• Yes, Happy New Year all.
I wasn't planning on blogging anything today, but my attention has been caught. Have any of you Windows users noticed strange icons popping up on your computer? First on my list was a new My e-Books folder that appeared out of nowhere in my My Documents folder. And just today, an icon to Setup MSN Internet access began to materialize on my desktop.
I keep track of everything that goes on in my computer. Even the most insignificant link left behind by an installation program is scrutinized and, if need be, deleted. I comb through the Registry regularly looking for suspect keys. Only the programs I need running at any time are allowed to take up memory—this excludes anything by Real other than their media player, and any of the multitude of marketing schemes that piggyback on certain installations.
So what happens when Microsoft turns out to be the major culprit behind the mysterious insertions? What then? They're just taking advantage of the features of their product. It's also likely that Microsoft has nothing to do with this; some hacker out there might have found a way to install random bits of code through otherwise legitimate means. Recently, a new spam scheme has taken hold, using a messaging system integral to Windows XP or Me. Of all the beneficial things we could be doing with technology, we're still trying to sell each other snake oil and get-rich-quick schemes.
• And this, an interesting Wall Street Journal article referred to by the unlikely TV Barn. Is your employer banking off you in more ways than you're aware of?
• The bulldozers came by campus today and went Super Mario on the Bricks. Moulder(?) was the first to fall; tonight it sleeps in piles on a muddy lot. As the heavy machines made their way, the air was filled with the nauseating stench of powdering brick and mortar, decades old and irredeemably soiled. Having seen no plans for the coming housing projects, I can only hope they're not as confining as these were. Saturday, I'll make a few passes with the camera to document the demolition further.
• Sorry all you Winter Pep Band types. I know I said I could come to the games, but I'm having trouble getting directions:
Besides, if Dabel didn't think it fit to invite me the first time, I figure it's not worth my time. *sulk* ...can I still hang out though?
• A new season began for me on the 10th, my birthday. The critics aren't raving yet, and the ratings are still kinda low, but I see them improving as the year progresses.
• Thanks to the handful of sessions I did with the Winter Pep Band, I'm convinced that I could possibly improve my set drumming skills. It will take practice, which I won't have the time or the desire for anytime soon. It stems partly from having no set to drum on, and from having no reason to drum. I could probably work myself into form within a matter of months to the benefit of whatever musical outfit I decide to join in the future. For now, this means nothing. I'll keep the imagination alive.
• Got a lot of nothing done where the site is concerned. I blame the DVD player, a birthday gift. Watching movies must be my mind's way of telling me that I need to save my energies for when classes start again on Wednesday. I'm curious to see if I can still fit in some new material, or at least make some old stuff back available again.
• It's been a while coming. I'm nervous about tomorrow. I'm nervous about what comes next. The feeling isn't as paralyzing as I've known it to be. Not as long-lived, neither. My plans are definite (for once). In the most offending case, I've been where I'm going before. I really shouldn't be worrying. It's only the most important semester of classes I'll ever take in my life. 'sall.
I'm now thinking back to when I was planning last semester's classes, denying that the schedule was going to kill me. For some reason, it again seemed logical to make my classes as contiguous as possible. Two days out of each week, I'm in school from the moment I wake up to the moment I go back to sleep. I did think ahead and set aside some meal time—I'm not completely insane. I just wonder how long I can resist complaining about what I've set ahead for myself. (This here isn't complaining, if you were curious.)
• I need a new chair. (This isn't complaining; this is whining.) It needs to be inexpensive, durable, rather stylish, and able to negotiate the non-flush surface underneath the carpet. By its own impossibility of being, I therefore propose that it provide me with sound financial advice, steam my milk and coffee grounds in the mornings, quadruple my computer's processing power, receive cable TV for free, and clean my contacts regularly.
• The "teddy bear" hoax-mail finally reached Roberts, about a year and a half since it first started terrorizing everyday users with jdbgmgr.exe's questionable purpose (I still don't know what the hell it does). For me, dealing with the mail was a simple matter of deleting spam as I usually do, and a rare visit to one of the e-mail urban legends sites. No biggie. Watching my managers deal with the same nuisance was rather disturbing. Until they got around to asking me and Nick about the thing, I imagine it was a hysterical session of frantic phone calls, cussing at the computer, and searches for teddy bears.
• After Thursday, I'm sure I have what it takes to handle an 18-unit schedule. It's just as I envisioned it—10 hours of classes peppered with pangs of hunger, boredom, and sleep-fighting. Right off the bat, I have three readings, materials to buy/find, and logs to compile. Well, I didn't have any Meteorology work to do; my teacher's mother died, so he's over in Pennsylvania for the week. Somehow, I can't help feeling responsible...
Among my teachers are an avid photo expert who can quote the latest prices and camera features, a self-proclaimed hardass whose work ethic threatens to infect the rest of her department, and a program manager for KBLX. In my Humanities Honors seminar I met up again with Letha, my third dance partner from last semester, and Crystal, sometime Spartan Baritone. Brandy from my Acting class, an RTVF major, will probably be one of my consistent classmates. And somehow, everyone from Band Lobby Fundamentals came back for another semester. Spring 2003 looks to be a fun one.
• The roommate I share a wall with is particularly fond of listening to loud stuff at odd hours. Right now, she's blasting metal on her system. I'd walk over and complain, but I'm listening to the exact same station she is. Having the subwoofer support is strangely pleasant this time around.
• Caught the Super Bowl halfway through the third quarter when it dawned on me that the laundromat would likely have the game on. AOL was posting updates on the Welcome screen: 10-3, 20-3. I got my laundry packed and ready to go, hoping for another 4th quarter comeback, à la 49ers. It started to look like I was going to get one, too.
• I wonder if the athletes are aware of even the rarest fan taking notice of their performance. It would make a great commercial, at least. Scene: the underdog's coach gets word of someone—we'll call him Jimmy—about to start watching the game:
Ext-Sideline
A frantic time-out is called; the coach informs the offense of the situation.
Coach
Listen up! Jimmy's about to turn his TV on. If you jokers are going to get anything right today, you're gonna play your hearts out.
Quarterback
Coach is right! We have got to do it—for Jimmy!
All
(screaming and dancing)
Jimmy!
Tailback
Ah yeah! It's Jimmy Time!
Int-Announcer's Booth
Announcer
It looks like the team's really fired up! The coach has really inspired them somehow.
Ext-Scrimmage Line
The defense responds nervously to the offense's renewed vigor.
Safety
Shit...Jimmy must be watching.
• One other thing I'll personally note about the game is the field camerwork (as is expected of an RTVF major). Once again, a cameraman put his lens where it didn't belong. While clamoring to get footage of a cheerleader's bust size, his camera gets elbowed. You can also hear him and his cable grip get assaulted by the squad in the middle of their routine. It's poor form to get in the performers' personal space.
• The latest wreck along our section of 10th Street is a real piece of work. The (drunk) drivers of the offending cars always run off into the maze of houses, apartment complexes, and convenience stores in our area. Three of my roommates possibly passed him by as they came out to investigate the sound. By the time I came downstairs, police were already on the scene, posting on intersections, checking yards, and caring for the other driver. Her truck was rear-ended and forced to plow into a parked van. The front end crumpled under the impact, and the van leaked gasoline.
With all the shit that could potentially go on here, SJPD reacts to stuff pretty quickly around here. A few minutes after I came outside, ten more squad cars showed up to man stations and patrol. They'd probably do well enough to kill my fantasy of foiling a terrorist siege.
• There's something weird about the syllabus for one of my classes. I'm not sure exactly, but I'm considering dropping for my mental well-being.
• Since my work day now includes lots of book handling (my primary responsibilities relegated to the temporary cashiers), I'm more likely to encounter customers going after their precious textbooks. I can receive a ton of shipped books a week, single-handed. I can help customers locate their books, or get them started on ordering out-of-stock ones. I'm a fresh face in the typically jaded book aisles. This wasn't something my managers considered when I was setting up the extension registers and training the temps.
In effect, I've become more valuable as an employee. I'm already the go-to guy when it comes to study supplies, art materials, and cashiering efficiency. I'm almost to the point of knowing where to find everything on the sales floor (there are some wayward storage areas and databases I'm not familiar with yet) and being able to give qualitative consultation. I've broken the barrier between the book department and the front half of the store.
Apart from accounting and core merchandise ordering, I don't know how to make my superiors understand how important I am. Despite working without a raise for over a year, and without any major benefits, I'm still eager to learn everything I can. It might take years to train someone to the level I've made for myself. It seems almost necessary for me to stick around as long as I can until my co-workers get the hang of things.
I get little thanks for the work I do. When I cashiered, I could at least ease the pain of spending hundreds on textbooks. The only motivation I get back in the book department is the satisfaction of a dwindling backlog, and the painful sense of defiance when I'm told that I'm trying to do too much. I don't know everything that the trained book clerks should know; I'll redirect customers to more knowledgeable staff. The few times I misjudge a situation are the few times that I'm dressed down, which is about the only notice I'm given of my efforts.
It's my personal mission to help customers get what they need, and to help my co-workers do their job, whether by handling minor tasks or by integrating into their processes. Few people have this in mind when they work. If my intentions and my results cannot be recognized, I'm well set to find someone that will.
• To be frank, I really do feel underappreciated in many aspects of my life. I'm putting a lot more passion into what I do, but often I'm met with little more than cautious glances and slight concern. It's like I've become dangerous for simply wanting more out of life and having goals in mind. I don't want to be feared or avoided, not by people that mean well. I've never been content knowing that people want nothing to do with me.
When I stop accepting my own alienation, who will receive my suffering? Who will fall out of my life?
Who could learn to love what I am?
• Other renters around here may complain about their neighbors' loud noise, "borrowed" property, parking woes—a wide variety of conflicts. Here at the house, the number one complaint is marks on the toilet seats.
Marks on the toilet seats. These aren't from sloppy toiletmanship—the marks are from the soles of someone's boots/shoes. I recall specifically one awful toilet I couldn't afford to ignore. It had a stench, unidentifiable stains, and made noises. I had to poo real badly. However, I was afraid to plant myself down on the seat with any firmity. It took skill to clear my pants standing on the toilet seat like I was, but I managed to do so. *gleam* I was a big boy, after all.
