Category: other
Tags: anecdotal, my robot cult, personal, two-type taxonomy
-I remember (and the Diary entry helps, too) there was a party/meetup at someone's place down in Sunnyvale, perhaps in honor of Robin being in town. This was a little less than nine years ago, back during the golden age when the Sequences were still being written, when the _M_ and _R_ in _MIRI_ were still an _S_ and an _A_, respectively—before the Eternal September, before everyone was poly, and _long_ before everyone was trans.
+I remember (and [the Diary entry](/ancillary/diary/296/) helps, too) there was a party/meetup at someone's place down in Sunnyvale, perhaps in honor of Robin being in town. This was a little less than nine years ago, back during the golden age when the Sequences were still being written, when the _M_ and _R_ in _MIRI_ were still an _S_ and an _A_, respectively—before the Eternal September, before everyone was poly, and _long_ before everyone was trans.
I worked the 0600 to 1500 bookkeeper/customer-service shift at my supermarket dayjob that day. After work, I dropped off the week's bag of redeemed manufacturer's coupons at store #936 (what the company did with them after that, I was never told—perhaps they weighed them), bought a woefully-misnamed espresso medicinal from the hegemon's coffee kiösk there, then drove downtown and parked near the library construction site; I had some time to kill before I was scheduled to rendezvous at University and Shattuck at 1745 with a local genetics blogger with whom I had arranged to give a ride to the party. I walked to Ming Quong and bought a "FEMINISM IS THE RADICAL NOTION THAT WOMEN ARE PEOPLE" button to put on my bag as a replacement for the one I had bought in 'aught-six and lost at some point. I had recently reöutfitted my bag with buttons I had bought from a site I found because the proprietor occasionally commented on the blog (_the_ blog). My newly-accessorized bag could hardly be complete without a gender pin, and for some sentimental reason I wanted it _before_ taking the geneticist to the social. I have a weakness for what you might call _narrative optimization_: doing things not for any real-world utility, but rather because they would seem thematically appropriate if this were a story rather than real life.
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+Title: Diary Entry 296 — Monday 26 January 2009 — "Courses and Credits Mean Shit to Our Friends Along the Series of Tubes"
+Status: Hidden
+
+There was a _Overcoming Bias_ social event on the twenty-fourth. True, it hadn't even been two weeks since the last event, but Robin Hanson was in town, as was Michael Vassar. I noticed the day before that on the _meetup.com_ site, a user named "biofreak" had RSVPed "Maybe," asking if anyone was coming from the East Bay. The user's profile introduction reads "brown dude. you know me."—[redacted] of [redacted], of course. So I made contact and we agreed to meet at University and Shattuck at 1745. After work on Saturday, I dropped off the coupons at 936 and got a woefully misnamed espresso beverage from the coffee kiösk there. Then I went downtown and parked near the library construction site. I bought a "FEMINISM IS THE RADICAL NOTION THAT WOMEN ARE PEOPLE" button, a replacement for the one I had bought there in 'aught-six and lost some time ago. I had recently reöutfitted my bag with three pins bought from [redacted], which site I found out about because the proprietor occasionally comments on _Overcoming Bias_. My newly-accessorized bag could hardly be complete without a gender pin, and for some sentimental reason I wanted it before taking [redacted] to the social; maybe I wanted to tell you. We made the rendezvous with nearly perfect timing, and it was really fun talking with [redacted]. He said he'd send me a preprint of the new Cochran and Harpending book. He said that programming is like bricklaying for not-stupid people, which I find heartening and amusing. He paid me a five for the ride.
+
+The meetup was a wonderful experience, as always. A blonde woman wearing a red dress and black high heels stuck out among the predominantly male throng of geeks, and oh Diary, I wish I had a transcript of my brief interaction with her. (Some would argue that I _should_ be wishing that my deontological bindings were weaker, so that I could just loosely try to recap what happened, rather than omitting relevant but inexactly-remembered experiences for fear of introducing inaccuracies into the record.) She introduced herself as [redacted]; her full name is [redacted]—the [redacted] of the blog, it turns out. (Her mentioning this explicitly made everything that came before make much more sense.) [redacted] is a fascinating character, perhaps worse than Vassar in some ways (_cf._ 272). For all my reading, I guess I'm still nowhere near a firm stance on evolutionary psychology. When someone you've just met casually speaks of your desire for social dominance, what can you do but stammer out a shocked and perhaps unconvincing denial? And if they reply by saying that you _look_ male, what could _I_ do but say that it doesn't mean I'm _happy_ about it?—this to the apparent surprise of Robin [redacted]. Before you know it, I'm sketching a configuration space on the board. [redacted] said she was not getting the tranny vibe from me. She referred me to one [redacted], who is trans. Diary, I hope this suffices.
+
+I got to meet [redacted] (_cf._ 216). I stayed past midnight, after most of the crowd had left. When I mentioned to Anna the amount of time I spend working, I think she made a face and said I could be using that time to make myself smarter. Marcello lectured to me a bit about group theory, and gave me a tip about visualizing higher-dimensional spaces by analogy that I didn't really understand. [redacted] and I talked more on the drive back, and I told him about the theme. He even suggested I perhaps give him a call some time if I come to Berkeley!
