Hello LiveJournal, I've neglected you for a long time. I'm back now, and I make no apologies for where I've been, because I know that you will always take me back and accept whatever I write whenever I want you to. I could run out and get a Blogspot and use that for months, years even, and come back to you and you still wouldn't even say a word to me about it.
A thought:
People say 'bloody hell' all the time. And they say 'holy hell' (not as common but still widely used). And they say 'holy shit.' But I've never heard anyone say 'bloody shit' and I can't understand why. I think it's a damn good swear word. Not only is it profane, but it's so evocative. It's cussing that paints a picture in the mind. I encourage any and all readers to incorporate this wonderful swear word into their repertoire. I know I will.
2 comments | post a comment
Good things:
I finished my Ulysses essay for my Joyce class. Those who have seen my msn name know that I wrote about poop. And boy did I write about poop. Here's an excerpt:
"Bloom shows the same careful attention he pays to the tray of breakfast items to his bodily functions, elevating them to the level of works of art that satisfy an internal need to create. This scene accomplishes more than just the characterization of the hero according to his digestive artwork. Rather, by showing Bloom's bodily functions in juxtaposition to his thoughts about the creative process, Joyce is slyly presenting the reader with a model for art that can shed some light on the process by which Ulysses itself was written. The Bloomian model of Art works according to a basic organic function: the process of ingestion, digestion, and defecation. Much like a pleasant bowel movement, what you put into it is what you get out of it."
As you can see by that, my academic writing is terribly clever and a joy for anyone to read. Except Ali. He's probably going to completely skip this section because it's about Joyce and in doing so miss out on the fact that I'm talking about him.
Speaking of my Joyce class, I just wanna come out and say that I love my Joyce class. Today consisted of almost 3 solid hours of interesting, intelligent, and gutbustingly hilarious discussion culminating in me being convinced that James Joyce was trying to simultaneously free and molest the minds of his readership. Or free their minds by molesting them, who knows. We have one more class before the exam, and I'm wishing that weren't the case. Both because I'm going to really miss this group of people and because I'm worried that this exam might take my life by the throat and throttle it until it's extremely, extremely dead. And we all know that if my life dies, I won't be far behind.
There is a band. It is called Hot Chip. It's impossible not to get into their music when they are playing it because they are clearly so into it. They are a group of impossibly nerdy-looking whiteboys who grew up listening to and loving the piss out of Prince. Seeing them onstage, grooving so hard in all their nerdy wonder, should make you laugh. Except for their enthusiasm and the fact that their music is A) awesome and B) TIGHT! Instead of laughing, the normally too-cool-for-you Toronto crowd just couldn't help but get down. Get their music; it's good. But, don't miss the chance to see them live. That's where the good music comes alive and makes you dance with its huge bulk of sheer awesome.
This summer, I am staying in Toronto. This excites me. I have to take a class and a half to graduate. The half class is an elective, and I have enrolled in Piano for Non-majors. After an 18-year hiatus, JW is returning to the piano. I heart piano in a big way, and I've wanted to start lessons for years. What better way to do so than by using it to graduate?
Bad Things:
I may be slightly lactose intolerant. The doctor wants me to avoid all dairy products for two weeks and then drink a large glass of milk and see what happens. As a result of this, I had coffee with no cream this morning. So I loaded it with sugar. The diuretic properties of coffee were more concentrated this time (I used to have a lot of cream thus diluting them), and the extra sugar made my body work a little faster, I think. It was not long before I really had to pee. But man, what a caffeine/sugar rush!
That's about all the bad. Aside from the ridiculosity of the size of the workload, but who's not feeling that right now. I'm feeling pretty good about things today. I hope you are as well.
1 comment | post a comment
| Date: | 2006-02-22 00:15 |
| Subject: | Biology!! |
| Security: | Public |
| Mood: |  pained, yet shaking with joy | | Music: | Nine Inch Nails - We're in This Together |
There is a bone in your ankle. It's called the talus. It, with the help of some tendons and muscles, is pretty much the bone that connects your leg to your foot. It sits on top of your foot and your tibia and fibula (the leg bones) rest on it.
