First, there was myspace. And for a time, it was good. Then I realized that myspace was mostly tailored for kids who were too young to actually access the site but wanted to because all of their other emo friends were on it and adding Simple Plan to their glorified HTML tables. How could this happen to me, indeed.
Then, there was Facebook, which for the longest time, didn't allow for blog posts, until a little before they started opening up their platform and came up with a little app known as "notes." These were, for all accounts and purposes, blogs. The advantage, however, was that you could tag your friends and let them know that you mentioned them or were thinking of them when you wrote that little "some people who just need to die" post one drunken evening.
Then came Blogger. And at first, it was mostly overlooked. Then they added the ability to include Google ads in your posts, and writing crap about your life became a feasible way to make money. Plus, you could import your blog from Blogger to Myspace through the RSS feed. And so there became a clean way to keep your friends close and your random blog-crawling strangers closer.
Now enter Wordpress: a blog with a number of clean layouts, and traffic viewers (really handy for seeing if anybody really does visit your blog or if you're just writing to a vacuum). It seems to have all of the advantages of Blogger, plus it can be searched on sites like Google and... Sphere? What?
But so comes the incredibly weird series of questions one must ask himself: is this worth the hassle? Is the hassle worth the knowing? Will the knowing possibly make me not want to do this anymore? Will this post upload to Wordpress? Will Facebook then pick up the post off of Wordpress? Will the emo kids ever shake loose of the grasp of Myspace and its stupidly simple design that even one of the many pubescent emo kids on it could have thought up and then created? Should I make that LOLyrics site?
None of these have easy answers. The real irony is that I'm tangling myself in a web of blogs, and that "blog" is a shortening of "web log," which makes redundant my sentence, but nobody would say that it's proper syntax to say "I'm tangling myself up in a blogs," so here we are.
Sunday, October 28
Friday, October 26
Why I didn't write a blog today.
“A Modern Proposal”
The medical world of today has a wealth of tools at its disposal for treating sick people: Vaccines prevent people from getting seriously ill; medications help fight bacteria, ward off infection, and bolster the capabilities of various functions of the body; there are now cameras and tools small enough to fit through incisions less than an inch large for operations that would otherwise be highly invasive; methods of analyzing a person’s body with high-powered magnets have made otherwise invisible causes of illness visible.
But for all of the advances medicine has made in treating people, there is still no way to save a vital organ once it has failed. At that point, it becomes necessary to find a replacement organ in order to prevent the patient from dying. This requires either a deceased person to have been an organ donor, or in the case of certain organs, a live person who is willing to give the organ. Unfortunately, these circumstances don’t occur frequently enough as to keep the ratio of sick people to healthy donors balanced (or, preferably, in favor of the healthy donors). With this in mind, the question arises as to whether or not there should be incentives put into place for people who would decide to give an organ to somebody in need. To answer that question, we should first look at the current allocation of healthy organs that could be easily given, then we will look at how the allocation of those organs would change if we created a legal market for them, and then we will analyze the moral and ethical implications of each of these decisions.
As of 2000, the number of people in Western Europe awaiting a kidney transplant was estimated at 40,000 people, and only a quarter of those people received a transplant (Cooper DKC). This condition relies on people who were otherwise healthy when they died, and on living people who are willing to part with one of their kidneys because of altruistic motivations. Since it has been medically proven that humans can live comfortably with only one kidney, the rationing of kidneys shows a surplus in a vast majority of the population, and a death-inducing shortage among some people.
There is, however, heavy debate on whether or not it would be possible for the organ-transferring process to involve what L. D. de Castro calls “monetary compensation” to the person from whom the organ originates. The overall consensus of those in favor of a system such as this is that the market would be overseen by a public entity, to whom the organs would be sold and then from whom the organs would be distributed (Erin, Charles A.; Harris, John). In the system, Erin and Harris say, “There would be no direct sales or purchases, no exploitation of low income countries and their populations (no buying in Turkey... to sell in [England]). The organs would be tested for HIV, etc., their provenance known, and there would be strict controls and penalties to prevent abuse.” Erin and Harris admit that there would need to be a high enough price point on organs to actually attract people to sell their organs, but maintain that the altruistic nature of donating an organ would not be diminished if people only sold organs in seeking compensation for the act. However, if this method did work to make more people willing to give one of their organs, it would indeed help to greatly diminish the number of people dying for lack of precious organs.
The questions that arise in this hypothetical situation pertaining to the safety and security of opening a market for organs are mostly answered with the notions of careful screening and assigning priority to people according to their need, as opposed to how much they are willing to pay for the organ (this safeguard is an automatic installment of having a public entity through which all transactions are made).
But the questions actually pertaining to the idea that this would become a market are left roughly unanswered, and would be where the moral battleground exists. How would the price point of an organ be decided? Would it be a case-by-case basis, where the quality of the organ is weighed against the demand for it at the time? Would organs being donated by people of rarer blood types be valued at a higher price? Or would an organ be sold for a uniform price, so long as it passed a set of requirements according to the type of organ it is? If people still refused to sell their organs, would the price point shift upward? If the price point continued to shift upward until it reached an exorbitant price, could the government have a solid legal case in being able to have those people who still refused to donate as legally insane, send them to an asylum, and then take the organ on the grounds that they aren’t of a sound mind to decide to donate it on their own?
At the same time, there are severe moral implications on the part of those who currently aren’t donating organs and who physically could without seeing severe side-effects in their daily routine. Proponents of a market for organs argue that the loss of life in the current system is clearly unacceptable, and that “[p]eople have a right to make a decision to sell a body part. If we should be allowed to sell our labour, why not sell the means to do that labour?” (Savulescu).
While there aren’t any easy answers to the questions pertaining to this idea, it is apparent that something needs to be done for those people who have failing organs. However, it is also difficult to reach a conclusion on how a market, and will likely leave the problem unresolved until a modern-day Jonathan Swift comes forth with a modest proposal.
Works Cited
de Castro, L. D. “Commodification and Exploitation: Arguments in Favour of Compensated Organ Donation.” Journal of Medical Ethics. 29 (2003): 142-146.
Cooper, DKC; Lanza, RP. Xeno - the Promise of Transplanting Animal Organs Into Humans. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000: 7-17.
Erin, Charles A. and John Harris. “An Ethical Market in Human Organs.” Journal of Medical Ethics. 29 (2003): 137-138.
Savulescu, J. “Is the Sale of Body Parts Wrong?” Journal of Medical Ethics. 29 (2003): 138-139.
The medical world of today has a wealth of tools at its disposal for treating sick people: Vaccines prevent people from getting seriously ill; medications help fight bacteria, ward off infection, and bolster the capabilities of various functions of the body; there are now cameras and tools small enough to fit through incisions less than an inch large for operations that would otherwise be highly invasive; methods of analyzing a person’s body with high-powered magnets have made otherwise invisible causes of illness visible.
But for all of the advances medicine has made in treating people, there is still no way to save a vital organ once it has failed. At that point, it becomes necessary to find a replacement organ in order to prevent the patient from dying. This requires either a deceased person to have been an organ donor, or in the case of certain organs, a live person who is willing to give the organ. Unfortunately, these circumstances don’t occur frequently enough as to keep the ratio of sick people to healthy donors balanced (or, preferably, in favor of the healthy donors). With this in mind, the question arises as to whether or not there should be incentives put into place for people who would decide to give an organ to somebody in need. To answer that question, we should first look at the current allocation of healthy organs that could be easily given, then we will look at how the allocation of those organs would change if we created a legal market for them, and then we will analyze the moral and ethical implications of each of these decisions.
