Yeah, so it’s been awhile, approximately half of a month. I know, I’m a slacker. I apologize. The end of the semester got crazier than I ever could have imagined (even after exams ended). So my journal suffered. Well, it will continue to suffer. It’s summer and I’m interning in New York City. I do not have computer access except for at work. And I just don’t think I ought to be updating my journal from work, so my journal will probably rarely be updated. So be forewarned. Of course, around August 10th or so, I’ll be back in dreary Ithaca, so the fun can, again, resume. Have a great summer!

For the past 4 years, one of the things I’ve done a lot of is take philosophy courses. I’ve taken 9. Everything from Aristotle to Rawls. Yet, that is all coming to an end this week when I turn in the take home exam to my final philosophy class ever. I admit: there is some sadness within me that exists in regard to this. One of the reasons I majored in philosophy is that I like it. Imagine that. And one of the reasons I like it so much is because you get to write really amusing papers sometimes, and in these papers you get to create really amusing examples. The most hilarious ever was probably my example dealing with Britney Spears that I used in a paper for a 300-level Ethical Theory course a few years ago. I got an “A” on the paper too. But one of the questions from my current philosophy class in Metaphysics, particularly on Free Will is pretty also pretty amusing, so I figured I’d share it. It is below:

6. What is the Principle of Alternate Possibilities? Describe a “Frankfurt-style” example which seems to show that the principle is false.

According to Frankfurt, the Principle of Alternate Possibility is that “a person is morally responsible for what he has done only if he could have done otherwise.” Many philosophers who are concerned with free will are concerned with the truth of this principle, because if this principle, incompatibilism, and determinism are all true, then no one could ever be morally responsible for anything, as they had no alternate choice since the laws of nature along with past events dictated their action. Frankfurt, however, does not believe that the Principle of Alternate Possibility is true.

In order to cast doubt on the Principle of Alternate Possibility, he develops a number of counter examples. The idea behind these counter examples is to appeal to his readers’ intuition about certain situations. In these situations, Frankfurt tries to show situations where the person could not have acted otherwise, but still ought to be held morally responsible. Such an example would work as follows.

Imagine a fanatical Harvard undergraduate named Adam. It had always been Adam’s dream to go to Cornell, as many of his family members went to Cornell and he and his family visited the campus at least once each year. Yet, when Adam applied, he was rejected, and instead had to attend his safe school, Harvard. In order to get back at Cornell, Adam plans on blowing up Bailey Hall during a Psych 101 lecture by Professor Maas, so that he can inflict the maximum pain and suffering on the university. Unbeknownst to Adam, however, there is a Princeton faculty member named Professor Sachs, who has an even deeper hatred for Cornell than Adam. Professor Sachs began teaching Physics at Cornell after his graduate work, but he did not receive tenure. As a result, he had to settle for a teaching job at Princeton instead. One day upon traveling to Harvard for a physics colloquium, Sachs overhears Adam talking to his friends about how much he hates Cornell, and how he is planning to blow up Bailey Hall. Sachs thinks that this is a splendid idea, but he worries about Adam’s will to follow thorough with the plan. As a result, Sachs sees this as a perfect opportunity to use his newly developed mind control device to make certain that Adam does follow through with his plan. So when the day comes for Adam’s dastardly deed, Sachs hides in the bushes near Rockefeller Hall with his machine in hand watching Adam, to make sure he follows through. As it turns out, Adam does not falter, and successfully blows up Bailey, obliterating poor Professor Maas and approximately 2000 unsuspecting Cornell undergraduates. Although he did not have to use his mind control machine, Sachs is clearly pleased with the result as well.

In this horrific example, assuming that Sach’s mind control device would have worked, Adam did not have the ability to do otherwise than he in fact did. If he had changed his mind, and chosen not to blow up Bailey Hall, then Sachs would have turned on his device and made him follow through. Because he did not have any alternate possibility than blowing up Bailey Hall, the Principle of Alternate Possibility seems to claim that he should not be held morally responsible, yet most would agree that he should. Thus, the principle seems like it should be false.

Okay, that title is probably already offensive to some of you. Rest assured, however, I do not believe that ALL girls are stupid, just the vast majority. But I don’t discriminate; I also think the vast majority of guys are stupid. Yes, I believe most people are stupid. So now that I’ve given you this disclaimer let me go on. 

