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splat8988
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Name: Joe
Birthday: 7/11/1988
Gender: Male
Interests: Piano, cello, juggling, string theory...
Expertise: Hiding in a dark corner of my room reading physics textbooks, writing poems about mushrooms, depriving myself of sleep for insanity's purposes
Occupation: Student
Message: message me
AIM:  splat8988
Member Since:
5/9/2004
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| I am convinced that no experience can be unpleasant in the late afternoon.
When viewed properly, the light illuminates the world in such a way
that any detraction becomes romanticised and insignificant. Or perhaps
it's the sun frying the last of my neurons.
I would bank on the latter, since my creativity has been remarkably
uncooperative lately. I try to be reasonable: "Let's just write a short
invention or discuss lighthouses and mushrooms in a brief tribute. In
fact, if you're feeling really lousy, why don't we just write a little
Xanga entry?" But no. IB has taken that away from me, too. I think I
need less sleep. Either that or I need to read more Breton. Or both.
(It's best done by the subconscious anyway.)
Perhaps the total insanity in any given system must be a constant, C.
If so, then as insanity, I, of IB increases (i.e. f ' (IB) > 0) then
logically f ' (ME) < 0 since the two values are inversely
proportional. Thus, since f ' (IB) >> 0, I have an excuse to be
uncreative. QED.
Corollary: Things are getting insane and have been insane.
That's theatre for you, though. Especially when you're trying to act
natural. Which, technically, is impossible. It's somewhat like being
'alone together.' I've always enjoyed oxymorons. (I took great joy in
discovering one on my own: the "whole bit." Granted, I was around 10,
so there wasn't too much to take joy in at the time. Nerd Pride!)
Thank goodness Grease is over, though- and I was only doing lights.
(Only? Hah!) Now time to think about the next play! (Since I don't have
drama and exponential amounts of busywork and projects to worry about!)
Or time to think about the next homework assignment. *Checks schedule*
Ah, français. Oui, oui. Researching health-related reasons for the
secession of Quebec should be great fun. Especially on the four hours
of sleep I'll be getting tonight.
But who needs to think about the future? I should perhaps reflect on
the past a bit more. That way I can at least pretend that I wasn't
stressed. There's definitely something to be said for Romanticism. Then
again, there are many more things to be said for me being born 170
years ago. I wouldn't waste as much time on Xanga as I do, for a start.
Kurt Vonnegut once said something very profound. I don't remember what it was. Maybe that was the point.
And that, Gentle Readers, is an example of surrealistic writing.
Doesn't it seem completely random and out of place? Juxtaposed,
perhaps? Well it has no significance whatsoever! That's that point.
It's a pipe.
Perhaps I've rambled more in this Xanga entry than usual. That's
probably the case. In fact, it <i>is</i> the case. Luckily,
I have several shorter entries. Though they're just as rambling,
they're more to the point about it. Anyway, I've lost the concept of
resolution lately. Nice, neat closings seem to elude me. I'm hoping
that somehow this Xanga entry will be one magnificent resolution for
everything that has lacked resolution in the past several months. So
much so that English teachers will direct their classes to observe this
stunning example of the proper conclusion. Yet it hasn't worked out
very well so far. Perhaps after all the Socrates has worn off I'll be a
bit more light-hearted and I'll redo this entry. Until then, I'll just
hope this is "profound" since it's incomprehensible.
If that sounds resolved to you, stop reading. If not, hope with me for
a second chance. Though again, technically, that's not really correct.
I've really lost track of what chance I'm on now. I wouldn't be quite
so embarassed if I had the Yanomamo counting system. But alas, with
Arabic Numerals I could go on for quite a while. Even longer with
scientific notation. If worst comes to worst I'll just start making up
words.
I could give examples, but with my luck they probably are words,
somewhere. I probably haven't written enough words here (and various
other places), but pauses for naps are not illegal (except in school
between grades 1 and 11).
There. See? No resolution.
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| It's safe to turn on your speakers now. I had Manuel Seco de Arpe's
Angelo Caído (Fallen Angel) movement playing during finals and it's a
bit...intense. Or avant-garde, wherever your interests lie. Now,
however, I've toned it down a bit to a different movement- Dante. The
title is just as depressing but it's not quite as
intense...or avant-garde. (Please choose your interests quickly.) I
thought this would do for a nice introduction to contemporary music for
everyone who has speakers on, even if they probably won't stay on
for long. And if you think this sounds bad, then you have no
appreciation
for art and are a closed-minded uncultured ignoramus. (And, believe me,
I'm going to wear this contemporary music joke out until it has been
mashed into little pieces and is decomposing on the ground.) So there.
