December 15th, 2006


monday of impending doom

Due Monday: raytracer (actually due Sunday?), graphics final project, 6-8 pg paper on FTP vulnerabilities, 6-8 pg paper on Beckett, computer security exam, graphics exam. And then I have four days to write the last 50 pages of my screenplay! (Not hyperbole!)

One down, six to go...

for he's a jolly good fellow

Yay for Aaron Walker and his obsessive love of 18th century seafaring culture. The food was cold by the time I got to the banquet, but there was still much merriment to be had. And I'm not a big drinker by any means, but they aren't kidding when they say fine British Royal Navy rum warms the soul.

Mission: Write a 6-8 page paper on Beckett with a cocktail glass's worth of hard liquor in you. GO.

*head explodes*

Dresden Codak is smarter than I am. All the philosophical thought-provokingness of One Over Zero, with 4i times the absurdity! Would be the most overwhelmingly pretentious webcomic ever were it not for the fact that it is actually as intellectual as it aspires to be.

Oh, and the art is a little absolutely fucking beautiful kind of.


the cowherd and the weaver

Let me tell you a story. An old story. A good one.

There's an ancient Chinese legend about a cowherd (male) and a weaver (female) who fell in love. Problem is, the cowherd, being a cowherd, spends most of his days out in the fields, herding cattle, and the weaver spends all day inside a stuffy little building weaving pretty clothes. They don't see each other very much--they exist on different wavelengths. Other problem is, the weaver is the daughter of a goddess, and the cowherd is just some guy. You'd think it'd never work, but love has a way of defying the most impossible of circumstances, and the two go nuts over each other and get hitched. This angers the shitpants out of the weaver's mother, who banishes her to the sky, where she must sit and weave clouds for all eternity. Heartbroken but undeterred, the cowherd follows her into the sky (how he does this, the myth doesn't explain--I guess you could say he was the first taikonaut), and, anticipating this futile act of heroism, the weaver's mother scratches a river between them so that they are trapped up there together, but can never reunite. The two lovers sit there to this day, close enough to see each other, but too far to speak.

We have new names for these lovers, in this day and age. The cowherd we call Altair. The weaver, Vega. And the river? The Milky Way.

Every Chinese Valentine's Day, on the seventh day of the seventh lunar month, all the magpies in the world fly up into the sky, into the farthest reaches of the heavens, and form a bridge across the Milky Way. For just one night Altair and Vega align, and remember they are lovers. Just one night--to them it feels like it could last forever, but as is always the case with star-crossed lovers, it isn't. When the sun comes up they separate. The weaver goes back to her loom and the cowherd goes back to his cows. They go back to their work. They return to their lives. They pretend to forget. But running through each of their heads, from the moment they part to the instant they meet again, is the same thought:

364 more days. 363. 362...

(This could be anyone, but it isn't.)
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