I like red wine, airports, cats & reading an actual newspaper.
I am the secret love child of Jean-Paul Sartre and Ally McBeal, with all of the attendant peculiarities.
OkCupid used to make you sum yourself up in three adjectives, for the benefit of those users too impatient to read an entire profile. For the record, I am intuitive, discerning, and analytical.
I am the driving force behind two consumer-facing technology startups, neither of which is making any money yet. Therefore, I have a 9 to 5 job too.
I finished grad school at the University of South Florida in 2010. I spent ten months out of the year working in East Africa hunting parasites in 2011 and 2012.
When I was in school I worked as a graphic designer at an ad agency and a clerk at an auction.
Before all that I served in AmeriCorps for two years.
being an INTP
This is not low or self-deprecating standard. It is good to round out your rough edges. I have invested in that process.
- the light that hits the room
- control and experimental groups
- how to explain my job to people
- international development, like everybody else in this town
- how the subjective experience of cognition would differ for us and other entities that I can metaphorically endow with some form of intelligence, like insect swarms and chess pieces. The bishop thinks the board looks like a diamond to you too, by the way.
Also, why is the artistic merit of a song inversely proportional to the euphoria produced by dancing to it at a club?
Let's use this section for Poem of the Week instead.
A Response To Twelve Tones
Hart The Younger, in weighty meditation,
On music, empathy and copyright law,
Argues that we, pilgrims of verse, wordies,
Ever hunched over laptops and moleskins,
Are but sly navigators of divergent branches,
Of the tree of all possible poems.
You know the one, the tree consisting
Mostly of morose retrospectives on love.
The tree of one too many alliterations,
The tree from which this tiny leaf draws water.
Steeply we descend as we prune discussion
Deemed superfluous, bitter, vague or trite.
Ok, well, bitter in measured doses anyway;
The retrospective section won’t populate itself.
There is a species of ant in the Amazon,
Stock of those nature shows on cable,
And it might have actually been a catipillar,
That lives its entire life in a single tree.
Whether some instinctual barrier keeps it
From stepping earthward or it never thinks to wander,
The programs do not specify.
Pride bids me to protest Hart’s point,
About the process being merely algorithmic,
But at least it accounts for why it feels
Like dipping into the ether, ladling the words
Instead of rending them from my red flesh,
How I imagine this may appear
To the uninitiated or anyone on deadline.
Also the catipillar feels unlimited.
Nothing is diminished. The art remains.
Dead reckoning, motion as response
To incomprehensible vastness is
The tradecraft of logicians, explorers,
Mammals and beams of light.
"Without your wounds where would your power be? It is your melancholy that makes your low voice tremble into the hearts of men and women. The very angels themselves cannot persuade the wretched and blundering children on earth as can one human being broken on the wheels of living. In Love’s service, only wounded soldiers can serve.” - Thornton Wilder
I am not into being silly. I sometimes end up being silly anyway.
I refer to cities by their airport code. More people should do this.