Tip of the Hat, Wag of the Finger

When I started my New Year’s post, I meant to do two obvious things: take stock of 2009, and set goals for 2010. By the time I was done listing the interesting events of 2009, I was so bored of my own writing, I fell asleep. New Years resolutions almost always fail, because (to steal from How I Met Your Mother), they hold Future Stephen in far too high esteem. I’m guessing Future Stephen will be about as lazy and noncommittal as I am, so I wouldn’t want to throw him under the bus like that. This year I’m trying for a more realistic approach. Here is a short summary:

Pretty Realistic Goals for 2010

• Exercise at least 3 times a week, every week. No, it’s certainly not a groundbreaking goal, but what’s the point in setting a goal you don’t think you can keep? I’m convinced this is worthwhile. Exercise keeps me focused and less likely to curl up in the fetal position eating Cheetos. Case in point: it was around midnight, the night before my two last (and most difficult) finals of the semester. My first (Quantum Mechanics) was at 8 a.m. I had been cramming all day, and couldn’t focus anymore. So I got up, put on shorts, and ran a mile. Mind: cleared, and I attribute my A to that.
• Cut Caffeine. Not quit entirely, just cut back as much as possible. When I’m busy, I ingest huge amounts of caffeine, and feel like I can’t get through the day without it. Since I already have trouble sleeping and excess adrenaline has caused panic attacks, taking a stimulant just seems like a bad idea to me. The goal: drink at most 3 caffeinated beverages a week, and only if it’s explicitly to keep me awake. If I just want a cup of coffee for its own sake, I’ll go decaf. Long drives are, of course, exceptions.
• Read the Bible regularly. I’m not necessarily talking about a strict daily regimen; just more regularly than I have been. I have a tendency to praise physical activity without actually committing to it, and a similar tendency to be “open” about my faith without attending to it on a private level. This year I hope to change both.
• Make at least one very good friend in Berkeley who shares my beliefs. I’m certainly not making belief any criteria for friendship: if anything, I relate much better to the skeptical than the devoted. It comes more naturally to me. That’s why my goal is such a weak one: just one person to keep my social chameleon tendencies in check.
• Meet all of my professors. Berkeley is a cool place, and most of my professors are cool people. It’s a shame that I waste it by never going to office hours, attending discussion, or even asking questions. This year I’ll try to change that.
• Force myself into a public speaking situation. Speaking in front of a crowd is my biggest weakness, hands down. I can ace an exam or write a decent essay, but if you ask me to give a 5 minute presentation in front of a class I’ll clam up. This isn’t me being self-deprecating. I am absolutely the worst public speaker I know, the reason being that I never have to do it; whenever it comes up, I do everything in my power to avoid it. This year I’ll force myself to take at least one big risk, and go in front of a large group of people to speak. Hopefully that won’t be in front of a crowd of engineers at a conference in Anchorage; but if it comes to that, I won’t refuse.

Sounds reasonable, right? Glad that’s over with. Now onto business.

Tip of the Hat, Wag of the Finger

Stephen Colbert has a popular segment on his show called Tip of the Hat, Wag of the Finger. In it, he spotlights a few people who are doing “good” or “bad” things (at least, according to his ultra-conservative persona.) Since my job has me surrounded in Christian literature, I’ve been exposed to quite a few prominent Christian figures the past few days. And I’ve got some strong opinions on them. So here’s are a few Tips of the Hat and Wags of the Finger, from someone who is in no way worthy of spouting his opinions about other people. They are all related to what is one of my main issues with Christianity: how belief is presented to others, and how we interact with those who disagree.

A Tip of the Hat to: Craig Gross, founder of xxxchurch.com

I remember hearing about xxxchurch.com way back in 8th grade. They had a program, called X3Watch, which was meant to help people stop watching pornography, if they so chose. You’d install the program, let it run in the background, and it would monitor what sites you visited. Rather than blocking anything (like those terrible parental-control programs that block you from message boards and google image searches), it would simply send a list of possibly-questionable sites you visited to an e-mail address of your choosing. I thought it was an okay, if annoyingly buggy, program, and wondered why the site was called “The #1 Christian Porn Site.” I read their mission statement, took a look at the preacher with his indie hair and graphic tees, and wrote it off as just another example of a church embracing hipsterdom, selling their souls for fake street cred and shock value. I never went back.

The other day I was uploading publishing information for a book called Jesus Loves You…This I Know by Craig Gross and Josh Harper. The chapter titles were very straightforward descriptions of who Jesus loves: “Jesus Loves the Broken”, “Jesus Loves Skeptics”, etc. But one title caught my eye: “Jesus Loves Porn Stars”.  People who remorsefully watch porn is one thing the church is willing to talk about. But people who star in it? How would this book handle people who choose to have sex on camera for money, when even acknowledging their existence is considered uncouth? I expected the run of the mill “everyone makes mistakes, and even if you were a porn star at one point in your life, you are forgiven” altar call message. In other words, “Jesus Loves Ex-Porn Stars”, dancing around the actual issue as we love to do with often empty phrases like “Love the Sinner, Hate the Sin.”  It’s always about forgiving people for their past or uncharacteristic actions: but what about their present, unapologetic lifestyles?

