The gun leads to an ad hoc re-evaluation of life. A man can shoot someone for robbing his home, his car, his self. Regardless of the value of the items this man has in his car, his house, or on his person, with a gun he decides that these things are worth more than the robber. He discharges his firearm into the robber rendering him a lifeless thing.
But what is his now lifeless body worth? Was he a smoker? Maybe his lungs would make good donor material. What was his blood type? He's a veritable trove of organs and tissue up for grabs. Better put him on ice gunslinger, you've made yourself a killing on the body part black market.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
requiem for an avatar
I don't think I knew you Zorn, but goodbye.
I had a similar set of reasons behind bowing out of raiding/playing WoW. To be honest, the time I spent playing is now spent aimlessly "dicking around." Sure, I've used plenty of the 7-11 raid time during the week to do work, write ideas down, paint house, party like a rock star, snort blow, blow money, make money, smoke pot, cook food, drink beer, hang with buds, do shots, stare at chicks, dodge bullets, read comments under the yahoo news blurbs, debate Zionism, entertain conspiracies, discuss algorithms of oppression, apply for jobs, retool resume, stare at CV, ponder the future, consider suicide, fantasize about chicks I was too chickenshit to ask on dates, deliver one-liners, take naps, grade papers, enter class, discuss class, write jokes, do HITs on Mturk, lose my ability to do HITs on Mturk, blog, date girls, date myself, play flash games, dominate the world in Civ1, lean against the wall, weep, sweep, mop, do push-ups, ride my bike, walk to the liquor store, wave at my neighbors, act discrete, force people logging in here to be my audience, forcing others to be my audience, screaming, singing, fantasizing, dancing alone, jerking off, etc.
The game has it's own justifiable structure: time killed in game amounts to some tangible, albeit digital, gain. You gain faction, you gain gold, you earn gear, you learn fights, you overcome challenges. Man, if only my life had a progress bar at the bottom of my retinal HUD. Alas, it does not. A stack of read books surely doesn't have that same sense of 'leveling' that the game environment creates.
So I sit on the outside looking in. I sit on the sidelines cheering you on. I visit newegg and piece together comps. like I go to wowhead and experiment with talent builds.
I justify playing like I justify not playing--neither really stacks up. Hell, I'm not sure a wife, kids, family, or security clearance and 'burn after reading' instructions would justify not entertaining the idea of playing this game forever. Maybe losing my arms playing with rocket fuel would...
The game can be fun, the kids are all right, socializing under the cloak of an avatar is intoxicating, earning reputation is cool; yes, it gets old. I called the sustenance of this game like eating marshmallow Peeps--oh so sweet but leaving you empty. I take that back. I think the game invites you to the challenge and once you've met the majority of the challenges the mystique fades--for some anyway. You bide your time, a new patch comes out, and you start all over with new or retooled talents, new dungeons, new factions, new gear, new challenges. To see the endless repetition in this game as a reason to quit invites a similar critique of one's life, career, and obligations to family, friends, flock, or country. None of them end, and a lot of the rituals we engage in to fulfill our duties to friends, family, coworkers, bosses, country are repetitive, endlessly repetitive.
So we drink, drug, shoot silhouettes, shoot up, drop out, fight, fuck, scream, sing, play guitar, drums, or rub one out.
I had a mystical experience once on pot. I witnessed the death of family and pets and mourned them all. I cried, rocked back and forth, and sang along to the Pavement CD that I had put on before turning the lights out. For a long time thereafter my life had significance, my actions had purpose. Instead of dicking around and hating on myself I told myself I could do anything. I turned my D in Trig. to an A in analytic geometry. I aced every exam. I went to college and aced all of that crap. I learned a lot, found permanence in molecular bonds, and mistook it for more mysticism.
Then I had another mystical experience, once again fueled by pot. I got high and saw an ST Voyager episode, Deadlock, and once again decided that school was the wrong idea. I wanted to be a writer. I had this huge sci-fidea. When I approached my advisor to discuss next year's courses I told her that I was done going to school here. Of course this lead to a huge intervention on the part of my family. I conceded and finished my degree, and I'm still paying off my loans. Some of the people who motivated me are dead now. I never honored my grandfather's wish to dance with the bride at my wedding. I never married.
That was my last mystical experience. I was 19. Now I'm 33 and the reality principle's peristaltic undulations move me along.
