My blogging resolve has been sapped to near-death by the holiday break. I have been reveling in a long-withheld pleasure: mahjongg (or mah jong). Dear reader, you may have seen an online game called mahjongg where tiles need to be matched to gain points, but the mahjongg I am writing about is far different. I haven't done proper research on this Chinese game (though I have found out from a reliable source it has strong ties to gambling), but it is horribly addictive and complicated and fun (with a bit of a steep learning curve). Basics: 4 players, no teams, 144 rectangular tiles, 4 'suits' (analogy - diamonds, hearts, spades, clubs), turn-based, dice, and a plethora of ways to "mahjongg" (what you say to your opponents when you win). Anyway, it's a real good time for me and my family and the major contribution to my drought of posting on this blog.
The holidays have come and are nearly gone again. New Year's parties tomorrow will mark the beginning of the end of winter break and my 8th semester of college will begin soon. Nostalgia seems to come upon me like the former LSD users say the dormant 'trips' happen without warning. I am beset in my mind by a rush of images of me walking across the wooden platform and taking my 'diploma' from the Englewood High School Superintendent. That'll be four years ago come May '08 ... the pages and pages I could fill recounting just these last few annuals. Ah well, I digress. I celebrate Christmas with my immediate family, and have done so for years (the only notable exception being 2001 when I attended a wedding in D.C. over the holiday -- coincidentally the last time air travel in America was 'easy,' just before the new security measures to cut down on terrorism ...). SO, Christmas was fulfilling for the first time in a long time. I wasn't concerned with the presents as much as in the past and I came away with some genuinely good feelings inside (all warm and fuzzy and full of cliches, but I'm tired, so, Dear Reader, this is all I will say on this subject here).
Onward!
I have determined once again that I can spend days upon days in a book store (Barnes & Noble today) and not ever succumb to boredom. I would probably become very cranky from lack of sleep and food and pleasurable company, but, wait, I really wouldn't object to sex amongst the shelves, a great venue actually! (e-cough) One of the few lines of praise I can remember from my former girlfriend Liz (round 2) was: "Fish, you are like a kid in a candy shop when it comes to bookstores." I really took this comment to heart because I really do love books (reading, learning, imagining ... ahhh, the sweet ecstasy) and I am not so fond of candy. Books are my candy (on a more comestible note, I choose fruit and vegetable over chocolate truffles and sweet tarts, not because I'm a health nut, but because I actually enjoy the former more). My only frustration about books is my slow reading speed. I want to read dozens upon hundreds of books, but I'm still catching up to some of my counterparts in quickness of eyes and mind.
This post now spans three days of work (I have been lax Dear Reader). The New Year moment has come and gone and the revelry, snack buffets, karaoke, and basement moonshine are items of yesterday (the moonshine was a real paint peeler!). 2008 is upon me and the promises of adventure in this annum are more lucid than ever before.
So many people blog today (evidenced by that very word becoming part of our lexicon) and the number of social networking sites and their members has exploded in the last decade. You don't have to look far, Dear Reader, to find numbers backing these claims. I stumbled (note the lowercase 's,' not through StumbleUpon) onto a very intriguing and entertaining article on the subject of growing social sites. Look here at http://informationweek.com/news/showArticle.jhtml?articleID=204203573&pgno=1&queryText= to view it. The amusing points by the author really made an impression on me. Maybe Facebook is a bad choice for keeping in touch with my friends ... ?
To follow, my dad made an interesting comment about the internet community a couple days ago. He opined that, especially among the younger generations, internet users feel a power and sense of importance when others read their blogs, view their profiles, add them as friends, or join their groups, forums, etcetera ... . I thought about this view for a while and I remembered the feeling of joy when I saw my Facebook group about surviving the rigors of LON-CAPA had over 200 members. The thrill of being important! There are millions upon millions of Facebook members now, probably more on MySpace (I don't have an account), and innumerable blogs. This feeling of importance needs perspective. Perhaps I will write a post on my friend's Facebook wall and it will brighten their day. But internet communication, blogging, and group-making are no more significant than sending letters in the mail (unless that letter contains a bomb or theory-shattering idea).
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Catching Up
I've been lax, but that's okay, it's a blog. A plethora of events have happened in the past week. I broke the virginity of my ski season at Steamboat with Mike and my brother and it was astoundingly good riding. The next day found me celebrating a birthday in downtown Denver, breaking fire code at the hotel, passing the pipe (marijuana, but I only watched and laughed at the mannerisms of my "high" friends), wondering around the sub-freezing streets of the 16th Street Mall, and dancing at LoDo's Bar & Grill. I'm scribing this entry from Fraser, CO at Mike's house, and we're cooking stir fry and rice. I'm so glad we were able to all come up here tonight, these hang-out times between friends in warmth and tastiness really drive back the drear and burden of the other parts of life. Incidentally we have Andi, Alyssa, Sean, Mike, Moxy (a beautiful shaggy mutt [Alaskan malimut/???]), and myself.
At the exact moment Moxy and Alyssa are cuddling up on the floor and the scene is quite warming inside (cute too, but ... ah, damn pre-conceptions of adult men not using 'girly' words, it's adorable!!).
