Thicker Than Water

     I've always found the phrase "blood is thicker than water" to be a bit macabre and abstract, but lately I think I am understanding it more (or, likely as is the case with my tendency to overanalyze, I understand more about it than there actually is to be understood). So I have decided to take a closer look at this saying. And for those of you with distaste for the natural sciences, I apologize for everything that is to follow.

     First, naturally, I wanted to understand the difference between the thickness of blood and water. Thickness is commonly quantified by viscosity, which is essentially how much resistance a fluid has to flowing. Now, viscosity can vary based on the temperature and will also vary depending on the sample of a variable composition fluid like blood, but for the sake of the metaphor blood is typically considered to be 3-5 times as viscous, or thick, as water.

     So let's start by considering the most basic comparison that this metaphor offers up: the thickness. The increased relative thickness of blood means that it has more of a tendency to stick together than water does. I have to assume that this is the driving force behind the creation and success of this phrase; when we have a closer bond, we say that we "stick together" (though "through thick and thin" is usually appended to the end of this, which doesn't make much sense in a metaphor about thickness vs. thinness, so we'll ignore that part). So comparing a highly viscous fluid (blood is a good choice since families "share the same blood") and a low-viscosity fluid (water is common, universal, and bland, thus accessible) creates a great metaphor to point out the innately tighter bond that family has.

      A higher viscosity not only means more thickness but more resistance due to friction. This means that it takes more effort to pump blood through your veins than it would to pump water through them. And, in the same way, our familial relationships often involve more friction and take more effort than our other relationships. But blood has to be more viscous, otherwise it wouldn't be able to carry oxygen or coagulate. And familial ties have to have that friction, that intense effort at times, because otherwise we'd take them for granted. They make us grow, independently and as a unit. Without that friction, without that effort, we wouldn't be able to support each other when it mattered.

     I mentioned that blood is a fluid of variable composition, meaning that it is a mixture of different substances but not always in the same ratio. Well, what do you suppose makes up the vast majority of blood's composition? Yup, water, at 90%. So water is in fact the most fundamental part of blood, and a combination of small but important particles like proteins and platelets are what make blood the unique life-sustaining liquid that it is. This is slightly ironic, but mostly poetic, because if we extend the metaphor even further in light of this new information we will realize that our familial ties are fundamentally similar to our other relationships with only some small but important differences like upbringing, traditions, trials, shared memories, genetic predispositions, and mutually acquired tastes and tendencies to separate them and make them something far greater.

     Let's now notice that water and blood are the two most vital fluids for human existence. Water is much more utilitarian and abundant when compared with blood. Water is involved in almost every process the human body has, essential and non-essential, and so we are reminded that our tertiary relationships aren't just about comfort but also about sustaining our life and sanity just like water is. (Let's also realize though, that water is easily replaceable, just as these relationships often are.) Blood, while providing some comforts like temperature regulation, is pretty much all about one thing: keeping you alive by providing fresh oxygen and healing open wounds. Ultimately, family isn't about making you comfortable, it's about sustaining your life.

     Let's also realize that blood is not stagnant. We are constantly losing blood, just as we lose when it comes to family. Sometimes those losses come by the drop, little fights that will mend. Sometimes we experience a more drastic blood flow and lose a little more, whether through strain or loss or distance or a moral, social, or religious disagreement- not enough to put us in danger but enough to cause alarm (and possible lightheadedness). Then there are those significant losses where you find yourself looking upon a crimson puddle while clutching a deep wound, and because of death, divorce, or desertion you now find yourself in need of emotional life-support.

     I would contend that the subsequent blood transfusions, those temporary replacements for your own blood in order to survive, are like support groups that temporarily fill the familial void until you can properly fill it yourself. And how do you ultimately fill it yourself? Well, what is blood except water and a few key ingredients? A select portion of your water, or friends, will eventually accumulate the necessary extra ingredients to become just like your blood, or family, performing all of the same functions and possessing the same inseparability.

