Right now I'm reading a book called The Prodigy by Amy Wallace.
It's a book about William James Sidis, a child prodigy. It was estimated that his IQ was 50-100 points higher than Albert Einstein's.
Get this. He started to talk at six months old.
By three years old he was typing and had taught himself Latin. . . he taught himself Latin to surprise his father, Boris, on Boris' birthday.
At five years old he wrote a treatise on anatomy.
By age six he spoke at least seven languages fluently.
- - - -
That's mostly from the summary on the book, I just reworded it. The summary also talks about him entering Harvard at eleven years old and graduating at sixteen years old. I haven't gotten to that part yet. Also, he rebelled against all this (his fame and intellect) and it sounds like the rest of his life is pretty depressing, but I don't know how yet, so if you know the ending, don't spoil it for me!
- - - -
I find it interesting how sometimes incredibly smart people seem to lack common sense. Y'know? Like, Billy's father, Boris, seemed to lack common sense and real life skills. His mom was smart too, but she knew how to live in this world. . . I wonder what would've happened to Boris had he not married?
I just googled something about geniuses and common sense and a bunch of different articles popped up. I guess I'm not that only one that feels that way. :-)
- - - -
Tonight I went to a presentation from Invisible Children. It was very good. It makes me want to learn more about the LRA and African History. Gahhh. There's so much I want to learn! How will I ever be able to keep up with it?! My list is getting larger, not smaller.
Here are some of the things I want to learn about:
Stuttering (why it happens, how to interact with people who stutter, what treatment is, why some people snap out of it, and more)
Psychology (how drugs affect the brain, genetics, chemical imbalances, struggles among kids, PTSD, abuse, incest, personality disorders, schizophrenia, DID, bipolar, pregancy, diet... and almost a million other things. . . well, I haven't counted, but it probably close to almost a million)
Space (as in the universe, and everything in it... pretty broad, I know)
Food (which foods are in season when, where they originate, what benefits they have, how to cook them, what makes a plant "organic, which spices go with which foods, what certain spices come from... and more)
Languages
Cars (I know almost nothing about them. I just want to study and engine and know the different parts and what each one does)
Mechanics/electronics (why do they work the way they do? how come computer programming makes a computer work the way it does? why do certain circuits and setups make what they do? how did they figure out how to do it? WHY/HOW does a spark plug work (not just the theory, but what makes the theory work?) why does a radio work? how does an alternator work? not just WHAT they do, but WHY and HOW they do.)
Harmful effects of nonstick surfaces
African history (ALL of it, yes. . . every region)
- - - -
Anyway, you get the point. There's lots of things I want to learn about. There's things I forgot to put down, seeing as I'm writing this kind of spontaneously. I should add to it and cross things off of it.
I have been learning recently though!
For example, I read a book about incest, so I can say I've partially completed my goal for that. I want to read more though, I didn't learn enough.
I've also been learning other stuff about psychology.
I've learned about food too. . . like I learned what paprika is. I thought it must be some cool little plant that I've never heard of. . . but no, it's just ground up red peppers (bell and chili). Never would've guessed in a million years! I love paprika.
Also, due to a conversation I had with my sister, Andrea, I discovered that what the majority of Americans call cinnamon is NOT cinnamon. It's Cassia, which is still in the family. True cinnamon, or Ceylon Cinnamon is used in the Middle East and in South America. They're similar, but different, but packaged and labeled the same thing in the USA. I bought some Ceylon Cinnamon from the store and it's delicious. It has a sweeter, less bitter taste than Cassia does. They're both scrumptious though, in my opinion.
Cinnamon is flaky and light color and looks like a cigar... cassia is dark color, brittle, and looks like a scroll.
Also, Cassia has a higher concentration of coumarin, which thins blood. This caused Germany to ban the importing of Cassia.
- - - -
Who would've know?
I love learning. :-)
9.23.2010
9.16.2010
Jail
I went to jail on Sunday.
It was interesting, I've never been to a jail before. Other than the police department jails, that is.