As of 2000, the number of people in Western Europe awaiting a kidney transplant was estimated at 40,000 people, and only a quarter of those people received a transplant (Cooper DKC). This condition relies on people who were otherwise healthy when they died, and on living people who are willing to part with one of their kidneys because of altruistic motivations. Since it has been medically proven that humans can live comfortably with only one kidney, the rationing of kidneys shows a surplus in a vast majority of the population, and a death-inducing shortage among some people.
There is, however, heavy debate on whether or not it would be possible for the organ-transferring process to involve what L. D. de Castro calls “monetary compensation” to the person from whom the organ originates. The overall consensus of those in favor of a system such as this is that the market would be overseen by a public entity, to whom the organs would be sold and then from whom the organs would be distributed (Erin, Charles A.; Harris, John). In the system, Erin and Harris say, “There would be no direct sales or purchases, no exploitation of low income countries and their populations (no buying in Turkey... to sell in [England]). The organs would be tested for HIV, etc., their provenance known, and there would be strict controls and penalties to prevent abuse.” Erin and Harris admit that there would need to be a high enough price point on organs to actually attract people to sell their organs, but maintain that the altruistic nature of donating an organ would not be diminished if people only sold organs in seeking compensation for the act. However, if this method did work to make more people willing to give one of their organs, it would indeed help to greatly diminish the number of people dying for lack of precious organs.
The questions that arise in this hypothetical situation pertaining to the safety and security of opening a market for organs are mostly answered with the notions of careful screening and assigning priority to people according to their need, as opposed to how much they are willing to pay for the organ (this safeguard is an automatic installment of having a public entity through which all transactions are made).
But the questions actually pertaining to the idea that this would become a market are left roughly unanswered, and would be where the moral battleground exists. How would the price point of an organ be decided? Would it be a case-by-case basis, where the quality of the organ is weighed against the demand for it at the time? Would organs being donated by people of rarer blood types be valued at a higher price? Or would an organ be sold for a uniform price, so long as it passed a set of requirements according to the type of organ it is? If people still refused to sell their organs, would the price point shift upward? If the price point continued to shift upward until it reached an exorbitant price, could the government have a solid legal case in being able to have those people who still refused to donate as legally insane, send them to an asylum, and then take the organ on the grounds that they aren’t of a sound mind to decide to donate it on their own?
At the same time, there are severe moral implications on the part of those who currently aren’t donating organs and who physically could without seeing severe side-effects in their daily routine. Proponents of a market for organs argue that the loss of life in the current system is clearly unacceptable, and that “[p]eople have a right to make a decision to sell a body part. If we should be allowed to sell our labour, why not sell the means to do that labour?” (Savulescu).
While there aren’t any easy answers to the questions pertaining to this idea, it is apparent that something needs to be done for those people who have failing organs. However, it is also difficult to reach a conclusion on how a market, and will likely leave the problem unresolved until a modern-day Jonathan Swift comes forth with a modest proposal.
Works Cited
de Castro, L. D. “Commodification and Exploitation: Arguments in Favour of Compensated Organ Donation.” Journal of Medical Ethics. 29 (2003): 142-146.
Cooper, DKC; Lanza, RP. Xeno - the Promise of Transplanting Animal Organs Into Humans. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000: 7-17.
Erin, Charles A. and John Harris. “An Ethical Market in Human Organs.” Journal of Medical Ethics. 29 (2003): 137-138.
Savulescu, J. “Is the Sale of Body Parts Wrong?” Journal of Medical Ethics. 29 (2003): 138-139.
Thursday, October 25
More reveries from slumberland
Today hit me kind of hard. There was the American Government class, which is aksumg me for a debate paper in a week on whether or not the war in Iraq was justified. There was acting, which never really hits me hard, but involved running around today, and I have the cardiovascular capability of a chain-smoking obese 12 year-old (oddly enough, this becomes an invalid when I'm dancing). And then I was hit by German, in which I have an assignment to now hand in late, and an assignment due on Friday, but this is still manageable. Then there's the wonderful hour of today that was macroeconomics. You know you're paying enough for college when you learn two days before the 3-5 page paper is due that you have a 3-5 page paper to write. Yes, I probably should have foreseen this kind ofthing coming, what with my having been at a faculty-excused drama conference the day it was assigned and Septober's natural ability to screw with my perception of what is utter bullcrap, but my life just wouldn't be interesting were it not for the self-inflicted pain I suffer.
But I have evidence to support my belief that this, too, is manageable. The one thing I don't know is manageable or not is something that one would expect to be abundantly manageable: my own body. Notwithstanding the incredible cinnamon-flavored fiber cookies it's had me discover, my GI tract is still my mustachioed enemy in this, the melodrama that is my life (hooray, that came out incredibly emo) (as a courtesy, I now take the time to remind my readers that melodramas are actually comedies). So I am off to the doctor's office tomorrow, that I may hope to bring the resurfaced threesies to an end once and for all.
The funny thing is that when you consider that this is my own body rebelling against me, this, too, is self-inflicted pain. And believe me, you can call TMI as often as you want, it's still not even close hearing it as it is experiencing it firsthand.
Tomorrow might be good. Here's to the night.
But I have evidence to support my belief that this, too, is manageable. The one thing I don't know is manageable or not is something that one would expect to be abundantly manageable: my own body. Notwithstanding the incredible cinnamon-flavored fiber cookies it's had me discover, my GI tract is still my mustachioed enemy in this, the melodrama that is my life (hooray, that came out incredibly emo) (as a courtesy, I now take the time to remind my readers that melodramas are actually comedies). So I am off to the doctor's office tomorrow, that I may hope to bring the resurfaced threesies to an end once and for all.
The funny thing is that when you consider that this is my own body rebelling against me, this, too, is self-inflicted pain. And believe me, you can call TMI as often as you want, it's still not even close hearing it as it is experiencing it firsthand.
Tomorrow might be good. Here's to the night.
Tuesday, October 23
Anatomy of a day
7:00 - My alarm goes off, I open and close my cell phone to turn it off.
7:30 - My iMac starts playing my "Songs I generally listen to" playlist. I'm pretty sure it starts with Matchbox Twenty.
9:00 - The second alarm I set for myself goes off. Switchfoot is playing.
9:07 - I finally decide to get up out of bed when "Gone" by Switchfoot starts up.
9:12 - I get to the bathroom. Its dispenser is still out of soap, as it has been for over a week now.
9:30 - I get out of the shower as Chet walks in. He tells me that I should tell an RA or Tolu about the soap.
9:33 - I get my pants on and walk out of the bathroom just as Tolu walks in. I inform him of the soap.
9:35 - I walk back into my room. "Upside Down" by Jack Johnson.
9:37 - I put my contact lenses in and put on deodorant. I shuffle through the shirts in my shirt drawer and pick out the Doane College one. I don't look half bad in orange.
9:40 - Something compels me to update Growl on my iMac. I do so, and then spend a bit of time screwing with its functions.
9:50 - I realize that if I want breakfast today, I need to book it to the coffee shop. I bring my iPod along. "The Remedy" by Jason Mraz.
9:55 - I make it into the Common Grounds in time to get a peanut butter muffin and a mocha blend smoothie. "Kiss From a Rose" by Seal.
