Academic ratings bullock

Utter bullocks! Study after study demonstrates these "ratings" are skewed and in many cases outright flawed or corrupted in favor or high budget institutions. Little ratings actually go into things of merit such as pedagogy, capacity of instruction, competency of student body, etc.

If we ranked Universities by actual meaningful substance I wonder where our university students would actually rank. Some of these "prestigious" institutions might end up mid rank.

I'm especially skeptical given the recent trends in STEM subjects. If they gave meaningful inquiries, then I'd be unsurprised if colleges like St. Johns College in Annapolis or Santa Fe, or Reed College here in Portland Oregon, or the Finish universities came out far higher in rankings. These are ivy or leet educated people who are ranking based upon broken standards. Is it any wonder our school students continue to call behind internationally on standards?

Since the early 1990s academic rigor has flatlined. There are means to both teach well and teach with substance. The American formal schooling system has failed in these measures for the past two decades. I would be unsurprised if in a number of years American students began leaving America for other countries. The only advantage these institutions have is capital investitures. With time, this will change. When it does, these institutions will become second rate.

I don't say this to be cruel, but to kick people in the butt. Even if I had the opportunity, I'd much rather study at a school that emphasizes learning and rigor over the size of the instructor's paycheck or research budget.

It's really quite a joke.

: http://onforb.es/1anG1zJ

When cartoonists do politics

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J0R_Lv_5tqI&feature=youtube_gdata_player

I give it an epic win! Most epic indeed.

On a purely technical animation level, this is a very very well done advertisement! It tells you precisely what you need to know, and precisely how you can go about assisting. The rhetoric is brilliant, and the story gives you something meaningful to start about and do. If this project were presented to me as a professor of rhetoric, it would guess a standing ovation. I suggest all of you watch it, for it is both occasional and entertaining. In addition, they are quite accurate in the estimation that the founders would have "raised hell!", although I'm sure these rich billionaires would not like to see what are founders would have done. Let's just say that they would be dead, very dead! Muahahahahaha!

I figured I'd post this here, since our little writing group is constantly discussing how to present information in new and more interesting way.

MARKET OF CHOICE ASSAULT AND DISCRIMINATION Please Watch this and Share this

Human Paradox

Reading this reminds me of the fundamental flaw in Imperialist reasoning.

If the only reason you do something is for your own immediate self-interest, you defeat the whole purpose behind that--caring for yourself--the survival and perpetuation of your species. As has been reported elsewhere (see S.I. Hayakawa's introduction to his book "Thought Into Action"), "humanity's greatest adaptation is cooperation."

Amongst all the species existing on Earth, humans maintain the potential to work together--cooperate--in ways unheard of in any other species. As biology has taught us, intraspecies fighting is a self-defeating action that tends to eventually lead to extinction.

Humans have developed means to work together in such a way that we can most often resolve them peacefully and amicably.

How else could humans work so effectively together in many instances?

However, without an external threat i.e. without interspecies competition (and let's face it, unless an alien invasion occurs or we start defining "Nature" as a species, there is practically zero competition worth our time besides bacteria, viruses, and other such parasitic organisms), humans dedicate practically all of our resources fighting with ourselves.

The irony here is too palpable not to laugh--the one meaningful competitor we have--microbes and maybe a few other colony based organisms and those "plants" and "insects" who wreak havoc with our symbiotic relationship with much of the plant, animal, and fungal world--dedicate little overall attention. What really gets our attention is "power" and "How can I get that other guy's resources?"

Does it take six years of depression, abandoning all of your wealth and power, and living under a tree for weeks on end, or living in a desert without food or drink for two months (provided that happens) to make this concept clear?!

I'd like to think not.

But, given the mentalities herein discussed, it comes at no surprise why America and the global human population is slowly collapsing.

BTW, if Asia follows suit, they won't last much longer--things will go up and then crash. Happened in Greece, Rome, Europe, Asia, America, and throughout all of human history.

When people work cooperatively, they survive and often thrive--when they act otherwise--in the long-run, everyone suffers.

The worst part of studying economics is watching its best observations malapplied. It shouldn't take observing the power gained by collusion between firms in oligopolies for people to see the power held in working together--game theory teaches, when all parties work together e.g. the cereal manufacturers General Mills, Kellogg, and Post, they each over the long run reap the greatest net reward.

