Treat Simba well. :D

I will! If that fails, he can always count on his other 142 parents.
Heads up, I'm bringing him to practice on Saturday.

You have questions. I have answers to those questions.

4697944

There's a number, at least one of them, that has been mentioned the same number of times in history as its value. For example, the number "2348968" has only been written or mentioned in that sequence 2348968 times. The nature of these rare numbers, unfortunately, prevents us from ever truly discovering them.
Let's put this into a scenario; Professor Jean-Paul is a famous mathematician. No lie. He invents a time machine for the sole purpose of discovering the kind of magical number. Obviously, simply discovering time travel won't get him that Nobel Prize. So he records every number in in history and discovers that the number of times that "2348968"has been used is equal to 2348968. But silly Jean-Paul, the dense mathematician that he happens to be, forgets to include all of the times that he recorded the number. So, instead of finding a magical number, 2348968 has been used 4697936 times, or 2(234896).
Even the explanation of my number theory is setting "2348968" further away from it's magical properties. Now the total number of times that "2348968" has been mentioned is at 4697944.

Illusion of Control

Hey kiddos.
I was considering a topic that was mentioned earlier in this blog. See, this is a big deal that deserves much more attention than a mere paragraph. This is a big deal that deserves two paragraphs.
My dad once told me that nobody does anything without a reason. I tried to prove otherwise by spastically flailing my arms and cavorting around. Then, and not a second too late, I realized that my reason for doing so was simply to prove my father's statement wrong. Still, throughout the rest of my childhood I would occasionally break out into tiny little fits of spontaneous movement to get a snap at that statement.

Why, exactly, is it impossible for people to do things without a reason? I know why.
People are able to make decisions, but the outcome of the decision-making process doesn't depend on will. According to a medical magazine article that I've read, it's been proven. Let me elaborate on that; You don't choose to eat a dead sandwich because you want to. You choose to eat the dead sandwich because you're hungry. You might want to eat the sandwich because it tastes good, but you never choose to eat the sandwich because you want to eat the sandwich.

Therefore, you really don't have much control over the choices that you make. It might seem like you do, but no matter what you want to choose (which would usually agree to your decision anyways, giving you to illusion of control), you'll still make the same choice. So if we don't have control over our decisions, why even try? Beats me.

Decisions are merely reactions, so why are reactions different from different people? Sure, heredity has something to do with it, but if decision-making is eliminated, what else is there that shapes us as individuals? Experience? This is best saved, however, for a different discussion at a different time.

Love Juice and Thinking Caps

"No, Justin Beiber, you're not in love with that girl. You're twelve."- God.

Okay, I understand that he's my age, though awkwardly prepubescent. And I have to give him credit for his success; I'm sure that it fuels an intensely burning envy in the pit of my generation. And he's a cootie infestation and whatnot. But of all things, God, who is to say that twelve-year-olds can't love?
Okay, someone needs to smite me for standing up for Beiber, but this isn't about him at all. This is about the fidgety topic of prepubescent love. And I'm not talking about the Loofah Girl, you wacky locals.
I once had a friendly debate over this very topic with Emma. She was, as most are, doubtful that tween love was the real deal. When put into scientific terms, love is just a chemical released by the brain that makes you feel, for the lack of a better term, happy. It's a proven fact. After some thought, it can be safely assumed that love solely exists as a means for a couple to stay together long enough to raise a kid. Of course, that's in the terms of cold and unbiased science.
So are all 12-year-olds incapable of releasing a little love juice from their thinking caps? It sounds so much easier to grasp when I say it like that.

Because, as we teens all understand, love is a pretty hurly-burly word to be throwing around.

We Are All Fat Children

People are like flavors. Flavors of ice cream that are being consumed by fat children, who each are flavors of their own and are likewise being consumed by other fat children, creating an infinite loop of ice cream inhaling, obese-stricken kids. This is the universe as we know it today.

Today I've decided that everything decays over a period of time. This might seem obvious to you, my delicious reader, but I now understand that nothing lasts forever.
On a personal level, my goal in life was always to make a mark on the face of humanity, to be remembered for something that I had done. Alas, we're all subject to death.

Everyone, I mean, in regards to the upcoming 2012. Run straight home, lock your doors, and await the end of time itself. Haven't you watched the movie?

Humanity, regardless of your beliefs in the legitimacy of the aztec calendar-gods, can't outlive Father Time. Once there's nobody to appreciate my future success, then who is going to appreciate my future success? Nobody. And material data-storing would decompose, just like in Discovery Channel's "Life After People", and then we'll be at a loss. Whatever are we going to do?
We could always preserve data in the depths of space, but that's too boring. A flamboyant race of sentient beings as us would surely preserve our legacies through the beauty of emitted light. Light travels infinitely, and, assuming that the universe is infinite and that we don't hit anything, it will ensure the preservation of our essence.
But how do we create such a bright light? The only fuel that could supply such an intense light is the world itself. It's only logical, then, that we should set the world on fire. To preserve ourselves, of course.

