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contrary to what some idiots might be saying, i am not, in fact, the worlds greatest skank. and jo is not a complete idiot. thanks for your contribution to rumour and gossip, lying mcliarpants.
but uh, yeah. stop it. |
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does anyone have the anth101 and soc121 textbooks lying around? can i
steal them for a bit? |
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ok, for people who haven't seen recently; things that are making me happy this morning (although obviously this is not apparent from my expression, it's still before 8am people) my hair is now green  and yes, that *is* a hobocore tshirt  |
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this morning i realised i had lost my eftpos card (great week so far, did i mention?) fortunately, i called the gamesman, and they have it, so that is all good, and I don't have to live without an eftpos card for more than today. and why was it at the gamesman? because i have a new game, and it
makes me GLEEFUL. it also makes me undeniably a total geek. its not
only a mmorpg, its the mmorpg that is d&d
online. luckily for you, i defy this by continuing to believe in
daily ablutions and attire that is shiny. this morning, we find the cleaners have left my mp3 player here, with
a note claiming that it was "in one of the rubbish bins". quite how
it managed to unplug itself from the wall and move itself 3 metres to
the nearest rubbish bin is beyond me, but golly, those things are
getting smarter every day, ya know? and i have found a way i can answer the latest consumating question of
the week despite not being experienced in the creation of mix tapes
and not having the requisite secret crush to make one for. that makes
me happy because i am a geek. so all in all, a day that looked to be crap has turned out super so far. am i the only one who has people taking lots of leave "but only if its fine"? |
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· · · · · · today troughed with an ugly dispute over irreconcilable differences in words that i can never spell. i have grown to adore the way that i cannot win any argument i am in any way emotionally invested in, as my opponent preys on my obvious weakness and exploits my devotion to the subject, regardless of what it is or who they may be. that is, for the less astute of you, a complete lie. i loathe it. i am fearful to even speak of anything i care about lest someone disagree with me; fearful that i be left, yet again, looking foolish, confused, and pathetic. today peaked with the return to winter pyjamas and my first hot water bottle of the year among other highlights were ·the continued nausea resultant from medication that i dare not abandon; ·a new boss who is apparently a goober but can probably be manipulated into believing me indispensable, if i am careful over the next few weeks; ·a broken boot that i noticed on the seventh time i have worn it since purchase (in two ways, no less); ·a stolen mp3 player that leaves me basically incapable of navigating the city streets without risk of violent crime; ·and a relatively excellent start to the day that dissipated almost immediately i came into contact with anyone i know as more than an acquaintance. · · · |
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This week's theme: words borrowed from German.weltschmerz (VELT-shmerts) noun World weariness; pessimism, apathy, or sadness felt at the difference
between physical reality and the ideal state. [From German Weltschmerz, from Welt (world) + Schmerz (pain).] "I hate being told to have a good time! I'll feel the weltschmerz
if I want to."
