As I've mentioned before, I generally can't be bothered to rant about anything specific because it is easy to get bogged down in the details. So here is a simple little rant that doesn't get bogged down with information. Unjoy!
We all know that people are stupid. That's not to say that ALL people are stupid. Some are dead. But in general, it is very safe to assume that any random person you may chance to meet is stupid. Stupid people have inexhaustible storehouses of stupid advice. They enjoy beating you over the head with this advice. They like to start forums that waste everyones valuable time.
For example, you might wake up in a good mood one morning and forget that the world is stupid. You realize you could use some good old fashioned learnin' about something you feel dumb about, so you look it up on the Internet. Pretty soon you realize that only stupid people have posted on any resources. That's right, the 8 people in the planet who might know are sitting on the info and waiting for a profit. Everybody else is wasting your time.
I hope this information helps.
Showing posts with label saving humankind. Show all posts
Showing posts with label saving humankind. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Brainy Computer Not Such a Smartypants
While reading an MSNBC article about Britain's Fastest Supercomputer HECToR, I was shocked to see the inverse synergy that was portrayed in the article:
"With the power of 12,000 desktop PCs, the mammoth machine called HECToR is the country's fastest computer and one of the most powerful in Europe.
It can make 63 million calculations each second, allowing scientists to conduct research into everything from climate change to new medicines."
My old Mac G5 is 1000 times faster than Britain's fastest supercomputer? They really got ripped off! They could have just bought a Pentium II 300 and had two extra megaflops. I guess that having the power of 12,000 desktop simply refers to the fact that they have a redundant array of e-machines aftermarket power supplies which as we all know, are far better than the originals, and Britain wouldn't want their floppy drive to get corrupted during a reboot!
Now, I'm not the type of person to believe everything I read, but what type of technology writer could possibly make such a mistake? Interestingly, the person who posted this article on MSNBC had taken it from the Reuters feed, which at the time I'm writing this says the same thing.
http://uk.reuters.com/article/technologyNews/idUKL1154155020080114
Of course, we know that the worlds fastest computer is Japan's MDGRAPE-3 @ 1 petafllop, followed by the BlueGene at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory in California @ 478.2 teraflops. Of course the BlueGene is considered the the world's fastest because it is not in Japan. This helps us to understand why a computer that is far slower than everything I use on a daily basis can be the fastest in Britain, it's that pesky high pound vs. dollar value which must reach a balance somewhere. This balance is struck in the amount of processing power allocated to other countries. That is why Japan's supercomputer doesn't exist even though it is so fast, and why Britain's is so fast even though it is so slow.
Now, I will clear up the mistakes made in the Reuters feed, which should have read as follows: With 12,000 redundant aftermarket e-machines power supplies, the mammoth machine called HECToR is the country's fastest computer and one of the most powerful in Europe due in part to the surprising stability of the Euro.
It can make 63 million calculations each second, allowing scientists to check e-mail, run DOS programs, and play tetris.
I guess what I'm trying to say here is, don't believe everything you read, because, not only is it poorly written, it's wrong.
"With the power of 12,000 desktop PCs, the mammoth machine called HECToR is the country's fastest computer and one of the most powerful in Europe.
It can make 63 million calculations each second, allowing scientists to conduct research into everything from climate change to new medicines."
My old Mac G5 is 1000 times faster than Britain's fastest supercomputer? They really got ripped off! They could have just bought a Pentium II 300 and had two extra megaflops. I guess that having the power of 12,000 desktop simply refers to the fact that they have a redundant array of e-machines aftermarket power supplies which as we all know, are far better than the originals, and Britain wouldn't want their floppy drive to get corrupted during a reboot!
Now, I'm not the type of person to believe everything I read, but what type of technology writer could possibly make such a mistake? Interestingly, the person who posted this article on MSNBC had taken it from the Reuters feed, which at the time I'm writing this says the same thing.
http://uk.reuters.com/article/technologyNews/idUKL1154155020080114
Of course, we know that the worlds fastest computer is Japan's MDGRAPE-3 @ 1 petafllop, followed by the BlueGene at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory in California @ 478.2 teraflops. Of course the BlueGene is considered the the world's fastest because it is not in Japan. This helps us to understand why a computer that is far slower than everything I use on a daily basis can be the fastest in Britain, it's that pesky high pound vs. dollar value which must reach a balance somewhere. This balance is struck in the amount of processing power allocated to other countries. That is why Japan's supercomputer doesn't exist even though it is so fast, and why Britain's is so fast even though it is so slow.
Now, I will clear up the mistakes made in the Reuters feed, which should have read as follows: With 12,000 redundant aftermarket e-machines power supplies, the mammoth machine called HECToR is the country's fastest computer and one of the most powerful in Europe due in part to the surprising stability of the Euro.
It can make 63 million calculations each second, allowing scientists to check e-mail, run DOS programs, and play tetris.
I guess what I'm trying to say here is, don't believe everything you read, because, not only is it poorly written, it's wrong.
Friday, January 11, 2008
pet peeve #9,000,000,000,004.07
Randomly numbered list items presented out of order. Stupid, pointless, hated them since I first saw them. Why are they still around?
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Scilence!
I've been catching up on my scientific reading lately and have been astounded by the abundance of published research that is unfinished. I understand that you guys want grants and other sources of funding to keep going, and you need to make a name for yourself in order to continue your research. But similar projects will be funded with or without your help, and I think it would be in the best interest of science if you just back off, stay in the background or just quit! Did you ever think that maybe you're taking money away from real scientists who may have some actual research to do?
All you "scientists" who subscribe to the idea that science is unprovable should really tone it down. If you feel the need to be near lab equipment, why don't you get a little cart with wheels? You can use this cart to fetch flasks, beakers, books, coffee, doughnuts, and other science related equipment. Yes, you can have a doughnut, but don't shove it into a flask and write a paper about it, that's not your job anymore.
Imagine a world where everyone waited to speak until they produced a genuine thought. Imagine a world where no one published articles unless they said anything new. Imagine yourself actually helping to facilitate the realization of such a world.
The beggar on the street makes up crap too when he thinks he can get some money from someone, but at least he doesn't publish his findings in science journals. The nightly news is filled with error, misinformation and hack, but at least they throw in a generous dusting of "allegedly".
