A Temporal Anomaly

In a couple of hours, it will be 07/08/09 10:11. Won't happen again for another hundred years. Which has suddenly made me very aware of my own mortality, because I probably won't live to see it.

Actually, none of us will, because the world is ending in 2012. Haven't you heard?
Disclaimer: World may not actually end in 2012.

Yume's Epic Library Adventure

The other day, I went to the downtown library to find a book to use for research on a group project, because our teacher wanted us to use real paper books and not teh internets. I'm not sure why. I guess she either worried about the utter lack of accountability and publishing standards in cyberspace, or she wants to ensure that the time-honored Dewey Decimal System is not lost to posterity. Either way, the subject was not open for negotiation, so to the library I went. Little did I know it was going to turn into the most epic adventure of all week.

Problem number one: I don't know my way downtown very well, and I'm not a good driver. But never fear, that's what Google maps are for. I got my handy-dandy printed map, hopped in my little red RAV4, and set off into the big city. I was cruising down Central Parkway when I realized I had missed a turn—apparently "slight right" means "any right turn that is slightly less than 90 degrees" and "slight left" means "keep going straightish while the main road splits off in two directions." I briefly panicked, tried to turn around, and somehow ended up on the street I was supposed to be on anyway. Well, as Morpheus says, it's not knowing the path, it's walking the path. Right?

I continued for a few blocks, dodging construction and pedestrians, until I arrived at the next intersection on the list. Then I discovered that Google had directed me the wrong way up a one-way street. I don't know if it was temporarily one-way because of the aforementioned construction, or if I actually had the wrong street (the street sign was kind of at 45 degrees to the intersection so it was hard to tell which road they were talking about), or if Google just made a mistake, but I randomly picked another direction and wandered into unfamiliar territory.

The good thing about being bad at finding my way is that I'm getting pretty good at being lost. I drove around for a little while and eventually ended up on 3rd street, which was pretty close to where I wanted to be. Further wandering got me to Plum, where I spotted a parking garage. It cost four dollars, and I'm cheap, so I passed it up. Besides, I still hadn't found the library and I at least wanted a general idea of where it was before getting out of my car. I got to the end of the street and briefly panicked again because I was being forced onto the highway, but I managed to worm my way through a couple lanes of traffic and get back to 3rd street. I circled several times, got lost, and somehow found Plum again. (Plum is, if I recall, also the name of the bird in Zelda Twilight Princess. I hated that bird. He made you fly through a thousand foot chasm of whitewater rapids popping stupid fruit-shaped balloons while held in the claws of a one-eyed bird shadow monster thing, and then made fun of you if you fell to your death, prompting levels of frustration not dissimilar to what I was experiencing at the moment I came down this street for the second time.) At this point it was getting late, and the expensive garage was unfortunately the only parking I could find within a reasonable distance of where I thought the library probably was. But hey, I told myself, parking in a garage is nice. My car will be safer. I pulled in and took my little paper ticket. It was slightly dark and scary, but not terrible. Still, I didn't think it was a good idea to leave anything valuable in the car, so I stuffed everything in my bag, checked in all directions for muggers, and got out.

I wandered around the garage for a few minutes before I found a set of stairs. Okay, I thought, I'll burn some calories to make up for that Frappucino this morning. (I can quit any time I want to. Seriously.) It was only when I got to the bottom that I discovered they didn't go to the ground level. See what you get for trying to be healthy? Back up I went. Yay, elevator! This one led to the ground floor and opened out into a nice lobby-ish area. The moral of the story is that sometimes to get to the bottom of things, you have to find the laziest possible solution.

Having finally escaped the parking garage, I surveyed my surroundings. To the left, a large rectangular office building. To the right, a busy intersection, and smaller rectangular office buildings. Did I mention I have trouble navigating in cities? I started walking in a random direction, trying not to look lost or like a tourist, because looking lost makes you appear vulnerable, and anyway it's embarrassing to be this lost in your own hometown. After a while I found Garfield street, clearly marked by a large bronze statue of the president himself. At least I think it was him. There was a pretty little park area, and I was glad for the shade, if a little wary of the pigeons. (I've heard stories.)

I circled the block a couple of times on foot, then tried to call my dad to ask him for directions, without looking like I was trying to call and ask for directions. He was in a meeting and not answering. I wandered some more. Cincinnati is actually really pretty. I never realized that before. Had it not been so late, I would have taken the time to enjoy it a little more. But suddenly, it occurred to me to actually look at the little map that comes printed on the Google Maps directions. Lo and behold, Garfield practically dead-ends into the library. Feeling very silly, I made my third pass through the park and finally found the building. I paused to kick myself because there was a dollar parking lot right across the street, then went inside.

