So, I decided to branch out before locking myself into a major--most likely English, but you know how it goes--and enrolled in a computer programming class this semester. My thinking was, if I love video games so much, why not see if I could help create them for a living.
Erroneous assumption, right there. See, in my naivete, I neglected to realize that computer programmers are involved in much, much more than merely video games. On the first day, our professor reflected on the fact that cars made after 2011 generally utilize about forty CPU's. Mind. Blown.
Predictably, the first few weeks were easy. Mostly learning the in's and out's of computers, as well as the specialized lingo most programmers use. My confidence level was regrettably high. Then came the actual programming. Now, I'm as bright as the next kid, even generally more so, but the moment I attempted to code in Java I felt like a caveman trying to drag a cart on square wheels.
Bewildered, I approached my professor to ask his advice. He merely shrugged and told me if it was too difficult, I should drop the class. Immediately, my hackles went up. Drop the class? Admit defeat? Oh no, sir. I mentally hiked up my pants before stomping back to my computer to stare at the incomprehensible strings of characters.
After a frustrating twenty minutes in which I pestered my neighbor to the point that he most likely wanted to strangle me, I was staring at a fully functional program. Granted, it only found the average of three numbers, and took about ten minutes of error hunting to make passable, but there it was. Delighted, I ran the program at least five times, inputting numbers, and suppressing a shriek of glee each time it ran smoothly.
Then I made the mistake of glancing over at my neighbor's screen, which displayed a program to calculate payroll. This alone would not have been impressive if hadn't realized that he'd included taxes, overtime, vacation hours, and holidays.
Luckily, I resisted the urge to reach over and alt+f4 that showoff.
But it was close.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Doubt.
I am supposed to be writing here every day. And every day, swaddle myself in blankets, drape a snuggie across my shoulders and stare at this blank space until I can't stand it anymore. No one is reading it. No one will complain if I do not write. Yet...
Each day I return to stare at the page, and it mocks me. It's blankness a constant reminder that I am inadequate, unoriginal. Nothing pithy or amusing comes to mind. I stare, and I stare, and I wonder. I wonder if this is what I want. To stare at a page day in and day out.
Several pieces of advice suggest that when one is stuck, just write what comes to mind. This is my attempt.
I lied today.
In an attempt to placate an agitated dementia sufferer, I spun a wild tale about snowmobiling across the wilds of Canada with a group of friends. I have not been snowmobiling since I was a child, and even then it was merely to tow the neighborhood kids around on sleds. Once, I turned a corner too sharply and flung one of them into a tree. That, however, is beside the point.
It did no harm, this little white lie. I wonder even now if the person will remember it when so much of their vital memories have already slipped away. The concept makes me...melancholy.
There was an episode of Doctor Who in which a girl named Sally Sparrow stated, "Sad is happy for deep people."
I think of all the moments that took place in that person's life that will never return. With no pictures or stories, the memories are all that remain. It's as if with each dying cell, each lost connection, the pieces of themselves slip away. Their personalities crumble.
It's heartbreaking.
Each day I return to stare at the page, and it mocks me. It's blankness a constant reminder that I am inadequate, unoriginal. Nothing pithy or amusing comes to mind. I stare, and I stare, and I wonder. I wonder if this is what I want. To stare at a page day in and day out.
Several pieces of advice suggest that when one is stuck, just write what comes to mind. This is my attempt.
I lied today.
In an attempt to placate an agitated dementia sufferer, I spun a wild tale about snowmobiling across the wilds of Canada with a group of friends. I have not been snowmobiling since I was a child, and even then it was merely to tow the neighborhood kids around on sleds. Once, I turned a corner too sharply and flung one of them into a tree. That, however, is beside the point.
It did no harm, this little white lie. I wonder even now if the person will remember it when so much of their vital memories have already slipped away. The concept makes me...melancholy.
There was an episode of Doctor Who in which a girl named Sally Sparrow stated, "Sad is happy for deep people."
