These days it seems like it’s increasingly difficult for people to look professional. Some have tattoos that cannot be easily hidden; others have body piercings that protrude; others have haircuts that would make even the liberalist of employers cringe; and others simply do not know how to dress. It’s this final category of people who I would like to advise tonight, in a very specific circumstance.

In fact, this one is basically not relevant for the gentlemen, but moreso for the ladies. I realized the blunder that I will explain upon seeing it occur a few days ago. I was at the gym, in the abdominals section. At my gym, the abdominals section is across from the main office where the people who run the gym hang out.

So I’m lying there, and I begin a set up sit-ups. As I’m coming up I see in the doorway of the office. It’s open, and there is a meeting of some sort going on. There was one of the main staff members on one side of a desk, facing me. On the other side of the desk, there was some woman who I have never seen before in one of those girl-suits. You know the outfits I’m talking about. They’re the ones that most girls wear to their job interviews. It was tannish in color. She was kind of angled in the chair facing him, so that her back was towards the doorway – meaning it was towards me as well.

Now, she looked quite professional, at first. She was an attractive young woman in a nice girl-suit. But then something ruined all that: she leaned forward a little bit. By doing so, her suit’s jacket rose above the top of her suit pants. In the gap that formed I saw the little triangle of her thong which had risen above her suit pants. How tacky.

Let me take a step back: I’ll be the first one to praise the glory of the thong. I think it’s a fabulous invention, perhaps second only to those short shorts with something written across the ass. But there is a time and place for everything. The thong is a great article of clothing to wear with your outfit if you’re going to a club, a bar, or anywhere else fairly casual. But just as you would not wear the ass-shorts to any situation where you are supposed to look professional, you should also leave the thong at home when in such a situation. There is just something utterly unprofessional about having the triangle of your thong showing when you’re wearing a suit. I don’t think I have to argue this point to anyone.

Please note that the thong probably wasn’t the only problem here. Let’s say this woman had worn regular panties – she still would have had a problem. Why? Because she was not wearing a belt. It is fairly well known that when you don’t wear a belt, and bend over, your undies usually show. That’s why if you’re not wearing a tucked in shirt, and there’s a chance whatever kind of top you are wearing could rise above your pants, a belt is pretty essential. While this is especially true for any kind of professional or formal occasion, I would assert that it’s even pretty true for most casual situations. No one wants to see the crack of your ass.

I was embarrassed for this poor girl. I mean, her back was to an open doorway, so anyone who walked by could see her thong that had ridden up above her pants. And people walk by that doorway constantly. Perhaps, however, she was a bit lucky, since the person who she was directly talking to was across from her, and probably did not see her backside as a result. But then again, perhaps she should have paid for her negligence: I know I would not want to be involved in business with someone with such poor attention to detail. The fashion police better get to her before it’s too late. But you can avoid them by never making her mistake!

About seven entries ago, I wrote about an article in our university newspaper that I found particularly offensive. This was the entry, and this was the article. Well, a few friends of mine (Matt, Chris, and Aaron) and I decided to do something about it and write a letter to the editor. The first letter we wrote was rejected, because we said bad things about the paper, and the editor didn’t like that. Instead, he printed a kinder, gentler letter which still contained our basic message written by another former student. But we wouldn’t give up. So we went back to the drawing board and rewrote the letter, being nicer to the newspaper and avoiding the topic of the printed letter, so not to overlap.

Below you will find all of this. Read the article first (link in previous paragraph) in case you haven’t. Then, read our first letter, which was not printed. Next, read the letter they printed instead. Finally, read the letter we sent that was printed today. They printed the entire letter except for our last sentence. I’m not sure how they could take out our last sentence, but I hope they rot in hell for it. At any rate, here it is. Enjoy!

First Letter (Not Printed)

To the Editor:

‘Edgy’ and ‘offensive’ are separated by a blurry line. Kate McDowell’s recent column (“Going Down the Dirt Road,” March 13, 2003), however, does not fall anywhere near that line; it was not fit for publication in The Sun.

This is not a critique of the column’s message: this response centers on the methods. If you feel the need to slap a disclaimer at the top of a column, then that should raise some red flags. A frank discussion about anal sex pushes the envelope and starts discussions, but graphic descriptions belong in shrink-wrapped magazines in the upper corner of a newsstand.

The Sun should never be considered a beacon of professionalism, but its standards should be set higher. The Sun should strive to be informative and entertaining – this column was neither. How can another columnist’s analysis of a serious political topic have any credibility when it shares the pages with vulgar accounts of anal sex?

Ms. McDowell’s column embarrasses The Sun, tarnishes its reputation, and reflects poorly on Cornell students. Though a handful of people might have found the column entertaining, anal intercourse commentaries belong in pamphlets made available at Gannett.

Letter They Printed Instead (Not written by us.)

To the Editor:

I was embarrassed and disheartened to read Kate McDowell’s Come Again column (Opinion, “Going Down the Dirt Road,” March 13, 2003). As a quondam Arts & Entertainment editor for The Sun, I was particularly offended not by the content, which outlined the so-called “do’s and don’t's” of anal sex, but by the cavalier and irreverent tone McDowell chose to employ.

