Every Friday I post ten songs from my iTunes playlist.  I realize that this will not be a very exciting reading experience for anyone, but it’s better than reading about an androgynous Supreme Court nominee for the millionth time.  Maybe.

The top ten songs from my playlist this week:

1. Mr. Brightside – The Killers
2. Everything’s Magic – Angels & Airwaves
3. Magic – Colbie Caillat
4. Brick by Boring Brick – Paramore
5. Get Your Walk On – Xzibit
6. Blue School – Blue Scholars
7. The Ave – Blue Scholars
8. The Static Age – Green Day
9. I Don’t Know – Jin
10. Hold On – KT Tunstall

Last week I met someone at work who said, “I’m hella blind.”  Like most people who live in California would do, I immediately assumed that this person was from the San Francisco Bay Area.  Bay Area folks are known for their excessive use of “hella” as an adjective (a word which Microsoft Word insists, via a squiggly red line, doesn’t have a right to exist), but I’m not sure why this came to be.  Do Bay Area people say it because they think it’s cool, or does the rest of the country refuse to say it because we consciously don’t want to suck.   “Hella” is quite possibly the worst slang term to ever have been muttered.   It sounds like it’s supposed to be a play on the term “hell of a,” but it somehow evolved into a loony way of saying “very”.  No good thing has ever come from the use of this word.  It’s no coincidence that No Doubt broke up shortly after they released their single Hella Good in 2001.  The only person who can successfully incorporate “hella” into his vernacular is Oakland rapper E-40, and that’s mostly because no one knows what the hell he’s saying anyway.

Being that I’m an eye doctor by trade, I can confidently say that this person was not blind and that this person was indeed from the Bay Area (specifically, a theoretical place called “Fremont”).  When explained to this person that she was just moderately near-sighted, she asked, “Does that mean I can’t see near?”  To this I said, “No, near-sighted means that you are NEAR.  SIGHTED,” to which she said, “Right.  So I can’t see near?” to which I said, “No, near-sighted means that you that your sight is NEAR,” to which she said, “Is that why I can’t see things that are far away?” to which I said, “Yes,” to which she said, “That’s so confusing,” to which I said, “No it’s not.  You’re just a fucking dumbass.”  (I didn’t say that last part.) 

She was noticeably distraught that her vision wasn’t perfect and she insisted that she was “hella blind.”  It wasn’t until I told her that my vision was twice as worse as hers that she felt better.   I don’t understand Bay Area people.

However, my encounter with this dimwit ironically shed new light on how I view my own visual condition.

As anyone who is near-sighted can profess, being near-sighted is not fun.  For me, I can’t see anything clearly that is beyond fourteen centimeters from my face without my eyeglasses or contact lenses.  It’s annoying to not see the alarm clock when I wake up in the morning.  It’s a hassle to put on my contact lenses every morning after brushing my teeth.  It’s cumbersome to wear eyeglasses when I’m exercising at the gym. 

But at the end of the day, I really don’t mind it at all.

I don’t mind taking off my contact lenses or eyeglasses when I get home from work, even though without them the world is an utter blur, because sometimes I don’t want to see the world when it’s “in focus.”  Sometimes I don’t want to see the things that make me happy, or the things that make me sad, or the things that piss me off.  Sometimes I don’t want to have any emotive reaction whatsoever to anything at all.  Sometimes I just want to see the real world from my own eyes, from a perspective that is uniquely mine, because sometimes a blurry view offers a fresh new focus, which makes for a clearer mind.

The world is full of shit, and sometimes I want to get away.

And that’s hella real.

Last month I was on the popular website IMDB.com, the Internet Movie Data Base where uninformed movie fans go to become informed about movies that they are fans of.  I was gathering information (or “data”, I guess) about the upcoming Iron Man 2 motion picture.  Specifically, I was looking for the plot synopsis of the film.  After reading it, I concluded that the plot seemed entertaining and engaging enough for me to want to watch the film in theaters.  I also realized that Scarlett Johansson was in the movie, which made the film even more intriguing not because I enjoy her acting (which I do, sometimes), but because the tight black jumpsuit she wears as the Black Widow accentuates her large breasts.

