Only the best

So those of you who know me may find I want to excel at every course I take. This is a bit more difficult in university now since there are always people who are better than you at everything. For example, I found out I got 20/20 on my lab mark in Chem 121. Pretty good right? Well, it turns out there are over 50 people who got 21/20. I don't know what they did to get the bonus mark but I'm pretty sure it wasn't worth the effort. Anyway, my need to be the best also crosses into other areas of life. Take for example professional sports. I am not implying I excel (or even aspire to excel) at any professional sport. As a fan, however, I only root for the best. Whether its Roger Federer in tennis, Tiger Woods in golf, Usain Bolt in track and field, Peyton Manning in football etc. Now, I did not arrive at these decisions consciously (at least I don't think so). There seems to be a certain period after initially following a sport that I discover a favorite player. Once discovered, I remain loyal to this player no matter how they do later on. I have created a theory called fan imprinting to describe this phenomena. Like imprinting in animals (new ducklings follow the first large moving object they see after hatching), fan imprinting involves a critical period during which a fan can be turned. For example, if I had started following tennis this year, my favorite tennis player would probably have been Rafael Nadal or if I had started following football last year, my favorite football player would probably have been Tom Brady etc. I'm also pretty sure fan imprinting doesn't have to occur exclusively with sports stars. I could also see it happening with celebrities, politicians, and musicians. However, the other critical aspect of fan imprinting is greatness. For example, if I had started following US politics in 2004, I would not have liked George Bush because he is not great or even mediocre. In fact,this is an instance in which fan imprinting may become negative, i.e. critic imprinting.

What happened to good old global warming?

So as I am writing this, the snow canvassing my house if around a foot thick, if not thicker. It has been snowing non stop for the last 24 hours in Vancouver. From what I have heard, the snow and weather have been pretty bad in other parts of Canada as well as in the US. What really bothers me is how people always complain about the complications involved with the snow. It's so cold outside! How am I going to go home? How am I going to get to work? Well, maybe you're not supposed to go anywhere. I have two explanations for this, one for the religious folks and another for the atheists. If you are religious, the following explanation may appeal to you: God(or Gods)has let it snow so heavily so that you have a good reason not to go to work today. Enjoy it. Besides, you wouldn't want to upset God now would you? For the non-religious people, the following explanation is for you: Do you know that certain animals hibernate during the winter? The cold weather and snow are triggering an evolutionary response in you to remain in a warm, dark environment(like your house)for extended periods of time. Don't fight it. As for me, well I'm going to stay right here and enjoy the nice peace and quite.

Manhood

The following is one of those stories I said I wasn't able to articulate. With some time to think after exams, I finally finished one of them. I still haven't gotten to editing it and I don't know if I will (Not like it's professional or anything). Anyway, enjoy:

Nature is governed by causes and effects. As I pull the trigger of this rifle in my hands, a chemical reaction results in the rapid expulsion of a projectile, in this case a bullet. The force of the bullet leaving the chamber causes an equal and opposite force which results in my upper torso being pushed backwards. The movement of the bullet through the air at supersonic speeds results in a large bang which after a brief delay results in a flock of birds evacuating from barren branches towards the sky in a blizzard of wings and beaks. The curious physicist in me ponders these causes and effects for the brief second in which all of this occurs, sometimes so fast in succession that one cannot discern when one ends and another begins. Yet after that one second, my attention is directed to one particular result of pulling the trigger, the death of an animal stuck by a bullet. My visceral fascination with the death of an animal strikes me as odd, although I suppose the reasons are interwoven into the tapestry of human evolution.

Now, if you are already forming notions in your head about me as some sort of hunter or defiler of natural things, then I have an explanation, although longwinded, that may assuage your concerns, or perhaps not. After all I cannot control your beliefs. Before I begin my explanation, let me just confer the love and respect I hold for my older brothers, who although often misguided, do truly care for my general well being. I tell you all this now because you may have a different idea after all is out in the open.

A fifteen year olds birthday should be one of the greatest moments of his relatively inchoate life. At least that was the sentiment my parents, in simpler terms, conveyed to me after I declared that I did not want a fifteenth birthday party. You see, I was not exactly the most outgoing individual in the world and in fact I shied away from unwarranted and especially unpleasant attention. Having an IQ of over 160 while the rest of my family and most of the town had never gone to college didn’t help matters. I found solace in the world of physics and mathematics, not in the world of sports and beer. My brothers took all this as some sort of challenge for them, to wield me into another one of boys. I generally went along with their shenanigans since they were all in all relatively harmless and sometimes even fun.