     Let's take things one step further. Let's compare the relative abundance of both fluids in the human body. Most people know that water accounts for roughly 70-75% of your body's weight. Blood, on the other hand, accounts for only about 8% (and, keep in mind, 90% of that blood is actually water). Our familial bonds are so scarce compared to all of our other bonds, which makes them that much more important.

     My freshman year at Vanderbilt I didn't have any good friends at school until the last month or two when I finally met someone that really seemed to get me. I was intimidated by the amount of friends he had, though; whenever we went anywhere we'd have to stop every 10 feet so that he could catch up with someone I had never even seen before. It wasn't until the last night on campus that he told me that he felt as alone as I did, that he had a sea of acquaintances but no true friends. Given the amount and apparent depth of his connections, I couldn't understand this. Then, the nest semester he left Vanderbilt and I became very active in different organizations to fill a void. A few weeks into the semester I was greeted by tons of people all across campus; I would even occasionally come up in conversations between friends of friends and they'd say, "O, I know Ian; I love him!" in passing, but I still didn't have any true friends. I never knew who I’d be spending my weekends with, I never had anyone to confide in. Without having anybody within 400 miles of me that I planned on staying acquainted with after graduation, I constantly had that nagging sensation of being alone in a room full of people.

     Water water everywhere (and not a drop of blood).

     But we adapt, we build on old relationships and find new ones in order to stabilize our blood supply one way or another. We don’t let petty differences or time apart separate us. Our blood is more resilient than that.

     With all of the enormous changes that I have had with my family and friends lately, I realize the inherent truths (and truths that I have just chosen to derive myself) to this age-old saying more than ever. With 9 time zones now separating me from my only sibling, blood seems thicker than ever. It has to be. Because I don’t just have regular ole water to compare my blood to now, I’ve got the Pacific Ocean.

Anyone Seen the Bridge?

     I am a notorious procrastinator. Yeah, I know, those of you that know me are shocked. No, but really, I made procrastination into an art form back in my heyday (3-7 years ago; I peaked early). I know I shouldn't be proud about putting off assignments until the last moment, but I kind of am. There was an excitement  and urgency to my schoolwork that I would never have gotten otherwise, not to mention the satisfaction of getting the assignment back with an A stamped across the top and a note from the teacher lauding me for putting so much time and effort into my work (thus even in elementary school I misguidedly thought I was smarter than my teachers).

     To get my IB diploma, I had to submit a 4000 word essay. This was the second most influential aspect to receiving my diploma besides the month of tests at the end of my senior year. So naturally I wrote the entire paper the night before it was due. And naturally my advisor loved it.

     Possibly my proudest moment in procrastination comes from U.S History, 8th grade. Now, once you've had a taste of actual academia, 8th grade seems like color by numbers, but back then it was serious business. This was especially true in history, because the teacher demanded so much more out of us than we had ever experienced before (which isn't really saying much, but still). He had assigned a project on the Bill of Rights three weeks earlier, so naturally on the night before it was due I hadn't even started. I wasn't "in the mood" to do the project, so I set my alarm for 3:30 A.M., probably played some Zelda, and went to sleep with nothing done. I hit the snooze button for about an hour the next morning (I even procrastinate the simple act of waking up) until finally deciding I should probably do some work. Eventually I put the finishing touches on the project in homeroom, 30 feet from my history teacher, hours into the school day already.

     I got a 100%.

     So, given my prowess, nay, passion for procrastination, you would think I would like the saying, "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." It's the trump card that people lay down when they want to put off discussing something. You don't know why, but when someone suggests this you forget what you were even talking about. It's like some kind of lazy Jedi's mind trick. So why don't I like this metaphorical saying?

     First and foremost, my mom always says it. She is basically an idiomatic machine, so I'm sure I'll be featuring more of her favorite sayings in the not-too-distant-future. But when you hear something hundreds of times over the course of your life in conjunction with not getting want you want, you develop a little malice towards it.