Instead, the chapter was about Gross’ experiences with XXXChurch. The story was one I’d heard before, but I’d never considered the gravity of it. They began their ministry by setting up booths at annual Adult Film conventions, handing out Bibles that say “Jesus Loves Porn Stars.” (Porn conventions being places where actual porn, and porn stars, are present — in other words, a place where virtually no pastor would dare to be seen.) And they don’t do it patronizingly, or while shouting fire and brimstone messages. Gross went on to describe his own friendship with Ron Jeremy, the Porn King; how Ron volunteered to do a promotion for his ministry, how he has invited him into his home to meet his family, and how they toured together in the same bus hosting college debates on the merits of pornography.

Meanwhile, Craig Gross is unflinching in his condemnation of the porn industry. He sees it as degrading to women, deceptive to men, and painful for most of those involved in the production and consumption. And he gives that message very often. But while he stands against the industry, he loves the people in it. Online you can see videos of what his team does: one of the most astounding, to me, was their Extreme Brothel Makeover. They went to a brothel in Nevada which was extremely run down, and renovated it. Not the work rooms, of course. But the living rooms: where the girls who work as prostitutes sleep and eat. They put in new beds, repainted the walls, updated the plumbing, renovated the bathroom, carpeted the floor — everything you’d expect of the Ty Pennington and his cheesy crew, but at a brothel. Not on the condition that the women quit their jobs, or with pity and indignation. Just a genuine care for their well-being, a few books on the shelf to let them know about the ministry, and a message of love.

How much hell must they have gotten for that? For a pastor to go to a place where prostitutes live, and better their lives without first demanding that they leave? Even I was a bit thrown off at first. I wanted to agree with the critics, who argued that making their living conditions easier was equivalent to encouraging prostitution, and likewise that befriending porn stars was an endorsement of their work. Much like I want to agree with the idea that feeding the homeless encourages them to remain unemployed. Because it has a slight point, and more importantly, it justifies apathy. But in the end, it’s about the message you want to present. And to me, putting your reputation on the line to show love for people most of the world wouldn’t look in the eye is a powerful message.

A Wag of the Finger to: Craig Gross, founder of The Strip Church

Yes, this is the same Craig Gross I just tipped my hat to. Why the sudden change of heart?

A year or two ago, Gross announced that he would be starting a church on the Las Vegas Strip. Of course, it wouldn’t be your “typical church.” Like Vegas itself, it would be flashy. On the official site, it describes the vision as follows:

“Part variety, part comedy, extremely entertaining and a slice of spirituality is how Craig Gross, Founder and Pastor of The Strip Church, describes his idea for the Strip Church show. It will not be a service…it will be a show.”

The show includes Vegas performers, standup comedians, free drinks, transport to and from various casinos, and a marriage chapel on wheels. And, of course, a $10 admission price.

While I understand what the pastor is trying to do, I can’t stress enough how damaging an idea this could be. Flamboyancy in outreach is one thing, and even when XXXChurch uses a 30-foot inflatable penis (if you don’t want to see a 30-foot inflatable penis, you might not want to click that) to get attention at the conventions they attend, I think it’s hilarious. Goofy gimmicks are fine when they’re presented as such — it’s the organization showing that it isn’t afraid to relate to the culture, in a setting where no one present would be offended. But when you start calling yourself a church, within those walls you’re supposed to be offering something substantial. While gimmicks may be necessary to get noticed on the outside strip, they have no place inside the church. It reduces Christianity to a series of jokes, and gives an air of flippancy. Craig is in a unique position in the area, having gained respect for his sincerity. What do you do in that situation? Present something sincere. The world doesn’t need another portrayal of Christianity as a fun social venue, any more than it needs another stern Puritanical prison. It needs something real. While the Strip Church may turn out to offer that, it certainly isn’t branding itself well.

Tip of the Hat to: Timothy Keller, author of The Reason for God

As I’ve written about a few times, I have a lot of problems with most books claiming to be about Apologetics (defending Christianity from an intellectual point of view). It’s for the same reason I can’t stand when people use science (global warming, for instance) for political purposes: when you’ve got an agenda to push, everyone’s an expert and objectivity goes out the window. It’s difficult to take an honest look at the issues when you’ve got a vested interest in one side — especially when the issue at hand is the eternal destiny of your readers.

After a mild rant against Lee Strobel, a friend recommended I pick up Keller’s book.  I recently did, and so far am very glad to have done so. Here are a few quotes from the introduction.

“There is a great gulf today between what is popularly known as liberalism and conservatism. Each side demands that you not only disagree with but disdain the other as (at best) crazy or (at worst) evil. This is particularly true when religion is the point at issue.”

“Believers should acknowledge and wrestle with doubts — not only their own but their friends’ and neighbors’. It is no longer sufficient to hold beliefs just because you inherited them. Only if you struggle long and hard with objections to your faith will you be able to provide grounds for your beliefs to skeptics, including yourself, that are plausible rather than ridiculous or offensive. And, just as important for our current situation, such a process will lead you, even after you come to a position of strong faith, to respect and understand those who doubt.”