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.

The Mystery of the Chocolate Bunny

"Are you eating your broccolis? And your carrots. They make your eyes..smarter." said the cutely-fobbish Asian woman that my brother and I ran into in Southwest Airlines. She was talking to some little white girl with a chocolate bunny in her hand. Next to the girl was who appeared to be her father, a defensive-looking guy wearing a tanktop and a tattoo. "Only uncover the amount that you plan on eating!" Cries the fobbish woman, as the girl undresses the chocolate. The man looks kind of uncomfortable, while the girl smiles up at him and hands him foil waste. He smirks, but then does something odd- he gives the woman the foil.
That's when my brother starts to notice, as I ask him what relations these three have to each other. They weren't a family, for sure. The way the man and the woman talked was too detached- like how strangers would talk to one another. The girl was clinging to the guy's luggage, and the woman talked to her like she wasn't her kid.
But the stranger would give the foil to the mother, in in that situation. Odd.
This goes on for a little while longer until a new character bring herself into our attention; a white woman who looks like the mother of the child. Apparently, she was there, but remained unnoticed until the little girl knocked over her suitcase. That's when she stands next to the guy and cleans the messy choco-faced child.
Okay, we found the mom. So the guy must be the dad, and the fobby asian lady is meddling around because she wants a family but doesn't have one. But what about the foil exchange? We were determined to solve this mystery.
In the midst of our thought, the mom turns around and starts talking to the guy, the same way the guy was talking to the other lady. (Distant, like a stranger. Remember?)
We came up with another theory: All three people belonged to separate parties, and the child to the "mom" woman. As the line that we were waiting in moved forward, we became more and more sure of our theory until at the front of the line the little girl said she was finished with her chocolate bunny. The mom pulls out a ziplock bag while the asian lady says, "Thats why she always brings the ziplock bags when we travel." to the man. The girl then sits in a stroller chair that the asian lady pushes. (I don't know how we didn't notice that before.)
Lesbians! It had to be true. The other guy was just there, kind of buzzing around.
Everything pointed to it, all the facts matched up. If our theory was correct, the group would break off into two groups at the end of the line.

It was the moment of truth, as we reached the front of the line and the people at the baggage claim shouted, "Next up!" the two women glanced at the workers and made their way to the counter with their baby.

The only problem was that the guy was with them, a single party of one.
Got any theories? Comment me.



suhpaz (12:58:42 AM): am scared. of the dark.
suhpaz (12:58:47 AM): deathly so.
solarpoweredspaz (1:02:02 AM): I'm afraid of heights.
solarpoweredspaz (1:02:17 AM): No, I'm afraid of falling. Nobody's afraid of heights.

Coyotes are the Smartest Dogs

For you, honey! I'm sorry that it took so long.




'I am sixteen and May is talking to me on the phone. “All my boys are dogs,” she says. “One of them is a German shepherd, and that one I used to like, he's a wolf, and you're a coyote.”
“I'm not a coyote. I'm more of a cat... or, uh, a bear.”
“But if you were a dog, you'd be a coyote.”
“Yeah, but that's because coyotes are the smartest dogs.”

“All my boys are dogs. You, you're a coyote.”
I don't ask why.
“Because coyotes are like wolves, but not as strong. And they have bushy tails. But they fight anyway.”
May knows better than anyone that I am not strong, and that I have a bushy tail.' -SeeMyMask

December 19th, Vickie. Think about it.

Gravity is Only a Theory.

For a Proper Buche de Noel:
3 eggs with personality
1 flour baby
6 bad jokes
foul, foul chocolate.

What goes up always comes down, and the sky is blue. Yeah, I know you know. But are you sure?
Life is complicated, agreed? So is math. (The essence of the universe, remember?)
The way humanity figured out how life works can be compared to the way you would do a math problem. (One step at a time..)
However, the basis of what we know has been discovered by, very literally, cavemen.
That's like asking a baby to start off an algebraic equation, its kinda tough.
Unless you pick one of those superbabies, those ones that you see on Opera that graduate college by the age of 3.
My point is, these guys could have made a mistake in their "calculations", and what happens when you mess up in the beginning of an equation?

Superbaby says, "You get drastic changes in your final answer."
We as humans base things only as we perceive it. That's what limits human knowledge; human knowledge. For all we know, the sky isn't blue. Gravity is only a theory. There is no such thing as a year. E does not equal em-cee squared. Keep that in mind the next time someone asks you for the time.


I'll dissect, digest, anything you say.

"Make Love is Trendy" Is Trendy

Trends have always been set in humanity, there was always a sense of which ideas were the most popular among the common people. In Rome and China especially, expressive ideas were so often beat down. However, in our weird present-day American ways, individuality is promoted.
"What? We're Not supposed to follow the crowd now?"
This is when we get confused. If the cool thing to do is to go against the flow, then would going against the flow be with the flow? Which way is up? Ah!
Pretty soon, with everybody going with their own ideas, there won't be a trend.
That means that we don't have a flow. Which makes everybody uncool again. The cycles goes on..