Mike's house is an amazing place. Smallish and simply furnished, but not ascetic. It has a wonderful feel of memory, love, and time-tested need vs. want (as far as possessions go). The house's climate mirrors a character and lifestyle I find really attractive. I've been told from very early on to avoid materialism, mostly from my parents. The feeling has sunk in for the most part. I still get excited when the gift-giving holidays come around each year, caught up in the glamor of new 'things' to own and love and break. Yet, I am never satisfied. The transient "high" of acquisition always gives way to a depressing feeling of cheapness. My repeated disillusionment after getting new things has led me to develop a sense of detachment from the world of buying and throwing away and buying more. Songs like Five Iron Frenzy's "American Kryptonite" and Johnny Cash's cover of "Hurt" move me (bad-ass) in a similar fashion. My possessions are fleeting, and so are people. I've found relationships are the golden treasures of living and traveling is the jewel of waking hours.
Make lots and lots of friends, put all of your free effort into them, and go as many places (and learn as many things) as you can. The only thing I know of that can destroy these 'works' is brain-death (consequently memory loss) and I hope to avoid that (and that you do too!).
On and on, I've never tried mary-jane, weed, pot, marijuana before. I've been second-hand affected (a little) while standing right next to a pipe-toting punk-rocker at at Flogging Molly concert. I've been to several parties where I've sat around the people partaking in the act, but not inhaled myself. The singularly best marijuana experience of my short life was the time at Pot-Club with Brian, Matt, (old) Eric, Louie, and ... I don't remember the other one, in the small second-floor room of the infamously famous "Red House." I, again, did not smoke, but was given the Pot-Club name Pisces and promptly inducted into the group. Brian composed a song dedicated to the former source of weed for him and several other Mines kids: Lee. He called it "In the Days of Lee" and it was sad and comedic simultaneously, lamenting the loss of Lee and his pot to the local law enforcement while joking about how many 'twats' could be smoked before writing became impossible. Quite a wonderfully funny night!
Long way round, I've never smoked pot, and I'm not really sure why. I suppose I don't want to disappoint my betters by stooping to the level of 'drug use' but I'm not so convinced on the evil of marijuana. It looks (and sounds) like loads of fun and I've heard "stoned sex" is beyond amazing (and sex is pretty damn good). I bet the day will come soon when burning pot fumes will enter my lungs and I will, for the first time, experience the tritely termed "high."
SO, a short post tonight and all about my last week (a little) and a bit more about what's really important in life and the weed. Well, dinner and company are calling, so, no mind dump tonight. Farewell dear reader ... until whenever we next meet (does that statement make me eligible for schizophrenia?).
At the exact moment Moxy and Alyssa are cuddling up on the floor and the scene is quite warming inside (cute too, but ... ah, damn pre-conceptions of adult men not using 'girly' words, it's adorable!!).
Mike's house is an amazing place. Smallish and simply furnished, but not ascetic. It has a wonderful feel of memory, love, and time-tested need vs. want (as far as possessions go). The house's climate mirrors a character and lifestyle I find really attractive. I've been told from very early on to avoid materialism, mostly from my parents. The feeling has sunk in for the most part. I still get excited when the gift-giving holidays come around each year, caught up in the glamor of new 'things' to own and love and break. Yet, I am never satisfied. The transient "high" of acquisition always gives way to a depressing feeling of cheapness. My repeated disillusionment after getting new things has led me to develop a sense of detachment from the world of buying and throwing away and buying more. Songs like Five Iron Frenzy's "American Kryptonite" and Johnny Cash's cover of "Hurt" move me (bad-ass) in a similar fashion. My possessions are fleeting, and so are people. I've found relationships are the golden treasures of living and traveling is the jewel of waking hours.
Make lots and lots of friends, put all of your free effort into them, and go as many places (and learn as many things) as you can. The only thing I know of that can destroy these 'works' is brain-death (consequently memory loss) and I hope to avoid that (and that you do too!).
On and on, I've never tried mary-jane, weed, pot, marijuana before. I've been second-hand affected (a little) while standing right next to a pipe-toting punk-rocker at at Flogging Molly concert. I've been to several parties where I've sat around the people partaking in the act, but not inhaled myself. The singularly best marijuana experience of my short life was the time at Pot-Club with Brian, Matt, (old) Eric, Louie, and ... I don't remember the other one, in the small second-floor room of the infamously famous "Red House." I, again, did not smoke, but was given the Pot-Club name Pisces and promptly inducted into the group. Brian composed a song dedicated to the former source of weed for him and several other Mines kids: Lee. He called it "In the Days of Lee" and it was sad and comedic simultaneously, lamenting the loss of Lee and his pot to the local law enforcement while joking about how many 'twats' could be smoked before writing became impossible. Quite a wonderfully funny night!
Long way round, I've never smoked pot, and I'm not really sure why. I suppose I don't want to disappoint my betters by stooping to the level of 'drug use' but I'm not so convinced on the evil of marijuana. It looks (and sounds) like loads of fun and I've heard "stoned sex" is beyond amazing (and sex is pretty damn good). I bet the day will come soon when burning pot fumes will enter my lungs and I will, for the first time, experience the tritely termed "high."
