Of Luddites and Lunatics

People typically hold a stigma against blogs on the pretense that they consist primarily of moody, adolescent rantings, with little real value. Although my blogging arguably still characterizable as "adolescent ranting," at least it has been coated in a generous layer of "Adamness". This entry may be a bit like the stereotype though.

This is all because today sucked--severely. Firstly, I went to sleep at 2 AM last night because I had a bunch of homework, and I couldn't really think of what to write for my essay in my problem set. We were supposed to respond to one of four articles, commenting on the "persuasiveness" of the arguments, somehow without summarizing them at all. I thought that I would sleep on it and finish it in Fisher's class in the morning. Unfortunately, Fisher had a ton of homework for me to grade, and it was initially unclear how to grade it. Things weren't so bad for the next few hours although I felt bad that my essay ended up being such garbage. So I carted myself off to Reed and turned in my problem set, only to receive solutions and learn that I seriously messed up one of the problems. This wouldn't be so bad if I didn't already know that my essay was crap and if there weren't a mere four questions in the problem set to begin with. The only saving grace is that Reed rarely reveals grades to students, so I only have the deal with the scathing criticism of my professor, not a number to make me feel even worse. Being wrong is perhaps the only thing I hate more than I love being right. I can't stand it! As we were discussing the readings, I realized that economic models (especially ones dealing with international trade) are utterly worthless. Their accuracy is frequently about 50/50 depending on how you make your calculations. The only truly successful model (in my very inexpert opinion) is the Ricardian model, which is only correct because it essentially makes only one prediction--a prediction that is obvious by common sense anyway.

After feeling idiotic, I missed my trumpet lesson because the bus was late, and proceeded to go to Mock Trial. I went early so I could do some work, and suprise, suprise, I ran into Tom Hall. Tom Hall was in an even more despondant mood than usual, having decided that he had wasted the last four years of his life, etc., etc. Once in Mock Trial, I did all my direct examinations for the defense well enough, but the rest of the top team and I had to make the collective decision of whether we wanted to kick one of our members off the team. We decided to do so, and it was terribly uncomfortable. The person wasn't there, but we all felt terrible about it. Luckily we elected Kibe to be the replacement for the evicted team member, and he should be stellar.

After all this unpleasantness, I rode with Beth to take Kim home after Mock Trial, at around 8 PM. Kim's domestic situation is somewhat complicated and unfortunate, and she was recently emancipated. Until she heads off to the University of Chicago next year, she's living with an extraordinarily wealthy family at the very top of the West Hills. She claimed to live above Council Crest, but I don't think that's actually possible, since Council Crest is the highest point in the West Hills. Needless to say, the radio tower is basically in her back yard, so that gives you a clue. No matter how you slice it, she lives on Bourgeois Hill. Anyway, Beth and I were winding down Bourgeois Hill to our homes in the land of the Southwest Portland proleteriat, bemoaning our bad situation in mock trial and how our mutual nonconfrontational personalities make life terribly uncomfortable sometimes. Sometimes being like Jonathan Kadish does have its advantages. A classic response of a nonconfrontational person in an uncomfortable situation is to attempt to create humor. We were discussing this when suddenly she said, "What is worse than an apple with worm in it?" I had no idea. "The Holocaust," she replied. It's very true indeed. So keep things in perspective. It was about the only good thing I heard all day.

The latest development is even more bad news. I had bought tickets to go to "Rolling Family," an Argentinian film, at the International Film Festival for tomorrow. A friend and I were planning on going alone. Not only did all of my transportation plans cave in (it's difficult since I can't drive, you know), but it turns out that Profe and Señora are both going with some students. While I love my Spanish teachers, I sense a large potential for disastrous embarrassment.