The gifts which Forsteri bestows upon the faithful are many and varied, but in truth, there are only three reasons why someone follows a religion: they desire either spiritual fulfillment, power, or life after death. I've always been relatively spiritually fulfilled, and Forsteri doesn't offer much in terms of Eternity, so clearly, there must be some fairly nifty power involved. The Path of Forsteri is akin to a prestige class; a person starts off training to be a more generic sort of holy-person and then chooses to specialize in Forsteri-worship, gaining new and unique abilities as one rises levels. I myself have only ascended far enough to learn what a couple of those abilities are, and watching for new powers to emerge is one of the great joys in my life.

At first level, the faithful earns Bloody-Minded Endurance. This power bestows upon the wielder the ability to endure one form of element. Living in Montreal, I quite naturally selected cold as the element I would be able to endure, and as such I can endure temperatures far lower than most humans would be comfortable with. Until the temperature drops down to minus 5 Celsius or so, it all feels like room temperature to me; in fact, I'm more comfortable at ten degrees than I am at twenty.

The second power developed by the faithful is Philosophical Translocation. This power is the ability to bend reality such that wherever one is at that moment is the location where they absolutely have to be. This ability gives the faithful bonuses in tasks relating to getting where one already is or is going to, because, after all, that's where they need to be. This ability also alters probabilities around the faithful to facilitate the journey, and grants a bonus to endurance checks for the travel.

The third level ability is psionic surgery. I am still experimenting with this one, and so I can't make any sweeping statements about it. By entering a meditative state, the faithful is able to reprogram themself to small degrees. This power has been used successfully to remove long-held fears and the remove fatigue and cold symptoms; it is unknown what the upper limits of the power are. Use of Psionic Surgery upon oneself is extremely draining and a long period of rest is needed after its use.

If you've found this entry interesting, mail Eric about it.
If you didn't find this entry interesting, go to hell.

I don't like humans. It is fair to say that disliking humans is a large part of my existence, almost a hobby. I don't *like* disliking humans, since it's the primary cause of stress in my life, but I can’t seem to stop, so I try and learn to live with it. The immense amount of time I spend devoted to disliking humans has led me to develop an extensive system of ranking stupid people according to the level at which I dislike them, and many people have asked me, for example, to explain the difference between a general idiot and a smeg-head. I therefore present this handy-dandy incomplete and non-ordered guide to how Eric ranks humans.

Don't like:
People I just plain don't like. These people have both good and bad qualities and, for whatever reason, have simply never done anything worth earning my respect. Many people fall into this category, because when you scrape away everything else that makes me "me," you get a guy who just doesn't care that much about most people. The important thing to note here is that when I say "don't like" I mean it literally; it is worlds away from say that I "dislike." If I don't like something, I means I'm basically neutral (with occasional hostility, perhaps). People who worked with me on Bandersnatch had ample opportunity to observe how I treat people I just plain "don't like."

Idiot
An Idiot, in my parlance, indicates not a lack of intelligence but simply an observation that someone *acts* as though they're stupid. This term is usually applied to people I observe while they're driving, but Idiots are found in all walks of life and all situations. The person riding his skateboard down the metro escalator at rush hour is an Idiot. The person who picks up answers their cell phone in class and says they can't talk because they're in class is an Idiot. These people are probably not actually scum... but you wouldn't know it by watching them. This is generally the single worst name I can call a human. Synonyms: moron.

Smeg-Head
The Smeg-Head, often spelled smeghead, is a person who one knows is capable of being a decent, intelligent, competent and clever human being... but isn't. The smeghead is a human with no redeeming qualities whatsoever because given the opportunity to be worthwhile they none-the-less prove themselves, time and again, to be smegheads. Smeghead is the second-worst name I will generally apply to a human, because after all, if they're a smeghead, at least they aren't necessarily an Idiot.

Fraalnick
Sometimes spelled "frellnick," the fraalnick is an individual who displays the apparent properties of an idiot but also does so in a sudden or abrupt manner. There is usually insufficient evidence to safely refer to someone as an idiot in this case, and furthermore, the speed or suddenness with which the idiocy is demonstrated qualifies the individual as a fraalnick.

This is, of course, a very incomplete list, since I have a much wider array of insults to hurl at those I dislike.

If you've found this entry interesting, mail Eric about it.
If you didn't find this entry interesting, go to hell.

