Ludwig Von Beethoven was a brilliant man. I don't know about how he spoke or what kind of books he read, or science he understood but his creative output is just glorious.
The first movement of his Piano Sonata No. 14 in C-sharp Minor: Quasi una Fantasia (Op. 27 No. 2) is so sensible, according to the rules of tonal harmony and in the style of good mathematics. I say, "sensible" but I mean perfect. It just works. It's the structure of a building that'll never fall. I think that's why I love playing it so much because, as I progress and I consciously analyze everything going on, I see that it all just fits. Wonderful.
I think that, if I were feeling particularly ambitious and didn't have another HUGE mother - but time-sensitive - thing to do, I would explain dissect this sonata right here. I'd do it in as little detail as I could get away with. There's so much foundation, though; I don't know if it's feasible this way. One day... It'll prolly be called "roll over pt. 2" because I'm original like that.
Saturday, 29 September 2007
Friday, 28 September 2007
Laws I Have Broken
1) I have definitely photocopied music, many times - music that has written, "All rights reserved. International copyright secured," or something like it on the bottom. Some of my sheets even put a symbol in the top right corner: a little stack of papers with a HUGE eighth note printed on it, inside a circle with a line through it.
2) I have jaywalked (about 1300 thousand times).
3) I have driven illegally (maybe 20 or 25 times).
a. I have run a red light.
4) I have pirated music through downloading or copying from others (though all such recordings have since been trashed).
5) I think I may have violated a noise ordinance (just once).
6) I have bought and smoked weed.
7) I have bought and drank beer before I was 19.
8) I have bought alocohol for someone who was under 19 (that was a one-time deal).
9) I have lied to a court of law, though I wasn't actually IN the courtroom. I guess it's a false testimony or something.
10) I have used online pictures that were protected by copyright.
I can't think of any others...TO BE CONTINUED.
Editor's note: does it count as law-breaking if you turn your head from other people breaking the law? If so, I'm guilty of that for numbers 2, 3, 3.a, 4, 6 (including the growing and selling of weed), 7, 8 (let's add buying cigarettes underage), 9 and 10, well.. probably goes for most people. I've also witnessed some (petty) theft and the sneaking into theatres (in some kind of large-scale, "we have a system" way) but that may be where the list ends... with the exception of watching someone snort coke.
2) I have jaywalked (about 1300 thousand times).
3) I have driven illegally (maybe 20 or 25 times).
a. I have run a red light.
4) I have pirated music through downloading or copying from others (though all such recordings have since been trashed).
5) I think I may have violated a noise ordinance (just once).
6) I have bought and smoked weed.
7) I have bought and drank beer before I was 19.
8) I have bought alocohol for someone who was under 19 (that was a one-time deal).
9) I have lied to a court of law, though I wasn't actually IN the courtroom. I guess it's a false testimony or something.
10) I have used online pictures that were protected by copyright.
I can't think of any others...TO BE CONTINUED.
Editor's note: does it count as law-breaking if you turn your head from other people breaking the law? If so, I'm guilty of that for numbers 2, 3, 3.a, 4, 6 (including the growing and selling of weed), 7, 8 (let's add buying cigarettes underage), 9 and 10, well.. probably goes for most people. I've also witnessed some (petty) theft and the sneaking into theatres (in some kind of large-scale, "we have a system" way) but that may be where the list ends... with the exception of watching someone snort coke.
Tuesday, 25 September 2007
because I'm like that
out of the 4317 emails I have in my Outbox (for an account I have had since fall 2002 but from which I have deleted at least 2 or 300 messages), it seems that only 88 of those messages are more than 4K in size. Now, I'm not going to count anything with an attachment, or any mother Reply-to-All chains or something cut&paste because that's not my writing and that actually drops the number to 60. I can't believe it... I thought I was more verbose than that. I guess it's good though, for the sake of my recipients.
Also, I think my server has recently (maybe last year) upgraded so that messages carry less weight than they did previously with this server AND less than they would if they were sent from, say a Yahoo! or Hotmail account. WhoooooOpa.
27 are 5K
14 are 6K
3 are 7K
9 are 8K
3 are 9K
1 is 10K
2 are 11K
1 is 14K
Serious. That's crazy. I gotta get crackin.
Also, I think my server has recently (maybe last year) upgraded so that messages carry less weight than they did previously with this server AND less than they would if they were sent from, say a Yahoo! or Hotmail account. WhoooooOpa.
27 are 5K
14 are 6K
3 are 7K
9 are 8K
3 are 9K
1 is 10K
2 are 11K
1 is 14K
Serious. That's crazy. I gotta get crackin.
Sunday, 23 September 2007
Serious.
Well this definitely made my day. Colbert got a cameo on The Simpsons! Dude.. ha I had no idea he was that big. Lionel Richie was on this episode, too.. a season's premiere of sorts. Rock the heck on. O man I enjoyed .. enjoyed it.
OK.
So I never realized this (and I'm glad cuz I was pretty young at the time) but Bob Saget, namely when he was hosting America's Funniest Home Videos was pretty hot (.. in some weird way).
He actually does a good job hosting and I'm SURE that's thanks to his stand-up skills. The ability to read and play to an audience is KEY when you're a TV host, especially with a show like this (as opposed to say, Jeopardy! or The Price is Right).