The morning of my birthday party-less fifteenth birthday, my brothers woke me up at six in the morning, told me to dress, eat breakfast and then meet them outside. I begrudgingly followed their orders, yawning as I walked out the front door. They told me to put on a blindfold because what they were about to show me, my birthday present from them, was a big surprise. I also agreed with this request, although after a longer deliberation. When they guided me into their truck, I was beginning to become worried but said nothing because I knew they wouldn’t stop even if I voiced my concerns. The rest of the ride was, well, I can’t quite tell you that because I couldn’t see a thing. I do know that after the truck stopped, we walked for about half an hour through a wooded area. Every time I heard a cracking sound below my feet, I shuddered at the thought of falling through the ground into some subterranean cave. Of course my brothers didn’t seem to notice my hesitant gait as they simply pulled me along when I started to lag.

When we finally stopped, my brothers told me the plan they had for my birthday gift. This was after they put a .270 calibre rifle into my hands. They explained that what I was about to do was a family tradition for young men. I was skeptical of this but I didn’t bother asking. I was never aware our family’s coming of age ritual was to hunt and kill a wild animal. When I asked them whether this was illegal, I realized that they had already left. When I finally took of my blindfold, I was shocked to find the ground around me covered in a thick matt of snow. The shock came mostly from the fact my light deprived eyes could not adjust to the instantaneous brightness of sunlight from above and a glistening white landscape around me.

At first, I decided that I would wait the situation out. My parents would surely eventually figure of my disappearance along with my brothers and would inquire into my whereabouts. Besides, I was pretty sure my brothers hadn’t even checked if there were animals to hunt in the area. I was also pretty sure that if this was anything like a Native American spirit quest, the experience was more important than completion of the actual task. This was of course all before a buck scrambled through the blackberry thickets and walked into the clearing in front of me.

I can’t exactly explain the train of thought that led me to the decision that I made. I can’t say that I felt any animosity towards the deer, although I also wasn’t overly sentimental about the appearance of what some might consider a magnificent creature. I simply raised the barrel, aimed and pulled the trigger. It’s probably a miracle that I even hit my intended target. I’ve never fired a gun before in my life, and will probably never again.

So that’s it. That is the short summary of the long and complex series of events that have led to my presence in this snow covered clearing, holding a hunting rifle and staring at a wounded deer in the distance. Now curiosity takes over. Since there isn’t a zoo for hundreds of miles, I have never seen a wild animal of this size in my life, never mind a dying one. It strikes me that a dying animal in the wilderness may attract other larger and more dangerous animals, yet my curiosity persists.

I hesitate momentarily, before slinging the rifle over my shoulder and walking towards the other end of the clearing, towards the living creature that soon will no longer be living. As my feet crunch through the blanket of snow and ice, I am taken aback by the eerie silence of the world around me. Nothing moves. Nothing makes a sound. It’s as if Mother Nature is paying final respects to one of her own. Does that make me a killer? A murderer? If so I will not be punished for it. Somehow that makes me feel worse.

When I get closer, I can no longer see the deer but its wound is still fresh and the blood stained snow marks the way for me. The little red spots line up almost perfectly against the white backdrop. It’s almost as if the blood, once out of the body, is betraying its owner by guiding me. As I walk, I cautiously sidestep the bespeckled snow. Somehow, it does not feel right to trample over this crimson symbol of life and death, neither of which I have much experience with. Suddenly, the blood trail stops just before a steep slope which I can see leads to a small ravine, frozen solid. I seriously consider leaving, but just before I turn to leave, I notice an area of disturbed snow and branches on the left side of the hill. Following the pattern of disturbance all the way down to the ravine I spot the wounded deer, scrambling from its side to stand up, neck arched and swaying wildly in the air. Before I realize what I’m doing, I am already half way down the slope, grabbing onto branches and stepping on rocks to find a footing. All the while, the deer does not seem to even acknowledge my presence. Perhaps it’s due to shock after losing all that blood or perhaps it recognized me as the thing that caused its misery. By the time I get near it, the deer has already calmed to a peaceful stupor. The only sign that it’s still alive is the rhythmic rising and falling of its chest, occasionally interrupted by a yelp that brings up blood. I take off my gloves and let my hand rest on its matted dirty fur. The deer hardly has enough energy to protest. As the hand moves up and down with the deer’s every breath, I notice the bullet wound. It is a surprisingly miniscule perforation just below the shoulder. I run my left hand along its fur until my fingers are nearly touching the wound. Every time the chest rises, blood trickles through the opening onto the fur, onto my hands. In such cold weather, the warmth of the blood is undeniably soothing yet the sight of it on my hands revolts me.