Today’s question is:
"I still don't get this Eric 4.0 thing. What's does it mean and what's the point?"

This is a reasonable question, since I've discussed the version history in the past but haven't really explained what it means. Part of this is simply due to the fact that I like to talk more than I like to be understood, but that's neither here nor there.

I am not, as they say, the man I once was. All people change over time; our tastes, opinions, and even our most basic thought patterns change from year to year, and particularly for people like myself (by which I mean, people who are still less than 25 years old) ten years (or even five, or two) will generally see huge changes in who we are. If such changes are big enough, it might even be fair to say that we are completely different people from who we once were. Ask yourself if you are still the same person, in general, that you were when you entered university? Cegep? High school? Puberty? If you met your best friend from grade school, would they recognize you? And if they did, would you still like each other (for the same reasons)? Over time, we become, in effect, new people.

Psychology has extensive theories on what are known as "self-defining memories." These memories, found to on average have taken place about "ten years ago" for the average young adult, are memories, usually of crises, which a person will look back on later and say to themselves "you know, going through (insert here) really made me who I am today" or "having that happen really changed how I think." It is my belief that, when something happens which changes who we are in a significant way, we can choose to either remain who we were or to become someone new. As such, we have the Eric Version History: an analysis of the events which changed me from being one Eric to becoming another. In total, there have been three such events, with smaller events in between.

Eric 1.0: Birth through grade one. I do not believe I changed drastically over this course of time, besides the obvious. From the stories I have been told, my temperament and general outlook was fairly consistent between year 0 and year 6; health problems aside, it had not yet become fully apparent to anyone that I was puny and weak (or mentally superior) to the children around me and for some reason I had a ridiculous and futilely happy view of the world. The astute reader might gather that I am not overly fond of Eric 1.0, and they would be correct; I consider Eric 1.0 to have been a rather pathetic creature who I would just as soon forget, were I able. Eric 1.0 was replaced with a new version due to a simple event: getting tripped while playing in a school yard. The school had had a sort of buddy program where 1st and 2nd grade students got paired up and learned together, and when one day he was fairly badly hurt after being tripped while running, Eric 1.0 looked up and saw his mentor pointing and laughing. The event did not instill in me a love of humanity, suffice to say.

Eric 2.0 arose as a result. An increasingly bitter individual dealing with increasingly unreliable health and a rapidly faltering understanding of the Universe, Eric 2.0 is another incarnation I am pleased to have left behind. Over the course of Eric 2.0's existence, his number of friends dropped from "many" to 1, his faith in Judaism was destroyed, and, thanks to bullies and other assorted smeg-heads, he learned to hate. To his credit, Eric 2.0 also learned to rise above his inferiors and throw off the stings of insults and taunts, but there is little else I have to say in praise of him. It is to his credit that Eric 2.0 actually chose to offline himself when the opportunity for improvement came.

Eric 3.0 came online in my first year of highschool, and is the only version change which took place on purpose. Unsatisfied with earlier version (and rightly so), Eric 3.0 was an attempt to take the best elements of earlier versions and, taking the opportunity offered by being in a new school and with mostly new students, design a new personality which would function better. The attempt met with mixed results. While the basic platform of the Eric 3.0 was a success, the implementation of the system still had a number of flaws, which I won't get into here. Eric 3.0 marked the early stages of Silinism, the resurrection of the Aerican Empire (created by Eric 1.0 and then largely abandoned), the adoption of gaming as a full-time hobby, and the deliberate affectation of generally silly behaviour. These advances and others mean that arguably, Eric 3.0 should be rightly divided up into 3.0, 3.1, 3.2, and 3.21, which would indicate significant personality changes without actually making it a whole new person, but this is lengthy enough as it is. It is to Eric 3.0s credit that he is the only old version of me which I don't think I would hate if we met.