There is nothing I want more right now than to have my talus in the proper place. Because of an ankle sprain I sustained in first year, it pops out of place frequently. Rather, it is a little out of place and whenever I come down on it funny or, say, play goal in broomball*, it pops further out of position and generally causes a lot of pain and difficulty walking and standing. For the record, I played goal in broomball tonight, and walking is now very, very difficult.
*Appendix A
A short lesson in broomball for the uninitiated:
Broomball is similar to hockey. It is played on a hockey ice surface, using hockey nets. Broomball players however, wear boots instead of skates on the ice, and instead of a puck, they hit a frozen blue bouncy ball roughly the size of a European handball. Rather than hockey sticks, they use a stick with a funny-looking rubber thing on the end. People fall down a lot.
10 comments | post a comment
I'm convinced that I'm a jinx for every sports team that I like. I've never seen Thierry Henry, one of the best footballers in the world, play a good game. Every time I watch Arsenal, he's utterly ineffective. The Leafs never win when I watch (though I won't take full credit for that...). And it was rebroadcasts of the Canadian men's hockey team's games versus Italy and Germany that I saw. They'd already been won hours before when I watched them. What I saw live were the team's two shutout losses to Switzerland and Finland.
Today, I turned on the tv to see that, at the first intermission, Canada was leading the Czech Republic 3-0. I watched the second period in which the Czechs scored and potentially injured Martin Brodeur. Then I watched the first couple minutes of the third in which they scored again. I turned it off. My contribution to the Canadian Olympic effort will be to not watch any more hockey games. I hope I've left our guys enough time to put this one away. I desperately want to watch the games, but at times like this, we've got to put the national good ahead of our own personal enjoyment.
On a side note, I want Martin St. Louis to throw a huge body check and take someone out completely.
Also, Samsung promotes mail theft and corporate blackmail. Shame, Samsung, shame.
post a comment
| Date: | 2006-02-18 03:35 |
| Subject: | Things |
| Security: | Public |
| Mood: |  exanimate | | Music: | Manic Street Preachers - My Little Empire |
Things that I've enjoyed today:
Tandoori,
"White Teeth" by Zadie Smith,
Sliding along the ice in my sneakers in the empty areas of campus,
A commercial with Martin St. Louis,
Waking up to The Smashing Pumpkins,
Frasier,
Fixing stuff on my computer,
Pepsi (So bad for me. But so delicious. Sigh... so addicted),
Arrested Development,
The empty elevator,
Cassie Campbell.
Looking out the corner window of this room into the courtyard two stories down usually makes me feel pretty powerful. Today, just rather isolated. I'm looking forward to Jessica coming back.
post a comment
My faith in Joyce scholars has been renewed. Actually, it was never really there before, so I guess that it's been made. Or kindled. Or some really really big word that Joyce would use.
It seems that at least one of these scholars has realized, as have I, that Joyce is too complicated, too referential to too many things, and too contradictory to have any meaning. It can mean anything at all and because of that, it's meaningless. This is what I'm arguing in my presentation tomorrow (note - I don't recommend trying this if you care about your grades). The only thing you can do, I conclude, is laugh at it. And John Gordon of Connecticut College agrees with me as he's written, get this, eighteen limericks about Ulysses. Limericks. Silly little sing-songy Irish poems about the book that "everybody knows is the greatest novel of the century."
Herein, I share my favorites. If you don't get them, I assure you, they're funny.
4. "Calypso"
"Mrs. Marion Bloom," wrote her greeter,
And it didn't make Leo's mood sweeter
To know that the signory
Adding insult to injury
Was the one whose pike hoses would meet her.
10. "Wandering Rocks"
Fragmentation's the key to this chapter,
In dissonant bits, fore and after,
Which is why this last line
Not only won't rhyme,
It's too short.
13. "Nausicaa"
'Neath his gaze as the twilight grew thicker
Gerty tried by the fireworks' flickers
To read Bloom's deepest thoughts
And all that she got
Was "Knickers, knickers, and knickers."
16. "Eumaeus"
Bloom and Stephen! Together at last!
A chance to compare and contrast!
But as homewards they're reeling
You can't help the feeling
That we're not getting anywhere fast.
Never again will I doubt the brilliance of Joyce. The man has inspired some of the most moving poetry I think the world will ever know.
