Friday, October 29, 2004
I'll up your dates!
Yeah, yeah, i haven't updated in over a week, i haven't been funny in over a month, the price of eggs is rising at an alarming rate, bla bla bla. Shut up, both of you. I'm only here to drop a quick update that i previously promised, because i'm rapidly becoming way too cool for the whole "daily posting" trip. (editorial note: yeah, who am i kidding? I'll tell you who. I'm kidding you.) I don't have the plague or anything. I don't even have the plaque. Some of you spent a few years too many in Overreacting School.
Anyway, pertaining to the essay i posted on sunday, oct. 17 (aka the last decent post i wrote): I got my grade back today, and it was a 2 out of 2. Victory. Victory of sorts, at least. There were no comments of any sort, which is what i was sort of hoping for, but whatever. At least he saw what i was getting at and gave me a good grade.
If you want, i'll post sometime in the next couple days about the horrible gruesome episode of Leonardo DiCaprio coming to our school, or some other topic if you can think of one. If no one says anything, i'll assume no one wants to hear anything, so i'll post all sorts of stuff just to get on everyone's nerves. Yeah, you wish.
Thanks for reading and stuff. See you in a couple days.
Yeah, yeah, i haven't updated in over a week, i haven't been funny in over a month, the price of eggs is rising at an alarming rate, bla bla bla. Shut up, both of you. I'm only here to drop a quick update that i previously promised, because i'm rapidly becoming way too cool for the whole "daily posting" trip. (editorial note: yeah, who am i kidding? I'll tell you who. I'm kidding you.) I don't have the plague or anything. I don't even have the plaque. Some of you spent a few years too many in Overreacting School.
Anyway, pertaining to the essay i posted on sunday, oct. 17 (aka the last decent post i wrote): I got my grade back today, and it was a 2 out of 2. Victory. Victory of sorts, at least. There were no comments of any sort, which is what i was sort of hoping for, but whatever. At least he saw what i was getting at and gave me a good grade.
If you want, i'll post sometime in the next couple days about the horrible gruesome episode of Leonardo DiCaprio coming to our school, or some other topic if you can think of one. If no one says anything, i'll assume no one wants to hear anything, so i'll post all sorts of stuff just to get on everyone's nerves. Yeah, you wish.
Thanks for reading and stuff. See you in a couple days.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Some funny things that other people person say
"I'm a Capricorn on the Zodiac but a cancer on society."
-CV, from his Human Writes Violations site
there's some great stuff on there. i've always been a fan of this guy's writing.
"I'm a Capricorn on the Zodiac but a cancer on society."
-CV, from his Human Writes Violations site
there's some great stuff on there. i've always been a fan of this guy's writing.
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Freak Havoc
I don't want to encourage chaos. It sounds like fun until you get an image of yourself in noisy and echoing racquetball court, hard rubber balls speeding past you at all angles, in a constant wince from the impossibility of seeing on all sides of you at once, and incurably conscious of the back of your skull as an inevitable target. I just think it would be refreshing if everything got out of its rut for a little while every so often. Just for maybe a week every couple of years to see what would happen. I know that it's possible to get yourself out of your own rut with a little ambition, but that's not really fair to you. You hoist yourself up over the edge, but the rest of the world is trying to maintain its inertia and will overpower you. I mean everything and everyone should start doing something different, just in case it works better.
I know this has been suggested by other people all sorts of times before, but i've never suggested it, so i thought i'd try it to find out what happens. Hehe. Now i'll know.
I don't want to encourage chaos. It sounds like fun until you get an image of yourself in noisy and echoing racquetball court, hard rubber balls speeding past you at all angles, in a constant wince from the impossibility of seeing on all sides of you at once, and incurably conscious of the back of your skull as an inevitable target. I just think it would be refreshing if everything got out of its rut for a little while every so often. Just for maybe a week every couple of years to see what would happen. I know that it's possible to get yourself out of your own rut with a little ambition, but that's not really fair to you. You hoist yourself up over the edge, but the rest of the world is trying to maintain its inertia and will overpower you. I mean everything and everyone should start doing something different, just in case it works better.