Eric 4.0, the current and superior version, came online in September of my first year of John Abbott. Eric 3.0 had intended to remain online during the transition from one school to another, but events did not work out in his favor. Due to the first English class I took there, and more importantly, the people in it, Eric 3.0 was erased and replaced with 4.0. The primary differences in between these versions were as follows:
1: Increased confidence as I began taking classes in which I actually did well.
2: Increased tolerance for humanity after deciding some few humans were actually worth knowing.
3: Shift from pure Silinism to the Path of Forsteri and Discordianism.
4: Gaming and, more specifically, GMing becoming one of the major parts of my existence.
5: Development of the meditative techniques and psychic blocks I use today to control pain and mind.
The current active version is Eric 4.1, and if I may say so myself, Eric 4.1 has been a complete success so far. While there are still some aspects of 4.1 with which I am unsatisfied, they are being worked on around the clock, and I have high hopes for Eric 5.0, should it ever come online.

If you've found this entry interesting, mail Eric about it.
If you didn't find this entry interesting, go to hell.

Considering the large part of my life played by comedians and comedy, it may come as a surprise to some people to learn that I actually hate stand-up comics. With a handful of exceptions, I really dislike watching stand-up and I tend not to be fond of shows that evolve out of the routines of stand-up comedians. There are some I like, such as Mike McDonald, Christopher Titus... I can't really think of anybody else... but for the most part, I find stand-up comedy to be annoying and stupid.

In my world, there is no such thing as "humor" as a whole because humor is too easily divided into categories. Every form of comedy has advantages and disadvantages. My personal favorite form of comedy is reactive comedy, which is also the form I practice. People who observe me know I don't tend to tell jokes, as such; I just have an excellent sense of timing for inserting one-liners into conversation, or for responding to things around me in a comedic way. In point of fact, I tell lousy jokes; I have poor timing, I stutter at key moments, and I'm lousy with punchlines. Give me an audience and a straight-man to play off of, and I can be funny. It's not surprising, then, that my favorite form of humor is sketch and narrative comedy, such as Monty Python, the Zucker brothers, and Mel Brooks. Rather than listening to some moron's monologue for half an hour, you observe an unfolding story which just happens to be funny. Whereas narrative comedy flows well (assuming you have a decent storyteller/actor), I have always found stand-up to feel forced.

Another reason I hate stand-up... probably the biggest one... is that I respond very strongly to audience-cues regardless of how funny I find the comedian. A practiced stand-up artist tells the audience when to laugh, through timing, body language, emphasis on certain words, that sort of thing. Most of the time, if you ask someone why they laughed in response to a comedian, they'll say they don't know, they just did. I react just as strongly as other people, but conversely, I have a much more finicky sense of humor. As a result, I often find myself laughing even though I don't actually find the comedian funny. I find this not only embarrassing but also bloody annoying, and instead of enjoying the show, I tend to find myself feeling increasingly bored and annoyed in response to both the material and my own unconscious reactions to it. This is much less of a problem with narrative comedy, since the laugh-cues tend to work in a very different way in dialogue than monologue. Generally, if I laugh at narrative comedy, it's because I found it at least moderately clever... though not necessarily actually "funny."

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Everybody loves weasels. At the very least, everybody ought to love weasels. In fact, anybody who doesn't love weasels deserves to be flung from a catapult into a pit full of killer mutant death weasels. Here's why.

There are many species of weasel. An incomplete list includes the following: Mustelidae nivalis (least weasel); M. frenata (long-tailed weasel); M. altaica (mountain weasel); M. kathiah (yellow-bellied weasel); M. felipei (Colombian weasel); M. africana (tropical weasel); M. sibirica (Siberian weasel); M. lutreolina (Indonesian mountain weasel); M. nudipes (Malaysian weasel); M. strigidorsa (back-striped weasel). I have not made any of these up, tempted though I was. For our purposes, we will look primarily at my personal favorite species, which happen also to be the dominant species of North America, nivalis and frenata.

The Imperial Plagiarized Encyclopedia has this to say about weasels:

Mustela nivalis (least weasel)
Head and body length is 114-260 mm, tail length is 17-78 mm, and weight is 25-250 grams. Old World animals average larger than those of North America, and males average larger than females. In summer the upper parts are brown and the underparts are white. In winter, the entire coat is white, though there may be a few black hairs at the tip of the tail. It feeds almost entirely on small rodents and may store food for the winter.
The least weasel is rare and of little or no commercial value. It is not known to prey on domestic animals and is beneficial to people through its destruction of mice and rats.