I'm well over my fear of substandard toilets. It seems one of my roommates has issues, though. At first, I thought the marks were from someone using the bathroom window as their private entrance. The footprints, however, are clearly those of a troubled individual. I don't know my roommates well enough to deduce the culprit, so I can only assume that it isn't one of the complainers. It's not quite effective as a blame-shifting maneuver.
• Nice segue, huh? I am enjoying the unforseen comfort of fresh pudding. I didn't even have to go downstairs to the kitchen; everything needed was available right here in my room.
I am a chocolate fan. I've recently wondered about pudding, though. According to kitchen lore, pudding has to be cooked. So how does Jello get away with non-cook instant pudding with what should be milk and powder?
Easy. Chemicals. Tetrasodium Pyrophosphate is the ingredient responsible for the 5-minute rise. If I remember my chemistry correctly, tetrasodium pyrophospate (TP for short) has fire in it—pyro- being a New Latin prefix meaning fire. The tetra- means that TP is four times as strong as, say, regular sodium pyrophospate. So instant pudding mix has four times the fire of regular pudding, which seems unbelievable because my instant pudding is still quite cold. My pudding is thick and tasty, which is what I had in mind when I was making it. Anyhow, just remember that TP makes chocolate pudding flow smoothly.
• Welcome to this moment's edition of My Inbox, where we have a look at my e-mail. Let's get started!
That's it for now. We'll get around to the other 284 pieces next time. Promise.
• So I'm watching Will & Grace, and they're hyping some new show. The approach is a little...modern. Instead of showing teaser bits to earn viewership, they pretty much showed the whole show—all the big jokes, the plot, and introduced all the cast. There's no reason to watch the show now. Short of dropping the pilot in their special 8:30 or 9:30 slots (hammocking the show between their on-hour hits), I doubt we'll see much more of the series after next week.
• On top of rising book costs, I personally have to deal with buying a whole new camera for Photography. The Canon T-50 I'm familiar with is missing one class-critical feature: shutter speed control. On the T-50, shutter speeds are indirectly adjusted by setting the controls for a film speed other than what actually is in the camera. For instance, to double the exposure time, I would set the camera to, say, 200 speed to expose the 400 speed twice as long.
The thing that pisses me off is that shutter control likely appears on the next model up (the T-70). I can imagine Dad back at the time of purchase:
Int — Sears Camera Counter — 1980's
Dad, a Filipino in his 30's, browses the selection. A salesman attends to this customer.
Salesman
Hello, sir. Could I interest you in the Canon T-70? It's a new SLR with fully customizable controls for your photography needs.
Dad
Is that T-50 cheaper?
Salesman
(stumbles on words)
Yes, but it doesn't have shutter speed control.
Dad
So it's cheaper?
Salesman
Yes
I should probably stop screenwriting my antagonisms. It's a fine camera but for that one detail.
• It's the Year of the Goat. (So long, Year of the Horse)
• Spent the afternoon making my camera bag more expensive. Down at Kamera Korner on Bascom, I found a used T-70 right away. They also had the T-50 and T-90 models. At around $450, the T-90 boasts features like multiple exposure modes, quick repeating shot speed (4.5 fps, compared to about 1.4 fps for my T-50), highlight and shadow control, and automated everything (except focus).
The T-70 I'm using now has, in addition to shutter speed control, two light-metering modes, three programmed autoexposure modes, and an LCD interface on top of the T-50's features. Though optional equipment will be a little hard to find, I hope to get another strap, some more lenses (wide-angle and mabye a stronger telephoto zoom), the adjustable SpeedLite, and the remote cable trigger.
Buying film and equipment at the local camera store is a much more communal experience than, for example, grocery shopping. Down at Kamera Korner, there's the Camera God (the deity who knows absolutely everything there is to know about cameras), the Super Salesman (insists you need to buy everything you can), the Apprentice (good on the sales floor, but has much to learn), and the Hot College Student (paying her bills in this case by hawking cameras). I also met another Photo 40 students making her purchases. She's a design student taking the class for her major requirements, kinda like I am. As usual, I forgot to ask for names. I'm confident I'll run into them all again.
Akin to brand loyalty, photographers are quite loyal to their shops. It seems to start here in the classroom, where outsiders try to attract students to their stores. The experienced students will actually tear down rival ads. In craft fields like photography, there is a lot of incentive for stores to have repeat customers. It seems I'm going to be another player in the game, if only because Kamera Korner is just a bus line away for me.
• For the first time in a long while, I was able to cook a real dinner. Not the pasta that gets me by on typical nights, but an honest food-pyramid approved meal. I wasn't the only one; Elan and Yolanda also took their turns at the stove.
The Skillet Herb Roasted Chicken recipe on the back of Campbell's Cream of Chicken (which sort of resembles the Chicken Divan recipe on Safeway's offering) is mighty tasty, especially with steamed broccoli. Mom makes something similar with Cream of Mushroom, but either one will work. Anyhow, I'm set for another few days before I'm back on pasta.
• After shooting some rolls for a Photography project, I fired off some color shots around campus (with newfound understanding of my cameras). You can download the results from my Backgrounds section.
• When a student spends his/her 10-minute break from a night class to dash for a quick coffee, which will invigorate the student more: the coffee, or the run? Show your work.
• Tonight on Smallville:
Chloe
Oh, you cunning linguist.
Remember where you first heard it...
• With all honesty, I do not understand how Sara's keys ended up at the front counter at work. I imagine people forget their keys all the time. I tend to notice when people leave them when I'm at the register, being the order nut I am when it comes to the front counter.
This particular set of keys I would likely have filed away or ignored outright. I would have gotten away with it, too, if not for a familiar name on the keychain, and having waited (a while) with Sara in the Band Lobby while her mother drove here with a replacement shortly after her loss.
The farthest a set of keys has ever been retrieved was from the bus stop around the corner. (That particular set still hasn't found its owner, sadly.) According to Sara, she hadn't even been on 10th street. How her keys found their way out of her hands, and coincidentally into mine, remains a mystery that doesn't really matter to anyone much.
• Clipping out an article with a tidbit about Benny's Band, The Other Left, I found another article quoting an old classmate of mine, Alpha. In it, she discounts her use of the word "nigger/niggah" as being derogatory. Personally, I'd agree with her sentiment. I've found that most any word can carry with it a meaning entirely different from its definition, even to the point of being diametrically opposed. I would dare to say that one's intentions supercede the words used to convey them. It's entirely possible to use a "derogatory" word in the least way possible.
Now whether someone else will be offended by the use of "nigger" in any way is up to the respective person. My well-thought view isn't shared by many people—some refuse to divorce the word from its origin and subsequent perversion. Before I disagree with such short-sightedness, I will confess openly that I am not intimately familiar with the atrocious use of "nigger" in its heyday.
So by what grace did I happen to be assigned to read the words of a prominent victim, namely Frederick Douglass? The especially literate will remember the eloquent Douglass for his Narrative, written a few years after he "stole" himself from his "master". To discount allegations of falsified enslavement, but more importantly to bolster the Anti-Slavery movement, he recounted his experiences with veracious detail.
One common practice among slaveholders was to separate infants from their mothers within a year from birth. Douglass notes that this was likely done to inhibit their attachment and bonding, and thereby impede community among the slaves through emotional isolation. This kind of thinking was revolutionary, but eventually demonstrated by anthropologists sometime between then and now.
The very process of parentnal bonding and attachment was a major point in my Human Development lecture last night. This crucial, but strangely untimed period, guarantees the parent/child relationship, and encourages the child to succeed at other trust-earning endeavors. Abandoned and/or abused children often pass on the favor with equal, unfortunate success.
And here I am afraid the coincidences end. Nothing to link back to The Other Left.
Well, I could link my Anthropology lecture to a trust-earning endeavor of my own, mostly taking place in the Band Lobby, where flyers for The Other Left once hanged to hype their involvement in a Battle Of Bands. Kind of a stretch, but I'll have it if you will. >:p
• So far, all my classes seem to be going well. Surprising even for me, I'm up to speed with the other Humanities Honors students, according to their lack of reading (we're supposed to read chapters before each session) and high-scoring quizzes.
My "new" camera takes pictures fine, and I've learned to develop them acceptably, too. The negatives from my first roll look crisp and are probably full of tonality and such. I won't know until I get prints made next week in lab, though.
Radio Production has me on my second project, editing an analog reel for time, something close to what I did for part of an Audio/Video Production project last semester. I'm not entirely sure what I'm supposed to learn from an archaic reel-to-reel machine I may never touch again, but it's probably there to demonstrate technological ease when we work with digital later on.
Weather Processes seems to be my one disposable class this semester. I haven't gone to the last two seminars, but Gina tells me that I really haven't missed much. It's really tempting to just show up for the videos and quizzes, which are the only things I can't take care of online. It'll probably sit better with Mr. Olejniczak that I'm present more often than I'm not.
I feel I'm going to have the hardest time with my Human Development class. I usually have it after a long day of work, so I'm tired as hell. The chair backs in Dudley Moorehead have elastic reclining action, so I keep myself awake by doing back crunches. Class and a workout! The meaty bones of the course are the papers and life history interview. I should be able to write out anything I need, though I'll have to rely on family and friends in various ways.
The life history interview is to be one of someone I'd be interested in interviewing, who has had many life experiences, and who would be interested in talking about him/herself intensively. Chances are good that Scott or Paul will be my man. I haven't brought it up with anyone yet, since I have to find time in my packed schedule to question someone repeatedly in person. Unfortunately for you, I'm not going to publish the interview—not everyone is as loose with their personal matters as I can be. Respect.
• Remind me to never wear my black leather boots on my 9-9 Thursdays anymore. My feet will never hurt again. I'm sticking with the scarf, though. Stylish and functional. Thanks again, Janice!
• I love my Mom. She loves me, too.
She buys me more food than I can handle. It's great that she can provide me with groceries while I take care of everything else in my life. Saves me the strain of walking to and from Albertson's or Zanotto's. Also saves me a few dozen dollars that I can use elsewhere. But she just buys a little too much food.
For me, this is a dilemna. Asking her to cut down on the food she buys would solve things for me. Culturally, this is unacceptable. Food to Filipinos is more valuable than anything, except family. Denying free food especially is as insulting as it is confounding.
Also under consideration is Mom's tendency to buy out of impulse. It really makes her day when she finds something at discount. That must explain the boxes of hot cocoa mix and fruit that I can't finish. I tend to buy many things out of impulse as well. Some habits are hard to break.