Something else I never would have picked up back in the day was that Saget is actually kinda funny in a weird and NOT pandering kind of way. I think what helped him get through an episode (since it's possible one would hate a job like that) was laughing at himself and the ridiculousness of the show. You can actually see the difference between him laughing at the stupid script, smiling like a host and laughing at something he actually thinks is funny. He looks like such a dork when he laughs in spite of himself. ahaa.
He actually does a good job hosting and I'm SURE that's thanks to his stand-up skills. The ability to read and play to an audience is KEY when you're a TV host, especially with a show like this (as opposed to say, Jeopardy! or The Price is Right).
Something else I never would have picked up back in the day was that Saget is actually kinda funny in a weird and NOT pandering kind of way. I think what helped him get through an episode (since it's possible one would hate a job like that) was laughing at himself and the ridiculousness of the show. You can actually see the difference between him laughing at the stupid script, smiling like a host and laughing at something he actually thinks is funny. He looks like such a dork when he laughs in spite of himself. ahaa.
Saturday, 22 September 2007
things I am tired of explaining
1) Why I am a vegan
2) Why I am not a vegan
3) Why I am a vegetarian
4) Why I am not white
5) How my "home" is not in Toronto, Mississauga or Etobicoke
6) Why I hate black jokes (namely from my white friends)
2) Why I am not a vegan
3) Why I am a vegetarian
4) Why I am not white
5) How my "home" is not in Toronto, Mississauga or Etobicoke
6) Why I hate black jokes (namely from my white friends)
Friday, 21 September 2007
hammer-head shark
a few weeks ago I saw some guy downtown who, honestly, could have stunt-doubled for the older brother, Russ, in Honey, I Shrunk the Kids (1989). SERIOUS. I'm so impressed. I want to say, "Where do you find clothes like that today," but I know that sometimes it's a matter of pairing the right pieces. Fashion is a crazy, fickle thing. I mean, there are no solid lines at all but we totally love to compartmentalize and define all the everythings.
Acid-washed jean jacket, collar up, 3/4 length sleeves (rolled or cut, I forget)
Red ghetto baseball cap (like canvas, boxy and cheap), cocked to the side, visor (?) flipped up
Dirty, loose tank top underneath (possibly with some neon weirdness printed on) - I forget the color
Same acid-washy jeans, rolled up 6" above the shoe
floppy back-pack
..he may have had the oversized uber-plastic sunglasses...
HI-TOP sneakers (NOW I must ask where he got those)
and the crowning glory.. the huge mother headphones round the neck, CD player in hand
sure, it should have been a cassette player (a "Walkman"!.. yes I had one and it was yellow) but he balanced that by having headphones that were actually ghetto-big by necessity not the style, that people actually buy new in the stores, oh no. these were like one and a half steps above the Listening Centre apparati.
o I love it.
and, if I could emulate it, sneakily, I sure would. (I probably will, once I start that wardrobe overhaul I expect to embark on before 2008 arrives.)
Acid-washed jean jacket, collar up, 3/4 length sleeves (rolled or cut, I forget)
Red ghetto baseball cap (like canvas, boxy and cheap), cocked to the side, visor (?) flipped up
Dirty, loose tank top underneath (possibly with some neon weirdness printed on) - I forget the color
Same acid-washy jeans, rolled up 6" above the shoe
floppy back-pack
..he may have had the oversized uber-plastic sunglasses...
HI-TOP sneakers (NOW I must ask where he got those)
and the crowning glory.. the huge mother headphones round the neck, CD player in hand
sure, it should have been a cassette player (a "Walkman"!.. yes I had one and it was yellow) but he balanced that by having headphones that were actually ghetto-big by necessity not the style, that people actually buy new in the stores, oh no. these were like one and a half steps above the Listening Centre apparati.
o I love it.
and, if I could emulate it, sneakily, I sure would. (I probably will, once I start that wardrobe overhaul I expect to embark on before 2008 arrives.)
Wednesday, 19 September 2007
trail of tears
without the doltish, silly grin
I confessed that I loved Him.
and with not a beat skipped o'er,
to me this did He implore:
"Let, like your mouth, your eyes speak
And show me that you still are meek.
I died for thee so
Cry for me
And no more for your words I'll seek."
such a task is fair to ask
of a servant by a king
and is the means by which the fiends
of ego endure suffering.
He wants my tears as I've His blood -
humble drops, not verbal floods.
but pain through pride does not well show,
one prevailed for I spake, No.
I wrote this in September of 2002, my first semester at university, during the first week, inspired by a moment in the University Bookstore. "~ of my life" was the original title. At this point in my life I would have called myself a Christian if I were pressured -- and I wouldn't quite have been able to tell you what that meant. God captured me September 27th 2003 (ha.. I'm almost four years old) so at this point, a year prior, I was pretty senseless in the most important ways.
I'm browsing in that nature-esque kind of weird section (weird cuz it seems out of place) on the ground floor closer to the registers and in my head it was like a direct, forceful voice quickly asked, "Do you love me?" (I assumed it was God) And so I answered just as quickly, "Yes." "Prove it," He responded and I knew He was asking if I would cry so I said NO because I'm not into being weak.