Mustela frenata (long-tailed weasel)
In Canada and the United States, females have a head and body length of 203-28 mm, a tail length of 76-127 mm, and a weight of 85-198 grams; males have a head and body length of 228-60 mm, a tail length of 102-52 mm, and a weight of 198-340 grams. During the summer the upper parts are brown, the underparts are ochraceous or buff, and the tip of the tail is black. During the winter the entire coat is pure white, except for the terminal quarter of the tail, which is black.
The long-tailed weasel occurs in a variety of habitats but shows preference for open, brushy or grassy areas near water. It dens in a hollow log or stump, among rocks, or in a burrow taken over from a rodent. Its den is lined with the fur of its victims. It is primarily nocturnal but is frequently active by day. It can climb and swim. Its long and slender shape allows it to follow a mouse to the end of a burrow or to enter a chicken coop through a knothole. It has a voracious appetite but also speed, agility, and determination. M. frenata seizes its prey with its claws and teeth and usually kills by a bite to the back of the neck. It may kill animals larger than itself and has even been known to attack humans who get between it and its prey. The diet, however, consists mainly of rodents and other small mammals. Although weasels are sometimes said to suck blood, this behavior has not been scientifically documented.
The long-tailed weasel is more prone to raid henhouses than are other species of Mustela but is generally beneficial in the vicinity of poultry farms, because it destroys the rats that prey on young chickens.

Weasels are of Kingdom Animalia, phylum Chordata, class Mammalia, order Carnivora, family Mustelidae. In laymen's terms, this means that they are mammalian carnivores with spinal columns and well-defined brains.

Now that we have the science down, we can look at the reasons why I love weasels. First of all, weasels are documented as being highly intelligent. Weasels have been shown, in respected scientific journals, to demonstrate problem-solving behaviours and memory far in advance of nearly any other species of animal. The only species consistently showing higher intelligence than weasels are dolphins and some (but by no means all, or even most) species of ape. Weasels are able to negotiate mazes, solve puzzles, assemble blocks, and can even be trained to tell individual letters of the alphabet apart from each other, a feat almost no animals have been able to do. Weasels can learn to respond to their names and can mimic human behaviour to the extent that they can actually be taught how to dance.

Weasels are among the most evolutionarily successful species in existence. The weasel family dates back to the earliest mammalian carnivores and are probably one of the oldest species still alive. They have spread and adapted to nearly ever continent; weasels exist in nearly every country with fairly minor adaptations. While others species face extinction, most weasel species remain widespread and healthy.

Weasels are among the deadliest animals in their size category. An efficient metabolism gives weasels speed and strength far in excess of what their size would suggest. In addition, weasels have claws sharper than most carnivores, heal faster than most animals, and are capable of hunting and killing animals several times their size. Weasels also have a unique jaw structure, which allows them to bite with a force far greater than normal for an animal of their type. A weasel will latch onto its prey with its jaws and refuse to let go; there are documented cases where eagles and other large birds have been captured with entire weasel skeletons still stuck into their necks.

Weasels posses senses far greater than most species. Weasels have senses of smell nearly on par with dogs as well as the enhanced hearing typical of rodents. In addition, unusual for small animals, weasels also have acute eyesight *and* an acute sense of touch. They live in a world of more sensory data than almost any other species.

Weasels are smart, cunning, fast, strong, adaptable, and generally nifty on all measurable dimensions. They are one of the superior living species this world has to offer, and weaseldom is something to which all sentient life should aspire. Weasels are indeed the paragon of animals.

If you've found this entry interesting, mail Eric about it.
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Full grokking of this entry may require that the reader posses certain background knowledge. This link may be a useful reference. Clicking on it will open it in a new window.

My evening classes are a hazard to my health. This is clear in that the people who are there ask bothersome questions. It was at these classes that I was asked to explain what the problems with my stomach were -- trust a medical-student-hopeful to be annoyingly curious -- and a similar conversation took place there last night (albeit, with different people). During a brief discussion of philosophy, I found that one of my classmates uses a system of mental Avatars very much like my own. There are differences, of course... mine are cooler... but the basic theory was quite similar. We got into a discussion on the topic, which culminated in the annoying human asking "can I talk to Ragon?"

Luckily, at this point, the break ended, the lecture resumed, and an hour later they had forgotten the whole thing. It's not that I was reluctant to answer the question... it's that screaming at the human "no, you can't, you moron" might have attracted a bit more attention than I'd have liked.