1 comment | post a comment
| Date: | 2006-01-12 15:40 |
| Subject: | These phenomena |
| Security: | Public |
| Mood: |  no time to pee | | Music: | In-Flight Safety - Lucky Boy |
One of my favorite things happened today. The music I was listening to as I walked back from class synced up with the world around me. This happens all the time. When I'm walking and the music just seems to suit where I'm walking or I'm on the bus and the music is perfect for staring out the window at the world going by. This happens so often, it's become normal.
But what approaches the sublime is when life either syncs up with the music in a significant way for a long time or matches exactly what the song is doing. Once, walking through Vari Hall and the Ross building and into Central Square, every new piece of sensory information matched the emergence of a new element in "Two Points for Honesty" by Guster (I freaking love Guster). It was incredible.
Today was the other kind. And it seemed the most impossible of all. A guy was walking along tapping his pen on the railing beside him as he went. Nothing special about that. Except that it was the same beat I was hearing in my headphones. Timed Perfectly. Then, he and the drummer of In-Flight Safety played a fill. The same fill. His was a little less melodic but every tap of the pen coincided with every drum hit in the song.
There was no possible way it could have happened. Except that it did.
1 comment | post a comment
I wonder if dogs can also smell it when someone's wasting time. I've been at the computer for hours now doing nothing, and she's been barking and only seems to have stopped because she's made herself hoarse. She seems desperate about something. Clearly, she's telling me to go to bed. So I'm going to go to bed.
Good night.
post a comment
Strange break this year. I was coming home no matter what but I wasn't sure whether or not I actually wanted to. The smart thing to do would have been to stay and try to find a job over Christmas (is anyone else sick of saying "the holidays?") since I'm completely broke. But family being what it is and the plane ticket having already been bought, I'm here. And it's going pretty well.
I dunno if people have loosened up a bit (just a bit though - it's still pretty crazy) or what but I'm so far having an okay time. Also, we have tons of booze in our house this year. This is rare at my house, like really rare. But we've got half a bottle of Bailey's left over from last year, most of a Texas mickey of rum from when Micah was home over the summer (Dad thought it was the nose off of a space shuttle), and a bottle of vodka from I don't know where, not to mention lots of wine, beer, and old tequila actually from Mexico. It's just so bizarre to see it all in this house now.
There's now so much here that I can, if I want to, be drunk for the entire time I'm home. And I'm kinda thinking about doing it as an experiment. I've never been a big drinker, so what would it be like if I were to spend the next three weeks completely sauced? I'm thinking of doing it as quietly as I can and see if anyone notices. They definitely wouldn't notice a difference in the amount of rum gone. I'm a lightweight and it's really, really huge. I'm thinking I may have to do it. You know, for science.
2 comments | post a comment
| Date: | 2005-12-14 05:04 |
| Subject: | Massive silent scream |
| Security: | Public |
| Mood: |  blah | | Music: | The Smiths - That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore |
I was working on an entry but I was whining a lot and revealing a little more than I really feel I want to. So I'll just sum up:
Complain.
Stephen is 14 now (I think). He changed a lot over the summer so I'm guessing that puberty's ripped him a new one in the 4 months since I've been home to see him. He's getting to be pretty cool and he likes Jimi Hendrix. I've made him 4 mixed CDs. He will rock on.
( Back to Creative Writing portfolioing after this )
1 comment | post a comment
25 years today. I can't adequately express what The Beatles have come to mean to me over the past year. The genius that I'd generally acknowledged without fully understanding has become clear. I've been at the brink of tears for the past few hours now and at any time lately that I stopped to think.
Yao likes rap. This time last year, he had never heard of John Lennon but saw him on Jessica's t-shirt. Now he listens to The Beatles as well.
Phill's students come in for guitar lessons looking to learn American Idiot. Before long he sends them home knowing Beatles songs and realizing how much they've been missing out on.
Any mood, any state of mind, any weather, The Beatles fit. Decades later and we can't match the beauty of Yesterday. We can't do strings any better than Eleanor Rigby. We can't pull tears out like A Day in the Life. We can't reinvent a song like Tomorrow Never Knows.
This day of my life is devoted to him.