It's a change from the Gregorian Chant.
Any song about Dante tends to be good, though. Mostly because Liszt
liked Dante and wrote songs about him. But this is good, too. Not quite
as good- but it'll suffice (the Liszt file is too big to upload). On
the subject (and desperately trying to transition), Dante's concept of
multiple levels of heaven is one worth consideration. Yet it rather
conflicts with those poor Tralfamadorians since they don't really have
a heaven...since there's really nothing after death.
And since Tralfamadorians don't believe in linear time, I don't need a
transition to move to the next paragraph!
[Effective transition goes here, anyway.]
Please do not copy my writing style. If you do, you're pretty much
screwed if you have to do anything in the future that even involves
proximity to writing utensils. You'll sound incoherent and begin
blathering about Dante and Tralfamadorians and end up writing nonsense
on your Xanga at 1:00 when you should be sleeping. Either that or some
great English professor will read my Xanga and deem me worthy of the
Pulitzer Prize. In that case you'll be plagiarizing and will be shipped
of to the Pulitzer Prison to be beaten and satired.
Your lesson: Don't be like Haviland. (Compare the opening lines of
Chapter 8 to the opening lines of the section "Adolescent Sexuality" in
Weiner's book.) The result of his plagiarism? I can't find him on the
faculty board of the University of Vermont and Ms. Weiner's dead.
My lesson: I don't want to die.
So now it's my turn to plagiarize (or paraphrase with citations):
(Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, Tom Stoppard)
"Do you ever think about being dead? As in lying in a box with a lid on
it? It's silly to be depressed by it. I mean, one thinks of it like
being alive in a box. One keeps forgetting to take into account the
fact that one is dead. Which should make all the difference in the
world. Shouldn't it?
If I asked you straight off, I'm going to stuff you into this box right
here: would you rather be alive or dead? You'd want to be alive. Life
in a box is better than no life at all. I expect. You could lie there
thinking, Well, at least I'm not dead!"
Well, at least I've written myself into a corner! Or rather, Tom Stoppard has
written me into a corner. I suppose that's what I get for messing with a genius...
But since this is about things that aren't so perfect, I should
probably stop procrastinating and get to the meat of this entry (since
I think it's getting a bit long by now. I can't quite tell in this little white box...).
I'm mostly vegetarian, though, so this doesn't have much meat. In fact,
I only really eat meat on holidays, so that's when you can expect to
see well done entries. Until then you'll have to fast on this. I
apologize for the lack of content, substance, and interest. If you're
offended, stop reading now and immediately contact your nearest lawyer.
(Sue Xanga.com, not me.)
Waaa...moot court awards are tomorrow. If I recall correctly, those
tend to run in a long fashion. I know I recall correctly, too, because
something like that is the sort of thing that becomes burned in your
mind whether you like it or not. (Though I have so many of those sorts
of unpleasant experiences, one would think my brain would have run out
of room for all of them by now. Yet it hasn't.) The actual competition was a bit more
fun than the awards promise to be. The judges liked me at one point!
That makes three! Granted, they didn't much like me the second time
round because I made a fool of myself for sixty seconds straight...so I
suppose it ends up back at the initial nill. But that shouldn't make much of a difference in a Tralfamadorian time-frame.
And that's what practice is for, anyway! Even if many sorts of practice seem to
be a positive feedback cycle... You fail, so you need to practice.
However, you can only practice by doing it, and when you do it, you
fail. This discourages you, so the next time you practice you fail even more. Thus you're more discouraged, so you fail much
worse the next time you practice.
And so on ad nausium. I don't much like that cycle. But I'm required
under "legal and natural practice" to go through it like my thumbdrive
through the wash. (If the Seco de Arpe song sounds bad...um...then...it's
probably because I carried on my screwed-up thumbdrive and it became
corrupted. Or your speakers are bad. Really.)
And since I've wrapped this entry up in one giant, hideous gift loop and anyone
who's made it this far has stopped listening to the Seco de Arpe (the
only reason this Xanga exists) I should perhaps conclude. But the bowling part was
fun, though! Just don't look at the game through a Freudian perspective....
Well, the sophomores can do that for me. As for me, I need to research
John T Biggers and ribosomes.
Note: If you see any connection between the above entry and my life...it...um...doesn't exist.
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| - - "You're talking like a crazy ma-"
"Like a crazy man? How astute."