Despite what I "know" is true, despite what I know about pride - its true definition, its sneaky ways, its full plague on all men and what it cost us in the past - I do still think that crying is a sign of weakness. While I'm on the path of being illogical, I'll add that of course I don't think others are weak for crying, just me. Generally if someone else is crying I either take it in as part of the whole situation (it's expected/not out of the ordinary) or I may indeed respect them for being able to be...honest about their emotions. Are we sensing some kind of double-standard? Yep.
A while ago, maybe early 2004, I told God that if I was ever going to cry, I wanted it to be for Him and Him alone. I thought, if this is going to be a "sign of weakness" I may as well be weak before the King. He's the only one who I'm really willing to look like a fool for.
It's weird that I could "write" that "poem" without really knowing what I was talking about when it would come true for me not long after. I mean... I cry because sometimes it says so much more than words. "Humble drops, not verbal floods," is key.
Generally, like after being a small child, I could say that I would cry once every year (or 10 months) and it wasn't like I planned it: EVERY APRIL 19TH I WILL BAWL. Not quite... There was usually a pretty substantial incident that would be the trigger (I generally conceptualize it as the straw that broke the camel's back) but, it's not substantial enough on its own. It's all the small moments of intense anger, of sadness, of frustration, of disappointment, etc. etc. that I experience during the regular course of LIFE that build up and compound with my reacion to this one release incident. And so, after that, I'll feel pretty cleansed, for lack of a better word. It's just like something that needed to be done. It's cleansing.. I have no better word.
So in the past three-odd years I have cried for God, either just because HE IS SO GOOD, because I'm being confronted with the truth that my sister and brother aren't going to Heaven (not as of today anyways), once because a friend of mine was in such a dark place that it was too unfair and too scary and made me feel too helpless to deal. That was a cool time because I was moved to pray and I prayed until I had no more words. The siblings one, that happened twice - once at a prayer meeting with three close friends who liked to pray about serious and sensitive things (it was RAW and I loved it) and once ... I actually don't remember the exact incident but I remember the song it's attached to. It makes me feel "good" in a twisted way that I can cry for them because it means I understand the gravity of the gospel. (Don't let the concept be restricted by that word, "gospel". It's a big deal.) I also cried under what most would call extreme "stress" in a moment that wrote the book on Are you kidding me?! ... that was January of 2005.
The time I cried because "HE IS SO GOOD" was just this summer. It was the 24th of June and I was in a vibrant church in Bermuda. I started crying because a girl I don't even know - I don't remember her name and will very likely never see her again - was crying. She and her mother were leaving the church that Sunday and the pastor asked the mum to say a few words. The mum did; she told of her journey, she thanked the church for its support, for people's generous ways and for what it got her through, etc. etc. And then the pastor asked the daughter to speak and she said she didn't want to. It was funny/cute because the kid's only 13 or 14 and she was painfully shy. But the pastor wasn't havin none of it. He held the mic out til she took it. She said nothing for a long time and we all waited. Then finally she uttered, "I don't want to leave," and then she stopped. She stared at the floor and waited for something to happen, either for words to come or for someone to relieve her but she only cried. She cried, her mum put her arm round her, she said a few more words I don't remember and then many peeps in the church (elders, I think) gathered round the two to pray for them and send them off. I don't know what it was but she got me.
Honestly, I've had the roughest summer to date so I can understand why I'd already be "emotionally vulnerable" but it was weird that a total stranger triggered me. If it was someone I knew leaving me, then I could understand but not this. What did me in was the song the kids did afterward, something that repeated the phrase, "Jesus has forgiven me". (I'm sure that's the title.)
It was ridiculous .
So why then, a few months later, do I cry again when I see the YouTube video called "Lifehouse's Everything Skit"? How providential that my dear friend randomly sent me the link in an email. She saw and she thought, "Oh, I wanna share this with ev'rybuddy," but ended up sending it only to me.
I thought it was cheesy to start but of course I was going to see it through, all five minutes and thirty-two seconds of it. Once the actors started depicting Christ being attacked by the things that we are about to die from, us kneeling in reverence in the foreground, out of harm's way (for good) I just couldn't handle it. I saw myself in that, I really did. I watched the skit again a few minutes after the first time, and it was worse still. I found myself asking, "Why, why, why must I go through this? Why am I still there?" I can't understand why Jesus doesn't "rescue" me. It doesn't make sense. I'm even more confused because I know, in a more absolute way, I've already been "rescued". Oh ridiculous.
That skit really helped me see how good He is. I mean He's good. We walked away and He trampled what enticed us.
I watched that video again, just the other day. On Saturday night I watched it again (two times in a row, I believe) because I knew I was still slipping away. [And presently, what's different?] It got me again. It seriously got me again. He's so good and I'm so worthless. I can't wrap my head around it.
I haven't been cleansed, either and it's frustrating in a way. It means that something very light could trigger me very soon/at any moment. The last... three times I cried (all within the last three months) have not been exhaustive so I'm not done yet. I hope this is not the start of a new pattern.
I confessed that I loved Him.
and with not a beat skipped o'er,
to me this did He implore:
"Let, like your mouth, your eyes speak
And show me that you still are meek.