One important reason I don't challenge her shopping is that right now, her weekly drop-offs after visiting Dinah, Silvestre, and Noah are the only contact we maintain. And often, hers is the only smiling face I see in a week. Knowing that she still has an opportunity to care for me even though I don't really need it is the kind of joy reserved only for mothers. I'm probably not going to find anyone so willing to care for a long time.
• I can't cook rice. It's supposed to be an amazingly simple thing to do. Perhaps too simple for me. Boil the rice and wait. It's so simple that many, including me, relegate the task to our trusty rice cookers. Mine has served me only perfectly cooked rice every time I wanted it.
So it was with great disappointment that I discovered my inability to properly cook rice. My stovetop trial ran out of water halfway through. The little water I did add ended up making everything that wasn't crisp on the bottom a sticky mess. By any account, the loose masses of rice were edible, but I threw out over half the batch—an inexcusable happening for me. Though I now have to find a place to store it downstairs, I'll always trust my rice cooker with the rest of my cooked rice needs.
• Mahatma brand needs to find a way to make their zip-lock packages easier to deal with. The "tear strip" didn't. Another attempt to open the package broke the bag, rendering the zip-lock useless.
It's been my opinion that rice is only properly packaged in those white woven rice bags. There is also no need to buy anything less than a 20 lb. bag. They make great housewarming gifts (though in hindsight, I can't imagine anyone other than Christiana—maybe Torres, too—working their way through my first gift bag). It's just as versatile as pasta, and is quite delicious with just some soy sauce, butter, or ketchup. The only thing easier to prepare is ramen. Easy Mac, perhaps, but it can get too salty for certain tastes.
• Anthropology becomes a difficult subject to study when the topic turns to Human Development. The particular difficulty is when one observes "abnormal behaviors" in oneself.
A study of lab monkeys deprived normal maternal care revealed behaviors such as depression, fetal-position rocking, self-mutilation, aversion to touch, and mistrust of others. I've noticed these very behaviors in myself. They aren't a constant presence, but I can totally see myself rocking in bed, pounding pillows, praying for sleep to escape my agony.
I don't want to think that Mom ignored me too much when I was young, but I am in fact just one child out of five. I also don't want to take the clinical proof too personally, even if it seems to call to me. Lately it feels like I'm learning things of immediate personal value in each of my classes. I am truly bothered by tonight's lesson.
One important advantage I have over the monkeys is my human understanding of the situation. Even if I don't understand completely what makes me what I am, I possess the ability to affect how I feel. I have power over myself; I am autonomous. Not everyone realizes this of themselves.
• I locked myself out of my apartment for the first time. I am a dumbass. It's unnervingly easy for me. The first time I leave each day, I always have my keys. Each subsequent time increases the risk that I'll dump my keys in their usual place and forget to retrieve them should I head out again. The first few times I did this, I was just headed downstreet for simple tasks, and I left my door unlocked in these cases.
Going to visit my sister, which I haven't done in a while, must have thrown me off. I don't blame Dinah at all. She also happens to carry my spare room key for me in the off chance I dick myself in such ways. I'm glad for that bit of forethought on my part.
• Too much time on my hands? I've been told this by quite a few people. Where do I find this extra time?
After classes, work, Band Lobby, meals, and sleep, I'm left with only a few precious hours to study, find entertainment, or simply spend alone in thought. Around that, I still find time to run a website, shoot random photos, draw, and recently, produce a piece of journalism—Lobbyweek. For the half a Sunday I put into its production, I hope people found it an entertaining read. (Most of this initial time was spent formatting the template that each following issue will be based on.) I'm pleased with what I'm doing.
Is there something better I could be doing? I have no intention of befriending new people—I have enough trouble keeping track of even the few I know relatively well. I have no extra effort or money to devote to an intensive hobby. As much as I would appreciate the experience, no one I'm aware of is ready for dating, nor will anyone consider me worthy of affection.
Why am I even thinking about this? I'm making great progress. At the same time, I'm setting myself up for some greater things to come by developing my ideas and skills, and by being a better friend than I have been. There's much to be done in the immediate future; my semester hasn't begun to bear down on me yet. I'm enjoying what's happening now, which is about all I can ask of myself right now.
• I'm being commissioned for a somewhat simple undertaking. A few pieces of 8½×11 with one element/theme. Shouldn't take longer than a weekend.
Many people have asked me about lending my skills, but so far no one has committed seriously to their offer. Therefore, an important question for me continues to remain unanswered: How much is my craft worth? Doing things for others has a wide range of rewards:
In this case, a repayment is being proposed by my client. The pieces wouldn't cost much to make—I could create it with materials I already have on hand. Maybe a $2 piece of illustration board if I wanted to eschew paper. What, then, is my time worth? Does minimum wage figure into this in any way? I tend to meander through a project, attacking it with small bits of effort in between diversions. I'm the only one able to gauge how much time I've spent on a project. Place a value on my artistic skill? I'm not sure I'm even qualified to do that.
About the only estimate of worth I have is what my work would save my client. Without it, they would have to look elsewhere, and perhaps find something they weren't expecting, or dealing with someone they don't trust. Not the best way to pinpoint value, but value was always a relative concept.
• Remember when Valentine's Day meant everyone in class traded those little cards with cheesy poems and commercialized sentiments? I loved those. Believing for even a moment that the other kids cared about you was a terrifying joy.
The 14th just hasn't been the same since. Now we're supposed to make the day special by spending it with someone special and sharing our love with each other. Until I figure out how shit like that happens, I'll continue treating it like any other day.
I'd like do something meaningful in the near future. Most of today was spent hanging with the bums and mentals; and trying to score bus money from Pink Poodle patrons. (I was stuck on mid Bascom without cash and my bus pass, strangely absent from my possession.) Otherwise, I've been procuring art/photo materials and quenching a newfound appreciation for Björk.
Her songs are pretty popular among the KaZaA crowd. As soon as I downloaded some songs, other users started downloading them from me. It's been a while since I've bought CDs, so the gift cards I came across recently may finally see action.
The bulk of her work lies somewhere pleasant between pop, club/techno, and cabaret. I had actually been listening to Björk songs often on KSJS electronica programs, but was too transfixed by the music to recognize her voice. They're rather soothing, even the dark, violent tracks. I would credit her elaborate voice, and the orchestrations accompanying on many tracks. She's earned herself a few good megabytes on my strained HD.
• I finished sorting out a shoebox full of my old photos (I have two—one 35mm and smaller APS, another APS pans). Occassionally, I'll pull out a few of these and piece some galleries together. You'll be able to see how my skills progressed from high school, as well as stuff I was doing in the years prior to this. There are even a few photos of my '98 hair (the superbangs)—some I'd rather forget, some I long for again.
[edit]—Seems I cut instead of pasted somewhere around here. It's the first time I've made a mistake like this. I reconstructed as much as I can (only one line to worry about), so hopefully, this error hasn't done much damage...
• Allie and Stephen were able to get half the household to meet for the first time Sunday. (Stephen was strangely absent.) Turns out that if there was a fire here that blocked my doorway, I would have to relocate my computer hutch, tie my rope to something secure, rappel down to the side yard, and hop the fence to safety. Or die trying. The chances of such a fire happening are relatively high—I live just above the kitchen and a few heating vents, all of which leak natural gas at times. When the gas concentration inside the kitchen and hallway reaches a critical mass, the pilot lights will ignite the flame and make the house go BOOM!!, whereupon I have to crawl out of flaming remains. Or die trying.
If fire fails to manifest itself, the street people are more than willing to wander inside. Once inside, the only insecure portion of the house is the one with all the kitchen knives. And since I only lock my door when I'm not around, and that my room is the closest upstairs room to the kitchen, I would be among the first to fend off crazy cleaver-wielding psychopaths. Or die trying.
To compound matters, the cleaning lady is doing a half-ass job, using everyone's supplies and utensils to do what little work she does. The dirtiest parts of the house are left dirty, leaving me at least to wonder if we do in fact have a cleaning lady. If we do have one, she (and her little son) probably isn't being paid much.
So after identifying major (code-enforced) concerns around the house, a signature drive will hopefully end with unanimous approval of a common statement of need, which will in turn hopefully drive our managers to action. We will get what we pay for.
Or die trying.
• The knots inside beg to be dumped into a toilet through either of two obvious means. What I'm having trouble figuring out is the cause.
Yesterday, I had a sudden chill that left me bed-ridden for the entire night. Did this travel down into my stomach and become another ailment entirely?
Did I drink too much milk? Almost 100% of Asians become lactose-intolerant by adulthood. I still manage to hold down a latté without incident. Today, I had two cups of mocha, a milk-containing dinner, and a hot cocoa from mix (made with milk instead of water, for the richness). Did my body chemistry realize it's been late to react to an "overload" of "dangerous" lactose?
Have I reached an impasse with Christiana? The afternoon was full of heated discussion, and a vicious silence. I wanted to ask something personal, but with her, I rarely feel entitled to anything resembling conversation. In retaliation for this personal failure of mine, I said other things, which were likely taken to be something other than quick, truthless wit. Appropriately, my Human Development lecture for the evening concerned how we as humans acquire social skills. Maybe now those unspoken words are eating their way through me.
It's likely some combination of disease, intolerance, and passive-aggressive counter-friendship wreaking havoc within.
• Each night, it continually escapes me how I'll ever stay asleep. My dark hours consist of intermittent periods of actual dreaming broken by harsh awakenings, either by cold or pain or sheer proximity to consciousness. Definitely not quality sleep. The only nights I remember sleeping exceptionally well were during trips, in hotels.
I don't get it. My mattress is relatively new and broken in lightly. The pillows I bought last year (I even remember the Sears cashier lightly—she was kinda cute). I've got an average number of sheets and comforters. Somewhere in this combination, refreshing sleep is lost. It's barely enough to kill some worries (see last entry) and relax some muscles. I wonder just how much better I would be with the full complement of sleep each and every night.
• Radio Production just got a lot more exciting. The project this time is a group effort to produce a quality news broadcast. We're actually well prepared to head into this and have a 5-minute spot ready in two weeks.
Lectures with Mr. Darrah aren't the highlight of my Thursdays. The activities are thoroughly engaging, however. It balances out.
