Supposing Truth is a Woman - What Then?

On this Sunday morning - day of posting, I had nothing to say - (a rare occurrence for me, it is more the case that no one else can get me to shut up) and so I started to flip through my school notebooks where I occasionally write down random stuff I think of and I found the following response to Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil.

First Nietzsche: 
"Supposing truth is a woman- what then? Are there not grounds for the suspicion that all philosophers, insofar as they were dogmatists, have been very inexpert about women? that the gruesome seriousness, the clumsy obtrusiveness with which they have usually approached truth so far have been awkward and very improper methods for wining a woman's heart? What is certain that is that she has not allowed herself to be won- and today every kind of dogmatism is left standing dispirited and discouraged." - (From the preface to Beyond Good and Evil)

I wrote a response to this quote in some sort of strange faux gangster lingo:

"Supposin' truth is a woman- what den?"

If truth is a homegirl - all you philosophers be trippin' cause you ain't eva talked to a woman. All sittin around talkin' about being itself. No woman eva going ta talk to ya neither cause you ain't got no jobs. 

Ya cant get a woman sittin around in the agora talking about beauty itself- ya gotta make some sacrifices ta get a beauty in the particular.

I give it to ya straight - women like shiny rocks, but they like sittin' at starbucks tellin' you all their problems even betta.

That homie Socrates, he ain't gonna get the truth no how cause he straight up ignoring his wife. 

But then again she has a cuss ugly name - Xanthippe!? What kinda name is dat?

Anways, if truth is a woman you betta believe that she gonna side wid yo wife every single time. 

Every single time. 

Dey gon make you get rid of the Xbox.

Dey gonna turn yo man-cave into a room for the baby that is pillow-mint yella. 

Deys also goin ta paint one wall of your living room "magic palace purple". And yo are gonna take kids ta Disneyland on yo birthday.

If truth is a woman philosophers best start buying shares in chocolate like ya would buy shares in Microsoft if ya could go back in times, cause ya gonna need a boatload a that stuff."

Oh the stuff that one finds in their school notebooks!

I had always intended to write a post about Nietzsche because his writing is fascinating. I found this task a little daunting because nothing I write could be more entertaining than just quoting Nietzsche himself, (especially his aphorisms) so I never got around to it.
But the other day I was reminded how much fun Nietzsche was when my friend read some aphorisms to us at breakfast before we went to work.
How could one not start their day with some sexism for good times?
Like this one: "Women are considered deep- why? Because one can never discover any bottom to them. Women are not even shallow."
I find this hilarious. My sense of humor might be weird.

It is funny to me that I like Nietzsche so much because he would hate me.
He is all about effeminate, vapid, beautiful women.

Nietzsche: Supposing truth were a woman....she would be nothing like you.

Me: Shut-up.

I feel like there should be a radio talk show called:
 "Bright and Early with Nietzsche" 
Listeners, welcome to Bright and Early with Nietzsche. Today's Aphorisims are:
Aphorism 141, "The abdomen is the reason why man does not easily take himself for a god." and Aphorism 175, "In the end one loves one's desire and not what is desired." 
"And now we are going to take some callers that have just realized they are in fact, horrible people. Stay tuned for Mark who believes Aphorism 141 is talking about beer bellies and Jim,- who says Nietzsche's 175th  Aphorism just showed him that he actually just liked chasing his wife, and he doesn't really like her that much. Ouch! Jim is headed for some trouble!
 Remember to tune in to Nietzsche...so that you can go to work feeling like you have made a horrifying self-discovery.

Playplaces- A flashback to my childhood.

         The multicolored tubular monstrosities called "play places" found at  Chuck E Cheese, McDonald's and Kids Space were the light of my eyes and the love of my life during elementary school. I lived for those flamboyant labyrinths. They were the apple (or um macaroni and cheese) of my eye. I recall the glory of the color tinged light and the slight feeling of claustrophobia that you got when you were in them- along with a the constantly grimy feeling of those things.

         I remember what it was like to drive by one as a kid- my face was pulled flat against the minivan window pane by gravity of the play place. It freaking called to me, and glowed, and the hallelujah chorus played.  Play places were the holy grail of childhood- I would have gone on a pilgrimage to get to one, and would have fought a crusade to own one.
I would have traded my little brother to go to one. ( I would also have traded my little brother for a piece of bubblicious bubble gum, that stuff was awesome...so that might not be saying much. Love ya bro.)