While I am not in the practice of lecturing or reprimanding other journalists, I feel compelled to point out that the pages of The Sun are not surrogates for the cement walls of Dunbar’s men’s room. Sex and sexual experimentation are important topics among college-aged young adults; this I know. But I also know that sex is a serious topic — dead serious. That McDowell offers cautionary pseudo-advice does not legitimize her diatribe. I am stunned and appalled that The Sun is no longer in the practice of providing sources for the technical and advisory information it provides.
– S.E. Cupp ’02

Second Letter (The one by us that they printed today.)

To the Editor:

‘Edgy’ and ‘offensive’ are separated by a blurry line. Kate McDowell’s recent column (“Going Down the Dirt Road,” March 13, 2003), however, does not fall anywhere near that line; it was a disgraceful piece of pseudo-journalism that surely failed to be beneficial to almost anyone.

Unlike Ms. McDowell’s column, there are some facts about anal sex that this letter would like to bring to light. The medical website “Netdoctor.co.uk” reports that only 10% of heterosexual couples regularly engage in anal intercourse, and in absolute numbers, more heterosexual couples engage in anal intercourse than homosexual couples. Aren’t there other sexual topics that would benefit more than 10% of the population?

Moreover, Ms. McDowell’s column completely failed to explain additional health risks from anal sex. Netdoctor lists some of these risks as HPV – wart virus (anal warts), Hepatitis A, Hepatitis C, E. Coli, and greater risk of HIV. If she was truly trying to provide an objective explanation of anal sex, then listing these risks should be an absolute given.

Instead, however, McDowell lightheartedly talks about some poor sap that “wants her ass” and offers other phrases that make even Eudora blush. If you feel the need to slap a disclaimer at the top of a column, then that should raise some red flags. Rather than accomplishing her goal of educating her fellow students about a sexual topic, she succeeds only in offending and embarrassing them. Is this really the kind of commentary that current Cornellians want to be represented by when read by alumni and prospective students?

Every once in a while you see a scene of every day life that you just wish you could capture. Such a scene depicts something revealing about life. When such a scene comes along, you curse the fact that you don’t have a camera with you, because it would be a great chance to prove that a picture is worth a thousand words. Well, today this happened to me.

I was driving to the gym, taking my usual route. Unfortunately, it took me a little longer to get out of the house than usual, and it was trash pickup day. So I predictably got stuck behind a garbage truck. And this was where the magic happened.

The problem was that I was on a two-lane street and the two lanes were separated by a 5-foot median, so I couldn’t pass the garbage truck. And you know that they go really slow because they have to go from house to house. Well as I waited I glanced over at the person picking up the trash.

It was a 30-something African American woman. As it turned out, this wasn’t the garbage truck – it was the recyclable material truck. In our city we have 2 separate bins for recycling – one for paper products and one for bottles and cans. I thought it was strange that she was only picking up one at a time, but then I noticed why: In her other hand, she was holding a cell phone to her ear, chattin’ away.

There are so many fascinating things that can be drawn out of this image, that I almost don’t know where to begin. I just think that this scene exactly characterizes our society’s current point in history. Let’s start with the cell phone. This woman was talking on her cell phone the entire time I saw her (5 minutes or so) while at work. It shows her utter reliance on communication, a reliance that the rest of our society shares. It also shows the wonders of technology – you can even stay connected while picking up trash on the side of a road.

But that’s not all. It also shows that we currently live in a time that, while economically volatile, is still so prosperous that even trash collectors have cell phones. Can you think back just 5 years? Only the wealthy had cell phones. I remember a time not long ago when people considered it snobby if someone was talking on a cell phone in public.

Next, how about the consequences of her talking on the cell phone? What’s the main consequence that I noticed? A decrease in her productivity. If she was not talking on her cell phone, then she could have done twice the work – she would have had two hands free instead of just one. That means that, while on the cell phone, it will take her twice as long to complete her route. Consequently, the city must hire twice as many trash collectors. Furthermore, government taxes must increase, and the ripple effect goes on.

I do not, however, see any of these ripples as being particularly positive. In fact, I think that this reveals a serious problem with technology: it hurts worker productivity. This cell phone is just one example, but how about the internet? If you’ve ever worked in an office, I would be absolutely astonished if you did not spend at least some time during the day screwing around on the internet. Now, I’m too young to imagine an office environment without the internet, but I highly doubt that people just screwed around in their cubicle some other way before then. Ironically, technology can decrease productivity. Put that in your pipe and smoke it Solow.

All right, enough about the cell phone. What else can one learn about modern times from this scene? How about socio-economic stereotypes? This trash collector was not a white man: she was a black woman. She was a “double minority”. Do we have racial and gender equality in the 21st century? I think that we are actually pretty close, but surely such things take time. And we will always have trash collectors, so I guess what one would have to see to conclude total equality would be more diversity amongst trash collectors (black, white, Latino, Asian, etc.).

