A Day on the Heath

Like most days I woke up. This time at a healthy 11:20. As mentioned in the previous post I was riding a high from my Hey Arnold dream. James and I sat around watching T.V. for a while. Forgot to mention this in the last post, but last night James showed me this hilarious show called Mock the Week, which is a British fusion of Whose Line is it Anyways and the Colbert Report. Anyway today we rode a couple of bikes out to the Hampstead Heath which is the biggest inner city park in London. From the top of Parliament Hill we could see all of London before us. Unlike L.A. it is not sprawled out. Most of the good stuff is concentrated within walking distance, which is why we could do so much the first day I was here. After that we went to a Mark and Spencers grocery store which is a posh place with good lunch stuff. I got my favorite cranberry and brie combo, along with some chocolate mouse, and an orange juice and it only cost 4.65£. We ate it in the Heath, talking about books and stuff, then rode back to Camden Market. I bought a couple of gifts there, and then we rode back to the house. We got back at maybe half past 5, watched some T.V., went to Tesco (a supermarket, though I think it sounds like a gas station). Dinner was good. I had two veggie-burgers which for some reason taste good to me now. I can't decide if I have gotten less picky, or if the food is just better. I hope it is the former, because that would seriously open up some windows. We played Call of Duty, watched part of Saving Private Ryan, and then I came back to my room to type up a couple blog posts. Here are a couple of British phrases that I have particularly enjoyed. "I'm just takin' a piss!" I'm just messing with you. "Can I have a go?" Can I have a turn? "This candy is lush!" This candy is quite delectable.

Conquering London: Hasn't Been Done Since 1066

After a 3 hour train ride from Lyme Regis I found myself encumbered by my large blue backpack, trying to make sense of the chaotic London Waterloo station. I met Anna Thornton's 17 year old son James right past the turnstiles, and we dropped off my backpack at left luggage (costing an unfortunate 8£). Within the next 2 1/2 hours we powered through London on foot, and via the Tube, seeing some of the most renowned bits. The Houses of Parliament topped by Big Ben sat squarely across the Thames, blocked by the London Eye, an extremely tall Ferris wheel with slowly rotating white pods. Walking along the river we saw the Globe (Shakespeare), and the Gerkin, designed by an architect blatantly compensating for something. We also walked through Trafalgar Square, which is swarming with pigeons, and hosts a huge statue of Horatio Nelson at the centre (British spell check). We also saw Buckingham Palace, which is as grand and ridiculous as one would expect. It was easy talking to James, and hanging with someone my age was refreshing. We got home about 5, and I met Anna and Geoff. Anna works at King's College, and Geoff works at UCL (University College London) as a chemistry professor. Geoff, like Kevin Benfield, attended Oxford University, which is pretty incredible, so I will have to ask him about his experience. So far I have met 3 people who have went to Oxford (Sarah from Cotswold Archaeology, Kevin, and Geoff), and the first two that I met gave me a really clear idea of what Oxford would be like to attend. Apparently you have a tutor who you work with either 1 on 1, or some similar proportion so you get a very individualized education. And Kevin said that when he went people did your washing, made your bed, and cooked your food, so I am liking the sound of that. There are only two things about which I have reservations. 1 I am not positive on what I want to do later on, so their mantra of specializing early may lead me in the wrong direction. and 2 I am probably not going to get in. Neither of these things seem particularly solvable, so I suppose I will have to think on that. Anyways Geoff and Anna are very cool people and both seem extremely intelligent. For dinner we had 3 courses essentially. It started with some goat's cheese and pears which was delicious, moved on into a delicious omelet, and finished triumphantly with strawberries and cream. Afterwards James took it upon himself to educate me in the ways of British film. We watched a black comedy movie by Guy Ritchie called Locked Stocked and Two Smokin' Barrels. It was very violent, subtly funny, and frustratingly accented. Yesterday we saw two main things. Camden Market, and the Tate Modern. I bought an Oyster Card which is a brilliant invention. You buy it for 3£, then put money on it, and you get discounts whenever you go on the Tube, and the bus system. It is essentially a debit card for public transport that has the magical quality of lowering prices for you. So we took the Tube to Camden Market at around 1. We grabbed lunch, which for me was some delicious thin crust pizza marketed by an Italian guy who looked curiously like Mario, and for James was some curry. There weren't any conventional "tables" around, but there a surprisingly comfortable row of scooter seats welded to a long counter. The market had a lot of really cool vintage stuff, though a lot of it was rather expensive. I saw a miniature VW Bus decked out with the Union Jack that cost 21£, and a lot of really cool bongo drums, paintings, strange figurines, army vintage, normal vintage, leather jackets (I don't think I could pull one off, though I was tempted), and people who smelled vaguely of ganja. Then we went to the very spacious Tate Modern that sits on the Thames. Luckily it was free. James and I walked around for a while, laughing at the bullshit explanations of some of the paintings that could have been drawn by a artistically inclined 4 year old. One particularly hilarious painting was an entirely red canvas, except for a purple stripe running down the right side. To paraphrase, the little plastic sign read "The red with a vivid purple stripe reminds the viewer that they are "there". Like somehow when I look at this purple stripe I realize that I'm thinking in the future, when really, I should be living in the now. And that this painting symbolizes the struggle between ambition and reality. Suddenly, when I stare at this painting, it dawns on me that my need to prove myself stems from a deep seated desire to please my father. What a load of crap. However there were some pretty cool ones. I really liked one by Jackson Pollock, and the Andy Warhol exhibit was pretty incredible. A couple paintings were optical illusions that conveyed physical depth, or wriggled before your eyes. But one thing really blew me away. Picasso died in 1973. What?! I thought he was long gone. Like 19th century. I'm still reeling. Then we went home after stopping at King's Cross. It cost me 1.80£ but the fleeting images of Harry and Ron sprinting towards Platform 9 3/4 was worth it. So after a quick look around, we left, James pretending to read a sign while I dabbed my eyes. We got home, played a little Call of Duty, and watched Snatch, another Guy Ritchie film. I went to bed, and had a great dream about Hey Arnold coming back on the air. But I'll split this into two posts to give your eyes a rest.