I know the blame doesn't rest *entirely* in the hands of you "pseudo scientists", you only start the wheels of misinformation rolling, the "editors" have to take a healthy portion of blame pie as well. After all, they are the ones who checked for spelling, grammar and clarity of thought, yet they never bothered to check and see if anything was actually accomplished by your writing. A good question for an editor to ask would be, "Was any new, interesting or even documented data presented?"
I know, I shouldn't expect that being a scientist should be any different than any other job, where politics, recognition and power get in the way of a job well done. But I like to think of science as beyond all that. I know it isn't, and I know that most of what is called science is marketing fluff and office (lab) politics. But wouldn't it be great if the content was as powerful as the headline?
For you non scientific people who actually read this far... Generally, what is written in the science tabloids is based on some factual data or on an observation that cannot be reproduced. I have to admit to having perpetrated a science hoax myself.
Once upon a time when I was a young lad, I was looking up at the stars through an opening in the clouds and a small spark came down, hit my brother's truck and disintegrated into many tinier sparks. I ran in to the house to tell everyone what I saw. NOBODY believed me. I was so upset that I was disbelieved that I formulated a hoax. I dug a small hole in the driveway, placed a rock that would look like a meteorite into the hole and super heated the rock with my dads oxy-acetelene torch. Then I ran into the house *acting* excited about the meteor that I had seen land in front of the garage. Everyone believed me, it didn't matter that I was a bad actor and the rock was clearly a fake, the rock was hot and in a hole so it must have dropped from the sky.
The rock was so hot in fact that you could ignite matches on it by touch for a few minutes afterward. It was so hot that it shattered the glass bottle we tried to pick it up in. Any doubt that was generated by the fact that the rock was sitting in a hole dug with a tablespoon instantly abated when the match test (which I recommended) was administered. In fact I remember comments about how it wouldn't be possible to heat the rock up that hot.
Well, there was one small hiccup to my family hoax. My mom wanted to call the local "authorities", the college, the planetarium, that kind of thing. Realizing that this hoax would have been seen through by even the least competent scientist, I conveniently lost the rock. If you looked at it closely, you could see that it was full of seashells and was basically sandstone. Not the stuff meteors are made of. I imagined a scientist coming to the house to test it and laughing when he couldn't even get a magnet to stick to it, then turning to me and saying, "thanks for wasting my time and by extension the time of the entire world of science."
Now that I'm older, I realize that the odds of that scenario playing out were slim to none. I had a true story with a false outcome that would have created a cloud of buzz that you couldn't cut with an electric buzz knife. The "scientist" would have taken it to the lab and written page after page of observations. The sheer bulk of words would lead others to believe that I really found something. And everybody else that wanted a little taste of my fame pie would hop on board no matter how skeptical, in fact they would have reasoned that after they get fame and funding they could separate themselves from the issue and wriggle out of the pit of scientific whoredom they had now bedded down in for the short haul.
You can understand it when put in this context, because the rock I saw fall COULD have been sandstone, and it COULD have been full of little sea shells. It can never be proven so it can never be disproved. When you lie about something you believe, all you need to do is create enough reason to suspend disbelief long enough to present the evidence that proves your lie. I guess that's science.
All you "scientists" who subscribe to the idea that science is unprovable should really tone it down. If you feel the need to be near lab equipment, why don't you get a little cart with wheels? You can use this cart to fetch flasks, beakers, books, coffee, doughnuts, and other science related equipment. Yes, you can have a doughnut, but don't shove it into a flask and write a paper about it, that's not your job anymore.
Imagine a world where everyone waited to speak until they produced a genuine thought. Imagine a world where no one published articles unless they said anything new. Imagine yourself actually helping to facilitate the realization of such a world.
The beggar on the street makes up crap too when he thinks he can get some money from someone, but at least he doesn't publish his findings in science journals. The nightly news is filled with error, misinformation and hack, but at least they throw in a generous dusting of "allegedly".
I know the blame doesn't rest *entirely* in the hands of you "pseudo scientists", you only start the wheels of misinformation rolling, the "editors" have to take a healthy portion of blame pie as well. After all, they are the ones who checked for spelling, grammar and clarity of thought, yet they never bothered to check and see if anything was actually accomplished by your writing. A good question for an editor to ask would be, "Was any new, interesting or even documented data presented?"
I know, I shouldn't expect that being a scientist should be any different than any other job, where politics, recognition and power get in the way of a job well done. But I like to think of science as beyond all that. I know it isn't, and I know that most of what is called science is marketing fluff and office (lab) politics. But wouldn't it be great if the content was as powerful as the headline?
For you non scientific people who actually read this far... Generally, what is written in the science tabloids is based on some factual data or on an observation that cannot be reproduced. I have to admit to having perpetrated a science hoax myself.
Once upon a time when I was a young lad, I was looking up at the stars through an opening in the clouds and a small spark came down, hit my brother's truck and disintegrated into many tinier sparks. I ran in to the house to tell everyone what I saw. NOBODY believed me. I was so upset that I was disbelieved that I formulated a hoax. I dug a small hole in the driveway, placed a rock that would look like a meteorite into the hole and super heated the rock with my dads oxy-acetelene torch. Then I ran into the house *acting* excited about the meteor that I had seen land in front of the garage. Everyone believed me, it didn't matter that I was a bad actor and the rock was clearly a fake, the rock was hot and in a hole so it must have dropped from the sky.
The rock was so hot in fact that you could ignite matches on it by touch for a few minutes afterward. It was so hot that it shattered the glass bottle we tried to pick it up in. Any doubt that was generated by the fact that the rock was sitting in a hole dug with a tablespoon instantly abated when the match test (which I recommended) was administered. In fact I remember comments about how it wouldn't be possible to heat the rock up that hot.
Well, there was one small hiccup to my family hoax. My mom wanted to call the local "authorities", the college, the planetarium, that kind of thing. Realizing that this hoax would have been seen through by even the least competent scientist, I conveniently lost the rock. If you looked at it closely, you could see that it was full of seashells and was basically sandstone. Not the stuff meteors are made of. I imagined a scientist coming to the house to test it and laughing when he couldn't even get a magnet to stick to it, then turning to me and saying, "thanks for wasting my time and by extension the time of the entire world of science."
Now that I'm older, I realize that the odds of that scenario playing out were slim to none. I had a true story with a false outcome that would have created a cloud of buzz that you couldn't cut with an electric buzz knife. The "scientist" would have taken it to the lab and written page after page of observations. The sheer bulk of words would lead others to believe that I really found something. And everybody else that wanted a little taste of my fame pie would hop on board no matter how skeptical, in fact they would have reasoned that after they get fame and funding they could separate themselves from the issue and wriggle out of the pit of scientific whoredom they had now bedded down in for the short haul.
