but it hasn't helped. It seems as though going through a relationship had fueled my thought, or perhaps the thoughts were built up as things that I've always wondered about. School doesn't distract me from thinking, as I had thought in the past. Rather, it has only changed my way of thought that now orbits convienience.