The Past Couple Days in Lyme Regis

The time here has flown by. It has been two books worth of time since my last blog post. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley and Another Country by James Baldwin. The flow of life here reminds me of life on the Adriatic in Croatia. I eat a lot of ice cream, swim, and stroll by the beach. Sunday night Polly, Kevin, Susan, David, (A couple they know), and I went down to the beach to participate in the activities of Lifeboat week, where they appeal to the town for charitable donations. I played a game of Skittles for 50p. It is like bowling, but the balls have more in common with coconuts, and there are only 9 roughly made wooden pins. I knocked them all down. Then we got fish and chips, and I pushed the limits of my deteriorating vegetarianism. I wasn't a huge fan of the fish part, but as for the chips, I have finally begun to enjoy ketchup on them. I am beginning to see that a high proportion of the transformations since I've been in Britain have involved some form of potato. We ate it down by the water, and as the moon rose over the Channel I skipped stones across the shimmering harbor. I broke the 20+ record I achieved in the High Sierras, and have 4 witnesses to corroborate that, but after a certain number of skips it becomes impossible to count. Something I forgot. On Saturday night we went to a comedy show at the Marine Theater, which Polly is very involved with. Two comedians performed 1 hour sets so we got back to April Cottage (Polly and Kevin's home) around midnight. The first guy had a slightly hysterical laugh, but his routine had a moral to it and it was pretty funny. He despaired the fast pace of life in the modern world, though the inhabitants of Lyme Regis did not relate to it. The second guy had a routine was reminsicient of that of Zach Galifinakis on SNL or Bo Burnam on YouTube. He sang humorous songs, and then talked, doing stand-up. At one point he talked about Paul McCartney. Apparently Paul McCartney dreamed the song Yesterday. The comedian had dreamed a song of his own, and asked us how it compared to Yesterday. It went "Because a horse head is not a human head, because a horse head is not a human head!" I didn't do much yesterday, other than go deep-sea fishing. I wouldn't characterize it as an abject failure, however none of the ships that went out that day caught the "black breem" they were looking for. I caught about 4 dogfish sharks, but we had to throw two of them back, and some guy who worked for a restaurant took the other two. I read by the beach for a while, got some ice cream, headed back to the house, and found out the Benfield's had a piano, which occupied some of my time. After I took a good hour long nap, Margaret and Bernard came over for dinner. Margaret is incredibly nice, and she is very enthusiastic about Polly having a young American traveler over. Bernard is nice, but as he is 96, not very talkative. Margaret told me she worked in WWII with the air force, detecting Nazi air raids using radar. After they left Polly and I watched a T.V. show called Rev on BBC starring the guy who played Commodore Norrington in Pirates of the Caribbean. It was pretty hilarious. My inappropriate insult of choice is now "wanker" as a result. I then went upstairs to read Another Country and fell asleep around 12:30. All in all a rejuvenating and thoroughly enjoyable couple of days.