SO, a short post tonight and all about my last week (a little) and a bit more about what's really important in life and the weed. Well, dinner and company are calling, so, no mind dump tonight. Farewell dear reader ... until whenever we next meet (does that statement make me eligible for schizophrenia?).
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Etcetera
Tonight is an 'etcetera' night.
Golden is piled with snow and the ways of Winter are upon the local world. I've turned in my take-home Optics final exam and my breathing has eased some. My friends around me aren't quite as fortunate as finals week continues on through tomorrow. Here, in the over-warm computer lab (more of a living room for us physicists-to-be), I'm fresh off a trip to "Coors Lab," and my consciousness is slightly slurred with my free share of (not so good) beer. I'm thinking I'll be having my first relaxing evening in several months.
I didn't think I would ever be grateful to LON-CAPA (the internet-based homework website Mines uses for some of its gen req courses), but I had my first instance this afternoon. I was being walled away from the answer to a problem on my take-home final and I decided to ask the amazingly expedient, semi-omniscient entity that is Google about the subject (double slit diffraction). I found a java applet describing exactly what I needed in visual form (I am a very visual learner) and its source was/is Lon-capa.org. Applets are wonderful smidgens of information.
I'm rather at a loss for subject matter today.
I had an involved discussion this morning while avoiding the first problem of my take-home exam (I'd just completed the third, so I was feeling cocky). My friend Eric and I verbally unloaded on each other, through statements and debate, about our perspectives of the complex issues in the Middle East. We ended on wondering how old the Torah's first writings are and then Eric said we should get back to our test. I agreed.
War. This monosyllable is one of the few stand-alone words in English. I have been aware of war since I was four (the Gulf conflict of the '91 is the first one I recall). Equally as far back as my memory reaches, my view of warfare has been through a lens of sadness and distaste. I have imagined my family and quiet community of Englewood plunged into armed violence. I just as plausibly could have conjured an alien invasion from the Virgo system (I did by the way, several times, but that's not the point). All scenes playing out before my unseeing eyes (in a trance of fantasy) involved death, and despair. These days, the information I glean from news websites (I don't watch the television much anymore) does not entitle me to claim understanding of the climate that anciently embattled land. Despite my ignorance, I am able to make a few statements. I don't like war. I find it a terrible situation no matter the causes, motivations, justifications, trepidations, etcetera. Unfortunately, war seems a necessary aspect of reality ... for the time being. Not enough of the world's people know, trust, and communicate with their fellows. Their cause is noble, who work to bridge the many chasms within human domains, physically, linguistically, culturally, and socially. I've just finished a class on 'Conflict Resolution' this semester and my experiences were enlightening. The ideas taught in that short (four month) curriculum will cause profound improvement in global relationships if they become as commonplace as the AK-47 (hopefully more prevalent). During a special guest lecture for my CR class, a woman named V, who works in the Conflict Center here in Colorado, continuously iterated the motto of her professional life: Conflict is inevitable, violence is not. I believe, even more now, that the best solutions to problems in life are found in non-violence. Healing relationships, nurturing trust, and developing sustainable peace anywhere and everywhere will take time, generations probably. Our generation can be the framework.
Almost done with the preach. Earth: Finite since 1969 (or 1957 for Sputnik fans). My planet, your planet, their planet (future me's and you's), is a wondrous piece of matter. What a ball of fun! I hope humanity figures out how to live on it rather than use it into extinction. I hope I can help accomplish this goal. Humans are all connected here, if only by the fact we walk on the same dirt (covered in linoleum, concrete, or otherwise). I owe it to my fellow bipeds (tripeds, quadrupeds, and upwards included) to build connection around me, respecting and loving* my friends and my enemies. This strategy has worked before. I regret not sticking to it all the time.
Mind dump time! Let's see, there's the feeling my body felt today when I sat down on my couch (bad posture as usual) to eat my dinner (stir fry is delicious!). That sensation of your whole being 'sinking' into itself, saying: "Finally! A time to relax!" I had to get up and walk around to throw such feelings off so I wouldn't slap a DVD in the player and not get anything else done before bedtime (like this post). I've been cornered by the 'story-writing' feeling again so my brain is flowing off into my imagination again to pick out some good plot line to follow. From a strictly logical standpoint, Chinggis (good ol' Ghengis for you Westerners) Khaan's "Rules of Engagement" were and are the most effective means of waging war. Look him up, he might be on that 'impressive' list. Then again, if you're descended from any Eurasian country or China, he's not so hot after all. I'm finally getting comfortable with my guitar and I named it Rosin (ro-sheen, Gaelic for "rose"), so it's 'her' actually. I'll tell the story of her coming to me some other time. I have a fascination with inserting parenthetical statements into my sentences (is that the correct terminology?). I picked up the habit from reading Heinlein stories. I think I've written this truism before, but I'll put it down again: Pandora is one of the best internet entities in existence! Do svidaniya! Buenos Noches! Until whenever ...