     Secondly, I just don't understand the real world application it alludes to. In my mind's eye, I picture myself hiking through the mountains with a friend, eventually realizing that we are going to come to an impasse- let's say a raging river. I see the sign next to us that says, simply, "People have died here," (yes, there truly are such signs in the Appalachians) and say, "Hey man, how do you suppose we'll get past the river of death?" "O, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it," he responds.

     This response presupposes two things. The first is that there is a bridge. And if this is true, my friend is an ass because he could have told me so in a less snarky manner. The second is that, regardless of the status of any river crossing apparatus, we shouldn't be worried about crossing this imminent death trap for some reason. But let's be honest, if you know that you are going to have to cross a raging river, you would probably pull out a map to see where you'll be able to cross it rather than getting to the river and winging it, George of the Jungle style. I don't care how much you like to procrastinate, you still have self-preservationist instincts. So the response is asinine. The proper response in this situation should be, "Don't worry, there's a bridge," or "I don't know, let's look at the map," or even "Uh… We're screwed, dude," but certainly not "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

     I know I'm getting bent out of shape about a silly saying that nobody else thinks twice about. But maybe we should actually think before we speak, even as it pertains to idioms. And maybe when I scream "I DIDN'T KNOW THERE WAS A BRIDGE YOU JACKASS, I WAS JUST ASKING A SIMPLE QUESTION!" at some unassuming soul, I'm actually the sane one because I have thought things out.

     I'm not crazy.

   

     I'm NOT crazy.

The Rolling Stone(s)

     Long before the Rolling Stones pleaded with you to offer up "Satanic Sympathy," or Rolling Stone magazine began providing insight into rock 'n' roll before devolving into the MTV of the newstand, the proverb "a rolling stone gathers no moss" was coined in Latin (Saxum volutum non obducitur musco) sometime just before Christ. The meaning of the phrase is both literally apparent- moss takes a long time to grow and can not do so on a mobile object, three-toed sloths notwithstanding- and metaphorically apparent- constant movement or activity relinquishes one from becoming stagnant and from life's burdens and responsibilities.

     The term "rock and roll" is derived from its predecessor rockabilly and references the pitching back and forth aboard a ship, but in my opinion this proverb is the true root of rock 'n' roll. Besides the obvious nominal relation (rock 'n' roll, a rolling rock), this proverb represents rock 'n' roll better than anything Cleveland can offer up.

     A life on the road is only a morsel of the perpetual motion of the life of a rockstar. High energy shows every other night and parties in between, song writing and substance abuse, strange places and stranger people- the norm for a rocker is the abnormal. Keith Moon once went six days without sleep in New York City, playing shows each night and partying to pass the time until he had to play another show. And the most shocking part? This didn't shock anyone. His stone was in freefall down a stratospheric mountain and the only behavior of his that would have shocked those around him would have been slowing down. Muddy Waters first started it ("I got a boy child's comin/ He's gonna be, he's gonna be a rollin' stone"), Buddy Holly fed the momentum ("Well you know a rolling stone don't gather no moss"), Dylan and the Beatles immortalized it ("Like a rolling stone" for both), Jagger named a juggernaut after it, even Sublime and Dave Matthews did their part to perpetuate the motion. The rolling stone is forever imprinted on the rock 'n' roll mentality.

     Even centuries after its inception, the proverb is more generally applied to anyone with nomadic or restless tendencies, not just cracked out rockstars. For example, my good friend Cody certainly relates with the rolling stone ideology. He's been in London, Ireland, Belgium, Tampa, New Hampshire, Boston, Maine, Atlanta, and Tallahassee in just the last half year. The constantly changing stimuli seem to help him with the creativity that he demands as an artist and photographer. More than that, though, it's the times when he refuses to remain stagnant that he seems happiest. We increasingly talk about our respective futures these days, and his ideas always stem from his need to constantly stimulate himself, whether that means driving across the country with no purpose other than to expand his mind and portfolio, or taking to Transatlanticism once again to expound upon his previous work and adventures.