I died for thee so
Cry for me
And no more for your words I'll seek."
such a task is fair to ask
of a servant by a king
and is the means by which the fiends
of ego endure suffering.
He wants my tears as I've His blood -
humble drops, not verbal floods.
but pain through pride does not well show,
one prevailed for I spake, No.
I wrote this in September of 2002, my first semester at university, during the first week, inspired by a moment in the University Bookstore. "~ of my life" was the original title. At this point in my life I would have called myself a Christian if I were pressured -- and I wouldn't quite have been able to tell you what that meant. God captured me September 27th 2003 (ha.. I'm almost four years old) so at this point, a year prior, I was pretty senseless in the most important ways.
I'm browsing in that nature-esque kind of weird section (weird cuz it seems out of place) on the ground floor closer to the registers and in my head it was like a direct, forceful voice quickly asked, "Do you love me?" (I assumed it was God) And so I answered just as quickly, "Yes." "Prove it," He responded and I knew He was asking if I would cry so I said NO because I'm not into being weak.
Despite what I "know" is true, despite what I know about pride - its true definition, its sneaky ways, its full plague on all men and what it cost us in the past - I do still think that crying is a sign of weakness. While I'm on the path of being illogical, I'll add that of course I don't think others are weak for crying, just me. Generally if someone else is crying I either take it in as part of the whole situation (it's expected/not out of the ordinary) or I may indeed respect them for being able to be...honest about their emotions. Are we sensing some kind of double-standard? Yep.
A while ago, maybe early 2004, I told God that if I was ever going to cry, I wanted it to be for Him and Him alone. I thought, if this is going to be a "sign of weakness" I may as well be weak before the King. He's the only one who I'm really willing to look like a fool for.
It's weird that I could "write" that "poem" without really knowing what I was talking about when it would come true for me not long after. I mean... I cry because sometimes it says so much more than words. "Humble drops, not verbal floods," is key.
Generally, like after being a small child, I could say that I would cry once every year (or 10 months) and it wasn't like I planned it: EVERY APRIL 19TH I WILL BAWL. Not quite... There was usually a pretty substantial incident that would be the trigger (I generally conceptualize it as the straw that broke the camel's back) but, it's not substantial enough on its own. It's all the small moments of intense anger, of sadness, of frustration, of disappointment, etc. etc. that I experience during the regular course of LIFE that build up and compound with my reacion to this one release incident. And so, after that, I'll feel pretty cleansed, for lack of a better word. It's just like something that needed to be done. It's cleansing.. I have no better word.
So in the past three-odd years I have cried for God, either just because HE IS SO GOOD, because I'm being confronted with the truth that my sister and brother aren't going to Heaven (not as of today anyways), once because a friend of mine was in such a dark place that it was too unfair and too scary and made me feel too helpless to deal. That was a cool time because I was moved to pray and I prayed until I had no more words. The siblings one, that happened twice - once at a prayer meeting with three close friends who liked to pray about serious and sensitive things (it was RAW and I loved it) and once ... I actually don't remember the exact incident but I remember the song it's attached to. It makes me feel "good" in a twisted way that I can cry for them because it means I understand the gravity of the gospel. (Don't let the concept be restricted by that word, "gospel". It's a big deal.) I also cried under what most would call extreme "stress" in a moment that wrote the book on Are you kidding me?! ... that was January of 2005.
The time I cried because "HE IS SO GOOD" was just this summer. It was the 24th of June and I was in a vibrant church in Bermuda. I started crying because a girl I don't even know - I don't remember her name and will very likely never see her again - was crying. She and her mother were leaving the church that Sunday and the pastor asked the mum to say a few words. The mum did; she told of her journey, she thanked the church for its support, for people's generous ways and for what it got her through, etc. etc. And then the pastor asked the daughter to speak and she said she didn't want to. It was funny/cute because the kid's only 13 or 14 and she was painfully shy. But the pastor wasn't havin none of it. He held the mic out til she took it. She said nothing for a long time and we all waited. Then finally she uttered, "I don't want to leave," and then she stopped. She stared at the floor and waited for something to happen, either for words to come or for someone to relieve her but she only cried. She cried, her mum put her arm round her, she said a few more words I don't remember and then many peeps in the church (elders, I think) gathered round the two to pray for them and send them off. I don't know what it was but she got me.
Honestly, I've had the roughest summer to date so I can understand why I'd already be "emotionally vulnerable" but it was weird that a total stranger triggered me. If it was someone I knew leaving me, then I could understand but not this. What did me in was the song the kids did afterward, something that repeated the phrase, "Jesus has forgiven me". (I'm sure that's the title.)
It was ridiculous .
So why then, a few months later, do I cry again when I see the YouTube video called "Lifehouse's Everything Skit"? How providential that my dear friend randomly sent me the link in an email. She saw and she thought, "Oh, I wanna share this with ev'rybuddy," but ended up sending it only to me.
I thought it was cheesy to start but of course I was going to see it through, all five minutes and thirty-two seconds of it. Once the actors started depicting Christ being attacked by the things that we are about to die from, us kneeling in reverence in the foreground, out of harm's way (for good) I just couldn't handle it. I saw myself in that, I really did. I watched the skit again a few minutes after the first time, and it was worse still. I found myself asking, "Why, why, why must I go through this? Why am I still there?" I can't understand why Jesus doesn't "rescue" me. It doesn't make sense. I'm even more confused because I know, in a more absolute way, I've already been "rescued". Oh ridiculous.