*I'll make a post on Love soon. I have a lot to say, but not tonight.
Golden is piled with snow and the ways of Winter are upon the local world. I've turned in my take-home Optics final exam and my breathing has eased some. My friends around me aren't quite as fortunate as finals week continues on through tomorrow. Here, in the over-warm computer lab (more of a living room for us physicists-to-be), I'm fresh off a trip to "Coors Lab," and my consciousness is slightly slurred with my free share of (not so good) beer. I'm thinking I'll be having my first relaxing evening in several months.
I didn't think I would ever be grateful to LON-CAPA (the internet-based homework website Mines uses for some of its gen req courses), but I had my first instance this afternoon. I was being walled away from the answer to a problem on my take-home final and I decided to ask the amazingly expedient, semi-omniscient entity that is Google about the subject (double slit diffraction). I found a java applet describing exactly what I needed in visual form (I am a very visual learner) and its source was/is Lon-capa.org. Applets are wonderful smidgens of information.
I'm rather at a loss for subject matter today.
I had an involved discussion this morning while avoiding the first problem of my take-home exam (I'd just completed the third, so I was feeling cocky). My friend Eric and I verbally unloaded on each other, through statements and debate, about our perspectives of the complex issues in the Middle East. We ended on wondering how old the Torah's first writings are and then Eric said we should get back to our test. I agreed.
War. This monosyllable is one of the few stand-alone words in English. I have been aware of war since I was four (the Gulf conflict of the '91 is the first one I recall). Equally as far back as my memory reaches, my view of warfare has been through a lens of sadness and distaste. I have imagined my family and quiet community of Englewood plunged into armed violence. I just as plausibly could have conjured an alien invasion from the Virgo system (I did by the way, several times, but that's not the point). All scenes playing out before my unseeing eyes (in a trance of fantasy) involved death, and despair. These days, the information I glean from news websites (I don't watch the television much anymore) does not entitle me to claim understanding of the climate that anciently embattled land. Despite my ignorance, I am able to make a few statements. I don't like war. I find it a terrible situation no matter the causes, motivations, justifications, trepidations, etcetera. Unfortunately, war seems a necessary aspect of reality ... for the time being. Not enough of the world's people know, trust, and communicate with their fellows. Their cause is noble, who work to bridge the many chasms within human domains, physically, linguistically, culturally, and socially. I've just finished a class on 'Conflict Resolution' this semester and my experiences were enlightening. The ideas taught in that short (four month) curriculum will cause profound improvement in global relationships if they become as commonplace as the AK-47 (hopefully more prevalent). During a special guest lecture for my CR class, a woman named V, who works in the Conflict Center here in Colorado, continuously iterated the motto of her professional life: Conflict is inevitable, violence is not. I believe, even more now, that the best solutions to problems in life are found in non-violence. Healing relationships, nurturing trust, and developing sustainable peace anywhere and everywhere will take time, generations probably. Our generation can be the framework.
Almost done with the preach. Earth: Finite since 1969 (or 1957 for Sputnik fans). My planet, your planet, their planet (future me's and you's), is a wondrous piece of matter. What a ball of fun! I hope humanity figures out how to live on it rather than use it into extinction. I hope I can help accomplish this goal. Humans are all connected here, if only by the fact we walk on the same dirt (covered in linoleum, concrete, or otherwise). I owe it to my fellow bipeds (tripeds, quadrupeds, and upwards included) to build connection around me, respecting and loving* my friends and my enemies. This strategy has worked before. I regret not sticking to it all the time.
Mind dump time! Let's see, there's the feeling my body felt today when I sat down on my couch (bad posture as usual) to eat my dinner (stir fry is delicious!). That sensation of your whole being 'sinking' into itself, saying: "Finally! A time to relax!" I had to get up and walk around to throw such feelings off so I wouldn't slap a DVD in the player and not get anything else done before bedtime (like this post). I've been cornered by the 'story-writing' feeling again so my brain is flowing off into my imagination again to pick out some good plot line to follow. From a strictly logical standpoint, Chinggis (good ol' Ghengis for you Westerners) Khaan's "Rules of Engagement" were and are the most effective means of waging war. Look him up, he might be on that 'impressive' list. Then again, if you're descended from any Eurasian country or China, he's not so hot after all. I'm finally getting comfortable with my guitar and I named it Rosin (ro-sheen, Gaelic for "rose"), so it's 'her' actually. I'll tell the story of her coming to me some other time. I have a fascination with inserting parenthetical statements into my sentences (is that the correct terminology?). I picked up the habit from reading Heinlein stories. I think I've written this truism before, but I'll put it down again: Pandora is one of the best internet entities in existence! Do svidaniya! Buenos Noches! Until whenever ...
*I'll make a post on Love soon. I have a lot to say, but not tonight.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Snowy Ramble
I've been waiting for a 'real' snowfall for weeks now. It happens to come down upon Golden the very weekend I have absolutely no time to enjoy it (I mean carting my self off for some back country snowboarding) other than skating my tennis shoes across refrozen slush on my way to and from the Physics building.
