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Validity

Determining whether an argument is valid is easy to mechanically test for in some cases. For example, there is the argument: “If the apple I am holding is red then I am happy. The apple I am holding is red. Therefore, I am happy.” This is an easy one to test for since there are only two possibilities for whether or not the sentence “the apple I am holding is red” is true and two possibilities for whether or not the sentence “I am happy” is true. Thus, there are only 4 ways the “world” could be. Either my apple is red and I am happy, my apple is not red and I am happy, my apple is red and I am not happy, or my apple is not red and I am not happy. Now, on to the argument. In the argument, we are assuming the conditional “if the apple I am holding is red then I am happy’ and that “the apple I am holding is red”. Our second assumption limits us to two possibilities: either the apple I am holding is red and I am happy, or the apple I am holding is red and I am not happy. F

illuminati confirmed?

Sometimes, I like to think about how things are labeled as true or false and good or bad. It is very easy to decide whether statements are true. I could say that I am wearing a blue sweater, for example, and this statement would be true or false in the world that we are in. Since I am not wearing a blue sweatshirt, this sentence would be false. It is much harder to define what it means for an argument to be good. If I say: “All bananas are yellow. I am holding a banana. Therefore, I am holding a yellow banana,” intuitively, you would call this a good argument, but why? Is it because we know that it is, indeed, true that if I were holding a banana it would be yellow? If this were the way in which we define whether an argument is good, we could run into some problems. Consider the following argument: “All bananas are blue. Therefore, all bananas are yellow.” Here, our conclusion is true in our world, but it’s hard to say that the argument is a good one. Thus, I like to evaluate argum

I've always wanted to go there!

Being from a country with pretty pictures online, I am frequently asked: “Oh wow, you’re from Argentina? I have always wanted to go there!” by people I meet. I usually respond something along the lines of: “Yeah you should go some time.” But I have never actually lived in Argentina; the longest I have stayed there is for two months. When my parents are asked this very question, their responses are usually: “Yeah we’re from Argentina. You would probably want to stay away, and if you do end up going, don’t stay for too long.” Obviously they came to America, so one would expect them to at least prefer America over Argentina as a place to live, but I’ve decided to do a bit of research into why they see Argentina as such bad place. From what I have heard my parents complain about, it seems as though their frustration stems from the immense amount of corruption in Argentina and how easily it is all covered up and forgotten. Take Cristina Fernández de Kirchner for example. She was Arge

On sleepwalking

For the last few years, I have had rare (my parents see it once every 3 or 4 months) and extremely insignificant sleepwalking episodes. I walk around the second floor a few times and eventually make it back to bed. If one of my parents see me walking the second floor late at night, they issue the quick and easy sleepwalking test: “Hey Kev, are you sleepwalking?” If I say “no,” they know I’m not sleepwalking, but if I respond with unidentifiable mumbles, they escort me back to bed. Up until recently, from what my parents have seen, the most advanced task I have done is traverse the hallways, possibly holding a pillow and get a drink. A few weeks ago, I started having more peculiar sleepwalking bouts. On the second week of school, while sleepwalking, I turned on the lights to my room, took off and folded my pajamas, put on an outfit (surprisingly, one which matched and worked well aesthetically), charged my phone and go back in bed. This weekend, my parents saw me sleepwalking on

Copa America

Brrrrriiiingg. My brother and I promptly jumped out of bed with excitement. it was going to be the first time we had ever attended a major sporting event. A Copa America final between Argentina and Chile being played only a few miles away from our aunt’s house. An opportunity to see the best player in the world play for our favorite team. After a few moments of looking in the mirror and realizing that the day had finally come, we quickly got dressed and headed to the bus stop across the street. After anxiously waiting, we got on the bus. When we arrived, it felt surreal. The stadium itself was massive, and since we had never been to a stadium larger than the U of I’s football stadium, it was a humbling fixture to stand in front of. The surrounding parking area was chock-full of supporters blasting music and cooking food and the air was filled with excitement and anticipation. In the blink of an eye, the gates opened and people started flooding into the stadium, and soon enough, the g

Tomatoes

As a young child, I despised tomatoes. Unfortunately for me, however, my entire family was very fond of them. To my parent’s dismay, I would always decline when they offered me tomatoes in a sandwich or salad. It was hard for them to believe that tomatoes would render such a positive taste in their mouths, but not in a mouth engendered by them. Thus, they made it their goal to get me to like tomatoes; they were sure that my dislike for them was a fad that would soon wear off. They resorted to putting pureed tomatoes in my salads. But I outsmarted them: I would proceed to “disinfect” each individual piece of lettuce, each individual piece of cabbage, and each individual piece of spinach, with the precision of a neurosurgeon until there was no trace of tomato left on my salad. My hatred for tomatoes slowly became an integral part of my identity. I made friends and enemies over my opinions on tomatoes. During recess, I would sit on the bench and talk about tomatoes with my friends. Soon