You can understand it when put in this context, because the rock I saw fall COULD have been sandstone, and it COULD have been full of little sea shells. It can never be proven so it can never be disproved. When you lie about something you believe, all you need to do is create enough reason to suspend disbelief long enough to present the evidence that proves your lie. I guess that's science.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
individuality overdose
Stan was like every other boy his age in that he wanted to be just like everybody else but still retain a vague sense of individuality. In all other ways he was totally different from other boys his age. And if you say that the other boys are also boys, then I'll remind you 1) you are talking to a story that has already been written, you won't convince the story to change now 2) you are not allowing the story to unfold naturally like the petals of a flower, a soggy accordion, or the pages of a book.
So back to the story...
Stan was keen to be influenced by peer pressure but was hard pressed to find a peer that was forceful enough to influence him. He was the equivalent of an autistic savant who only understood his own need for social acceptance. His comprehension of his own isolation was so profound that people would come from miles around to see just how lonely he could be. One and all, they were impressed by Stan's stark portrayal of loneliness. Comments ranged from, "looking at Stan is like you're drowning in his own sorrow", to "staring at Stan was like being microwaved to death in a sensory deprivation iron maiden".
As the years wore on, many other attractions were added near and around the Stan exhibit. A slacker exhibit which blurred the lines of slack by its use of coma patients rather than actual slackers was a particular hit. Examples of displays that never quite caught on were such flops as, Dudes with Suds, Jocks with Zubaz, and Turd Flingers. The Turd Flingers debacle was a shock to the parents who arranged the showing. They assumed that since monkeys were so popular, humans with the same antics would be a boon. The reality was that most families weren't willing to pay great fees to see the same things that happen on a daily basis in their own homes.
A stark comprehension of a singular petrifying reality was still worth coughing up some serious bread. Anyone who knew anyone knew that they could never be as alone as Stan. Seeing him suffer in his chronic involuntary detachment remained a great comfort to many. The thousands of onlookers somehow intensified and focused his already obscene estrangement.
One day a particularly depressive dental school dropout decided to walk through the displays because he had a few minutes to spare before killing himself. When he got to the Stan exhibit he was shocked by what he saw. A single hand movement. Was that a wave? Again, there was another almost undetectable movement of a hand. ExPreDent waved back and saw what appeared to be a smile. Although ExPreDent had never visited the Stan exhibit before, he had heard about it and seen Stan on all the magazine covers. He knew this was Stan, but he was acting so different, and even though the communication was minimal, Stan was expressing himself more than ever before.
Having been there to see all of this, made ExPreDent change his mind. He climbed down the steep concrete wall using a piece of a sturdy vine to lower himself to Stan's level. He said to Stan, "Why of all people did you pick me to communicate with?" Stan replied, "Because I knew no one would believe you."
Stan and ExPre sat up all night talking and laughing about uninteresting thoughts they had throughout their lives but never felt like sharing with anyone else. At least that's what appears to have happened. Both Stan and ExPre were found dead the next morning lying in a pool of their own sarcasm. Shards of crystalized thoughts were found as far as 30 meters from the corpses, and the fragments seemed to make up complex hyperbolic allegoric palindromes written in some hybridized variant of pig latin, esperanto and calculus.
Without Stan the exhibits seemed pointless, because there was no longer a clear benchmark for isolation and sadness. The loneliest person in the world could be just about anybody.
So back to the story...
Stan was keen to be influenced by peer pressure but was hard pressed to find a peer that was forceful enough to influence him. He was the equivalent of an autistic savant who only understood his own need for social acceptance. His comprehension of his own isolation was so profound that people would come from miles around to see just how lonely he could be. One and all, they were impressed by Stan's stark portrayal of loneliness. Comments ranged from, "looking at Stan is like you're drowning in his own sorrow", to "staring at Stan was like being microwaved to death in a sensory deprivation iron maiden".
As the years wore on, many other attractions were added near and around the Stan exhibit. A slacker exhibit which blurred the lines of slack by its use of coma patients rather than actual slackers was a particular hit. Examples of displays that never quite caught on were such flops as, Dudes with Suds, Jocks with Zubaz, and Turd Flingers. The Turd Flingers debacle was a shock to the parents who arranged the showing. They assumed that since monkeys were so popular, humans with the same antics would be a boon. The reality was that most families weren't willing to pay great fees to see the same things that happen on a daily basis in their own homes.
A stark comprehension of a singular petrifying reality was still worth coughing up some serious bread. Anyone who knew anyone knew that they could never be as alone as Stan. Seeing him suffer in his chronic involuntary detachment remained a great comfort to many. The thousands of onlookers somehow intensified and focused his already obscene estrangement.
One day a particularly depressive dental school dropout decided to walk through the displays because he had a few minutes to spare before killing himself. When he got to the Stan exhibit he was shocked by what he saw. A single hand movement. Was that a wave? Again, there was another almost undetectable movement of a hand. ExPreDent waved back and saw what appeared to be a smile. Although ExPreDent had never visited the Stan exhibit before, he had heard about it and seen Stan on all the magazine covers. He knew this was Stan, but he was acting so different, and even though the communication was minimal, Stan was expressing himself more than ever before.
Having been there to see all of this, made ExPreDent change his mind. He climbed down the steep concrete wall using a piece of a sturdy vine to lower himself to Stan's level. He said to Stan, "Why of all people did you pick me to communicate with?" Stan replied, "Because I knew no one would believe you."
Stan and ExPre sat up all night talking and laughing about uninteresting thoughts they had throughout their lives but never felt like sharing with anyone else. At least that's what appears to have happened. Both Stan and ExPre were found dead the next morning lying in a pool of their own sarcasm. Shards of crystalized thoughts were found as far as 30 meters from the corpses, and the fragments seemed to make up complex hyperbolic allegoric palindromes written in some hybridized variant of pig latin, esperanto and calculus.
Without Stan the exhibits seemed pointless, because there was no longer a clear benchmark for isolation and sadness. The loneliest person in the world could be just about anybody.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
to all the girls I’ve never loved before...
Here is a representative slice of apologetic data for all the girls I've never loved and true stories of preemptive avoidance of intimacy. All I can say is that I'm sorry but there is only so much of me to go around...
To the girl who always tried to kiss me...
