I just had to see what all of the hype was about. The way some people spoke about it, they made it sound like on the 8th day (if there was one) God himself created a little website where us human beings can walk the very fine line between interested and obsessive. Oh Twitter, you misleading sick, sick, Twitter.

Twitter weirds me out for multiple reasons, all of which are valid. The first is that becoming someone’s friend on Twitter is called “following” them. Hmm, I have four “Followers”. Does this mean I should move them to a compound in the Nevada desert, where we can Twitter about our preparations for the apocalypse? We’ll call ourselves the Kailacins. The Kailakites? We’ll take a vote later.

The second reason is that those text messages, after a while, get extremely ANNOYING! Oh, you’re taking your cat to the vet! What, you’re out of milk and are forced to eat your Cap’n Crunch dry!? How in the hell could I have gone the entire day without being aware of your struggle and strife? After the second day of my phone buzzing about every two minutes, I got a bit sick of constantly being too in the know. I guess some things are just better left to the imagination. Hmmm, does Maddison’s cat have fleas? Does Ryan have milk in his fridge? I wonder…

All in all, my experience with Twitter, just made me feel, well, creepy. Everytime I received one of the texts notifying me that “so-and-so is going shopping,” I felt like I was invading this person’s privacy. I might have well have been parked across the street in a white van, peering through a pair of binoculars into their window. Twitter, to put it quite simply, is virtual stalking. There’s just no other way to explain it. Not to mention, the idea of it seems a bit self-important.  ”My life is so awesome; people need to know what I’m doing all the time!”

Personally, I think Twitter can be fun so long as its not taken seriously. Take for instance Chris Cain of the band We Are Scientists. He posts his IDEAS4AMERICA, which include: remote control asphalt and jelly mattresses. He also enjoys posting complete and total nonsense, once boasting that he won $50 dollars in a bar bet by naming every single breed of canine. If you already have a Twitter account, you should definitely begin “following”(Eh, creeeepy) Cain, regardless if you’re a fan of WAS or not. Although I don’t understand why you wouldn’t be. We Are Scientists are better than a jelly mattress (Yeah, that good.). In the meantime, I’ll refrain from divulging the candid details of my life. You people just aren’t worthy.

What is Humanism? Let’s go back to the Renaissance. What were those guys about? What were they doing that was so new and so forward-thinking? It was a bunch of people who started considering the worth of a person, and that was the birth of Humanism. Easy, right? Hardly! Ideas about human worth and capacity continue to grow and change.

The facets of Humanism are endless, and the subject matter for the Humanist Essay Contest is too. What is happening in the world today and how does it counter social stigmas, even free-thinking? How does it relate to being a human on Earth? What injustices are happening and what can we do about them?

The last winner of the essay contest wrote a captivating essay about the farmers of cocoa beans - the main component in making chocolate. It included information about the trials the farmers face, and the injustices to humans that occur to make a profit on chocolate.

This contest is based on many factors, including originality of thought and the writers sense of emotional engagement. Clarity and quality of presentation are also considered. Research is crucial, and so is the potential you show with your writing and your thoughts.

This is about making a difference. It’s about educating people of things they might otherwise be unaware. Here is your chance to speak out.

Submissions will be accepted until April 3, 2009.

All essays must be between 1,500-2,500 words, written in English, and single-spaced. They ask that they provide your name, age, date of birth, mailing address (no post office boxes), telephone number, and email address on the title page of your essay. Only one essay may be submitted by each entrant.

For more information on the contest and how to apply, click here.

Gotta love Barack Obama. He tweeted to us.