Various observations about play places:
1. It is Lord of the Flies up there man. At 8 or 9 feet in the air - in small plastic tubes that adults do not fit into very well Children reign supreme. (Which is another way of saying that primitive law rules. The first and only command of which is this: "If they look like they could beat the crap out of you, then you have to get out of the way.")
Inevitably this situation would occur: The Plastic Tunnel Face-Off

The weak scoot backwards, the strong crawl forwards.
Or you can look each other in the eyes for an awkward second and then pass each other by crawling on the sides- this is the recourse of pacifists.
My little sister sister would go into one of these things and come out with ten best friends. I would go into one of these things and come out saying "Veni, Vidi, Vici. This is my kingdom."

2. It looks like a Hamster Cage, for children. This is also part of my childhood memories of these things- I was constantly plagued by the question "what is around the corner?" It could be anything. It could be a freaking hamster.

And here we have an Alice in Wonderland sort of issue: Is this hamster big? Or did that kid shrink? I have no idea.

Revisiting these experiences, my adult self has a couple of questions:
1. Does someone clean them ever?
2. Do the smallest employees have to crawl through and clean them out?
3. Wouldn't the unwashed french-fry hands of a billion elated children make the play-places ceaselessly gross? I can picture some little kid sneezing, looking down at the snot cover plastic floor and then crawling merrily on its way.
4. How many teenage McDonald's employees have made out in there?
5. What if a person found out that they were conceived after hours in a McDonald's play place? Maybe this is the well kept back story for Ronald McDonald.

This calls for a temporary digression into the origins of Ronald McDonald:
"One night Betty Ann McDonald (she had gotten a job in her father's fast food restaurant chain but was suited more to burger flipping than management) and a young country teen, Zeek, were left to close up the restaurant. Teenage passions ran high-and a red haired fast food mascot was conceived in that very plastic tube structure. McDonald's was a part of his life from his first instant- and Ronald McDonald lived on to represent the McDonald's franchise for as long as his arteries held up."

6. Do you regret that last question? You should probably feel ashamed of yourself.
Yes. However, I am not ashamed enough to remove it from this post.

Blip- Chocolate

Sometimes you don't want two pieces of chocolate.
Sometimes you want two and a half pieces of chocolate.
But you can't break one piece in half.
So you say to yourself, "I will just eat half of it and then put the other half... somewhere."
And then you say, "that somewhere is in my mouth."
And all of a sudden you have eaten a 1 pound bar of chocolate from Trader Joe's.

Introducing:

 

Because sometimes I want to share tiny things like recent experiences with chocolate with the internet. They are not full blown Sunday posts, they are instants, blips of me. Teaspoons of absurdity. 

Yeah this is what twitter is for but sometimes all that text doesn't fit into a tweet. Be quiet technologically savvy hooligans.

The Corn Dog Principle

Welcome to "life the way I see it" by Seize the Absurd.
Today it is my pleasure to introduce:

The principle is this:

Everybody likes stuff which is crap. They are totally aware that it is crap- but they like it anyway. I feel this way about Corn dogs, and I decided that the term "Corn dog" could be easily applied to things which I feel slightly guilty about liking.
For example:
 Sometimes huge buff dudes like to order sweet girly drinks at the bar and absolutely hate whiskey.
Sometimes one knows all the words to various Ke$ha and Katy Perry songs, though they are educated individuals (ahem this one has nothing to do with me I swear).

Life is like a bunch of Corn dogs, they are crap but I ate five anyway.

Here is how to properly utilize this principle to your advantage:

For example: 

"I like twilight... Corn dog principle"
" I like the Faerie Queene...Corn dog princple."
"I like Northanger Abbey ...Corn dog principle"

What are your Corn dogs?
I have no idea why that sounds wrong but it does, and I like that it does. I am leaving it there.

Goodbye is a stupid word.

Everyone bear with me and my emotional moments. Take a second for me and remember what it was like to leave college. Or if you hated college then remember when you had to leave someone you loved. Or if you have never loved someone, then go chop onions until you cry you cussing robot... because I am a little jealous of you right now.

After receiving a diploma in a hazy dream state filled with strange hats and academic garb, I was congratulated by a host of faces. To all of the faces I said  "Thank you" rapid fire.
"Thank you." I said.
"Thank you."
"Yes. Thank you. Nice to see you. Thank you."
"Yes. I am wearing basketball shorts. You could see them when I went to receive my diploma? Oh well I guess they can't expel me now."

