This part doesn't make sense; the title is good but not in the context of this passage
It's a good question when you see what the fuck I'm talking about. So it's been that as I grow up, I realize more and more that I'm losing people in some way. I mean, we're always losing people in some ways, but when we're younger, we're not acute enough to realize it. By losing people, I don't mean necessarily from death or abandonment, but in slight ways. When I was in high school this new concept (this is what the archetype "loss of innocence" is all about) was pretty hard for me to accept. But suddenly, in 2006, bam! and I was fine with it.
I think it's because I learned to prevent some losses from happening. I'll leave that vague.
However, I think that I'm not as paralyzed by the concept of loss as I once was. In other words, you nearly won't get a reaction from me; well, at least in comparison to how it was before. I think I'm dealing with it now actively instead of just sitting around musing over it.
This is all vague, but I want to get to something that's slightly less vague so you don't have to worry about the above.
end incomprehensible part
Okay, never mind. I've been confused as of late, and, to say the least, I'm not sure why. Just in general confused, not in such a way that it's hurting me. Well, last night I went to bed feeling down, but that's because of the Darfur lecture I attended. Right now I'm as confused as two oranges in a boat filled with scurvy pirates.
If "scurvy" isn't an adjective, well, it should be.
But yeah. I feel like if something finds me, it could go *glomp* on me. Wait, NO I DON'T. See, even that analogy failed to correspond to my situation!
Oh, yeah. I went running today, meaning I better take a shower tonight.
Spring had better come soon, because I want some outdoor disc action.
Wednesday, 28 February 2007
Tuesday, 27 February 2007
The Darfur Letters Project
Ever wanted to scare someone? Well, I do now, only because I got scared. New York Times journalist Nick Kristof visited Tufts tonight and gave a lecture entitled "Raising a Moral Voice." One-third of his editorials in the Times have been about Darfur, which is pretty impressive, although the Boston Herald would claim that one-third of their content being on Britney Spears's bald head is far more impressive. Anyway, he told us about Darfur, and I was just stunned. I had to give the routine a break for an hour to let the thought of the horror sift through my head.
But the lecture was about doing something. I haven't done shit in regards to helping people who need help since the end of 2005, really. What made a lightbulb go off in my head during the lecture was his statement that if 100 people wrote each congressman, the whole disaster in Rwanda wouldn't have been allowed to happen for so long.
Let me present to you The Darfur Letters Project.
The title is unintentionally similar to "The Blair Witch Project." I needed a title for this thing and whoopee I've got a pop-culture allusion. But here's the idea, and even this is a little idealistic considering my sloth and my workload: I will send a letter to random people who I think are cool, like Mark Bellhorn, Donna Summer, and Samantha Mumba. It would go something like this:
"Hi! I've always been a fan of yours, but I've never really seen the need to write a letter to you. ....."
And then I would talk about Darfur and knock their socks off. The problem is that they probably won't be reading the letters. So part of the game would be choosing people who have lost fame such that they don't get letters from fans anymore, or something like that.
This makes no sense, since the whole point of mailing celebrities would be to get them to do something, and celebrities without fame are celebrities without power.
Whatever. Gotta do something.
But the lecture was about doing something. I haven't done shit in regards to helping people who need help since the end of 2005, really. What made a lightbulb go off in my head during the lecture was his statement that if 100 people wrote each congressman, the whole disaster in Rwanda wouldn't have been allowed to happen for so long.
Let me present to you The Darfur Letters Project.
The title is unintentionally similar to "The Blair Witch Project." I needed a title for this thing and whoopee I've got a pop-culture allusion. But here's the idea, and even this is a little idealistic considering my sloth and my workload: I will send a letter to random people who I think are cool, like Mark Bellhorn, Donna Summer, and Samantha Mumba. It would go something like this:
"Hi! I've always been a fan of yours, but I've never really seen the need to write a letter to you. ....."