What's really fun about this project is the chance to create bona fide journalism for no practical reason, and time with the editing stations. Love the stuff. Almost makes me want to ditch my plans and take up radio broadcasting professionally. Hell, I even got theme music conceptualized already.
• Took me a long while to match that word with something I do all the time. I am a vicarious conversationalist. I "talk" to people through another's conversation. Is this a good thing? I do learn lots about people indirectly, but I'd like to lead a dialogue if it can be helped.
Needless to say, I feel shit-like when I commit my thoughts to something as immediately permanent as the spoken word. Everyone must feel so sometimes, though the severity of shame varies from person to person. This journal, though broadcast to any who wish to read it, is separated by a few degrees: I have to type out a thought, edit for clarity and aptness, save the file, upload it to a server, where it waits for interested persons. All that is spoken with eloquence is right there in the moment, to be taken for its literal worth, despite any reservation or retraction.
In this age especially, one wrong word carries the penalty of ruin. It's a tremendous responsibility, honored by some, shunned by some. Woe to us who are held speechless in rightful veneration. Pity to those who betray their truths to impulse of tongue.
I would love to relax in conversation, but I also want my words to abide to their essence, excepting the sarcasm popular among us. My words have failed me at times, though my refusal to say certain thoughts is a more frequent failure. Doing away with my compulsions would also be well, changed as I would be.
The only real answer is to just suck it up and trust words to do as they will. Foolish, perhaps, but wisdom doesn't guarantee happiness. Regardless, a claimed mistake probably holds more credence than a truth unheld.
• A timely anecdote involves a quote I wrote on the Lobby chalkboard. I took pride in the late Abolitionist's powerful writing, and the universal application. Someone dear to me mistook the handwriting and the intention, and personalized the sentiment—understandably—to her own situation. So in response, Douglass now proudly proclaims "blah!"
Granted, this wasn't a personal attack towards me, but I think it still illustrative.
• Whenever I get massively bored in class, you win! As one of my faithful visitors, I'll treat you to whatever I happened to draw when I was supposed to be taking notes or sleeping.
So new to the Bored In Class gallery (gallery page to be made at a later date), is Bobby vs. Lunara. At a worldwide fighting tournament, Bobby Humbucker, militant punk-rocker, keeps Silver Star Savior Lunara away with an Arpeggio Angst attack. He's fighting for the instant publicity, and intends to use the prize money to fuel his band's tours and records. Lunara (aka Crescent Hoshidama), however, is an unwilling participant—she would normally be fighting demons and night breeds.
... Naked people have little or no influence on society. — Mark Twain
• Went to the Great Mall to replace some clothing that got ruined in the wash, irredeemably dirtied, or simply went out of style.
One of my more favored purchases is a pair of Dockers Mobile Pants. It's those khakis in the commercial where the woman is checking out people with X-ray glasses, spotting a guy pulling a cell phone and a PDA out of dedicated pockets. It's pretty cool; the pocket zippers disappear into the seams, given away only by sight of tiny zipper tabs. There's also a secret pocket! The downside to these cool pockets is that I stand a good chance of forgetting stuff in there. I'd have to rely on my compulsive nightly ritual of pocket-cleaning to save my phone (and whatever I might forget) from the wash.
The coolest thing I bought (even cooler than the polarizing filter for my camera) is a pair of Quicksilver Afrodesiac II slippers. Appropriately named, the top surface is a mat of (blue) plastic curling. They have a wonderful feel, like Astroturf but softer, and they ought to keep my feet dry after a swim. I'm even tempted to wear them to class when the weather kicks up(I'm not known as a public sandal/slipper wearer).
"In 1993, the Steamboat Springs City Council in Steamboat Springs, CO, held a contest for the local community to name a newly built bridge over the Yampa River. The controversial but overwhelmingly favored name chosen was the James Brown Soul Center of the Universe Bridge, which must make for very humorous traffic reports on the local morning radio."
• I was looking through Monica's LiveJournal, where I "stole" an article and repurposed it to my own ends. Just like last time.
• Where are all the white women at? I am American enemy friend!
This scathing self-assessment has been brought to you by Mike Savage and his new MSNBC show in March.
• I'm surprised by the contrast in study requirements for my first two midterms. My Weather Processes midterm consists of questions that can fit in one browser window, non-scrolling. The concepts for my Human Development midterm are found on 300 pages/8 chapters of the huge Berk—Development Through The Lifespan book. The essay fodder for the same test comes out of a dozen studies appearing in another book.
For GE, this Human Development course is kicking me in the ass. I've never been overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information of one class in this way before, even by Humanities Honors. The weekly papers (which I enjoy writing) should have given it away.
What probably makes it difficult is the way the information is organized. The questions went along four dimesions of order: conceptual (cognitive, physical, social), age-graded, cultural, and personal (Erikson, Freud, Vygotsky, Darwin, etc.). We were allowed to refer to notes and the books, and I was forced to do so by many of the questions. Every question that I wasn't sure of turned out to be answered wrong when I referred to the text.
To reiterate my scholastic opinion, I kinda enjoy being tortured in this way. I'm definitely learning a lot, but this class has me wondering if I'm not going to be rewarded with the appropriate number of units. Human Development definitely isn't 3-unit work.
• In between bouts of studying and general "no one's around" fidgeting this afternoon, I was left wondering why I was thinking of what I was thinking during the morning at work, and how the moments slightly beforehand turned out entirely different. It's as if, locked into two trails of expectation, reality abides to a third, unseen one. Needless to say, the afternoon was a pleasant surprise, light as it was.
What was that moment's significance? How does it fit into the general flow of things? Has something changed, or have my thoughts diverted me from truth for so long that the return is disorienting? Why should I give it so much thought?
For want of even a simple answer do I journey so.
• A few more challenges to my intellect today.
The first one lasted all of half an hour. If not the first, I was the next out of my Weather midterm. It was a "breeze". I was fortunate enough to come late enough to have to sit in the extra seats near the door. Y'know, escape the unspoken wrath of other college students and all.
Humanities offered a different take on things. We were analyzing a past student's essay to gear us up for writing our own. I found some points, got the gist of the essay, and noticed some weak points. During the discussion, we highlighted some more weak points: lack of thesis, fluff, contradictory arguments, even dangling participles. (I had to google it up just now.) My classmates were able to explain the weaknesses I could only identify, and find others I was blind to.
The problem I had with the analysis was that the kid's writing resembled mine in some ways. How would any of my writing stand up to the class? My classmates already know that there's something up with me, popping into their iteration of the program during the last semester. And after years of trying to catch up, I'm still not completely up to task.
I'm probably just expecting too much of myself again. My essay question quizzes are rated highly (I still have to back-check for danglies). I'm likely reading as little as everyone else. I'm getting more out of the class than the first time I tried.
To round out the day, our first Photography critique was today. I suppose I did well. My photographs weren't spectacular, lumped up against the others. Out of about 100 photos collectively, I did take one of only three descending-view photos, one of two camera-motion shots, and stumbled upon a compositively deep shot (the view down onto the Plaza has afternoon shadows layered attractively on top of patterns in the walkway).
What I hadn't considered when I was taking the photos was how much more I could make the photos different from each other (the purpose of the project). I didn't use a telephoto shot of a bench, again because of the top-down shadowed walkway. My photos were all of man-made, geometric spaces. I took the majority of my photos from the same perspective. All had the same depth of view—I didn't try to isolate certain parts of the image. They were open and free visually, with no attempt to capture a feeling of constraint. I didn't get much action out of my zoom lens—it can take fairly wide-angle shots as well as close-ups, add a zooming blur for dramatic effect, and double as a macro lens to capture minute details (the grain of the walkway, bugs crawling around). Hanging up the pictures in a different way changes the quality of the individual pictures.
I would love to have known and applied all this back when I was snapping pics along Paseo de San Antonio. That's just what a class does—I find these out now, when the security of my career isn't grievously affected. That's what all of these classes are doing. Each revelation of something that can be done better is something learned. It's not as apparent as the actual mechanics involved in essay writing, in photography, in human development. Knowing "why" and "how" is just as important as "what".
—Winston Churchill (this is actually a counter-"ending prepositional clause", not a dangling participle like people thought in class... </nag>)
• How could one code software to detect those dangling participles? I'm called on "passive sentences" all the time. Those seem easier to detect than danglies. Specifically, what does the computer need to do to recognize that the participle does not conform to the subject?
Walking out the door, his keys were lying on the table.
What's only hinted at in the sentence is the man who left his keys lying around. The possessive indicates his importance, but the man—as the proper subject—is left out of the sentence. The grammar checker doesn't know keys the way that we do. It could identify it correctly as a noun, and as the subject of the sentence. It doesn't know that keys can't walk out the door, much less walk. (If the computer knew what keys were for, it could probably rectify the situation, but that's a diversion.)
Setting up a program to comprehensively correct our grammar is very difficult. We can barely get schoolchildren to write properly. What makes it difficult is that words in English can serve many functions. What in one sentence is a verb could also be used a noun (gerund), or perhaps as an adjective (participle). For literary effects as well as everyday speech, we sometimes ignore grammar. How does the computer tell the difference? At best, all the computer can do is tell us when our writing is ambiguous. It might not always explain why, which prevents us from writing effectively.
• As soon as I find out his name, the Walgreens photo guy and I can interact on a first-name basis. He seems like an okay guy. He plans on entering the acclaimed (but understated) Animation program here at SJSU. (If I could have forseen myself animating as a profession, I would have declared the major myself.)
To a small degree, I wonder just how much "care" he puts into my prints. I've become tighter about what I do with my photos. For such an objective piece of machinery, a lot of subjectivity can be attached to it. It's also an intimidating device; many are self-conscious around it, despite the kind of acts we engage in public. There's nothing yet I would photograph for profit, which postpones the question of legal rights and permission-gathering. Within the public space, what images I photograph belong to me.
I don't know how much autonomy I have, though. After all, those rolls of film are being developed and printed in a public place. While Walgreen's won't offer my pictures outright to whomever asks for them, I wonder how private my photos remain. The technicians have to check the quality of the prints, remove blank/unusable ones, and hand-pack them. Their policy requires me to release personal information about myself, which may allow them to act upon illegalities on my part, or worse, upon anything they find offensive.