Anyway, while I was reading the Iron Man 2 page on IMDB, I noticed that there was a Facebook “Like” button at the top of the page.  I also noticed that it said, “Jason Bautista likes this.”  “What in the name of Robert Downey, Jr. is going on here?” I asked to no one in particular.  Why is Facebook on IMDB, and why is it telling me that my friend Jason Bautista likes Iron Man 2?  Was this some kind of computer glitch?  Does Jason like all movies on IMDB, or only super hero ones?  Does Jason know about this?

I realized that I was asking the wrong questions.  I started seeing the “Like” button all over the internet.  Right now, it’s on news sites, sports sites, blogs, and just about any other website that has the potential to be Likeable.  If you’re logged into Facebook while visiting these sites, that “Like” button will tell you if any of your friends “Like” that site, and if you “Like” a site, that action will show up in your Facebook friends’ News Feed.  Or, in summary, Facebook has gone nuts and has taken over the internet.

Now, there is probably nothing wrong with what Facebook is doing.  I’ve read their privacy policy and I’ve consciously agreed to it, so, if they’re giving away my information, I can’t complain about not knowing about it (although there may be ethical issues regarding Facebook changing their privacy policy every several months).  Nevertheless, it certainly feels like all sorts of creepy.  Ever since the mid 1990s when the internet became relevant to the average person, the internet has traditionally been thought of as a mysterious place.  You could go look for information about anything discreetly and anonymously.  Your identity online could be something completely different from who you were in real life.  While this is still true, the arrival of social networking websites in the early 2000s opened up the internet.  It made people more comfortable with expressing themselves and sharing their information online.  And what we’ve realized is that people love talking about themselves.  People love sharing pictures and status updates on Facebook, and Twitter helped carry this self-indulgent bullshit to our mobile devices.  We’re witnessing the destruction of the anonymous cyberworld and entering a new era of self-glorification.  With Facebook expanding it services to beyond the Facebook domain, it isn’t shifting the paradigm.  It’s responding to it.

A lot of people don’t like this.  I am not one of them. As you may have noticed, I’ve implemented the “Like” button on my blog posts for the past month or so.  This is undoubtedly self-indulgent of me to assume that anyone will Like anything that I’ve ever written.  Furthermore, I have a Facebook page, a Twitter account, and a formspring page to add to the degeneration of my own humility.  The limits of my ego are defined only by the limits of technology.  I have no redeeming qualities. 

As history has shown, the advancement of technology is a product of our own egos.  You’ll have to embrace it or surrender to it.  You just don’t necessarily have to “Like” it.

I might be racist, and it’s not because I laugh at George Lopez’s jokes sometimes.  I graduated from the University of California at San Diego, which might make me racist by association.  UCSD is steadily making a reputation for itself of being a bastion of angry students who hate each other.  In honor of Black History Month last February, a fraternity hosted an off-campus party and called it the “Compton Cookout.”  The invitation, as posted on Facebook, read:

“February marks a very important month in American society. No, i’m not referring to Valentines day or Presidents day. I’m talking about Black History month. As a time to celebrate and in hopes of showing respect, the Regents community cordially invites you to its very first Compton Cookout.

For guys: I expect all males to be rockin Jersey’s, stuntin’ up in ya White T (XXXL smallest size acceptable), anything FUBU, Ecko, Rockawear, High/low top Jordans or Dunks, Chains, Jorts, stunner shades, 59 50 hats, Tats, etc.

For girls: For those of you who are unfamiliar with ghetto chicks-Ghetto chicks usually have gold teeth, start fights and drama, and wear cheap clothes – they consider Baby Phat to be high class and expensive couture. They also have short, nappy hair, and usually wear cheap weave, usually in bad colors, such as purple or bright red. They look and act similar to Shenaynay, and speak very loudly, while rolling their neck, and waving their finger in your face. Ghetto chicks have a very limited vocabulary, and attempt to make up for it, by forming new words, such as “constipulated”, or simply cursing persistently, or using other types of vulgarities, and making noises, such as “hmmg!”, or smacking their lips, and making other angry noises,grunts, and faces. The objective is for all you lovely ladies to look, act, and essentially take on these “respectable” qualities throughout the day.

Several of the regents condos will be teaming up to house this monstrosity, so travel house to house and experience the various elements of life in the ghetto.