I was 4 years old and so were you. You were just slightly bigger and stronger than me. You clearly had a crush on me, but I wanted to crush that crush. We were 4! Did you really think we had a shot at a real romantic relationship? Did you think I was going to support you on my allowance? Well, if you bothered to ask me any questions instead of just jumping on me and kissing me, I could have explained it all to you. Besides, I thought you looked like a pig and I hated your irritating lisping baby-talk speech impediment.
To the creepy girl who would stare at me when I tried to use the toilet...
I don't fully blame you. There were no doors on our communal unisex kindergarten restroom. The teacher probably assigned you to check up on me anyway. But you were stupid and insane and filthy. I know that your behavior was somehow modified by a bad home life. So I'm sorry for the mean things that I said, even though they were just toned down versions of the truth. Oh, you were a filthy beast. I saw you a few years later overdosing apparently just to get attention. What you didn't seem to realize is that all that commotion turns to white noise and you become invisible.
To my aunt who trapped me in the stairway and smothered me with kisses...
No means no! Seriously, I felt like I was being raped. Sorry I didn't bite you in the face but I was afraid I'd catch more diseases from your blood than your saliva.
To the leader of the “girl gang”...
I know that I was the greatest presence to grace our 1st grade class. But that didn't take much, did it? I suppose that many men would have dreamed of being captured by your gang of girls and held in your arms, but those men are perverts, and I was a little boy who just wanted to be left alone. And how did this become something where you brought me to robert so he could sit on me? Did you really think we’d have a relationship after that? Besides, how could I have spent real quality time with all of you girls and robert? The relationship was not well thought out on your part. Did you never notice that I was trying to avoid you? That’s why I was running.
(Robert, I know you are not a girl, but you sure acted like one quite often. I have to admit that I was a bit disturbed that you always wanted to sit on me after the girls caught me. But I was far more disturbed when you showed up in my first grade class a couple of months after school started. It didn’t help that you were somehow able to get the kid next to me to move so you could take his place. When you explained to me that you threw a tantrum every day until they finally sent you to my class, I was thoroughly and officially creeped out.)
To all the girls in my second grade class...
The only reason I was going to read your valentine cards is because I was a hired spy and had to see if your valentines and other notes sent to other kids in school were true or just “seasons greetings”. Well, I never got a chance to look at any of them anyway but I didn’t lose much money on the deal.
To all the girls in the 3 third grade classes in my school...
I know you weren’t all in love with me, but I had to make sure that YOU knew. That’s why I systematically broke each and every one of your tiny little hearts. It took me hours to copy with carbon paper the over 80 notes with 3 different themes - I sent you (by sneaking into your classes and placing them in each of your desks, which is easy when you’re a spy). I’d like to make a special apology now, to the girl in my class who’s note was intercepted by the teacher. I know that the teacher’s plan was to embarrass me by reading my love note to you in front of the class. Although it was classic to see her facial expressions shift as she read, “roses are red, violets are blue, this scrap is just garbage and so are you”, I still felt bad that the teacher was too stupid to stop reading and made you cry. I know that many other girls were crying that day as well, but your tears were the ones that hurt. I mean, little girls really don’t seem to like that sort of thing. So, I can’t remember your name, but I remember that day and sometimes wonder if I destroyed lives. I had no idea people could be so fragile. So sorry.
I guess it only makes sense that I can’t think of any girls who liked me for the rest of grade school...
To that girl who was always staring at me in seventh grade and finally got the courage to sit next to me on the bus...
I’m somewhat sorry that the first thing I ever said to you was, “you have snot hanging out of your nose”, but it was true, you did. Besides, I was pretty sure that if I said it, you would instantly hate me and leave me alone. I was right. But I am a bit sorry. Why did you try to push the thing back into your nose though? That was just twisted!
To the girl who would always rub up against me while asking me questions in eighth grade civics class...
So you were cute, big deal. You obviously liked me because you knew I never studied or paid attention in civics class, yet you were constantly coming over to my desk to ask questions. I chose to answer your questions (as though I actually cared about civics) and ignore your small breasts being pushed up against my left arm. How far did you think this relationship would go in civics class? Then one day (years later) you happened to meet me in a convenience store halfway between Minneapolis and Duluth and showed me how you had surgery to correct your slightly skewed lower jaw. You used to be cute, now you were pretty. I told you that you looked better before the surgery, sorry about that. Anyway, what did you expect? We had 5 minutes together in the snack aisle of a convenience store, and you couldn’t even think of any civics questions to ask me.
To the girl on my bus when I was in ninth grade, who was always nice to me and was telling everybody except me how much she liked me...
I have to admit I was a bit flattered, but you wore so much makeup that I knew your face was eroding beneath that carefully plastered and smoothed exterior. So when you finally indicated your fondness for me, I knew it could never work. My face was smooth and tight, your face was invisible. Plus, the only thing we had in common was that we rode the same school bus and were forced to listen to Def Leppard together, but I think you enjoyed it.
To the girl at the arcade who rubbed her body up against me while pretending the huge arcade door was too narrow...
Of course I ignored you. You were looking for a reaction. I kept talking to my friend and pretended you weren’t spending an inordinate amount of time and energy passing me by. I knew you were trying to get my attention because there was a lot more up and down motion than side to side motion. But I ignored you and you got bored and left. Sorry, but it must not have been love.
To the girl who seemed to hang on my every word...
You were impressed by the fact that we had the same last name. Your friends were impressed when I tore a five dollar bill in half. I talked to you quite often until I noticed that the way you playfully stood back on your heels and tilted your head was very odd indeed. Were you just looking up my nose? If not, what were you doing? Obviously, after such a profound moment of revelation I had to stop talking to you forever.
To the girl at the mall who liked my pants...
I apologize for my pathetic response. You said, “I like your pants”. I said nothing. You said, “aren’t you going to thank me?” I said, “why should I? You didn’t give them to me”.
I cannot apologize enough for that terrible line, I was irritated with your pickup line and tried my very popular ignoring you routine, but you forced me to say something. I didn’t have time to prepare something clever. Besides, we were at the mall during the 80’s. What self respecting person wearing jeans covered in triangular patches would allow himself to get involved in 80’s mall romance? What did you think we would do, open our own shop? Eat ice cream cones together? It doesn’t make sense. The relationship wouldn’t have worked. I’m just sorry I had to use such a poor quality line to set everything right.
To the group of girls in the high school hallway who pinched me and giggled as I walked by...