I know this has been suggested by other people all sorts of times before, but i've never suggested it, so i thought i'd try it to find out what happens. Hehe. Now i'll know.
Sunday, October 17, 2004
I really really apologize for what i'm about to do. I never ever post these ultra-annoying online quiz results things, and this will be the last one I ever post, so help me Gandhi. But Homsar is my all-time favorite, and i'm very happy to have gotten him through honest dealing without trying to rig the results. Plus, if Homestar Runner isn't a worthy quiz subject, then nothing is. So here you go.
Take the Homestar Runner Character Quiz by Coach Vee!
Take the Homestar Runner Character Quiz by Coach Vee!
Short Answer Question 5. Due 10/18, 9am.
Due date : Monday, 18 October 2004, 09:00 AM (1 day 12 hours)
Maximum grade : 2
Compose a 400-500 word essay on the following topic:
What happens when theory and evidence collide in international politics?
A curious thing happens when Theory and Evidence collide in International Pontiacs. If it is a minor collision, they pull over to the side of the road, gingerly, step out and inspect the damage from a few paces back, not saying anything at first. After a discreet interval, Theory breaks the silence and says, “You know, there are all kinds of ways we could explain this. Perhaps a small animal ran out into the road in front of you, and you swerved and hit me. Or perhaps there was an icy patch on the asphalt that caused one or the other of us to temporarily lose control. It could also be that the lines are painted poorly, and that caused us to collide.” There is another short pause, the two of them scratch their heads and crouch down near the fenders to get a closer look, and Evidence counters, “Yes, I suppose we could accept any of those explanations. But we both know they are not true. I can smell your breath, sir, I can see the stumbling way you have been walking, and furthermore, I see several empty bottles on your passenger’s seat. The fact is, Mr. Theory, you are impaired.” They may argue for a while after this, and Theory may make some half-hearted arguments in his own defense, but it is clear who is right in this situation.
So Evidence, with a clear head, prevails, and the law comes to take Theory away for correction and improvement, to make him a better and more responsible person.
If it is a major collision, on the other hand, there is a chance that one of the two may not survive. Theory might be thrown from the car by the force of Evidence, mangled beyond recognition, never to be heard from again, and another would have to take his place. Or it might happen that the friends of Theory come to his rescue and hide the body of Evidence before it should be discovered. In any case, it is easier for everyone when Theory and Evidence can coexist and support each other, but this obviously cannot always be the way it is.
*the best part about this essay is that i actually handed it in, exactly how it's printed here. am i cool or what?
Due date : Monday, 18 October 2004, 09:00 AM (1 day 12 hours)
Maximum grade : 2
Compose a 400-500 word essay on the following topic:
What happens when theory and evidence collide in international politics?
A curious thing happens when Theory and Evidence collide in International Pontiacs. If it is a minor collision, they pull over to the side of the road, gingerly, step out and inspect the damage from a few paces back, not saying anything at first. After a discreet interval, Theory breaks the silence and says, “You know, there are all kinds of ways we could explain this. Perhaps a small animal ran out into the road in front of you, and you swerved and hit me. Or perhaps there was an icy patch on the asphalt that caused one or the other of us to temporarily lose control. It could also be that the lines are painted poorly, and that caused us to collide.” There is another short pause, the two of them scratch their heads and crouch down near the fenders to get a closer look, and Evidence counters, “Yes, I suppose we could accept any of those explanations. But we both know they are not true. I can smell your breath, sir, I can see the stumbling way you have been walking, and furthermore, I see several empty bottles on your passenger’s seat. The fact is, Mr. Theory, you are impaired.” They may argue for a while after this, and Theory may make some half-hearted arguments in his own defense, but it is clear who is right in this situation.
So Evidence, with a clear head, prevails, and the law comes to take Theory away for correction and improvement, to make him a better and more responsible person.
If it is a major collision, on the other hand, there is a chance that one of the two may not survive. Theory might be thrown from the car by the force of Evidence, mangled beyond recognition, never to be heard from again, and another would have to take his place. Or it might happen that the friends of Theory come to his rescue and hide the body of Evidence before it should be discovered. In any case, it is easier for everyone when Theory and Evidence can coexist and support each other, but this obviously cannot always be the way it is.