Other than a pledge to quality work, what assurance do I have that they aren't taking any more liberties with my work than what I pay them for? By my temporary release of property, what rights to my work have I implicitly given away?
Why should I worry about this?
• Sorority girl—a classic American archetype. They're so readily recognized by their temperament. A distinct subset of the female social group...
There are sorority girls in my classes. I deal with them at work when they buy their paddles and Greek stuff. I've lived with a few.
I bring to question their mentality. I'm not saying that they're stupid or vapid, though some are quite exemplary in these ways. They're human, which means they're intelligent to some degree. This intelligence, common sense to be more specific, doesn't seem to be a priority. They're obsessed with the superficial to a degree not always seen in society. They're dependent upon others, a value encouraged as essential to sorority. Their hierarchy, though important to group matters, is still arbitrary—casual conversation between sisters usually breaches the power structure.
I'm kinda undecided as to whether or not we need sorority girls. They definitely need themselves. Fraternity brothers can craft very meaningful relationships with the sisters they associate with, though some fratboys think little more of them than trophies to lure with a beer or two. Affiliated universities generally look on with indifference until shit happens. Mainstream accounts of world affairs and history tend to not mention Kappa Deltas, Delta Sigma Thetas, Lamda Phi Betas, or other sororities much. Their influence is likely doubtless; it's just a matter of where and when.
• One social peculiarity I take open offense to are the Bible-toting missionaries. Typically, they're the Jehovah's Witness, Mormon (Latter-Day Saint), or random Catholic at your door. I've been known to waste time with them at the doorway, talking about spirituality and God and peace, if only because I like talking to strangers.
Today, a few pamphlet-bearers dropped into Roberts, looking around. I was distracted by the day's tasks (revitalizing signs) but could make out the unusually proper dress of vagrant religioso. One interesting gentleman prefers Sakura Micron Pigma pens for their chirographic(?) qualities: "They don't bleed through your Bible pages."
When they left, everyone in Roberts had a pamphlet. More pamphlets waited patiently by the pen and pencil displays; they had written "inspirational" messages onto the scrap sheets meant for trying out our merchandise. They had usurped our place of business for their religious manners. To me, this borders on illegal. The primacy of our work—providing educational materials for those with budding minds—was supplanted by those with a restricted and restrictive mindset.
The quiet removal of the pamphlets was about the only stride Yen and I could make. Robyn, my manager's look on the situation is questionable, herself being an active member of her religious community. In my two-year employment, I've only been asked once to help her cause. I gladly took to task; there were practical reasons for my involvement, and nothing even slightly important to do in the store at the time. Karen helps the San Jose Sharks organization—Sharky makes a few visits to the store on Saturdays.
These trivial breaks in store decorum contrast heavily with the pamphlet people, who actively seek converts in their spare time. This particular group went so far as to use us as some sort of distribution center. Under penalty of Bible-thumping and banishment to Hell, such misrepresentation will end at my insistence.
• The various articles in some of my Links are pretty interesting. Memepool points you towards arguments for Goth Jesus, Mr. Rogers memorabilia, On-Board Diagnostics improvements, and others. Television Without Pity has a wonderful Smallville section, focusing on Dukes of Hazzard comparisons, and the homoerotic subtext of Clark and Lex's relationship. B3ta is always full of Photoshop/Flash foolery—try the Bush Missile Defense Game.
Have a visit.
• Google, apart from being a formidable search engine, brings what is probably the most revolutionary idea to news. It seems to be related to TheSpark.com's idea of regularly polling the news world for articles to manipulate. (This idea, as well as the true TheSpark, have sadly passed on.) Googlebots search through every news site they know of, where they collect links to stories and sort them by posting time (recent ones down to the minute). The result is Google News, a highly searchable, cross-referenced timeline of news great and small. You can tell which news organizations depend on which news wire service, how each bureau handles the day's events differently, and possibly find out things that the 6 o'clock broadcasts won't ever get around to.
• Has your water filter ever made you sick? Seems my Brita pitcher gives me an instant fever whenever I drink water from it. Hopefully, solving this is just as easy as buying another filter canister. I don't know where the trouble started, though. Water passes from the upper reservior, through the filter, into the remainder of the pitcher. For the filter to function properly, it needs to remain moist, simply by keeping a reserve of filtered water in contact with the filter.
One possibility is that the filter isn't effective against the microorganisms or toxins that may be present in the tap water. I discount that, since I use the same bathroom tap when I brush my teeth. I also gargle with shower water occasionally. The likelier possibility is that something in the refrigerator has passed on its contagions to the sterile pitcher water through the open spout. What in my fridge could do such a thing is questionable. Mini-fridges don't circulate air like the larger standard models. And there isn't much to circulate to begin with. Everything is bagged up or contained in some way. It would also had to have grown to a communicable life-stage within the cold confine.
Whatever's been making me sick won't get another chance. I'm bleaching the sucker after I visit the grocery.
[edit] An inspection of the pitcher shows lots of clearly visible debris, floating in cloudy water. I don't feel like sending a sample to a lab to find out what exactly this stuff is or how it got there. I simply know better to watch what I drink closely.
• I'm watching Three Kings at the moment—the movie about the four soldiers who take up a side mission to "liberate" stolen gold bullion. Of itself, the combination of stories is very imaginative. What makes the movie valuable to me, at this moment, are the different viewpoints of the characters. Civilians wary of war, struggling against the general hardship of their existence, against Iraqi soldiers turning their weapons on them under Hussein's order, but with the rebels who seek better lives for all. Americans spread wide in their opinion of the events unfolding. Policy acting in the face of humanity.
What also catches my attention is the proximity of the backdrop: Iraq and the U.S. at the edge of war. The movie catches us at the trail end of a war. I watch it now at the leading edge of another. Just how much has changed in the last decade? So many factors make this a different time than the early 90's, but the coincidences are enough to bring to mind history's Repetition.
• An interesting piece of activism in my inbox. Take it as you will.
Students Demand Books not Bombs! JOIN SJSU Student WALK-OUTS Protesting for EDUCATIONAL RIGHTS =========== WED March 5 In Front of SJSU Student Union Bookstore MARCH 10am RALLY 1130am ============== SJSU Students DEMAND: 1) a freeze on university tuition fees increases. 2) SJSU administration take a lead opposing further state government cuts. 3) re-allocation funds from military institutions to education and other social services. 4) government protection of our civil liberties. 5) Bush administration respect International Law and the people's desire for PEACE. =================== San Jose, CA (March 3, 2003)-San Jose State University (SJSU) students are participating in a nationwide strike on March 5 demanding better education, resisting to war efforts while opposing increased military spending. SJSU students will be coordinating a march at 10am and a rally scheduled to begin at 11:30am to educate students, faculty and staff on the impact of decreased funding for national issues and an increased military spending for foreign affairs. Student and community speakers as well as local Bay Area performers will be participating in the program. Student organizations involved in Voices Rising, a SJSU student coalition, are Akbayan, M.E.Ch.A. (Movimiento Estudiantil Chicano de Aztlan), Student for Justice, Muslim Student Association, Associated Students, Inc., and the Vietnamese Student Association. Community organizations sponsoring the event are DEBUG, San Jose Peace Center, South Bay Mobilization Against the War, Peninsula Peace and Justice Center, Hip-Hop Congress, Veterans for Peace, American Muslims for Global Peace, International A.N.S.W.E.R. Members of Voices Rising are organizing this on-campus event in conjunction with other National Student and Youth Peace Coalition events at other universities and high schools around the nation. Other schools organizing in the Bay Area are Stanford University and De Anza Community College. Please check out these websites for more information at: www.nyspc.net, www.lao.ca.gov, www.internationalanswer.org, www.moratoriumtostopwar.org.
[ed: sender's identity omitted]
• Waiting outside Roberts before the day's opening, Carlos and I were having a talk about consumer targeting. It began with an idea of his, regarding cell phone users. The actual idea doesn't matter much (it's his, patently so—I'll respectfully leave it at that). What struck me about the idea was the sheer violation involved. The communication involved seemed to me very subversive and unwelcome.
To Carlos, whose grasp of contemporary marketing is impeccable, the idea seemed as natural as anything around. He had a full scheme conceptualized: for this (dis)service, the consumer would be compensated by, say, a lower service charge; this is quite common today. He was distracted by the novelty of the idea so much that my appeals to confidence, privacy, and psychology didn't settle in.
(To me, having the trust of the customer—a living person with a name, motivations, temperament, history, etc.—is paramount. Anything that would threaten that trust must be avoided. A customer must be treated with, at least, respect matching their own. Engaging with quality communication will do only good things, regardless of actual transactions. Beyond the counter, respect is contagious.)
During this same conversation, we talked about Minority Report's view of future marketing (free-floating retinal scanners which link to personalized advertisements); Nick, our manager, was referred to as "an 18-35 male"; another (abhorrent) idea concerning car audio marketing was launched. The conversation as a whole was as intriguing and frightening to me as it was casual and innovative to him.
Carlos is a great guy: personable, optimistic, cultured—a rare gentleman. I hope he gets far in his career (he's also considering advertising). With all respect, I hope I never see his morning's ideas realized. I would renounce my claim to modern technological society otherwise.
• Yesterday in Humanities was the lecture on Nietzsche. He, of course, is famous for his later contributions to philosophical thought. From the following passage, we derive the famous saying, "God is dead."
The madman sprang into their midst and pierced them with his galnces. 'Where has God gone?' he cried. 'I shall tell you. We have killed him – you and I. We are all his murderers. ...'
Thus Spake Zarathustra establishes the need for man to surpass himself: the Übermensch. Take control of your morals, your destiny, and you can break free of the imprisoning doctrines of religion. "We want to be the poets of our life." Some time after he went catatonic, his sister(s) merged the Übermensch concept with sparks of Plato and Scripture at the behest of the National Socialist Party.
Yesterday in Beginning Photo, we got our instructions on how to go about our "Social Landscape/Signs of the Times" problem. The slideshow for the afternoon categorized significant photographs from each decade. The 1930's collection featured the creation of Superman, as well as black Olympian Jesse Owens' humiliating victory over Aryan competitors. (By this time, Nietzsche is dead.)
• I've taken some awesome pictures over the past few days—I have only my friends to blame for this. Simply by being themselves, their pictures are made impressive.