What was that? Did you all like me? Were you just goofing off? A lunch hour relationship between the five of us wouldn’t have worked anyway so I didn’t bother to turn around and see who you were.
To the girl that thought I was complimenting her...
I told you you looked almost exactly like someone I went to school with. You said, “Thank you.” Where did that come from? I couldn’t say anything else. You may have been thinking, “If the girl he goes to school looks like me she must be pretty”, but that would still be the same as saying “You look like yourself”. That’s not a compliment, just an observation. Sorry about starting that lack of conversation. And you know I was sorry because I never spoke to you again.
To the girl who was my friend but not my girlfriend who was always trying to make me jealous...
I liked you, but I was more like a father than a friend. You were smart but needed help. I tried to explain life to you but you could never get it. If you didn’t need so much parenting then maybe I could have seen you differently. But you remained a perpetual child, and I moved on. So we had a lot in common, big deal, that’s no basis for a relationship. If my life plan was to suffer I would have at least found a woman who was financially stable so I wouldn’t have to work while dealing with her noise.
To the girl at the graduation party...
You were staring at me all night and smiling. You seemed like you were trying to get my attention. We talked for about 5 minutes at the end of the evening and I left because the numbers didn’t crunch. You were a gymnast and on the swim team, I was wearing a shiny blue jacket. It never could have worked out.
To all the moms who pushed their daughters at me directly or indirectly...
You raised lovely young ladies. Kudos. But I always knew that you were interested in me and that’s why you pushed your girls my way. I guess you just wanted someone in the family to benefit from my presence. That was very unselfish of you. But I thought the whole thing through. I would have to come and visit you on occasion for family events and so on. Even if you didn’t get jealous, you and I would know the truth even though unspoken. And I think you can understand how that could get really weird and creepy. So, I never could have started a relationship with your daughters. Now if you were 20 years younger, maybe things would have been different between us, unless granny had her eye on me. You must have really loved me though, or you were just thinking how you never married the young broke artist (who rode a bicycle) when you had the chance.
To the girl I fell in "love" with at first sight...
Sorry I never bothered to tell you, but it would have been a hassle and a waste of our time. I'm sure you had better things to do than waste a couple of months dating me. And I certainly didn't want to waste any more of my time thinking irrationally. So you can understand why I never spoke to you again.
To the woman who used to rub her body against me in my office while I was explaining how we were going to develop her company web site...
I tried to ignore you, I tried to move further over on the desk but pretty soon you had me pressed up against the wall, with your chest pushed firmly against my right arm. I remained cold and distant. At our next meeting, I put out my hand to shake yours and you knocked it out of the way and threw your arms around me in front of many colleagues. I kept my arms at my side and said, “this is very professional”. You certainly had a knack for attaining maximum one-sided intimacy in a very public glass walled office. You wanted to come work for me but you had already hugged yourself out of a job.
To the countless women and girls who have feigned interest in me...
Why were you wasting your time and mine? I couldn't shake you, you were always around me like a swarm of insects. Did you think I was famous? I could tell you weren't interested in me. Did you not know that you weren't interested? You would just stand there and stare at me adoringly. Maybe you just thought I was nice to look at. So were some of you, but I wasn't going to waste my time following you around and staring. So, I'm sorry I left you in my wake and ignored you, but there's no way I could have told all of you to piss off.
In conclusion: So, ladies, even though the purpose of my actions was primarily not to waste my own time, by extension, your time was not wasted by me. You would have been hurt worse when I dumped you or worse still if you were able to fool me into marrying you. It was best that it ended before it began.
P.S. To the numerous gay men who harassed me throughout my life but especially between the years 1988-1991...
You really didn't think this relationship through at all!!! You're not even girls! How could you have possibly expected that to work? I rarely ran from a mugger or a drug dealer or thugs on the street because I knew their intentions were honorable (except the gay ones). You have given me good reason to be “homophobic”, so I ran. Fast. I hope for your sake none of you were heartbroken girls who got sex changes because you thought I was gay. Of course, perhaps that is less disturbing. Oh, and by the way, it is not flattering to be chased by a gay man. Nor is it really a compliment, when that compliment comes from a dirty sticky pervert.
To the girl who always tried to kiss me...
I was 4 years old and so were you. You were just slightly bigger and stronger than me. You clearly had a crush on me, but I wanted to crush that crush. We were 4! Did you really think we had a shot at a real romantic relationship? Did you think I was going to support you on my allowance? Well, if you bothered to ask me any questions instead of just jumping on me and kissing me, I could have explained it all to you. Besides, I thought you looked like a pig and I hated your irritating lisping baby-talk speech impediment.
To the creepy girl who would stare at me when I tried to use the toilet...
I don't fully blame you. There were no doors on our communal unisex kindergarten restroom. The teacher probably assigned you to check up on me anyway. But you were stupid and insane and filthy. I know that your behavior was somehow modified by a bad home life. So I'm sorry for the mean things that I said, even though they were just toned down versions of the truth. Oh, you were a filthy beast. I saw you a few years later overdosing apparently just to get attention. What you didn't seem to realize is that all that commotion turns to white noise and you become invisible.
To my aunt who trapped me in the stairway and smothered me with kisses...
No means no! Seriously, I felt like I was being raped. Sorry I didn't bite you in the face but I was afraid I'd catch more diseases from your blood than your saliva.
To the leader of the “girl gang”...
I know that I was the greatest presence to grace our 1st grade class. But that didn't take much, did it? I suppose that many men would have dreamed of being captured by your gang of girls and held in your arms, but those men are perverts, and I was a little boy who just wanted to be left alone. And how did this become something where you brought me to robert so he could sit on me? Did you really think we’d have a relationship after that? Besides, how could I have spent real quality time with all of you girls and robert? The relationship was not well thought out on your part. Did you never notice that I was trying to avoid you? That’s why I was running.
(Robert, I know you are not a girl, but you sure acted like one quite often. I have to admit that I was a bit disturbed that you always wanted to sit on me after the girls caught me. But I was far more disturbed when you showed up in my first grade class a couple of months after school started. It didn’t help that you were somehow able to get the kid next to me to move so you could take his place. When you explained to me that you threw a tantrum every day until they finally sent you to my class, I was thoroughly and officially creeped out.)
To all the girls in my second grade class...
The only reason I was going to read your valentine cards is because I was a hired spy and had to see if your valentines and other notes sent to other kids in school were true or just “seasons greetings”. Well, I never got a chance to look at any of them anyway but I didn’t lose much money on the deal.