We will be serving 40′s, Kegs of Natty, dat Purple Drank- which consists of sugar, water, and the color purple , chicken, coolade, and of course Watermelon. So come one and come all, make ya self before we break ya self, keep strapped, get yo shine on, and join us for a day party to be remembered- or not. “

This pissed off a lot of people on campus.  Student activists claimed that the behavior of this fraternity, which is composed mostly of white students, created an unwelcoming campus environment for minority students, particularly black students who comprise barely 2% of the total student population.  In response, students held rallies, boycotted University sponsored events, and protested outside of the Chancellor’s office.  However, the situation became more incendiary after two more events:  1.  A noose was found hanging in the main University library and 2. a Ku Klux Klan-style hood was found adorned on a statue outside of the library.  The protests and boycotts continued, which forced the Chancellor and the governor of California to officially condemn those incidents.  Furthermore, the Chancellor agreed to work with student groups to create a safer and more diverse campus environment.

For the past several months no new incidents made its way to the media, until last week during a lecture by visiting speaker.  The speaker, a well-known political conservative, was asked a question by a student regarding the speaker’s accusation that Muslim student groups were funded by jihadist movements.  The speaker (a Jew) countered by asking the student (a Muslim) if she was “for or against” the head of Hezbollah’s hopes that the Jews “will gather in Israel so he doesn’t have to hunt [them] down globally.”  To this the student, rather chillingly, said, “For it.”  Link

To each their own, I suppose.  This student has every right to her opinion and beliefs.  In no way does she represent all UCSD students, or all women, or all Muslims, or all UCSD Muslim women.  However, does her intolerant attitude create a safe and comfortable campus environment?  Which is more dangerous, a bunch of drunk college Greeks pretending to be Dr. Dre and NWA, or a few thoughtful and educated bigots who are driven by the passion and conviction of their faith?  So far, I have heard nothing from student activists regarding this.  No boycotts have been called for and no one is marching on the Chancellor’s office. Would there be more of an uproar if the person who said this was a white male?

If the UC system wants more diversity to create safer and more welcoming campuses, maybe they should start with affirmative action for atheists.

Every Friday I will be posting ten songs from my iTunes playlist.  I realize that this will not be a very exciting reading experience for anyone, but it’s better than reading about an oil spill for the millionth time.  Maybe.

The top ten songs from my playlist this week:

1. Breathe – Fabolous
2. Hip Hop is Dead – Nas
3. Westside – TQ
4. Come On (featuring MC Lyte) – Billie Lawrence
5. The Way I Am – Eminem
6. Ill Na Na – Foxy Brown
7. Strobelite Honey – Black Sheep
8. Pay Ya Dues (featuring DJ Aladdin) – Low Profile
9. Here We Come (featuring Magoo and Missy Elliott) - Timbaland
10. Heard ‘Em Say (featuring Adam Levine of Maroon 5) – Kanye West

Everything about vision is explained by the Trichromatic Theory.  The theory describes a model of vision in which light is captured by three photopigments (erythrolabe, chlorolabe, and cyanolabe) in the retina.  This sets off a metabolic cascade, and the light stimulus is converted into an electrical signal that travels through the retinal ganglion cells and optic nerve.  The signal exits the eye via the optic nerve, optic chiasm, and optic tract and is transmitted to the brain at the lateral geniculate nucleus.  From here, the signal is sent through the optic radiation to the occipital lobe at the back of the brain, where the electrical signal is translated into vision by the visual cortex.  What we see in real life is dictated by the three photopigments’ ability to capture light.  Each photopigment has a peak absorption wavelength, and we are able to discriminate color based on the relative absorption properties of the photopigments per wavelength of light.  The theory infers that if we were to have a hypothetical fourth photopigment, we would be able to see colors that we currently cannot appreciate.  Additionally, the theory also implies that if we were to have less than three photopigments (say, two), we would not be able to appreciate all the colors that we currently can see.  Human beings with four photopigments do not exist, but there are people alive with only two photopigments.  I am one of these people.  I, along with five percent of all males, am colorblind.

