What a frightful waste of an evening that was… I was guilt-tripped into setting up for and cleaning up my Business Administration class’s fashion show, something that was supposed to be a shining monument to our grasp of management theory. I think the whole process of putting the thing together showed rather clearly that none of us has bothered to crack open the textbook yet. And well, it isn’t my fault that it’s so damn heavy. They don’t really expect me to take that home, do they? But anyway! I would like to think that I’m the sort of person that’s immune to such simple tactics as guilt-tripping, but I am in fact fairly susceptible to them, when performed properly. The only thing that works better is a good pair of puppy-dog eyes, and a pouty face. Well, let’s call them doe-eyes, since I detest dogs. No dog is getting anything out of me. Which is the only drawback to this scheme — it only works when used by a face that doesn’t make me want to break it. Difficult, but not impossible. For amateurs, I would recommend the guilt-trip. Yes, I am a sucker. Go ahead, just walk all over me. I should study my mother more carefully… never works on her. Never. Dammit. Even crying… makes her laugh… So I went to the fashion show. It was quite disgusting. The kind of disgusting that I find particularly amusing, in that sad sort of way. But only for fifteen minutes or so. My brain was numb after the full two and a half hours. During the first several minutes, though, I was interested. The models were, of course, some of the most popular girls in school. Actually nice people, to be sure, but seemingly missing something essential. I would suspect this essential bit to be a full quarter of their brains, at the least. Either that, or they are robots. They certainly walked like robots tonight. They were not… unconfident. But not confident because the whole concept of self-assurance implies having a self… Okay, perhaps that’s a bit harsh. But that’s what it seemed like to me. They smile like the devil. And I am convinced that their eyes are made of glass. What the boys in the audience found so appealing about these clones, I do not understand. Hm, no, I think that I do understand what, just not why… as they were not perfect clones, I have been able to determine that the volume of the cheering was relatively proportionate to some factor derived from a calculation involving three categories of data: tit-size, blondeness, and skirt-length (or shortness, to be more precise). Walking-ability did not appear to play any part. The most popular was the least proficient walker of them all. And the way she used her arms reminded me of a gorilla. Funny. But as I said, only for a very short while. By the intermission my contact lenses had fused to my eyeballs, a suicide attempt of some sort, most likely. It stung not a little. My teacher came by and wondered why I did not look as if I was having fun. Fun. Ha ha. Fun. Bah! And if I wanted to watch people walking around while wearing uninteresting clothing, I would probably choose to watch them in their natural habitat. This is the only proper reason to visit a mall. Which is where all the clothes came from for this show. The mall. Now why would anyone want to pay to see that? Alright, so the money went to charity, but… I can give money to charity without having to suffer for it. Blah. Well, I guess I only suffered because I’m such a pushover. Meh. Candice does not know how to say no.

It’s okay, though. Tomorrow my class is going to the zoo. Somehow this is course related. Yes, somehow… I’d complain, but… it’s the zoo. So I’m going to shut up now. I get to see monkeys. And hippopotomomusses.

Additional note: I find the phrase “get on your knees and smile like a donut” greatly amusing. And I can’t use it. How horrible is that?

Indeed, tonight I will complain about the meaning of agnosticism, as I had said I might do yesterday. Because I find this issue highly annoying!

Agnosticism is not a third category somewhere in between theism and atheism. You either believe in the existence of a god, or you don’t. You are either a theist or an atheist. If you don’t know whether there is a god or not, you clearly do not believe in one, and are therefore an atheist. Guh.

There are two kinds of agnostics. Those that are theists, and those that are atheists. Agnostics have doubts, of various degrees, about what information can be known about god/ultimate reality/etc. Agnostic theists believe that it is impossible to know the nature of god, but do believe that it is possible to know that one exists. Agnostic atheists believe that even less can be known, to the point where they belive it is impossible even to be sure of a god’s existence. Agnostic atheists are not always labelled as atheists. Often they are just plain called aganostics, as though it were a third category. And only non-agnostic atheists, who believe that it IS possible to know the nature of god (i.e. that there isn’t one), are labelled as atheists. This is wrong. Wrong, I says! So-called “agnostics,” who aren’t sure whether or not there is a god, and who therefore do not believe in a god, are atheists.