Suddenly, the deer’s head jerks up and it looks at me. That look, those crystal clear eyes penetrate me. A warmth rushes over my face and all the emotion I have been holding explodes violently out of me. I cannot control the tears. I cannot control anything about my body. I say I am sorry in between the sobs. I yell I am sorry in between the sobs. I whisper I am sorry in between the sobs. I know it won’t understand me but I do it anyway. The tears feel like icy rivers flowing down my face, icicles as they cling to my chin. By the time I stop, I realize that it has already died, its body already becoming rigid and cold. I cannot leave it like this. I just can’t. I place my hand once again on the bullet wound. This time, I push my fingers inside and explore the flesh until I finally find it. I heave it as hard as I can, as far away as I can. It makes a soft metallic clink as it hits the branches and is buried in the snow. I begin to dig, slowly at first, then faster and faster until I am clawing at the frozen dirt at a furious rate. When my fingers become numb, I put on my gloves and continue to dig. Morning becomes noon becomes night. The hole becomes larger and larger until eventually I have to kneel in it to continue. When it is finally ready, I pull the body into place and cover it up with dirt and then snow. I also make a small cross out of some frost bitten twigs, and place it right on top. When I am finally done, I slump to my knees in exhaustion and tears begin to flow. I do not say anything this time. I hear voices in the distance. Soon my family will come looking for me. When they look over that slope I will still be here, a boy kneeling in front of a pile of pink snow with a cross sticking out, a boy who just realized what it is to be a man.

Bienvenue à Quebeqistan (Welcome to Quebequistan)

It's no big secret that the province of Quebec and the rest of Canada haven't gotten along too well. There has been 2 referendums, and each time Quebec voted to remain part of Canada (barely). Recently I heard somewhere that during the Beijing Olympics, media in Quebec separated the French Canadian medalists from the medal count for team Canada. Also, universities in Quebec are super affordable to French speaking citizens but expensive for out of province applicants. And its not like these sentiments aren't felt by other countries around the world. Just look at China and Taiwan or the US and Alaska, although both of these examples have physical boundaries with the main country or allopatric country formation (allopatric=through physical seperation). In the case of Quebec and Canada, this would be a case of sympatric country formation in which case the divide is created by differences in culture and language. You may wonder why I chose Alaska as opposed to Hawaii. Well, Hawaii is a beautiful tropical island so the residents could care less what country they belong too. I say, why not just let Quebec try being its own autonomous country for a year. There are surely many positives that could come from this( for non-Quebequers I mean):
1. We could call the new country Quebeqistan even if they don't want us to
2. Ads and labels would only have English printed, saving coporations lots of money in printing costs
3. Children would not be forced to learn French (although, now that I think of it, since I was forced to, they should be too!)
4. We wouldn't have to hear English politicians try to speak French
5. We wouldn't have to hear French politicians try to speak English
6. Children would have one less province and capital to memorize (Actually, why not just let Quebec annex the Yukon, North West Territories and Nunavut as well)
7. People would not eat artery clogging, heart attack inducing poutine (although they would probably find a substitute pretty quickly
8. It would give me a lot more to blog about