I’ve been home schooled my whole life. I’ve been home schooled so long, I type “home school” as one word, and I get the angry red lines flashing under it in Microsoft Word. People all over the world have strong opinions on home schooling, from religious groups that only home school to countries like Germany, where it is outlawed (I had the pleasure of living in Germany during 6^th grade. The neighbors looked on with wonder). For me personally it’s definitely had its ups and downs. Here I will outline the four stages of home schooling as one ages and progresses down the scholastic journey: 

Stage One: A is for Apple. I had so much potential. It was the summer after kindergarten, and I lay on my bed in my room in Guam, reading a biography on George Washington. The teachers were enthralled by my mental prowess as I counted backwards and forwards between 1 and 500 while my peers struggled to reach 10. They had suggested I skip ahead into 2^nd grade, though I was merely 5 years old. My parents refused, and I had to settle for GATE, an advanced student club whose acronym meaning I don’t remember. We studied Greek mythology and wrote stories for some Reading Rainbow contest. My dad was in the Air Force and had just received orders to Washington, D.C. Instead of subjecting me to the shoddy school system in the nation’s capital, my parents decided I would be home schooled. It was something of a novel idea at the time, and I wasn’t really sure what to think of it.  

Stage Two: 64 + 36 = 100. I just turned 9 years old. I was in love with life, carefree as can be and the most popular boy in my neighborhood on Bolling AFB, Washington, D.C. I was a bear in cub scouts, working through 3^rd grade, and active in my church and local home school group. In the morning I would wake up, struggle at the table for hours trying to figure out my math problems, finish my school after lunch, and in the afternoon play every sport imaginable in the field behind my house with my friends. Pokemon cards were all the rage, and on weekends I would go to the park and trade cards with all the naughty kids that would try to steal my Charizard when they thought I wasn’t looking. Every year I had the placement test required by the state to make sure that I was actually learning at home and not just slacking off playing Nintendo 64. I got done with each timed portion 20 minutes early and would write stories in the back of my notebook. I barely lost my grade’s annual spelling bee to a boy whose biased father/judge decided it was ok for him to spell “mircowaves,” but not me.  

Stage Three: Spell “Equilibrium”. I thought I had finally grown up at the end of the ‘03/’04 school year. I was living in a suburb of Salt Lake City, Utah and was 13 years old. I had two best friends that were brothers living a few doors down from my house. We were obsessed with basketball, playing 21 at least 250 days of the year. We traded basketball cards and went to the Utah Jazz games. We rode bikes and scooters and camped and jumped on the trampoline and had snowball fights against the other neighborhood urchins. We always won. When people said our names, they ran it together like we were one person, “Bendalnbrisn.” On nights when our parents weren’t home, we would lie in the bed of a truck and throw mayonnaise packets at passing cars. I just got my results from the annual state placement test and was in the 97^th percentile for my grade nationwide. I wrote a sales pitch as a requirement for a Boy Scout merit badge and performed it for my troop to raucous laughter and applause. I was elected patrol leader. I impressed my friends with my knowledge of the world, random facts, and strategic aptitude in capture the flag. 

Stage Four: Write a Ten Page Essay On The Underlying Meaning of “Obscure Boring Title.” I just received my ACT results in the mail. I rush to my room to open the packet. I got a 26. I apply for scholarships, though as I read through the applications I know I’m not getting anything. I’m a white male with middle class parents that got a 26 on my ACT. I have no fellow graduating class so I have no impressive comparisons. I’ve never taken AP classes, never been a member of the Honor Society, never played varsity sports, never been involved with any school clubs, never wrote for the school paper, and never did anything impressive in any way, shape, or form. I’m Mr. Average. I write half-hearted essays to send in, though it’s hard to concentrate or get “in the zone” when I know the scholarship committee will choose someone that’s actually done something. I didn’t have many friends anymore. When I moved to Colorado Springs, Colorado, and started high school, I learned people’s friends didn’t consist strictly of those who live on your street anymore. Teens had cars and were involved in so many activities and had friends from their school that lived miles away. What are best friends? I don’t remember. Sure, I developed a few casual relationships with people I knew, but I was always put on the back burner for someone else, and nobody ever initiated contact with me. I had two girlfriends throughout high school who both quickly realized I wasn’t good enough for them, or perhaps I was a bit too quirky and unorthodox. I sat at home day after day and entertained myself via the internet and video games. I just received my envelope from my college of choice’s scholarship committee. I win absolutely nothing. I had so much potential. 