I think of all the moments that took place in that person's life that will never return. With no pictures or stories, the memories are all that remain. It's as if with each dying cell, each lost connection, the pieces of themselves slip away. Their personalities crumble.
It's heartbreaking.
Monday, January 7, 2013
A Healthy Disagreement.
It was brought to my attention several weeks ago that Netflix had added my favorite television show of all time to its instant streaming collection. Now, that may not sound like a big deal, after all it's just a t.v. show. Let me first explain why this matters.
This show advocates beliefs so fundamentally contradictory to my own, that it is a miracle I watch it at all. My father will openly lobby against it at family dinners, and major holiday gatherings if I am foolish or forgetful enough to bring it up, because it follows the trials and travails of a democratic presidency. In short, The West Wing is a program written by liberals, primarily for liberals. I am at heart a very slightly moderate republican. Each episode presents several scenarios likely encountered in the course of a president's day, and the staff's responses to these situations are often very different from my own.
This disagreement, instead of pricking my temper, forces me to examine my own beliefs in order to defend them. Ordinarily, watching a program is simply that--watching. You sit for 30 minutes to an hour having your hand held as the writers lay out their story in easy, uncomplicated dialogue with the occasional meandering plot shift. It is extremely rare to discover a show you must actually think about while watching, instead of running as background noise for whatever task needs to be done.
When I watch the West Wing, I am forced to elevate my level of discourse, both in terms of listening and speaking. The humor is fantastically indecipherable, complex to the point of obscurity, but hilarious nonetheless. Sarcasm is in abundance, and jokes are delivered in such a flat tone of voice that one must do a mental double take before realizing that the punchline has been said. Basically, it is an exercise of the mind.
For example, I was recently out to dinner with a group of friends at one of those sports bars/restaurants that have televisions plastered on every wall, sending their patrons into such sensory overload that they do not notice the substandard service or less than satisfactory entrees. Along the top of one wall was a scrolling ticker tape of game scores and headlines. Now, I will not attempt to portray myself as anything more than a passing fan of sports. I can follow and understand almost any sport, but the finer points of statistics and the nuances of plays escape me. What interested me was a headline proclaiming Greece's movement toward a new budget.
For those that do not know, I believe Greece went bankrupt sometime in the last year. I do not know the details, and I do not want to make a complete imbecile of myself trying to bullshit my way through a discussion, but the news was big enough that I remembered it. Immediately, I wondered how they'd done it. How could a bankrupt country even have government enough to broker a budget? When I couldn't think of a satisfactory answer, I asked my friends. They looked at first confused, and then when they realized that I was actually looking for an answer, alternately laughed in my face or stared as if I had suddenly sprouted antlers and done the conga.
Now, I am no political activist. I simply don't have the memory for it. But after watching the West Wing and understanding some of the chaos behind the scenes of the decisions of a nation, I cannot help but wonder when I see those screaming headlines.
It may not have explosions--at least not many on camera--or unbelievably attractive lead characters, but it is intelligent. I have at times wanted to simply high five the writers, despite my disagreeing with many of their beliefs, because the entire series is so very well done. Within this long-winded blathering, lies my primary reason for mentioning the show.
In one of the later seasons, during a political campaign, one of the candidates is attacked for his failure to attend church services, and replies by saying that religion should not be a factor in electing government officials. Of course, it was said in a much more impressive way to make it appear courageous and noble, instead of duck and cover. Immediately, I stepped away from my laptop so I would not be tempted to throw it across the room in a fit of violent disagreement.
I understand why such a sentiment might be appealing to those without a concrete faith; it creates some semblance of a level playing field, while simultaneously making politicians who are openly religious appear to be politicizing their faith. If I could make one rebuttal, it would be that perhaps the reason voters are so anxious to know the particulars of a candidate's religion is simply to reassure themselves that the person they are electing to public office will truly be reflecting their views, not just in policy, but in morality as well.
There are certain aspects of my faith that create a hard line for me on topics like abortion and marriage. I will argue for my side until the four horsemen chase me up to heaven, but no one will ever convince me that these issues are not important. I would be a fool to vote for someone without knowing whether they believe as I do, especially in the issues so often influenced by faith, which is a point the writers of the West Wing have failed to make.