The problem comes down to self-interest over global-interest. In the long-run, we can see these are the same, but in the short-term, they are different. If I underprice everyone, then I make a ton of resources now. I will get to live in luxury (even if it is at other's expense).

The Vulcans actually make a great example of holding back things for their own ends I.e. so they can maintain their interests over that of others--imperialism. (See the series "Enterprise" for further details.)

In the end, I see now how I got duped by these types back in the early 2000's. I actually believed that sharing the ideas of democracy "great cooperative ideas" and republic are the ideal foreign policy--provided the people want it. Helping a people stop a group of exploitationists who gained power through coercion is productive--provided those people really want it--e.g. helping to overthrow Nazi Germany or Imperialist Japan. Same would have been the case with Great Britain.

But, the problem inevitably comes down to people helping out of self-interest i.e. stopping the loss of human-life to protect the species or to stop it so I can take over or put the person in power who serves my interests irrespective of those interests.

Iran and Vietnam are wonderful examples of this--instead of supporting the people fighting for just rule by their people and then us acting like civilized types, even if we risked oil spikes or threats of Soviet Conquest, we looked only at the short-run prospects and got screwed over the long-run--they did too. Actually, we all did.

Iran has a religious dictatorship--in a very great deal the responsibility of the US--the Iranian people still hold final responsibility, but given the religious establishment was the only thing left after the democracy got crushed--killing that movement with it--can we really blame them? Viet Nam is really no different.

It's amusing to see the logic in Patten so many years after his death.

The man, flaws aside, was a soldier and not a bullshit artist. He knew 100% why we fought the Germans--for our own interests. He wanted to train the German, reorganize them and plow into Russia and end Stalin too. While making sure both didn't groups didn't take over their people.

It was for ultimately self-interest.

Eisenhower supported denatzification, but Patton cared more about the next threat he saw coming. It's the soldier vs politician mindset.

I use the phrase "bullshit", because even if Eisenhower was doing things for ideologically valuable reasons, the end results were the same--many countries continued to exert power over their neighbors (including the US) while individuals were slowly taking over--i.e. those who were in positions to benefit e.g. "the elite".

It's not to say killing one group to protect another is the best plan--frankly, Gandhi and MLK had it right (swiping from Jesus and Buddha), militant-nonviolence is the best course, because it motivates the one group who can maintain momemtum--the polis I.e. "those who are to benefit most from self-governance by the People--the People, all of them as an equal whole."

Problem comes in when you apply technology. It allows for a small amount of power to become a whole bunch-how humanity beat the other species-we used gray and white matter, and some bronze to overcome our obstacles. Technology can make one group tremendously more powerful than another, and when that group is using said power to hurt the other, then you have a whole convoluted mess.

Back to the Vulcan argument--what tweaked Archer so much wasn't that the Vulcans kept back tech to prevent others from using it to do harm or misuse it--logic: better to let them die, than allow them to misuse technology so even more suffer. It was they used that as a cover so to speak. In the end, they had their own agenda.

It all comes down to playing god--you either help or don't. If you do, then you play god, and if you knowingly and consciously let them die, you play god. The end is the same result--you are still playing god.

What seems to make sense, at least to me, is how all of our heroes in fiction--at least, Star Trek, is how they all use the power they have been given to help save others, for it is better to save a "monster" in innocence, than to kill it, because one injustice does not justify another--except in that episode--the Hitler timeline change morality question.

Really, it's a lot more complex, and we all wish it wasn't, but in the end, if you get to the point of running back and forth bashing your head against the wall with this horrendous mind mess of a quandary, at least you are thinking about the consequences of your actions and trying to do what is ultimately best I.e. cheat! ;) Winning the unwinnable game called life! (Well, it seems that way sometimes, at least.)

Imperialism is the manifestation of an extreme limited mindset focused only in the short-run that threatens the prosperity of all of humanity in the long-run. Having questions about military action for the purposes of aiding free another group of people is one thing, but just make sure you aren't really playing into some dicks hands! Yes, ladies--the human trait of working solely for personal gratification at the expense of others!

In the end, it's a message about motives and metaphors. Just know who's doing the talking and make sure it isn't really self-interested. In the end, life is a gift, and when we respect that gift, we are more apt to keep it. But, we also get to choose what our life IAS worth. If mine comes at the expense of others, then it doesn't seem to be worth much-even if that sounds ironic! Hahaha! Only those willing to give it up for good are worth living! Talk about the human paradox called life!