- McMurphy and Harding, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Ken Kesey
The Pantom of the Opera is Here!
It doesn't get more exciting than organs and melodic minor scales. I'm not actually listening to the soundtrack, mind you. I'm just listening in my mind. It'll probably go away some day. (Only to be replaced by some other musical no doubt...my money's on Wicked or RENT) But seeing Phantom was fun! It inspired me to compose! I managed to write a whole measure and a quarter for my invention! This brings me to about three or four measures now! And after only three or four weeks of work!
But don't let my excitement delude you (if it ever does). Composing is like twisting toilet paper into your belly button unless you're some child prodigy genius. Like Liszt. Then you can compose just fine. (And I still need to read those biographies about him...I've been renewing them on various library cards and have managed to keep it since August...and yet I still haven't finished...)
Besides the frustration, the little known fact about composing is the lethal danger it poses. After you write your ninth symphony, you die. It all started with Beethoven (as most everything did)- he wrote his ninth and kicked the bucket. Then it happened to Schubert, Mahler, Dvorak, Bruckner, Vaughan Williams, Persichetti, and Sessions. Mahler tried to stop it by writing his 10th immediately after he finished the 9th. But it didn't work. Bruckner tried naming his first two symphonies 0 and 00. But it didn't work. They should have taken a lesson from Sibelius- he stopped after the 8th and lived for another 33 years.
I thought I should include that since I finished my IB Music outline about Beethoven not too long ago. (Five pages! A record!) You can promptly forget it now. And since your mind should be blank, I'll move to the next subject without a logical transition.
And now the new year has come! I intended to update on New Year's Eve but I was busy in preparation, for:
The International Year of Physics!!!
So, in celebration, I spent my last few minutes of 2004 deriving an equation that finds the diagonal distance of a projectile shot onto a slope and toasting the new year with a wine glass full to the brim with dihydrogen monoxide. I'm optimistic about the new year: 2005 promises to be like the year after 2004.
And now that it's 2005 I get to think about finals. Which means Shakespeare! A Fanciful Experiment in the Domestication of Misanthropic Homo Sapiens Whose 46th Chromosome Contains a Distinct Lack of Chromosomes Shaped in a Cross-Like Pattern!
And I have now memorized Petruchio's lines in Act III so I can become a chauvinistic, sexist pig at will!
"But for bonny Kate, she must with me.
Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret.
I will be master of what is mine own.
She is my goods, my chattles; She is my house,
My household stuff, my field, my barn,
My horse, my ox, my ass, my anything."
And now the ground rumbles as the members of the Seneca Falls Convention all roll in their graves. But alas, that's not the sort of interpretation scholars take of Taming. No, that passage obviously means that Shakespeare is pro-feminism and far ahead of his time. At least that's the message I get when I attempt to read "Personations: The Taming of the Shrew and the Limits of Theoretical Criticism." If the length and clarity of this article are to be factored into his calculation, the limits go pretty far. Out of the two paragraphs I read and summarized I got one message: use big words and English students will read and summarize your essays. If anyone discovers some useful information lurking about in paragraphs 16 or 25, please contact me. I cannot be found at:
1270 Avenue Of The Americas
Rockefeller Center
New York, NY 10020
That's Kurt Vonnegut's address. Or his agent's address anyway. But now I can write him and get extra credit in English! (Assuming he writes back...) I'll finally be able to uncover the true meaning behind the lack of "so it goes" when a random publisher dies near the end of the book. Perhaps he greatly dislikes publishers...
But as hard as I try to think about English at the moment (the very late moment, and really for no good reason, I should be sleeping), my mind refuses to be swayed and has now switched to playing the "That's all I ask of you" theme multiple times. Which isn't so bad. I'll live with it. That's all I ask of myself. | | |
| I technically am not actually reading this book "currently," though by the time some of you read this entry, it may very well hold true. Just don't tell the Xanga Cops (they've partnered up with the Amazon Gestapo, and they mean business these days) and I'll be fine. I'll start Cuckoo after I finish Wicked. Though maybe I'll throw in Much Ado About Nothing in there, too...hmm...too much to read this break. Well, fie, isn't that some punishment?
Well, it really is considering what else I have to do. I thought all the dumb assignments stopped in real IB. Hardcore IB. IB where you don't sleep and study constantly. IB where all you do is write papers and study for tests! But no...my IB has now been reduced to producing plays, writing videos, and... coloring. (Though not necessarily in crayon. We're considered such responsible young adults we get the artistic discretion to choose our chromatic medium. At least it's a step above early elementary school.)