4 comments | post a comment
| Date: | 2005-11-25 03:17 |
| Subject: | It's a hopeful thing |
| Security: | Public |
| Mood: |  productive | | Music: | The Decemberists - The Tain |
Today I was thinking about a part from my Electro-Acoustic Orchestra song. It was in the first version I recorded for the class and it's changed a lot since then. But I was thinking of this one little thing that happened by accident when I recorded it and I decided to play it and see if it could be adapted into what the song is now.
I picked up the guitar and looked at it. I thought of the starting note, what it sounds like. I placed my finger on a fret and prepared to strike the string. Before I did though, I moved to a different fret, then struck it. It was the right note. Normally I'd strike at random and then find it based on hearing the wrong one.
This time, no note name, no thought, I just felt what was right to play. I think I'm becoming a musician.
2 comments | post a comment
In honor of tonight's Nine Inch Freaking Nails concert, I have attended class and my Sport & Rec office hours dressed very nicely, clean-shaven, and clean. I'm wearing a blazer. A nice one, not corduroy, not smelly (though I did vomit intensely in it once). I was pleasant and sociable all day. Soon, I shall wallow in intensity.
4 comments | post a comment
A brief timeline for you all.
Sept 22: I find out that I have to prepare a presentation on the first chapter of James Joyce's "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" on Nov 3.
Oct 28ish: After I'm supposed to have e-mailed my presentation thesis to my prof, I begin to read the first chapter and check out some books of criticism.
Oct 29-Nov 1: I play a lot of guitar, occasionally reading some Joyce.
Nov 2: I panic (as usual), realize I'm an idiot with a severe procrastinating problem who made it to 4th year because I'm easy to feel sorry for, and try desperately to find something in the critical texts that strikes me. I read the same essay in two books. I play guitar some.
Nov 3 12am: A grad student strike is likely. If they strike, the profs will strike in support of them and there will be no classes and I won't have to do my presentation. Despite Jessica's voice of reason that I can't depend on that as a way out, I begin to depend on that as a way out of doing my work.
2am-ish: The union has reached a deal. There will be no strike, classes will continue, I have to present tomorrow. I have nil done.
3am: Unable to channel frustration effectively, I hit a wall. Nursing my sore hand, I resolve to learn better study habits and learn how to channel frustration effectively. I look through first chapter of Portrait to see what jumps out at me. Stories do.
5am: My thesis is sent to me from heaven. It falls all the way, hitting me hard on the head. I go a little woozy and make a bad judgment call: that I will write an LJ post about this situation rather than e-mail my prof and beg for mercy over not having done this right (which I still have to do) or actually write the damn thing (which I also still have to do).
I guess what I'm building up to is this: would you say that Cameron Diaz is vital to the success of the Shrek franchise the way that Mike Meyers and Eddie Murphy are? Or is she expendable? If she were replaced, would you care?
4 comments | post a comment
| Date: | 2005-11-01 01:17 |
| Subject: | Too much verb agreement! |
| Security: | Public |
| Mood: | blah | | Music: | Bell Orchestre - Throw it on a Fire |
Tonight, I weep for a friend who, in years past, had been a solace to me, my own little slice of calm amid the cherry filling, rushing to fill in the space behind the knife in the pie of insanity and confusion. She is no longer that. She is the uncooked ingredient, the last to fall, finally cooked by the heat of those around her.
I wish she could rest in peace, but the reason I loved her is because that's what she used to do.
Used to be no one knew about the bathroom in the Central Square basement. Hell, most people didn't even know there was a Central Square basement. Thousands of people per second traipsed overhead, oblivious to the soothing sounds their footfalls made in my porcelain oasis.
No more.
I went there tonight, on my way to the library, after eating my Japanese noodles in a chilled courtyard, watching people accidentally moving in sync to Guster. A random walked in the door ahead of me (how did he know about that door?) and headed downstairs. He was in the bathroom when I got there. It was dirty; it's never dirty.
In my five minute stay, 3 other people came in. Last year, I could spend a half hour listening to the student hooves overheard making brute music. Poor girl ain't what she used to be.