The Town by the Sea

Right now I am overlooking the English Channel from Polly's perch. Lyme Regis is nothing less than the perfect town by the sea. All hours of the day the shrieking chorus of waterfowl reminds you where you are, and the waters capture the sunlight, reminding you of some long forgotten painting. Polly and Kevin Benfield are amazing cheerful people. A pure incarnation of the happy atmosphere that charges the town. When I first arrived yesterday Polly told me she was "throwing me in the deep end" and no less then half an hour after I had arrived at the house, there was a tea party. Kevin's mom, and stepfather came from their bungalow (91 and 96 respectively), and some of Kevin's relatives from up north in Yorkshire had driven down and were visiting family. They were really nice and I didn't get asked once "Are all Americans fat?" "Do you own a gun?" or "Do you have on of those big fridges?" Afterward I settled into my bed for a long nap, and woke up just in time for dinner. Since Polly is originally from America she doesn't call it "tea". This morning Kevin woke me up at 8:30 and I showered, read some Lord of the Flies (which I finished about an hour ago), and ate breakfast. Then Polly took me with her to Dorchester. It is a nice little city. And like all cities it has a town centre which is for pedestrians only. I got a really positive vibe from it, and I don't know whether it was the sun, the rope frilled with little pennants decked over the walkway, or my own mood. We ate a small lunch at a very confusing bakery with delicious scones, and then went to the Dorset County museum. Through my recent exposure to museums I have realized that I love the Neolithic-Georgian artifacts, but anything more recent than that is boring and cheap entertainment. We then drove to the cottage of Thomas Hardy, a famous British author whose books I need to read. He lived in a perfectly placed house, that was very spare, with a thatched roof, and wonderful gardens literally buzzing with activity. They are very big on bees around there. We drove back to the house along the coast, and I was treated to some of the best views I have seen in a long time. Rolling green hills cascade down to the water, and finish in beaches of broken rock. I finished Lord of the Flies, read a couple short stories for AP Literature, and decided now would be a good time to share a town that will be perfect for my retirement in half a century.

The Train to Dorset

With every second between Stroud and me lengthens. I am sad to leave, which is a little surprising considering I was only there a month. But as one door closes another opens. The same feeling I had stepping off the plane at Heathrow urges me on into the unknown. I am not sure what the feeling is. Cindy would label it confidence. Last night at dinner she complimented me on my "confidence" and doing something she wouldn't have been able to do at her age. I'd be lying if I said that didn't feel pretty good to hear. But whatever it is it excited me for Lyme Regis, and the beach, and the cottage, and the ancient coastline. When my iPod quiets during the transition between songs, it bullies me into squeezing the most out of these next two weeks. I have just climbed out of my slump, a periodic disturbance in my activity, and this feeling is the constant adrenaline which wants nothing more than to sniff out the unknowns which hide just off the beaten path.