     Cody has a girlfriend, Hope, that would relate more with another Latin saying: "Planta quae saepius transfertus non coalescit, or Saepius plantata arbor fructum profert exiguum." Roughly, it means "a plant that is repeatedly uprooted and replanted will yield poor fruit." Hope thrives in routine and consistency, working for Georgia's governor's office and putting her nose to the grindstone every day. Though she doesn't plan to stay in her current circumstances for too long, she sees the power of setting her roots firmly in order to flourish.

     They are a truly amazing couple, one of the few that I respect and admire. So in spite of ancient Latin phrases, they obviously find themselves more sympathetic to each other's ideologies than the polarizing proverbs might suggest. Cody loves being at home surrounded by those he loves and the comforts he has grown accustomed to, and Hope loves challenges, adventure, and putting aside any professional aspirations to work in the water with kids at camp all summer, every summer. And thus the problem with most proverbs: they create extreme ideology instead of taking into account the spectrum of humanity- oversimplification in order to prove a point.

     And this brings us back to those wild rockstars, who often don't have the understanding and balance that Cody and Hope each have. Rockers fail to realize that even the tallest mountain eventually becomes a valley, and the cost of the rolling stone lifestyle becomes evident. The mountain ends and the stone, having used up all of it's potential energy, inevitably stops rolling. Worse for wear with pieces chipped off and a trail of destruction in its wake, the stone-roller has a choice to make: let the battered stone gather moss or take up the Sisyphean task of rolling it themselzes. Because even a middle school student studying the physical sciences can tell you that there is no such thing as free energy, no such thing as perpetual motion. You get back what you put in.

     Think about riding a roller coaster. You wait for an hour, get harnessed in and slowly ascend, click click click click, for what feels like an eternity until, whooosh, you finally fall back to earth with a superfluous flourish and end up exactly where you started, a net gain of zero. You're precious time and an immense amount of energy from the machines powering the coaster had to be invested in order to give you your 30 second rush. I'm not saying the rush isn't worth these investments, I am simply pointing out that the investments were necessary for the rush.

     There is no such thing as a life without burdens and responsibilities. Even if you decide to stop caring for your loved ones or accepting social responsibility, there is the minor issue of subsistence. There's a reason why so many rolling rockstars end up divorced, in rehab, miserable, and many times, dead. There's a reason why you don't have bruises all over your legs from rogue rocks careening down the streets. No stone rolls forever. But watch out when one is rolling, because it's a hell of a ride.

The Nickel Back

     Normally I analyze well-known metaphors and images in this blog. I have taken it upon myself to break slightly from this format in order to make a public service announcement of sorts: Nickelback sucks. This is a natural fact, but just as there are still a few holdouts to the heliocentric theory, so there are some that continue to insist Nickelback's noises are, in fact, music.

     The ironically named band (you'd barely pay a nickel for their albums, and even then you'll be asking for your money back) has reached #1 many times, including in the list of bands that are turnoffs to potential mates.

     I want to help educate people who do not realize the true depths of Nickelback's crimes against humanity while simultaneously creating utilitarianism from their blight on our existence. I like to make the best of bad situations, you know- raging optimist, that's me.

     For this reason I want to teach you all a very simple metaphorical template: "_____ is the Nickelback of _______." Think of it as the antithesis of the common Michael Jordan comparison. For example, you might say "Oxford is the Michael Jordan of schools- the best in the world." It would then be appropriate to establish the comparison: "UF is the Nickelback of schools; they may bring in a lot of money, but everyone knows they are loud, obnoxious, reptilian, and overrated."

     Here is another example: "Winter is the Nickelback of seasons; it comes down from Canada to strip the world of color and ruin our lives." See, Nickelback is a Canadian band, and they make you want to set yourself on fire to remove the bitter cold void that has avalanched down upon you.