Developing the prints is another matter. One of the rolls was slightly overdeveloped; making prints from those will be a lot more trouble than I wanted. A few of the keepers was on that roll. It's really hard to convince people to provide again, especially myself. That's one thing I hate about photography—often you only have one chance to capture a powerful image. Once that chance has gone, no experience will ever again provide the same combination of subject and purpose.
It sits hard in my mind every time I wait for the perfect moment to trip the shutter. That person is either going to fall into optimum position, or stray from it. At the same time, I'm either going to be prepared to capture the best shot, or I'm going to fail in some way. By this reasoning, there's only a one in four chance of getting a great shot. The reality is much more unforgiving. I'm very thankful when this does happen—so far, it happens often enough to my liking. Once I develop and scan the prints, you may be thankful, too.
• I'm desperately trying to move myself to write a term paper. Once I get going, I'm usually fine. Getting started is the problem. My initiative is often sidetracked by much more interesting material.
Looking up a site to help me write papers with more academic bearing, I came across a little conspiracy. I had suspected that fast-food places were an ideal place to launch a variety of chemical attacks. A sizable amount of serum or powder can be inserted into plastic straws while remaining indetectable by sight, taste, or smell. It simply depends on our propensity as Americans to forgo traditions of respect before casual meals; we rush into our meals. It's entirely possible for anyone to head unknowingly into a possibly fatal sip of soda. (I've blown out my straws ever since coming up with this idea.) Once the problem of discreetly loading hundreds or thousands of straws with compounds is solved, the rest of the plan is almost assuredly indetectable and untraceable.
The website uses as its first set of examples an account of "forget sauce". Theoretically, the unlisted ingredient acts to neutralize bad experiences of fast food with a burst of induced amnesia. Without further negative opinion of their previous meal, customers are made free to repeat their dining experience/mistake, subversively increasing profits.
• A British "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire" winner is being charged with fraud after a sound analysis suggested well-timed coughs aided his win. In the transcripts, distinct coughs—noted as peculiar by staff and audience—seem to guide Charles Ingram towards correct answers such as "Paris" and "google/googol".
This report was brought to me and you by Google News.
• I seem to have made it intact through my first difficult week of classes. I'm tired as hell because of it. A late-night essay left me with little energy to get through this Thursday. The latte lasted only to the afternoon.
From then on, I had to quickly develop some more rolls of film (roughly a half hour of pouring and shaking) to fire off on the enlarger. I found out what further wrong I was doing with the overdeveloped roll—the filters used to develop the multigrade prints are graded in a way that's counter-intuitive to me. Using a filter different from what I had expected provided the results I wanted.
Print making is an exhausting process of trial-and-error for the amateur developer. You have to set up the enlarger correctly, calculate the correct exposure, adjust the contrast, and dodge/burn portions of the photograph for best effect. What's especially frustrating with these rolls was the fact that many of them were taken under very poor lighting conditions. The Band Lobby provides the bare minimum light needed before I need a tripod to stablize the camera during shots. Some will come out fine; others betray a small but noticeable amount of blur. Many of the prints I am counting on may be blurred in this manner.
Print making is also a time-comsuming process. By three hours' end, I only had two more developed rolls (30 min. developing, 30 min. drying), two matching contact sheets, one improved contact sheet, and two series of prints. I have many more prints to make for two projects, one of which is due next Tuesday. The only lab time I have left to work with is before class on Tuesday, and perhaps a short period Monday, insofar as the Monday photo classes permit.
Around this time, I'll have two more midterms to deal with, and the usual Anthropology papers to write. I look forward to when this is all over.
• If I don't keep a close eye on the refrigerator, I'll get more than a fever from its contents. Consuming any number of things that spoiled inside earlier today could have poisoned me. The normally annoying buzzing sound of the fridge as it cools was silenced by a somehow faulty connection. The extension cord that enables me to plug the fridge into the already overwhelmed outlet (I've only got two strategically misplaced outlets for all my electronics) is probably not rated to handle even this small a refrigerator. I have no way of telling myself.
What I know is that I'm going to do all I can before my life is further threatened. This would be normally something you call a manager about, but I feel they wouldn't be able to provide any help that didn't involve invasive procedures.
• New to the Links page is Photo.net, where I found a rather interesting critique of a further interesting photograph. One comment, early in the discussion, stood out to me:
Boring! Where is the face and the story?
By story, the poster refers to a typed story that might accompany the portrait—in this case, of someone's cocked arm. What I've learned recently in Beginning Photo is that the arm is obviously the most important part of the photo. Without having to refer to the subject's face or to the photographer's account, you can tell that the subject is impoverished, elderly, possibly female, and perhaps proud despite her condition.
Psychologically, we do expect that there is a body and face to accompany the visible arm and torso portion. The photographer leaves this up to the viewer—can you "see" a whole person emerge from this "partial" image?
Wait...shit. Those are braces. : ·
• Ever have one of those moments you feel something in your head? Perhaps like someone is trying to communicate with you telepathically? Or like some beyond-secret military or agency device is trying to force/remove messages into your mind? It was brief and sharp, but like nothing I've felt before. I think I saw a flash in my right eye, wondered where I was for a moment afterward. I don't feel much different, but I'm not sure if I'm supposed to tell.
I myself have tried to send telepathic messages on occasion. I doubt they made their destination. If somehow they did, I wonder if they were any different from what I just felt a few minutes ago. Like sending out a written letter, and the recipient only receives something to the effect of "someone tried to send you something--we weren't sure what," by the postman. Whatever...
• Today was quite a stretch, but not as intense as I was preparing for.
Dr. Harris paid a visit to the Band Lobby this afternoon. He's still insistent on purchasing flame-resistant couches for the Lobby with the help of a commitee. (Being personally responsible for the appearance of 1 out of 3 pieces of Band Lobby furniture, I would like a seat on the Furnishings Task Force.)
Though often a major cause of complaint and ridicule, the fair Doctor is very pleasant in conversation. Like Scott, he can mete out worthy snappy banter. As we've had no direct academic relationship, I've always felt a little strange engaging Dr. Harris. I still remember randomly asking him for a disbursement when the Wind Ensemble was preparing to tour. The puzzled stares of then have progressed into fully realized exchanges—I've somehow come upon equal bearing with my "major performing ensemble" cohorts in his eyes.
He was very entertained by the Band Lobby Green Sheet, a copy of which Christiana keeps in her possession. I distinctly remember giving a sheet to the Music Office guys in order to pass on to Dr. Harris. For today's purposes, it worked out better that they hadn't. We had to explain a few points to him, like why Erik needs food, or how Scott gets all his mail folded quickly. (I'm with Mike when I fear having to explain The Game to Dr. Harris one day.)
[I first became acquainted with Dr. Harris during senior year when I earned a spot in State Honor Band. If I remember right, he directed the symphonic (upper) band, which performed pieces such as a famous Fanfare of some sort, a Candide medley, and the yummy Zion. In the concert band, I performed Ghost Train, Gumsucker's March, High Flight, and Legend of Alcobaça (first ending).]
• Lane seems to me an alright guy. His stuttering stood out the first time I met him, but being subject to it myself, I can sympathize. Barring this, I could learn something from his mellow demeanor and affability. He has an eagerness that, while subtle, worries me. Earlier, I felt compelled to nudge him down with some gentle mocking. It troubles me whenever I take a vertical stance like this. Again, it seemed necessary for whatever reasons I had in mind—shallow or convoluted. I hope he took the ribbing with as much stride as I took his (justified) flipping.
• In an effort to maximize my spending efficiency, I've downgraded to regular Percolate, from lattés, and mochas before that. I seem to be taking to them well; one single French Roast got me all the way through tonight's Human Development lecture. The urinal was also quite fragrant. (My apologies, all.) I look forward to a time when I don't have to depend on caffeine to propel me through my day. For now, it's a tasty diversion (and less expensive, too).
• As foreign as its language is, this radio genre I often find more entertaining than standard alt/rock. The selection of songs is more diverse, if only because of the presence of Latin rhythms and the relatively small selection of songs to put into playlists.
What strikes me about Rock en Español are songs like "Gotta Get 'Em Immigrated" and "Don't Call Me Gringo (You Fucking Beaner)". Why doesn't mainstream radio have music like this?
People would raise hell.
Correct, Radio Production-inspired knowledge.
• 3000 hits = Ownage
Thank you all for your spare minutes.
• It could just be me, but it seems we all spent our happy vibes yesterday. There wasn't a lot of joy in the Lobby. Wait, no...it was me. All that time spent in the darkroom must've done something. Today's Mocca Java got me through about ten sets of prints, for credit or not. With some mental difficulty, I was able to get good exposures out of the negatives, some of which were revealed to be developed in print paper developer and not film developer. Enough of them had contrast problems, however, to be noticed against other classmates' prints.
I was just glad to get them all out of the way as quickly as I did. About 75 sheets went into the printing of some nine prints and four contact sheets. If working on prints for hours straight doesn't drive one to insanity, then the collection of familiar faces, staring with eternal emotion, will surely try.
That must be why I hang only misprints and contact sheets on my walls. Knowing that I can still improve upon them empowers me in a way that final prints do not. My band pictures seem to gaze at me sometimes—each representation of a face looks on with disapproval, mostly. I suppose if I look at them more when I am complacent, they won't bear such malice. It would also help if I didn't attach such intense presence of being to technically lifeless objects.
• Everyone wondered what Katie was suddenly riled up about. I was particularly curious, since her outburst was directed towards me. Over the course of the day, I had changed out of my overalls into shorts, the latter of which have now been adjectified as "revealing". For someone who stares at himself in reflections every passing chance he gets, I've been rather unconscious of what others see of me. For example, when Katie walked into the room, I was unaware that she was looking straight into my crotch. Blew a damn hole in my favorite briefs.
Never before can I recall being..."violated" in such a way before. I'm sure there have been many opportunities, but I'm not the kind of person others look at in that way. I myself have not had occasion to sneak a peek at anyone's panties. This year. Yeah, there are still those select people unaware of how low their neckline can go, those who wear their pants tight, those who get a little nippy
The point is that I'm not really bothered by this. If not for this "self-unconsciousness", I should want to feel ashamed. Neither am I proud of this—it's just something novel. I'm probably so comfortable with myself that I could probably photograph myself. Nude. Finding people interested in– decent people interested in this would probably be more troublesome than I'm willing to accomodate.