And then I would talk about Darfur and knock their socks off. The problem is that they probably won't be reading the letters. So part of the game would be choosing people who have lost fame such that they don't get letters from fans anymore, or something like that.
This makes no sense, since the whole point of mailing celebrities would be to get them to do something, and celebrities without fame are celebrities without power.
Whatever. Gotta do something.
Monday, 26 February 2007
Oscars-Winning Films and Dow: What I Learned About Both
As is my annual custom, I tuned into the Academy Awards last night because I want to be part of the self-congratulatory reach-around that Hollywood puts on every year. After ten years of watching the program, I now have a pretty objective view of show's quality. So for those of you who did not watch it last night, I will tell you how it went down. About fifteen minutes in, I called my brother (who was also watching) and simply told him "If Ellen Degeneres doesn't get off the stage, I am going to stab myself."
However, my faith in life was restored when William Monahan and Michael Arndt won the writing awards. As someone from Boston (like Monahan) who writes screenplays with uninspired premies (like Arndt), it gave hope that too may one day win a golden idol to worship.
But that was not the highlight of the evening. You see, the Oscars are like a second Super Bowl when it comes to commercials. These advertisements are enormous in scale and irrelevent to whatever they are selling. They're like mystery stories. For instance, three rabbits sit on a log. One of them goes home and hangs himself. Buy a bike!
One commercial, however, touched me in a way I have never been touched before (get your head out of the gutter). Sweeping landscapes and beautiful images flew by as the bittersweet "New Harmony Waltz" played in the background. And then, an appeal to humanity and a mention how we all illuminate this wonderful planet. At this point, I don't know what the hell this company is selling, and I don't care! Finally, after a good mind-numbing minute of visual and musical beauty, we finally learn who is responsible for the sweeping epic of a commercial; Dow.
That's it. Dow. After coming back to my senses, I decided to find out what exactly it is that this Dow does. After a quick trip to Wikipedia, I found out the truth. Apparently, Dow does human catastophe.
The first half of the Wikipedia article was chalk full of happy news. Chemicals, capitalism, America, it's all good. Then we hit the second half, and things turned sour. Apparently, Dow was the top provider of napalm and agent orange to the United States military during the Vietnam War. And the effects of those two chemicals weapons still affect Vietnam today. Then they owned a Union-Carbine plant in India that, in 1984, let off toxic gases into heavily populated areas. And the effects of those poisonous gases still affect the people of India today. Then they...well, let's just say that Dow doesn't exactly have a plesant history.
But ironically enough, all this talk of Dow violating human rights led me back to one place. Yes, that beautiful commercial, which can be seen here on YouTube. Clearly, Dow is attempting to cover up its troubled past with inspirational advertising. However, what director would lower himself to actually covering up corporate greed with such a cheesy commercial? And even worse, what director would do it so flawlessly?
But then I returned to the Oscars, where the nominees aren't exactly beacons of light. The ending to the Best Picture winner is basically a poor man's Hamlet. The front-runner prior the ceremony showed an American tourist getting shot, a Mexican immigrant and children almost dying in the desert, the Mexican immigrant getting sent back to Mexico, and a deaf, Japanese girl, sans panties, offering herself up to anything that moves. And the sentimental favorite coming in to this year's Oscars featured a foul-mouthed Grandfather, a gay Proust scholar, a boy's dream being crushed, and that same Grandpa being squeezed into the back of the van. Oh, if you don't want to hear spoilers, don't read the previous sentence.
After a lot of thought, I came to one conclusion; film needs evil. How else will movies generate conflict? All conflict revolves around a battle between good and evil. And despite their unflattering subject matters, The Departed, Babel, and Little Miss Sunshine are all fine films that greatly enhance the medium. And if Dow didn't commit these terrible atrocities, then that commercial...no, Dow is just evil incarnate in corporation form that should be taken down in every way possible. However, the "New Harmony Waltz" and the director of that commercial can stay.