     Don't just limit yourself to this rigid format though, create variations on the theme and really let your creative juices flow. Simplify the comparison to anything you don't like, there's no need to explain- "Man, this pizza is the Nickelback of Italy." Vary the structure- "Getting this spinal tap is almost as bad as listening to Nickelback." Make a verb out of it- you didn't "get screwed," you "got Nickelbacked." Instead of cursing in pain or anger, take Chad Kroeger's name in vain. Don't worry about making sense, either- "Getting hit in the groin really felt like Nickelback." The most important thing is simply that your level of misery warrants the use of They-That-Shall-Not-Be-Played.

     Don't try to subdue your disdain towards Nickelback, embrace it and let it work for you. Use them to convey the carnal anger that wells up inside you. After all, this is the same band whose own fans threw rocks at them.

     Man, does Portugal have the Nickelback of fans, or what?

Brokenness (The Turntable)

     The simplest metaphor is often the best and, paradoxically, the most complex.

     Many metaphors suffer from an excessive specificity. The scope of the metaphor becomes limited and is only applicable to a single situation and, despite being tailor-made for that situation, creates many holes in logic that detract from the message (see: Frog Sadist post). Such metaphors often create a "Well, duh," moment for the reader, who, rather than having a revelatory experience, ends up feeling offended that the author would use such an asinine explanation to handhold them through an excerpt.

     Additionally, long, arduous metaphors leave the reader stumped. He or she is forced to re-read a section multiple times to dissect the meaning from the text, leading to frustration rather than gratification.

     Finally, metaphors can be too idiomatic. With idioms, not only is the meaning self-evident for anyone that would derive substance from it and thus arbitrary and cliché, but for those unfamiliar with it due to language or regional differences it reads as gibberish and serves to confound the reader rather than enlighten.

     These are obviously not definitive rules. Some of the best metaphors are pithy and specific metaphors that astound with the quality, cleverness, and/ or deftness of the comparison; when a metaphor is expounded upon with layer after layer of detail and continuity, each layer can seem to exponentially increase the reader's insight and appreciation (see: allegories); even idiomatic sayings can be cleverly deployed (typically in an ironic sense). The issues aforementioned are simply pratfalls that we as linguistic beings are prone to falling into.

     Even when employed deftly, metaphors of these kinds are fleeting. If they are used repeatedly, their cleverness and depth rapidly fade. The metaphor becomes a shadow of its former self, eventually fading into a spectre that will simply haunt the text rather than breathe life into it.

     There are metaphors, however, that seem to grow stronger every time that they are employed. These metaphors are basic, universal, and thematic. They evoke different meanings and responses depending on the situation. They have been around almost as long as the written word itself, found in the great Greek epics, Eastern writings, various scriptures, and of course modern literature.

     One such metaphor is "brokenness." I have been thinking about this metaphor a lot in my own life and every time I do I seem to come up with a different perspective on it.

     Brokenness as a metaphor has become so common that we don't notice it most of the time it is used. "I'm broken," is the reflexive response when you don't feel whole, that something is missing, whether that is due to something serious like a break-up, death, not landing a job that was within your grasp, or betrayal, or something trivial like a loss by a favorite sports team, the cable going out, or finding that the milk carton has been returned to the fridge empty. It's a simple way of conveying a complex emotion and conforms to whatever vessel it is placed in like water.

     The image of brokenness goes far beyond just the feeling of emptiness, incompleteness, or failure.  You've probably never thought about it, but the image beautifully extends beyond the initial shattered or empty feeling to the recovery stage as well. When something is broken, it will take intentional time and energy to fix it, and even after it is fixed it will never be the same, almost always resulting in a lack of quality.

     When a pot breaks, you can glue it back together and re-glaze it, but it will always have cracks and the structural integrity will always be compromised. When a road has collapsed from a pothole, it is fixed with a patch of asphalt to resolve the issue. The ride will always be bumpier in that one spot, though, and the scar of fresh tarmac will always be there. When our bodies heal, the wound is tender and much more susceptible to damage. We have to fend off infection and protect the wound, and no matter how well we do that we will still have a scar for the rest of our lives, resulting in a grotesque disfiguration and less sensation due to thicker skin. The applications for these extensions on the basic theme of brokenness are fairly self-evident, so you can derive them yourself. There is a central theme, though: brokenness never fully resolves, it just gets a little better with care and time.