10:00 - I get back to the dorms just in time for Scrubs. It's a commercial, so I take the opportunity to get the paper on which this was originally written and my photojournalism book. "Big Yellow Taxi" by Counting Crows.
10:05 - Scrubs is back on. "My Malpractice Decision" and "My Female Trouble."
10:15 - My stomach starts its rebellion again, marking the fourth consecutive day of GI trouble since I added more fiber to my diet.
10:57 - I head to work-study to cover for Jess. On the way out, I discover that sometimes it is just easier to expel things from your mind. Then I reflect on "Loves me, loves me not," and wonder if its accuracy is to be always trusted.
11:03 - I get to the library, and then go to the bathroom.
11:15 - I catch up on what I've been doing today.
11:20 - I help an old man by changing quarters for a dollar.
11:35 - I finish catching up, and start listening to my iPod again.
11:37 - I crack open my photojournalism book to start studying for tonight. "Open Arms" by Journey.
12:35 - I finish chapter one and consider lunch, transferring, and meeting with Jeff. "Here's to the Night" by Eve 6.
12:50 - The next person on duty arrives. Now to lunch. "Into the Ocean" by Blue October.
12:59 - I set my breaded chicken sandwich down next to my sun chips and drink. Immediately, I go to Academic Support to see if I can get a transfer thing going.
1:02 - The woman I need to talk to is in a Safe Space Training seminar. My heart smiles, and I go to get my mail.
1:05 - There's a reminder to help with the blood drive, a packet of the available interterm classes this January, and a form for off-campus cultural events in my box.
1:11 - I finish my sandwich and return the form to the Academic Support desk. The woman I need to talk to is still not back. "Be Yourself" by Audioslave.
1:15 - My iPod reminds me of my meeting with Jeff. Off I go. "Dare You To Move" by Switchfoot.
1:25 - I make a pitstop in my room to drop off my coat, photojournalism book, chips, and mailbox stuffers. I pick up a notebook with a hard cover, and my cell phone. No new calls since I put it on the charger. "Nowhere Near" by Summercamp.
1:30 - I arrive outside of Jeff's door. On the way over, I see a guy running in a bit of a baseball outfit, and am reminded of the assignment in photojournalism I have yet to attempt. "Crazy" by Alanis Morissette.
1:34 - I decide to check up on the news. "Breathe" by Anna Nalick.
1:47 - Jeff comes to talk to me after I've been waiting. The problem is what I thought it would be: American Government. "Hallelujah" by John Cale.
1:52 - Chet comes into the office. I scare him away with my awesome machismo.
1:55 - I leave Jeff's office for Dr. Hill's. He isn't in at the moment, so I remind myself to go down again Wednesday afternoon. "Life is a Highway" by Rascal Flatts.
1:58 - I go to the SLO again to declare my intention to transfer at the semester. "Are You Happy Now?" by Michelle Branch.
1:59 - I run into Dr. Hill outside of the SLO, and walking back to his office, he informs me that my debate paper will schew my grade greatly. He also tells me that my study habits may be lackluster now that I'm not in high school anymore. My idea to have him think I'm a freshman continues to amuse.
2:10 - I leave Dr. Hill's office and get back to my room.
2:13 - I sit at my desk and continue to chronicle.
2:26 - Now to get that sports photo. "Higher Ground" by Red Hot Chili Peppers.
2:38 - I am reminded of the basis behind my passionate hatred of sports and sports photography. The smell of cinnamon reminds me of my cookies. "Yesterdays" by Switchfoot.
2:43 - I run across my fourth student tour of the day. Walking past, I can't help but think what fun it would be to etch "RUN" in red ink on multiple scrawls of paper and leave them where I know touring students would find them.
2:46 - I grab some fiber cookies.
2:58 - I recall the presence of an airport in Crete, and stakeout for skydivers. "Move Along" by All-American Rejects.
3:08 - I snap a photo of two joggers. Not what I had come for, but whatevs. "Someday" by Nickelback.
3:18 - I get back to my room and watch an episode of Avatar before voice seminar. "She Will Be Loved" by Maroon 5.
3:52 - Avatar is still awesome, but now for the seminar.
4:03 - I get to the seminar, which Hannah Jo Smith promises will be short.
4:12 - We get out of the seminar, but not before Hannah Jo frightens my soul to its core.
4:15 - On the way back to the dorm, Tyler tells me about how one of his voice lessons with Hannah Jo was nothing but him exploding over a ton of pent-up emotions, and then crying. I suddenly realize just how strong our will to pretend that we aren't bothered by something can sometimes be, and how unhealthy it is to let those emotions all come out at the same time. Yet we all engage in the act of pretending that things don't get to us. Chekov! How right Chekov was!
4:21 - I start typing an article for American Govt.'s class tomorrow. "Poison Kiss" by The Last Goodnight.
4:49 - I finish typing my article. In printing it out, I run into Aaron Holmes, whom I try to help set up his computer to print from Frees lab. We fail.
5:00 - Aaron, Ben-Kaye, and I go to eat in the caf. We run into other AπEs there and discuss interterm options.
5:35 - I find myself unable to eat another bite of my pizza. Most of the AπEs have left, so I go to get an ice cream cone and sit with Liz, Zach, and Chanel.
5:45 - After regaling Liz and Zach with what happened today, I feel a MIGHTY NEED to use the bathroom once more.
5:50 - I go to the bathroom, but see Ben-Kaye and Aaron playing billiards, and decide to photograph them for my sports assignment.
6:00 - I go to the bathroom. It doesn't feel good.
6:10 - I head back to my room after photographing Aaron and Ben-Kaye at fußball.
6:15 - Off to rehearsal. My stomach is still sick.
6:27 - I get to the Con. I go to the bathroom.
6:54 - I begin getting actual staging in Arabian Nights. I don't have my script on me tonight. I lost it between yesterday and today.
6:59 - I go to photojournalism class. Midterm today. Hoorah.
7:07 - Richard hands out the test to Layne and I.
7:25 - I finish bombing the test.
7:54 - Class is dismissed. I hang out for a second.
9:19 - Rehearsal is done for the night. I go back to my room.
9:30 - I make it back to my room and log onto Adium for the night. I might do my German homework (and by might, I mean should), but today was way too hectic...
7:30 - My iMac starts playing my "Songs I generally listen to" playlist. I'm pretty sure it starts with Matchbox Twenty.
9:00 - The second alarm I set for myself goes off. Switchfoot is playing.
9:07 - I finally decide to get up out of bed when "Gone" by Switchfoot starts up.
9:12 - I get to the bathroom. Its dispenser is still out of soap, as it has been for over a week now.
9:30 - I get out of the shower as Chet walks in. He tells me that I should tell an RA or Tolu about the soap.
9:33 - I get my pants on and walk out of the bathroom just as Tolu walks in. I inform him of the soap.
9:35 - I walk back into my room. "Upside Down" by Jack Johnson.
9:37 - I put my contact lenses in and put on deodorant. I shuffle through the shirts in my shirt drawer and pick out the Doane College one. I don't look half bad in orange.
9:40 - Something compels me to update Growl on my iMac. I do so, and then spend a bit of time screwing with its functions.
9:50 - I realize that if I want breakfast today, I need to book it to the coffee shop. I bring my iPod along. "The Remedy" by Jason Mraz.
9:55 - I make it into the Common Grounds in time to get a peanut butter muffin and a mocha blend smoothie. "Kiss From a Rose" by Seal.