“I commend two processes to my readers. I urge skeptics to wrestle with the unexamined ‘blind faith’ on which skepticism is based, and to see how hard it is to justify those beliefs to those who do not share them. I also urge believers to wrestle with their personal and culture’s objections to the faith. At the end of each process, even if you remain the skeptic or believer you have been, you will hold your own position with both greater clarity and greater humility.  Then there will be an understanding, sympathy, and respect for the other side that did not exist before. Believers and nonbelievers will rise to the level of disagreement rather than simply denouncing one another. This happens when each side has learned to represent the other’s arguments in its strongest and most positive form. Only then is it safe and fair to disagree with it. That achieves civility in a pluralistic society, which is no small thing.”

Needless to say, I believe that mindset is necessary for meaningful discourse on any issue, let alone faith. Having not yet finished the book, I can’t say whether or not Keller succeeded in what he set out to do. But I have a great deal of respect for a pastor who can make a statement like that, and sincerely hope it is an indication of good things to come.

Wag of the Finger to: Kirk Cameron and Ray Comfort, Authors of Conquer Your Fears, Share Your Faith

Immediately after working on the aformentioned Jesus Loves You…This I Know, I popped Cameron and Comfort’s book into my CD drive.  I saw a chapter titled “Speaking with Intellectuals.” Being familiar with Ray Comfort’s brand of evangelism, I knew this couldn’t end well. I hit play, and Kirk Cameron’s angelic voice began.

“Say that you are sitting on an airplane, and you finally get up courage to speak to the man sitting next to you. As he sips his coffee, you say, “Hey Brian, I have a question for you. What do you think happens after someone dies?” Brian finishes the last gulp of his coffee, thinks for a minute, and says…”nothing.” You say, “nothing?” He smiles condescendingly and says, “I am an atheist.”

Now you are the one who gulps, and you are not finishing anything but your desire to end this conversation. This man is obviously an intellectual: he’s a thinker. He probably has a university degree! What do you say now?

Here’s what you need to do: stop thinking that Brian is an intellectual. That’s just not true. There is a possibility that he has a high IQ, but he is not a deep thinker. He’s a fool, according to the Bible. He is very shallow in his thoughts. He is of the same mentality as a man who believes that no one made the airplane you are both sitting on — the seats, the wings, the lighting, the sound system, the onboard television and radio, the engines, the carpet, the intricate wiring — all of these things happened by accident. There was nothing, then came a big bang, then, in time, an airplane appeared…from nothing.

Such thoughts are bordering on insanity, or are at most thoughts from the mind of a simpleton. So why do we insist on believing that atheists are intellecual? “

What’s the trick to dealing with intellectuals? Simple: just remember how stupid they are. They’re insane! Just look at them, condescendingly sipping their black coffee, smoking their cigars, and saying smarmy things like “ergo”. They think this whole airplane came out of thin air! What will those lunatics think up next?! Now hurry up, and set the record straight for the poor shallow-minded simpleton.  Begin by telling him about the Triune God who came to earth as a man over 2000 years ago, died, and resurrected from the dead. Speak slowly: I’m sure he’ll be taking notes.

The point is, it’s ridiculous to treat people like that. Caricatures are always the easy way out. Even if it were correct that atheism could be defeated by pointing out how complicated the airplane you’re sitting in is, convincing yourself that you’re talking to an idiot will get you nowhere. You’re talking to a person who has genuine reasons for unbelief, and it’s silly and rude to paint it as anything less.

——-

That’s it for today’s edition of Tip of the Hat, Wag of the Finger. Comment if you disagree. Or agree. Just comment…I’m getting lonely here.

A Thought Experiment

There are plenty of complex stances on the Mind/Body problem. We give them names like “Reductionism”, “Epiphenomenalism”, “Cartesian Dualism”, etc. The distinctions are vague, and the literature (not the fun stuff by Douglas Hofstadter, but the real philosophy) is virtually unreadable. But what it really comes down to is one, fundamental question, which many thinkers in the field have posed: would you teleport?

Don’t let the Sci-Fi speak terrify you. It does have a point.

We think of teleportation as some mystical thing seen in Star Trek, but it’s really not so far off. It’s based on the same idea which powers telephones, fax machines, and the internet: things move slowly, but data moves very quickly. If I have a piece of paper in Berkeley which you need in Japan, there are only a few options. Either I physically mail it to you, or I fax it — or, to be a bit more modern, I scan it, convert it to a PDF, and e-mail it. One requires  a 15-hour plane ride; the other takes two minutes. Why? Because the actual ink and paper, with mass and volume, takes time to transport. But you already have ink and paper — that’s not what you’re after. What you need is what’s on the paper, which the ink only conveys — the information. And information travels at the speed of light.

The idea transcends technology. It’s pouring rain in Berkeley right now, and all I want is a bowl of my mom’s signature tomato bisque. (Okay, that’s a lie. My mom doesn’t have a signature tomato bisque. But if she did, I’d definitely want a bowl of it right now.) If what I’m asking for is a bowl of soup which has been prepared by my mom using the exact basil that is currently sitting in her cabinet, I’m out of luck. But that’s not really what I want, is it? I’m not craving that particular tomato which only she has access to: my ingredients are adequate substitutes. What I’m asking for is the proper ratio and preparation — the recipe. And that information can be shared with a phone call.