An interest in Ragon has appeared in many people with whom I've associated over the years. For some reason, Ragon is probably the facet of my personality which fascinates people the most. There are any number of possible reasons for this, I suppose, the biggest of which is car-accident-syndrome; people like looking at unpleasant things. Above all, Ragon is unpleasant; everyone has a monster inside them and mine just happens to be a big green cloud with a Cheshire cat grin and a fondness for flaying humans.

The answer to Annoying Human #1's question is actually yes, she could have spoken to Ragon, and very easily. Most humans will tell you that letting their monster out is all too easy, and human though I may not be, that is one of the flaws that I share with them. Letting Ragon out is actually what chemists call a "favorable process" which means that, since it releases energy to release a monster and it requires energy to contain it, the natural direction of things is for a contained monster to be released. Only by the expenditure of energy is the process moved away from the natural direction and things kept, as it were, bottled in.

There is no question that Ragon is probably the single most dominant part of my personality. This is, ironically, the reason I suffer from what some of you have termed "white night syndrome." I choose to restrain -- not repress, restrain -- that side of myself, and as a result, I'm forced to be a good person by default. Of course, restraint doesn't mean the monster isn't there. Most of the time, I can literally feel Ragon seething; sometimes I can even hear him whispering. At all times, he is closer to the surface than any other one of my Avatars. The monster is hunger and anger and rage and hate... things I largely don't feel anymore nowadays, and likely not by coincidence.

What keeps Ragon from taking over completely? What keeps me out here and him in there? Some days I'm not sure. Part of it is my innate neutral-goodyness; resident or not, Ragon has always found his host body somewhat unpalatable. Then, there's the fact that he is, after all, inside my head. I don't suffer from multiple personalities, just a hyperactive imagination, and inside my head, Ragon may be godlike, but I am God. There are few things more satisfying to me after a day of listening to the monster whine than for my other Avatars to beat the hell out of him. And yes, I do mean watch; my mind operates sufficiently independently from me that, with a fairly simple exertion of will, I can just close my eyes and watch the movie for a while.

Getting back to the question that spawned this rant, could Annoying Human #1 have spoken to Ragon? The answer is yes, quite easily. Anyone who practices meditation or hypnosis knows how easy it is to bring out parts of your personality when you're relaxed and focused. I have a fairly sophisticated system of walls and blocks in place to keep Ragon quiescent, but I can let him out with nothing more than a few minutes meditation. I've tried this in the past, naturally, but only ever while I was alone. Giving Ragon my body for a bit is an... experience. Not a good one, mind you, but an experience none-the-less. Annoying Human #1 could, realistically, have spoken to Ragon, but I can't imagine anyone being persuasive enough for me to let that happen.

If you've found this entry interesting, mail Eric about it.
If you didn't find this entry interesting, go to hell.

If you've found this entry interesting, mail Eric about it.
If you didn't find this entry interesting, go to hell.

If you've found this entry interesting, mail Eric about it.
If you didn't find this entry interesting, go to hell.

I'll spare you all the details of exactly which internal organs aren't internal in my case, because I don't imagine people want that level of detail. If someone actually does want that level of detail, open up a medical dictionary and look up "Hirschsprung's Disease."

So, what does it feel like to be me in my less happy moments? Bear with me, as I've never actually spent the time to put this into words. Most of the time, my condition manifests as a dull ache in the background, barely noticeable after years of blocking it. I use the ancient Austrian pain blocking technique of "Ahnold" which basically entails being too bloody-minded stubborn to pay attention to little things like "pain." Naturally, nothing is ever that easy, and the level of pain fluctuates on a more or less random basis. Most of the time, it's barely noticeable. Other times, it's moderate, to the degree that I can feel it at all times but it doesn't impair functioning. Then there are times when it gets uncomfortable; you can spot these moments because I'll stop talking suddenly, wince, you'll hear my stomach rumble (usually from across the room) and then I'll resume normally. Because the pain comes in the form of spasms, I get to feel them building for anywhere from a few seconds to several minutes, after which the pain will suddenly peak and then vanish entirely. For a while.

What is the actual sensation involved? Fun time boys and girls, because this one you can do at home! First, eat a nice, pleasant meal. Then, don't go to the washroom for twelve hours. Crude but accurate.