10:00 - I get back to the dorms just in time for Scrubs. It's a commercial, so I take the opportunity to get the paper on which this was originally written and my photojournalism book. "Big Yellow Taxi" by Counting Crows.
10:05 - Scrubs is back on. "My Malpractice Decision" and "My Female Trouble."
10:15 - My stomach starts its rebellion again, marking the fourth consecutive day of GI trouble since I added more fiber to my diet.
10:57 - I head to work-study to cover for Jess. On the way out, I discover that sometimes it is just easier to expel things from your mind. Then I reflect on "Loves me, loves me not," and wonder if its accuracy is to be always trusted.
11:03 - I get to the library, and then go to the bathroom.
11:15 - I catch up on what I've been doing today.
11:20 - I help an old man by changing quarters for a dollar.
11:35 - I finish catching up, and start listening to my iPod again.
11:37 - I crack open my photojournalism book to start studying for tonight. "Open Arms" by Journey.
12:35 - I finish chapter one and consider lunch, transferring, and meeting with Jeff. "Here's to the Night" by Eve 6.
12:50 - The next person on duty arrives. Now to lunch. "Into the Ocean" by Blue October.
12:59 - I set my breaded chicken sandwich down next to my sun chips and drink. Immediately, I go to Academic Support to see if I can get a transfer thing going.
1:02 - The woman I need to talk to is in a Safe Space Training seminar. My heart smiles, and I go to get my mail.
1:05 - There's a reminder to help with the blood drive, a packet of the available interterm classes this January, and a form for off-campus cultural events in my box.
1:11 - I finish my sandwich and return the form to the Academic Support desk. The woman I need to talk to is still not back. "Be Yourself" by Audioslave.
1:15 - My iPod reminds me of my meeting with Jeff. Off I go. "Dare You To Move" by Switchfoot.
1:25 - I make a pitstop in my room to drop off my coat, photojournalism book, chips, and mailbox stuffers. I pick up a notebook with a hard cover, and my cell phone. No new calls since I put it on the charger. "Nowhere Near" by Summercamp.
1:30 - I arrive outside of Jeff's door. On the way over, I see a guy running in a bit of a baseball outfit, and am reminded of the assignment in photojournalism I have yet to attempt. "Crazy" by Alanis Morissette.
1:34 - I decide to check up on the news. "Breathe" by Anna Nalick.
1:47 - Jeff comes to talk to me after I've been waiting. The problem is what I thought it would be: American Government. "Hallelujah" by John Cale.
1:52 - Chet comes into the office. I scare him away with my awesome machismo.
1:55 - I leave Jeff's office for Dr. Hill's. He isn't in at the moment, so I remind myself to go down again Wednesday afternoon. "Life is a Highway" by Rascal Flatts.
1:58 - I go to the SLO again to declare my intention to transfer at the semester. "Are You Happy Now?" by Michelle Branch.
1:59 - I run into Dr. Hill outside of the SLO, and walking back to his office, he informs me that my debate paper will schew my grade greatly. He also tells me that my study habits may be lackluster now that I'm not in high school anymore. My idea to have him think I'm a freshman continues to amuse.
2:10 - I leave Dr. Hill's office and get back to my room.
2:13 - I sit at my desk and continue to chronicle.
2:26 - Now to get that sports photo. "Higher Ground" by Red Hot Chili Peppers.
2:38 - I am reminded of the basis behind my passionate hatred of sports and sports photography. The smell of cinnamon reminds me of my cookies. "Yesterdays" by Switchfoot.
2:43 - I run across my fourth student tour of the day. Walking past, I can't help but think what fun it would be to etch "RUN" in red ink on multiple scrawls of paper and leave them where I know touring students would find them.
2:46 - I grab some fiber cookies.
2:58 - I recall the presence of an airport in Crete, and stakeout for skydivers. "Move Along" by All-American Rejects.
3:08 - I snap a photo of two joggers. Not what I had come for, but whatevs. "Someday" by Nickelback.
3:18 - I get back to my room and watch an episode of Avatar before voice seminar. "She Will Be Loved" by Maroon 5.
3:52 - Avatar is still awesome, but now for the seminar.
4:03 - I get to the seminar, which Hannah Jo Smith promises will be short.
4:12 - We get out of the seminar, but not before Hannah Jo frightens my soul to its core.
4:15 - On the way back to the dorm, Tyler tells me about how one of his voice lessons with Hannah Jo was nothing but him exploding over a ton of pent-up emotions, and then crying. I suddenly realize just how strong our will to pretend that we aren't bothered by something can sometimes be, and how unhealthy it is to let those emotions all come out at the same time. Yet we all engage in the act of pretending that things don't get to us. Chekov! How right Chekov was!
4:21 - I start typing an article for American Govt.'s class tomorrow. "Poison Kiss" by The Last Goodnight.
4:49 - I finish typing my article. In printing it out, I run into Aaron Holmes, whom I try to help set up his computer to print from Frees lab. We fail.
5:00 - Aaron, Ben-Kaye, and I go to eat in the caf. We run into other AπEs there and discuss interterm options.
5:35 - I find myself unable to eat another bite of my pizza. Most of the AπEs have left, so I go to get an ice cream cone and sit with Liz, Zach, and Chanel.
5:45 - After regaling Liz and Zach with what happened today, I feel a MIGHTY NEED to use the bathroom once more.
5:50 - I go to the bathroom, but see Ben-Kaye and Aaron playing billiards, and decide to photograph them for my sports assignment.
6:00 - I go to the bathroom. It doesn't feel good.
6:10 - I head back to my room after photographing Aaron and Ben-Kaye at fußball.
6:15 - Off to rehearsal. My stomach is still sick.
6:27 - I get to the Con. I go to the bathroom.
6:54 - I begin getting actual staging in Arabian Nights. I don't have my script on me tonight. I lost it between yesterday and today.
6:59 - I go to photojournalism class. Midterm today. Hoorah.
7:07 - Richard hands out the test to Layne and I.
7:25 - I finish bombing the test.
7:54 - Class is dismissed. I hang out for a second.
9:19 - Rehearsal is done for the night. I go back to my room.
9:30 - I make it back to my room and log onto Adium for the night. I might do my German homework (and by might, I mean should), but today was way too hectic...
Monday, October 22
Roll to determine nerd
I think I've known this on some level ever since I was playing Super Mario Bros. 3 as early as I had coherent thought, but I'm a bit of a nerd.
I have seriously been playing video games for as long as I can remember. When I was four years old, I had already beaten Bowser (of course, back then he was still King Koopa), and I knew the ins and outs of Frogger about as well as my parents did five months after it was released. I had quite a bit of trouble with Tetris, an affliction that would later manifest itself as a general inability to reason spatially, but on a lot of other games, I was solid.
And I didn't get any less nerdy as the years went by. When I was in fourth grade, I remember always being the first one to raise my hand when my teacher asked us a problem, and I hated showing it work because I could do the numbers so much more quickly in my head. This kind of learning was, of course, frowned upon, and I was never picked to answer a question, nor was I told that I could do numbers in my head. I have no idea if my fourth grade teacher thought that I was brilliant or if I was the dumbest of dumb. All I know is that for whatever reason, she would fight tooth and nail so that she didn't have to call on me.
I did go to enrichment, though. And there I was allowed to remain my nerdy self. We had projects that we were required to do, though. And they weren't fun projects. I remember that I had to so a report on the imports and exports of Yemen (I selected that country based on little more than having heard its name on an episode of Friends, but there I was, making a Powerpoint about it).
