The Zone

The SciFi channel is now a little over twelve hours into a forty-eight hour Twilight Zone marathon.

From traveling to the future in a covered wagon to playing a game of pool with a dead man named Fats, the adventures with which Rod Serling accosts our brains possess a psychological and philosophical depth which seems at once obvious and just beyond the grasp of our conscious minds.

The epileptic cinematography and Shatneresque acting (not to mention Rod Serling's sexy narrating voice) which are so brilliantly displayed on the Twilight Zone distract us from the finer layers of meaning.

This forty-eight hour marathon is therefore the perfect opportunity to immerse ourselves in the Twilight Zone until our minds are so addled by freaky stories and sleep deprivation that we understand EVERYTHING.

So hurry up and start watching, because anyone who watches less than twenty-four consecutive hours of the Twilight Zone is a yellow turdurken.

The Great American Novel: Chapter 2

You leap up towards the quickly vanishing spot of light which is the world and all OK things and reach for the top stair with your pink, grasping fingers. You clamber onto it as it sinks and from there lunge at the unmoving comb-like thingy that scrapes the grooves in the steps at the top of the escalator. Unfortunately it does not provide much to hold onto, so when Steve-o grabs your ankle and starts dragging you down, you immediately lose your grip and tumble down on top of him. Steve-o pulls his arm back to punch you, but you move your head, and his knuckles collide crunchingly with the stainless steel step your head had been on. You kick Steve-o in the face, and he topples over backwards into the dark, leaving a trail of spattered blood along the glass sides of the escalator. You turn and realize that the spot of light is almost invisible now. You run up the steps, taking two at a time, sweating all over the new Abercrombie t-shirt you just stole by putting it on in the dressing room under your Che Guavera t-shirt. As you near the top, a figure appears, holding out a hand towards you. Your eyes have not yet adjusted to the light, so it takes you several moments to realize that the figure is a zombie pirate.

If you would like to hope the zombie pirate is friendly and accept his help up, comment '1'.
If you would like to shoot the zombie pirate in the head with your laser gun, comment '2'.
If you would like to run back down the escalator like a yellow turdurken, comment '3'.

The Great American Novel

Your Sketchered feet patter nervously down the over-waxed hardwood floor connecting Nordstrom Rack to Pottery Barn to Orange Julius to Macy's, weaving your way through loud clumps of post-Christmas shoppers.
"We shouldn't come to the mall on weekends," you mutter. "It's like we're sardines, only sardines that are still alive when they get stuffed in their tin, so they can smell each other." Frank Sinatra's disembodied voice comes at you out of a speaker, melodically advising you that you'd better watch out, not cry, and not pout, which might sound less threatening coming from someone who's still alive.
"What else would we do?" asks Steve-o.
"We could write the great American novel or something," you suggest.
"What would it be about?"
"About life, about...people hanging out at the mall."
"We'll do that next weekend," says Steve-o. "Let's go get a cookie." You and Steve-o turn a corner and step onto an escalator, which descends forever into a thick black slough of despondent, soul-eating Capitalism.

If you would like to try running up the escalator, comment "1". If you would like to continue down, comment "2".

Writing in Food

Welcome back to Writing in Food. We're very excited about this next episode. It's called 'Apple my Apple,' and we think you'll enjoy it's commentary on the relationship between nature and technology. Be sure to join us next time when we explore the perversely subverted spiritual lives of suburban housewives as expressed through their experimental postmodern photojournalism.

Writing in Food

Hello, and welcome to Writing in Food. Today's installment is called 'Play for me, banana.' Enjoy.

Dispatches from the Buckland Common Room: 1.1

At Mount Holyoke, finals come in manila envelopes. Once you've fought your way to the counter where you pick up your final, you take it to a designated testing room, remove it from its envelope, and spend three hours writing your answers in a bluebook. Then you put your test and your bluebook back into the envelope, seal the envelope, and sign it.

I was informed before taking my Art History* final yesterday that not licking and sealing your envelope while you're still inside the designated testing room is a violation of the honor code. I might just be confused due to the fact that my brain is sleep-deprived, over caffeinated, and fed only on what I've been able to steal from the Buckland kitchen, but this seems like a blatant abuse of the power given to honor code legislators.

The honor code exists, because Mount Holyoke has self-scheduled exams, and it would be easy for us to cheat if we weren't guilt tripped out of doing so. It would be reasonable to say "If you don't lick and seal your envelope while still inside the designated testing room, we will assume that you have been cheating, which is a violation of the honor code," but I don't see how failing to lick and seal your envelope in the testing room is, in itself, detrimental to the community. Turning irrelevant actions into violations of the honor code undermines whatever legitimacy the honor code may have.