There are a few types of stupid girls that I wish to talk about tonight. I don’t want to talk about the kind of girls who are bad at math; I don’t want to talk about girls who say “like” every other word; I don’t want to talk about girls who act dumb so that guys won’t be intimidated by them. Don’t get me wrong, all these girls are probably stupid in their own way, but I wish to talk about another kind of stupid girl: The kind who makes ridiculous choices in terms of a significant other.

There are a few different scenarios here, and there is some overlap. The most common is the girl who likes the “bad boy” type. Now I have absolutely no clue what it is that attracts girls to the “bad boy” type. I think it’s downright laughable. I mean, it’s one thing to like this type of guy during middle or high school. Yet, once one hit’s college, one’s priorities ought to change. What do I mean? I mean that if you’re gonna be in a relationship with a guy during and after college, then the priorities should center a lot more around stability, and let’s face it, the “bad boy” type is hardly the most stable. I mean, maybe I’m crazy here, but I would think that the type of guy who would be a good father/role model for children, good provider for a household, and faithful husband would seem logical for those with long term plans. Obviously, if one has no long term plans, that’s another issue, but most girls do. So what happens when a stupid girl has a long-term relationship or marriage with the “bad boy” type? Well, if they’re lucky it’ll be mild stuff, like him being a poor role model for the children and having them grow up to be criminals or sociopaths. He’ll also probably cheat on her, because that’s the kind of thing a “bad boy” should do. Or he might just be an unemployed bum, since “bad boys” don’t hold down jobs very well. Employers, unlike stupid girls, tend not to be crazy about the “bad boy” type.

Next is the “wild type” guy, especially in terms of being a player. What I love about this situation is that lots of girls like this type of guy because they find him to be a “challenge.” They want to date him because they want to tame him thereby changing him. Of course, what they don’t realize is that people don’t change. So instead, he’ll cheat on her habitually, and the stupid girl will just chalk it up to the fact that she isn’t working hard enough to change him. The result? She ends up having a serious boyfriend/husband who everybody knows is an asshole, but she doesn’t mind because it’s such a great challenge. Right, sounds smart to me!

Finally, the most tragic mistake that a stupid girl can make is to like the final wrong type of guy: the abuser. This is the type of guy who verbally and/or physically abuses the woman. Why, oh why, are women a) first attracted to this type of guy and b) inclined to stay with him after they realize that this is the kind of guy that he is? For the life of me I can’t figure it out. In my opinion, any guy who hits a girl should rot in the deepest fieriest pits of hell, yet women tend to go back. The stupid girl forgives him time and time again, and he beats her time and time again. Now I would NEVER say that she deserves it for going back, but at the same time, what the hell is she thinking? I just don’t understand.

So why am I talking about this? Oh, because it’s just frustrating in general. Because some 80% of girls fall into one of these three categories partially or fully. And about the other 15-20% have boyfriends. Which screws nice guys like me, who aren’t particularly the “bad boy” type, “wild” type, or “abuser” type. But I’ll end my rant here. My only hope is that most girls will mature a bit after college, and they’ll get over their stupidity in this respect. Because when it comes to long term relationships, guys like me should be the ideal, not the loser.

Today I would like to delve into a fairly non-intellectual and particularly not valuable topic. The topic is, oh, how does one put it, those really short shorts that all the sorority girls wear that have their sorority’s name on the butt. I know, you want to stop reading already, but bear with me. This should be amusing, at least for me anyway.

I decided to write about this topic today at brunch when seeing a girl from my favorite sorority ΚΚΓ was wearing said shorts. For those of you who do not know exactly what I’m talking about, let me elaborate. Imagine the shortest shorts you can without being hotpants. Now take those shorts and stamp a couple Greek letters on the butt, like ΚΚΓ or ΣΔΤ. Voila: You’ve got the ever so popular butt stamped shorts. They also come in the generic “Cornell-across-the-ass” variety. I’ve also seen them that say “Ithaca is Gorges”. Their creativity has almost no bounds.

The reason I am concerned with these shorts today is because, well, in a word, I love them. I think they’re simply a fabulous invention. Here’s why: First of all, they’re just the right length (as short as possible), and second of all there is something written right there on the butt. The writing on the butt has two implications. First, the writing attracts one’s attention. Second, when one “reads” the writing, he is not suspected of gawking at a girl’s ass, but instead simply reading what is written on her shorts.