     The reason this image has been bouncing around my skull is obvious; I am dealing with brokenness in my life right now. I am constantly battling the clinical depression that I have genetically inherited, coping with the loss of my father, struggling with college, having no idea even the general discipline I want to find a career in, and being unable to find a job. I am more broken now than I thought was possible. And the problem with being broken is that all structural integrity is gone, so now the simplest issues like losing internet or not finishing a run can ruin my day, whereas before I could let anything just bounce off of me and move on.

     I'm attempting my rudimentary repairs, but it's hard not to either look back at everything that has broken me or look forward at what I fear I will become- a grotesque reflection of my former self.

     There is hope from this metaphor though. Just a glimpse of it. Because, on rare occasion, brokenness leads to a stronger, better product in the end. In materials manufacturing, many materials are intentionally allowed to break because the material will actually form a stronger bond along the breaks. The material is imperfect and scarred, but strong and utilitarian. When a house is being built and is found to be unsound, it must be torn down and rebuilt from the foundation up. This is a costly endeavor, both financially and chronologically, but ultimately creates a home that will not need to constantly be repaired or that will endanger those that seek shelter in it. In electronics, gutting old, faulty parts and replacing them with newer, better ones results in a product greater than the original one. In any of these cases, you have to be willing to sacrifice lots of time and energy and the final form likely won't be what you had set out for, but if these sacrifices are made the dividends are great.

     I am currently trying to repair my turntable. It lost the signal from the left channel one day. I found out by dumb luck that tilting the table up at an angle would resolve the issue, but each day the angle got steeper. Eventually, I was past the forty-five degree boundary and the needle couldn't even stay on the vinyl anymore. So I had to do without the left channel. After my dad died, all I wanted to do was listen to his favorite records on the turntable that he gave me. But they sounded hollow and incomplete with only half of the song coming through the speakers. In a way, it was appropriate; the songs reflected my emotional and psychological state, as well as my feelings and emotions regarding my dad.

     The turntable is the closest tie that I have left to my dad, and even though it is only valued at around $50 nowadays I can't bring myself to replace it. I mean, I had already replaced the needle cartridge on it for the cost of the entire player, and that was while he was still alive. So I devoted 2 straight days to opening up the chassis, testing everything, and re-soldering bad connections. I figured out the issues and was certain that my patch jobs, as unglamorous as they were with globs of solder and electrical tape everywhere, would bring the machine back to it's former glory. Then, as I closed it up, all of my connections broke again beyond repair. I almost embedded the damned thing in the wall. My failure to fix the brokenness of the turntable reflected my inability to fix the brokenness inside myself. It represented a continually growing gap between my father and myself. I was the turntable, analog in a digital world, a relic handed down from the last generation with faulty wiring unwilling to be mended, desperately clinging to the after images of better times.

     My setback with the turntable is certainly a major one; my best attempts at repair have only made matters worse. The internal wiring can be replaced, though. The bad parts can be gutted and replaced with newer, better pieces. I can resurrect the treasure that my dad gave me and even include a little bit of myself in it. And of course I can still get help from a professional, albeit at an exorbitant rate. I am still the turntable. I can still do all of these things. I still have hope.

Sucking Venom

     One of my friends was recently talking about a difficult situation that he went through and, to help explain how he dealt with it, used a snakebite analogy. "It's like when you get bit by a snake; you have to immediately suck the venom out to prevent damage, then you have to spend the rest of your time avoiding snakes." He's a smart guy, and made a good point through this metaphor, but before he had even finished I had started to flip the argument on him in my head.

     He immediately started backpedaling as soon as he finished, saying "Now I suppose that was a bad metaphor… I mean I wasn't trying to call anybody a snake, I was just trying to explain why I had to react suddenly and extremely and why I am so cautious in similar circumstances now." Maybe he started over-analyzing his own metaphor because I was already smiling at how I was going to foil his argument (I am a terrible poker player. No, on second thought, I'm actually just a smug bastard), or maybe my reputation just preceded me (I mean, this blog's readership is, like, in the tens!). Regardless, I had a different reason why the metaphor was inadequate.