Problem number two: the library is a big place and I really don't know how to use the Dewey Decimal System. I had the title and author of the books and I knew from the online catalog that they were on the second floor, so I wandered, found the elevator, and headed up there hoping to stumble upon the book. You'd think I would learn from my experience finding the building. But no, I searched the nonfiction stacks for a while, then somehow wound up in periodicals and had to back up. I tried to use their library catalog, but it requires a library card, and I lost mine when my wallet got stolen last year. I was too stubborn to ask for directions, so I went back to look some more. Eventually, though, desperation overcame pride and I went up to the help desk to ask for a temporary computer pass. I got one and went to look up the book again. This time I remembered to write down the set of numbers that went with it, which I gather is supposed to be some kind of guide to help you find it. I stumbled around again, and still found nothing. At last I swallowed my pride and went to ask for help. There was a very nice man there who went with me and led me back to the same shelf I'd been searching through for a good half hour. At first he couldn't find it either, and I felt slightly vindicated. But then he said, "Oh, here it is!" and pulled it out from between two other books. It was a lot smaller than I expected. I thanked the librarian profusely and was about to leave, when I remembered another book in the catalog that was by the same author. I figured, since I came all this way, it wouldn't hurt to have a little extra research. I asked him about it, but unfortunately it wasn't on the shelves, so he had to go back in their collection and hunt for it. He was really nice about it, though. So I waited for a couple of minutes and he came out with it. I thanked him again and was going to go make copies, when I realized I was out of change. This was a problem, since I couldn't check out the book without a card. He assured me that getting a card would only take a few minutes at the desk downstairs. I figured there was no time like the present to get a new card, so away I went.

It was around 5:30, so things were pretty busy at the registration desk, but they were really helpful in spite of having to deal with a phone call from someone who kept calling them with the wrong number at the same time. I explained my situation and they said I might still be in the system. They looked me up and found me, which was a blessing because I only had to update my account and get a new card printed instead of filling out a whole application. That part went pretty smoothly, except for some slight confusion when I told them that I lived on Euclid and they put me down as the other Euclid. (Every city has at least one street named Euclid, but Cincinnati is special so we have two.) But anyway, it only took a few minutes for me to get my shiny new red library card. Whee! I went over to the automatic kiosk to check out my books.

Problem number three: technology hates me. I scanned the new card and got an error message. I figured maybe the new card wasn't activated or in the system yet, so I took it over to the human checkout librarians. (Never send a machine to do a man's job...?) They said the card should be active immediately and tried to scan it. Then they tried to enter my name manually, but I wasn't showing up in the system. Well, I thought, this is a step in the wrong direction. They directed me back to the registration counter. When I got back the wrong-number person was calling again, and then someone came over with another question, so they were pretty busy. I felt bad for being a pest, but I asked her to check my card again. A few minutes and two librarians later, we discovered they had entered my card number as my name and vice versa. (I retract my earlier comment about men and machines.) I laughed because this whole thing had finally passed the threshold of irritating and was actually pretty funny. We got the card issue corrected, and they apologized a lot (but really, I can hardly blame them—I should know how easy it is to make mistakes with computers!) So I got my really-working library card and headed back to the automatic checkout.

Aaaaah Library Fines! I owed five dollars and seventy four cents, which apparently had to be paid before I was allowed to check anything out. Luckily, the thing took Visa, because I had no cash. This reminded me that I was going to need cash to get out of the parking garage. I paid off my fine and proceeded to check out my books, only to get another error message. I gave up on the automatic checkout and took it back to the librarians at the counter, who thankfully were able to check it out for me without further incident. It was then that I realized the nice gentleman from upstairs had given me the wrong book. It was actually another book with a similar title, but by a different author. But whatever, I still had the one I came for, and I was not about to go back up and bother him (and myself) a third time.

Things seemed to be going my way now, and I found an ATM on the way out of the library. But in a final measure of annoyance, it was a Fifth Third ATM, which charged me a fine to withdraw and would only give twenties. I pondered going somewhere to break it, then decided I was spending enough today between the fines and parking, and hoped that there would be a human cashier in the garage and he or she would accept large bills.