To summarize:
Agnostic theist – Believes in a god. Does not believe that this god’s nature is knowable.
Non-agnostic theist – Believes in a god. Believes that this god’s nature is knowable.
Agnostic atheist – Does not believe in a god. Does not believe that a god does not exist. (Weak atheist – this is not a belief.)
Non-agnostic atheist – Does not believe in a god. Believes that a god does not exist. (Strong atheist – this is a belief.)

Rant concludes.

*Does happy dance*
I finally got some freakin’ mail from a couple of those programs I applied to for next year… And indeed, it was the good sort of mail. Two envelopes came from Ryerson. One of these was to inform me that I have been placed on a waiting list for the Radio & Television Arts program. Boo to that, but better than a rejection. Nevermind, though, because the other envelope was an offer of admission from the Image Arts program. Specifically, the New Media option. I also applied to Film Studies within the same program, but haven’t heard back. Eh, all the courses are the same the first year, anyway. But now to stop the rambling and to get to the exclamation marks: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Excuse me, I feel an extreme need to go jump on the furniture at the moment…

Last post was about one of my pet peeves. So is this one:

Theist: one who believes that a god exists.
Atheist: one who does not believe that a god exists.
– not – one who believes that a god does not exist.

There is a difference. Do you see it???

See… think of it this way. What is the difference between the two words “theism” and “atheism?” It is the letter A. All the difference in meaning comes from that letter A. What does the A mean? It means “not” or “without.” It’s Greek, look it up. So “atheism” means “without theism.” So now… if theism means belief in god, atheism means without belief in god. Get it yet? Guh! Atheism is not an active belief. It is the absence of belief. ABSENCE! GRR!!!

Tomorrow maybe I’ll discuss the meaning of the word “agnosticism,” and how it isn’t a third category somewhere between atheism and theism.

Betelgeuse: BET-el-jooze not BEETLE-juice.
Uranus: YUR-uh-nuss not you-RAY-nuss and NOT yur-anus.
Blah!

Just been doing some laundry, and I was wondering — what would a mountain fresh breeze smell like during a spring rain? And what if they grew lemons on that mountain?

Excerpt from “The Cure for Insomnia” by Lee Groban: “Lee Groban is an avante garde poet and artist in Chicago. He roams the streets of Chicago a lot and spends much time in libraries researching cultures that don’t currently exist. He tries to bring those cultures back to life through his poetry. Mr. Groban is mentioned in the Guiness Book of Records for the longest movie ever made. The movie consisted of him reading the full length version of The Cure for Insomnia which is over 26,000 pages long.” (The movie is over 80 hours long. Scary!)

I am sitting here in my school library, watching as one of the librarians designs what is apparently meant to be a library website. In Microsoft Word. And with serifs all over the place. I find this offensive. That will be all.

I am shocked. Kelloggs, one of the companies I constantly barrage with pointless ranting e-mails when I’ve got nothing better to do has sent me a reply. Simply amazing. They rarely bother with me. I had e-mailed them several times, pointing out that their superhero cartoon bull, Uder, from the Kelloggs Cereal & Milk Bar commercials should not be able to give milk, for the simple reason that he is well… a he.

Their message:

Hi Candice,

Thank you for your e mail.

So you’re wondering why I’ve got udders? Well, I have mechanical udders
so miiiilk it anytime I want! Let’s get splooshing!

Uder the Cow.

This response is not exactly what I would call satisfactory. Especially in that it does not address the gender issues I had brought up in my message. I believe there is a severe sexism problem within the breakfast cereal cartoon icon industry that needs to be acted upon. Uder is the most prominent symbol of this discrimination; here we have a position requiring what you would assume were female qualifications, and yet it is filled by this genetic oddity, Uder (I cannot for a minute believe the “mechanical udders” claim, as they certainly appear to be quite flesh-like). Also, I had expressed a concern about the possibility of the use of such genetically manipulated animals as a source of ingredients. I fear that such practices may be unsafe. And Kelloggs replies to my most serious letters as if this were all some big joke. I am udderly outraged. Hmph!

(:
!?
that’s so…
so…
pretentious?!