This also brings up a discussion of stereotypes. Perhaps someone would stereotype a trash collector as being black instead of some other race. But let’s look at the entire picture, even outside myself. What could an observer see from this scene if I was included within it? A privileged, white male in his sleek, black sports car, looking through his Kenneth Cole sunglasses and becoming frustrated with a trash collector who was only working half as hard as she could be and delaying him getting to his local ritzy health club 5 minutes later than he would have. But maybe that is the challenge whenever one sees such a scene – to place oneself within it and consequently learn even more.

Alright, let me begin by apologizing for the lack of a journal entry for about a week. Imagine that – not missing a day for the entire month of March, and then missing almost a week straight! Well, I was in South Beach all week chillin’ with some friends, so that’s my excuse. And it was fabulous. But now let’s get on with it!

Last night was the Oscars. I haven’t ever looked forward to the Oscars like I did this year. The reason for this is because I believe that this year there were more really good movies then any other year in recent memory. Unfortunately, I found the show to be quite anticlimactic. The only category I was really pleased with was Best Actress, which went to Nicole Kidman. Other than that, the only other good thing about the evening was Steve Martin, who was funnier than I ever thought he could have been.

Why was I so disappointed? I almost don’t know where to begin, but maybe with a few of the celebrities anti-war rhetoric. Now, I won’t tell anyone what to believe, but I think that there is a proper way to act in certain situations. I think it’s in poor taste to speak out against a war in a forum that has absolutely nothing to do with the war, especially when there are already men and women putting themselves in harms way fighting it. If you feel like you really need to go there, however, I think it is proper to say that you wish it didn’t come to war, but that you support our armed forces and hope that they are successful and home very soon.

Now, in all fairness, many of the actors actually did take this approach. In fact, the number of pinhead actors who said negative things about war and Bush were far less than I had hypothesized, but not far less than I had hoped. There were really only three significant instances of people yesterday evening speaking in this manner. The first was with some Mexican actor I had never heard of and will probably never hear about again. The last was with some Mexican (I think) screenplay winner who I had never heard of and will probably never hear about again. The one in the middle was way out of line; this was Michael Moore, who won an Oscar for “Bowling for Columbine”.

I won’t comment much on what Michael Moore said because, quite frankly, it doesn’t deserve much comment. It was so bad that even the heavily anti-war and heavily liberal Hollywood audience booed him off the stage. He started by whining about his accusation that Bush actually lost the presidency. Lame man. This election was years ago, and since then there has been a midterm election where the American people gave the republicans the majorities on both the Senate and the House. So even if you believe that the election was illegitimate, Bush and the republicans clearly have the nation’s blessing at this point. Thus, even though the election was a mess and quite questionable, it’s time to get over it. He continued by talking about how “Bush’s War” had no basis, etc. At that point he was booed offstage. If he hates the U. S. so much, maybe he should move to France.

But anyway, let me continue now with awards. Let’s start with the fact that Eminem won an Oscar for his song. Let me say that again: EMINEM WON AN OSCAR! What is this world coming to when Eminem wins an Oscar? I mean, honestly? I think Eminem has some fairly good music, but I do not think he’s anywhere near Oscar caliber. Moreover, since he decided to snub the Oscars and was the only one of the nominated songs that was not performed during the show as a result, I think he should be disqualified. It’s pretty pathetic that he won.

Next, I was pretty pissed off that Roman Polanski won the Oscar for Best Director. I’m mad about this for a few reasons. The first reason is because I think there were at least 3 directors in that category that deserved it more than he did (Daldry, Marshall, Scorsese). I’m not sure what the academy was thinking on this one really. The only thing I can figure is that the other three split the vote and somehow Polanski benefited. I’m also annoyed that he won because he is a deadbeat. We’re talking about a guy who can’t come back into the U.S. because if he does, he’ll be arrested for a crime that he committed years ago. What crime could be that bad? How about statutory rape of a 13-year-old girl? Real nice, eh? But I guess you can’t expect much better from someone born in France.

Okay, now I’ll list a few categories. Who won and who I think should have won:

Best Original Screenplay:
- Winner: Hable con ella
- Should have won: Any of the other nominees in the category.
Best Unoriginal Screenplay:
- Winner: The Pianist
- Should have won: The Hours
Best Cinematography:
- Winner: Road to Perdition
- Should have won: Gangs of New York
Best Sound:
- Winner: Chicago
- Should have won: Lord of the Rings II: The Two Towers
Best Music, Original Score:
- Winner: Frida, Elliot Goldenthal
- Should have won: The Hours, Philip Glass
Best Music, Song:
- Winner: Eminem, Lose Yourself
- Should have won: U2, Hands that Built America (or any other nominee)
Best Documentary, Feature:
- Winner: Bowling for Columbine
- Should have won: Anything that Michael Moore didn’t do.
Best Director:
- Winner: Roman Polanski
- Should have won: Anyone that didn’t commit statutory rape with a 13-year-old (esp. Daldry, Marshall, or Scorsese)
Best Supporting Actress:
- Winner: Catherine Zeta-Jones, Chicago
- Should have won: Julianne Moore, The Hours
Best Support Actor:
- Winner: Chris Cooper, Adaptation
- Should have won: Ed Harris, The Hours
Best Lead Actress:
- Winner: Nicole Kidman, The Hours
- Should have won: Nicole Kidman, The Hours (whadayaknow – they got one right)
Best Lead Actor:
- Winner: Adrien Brody, The Pianist
- Should have won: Daniel Day-Lewis, Gangs of New York
Best Picture
- Winner: Chicago
- Should have won: The Hours