*the best part about this essay is that i actually handed it in, exactly how it's printed here. am i cool or what?
Saturday, October 16, 2004
Look out, Anonymi!
Lately i have noticed several or one anonymous people or person are or is posting comments on here. I don't have a problem with that in principle, really. As one of the Anonymous Terrors said, i might not even know these people, so it doesn't matter what their names are. It's just that i can never tell whether it's always the same anonymous person posting every time, or a bunch of them posting once. So here's my request. If you're going to post anonymously, you should make up a really funny fake name, or a not funny fake name if you want. Then if you use the same one every time, i can make a connection between each post by each anonymous person. Or if there's only one of you, just say you're something like Peabody or Kawasaki McBean or... um, whatever you want to be, i guess. This isn't a big deal, really, i just think it would be fun to have mysterious personas floating around the place. Rock twice.
Lately i have noticed several or one anonymous people or person are or is posting comments on here. I don't have a problem with that in principle, really. As one of the Anonymous Terrors said, i might not even know these people, so it doesn't matter what their names are. It's just that i can never tell whether it's always the same anonymous person posting every time, or a bunch of them posting once. So here's my request. If you're going to post anonymously, you should make up a really funny fake name, or a not funny fake name if you want. Then if you use the same one every time, i can make a connection between each post by each anonymous person. Or if there's only one of you, just say you're something like Peabody or Kawasaki McBean or... um, whatever you want to be, i guess. This isn't a big deal, really, i just think it would be fun to have mysterious personas floating around the place. Rock twice.
Some Titles Have Nothing But Words In Them
So there was this salamander. He would creep around a lot, and all the lizards would call him creepy. It was sort of hypocritical of them, being lizards and creepy themselves, but i guess lizards don't really have a problem with hypocrisy. Anyway, there were other times, specifically times when I was using the past tense in my story, when the salamander crept around and the lizards called him crepty. They would then have all these debates about what the correct term was, sometimes very heated debates, after which they would have to lay low for a while and chill out, you know, because they were cold-blooded and all, and they didn't want their heads to boil and turn into brain soup and the brain soup to accidentally run down their throat so that they were actually consuming their own brains, because it's not like lizards have a biological mechanism that allows digested brain matter to be returned through the bloodstream to the skull cavity intact or anything. The salamander would use these pauses in the discussion to creep around unobserved, basking in the knowledge that no one was talking about him behind his back, just as the lizards were basking in the knowledge that no one was sipping their liquefied brains behind their backs. They were very peaceful times, these pauses in the discussion. Peaceful and baskful.
It was quite amazing how most of this went on unobserved by the human eye. (That's right, i said "the human eye." Back in those days, there was only one human eye. Everyone had to take turns with it.)
One day after one of these conversational lapses, while the lizards were in their usual reflective mood, thinking about brain soup, one of them decided there might be a market for the stuff, especially if they convinced everyone it was a delicacy and that it would add bulk to your own brain by way of some biological mechanism. They started hunting for other brain-bearing things to plunder of organs, and they each pitched in a little chunk of their own brain to be fair. It was pretty creepy.
The salamander, who had been keeping an eye on the whole operation, bought half their stock on their first day in business. He sat around drinking it in the afternoons while sitting on a branch above the one the lizards sat on and chuckling to himself. It was pretty creepy also.
So the ultimate question here is: who was creepier, and who, if anyone, was creptier? And do you think crepes would have helped?
So there was this salamander. He would creep around a lot, and all the lizards would call him creepy. It was sort of hypocritical of them, being lizards and creepy themselves, but i guess lizards don't really have a problem with hypocrisy. Anyway, there were other times, specifically times when I was using the past tense in my story, when the salamander crept around and the lizards called him crepty. They would then have all these debates about what the correct term was, sometimes very heated debates, after which they would have to lay low for a while and chill out, you know, because they were cold-blooded and all, and they didn't want their heads to boil and turn into brain soup and the brain soup to accidentally run down their throat so that they were actually consuming their own brains, because it's not like lizards have a biological mechanism that allows digested brain matter to be returned through the bloodstream to the skull cavity intact or anything. The salamander would use these pauses in the discussion to creep around unobserved, basking in the knowledge that no one was talking about him behind his back, just as the lizards were basking in the knowledge that no one was sipping their liquefied brains behind their backs. They were very peaceful times, these pauses in the discussion. Peaceful and baskful.