I got there at 3 o'clockish and went through orientation, along with 31 or so other people. It was there that I was informed that most detainees have the reading ability of a 7th grader and that they're very creative when it comes to making weapons (shivs/shanks). I also learned that sometimes detainees can have all sorts of diseases (thus we shouldn't touch them), that fights occur, and that I should pray with my eyes open. Why with my eyes open? In case one of them decides to take a slug at someone they're mad at and miss, accidentally socking me instead. I should also beware and pay attention to where each detainee is at any given moment.
I learned that in this particular jail, the people who wore striped outfits had not yet gone to court, and that those in who were in solid colors had already been through the courts. Also, certain solid colors were for trustees. Only certain detainees are eligible to be a trustee. For example, those charged with violent crimes, like domestic assault, sexual assault, or burglary cannot be trustees. Detainees can become trustees through good behavior. Basically, they earn the privilege. The responsibility of the trustees are preparing/serving the food, doing dishes, and stuff like that. For each day served as a trustee, he/she will get two days taken off their sentence.
Gosh, they make these people sounds like animals, don't they?
After orientation, they took us on a tour of the jail. We walked through the halls, through lots of locked doors (I'm not quite sure how anyone is able to escape from jail), and into the control center. . . the jail is shaped sort of like a hexagon/septagon/octagon (I'm not sure how many sides it has, exactly, but you get the point), and the control center is... well, in the center. There is a one way glass and that allows the guards to look into all the different blocks/pods. They have a bunch of monitors set up which display the shots from varying security cameras that screen the activities of the detainees. The only light in the room is from the various buttons, machines, and monitors. Radio noise crackled from all the guards' walkie-talkies. I could see various detainees sitting around the tables playing cards, some lounging in their bunks, and some in the bathrooms. The men had less privacy than the women; the women's showers had curtains but the men's didn't. Actually, from where I was standing, I could see one man urinating at a toilet. Thankfully there was a short wall that covered the lower half of his body.
Also, prisoners aren't allowed to know what time it is. They do have one hour a day to spend outside in the courtyard, so I suppose they can figure out an approximate time then. They wake up at 5 o'clock in the morning, which sounds so early to us, but to them it could very well be 2 o'clock PM. They just don't know. . . I mean, can there be night/day or early/late without sunlight?
After going on the tour, we left, ate dinner, and came back around 6:45 to go in an do a Bible Study.
I went in with a girl who had done jail ministry last year. We wandered into block-H. There were about 6-8 women crowded around two of the cool steel tables bolted to the concrete. The ladies already had a bunch of tracts and one Bible on the table when we got there. When they saw us, they excitedly proclaimed, "Ah, come on in!" Then they called to the guard and requested she bring them Bibles. I introduced myself to the ladies and one woman stuck out her hand for me to shake. I very hesitantly shook her hand, a little wary after being informed of potential diseases, like HIV, tetanus, Hepatitis, or leprosy that past inmates had come in with.
I stood around for awhile, not sure what to do. There weren't enough chairs for everyone. Eventually I sat down, and the girl I was with began to talk about Isaiah 55. I added a few words here and there.
The longer I was there, the more comfortable I got.
One woman was a little off; I'm not sure if it was psychological or drug-related. However, she would quote things like, "God is power, Satan is justice." or random things about Mary and baby Jesus being grabbed by the heel, and Dr Pepper waiting in a field. . . there being three Angel's, God's angel, Satan's angel, and man's angel. . . and another something about a certain male appendage being cut off of Jesus. Except it was a lot more crude than that.
A few times I asked her where these quotes were from, and without hesitation she stated, "Matthew, they're from the book of Matthew." And I just responded, "I don't remember reading that in the book of Matthew, I think I'll have to read it again."
Finally, after more and more quotes I stated, "You know, I really don't remember reading any of this in Matthew. Maybe you can show me which part of Matthew it's written in?"
"Oh, it's witchcraft. The book of Matthew."
"Ohh, I see. You have an excellent memory to be quoting all this."
"Thanks."
"Really, you have an amazing memory."
"I used to be Baptist, then Catholic."