When I wasn't doing Powerpointson Yemen or raising my hand and not getting called on, I was playing video games. My fascination with them would later become an idea for a career, around the time I realized that somebody somewhere was making these things. So from around sixth grade to tenth, I wanted to make video games.
The somewhat strong desire to make video games almost immediately left the forefront of my mind when I did my first show onstage, ever. In keeping with the spirit of things, it was "The Hobbit." I didn't have a big part by any means, but it still fueled the flame of my affection for being in front of people, saying a bunch of crap.
When I was a junior, I decided that I wanted to give forensics (speech for those of you who weren't in forensics) a shot. It was basically the same thing as theatre, only in front of people whose eyes you could see, and comprised of speeches that you wrote yourself, and in most cases, delivered by yourself. I very much liked it, but I did not like the format which I would be held to if I intended to continue with it into college.
The tail end of my junior year saw me writing for my high school's newspaper. This was mostly because the newspaper's adviser was abundantly impressed with a letter to the editor I wrote about pep rallies, and she was equally upset that I wasn't on staff any of the other years I had been in high school. This resulted in me taking up journalism for the last year and a half of my high school career.
Going into college, I was sure that I wanted to be in the theatre, and I was equally sure that I would major in theatre and then use my talents to become a voice actor. Then last April, I had the epiphany that I wasn't very likely to make a lot of money in a job with such a heavy emphasis on the use of spatial reasoning. So, I made the decision to take a different road altogether in my career.
Which brings us up to speed on why I am going into journalism now, with hopes of being a reviewer for video games. I still like voicing my opinions on... well, everything. And I am still a teriffic nerd, and I don't see any reason to change that.
But this blog really isn't about jobs. No, it's about things much more important to me than that.
It's about my passions.
I am a nerd, with a love for video games, the Matrix movies, Star Wars, Star Trek, stargazing, writing, theorizing about parallel universes, making poetry, singing songs as loud as I can as often as I can, watching movies on rainy weekends, and dreaming of flying like Superman.
If you don't like it, screw all y'all.
I have seriously been playing video games for as long as I can remember. When I was four years old, I had already beaten Bowser (of course, back then he was still King Koopa), and I knew the ins and outs of Frogger about as well as my parents did five months after it was released. I had quite a bit of trouble with Tetris, an affliction that would later manifest itself as a general inability to reason spatially, but on a lot of other games, I was solid.
And I didn't get any less nerdy as the years went by. When I was in fourth grade, I remember always being the first one to raise my hand when my teacher asked us a problem, and I hated showing it work because I could do the numbers so much more quickly in my head. This kind of learning was, of course, frowned upon, and I was never picked to answer a question, nor was I told that I could do numbers in my head. I have no idea if my fourth grade teacher thought that I was brilliant or if I was the dumbest of dumb. All I know is that for whatever reason, she would fight tooth and nail so that she didn't have to call on me.
I did go to enrichment, though. And there I was allowed to remain my nerdy self. We had projects that we were required to do, though. And they weren't fun projects. I remember that I had to so a report on the imports and exports of Yemen (I selected that country based on little more than having heard its name on an episode of Friends, but there I was, making a Powerpoint about it).
When I wasn't doing Powerpointson Yemen or raising my hand and not getting called on, I was playing video games. My fascination with them would later become an idea for a career, around the time I realized that somebody somewhere was making these things. So from around sixth grade to tenth, I wanted to make video games.
The somewhat strong desire to make video games almost immediately left the forefront of my mind when I did my first show onstage, ever. In keeping with the spirit of things, it was "The Hobbit." I didn't have a big part by any means, but it still fueled the flame of my affection for being in front of people, saying a bunch of crap.
When I was a junior, I decided that I wanted to give forensics (speech for those of you who weren't in forensics) a shot. It was basically the same thing as theatre, only in front of people whose eyes you could see, and comprised of speeches that you wrote yourself, and in most cases, delivered by yourself. I very much liked it, but I did not like the format which I would be held to if I intended to continue with it into college.
The tail end of my junior year saw me writing for my high school's newspaper. This was mostly because the newspaper's adviser was abundantly impressed with a letter to the editor I wrote about pep rallies, and she was equally upset that I wasn't on staff any of the other years I had been in high school. This resulted in me taking up journalism for the last year and a half of my high school career.
Going into college, I was sure that I wanted to be in the theatre, and I was equally sure that I would major in theatre and then use my talents to become a voice actor. Then last April, I had the epiphany that I wasn't very likely to make a lot of money in a job with such a heavy emphasis on the use of spatial reasoning. So, I made the decision to take a different road altogether in my career.
Which brings us up to speed on why I am going into journalism now, with hopes of being a reviewer for video games. I still like voicing my opinions on... well, everything. And I am still a teriffic nerd, and I don't see any reason to change that.
But this blog really isn't about jobs. No, it's about things much more important to me than that.
It's about my passions.
I am a nerd, with a love for video games, the Matrix movies, Star Wars, Star Trek, stargazing, writing, theorizing about parallel universes, making poetry, singing songs as loud as I can as often as I can, watching movies on rainy weekends, and dreaming of flying like Superman.
If you don't like it, screw all y'all.
Sunday, October 21
test blog
this is a test to see if this will work as a viable means of sending
posts to my blog or not. The real test comes from determining if I
can exceed this tiny text box and if it will grow to accomodate new
text or not. Whoop... Looks like it doesn't.
posts to my blog or not. The real test comes from determining if I
can exceed this tiny text box and if it will grow to accomodate new
text or not. Whoop... Looks like it doesn't.
Tuesday, October 16
The Dance
The night is coming,
My one big chance
Your eyes not taking
A second glance.
That pressing question
My lips won't grant,
"May I take you
Out to the dance?"
The time is rushing,
A steady advance,
While I'm still dreaming
In my mind's romance.
My fear expressing
Through trembling hands,
"May I take you
Out to the dance?"
My stomach is plunging
But my feet hold fast.
On your door I'm knocking;
Corsage with a clasp
But within I hear laughing.
I let a lie pass,
"I hope that he treats you
Well at the dance."
My one big chance
Your eyes not taking
A second glance.
That pressing question
My lips won't grant,
"May I take you
Out to the dance?"
The time is rushing,
A steady advance,
While I'm still dreaming
In my mind's romance.
My fear expressing
Through trembling hands,
"May I take you
Out to the dance?"
My stomach is plunging
But my feet hold fast.
On your door I'm knocking;
Corsage with a clasp
But within I hear laughing.
I let a lie pass,
"I hope that he treats you
Well at the dance."
Life's little lessons
As I enjoyed my mostly blogless fall break, I did several things that I don't normally do: first, I videotaped myself trimming my toenails, and second, I revisited the Matrix sequels, two films which I quite enjoy, but haven't watched in well over two years.
While the toenails are a bit harder to explain, the movies are the sum of the remainder of an unbalanced equation inherent to the programming of the Matrix. Plus, I really like them, in spite of what everyone else on Earth thinks of them. Concordantly, I got a rush of nostalgia from watching them, and suddenly remembered a ton of stuff pertaining to the two years before my senior year of high school. Vis-a-vis, forensics, theatre, journalism, mixed chorus, English 11, precalculus, and some other stuff, all rushed back into my mind. But there was a problem: all I could remember of the subjects were bullet points. There was nothing of substance in my memories, no recollection of the events, just the facts that I wrote such and such a column, and that I made it to state, but didn't qualify for finals.