However, my faith in life was restored when William Monahan and Michael Arndt won the writing awards. As someone from Boston (like Monahan) who writes screenplays with uninspired premies (like Arndt), it gave hope that too may one day win a golden idol to worship.
But that was not the highlight of the evening. You see, the Oscars are like a second Super Bowl when it comes to commercials. These advertisements are enormous in scale and irrelevent to whatever they are selling. They're like mystery stories. For instance, three rabbits sit on a log. One of them goes home and hangs himself. Buy a bike!
One commercial, however, touched me in a way I have never been touched before (get your head out of the gutter). Sweeping landscapes and beautiful images flew by as the bittersweet "New Harmony Waltz" played in the background. And then, an appeal to humanity and a mention how we all illuminate this wonderful planet. At this point, I don't know what the hell this company is selling, and I don't care! Finally, after a good mind-numbing minute of visual and musical beauty, we finally learn who is responsible for the sweeping epic of a commercial; Dow.
That's it. Dow. After coming back to my senses, I decided to find out what exactly it is that this Dow does. After a quick trip to Wikipedia, I found out the truth. Apparently, Dow does human catastophe.
The first half of the Wikipedia article was chalk full of happy news. Chemicals, capitalism, America, it's all good. Then we hit the second half, and things turned sour. Apparently, Dow was the top provider of napalm and agent orange to the United States military during the Vietnam War. And the effects of those two chemicals weapons still affect Vietnam today. Then they owned a Union-Carbine plant in India that, in 1984, let off toxic gases into heavily populated areas. And the effects of those poisonous gases still affect the people of India today. Then they...well, let's just say that Dow doesn't exactly have a plesant history.
But ironically enough, all this talk of Dow violating human rights led me back to one place. Yes, that beautiful commercial, which can be seen here on YouTube. Clearly, Dow is attempting to cover up its troubled past with inspirational advertising. However, what director would lower himself to actually covering up corporate greed with such a cheesy commercial? And even worse, what director would do it so flawlessly?
But then I returned to the Oscars, where the nominees aren't exactly beacons of light. The ending to the Best Picture winner is basically a poor man's Hamlet. The front-runner prior the ceremony showed an American tourist getting shot, a Mexican immigrant and children almost dying in the desert, the Mexican immigrant getting sent back to Mexico, and a deaf, Japanese girl, sans panties, offering herself up to anything that moves. And the sentimental favorite coming in to this year's Oscars featured a foul-mouthed Grandfather, a gay Proust scholar, a boy's dream being crushed, and that same Grandpa being squeezed into the back of the van. Oh, if you don't want to hear spoilers, don't read the previous sentence.
After a lot of thought, I came to one conclusion; film needs evil. How else will movies generate conflict? All conflict revolves around a battle between good and evil. And despite their unflattering subject matters, The Departed, Babel, and Little Miss Sunshine are all fine films that greatly enhance the medium. And if Dow didn't commit these terrible atrocities, then that commercial...no, Dow is just evil incarnate in corporation form that should be taken down in every way possible. However, the "New Harmony Waltz" and the director of that commercial can stay.
Sunday, 25 February 2007
I Applied To Rho Theta Phi
As I was walking from Aidekman Hall, the older music building, I came upon two shadows of mine. Two lights created them as I walked through the alleyway between Sophia Gordon and Stratton Hall, and I realized that one of them, because it was straight ahead of me, seemed to be the more correct shadow of me. But neither one is the correct shadow of me because I didn't make it myself. It's the shadow that doesn't appear, that I can't see, that is the correct shadow of myself.
Paradoxical, maybe. Yeah right; it's just bullish thought. I'm not censoring myself; "bullish" sounds cooler than "bullshit."
Mark Bellhorn will be playing for the Cincinnati Reds this year, or so I hope. He's a nonroster invitee to Spring Training this year. I am joyous.
On the Tufts cannon somebody had spraypainted the logo of some fraternity. One of the letters was phi. I thought maybe the Math Men should vandalize the graffiti (yes, that makes sense if you know what I'm talking about) by changing the phi into (rho, theta, phi). Those are spherical coordinates, and they show that the Math Men are the rulers in this sphere!