*Taking an Art History exam, as it turns out, is much like being a psychic. You do well by making statements that sound specific but are general enough to apply to anything. For example, "Vermeer lived during an historical period in which artists were reexamining the role that art and the interpretation of art should play in people's lives," or "Caravaggio painted his figures with expressive hand gestures in order to draw the viewer's focus to the emotion of the story," or "Breugel was painting at a time when technological advancement brought economic pressures into conflict with traditional values."

Ethical Dilemma

I've got a hypothetical scenario I'd like the readers of this blog to contemplate. To give credit where credit is due I'll admit that I got the idea from an episode of Boston Legal. Who knew William Shatner could actually act. The problem is as follows:
Suppose you are the director of a medical research laboratory that is working on potentially life saving cancer treatments. Feeling short staffed you decide to add an entry level position for qualified applicants. During an interview with a perspective employee it comes out that he is a devout scientologist who is active in his faith. He believes that human suffering is caused by the presence of alien souls within the human body, and that this is the result of a tyranny perpetrated by the ancient leader of the galactic federation lord xenu.
Clearly his personal beliefs stand well outside the boundaries of scientific logic, and are contingent upon unreasonable assumptions and conclusions. Furthermore if he were to be employed a similar fault in his logic could result in delaying the release of a potentially life saving drug, or some other problem. As an alternative there is a slightly less qualified candidate who is an atheist. Is it permissible to deny him employment even though it could be considered religious discrimination, on the grounds that his beliefs indicate that he is either unable or unwilling (at least in one aspect of his life) to conform to the rules of inquiry required by his job?

Note: I'm not asking about the legality of this action.

Enemies of Richard Dawkins

Richard Dawkins seems like a man who has never had to work hard to survive. He gets paid to speculate and perpetuate basic facts while brewing his opinions. He has been well sheltered by education based reality for so long, he is bitterly confused and frightened by outside concepts and belief systems labeling them as "enemies."

I would not suggest he is wrong, but he has believed he is always right for so long - EVERYONE is wrong to him. Therefore to curtail the surfacing discomfort of not knowing how certain things work, he is set on missions to prove they don't work. The problem is regardless of whether or not they work for him, people need them.

There are in fact, of course, ailments modern medicines have been unsuccessful at curing. Not to mention the many thousands of conditions which change lives post surgery or post therapy. These conditions can only be comforted - not cured and therefore call for alternative programs or "superstitions" To ease the pain of everyday life. So how painful does it get? Heres the latest Opiate.

The medical industry can't help everyone. That would be a monopoly.

Dispatches From the Buckland Basement: 1.9

The snow that was covering the grass has turned to ice, and the future Yale Law students have moved into the library with their sleeping bags and pillows to study without the inconvenience of walking back to their beds at night. They won't eat or shower for a week and a half, so it's important to get your books now, before they start to smell. It's finals season again, that time of year when the Mount Holyoke library becomes a refugee camp with an unusually high ratio of Chanel earrings to refugees.

Dean Bowie was missed by the Philosophy department at their meeting this afternoon, and shortly after the meeting ended, his absence was explained. It seems the first finals-related death of the season occurred this morning in one of the Rockefeller dorms. While students have not been informed of the events which caused the young woman's death, they are a well-educated collection of people and are likely aware that twenty-two year olds do not often die of heart attacks.

It gives one pause to witness the self-inflicted degradation of one's fellow students. It may even cause one to wonder if all of this is necessary. But those thoughts are quickly chased from one's mind by the immediate concerns of research not yet conducted, papers not yet edited, and dates not yet memorized, not to mention the irrefutable knowledge that not getting an A in Art History means you have no future.

Perhaps this culture of panic is purposefully cultivated, or maybe it arises organically from our desire for purpose and direction. Either way, it's a culture one must embrace, at least during finals season, in order to succeed in the ivy-covered world of Mount Holyoke.

Cartoon Caption Contest

Submission Guidelines:
Captions may be any length.
You may submit as many captions as you like.
They must be submitted as comments.
No anonymous captions will be accepted.
Bubbles count as captions, but you must specify who is talking/thinking.
Good luck!

Four Kinds of People

Mount Holyokers can be organized into four groups according to two determining factors: Whether they are rich and whether they were spawned by intellectuals. We can represent this system of grouping as a doubly bisected square (see figure 1.1).

The top left quadrant (quadrant 1) represents those individuals who are rich and were spawned by intellectuals. The top right quadrant (quadrant 2) represents those who are not rich and were spawned by intellectuals. The bottom left quadrant (quadrant 3) represents those who are rich and were not spawned by intellectuals, and finally, the bottom right quadrant (quadrant 4) represents those who are not rich and were not spawned by intellectuals.