Now, no one would say I’m actually eating my mom’s homemade soup, just like no one would say that the faxed paper is the original. Your paper looks a bit shinier than mine, the ink is a little more gray than black, and a forensic scientist certainly won’t find my DNA on your copy.  That’s because the paper itself wasn’t sent; only a low resolution approximation of what was written on it. But what if that weren’t the case? What if instead of sending a snapshot of one face of the paper, I sent you a complete description of the entire object? The state of every electron and every quark would be  meticulously recorded, sent as data, and reconstructed on your end. Here the raw materials aren’t only similar; they’re identical. In fact, according to Quantum Mechanics it doesn’t even make sense to refer to “this” electron as opposed to “that” one. If I swapped each particle in that paper with an entirely new one, not only would there be no discernible difference; theoretically speaking, I did nothing. “This” electron is “that” one, just in a different place.

Suppose I “send” the paper to you in this way — and, to make things simpler, assume my original copy is destroyed in the transaction. What you have in your hands now looks exactly like my paper. It has my fingerprints on it. You can still feel the heat from where I gripped it. It smells like the signature tomato bisque I was drinking when I sent it. The bottom left corner was crumpled when I put it in, and you can smooth it back out. In every respect, that is my paper you are holding; the one, unique copy, with its entire history in tact. That’s teleportation.

At first it seems ludicrous to say that what you are holding is the same thing that I fed into my machine. After all, the matter didn’t go anywhere: my paper was destroyed, and you only got a copy of it. But unlike any copy machine currently in existence, this created a perfect copy. We can object that it’s made up of different particles, but as was mentioned above, there’s no such thing as “different particles.” Just different states for a particle to be in. The pattern is everything, and that pattern was perfectly preserved.

So here comes the philosophical question: what would happen if a person stepped into this machine? His entire physical makeup would be stored as data, transmitted, and rebuilt somewhere new. Not just his outward appearance — everything, including his brain. Including the collection of neurons which were firing when he stepped into the machine, signifying the thought “I wonder what will happen to me when I step into this machine.” Every memory would be preserved. The man on the other side would recall that exact thought, breathe a sigh of relief, and conclude “Turns out I was fine.” But was he?

Hofstadter is a big proponent of the "People as Patterns" idea.

If we are entirely physical, the answer seems to be “yes”. A human being is a collection of particles arranged in a certain way, and the person would have moved from Point A to Point B completely unscathed. After all, when you talk to someone one on the phone and say “It’s good to hear your voice,” you don’t care that the air molecules carrying the sound aren’t the same. The voice is found in the pattern, not the medium, and in the same way a person must be found in the pattern, not the (identical) raw materials. Whatever there was to this person, it was transmitted. He had nothing to fear by stepping into that machine: his identity went with him.

But this begs the question: what if the machine didn’t destroy the original person? After all, destruction was hardly necessary to the mechanism. It was added in for convenience. So suppose we decided to turn off that feature. Suddenly, there are two people, identical except for their location and present thoughts. One is thinking, “Turns out I was fine,” and the other is thinking “Why didn’t I go anywhere?” Which is real? Or maybe it doesn’t make sense to ask a materialist which person is the “real” one, so let’s make it more personal. Suppose this happened to you; the “you” that clearly exists, the one which thinks thoughts and feels emotions, which is currently reading this. Where would you wind up? Either way, there’s a problem. If “you” stayed behind, that means “you” would have died had the machine been operational, and it was wrong to think “you” would have been preserved. But if you didn’t stay behind, who did? And why didn’t you?

Even if we are not purely physical beings (which, as a Christian, I strongly believe), it’s an interesting question. Maybe even moreso. After all, the argument can go both ways. If I am not solely physical, it stands to reason that a purely physical copy of me would not be enough — it wouldn’t contain the essence of “me”. But on the other hand, why would this current one contain that? Why am I, a spiritual being, intrinsically bound to the collection of particles which were destroyed at Point A, but not to the identical ones at Point B? How fragile am I, that swapping a few particles (in this case all of them) would destroy me? It’s an odd twist. If we are purely physical, what there “is” to us can be represented as data, which is an immaterial substance. If we are not physical, that is impossible: and since no one can explain why we are what we are, we’re physically “stuck.” And then the question becomes, what am I stuck to and why am I stuck to it? It’s commonly known that our cells are destroyed and regenerated: after a lifetime, you and I will be composed of entirely different atoms than we were when we started. So why are “we” still there?

A diagram of the twin paradox, by someone who is not me.

One amazing thing about the universe is its ability to keep these things hidden. Take special relativity. If I were in a spaceship traveling at a speed proportional to the speed of light, Einstein’s theory predicts some crazy effects. From your perspective I am travelling very quickly, and you would experience time normally while I, oddly enough, lived in slow motion. But from my perspective, the rocket ship is in place and you and the earth are moving quickly in the opposite direction: I will experience time normally, and you will be moving in slow motion. This seems to be a huge paradox. Both of us can ‘t be right. But when you work the math out, the results are astounding. Even though we are both experiencing time differently, we have no way of communicating with each other except via information, which travels at the speed of light. And, as it works out, in the exact time it takes me to contact you (or vice versa) the discrepancy will be perfectly resolved. We will never be confronted with a paradox.