Okay, that’s a brief synopsis of why I wasn’t too pleased with how the evening turned out. I have one final thing to say about all of this. I’m kind of unhappy that Chicago did so well. Now I have mixed feelings about this. It’s a Miramax production, and I worked there last summer, so I do tend to cheer them on with everything they do. That said, I’m not sure it should have done particularly well with the Oscars. My reasoning for this is because it’s not a film in the traditional sense. My understanding of what the Oscars should be is that it awards excellence in the realm of acting in movies. Chicago, however, was phenomenal not really because of the acting, but because of the singing and dancing. This is very different. They have a different awards show for this kind of thing – it’s called the Tony Awards. And when Chicago was on Broadway it was nominated for many Tonies. Ironically, it was shut-out that year. But I feel like it had its chance. At this point, if it wants to compete for Academy Awards, it should do so with its acting.

Comparing Chicago to a film like The Hours is like comparing apples and oranges – and that’s the whole problem. It’s magnificent to see Catherine Zeta-Jones singing and dancing so well, but how did her acting compare to that of Julianne Moore’s? It’s hard to judge. The thing is that this kind of problem shouldn’t exist. There is inconsistency in the type of performance, which is the root of the problem. Musicals, like Chicago, should possibly have their own category if they want to compete in the Academy Awards. But when you’re asking for “Best Actor” and “Best Picture”, that’s different than asking for “Best Performer” and “Best Show”. As a result, I was disappointed that Chicago did as well as it did. But then again, who am I to judge. I’m not a member of the Academy, yet.

Life has many great mysteries. Is there really a Lochness Monster? Are aliens from other planets abducting people? Does France really believe they matter? But to me there is another subtle yet equally bizarre mystery of life: Do telemarketers really think they’re accomplishing anything?

First of all, do you know anyone who likes telemarketers? I know I sure don’t. In fact, most people openly hate them. These people will be rude when they call up and tell them off, or just hang up the phone. They have no sympathy for them and wish the telemarketers certain death.

The next group of people are the ones who don’t like the telemarketers, but feel sorry for them. This group figures: “Let’s face it – these people have about the worst job imaginable.” Could you begin to fathom spending your days cold-calling random strangers to tell them about something that you’re almost certain they won’t be interested in? So this group isn’t rude to the telemarketers, but probably let’s them get through their line of talking before they say that they’re not interested, or maybe cut them off before they get started and tell them they’re not interested. I actually fall into this group.

Then, there would, theoretically, be a third group of people who actually like telemarketers. These people would be excited to receive the call, interested in what they have to say, and often even take them up on their offers. Surely this person is the telemarketer’s dream. But let’s face it: It seems like no one exists in this third group, at least not anyone I’ve ever met.

So this raises what I think is a very interesting question: If the telemarketers know that no one is interested in what they have to say and that everyone they call dislikes them and what they do, why the heck do they bother? Sure, it’s because they’re hired to do it. But then why the heck would anyone be so dumb to hire telemarketers to do this? If, with certainty, they can predict that they will never be successful, then it would be a complete waste of their company’s resources.

The only answer to this question is that there must actually be people who do listen to the telemarketers and take them up on these offers. If there wasn’t, then telemarketers would have a rate of success of exactly zero. But it must be higher than this, because companies are willing to invest money in people who make these phone calls. They must have a positive success rate.

The crazy thing is that this is necessarily true. That means that a couple morons probably spoil it for the whole lot of us. Because there are 2 or 3 people out of 1000 that actually go for the telemarketers line of b.s., the other 997 or 998 people have to be interrupted during dinner to take a call that is an utter waste of their time.

So the moral of the story is: Don’t be that guy (or girl). Telemarketers don’t deserve your business, because they are soliciting you at home. It’s way lame. You can give them your sympathy, but don’t give them your money. Because the moment you do that, you make their annoying calls possible.

We all have childhood memories that really mean a lot to us. For some, it’s their first kiss; for others, it’s their first perfect score on a test. But one of my fondest memories actually has to do with sports: It’s when I hit my first homerun in baseball.

When I say homerun, I’m not talking about one of those stupid in-the-park homeruns back in little league where there would be 5 errors on the play: I mean a real homer. I’m talking about the kind of thing where you hit the ball so hard and far that it goes over the fence and you strut around the bases.