It was some time in the middle of my watching The Matrix Revolutions that I got an email from an old friend of mine, who graduated back in 2004. Actually, he was much more than a friend. He was certainly something that I would call an idol. He was valedictorian of his class, he could act, dance, sing, place in state finals, everything. And it was at that point that I felt, "Wow... There's something behind this."
And so I went for my trademark walk around the cross-country track. I go out there a lot, when I need to think about things that are going on in my life, and this was certainly something. I began talking out loud to myself, concerned primarily about the fact that 2004 was rushing back to me, yet I couldn't remember any of it, and that since it was decidedly the last year before the major life changes began to take place, it held some significance in my current predicament.
And I made some important discoveries on my walk, mostly that it's fun to yell things in a public area while nobody else is around. But the revelation I feel like I was meant to make didn't come until Monday. I had just gotten back to my dorm from lunch, and was watching some of the specials on the second disc of Revolutions when I discovered as I walked to my sink to brush my teeth that my sink was nearly full of rust-infested water. Long story short, some calls were made around, and then the plumber on campus came in to look at my sink, remove the U-bend, stick a snake tube in to remove the obstruction, realize that the obstruction was much further down than he had thought, get a bigger snake tube to go further down, and finally unclog my sink.
It was after all this, as I was brushing my teeth, that I figured out what I was supposed to learn from all this: when you don't like the way something is, change it.
I'm sure that all of you are probably zOMG'ing about that no-duh revelation, but honestly, it wasn't something I had considered before. I was so used to letting myself believe that things in life will happen how they will happen, and that there isn't much that we can do about any of the circumstances we find ourselves in, but there it was, a solution to my sink problem.
And maybe there is merit to try, trying again. As much grief as I gave the concept in one of my earlier posts, the obstruction was cleared after the plumber went and got a different tool.
And I think that's what made me a happier person before my snior year of high school. I didn't accept circumstances as they were, I set out to achieve my goals even if I was afraid to do so. I think that's what I need to do now. I need to fix things that I have problems with, even if it'll take a little work.
Ergo, I hereby rescind any and all times in which I might have said that "this is just how things go."
While the toenails are a bit harder to explain, the movies are the sum of the remainder of an unbalanced equation inherent to the programming of the Matrix. Plus, I really like them, in spite of what everyone else on Earth thinks of them. Concordantly, I got a rush of nostalgia from watching them, and suddenly remembered a ton of stuff pertaining to the two years before my senior year of high school. Vis-a-vis, forensics, theatre, journalism, mixed chorus, English 11, precalculus, and some other stuff, all rushed back into my mind. But there was a problem: all I could remember of the subjects were bullet points. There was nothing of substance in my memories, no recollection of the events, just the facts that I wrote such and such a column, and that I made it to state, but didn't qualify for finals.
It was some time in the middle of my watching The Matrix Revolutions that I got an email from an old friend of mine, who graduated back in 2004. Actually, he was much more than a friend. He was certainly something that I would call an idol. He was valedictorian of his class, he could act, dance, sing, place in state finals, everything. And it was at that point that I felt, "Wow... There's something behind this."
And so I went for my trademark walk around the cross-country track. I go out there a lot, when I need to think about things that are going on in my life, and this was certainly something. I began talking out loud to myself, concerned primarily about the fact that 2004 was rushing back to me, yet I couldn't remember any of it, and that since it was decidedly the last year before the major life changes began to take place, it held some significance in my current predicament.
And I made some important discoveries on my walk, mostly that it's fun to yell things in a public area while nobody else is around. But the revelation I feel like I was meant to make didn't come until Monday. I had just gotten back to my dorm from lunch, and was watching some of the specials on the second disc of Revolutions when I discovered as I walked to my sink to brush my teeth that my sink was nearly full of rust-infested water. Long story short, some calls were made around, and then the plumber on campus came in to look at my sink, remove the U-bend, stick a snake tube in to remove the obstruction, realize that the obstruction was much further down than he had thought, get a bigger snake tube to go further down, and finally unclog my sink.
It was after all this, as I was brushing my teeth, that I figured out what I was supposed to learn from all this: when you don't like the way something is, change it.
I'm sure that all of you are probably zOMG'ing about that no-duh revelation, but honestly, it wasn't something I had considered before. I was so used to letting myself believe that things in life will happen how they will happen, and that there isn't much that we can do about any of the circumstances we find ourselves in, but there it was, a solution to my sink problem.
And maybe there is merit to try, trying again. As much grief as I gave the concept in one of my earlier posts, the obstruction was cleared after the plumber went and got a different tool.
And I think that's what made me a happier person before my snior year of high school. I didn't accept circumstances as they were, I set out to achieve my goals even if I was afraid to do so. I think that's what I need to do now. I need to fix things that I have problems with, even if it'll take a little work.
Ergo, I hereby rescind any and all times in which I might have said that "this is just how things go."
Saturday, October 13
How far I've come
There are defining moments that we each hit over the years. Events that, however big or small, somehow stick within us as more prominent than the rest of our story. I remember my first day of school as being fairly rainy on the drive down to the strange H-shaped buildings that formed the complex that my first elementary school was. I remember that my bullies' names through the years were Rachel, Justin, Kelley, Molly, Spencer, Spencer, Spencer, and Spencer. I remember that The Lion King had a scene with just a ton of orange on the movie screen.
And as easy as it is to call up some memories, there are other events in my life that I can't remember so well.
Before my junior year of high school, The Matrix Reloaded came out in theaters. And I'd watch that movie so often I could recite something like the first ten or fifteen minutes of it. Remembering that made me think that my junior year was my absolute nerdiest year.
But thinking back on that year, I realized that I actually couldn't remember... nearly any of it. And that freaked me out a bit. Not because I blanked out on an entire year, but because what I do remember of it tells me that it was a pretty good year. I was Le Fou in Beauty and the Beast, I went to state in forensics that year, I... heh, I think that was the year that my friend James managed to get the entire cafeteria to applaud me (though I'm sure a good number of them didn't know that they were applauding me).
And yet, the only reason I remember that last bit is because my friend James reminded me of the event in the first few days of him being here at college. And as for what being in Beauty and the Beast was like... I really can't explain it to you. My forensics stint? I only really remember practicing in front of the class and then not making it to finals at State.
I feel like I should be disturbed. That was arguably the best year I'd ever had, and so much of it is lacking in clarity. And I feel like maybe the reason I can't remember any of it is because of things that came after it. So much happened, in my senior year of high school alone, to reshape what I was then into what I am today. And when I think back on my junior year, I feel like I was so carefree then, so much younger in the sense of my mentality, than now.
If I could physically go back, and see who I was then as I am now, what would I see?
And as easy as it is to call up some memories, there are other events in my life that I can't remember so well.
Before my junior year of high school, The Matrix Reloaded came out in theaters. And I'd watch that movie so often I could recite something like the first ten or fifteen minutes of it. Remembering that made me think that my junior year was my absolute nerdiest year.
But thinking back on that year, I realized that I actually couldn't remember... nearly any of it. And that freaked me out a bit. Not because I blanked out on an entire year, but because what I do remember of it tells me that it was a pretty good year. I was Le Fou in Beauty and the Beast, I went to state in forensics that year, I... heh, I think that was the year that my friend James managed to get the entire cafeteria to applaud me (though I'm sure a good number of them didn't know that they were applauding me).