The Daily Beast: Stop Saying ‘Neocon’ http://goo.gl/mag/r6w9tmR

Suffering

Losing family is hard enough, like a grandparent, sibling, or parent, but to watch them slowly die before your eyes with nothing you can do to help kills you inside. Worse still is for them to remain alive physically as a statue of themselves--as though dead, but somehow still moving and talking. Dementia or other catastrophic neurological trauma or physical disability that leave the person a shadow of themselves haunt their victims' families and loved ones.

I know now the pain of seeing family pass away, but still remain to haunt us as phantoms of themselves--you spend your every waking desire to catch that last glimmer of the phantasm, but it escapes your reach.

I clutch, verily, to what remains of my sanity tonight.

Today is my father's birthday. He turned 63.

I was to go and visit him again in Salem today, but I cannot bear to bring myself to go. I don't have the strength anymore to do it alone.

I'm tired of all the suffering. How people older than me can keep their sanity is a miracle. I cannot fathom their devices or means. I am overwhelmed by grief--grief I cannot express, but which hides behind false smiles and hints that all will be well so long as I bear onwards. I must endure! I must survive! Why? I know not...

Maybe, this is all we "survivers" have to keep our course steady?

While this may sound absurd for someone my age, twenty-six, but I feel in these moments as if I need the caretaker--not just my parents.

My mind trickles away from me--slowly fading into sunset as the daylight of my life escapes my fingers, merging into shadow.

"Where am I headed now?", a voice calls, "Where am I to go, and what am I to do? What purposes am I to set my course? What am I to navigate by? Where is my light? Where is my tinder box?"

[Nothing.] An emptiness.

I turn, "Oh, fate! Oh, cursed plight of heaven! You cast me aside so easily, and yet, you demand everything! You leave me here, alone, abandoned, forsaken on this cursed Earth to tend my days! For what?! For what am I to do? God, you have foresook me! Am I alone? Am I no longer worthy of your graces?! Am I a husk of flesh, meat, and bone--broken sinew to be cast aside when no longer a need you can find through me? Am I contemptible to thee? In your eyes am I broken an not worthy of repair?"

I stumble. Crashing down hillsides I cry, "My God, why hath you forsaken me?! Why have the promises been undone in me? Why am I to suffer so without reproach, without relief, without reward, without peace until my final breath does leave me?"

"If I die before I wake, I pray my Lord my Soul will take. But, if E takes to cast aside, better to fade away and cry for better days spilt here, for trials evermore will curse me till I'm gone."

"As my ship sets sail, today, I cast aside my mooring. I am to die, begone, away! Lest ye fade away with me!"

Castles, sunsets, and memories of childhood

Twenty years ago, I found myself in a new world--an ancient world of wonder, filled with gargoyles, great monoliths of stone and masonry--where castles were not just found in story books, but instead were as common as a grocery store. Our town had its own ruins--barren and gray, decaying from years of neglect and misuse. The towers crumbled, and if you climbed the precarious spiral stairs, you would find yourself upon the tower--the ancient ruins of Guilford Castle.

Rich tapestries of childhood blanketed my waking dreams. Pictures of battles, wizards, and worlds afar. As one looked out towards a setting sun, you could witness the mothers filing out of centuries worn shops like little merchant fairies attending a yule ball. The smell of baked goods wafting effortlessly through a chilly Surrean gust.

Near my small and racing form stood the still, pensive figure. It was tall, yet not too much so. Short, bobby-like brown hair fell down upon a graceful smile, articulated by that fierce, yet loving, gaze. The figure was my mother, holding aloft her graceful form, casting a warm glow on the misty sunset from days long past by conscious memory and into history and legend.

Were Lady Hildebrand or Lady Guinevere to have stood aloft, I imagine they would be impressed with my own queen's vigilant prowess.

Like a cloudy visage peering through Louis Carol's looking glass did the eyes gaze upwards and over the timbers of brick forests, chimnies awaiting the good luck's a sweep, and his lady friend too.

In a pause the kindly figure turns, "It's time to go, Christopher."

"But, mom..." the little boy chides, "can't we stay for just a few more minutes? I'm having ever so much fun."

Smiling with the grace and poise of Gretta Garbo or a Hepburn, she turns, "Five more minutes. We have to get home or your father will begin to worry."

"Awe... Alright. Thanks mom! I love y'a."