     For almost as long as they have been around, the Boy Scouts of America have been teaching our children to immediately have a friend suck out the venom from their wound if they get bit by a snake. Now there were a few minor flaws inherent to this advice, the most obvious one being the supposition that children knew the difference between a venomous and non-venomous snake. But these are boy scouts we're talking about. Of 'Merica nonetheless. "BE PREPARED," and all that. So I'll allow the suspension of disbelief for now.

     It wasn't just the boy scouts, though. Wilderness first-aid, movies (Anyone else remember City Slickers? Anyone else wish they could forget City Slickers?), books, your overzealous biology teacher. For years we were conditioned to suck first, think later. And the urgency of not hesitating and immediately sucking out the viper juice was always emphasized, leading to a reflexive response if the situation should arise.

     But ay, here's the rub: Scientists have recently (and almost unanimously) agreed that sucking the venom out of a bite is one of the worst actions to take in this emergency. In addition to being ineffective at removing the venom (it spreads rapidly through your bloodstream and soft tissue), it exposes the sucker to the risk of being afflicted by the venom if there is an open sore in his/her mouth (or anywhere in the early stages of the digestive tract if swallowed), and it exposes the bite wound (which is often cut open further to enhance the sucking process) to the swarming hordes of bacteria in the sucker's mouth.

     So, if you are keeping score at home, initially there is a single victim worrying about the damage that the venom will cause. Now, there are potentially two victims, one who should be worrying about the venom but isn't because he/she thinks he/she is a hero, and another who should be worrying about the venom AND an infected wound but isn't because he/she thinks his/her friend is a hero. God, I love irony. Except, I suppose, when it comes at the cost of human life. At least one good thing comes from all of this, though: my irrational hatred of the Boy Scouts of America is now legitimatized.

     I told this to my friend (much more succinctly, and with a stupid-looking, smug grin on my face) and basically used this new scientific revelation as a basis to argue that not only was his analogy faulty, but that this empirically proved that his approach to the problem we were discussing was faulty as well- something to the effect of there being no quick fixes when an attack penetrates deeply, whether from a snake or a human, and that trying to take a short cut to healing can cause greater harm not just to yourself but to those around you. I will admit that my friend's lack of knowledge of new first-aid methods is not a fair basis for arguing matters as deep and complex as human relationships, but I am not afraid to ride my small victories into grand, sweeping conclusions that will help to perpetuate my opinions. Anyway, we agreed to disagree... until I emailed him an article about the foolishness of venom-sucking and the true evil of the Boy Scouts of America (you had to read between the lines for that last bit, but it was there).

     In case you were curious, I also learned during my pursuit of the perfect article with which to gloat to my friend that you should also avoid icing the bite wound since that will slow the spread of the venom and ultimately cause more severe tissue damage and necrosis, and that using a tourniquet is also not advisable since you could pretty easily lose a limb from a lack of blood flow. And now you know these things, too. So don't say I never gave you anything in this blog, you ungrateful leeches.

The Frog Sadist

     My elders have often told me about how if a frog is put in a pot of hot water it will immediately hop out in a reflexive effort of self-preservation. If, however, a frog is placed in a pot of room-temperature water which is then slowly brought to a boil, it will remain submerged in the water until its insides literally boil.

     Now while this may be a great metaphor for how the slow descent into gloom and doom (typically from temptation or weakness of mental fortitude) is more perilous than the quick drop because the gradual change is almost impossible to detect, it always left me wondering- who the hell decided to boil a frog in the first place in order to arrive at such a grand metaphor?

     The other question that now plagues me, however, is why doesn’t anybody care about the frog that was dropped into the already tumultuous and scalding water of this frog-sadist’s maniacal pot of allegorical experimentation? The second one died, sure. This is sad and there is a lesson to be learned from it: carry a metaphorical thermometer for the literal problems that the world gives you.