Bath Spa

Monday I decided to train over to Bath Spa. It's the only place in Britain that has hot springs, and was therefore very important to the Celtic people, and eventually Romans. The return ticket cost a whopping 15.80 pounds which translates to about 23 dollars or so. I brought Rob's bike along, because I figured I would get more bang for my buck if I rode around instead of walking. Unfortunately it is a real hassle to bring a bike on the train, especially if there is no bike rack. When I arrived at Bath I biked along the canal path which connects Bristol and Bath. Houseboats lined the cement wall which contained the canal, and old guys fished off of them, laughing at jokes that were spoken to fast for me to understand. Built into the canal was a giant fountain infested with seagulls. Nearby a giant house, or restaurant was built on top of an aqueduct. Usually I think of them as bridges so it was pretty crazy to look at. Along the canal was an ice-cream truck manned by an extremely bubbly American woman. She handed me a creamy chocolate ice cream and said "Yeah I've been here since 1981 but it sounds like I just got off the boat." Later on I went into the town centre which was pretty crazy. That's one thing I really like about English cities. In every one you will find a large centre where cars can't go, and cafes, restaurants, and tourist attractions thrive. In the Bath centre a pair of guitarists expertly rendered Queen and The Who. A rastafarian with a strange Oriental looking bongo drum entranced a crowd with smooth tones. And I descended into the underbelly of the cathedral to see the Vaults Museum. In it were housed some very cool 17th century goblets made of silver, a couple Anglo-Saxon crosses, and books that have survived for six centuries. After I trained back to Stroud, I stopped at Costa coffee and sat down to read Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris. After a relaxing half hour I biked on home to have tea with my host family.

Common Application Attempt Numero Dos

The students filed into the room and took their seats. Mr. Turner stood at the holo-board tracing something with his fingers. The door to the classroom opened gently, and a frantic looking boy with hair drenched from a hasty shower padded silently over to his seat. "I'll pretend I didn't see that" said Mr. Turner, his back still turned. The class erupted in laughter. This was everyone's favorite class. Mr. Turner addressed the students. "Today we will be analyzing the works of Marcus Kahn," he said, as he stepped out of the way to reveal a bold Marcus Kahn written in calligraphy on the holo-board. The class started grumbling. "What?" he asked. A confident girl in the front raised her hand. "Yes Isabelle?" "I don't like complaining Mr. T, but but first J.K. Rowling and now Marcus Kahn? When are we gonna start on something a little more... I don't know. Contemporary? Mr. Turner paused a moment. The class couldn't tell if he was scrutinizing Isabelle or cooking up some evasive response. "Though some of the technologies of 21st century literature seem outdated, the emotions and characters who experience those emotions provide insight into the mind and life of the author. And that my friends is timeless." The class and Mr. Turner stared at each other in an awkward silence until they took the hint, and pulled out their virtual-books. Soon the lively discussion that is the signature of a Mr. Turner class gained momentum. A small brooding boy with brown hair reminiscent of the Beatles raised his hand and the class lapsed into respectful silence, giving him their attention. "I think the character of the leper brother shows us the insecurities Kahn felt as a twin early in his life." The class had already read the About the Author portion of the book. Another boy, much to large for the standard sized chair, but with clever eyes cried "Oooh Oooh" as his outstretched arm threatened to punch the ceiling." When the class's attention shifted to him he exclaimed "But it's more than that. You can see the purpose behind the novel. He isn't just describing a lonely little boy. He is documenting that boys' transformation into a confident man!" Mr. Turner smiled and nodded his head. It was gratifying to see his students come to the same conclusions as experts in the field of literature. But he saw repetition coming in the talk, and repetition leads to boredom, with boredom resulting in the inevitable disconnection. "Let's move away from the metamorphosis aspect for a moment," he advised. "Instead why don't we focus on the strengths and weaknesses of our dear Mr. Kahn." The class fell deep into thought for a minute. Isabelle broke the silence. "The antagonist in the last novel he wrote was a mathematician. Maybe he hates math." she inferred. "Who doesn't?" piped up an athletic looking student in the back. He high fived one of his friends. "Settle down, settle down" said Mr. Turner, his lips trying to conceal a smile. "If you've read his autobiography would understand that Isabelle's supposition is entirely accurate. But let's get some positives in here. What does he love?" Six hands raised instantly. Mr. Turner pointed to a very pretty red-haired girl. "England!" she cried enthusiastically. This wasn't a stretch considering all of his novels were either set in, or at least incorporated the misted isles. A couple people in the class snickered at the surface-level inference, and the girls face matched her ginger hair. "Ah, very astute Samantha," encouraged Mr. Turner. "In fact in Kahn's autobiography he chronicles the intense effort he made to got o England for a month and a half. And he was only your age" The class seemed a little hung up on the fantasy of their own hypothetical adventures abroad so he plowed on. "And to take it a step further we can identify his passion for history as evidenced by his infatuation with so historical a place." The class was unimpressed by Mr. Turner's conclusion, since almost all of Marcus Kahn's works were st in the past. "And do you know the secret to our dear friend Marcus' success?" he asked conspiratorially. The students all tensed, and their eyes bored into Mr. Turner's face hungrily. He paused a few more seconds for dramatic effect. "A good college education!" The class groaned and rolled their eyes in unison.

