Helena is now going to give a lecture on some of the great mysteries of life, which she spent her afternoon contemplating downtown at the Spar.
I advise you to leave now if you're on any mind-altering substances. This could get real intense.
Okay, first, let's contemplate rocks. Are you doing it? Think about rocks. No, seriously, you seriously have to think about rocks, or you can't play this game anymore and you have to go away.
We are now going to delve into the recesses of Helena's mind for the remnants of what she learned in her Geology class in Santa Fe... Still with me? Okay. Rocks are made of one of three things:
1.) Really hard mud and other stuff you might find in, say, a river (sedimentary)
2.) Volcano stuff (igneous)
3.) Other rocks that get heated up and smashed around a lot (metamorphic)
Still with me?
Now, let's choose one particular rock. We're no longer going to be working with the IDEA of Rock anymore. Now we are going to pick just one rock to contemplate. Eeny, meeny, miney, moe -- how about an igneous rock? As a matter of fact, I've got one right here on my shelf, a nice little souvenir from the beach. We are no longer talking about Rock, but about THIS rock.
The rock in question is an igneous rock. We can see this because it's dark grey with sparkly white bands running through it. I don't remember why that makes it an igneous rock, because all that Santa Fe geology stuff is lightyears in the past now, and I only got a "C" anyway, but just trust me -- it's a fucking igneous rock. So, it's dark grey with sparkly white bands, and it's roundish, and just a little bit larger than my thumbnail. It also smells kind of funny, a result of having been found on the beach. It kind of smells a little like, say, my dirty underwear. (Contemplate the ROCK, people, not my fucken underwear...)
AH! But these qualities are invalid! We do not know if this rock EXISTS! Maybe it doesn't! Maybe it is a figment of our imaginations! Perhaps all of the qualities which we attribute to the rock are FALSE! For example! Perhaps we could STOMP on the rock, or hit it with a hammer, and break it into lots of little rocks! Then it would no longer be round, nor would it be a little larger than my thumbnail! Perhaps we could hold it over a lighter for awhile, turning the whole thing black! Or we could throw it back into the Sound until it got covered with algae and was green! We could dunk it in coffee or something until it smelled different! Would it still be the same rock? Would it still exist? Our senses DECEIVE us, people!
Okay, fuck it. We can't prove that the rock exists, because everything we know to be true about the rock could be made false. Hell, YOU don't even know there is a rock! I could just be making this shit up! And it would be too damned bad if you started to believe me that there was a rock, and then it turned out I was lying to you, now wouldn't it? So! For shits and giggles, now let's imagine that there is a rock, but we cannot prove that the rock exists. So, there might be a rock, but we're going to assume that it isn't there, because stuff you cannot prove is false, when you've got the time to sit around on your ass assuming that shit isn't really there, even though it is.
Are you guys still with me? Long story short: Helena has, in her hand, an igneous rock. But we're pretending she doesn't, because we're learning the great mysteries of life which Helena spent her afternoon contemplating at the Spar. Helena has a rock. We're pretending she doesn't. It's igneous, by the way. Don't forget that.
Okay. Now, returning to our statement that rocks are made of one of three things, and we determined that igneous rocks are made of crap that comes from volcanoes. Since we are discussing an igneous rock, even though it doesn't exist, we're going to assume that this rock, which does not exist, came from a volcano.
Are you excited yet?
Oh, fucken come ON! Give me a damned break! Volcanoes are exciting! I picked igneous rocks just especially for YOU, because volcanoes are exciting, and I wanted you to get excited about learning! I learned LOTS of stuff today, and I'm TRYING to make it fun for you... If you're bored, just please sit quietly with your hands folded and think about big exciting volcanoes while the rest of us think about the rock that doesn't exist. Here, I'll even give you a picture of a big exciting volcano to keep you entertained:

There you go, for all of you who are BORED. Please just look at the pretty volcano and be quiet. See it? It's just about in the middle, just above the trees? Kind of looks like a cloud? It's a volcano. Yeah. Anyway, for the rest of you who are still with me...
