Eh, I’ve been bad with this blog nonsense lately, but hopefully my recent and awesome purchase of a Samsung N120 netbook will allow me to make more/better blog posts. or at least reblog at least some of the ridiculous and awesome things I find on the internet everyday.

I haven’t really been paying much attention to politics lately. This is just a tad disheartening, due primarily to the fact that I’m a political science major and because of this I feel obligated to demonstrate a certain level of interest in the subject at all times. Right now, however, the majority of news is far too jargon-laden, boring and—dare I say—inconsequential (or at least that’s how it seems) to pique my interest for long enough to even finish an article. Hopefully going to a real school will once again spark my interest in contemporary politics (oh, and btw I got into UC Davis.)

Obama’s meeting with Netenyahu or whatever that right-wing hawk’s name is was the only thing of any interest that occurred last week. Hell, even it was a letdown. Other than that, it seems like the news is just a maelstrom of boring celebrity stories, bizarro news reports involving fucked up fathers, op-eds about the innocuous future of the GOP, or worst of all, jargon-laden borefests with uninteresting “breaking” details concerning the recession. Oh, and a story about someone dying from swine-flu manages to sneak its way into the mix at least once a day. Ugh how boring.

A (recent) philosophical conundrums:

If every second is a new second and we’re constantly moving forward into oblivion, why is it that we find comfort in patterns? I apologize for my brazen fatalism, but this could all end tomorrow. Perhaps my pessimism is born out of too much time in International Relations class casually talking about nuclear war and deterrence and the prisoner’s dilemma all while suppressing all of the emotional and psychological ramifications associated with the topic, but really: life is completely irrational. Still—despite fatalistic reasoning and blunt realism, I find comfort in patterns and stories and memories and circles and cycles. Why?

A (short/bittersweet) anecdote:

While opening the pool on Thursday, I noticed a small tuft of feathers floating on top of one of the tarps. I pulled the tarp off of the pool and discovered the “tuft” was actually a dead baby bird. The guy I was working with casually picked the bird up and threw it in the trashcan, and to his knowledge, the ordeal was over, but the event stayed with me throughout the day. After the pool closed, and everyone, including my workmate, had left the facility, I went back to the trashcan where the bird had been dumped, pulled it out, and buried it on the hill next to the pool.

It was wildly melancholy, but beautiful in a way, I suppose. The burial accompanied a realization (a little hokey and cliche, but I honestly felt this) on my part: I am ridiculously lucky. For a number of reasons. First, I’m allowed to exist. For some awesome reason, due to nothing but chance and luck, atoms came together, biology happened, and formed me. Secondly, I was born a human being. Third, I’m healthy. Fourth, I was born as a human being with relatively no true adversity and plenty of privilege, into a society that both empowers and protects me.

I’m lucky to be alive. Not because I was hooked on heroin and now I’m clean or any sensationalist bullshit like that. We’re all lucky to be alive. Existence itself is absolutely sensational and you shouldn’t take it for granted.

/end gleeblog