Please taste my Mustard (Essay)

<p>Hey everyone-</p>

<p>I am applying as a transfer and was hoping that you guys could provide me with some comments on my essay. Thanks.</p>

<pre><code>In his landmark philosophical treatise, An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, David Hume levies a devastating attack on what he refers to as “necessary connection.” He opens his critique by drawing the distinction between impressions and ideas. Impressions are the sensory experiences, emotions, and other phenomena directly perceptible from the outside world. Ideas are the relationships we construct between these impressions by reflecting on them. The fallibility of human reason, Hume argues, lies in the assumption that these relationships are necessary. For example, one may observe that when it rains there are black clouds overhead, but it is not prudent for one to assume that black clouds necessarily accompany rainstorms. This inference is based solely on past coincidence and rules out the possibility of a sunshower. Another faulty idea inferred from sensory perceptions is the relationship between mustard and hot dogs.
As one browses the twenty-foot-high aisles of the local bulk food purveyor, the humongous jar of mustard is bound to catch one’s eye. The mere sight of the radiant yellow barrel releases a flood of memories of bar-b-ques, picnics, cookouts, and, of course, hot dogs. The innate framework of the human mind is such that one sensory impression can trigger a series of recollections of past sensory impressions. When one sees mustard, one thinks of the taste of mustard, and when one thinks of the taste of mustard, one thinks of the taste of that with which one eats mustard—hot dogs. In addition to these recollection processes, one reflects on past experience of big things complementing associated big things. Big socks are associated with big shoes, big forks are associated with big knives… So, because this particular jar of mustard is so gigantic, the shopper thinks of an appropriately Oldenbergesque hot dog. The conversion would follow something like this: a one-and-a-half foot tall jar of mustard with a diameter of nine inches would have a volume of about one-thousand-one-hundred-and-forty-five cubic inches. A regular sized jar of Gulden’s Mustard (my favorite) has a height of three-and-a-half inches, a diameter of two inches, and contains eleven cubic inches of the condiment. The gigantic jar of mustard contains one-hundred-and-four times as much yellow goo as the regular jar. Proportionality thus dictates that the hot dogs flavored with this huge volume of mustard would be one-hundred-and-four times as large as a regular hot dog. These Brobdinagian ballpark beauties would be twenty-eight inches long and weigh twenty-six pounds.
Therefore, ideas inferred from past sensory experience entice the shoppers to buy the huge container of mustard. They couple the association of mustard and hot dogs with the presumption that big goes with big. Shoppers see the huge jar of mustard, which elicits the connection to hot dogs and the past delight experienced while eating hot dogs covered in mustard, and they assume that because this jar of mustard is so big, the future delight experienced from this purchase will be proportionately big. But before they struggles to roll the yellow bounty into their cart, they must realize their fallacious logic. Hume (who I believe had quite a taste for beef Wellington) would argue that past coincidences of hotdogs, mustard, and gained happiness does not guarantee future such coincidences. An increase in one of the three contributing factors, then, certainly does not assure an increase in the others. There can be too much of a good thing.
The power to reason is an extremely valuable tool. Past sensory experience combined with reason can provide a somewhat reliable prediction of the future. But one must realize the limits of human reason. For in the end, who really needs that much mustard?
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<p>sexcellent...</p>

<p>Revised essay: (please comment)</p>

<p>In his landmark philosophical treatise, “An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding,” David Hume levies a devastating attack on what he refers to as “necessary connection.” He opens his critique by drawing the distinction between impressions and ideas. Impressions are the sensory experiences, emotions, and other phenomena directly perceptible from the outside world. Ideas are the relationships we construct between these impressions by reflecting on them. The fallibility of human reason, Hume argues, lies in the assumption that these relationships are necessary. For example, one may observe that when it rains there are black clouds overhead, but it is not correct to assume that black clouds necessarily accompany rainstorms. This inference is based solely on past coincidence and rules out the possibility of a sunshower. Another faulty idea inferred from sensory perceptions is the relationship between mustard and hot dogs.</p>