Kissing the figure on the cheek, the young boy in his red jacket and blue wool uniform he hated, but beared as a talisman against angry headmasters who disapproved of hyperactive little American boys who lacked British modesty and discipline.

As the minutes enrolled onward, the boy, sensing the appointed hour, wandered slowly from his cryptic perch and slowly descended the spiral encasement towards the figure in white. Mine own Galadriel.

Slowly, I crept into the misty depths of my tower, freshly abandoned yet again for another season as the young returned to school after the holidays.

My own journey, however, was not to school, at least not where itchy wool and long socks were the required dress code or bad food the daily menu. Instead, I was to travel many leagues to my first home, Seattle. Back to a world now unfamiliar. Fear crept over my waking thoughts. Will they like me? Will I fit in? What about Jack or Victoria? Will I ever see them again?

My fears were quelled in a wash of warmth as the familiar arms grasped about my chest and held me still. My mind turned to the last sparkling shimmers fading out across the distant horizon as dusk enveloped its patrons.

Mom found my permanent record from high school (in addition to all of my special services IEP report). Having read through it, I was hit with a flashback of all of the crap I've endured throughout my life.

Just reading through the reports makes me want to scream. I don't want to scare anyone. Sorry if it sounds like that. It's more just pain. Emotional, stabbing pain at rediscovering old wounds that have long been sealed and forgotten. However, they are never truly forgotten. Instead, they scab over and become infected, but like my teeth, with time, we no longer realize the crippling sensation as the body normalizes itself to the suffering. As the suffering increases throughout our lives, we see that new level normalize and the more terrible things get, we just keep readjusting the scale--renormalizing.

It's actually a pretty amazing feat of our bodies and minds to renorm our perceptions, but while it allows us to keep on living throughout the more horrible of situations, it also possesses grave consequences for our long-term survival and happiness.

Having the strength to look back on these life experiences really produces some grievous hardships. People throughout my life have accused me of being "weak" or merely "blaming [my] own problems on others." The claim is that people who "blame" others are themselves the cause of their own dysfunction.

I spent years not trusting people--because, so many of the adults who should have been there to help me as a child failed me. They did there "job", completed the "appropriate paperwork", but never took greater steps to see what was really going on inside of this kid's head.

I was truly screwed up and was lost amidst the waters of suffering and hardship.

Even in college, the argument is that "Christopher Brown needs to work on his social skills--he needs to learn to make friends, 'fit' in and perform socially appropriate activities. Chris needs to learn to act like other children his age and to be more organized. He forgets things, etc."

There's more, and a lot of it has truth, but it's like reading about any good character--you only see some of the external and have no idea what is going on on the inside. I was a real wreak in school. At home, I was alone. Mom read to me, but I just floated about for ages and ages, precisely because I could not fit it.

I was angry, VERY angry. And every time I tried to express myself, I was attacked. If not by the students, then by the teachers, administrators, other parents.

People may claim that I'm "victimizing" myself, but I don't think that's necessarily the case. Just because someone has been wronged does not necessitate them as being a perpetual "victim". Did it ever occur to people how when one is put in such a horrible state they are the "idea" victim? I mean, when kids are struggling with their own interpersonal problems, parental divorces, all kinds of other stuff, that lone, nice kid, who doesn't really fit in--he's weak and quite and really easy to push over (psychologically). Whenever we pick on him, instead of fighting back or hitting us, or calling us names, he just sings or screams or runs away. He cries, but he won't hit back.

I did. I did once hit back. I broke a kid's nose (or at least gave him a bloody nose in one swing when I was VERY little). Another time, I nearly blinded a kid by accident by swinging a bush branch at him when he was harassing me in 2nd grade.

Every time I did something "wrong", my parents were called. My father punished me by spanking me and using extreme military treatment. I was his little soldier, whether he realized it or not. Dad used what he knew. He couldn't get close to me after his heart attack and constantly used physical intimidation to keep me in line when I did anything dangerous. The problem is--I've always been curious. I'm always getting into mischief, because I enjoy seeing things as they are or at least, understanding what's out there, learning new things, etc.

Whenever I tried to do that--explore, etc. and it broke some kind of fear line or caused parental worries, dad "beat me". Spanked is more accurate, but 25 whacks with a leather belt is something pretty traumatic. It scares the daylights out of you and makes you fear your father. It doesn't help when dad declared, "I don't care if you love me. You WILL respect me!" I think in dad's mind, the Marine Corps or his own upbringing had a lot to do with this. My aunt may disagree, but it doesn't surprise me what he tells me. Both of them have issues, but what truly comes down to cause pain is the damage that has been done from all the years of abuse.