Common Application Essay Attempt #1

I recline back in my lazy boy, and kick off the roman-style sandles that have been digging in my heel all day. God damn I'm sick of this heavenly bureaucratic bullshit. Yet another "Why can't I get into heaven just because I insert heinous crime?" Oops I said my name in vain. I pick up my new Space-Time Remote and flip on the T.V. A single bacteria struggles for the survival in the Primordial Soup. fast forward Strange aquatic creatures step out of water for the first time to test their luck on dry land. fast forward Large reptiles sprint through the jungle undergrowth, pursued by even bigger reptiles. fast forward A squat hairy man depicts the struggle of his daily life on a cavern wall. fast forward God reality television is tedious. Seafaring explorers wash ashore on a distant land. Savagery and disease threaten them at every turn. fast forward A civilization develops in the New World. They begin to press west. fast forward Poor Eastern European immigrants flee to America. They settle in Los Angeles during the early 20th century. Meanwhile an old Southern family picks up and moves to the San Francisco Bay area. fast forward Two children grow and learn on opposite ends of the state. Their names are Howard and Betsy Kahn. fast forward Howard and Betsy meet at a social event for their co-op dorm at UC Berkeley. Three years later they begin dating. fast forward Howard and Betsy socialize at a party. Their twin boys play in the background. Relatives and friends try to engage the lean brown haired Marcus, but he clams up and hides behind his blonde counterpart. fast forward Mrs. Taylor needs someone to talk during a 2nd grade assembly on Martin Luther King Jr. She presses Marcus, but it takes a bag of Lifesavers candy to bribe him onto the stage. fast forward The Kahn family packs up the last of their boxes, and head on the cross country flight from Connecticut to California. They are all anxious and excited but none more than Marcus. In his mind he sees golden beaches, and swaying palm trees, but he also sees the opportunity to start fresh. fast forward Marcus stands up on stage during the 7th and 8th grade productions of Grease and Guys & Dolls respectively. He goes on to win 1st place in a drama competition called DTASC. fast forward It is Marcus' sophomore year in high school. He gets on stage with his acting company and plays Demetrius and Peter Quince in separate casts of A Midsummer Night's Dream. The crowd laughs as he capers around the stage, and they congratulate him afterwards. He mingles effortlessly. fast forward A confident young man stands up in front of 250 people. He delivers an articulate and impassioned speech in favor of a bill he doesn't agree on for California's Youth and Government. It passes through committee, Senate, and Assembly. fast forward Marcus sits in his room lost in thought. A dusty picture of himself at 7 years old lies flat on a solid oak desk. "Am I still that shy little kid?" he asks himself. He recalls the flutter of fear in his stomach as he stepped up to the microphone during Youth and Government's Spring Conference. His mind touches on the adrenaline that leaves his hands shaking after he sat down again. "Yes" he admits silently to himself. " I am." My finger drifts to the remote for the 16th time. "Nah" decide. "I don't want to spoil the ending for myself." So I turn off the T.V. and go to the kitchen for a cold beer. Watching quality television is thirsty work.