That skit really helped me see how good He is. I mean He's good. We walked away and He trampled what enticed us.
I watched that video again, just the other day. On Saturday night I watched it again (two times in a row, I believe) because I knew I was still slipping away. [And presently, what's different?] It got me again. It seriously got me again. He's so good and I'm so worthless. I can't wrap my head around it.
I haven't been cleansed, either and it's frustrating in a way. It means that something very light could trigger me very soon/at any moment. The last... three times I cried (all within the last three months) have not been exhaustive so I'm not done yet. I hope this is not the start of a new pattern.
Sunday, 16 September 2007
It's amazing how...
...in every story (so far) in J.J. Steinfeld's Anton Chekhov was Never in Charlottetown* I have found at least one moment with which I can identify. It's not that identifying with something you read is a new experience for me but that the general content of these stories are so outlandish and foreign to me that I would never expect to really "get" any of it on that deeper level. It's like when someone explains some concept to you - that you ordinarily would find difficult or lofty - with an analogy involving something that you are extremely familiar with. It's that moment where something clicks and you can only say, "Ahh..." What a great feeling to have a world of understanding opened to you like a welcoming door flung wide.
Anyways, from "Executions and the Memory of Executions," I found this:
"I will not open my eyes. I trust my senses more when my eyes are closed. Pretending to be asleep" (122). (The narrator goes on to say, "Or dead. Or numb. Sometimes I really am numb," but, knowing the context, I'll say it doesn't apply to me so much as the first part.)
This entire story, impressively different from each one that has preceded it, reminds me of the James Bond played by Daniel Craig in Casino Royale (2006) -- well I mean the narrator reminds me of him, anyways. If only I could post the entire story WITHOUT needing to type 6 or 7 pages out myself. I'd do it, but it speaks too loudly to my obsessive tendencies that I choose to refrain. This narrator is not quite as arrogant as Bond or seemingly as reckless but he does talk of how he "used to look forward to being apprehended and interrogated" which does sound something like being full of one's self. I am reminded, of course, of that climactic torture scene, esp when I read something like this:
"In my youthful exuberance, when I first started making my reputation, I could withstand any type of pain, what would be unbearable to others. What a prodigy I was then. I reached the highest classification in my unit earlier than any person had before me. The faultless sense of smell. The imitative skills. The endurance. The ability to concentrate undera ll conditions, pure concentration; the three fools around me would call it mystic or spiritual, but it was an intense, total effort of the mind over the body. I used to look forward to being apprehended and interrogate, even though I never admitted this to my superiors..." (125).
You know, Bond is certainly reckless but he does still live his life much in the same way I'd guess any man with peacock confidence, a license to kill, a flaming libido and no place to go would do. Bond, generally enjoys himself. This guy, however, he's more indifferent than reckless. The actions can look the same but the mental status of the person might be a little different. He says, "As I grew older and matured I passed from fearing death to imagining ways of dying, and eventually to an indifference to death, my death, the deaths of others - strangers, friends lovers, I ceased to make distinctions" (121).
I was reminded also, of how Bond was slipped some deadly something in a drink (the details are faint right now) and when he realized what was happening to him, rushed to his car and some how miraculously, magically saved his own life. It was like he stabbed an Epi-Pen in his chest or defibrillated himself. It was something intense and ridickle, I'm sure - I just don't have the memory. THe point is, he should have died but he was fortunately trained to deal with the situation, resilient enough to hang on until the last moment and LUCKY that someone else came to help him after he passed out. "I remember what my first supervisor showed me when I orginally came to work under his jurisdiction, something he had written as a young man and was still most proud of as he approached retirement: 'I have stood in front of countless firing squads; I have felt around my neck a hundred slip-nooses tied by a hundred hands; I have btiten into capsules containing the strongest poisons ...' It took me years to understand what he had meant, the feelings behind teh words, his complete lack of cynicism or unease with life. 'The ways to kill a personare innumerable; the ways to die are all the same.' I wrote that five years ago, during one of my imprisonments..." (122).
As cheap as this will sound, now, in the context of the above, I must say that this particular passage minded me of something my mum said about 200 years ago when I was 12 or 13. I asked her what some offensive smell was and she told me it was a dead mouse. (Dramatic pause) Then she continued, "You never forget the smell of death." It was just as weird and borderline ominous as it sounds. It also happens to be true.
"'Kill him now,' the high-pitched voice says, stabbing me in the chest with his finger.
"I'm not frightened. I know that th ehigh-pitched voice said what he did only to scare me. They won't kill me, not these three, not right now. They do not have the voices of executioners. Once you hear such a voice you never forget it. Corpses you can forget or grow hardened to, but not the voice of an executioner" (125).
Anyways, from "Executions and the Memory of Executions," I found this:
"I will not open my eyes. I trust my senses more when my eyes are closed. Pretending to be asleep" (122). (The narrator goes on to say, "Or dead. Or numb. Sometimes I really am numb," but, knowing the context, I'll say it doesn't apply to me so much as the first part.)