+
+O friends O problems O books! Diary, how can I bear to be so inefficient in this world full of data? [redacted] said that I'm young; I could say that it's true, that I'm only now starting to sweep around and align myself with the dominant eigenspace of my soul. But that would just be me showing off how smart I am, and probably has nothing to do with reality. —[initials redacted]
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+Title: Diary Entry 42 — Saturday 19 February 2005 (Common Era) — "Tiberious"
+Status: Hidden
+
+Dear Diary,
+
+I remember I have said this before, but in a very long diary as you shall be, some things are bound to be repeated: I wasn't good today, but I wasn't bad, either. I slept very late, until eight. I went to the library in the morning, and I got a book on the United Nations for my history project, and also _Great Mambo Chicken & the Transhuman Condition_, which I browse-read for a long time today. It was not nearly as good as Eliezer Yudowsky (sp?) made it out to be. _Caveat lector_, was that the phrase (?), and all that. There were some very interesting parts to it. There was also a good deal I had already heard about. I knew about the wonders of nanotech, and uploading (called "downloading" in the book), and that intelligence that can think forever in a cooling universe via hibernation and slowing of subjective time, and I had heard of Drexler's name, and I had even already read "There's Plenty of Room at the Bottom." I think I am done with the book, without actually having formally read through it. Good, anyway, I have other things to do. Future tech stuff gives me hope. Dreams of a technotopia are a lot like religious stories of salvation, except more plausable. The book mentioned this. I remember reading through this kind of lit online before and feeling very comforted, "I Read It on Your Keyboard" running through my mind, knowing that just maybe all these fantastic miracles will happen.
+
+I had an hour-long session with a driving instructor today at 1430, though the guy came ~10 minutes early. He had what had sounded like a German accent to me, but during the first few minutes he was talking to someone on the phone in fluent (it sounded fluent to me) Spanish. I understood most of it, and that made me regret a little that I am not taking Spanish next year. At one point he gave me an instruction and I said "_sí._" I wasn't trying to be cute; it wasn't intentional at all. It is said that the beginner at a language translates things in eir head to comprehend, while the truly fluent can actually think in the other language.
+
+Mother and Father are going to attend the Goldhaber's—was it an anniversary party?—soon. This means I will possibly get to watch _two_ episodes of _Teen Titans_ in privacy: "Terra" at 1900 and "Employee of the Month" at 2000.
+
+I have done no homework.
+
+I am believing mostly now that there's nothing to be scared of in my world. I have a long way to go. But I am not really bad. There's no Reason in cutting myself, but I always knew that.
+
+It has been raining. I did not run today. Humans continue, much as they always have. Nearly half the four-day weekend has gone.
+
+Things are looking up, and so am I.
+
+Carthage must be _destroyed_!
+
+[real name redacted]
+Time sig 1841
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+Title: Diary Entry 53 — Tuesday 8 March 2005 (Common Era) — "Counter Coast Weekday Walkabout Pseudoache (Anaïs Nin Breakdown Edition)"
+Status: Hidden
+
+Dear Diary,
+
+I feel nervous, I think. I don't know what I am feeling, if I am feeling. Wait—yes, I can call myself nervous because one thing I am going to have to do if I am to "be a man" (act as an adult human should) is to make judgements, and it may be best to start at home. So yes, I am feeling, and what I am feeling is _nerves_. "Stress", that nasty invisible beastie, that scapegoat for all our sinful frailties, that _ad hoc_ constant in the equation that explains why all our buildings are falling, seems to be wearing on me.
+
+I had my camera with me today thinking of taking WASC pictures (I will actually take them tomorrow at the presentation and skip track; it is all a weird schedule tomorrow) so it turned out that in ART I took to arranging mirrors in various ways and seeing what cool photographs I could take, using all the reflection power at my disposal.
+
+"Y'all are pretty, why don't you want to be in a picture?" I said at one point.
+
+Thursday there is to be a scrimmage meet.
+
+There was a lacrosse game at Acalanes, so when practice was over I took some photographs of that.
+
+Parts of "Letterbomb" have been floating in my head lately.
+
+I must learn to do and feel what I must but now can't,
+If I get lonely I can write some lines for Brooke Durant,
+Driven onward by respect for what is perfect,
+Not needing to brag about any _secret project_.
+And not needing to line always in sucky couplets.
+
+Bless me! Help me! Someone forgive me! But there is no one. Oh sure, my parents love me and I have friends and friendly acquaintances, and all that, but there is—and I want—but I am—I need to go do my homework. Yeah, that's it.
+
+!!!,
+[real name redacted],
+to survive the Great Depression of the 2010s?