How brilliant. It’s like you can have your cake and eat it too. It’s a win-win situation, and let’s face it: Life doesn’t have many win-win situations. So I would just like to give some mad props to whoever’s idea it was to create these shorts. Kudos to you sir. I say sir because a man clearly invented these shorts – I mean c’mon, why would a woman think of such a thing.

And I was thinking, wouldn’t it be funny (I think it would), if some frat decided to make a bunch of these kind of shorts that had their frat’s Greek letters on the back, and then wore them as a joke sometime. Or maybe they could make their pleges wear them as a hazing prank. Either way, it would be pretty damn funny. I mean, can’t ya see a frat guy with a big beer gut hanging over a pair of tiny shorts with the letters “ΖΒΤ” stamped on the ass? I can’t think of much funnier than that. Sometimes I think I would have made a great frat boy, oh what could have been. (Of course, I’d have to work on the beer gut and drinking habit, but I could pull it off with some work.)

So that’s enough. I don’t have anything insightful to really say about these shorts; I only have my admiration to offer. And one day, God permitting, that cute Kappa girl that was wearing those fabulous shorts today will walk up and talk to me. She will say that I am her dream man, and it will turn out that she’s not a typical airhead sorority girl at all, but actually a double major in philosophy and art history. Oh c’mon, a guy can dream, can’t he?

That’s right: I’m popular. Who knew? I made this frightening realization this evening. Tonight I went to see the play “Matchmaker” at the CTA. It was fabulous, but the play has little to do with this journal entry. In fact, I wish to talk about popularity.

I am not someone who has cared much about whether or not I’m popular. Sure, it’s nice to be well liked, but the number of people who knew me never really seemed relevant. I’m still that way; I haven’t changed. As a result, throughout elementary, middle, and high school, I had plenty of friends, and knew lots of people. But I would not say that at any time did I feel like I was popular. I had my friends, and that was always good enough for me.

It still is. But something has changed. I suddenly realized this evening that I am popular. I know a hell of a lot of people, or at least a hell of a lot of people know me. Now, going to a large university, I figured that I’d get to know a small number of people, and they would basically be my friends. While I certainly have such a group of friends, there are a staggering number of people that I “know”. When I say “know”, I mean well enough to say “hi” and take up a conversation with when I see them.

What brought about this realization? It happened when I was leaving the play. I looked around me, and through this strictly random cross-section of people, I knew, roughly, 1 out of 3 people. Now, that might not seem like a lot, but this should be considered in light of its being a random sample from the larger population of my school at large. We’ve got about 18,000 students here (including grad). 1 out of 3 means at least 6000 people. Do I really know 6000 people that go to my school? You wouldn’t think so, but somehow, I don’t think that 6000 is a particularly ridiculous estimate. I honestly saw over 100 people I know in the span of about 20 minutes tonight, and it really made me think. Then, after that 20 minutes, I started to think I was exaggerating. I began waiting for the bus and watched someone get picked up by a friend of theirs who had a car. Then I thought, “See, it might all be in my head. I mean, if I was really popular, wouldn’t a friend of mine be there to pick me up?” Then, the person in the car yelled my name and asked me if I wanted a ride. It was my friend Ellen. Doh! Popular people don’t need to ride the bus.

Earlier I commented that, in some sense, it disturbed me to realize that I somehow had become “popular”. I think that’s because it’s not something asked for: At no time did I have any intention to know so many people. I’m still kind of unclear as to how it happened. Maybe it’s because I take a rather diverse offering of classes and meet a lot of different kinds of people; maybe it’s because I have held various high exposure jobs like being an RA, PA, and TA; maybe people are just attracted to me. Okay, the last possibility is probably a stretch. But seriously, it’s kind of strange.

So I asked myself how it happened. But then I began wondering whether or not I wanted it to happen. I mean, to some people popularity is a wonderful thing, and something they actually strive for. I’d never cared either way. I’m like the vegetarian who wins a lifetime supply of beef jerky. Well, not exactly, because I don’t detest popularity, I just haven’t figured out how to deal with it just yet. I guess I should be happy, but it seems odd. I’m worried that somehow I’ve sacrificed my convictions in some way. I mean, anyone who is well-liked by that many people must be pretty mainstream, and I like to think that I really am not. Gosh, I thought I was downright eccentric at times, and surely there aren’t 6000 people even at a school like mine who would like someone with a bust of Aristotle on his window sill. Evidentially there are. Who knew?

