The Test

TL;DR I've devised a series of simple tests to see if what someone says is garbage!

Hello, everybody! Welcome to Peter's Thoughts from the Shower, Episode God Only Knows What Number.

In conversation and politics these days, I've noticed a few things: a general lack of critical thinking, refusal to do research, and general reactionary venomousness. This isn't an indictment of any particular group, to be clear; people on all sides (and especially ends) of the political spectrum are slinging some pretty overcooked spaghetti in recent years. As such, I, a perfectly ineffective emissary of the political center, have devised a few simple steps to help you tell if something you're reading, watching, hearing, or otherwise consuming is bullshit.

The trick I use is to pull the rug out from under the situation context-wise and just examine what it is that's being said. This is not to say all things should be deprived of their appropriate context, but hear me out for a second here.

We'll start fairly innocent. Consider the Nicholas Sparks novel The Lucky One's film adaptation, a movie that had commendable financial success and remarkably lukewarm reviews, considering the amount of OH YEAH I heard on its release. To be clear, I'm not after this movie or the people who produced it, I just kinda... picked. There are many.

But here's the premise: astonishingly handsome Marine Zac Efron gets ambushed, blown up, and otherwise kicked to shit, surviving by repeated turns of slim probability in his favor. Through all this he's carrying the picture of a young woman he found on the ground, the running joke becoming that she's his "guardian angel."

Returning to the United States, Marine Zac proceeds to find said young woman through more remarkable feats of unlikelihood, but can't explain why he's arrived, and signs on at the farm she works at. There are then some old Nicholas Sparks mainstays, including a treehouse, abusive ex-husbands, and severe weather, ultimately ending up with Marine Zac Efron and the pretty blonde female lead together. No surprises, just a slightly cheesy but also vaguely heartwarming romance story.

Now, pretend Marine Zac Efron is instead played by Steve Buscemi or Christopher Walken or someone to that effect. This movie is now about a traumatized combat veteran who, having difficulty readjusting to civilian life, takes his dog (for some reason?) and stalks a pretty blonde female lead across several different states, cohabitates with her family under false pretenses, and maybe-kinda-arguably murders her ex-husband, and we no longer have the warm sunset lens flares and piercing good looks of Marine Zac Efron to nurse us off that fact. Well, shit. It seems I don't approve of this movie anymore, when you take it down to its core features.

I promised up there that this was about politics, so... smooth transition.

Let's pick alt-right firebrand Milo Yiannopolous, since he's in the news again recently. Big, big catalyst for controversy: due to various matters of who he is and what he says, nobody seems quite able to agree on what to think of him. So, let's pretend for a second that Milo isn't Milo. Take the exact words out of his mouth and pretend for a moment that they came out of someone else's.

"Muslims are allowed to get away with almost anything. They can shut down and intimidate prominent ex-Muslims. They’re allowed to engage in the most brazen anti-semitism, even as they run for office in European left-wing political parties. And, of course, politicians and the media routinely turn a blind eye to the kind of sexism and homophobia that would instantly end the career of a non-Muslim conservative — and perhaps get the latter arrested for hate speech when he dared to object."

From the article The Left chose Islam over Gays, 12 June 2016 A.D., in Breitbart.

Okay, so, probably certainly offensive if you're on the leftish side, and maybe if you're right-leaning you see a kernel of truth behind the blatant over-generalization. He did say this intentionally to be provocative, in fairness. That is his function; he is an offense machine, a generator of ferment and heated Facebook comment wars. 

Now let's take that quote, and just pretend that someone ordinary said it. It's not Milo Yiannopoulos, with his classical good looks and immaculately curated hair (not to mention his gorgeous accent) saying this thing; rather, it's an uncle at a family barbecue who you only kind of know, or better still, someone who just walked up to you and struck up a conversation on the subway. 