This entire story, impressively different from each one that has preceded it, reminds me of the James Bond played by Daniel Craig in Casino Royale (2006) -- well I mean the narrator reminds me of him, anyways. If only I could post the entire story WITHOUT needing to type 6 or 7 pages out myself. I'd do it, but it speaks too loudly to my obsessive tendencies that I choose to refrain. This narrator is not quite as arrogant as Bond or seemingly as reckless but he does talk of how he "used to look forward to being apprehended and interrogated" which does sound something like being full of one's self. I am reminded, of course, of that climactic torture scene, esp when I read something like this:
"In my youthful exuberance, when I first started making my reputation, I could withstand any type of pain, what would be unbearable to others. What a prodigy I was then. I reached the highest classification in my unit earlier than any person had before me. The faultless sense of smell. The imitative skills. The endurance. The ability to concentrate undera ll conditions, pure concentration; the three fools around me would call it mystic or spiritual, but it was an intense, total effort of the mind over the body. I used to look forward to being apprehended and interrogate, even though I never admitted this to my superiors..." (125).
You know, Bond is certainly reckless but he does still live his life much in the same way I'd guess any man with peacock confidence, a license to kill, a flaming libido and no place to go would do. Bond, generally enjoys himself. This guy, however, he's more indifferent than reckless. The actions can look the same but the mental status of the person might be a little different. He says, "As I grew older and matured I passed from fearing death to imagining ways of dying, and eventually to an indifference to death, my death, the deaths of others - strangers, friends lovers, I ceased to make distinctions" (121).
I was reminded also, of how Bond was slipped some deadly something in a drink (the details are faint right now) and when he realized what was happening to him, rushed to his car and some how miraculously, magically saved his own life. It was like he stabbed an Epi-Pen in his chest or defibrillated himself. It was something intense and ridickle, I'm sure - I just don't have the memory. THe point is, he should have died but he was fortunately trained to deal with the situation, resilient enough to hang on until the last moment and LUCKY that someone else came to help him after he passed out. "I remember what my first supervisor showed me when I orginally came to work under his jurisdiction, something he had written as a young man and was still most proud of as he approached retirement: 'I have stood in front of countless firing squads; I have felt around my neck a hundred slip-nooses tied by a hundred hands; I have btiten into capsules containing the strongest poisons ...' It took me years to understand what he had meant, the feelings behind teh words, his complete lack of cynicism or unease with life. 'The ways to kill a personare innumerable; the ways to die are all the same.' I wrote that five years ago, during one of my imprisonments..." (122).
As cheap as this will sound, now, in the context of the above, I must say that this particular passage minded me of something my mum said about 200 years ago when I was 12 or 13. I asked her what some offensive smell was and she told me it was a dead mouse. (Dramatic pause) Then she continued, "You never forget the smell of death." It was just as weird and borderline ominous as it sounds. It also happens to be true.
"'Kill him now,' the high-pitched voice says, stabbing me in the chest with his finger.
"I'm not frightened. I know that th ehigh-pitched voice said what he did only to scare me. They won't kill me, not these three, not right now. They do not have the voices of executioners. Once you hear such a voice you never forget it. Corpses you can forget or grow hardened to, but not the voice of an executioner" (125).
*Wolfeville, Nova Scotia: Gaspereau Press, 2000. 121-128.
be my moon
I saw a guy I know on Friday. We had a class together in the Fall 2006 semester and have run into one another a handful of times since then but that's about it.
He's one of those people who I see by accident, have messaged a few times on Facebook (but not added as a friend) and who, if he had graduated and left the school after last semester, I would have called a great "single-serving friend"*.
I really do enjoy his company... He's such a strange and unique character. Also the way that we met is kinda funny.
I think that if I was "cooler" - especially if we both were in high school - then we could have been real friends. He's just too.... out there for me.
If I was into parallel universes, I could say that my non-saved alterego and this guy definitely would have had a one-night stand by now. But there wouldn't have ever been more.
I wonder what that says about our acquaintanceship.
* This term is brought to you courtesy of Tyler Durden.
He's one of those people who I see by accident, have messaged a few times on Facebook (but not added as a friend) and who, if he had graduated and left the school after last semester, I would have called a great "single-serving friend"*.
I really do enjoy his company... He's such a strange and unique character. Also the way that we met is kinda funny.
I think that if I was "cooler" - especially if we both were in high school - then we could have been real friends. He's just too.... out there for me.
If I was into parallel universes, I could say that my non-saved alterego and this guy definitely would have had a one-night stand by now. But there wouldn't have ever been more.
I wonder what that says about our acquaintanceship.
* This term is brought to you courtesy of Tyler Durden.
Saturday, 15 September 2007
17 x 3 = 51
yesterday I would have written, today I am thankful for: His faithfulness
today I would write that I am thankful for: being slowly re-instated or re-introduced or re-welcomed into some semblance of my old life.
I'm really very happy to have been issued a 2007-2008 U of G day planner.
I'm also happy that I may be allowed to lead a discipleship group this semester/year. I thought I didn't want to and I thought I wasn't allowed to (cuz the person in charge who I talked to thought I was gradumatated) but it is all looking possible. It's also looking like I may actually be READY to lead.
I need to stop claiming to know things and start being apt to learn. Leadership really is a service.