My homerun came when I was eleven years old, in little league. That year I was the star of the team. I was the third baseman who regularly hit balls hard and deep. It was a fabulous time, because I had usually been a solid player on the various sports teams I was a member of, but this was the only one where I was, without doubt or question, the team’s MVP. So everyone on the team really respected the job I was doing and all that. But one evening that respect would turn into awe.

Now let me take a step back and explain something about little league to anyone reading who has never been in little league. Homeruns are pretty unheard of. I played baseball in some form of little league level for something like 8 years, and some years in both Fall and Spring leagues. So in at least 10 seasons of little league, I had never once seen or heard of anyone hitting a home run over the fence. Maybe the kids in my city were sub-par little leaguers; maybe the parks we played in were larger than other little league parks; maybe this phenomenon is the norm for little league. But for whatever reason, this is how it happened to be.

That night seemed like any other. The game was going well, and I was having a pretty good game. The little league pitchers were fairly uniform, so there wasn’t anything special about the guy who was on the mound that evening. So when I stepped up to the plate, I thought it would be an average at-bat.

I don’t remember which pitch it happened on, but I do remember that it wasn’t the first. I remember swinging and knowing that I definitely “got all of it.” As a result, I expected it to land somewhere in the outfield, as it usually does when I make solid contact; I also hit it toward the gap in right-center. So I began running towards first, and as I rounded first, I heard everyone screaming and yelling.

I wasn’t sure what had happened, but I thought maybe it was a phenomenal catch, and that I was out. Then I looked towards right-center where I hit the ball, and the outfielders were near the wall, looking beyond it. So I looked at the umpire to see if he was signaling out. Instead, he holding his arm above his head and waving it in a circular motion with his index finger up – this is the signal for a home run.

At first I thought I must be confused, but when I looked at the dugout I saw everybody going nuts. Could I really have hit a homerun? I guess I had, so I began a slow jog around the bases, being careful to step on each one solidly. After crossing home plate, the entire team had filtered out of the dugout to congratulate me and give me “high fives” and what-not. The parents, of course, were all cheering as well.

One of the outfielders retrieved the ball from beyond the fence, and after the game, I was awarded it as the “game ball”, and still have it in my room, on a shelf. I was sad that I did not get to see the ball leave the park after I hit it, but I spoke to some people who were watching afterwards. Apparently, the ball was not only far but “very, very high”. In fact, they claimed that its height overshadowed the length which it went. At its apex, they said it was probably 80-100 feet in the air, and by the time it cleared the fence in right-center field, it was still easily 20 feet up. In other words, it didn’t stand a chance of being caught.

A really cool thing about hitting a homerun is that most people will live and die and never know what it feels like to hit a homerun in a baseball game. Even most avid baseball fans will never come closer to a homerun than watching others hit them. And it gives me a feeling of understanding of what is going through the baseball players minds when they do hit them; I understand how it feels.

Believe it or not, I lump hitting that homerun together with the top 10 moments of my life so far. It was just an incredible thing to experience. In every endeavor there is a way to do something which is the greatest accomplishment possible within that endeavor. For high school, there was being valedictorian. For music, there was being ranked as the best clarinetist in the state. For college, there was getting my first A+. In an exactly analogous way, for baseball there was hitting a homerun. Those were all great moments, but the homerun might seem different because “in the long run” it doesn’t seem as relevant to my life as some of the others. But I would argue that it is just as important. It was one of those moments that create confidence and identity. It was one of those moments that one can’t possibly ever replace or forget.

Last night, I was lying in bed trying to fall asleep. Of course, when I went to bed, I said my prayers like any good Catholic boy would. But lying there afterwards, I began to think about praying and how effective it could be. In other words, I began to consider whether, metaphysically, it is possible for prayer to work.

Let me explain a few things before I delve into this question. First, what does it mean for something to be “metaphysical”? Well, “meta” means beyond. I think you know what “physical” means – think about a physical object. So what is beyond a physical object? Something metaphysical – something beyond the physical realm. For instance, if there are “ghosts” or “spirits” one might hypothesize that they would be metaphysical beings – beings which the physical world can not really communicate with in any meaningful way; beings which do not have to abide by physical laws. Now, it does not necessarily go both ways: it’s possible something metaphysical can affect the physical, just not vice versa.

Hopefully that makes sense. Well, now what does it mean for something to be metaphysically possible? Again, let’s begin with what it means for something to be physically possible. I think this is something commonly understood: something physically possible is something which is possible according to the natural laws. If you like, you could probably replace “natural laws” with the “laws of physics”. It’s kind of semantics. Okay, so something metaphysically possible is something that is possible beyond the physical realm. In other words, everything physically possible is metaphysically possible, but there are some things which would be metaphysically possible that would not be physically possible.

Let me give a few examples to make this crystal clear. How about someone jumping 100 feet into the air on earth? Obviously, this is physically impossible: no one can jump 100 feet into the air on earth – not even Michael. Gravity is responsible for this. But is jumping 100 feet in the air metaphysically possible? Sure. For something to be metaphysically possible, the only criterion is that someone can imagine it occurring without any contradiction occurring. Surely, I can imagine someone jumping 100 feet into the air – it would be like something out of “The Matrix”. It’s definitely metaphysically possible. Now this might seem like kind of a broad definition, what can’t someone imagine being possible without contradiction? How about if I said “if a = 1 and b = 2, then a = b”. This is metaphysically impossible, because we cannot possibly imagine any kind of reality where 1 = 2. That would just be incompressible; it would be a contradiction.