To all the girls in the 3 third grade classes in my school...
I know you weren’t all in love with me, but I had to make sure that YOU knew. That’s why I systematically broke each and every one of your tiny little hearts. It took me hours to copy with carbon paper the over 80 notes with 3 different themes - I sent you (by sneaking into your classes and placing them in each of your desks, which is easy when you’re a spy). I’d like to make a special apology now, to the girl in my class who’s note was intercepted by the teacher. I know that the teacher’s plan was to embarrass me by reading my love note to you in front of the class. Although it was classic to see her facial expressions shift as she read, “roses are red, violets are blue, this scrap is just garbage and so are you”, I still felt bad that the teacher was too stupid to stop reading and made you cry. I know that many other girls were crying that day as well, but your tears were the ones that hurt. I mean, little girls really don’t seem to like that sort of thing. So, I can’t remember your name, but I remember that day and sometimes wonder if I destroyed lives. I had no idea people could be so fragile. So sorry.
I guess it only makes sense that I can’t think of any girls who liked me for the rest of grade school...
To that girl who was always staring at me in seventh grade and finally got the courage to sit next to me on the bus...
I’m somewhat sorry that the first thing I ever said to you was, “you have snot hanging out of your nose”, but it was true, you did. Besides, I was pretty sure that if I said it, you would instantly hate me and leave me alone. I was right. But I am a bit sorry. Why did you try to push the thing back into your nose though? That was just twisted!
To the girl who would always rub up against me while asking me questions in eighth grade civics class...
So you were cute, big deal. You obviously liked me because you knew I never studied or paid attention in civics class, yet you were constantly coming over to my desk to ask questions. I chose to answer your questions (as though I actually cared about civics) and ignore your small breasts being pushed up against my left arm. How far did you think this relationship would go in civics class? Then one day (years later) you happened to meet me in a convenience store halfway between Minneapolis and Duluth and showed me how you had surgery to correct your slightly skewed lower jaw. You used to be cute, now you were pretty. I told you that you looked better before the surgery, sorry about that. Anyway, what did you expect? We had 5 minutes together in the snack aisle of a convenience store, and you couldn’t even think of any civics questions to ask me.
To the girl on my bus when I was in ninth grade, who was always nice to me and was telling everybody except me how much she liked me...
I have to admit I was a bit flattered, but you wore so much makeup that I knew your face was eroding beneath that carefully plastered and smoothed exterior. So when you finally indicated your fondness for me, I knew it could never work. My face was smooth and tight, your face was invisible. Plus, the only thing we had in common was that we rode the same school bus and were forced to listen to Def Leppard together, but I think you enjoyed it.
To the girl at the arcade who rubbed her body up against me while pretending the huge arcade door was too narrow...
Of course I ignored you. You were looking for a reaction. I kept talking to my friend and pretended you weren’t spending an inordinate amount of time and energy passing me by. I knew you were trying to get my attention because there was a lot more up and down motion than side to side motion. But I ignored you and you got bored and left. Sorry, but it must not have been love.
To the girl who seemed to hang on my every word...
You were impressed by the fact that we had the same last name. Your friends were impressed when I tore a five dollar bill in half. I talked to you quite often until I noticed that the way you playfully stood back on your heels and tilted your head was very odd indeed. Were you just looking up my nose? If not, what were you doing? Obviously, after such a profound moment of revelation I had to stop talking to you forever.
To the girl at the mall who liked my pants...
I apologize for my pathetic response. You said, “I like your pants”. I said nothing. You said, “aren’t you going to thank me?” I said, “why should I? You didn’t give them to me”.
I cannot apologize enough for that terrible line, I was irritated with your pickup line and tried my very popular ignoring you routine, but you forced me to say something. I didn’t have time to prepare something clever. Besides, we were at the mall during the 80’s. What self respecting person wearing jeans covered in triangular patches would allow himself to get involved in 80’s mall romance? What did you think we would do, open our own shop? Eat ice cream cones together? It doesn’t make sense. The relationship wouldn’t have worked. I’m just sorry I had to use such a poor quality line to set everything right.
To the group of girls in the high school hallway who pinched me and giggled as I walked by...
What was that? Did you all like me? Were you just goofing off? A lunch hour relationship between the five of us wouldn’t have worked anyway so I didn’t bother to turn around and see who you were.
To the girl that thought I was complimenting her...
I told you you looked almost exactly like someone I went to school with. You said, “Thank you.” Where did that come from? I couldn’t say anything else. You may have been thinking, “If the girl he goes to school looks like me she must be pretty”, but that would still be the same as saying “You look like yourself”. That’s not a compliment, just an observation. Sorry about starting that lack of conversation. And you know I was sorry because I never spoke to you again.
To the girl who was my friend but not my girlfriend who was always trying to make me jealous...
I liked you, but I was more like a father than a friend. You were smart but needed help. I tried to explain life to you but you could never get it. If you didn’t need so much parenting then maybe I could have seen you differently. But you remained a perpetual child, and I moved on. So we had a lot in common, big deal, that’s no basis for a relationship. If my life plan was to suffer I would have at least found a woman who was financially stable so I wouldn’t have to work while dealing with her noise.
To the girl at the graduation party...
You were staring at me all night and smiling. You seemed like you were trying to get my attention. We talked for about 5 minutes at the end of the evening and I left because the numbers didn’t crunch. You were a gymnast and on the swim team, I was wearing a shiny blue jacket. It never could have worked out.
To all the moms who pushed their daughters at me directly or indirectly...
You raised lovely young ladies. Kudos. But I always knew that you were interested in me and that’s why you pushed your girls my way. I guess you just wanted someone in the family to benefit from my presence. That was very unselfish of you. But I thought the whole thing through. I would have to come and visit you on occasion for family events and so on. Even if you didn’t get jealous, you and I would know the truth even though unspoken. And I think you can understand how that could get really weird and creepy. So, I never could have started a relationship with your daughters. Now if you were 20 years younger, maybe things would have been different between us, unless granny had her eye on me. You must have really loved me though, or you were just thinking how you never married the young broke artist (who rode a bicycle) when you had the chance.
To the girl I fell in "love" with at first sight...
Sorry I never bothered to tell you, but it would have been a hassle and a waste of our time. I'm sure you had better things to do than waste a couple of months dating me. And I certainly didn't want to waste any more of my time thinking irrationally. So you can understand why I never spoke to you again.
