Sympathy to Pluto

The votes have been cast. It's now official. Pluto, our dearly beloved and most favourite object in the Solar System is no longer a planet.

Just this week, the International Astronomical Union met in the Czech Republic to discuss various issues surrounding the proper definition of a planet. I'm sure they didn't really mean to pick on Pluto. Some people, in fact, thought that the astronomers would end up admitting three new celestial bodies to the Solar System. However, by the end of the meeting it was clear that they had gone to the opposite extreme, giving Pluto the diminutive title of "dwarf planet".

Since its discovery in 1930, Pluto has been held in fascination. Not only was it the smallest planet, but it was also the farthest away from the sun (whenever Neptune wasn't occupying that position). So why, after 76 years, have they decided that Pluto isn't a planet? Basically the fault lies in its orbit. It overlaps with that of Neptune, so according to the brand-new definition, Pluto is not a planet.

This raises a serious question, however. Were we mistaken all these years when we thought Pluto was a planet? Has it been a "dwarf planet" all along, and we just didn't know it? I would like to submit to you that this case only shows more clearly the fallibility and imperfection of human science and reasoning. Can we truly vote to assign more precise meanings to the words of our languages?

Language, in its transfer of meaning, is naturally imperfect. Just because I say something doesn't mean you're going to "get it", or receive the same thought that I meant to convey. Likewise, the semantics of the words we use belong to each individual. My point is this: language is a part of each and every human being on this earth, and each of us has a choice of what meaning we give our words. If someone had said something to you about Pluto a few months ago, what would have come to mind? The smallest planet, of course. And what if someone mentions it today? That's up to you. This is the same principle as when they officially changed the name of the Texas Rangers' stadium from "The Ballpark in Arlington" to "Ameriquest Field". But unfortunately for the mortgage company, I'm not official, I will always continue to call it the Ballpark. And to all ye astronomers, let it be known that I, as a free-thinking human being, will always refer to Pluto as a planet, though the whole world may say otherwise.

To return to the main subject, it is clear that most people have already decided to go along with the new decision and call Pluto a "dwarf planet". What I have to say is this: you don't have to! If you would like to join me in calling Pluto the smallest planet for as long as this Universe remains, please do. Thankfully there are other folks out there who share my view on this matter, but as with all other issues, there is also an opposite side present. Go Pluto!

I feel like a fool

Perhaps I should clarify myself. A couple of days ago, my wisdom teeth were taken out. Thus, I have now lost my wisdom and am a fool. Oh wait... that's just in some ancient Krotelmian legend, isn't it?

Anyway, although I feel none the less wiser than before, my mouth is swollen up and feels quite odd. However, I am immensly pleased at one thing, to wit, that I did not have to be present when they took the teeth out. That's right—they put me to sleep and I don't remember a thing. Even when I woke up I was still partially zonked out, and I don't remember anything clearly until I was at home in the recliner with gauze in my mouth.

I was disappointed, however, that they did not give the teeth back after they removed them (or "yanked 'em" as my friend Keegan would say). What a nice keepsake that would have been...

One piece of information that I wished to obtain is the etymology of the term "wisdom teeth". Did some ancients believe that their wisdom lied in the back of their mouth? Probably not. According to Wikipedia, the term was most likely derived from the fact that they appear in one's mouth long after all the other teeth, at which time you should be wiser than you were as a child. This seems a bit far-fetched to me, but who knows. Maybe even the Krotelmians were right!

A seashell

This is my latest attempt at drawing, an assignment for nature study the first day of school. 

The Tale of Kutava (Introduction)

(Continued from the Prologue)

It was a warm summer evening, and having arrived to a town, I sought a place where I could spend the night. I inquired of a merchant in the centre of town who was packing up his wares. ‘Well, lad, inns we have not in this small town, but there is an old man down that road who is quite hospitable. He’s a great teller of stories.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Methinks they’re all tall tales, though he insists they’re true—but regardless, he tells them well!’ I was quite interested to hear a tale of that land, so I thanked the man and followed the road which he had indicated. I knew not which house was that of the storyteller, so I knocked at a house built of logs to inquire.

A maiden opened the door.

‘Elkon! No silpite? – Greetings! What do you seek?’

I told her all I knew from the merchant’s description. ‘Ah! You seek Melpalêpsen, the old storyteller! And this is his house. Alorite!’

I followed her into the house, and she led me along a passage lined with torches of fire. We entered a dimly lit room. To the right was a roaring fireplace, and to the left was a curiously fashioned wooden chair. It was carved with all manner of designs, and it was cushioned with the furs of beasts. And in this chair sate an old man, whose hair was white as snow. As we entered the room, he spoke.