"Fine. But if my supe chews me out.. giv'n'm your digits." I just heard that on TV. It's ridickle the way we speak. "Fine. But if my supervisor reprimands me, I will give him your telephone number." Crazy. (That guy was trying too hard, anyways.)
1. .. .. 2. II 3. .. .. .. II 4. .3 .2 .1 II .. .. .. .. II
1. .. .. 2. II 7. .. .. .. II 3. .. 4. .. II 5. .. .. .1010 II
10-99 9-77 7-55 5-1010 II 10-99 9-77 7-55 5. II
1. 2. 3. 4. II 5. 6. b7. 8. II 9. 10. 9. 10. II 9. .. ..
today I would write that I am thankful for: being slowly re-instated or re-introduced or re-welcomed into some semblance of my old life.
I'm really very happy to have been issued a 2007-2008 U of G day planner.
I'm also happy that I may be allowed to lead a discipleship group this semester/year. I thought I didn't want to and I thought I wasn't allowed to (cuz the person in charge who I talked to thought I was gradumatated) but it is all looking possible. It's also looking like I may actually be READY to lead.
I need to stop claiming to know things and start being apt to learn. Leadership really is a service.
"Fine. But if my supe chews me out.. giv'n'm your digits." I just heard that on TV. It's ridickle the way we speak. "Fine. But if my supervisor reprimands me, I will give him your telephone number." Crazy. (That guy was trying too hard, anyways.)
1. .. .. 2. II 3. .. .. .. II 4. .3 .2 .1 II .. .. .. .. II
1. .. .. 2. II 7. .. .. .. II 3. .. 4. .. II 5. .. .. .1010 II
10-99 9-77 7-55 5-1010 II 10-99 9-77 7-55 5. II
1. 2. 3. 4. II 5. 6. b7. 8. II 9. 10. 9. 10. II 9. .. ..
Thursday, 13 September 2007
Le Bureau
I started watching what I can only guess is a new episode of The Office today and I couldn't get past 20 minutes of it.
I don't know what it is...
I've seen snippits before, mostly things that people make me watch and I've grasped the comedic genius (and the appeal) - I really have! But now that I made myself sit down and try to get through a full hour I'm like, "Mmmm not so much."
I'll give it another try but for now I'm kinda disappointed. The mystery is gone, I think.
Actually, I think the problem is that they're telling the same joke, over and over, every five minutes, every episode. I dunno... Part of me wishes I could like it but.. you just can't force crap like this.
I don't know what it is...
I've seen snippits before, mostly things that people make me watch and I've grasped the comedic genius (and the appeal) - I really have! But now that I made myself sit down and try to get through a full hour I'm like, "Mmmm not so much."
I'll give it another try but for now I'm kinda disappointed. The mystery is gone, I think.
Actually, I think the problem is that they're telling the same joke, over and over, every five minutes, every episode. I dunno... Part of me wishes I could like it but.. you just can't force crap like this.
Saturday, 8 September 2007
I hope "Hebraic" is a real word
A. "He wanted to be more Jewish, but he didn't know where to start. With Hebrew? With Yiddish? Dr. Feinberg didn't want to go through the remainder of his life full of burdens and lies."
B. "I rarely swear outside the occassional damn or hell, considering swearing a lazy form of expression."
C. "You never know when death will hit."
"No, we don't. And that's why we shouldn't live in fear of it."
a. I've come across many instances of religiousness recently, and unfortunately can't recollect them all right now but I do remember that each has evoked a deeper response than normal. I mean, yea, "religion" always evokes a response from me, gutteral, angered, saddened or sometimes inquisitive - always too soon and rarely handled well. I know this. I know this about myself. I know that my sensitivity to the subject is high and that my reactions are explosive (it could still be a controlled explosion) but recently it's been different. I'm not quite sure how to explain it. I think the best way I could characterize it for now is a feeling of being beaten. It's like exhaustion and surrender; what you feel when your 5-page paper vanishes from your hard drive and you know it's due in 6 hours. It's that kinda, This again?! I can't do this anymore... but you know you will do it again. It reminds me of that great scene in The Mummy Returns when the magi finish off a wave of mummy/zombie types and have their victorious celebration interrupted by the second wave (10 times as large as the first) approaching over the dunes. Sheer numbers would have guaranteed the magi's failure but the mummies' kamikaze automaton (and able-to-move-limbs-post-mortem) ways make the feat even worse. The magi swallowed hard and readied themselves, knowing what was going to happen. That kind of bravery and resilience I know nothing about.
b. It's true. I remember thinking/realizing this WAY back in the day... I guess, around the time I was 16 or 17. I remember telling someone that swearing is a way to "color" your sentences or your language. What's funny is that I can't remember if I was saying this to someone as a reason they shouldn't swear or as an excuse for me to swear. I dunno...somtimes it's lazy - it becomes like a crutch - and sometimes it just makes an excellent point.
c. Sounds like a trusay to me. I mean, I think I can take it in the context of Christ's second coming and that makes total sense.