The Weekend in Stroud

Saturday was a pretty fun day. After sleeping in to a solid 10:30 I went out on a bike ride with the my host family, and another family they are friends with. According to Luka (Adam's abnormally tall friend) we had biked 14 miles. With Rob, and his friend Mike navigating we wound up though the hills and into neighboring parishes. Some of the houses up there were amazing: sitting on a couple acres of land, and made of the signature Cotswold Stone which is so coveted in these parts. We stopped for a break by a stream and the boys went romping through a stream which wended its way through the forest. We heard splashes and laughs and Mike yelled out "You boys better not be playing in the water!" Jack replied "We're not!" indignantly, as he splashed obliviously in plain sight. They came out fibbing about some ducks and dogs which had splashed them and pushed them into the water much to their dismay. Towards the end of the ride we stopped in some random field which stood isolated from all the storefronts and byways of town. And smack dab in the middle was an ice cream shop with dozens of people lounging on the grass with sticky chocolate covered hands. Mike treated us all, and I have to say, it gave Fosselman's a run for it's money. We got back to the house, had tea (the English word for dinner which I think spawned the misconception that the English have a nationally recognized tea-drinking time), and went into town for Adam's band performance. It was a pretty sweet set-up. Instead of an auditorium we were seated at tables laden with good English cheeses, grapes, wine, and soda. 4 different bands performed, two of which Adam was in. I tapped my foot to Singin' in the Rain, something called Walking Down Broadway, and the Bare Necessities from the Jungle Book, but gritted my teeth during Abba. As I walked back to the car, Cindy's mom (Jack and Adam's grandma) explained to me that she doesn't quite understand American humor, and a couple of guys stepped out of a bar asking with hilarity"Did that bloke just order a Pinot or a penis?" I like British humor.

Wizarding Economics

Last week I read Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone for the umpteenth time. In the beginning when Hagrid explained the Ministry of Magic I realized something.. wizarding economics just doesn't add up. I have never heard of any wizard taxmen. How is the Ministry able to pay all of its employees? There seemed to be only 3 main types of jobs in Harry Potter: Entrepreneur, Ministry Official, or Hogwarts teacher. Two of these jobs are subsistent on taxpayer dollars. Of course Hogwarts would seem to be a private institution, yet never in Harry Potter was wizard tuition mentioned. Sure one could manage the school magically, but how would one go about paying the teachers? Assuming there are no enchantments against replication one could just multiply the galleons right? But let me ask you this. Do you really think the British Wizarding Ecnomy is robust enough to withstand that scale of inflation? If everyone just strated gemino'ing their galleons would be worth nothing.

My Rough Personal Statement for Oxford University

This is my first go at a personal statement. I'd appreciate either constructive criticism to help me improve it or compliments to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It's a little bit "braggy" I know.