Similarly, we suspect that faster-than-light travel would cause us to move backwards through time. Plenty of paradoxes have been conjured up: for instance, what if I went back in time and killed the creator of time machines? Or kept myself from ever being born? In Back to the Future you cutely become transparent and fade out of your family photos — but how on earth could it be resolved in real life? Fortunately, we don’t have to know. Physics says that as we approach the speed of light, we become more and more massive, thus requiring more and more force to speed us up. In order to reach it, we would require an infinite amount of force, and be infinitely massive. In other words, it is impossible.

Back to the teleportation problem: while Quantum Mechanics implies that two particles in the same state are indistinguishable, there is a similar caveat: the act of measuring a particle immediately affects which state it is in. Thanks to the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle. In other words, creating a perfect copy of something is impossible. The moment you’ve looked at it, you’ve altered it. With that in mind, you can’t possibly capture all that there is to know about something, can’t convert it to data, and certainly can’t recreate it. Once again, the universe hides its paradoxes from view.

As I study things like this, I can’t help but develop a spiritual take on it. Not on teleportation in particular — like most interesting philosophical questions, it has little real world application. But this recurring idea of paradoxes which arise from our current understanding of the universe, but come with features which safeguard us from ever needing to resolve them. Of a universe which insists on keeping its mystery. It’s like God saying, “Look at this. You’ll never exhaust it all, but by all means keep looking.” A sobering reminder that for all mankind has discovered, the mysteries only go deeper.

That doesn’t keep us from searching: new discoveries are constantly being made, and more often than not they improve the quality of life. I think learning more about the universe is a worthwhile venture. But if we try to turn science into a search for some ultimate truth, we’re destined to fail. Centuries ago we didn’t know why some objects bounced and others hit against an obstacle with a dull thud. We now know why they do that, but we also know some particles can, on occasion, tunnel through an obstacle altogether. We didn’t used to know that light was comprised of photons: now we know, but also know that these photons set a bizarre “speed limit” on the universe, at which point time and space break down. We didn’t used to know what materials our bodies were made of: now we know, but we are struck with the truth that the materials are simply not enough. We solve one mystery, only to discover a more bizarre one.

With that in mind, I don’t put a lot of importance on this sort of thought experiment. I’m certainly not troubled by  issues like the Mind/Body problem: the only people who are, I’d imagine, are those who think they can answer it with scientific rigor. I’ve happily succumbed to the fact that I will never know the answers in my lifetime, nor should I try to. But for what it’s worth, I would never teleport.

Love, Love, Love

The Sunset Tree, by The Mountain Goats

The Sunset Tree is an autobiographical album by The Mountain Goats, detailing singer/songwriter John Darnielle’s life with an abusive stepfather. The whole album carries with it  strange mixture of anger and fondness. In the midst of songs about personal tragedy and the growing love/hate relationship between John and his stepfather, is one which contains no narrative at all: the penultimate song, “Love, Love, Love.”

Play Audio

King Saul fell on his sword
When it all went wrong
And Joseph’s brother sold him down the river
For a song
And Sonny Liston rubbed some tiger balm in his glove
Some things you do for money
And some you do for love, love, love.

Raskolnikov felt sick
But he couldn’t say why
When he saw his face reflected
In his victim’s twinkling eye
Some things you do for money
And some you’ll do for fun
But the things you do for love
Are gonna come back to you one by one

Love, love is gonna lead you by the hand
Into a white and soundless place
Now we see things
As in a mirror dimly
Then we shall see each other
Face to face

And way out in Seattle
Young Kurt Cobain
Snuck out to the greenhouse
Put a bullet in his brain
Snakes in the grass beneath our feet
Rain in the clouds above
Some moments last forever
And some flare out with love, love, love

Beyond the somewhat clichéd reference to Kurt Cobain, the most unsettling thing about this song to me is also the most obvious: none of these things seem to be examples of love. Quite the opposite, actually. Saul fell on his sword out of cowardice, Joseph was sold into slavery out of jealousy, Sonny Liston cheated out of greed, Crime and Punishment‘s Raskolnikov feels sick out of guilt, and Kurt Cobain shot himself out of depression.

What he seems to be getting at is that all of these events can be seen as the actions of misused love. Including the one that goes unspoken — his stepfather’s continual cycle of abuse and remorse. It’s easy to hypothesize about some of them. Saul loved honor, Jacob’s sons loved their father’s attention, Sonny Liston loved power and fame, Raskolnikov loved what he perceived as a plan to better humanity, and Kurt Cobain loved his independence.  But what of his stepfather? It’s hard to say what is meant exactly, but I’m almost led to think John would say it was a genuine love for him. Some excess of emotion, perverted by passion, which inflicted more damage than good on its object. In his own words, “We talk about love as this benign, comfortable force: it is wild.”