To the woman who used to rub her body against me in my office while I was explaining how we were going to develop her company web site...
I tried to ignore you, I tried to move further over on the desk but pretty soon you had me pressed up against the wall, with your chest pushed firmly against my right arm. I remained cold and distant. At our next meeting, I put out my hand to shake yours and you knocked it out of the way and threw your arms around me in front of many colleagues. I kept my arms at my side and said, “this is very professional”. You certainly had a knack for attaining maximum one-sided intimacy in a very public glass walled office. You wanted to come work for me but you had already hugged yourself out of a job.
To the countless women and girls who have feigned interest in me...
Why were you wasting your time and mine? I couldn't shake you, you were always around me like a swarm of insects. Did you think I was famous? I could tell you weren't interested in me. Did you not know that you weren't interested? You would just stand there and stare at me adoringly. Maybe you just thought I was nice to look at. So were some of you, but I wasn't going to waste my time following you around and staring. So, I'm sorry I left you in my wake and ignored you, but there's no way I could have told all of you to piss off.
In conclusion: So, ladies, even though the purpose of my actions was primarily not to waste my own time, by extension, your time was not wasted by me. You would have been hurt worse when I dumped you or worse still if you were able to fool me into marrying you. It was best that it ended before it began.
P.S. To the numerous gay men who harassed me throughout my life but especially between the years 1988-1991...
You really didn't think this relationship through at all!!! You're not even girls! How could you have possibly expected that to work? I rarely ran from a mugger or a drug dealer or thugs on the street because I knew their intentions were honorable (except the gay ones). You have given me good reason to be “homophobic”, so I ran. Fast. I hope for your sake none of you were heartbroken girls who got sex changes because you thought I was gay. Of course, perhaps that is less disturbing. Oh, and by the way, it is not flattering to be chased by a gay man. Nor is it really a compliment, when that compliment comes from a dirty sticky pervert.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Something in confidence...
I’ve been told many times in my life that I’m a genius. I’ve also been asked many times if I am a genius. Something that has happened even more often in my life is the question, “what’s your IQ?”
I (almost) invariably respond to the first, “so?” to the second, “yes, but so are you.” and to the third, “IQ tests don’t measure intelligence, they measure acquired knowledge in a very narrow frame of reference. They are somewhat more accurate at estimating the intelligence of a very young child, but in order to truly test intelligence they would have to teach you something you’ve never known before and measure how fast you could learn, retain and use that knowledge.”
A genius can be good at anything. A genius can be great at math, soap making, soup making, sheep milking, tooth grinding etcetera. Everyone has skills and abilities that could be considered genius. Some prefer not to use these, or are not self-aware enough to realize they have such qualities without focused intervention and guidance.
I am super awesomely hyper intelligent in many ways, but I think my intelligence is simply to counterbalance the fact that I cannot store items in memory very long. The chicken/egg of it is that I may have simply never felt a need for the ability to retain information because I could learn so fast. As I get older my learning slows and I’ve come to value memory more, but I think that my memory has been suffering as well. However, to me there is nothing wrong with a graceful aging and dumbing down. My real genius never rested in my intelligence anyway. What truly makes me a genius is just one ability, my confidence.
I have a supreme confidence that isn’t based on anything external. I’m reasonably certain that there is someone else out there who is as confident as me, but I’ve never met that person. There are people who walk with a cocky swagger or some other affectation that represents to many a type of “confidence” but the confidence shown in these cases is an illusion. This type of confidence is one of two things:
1) A great act by a person who knows that they can bluff their way into a position of group dominance by showing a larger than life attitude. It takes a certain amount of confidence to pull it off, but someone will eventually chip through it, and it might even get ugly.
2) A person who is only circumstantially confident. On top of the world for the moment and everything feels like it’s moving forward. This eventually ends, and the individual crashes to their natural level or even below that level. Of course, their true lack of confidence makes constant appearances whenever they perceive any threat to their position.
I’ve been shown in many ways that I have little power in this world, and even less money, yet people invariably think that I am both rich and powerful. Obviously, people who know me reasonably well don’t think those things, they think I’m a genius.
The relatively rare times in my life that I have done well financially haven’t changed me except to perhaps make me even less ambitious than I already was. I’m no slacker. I work hard and am very self-motivated, I just find it difficult to be motivated by anything other than myself. Money, I need it, but I find it impossible to get myself to want it. To me what carries real weight is my own opinion, not prevailing circumstances or opinions of others. A big reason for this is that the opinions of others are based on the opinions of others and the prevailing circumstances, while the prevailing circumstances are also based on these same opinions. It is all fabricated to keep the people with a lack of confidence (the vast majority of humankind) in their places. Since these elements feed on themselves the person who is starting things in motion rarely knows that they are at the forefront of the downfall of a society or even “civilization”.
Since these circumstances exist, they must have been put in place by people who lack confidence. A truly confident person (which would imply some level of intelligence) has no need for circumstances around him to be altered, as long as he remains the same he retains the only measure of control he can ever really have.
Now, you might say that a confident person has more control than that, they can use the strength of their character to influence others to do their will. Although it is true that a confident person “could” do this, that is a lower level of confidence than what I have. My confidence doesn’t allow me the luxury of manipulation, because I would prefer to allow people to think for themselves. I cannot say that I have NEVER controlled people and that I never will do it again. Certainly, I have accidentally changed peoples minds on numerous occasions. That’s the curse of confidence, no matter how much you try to do your own thing, you end up with followers. This makes you appear to be a leader, but you’re not. They are just sheep who follow you in the hopes that some of your essence will rub off on them.
Getting back to my opinions for a moment, they are great because they are amplified (not embellished) perspectives on the truth. They are facts plus 1. In short, my opinions are like having extra facts in your daily apportionment of factual data. There aren’t more facts, but it feels like more facts, because the facts are better. It’s like the difference between having a puppy and having a puppy that can travel through time, disrupting the continuity of its own existence, to become almost paradoxically cuddly.
Okay, I’m sorry, I originally had a great reason for starting this post, but I left for a while and forgot what the point was. This is a great demonstration of my poor memory, and to further demonstrate my confidence, I’m posting this on the blog right now, fully ready to not care if you read it or not.