Re-imagined this way, this is no longer political commentary; it's the ravings of a fucking madman. There's no facts cited to establish a topic, no framing of a narrative or preface of "the way I see it," or anything to that effect. It starts as a generalization that one group of people are vaguely absolved of wrongdoing, with no example cited, then ends up fumbling into a critique of the laws governing hate speech(?). It's not even about anything; no issue prompted this comment, and I very much doubt anybody asked specifically for it. 

I could labor on about this on and on, but I think you get the idea. If you can take something and alter it very slightly, whether by replacing a key actor or imagining the words from a different speaker or whatever else, and have the thing in question end up sounding like a fuckin' lunatic produced it, there's a very high chance you ought to avoid consuming that particular content. 

Trust me on this one. I'm a fuckin' lunatic. 

Okay, that's all the time I've got for today. As always, if you enjoyed the read, the second-best thing to do is show people (a joy shared is... doubled[?!]). The very best thing to do is to share said joy with me; leave me a comment of what you think of my tests. Does this lead too sharply into extreme skepticism and cynicism? Does the mental move of altering the content in this way violate the agency of its author, or something to that effect? Let me know; I love reading any and all comments, and I hope you all have a lovely afternoon C:

What I Didn't Get at Berkeley

TL;DR There are some gaps in my education I wish were filled in, and they're not the ones you might expect.

Shameless Plug: I'm elsewhere on the Internet as well! I stream at this channel and upload shitty content at this channel. Okay, plug over.

So, I graduated in June of this year (GO BURRS), signalling the end of this stage of my education. I am now the proud owner of a degree in Integrative Biology (meaning... whatever you want, maaaan), with special and unofficial emphasis placed on community ecology and mycology. Obligatory joke about mushrooms, ha ha.

In the process of undergrad, I was exposed to a huge volume of information, and I haven't even forgotten all of it.; not immediately, anyway. I learned sterile technique, in spite of some of my lab partners' best efforts, and also how to do fun things like separate the various pigments from an organism once I've completely destroyed it and pretend I'm a forensics agent on CSI while running DNA (without the benefit of time-lapse cuts). "Volunteering" at Cal Day one day, I also got an exceptional introduction to the delicate art of handling crabs and anemones and such things (everybody else wanted to "have hands" that "worked" after volunteering and didn't want to get "cut up" or some goofy juvenile babble like that).

I could go on listing, but I think the idea is clear: while I've been at school, I've learned a surprising variety of skills in several different arenas, most of them in some way STEM-related. Another fairly shameless plug has to be inserted here: I can't imagine getting a scientific education of this caliber anywhere but at Berkeley. I'm sure the admissions department can give you a brochure with far better graphic design than I can lay out here, but in all seriousness, I can't imagine en environment for academia better than this one. The anecdote about walking accidentally into Nobel Laureates is mostly false, but I can tell you truly that moving around campus it's almost impossible to avoid running into the office of someone exceptionally competent in their field.

Regardless, I've received a complete and highly edifying education here, and I'm deeply grateful for it. During undergrad, I remember wondering what the purpose of the whole venture was, and I managed to convince myself a few times that I didn't have any useful skills. Now, in hindsight, I can clearly see that wasn't true; I was just surrounded by people with an equal number of skills and got adjusted to a new norm. Having graduated, I'm no longer plagued by a lack of confidence in my scientific abilities or anything like that. I've always loved science, and thought essentially that biology was a no-brainer field for me. I love thinking logically (caveat here, for obvious reasons) about problems and then solving them, and especially building a narrative framework about how the natural world works (more on that in future posts, probably).

My scientific education is of sterling caliber, although those who know me personally will know it doesn't matter (I'm still an idiot). Living in the STEM world all those four years, it rarely occurred to me to do anything else; I had a brief dalliance with anthropology, which ended in a great deal of rage and frustration on my part due to mostly clerical issues, but that was it. Biology was entirely sufficient to occupy my imagination and so on, and God knows I never suffered for a lack of things to read.