I will never be able to describe to anyone exactly what I see, just as no one will ever be able to describe to me exactly what they see.  However, I can tell you that my life is not like an episode of I Love Lucy; I do not see the world in black and white.  I see colors, but I’m really not that good at distinguishing them.  The best way I can explain this is with bananas.  Whenever I see something that might be yellow, I compare it to a banana and ask myself, “Is that the same color as a banana?”  The only reason I know that bananas are yellow is because EVERYONE knows that bananas are yellow.  So, whenever I see a banana, I assume that it’s yellow.  But unripe bananas are green, and those really throw me off.  I pretty much suck at distinguishing a green banana from a yellow one, which is why I wait until my bananas have a bunch of black spots on them before I dig into them like a rabid monkey.

I suppose that’s a pretty lame way at perceiving the world, but that’s how it is.  Our perception is limited by our own physiology.  I don’t know if this has anything to do with who I am, but it probably does.  I’ve been told on more than one occasion by more than one person that I’m kind of a weird dude and I have interesting perspectives on life and the world.  I’ll admit that they’re probably right.  I’m a complete nutjob!  And since, as I described above, the eye is intimately connected with the brain, and since 90% of the information our brain processes is received from the visual system, I suppose it’s plausible that my brain processes information differently.  I literally (and figuratively, I suppose) see things differently, which probably makes me think about things differently, too.   It’s either that or myself just trying to make some transcendent realization that somewhat relates to what I do for a living.

But, then again, it’s only a theory.

Every now and then I get the urge to write a blog post about blogging.  I would estimate that this occurs about once every three months, and I suppose right now is a great time to do it.  It’s refreshing to see that john is back from his break and Xanga is back on track.  Congratulations to him and justbee on the new addition to their family.  Congratulations to BarelyJen, too.

For this season’s obligatory metablog, I’m not going to blog about how I blog.  I’m going to blog about how other people blog, which just happens to be a popular trend right now.  More particularly, I’m going to blog about how other people blog about other people.  Why do they do this?  It’s because publicly talking about people you’ve never met is dramatic.  This is what bloggers and sports talk radio people have in common.  We create drama about things that are none of our business.  We’re both at the bottom of the food chain in our respective media, but we pretend that we’re more important than what we are.  We’re just assholes with opinions, and just like assholes, our opinions stink.  (For the record, I like sports talk radio.)

There has been a surge in Xanga drama lately.  I don’t really read TheTheologiansCafe, but from what people have said about him I get the feeling that he’s kind of a creep.  Curtainsopen and others have suggested that, despite the fact that he’s married with children, he gets boners for bloggers like Beautifullymindfull, similar to how Blue__Summer gets moist in her special place for nimbusthedragon.  I wonder if Fat Dan has ever tried to pick up on maniac_rose, though.  If he did, I hope he didn’t try to webcam with her.  One of her recent blogs called out a “Xanga pervert” named Rushmorej.  There is nothing wrong with Rushmorej.  His erotic stories are more socially relevant than anything trunthepaige has ever contributed.  And what the hell is maniac_rose doing webcamming with people anyway?  Shouldn’t she be busy salivating over the posts on IReallyLikeFood?

That might be tacky of me to make fun of the large ones, but it’s not as tacky as making fun of the cripples.  Unlike some people, I won’t devolve myself and diss DearRicky because he’s a leper (or something), but I will call him a fucking sissy.  I’ve only visited his site ONCE in my entire life.  All I saw was a bunch of oversized capital letters and a funny looking Asian kid, so I zero ePropped him (without commenting).  He subsequently blocked me for life.  This is the action of an insecure loser, as opposed to antisoccermom.  She’s a winner.  It took 15 zero eProps for her to block me.  However, the current champ is vanedave, who has, to this day, refused to block me despite being zeroed a record 23 times.

Speaking of record holders, the world record holder for having the most username changes goes to squeakywomanlightlucywritessoul or whatever the heck she calls herself nowadays.  I think I speak for most people when I say that I stopped paying attention two years ago.

Now, I’m not a curmudgeon.  I like plenty of bloggers, like CaKaLusa, Yosho, and Mancouch.  I like people I used to despise, like theblackspiderman and sam.  I like people that I probably shouldn’t like, like Paul_Partisan, and I like people that you’ve forgotten about, like AnonymousBloggingGirl.  But most of all, I like the people whose Protected lists I am on, like CallMeQuell.  (I’m kidding.  She doesn’t really have a protected list.  WINK WINK)

Have a GREAT DAY.