3 comments | post a comment
| Date: | 2005-10-27 00:57 |
| Subject: | Moi, je quitte mon pay bleu |
| Security: | Public |
| Mood: | blank | | Music: | Belle & Sebastian - Take Your Carriage Clock And Shove It |
I have this theory. When you need automotive type things lubricated, you use oil and grease. And the body works much like a machine. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe that machines are based on the way the bodies work. So, if you want your body to work well, you just need to eat a lot of oily greasy foods. Get that blood flowing smoother, lube up that busted knee joint. Fast food will save us all.
( Click here for a complete list of my important passwords! )
2 comments | post a comment
I know some of you out there are Firefly fans, so I must ask. Should I familiarize myself with Firefly before watching Serenity? I've heard from all over that not having seen the show won't put me at a disadvantage for the movie, but (and this is the big thing that's got me worried) will watching Serenity ruin Firefly for me?
3 comments | post a comment
| Date: | 2005-10-07 12:03 |
| Subject: | Dream Job |
| Security: | Public |
| Mood: | nervous | | Music: | John William Blakeley - Understanding How to Forget |
It's taken me 4 years but I've finally managed to get a part-time job while going to school. In fact, I'm at work right now and there's nothing to do and it's boring and I love it so much. So far today, I've been asked if there's a Poli Sci drop box in Mac. That was a good 25 minutes ago. In a way, I wish this was a full-time thing, but I suppose I'd probably get bored eventually. Though I could read the whole time if I wanted to.
Or do the crossword. I've become enamored with the crossword lately. I looked for a newspaper this morning at the entrance to res and couldn't find one. It's not boding well for me. I have to find it so I can get the answers I couldn't get for yesterday's (there were only about 5). Steadily I am building my vocabulary and finding a new source of procrastination (on top of snarky entertainment blogs).
I told a lie to a very sweet person today. The Music Department secretary asked me if I was a music major when I went to sign out a practice room. She saw the guitar backpack I was wearing and said "Oh, you must be," and I answered in the affirmative. It was all calculated. But I knew I wouldn't get a room if she knew I'm not a major. I am ashamed. And also worried. What if she checks up on me?
Today in Electro-Acoustic Orchestra, I teach my composition to the class and then conduct as we play it. I've been thinking about it nonstop and am so worried. I am the only person in the class who can't read music and I feel like my composition is kinda weak. Although it's got a part which can only be played on Soledad, the crappiest of the crappy guitars which means it rocks.
3 comments | post a comment
| Date: | 2005-09-26 06:24 |
| Subject: | Incredible |
| Security: | Public |
| Mood: | sleepy | | Music: | Mogwai - Kappa |
English seems to be built around saying the opposite of what we mean.
We have the word 'incredible' which we use to talk about things that are amazing and really, really good in general. But the word actually means implausible. So implausible as to elicit disbelief. Maybe that means that we're just a cynical people who just can't believe that anything could be just that good. If you want to break the word down as is, it literally says "has no credibility."
Then the same word in French, 'incroyable.' It means that it can't be believed (French verb croire - to believe).
Well I'm credibly tired. I best go to bed or something.
3 comments | post a comment
I find myself looking forward to what the band can do. We can play shows, we can make a demo, we can give it to important people, we can develop our music to the point where it can help us live. I want not superstardom but a life of playing hard at night to keep ourselves going. To say that I want to make money off my music makes it sound like I want to get rich. That'd be nice but I've got my sights set on making a living from it.
The sort of thing where I can get up halfway through the afternoon, do the dishes and vacuuming, fold the clothes, then head to soundcheck.
Mind you a life of luxury, free studio time and instrument sponsorship deals is ok too. Phill can get Brian a great amp for half price because he works at a music store. Brian - "Don't tell me that! I have to pay rent."
Susan Swan wants to know what I think of the homeless. Seems she wrote a book lately. It was shortlisted for prizes. Now, I become one of eleven people whose opinions she wants. But I don't know how to give an opinion on this. I'm always too small-town naive, too suspicious, too trusting, too cold. I can't see them as separate stories and I can't narrow them down enough to group and make judgment.
I've been gone for a long time, yes. I think I will learn to walk on stilts and put that on my resume as a qualification. Brian is producing this.
2 comments | post a comment
|
|
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
_spinningplates's journal
drained
chipper
confused
heh, knickers
farty
pensive and sad