Wow, that took longer than I anticipated, but it was necessary, and hey, just think of the great philosophical concepts you just learned. Okay, now some assumptions I’ll make about God and Religion. Let’s assume an omnipotent God. This God knows everything: past, present, and future. Now there is something called “prayer” wherein a human can “pray” to this God, and if God hears these prayers then He can choose to listen to these prayers by answering them with the desired results, but surely He can reject prayer requests as well if he so chooses.

So let’s take a guy named Bobby. Bobby’s a nice Irish Catholic gent. He’s excited about St. Patrick’s Day. He knows, however, that he’s going to drink like a fish on St. Patrick’s Day (after all: he’s Irish), and he’s worried about getting hung over. So he prays: “Oh God, I hope to celebrate this upcoming holiday of yours with the wicked brew. Please Almighty God, help me not to be hung over the next morning.” Is it possible for God to answer this prayer?

At first, such a request seems easy: God could wave his hand late that evening while Bobby is sleeping and suddenly change Bobby’s blood alcohol level from .15 to zero. But wait: if God knows the past, present, and future, that implies that the future is predetermined. So let’s say it has already been predetermined that Bobby was going to be hung over the next morning. If God were to change that, he would be changing the already predetermined future.

This is a problem. We’re saying that, before Bobby prayed, if St. Peter had asked God whether or not Bobby would be hung over, he would have looked into the future and replied, “Why yes Peter, it seems that he will be.” But then Bobby prayed, God listened, and Bobby was not hung over. That day Peter can look down upon earth and see this and say: “God – it seems you were wrong.” God can’t be wrong, by definition.

This is, in fact, a metaphysical impossibility. That’s really bad. Remember that when something is metaphysically impossible that means that it doesn’t even make sense to talk of it being possible, because it’s contradictory and basically complete rubbish. So something has to give.

There are a few paths that can lead to a solution. Most of these solutions attack our assumptions. First, one can just say that things aren’t predetermined. While convenient, this would also probably force someone to hold the belief that either God cannot know the future or that He does not have the ability to make the future static. Neither of these are particularly attractive beliefs for most who believe in God to hold. (The whole idea of things being predetermined or “Determinism” is a very complicated and undecided philosophical question that I studied for an entire semester, so I really don’t want to go deeper than this, because books can be written on it, and have been.) So I don’t like this solution, because it seriously weakens the conception of a God that one can have.

Another solution might be that God doesn’t answer prayers that deviate from the predetermined path: If Bobby had prayed for no hangover, God would have shrugged his shoulders and said “sorry Bobby, I can’t/won’t help ya.” This is also a horrible solution for two reasons. First, if he “can’t”, then it necessitates that God is not all powerful, which most who believe in a God would not be willing to accept. Second, either way, it means that prayer is completely useless: if you pray for something predetermined not to happen, then it won’t be answered; if you pray for something predetermined to happen, it would have happened anyway, so why bother praying? This is a particularly bad outcome, since it’s exactly what this investigation hopes to avoid.

At first, I was troubled by this problem, until I realized a convenient and non-contradictory way out: If actions are predetermined, and prayer is an action, then prayer is necessarily predetermined too. In other words, it is not possible that God fails to answer a prayer that he chooses to answer, since the predetermined path includes that prayer being made, as well as the outcome – the two are inseparable. In other words, the reason why Bobby’s situation seems problematic is because it could never happen. If Bobby was going to be hungover, then God would have chosen not to listen to his prayer in the first place. And he would have known this choice since the beginning of time. If Bobby was not going to be hungover, thus having God answer his prayer, then God would have chosen to listen to his prayer. And He would have known this since the beginning of time. In other words, in the latter scenario, there was never a future outcome where Bobby was hung over.

“But wait!” replies the skeptic. “You’re just saying what you said before: Bobby’s prayer is useless either way.” This, however, is not the case. Bobby’s prayer is the causal action (his prayer) that leads to his being or not being hung over. And if one assumes that humans have free will (which, I grant, is complicated assumption in a predetermined universe, but that’s another essay), then the predetermined track always took this prayer into consideration, but the predetermined track did not cause him to be or not be hung over. It is about the causal chain, and the outcome arises from the prayer and not from mere predetermination.

Does your head hurt yet? Relax: I’m almost done. Now not everyone would be convinced by this explanation; I do not claim that it is uncontroversial. Because basically I’m saying that somehow Bobby’s free will was part of the path that was already predetermined. And what good is free will if it’s part of a deterministic universe? How can it even be properly called “free”? Ahhh, that my friend is the question that I investigated for a semester in my course on Free Will. But there is a large movement of philosophers called Compatiblists who believe it’s possible to reconcile the two (that they’re “compatible”). So if you agree with them, then this solution is fabulous. If not, then you’ll have to think about this problem tonight when you’re lying in bed trying to get to sleep, just like I did last night.