For now, the thought of my naked self in plain sight shall remain a tool of socially tense comedy. Probably the way we should look at ourselves, anyhow.
• Had an unexpected telephone conversation with Allan, my older brother. He called my sister's house to check in or something, and I ended up finishing the call. Having not heard from him in about three years, it was a pretty charged moment. Fifteen years ago (half his lifespan), he was sitting on my face, expressing brotherly love in a gastrointestinal manner. Since then, things have become somewhat more leveled. We're both well on our way out of college—Allan with his Master's in Biology, me with an RTVF degree. We both have issues with Mom's grocery impulsiveness, but indulge as best as any son can. We share an aversion of cheap beer—his tastes are obviously more refined than mine, as he's had more opportunity to try out 24 proof German imports and such.
For the most part, it seems like he's going to stay on the East Coast, where the biotech industry is pretty big. He's hoping to make a visit over the summer, which would only be the third time since he left us. One more thing to look forward to.
• This next photo project is asking more of me, with less time to do it. I never got around to spotting my last set of photos—now I have to do that and dry mount them. In today's lab, the ol' Ilford developer was acting up, thanks to another student (also a lab assistant) who was breaking every rule with the processing machine. I only got six of nine prints made. Those have to be trimmed with the adhesive, aligned, and heat-pressed on tweaking machines. I'm gonna have to miss a few more lectures next week.
• While I was busy attending to other responsibilities, Prof. Abrams was busy typing up our Radio Production midterm. For the first time in a long while, I was totally unprepared for a test. If not for the assignment (I didn't complete) also due today, and the aforementioned print session, I would have had time to even check my notes. I'm pretty sure I passed, but there were questions I could not even bullshit my way out of. The only rewarding factor in all this was early leave from what is normally a 6-9:45 class. Enough time to drop in unexpected, help hassle Mandler, post some prints, blow some quarters on Soul Calibur at the discoteca down the street, and watch Will & Grace.
• Chalk it up to my anxieties towards those who would gladly mind-fuck us, but I wonder just how well Smart is. In nine months' time, innumerable values and opinions can be sparked in a young mind. With an appropriate amount of physical and/or mental coersion, a child can be driven to disorder and psychosis—immediate or latent, overt or subtle.
Little mention has been made as to Elizabeth's mental state. It may still be too early to observe any durable change. Her abductor is a self-proclaimed prophet—the influence of such persons can be damaging. Upon her discovery, Elizabeth was not eager to disclose her identity, openly lying to officers, as if following a script.
This is going to sit in the back of my mind, recalling itself then and there. The best I can do is humor the thoughts—wonder what I would do in Edward Smart's situation, what kind of relationship I would forge with my children in the face of both prosperity and terror.
• I'm about to load the last of my binder paper. Normally an insignificance, but considering I've only bought one package of college rule in my seven years here, I can't help being fascinated by this "milestone". I've been through so much paper at two of my jobs that I almost passed over this event. Even I can't think of any way I would celebrate this, much less desire to expend merriment over anything so expendable as binder paper.
• On the way to Kyle's recital, I locked myself out of the house again. Spent half the night in the Band Lobby trying to sleep, but not so soundly that UPD could spot me. Spent the other half on the porch with the friendly neighbor cat, wishing it was someone.
I really need to get those keys copied.
• Got myself registered at eBay and placed some bids on camera equipment. I've already noticed something iffy about my first bidding. It just might be the structure of the incremental bid system. Nonetheless, my first two bids raised the price to triple what it was before; I still didn't have the high bid. The "Buy It Now" price is about double that, which leaves me wondering what the other person bid. As of now, the item's reserve price hasn't been met which, along with my second place bid, should offer me some protection. I've already bid on a similar item from another seller, which I do expect to win, even if it will be more than what I bid for on the other one.
• Factoid: Charlette, my former roommate, handled the print advertising for eBay.
• Up until now, I thought I had a layer of fat in my gluteals approaching the level found in my upper waistline. That has thoroughly been disproven by the instability of my broken chair. I've been spending a lot more energy sitting recently, which accounts for the pain in my hamstrings. What I thought was flab before was actually a pair of muscles that don't flex much in a standing position. There is only about half an inch of fat to be found where I had expected one or two inches. I should probably leave the task of checking out my ass to others.
• I'm on a high right now. Today's darkroom session, coupled with last week's print paper purchase, yielded some quality photographs of Mitch in "Tuba Conqueror" mode, and myself in self-portrait glory. I have never felt so proud of myself as I did when I saw my image emerge from the machine developer. It's a simple picture of myself, testing my new tripod with a mirror shot. Though I don't recall trying to stare into the camera with emotion, the look on my face is powerful. And if you don't mind me saying so, I look fucking hot.
Mitch also looks quite regal. It surprised me that he understood the nature of the waist-level perspective while he posed for the shot. We didn't discuss the psychological aspect of viewpoints until a week or so later in class. I myself had only a sublime understanding of the photographer-model relationship within the context of the shot.
Until I get proper envelopes for the shot, they'll be on display in the Band Lobby. We have plans for the Mitch shot. And my self-portrait shall remain on my wall, unless someone is willing to own My Gloriousness.
• With the knowledge and tools at my disposal, I could go professional as a small-format photographer. It will be a long time before I purchase a mid- or large-format for classy portraits or rich landscapes.
Today's Lobby conversation got me thinking about marketing to the "Prom Picture at Home" market, an interesting addition to my street photography aspirations and the general curio that I am known to shoot. The trouble with this idea would be convincing the parent(s)—especially those with "better" cameras—that I can take better pictures than they can. Firing off an interior shot with camera flash is much too easy and tempting for the casual photographer. Making your son look handsome and proud, or your daughter unforgettably beautiful, and their date similarly timeless in a photograph takes much more skill than a few minutes of camera fiddling will provide. Mistakes can begin as early as the film display—simply choosing the wrong film can make the couple look grainy and messy.
The problem is one that is best illustrated in side-by-side comparison. And even then, the average person would have to be spoon-fed the critique. With cheap cameras in abundance, and expensive ones waiting to earn their keep, the public at large stands little chance of discriminating between phenomenal shots and wastes of paper. It's probably how it is with everything involving artistic taste, and a reality understood by only a select few; not all photographers are of this level.
• A late public one for Mike (I gave him a photo as a gift), but also one to my nephew, Noah. He turns two years old today. Definitely someone who will be excited by my presence.
• Very soon, I will posess another important tool to my camera arsenal: a wide-angle lens. I won it in an eBay auction Sunday. I was hoping to receive it today, but that's probably expecting too much of the Postal Service. (I'm also trying to get Canon's dedicated remote trigger, some filters, a 135mm (or even an 85mm) prime lens for portraits, and a mid-range zoom.) With the 28mm I'll get soon, I can take better pictures of open spaces and indoor scenes. It might also be more lenient with exposures than my current 50mm.
I'm considering doing some street photography over the Break, for both the experience and possible application towards a Humanities speech. I don't have much of an idea what to expect from those caught in my lens or what to do if I run into trouble. The best recommendation I've heard is to travel lightly, so as to be inconspicuous, to lessen my burden (about 15 lbs. of camera glass), and to focus more on taking better shots with the camera than making the camera take better shots.
I've always chosen to work over Spring Break rather than do fun things, if only because no one has been willing to bear me. But being forced into a low employment situation has made me reconsider what fun things I do with my life. I really do want to get out more, but I'd rather not do it alone. In a way, I suppose I won't be.
• With 40+ votes, America has decided to kick Saddam off the show. Judge George Bush had been crying for his removal for weeks now, and it seems like he's going to get his wish. Cheers and boos punctuated the division among the audience, some siding with Bush, others wanting to see Hussein to the end, to stardom. As the fireworks flew, Saddam gave what may be his final performance.
• If you really need my take on things, just know that I'm doing a lot better than even I had expected. The pain is real, but nothing I haven't felt before. I'm not sure whether I resigned my feelings long ago, or simply have tighter rein over them.
There are two things that sit heavy on my mind: how I am going to be treated, and who still has comfort to spare me. If the past few days are any indication, I'm still welcome to what degree I was before. Being who I am, I can't afford to do away with what few friends I happen to make. In this regard, I seem to have been provided with some avenues of relief—forethought perhaps by whatever metaphysical force pervades us.
Some old friends I believed had fallen off my path reminded me of their presence. Faithful readers may remember what significance Alpha and Anamarie bear in my life. I can only hope that they haven't forgotten me in their own journeys. It's time for me to see just how much I've grown, with their memories as reference. I have some catching up to do.
• I'm wondering what to do next week. The economy has seen to it that I won't "waste" it working. The income hiatus will ensure that I live beyond my means for at least the week. All of my friends will be gone in their respective ways. I'm not at all eager to spend it with family. Finally, border relations during this period of wartime is holding back some photography I wanted to take care of.
My living space needs some reorganization, which would only occupy the better part of a day. I should also plan out a resumé to make things more interesting professionally. I could probably do enough photography for my next projects and Humanities speech to get by. The wide-angle lens I am waiting on is the best tool for the job, though. Dealing with people should be enough to keep sane while I'm deprived in other ways. I could also revisit some artistic pursuits, and restore this site further.
All I really have to do is stay active until Wednesday night, my (mostly) weekly get-together with my sister's family. From there, I get a few work days on Friday and Saturday, and more time that Saturday afternoon at my nephew's birthday party. A few chore days, and I'm set to drudge through classes on Monday Tuesday.
• Damn, it's like being in a hardware store. So much crap that I could buy, so many wares trading hands. Its competitive nature is a little more aggravating, but winning stuff for cheap makes up for it. I remember my cousins used to make money selling stuff online.
My pattern for now seems to be watching specific items go through their bid cycles. I've made a few bids, but my threshold is pretty low—a few decent items have slipped through. The 28mm lens is on its slow way, so I'm looking for others: a 135mm, preferably f/2.5; a long zoom (70-210mm or 80-200mm) to replace my current zoom—it seems to be susceptible to corner darkening, and has some fungus inside; a 35mm or 35-70mm zoom; a 50mm f/1.4, which is superior to the 50mm f/1.8 I already have; and perhaps a super-telephoto, 300mm+.
Cable releases for my camera haven't seen the auction floor for a week. I'm thinking of visiting other camera stores in the meanwhile. I should also get to my photo projects soon—the weekend is already ending.