I’m not sure I agree with that assessment, if it’s really what the song is getting at. It seems a little too pessimistic for my tastes. But regardless, the power of misplaced love is, to me, an interesting idea.

In Magnolia (a great film by P.T. Anderson), there is one line that has always stuck with me. It’s uttered by Donnie Smith; a gay, washed-up gameshow contestant, played by William H. Macy. He was just caught stealing from an ex-employer — trying to get enough money to pay for braces, which he is convinced he needs in order to attract the local bartender. After falling from a ladder and breaking all of his teeth, he laments to the police officer

“I know I did a stupid thing. So stupid! Getting braces. I thought… I thought he would love me. Getting… braces! And for what? For something I don’t even… I don’t know where to put things, you know? I really do have love to give! I just don’t know where to put it!”

As a reasonably straight man with reasonably straight teeth, I can’t say I relate to the character on many levels. But, as hokey as it may sound, there’s a part of me which understands his frustration.

People always ask me if I get lonely living away from home. I usually say “no”; because I don’t, at least in the traditional sense. Loneliness, as I see it, is a need for attention, or strong desire for company, or a craving to be loved. And I feel nothing of the sort. I’ve never enjoyed being in the limelight, value both the time to myself and the company I keep, and have no question that I am extremely loved. Affirmation is always nice, but I rarely need it. When I get off the phone with my mom, she doesn’t usually say “I love you, Stephen.” She says “Have a good night.” And that unspoken love is, to me, more than enough.

Some people need more than that, and for those who do, living 500 miles away from nearly all close friends would certainly be lonely. But I generally don’t feel that way. What I feel, instead, is much harder to define. A bizarre urge to give a dollar to a homeless man in exchange for a fist bump, or to listen to a longwinded story on the phone, or to say “I love you” to a friend who would, doubtlessly, find it odd out of the blue. I feel it when I walk home through the campus at night, and nothing is lit but a handful of scattered windows, 10 stories up. I fuel it with pictures from home, of events which may not have even included me. It manifests itself in hundreds of unsent text messages (most of which say little more than “How are you doing?”) and a flurry of pointless Facebook comments, and it’s absolutely not a lack of love. If anything it’s an awkward excess, with nowhere to put it.

Campus At Night

At home I am deeply bound to people. Often that is exhausting. People demand time, and particularly during this break, a lot of my time has been devoted to my relationships.  I grow accustomed to that. Every long conversation, or hour of sleep sacrificed to a movie or cup of coffee, eventually feels like time well spent. Leaving home, I go through a drastic change. 72 hours ago I was eating out for the third time on a full stomach with friends; tonight I’m eating my first meal of the day, three blocks from the lab in which I’ll likely stay till sunrise. And while I love my life and crave virtually nothing up here, there is an odd sense of misuse in all of this. It’s time apportioned almost solely for myself and my future. Busyness with little personal intent. Much is asked of me, but certainly not love.

I can’t quite verbalize it. It’s not a feeling of sadness– if I give off that impression, you dont know me well enough. It always takes a day or two to settle. But meanwhile I’m in a state of awkward transition, as a hectic new semester approaches and the past month flares out with love, love, love.

2009, A Summary

“Three hours ago, the clock struck midnight. The room erupted in cheers and confetti as we welcomed a New Year. As I sit here now, I reflect on what the year has taught me.”

That — or something equally flowery and stupid — is what I wanted to write last night, when I got home from a New Year’s Eve party. Everyone else would have driven home and passed out, but not me. I would be sitting in my room at 3 in the morning, gently wading in the pool of youth and memory, brooding over change and the passage of time. It’s the stuff of self-absorbed blogging legend!

Instead I stumbled home, spent fifteen minutes throwing up the pound of fudge and chicken wings I inhaled at the party, and went to bed.

Now it’s the much less significant Post-New-Year’s-Eve Eve, disillusionment is in the air, and mediocrity holds sway! Still, I feel like a little reflection is in order. After all, it was an eventful year, and there’s definitely value to looking back. So I’ll try to probe my memory beyond that regrettable fourth plate of chicken wings, and give this “taking stock of the year” thing a shot. Rather than trying to list everything that has happened, I’m going to try to pinpoint a few events which may have been significant: some mark new beginnings for me, some are representative of a broader change in lifestyle, and some were just cool, isolated events. I’ll try and make it roughly chronological.

January 8-10: The Well Winter Retreat

If you had told me on January 7th that this would be a significant experience for me, I would have laughed at you. I had been to the college group at my church (The Well) a handful of times to please a friend, and really didn’t care for it. As reluctant as I may be to admit it, I didn’t just feel a little out of place: I felt embarrassed to be there. Worship songs felt corny, sermons felt contrived, others praying out loud made me painfully awkward, and the differences between myself and every other student seemed irreconcilable. And things would certainly stay that way. While I professed Christianity on an intellectual level, any outward manifestation of it, and any community built on it, felt like a joke to me. It was a crutch for people who didn’t want to face the real world, and it was completely beneath me. Looking back, I realize I wasn’t being “intellectually honest” or “real”; I was being an arrogant douche. I’m embarrassed of the way I scathingly labelled others while keeping up the pretense of friendliness, and regret the way I talked about people — many of whom I am now friends with. I’m very sorry for that, whoever it might concern.