I have two phobias.  One is static electricity.  I can’t stand that shit.  It boggles my mind that we can send a man to that big fucking rock in the night sky, that we can collide protons at hypersonic speeds at CERN, and that we can believe that Drake is a Canadian AND has street cred (read: Snow), but we can’t invent something that will negate static electricity once and for all.  It’s depressing knowing that I am a member of the most highly evolved species in the history of this planet, but a zap from the door handle to my office can bring me to my knees.  This is why I will never move to Las Vegas.  It’s too dry, which makes it a giant electrical generator.  That and because everyone in Las Vegas is a fucking asshole (except for Brandon Flowers and Lance Burton, who are genuinely nice people).

My other phobia is myself.  Or rather, pictures of myself.  Everyone who knows me knows that I, for the most part, actively avoid having my picture taken.  And if my picture is taken, I actively avoid not looking at it.  I suppose the obvious reason for this would be that I have a poor self-image.  This is mostly true, considering that I cannot stand to look at myself in a mirror or window reflection.  But what I’ve come to realize is that I probably have deeper self-identity issues other than thinking I’m ugly.  I’m uncomfortable looking at ANY pictures of me.  This includes anything from the past, like high school yearbooks, photo albums, and baby pictures.  Furthermore, I don’t remember 90% of my life before seventh grade.  I don’t know why.  To me, my entire existence began sometime around 13-years-old, and even that is a little hazy.

Many people have said that history is the foundation to the present.  If this is true, then I suppose my identity is spotty and incomplete.  I don’t know if this is a problem that many people have, but it’s an argument that I’ve seen many people make lately.  Doctors aren’t considered legitimate if they didn’t go through a decade college; gangster rappers aren’t considered legitimate if they didn’t grow up on the streets.  Their identities are based on what they’ve been through. 

In 2010, there seems to be a national identity crisis.  This may or may not have been spurned by the election of Barack Obama, but you cannot deny that this is a politically charged era.  As such, many people have been harkening back to the Founding Fathers.  The Tea Party Movement, with their colonial-time outfits and whatnot, is dedicated to upholding the ideals of low taxation, small government, and personal freedoms.  They ferociously defend the Constitution and passionately want to take back a country which they feel was stolen from them.  In essence, they want to redefine America the way they feel the Founding Fathers meant for it.

It’s hard to begrudge anyone who wants to defend the Founding Fathers or the Constitution.  George Washington and Co. fought for freedom, which is admirable.  And, as it turns out, the Constitution is a pretty good document that outlines a pretty good system of republic government, one that includes a bicameral legislative body and a system of checks and balances between the different branches.  The Founding Fathers and the Constitution are the foundation of America’s identity.  The Tea Party is right about this.  But they forget, or refuse to acknowledge, is that the Founding Fathers and the Constitution both violated civil rights, and these violations are also sewn into the fabric of America’s identity.

It wouldn’t be fair of me to accuse Tea Partiers as being bigots.  Most of them have probably never uttered a racial slur, owned a slave, or denied a woman the right to vote.  I can accuse them of being hypocritical, though.  They feel as if it is their responsibility to uphold the freedoms defined by the Founding Fathers, but they don’t feel responsible for correcting the civil rights violations that the Founding Fathers institutionalized.  The facts don’t deny it.  Those living in poverty are mostly non-white.  Consequently, minorities have poorer public education than whites and have a harder time getting into universities.  Women don’t get paid equally as men for equal work, and a Mexican national has no right to exist within Arizona borders.  People sometimes say, “I didn’t own slaves or steal land, so why is any of this my problem?”  To this I ask, “You also didn’t fight in the American Revolution, so why should you be free?”  If it’s our responsibility to fight wars to defend the freedom that was given to us, then it’s also our responsibility to fight the war on the racism and sexism that was also given to us. 

History isn’t selective, and neither is our identity.  The Founding Fathers gave us good and bad.  You can’t have one without the other.  This is why Tea Partiers are not believable Americans.  They only want the good.  Similarly, this is why Ice Cube will never be believable in family comedy movies.  He forgot that he was gangster.

I don’t know much about my own past.  Perhaps it’s because I’m American.