Having graduated now, what surprises me is how badly I miss the skills I don't have. Video editing, for instance, was never something I pursued, both because the technical know-how involved intimidated me and because I was never placed in the "artistic" box (more on that later, also), but now that I've tried it it's something I wish fervently I was better at. The same goes for drawing; again, something I was frankly instructed not to do, and when I started doodling between classes I discovered it's really fun. I suck, mind you, but that doesn't stop me from having a good time. In these arenas, I can't help wondering how much even a single class would have helped; I hear other people talk about the very basics, things that "everybody knows how to do," and have to Google the vocabulary used. Watching a favorite podcast of mine, for instance, I was astonished at my own lack of competence regarding film; it's not that I don't know anything, but there are tons and tons of little logical frameworks that it simply never occurred to me to think in until I heard someone else discussing them.

Movies are one of my favorite things to talk about (and during, I'm afraid; sorry, Rosa). And yet, here I am, not even considering the film as a piece of logic and trying to understand its theme, or puzzling out its plot holes, or considering the way it was shot, and on and on. A personal quest of mine is to be able to talk at least engage competently in the conversation about any subject that comes up (the phrase "Renaissance person" is so unbelievably far up its own ass at this point that I hesitate to use it, but that is an ideal of mine I try to at least pursue), and I would be a poor scientist indeed if I had to present my findings on film.

Programming was also never something I pursued, and I admit I'm kicking myself a little for it. I've always been good with languages, and it wasn't made clear to me that programming was essentially the science of talking to computers. I think it would have been a fascinating nexus of my interests to explore, where language and logical structure intersect, and I'm sure I don't need to tell you that programming is a marketable skill these days. Again, I was partly intimidated by the risk of failure, partly deterred by what I thought my "gifts" were, and partly cowed by my peers' horror stories about "fucking 61A," but I have to wonder. That's a strange motif of my life so far: I receive a perception from people I talk to, a cultural deterrent of some kind, regarding an activity, and I noodle myself out of ever trying it.

Years and years later, I will rediscover the subject by chance, and timidly extend a single fingertip into the pool, only to discover that the proverbial water is fine, and I really do love swimming after all. It calls to mind an anecdote from the distant past. I, or one of my brothers, was in a crib waiting through the day, as one does at the low single-digit ages. Growing bored, the small boy in question proceeded to use his tiny, cushy, hot-dog-like limbs to make the perilous vertical ascent and rappel down the crib to escape. Having done this, he then wandered into another room to greet my astonished and perhaps horrified mother with his mighty battlecry: "That wasn't so bad!"

Even in my short time here on Earth so far, I've encountered many, many situations that merited a "That wasn't so bad!"

Anyway, it's getting on toward dinnertime, and this post is long in the tooth, so I'll close with a few (hopefully) concise thoughts.

1. Despite how much I've learned, I want to learn more, and teach myself to do more new things. Maybe this is just how it is to be a person, and I'll always have this feeling of missing a skill, but I can't say for sure after so few years.

2. Berkeley's science programs are fantastic, but I would urge the undergrad in STEM to at least venture a little outside the safe, cushy, entirely-not-sterile-enough laboratory environment and indulge your creative side. Take a class in film, or literature, or whatever floats your boat, and I doubt you'll regret it.

3. We need more people in the humanities and the arts and so on. As a person who has experienced the "STEM ÜBER ALLES" culture firsthand (I even talked to a few computer science people and survived, would you believe), ignore that heap of shit. There's nothing less valid, or challenging, or worthwhile about the arts when compared to STEM. To bring it right down to the most mercenary level, I can also confirm for you that it is totally possible to do art as a job; it may be in the digital arts, as a video editor or graphic designer or whatever, but for God's sake stop telling people they have to do STEM to make money.

Okay, I think that's all my thoughts for now. I'd love to hear yours; are there any skills you wish you'd developed further, any sleeper talents you wish you'd explored, anything like that? Leave me a comment, or a message, or whatever. Have a wonderful rest of your day or night, as applicable C:

I Think I Have to Quit My Pills

TL;DR I've been medicated to fix a condition, and now my other conditions have become intolerably worse.