It was quite amazing how most of this went on unobserved by the human eye. (That's right, i said "the human eye." Back in those days, there was only one human eye. Everyone had to take turns with it.)
One day after one of these conversational lapses, while the lizards were in their usual reflective mood, thinking about brain soup, one of them decided there might be a market for the stuff, especially if they convinced everyone it was a delicacy and that it would add bulk to your own brain by way of some biological mechanism. They started hunting for other brain-bearing things to plunder of organs, and they each pitched in a little chunk of their own brain to be fair. It was pretty creepy.
The salamander, who had been keeping an eye on the whole operation, bought half their stock on their first day in business. He sat around drinking it in the afternoons while sitting on a branch above the one the lizards sat on and chuckling to himself. It was pretty creepy also.
So the ultimate question here is: who was creepier, and who, if anyone, was creptier? And do you think crepes would have helped?
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Not a freak, just another rant...*grumble*
I'm so whiny today, i can't even stand myself.
Amazon is a crappy place to find new music. I've spent a couple hours over the past few days looking for music i might like, via Amazon's many "similar artists" and "people who bought x also bought y" features. Yeah, more like people who bought this also made several random one-click purchases by letting a chimp handle the mouse for a while. Seriously, i looked up just about every cd that i own and like at the moment to see what other cds they recommended, and i listened to sample clips from a bunch of them, none of which sounded half as good as the cd i owned that led me to the recommendation. I got frustrated. Then it dawned on me. When i looked at the "people who bought x also bought y" thing, there was never another cd that I "also bought," unless it was by the same band. In theory, they should have recommended at least a few cds i already have, because that's kind of the point. The system is bunk, i declared, and went on searching anyway.
Oh, and there's another thing: the customer reviews. At first i thought these were great, a whole bunch of perspectives from people who had listened to the album. Then after a while i realized that almost every album i looked at was rated 4 and a half stars out of 5 by the customers and given largely favorable reviews. The second dawn dawned on me (if you're keeping track, i've now stayed up two nights in a row): the only people who write album reviews on Amazon, for the most part, are fans of that album. There are far more fans willing to put in a good word for an album than there are dissenters who will take the time to warn you against buying it. I mean, if you don't like an album, why waste your time? Unless you really, really hate it, (which some people did) in which case your review will be clouded by anger and very subjective. So the customer reviews are worthless.
All that to say that it's a bad way to look for new music. I'm out of good ways. Someone with similar musical tastes needs to come along and introduce me to some stuff i haven't heard before, because the only one who closely shares my tastes is my girlfriend, and she's out of ideas too.
I'm so whiny today, i can't even stand myself.
Amazon is a crappy place to find new music. I've spent a couple hours over the past few days looking for music i might like, via Amazon's many "similar artists" and "people who bought x also bought y" features. Yeah, more like people who bought this also made several random one-click purchases by letting a chimp handle the mouse for a while. Seriously, i looked up just about every cd that i own and like at the moment to see what other cds they recommended, and i listened to sample clips from a bunch of them, none of which sounded half as good as the cd i owned that led me to the recommendation. I got frustrated. Then it dawned on me. When i looked at the "people who bought x also bought y" thing, there was never another cd that I "also bought," unless it was by the same band. In theory, they should have recommended at least a few cds i already have, because that's kind of the point. The system is bunk, i declared, and went on searching anyway.
Oh, and there's another thing: the customer reviews. At first i thought these were great, a whole bunch of perspectives from people who had listened to the album. Then after a while i realized that almost every album i looked at was rated 4 and a half stars out of 5 by the customers and given largely favorable reviews. The second dawn dawned on me (if you're keeping track, i've now stayed up two nights in a row): the only people who write album reviews on Amazon, for the most part, are fans of that album. There are far more fans willing to put in a good word for an album than there are dissenters who will take the time to warn you against buying it. I mean, if you don't like an album, why waste your time? Unless you really, really hate it, (which some people did) in which case your review will be clouded by anger and very subjective. So the customer reviews are worthless.