Oh, hey, I just remembered. I was going to explain how my confidence has many exciting features that aren't showcased in others. First of all, sometimes my confidence gets a bit out of control and I think that I can challenge people who are much, bigger, stronger and crazier than me and convince them that my brains are stronger than their muscles and fists. Often it has worked and that shows that my confidence was stronger than their brains. Later, as I walk away "a winner" the fear creeps in and I realize how close I came to being brutalized or killed. When it doesn't work out, I generally don't feel a sense of fear, but am still ill at ease as I am lofted into the air, kicked in the crotch or punched in the stomach (rarely the face as the people who can't be overpowered by my strength of character are often focusing below the belt).
Generally, however, my confidence doesn't seem like confidence at all. Because I've had many times in my life where I have accidentally forced my will on people or frightened people with my inadvertent strength of character, I try to subdue my natural forcefulness as much as possible. I am even nervous about looking people in the eye because I don't want to frighten them. What often results from this is that people think I am the one who is uncertain or afraid when in reality I am just protecting them from the weight of their own terror. I don't mind that people think this. It would be great if we could all live lives of fact and understanding, but if we can't, I can forcefully subdue my own confidence for the safety and well-being of mankind. A great side-benefit is that I don't get slapped around too often these days.
I (almost) invariably respond to the first, “so?” to the second, “yes, but so are you.” and to the third, “IQ tests don’t measure intelligence, they measure acquired knowledge in a very narrow frame of reference. They are somewhat more accurate at estimating the intelligence of a very young child, but in order to truly test intelligence they would have to teach you something you’ve never known before and measure how fast you could learn, retain and use that knowledge.”
A genius can be good at anything. A genius can be great at math, soap making, soup making, sheep milking, tooth grinding etcetera. Everyone has skills and abilities that could be considered genius. Some prefer not to use these, or are not self-aware enough to realize they have such qualities without focused intervention and guidance.
I am super awesomely hyper intelligent in many ways, but I think my intelligence is simply to counterbalance the fact that I cannot store items in memory very long. The chicken/egg of it is that I may have simply never felt a need for the ability to retain information because I could learn so fast. As I get older my learning slows and I’ve come to value memory more, but I think that my memory has been suffering as well. However, to me there is nothing wrong with a graceful aging and dumbing down. My real genius never rested in my intelligence anyway. What truly makes me a genius is just one ability, my confidence.
I have a supreme confidence that isn’t based on anything external. I’m reasonably certain that there is someone else out there who is as confident as me, but I’ve never met that person. There are people who walk with a cocky swagger or some other affectation that represents to many a type of “confidence” but the confidence shown in these cases is an illusion. This type of confidence is one of two things:
1) A great act by a person who knows that they can bluff their way into a position of group dominance by showing a larger than life attitude. It takes a certain amount of confidence to pull it off, but someone will eventually chip through it, and it might even get ugly.
2) A person who is only circumstantially confident. On top of the world for the moment and everything feels like it’s moving forward. This eventually ends, and the individual crashes to their natural level or even below that level. Of course, their true lack of confidence makes constant appearances whenever they perceive any threat to their position.
I’ve been shown in many ways that I have little power in this world, and even less money, yet people invariably think that I am both rich and powerful. Obviously, people who know me reasonably well don’t think those things, they think I’m a genius.
The relatively rare times in my life that I have done well financially haven’t changed me except to perhaps make me even less ambitious than I already was. I’m no slacker. I work hard and am very self-motivated, I just find it difficult to be motivated by anything other than myself. Money, I need it, but I find it impossible to get myself to want it. To me what carries real weight is my own opinion, not prevailing circumstances or opinions of others. A big reason for this is that the opinions of others are based on the opinions of others and the prevailing circumstances, while the prevailing circumstances are also based on these same opinions. It is all fabricated to keep the people with a lack of confidence (the vast majority of humankind) in their places. Since these elements feed on themselves the person who is starting things in motion rarely knows that they are at the forefront of the downfall of a society or even “civilization”.
Since these circumstances exist, they must have been put in place by people who lack confidence. A truly confident person (which would imply some level of intelligence) has no need for circumstances around him to be altered, as long as he remains the same he retains the only measure of control he can ever really have.
Now, you might say that a confident person has more control than that, they can use the strength of their character to influence others to do their will. Although it is true that a confident person “could” do this, that is a lower level of confidence than what I have. My confidence doesn’t allow me the luxury of manipulation, because I would prefer to allow people to think for themselves. I cannot say that I have NEVER controlled people and that I never will do it again. Certainly, I have accidentally changed peoples minds on numerous occasions. That’s the curse of confidence, no matter how much you try to do your own thing, you end up with followers. This makes you appear to be a leader, but you’re not. They are just sheep who follow you in the hopes that some of your essence will rub off on them.
Getting back to my opinions for a moment, they are great because they are amplified (not embellished) perspectives on the truth. They are facts plus 1. In short, my opinions are like having extra facts in your daily apportionment of factual data. There aren’t more facts, but it feels like more facts, because the facts are better. It’s like the difference between having a puppy and having a puppy that can travel through time, disrupting the continuity of its own existence, to become almost paradoxically cuddly.
Okay, I’m sorry, I originally had a great reason for starting this post, but I left for a while and forgot what the point was. This is a great demonstration of my poor memory, and to further demonstrate my confidence, I’m posting this on the blog right now, fully ready to not care if you read it or not.
Oh, hey, I just remembered. I was going to explain how my confidence has many exciting features that aren't showcased in others. First of all, sometimes my confidence gets a bit out of control and I think that I can challenge people who are much, bigger, stronger and crazier than me and convince them that my brains are stronger than their muscles and fists. Often it has worked and that shows that my confidence was stronger than their brains. Later, as I walk away "a winner" the fear creeps in and I realize how close I came to being brutalized or killed. When it doesn't work out, I generally don't feel a sense of fear, but am still ill at ease as I am lofted into the air, kicked in the crotch or punched in the stomach (rarely the face as the people who can't be overpowered by my strength of character are often focusing below the belt).
Generally, however, my confidence doesn't seem like confidence at all. Because I've had many times in my life where I have accidentally forced my will on people or frightened people with my inadvertent strength of character, I try to subdue my natural forcefulness as much as possible. I am even nervous about looking people in the eye because I don't want to frighten them. What often results from this is that people think I am the one who is uncertain or afraid when in reality I am just protecting them from the weight of their own terror. I don't mind that people think this. It would be great if we could all live lives of fact and understanding, but if we can't, I can forcefully subdue my own confidence for the safety and well-being of mankind. A great side-benefit is that I don't get slapped around too often these days.
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