Mari Sasano; Things to Do Today; Edmonton Journal (Canada); Dec 3, 2005. |
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· · · · ·  · Lately i find myself stamping my feet a lot. Its transparent externalising, i know, but still. Stamping, jumping up and down, unable to make anything more meaningful result from this incessant propulsion into madness or product.¹ This is me grinding my teeth in incoherent rage at my inability to convert my frustrations into words. They leave me terrifyingly, forcefully mute. My head is driving me constantly to do something, anything, that i won't be embarrassed to relate to other people. I'm going insane with the knowledge that i don't do anything with my life. I live in terror of the question "what do you do?". Not for the usual cliched "i'm not defined by my work" interpretation. I can handle those and throw them back in the face of anyone so presumptive. No, i'm in terror of the deeper meaning. What do i do? I don't do anything. Past experience has found that a statement like that kills any conversation dead. My ability to interact is foundering on my paranoia that nothing i have ever done is worthwhile, comparatively, or interesting. So what do I mean by worthwhile? I already know that my value system is based on creativity. (Which writes off all corporate endeavours, of course.) My internal measure is rated on how interesting and new a thing created is to other people. If it doesnt astonish anyone else with how great it is, its worse than nothing. I think possibly, worse than not having anything to say to that dread question, would be to be forced to admit that i do something that ends badly. There has to be, at the end, something to hold up and of which can be declared "i did this" without causing embarassment. I think, if I had that, I might not have so much difficulty talking to people. This whole dilemma is compounded by the expectation that other people seem to have that I will do something amazing. I have trouble enough with my own disappointment with my ineptitude, and then I get everyone I meet expecting me to do things I haven't as well. ¹Admittedly, theres something kind of fun about stamping your feet. I suspect, if i got the chance, i'd be pounding fists and feet on the floor in full two year old tantrum glory. ·  · This morning i received the larger xd card for my camera. This will allow me to take many many photos at once, without needing to empty the memory all the time. By lots, i mean 340 at 3024x2016 pixels. In a classic packaging fiasco, the card turned up in a box 200x250x120mm (6000000mm3). Xd cards measure 20x24x1mm (480mm3). So only a factor of 12500 off. · I'm doing something that is killing my ability to think clearly. Is it listening to music all the time? Surely i'd be even more distracted by the blur of annoying other people noise. But then, that's a distant noise, where music is right in my ears usually. Maybe. I'm not sure what there is in the way of research into how that sort of thing affects stuff, beyond the old arguments for and against music while doing homework that never really had anything factual behind them on either side. · · |
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For no more reason than is
usually needed for dream content, as I approached consciousness this
morning I was watching as a producer attempted to find the perfect
lead instrument for an already-written piece of electronica.
There were three contenders
left in the running, and this was their chance to play what they
thought the lead track on the final composition should be. I'm not
sure what they were going for in particular, or for what purpose, but
they seemed to be looking for an ambient, chilled sort of a sound as
the lead.
The first to perform was
predominantly using the rattle-cage of his saxophone. Well, it was
called something like that. Something bland and precisely descriptive.
Basically, in this world, saxophones had a narrow keyhole slot in the
side about halfway up. You could put a plain teaspoon head through
this, sit it in the thinner base of the gap, and flick the protruding
handle to tap out rhythms with the bowl on the inner chamber. This
percussion was modulated in effect by playing of the sax in the
real-world-approved way.
I believe he was originally
using a gold plated paella spoon, but it morphed halfway through his
tune into the supermarket generic stainless teaspoon. Which is a
shame, really, paella is everyone's favourite. What do ferraura do to
a saxophone? I'd be disinclined to find out.
The second performance, I
can't for the life of me remember. I know it was just kind of
fair-to-middling in every regard. The saxophonist was a very low key
sort of tune. This guy was more obtrusive. Further detail escapes
me. Let's just assume he had a beret and an expression of fierce
determination as he stomped his way through a version of amazing grace
that had cop-rumbling bass and a casiotone home organ.
And the last, the last was
using what I considered at the time to be a violin, although on
(waking) further thought it was nothing like one. It may have had a
body like a violin, but it had a matt of strings densely packed
together, and a couple of inches across, made of something like
string. Plain old cotton string. He played across all of these
indiscriminately, and they were quite loosely strung, so shifted from
side to side almost a foot away from the body in response to the
pressure of his bow.
The saxophonist, at this
point, was assuming a pose of
history-channel-documentarian-intentness. As if speaking to the
camera, he mentioned in an undertone that this technique was known as
a 'tirade'. Me, I thought it sounded not dissimilar to a particular
silver mount zion track that I can't be sure of in the light of day.
I did think that silver mount zion were just the sort to employ
tirades at length.
Regardless, it produced a
particularly swooping, keening sound that fit perfectly with the
backtrack as far as everyone there was concerned. This doesn't make
any sense, really, as the backtrack bordered on musak, but that is
unimportant I guess. The contest was pretty much considered to be
over.