All that to say that it's a bad way to look for new music. I'm out of good ways. Someone with similar musical tastes needs to come along and introduce me to some stuff i haven't heard before, because the only one who closely shares my tastes is my girlfriend, and she's out of ideas too.
Monday, October 11, 2004
The Very Hand That Once Spoon-Fed You Will One Day Fork-Feed You, And Grudgingly At That
Woo hoo. So i'm going for the pretentious indie and/or hardcore band song title thing with my title. You know it rocks with the furor of a thousand shrieking vampires riding black winged wolves on rivers of blood into the night. Don't deny it.
Ah, there's nothing like having to write an essay to make you turn in avoidance to writing a post on your long-neglected blog, which you couldn't be bothered to do in any other situation. Really, i'm sorry i haven't been freaking up anyone's day. I've been a freeloader of sorts (freakloader?), freaking up my own day by stringing together bits and pieces of punnery from elsewhere, too selfish to share a scrap or contribute my own paltry freakage to the mix. Unconcerned with the freakitude of anyone's day but my own. Flog me if you must. Frog me if you dare. I'll try to change my ways, to right the wrong, to turn a new leaf, to string as many clichés as i can muster in one sentence.
Today's piece will be a short little piece entitled "A Short Little Piece Entitled 'Trevor.'" Trevor was a freelance writer of haiku and syndicated answering machine messages. He won the occasional obscure award and brought home the occasional bacon, some of which was turkey. His most celebrated work, an ingenious mingling of his duel professions, was the seminal "Haiku for the Unanswered Telephone," which reads,
I am not at home.
Leave your name and number, please
Following the beep.
After the immense popularity of this poem, Trevor overreacted to his newfound fame, failing to channel his success into new and more exploratory work. Instead, he tried to duplicate his one shining moment by writing an entire volume of answering machine haiku and releasing it in installments on his own answering machine. The art community found this simultaneously too experimental and too repetetive (the art community was on some unhealthy combination of Ritalin and Prozac) and Trevor was an outcast.
That's it. That's the whole story. Yeah, i wish it had a happy ending too, but it happens to be a true story and that's just what happened, ok? You think this ending is a cop-out? It's not! It's the truth! Or at least, if not the truth, it's a new and experimental method in the art of storytelling. I call it "Satisfaction through Dissatisfaction." I write an unsatisfying ending, and i'm satisfied with the amount of time it took me to write it. What more could i ask for?
By the way, if you think of any good answering machine haiku, you should post them. We can make it like a contest. Yeah.
Woo hoo. So i'm going for the pretentious indie and/or hardcore band song title thing with my title. You know it rocks with the furor of a thousand shrieking vampires riding black winged wolves on rivers of blood into the night. Don't deny it.
Ah, there's nothing like having to write an essay to make you turn in avoidance to writing a post on your long-neglected blog, which you couldn't be bothered to do in any other situation. Really, i'm sorry i haven't been freaking up anyone's day. I've been a freeloader of sorts (freakloader?), freaking up my own day by stringing together bits and pieces of punnery from elsewhere, too selfish to share a scrap or contribute my own paltry freakage to the mix. Unconcerned with the freakitude of anyone's day but my own. Flog me if you must. Frog me if you dare. I'll try to change my ways, to right the wrong, to turn a new leaf, to string as many clichés as i can muster in one sentence.
Today's piece will be a short little piece entitled "A Short Little Piece Entitled 'Trevor.'" Trevor was a freelance writer of haiku and syndicated answering machine messages. He won the occasional obscure award and brought home the occasional bacon, some of which was turkey. His most celebrated work, an ingenious mingling of his duel professions, was the seminal "Haiku for the Unanswered Telephone," which reads,
I am not at home.
Leave your name and number, please
Following the beep.
After the immense popularity of this poem, Trevor overreacted to his newfound fame, failing to channel his success into new and more exploratory work. Instead, he tried to duplicate his one shining moment by writing an entire volume of answering machine haiku and releasing it in installments on his own answering machine. The art community found this simultaneously too experimental and too repetetive (the art community was on some unhealthy combination of Ritalin and Prozac) and Trevor was an outcast.