“Report Abuse” on the comments
We just need to clear up a rumor about what the “report abuse” link does in the matchup comments.  Some have said that by clicking that, it wipes the person profile out.  Others have thought that it blocks votes from going through.  None of the above is true.  It’s a rumor. It’s untrue.

So what happens?  When a user clicks “report abuse” in the comments, all it does is flags the comment.  We have a system that tracks all flagged comments.  Our staff looks through those flagged comments and determines either to keep those comments public or delete them.

It’s that simple.  It doesn’t block any votes. It doesn’t wipe out any profiles.  All it does is flag the specific comment.

“Report User” on the user profile
This works in the exact same way as the “report abuse” link in the comments.  No profile is deleted. Votes are not blocked.  All it does is flag the user for our staff to look at later.  Everything in terms of functionality stays the same.  Nothing changes in terms of what the user can do and what can be done.

Hopefully that clears those rumors up. Both links do NOTHING in terms of affecting the outfome of voting in Zinch March Madness.  Hopefully that makes sense.  Feel free to ask any questions.

About three things I am absolutely positive: First, I’d like to congratulate Stephanie Meyer for single-handedly creating the biggest literary catastrophe the world has ever seen. Second, there is a part of me – and believe me, I know how big that part is – that believes the movie Twilight beats out its novel counter part. And third, it was unconditionally and irrevocably superficial and boring.

I’m sure somewhere in between the movie premier, the scrawls of “I love Edward Cullen” in the girls bathrooms, the lipstick stains all over Robert Pattinson’s posterized face and the various DVD release parties raging across America, you’ve personally come into contact with the phenomenon called “Twilight”. But what’s with all the hype? The movie does not even qualify for two stars in my book.

First off, the development of the characters was shallow, each with the mentality of a second grader. For someone who was supposed to be “charming”, Robert Pattinson had the surprisingly incapability of holding a conversation for longer than two sentences. In fact, he seemed almost bored of the role throughout the entire film.

And while one-liners can be immortalized in Hollywood history, such as “Shaken, not stirred”, the entire film was littered with one-liners, as if it the filmmakers were trying to aim for the Guinness Book of World Record’s “Most Quotable Movie”. Instead of being romantic, it came off as a complete cliché, pretty much epitomizing the whole tone of the movie. How else can one deliver the line “This is the skin of a killer!” without sounding terribly cheesy? That’s like saying “This is the toenail of a vampire!” Still, it’s not fair to blame it solely on the screenwriters. They were just following orders from Meyer, who demanded that they quote the exact words from her diary – I mean book – for the sake of her beloved fans, in case they confuse the movie with another vampire fan fiction. After all, all she did was regurgitate every vampire fanfiction known to mankind since the dawn of civilization and a lá, it becomes a masterpiece, despite her poor vocabulary and complete inability to string together complex sentences.

For an adaption of a best seller novel, the movie was surprisingly low budget and it was evident in the editing. The sound effects were cheap and unentertaining, such as the twinkling of glass when Edward “glittered” aka profusely perspired, which I am pretty sure was copy and pasted right out of the sound effects section in Microsoft Word. Most of the time, the background music and noise overwhelmed the scene to the point that the viewer could not hear what the characters were actually saying. As for the scenes themselves, they were cut together in such a way that it was dizzying for the viewer to follow. In addition, they employed too many effects such as extreme close ups and slow motion. Once in a while would have been acceptable, but evidently the director thought that it would be appropriate to put slow motion during the best action sequences so that the characters could gaze into each others eyes, like we weren’t all ready aware of the fact that all of them were absolutely in love with each other. Plus the whole thing had an annoying greenish veneer, as if the directors could make up for their low budget by making it seem “artsy”. Sadly, the movie did have a lot of potential to be good since it spared the agonizing details of the book, but it was clear that it was slapped together quickly in order to make a pretty penny – not a difficult feat, considering how many Twilight fans there are. Hopefully Summit Entertainment will rake up the extra money and at least attempt to please fans in New Moon.