• There is so much more to this than I'll ever know. Whatever involvement I have seems to be minimal. Certainly, others are aggravated by what's happening. I can only make guesses. It kinda underscores how marginal I am, how little I matter.
Do I benefit from this somehow? What pains have I been spared by simply being distant from the drama? I am probably well off for knowing only what little I do, for being as disjoint as I am. Avoiding pain doesn't seem to make for an interesting life. Some days, I regret never having scorned, never hating someone for doing me wrong—never having this kind of experience to relate to others.
There's so much that goes on in my generation. We come upon so many extremes; my imagination can't begin to account for them. As "untainted" as I am, would it be wiser to find someone who is similarly unaffected herself? Would someone see me as some kind of "shelter" from the ravages of today? Are people so fucked up today that my relative innocence is threatening? Throughout this whole topic, have I been ignorant of my own stains?
I feel like I'm being kept from something again, and I don't know whether or not I deserve to be.
• Pondering what my barber/stylist said to me, laughlingly. Hairdressers in general have such a unique insight into the emotional state of people, regardless of whether any actual communication has taken place. The stories they must be able to tell about people, just by a glance at their hairline, their condition, their scalp... It would be so much easier to follow her advice, which I can file with similar airings, but I wonder how true to myself I would be for doing so.
• Alcohol powered batteries—a novel idea, since alcohol (ethanol) is in such cheap abundance. Chalk it up to modern priorities. The fragile enzymes that make the process possible are coated with a porous polymer, protecting it from changes in pH.
The technological advance raises a few questions, however. When you catch little Jimmy with your secret bottle of gin, you now have to figure out whether little Jimmy is becoming alcoholic, or is simply powering his cell phone. Also, will the batteries show even the tiniest inklings of taste? Will it prefer Stoli over Smirnoff? Can it handle a shot of Jaegermeister and not spill your confidentialities to the nearest PDA?
• They're fine, so far as I can tell. I can only last about ten minutes in the pool right now—a few laps, and I'm spent. I only took in two sessions last semester, never getting past six. I haven't dropped any, but it's still a far cry from the sixteen or so I did while taking the beginning class a few years back. Of course, I was also marching regularly then. I haven't exercised regularly since leaving band after the 2001 season, so it's not wise to rush into this. A light shoulder sprain confirms my opinion.
• A little heads-up on my next project: I've found a great political topic to shoot over. It's a little heavy on location shooting, requires a few models, and maybe some cleanup. Those who respond to this get first dibs over those drafted from the Lobby. Shooting takes place sometime next week—sooner if situations allow. I need at least a week to develop film and produce the prints, so your expediency is appreciated in advance.
In related news, I should soon get back my second project, which I didn't have time to scan in advance. (It was one hell of a Tuesday.) I'll get it up when it's back in my hands.
• And a wonderful burn it is.
• 28mm Wide Angle action is GO!
• I have been going over some old memories, revisited some ideas I had stopped developing, sorting out old photos. There isn't much that I remember well, but hopefully the pictures I found will help bring back some good times. Check out the new gallery.
Also getting treatment are some old songs I started writing a few years ago. The seeds have always been there throughout the years, but around 2000 or so, I seriously started trying to write some commercial material. At last count, my catalog consists of 60 songs. Many are nothing more than a catchy tune with a chorus lyric, which is probably how many of today's songs are born. About ten of these, however, are good portions of full compositions. They are typically written for an eight-member band: lead vocals, two wind instruments/backup vocals, two guitars, keyboard, bass, and drum kit.
I'm quite surprised with the music I am able to write, even without proper theory knowledge or engaging life experiences to base them upon. One day, I'd like to see my compositions get some airplay.
o/' Now it's time to figure out
What "sophisticated life" is all about
All the simple times, they seem so far from me
All this rage and bitterness for what's to be
Left to struggle only with memories o/'
• Today's exciting development? Vanana™, by Delaware Punch Company. Their Slap Drinks are made with real skim milk; this one in particular is flavored with vanilla and banana. Damn tasty! There's also a chocolate flavor and a strawberry-blueberry flavor. My Coke distributor just got them today, so I'm trying to clear space for these in the fridge.
• Though 7.02 is capable of opening PNG image files, things get trippy somewhere between my Angelfire server and the program. I just noticed this proofing my Artwork page. I'm taking this up with various entities. Let's hope it gets resolved, at least.
• I am eager to see what kind of pictures I took at my nephew Noah's second birthday party. Training your lens on a moving target is an underappreciated skill. Making a decent photograph of said target is even less so. I'll also get to see what kind of stuff my wide-angle lens does, and see if my zoom telephoto needs cleaning/replacing. The last set of photos I tried to take with my zoom came out white, indicating a possible aperture problem.
Noah doesn't usually get to wander around large spaces like the park nearby. Half of my day was spent chasing after him, or wondering where he was. Naturally, I took pictures of him running off on his own. In those few moments that someone else watched over him, a good portion of Silvestre's family was around. Lots of Mexican food to mingle with my family's varied tastes *drool* (carne asada tacos, hot dogs with 1000 Island and avocado, Mom's heart-pounding potato salad). Jerry and Eddie weren't around, since Winterguard season is in full gear. To make up for it, my cousin Ericson stopped by to help celebrate.
Ericson
I gave up rice for Lent.
Dad
I'd give up my girlfriend before I give up my rice.
This bit of conversation says many things about my culture and my family. Notably, Filipinos are hard up about their food staples, and Dad has some quirky priorities. Enjoy.
• Summer has finally hit the Bay Area. The sun is in full shine, the storm winds of last week are dying down. I can't say I was prepared. Other parts of the country normally have a season called "Spring". During this season, showers happen more often, and plant life blossoms and blooms just as bright as the sun itself. Summer fashion tends to be more daring, which I appreciate very much. However, I hate sweating—no good comes of it.
• Jerry is performing with the Blue Devils Open winterguard this season. Today, Dinah and I went to see him perform at Independence HS. I lugged the camera bag along to test my wide-angle lens further. I'll likely see the results of this series of shots sooner than my Santana Row/Valley Fair excursion, since these rolls were in color. Dinah's getting them developed for me at Costco.
I don't know how many more winterguard competitions I'll shoot for. Independence's gym has the notorious orange-tint lighting system in full effect. A lone window and an entrance opened for venting leaked in a nominal amount of white sunlight, none of which struck the performance floor. I'm not too interested in buying a filter set yet (a blue filter would balance the colors), but when I do, this would be a major reason. Even with the proper filter, I would however still be working on the low end of the exposure scale. None of my exposures broke f/4. I don't think depth of field was affected much, since I was high in the stands shooting a distant area—I had the lens focused on infinity most of the time. I won't know how sharp my lenses are at low apertures until I get the film back. What shots I do like out of the batch will get 'shopped anyway.
I haven't been to a competition of any kind for a while. There is much more about these performances that I admire compared to when I was fresh out of high school. Before, winterguard only looked like patterned setups for solo work or group tosses. Now, I see lines of motion, see how sections interact with each other, and understand better the impact of a group toss snappily caught. The music has also vastly improved, since people must be working with digital editing technology now. Gone are the sloppy audio tape edits made with a two-cassette portable stereo. The talent going into music-making for guards is approaching the quality of electronica/techno. I wonder what kind of music artists like Photek or Aphex Twin might make for colorguards.
• I take this time to remind you all how much I fucking hate mosquitos. The giant ones know where the open bathroom window is; I swatted one of them lounging by the mirror. The smaller ones are trying to make their way through my window. I thought this place was free of them. I'd understand the strays that are trying to populate areas beyond the rivers, but their presence to date had been lacking. Back at Avenida Almendros, we did have a small swarm that was drawn to the front door, but few ever thought of ascending to my window.
Is there any place in the Bay Area that isn't bothered by the little vampires?
• I paid a little visit to the protestors on 2nd and San Carlos (South Bay Mobilization to Stop the War). Here, too, the crowds were light, today being a national holiday. A sizable group here still managed to attract some attention. While I took some pictures, they told me stories about other demonstrations, and we all discussed America's place in the war.
They're pretty keen on what's happening—a large number of contracts hand-picked by Bush Jr. have been given to businesses eager to make a profit out of the reconstruction of Iraq, assuming American military objectives are met. Who will gain control of the Iraqi oil fields? I'm sure that oil executives are waiting on the tarmacs along with the standard reinforcements.
Though these people are against the war, they are also for the safe return of our soldiers. It's not like they detest the soldiers for doing what their commander-in-chief asked. Their problem is with the Bush Jr. Administration rushing into conflict without any real attempt at diplomacy. I also brought up Bush's frighteningly liberal use of religious sentiment. Saddam Hussein isn't bad, he's evil, according to Bush Jr. Osama bin Laden, too. This is a perfect example of Nietzsche's "slave morality". In this case, Bush is a slave to his beliefs, and his beliefs include the violent removal of Hussein. "One fundamentalist versus another, but this one is Christian," said one protestor. I'll say it, too.
One bright light in this is that Bush only has a year and a half left in his term of presidency. I just hope enough people are willing to decisively trump any more White House shenanigans. I voted for Nader back in 2000; I wonder now what kind of government we would have had. Would the attacks of September 11th still have happened? How would Nader, or even Gore, have responded? I also wonder why we thought nothing of this when Clinton was still in office. How much of this could we have forseen in the 90's?
• I wish I had a webcam. And a fast Internet connection. I wish you had one too. The Beat has found me tonight, and all I can do is dance in my chair. This feeling is going to leave me in the morning; I wish it wouldn't. If I felt like this during the day, when I am around people, life would definitely pick up. If I felt like this during the day, if people could feel the Beat in my voice, in my presence, I would be irresistable. If I was the Beat, if the Beat pulsed within me, I could never dance alone. Love wouldn't allow it.
• Two more mosquitos in the bathroom, waiting for me to be stupid and inattentive or something while I shower. While they waited on the wall, I was making a choice. I only had three things with me to swat them with. (I would never consider smacking any insect with my bare hand in a non-defensive manner.) My bath towel hung from the door hook, but it had yet to be used. My shorts were on the sink counter, the same shorts I intend to wear tomorrow. On top of those was my outgoing pair of briefs, which would next rest in the laundry basket.
In a way, I feel sorry for the fuckers. Better than getting tossed in the freezer or drowning in my piss, I guess.