I hate math. Freshman year I hid a copy of Sarum by Edward Rutherfurd under my desk while Mr. Chi conveyed Pythagorean Theorem. Sophomore year I hid the Italian Renaissance by J.H. Plumb behind my Algebra II book. Junior year I strategically slumped in my seat with my Kindle as Mrs. Leung rambled on about statistics. Since day one my escape has been into books both historical and fictional. In my English and History classes I emerged from my literary reverie to analyze, argue, and answer. But my greatest victory was visiting England in the summer of 2010. Sure I got 5's on my A.P. Language and A.P. U.S. History exams. Sure I got an 800 on my U.S. History Sat II, a 780 on the SAT I Critical Reading section, and an 800 in the SAT I Writing section, while getting A's in every English and History class I took. And sure, I can integrate my credentials into a personal statement. But how many teenagers were able to organize and execute a trip single-handed which not only triumphed over the labyrinth of customs, international travel, and the weirdly expensive U.K. train system, but also allowed room for a historically enriching experience? How many teenagers traversed the face of the planet in order to volunteer at an archaeological firm, and deal with pottery, bones, and miscellany dating back long before Christ? These factors are not why I am qualified, but rather are indicative of the quality of my qualifications.What at its most mellow is a passion, and at its most intense is an obsession manifested itself in my summer trip, and will undoubtedly guide me in the future. College won't just be a gateway to a high paying job. It will be, as the egotistical Sherlock Holmes would say "a most singular" opportunity to do what I love in a place that interweaves antiquity and prestige into a rich educational tapestry.

Disproving Judgement in the Afterlife Using God

The classic religious syllogism is "God hates bad things, I do bad things, therefore God hates and punishes me." But the irony of this belief lies in that the concept of an all knowing infinitely wise God disqualifies judgement in the afterlife. But before I explain the reasoning behind this conclusion let's lay down some basic commonalities. We can agree that the ever elusive definition of "God" is somewhere between a just, all knowing, all powerful, God who is constantly manipulating, interfering and controlling humans, and a hands off god who remains just, all powerful, and all knowing, but created the universe and wiped his hands with earthly affairs. So the most liberal, unobtrusive god doesn't meddle in human affairs, but rather lets them make their own choices, and then judges them when hey die. We can also agree that an all expenses paid vacation in hell can be acquired by making morally bad choices in your life, while admittance to heaven mandates morally good choices. So it makes logical sense that if one is able to disprove the concept of choice, one is simultaneously disproving the concept of a judgement proceeding life. So let's examine this idea of a "choice." In a decision you are confronted with multiple options at a juncture in your life, and pursue one path or the other. So there you go. Whichever path you go down, that determines your afterlife right? But why did you choose the good or bad path? If you chose the bad path you could have lived in squalor, had bad parents, or a genetic disposition to the immoral. In other words, you didn't actually have a choice. That choice was merely the singular manifestation of a lifetime of experiences, and environmental factors, genes, and chance happenings, that you had no control over. If you chose the good path you got lucky. Your genes steered you in the right direction. Maybe you weren't exposed to violent television at a young age, and you have a naturally docile disposition. Maybe your parents had a happy marriage, and maybe, just maybe, you grew up in a neighborhood where theft and assault was an entertaining story on the news channel, and not a reality. The point remains. The cause and effect chain that links all time periods completely shapes the characters of people, without their knowledge. To go back to our definition of God: If God has infinite knowledge, then when the lenient hands off definition of God sparked the first atom, he would have been able to analyze all causes and effects leading up to whatever good or bad choice decided your afterlife. To put it simply, your choice was predetermined by all the events, people, etc. leading up to it, and not just God could punish you for something that A. He caused and B. You really didn't have any control over. Now some people might say that accepting Jesus Christ into your heart assures you a spot behind the Pearly Gates. But let us look at a case study. Here we have a little native boy who lives in an isolated tribe in the Amazonian jungle. He is felled by a puma. When he reaches that big courtroom in the sky, he will supposedly be sent to hell since he didn't accept Jesus Christ as his lord and savior. But how is that fair if he never got the opportunity to meet any missionaries? How as he supposed to know about Jesus? What about the millions on millions of people who died Before Christ? Are they going to hell by default? If they are, then your idea of God just changed to one who dooms people to fates that were, well, fated to happen. Another case study might help clear things up. Try to find the worst person you can think of. Let's go with a terrorist they are in double trouble. Heretic and murderer. Let's tackle the heretic quickly. He was born in a Muslim family, which is outside his control, so he can't be damned to hell on those charges. But now for the killing people part. Why'd he do it? Some might say he was just born evil, which implies a lack of choice, and therefore he could not be punished. Other might claim that he chose to kill, and must therefore be punished for his choice. But there were factors, beyond the terrorist's sphere of influence, which caused him to blow up the mosque. First his parents belonged to a radical Islamic sect, which they joined him in at an early age. Second, a group of foreigners began taking control. These foreigners had values that were totally opposed to the terrorist, and this infuriated him. Third let's say he had high levels of testosterone, which contributed to a hot temper. All of these factors culminated in a bomb strapped to the inside of his coat. Now if thousands of Americans had been born into this situation the result would have been the same. but they weren't, and the terrorist was, and this unfortunate unfolding of fate sent him to hell according to the popular view on the afterlife. Should the terrorist be punished because of the accident of birth? Should the Americans capable of mass murder in that situation be let off the hook because they were born into a middle class family? So let's summarize the train of reasoning really quickly. God is just and infinitely knowledgeable. To get to hell you have to make bad choices. Since there are no bad choices, but rather compositions of past events which god could have predicted using his infinite analytical capability and knowledge, there is no basis for sending you to hell or heaven, and therefore belief in an all-knowing and just god, and a belief in heaven and hell are mutually exclusive.