Despite all this complaining, the wondrous beauty of a whitewashed outdoors is hard to overcome. The orange and white street lamps are not quite the usual beacons, blotting out shadow in all directions. Rather, the immaculate frozen blanket seems to hem light in, gathering most of its intensity and spraying it back into my eyes as if it contained its own source. The overall result is I can see the whole night landscape as if it were 4 in the afternoon. What's better about 11:30 pm (in Golden anyway) is the almost complete lack of traffic, pedestrian, vehicular, or otherwise.
Wrapped in my scarf (circa Liz: Round 2) and Tony's parka, I skidded through the empty streets at top speed, trying to work as little at the journey as possible by letting the slick surfaces carry my in that adrenaline moment where you don't know if you're going to lose your balance or keep on going unscathed. The several inches of powder not only reflected light but tuned the volume of life down a few notches. Sound was muffled, light was spread out, shadows disappeared, the stars were veiled, and the liquor store closed early...curses. I spent a rare moment standing in the exact center of four-lane Ford Street until the muted grumbling of a city bus hustled me back onto the sidewalk. Beer-less and looking at an uphill climb back to Meyer, I took a shortcut through someone's backyard (no one to see me) and attempted to repeat the sliding trick from earlier (not as much success going upslope).
Back here in front of this computer, my eyes burning like I'm dicing onions, my feet bare, my posture slowly slackening, I realize it's not nearly 2 am. Mike made tea, Tony passed out on the couch (newest addition to the undergraduate computer lab, courtesy of mio and a few others' efforts), and I've been reminiscing about my interest in traveling to Mars.
For those of the few who may read this post and know both Mike and me, you might say I've been copy-catting Mr. Raevsky (Mike). While he has been more vocal about his passion to set foot on the Red Planet in the recent past, I have legitimate claim to having the same dream since early grade-school. Mike tells me Mars has been his "focus" for the last 5 years or so. Given that a good number of kids want to be astronauts, doctors, veterinarians, the President (or the Caliph, to be fair) when they're young, my ambitions were commonplace. But, I wrote 600+ words for a 200 word maximum essay contest as an 8 year-old, star-struck space fanatic. My topic was the design of a living structure for the Martian climate, focusing mostly on the high-speed winds and blasting sand storms. For my efforts I received a poster. Six years later, as a freshman in high school, I elected to plan a trip to Mars for my science class project. That assignment was one of the few in my memory I tackled with speedy fervor, finishing well before the deadline (I'd like to save my habit of last-minute turn-ins for another post). Throughout the rest of high school and on into college I always kept Mars close to my mind, whether I remembered it or not (often not).
Now coming full circle, or mobius strip, strange loop, or whatever the geometry of my thoughts are today, my growing friendship with Mike has resurrected my old passions for interplanetary travel. We swapped some stories involving plots and plans for missions, Mike's got a mind to write a piece of fiction relating to the whole scenario, and the name Bob Zubrin came up a couple times. Mr. Raevsky started his own blog recently and has mentioned some of his ideas on Mars along with well-written discourse on something that brings the words "metaphysics" and "self-motivation" to mind sharply. Also that I have fallen into a bad habit of using passive voice nearly all the time.
Anyway or Fourway or Threeway if you like, I've dropped in awareness from sleepy to hazy. Mind dump time:
I've been told about 'underground' hip-hop, but I really cannot distinguish any differences between indie and mainstream--it all still makes me feel like swaying to a beat and retching simultaneously. I just fell asleep with my fingers on the keyboard. Now in motion again and I've remembered another item in need of unloading: a recent 2007 photo of Robert Plant reminded me most of an aged lion's face in between two curtains of youthful, shoulder-length curls and it was quite strange to look at. My extremities are fading, so I think I'll listen and do the same.
Despite all this complaining, the wondrous beauty of a whitewashed outdoors is hard to overcome. The orange and white street lamps are not quite the usual beacons, blotting out shadow in all directions. Rather, the immaculate frozen blanket seems to hem light in, gathering most of its intensity and spraying it back into my eyes as if it contained its own source. The overall result is I can see the whole night landscape as if it were 4 in the afternoon. What's better about 11:30 pm (in Golden anyway) is the almost complete lack of traffic, pedestrian, vehicular, or otherwise.
Wrapped in my scarf (circa Liz: Round 2) and Tony's parka, I skidded through the empty streets at top speed, trying to work as little at the journey as possible by letting the slick surfaces carry my in that adrenaline moment where you don't know if you're going to lose your balance or keep on going unscathed. The several inches of powder not only reflected light but tuned the volume of life down a few notches. Sound was muffled, light was spread out, shadows disappeared, the stars were veiled, and the liquor store closed early...curses. I spent a rare moment standing in the exact center of four-lane Ford Street until the muted grumbling of a city bus hustled me back onto the sidewalk. Beer-less and looking at an uphill climb back to Meyer, I took a shortcut through someone's backyard (no one to see me) and attempted to repeat the sliding trick from earlier (not as much success going upslope).
