Outcry

You know what i hate? Data. Fuck Data.

My greatest fear for the last 10 years has been to become a mere dilettante.

But my greatest dream for the 5 previous that was to be a Renaissance woman.

What kind of nerdy ass 12 year old even knows what a Renaissance (wo)man is? In my defense, I wanted to be a Renaissance fire(wo)man who performed rock concerts on the weekend. To my detriment, I also aspired to be a Public Intellectual. The seeds of anti-utilitarianism were clearly pre-pubescent.

The point however is: fuck data. I appreciate it and acknowledge the toils of my comrades who reap the universe of it. In fact, i will shamelessly consume that data, the endless knowledge, and shamelessly exploit it for cocktail party one liners for the rest of my social life. (since all those one-liners will begin with "Well there were some studies that showed..." it will be a particular type of cocktail party).

I don't want to embrace dilettantery quite...but there must be something else. Something other than sucking the universe dry of endless statistics, and other than blogosphere schizophrenia of disparate ephemera. Some Aristotelian balance. If i was feeling grandiose, I'd call it understanding. Maybe if i was feeling really* wanky, i'd even go for wisdom.

In the meantime no one will listen to me because i am babbling nobody in a hierarchy of academia, and exude a particularly putrid smug bravado of youthful ambition and irreverance, thick like the jaundiced musk of liver failure. And because i have yet to contribute a damn useful thing to much of any human endeavor, and continue to leach several thousands of dollars of taxpayer money. My data isn't even data--it is meta-meta-meta-analysis. useless. It is probably for the best then.

For now.

Back again data monkey.