     But what about the first frog that is limping away (...limp-hopping?) from the sadist’s kitchen with burns all over his body, wondering what in Kermit’s name just happened to him with every ounce of processing power his tiny brain can muster? Does this frog ultimately reach a much more painful and drawn-out demise than his amphibious brother due to complications from his brief but hellish dip in the metaphor-making, frog-killing waters of the sadist? I mean, the second frog was at least treated to a warm bath while fading away amid the luxurious ignorance of not realizing his own peril.

     And what if his body eventually mends? What about the psychological trauma that the frog now has to fight through, the intense shock that has tainted his worldview? There are no frog-sized therapy couches, no "Frog Whisperers" to help him return to normalcy. Will he never be able to join the rest of his bayou buddies back at the pond because he now lives every moment of his life afraid of the waters around him roaring to life and finishing the job that they failed to complete before?

     This metaphor is simply too bizarre. No matter how interesting you may find the random fact that frogs lack organ-boiling cognition or how insightful you may find the message behind the tale, everything is drowned out by one inevitable thought: "Wait, what?" As a result, the only thing this metaphor teaches me is that I would rather die in warm ignorant bliss than have crippling social anxiety due to paranoia and illusory lakes of fire.

Prologue

Disclaimer: Because of the personal nature of this introduction, this will be the only post in this blog that will read like a stereotypical blog post. The rest will be more along the lines of short essays and commentaries.

     For most of my life I thought that I would be an engineer by career. The past year has drastically changed that view, and engineering no longer seems like a life-calling but rather a harbinger of toil and despair. So now there is a void that my life-map once filled before spontaneously combusting, and I am reeling to fill that void.  After briefly considering spiraling into a life of debauchery (I don't have the money for drugs nor do I know where to get any, and I am too introverted to approach a prostitute, so the thought was short-lived), I turned to writing.

     I have always loved to read and write. I excelled in English in high school. Unfortunately, I had never paid this any mind since I was predestined to be an Engineer. I should have paid attention when I got greater enjoyment out of writing up reports for experiments rather than performing them. I never noticed the foreshadowing of my courses getting confused with English courses on paper (course prefixes of ENG), but of course real life is not a novel and irony is only appreciated in hindsight.

     All of this is to say that I am exploring a few of the sprawling paths that lie before me, and the one with the well-worn sign reading "The Written Word" in curly-cue script has a special place in my heart. Reading and later writing have helped to bring me out of some very dark times in my life and sharpen my mind closer to what it was in my prime (which is sad to admit, since I am only 22). So I owe this old friend a proper opportunity to grow unhindered.

     The purpose of this blog, then, is to explore this path and develop my writing style further in a forum where I can be held accountable by others. You are invited to give me advice, harangue me on my brutality against the written word, or simply chime in on any of these posts, either publicly in a comment or privately to my email. In fact, you are encouraged to. If I have no idea what aspects of my writing are helping and hindering me, I can't improve, and that defeats the entire purpose of this venture. Be as brutally honest as you like, just play nice with everyone else.

     For those that know me well, you will likely be able to hear my voice in these posts. The style of these posts will heavily reflect my personality: highly analytical, highly critical, and occasionally comedic. All of the posts will deal with metaphors. I chose to focus on metaphors because the metaphor may be my favorite part of language; I love it like a father would a son. And just like a father would a son, I want to celebrate its achievements and correct its mistakes. So each post will either laud or (let's be honest, more likely) chastise a metaphor. I'll post twice a week for the first 2-4 weeks, then will likely post once a week on a designated day (Wednesday most likely).

     My good friend Cody has helped me design this site and will occasionally contribute photos to reflect the content of the posts. I am beyond grateful to him for his continued help and encouragement. You should definitely check out his photography: http://www.codyoloughlin.com/

     I look forward to where this project will take me, and hope that it will provide consistent entertainment for those of you willing to follow me down this path. And now that the background info and logistics are out of the way, we can begin!