Back here in front of this computer, my eyes burning like I'm dicing onions, my feet bare, my posture slowly slackening, I realize it's not nearly 2 am. Mike made tea, Tony passed out on the couch (newest addition to the undergraduate computer lab, courtesy of mio and a few others' efforts), and I've been reminiscing about my interest in traveling to Mars.
For those of the few who may read this post and know both Mike and me, you might say I've been copy-catting Mr. Raevsky (Mike). While he has been more vocal about his passion to set foot on the Red Planet in the recent past, I have legitimate claim to having the same dream since early grade-school. Mike tells me Mars has been his "focus" for the last 5 years or so. Given that a good number of kids want to be astronauts, doctors, veterinarians, the President (or the Caliph, to be fair) when they're young, my ambitions were commonplace. But, I wrote 600+ words for a 200 word maximum essay contest as an 8 year-old, star-struck space fanatic. My topic was the design of a living structure for the Martian climate, focusing mostly on the high-speed winds and blasting sand storms. For my efforts I received a poster. Six years later, as a freshman in high school, I elected to plan a trip to Mars for my science class project. That assignment was one of the few in my memory I tackled with speedy fervor, finishing well before the deadline (I'd like to save my habit of last-minute turn-ins for another post). Throughout the rest of high school and on into college I always kept Mars close to my mind, whether I remembered it or not (often not).
Now coming full circle, or mobius strip, strange loop, or whatever the geometry of my thoughts are today, my growing friendship with Mike has resurrected my old passions for interplanetary travel. We swapped some stories involving plots and plans for missions, Mike's got a mind to write a piece of fiction relating to the whole scenario, and the name Bob Zubrin came up a couple times. Mr. Raevsky started his own blog recently and has mentioned some of his ideas on Mars along with well-written discourse on something that brings the words "metaphysics" and "self-motivation" to mind sharply. Also that I have fallen into a bad habit of using passive voice nearly all the time.
Anyway or Fourway or Threeway if you like, I've dropped in awareness from sleepy to hazy. Mind dump time:
I've been told about 'underground' hip-hop, but I really cannot distinguish any differences between indie and mainstream--it all still makes me feel like swaying to a beat and retching simultaneously. I just fell asleep with my fingers on the keyboard. Now in motion again and I've remembered another item in need of unloading: a recent 2007 photo of Robert Plant reminded me most of an aged lion's face in between two curtains of youthful, shoulder-length curls and it was quite strange to look at. My extremities are fading, so I think I'll listen and do the same.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
10:01 in the P M
It's Day Before Dead Day. Tomorrow will be the 'busiest' Dead Day I've had in my three-and-a-half years at Mines. I've run up against myself and the overused feeling termed "senioritis". Despite my waning enthusiasm about due dates, assignments, and action items, I'm glad to still feel interested in the material. Dr. Moore (schoolmate of Robert Plant), told me and the class several times: "thermod'namics is dry, very very dry. It w's dry when I w'nt to sch'l oh so many y'rs ago." Well, his opinions certainly haven't motivated my mind to finish crunching the numbers on his homeworks, so that portion of my grade looks grim.
Grades, grades, grades. So much of my academic career has been focused on a string of 5 letters (no minuses or pluses for the most part) denoting my intelligence and self-discipline to other people. I've had two schools of thought presented to me over the years. 1) Don't focus on the grade, learning the material is the most important part, your future will follow as it should. 2) Get an A or you'll not be welcomed to this and that honors program, college, (secret) society, or the dinner table. Both 1) and 2) have been raging around in my brain since the middle of high school. Because of my habitual ability to deceive myself quite contentedly, I have thought the war between these two ideologies to be decided one way or the other times beyond count. No, I'm terrible at being honest (maybe this blog will fix all my problems--no, no, I just like seeing my fallacies written out in HTML code I don't have to code [or if that's even the write term for the code]).
Where was I...?
Ah yes, grades. I received my online 'degree audit' today per the Registrar's office. I've done damn well for myself here at Mines, so my mental setup leans towards 1) more now. It's nice to see that I've grown inward and outward in mind and soul and body to the point where I feel proud about accomplishments first and dismiss mistakes second (NOT without examining them and storing the lesson(s) away in the misty reaches of my unreliable memory). 1) has been the best choice. On nights like these, when I ponder my procrastination (thank you 'blog' for allowing me to further my lack of work), it's difficult not to slip back into the panicky mindset of 2).
I'm reading for pleasure before the semester is over. For me, this is academic sacrilege (I like the way that word sounds in my head--it tastes wonderful on my tongue too). Compared to some of my friends, I read rather slowly--getting distracted continuously with other thought-streams, daydreams, schedules, and feelings--and I back-track quite often. Thus, I'll spend hours on 40 pages of intense reading in my current page-bound written wonderment, and get nothing else done at all. REBELLION! I'm still working on being proud of everything I do, so excuse me while I feel shameful about the last four sentences and one statement.
