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Mar. 21st, 2005 09:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tabular_rasaToday was good, I guess.
Classes were normal.
In Sociology, we didn't do anything with those magazine cut-outs, but we did do something with values, which was fun. However, other people were too dumb and material with theirs. "I value my cat," theirs said. "My cat first, and then my family, and then my friends."
I valued things like justice, personal liberty, and personal determination of purpose. "Comfort" and "Happiness" were on there, but way below everything else. "Purpose" came much before that.
I'm such an idealist.
I wonder if it's because I've been socialized this way.
I mean, think about it: Are gifted kids actually MORE likely to be conformist? As children, we learn to read too fast. Therefore, before we actually have time to develop our own theories, we are already reading about other peoples' and absorbing them-- and when you're a kid, everything you read is the truth. Reading more adult literature first, too early . . . it makes us into intellectual conformists. It brainwashes us. We all may have different ideas, but we think in the same intellectual way.
Hmm . . . just a thought . . .
Also, another thought: I hate Nihilism. How could you ever be Nihilistic? You would just have to kill yourself.
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redxdeath struck me as kind of Nihilistic. I wonder if he is ever going to try to come back. Perhaps he'll come in a different form. His girlfriend's journal tells me nothing; she says nothing anymore. Perhaps she has given up.
Existentialism, on the other hand, is so optimistic compared to Nihilism-- which isn't something one would usually think, looking at Existentialism. Making your own purpose is such a divine idea. You play your own God. It rest all in your hands, the purpose.
I think I get too much out of English conversations. The English conversations were more provocative last year. I hate how we're teaching to the test.
Improv is casual and fun. I really like it. It's got no goal, unlike so much of what I'm doing now . . . and it's a nice ease out of the musical.
At Tutoring I had to help some kid with a moral dilemma posing in disguise as a math problem. Honestly . . . it was supposed to be about statistics, but it was really just a Communist/Hierarchist test: A principal is taking the students of a school to a baseball game. Some seats are better than others. Should the seating assignments be chosen at random? It didn't say, "To be fair," or anything like that. It was just that question. I told him to put whatever he wanted; I'm sure the school wants to hear the Communist version, the equality version, but, at the same time, we value achievement-- so why not have the top students receive the best seats? If you were a Nazi or even just an excessive conservative (or even just someone from the 1950s or something), you might put the white males in the front, and work on back from there. You might put the biggest baseball fans in the front. You could do a drawing. You could do it alphabetically (now, THAT is a form of prejudice so seldom recognized . . . as if there is any merit to names at the beginning of the alphabet*).
*NO, I won't shut up, Liz. You heard the rants in elementary school. Yes, you roll your eyes at the absurdity of the statement, but wait until I tell you I find it absurd as a problem before you admit it, too. Mocking it shall only make me defend it more. Besides, a problem is a problem when it is a problem. It is no different than any other problem. As I said before, suffering is subjective.
Anyway, then I watched the first half of "The House of Flying Daggers" on Huang's laptop with him, Kylie, and Andrew. I'm going to have to see the second half of it next Monday, assuming Mr. Briddell doesn't pull an evil Orchestra practice on us. I talked to Andrew and Kylie about the old 8th grade play, how I just watched it over again. Andrew wants to borrow it; I'm going to have to find it again. I just hope he better return it.
That conversation turned into the usual "reminiscing" of Andrew about Tiffany as his girlfriend back in the day (being bitter, mostly). Kylie was like, "Why don't you get over it? 6th grade? Honestly, come on." I just laughed. Tiffany will never let it go; Tiffany has my memory when it comes to those who fall in disfavor with her. As for Andrew . . . he has nothing to say about Tiffany except that.
Mom still isn't home yet. She was supposed to get back sometime today, sometime late tonight. I guess it's just later.
Classes were normal.
In Sociology, we didn't do anything with those magazine cut-outs, but we did do something with values, which was fun. However, other people were too dumb and material with theirs. "I value my cat," theirs said. "My cat first, and then my family, and then my friends."
I valued things like justice, personal liberty, and personal determination of purpose. "Comfort" and "Happiness" were on there, but way below everything else. "Purpose" came much before that.
I'm such an idealist.
I wonder if it's because I've been socialized this way.
I mean, think about it: Are gifted kids actually MORE likely to be conformist? As children, we learn to read too fast. Therefore, before we actually have time to develop our own theories, we are already reading about other peoples' and absorbing them-- and when you're a kid, everything you read is the truth. Reading more adult literature first, too early . . . it makes us into intellectual conformists. It brainwashes us. We all may have different ideas, but we think in the same intellectual way.
Hmm . . . just a thought . . .
Also, another thought: I hate Nihilism. How could you ever be Nihilistic? You would just have to kill yourself.
redxdeath struck me as kind of Nihilistic. I wonder if he is ever going to try to come back. Perhaps he'll come in a different form. His girlfriend's journal tells me nothing; she says nothing anymore. Perhaps she has given up.Existentialism, on the other hand, is so optimistic compared to Nihilism-- which isn't something one would usually think, looking at Existentialism. Making your own purpose is such a divine idea. You play your own God. It rest all in your hands, the purpose.
I think I get too much out of English conversations. The English conversations were more provocative last year. I hate how we're teaching to the test.
Improv is casual and fun. I really like it. It's got no goal, unlike so much of what I'm doing now . . . and it's a nice ease out of the musical.
At Tutoring I had to help some kid with a moral dilemma posing in disguise as a math problem. Honestly . . . it was supposed to be about statistics, but it was really just a Communist/Hierarchist test: A principal is taking the students of a school to a baseball game. Some seats are better than others. Should the seating assignments be chosen at random? It didn't say, "To be fair," or anything like that. It was just that question. I told him to put whatever he wanted; I'm sure the school wants to hear the Communist version, the equality version, but, at the same time, we value achievement-- so why not have the top students receive the best seats? If you were a Nazi or even just an excessive conservative (or even just someone from the 1950s or something), you might put the white males in the front, and work on back from there. You might put the biggest baseball fans in the front. You could do a drawing. You could do it alphabetically (now, THAT is a form of prejudice so seldom recognized . . . as if there is any merit to names at the beginning of the alphabet*).
*NO, I won't shut up, Liz. You heard the rants in elementary school. Yes, you roll your eyes at the absurdity of the statement, but wait until I tell you I find it absurd as a problem before you admit it, too. Mocking it shall only make me defend it more. Besides, a problem is a problem when it is a problem. It is no different than any other problem. As I said before, suffering is subjective.
Anyway, then I watched the first half of "The House of Flying Daggers" on Huang's laptop with him, Kylie, and Andrew. I'm going to have to see the second half of it next Monday, assuming Mr. Briddell doesn't pull an evil Orchestra practice on us. I talked to Andrew and Kylie about the old 8th grade play, how I just watched it over again. Andrew wants to borrow it; I'm going to have to find it again. I just hope he better return it.
That conversation turned into the usual "reminiscing" of Andrew about Tiffany as his girlfriend back in the day (being bitter, mostly). Kylie was like, "Why don't you get over it? 6th grade? Honestly, come on." I just laughed. Tiffany will never let it go; Tiffany has my memory when it comes to those who fall in disfavor with her. As for Andrew . . . he has nothing to say about Tiffany except that.
Mom still isn't home yet. She was supposed to get back sometime today, sometime late tonight. I guess it's just later.