That's my expedition into the frontier of complaining for this entry. I only start complaining now because I only really started thinking about homework yesterday...which really isn't good. But I'll start my homework after Christmas. Which...come to think of it, is today...But the point is, I don't have to do homework now. I'll just think of time in a Tralfamadorian sense. We may be done with analyzing Slaughterhouse-5 for now, but that's not going to stop me from using it at all the wrong times. It will never die away. (Tralfamadorian Etiquette Question of the Week: Would this be a proper time to use the phrase "So it goes." though no animate or inanimate object has died or has the possibility of dying?)
My name is Yon Yonson,
I work in Wisconsin,
I work in a lumbermill there.
The people I meet,
When I walk down the street,
The say, "What's your name?"
And I say:
"My name is Yon Yonson,
I work in Wisconsin...
Weeeeeeeeee! So fun...And I'll never forget it. Writing it thirty times in crayon on the back of "wallpaper" (actually wrapping paper, but don't tell Mrs. Christiansen) at two in the morning makes it likely to stick in my memory. Ah...so much symbolism in that graphic...it's what every English teacher secretly wants for Christmas.
But what am I talking of past English projects for? (And why is it that they are prepositions that I am ending my sentences with?) We must learn from Vonnegut! Live in the now! See the Ghost of Christmas Present! Ignore the Ghost of Christmas Future! Only see certain specified regions of the Ghost of Christmas Past! Otherwise, ignore the Ghost of Christmas Past! So instead of talking of English projects past, I shall talk of English projects present! Unfortunately, I haven't really started my present English project, so technically it's really an English project of the future. (And here we go with the technicalities again...)
As one can see, I haven't been doing anything interesting related to homework (and believe me, it does happen), so I'll have to discuss non-homework related matters instead. Can I have a second? All in favor? All opposed? Abstentions? Motion passes. Totalitarianism is so efficient.
[Wait- Before I move on...does a unanimous vote require everyone in favor or no one opposed? I.e. can a unanimous vote include abstentions?]
So then. Ahem. A serious discussion of non-homework-related life. Here goes:
Weeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I rode my unicycle for the first time in a couple of months! I'm pretty sure that it's quite like the bicycle (thank goodness) in that once you learn, you'll never forget. If it weren't like the bicycle, I would have had to re-learn it more times than I can count. (Somewhere above four...) Somehow, though, I think I'm getting better by riding less. I rode up and down the street and even *gasp!* turned! (Which is really hard on a unicycle...) I only fell off two or three times, I got odd looks from neighbors, and I exercised my leg muscles (no gears for poor Joe on his unicycle), and I even somehow ended up scraping my leg (when there's not too much on a unicycle to scrape your leg on)! Good fun!
And dancing lessons, too! Except I forgot my CAS sheet! Alas! Well, there's always next time. It's ok. They know when we've been there. They're watching us. They know what we're doing. They record our every move. They want us to touch their neck. They're creepy. I guess that's what happens when you listen to bad salsa music for too long. But I was surprised! I actually remembered the turny move in the foxtrot and the "sweetheart" and "window" in the hustle! (After a couple reminders from Jenae, of course...)
Well, I suppose I should acknowledge the date before I let this Xanga entry expire (it's life has been prolonged far longer than the average reader is willing to bear with). Merry Christmas! I trust you all had a Happy December 25th! There's not too much more left for me to say now. It's not quite a new year, so have a happy rest of 2004! (The exclamation point is an indication of enthusiasm...not factorials...) I guess that's all!
So it goes. | | |
| PEPE RETURNS
Please forgive me. It was Saturday and I didn't sleep in. But now things are different. Sleep has fluttered back into my life to stay. For the next two weeks, anyway.
I've always liked contemporary music to some extent, but I never realized how much fun it is to play. Granted, it's probably not quite as fun to listen to, but it's still fun to play. That man Muczynski has a psychotic attraction to minor seconds. And while I'm on the subject of composers, that man Bach needs to wake up and stop pretending I have three hands. And Chopin needs to write something that's possible to be played.
Spending too long at the piano can do that to one. But at least I can spend too long at the piano now! (Well, actually, I should be working on homework... I really have a lot...but not now...I'll do it on a snow day) I also can read now! And manage to have some time left over for practicing my cello! (SYS auditions are creeping up mighty quickly...)
Perhaps I could write more. I'll try to write something worth reading later. Just consider this entry an indication that I'm still alive. The Kawai hasn't eaten me yet. | | |
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