‘Tharelis! Nen lori? – Thareli! Who cometh with thee?’

The girl replied, ‘Odales, to kê shorgês, ten azelki. – I know not, grandfather, but let him speak for himself.’

He looked at me. ‘No manite? Melpalêpso Anicho ven manê. – Who art thou? I am Melpalêpsen Anichen.’

I replied, ‘I am but a traveller from another land; I seek only a place to rest this night.’ He replied, ‘I will gladly give thee a place to stay, for I too was once a traveller and a wanderer. Please receive our warm welcome, and I bid thee eat with us as well.’ I gladly accepted his offer, and he went on to explain that dinner would be ready presently.

‘Dost thou wish to hear a tale of mine?’ he asked. ‘I would fain hear your tale,’ said I, ‘for I am fond of hearing stories of the places I visit.’

‘Well, perhaps thou shalt not be disappointed, for my tale begins not in this land, but far across the sea. But please have a seat by the fire, and I shall tell thee the beginning of my tale while my wife prepares the meal.’

I was carrying a pack, from which I drew paper and pen, for I wished to record the story of this old man. He spake using the tongue of Zéfelen, the land in which I was sojourning at that time.

I have still that manuscript that I wrote as I sat beside the fire. I learned later, after his death, that he himself had written the story in a book. Thanks to his gracious family, I was able to obtain a copy of this book, in which I found several events and details which he did not mention to me when I heard his story. The tale which follows is the story of the life of Kutava, or Melpalêpsen, as he was called in his later years. I have combined his written version with that which I wrote down, although his original wording has been preserved in all places. It is also well to note that he both told and wrote the tale in the tongue of Zéfelen (although it was not his native tongue) and what follows is my best attempt in translating it into English. I have added notes in places where it was impossible to convey the original meaning in the text.

And now, without further ado, let us begin the tale. Seat yourself by the hearth of Melpalêpsen with me, and let us listen to the tale of Kutava son of Anitijova.

Continue reading: Part I

The Music of Nature

This afternoon I was seated at my desk in my room, listening to some music, as I am wont to do. At 4:00 when I went outside to gather the eggs, the air was still just as blistering hot as before, but I heard some thunder and there was a dark cloud in the distance. When I got back in I unpaused my music. Not long after that, it began raining, and I ran outside and just stood in it, soaking it in. It hasn't rained here for so long that even the cacti are shriveling up! After a while I decided to go back in since it was thundering, and when I entered my room I thought about turning my music back on. However, I decided instead to open the window and let in some fresh air.

When I opened the window, the pleasant sound of raindrops falling on the ground came through like a soft breeze. I enjoyed this soothing sound until the rain stopped a few minutes later. As it ceased raining and a gentle wind began to blow, I thought about how wonderful the sound of rain is. I have a couple of CD's that have a song with sounds of rainfall, but no artificial sound coming from my speakers can compare with the beautiful music of nature.

Thus is my thought for the day. I encourage you to turn off your music and go listen to the music of nature. Even if it's not raining, I'm sure there are some birds out your window who would be willing to sing for you.

Essay for COMPASS

Yesterday I went to Weatherford College to take a test, the COMPASS test to be precise. This fall I am planning to take a couple of classes there for double-enrollment, and in order to do this I had to take this test. If I were in public school there would have been no need for it, since I would have already taken the TAKS test several times. However, seeing as how I'm homeschooled, I was behooved to take a test to prove my knowledge. I could've taken the THEA test, which is similar, but we opted for COMPASS since it is done on a computer, which allows you to get the results immediately.

The first part of the test was reading, which was easy for me. The second part was math, which I am not that good at, but I did my best. Following that was the editing section, and then a writing assignment. None of the test was timed, so I took my time, especially for the math.

I really do wish the computer would have printed out my essay, or at least e-mailed it to me (I gave the thing my e-mail address), but unfortunately it did not. If it had, I would have put it right here on my blog, but since it is now stuck in cyberspace somewhere in the Weatherford College network, I'll just have to give a summary of what it was about.

The assignment was to write a letter to a fictitious school board, which was considering a proposal to limit extracurricular activities in the fictitious school to only those students who got at least a C in their classes. It told me to take a position on the issue, and then write a letter to the school board about it. I had fun with it, and told the imaginary school board how I thought the proposal was a really great idea, and that it would encourage everyone to study more. I even told them that I would try to get my friends to support the proposal too (haha). The letter turned out to be three paragraphs long and about 360 words, just above the minimum. They gave me a 6 on the essay, which is the best score you can get, if I understand right. And how in the world did a computer grade a writing assignment? Beats me. I'm just glad it liked it!