Cotswold Archaeology

On Monday I started going to Cotswold Archaeology in Kemble. It is a train and a bus ride from Stroud, situated in an industrial park enveloped by an airfield. On arriving at the train station Monday morning I was greeted by a smiling Sylvia Warman. She is the angelic figure specializing in animal bones who not only allowed me to volunteer at Cotswold Archaeology, but also covered for me with the English border control, and was more than happy to pick me up on her way to work. When we got to CA she introduced me to some of the employees I would be dealing with. There is Angela (who I always want to call Nina for some reason), the energetic and verbally clumsy Italian woman who is excellent with pottery. Gale, who has the fine writing skills of a goddess, and can mark finds so minutely as to require a magnifying glass. James the tall, and humorous 22 year old (or so), who taught me how to sift through soil in order to look for charcoal, seeds, CBM (Ceramic Building Material) etc. Roger, the quiet, grey haired and pony-tailed employee who was contracted out by the city I guess, and it only temporary at the company. He is very nice, but unsure, and laughs in a strange very fluttery manner which is like fingernails to a chalkboard to me. And Sarah, who has the same job as Roger, and helps to wash finds. In my four days there I have mostly done marking. Gale chats with me occasionally, and has given me a glimpse into her mysterious yet fascinating past. Apparently no one in the office knows her stage name, since she used to be an actress before taking up archaeology. I was skeptical so I asked Sylvia. Sylvia said she had doubts too, until Hutch from Starsky & Hutch called the office to talk to Gale. Apparently they used to go out. She is also an "honorable" which is a title of lineage like a Duke, or Lord, but of course at a much lower level. But my favorite person at the office, who I have failed to mention so far is Tim who has down syndrome. His job is to wash finds with a machine he has affectionately named "Tin Tin". On Wednesday I was in the back room when I heard a loud barking sound from outside. Tim walked in and to everyone, exclaimed "Did you guys see that HUGE dog outside?" And James replied "Hope it didn't bite you on the way in!" Though he does have quite a serious condition, I doubt I have met anyone like him so functional in society who can makes both small talk and his own living. I am enjoying it there, though it can get dull at times. An 8 hour workday will do that to you. But just when your eyelids start drooping, and your mind meanders to something awesome like quidditch, Angela will walk in with some fully formed Roman pot, or archaic Iron Age flint tool.