I had a similar set of reasons behind bowing out of raiding/playing WoW. To be honest, the time I spent playing is now spent aimlessly "dicking around." Sure, I've used plenty of the 7-11 raid time during the week to do work, write ideas down, paint house, party like a rock star, snort blow, blow money, make money, smoke pot, cook food, drink beer, hang with buds, do shots, stare at chicks, dodge bullets, read comments under the yahoo news blurbs, debate Zionism, entertain conspiracies, discuss algorithms of oppression, apply for jobs, retool resume, stare at CV, ponder the future, consider suicide, fantasize about chicks I was too chickenshit to ask on dates, deliver one-liners, take naps, grade papers, enter class, discuss class, write jokes, do HITs on Mturk, lose my ability to do HITs on Mturk, blog, date girls, date myself, play flash games, dominate the world in Civ1, lean against the wall, weep, sweep, mop, do push-ups, ride my bike, walk to the liquor store, wave at my neighbors, act discrete, force people logging in here to be my audience, forcing others to be my audience, screaming, singing, fantasizing, dancing alone, jerking off, etc.
The game has it's own justifiable structure: time killed in game amounts to some tangible, albeit digital, gain. You gain faction, you gain gold, you earn gear, you learn fights, you overcome challenges. Man, if only my life had a progress bar at the bottom of my retinal HUD. Alas, it does not. A stack of read books surely doesn't have that same sense of 'leveling' that the game environment creates.
So I sit on the outside looking in. I sit on the sidelines cheering you on. I visit newegg and piece together comps. like I go to wowhead and experiment with talent builds.
I justify playing like I justify not playing--neither really stacks up. Hell, I'm not sure a wife, kids, family, or security clearance and 'burn after reading' instructions would justify not entertaining the idea of playing this game forever. Maybe losing my arms playing with rocket fuel would...
The game can be fun, the kids are all right, socializing under the cloak of an avatar is intoxicating, earning reputation is cool; yes, it gets old. I called the sustenance of this game like eating marshmallow Peeps--oh so sweet but leaving you empty. I take that back. I think the game invites you to the challenge and once you've met the majority of the challenges the mystique fades--for some anyway. You bide your time, a new patch comes out, and you start all over with new or retooled talents, new dungeons, new factions, new gear, new challenges. To see the endless repetition in this game as a reason to quit invites a similar critique of one's life, career, and obligations to family, friends, flock, or country. None of them end, and a lot of the rituals we engage in to fulfill our duties to friends, family, coworkers, bosses, country are repetitive, endlessly repetitive.
So we drink, drug, shoot silhouettes, shoot up, drop out, fight, fuck, scream, sing, play guitar, drums, or rub one out.
I had a mystical experience once on pot. I witnessed the death of family and pets and mourned them all. I cried, rocked back and forth, and sang along to the Pavement CD that I had put on before turning the lights out. For a long time thereafter my life had significance, my actions had purpose. Instead of dicking around and hating on myself I told myself I could do anything. I turned my D in Trig. to an A in analytic geometry. I aced every exam. I went to college and aced all of that crap. I learned a lot, found permanence in molecular bonds, and mistook it for more mysticism.
Then I had another mystical experience, once again fueled by pot. I got high and saw an ST Voyager episode, Deadlock, and once again decided that school was the wrong idea. I wanted to be a writer. I had this huge sci-fidea. When I approached my advisor to discuss next year's courses I told her that I was done going to school here. Of course this lead to a huge intervention on the part of my family. I conceded and finished my degree, and I'm still paying off my loans. Some of the people who motivated me are dead now. I never honored my grandfather's wish to dance with the bride at my wedding. I never married.
That was my last mystical experience. I was 19. Now I'm 33 and the reality principle's peristaltic undulations move me along.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Contacting the Ombuds Office
I've decided that elements of my current employer fall within the range of labor violations, so I contacted the University Ombudsman's office.
I teach a class with 12 students. I grade their assignments within a reasonable time frame.
The next class I receive has 18 students. Two drop the class. I grade the 16 remaining students' assignments under greater time constraints.
This simple comparison is an example of the impact that manipulating the classroom size has upon my workload. A class with 4 more students than 12 is 33% larger, and the class of 16 provides no more financial compensation than the class of 12. I'm paid by the contract. Class size isn't indicated in the contract, just its course number, title, and the dates that it will be in session. Class size isn't a condition of the contract; my behavior is. I sign the contract digitally as recognition that I will adhere to the standards of conduct, which inhere to the contract. Sticky situation.
I have choices about how I conduct the class of 16 to maintain the same workload. To do so will be at the student's expense. The University of Phoenix charges undergraduate students pursuing a Bachelor's degree in Business and Management through the Online campus $530 per credit hour plus an $85 fee for access to books and the library. Since the course I teach fulfills three credit hours, a student pays $1675 to the University to earn three credits toward the fulfillment of a degree; that is, if they pass the course. A class of 16 nets the University $26,800. Of that, the University pays me less than one thousand dollars. The university overwhelmingly gains in this transaction.
