Are there any facts?

I spent a good part of today researching things. In the back of my head I tend to keep a little list of things that people tell me that I want to look up. This can range from who founded the game of hockey, to the seperation of powers between federal and provincial governments.

Ok, so I make a habit of looking stuff up.

It started a long time ago, when I tended to say stuff that I thought was true. I didn't know, but I was pretty sure. Then one day someone challenged me and I ended up looking up whatever I was spouting off about at the time. Turned out I was wrong. Now I look things up to find out if what I'm saying, or what someone else is saying, is opinion or fact. Turns out, there's alot of opinions out there.

Here's an example, shaved legs. I think it's silly that girls shave their legs. I know, I'm the weird one where, but anyway. The point is that I've heard from a number of girls on the topic that after you shave your legs the hair grows back thicker and darker, so once you start you can't stop. When I first heard this, I accepted it without question and began religiously shaving my feet and toes. Don't ask, I wanted hairy feet and toes. To my vast disappointment, NOTHING HAPPENED! The hair just grew back the same each time I stopped shaving it! Apparently hobbit feet are a genetic thing, not something you can cultivate.

The point is, if you look it up, there is no evidence that shaving your legs makes the hair come back thicker. It would be cool if it did, mostly for bald people. (There's a counterintuitive baldness cure, shave your head for a couple months.) But it doesn't. And it won't. No matter how many people tell me that it will.

We are bombarded by facts, opinions, and theories every day. If you accept them without critically looking at them, you are letting someone else think for you. Kind of defeats the purpose of having your own brain, huh?

Yeah, it's Monday

First we developed games to fill our leisure time. Something to pass the time with friends. We were so decadent that we no longer needed to spend all our time scrounging the mud for our sustenance. Then we developed regional teams for sports, so we could pay other people to play our games and be good at them. Saves effort like that, and you don't actually have to be good at anything. Now we have machines that play sports at our controls. Video games. Once again we play the game, but at the convenience of controlling where and when. Of course, now the game is physically simplified into a few button presses and joystick movements. More of a mental than a physical effort.

What's next?

Build machines to play our video games for us, of course! This way we could simulate whole matches and seasons, and keep them on tap for when we have the spare time. Make a separate artificial intelligence for each team. In split seconds the 1's and 0's clash together and it's all set up for your viewing pleasure. Just sit back and enjoy the game, it's all been done for you. Automatic sports! The newest thing in instant gratification!

Ok, you probably chuckled at that idea, but part of you knows that it could happen. Someone could make it and turn a profit. Doesn't it scare you that this joke is plausible?

Go outside and play.

And two weeks later . . .

Ok, so names. I got thinking about names, mostly because of the number of pseudonyms that get created for the Internet. Examples: ddrmaxlegend2006, and loverboifromhell . . . I can't even make a joke here.

Anyway, this got me to thinking about how names are important to an extent. If you say you don't like a name, you can get tonnes of cliched responses, like "What's in a name", or "Does not a rose by any other name smell as sweet?", or something like that. To these people I would respond, "Be honest. If roses were named pukenbile-splattars, how long do you think it would be before someone renamed them?"

Now, lets put this into perspective, my name is Rye. It's not a normal name. I mean, if you get right down to it, it's not a name unless you happen to be a grain or your parents were hippies. At least having hippie parents means that the rest of your family has odd names too. Like a brother named Knoll. Can you imagine what sort of a freak you'd turn out to be if you were named Knoll? Hopefully the kind who can take a joke if ever he reads this . . .

Funny thing is that I've kinda grown into my name. When I was young I got teased about it a lot. Then there were the millions of little rhymes that came along with it. I couldn't stand them, and so I hated my name. Over time though, I started enjoying having the name Rye. It was unique, it stood out, and it was slightly confusing. I get described the exact same way!

Incidentally, in Bulgarian my name means paradise. There's a bit of irony for you.

But really, it's not a name that makes a person. To get back to the roses, the reason I believe we would never leave them named pukenbile-splattar is simply because the essence of the rose defies the name. The personality of the rose demands something simple and elegant, phonetically. It makes it's own name. I like this.

It reminds me that while people may remember my name as an oddity, it is only because I make it so.

On self

Who am I?

Rye

Ingredients:

205 lbs of organic substance including but not limited to: meat, bone, and fluids. May contain traces of peanuts.

1 bucket of personality

2 heaping loads of bad taste

No no no no. I can't be expressed as a recipe. Well, techinically I can be, but the two ingredients come from my parents, and the cooking instructions aren't for children.

Bah, I've never been good at introspection. I try to look at myself objectively and end up giggling when I get to the bellybutton. Though, I don't think this is a bad thing. We take ourselves and our images so seriously. I mean, there's whole librarys of self help books written on learning to accept ourselves for who we are, and I'll never need to waste my money on them. I tend to look at myself and just laugh. Like when you look in a mirror with clown nose on. What am I saying, I have a built in clown nose?

Maybe that's the answer. We need more clown noses. It would make the world a much brighter place.

And here we go . . .

So I've basically be incommunicado for the last . . . dunno, long time. Leave it at that. I've pretty much lost contact with everyone. I've been living in Quebec city for three years now, and it's been quite an experience. Most of the time was spent concentrating on getting myself from one day to the next, without looking around too much. Since arriving here I've learned french, worked in a climbing gym, learned to weld professionally, and been turned into a newt.

(Well, I got better)

This brings me to today. Today I start trying to get back in contact with people. Hence the blog. Here's how it's going to work. For news, I'll be keeping this blog updated with my day to day idiocies. For the rest, there's always MSN, phones, emails, and good old fashion pen and paper letters. For phones and post options you have to send me a current mailing address, and/or phone number. I've decided to spend more time writing actual letters, as they are much more pleasant than emails. Plus when I'm writing a letter, the cat doesn't climb on the pen and scribble all sorts of nonsense.

All nonsense in letters is my own.

So there we are! My new email address will be wry.stevenson@gmail.com and I look forward to getting back in contact! Send me an email if you want to keep in contact. I won't be offended if you don't. One way or another, I'm sure that the sun will rise in the morning, the rain will fall downwards, and life in it's own majestic way will continue to make fools of us all.

Cheers