<pre><code>As one browses the twenty-foot-high aisles of the local bulk food purveyor, the humongous jar of mustard is bound to catch one’s eye. The mere sight of the radiant yellow barrel releases a flood of memories of bar-b-ques, picnics, cookouts, and, of course, hot dogs. The innate framework of the human mind is such that one sensory impression can trigger a series of recollections of past sensory impressions. When one sees mustard, one thinks of the taste of mustard, and when one thinks of the taste of mustard, one thinks of the taste of hot dogs with mustard. In addition to these recollection processes, one reflects on past experience of big things complementing associated big things. Big socks are associated with big shoes, big forks are associated with big knives… So, because this particular jar of mustard is so gigantic, the shopper thinks of an appropriately Oldenbergesque hot dog. The conversion would follow something like this: a one-and-a-half foot tall jar of mustard with a diameter of nine inches would have a volume of about one-thousand-one-hundred-and-forty-five cubic inches. A regular sized jar of Gulden’s Mustard (my favorite) has a height of three-and-a-half inches, a diameter of two inches, and contains eleven cubic inches of the condiment. The gigantic jar of mustard contains one-hundred-and-four times as much yellow goo as the regular jar. Proportionality thus dictates that the hot dogs flavored with this huge volume of mustard would be one-hundred-and-four times as large as a regular hot dog. These Brobdingnagian ballpark beauties would be twenty-eight inches long and weigh twenty-six pounds.

Therefore, ideas inferred from past sensory experience entice the shoppers to buy the huge container of mustard. They couple the association of mustard and hot dogs with the presumption that big goes with big. Shoppers see the huge jar of mustard, which elicits the connection to hot dogs and the past delight experienced while eating hot dogs covered in mustard, and they assume that because this jar of mustard is so big, the future delight experienced from this purchase will be proportionately big. But before they struggle to roll the yellow bounty into their cart, they must realize their fallacious logic. Hume (who I believe preferred beef Wellington) would argue that past coincidences of hotdogs, mustard, and gained happiness does not guarantee future such coincidences. An increase in one of the three contributing factors, then, certainly does not assure an increase in the others. There can be too much of a good thing.

The power to reason is an extremely valuable tool. Past sensory experience combined with reason can provide a somewhat reliable prediction of the future. But one must realize the limits of human reason. For in the end, who really needs that much mustard?
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<p>you should be receiving your rejection letter next week.</p>

<p>gee RejectedRyan, you're a bit harsh.</p>

<p>Ever since I was in Middle School I was part of a small community of intellectual minds—nerds, if you will. Back in 2000, while most of my classmates cafeteria tables were gossiping about who made it to second base with whom, my friends and I were huddled around a table in the corner, taking seriously about the election (we all wanted Ralph Nader) in between cracking jokes about public figures. School was interesting at times, but for us the real learning took place in the reading and discussing we did outside the classroom. We were surrounded by a sea of jocks and “popular” kids. Even the typical “overachievers” weren’t part of our group—if we asked them what they thought about the conflict between free speech and the preservation of public order, they wouldn’t know what to answer unless there was a test on it next Monday. We were the vast minority. But at Chicago, everyone will be a “nerd” just like. At Chicago, I suspect the student body consists entirely of kids from these corner cafeteria tables. I know that my learning experience won’t end when class is over—it will continue when I’m eating lunch with my friends, or when I’m in the bathroom reading the graffiti on the walls. Chicago is the only place where I’ll be able to discuss higher philosophy while at a party; the discussion of course will be made all the more interesting by the fact that we’re “at a party.”</p>

<p>So should you.</p>

<p>god, why do you have to call yourself a big nerd when Chicago is afraid of getting more nerds? </p>

<p>I'm actually just like you guys on the coner expect I sit with a big group of motivated football players and band people (we are a mixed bunch) playing poker and talking about probabilities (which is exetremely difficult if you dig deep enough). Sure, we are all nerds in some way but never call yourself a nerd.</p>