Now I’ve got to think. “I just need some time to think.” That’s what I was muttering to myself earlier. I don’t know that I’m ready to handle it, because it kind of hit me off guard. So I haven’t made any decision about whether or not I’m pleased about it. I mean, I really don’t see how it could be a bad thing, but it was just unexpected. I never would have guessed it: I’m popular.

I would like this journal entry to be an ode to what once was but never will again be. The theme, physics, particularly physics lecture. Sure, I’ll have a final exam Thursday for physics, but what is key is that I will never, ever again have to sit through a physics lecture.

This makes me infinitely happy for a couple of reasons. First, on average, physics professors are the worst around. They usually have the problem of being quite smart with their teaching ability hardly matching their intellect. In fact, there tends to be an inversely proportional relationship to how famous/brilliant a physics professor is and how good a lecturer he is. (I say he, because I have never had a female physics professor.) Of course, as with all rules, there are exceptions. And since the physics department here is so spectacular in terms of research and brilliance of its professors, the teaching, naturally, sucks ass.

But that’s all over now, because I had my last lecture today. Oh, and my physics professor this semester is hardly brilliant, but equally as poor of a lecturer. I guess it’s fitting that my worst physics course was my last? Oh well. I never have to listen to the schmuck babble on about things he can hardly understand himself again!

And what better way to go out with a bang than coming to class a bit, er, nice? Now, I admit, I wasn’t as nice as my friend Mike. He was pretty hilarious. But I had some trouble standing steady while he was lecturing. Frighteningly enough, this isn’t the first time this semester I had come to a lecture “nice”. Although last time it wasn’t intentional! I’m not an alcoholic, really. This is just a strange coincidence.

But my happiness really lies in the fact that it is over. No more looking at my watch, waiting for the minutes to tick by as some sad, tired old man scribbles equations on the board about forces and vectors. Nope, not for me. That part of my life is over. I enjoyed it at times; I despised it at others. I think I’m a better person for having gone through it. I would do it again. I am glad it’s done. And now I will graduate from an Ivy League University with a degree in Physics. That’s gotta be worth something, right? Let’s hope, ‘cause otherwise, I endured a lot of suffering for nothing. It’s a good thing I’m a masochist.

Today was the most surreal day that I have had in quite some time. Why so? Well, first I walked around all day with the “I Love DG” pin on my backpack (see last journal entry). It was especially amusing walking through Trillium with that on during the busiest time of the day. If you’ve ever seen Trillium, you know why that’s relevant (it’s like a haven for sorority girls). While bizarre, this was only the beginning of what would be the most surreal day of the semester.

After that I went to my LAST philosophy lecture. Now, when I say last, I don’t mean last of the semester or last of the year. I mean last of my entire life! Kind of depressing. And what would make a more fitting lecture for my last philosophy class than to talk about whether or not time travel is metaphysically possible. Talk about a just plain weird fucking topic. My head literally started hurting by the time the class was over. It’s just too strange to even think about. The puzzles are just outrageous.

And it gets worse. After philosophy, I came back to my room to get ready to go to a dinner. Where did I have dinner? At the house of the Vice Provost for undergraduate education. Awesome guy though, he’s a lot of fun. There were also lots of administrators and professors there as well, but I was the only undergraduate. But that’s not what made it surreal. The wine/beer is what made it surreal. There is just something slightly unsettling about drinking with professors and administrators. And I mean, all the top people were there except for the president of the university. The provost was there and every else you could imagine. So I had like 3 glasses of wine, it was good wine, and hell, the university was payin’! But it was certainly a bizarre climate.

And onward. Then I came back after the dinner, feeling the wine slightly (but not very much, I mean c’mon it was only 3 drinks). And what better thing to do than go to Wegmans and buy food? Wegmans is the giant supermarket in town, for those of you who don’t know. Actually supermarket is an understatement really. It’s like a multipurpose store for everything. And what did I buy? That’s the surreal part. For starters, 192 bagels, 350 hamburger buns, and 250 hot dog buns. We also bought about 40 bananas, a dozen apples, 80 breakfast bars, 3 gallons of milk, 3 gallons of water, 3 gallons of apple juice, 3 gallons of orange juice, and more cream cheese than I care to recall. We bought some other stuff too, but that’s the stuff I can remember off the top of my head. You should have seen the face of the cashier when we rolled up with carbohydrate heaven. And she counted each 8 pack of hamburger rolls and hot dog rolls separately. Poor girl.