People look at me and will probably never see all of the scares of my life. They are hidden deep, beneath the surface. I don't consciously remember the pain, because it overwhelms me. I was hurt so many times, but I knew with my parents that it wasn't because they necessarily wanted to hurt me--it's just where they were at. I know as a kid I hated my father, at least, hated him when he was cruel. Dad never really understood me or what I was going through, but maybe he did. I kinda feel like my dad repeated the sins of his father through him. You could see it in his eyes and in the way he beat himself up. He'd beat me up, because he'd already beat himself up that any more beating would kill him. Well, I think that at least. Maybe, that's just my own delusion.

You all can say what you want. I might even post some of the stuff, just for the hell of it. My pain might give someone else solace from their torment.

I know a lot of you probably don't know me that well--even my friends. I never open up, because deep down--really far at the base of who and what I am as a person, is a kid who at ever turn was wronged--by his peers, by his parents, by his teachers and community. Somehow, amazingly, and against all odds, the kid survived. He kept walking even when his emotional feet were bleeding. He refused to surrender. Not to suicide, not to hostility, not to violence. He wouldn't give in. But, eventually, the overwhelming struggle he faced took its toll.

I broke down. Finally, I reached where I am. A relatively broken man, who has covered up all his pain and mixed in his childhood delusions to mask that pain. Created a fictional delusion to soothe his aching muscles and the loss he bears.

Once more he walks down this lonely road to discover where he will next be lead, where he will next traverse, what future holds him fixated upon a beacon far in the distance.

But, even with all this glory, how will I continue?

I keep walking, but my pace slows, until at last, I fall. I fall upon my back, my knees, my whole being.

I cry for all the pain I've endured. People just don't understand. How could they? They haven't lived this life of suffering. They had friends! They didn't have each and every one they ever held close taken from them!

I viscerally understand the pain of losing a loved one, because that's all my life has been--something wonderful happens and then it is taken away!

The only thing that seems to make any sense these days is "Life is change." Buddhism has this message of healing that the world changes and we suffer when we do not come to accept this fact.

I suffer because I refuse to give up on all I have lost.

I am Job morning the loss of his wife and family--his sons, daughters, children, grandchildren, etc. Was it for his crops or land that he wept? No! It was that which was most precious to him that was taken!

Christians say that God has the power of life and death and that E rules us all. We hear and are taught stories of redemption and rebirth. But, where is my rebirth? Where is that of all those lost and buried?

Pain grips me. I know how trying our world can be. We struggle day and night to live and to survive (and in the flickering of hope, to thrive), but do we? What is the purpose and resultant of our efforts?

Death. Change.

It's not that I'm blaming God or even speculating on the subject. I'm just pointing out something obvious. We die. Life changes. We suffer when we cling to things of this world. We  suffer, because we cannot be thankful of what we were given and appreciate the time we had with it. We greedily hang on for all measure and will and corrupt all that is and will ever will be through our malice.

What would transpire if we were to live forever? It would be merely an extending of pain. My death brings great pain, but it also brings an end to loss. When we pass away, we no longer lose. We no longer are bound by the changes of the world. Our life, in those last final moments are the conclusion of a tale long in the making.

I wish my pain was not so dramatic, so melodramatic, but it is nonetheless. I bleed and cry. I sweat tears of remorse for all that I have lost. I miss greatly all that I have ever witnessed. I want to greatly to return and experience the joys of my life as they were in their prime. But, can this be so?

It cannot, and my pain continues.

I'd truly like to cope with my pain, but in this hour of my life, it is raw--unkempt--unnegotiated. I am revealed in my nakedness and I am ashamed. Ashamed of my pain, my fear, my loss, my guilt, my longings, my hunger, all of who I am.

God made me pure, but I cast it off in the realization of all things about me. I continue to struggle in this way--ever hoping for some fresh release from my agony, but ever knowing that pain will never subside. I shall be marked by this torment until I fall for the last time. The pain brings tears into my eyes. I know not what yours bring you, but I hope you find peace where suffering resides within me.

I wish you all a good evening and morning. May the sun bring rays of hope upon your lives.