When I started this entry I had just put the mark on the 300th-odd page of a mesmerizing piece of fiction: "To Sail Beyond the Sunset", a memoir of a most extraordinary woman by the name Maureen Johnson (Time Line 3 et. al.). The author, Robert Heinlein, has reached, in my view, the level of 'unbelievably-astounding-can-I-shake-the-hands-of-your-parents' coolness that only a few other writers have attained (I can't recall the complete list, but J. R. R. Tolkein, Isaac Asimov, Mark Twain, Stephen King, and Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn jump into my waking thoughts to start). Heinlein tells stories masterfully, answering my little and big questions about characters, plots, philosophy, and science--questions that I don't even know I want to ask until he addresses them. Beautiful, wonderfully beautiful. I'm recommending him for "Bad-Ass" status (see the final sentence of my first post for a short bit on my definition of the term) to whatever entity or person or foundation or animal or scenery or friend or foe that I happen to remember this topic around (I ended a sentence with a preposition, point this out, and I'll probably ignore your complaint). ANYway, Heinlein astounds me with each chapter and I look forward to reading more and more (and eventually all) of his opera*.
While I'm not on the subject, I don't space twice after sentences anymore. All throughout the history of me typing words into computers, "space twice after each sentence-ending punctuation" was creed and habit. After a few months of working in journalism at Mines, I haven't added that extra nothing since (willingly). This portion really has no significance other than that it marks the first time I've ever written anything about this facet of myself. I love wandering around this blog, what a wonderful rambling experience.
I suppose it's time to go back to actual, real, and productive work. I would like some decent letters on my report card next week. Still working on mustering more self-worth. Now for the traditional (it will be) mind-dump ending to my post.
My faith in the MLA style has been smashed into bits (maybe quantum bits, they're too small to see properly). I'm still teaching myself to play the guitar and my pinky finger is a callus-forming slacker (thus, G-chords are hard to hold for longer than 12 measures or so). I interchange written-out numbers with their digital selves (i.e. four and 4) with no real pattern and my immediate gut-instinct ruling. Never edit more than one paragraph backwards! Coffee is a wonderful drink and its energy-boosting effects are wearing off sooner and sooner these days.
It's 10:54, not quite the 11:01 symbolism I wanted for the title of my post, but life's better when as unpatterned, unpredictable, and unsymmetrical as possible (yes, I know the first un- isn't a real word and the last is awkward).
Wander Wherever Whimsies Will Wind
*'opera' is the plural of 'opus', Latin for 'work'. Oooooooo, Latin, ooooooooo. ...ooo.
Grades, grades, grades. So much of my academic career has been focused on a string of 5 letters (no minuses or pluses for the most part) denoting my intelligence and self-discipline to other people. I've had two schools of thought presented to me over the years. 1) Don't focus on the grade, learning the material is the most important part, your future will follow as it should. 2) Get an A or you'll not be welcomed to this and that honors program, college, (secret) society, or the dinner table. Both 1) and 2) have been raging around in my brain since the middle of high school. Because of my habitual ability to deceive myself quite contentedly, I have thought the war between these two ideologies to be decided one way or the other times beyond count. No, I'm terrible at being honest (maybe this blog will fix all my problems--no, no, I just like seeing my fallacies written out in HTML code I don't have to code [or if that's even the write term for the code]).
Where was I...?
Ah yes, grades. I received my online 'degree audit' today per the Registrar's office. I've done damn well for myself here at Mines, so my mental setup leans towards 1) more now. It's nice to see that I've grown inward and outward in mind and soul and body to the point where I feel proud about accomplishments first and dismiss mistakes second (NOT without examining them and storing the lesson(s) away in the misty reaches of my unreliable memory). 1) has been the best choice. On nights like these, when I ponder my procrastination (thank you 'blog' for allowing me to further my lack of work), it's difficult not to slip back into the panicky mindset of 2).
I'm reading for pleasure before the semester is over. For me, this is academic sacrilege (I like the way that word sounds in my head--it tastes wonderful on my tongue too). Compared to some of my friends, I read rather slowly--getting distracted continuously with other thought-streams, daydreams, schedules, and feelings--and I back-track quite often. Thus, I'll spend hours on 40 pages of intense reading in my current page-bound written wonderment, and get nothing else done at all. REBELLION! I'm still working on being proud of everything I do, so excuse me while I feel shameful about the last four sentences and one statement.
When I started this entry I had just put the mark on the 300th-odd page of a mesmerizing piece of fiction: "To Sail Beyond the Sunset", a memoir of a most extraordinary woman by the name Maureen Johnson (Time Line 3 et. al.). The author, Robert Heinlein, has reached, in my view, the level of 'unbelievably-astounding-can-I-shake-the-hands-of-your-parents' coolness that only a few other writers have attained (I can't recall the complete list, but J. R. R. Tolkein, Isaac Asimov, Mark Twain, Stephen King, and Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn jump into my waking thoughts to start). Heinlein tells stories masterfully, answering my little and big questions about characters, plots, philosophy, and science--questions that I don't even know I want to ask until he addresses them. Beautiful, wonderfully beautiful. I'm recommending him for "Bad-Ass" status (see the final sentence of my first post for a short bit on my definition of the term) to whatever entity or person or foundation or animal or scenery or friend or foe that I happen to remember this topic around (I ended a sentence with a preposition, point this out, and I'll probably ignore your complaint). ANYway, Heinlein astounds me with each chapter and I look forward to reading more and more (and eventually all) of his opera*.