What do we do now? Human nature is at risk. I'll tell you what to do.
As everybody "Discovers themselves" Pick one original "Trendy mate". Follow his outlandish trends, like braiding those hairs on your knuckles. Or daydreaming, drawing, and posting on your blog. Those are original.
Then, as society falls apart and everybody becomes unpopular, rise up as the only trend followers (You and your trendy mate) to claim your place as the most popular people in the world.
But the plan has its flaws, and there will always be those old-fashioned kids who follow trends no matter what. Kidnap them.

I made a deviant account. Its what all of the artsy kids do these days.
http://solarpoweredspaz.deviantart.com/


Because my glass half full is running on empty.
n: im gossiping with my friend
s: I'm blogging. Anything juicy?
h: cool cool
n: my friend liked a girl since freshman year and now they dont tallk!
n: hes junior
s: I'd feel like I was wasting my time.
h: i know...
n: sad really
s: Like, "What? I stay loyal to you for all of this time and this is what I get?"

Boinki

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X0UmVrKC9hA&feature=related

Natasha caught up to me in posts! Wow, I need to start blogging again.
They won't write themselves, will they?


Inspired by the works of Natasha


Epic Don

Universe>Environment>Humanity>Engrish

Eureka! Isn't that what Greek whosemface said? "I've got it"
The best revolutionary rant that I've come up with for a while, since my "How to live forever" post. Get this:

We all live our high school lives mindlessly learning empty material, stuff that we could never actually put to good use in real life. [Imagine: "You can buy this loaf of bread IFF you can recite the periodic table backwards starting from zinc." *Half of the worlds starves to death.*]
But since time began nomadic peoples have asked the Aztec gods one question, "Which high school field of study is the most advanced, the most useful and most important?"
Imean, everybody has their own opinions, right? Sara Pham prefers literature. I like science.
But I can prove which is most important, not to you, but to the Aztec gods. And Greek whosemface.

Today, we'll be comparing four classes: literature, math, history and science.
Instead of viewing them as four seperate subjects, look at them as if they were interdependant on each other. History is the study of humanity, agreed? Literature is a product of humanity.
"So?"
So without humanity, literature would not exist. Humanity > Engrish

Now, science and math get tricky. When it comes down to things, science is the study of things in our universe. Everything we know about us and our surroundings has rules and is included within the field of science.
But we don't know everything, do we?
In science, rules can change. We can discover things that aren't within our perception, and that perception grows.

Math is the study of the universe itself, or at least the rules incorporated into that. You can't ever change the rules of mathematics, 1+1 will always equal 2.
Thus, Universe>Environment and without what we know about science, Humanity would not exist.

There we go, the most important subject in high school, the only one that will help you during an extraterrestrial abduction, is math.

Jean-Paul, You're an Animal

xFISHaww (9:03:51 PM): <3(:
solarpoweredspaz (9:13:30 PM): Your smileyface has a funny-looking tumor on his chin.


The government can print money, right? The government also knows that it can't print too much, because they lack in gold to back it up. I know, for a fact, that printing requires resources. And resources cost money. To print money.

"Wait, so.. Its costs money to print money?"

Yes, junior. Or does it?
See, printing money calls for the need of paper. Who has to buy that?
The government. Buys paper.
Now Jean-Paul, our imaginary paper vendor, brings paper to the government. What does he get for his paper? Money that was printed on with his paper. How strange is that?
Somehow, the government just ends up pulling a bit of the money that they're making anyways and gives it to Jean-Paul.
So does little Jean-Paul actually get anything for this? Idealistically, yes.
Materialistically, no. The government's gold stays in the same place and J.P. gets his paper back, only more green and dirty.


Oh yeah. Scientifically, you're not in control anymore.
Yeah, its shocking for us, but neurologists are slowly proving that making decisions for yourself is an illusion. Apparently, you think your brain is in control when your animal instinct is taking the wheel. (Which is all of the time.)
That's why you can't control attraction to someone or do anything without a reason. (And doing something without a reason to prove me wrong is a reason.)
But what will that do to society today? To religion? Scientists are just going to prove that we're animals, and no better than them.
How peculiar.

banANNIEsplit89 (10:21:41 PM): disclaimer:i do like the books and im sure ill like the movie, just not the riot
solarpoweredspaz (10:27:21 PM): ._.
solarpoweredspaz (10:27:24 PM): Of girls.
solarpoweredspaz (10:27:33 PM): Obsessive girls.
banANNIEsplit89 (10:28:16 PM): have you heard guys talk about video games ever? now thats obsessive.
solarpoweredspaz (10:28:55 PM): Hey, we don't cry when we see the Jonas brothers perform live.
solarpoweredspaz (10:29:02 PM): That's pathetic.
solarpoweredspaz (10:29:17 PM): :]
banANNIEsplit89 (10:29:19 PM): HAHAH!