I got out of the library and walked the half mile or so back to the garage. At this point my dad called back, and I assured him that I was all right and not nearly as lost as I had been a few hours ago. On the way back up to my car, I nearly missed the elevator, but a nice guy stopped it for me by sticking a baseball bat that he happened to be carrying in the door. (I think he was coming from a game or something cause he was dressed all baseball-y.) I really did meet a lot of nice people that day! They were the only thing that made the rest of the stupid things I got myself into bearable. So anyway, I accidentally got off the elevator on the wrong floor and had to take the stairs up a flight. Guess those stairs come in handy after all! I felt immensely relieved to be back in my car... until I realized I had lost the garage ticket. I got stuck at the cashier's booth with two people behind me, and ended up emptying out my purse and my pockets looking for the ticket. The cashier was very patient with me, but I never did find it, so I had to pay extra and fill out a lost-ticket form. I imagine the guy behind me was pretty irritated.

The true irony of all this? The book I was looking for was Ambient Findability by Peter Morville. And I never read it once for that report because we got all our information off the internet. I've been meaning to return it to the library, but I'm not sure where I put it...

Mushrooms and Sunflowers

Hypocrisy is an ugly thing, and I'm recognizing it in myself more and more every day. I don't know if there's any truth to the theory that some or all people are born evil, but I do know that my deepest natural instinct is to be hateful and suspicious toward everyone around me, and somewhere along the line those instincts have been groomed into a worldview of self-righteous skepticism—because it's smart not to trust other people, because it's rational to be pessimistic, because it's more practical not to help others. I turn a condescending sneer on those who talk about peace and love and "finding a solution." Am I my brother's keeper?

Well... yes. That's the answer by God's standards, and in spite of all my "practical" wheedling, it doesn't really get any more complicated than that. Of course, there's a whole slough of hairs to be split over exactly what that entails, but the fact remains that we are supposed to be looking out for one another. And I've been living by human standards for so long that it's easy to forget.

That said, blaming society is a lame cop-out. In fact, society—and I include in that both religion and secular morality—is the only thing that has instilled any sense of responsibility toward others into this otherwise selfish animal. And occasionally, for a brief moment, I have an impulse to do the right thing. But even then, it's insincere. Sure, I can hold the door for a stranger or hand a few bucks to a homeless person, but do I really care if that person lives or dies? Or am I just "doing my piece," meeting my random-act-of-kindness quota for the day so I can go on with my life and not feel guilty? (Let me tell you, it's not working.) Maybe I'm hoping that someday someone will do something nice for me, but the aforementioned pessimism keeps that from becoming too strong of a motivation.

Whatever my reasons, that is not love. That blind, insincere, saccharine farce of charity is not God's love, and it's an insult to anyone with half a brain who can see through the pretense. And honestly, I've begun to doubt whether it's really possible to teach yourself to honestly care about a stranger. Maybe the reason I look down on those people who talk about peace and love is that I assume they're just like me, that they can't possibly mean it. And so I call them hypocrites. But who's the real hypocrite? I call myself a Christian. I tell everyone else that we're placed on this Earth to do God's will, even convince myself that I believe it, yet somewhere between theology and reality there's that disconnect: I don't really believe humanity as an organization is capable of love. For years I've tried to be both a Christian and a cynic, but you can't grow mushrooms next to sunflowers, and you can't truly believe that God has a plan for your life and then keep on taking care of yourself before others because it's the smart thing to do. (Mushrooms and Fire-flowers, however, make a nice combination. Do I get bonus geek points for making a Mario reference?)

Lest anyone think I've turned into a hippie, I'll add this disclaimer: I have no idea what the "answer" to this issue is. Sure, all we need is love... but can someone please explain exactly what that is?

My New Pet Protein

I recently downloaded Folding@home, in order to offer up my spare computing resources for the advancement of science. Apparently it simulates protein structures or something. I don't quite understand, but it appears to be accomplishing something that looks vaguely scientific. At any rate, Maki-chan (my laptop) has been working quite busily on analyzing a little chunk of p3040_supervillin.

Isn't it cute?

Haha, it sounds like super-villain. XD Very punny. Hope they'll use everyone's computing power for good.

Little Random Thought

It's funny the way God reaches people. Sometimes, when He's got a really big announcement to make, he uses prophecies and a big star and a band of trumpeting angels. (I've heard a hypothesis that the Christmas star was light from a distant supernova. Which is really incredible when you think about it because it would have had to explode thousands of years ago in order for the light to reach Earth at the right time... but I digress.)

Other times He uses something a little more subtle, like a rear-window defroster.