And yet, the only reason I remember that last bit is because my friend James reminded me of the event in the first few days of him being here at college. And as for what being in Beauty and the Beast was like... I really can't explain it to you. My forensics stint? I only really remember practicing in front of the class and then not making it to finals at State.
I feel like I should be disturbed. That was arguably the best year I'd ever had, and so much of it is lacking in clarity. And I feel like maybe the reason I can't remember any of it is because of things that came after it. So much happened, in my senior year of high school alone, to reshape what I was then into what I am today. And when I think back on my junior year, I feel like I was so carefree then, so much younger in the sense of my mentality, than now.
If I could physically go back, and see who I was then as I am now, what would I see?
Tuesday, October 9
If at first, you don't succeed...
That's the creed that we learned by repitition when we were kids. What we will likely tell our own successors. Try, try again. Because everything in this world can be earned if you fight for it, relentlessly and whole-heartedly.
It's even the theme of one of the stories in Big Fish. The one, ironically, where the main character's father is explaining the courtship of his mother. He takes every opportunity to learn more about her, what she likes, where she lives, what she does. And the son of a gun gets the dame. They get married with the little money that he has, and they live together happily. Not likely ever after, but happily all the same.
When I think about that now, I also think of when I worked on staff at my high school newspaper. Everyone on staff, except for a couple of lucky souls, were editors or co-editors of one section or another. What being an editor entailed was putting together the page layout of your section, deciding what stories would run every month, and the usual reporting slag that everyone on staff had to subject themselves to. After all, we were a newspaper of about 12 workers strong.
And usually things went running pretty smoothly. Sure, it was a grind writing and rewriting and rewriting and rewriting (no joke, four draft minimum). But we did it because there was something to it all that we felt, this was fun to do, and it was worth doing. The people need news.
But there were times when life outside of the newsroom would take over. And it wasn't that we couldn't work on the paper. Rather, we let our stories slide because it felt good to not write up a draft this day or that day. We were all guilty of it at least once, so there isn't anyone who can or should shoulder all of the blame.
Still, when we counted on others to do their share of a section, it was on them. We would do everything we had to in order to get our parts of the final product to the printers, and if they needed help, we were glad to offer (it was our asses on the line, after all).
But when it came right down to it, we had made an agreement that we would split the work. To make deadline, we would all rely on each other.
And putting your hope in somebody else can sometimes lead to a deadline being missed. It's a disappointment to be let down by somebody else, but if you don't make every effort to do everything you can do, the person you should really be disappointed in is yourself.
Others have their own stuff to do. Their own stories to write. If them doing their own thing lets you down now and then, all you can do is make a late deadline, and give the next shot your all.
It's even the theme of one of the stories in Big Fish. The one, ironically, where the main character's father is explaining the courtship of his mother. He takes every opportunity to learn more about her, what she likes, where she lives, what she does. And the son of a gun gets the dame. They get married with the little money that he has, and they live together happily. Not likely ever after, but happily all the same.
When I think about that now, I also think of when I worked on staff at my high school newspaper. Everyone on staff, except for a couple of lucky souls, were editors or co-editors of one section or another. What being an editor entailed was putting together the page layout of your section, deciding what stories would run every month, and the usual reporting slag that everyone on staff had to subject themselves to. After all, we were a newspaper of about 12 workers strong.
And usually things went running pretty smoothly. Sure, it was a grind writing and rewriting and rewriting and rewriting (no joke, four draft minimum). But we did it because there was something to it all that we felt, this was fun to do, and it was worth doing. The people need news.
But there were times when life outside of the newsroom would take over. And it wasn't that we couldn't work on the paper. Rather, we let our stories slide because it felt good to not write up a draft this day or that day. We were all guilty of it at least once, so there isn't anyone who can or should shoulder all of the blame.
Still, when we counted on others to do their share of a section, it was on them. We would do everything we had to in order to get our parts of the final product to the printers, and if they needed help, we were glad to offer (it was our asses on the line, after all).
But when it came right down to it, we had made an agreement that we would split the work. To make deadline, we would all rely on each other.
And putting your hope in somebody else can sometimes lead to a deadline being missed. It's a disappointment to be let down by somebody else, but if you don't make every effort to do everything you can do, the person you should really be disappointed in is yourself.
Others have their own stuff to do. Their own stories to write. If them doing their own thing lets you down now and then, all you can do is make a late deadline, and give the next shot your all.
Saturday, October 6
Choking on my alibis, but it's just the price I pay.
I felt it good to keep in spirit with the song.
So I got a call from the director of the show just now, after scrambling all morning to get my shift covered and to get a ride into Lincoln for the audition, that because I can't attend two of the rehearsals because of a play I'm going to be in on campus this fall, I do not need to audition for the show at all.
Are some people... just born to struggle?
So I got a call from the director of the show just now, after scrambling all morning to get my shift covered and to get a ride into Lincoln for the audition, that because I can't attend two of the rehearsals because of a play I'm going to be in on campus this fall, I do not need to audition for the show at all.
Are some people... just born to struggle?
Now they're going to bed, and my stomach is sick.
Weekends, it seems are stacked against me. Around 11:00 last night, I got back to my room to find that my carpet had peed on itself. Now, my first instinct was to say, "Sweet holy crap," or something to that effect. And then I of course went to tell my friends what had happened, but abruptly followed that up with finding an RA to inform. I mean, it's not every day your floor pees on itself. It's something that ought to be checked on to ensure that you only need to walk through it to get into (and out of [and into {and out of (and into)}]) and out of on one night's occasion. So with any luck, that floor will be potty-trained within the span of a few days now.
In the meantime, my colon is either very happy to be doing its job, or so vindictive that it's trying to kill any semblance of comfort that sitting used to afford. I suppose I should be happy if it's happy, but something tells me that that isn't the case.
I'm also in a bit of a pickle with regards to something I thought was a blessing up until last night. See, I was contacted through Facebook about a show that will be running in Lincoln starting January, that pays -- money -- and that is casting this weekend. I wasn't contacted by the director directly, but when I called her and told her who had referred me, she was abundantly excited to have me come and audition for the show. We agreed that I'd come at 3:00 today, and so I set about the process of being excited and hoping that I could find somebody to give me a ride there. And it was roughly an hour after I discovered that my floor can't hold its water that I remembered that I am scheduled to work in the library from 1:00 to 5:00 today. So now the problem extends past simply finding a ride there, but also to finding people to cover at least three hours of my shift. This one falls under "by the grace of Jesus" that it'll happen, if it happens.
But nothing compares to finding out that "Someone That You're With" by Nickelback perfectly summarizes that feeling in the pit of your stomach. And there's a part of me that's angry, and a part of me that's nervous, and another part of me that wants to explode into beautiful lyrics and poetry, like this:
My body is timid
And my fortune is trifling
And my home is tiny
And my accomplishments are temporary
But my mind is a tower
And my emotions are a torrent
And my life is a tapestry
And my heart is a tree
And you... are my most-sought treasure.
I thought of that today, and I don't pretend to be a poet. Or a lyricist. But they say that when you're overcome with a powerful emotion such as love, you find the strength to do extraordinary things, like lift a car off of your child, or overcome the flames in a burning building and rescue them before the place comes down on the both of you. I guess that since I don't have any real strength over anyone, other than the way I view the world (the only thing I truly consider special about myself), I end up being able to weave words together... for an audience that is unlikely to ever hear them.
How the hell did Shakespeare find a woman AND a man to love him?