Hello, everybody! I have to apologize for a lot of things: my extended absence, the lack of consistent formatting that's about to plague this post, and the regrettable nature of its content. If you're not in a good mood, probably skip this one. There's probably going to be a fair amount of swearing.

If you haven't already figured this out, the author of this blog is a raving madman. Not always in the fun, quirky "I like Dr. Who haha ecks dee" kind of way, either. Sometimes I'm crazy in a serious, wide-bore "I pulled out all my hair and want to eat other people" kind of way. I show everyone the funny manic side because it makes better jokes, has better hair and people think it's charming. I think there are two or so people in the world who know I'm crazy that second way, so consider yourself privileged in possibly the least pleasant way ever, dear reader.

Part of the reason I'm writing this tonight is because I wanted to write a post for you guys, after all these months. I feel bad leaving the blog to just sit and fester, and the various technologies are quick to remind me I haven't written anything. The other part of the reason is that I simply can't do anything else. I say that very literally, I have all sorts of things I want to do and I just can't start any of them.

Backstory and exposition goes here. For those not in the long-term loop, all my life I've had issues, culminating in diagnoses of severe depression, anxiety and obsessive-compulsive disorder. There's probably something borderline or bipolar in there too, but the summary is whoop-de-fuckin'-doo I'm nuts. For those not in the recent loop, I decided to try a pharmaceutical solution to some of my crazy, hoping it would make me better able to live the life of a normal person. Specifically I started taking an antidepressant, hoping it would make me less depress! Out of school! Working! Doing fun things on the side like my stream and YouTube (twitch.tv/mariacello). PROGRESS!

Yeah, I feel like shiet.

I had some time off work today, and my grand master plan was to edit a video or write in the morning, get coffee and eat lunch, stream in the afternoon, finish that video and write some more, make dinner, pee about seventy times, blah blah blah. None of that happened. Anything I want to do today, I just can't do. I've been thinking urgently that I really ought to be making dinner since about 5:30. Right around 7:45 I actually started eating, and that was just egg whites and carrots I had laying around. Instead of working on my own content, I just went ahead and clicked around through a giant amount of content I've already seen. For at least an hour today, I did legitimately actually nothing. I just stared at a blank-ass tab thinking about all the things I ought to be doing.

The medication I'm on is for the depression part of my whole ensemble. I'm gonna leave the brand name out because I don't want a Big Pharma death squad turning up at my door, but it's a commonly-prescribed selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor. Also, it's not cocaine; that's a non-selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor. Anyway, it's for the depression.

Sure, the depression is a little better. I probably have one day a week now where I'm totally emotionless, and maybe a day where I'm sad all day, but that's better than it used to be. Observing these improvements, the doctors said "YEEhaw, let's turn up that dosage, FUCK yeah bud," as they should.

The depression is better, and the other parts of the pie are, as they say, fucked. An old social situation that I'd about gotten over is keeping me up at night again. I can concentrate for about a total of five seconds before some little tic in my brain snaps me out of it. Writing that last sentence, for instance, I've glanced away to count the change on my desk, count the dents in my water bottle and remember where each one came from, glance at the jeweler's screwdriver on the other side of my desk and try to remember where the others in the set are, and look at a container of hummus nearby and remember the awkward interactions I had last time I was at Berkeley Bowl. That list started trivial and ended fairly bourgie, but be aware that I had no conscious intention of doing any of them, and each of them was acutely uncomfortable, as weird as that sounds.

I've never been able to sleep properly, but it's especially bad now. No sleep, no gym. No gym, no tired, no sleep. In the last few months my appetite has been shot to hell, which is bad news because my very, very worst side usually only bubbles up when the blood sugar's running low (that one was out a lot back home in Camarillo).