And finally, I’m here – watching the freshmen try to sneak around the building with their alcohol. They’re all dying to pre-party tomorrow morning. Oh, tomorrow morning is Slope Day. (See my February 11th entry for details.) Slope Day is the day when there are about 10,000 people on the side of a hill who get really drunk all day long. Gotta love the Ivy League. And there are new restrictions, including alcohol limits and ID checking. That means that all the underage freshman will be getting drunk beforehand, in my lovely residence hall. And guess who’s life that makes miserable? Well, not really mine, but my RA’s. They’ll have a fun day tomorrow, as will the rest of us. Ahh, my last Slope Day. Where have the years gone?

Yesterday, I went to the Uris Auditorium to watch a debate between the most prominent Democrat on campus and the most prominent Republican on campus. It was fairly amusing, and I got quoted in the Daily Sun after a reporter asked me what I thought. I may bring this debate up as a point of reference in a journal entry to follow, but for now, I don’t want to talk about it.

The reason I bring it up is because when I got there, I found a pin that someone had lost. The pin said, “I (heart) ΔΓ”. Obviously the (heart) is meant to translate into “love”. For those of you who don’t know, “ΔΓ” is a “prestigious” sorority here on campus. It basically consists of a bunch of really pretty, really rich blond girls. I’m not putting that down (trust me, I’d love to date one), I’m just stating reality.

So I found this pin, and I kept it. There is just something amusing to me about having a pin that says “I (heart) ΔΓ”. Mostly because I really don’t love ΔΓ. In fact, I can’t say that I’m even friends with one of the girls from that house. As a result, I find my having the pin quite ironic.

Then I was debating what to do with it. The obvious choice was to display it on my backpack. Yet, when I told one of my friends Ellen about this idea, she was worried about it. She said that it will make the ΔΓ girls hate me, and worse, it will make all of the non-ΔΓ girls hate me, because they will think that I only like pretty, blond, rich girls. Her point is well taken.

Yet, I just can’t resist. It’s too damn amusing to have the pin on my backpack. So I put it on there this morning. Then I was trying to decide what to say if someone (probably a ΔΓ girl) confronted me about it. My first thought was to say the following:

DG Girl: “Where did you get that pin?”
Me: “Oh, I’m dating a DG Girl.”
DG Girl: “Oh! Really? Who?”
Me: “Sarah”
DG Girl: “Which Sarah?”
Me: “Ya know, Sarah. Blond, really pretty. . .”
DG Girl: “Right, which blond, really pretty Sarah.”
Me: “She’s from Long Island.”
DG Girl: “Right, but there are 4 girls who still fit that description, which one?”

See the problem with this response is that it breaks down here. The DG Girl would probably want a last name at this point, which I would not be able to provide. So here’s another response that I thought of, which I intend to use if anyone asks:

DG Girl: “Where did you get that pin?”

Me: “Well, it’s kind of a funny story. See, I hooked up with this girl at a party the other night and she left it in my room when she left the next morning.”

DG Girl: “Oh. Who was it? Because I can give it back to her.”

Me: “See, um, that’s the thing. I was pretty drunk, and I didn’t get her name. All I remember is that she was blond, medium height, really pretty. And she was WILD. That girl couldn’t get enough. It was really a fun night, I have to admit. At least the parts that I remember were fun.”

DG Girl: “Oh, okay. Um. Well, since you don’t know whose it is, I guess I can just take it back to the house and see if someone lost it.”

Me: “Right, well now that you know the story, won’t it be embarrassing for whoever claims it?”

DG Girl: “Oh, I don’t think so. We DG girls do that kind of thing all the time.”

Me: “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But I’d like to hold onto it anyway, as kind of a reminder of the time I hooked up with a DG Girl.”

Only in my dreams. But that would be quite hilarious. In fact, however, I plan on giving it to my friend Dara this Friday, after wearing in on my backpack for 2 days. See, Dara is definitely not a DG girl. Dark hair, smart, clearly not the stereotype. But she happens to live in an apartment building with lots of DG girls, so she’s looking forward to pissing them off by wearing the pin on her bag. But at least I’ll have my 2 days of glory – knowing what it feels like to wear a pin of such prestige.