A few Thoughts about Thoughts

I sometimes can't believe that I am the way that I am. To describe myself would be to miss the point, but I know I don't see the world like most people do. Sometimes I have to admit I like the fact that I'm different. It doesn't mean that the the way I see the world is valuable or even interesting to anyone outside my own skull, but it does mean my life will be more difficult. It means that in some ways I'll I will always be a a little separate from others. Sure that's unfair and I could be upset, but what's the point? I mean I will still be the same way and nothing will change.

Ignorance is a choice

I'm laying in bed right now recovering from a cold. When I talk to people about how to get better I seem to get all this conflicting information. I go online and look up how to recover from a cold and all the information I need to get better is displayed before my eyes. It got me thinking myths and they're so readily available for people to believe. We choose to believe what we want to believe. Even when there's credible evidence to contradict our beliefs people still persist. That isn't necessarily a bad thing we should have confidence in what we believe.

With ‘Dreams From My Real Father,’ Have Obama Haters Hit Rock Bottom?

by Michelle Goldberg Sep 28, 2012 4:45 AM EDT A pseudo-documentary that slimes Ann Dunham, the president’s late mother, is being mailed to swing-state voters. A look at the film and Dinesh D’Souza’s book, Obama’s America. So this is what it’s come to. After four years of invective, four years during which the right has called President Obama a traitor, a communist, a fraud, an affirmative-action case, a terrorist-sympathizer, and a tyrant, its shrillest voices have been reduced to the most primal insult of all. They are calling Obama’s mother a whore. For a while now, pictures purporting to show Obama’s mother, Stanley Ann Dunham, modeling in 1950s bondage and fetish porn have been floating around the darker corners of the Internet. Now, though, they’ve made their way into a pseudo-documentary, Joel Gilbert’s Dreams From My Real Father,