Lately I've been trying to know God a little better. I mean, I've been privileged to know about Him since I was a little kid, but we haven't exactly had a relationship. And maybe this should come as no surprise, but the first thing I met with was a lot of fear and doubt, anxiety
and sleepless nights... which in turn have contributed to my growing Starbucks addiction. (But that's another day's rant.) I questioned myself. I questioned my faith. Most of all I worried about the connection between faith and action, and how much of the latter is required to claim the former.

But this evening I wasn't thinking about any of that, because I was concentrating on backing down the driveway. It was dark, I was shivering too much to get a good grip on the wheel, my 11-year-old car was a bit grumpy at being roused in such cold weather, and the fact that the rear window was covered in a thin, translucent layer of ice did not help the situation. So of course, I flipped on the rear defroster. (Those things are so handy! Best car invention next to the heater.) The little wires started to heat up as I drove down the road, and I quickly realized that it was actually becoming harder to see. I had been able to look through the ice while it was solid and get a somewhat fuzzy view of what was going on, but now that there were little clear patches running in stripes across the glass, I couldn't see a thing.

Maybe getting closer to God is like that sometimes. You go through life just trying to get from one place to another, trying to keep things under control, but the world can be a pretty cold place. And after a while, this veil starts to build up and cloud your vision, and before you know it you're separated from God. Maybe you know he's out there, and maybe you know it's dangerous to keep moving without being able to see clearly. But in the process of clearing your vision, there are times when you're so focused on the contrast between the foggy view you're used to and the sudden clarity, that for a while you can't see anything ahead of you.

And if I'm getting this frazzled over a window defroster, just imagine what it will be like to meet God face to face!

I don't claim to see the big picture yet. I'm still confused. I'm still praying I don't hit a tree or run over the neighbor's cat--literally and metaphorically. But I thank Him for this small slice of clarity.

I feel dirty

On Friday afternoon, while we were out shopping for Nerf gun parts for another project of his, Nick talked me into buying an issue of Cosmopolitan. I swear it was his idea, because he saw the "100 facts you should know about men" article and wanted to laugh at how stupid they were. I'll admit it was rather entertaining at first. I was making fun of the one that said men with long ring fingers have higher testosterone levels and are more athletic or better in bed or something. But apparently there is some truth to the claim. My dad said he saw some guy on TV using finger length to predict the winner of a race, and he was right nine times out of ten. For some reason, this made me think of that episode of Seinfeld when Jerry dates a woman who has man-hands.

By #20 or so on the list I couldn't take it anymore, so I dragged Nick into the hardware store. There's something fundamentally wrong about a girl having to tell her boyfriend to put down Cosmo so they can go look at stuff in Home Depot, so we threw the thing under the back seat of my car and it's been there ever since. (In his defense, the trip was his idea and he later redeemed his lost masculinity by spending all night shooting things.)

...wait, my ring finger is a lot longer than my index finger. Hmm.

A Novel Idea

...pun intended.

Nick and I decided to write a sci-fi type story together. Or more accurately, I dragged him into it. I borrowed the skeleton of a plot from one of my unwritten Sailor Moon fanfics, ripped out all the parts about pretty soldiers and magic, and tried to turn it into something other people might actually want to read.

Ok, from that description you probably think it's going to suck. I promise it's not as lame as it sounds. The basic premise is that there's this group of scientists who find a girl from an ancient civilization buried deep in a cryogenic chamber under the desert, and her DNA is the key to activating this secret powerful technology they've unearthed, so they try to clone her. (Nick says this sounds a lot like Stargate, but I swear I didn't know that at the time.) We haven't yet decided what the secret ancient technology does. My dad thinks it should involve aliens, but I'm not sure.

Also, lately I haven't been able to actually write anything. Don't you hate it when you get into one of those moods where you feel like writing, but you can't actually form enough concrete thoughts to get a sentence down on paper (or text file, as it were)? This occurs quite frequently at two in the morning after drinking too much caffeine and spending three hours staring at cheesy video game fanart on DA. (Yes, I know, only losers are on DA because the critiques are not nearly heartless and soul-shattering enough to be helpful to real artists, and drawing anime-style doesn't require any talent.) I don't know if you can call it writer's block, because I'm not at a complete loss for ideas. My thoughts have all turned into fireflies--maddeningly evasive and only occasionally brilliant, and all too easily squished. Fireflies do not make very good pets. Sure, they're cool for a while, but they don't do any tricks and they aren't exactly affectionate. I can't keep them very long because I'm not sure what to feed them.

Seriously, what do fireflies eat? ...Pollen, nectar, or other insects, apparently. I love Wikipedia.