So good, now I'm only sad some of the time, and instead I feel like a fuckin' meth addict. I see disheartening comments on a political Facebook video (or whatever) and suddenly I'm full of searing, furious vitriol for people who barely remember writing the comment and certainly don't deserve such a reaction. Someone is loud and disorderly on BART and abruptly I'm off on an internal monologue of the purest, blackest hatred; sexism, racism, you name it, I've probably thought it at a million words a minute. I want to be clear and explicit here: if you sat me down and asked me, I don't believe any of that type of shit. In the most improbable feat of mental chemistry, these thoughts actually literally create themselves out of nothing and take over by force. It's all very... the ending of Shivering Isles, where Sheogorath (Prince of Madness) realizes he's just a figment of his own arch-nemesis's imagination and dubs the player the new Prince(ss) of Madness to take over the realm. That doesn't make a damn lick of sense, probably.

The point is, I'll be just motoring along thinking about spaghetti and whatever, and suddenly I'm the emissary of Satan on Earth for a little while. This is some Attack on Titan shit, dear reader.

I originally started on this pharmaceutical angle as a concession to pressure from other people, it should be noted. Pressure's the wrong word; people saw that I felt like shit and put the idea in my head that this would fix it. They were right, for a while. I graduated, and I have a job that I actually love doing (the commute sucks, but I'd do it for free otherwise [don't tell my boss]), so I'm in a good spot on paper. If I'm totally honest with myself, however, I think the pills don't really have shit to do with that. I did that, that was me. The pills helped, but I'm starting to think it was a placebo effect. I just needed something to justify feeling better.

When I get started on something, especially a project of my own invention, I'm just about unstoppable. My poor friends can testify to this; I'm stubborn as hell, and the twitchy obsessive-compulsive part of me forces me to make a plan and execute it, or I'll go totally up the wall. We're invading Rome in the spring, everybody. Dysentery among the soldiery? Fuck 'em, tell them we're bringing buckets along.

In these last few months, I don't even have the ideas anymore. I used to have vividly bad dreams, and now I just don't dream at all. I'm not as bleak as I used to be, but I very much feel like a meat robot creaking automatically through the day, completing just enough objectives to keep the machine trundling along without dying. I don't appreciate living this way. I love this job I have, and I'm deeply grateful for it, but it's not the career I used to dream about. I want my creative side to work freely again. I want to have ideas, and put them out on paper or in video, and not have this fuckin' invisible hand crushing me back down into the cabinets at the rear of my mind every time I try.

All this is to say: I think these pills are bending me into a more highly-functioning and socially acceptable person, who I happen to think is an utter and abject piece of shit.

For these and some other reasons, there's a pretty good chance I'm taking myself off these pills. I don't know when, but sometime in the near future I think I have to just cut them out. A few days ago I raised my voice in anger at one of my dearest friends, and I won't fuckin' have any more of that, thank you kindly, Your Honor.

This post has been pretty much an unformatted vomit of consciousness (I don't have the mental faculties to actually organize a nice post at the moment), but the last part I have to reserve for a call to action for you, dear reader. Knowing I'm going off my meds, the odds of my insanity increasing, or at least changing, are not trivial. I won't belabor the point, but as mentioned earlier, I am a bit of a lunatic.

So bear with me, please. For those of you who know me, I may try your patience over the next little while. I may abruptly cancel plans apropos of nothing. I may go off on unexpected tirades about my parents, or traffic control, or how narrow the aisles are at Berkeley Bowl. I may post selfies where my eyes aren't quite pointing the same way. I may even, perish the thought, be irregular in my blog posts, as regards both their timing and the content I include within them. But bear with me; I have a great network of people, and I'm trying my very best to justify their faith in (and often unwarranted praise of) me.

Okay, I'm ramblin', so I gotta cut it off there. Thanks for sticking through the whole post, and sticking with me, everybody. Also, if anything needs more explanation, or you're curious about anything (I don't think I got down everything I wanted to), do let me know in a comment or an email; stuff to contact me is under my profile. Love you guys. Sorry for the dramatic post, and for the way that I am.