This Friday Robin Hood will hit movie theaters across America.  This latest incarnation will feature Russell Crowe playing the title lead, who I suspect will be slightly less humorous than funnyman Cary Elwes (1993’s Robin Hood: Men in Tights) but much more believable than Brooklyn-tongued Kevin Costner (1991’s Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves).  As someone who grew up thinking that Robin Hood was a cartoon fox (Disney’s 1973 Robin Hood), I’ve seen and read many versions of this timeless tale.  The one thing that all of these renditions have in common is the prevailing theme of spreading the wealth, taking from the rich and giving to the poor.  By the sheer fact that there have been hundreds of stories, books, songs, and movies chronicling the adventures of Robin Hood, society has clearly been fascinated with this story that romanticizes revolution, anti-establishment themes, the evils of aristocracy, and lower-class righteousness.

Someone check Robin Hood’s birth certificate.  He might be a socialist from Kenya.

They say that a man isn’t a man until he has fallen in love.  I don’t exactly know who “they” are, I don’t know if “they” are men or women, and I don’t know why “they” like to say things like “that.”  Other than a pair of testicles and a penis, I don’t know what else can qualify someone to be a “man” and not a woman or one of the Jonas Brothers.  There is the sense that “they” are implying that there is a difference between being a male and being a man, and that “falling in love” catalyzes the metamorphosis from an ignorant guy to an enlightened gentleman.  I don’t know what “their” experiences have been or what qualifies “them” to make such a statement and purport it to be the truth.  But, whoever “they” are, “they” seem to be completely misinformed on how exactly life works.  “They” might as well be “Malcolm Gladwell.”

Theoretically, a boy will eventually become a man (unless you’re Michael Jackson) and a girl will eventually become a woman (unless you’re Madonna), but there comes a specific point in everyone’s life when they begin to look at the world in a completely different light.  They begin to see the world more realistically.  This isn’t necessarily for the better or for the worse, but they begin to see the world and their relationships with people in a way that is completely revolutionary to what they did before.  This is more than simply growing older and becoming mature.  There is a specific event that happens that causes this epiphany, and this event only happens once (usually).  Contrary to popular belief, this event is not falling in love.  Falling in love is easy, and anyone can fall in love a million times in their lives if they want to.  While falling in love is generally good, it’s not revelatory.  Furthermore, this event is different for male and females, and this is directly related to the underlying differences between men and women’s approaches to relationships.

For girls, this event is easy to identify.  It is often said that girls become women when they lose their virginity, and this is exactly right.  Ever since childhood, girls are raised to fantasize about meeting the man of their dreams and having a spectacular wedding in front of a castle.  They’ll save their virginity for someone who is worthy to make beautiful love with, but when they finally give it up they’ll realize that sex isn’t all that beautiful but it’s kind of fun.  This shifts a girl’s entire paradigm about the nature of relationships.  This is why girls often have a hard time getting over the person they lost their virginity to:  It’s not because of love; it’s because they can’t imagine what life was like before sex.  The act of getting over that person changes their whole perspective on life.   In effect, this is also why no one has ever taken a female virgin seriously, except for Mother Teresa.

Boys, on the other hand, are physically vested in relationships.  Beginning around the age of 10, boys develop the primal urge to have sex with anything that moves.  Sex is not a life-altering act for boys and they freely do it whenever it’s possible.  Boys will have sex with as many people as they can until they fall in love with someone.  Up to this point they’ll think that they’ve done everything right, but what boys don’t prepare for is the emotional burden of being in love.  Boys don’t become men until they’ve had their hearts broken by someone they deeply cared for.  This is why boys go absolutely apeshit when their girlfriends betray them:  It’s not because infidelity is deplorable; it’s because boys can’t control their emotions.  Much like women up until their hymens are punctured, men’s perspective on life is deluded until their hearts are pulverized by a merciless woman.  This is why nice guys finish last. 

And these are the reasons why I consciously choose not to fall in love with girls who have never had sex.

Four years ago my heart was shattered into a million pieces.  It was undoubtedly the worst experience of my entire life, but it was probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.  I don’t understand contradictions, but maybe I do.  Life is about overcoming adversity; it has nothing to do with happiness. 

I wonder what “they” have to say about “that.”