In the meantime, my colon is either very happy to be doing its job, or so vindictive that it's trying to kill any semblance of comfort that sitting used to afford. I suppose I should be happy if it's happy, but something tells me that that isn't the case.
I'm also in a bit of a pickle with regards to something I thought was a blessing up until last night. See, I was contacted through Facebook about a show that will be running in Lincoln starting January, that pays -- money -- and that is casting this weekend. I wasn't contacted by the director directly, but when I called her and told her who had referred me, she was abundantly excited to have me come and audition for the show. We agreed that I'd come at 3:00 today, and so I set about the process of being excited and hoping that I could find somebody to give me a ride there. And it was roughly an hour after I discovered that my floor can't hold its water that I remembered that I am scheduled to work in the library from 1:00 to 5:00 today. So now the problem extends past simply finding a ride there, but also to finding people to cover at least three hours of my shift. This one falls under "by the grace of Jesus" that it'll happen, if it happens.
But nothing compares to finding out that "Someone That You're With" by Nickelback perfectly summarizes that feeling in the pit of your stomach. And there's a part of me that's angry, and a part of me that's nervous, and another part of me that wants to explode into beautiful lyrics and poetry, like this:
My body is timid
And my fortune is trifling
And my home is tiny
And my accomplishments are temporary
But my mind is a tower
And my emotions are a torrent
And my life is a tapestry
And my heart is a tree
And you... are my most-sought treasure.
I thought of that today, and I don't pretend to be a poet. Or a lyricist. But they say that when you're overcome with a powerful emotion such as love, you find the strength to do extraordinary things, like lift a car off of your child, or overcome the flames in a burning building and rescue them before the place comes down on the both of you. I guess that since I don't have any real strength over anyone, other than the way I view the world (the only thing I truly consider special about myself), I end up being able to weave words together... for an audience that is unlikely to ever hear them.
How the hell did Shakespeare find a woman AND a man to love him?
Wednesday, October 3
Blogging from bed
I'm sitting in front of my computer, typing this out on my iPod, not because it's fun to do so (though it is pretty fun), but rather because my computer can't connect to the internet and my iPod can. Oh, there goes the internet on my computer.
Okay, now I'm on my bed. Typing this out on my iPod. And this thing is just amazing. It holds all of my music (that I listen to), most of my movies (which I can swap out when I feel so inclined), and more amazingly, I'm typing this blog out on it. I'm logged on to the Internet with my iPod (which knows what I meant to type when I accidentally hit a wrong button or two on its keyboard.
But that I'd only a pre-tangent to what I want to write about today. See, I was listening to my music after classes this morning, and I don't think it's uncommon to feel like your music know how you feel and finds the appropriate songs to bolster whatever feeling you're ... well, feeling.
My iPod takes it a step further, and seems to predict what I'm about to feel (just like it predicts what I'm about to type). Let me run down the situation: I frequently listen to this thing now that I have it, and lemme get this out of the way, I don't have that many love songs. At all. I'd say most of my music is general rock affair, with maybe an eighth of it being love songs. I also have roughly 500 songs on here. An eighth of 500 is 62, which I just figured out on this thing's calculator.
Of that, it seems that this thing knows when I'm ABOUT to run into somebody I like. Because it'll start playing an appropriate song before we even cross each other's paths.
And this is another one of those mysteries of life that I just have no clue as to what I'm supposed to make of this. Is this God? Is this Satan? Is this just my imagination or mind or heart or whatever department it is that handles this kind of thing in my body? Who is playing this joke on me, and for what audience?
And more importantly, what do I do? I've already made a move, way back ago, and it didn't end well. So my natural instinct is to just let this all slide and forget that it ever happened (happens). But what if that's the wrong move? Would I know what an idiot I was? Or would by hoping that things can move forward and making the same move twice would I be made all the bigger a fool for not realizing my folly the first time?
I say this now to represent my despair: Grah.
Okay, now I'm on my bed. Typing this out on my iPod. And this thing is just amazing. It holds all of my music (that I listen to), most of my movies (which I can swap out when I feel so inclined), and more amazingly, I'm typing this blog out on it. I'm logged on to the Internet with my iPod (which knows what I meant to type when I accidentally hit a wrong button or two on its keyboard.
But that I'd only a pre-tangent to what I want to write about today. See, I was listening to my music after classes this morning, and I don't think it's uncommon to feel like your music know how you feel and finds the appropriate songs to bolster whatever feeling you're ... well, feeling.
My iPod takes it a step further, and seems to predict what I'm about to feel (just like it predicts what I'm about to type). Let me run down the situation: I frequently listen to this thing now that I have it, and lemme get this out of the way, I don't have that many love songs. At all. I'd say most of my music is general rock affair, with maybe an eighth of it being love songs. I also have roughly 500 songs on here. An eighth of 500 is 62, which I just figured out on this thing's calculator.
Of that, it seems that this thing knows when I'm ABOUT to run into somebody I like. Because it'll start playing an appropriate song before we even cross each other's paths.
And this is another one of those mysteries of life that I just have no clue as to what I'm supposed to make of this. Is this God? Is this Satan? Is this just my imagination or mind or heart or whatever department it is that handles this kind of thing in my body? Who is playing this joke on me, and for what audience?
And more importantly, what do I do? I've already made a move, way back ago, and it didn't end well. So my natural instinct is to just let this all slide and forget that it ever happened (happens). But what if that's the wrong move? Would I know what an idiot I was? Or would by hoping that things can move forward and making the same move twice would I be made all the bigger a fool for not realizing my folly the first time?
I say this now to represent my despair: Grah.
Monday, October 1
And now, iPod.
After a bit of unhealthy obsessing over the fact that this puppy was soon to be in my posession, it's finally here. And it is pretty darn cool. I'm typing this blog out on it, thanks to Safari and the built-in wireless module in it. So overall, this was worth the wait (ooh, it's correcting my spelling and predicting what I'll type next).
I think a lot of times, we want something too fervently, and it slips out of our possession without us even realizing that it's gone. I can attest to finding out that something has left me before I even realized that it was gone, and the realization that it's gone can sting. A lot. We can also wish that we had something so much that when we finally get it, the magic has all been spent in the anticipation. But the real thing about wanting stuff is that it's bound to happen. It doesn't take a psychologist to tell you that people want stuff. But when you try and downplay your desire for something... Well, that can be just as dangerous as wanting it too much.
Bottom line is that you can spend all of your energy on your will to have something, without even realizing that you're slowly killing the excitement for when it finally does arrive. But I think it's better to at least acknowledge the fact that you want something.
If you're honest about wanting something, them you can safely say that you over-hyped what you were waiting for, but if you downplay the value of something in your own mind, you might just miss something spectacular when it does come along
I think a lot of times, we want something too fervently, and it slips out of our possession without us even realizing that it's gone. I can attest to finding out that something has left me before I even realized that it was gone, and the realization that it's gone can sting. A lot. We can also wish that we had something so much that when we finally get it, the magic has all been spent in the anticipation. But the real thing about wanting stuff is that it's bound to happen. It doesn't take a psychologist to tell you that people want stuff. But when you try and downplay your desire for something... Well, that can be just as dangerous as wanting it too much.
Bottom line is that you can spend all of your energy on your will to have something, without even realizing that you're slowly killing the excitement for when it finally does arrive. But I think it's better to at least acknowledge the fact that you want something.
If you're honest about wanting something, them you can safely say that you over-hyped what you were waiting for, but if you downplay the value of something in your own mind, you might just miss something spectacular when it does come along
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