My hometown is the lovely city of Boca Raton. It’s a fairly unique place. And I have a story tonight to explain why, but first I need to give some explanation of what I mean when I say “Boca”. It’s not as clear cut as you think.

There are two parts of Boca Raton: The City of Boca Raton and Unincorporated Boca Raton. The former can also be called East Boca while the latter West Boca. Now, there is some debate about whether or not both of these sections of the city are rightfully considered Boca Raton. While people from West Boca might not like to hear it this, I don’t consider both parts truly Boca. East Boca is the city, and the part of Boca Raton that is unique to other cities. West Boca is basically just like all the other suburbs in South Florida – relatively new developments with single family homes that all look the same, and lots of shopping centers. East Boca has similar architecture, is near the beach, and is much, much wealthier, on average. Houses in East Boca probably average $300,000 while houses in West Boca probably average $175,000.

If you haven’t guessed already, I’m from East Boca, which I will refer to as just plain Boca from this point forward. So Boca is like ridiculously rich. I have read that it’s second to Beverly Hills, but I’m not sure if that’s completely factual, yet it wouldn’t surprise me. How rich is Boca? Well, the other day I went to the beach. It’s about 2 miles from my house. In that 2 short miles I saw (on the road) 3 Ferraris, 2 Dodge Vipers, and more Porches, Lexuses, BMWs, and Mercades Benzes than I could count. It’s like everyone has ludicrously expensive cars and live in unbelievably expensive houses.

And of course it doesn’t end there. The city itself is ridiculous. The intersections are almost all pretty brick patterns (as opposed to asphalt or cement). The street lights aren’t the ones that hang down – they’re the expensive ones on poles that look really nice. The buildings are mostly Spanish architecture, and the overwhelming motif is pink. Many, many, many buildings are pink. The most prominent of these is the world renowned Boca Raton Hotel and Resort, where my father works. There is actually a live internet cam that over looks it, which can be viewed here. If it’s nighttime, then don’t bother because, well, at night it’s DARK. So all you’ll see are a couple of little lights here and there. The landscaping is also second to none. The medians all have beautiful palm trees, flowers, and bushes. The buildings are mostly incredible, even things like movie theatres look like palaces (like “The Palace 20”). There is even a McDonalds that has chandeliers.

Another bizarre feature of Boca Raton is that EVERYWHERE has valet parking: Malls, restaurants, even the supermarkets. The last of these examples is, in fact, where tonight’s story takes place. So I went to the nicest Publix (the major supermarket chain down here) in Boca tonight. It’s about a block away from many multi-million dollar mansions on the intercoastal – about a quarter mile from the beach. I just needed a few items like beans and Gatorade.

So I go in, and I see one of those little like free sample tables. As I look closer, I notice that it’s wine. Now that’s pretty weird to begin with: I’ve never seen a supermarket having free samples of wine before. But whatever, maybe it’s just something new. Then I see another free sample table with expensive looking chocolates. As I begin to shop I noticed other sample tables, about half with wine, and others with cheese, steak, and other various appetizer-like foods. All in all, there were about 30 tables set up in the supermarket, about half which had wine. And not just one bottle of wine necessarily, some had 2 or 3 bottles of wine. Then I realized it: It was wine tasting with some food. It was like a friggin party.

This, my friends, is Boca Raton at its finest. Friday night at the local supermarket is wine tasting and expensive finger food. Now, a part of me wanted to partake – to be one of the Boca-types. But I just didn’t have it in me: It was too weird. I mean, who drinks wine when they mean to just go to the supermarket to pick up a few things? I know I didn’t ask for this. So I got my groceries, tried not to burst out laughing every time I passed a wine table, and went on my merry way.

Now, I don’t dislike or resent Boca Raton or anything like that. I’m as much a snob as the next white, Ivy League Educated, upper middle-class male. I just think it’s funny. I actually strongly encourage you to visit sometime, just to see it. It’s a nice place to visit; I just wouldn’t want to live here. Oh wait, I already do.

I just got finished reading this article. Go ahead, take a second and read it – it’s an article from my university’s newspaper. You’ll need to read it in order for anything that follows to make any sense. 

If your reaction was anything like mine, then you too are utterly mortified. I was speechless when I read it; I could not believe my eyes. Did my university – my Alma Mater – really allow something like that to be printed in their newspaper? Is this good journalism? Does this exemplify intellectual curiosity and higher thinking? It’s an IVY LEAGUE UNIVERSITY for crying out loud. This is where the leaders of tomorrow are supposed to be cultivated. And what do they write about? Anal Sex.

Let me take a step back. I have nothing against anal sex. I mean, I personally have never tried it, and never have any intention of trying it. I think it’s repulsive. But that’s not the point. I could care less what others do in the privacy of their own homes. If you want to have anal sex all day long with your significant other, then that’s fine with me. My problem is writing about it in a graphic nature in the school newspaper. And what do they write about? Anal Sex.