I endeavor to forgive them for the oversight.
Lisa
This show advocates beliefs so fundamentally contradictory to my own, that it is a miracle I watch it at all. My father will openly lobby against it at family dinners, and major holiday gatherings if I am foolish or forgetful enough to bring it up, because it follows the trials and travails of a democratic presidency. In short, The West Wing is a program written by liberals, primarily for liberals. I am at heart a very slightly moderate republican. Each episode presents several scenarios likely encountered in the course of a president's day, and the staff's responses to these situations are often very different from my own.
This disagreement, instead of pricking my temper, forces me to examine my own beliefs in order to defend them. Ordinarily, watching a program is simply that--watching. You sit for 30 minutes to an hour having your hand held as the writers lay out their story in easy, uncomplicated dialogue with the occasional meandering plot shift. It is extremely rare to discover a show you must actually think about while watching, instead of running as background noise for whatever task needs to be done.
When I watch the West Wing, I am forced to elevate my level of discourse, both in terms of listening and speaking. The humor is fantastically indecipherable, complex to the point of obscurity, but hilarious nonetheless. Sarcasm is in abundance, and jokes are delivered in such a flat tone of voice that one must do a mental double take before realizing that the punchline has been said. Basically, it is an exercise of the mind.
For example, I was recently out to dinner with a group of friends at one of those sports bars/restaurants that have televisions plastered on every wall, sending their patrons into such sensory overload that they do not notice the substandard service or less than satisfactory entrees. Along the top of one wall was a scrolling ticker tape of game scores and headlines. Now, I will not attempt to portray myself as anything more than a passing fan of sports. I can follow and understand almost any sport, but the finer points of statistics and the nuances of plays escape me. What interested me was a headline proclaiming Greece's movement toward a new budget.
For those that do not know, I believe Greece went bankrupt sometime in the last year. I do not know the details, and I do not want to make a complete imbecile of myself trying to bullshit my way through a discussion, but the news was big enough that I remembered it. Immediately, I wondered how they'd done it. How could a bankrupt country even have government enough to broker a budget? When I couldn't think of a satisfactory answer, I asked my friends. They looked at first confused, and then when they realized that I was actually looking for an answer, alternately laughed in my face or stared as if I had suddenly sprouted antlers and done the conga.
Now, I am no political activist. I simply don't have the memory for it. But after watching the West Wing and understanding some of the chaos behind the scenes of the decisions of a nation, I cannot help but wonder when I see those screaming headlines.
It may not have explosions--at least not many on camera--or unbelievably attractive lead characters, but it is intelligent. I have at times wanted to simply high five the writers, despite my disagreeing with many of their beliefs, because the entire series is so very well done. Within this long-winded blathering, lies my primary reason for mentioning the show.
In one of the later seasons, during a political campaign, one of the candidates is attacked for his failure to attend church services, and replies by saying that religion should not be a factor in electing government officials. Of course, it was said in a much more impressive way to make it appear courageous and noble, instead of duck and cover. Immediately, I stepped away from my laptop so I would not be tempted to throw it across the room in a fit of violent disagreement.
I understand why such a sentiment might be appealing to those without a concrete faith; it creates some semblance of a level playing field, while simultaneously making politicians who are openly religious appear to be politicizing their faith. If I could make one rebuttal, it would be that perhaps the reason voters are so anxious to know the particulars of a candidate's religion is simply to reassure themselves that the person they are electing to public office will truly be reflecting their views, not just in policy, but in morality as well.
There are certain aspects of my faith that create a hard line for me on topics like abortion and marriage. I will argue for my side until the four horsemen chase me up to heaven, but no one will ever convince me that these issues are not important. I would be a fool to vote for someone without knowing whether they believe as I do, especially in the issues so often influenced by faith, which is a point the writers of the West Wing have failed to make.
I endeavor to forgive them for the oversight.
Lisa
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