There should be a mathematicians' fraternity. Rho Theta Phi. Actually, there should really be funny frat names, like Roe Roe Roe (e.g. your boat) or Delta Chi. (e.g. delta x = dx) I bet the latter exists.
Paradoxical, maybe. Yeah right; it's just bullish thought. I'm not censoring myself; "bullish" sounds cooler than "bullshit."
Mark Bellhorn will be playing for the Cincinnati Reds this year, or so I hope. He's a nonroster invitee to Spring Training this year. I am joyous.
On the Tufts cannon somebody had spraypainted the logo of some fraternity. One of the letters was phi. I thought maybe the Math Men should vandalize the graffiti (yes, that makes sense if you know what I'm talking about) by changing the phi into (rho, theta, phi). Those are spherical coordinates, and they show that the Math Men are the rulers in this sphere!
There should be a mathematicians' fraternity. Rho Theta Phi. Actually, there should really be funny frat names, like Roe Roe Roe (e.g. your boat) or Delta Chi. (e.g. delta x = dx) I bet the latter exists.
Monday, 19 February 2007
Bored. No ideas; no connection.
By "no connection" I mean there's no connection between ideas because I don't have any.
Really, as of late, I've had no ideas. Over and over it's been the same routine this second semester: math, math, physics, Japanese, math, math, Japanese, math, physics lab, French essay. When I get to "French essay," I've got a problem. I have no ideas.
The majority of the people in the class either have trouble understanding the readings or writing grammatically well. I've lost my mojo.
No, I haven't gotten laid.
So that's the problem. I've lost my mojo, and, well, it shows in my writing. I'm relatively dispassioned about the stories we're reading for some reason, and I'm canny to blame that on the number flow through my head (e.g. math, math, physics, math), but you'd think I'd at least have some ideas. But my creative juice is gone.
And I miss playing the piano. O why, Tufts piping pipe system, did you have to explode over all the pianos? Yes, that's right, the pipes exploded and torrents of water came down and flooded our supply of the only thing I can play well that isn't a video game. (Frisbee in 2007? B-TEAM FOR LIFE!) I was just listening to Artur Rubinstein playing Chopin's first Ballade, and how beautiful can you get?
Flames to dust, lovers to friends, why do all good things come to an end? asked Nelly Furtado such that it would get her the #1 spot on Billboard's world-spanning pop charts. Well, the flow of the second semester has emptied out, and here I am, in the dullest of all possible worlds. By "I" I mean my creative process. Let's go.
Let's go, dammit, let's go!
Really, as of late, I've had no ideas. Over and over it's been the same routine this second semester: math, math, physics, Japanese, math, math, Japanese, math, physics lab, French essay. When I get to "French essay," I've got a problem. I have no ideas.
The majority of the people in the class either have trouble understanding the readings or writing grammatically well. I've lost my mojo.
No, I haven't gotten laid.
So that's the problem. I've lost my mojo, and, well, it shows in my writing. I'm relatively dispassioned about the stories we're reading for some reason, and I'm canny to blame that on the number flow through my head (e.g. math, math, physics, math), but you'd think I'd at least have some ideas. But my creative juice is gone.
And I miss playing the piano. O why, Tufts piping pipe system, did you have to explode over all the pianos? Yes, that's right, the pipes exploded and torrents of water came down and flooded our supply of the only thing I can play well that isn't a video game. (Frisbee in 2007? B-TEAM FOR LIFE!) I was just listening to Artur Rubinstein playing Chopin's first Ballade, and how beautiful can you get?
Flames to dust, lovers to friends, why do all good things come to an end? asked Nelly Furtado such that it would get her the #1 spot on Billboard's world-spanning pop charts. Well, the flow of the second semester has emptied out, and here I am, in the dullest of all possible worlds. By "I" I mean my creative process. Let's go.
Let's go, dammit, let's go!
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