The point is that this is a totally inappropriate topic for a college newspaper column. I simply believe that such a publication is not the right forum for this kind of article. We are on the brink of war with Iraq; the Supreme Court is considering some interesting new cases this term; genetic engineering is making huge strides; Michael Jackson is more bizarre than ever; it’s the American Idol finals; the stock market is absolutely dead; there are limitless other far more appropriate topics that can be written about. And what do they write about? Anal Sex.

Surely there is some other more worthy topic that one can write about. I mean, let’s look at some facts. I’ve written now well over 100 journal entries. These entries are, on average, longer than the average column in this newspaper. The newspaper writers write one column per week, that’s about 25 columns per year. That means if they began their freshman year, the very first week (which none do, by the way), then after four years, they still would not have written as much as I have so far in this journal. And I would confidently assert that in not one of my journal entries have I ever come CLOSE to crossing the kind of line that they crossed in this article. And what do they write about? Anal Sex.

I honestly don’t really know what to say about any of this; I’m just embarrassed. I’m embarrassed to tell people that I went to a university that would allow such utter trash to be published in their newspaper. I considered writing the university administration and telling them that I will no longer consider making contributions to the university in the future unless they condemn this column, and force The Sun to fire this writer from their staff. I just think that in order for me to further financially support my university, I would want assurance that I can be proud of what their newspaper publishes. This article already made at least one well-known media driven website called “fark.com” which posts various news and what-not. Offensive newspaper columns can tarnish a university’s reputation. And what do they write about? Anal Sex.

But I decided not to. Unfortunately, I do not think it’s the university’s job to regulate what the newspaper does, and it shouldn’t be. The students from the university should know better: It’s their newspaper. They should have enough pride and self respect to never allow an article like this be written in something that has their university’s name on it. And what do they write about? Anal Sex.

I am horrified. But what can I do? I’ll try to co-author an editorial response in the same newspaper that questions the printing of such an article. I’m not sure if there’s any point though. I think that sometimes the world changes and it doesn’t always change the way you think it should. This article is a sign that very bad times are to come. When one of the top universities in the nation can’t do better than to publish an explicit article about anal sex, our civilization is pretty much on its last leg. American culture is changing, and it’s moving in the wrong direction. At the rate we’re going, pretty soon we won’t be any better than the French.

Yesterday afternoon, I decided to lie out next to my pool and work on my tan. So I was laying there for nearly an hour, reading some Virginia Woolf. It was a typically pleasant day in South Florida, in the mid 80s with a few white clouds in the sky – not looking at all like rain. So you could imagine my surprise when about fifty-five minutes after lying there, I felt something wet hit my shoulder. I looked down and there was a yellow-colored substance on my shoulder: I had been crapped on by a passing bird.

Believe it or not this is not the first time a bird has crapped on me. It happened once a few years back as well. I guess I shouldn’t mind much, since legend says that it’s good luck for a bird to crap on you. I don’t know anything about that, but I do know that such events reinforce the fact that I really hate birds.

For starters, I don’t think it’s a coincidence. What I mean is that I don’t think it’s an accident that birds crap on stuff. I’m not just talking about people here. Of course, I’m talking about cars, benches, etc. Maybe you’ve seen the classic “Far Side” comic called “Bird’s View of the World” where it had a picture of bunch of stuff like cars and people and everything had a bull’s-eye on it. I just spent about 20 minutes looking for that comic online, but evidentially, its animator really values copyright laws, but it was a pretty popular comic that the “Far Side” put out.

Really though, I think birds aim. Otherwise, what is the probability? Think about all the space around your home – hundreds of square feet. And the surface of your car is probably, what, 50 square feet? Yet, if your car is parked in the driveway, you can count on it getting crapped on fairly regularly. Why doesn’t the rest of the yard get crapped on? Think about it: have you seen more bird crap on the sidewalk/street/driveway, or on cars?

Now I’ll admit, the idea of birds having the ability to think about aiming to hit stuff when they decide to take a crap is a little far fetched. But maybe it isn’t as far fetched as you think. Other animals, for example, have certain patterns involved in the way they crap. Take cats – they bury it. In this scenario, it’s not like the cat think it’s gross and needs to be buried or that burying it might mask the smell more: it’s just instinct.

So maybe similarly, birds have an instinct to hit stuff. Maybe in the prehistoric times it was dinosaurs that would get pissed off when birds would crap on them. Then up throughout history the various targets changed, but one thing remained the same: birds always aimed for things.

And yet, this is not the only reason I do not especially like birds. They also hate me. Not just because they like to crap on me, but also because they have been known to attack me, for no apparent reason. This has also happened more than once. I never did anything to them either. I think they might be jealous that my whistling sounds better than their singing.

But maybe by writing this journal entry, by defaming them, by exposing their dirty little instinctual secret, just maybe I’ve evened the score a little. Nah, birds can’t read. And besides, even if they could read, this entry would just encourage them to crap on me even more often than they already do. Damn them.