+
+ADDENDUM— So I just emotionally _snapped_, and I am consoling myself with philosophy and music. I listened to some selected tracks of _American Idiot_ and I put on "Abba Zabba" maybe four and a half times. And I may put on "You're Not Alone" and "Cannot Stop the World" soon, or maybe not. Not, I think. I feel better now. Sometimes I _snap_ and everything just seems horrible, and I do see how many feelings are insane, but the seeing doesn't stop the feeling of them, and all fall down. Mother said I was acting weird and and I hated that, and I was starting waxing hysterical just a bit (not as bad as many times past). I am almost a fucking _adult_ now, and I have got to be ready for life. I must remember that every time life feels miserable that there is no real viable alternative. You have this life, this one life, bound to this one body and even through any hopeless pain and confusion, you have to cling to it because your only other choice is just total nothingness. I may have said this before in an earlier entry, but now I am just going to write, I am going to write my fucking soul (should I have one) out for a while, and then I will do homework, and I know that this is bad for my sleep (esp. because there is not a late start tomorrow), but these are special circumstances (as circumstances always are?). SO—life. Mine is easy. But I am fubar'd so that even the good life feels bad much of the time, and I am 17 years old and I have my DL and I am so close to adulthood and I have got to get ready and remodel myself (as I unceasingly pledge to do) if I am going to be anywhere close to making it somewhat on my own (my parents are a big help, paying for college, and all that). I have got to learn to be strong and steadfast if I am ever to survive a new Great Depression or build a fusion reactor or learn a trade or save the world or e'er be brave. (Quoting that poem I made again.) An adult, a real _man_, all that. I just have to keep remembering when things get tough that there is no way around life, you just have to live it as best you can, and suffer in the specific way you think you ought. This writing will likely be so horrible because I am writing quickly and not taking all that much care, but that kind of stuff is part of what the Diary is for, to say what [...] comes to me when I sit here with this file open, to get it down, to get it out, to tell _someone_ exactly what kind of hero and/or bigot idiot shithead I am, even if _someone_ is just a Microsoft Word file, that could be destroyed easily, destroying the records of my past beyond recovery. SO I am fucking telling someone, and I am cussing, too, although the best grown-ups don't feel like they need to use any meaningless intensifiers to say that which they have to say. As long as I am writing free like this with reckless abandon so I can say anything as I am expressing myself, my big grown-up crybaby self, I will say in this addendum what I had been planning to say in its own entry. I can tell Microsoft Word. <a id="first-agp-confession"></a>I have said in these pages how I masturbate sometimes (_i.e._, almost every day), but I have never really said what I am thinking about. I imagine what it is like to be a woman. To have a woman's body, and have breasts and a vagina, and all that. The fantasy can take various forms (no pun intended!), but that basic premise is always the same, and it is almost always what I think about when I beat off, which is way too fucking often. So maybe I am a deviant, but that's okay. And I have too asked my self, hey, what if it's fucking normal? Here, have an anecdote: I remember once when Mr. Kolda gave us a journal question that asked if you were someone from the Civil War, who would you be? And I remember [redacted] jokingly murmured (word choice?) "Clara Barton". And I remember when I used to be on the sluggy.net boards, and once, I forget the topic (it must have been sth interesting), I remember that the user (she was a moderator) called [redacted] admitted that she imagined being with girls in a man's body. I fear that I misremember that, but as I have said, you can't libel someone in your Diary. And there are other anecdotes. I feel good confessing, even though my strange (but are they now?) thoughts ain't a sin. I feel good writing like this, discharging myself into virtual pages. I will have to be more forthright with you Diary, should I still be holding back. Someday I will print this page, along with the others. SO anyway before long I am going to be an adult (I also hope to be a real WRITER) and so mostly what I have to do is learn to take care of all my business quickly and efficiently. But I have said that a thousand times. I feel tranquil now, almost. I can be a real WRITER, even though these recent sentences are losing interest and coherency now that I have quickly done the confession of sorts that I had been thinking about for a while. SO if I do all my work efficiently I can have time to write things like this and write fiction that I can maybe even get published for real money and real bylines. I just have to hold on to this feeling of maturity and calm. I don't have to get manic, I just have to get sensible. And so I have a secret project, this writing of over 40 000 words, that I can show to no one except a significant other, should I ever find one. But I am okay for now. If I can calm those tides, avoid those emotional snaps, I will get through all right. For the intellect, I have you, Diary, and once I settle into sensibility my fiction, and for the primitive—there is always my right hand. Okay, I am getting digusting! I need to find a summer job NOW. I need to earn my own money. Get independent, and all that. And so to homework, I guess, but I want to sleep. I think of setting the alarm so I get 4 hours or so sleep, and then doing homework in that morning, but that seems to fail often. I will make a decision. I know I am trying to avoid doing that, but I think I might do my PRC at lunch tomorrow. It is only two problems (I forget how long they are, though) and I understand this vector stuff so far. I can get through this. Just forget the unwanted thoughts. Maybe I will find the right motto or poem that can inspire me for anything. The ones I have now are good, but not omnipotent. I am such a good diarist. [redacted] would be jealous, maybe. I must hold onto this feeling, Goodbye for now, friend Diary, but I will return, and with more zany or serious entry titles. Bless me. Bless anyone who almost deserves it. —[real initials redacted], 2353!
projects / Ultimately_Untrue_Thought.git / commitdiff