<p>Rejected Ryan- All of your posts are either a) Begging for help on your essays, b) Disparaging others' essays in ways that are not constructive, just mean, or c) Telling those who seek constructive criticism that 'until I get in, we are enemies.' I have one question: are you happy in life?</p>

<p>Magellan, be angry with yourself that you wrote horrible essays, not RejectedRyan.</p>

<p>Your third post is the most pitiful string of letters, spaces, and punctuation that anyone has ever had the gall to call an essay. If the only way you can demonstrate to the admissions committee that you are an intellectual is by explicitly heralding yourself and your friends as such, odds you neither you nor your friends are intellectuals.</p>

<p>Millions of "nerds" across the nation make it a habit to discuss the previous night's CNN news ticker over lunch. Thing is, none will be attending UChicago.</p>

<p>you are a scum brinestrom.</p>

<p>That was Rejected Ryan's essay Brinestorm.</p>

<p>I posted it, plus my comment ("So should you"), as a response to Rejected Ryan's initial post. I apologize for my lack of clarity.</p>

<p>So you pretty much just inadvertently ****ed your friend in the ass.</p>

<p>lol
i'll write essay for 50 bucks a peice.</p>

<p>That wasn't the essay I sent in. The one I sent looked nothing like that one. Yes, had i sent that one in i'd probably be rejected, becuase that one is terrible. See, I'm not one of those people who calls everything that's not by me terrible--I am able to objectively critique anything, whether it be mine, my friend's, or my enemy's. That Brinestorm was able to identify my old essay as terrible is just more evidence in his ability to objectively rate essays.</p>

<p>I also find it humorous that you didn't post any of my essays that I did in fact submit, probably because they would utterly dwarf your essays in quality. I wasn't trying to insult you, I merely wished to point out the obvious fact that you shoulnd't be so confident when you: Make brilliant observations like "For in the end, who really needs that much mustard," "There can be too much of a good thing," or even "An increase in one of the three contributing factors, then, certainly does not assure an increase in the others." The height of your essay seems to be when you demonstate your ability to use a thesaurus (or read swift) and alitteration when you write "Brobdingnagian ballpark beauties."</p>

<p>I don't recall ever "begging for help," more like seeking constructive criticism, something I am very happy to take. (I realize the above essay was terrible and rewrote it when other people pointed out that fact). If you were smart and it were not too late, you would rewrite your mustard essay, because quite frankly, it reads like a 10th grade AP Euro paper. My propensity to post essays for criticism stems from the fact that 1) That was the reason i joined here in the first place 2) Before submitting my apps I suffered from a mild neurosis brought upon by the whole admissions process that I'm sure everyone here has experienced and is well aware of. </p>

<p>To answer your question: yes.</p>

<p>I urge fragile little children posting their essays on CC for critiques far and wide to use the above post by RejectedRyan as a paradigm for how to accept criticism. I tore the poor thing to pieces and he responded by complimenting me in return.</p>

<p>Thank god you changed that essay, RejectedRyan, else I'd be the only prick in Hyde Park for sure next September. :)</p>

<p>did you get in already?</p>

<p>ps:
Just curious. Are you two going to start a gay club if there isn't one at U of C?</p>

<p>"Just curious. Are you two going to start a gay club if there isn't one at U of C?"</p>

<p>As long as people like you who think that dehumanizing an entire class of people by making crude jokes about them is witty don't get into UChicago, I don't see the need for a gay club.</p>

<p>durhurr, i won't start the gay club if you start the stoopid-poopie head club first!!</p>

<p>Rejected Ryan- Which essays did you submit? You posted the one I posted above only a few days before the application deadline. Also, I read your 'Astronaut' essay which I liked. The only problem that I had with it was that you didn't conclude anything, you just presented a range of possibilities without arguing for or against any of them.</p>