Back to the story: my friend (Steven) convinced me to go on the retreat, but I was less than enthusiastic. I would be spending a three-day weekend in Big Bear with a bunch of strangers. Not to say I didn’t know anyone: I grew up at the church, and was at least acquainted with a few people. But they didn’t know me; they vaguely knew who I had been in high school. Even if I put on a friendly smile, I felt no connection with them. Which is possibly even worse than not knowing someone at all.

I took the early bus up on Friday, but opted out of snowboarding. Instead, I followed Steven and a group of people to IHOP. Then walked around the town of Big Bear. Then went back to the cabins and played a few rounds of Catchphrase. Then joined a group of 10 or 20 people playing Mafia. Before I knew it, I was learning names and joining in random conversations. Not only was I not clinging to my closer friends: I was practically avoiding them, so caught up in meeting new people and having a genuinely good time. I couldn’t explain it, but there was just a sort of rightness to it. Analyze however you want: call it the innate desire to be a “part of something”, or the refreshing feeling of being around new people, or a pathetic need for social acceptance. All I know is whatever it was, I craved it badly. By the end of the weekend, I knew nearly everyone by name.

You know the rest. I made at least 20 new Facebook friends (score!), left for Berkeley days later, and spent an embarrassing time online that semester just hoping I wouldn’t be forgotten. When I came back, people genuinely seemed to remember me, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good. From there, it’s history. I now am an active part of The Well, and consider many of the members close friends. Whether or not you understand/share my enthusiasm, there’s no denying this has made a huge impact in how I spend my time. I realize that those of you who are not a part of the church group were caught off guard by this. Devoting time to one group of people means taking time away from another, and I completely understand if that is frustrating. All I can say is I am very happy with all of the new friendships I’ve made, and really hope I haven’t left anyone behind in the process.

March: Started Running

Spurred by the belief that I had heart problems (see below), I decided to take up running — three mornings a week, 2.5 miles a run. At first I was pathetically slow, and needed to take a break every couple blocks. As I persisted, I started being able to make the run without stopping, usually in about 15 minutes. When I came home for the summer and found that running in Escondido just wasn’t as fun, I jumped at the chance to start playing soccer with friends from the college group. I’ve never been a particularly athletic person, and have spent a heroic part of my life sitting down, eating junk food, and staring at a computer screen. I still do those things very often, but more and more, I’m finding that getting out and exercising feels great.

May 22: Diagnosed With a Panic Disorder

Whether you realize it or not, this was huge for me. I’ve talked about it far too many times, so I’ll be brief. Spring semester was full of very weird things; one minute I’d feel like I couldn’t breathe, the next I’d feel like I was having a stroke, and the next a heart attack. Weird, personal, and almost impossible to describe unless you’ve suffered from panic attacks yourself. You know that feeling you get when you fall down in a dream, and wake up with a sensation that can only be described as “falling down without moving”? It’s that sort of experience. Physically unnoticeable, but inwardly jolting. Nothing real is going on — just like you’re not really falling — but the sense of dread, or of the world spiraling out of control, is very real. That would happen off and on and it felt scary and debilitating. After the diagnosis, it more or less vanished. Not literally; I take a very mild SSRI daily, and still get mild panic attacks sometimes. But the mystery is gone, which makes the very occasional symptom (racing heartbeat, vague discomfort) completely manageable. A little annoying, but nothing more. Considering by May I assumed I would fail my classes and either die of a heart attack or become a hermit, that is a very important change. I got a 4.0, my heart is still beating, and am less hermitian than ever — though I still enjoy moments of self-reflection, complex though it may be. (There were about 3 really bad Math jokes hidden in that. Let’s see if you can find them.)

May 22: Started this Blog

You may think the above “new lease on life” event might have had something to do with this, but you’d be wrong. The true catalyst was much less exciting. After an evening of Facebook stalking, I found that two friends (Miles and Paige) had blogs. I recalled that I had been meaning to start one for a while, figured I’d give it a shot, and wrote this.

Overall, I’m pretty happy with the result. Reading through my first post, it feels like I’ve stayed more or less true to my initial goal, and I’m glad to know that at least a few “you”s chose to read after all. I’ve posted a slightly neurotic 54 times, and doubt I’ll be stopping any time soon. But even if I were to stop now, it really wouldn’t matter. Writing out my thoughts has been a good way to organize them, and overall I feel like a much more focused and consistent person than I was a year ago. Even if no one read it but me, it would have been worthwhile.

May 23: Turned 20

I like being 20 much better than 19. It has a much more mature ring to it. I think I also played softball that day.

June 11-14: Went to New Jersey

In 2009 my grandparents celebrated their 50th anniversary. We flew to New Jersey to surprise them; yet another example of a weekend-long trip which ended up being very nice, despite my expectations. I got to spend some quality time with cousins — people I don’t get to see often, since they live on the wrong side of the country. More importantly, though, I got to fulfill my Food Network-inspired dream of eating cheesesteaks at both Pat’s and Gino’s. Within 20 minutes of each other, no less. You just can’t put a price on that.