But the next day I had some serious reasons to believe that I shouldn't have been congratulated at all, and in fact I felt slightly betrayed by all those who congratulated me. Maybe they should have offered condolences instead. It dawned on me that I was saying goodbye to a bunch of people that I loved.
If I could go back in time to my own graduation and talk to myself our conversation would go like this:

Liz present: "condolences, I am very sorry for your loss."
Liz past: "what the? I think this tassel was in my ear. Did you say loss?"
Liz present: "Yes. Loss. You are about to realize that you are going to have to leave a bunch of people that you love. You will never live with them, you will never spend your entire life with them in the same way again. You are about to melt into a sniveling ball of weepy snot."
Liz past: "What?!"
Liz present: "Prepare to feel like a Mexican birthday party without a bouncy castle."
"Like a Jedi without a light saber."
 "Or Harry Potter without a scar."
"You do not have a job. You are in debt and your dreams of a successful career in comedy writing are not super likely to come true."
Liz past: "Well that was, um, realistic."

Anyway this feeling of loss resulted in the following cartoons in which my multiple personalities attempt to deal with our emotional turmoil.

I think that I just gave myself a hug via cartoon. I am a loser.

And it struck me as I was balling my eyes out about leaving these people - that goodbye is a stupid word. Because parting from people that you love is is not good at all. 

A goodbye seems like an oxymoron or a rare a mythical beast. Or possibly something that is only true when you hate the person leaving.

So yeah.

Farewell, class of 2013. 

Here have some never agains:

Never again will we ponder over dinner the very speculative question, "Is this pork or chicken?" Or more generically, "Is this food at all?" and the ever popular, "Are these vegetables green because they are dyed with food coloring?"

Never again will we suffer from dinner being "pork cutlets".

Never again will we pre-game a seminar.

Never again will we frantically try to learn the general ideas behind a semester of details in one night before a final.

Never again will we drink in a dirt patch...probably. 

Never again will we demonstrate a proposition.

PS Don't worry I will soon quit writing posts about graduation. I swear. No really I promise- don't leave. (she says with more than a tinge of desperation)

I graduated and I am lazy.

Well yesterday I graduated college, so today I am too lazy to write a real post.
I hope you will forgive me.
I will make a quaint statement about academic robes.

People in academic regalia look absurd. Masters or phd holders look even more ridiculous.
 I believe that this is the secret principal:
 The higher the education you get, the more ridiculous stuff they stick on you.
Just in case you were tempted to forget that you are an idiot.
 In case you were thinking "Holy cannoli batman, I am a genius! I'm very well acquainted to with matters mathematical ... (proudly, the foolhardy graduate sings the rest of  Modern Major General)".
They make you stick a large flat square on your head - (in what is understood by many as the worst and most useless hat design ever created) and have you walk around in billowing black robes (sheets?). I took full advantage of wearing robes and loudly pronounced spells from Harry Potter at every available opportunity.

Anyway my moment of glory yesterday was spent hoping that I was not sweating through said academic robes. It is not good graduation weather in California.

Look at my beautiful academic quadrangle. See how it slips off my head like it went out drinking yesterday and is tipsy?

There I am!
Being given a questioning side glance which says, "what are you smoking? Did the church incense make you lose your mind? Do non-catholic people always look this happy when they get out of mass?"

In my defense I believe that I have just seen my mom and sister and I am about to wave to them - don't worry, I don't carry this stupidly happy and enthusiastic expression on my face all the time.

PS I am wearing a black t-shirt and basketball shorts. Ever-so-formal.

The Birds, General Finals Week Terror.

I lie.
I am not even slightly terrified. In fact, though we are yet in the fray of our last set of college finals, I have still managed to come down with the Sundays. Having none of the terror that motivates people to study - I am now lying on my bed like a jello salad. Occasionally I have some vague useless notions about what Einstein thinks about "field", which I might use for my Lab final tomorrow.

Anyway, since I attend the strangest school on the planet, everybody takes finals in pretty much the same subjects- so we do a finals countdown on the dry erase board (in which we draw up some random things and then kill each of them off as we finish that final). Since I am very busy pretending to study I will just give you some pictures of our finals countdown/kill-off. In which every subject is represented by Birds.. for no reason whatsoever.

Please note one of my favorite parts of this board is that it says: "Please DO NOT change or erase anything on this board or Liz Rosema will kill you! Slowly." and then someone said that they were going to miss my cartoons/ death threats next year which is ever-so touching.

Hopefully this will get bigger when you click on it.
Anyways as you can see, the "Music and Latin" finals are taken on Saturday so that bird has already been killed off and in this case is being roasted on a spit over an open fire.

Here is the math question.

And the lab question:

 

The answer to which of course is "African or European?"

What is the definite integral of swallow with respect to x?

And this: 

As I was drawing on a different part of the board someone came over and read it out loud slowly. 

Then they looked at me.

Then they read it again.

Then they looked at me. 

And then they said, "but, that doesn't follow." 

And I said, "Yes..." 

God bless the freshman...