. . . she was pacing around us around muttering to herself (or to a perceived someone) and was disrupting the Bible Study, so a few of the ladies asked her to be quiet. Instead, she started shouting at them, "I will NOT be quiet! These are my children I am fighting for! I will NOT be quiet!" And started quoting things even more loudly and continued circling around the group of ladies. I was silently pleading, "Please don't respond, please don't respond," as I feared there might be a fight. Thankfully, none of the ladies responded to her and we continued with our discussion.
Some of the ladies wanted to know what sorts of things they could do when they got out to prevent falling back into the same old lifestyles and the same bad peer groups. We told them we'd talk to the Chaplain and find out if there's any sort of assistance/support groups/mentor programs they could join after they got out. The Chaplain said there's nothing for these people when they get out. It's so discouraging. . . they want to change, but they don't know how to change, and they definitely can't do it by themselves. They need accountability and relationships, but there's no opportunities for that. That could be a whole new ministry, and it's just begging to be started.
By the end of the night, I had a revelation. These people are just like you and me. Despite all the warnings the chaplain had given us, these people are pleasant and friendly. They could be my neighbors, members at my church, my co-workers. . . they've just made mistakes. But you know what? I've made tons of mistakes too. There's only a few differences between me and them. 1) They've been caught and I haven't. 2) what they've done has been made unlawful by the government. 3) The biggest difference of all is that, while there's been consequences for my actions, I've also experienced forgiveness, grace, and cleansing from my sins. My guess is that most, if not all of these women, couldn't claim that to be true for themselves.
Despite all the warnings against flesh-to-flesh contact, we all held hands while we prayed. You know what, even if these people are diseased, so what? Should my fear of disease inhibit or deter my ministry, or one way in which I can show these women love? God is my provider and my healer, and he will sustain my health.
Call me naive, but my goal in life is not to live to be old and disease free (though that would be an added bonus).
The point is, these people are God's children too, and he loves them equally as much as he loves me. What else can I do but obey God and allow him to use me as a vessel to pour out his love and compassion on his children, my sisters?
It was interesting, I've never been to a jail before. Other than the police department jails, that is.
I got there at 3 o'clockish and went through orientation, along with 31 or so other people. It was there that I was informed that most detainees have the reading ability of a 7th grader and that they're very creative when it comes to making weapons (shivs/shanks). I also learned that sometimes detainees can have all sorts of diseases (thus we shouldn't touch them), that fights occur, and that I should pray with my eyes open. Why with my eyes open? In case one of them decides to take a slug at someone they're mad at and miss, accidentally socking me instead. I should also beware and pay attention to where each detainee is at any given moment.
I learned that in this particular jail, the people who wore striped outfits had not yet gone to court, and that those in who were in solid colors had already been through the courts. Also, certain solid colors were for trustees. Only certain detainees are eligible to be a trustee. For example, those charged with violent crimes, like domestic assault, sexual assault, or burglary cannot be trustees. Detainees can become trustees through good behavior. Basically, they earn the privilege. The responsibility of the trustees are preparing/serving the food, doing dishes, and stuff like that. For each day served as a trustee, he/she will get two days taken off their sentence.
Gosh, they make these people sounds like animals, don't they?
After orientation, they took us on a tour of the jail. We walked through the halls, through lots of locked doors (I'm not quite sure how anyone is able to escape from jail), and into the control center. . . the jail is shaped sort of like a hexagon/septagon/octagon (I'm not sure how many sides it has, exactly, but you get the point), and the control center is... well, in the center. There is a one way glass and that allows the guards to look into all the different blocks/pods. They have a bunch of monitors set up which display the shots from varying security cameras that screen the activities of the detainees. The only light in the room is from the various buttons, machines, and monitors. Radio noise crackled from all the guards' walkie-talkies. I could see various detainees sitting around the tables playing cards, some lounging in their bunks, and some in the bathrooms. The men had less privacy than the women; the women's showers had curtains but the men's didn't. Actually, from where I was standing, I could see one man urinating at a toilet. Thankfully there was a short wall that covered the lower half of his body.