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· · · · · · ( horror )i am not generally inclined to post pictures of me. in this case, i'm just saying. my new toy likes me. i am having an ugly day, but it disagrees with me. this is the sort of behaviour that will avoid my hate. · · · |
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i just bought one of these |
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· · · · Despite Rose initially being quite prone to upset on their journey, Val had no difficulty calming her down when hysteria struck just as they approached the third stop · ·  · · · |
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· · · · · · things that really bug me about political reporting and/or commentary #1; the way every commentator refers to the public reaction as if they were not a member of that public. every single one. this has been emphasised by the expansion of the so-called blogosphere. now we have a significant portion of the public (hey, 1-5% is significant) who are growing accustomed to talking and thinking about the public as someone else. Where it gets really, really annoying, is where there is some reason to blame the public. Or you know, to consider the responsibilities of the public. EOM · · · |
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· · · · · · today i rather like this;
you should read it also. · · · |
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· · · my contribution to the turban-bomb/south park blah de blah debacle: · http://www.infidels.org/library/historical/robert_ingersoll/limits_of_toleration.html· · They talk about blasphemy. What is blasphemy? Let us be honest with
each other. Whoever lives upon the unpaid labor of others is a
blasphemer. Whoever slanders, maligns, and betrays is a blasphemer.
Whoever denies to others the rights that he claims for himself is a
blasphemer.
Who is a worshiper? One who makes a happy home -- one who fills the
lives of wife and children with sunlight -- one who has a heart where
the flowers of kindness burst into blossom and fill the air with
perfume -- the man who sits beside his wife, prematurely old and
wasted, and holds her thin hands in his and kisses them as
passionately and loves her as truly and as rapturously as when she was
a bride -- he is a worshiper -- that is worship.
And the gentleman brought forward as a reason why we should not have
free speech, that only a few years ago some of the best men in the
world, if you said a word in favor of liberty, would shoot you down.
What an argument was that! They were not good men. They were the
whippers of women and the stealers of babes -- robbers of the
trundle-bed -- assassins of human liberty. They knew no better, but I
do not propose to follow the example of a barbarian because he was
honestly a barbarian.
So much for debauching his family by telling them that his precepts
are false. If he has taught them as he has taught us to-night, he has
debauched their minds. I would be honest at the cradle. I would not
tell a child anything as a certainty that I did not know. I would be
absolutely honest.
But he says that thought is absolutely free -- nobody can control
thought. Let me tell him: Superstition is the jailer of the mind. You
can so stuff a child with superstition that its poor little brain is a
bastille and its poor little soul a convict. Fear is the Jailer of the
mind, and superstition is the assassin of liberty.· · · |
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so-called fun stuff to do while drunk
· Giving bad Image.- What better way to have fun drinking than giving a bad Image?, Drink in public places, make scandals in public, bother the ladies and look for fights.
· People Hunting.- This is another sport that everyone likes. Don't use firearms, that's not what a gentleman does. Use a stick, barbed wire or my favorite A Hockey Stick.
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p.s. lookit, especially amy·
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. . . . . people still remaining who need not to be . i tried to make a list, but it was
tricky. so we'll go with self-service.
yell if you still give a
shit, and i shall make an effort to be extra nasty/annoying at you
until you don't. . e.o.m. . . |
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. . Tra la la - cute thing . . . .
Dear
<input ... >mother,
<input ... >father,
<input ... >lover,
<input ... >(all of the above),
I have done this which you see before you because…
<input ... >you suck.
<input ... >the world sucks.
<input ... >my life sucks.
<input ... >my job sucks.
<input ... >my vacuum sucks.
<input ... >(all of the above).
There was nothing you could do to stop me because…
<input ... >I had
already made up my mind.
<input ... >I have been
suffering all my life.
<input ... >I already
threw away the receipt for the shotgun.
<input ... >you were
too slow to do anything about it.
<input ... >(all of the above).
. . . |
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· · · · · this then was monday · · · · |
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pagurus's journal