Figure 1.1

................Rich............................Not Rich...........

Spawned by Intellectuals






Not Spawned by Intellectuals







We can go about determining which quadrant particular people fall into by watching a documentary with them and noting how they respond.

Members of Quadrant 1 will say something like "They should have found a better camera guy. The part where those people were trying to get away from the police was really shaky. Why were they running away again?"

Members of Quadrant 2 will respond with something more like "It sucked when the police were mowing down protesters in the streets and then indiscriminately shooting people. You can't have a functioning democracy without free speech."

Members of Quadrant 3 will say "I've never seen a movie like that. How did they get it to look like it was actually happening?"

Members of Quadrant 4 will say "It was good."

Nina is the Pink Block

And here are three alternative captions for that cartoon:

"Nina sometimes wondered if God was playing games with her."

"Nina briefly experienced a falling sensation."

"Nina was beginning to wonder whether her life had any real meaning or was just an inevitable descent into predetermined conformity."

And another bit of news along those lines is that the "blog" will soon hold its first biweekly "blog" cartoon caption contest. Put on your luckiest captioning cap, because everyone must enter. I will not choose a winner until I have at least three entries.

The top three reasons intelligent people prefer the "blog" cartoon caption contest to the "New Yorker" cartoon caption contest:

Your caption does not have to be something one of the characters is saying.

Selection of the winning caption does not involve democracy in any way, shape, or form (we're classier than American Idol).

Unlike the "New Yorker", the "blog" has never endorsed the heinous and subversive act of reading of an abridged edition of Moby Dick.

I mean it about entering captions, you guys. We at the "blog" may regard democracy as a failed experiment based on the naive assumption that people are competent enough to tell what's in their best interest, but this whole competition thing won't float without your participation. For that reason I will suck up condescendingly as such:
We at "The Essential Works of Julia Uhr" feel that it has been too long since we thanked our valued readers for their ongoing support, without which we would have no reason to do what we do. In a world full of blogs on every subject, by every crackpot on unemployment, you have proven the quality of your character and taste by choosing to read this blog. It is your dedication that keeps us from giving up and hurling ourselves into the abyss of studying for finals. We thank you from the bottoms of our hearts and hope you will continue to enjoy "The Essential Works of Julia Uhr" for years to come.

How the Walrus Got His Tusks

How the Walrus Got His Tusks

Feminism: Part 1

Another week has passed. Another crepe day has meandered its chocolatey way into history. The last of the clingy brown leaves have been pummeled out of the trees by chunks of ice which are still raining down out of a white South Hadley sky.

On mitten-inducing days like this, Mount Holyokers are rarely seen outside, and only the most attentive of peoplewatchers will spot one in an 8:35 class. Nevertheless, a motivated few existentialists were able to drag their cold, sleepy brains into Skinner 116 this morning to discuss the beginning of Simone de Beauvoir's "The Second Sex."

Professor Wartenberg began the discussion by asking the feminists in the class to raise their hands. About half the ladies in the class nervously put their manicured mitts in the air, looked around quickly, then averted their eyes so as not to be called upon to respond to the inevitable "why?"

So Professor Wartenberg instead turned to the lowered-handed half, who talked about the negative implications of the word 'feminism.' Some people didn't want to identify themselves as feminists, because they didn't want people to think they hated men. Some had concluded that feminism was simply not relevant anymore, and several more just didn't like the idea of putting themselves in a box by identifying with a group; Hell is other people, after all, and no one wants to be stuck in a feminist Hell box.

It's all good and well to discuss problems with the implications of 'feminism,' but what about the alternative? What are the implications of 'not-feminism'? This is one of the questions we will address in "Feminism: Part 2," so stay tuned.

Post 100

The blog entitled "The Essential Works of Julia Uhr," formerly known as "The Essential Works of Julia Uhr and Micheal King," has, since its inception in August 2007, amazed and inspired readers with a unique combination of academic rigor and witty realism.

From the second post, "Save the Straws," which examined the most serious but least talked about implications of America's depleting oil supply, to the eighty-ninth post, "The Batchelor," which discussed interpersonal psychology in reality TV, Ms. Uhr has fearlessly tackled the toughest problems of our age.

But historians will surely agree that no post better embodies the spirit of "The Essential Works of Julia Uhr" better than the hundredth post, "Post 100." With a degree of narcissism which would be repellent if presented by a less personable writer, "post 100" glowingly reviews the blog and "Post 100" itself.

This self-referential piece of literary ingenuity is the perfect example of Ms. Uhr's writerly cunning. There is no doubt in this reporter's mind that Julia Uhr is one of her generation's greatest assets. I highly recommend her work to anyone interested in hearing the blogosphere's new voice of truth, intelligence, and style.