Also, prisoners aren't allowed to know what time it is. They do have one hour a day to spend outside in the courtyard, so I suppose they can figure out an approximate time then. They wake up at 5 o'clock in the morning, which sounds so early to us, but to them it could very well be 2 o'clock PM. They just don't know. . . I mean, can there be night/day or early/late without sunlight?
After going on the tour, we left, ate dinner, and came back around 6:45 to go in an do a Bible Study.
I went in with a girl who had done jail ministry last year. We wandered into block-H. There were about 6-8 women crowded around two of the cool steel tables bolted to the concrete. The ladies already had a bunch of tracts and one Bible on the table when we got there. When they saw us, they excitedly proclaimed, "Ah, come on in!" Then they called to the guard and requested she bring them Bibles. I introduced myself to the ladies and one woman stuck out her hand for me to shake. I very hesitantly shook her hand, a little wary after being informed of potential diseases, like HIV, tetanus, Hepatitis, or leprosy that past inmates had come in with.
I stood around for awhile, not sure what to do. There weren't enough chairs for everyone. Eventually I sat down, and the girl I was with began to talk about Isaiah 55. I added a few words here and there.
The longer I was there, the more comfortable I got.
One woman was a little off; I'm not sure if it was psychological or drug-related. However, she would quote things like, "God is power, Satan is justice." or random things about Mary and baby Jesus being grabbed by the heel, and Dr Pepper waiting in a field. . . there being three Angel's, God's angel, Satan's angel, and man's angel. . . and another something about a certain male appendage being cut off of Jesus. Except it was a lot more crude than that.
A few times I asked her where these quotes were from, and without hesitation she stated, "Matthew, they're from the book of Matthew." And I just responded, "I don't remember reading that in the book of Matthew, I think I'll have to read it again."
Finally, after more and more quotes I stated, "You know, I really don't remember reading any of this in Matthew. Maybe you can show me which part of Matthew it's written in?"
"Oh, it's witchcraft. The book of Matthew."
"Ohh, I see. You have an excellent memory to be quoting all this."
"Thanks."
"Really, you have an amazing memory."
"I used to be Baptist, then Catholic."
. . . she was pacing around us around muttering to herself (or to a perceived someone) and was disrupting the Bible Study, so a few of the ladies asked her to be quiet. Instead, she started shouting at them, "I will NOT be quiet! These are my children I am fighting for! I will NOT be quiet!" And started quoting things even more loudly and continued circling around the group of ladies. I was silently pleading, "Please don't respond, please don't respond," as I feared there might be a fight. Thankfully, none of the ladies responded to her and we continued with our discussion.
Some of the ladies wanted to know what sorts of things they could do when they got out to prevent falling back into the same old lifestyles and the same bad peer groups. We told them we'd talk to the Chaplain and find out if there's any sort of assistance/support groups/mentor programs they could join after they got out. The Chaplain said there's nothing for these people when they get out. It's so discouraging. . . they want to change, but they don't know how to change, and they definitely can't do it by themselves. They need accountability and relationships, but there's no opportunities for that. That could be a whole new ministry, and it's just begging to be started.
By the end of the night, I had a revelation. These people are just like you and me. Despite all the warnings the chaplain had given us, these people are pleasant and friendly. They could be my neighbors, members at my church, my co-workers. . . they've just made mistakes. But you know what? I've made tons of mistakes too. There's only a few differences between me and them. 1) They've been caught and I haven't. 2) what they've done has been made unlawful by the government. 3) The biggest difference of all is that, while there's been consequences for my actions, I've also experienced forgiveness, grace, and cleansing from my sins. My guess is that most, if not all of these women, couldn't claim that to be true for themselves.
Despite all the warnings against flesh-to-flesh contact, we all held hands while we prayed. You know what, even if these people are diseased, so what? Should my fear of disease inhibit or deter my ministry, or one way in which I can show these women love? God is my provider and my healer, and he will sustain my health.
Call me naive, but my goal in life is not to live to be old and disease free (though that would be an added bonus).
The point is, these people are God's children too, and he loves them equally as much as he loves me. What else can I do but obey God and allow him to use me as a vessel to pour out his love and compassion on his children, my sisters?