Okay, so the rock. It doesn't exist, but if it did, and if it was, because of properties we could assign it based on our perceptions of it, that is to say, the qualities of the rock which we would understand based on close observations made by our senses, it would be igneous. Did you get that?
Okay, let's try again, a little slower. We're talking about a rock that isn't there. If it was there, and we looked at it, it would be dark grey with white stripes. Thus, it would be an igneous rock. And! Because igneous rocks come from volcanoes, our rock (which doesn't exist! remember that!)... yes! yes! Our rock came from a volcano!
Let's review: where did our rock come from?
[Says Shari, studiously from the front row: "It didn't come from anywhere. It doesn't exist, because we can't prove its existence, because of the shortcomings of our senses."]
Thank you, Shari, that's right. But if the rock DID exist, where would it have come from?
[Says Maggie, who has been secretly listening to Tom Waits through tiny little earphones, and who has been looking dreamily at the volcano for awhile: "A volcano?"]
Yes! That's right! Our rock came from a volcano!
Okay. Now, since we exist -- and we do, just trust me on this, because I don't have another volcano picture with which to keep you awake while I explain why -- and we are not a rock (and we're not, except for that weird Chris kid over in the corner there, trying to get away with reading "Moby Dick" under his desk, the dweeb), where did WE come from?
[Maggie, dreamily: "A volcano?"]
No! Not a volcano! We came from God! Because stuff that exists (okay, now we're pretending the rock exists again...) comes FROM other stuff! Like, this rock! This rock, which doesn't exist, came from a volcano! Or, it would have, if it existed! Thus, since we exist, we came from somewhere, and that's GOD!
*grin*
Is ANYONE with me? Chris? Put Moby Dick down please? Brenan? Head up, and keep your hands to yourself. Julie? Please quit passing notes; this isn't tenth grade biology. Norman? Okay, okay, just checking. Okay, guys, your homework for tomorrow is to reflect on this entry, and write a well-thought-out response. It doesn't have to be long. Just think about it, and give me a paragraph or two.
Class dismissed.
Just to clarify, the nice lady at the Spar gave me regular instead of decaf.
Anyway, in all seriousness, the above entry was inspired by a quasi-fight I almost started with my professor last quarter. She said Descartes is sexist. I asked her how he was sexist. She gave me an explanation that sounded like it was pulled from "Good Housekeeping" or something, rather than the works of Descartes. I asked her to cite me some sources to back up how she figures Descartes is sexist. She gave me a couple recommendations, NEITHER of which were written by Descartes.
So, I decided to go to the Man himself, skipping all the "Good Housekeeping" nonsense and seeing for myself whether Descartes is sexist. It's taken me all damned day to read the first half of the "Meditations," and I'm still not seeing how he's sexist. I'm also not seeing how he figures he can prove the existence of God, ("because something can't come from nothing," basically, is how about half of it goes) when he's not even sure that rocks, and wax, and heat exist, and when he's using those things as examples of "something" coming from other "somethings," and not from "nothings."
I'm really bound and determined to fight my way through the rest of this book though, because I'm really quite sure I'm onto something. I'm pretty sure my professor from last quarter just made some shit up about Descartes. Or maybe she read some nice academic-style books about him being sexist, and took it on faith; the books may or may not have been written by people who got their degrees out of Cracker Jack boxes. Or maybe she's completely right and I'm completely wrong. I don't think I get to the "sexist" part until chapter six, and that's three chapters away. Argh. But now I want to know. Because I really feel like she was WRONG, and I want to KNOW for myself. And if she's right, well then, I'll know anyway, now won't I?
And after all, I know LOTS of stuff after this afternoon's reading-session at the Spar.
It is 2.13 in the morning. I'm so fucken hyper it's not even funny, and I may never sleep again. Dammit, I wonder how the hell many cups of regular I had when I thought I was having decaf? Maybe in addition to not trusting my senses, I should stop trusting that nice waitress at the Spar.
I need to go take a walk or something and calm down.
Love,
~Helena*
Cogito ergo sum...