Hello world, I know I’m skinny. I know I’ll never have a girlfriend unless I gain 20 pounds. Thanks for the reminder, but from this point on let us never mention it again. Why does everyone feel the need to constantly critique the appearances of others? Most people already dwell on their physical insecurities at frequent depressing intervals during the day. So the best thing to do is not tell Jessica that she looks like a bulbous whale in her ugly purple shirt, because most likely she already knows.

No one is perfect. Angelina Jolie is not perfect, nor is Jennifer Aniston, nor is Brad Pitt. They may appear to be, but chances are they have a hideous mole or an unproportional asset hidden somewhere on their body. The devious tabloid photographers just haven’t exploited it yet. Do not worry too much about every tiny inconvenience on your body, for even if you fix these inconveniences you will find something else that you do not like about yourself.

The key to self confidence is to embrace yourself, not just to alter your image. Never convince yourself to do something just because a famous person is doing it. Looking good is part of a celebrity’s job. So wasting money on tanning beds and plastic surgery is not a grand idea for someone who will not appear in the next issue of People magazine. You can tan in the sun, and the shape of your nose or breasts is not meant to be altered.

Next time you break down into tears when looking in the mirror, remember this: your swagger might not be as official as Soulja Boy, but you can always pretend it is. You must own your insecurities, because even if 6,768,762,787 people have called you ugly, there will always be that one person left who loves you exactly the way you are.

I’ve always wanted to see the world. Pyramids simply look awesome in pictures, and so does Angel Falls, so I can’t even imagine what they’d look like up close. I’ve lived in America my entire life, with one brief foray into Mexico for a family vacation, so needless to say my international experience is lacking. But money, it’s a problem.

So for the past few years I‘ve been hitching a ride with Santa. It’s economical, it’s comfy, and there’s always lots of cookies. Not only that, but the locales are constantly changing, and it’s not the boring, touristy spots either. I get to see people’s homes, people’s lives, and I’m with Santa mind you, so I’m not being creepy. I’m just observing.

People love to be happy, I found that out quickly, and they have all sorts of ways and means geared towards achieving that end. Santa chips in big-time, and he knows all about custom and tradition. So I see the spectrum, from end to end.

Some families love toys, gadgets, and gizmos, but others love food and companionship. So why the difference? At first I attributed it towards lack of money, or lack of family. But eventually it dawned on me that maybe there was something more to all of it. I asked Santa, but he wouldn’t tell me. Said it’s better I just work it out on my own than use him to cheat. Cookies make him grumpy sometimes (It’s the gas…).

After awhile I began to see that I was missing something integral to the whole problem. I’m American, so forgive me for my oversight, but I found my problem buried in my definition of happiness.

Up until my first trip with Santa, I thought happiness meant material goods. I thought it meant having a Christmas tree that nobody could see because of presents stacked to the ceiling, ready to topple over. It then occurred to me that a great portion of the world had never seen a Game-boy or a Playstation. But were they unhappy?

Nope. They actually seemed happier than most of the people I know.

Their happiness came from not how much they had, but how much they knew they needed. Their joy came from friends and health, not from colors on a TV the size of a swimming pool.

And in the end, I believe that’s all we can really ask for. I mean, doesn’t life seem a little bit difficult without companionship and a working body?

Let’s see the big picture from the eyes of a child, who smiles because he has a school to go to and clean water to drink. And that’s always been Santa’s mission; helping old men and women find their verve again through ecstatic children. Lest we forget.

I’ll hopefully be spending winter break at North Pole this year. Santa says I’m one of the few who hasn’t stopped believing. He also told me to pass the invitation along, to anyone that was interested.

Any takers?