July 2: Accepted to the Honors Program at Berkeley

That was a shocker — the first in a steady stream of undeserved opportunities the year brought my way. In the middle of finals week, I got an e-mail inviting all eligible students to apply for the “highly esteemed” EECS (Electrical Engineering and Computer Science, my major) Honors Program. It stressed that students who were accepted must have shown a high level of interest, both curricular and extracurricular, in the field. Involvement in student groups, enrollment in honors-level courses, and research opportunities would all be taken into consideration. I had done…none of that. Still, I figured I’d apply; so, on the eve of my last final, I threw together an “academic plan”, an essay explaining how I had proven myself, and another telling how my honors area of interest (Quantum Mechanics) was relevant to my major. The academic plan was a poor sketch at best, the gist of the first essay was “I haven’t proven myself yet, but I’d like to”, and my reasoning for choosing QM was about as vague as my blog introduction.

But somehow I got in. What it means for me: heavier course load, minimum GPA of 3.7, and a slightly cooler degree. And, of course, the requirement that I do undergraduate research. Which leads me to…

July 17: Got Invited to do Robotics Research

I still remember how shocked I was when I got that e-mail. It was about 11:00 on a Thursday evening, and I had just gotten back from the beach (exactly the same way I found the honors acceptance letter). I knew I needed to find a professor to do research under to fulfill the honors requirement, and wasn’t sure how I would make that happen. Turns out I didn’t do anything: the professor saw that I had done well in my AI class, and decided to invite me to join his research group. I was thrilled: he had presented his work with automated machine learning in one of my classes before, and I was blown away. Throw in the convenient fact that one of my better friends in Berkeley also turned out to be doing work for him, and I was thrilled. He asked if I’d like to be on his surgical robotics team, and knowing that was the team my friend was working in, I gladly accepted.

Since I came on board I’ve worked insane hours, spent countless nights in the lab rerunning experiments and debugging terrible code, and put a good deal of my own ideas into practice. My schedule revolved around research, and schoolwork took a firm backseat. It felt reckless to detract so much time from my studies, and I really wondered if I could handle it all.

Yesterday, I found out our research paper was accepted to ICRA — our professor’s top choice of venues. This means one of us (my stage fright is begging that it’s not me) will be presenting our work at the conference in Anchorage in May, and our paper will be published and distributed there. Then I checked my grades, and found that rather than getting the C I expected, I somehow got an A in Quantum Mechanics, and a 4.0 for the semester. While my luck will run out eventually, for now it looks like reckless is working just fine.

August 2 – Rapped at Taco Bell

Not even remotely significant. But boy, without that second “p”, wouldn’t that be a story to tell? Here’s the video.

August 22: Spent My First Night Alone in My Apartment

From birth through senior year of high school, I’ve shared a room with my twin brother. Freshman year of college, I shared a room with one guy, in a suite with two more. First semester of Sophomore year, I roomed with friend-since-kindergarten Dylan. Second semester, friend-since-3rd-grade Matt moved up with us. Junior year, I’m living alone.

I was upset to learn that I would be alone, and to some extent, I’d still love to have a roommate. But I’ve also learned to enjoy having my own place, and the freedom which comes with it. It’s peaceful, and lends itself well to my current, busy schedule. As a kid I had a distinct fear of ever living alone (a distant cousin of my fear of the dark). Now, I can easily see myself living the bachelor life for quite some time. I can cook, do the dishes, do the laundry. Even clean! In theory, anyway.

August 27: Decided to Stop Drinking

This decision in particular wasn’t too important. While I had the occasional drink, it wasn’t very common — deciding to wait till I was 21 was all but drastic.

What is important to me, and the reason I include this on the list, is that it was one of the first times in quite a while that I was convicted to stop something. In the past 5 or 6 years, I had changed quite a bit; but almost always, the change meant abandoning or at least rethinking a long-held conviction. As a Junior Higher I wanted to date without kissing — by the time I was in college, as long as I wasn’t having sex I felt like a saint. As a Junior Higher, the idea of my parents drinking a beer was horrifying — in college, there was a beer bong in my roommate’s closet. As a Junior Higher, I probably would have stopped being your friend if I knew you smoked cigarettes — in High School, I felt pretty hip sneaking the occasional cigar. As a Junior Higher, I would watch a movie if it was PG-13 and had no sexual content. The night before I left for my first year at Berkeley, I was at the midnight premier of Superbad.

Not all of those convictions were necessary, and losing them wasn’t always wrong; but there was a clear trend. Every decision meant abandoning some previous standard, attributing it to “growing up”. This time, I was avoiding something readily available, which no one was criticizing me for, solely because it didn’t feel right. The bottle of Stone IPA is still in my fridge from August 27, 2009, and I plan on opening it on May 23, 2010.

November 25: Got Ten Grand

Continuing the trend of “great, undeserved things happening to Stephen”, I was awarded a grant for $10,000 for “Excellence in Computer Science”, funded by a private donor. Never applied, no idea who nominated me, not asking questions. I’ll just take the year of tuition and run! But like a lot of surprises this year, I can’t help but see it as a sign that my life is headed in the right direction.

—–

So yeah. Bye, 2009. Hello, 2010.