Moochualism

Let me give you a biological scenario. There are 2 species: A and B. Species A is much larger and more intelligent than species B. Species A provides species B with shelter, food, water etc. Species B provides species A with an acknowledgment of Species A's existence from time to time. Without assuming what species A and B represent, which species is getting ripped off here. I would have to go with species A. Unfortunately, in reality that means millions of humans are being ripped off by their pets everyday. Now, regarding pets as parasites is a little severe and also inaccurate. See, when the host willingly parts with it's resources to the benefit of the other organism, that's not parasitism, that's moochualism. By no means am I saying that I will kick my cat Amber onto the curb because she is a mooch. If she can persuade another species to take care of all her basic needs, all the power to her. I'm also not saying that humans are completely inept from an ecological viewpoint. Over the history of humanity, we have altered the first scenario so it is a little bit more fair. There are 2 species: A and B. Species A is more intelligent than species B. Species A provides species B with shelter, food, water etc. Species B provides species A with an acknowledgment of Species A's existence from time to time and ample amounts of protein. Sucks for the cows!

I don't know what Asian fail is any more

So I am almost finished my university exams. For some reason, I have left 3 of my 4 exams so far with the feeling that I would not do as well as I thought I would. This is and will continue to trouble me until I can see my grades (which hopefully prove my instincts wrong). So anyway, I looked up what an A is for UBC (University of British Columbia. I'm not going to assume you know where this is unless you are from Canada) and I was shocked. I had been led to believe my whole academic life that an A was 86-100, a B was 73-85 and a C, well I never got to find out the conversion for a C thank (marks) god. It turns out, there are now +/- in conjunction with the classic letter grades. UBC's mark conversion system goes as follows: A+=90-100, A=85-89, A-=80-84, B+=76-79, B=72-75, and B-=68-71. I will not do the other letters because no one should ever have to stare into the dark cold abyss that is their academic mediocrity. Besides, would it really make a difference to you if you got a C- or a D? So, if you haven't noticed already, the range of grades that constitute a letter grade of an A in university are wildly different from that of high school (6 percent is a lot for those of you who think otherwise). This news actually made me very happy for a moment, as I could still finish the semester with straight A's even if my finals didn't go as planned. But then, if you think about it, 80% is just not the same as 100%. I would be kidding myself if I was totally satisfied with getting stuff wrong 20% of the time. So I guess the Asian fail mark remains at anything below 95% until further notice. Until then, I will still believe in the green light (loads of money), the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then but that's no matter-tomorrow we will run faster( metaphor for studying more), stretch out our arms farther(another metaphor for studying more)... And then one fine morning-so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past(metaphor for how you can never change the wrong answers after the test). See how I just used a little Gatsby to class up the post. What now. What now.

Michael Crichton is dead!

Although he did lie about bacteria replicating until they reached the mass of the Earth in one day (we proved it in Math 102 @ UBC), the man was still a very entertaining author. I was not aware of this man's death until now because apparently he isn't that famous. This is the guy that wrote Jurassic Park, one of the most popular books/movies of all time. If his death wasn't publicized that much, does that mean people will forget about him. Sure, his family will always remember him and he'll always have the books he wrote as a legacy, but eventually all of this will fade into obscurity( does all my pessimism have to do with it being exam week?). Just look at Wallace (if you're not sure who I'm talking about, this only further proves my point), as in the co-creator of the theory of evolution. He must have thought he would become a legend after his discovery but no, no one outside of the intense Bio nerds is even aware of his existence. I guess the only chance for us ordinary people (no offence intended if you read this and go on to be a difference maker in the world) is to preserve our remains in diamond form. All it will cost is around $10000 of your or your children's hard earned money.

Humans are pathetic as animals

This post was inspired by something I saw as I walked back to my dorm. I saw a mean-looking squirrel steal a nut from another squirrel. This immediately reminded me of all the natural selection stuff I learned in IB biology(well not immidiately since I was so enthralled by the epic squirrel battle). The squirrel that is stronger will reproduce more and thus pass his/her strong genes to the next generation. This also got me thinking about how pathetic humans would be in the wild without our technology (technology isn't part of the biological definition of homo sapien). For example, we don't have anything to attack or hunt with (i.e. no claws, fangs, poison, camouflage, agility etc.) We also don't have much to defend ourselves with (i.e. again no claws, fangs, poison, horns, chemical weapon (BO doesn't count)). Despite all this, humans stil think they are at the top of the food chain. The only reason for this is our technology. If you gave a tiger a gun (just assume its a special gun that allows it to pull the trigger), it could just as easily be at the top of the food chain. By the way, do not give animals guns. Especially not to that mean-looking squirrel.