Next part: Some of you have commented on how I only seem really uncomfortable late at night. I was only being somewhat tongue-in-cheek when I described how I deal with pain. A substantial part of my mental resources, at any given time, are devoted to ignoring discomfort. Nearly every waking moment, I'm actually singing. Not out loud, naturally, but singing none the less. Typically, it's something simple... The Last Saskatchewan Pirate; Shiver My Timbers, Shiver my Soul; Spaceballs: the Song; Hemoglobin (Theme of Clan Assamite)... You get the idea. This is also why I sometimes seem somewhat distant or why my attention will sometimes suddenly drift away in the middle of a conversation: at that moment, too much of my attention is set on the music for me to focus on piddling details like reality. Now, when time passes, surprise surprise, I get tired. When I get tired, I have trouble concentrating. When I have trouble concentrating, I have trouble keeping the music in the background. When the music stops... reality intrudes rudely.

As I've observed in the past, it is logical to assume that the constant background pain I deal with probably contributes to my general bitter, hate-filled outlook on the life, but by the same logic, it's been an integral part of making me who I am, and joking aside, I really do love being me. So, if my condition is both the omnipresent bane of my existence (second only to Humanity) and is also simultaneously one of the things that makes me capable of being the creature I am, would I choose to get rid of it if I could?

...

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It seems appropriate to begin this by answering the question I received from, well, everybody I mailed out when I talked about this project. People wanted to know what sins I had committed that were so grievous as to merit this penance. Half of you were shocked that I had actually sinned; the other half were just shocked I felt guilty about it. I won't get into my "I am not a nice person" speech right now, since you've probably heard it. Let's skip right to a brief explanation of the moral code of the Path of Forsteri.

To one who walks to Path of Forsteri, most crimes come down to a matter of intent. The Path takes it as a given that sometimes bad things must be done for the overall best end; history has no shortage of cases where bad people were killed and things were better as a result. The Path accepts that sometimes doing good entails harming, or confusing, or disseminating passwords. Because the Path accepts that these things must sometimes be done, it also makes allowances for them being done occasionally when it wasn't, strictly speaking, *necessary*. Sure, there's no moral obligation to seek vengeance against people who do you wrong, but it sure does feel good. So long as we never harm 1) people who trust us (with good cause), 2) people we care about, or 3) people who deserve our respect, it's acceptable to screw over other people every now and again.

That said, since the Path is, at heart, Neutral Good, it strongly suggests (though does not require) that our evil actions are balanced by us doing some extra good to make up for it: penance.

It also needs to be specified that the Path acknowledges only three cardinal sins:

• 1) Breaking a vow on purpose
• 2) Hurting someone of significance to you, and
• 3) Stupidity.

The greatest sin of the Path of Forsteri is stupidity. It is a cardinal sin. It is a capital crime. When a person acts like an idiot, there can be only one punishment. There are no extenuating circumstances. There is no forgiveness. Judgment and punishment are to be carried out immediately and without mercy. When convenient. Of course, quite reasonably, the Path holds different standards for Followers and Mundanes, because only a highly flawed system of ethics doesn't have the occasional logical double-standard; the harsh code applies only to Mundanes. When a Follower commits the sin of Stupidity, particularly when the person in question is the world's highest-ranking Follower there is, punishment is to be meted out if and only if an immediate and earnest attempt at penance is not attempted.

Which brings us to this page.

When I say I have been unforgivably sinning these past few weeks, I refer to acts of Stupidity. This Stupidity has been necessary and unavoidable- no one can drive down Decarie at rush hour and not act like an Idiot every few blocks. However, the fact that the behavior is unavoidable does not make it forgivable, and so while I feel absolutely no guilt when I lie, cheat, confuse, abuse, annoy, harm, upset, or sabotage, I have a moral and logical imperative to perform penance for my Stupidity.

Luckily, I just did, so that's over with.

Unluckily, tomorrow I just have to get back on the road.

So, we have this journal. As penance for my crimes, I will keep it updated at least once a week, probably closer to every two or three days. Most entries will be shorter than this, because I'm lazy and I'll be writing while I'm at work and supposed to analyzing data or something. I expect this project to be continued from mid June through mid August, because that's when I stop having my downtown classes and the amount of Stupidity I commit daily will fall drastically.

I'm done. You can go now.

If you've found this entry interesting, mail Eric about it.
If you didn't find this entry interesting, go to hell.