While I'm not on the subject, I don't space twice after sentences anymore. All throughout the history of me typing words into computers, "space twice after each sentence-ending punctuation" was creed and habit. After a few months of working in journalism at Mines, I haven't added that extra nothing since (willingly). This portion really has no significance other than that it marks the first time I've ever written anything about this facet of myself. I love wandering around this blog, what a wonderful rambling experience.
I suppose it's time to go back to actual, real, and productive work. I would like some decent letters on my report card next week. Still working on mustering more self-worth. Now for the traditional (it will be) mind-dump ending to my post.
My faith in the MLA style has been smashed into bits (maybe quantum bits, they're too small to see properly). I'm still teaching myself to play the guitar and my pinky finger is a callus-forming slacker (thus, G-chords are hard to hold for longer than 12 measures or so). I interchange written-out numbers with their digital selves (i.e. four and 4) with no real pattern and my immediate gut-instinct ruling. Never edit more than one paragraph backwards! Coffee is a wonderful drink and its energy-boosting effects are wearing off sooner and sooner these days.
It's 10:54, not quite the 11:01 symbolism I wanted for the title of my post, but life's better when as unpatterned, unpredictable, and unsymmetrical as possible (yes, I know the first un- isn't a real word and the last is awkward).
Wander Wherever Whimsies Will Wind
*'opera' is the plural of 'opus', Latin for 'work'. Oooooooo, Latin, ooooooooo. ...ooo.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Saturday Night
I haven't opened many new doors lately. I think the last was experimenting with smoking cigarettes and I've shut that portal hoping I won't stumble into it later in life--the smell lingers too long for the induced relaxation to be worth my while. Here's a new door though: blogging. Keeping a handwritten log has been utterly frustrating. My writing style is self-defeating; I hold the pencil in such a way that my hand cramps after a few minutes, making thoughts very hard to think. Typing is much easier.
When I first heard of "blogging" I immediately thought of logarithms. I was way off. Jargon is a catchy word in my lexicon (so is lexicon) and I think it's funny how I accept it without much commotion. Besides, I still think 'vernacular' sounds like a term to describe a social disease. 'Jargon' rolls from my mind to my tongue and out smoother.
Back to doors, this blogging is refreshing. Definitely a new door in a maze of familiar knobs and frames. It's attack of the metaphors!
So I'm writing this weekend night and my first post will be the most incoherent bit of scrawl I've ever electronically penned (e-penned!!). But this blog isn't for you, whoever you may be. It's the repository for my loosely organized mind. I named it Wanderal after my handwritten "Wandering Journal". I wander, I ask, I seek I dream, I laze, I vegge (vedge), I crunch, I cram, I wonder...then I dump. But the dump gets lost in the untamed regions of my gray matter, so this is my solution: blog it down and keep the hand cramps away. Lookout below!
I have the Oasis song 'Wonderwall' stuck in my head (rather the first and third and, I think, final verse) and I keep singing it. This room is hot, but the company is good (hi Mike and Thomas). I think Pandora radio is one of the greatest internet entities in existence. I have a lot of homework and my eyes are calling 'Closing Time'. I want to be witty and complex and profound, but then I think those terms are all just relative anyway and I'll find them if I will. Love is the 'dark matter' that ties all of reality together. I was asked what being 'bad-ass' meant and after a little stumbling around in my own head, I found the best words for me: to move people.
When I first heard of "blogging" I immediately thought of logarithms. I was way off. Jargon is a catchy word in my lexicon (so is lexicon) and I think it's funny how I accept it without much commotion. Besides, I still think 'vernacular' sounds like a term to describe a social disease. 'Jargon' rolls from my mind to my tongue and out smoother.
Back to doors, this blogging is refreshing. Definitely a new door in a maze of familiar knobs and frames. It's attack of the metaphors!
So I'm writing this weekend night and my first post will be the most incoherent bit of scrawl I've ever electronically penned (e-penned!!). But this blog isn't for you, whoever you may be. It's the repository for my loosely organized mind. I named it Wanderal after my handwritten "Wandering Journal". I wander, I ask, I seek I dream, I laze, I vegge (vedge), I crunch, I cram, I wonder...then I dump. But the dump gets lost in the untamed regions of my gray matter, so this is my solution: blog it down and keep the hand cramps away. Lookout below!
I have the Oasis song 'Wonderwall' stuck in my head (rather the first and third and, I think, final verse) and I keep singing it. This room is hot, but the company is good (hi Mike and Thomas). I think Pandora radio is one of the greatest internet entities in existence. I have a lot of homework and my eyes are calling 'Closing Time'. I want to be witty and complex and profound, but then I think those terms are all just relative anyway and I'll find them if I will. Love is the 'dark matter' that ties all of reality together. I was asked what being 'bad-ass' meant and after a little stumbling around in my own head, I found the best words for me: to move people.
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