But I add value. I'm the non-machine counterpart who operates as the cog. I'm the spinning wheel, the algorithm, the force-relation mechanism, the contraption. I'm the obstacle course, which the student must pass for educational credit. The University grades the cost of individual credit hours, using a scale that increases with each successive degree. A Bachelor's degree costs more per credit hour than the Associate's degree. The value inherent in the University's model is the level of the degree. The value is in the outcome. The value I add to this outcome stems from the unpredictability that I add to it. I have a choice that isn't merely governed by a feedback mechanism or how I choose to use the University's feedback feature. I have a choice irrespective of the structure of the class on how to discuss the content of the class. Unpredictability in a structured environment is its operational character. The value of unpredictability lies in the depth that it brings to the flattened, serially reproduced content of the course.
I get paid regardless of what I add to the course, within reason. My contract requires me to conduct myself professionally in the classroom. How the University monitors my adherence to this contract is reflected in the minimums of post count and weekly activity. The algorithms that track this also search my posts for text strings flagged as 'questionable content' in order to track my conduct.
Alas, what's missing is that the credits, credit hours, and the final degree are what contains the value. The diploma is the official document, which opens doors, grants raises, and expands the value of the employee. Businesses set this value through their practices of awarding those with a higher degree accordingly. Students seek this value by pursuing a degree. The University sets up shop, gets accreditation, and hires me to teach a course. My course is just a stop on the journey to the student-worker's degree and diploma. But I'm the real content. The diploma is a symbol, a synecdoche of what I provided for the student. I graded the student's papers. I graded the student's tests. I provided the student with reinforcement, guidance, and an expert voice in the discussion of organizational communication. I'm the value in the education. I don't grant the student the raise though; the diploma does.
I teach a class with 12 students. I grade their assignments within a reasonable time frame.
The next class I receive has 18 students. Two drop the class. I grade the 16 remaining students' assignments under greater time constraints.
This simple comparison is an example of the impact that manipulating the classroom size has upon my workload. A class with 4 more students than 12 is 33% larger, and the class of 16 provides no more financial compensation than the class of 12. I'm paid by the contract. Class size isn't indicated in the contract, just its course number, title, and the dates that it will be in session. Class size isn't a condition of the contract; my behavior is. I sign the contract digitally as recognition that I will adhere to the standards of conduct, which inhere to the contract. Sticky situation.
I have choices about how I conduct the class of 16 to maintain the same workload. To do so will be at the student's expense. The University of Phoenix charges undergraduate students pursuing a Bachelor's degree in Business and Management through the Online campus $530 per credit hour plus an $85 fee for access to books and the library. Since the course I teach fulfills three credit hours, a student pays $1675 to the University to earn three credits toward the fulfillment of a degree; that is, if they pass the course. A class of 16 nets the University $26,800. Of that, the University pays me less than one thousand dollars. The university overwhelmingly gains in this transaction.
But I add value. I'm the non-machine counterpart who operates as the cog. I'm the spinning wheel, the algorithm, the force-relation mechanism, the contraption. I'm the obstacle course, which the student must pass for educational credit. The University grades the cost of individual credit hours, using a scale that increases with each successive degree. A Bachelor's degree costs more per credit hour than the Associate's degree. The value inherent in the University's model is the level of the degree. The value is in the outcome. The value I add to this outcome stems from the unpredictability that I add to it. I have a choice that isn't merely governed by a feedback mechanism or how I choose to use the University's feedback feature. I have a choice irrespective of the structure of the class on how to discuss the content of the class. Unpredictability in a structured environment is its operational character. The value of unpredictability lies in the depth that it brings to the flattened, serially reproduced content of the course.
I get paid regardless of what I add to the course, within reason. My contract requires me to conduct myself professionally in the classroom. How the University monitors my adherence to this contract is reflected in the minimums of post count and weekly activity. The algorithms that track this also search my posts for text strings flagged as 'questionable content' in order to track my conduct.
Alas, what's missing is that the credits, credit hours, and the final degree are what contains the value. The diploma is the official document, which opens doors, grants raises, and expands the value of the employee. Businesses set this value through their practices of awarding those with a higher degree accordingly. Students seek this value by pursuing a degree. The University sets up shop, gets accreditation, and hires me to teach a course. My course is just a stop on the journey to the student-worker's degree and diploma. But I'm the real content. The diploma is a symbol, a synecdoche of what I provided for the student. I graded the student's papers. I graded the student's tests. I provided the student with reinforcement, guidance, and an expert voice in the discussion of organizational communication. I'm the value in the education. I don't grant the student the raise though; the diploma does.
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