9.01.2010
Soaked
The sun was shining oh-so-brightly. I was just out of its reach in the safety of the dark hall. The sun may have been giving the plants energy, but I was already exhausted and it was just adding to that.
I peeked out of the hall and saw a mob of grinning faces. . . their eyes were glinting with mischief and amusement. Suddenly I felt a little nervous. And the waiting. . . it seems like I was in that hall forever. I was getting so antsy.
Finally, I looked into the eyes of the man beside me, my husband. Little beads of sweat were on his forehead and his back was damp. All that dancing and mingling had worn us out and our energy was sapped.
Our eyes met and we nodded at each other and we began to softly say, "One. . . two. . . three. . . NOW!!!" before we both surged forward into that shining sun and sea of people.
As we ran further into the light, I discovered I couldn't see a thing. Liquid was streaming into my eyes. I felt a something repeatedly pelting against my body. I tried to run faster and faster, but my legs wouldn't speed up. I could vaguely make out a blurry white image in front of me. I now sensed that my clothes were soaked and were clinging against my body.
As I drew nearer to that blurry white image, all our plans were tossed. I grasped for a handle, gripped, and yanked that car door open. I crawled rapidly across the car and sat down with splash into my own seat. I looked back and saw Jesse scrambling to get in.
I was laughing so hard, but I was also panicked. The faces started moving towards our car now. I urged Jesse to shut his door before beginning to search for the lock button. It was like a horrible dream though, I searched for that button for what felt like hours before I finally found it. The adrenaline was surging through my body and when I tried to push the button my hand kept slipping and punching buttonless areas of the door. Finally, my finger contacted the lock button, just as somebody approached my door. They pounded on the window and I slowly, hesitantly rolled it down inch by inch. I smiled for the camera that was put into my face, said a few things of which I have no recollection, and rolled the window back up.
I looked at Jesse saw a huge smile plastered onto his face. We were both soaked, we were no longer sweaty, and we both had buckets of energy. Excited, we blurted out something along the lines of, "That was incredible! It was the best part of the wedding! I'm so glad we did this." Jesse looked down at himself and pointed at the pieces of balloons that clung to his clothes and buttons.
Then?
We laughed.
I peeked out of the hall and saw a mob of grinning faces. . . their eyes were glinting with mischief and amusement. Suddenly I felt a little nervous. And the waiting. . . it seems like I was in that hall forever. I was getting so antsy.
Finally, I looked into the eyes of the man beside me, my husband. Little beads of sweat were on his forehead and his back was damp. All that dancing and mingling had worn us out and our energy was sapped.
Our eyes met and we nodded at each other and we began to softly say, "One. . . two. . . three. . . NOW!!!" before we both surged forward into that shining sun and sea of people.
As we ran further into the light, I discovered I couldn't see a thing. Liquid was streaming into my eyes. I felt a something repeatedly pelting against my body. I tried to run faster and faster, but my legs wouldn't speed up. I could vaguely make out a blurry white image in front of me. I now sensed that my clothes were soaked and were clinging against my body.
As I drew nearer to that blurry white image, all our plans were tossed. I grasped for a handle, gripped, and yanked that car door open. I crawled rapidly across the car and sat down with splash into my own seat. I looked back and saw Jesse scrambling to get in.
I was laughing so hard, but I was also panicked. The faces started moving towards our car now. I urged Jesse to shut his door before beginning to search for the lock button. It was like a horrible dream though, I searched for that button for what felt like hours before I finally found it. The adrenaline was surging through my body and when I tried to push the button my hand kept slipping and punching buttonless areas of the door. Finally, my finger contacted the lock button, just as somebody approached my door. They pounded on the window and I slowly, hesitantly rolled it down inch by inch. I smiled for the camera that was put into my face, said a few things of which I have no recollection, and rolled the window back up.
I looked at Jesse saw a huge smile plastered onto his face. We were both soaked, we were no longer sweaty, and we both had buckets of energy. Excited, we blurted out something along the lines of, "That was incredible! It was the best part of the wedding! I'm so glad we did this." Jesse looked down at himself and pointed at the pieces of balloons that clung to his clothes and buttons.
Then?
We laughed.
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