That's it. That's the whole story. Yeah, i wish it had a happy ending too, but it happens to be a true story and that's just what happened, ok? You think this ending is a cop-out? It's not! It's the truth! Or at least, if not the truth, it's a new and experimental method in the art of storytelling. I call it "Satisfaction through Dissatisfaction." I write an unsatisfying ending, and i'm satisfied with the amount of time it took me to write it. What more could i ask for?
By the way, if you think of any good answering machine haiku, you should post them. We can make it like a contest. Yeah.
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Sunday, October 03, 2004
Rock Like a Norwegian
Olaf is a ridiculous concert venue. I feel sorry for any band that comes to play here, with the exception of the "Big Fall Concert" headliner, whose career usually doesn't need any help. Every other band has to play to an audience of twelve who just stand there. It's no fun to play to an audience of twelve who just stand there. If I were a local indie band trying to make it, or at least trying to play cool shows and feel like real musicians, a show in the Lion's Pause would all but kill my momentum. But anyway, back to the Big Fall Concert. This year, last night, it was Ben Folds, a mostly mellow piano man with just enough spunk and rebellion to make a gym full of Minnesotan college kids feel like they're at a real rock show. Don't get me wrong, I respect Ben Folds; his song "Rockin' the Suburbs" is one of the finest pieces of satire I've ever heard. And he put on a pretty good show. His band was on, he was entertaining and he played to the crowd, which his years of touring have surely taught him to do. (His only mistake, really, was covering "Get Your Hands Off My Woman," which has a catchier melody than any Ben Folds song and just made me want to go listen to the Darkness. Covering the Darkness is a feat that should only be attempted by someone with a better falsetto than Justin Hawkins, which is nobody. Why point yourself out as an inferior vocalist?) The point is, as Clare pointed out, he was the perfect person to play a concert at St. Olaf, which is a sad reflection of the cultural apathy and general meekness of the place, as were the six or seven fists pumping to such lyrical revelations as "ba-da-bum bum." If we ever got anyone truly ground-breaking to play here, no one would show up.
Not that I'm all enlightened or revolutionary either. But at least I recognize the problem. And I'm trying, so help me, I'm trying. Thank the benevolent heart of Jason Martin for the upcoming Pedro the Lion/Starflyer 59 show in Minneapolis.
Olaf is a ridiculous concert venue. I feel sorry for any band that comes to play here, with the exception of the "Big Fall Concert" headliner, whose career usually doesn't need any help. Every other band has to play to an audience of twelve who just stand there. It's no fun to play to an audience of twelve who just stand there. If I were a local indie band trying to make it, or at least trying to play cool shows and feel like real musicians, a show in the Lion's Pause would all but kill my momentum. But anyway, back to the Big Fall Concert. This year, last night, it was Ben Folds, a mostly mellow piano man with just enough spunk and rebellion to make a gym full of Minnesotan college kids feel like they're at a real rock show. Don't get me wrong, I respect Ben Folds; his song "Rockin' the Suburbs" is one of the finest pieces of satire I've ever heard. And he put on a pretty good show. His band was on, he was entertaining and he played to the crowd, which his years of touring have surely taught him to do. (His only mistake, really, was covering "Get Your Hands Off My Woman," which has a catchier melody than any Ben Folds song and just made me want to go listen to the Darkness. Covering the Darkness is a feat that should only be attempted by someone with a better falsetto than Justin Hawkins, which is nobody. Why point yourself out as an inferior vocalist?) The point is, as Clare pointed out, he was the perfect person to play a concert at St. Olaf, which is a sad reflection of the cultural apathy and general meekness of the place, as were the six or seven fists pumping to such lyrical revelations as "ba-da-bum bum." If we ever got anyone truly ground-breaking to play here, no one would show up.
Not that I'm all enlightened or revolutionary either. But at least I recognize the problem. And I'm trying, so help me, I'm trying. Thank the benevolent heart of Jason Martin for the upcoming Pedro the Lion/Starflyer 59 show in Minneapolis.