Recently, a friend of mine told me how a pastor she heard preached about how no one knows the hour of Christ's return for most of his sermon but at the end said that it was his personal opinion (a word carefully chosen, I'm sure) that Christ would come in three to five years. (Everytime I say that I think of prison time.) It's more than a little bogus, to make a claim like that. God's declarations about the end of the world are not meant to be so cryptic that only the most astute or privileged will figure out the precise time. He's not really into favoritism. (As my other friend in the conversation aptly pointed out, No one knows, not even the Son. Anyone who claims to be greater thatn He is not getting it.) The point was that we need to be on our toes. "But understand this: If the owner of the house had known at what time of night the thief was coming, he would have kept watch and would not have let his house be broken into."* Dude - you could spend your whole life guarding your house. But then it'd be taken away from you anyways because you couldn't pay the bills and the government be repossessing it. In terms of the quote above, your best bet is probably to realize that what is seen is tempoary and what is unseen is eternal and then to continue living your life. In terms of what Jesus was talking about, our best bet is to work toward being ready to go at any given moment. I would pack my everything bag and leave it by the door like an expectant father. I'd like to always be able to say I have no regrets and no unfinished business but, thanks to God's grace, I still have time to get there.
a) Steinfeld, J. J. "Disfigurement of the Spirit." Anton Chekhov was Never in Charlottetown. Wolfville, NS: Gaspereau Press, 2000. 55.
b) Steinfeld, J. J. "Inflatable Dolls." Anton Chekhov was Never in Charlottetown. Wolfville, NS: Gaspereau Press, 2000. 89.
c) "High Octane." CSI: Miami. A&E. [ ], Toronto. 6 November, 2006.
*Matthew 24:43
B. "I rarely swear outside the occassional damn or hell, considering swearing a lazy form of expression."
C. "You never know when death will hit."
"No, we don't. And that's why we shouldn't live in fear of it."
a. I've come across many instances of religiousness recently, and unfortunately can't recollect them all right now but I do remember that each has evoked a deeper response than normal. I mean, yea, "religion" always evokes a response from me, gutteral, angered, saddened or sometimes inquisitive - always too soon and rarely handled well. I know this. I know this about myself. I know that my sensitivity to the subject is high and that my reactions are explosive (it could still be a controlled explosion) but recently it's been different. I'm not quite sure how to explain it. I think the best way I could characterize it for now is a feeling of being beaten. It's like exhaustion and surrender; what you feel when your 5-page paper vanishes from your hard drive and you know it's due in 6 hours. It's that kinda, This again?! I can't do this anymore... but you know you will do it again. It reminds me of that great scene in The Mummy Returns when the magi finish off a wave of mummy/zombie types and have their victorious celebration interrupted by the second wave (10 times as large as the first) approaching over the dunes. Sheer numbers would have guaranteed the magi's failure but the mummies' kamikaze automaton (and able-to-move-limbs-post-mortem) ways make the feat even worse. The magi swallowed hard and readied themselves, knowing what was going to happen. That kind of bravery and resilience I know nothing about.
b. It's true. I remember thinking/realizing this WAY back in the day... I guess, around the time I was 16 or 17. I remember telling someone that swearing is a way to "color" your sentences or your language. What's funny is that I can't remember if I was saying this to someone as a reason they shouldn't swear or as an excuse for me to swear. I dunno...somtimes it's lazy - it becomes like a crutch - and sometimes it just makes an excellent point.
c. Sounds like a trusay to me. I mean, I think I can take it in the context of Christ's second coming and that makes total sense.
Recently, a friend of mine told me how a pastor she heard preached about how no one knows the hour of Christ's return for most of his sermon but at the end said that it was his personal opinion (a word carefully chosen, I'm sure) that Christ would come in three to five years. (Everytime I say that I think of prison time.) It's more than a little bogus, to make a claim like that. God's declarations about the end of the world are not meant to be so cryptic that only the most astute or privileged will figure out the precise time. He's not really into favoritism. (As my other friend in the conversation aptly pointed out, No one knows, not even the Son. Anyone who claims to be greater thatn He is not getting it.) The point was that we need to be on our toes. "But understand this: If the owner of the house had known at what time of night the thief was coming, he would have kept watch and would not have let his house be broken into."* Dude - you could spend your whole life guarding your house. But then it'd be taken away from you anyways because you couldn't pay the bills and the government be repossessing it. In terms of the quote above, your best bet is probably to realize that what is seen is tempoary and what is unseen is eternal and then to continue living your life. In terms of what Jesus was talking about, our best bet is to work toward being ready to go at any given moment. I would pack my everything bag and leave it by the door like an expectant father. I'd like to always be able to say I have no regrets and no unfinished business but, thanks to God's grace, I still have time to get there.
a) Steinfeld, J. J. "Disfigurement of the Spirit." Anton Chekhov was Never in Charlottetown. Wolfville, NS: Gaspereau Press, 2000. 55.
b) Steinfeld, J. J. "Inflatable Dolls." Anton Chekhov was Never in Charlottetown. Wolfville, NS: Gaspereau Press, 2000. 89.
c) "High Octane." CSI: Miami. A&E. [ ], Toronto. 6 November, 2006.
*Matthew 24:43
Wednesday, 5 September 2007
Gearin' up for Easter
So what might it be like to be part of a long line of... blacksmiths, or ... butchers? I guess there aren't many blacksmiths in my part of the world anymore and butchers aren't so well valued as they once were. But there are still hereditary careers today, for SURE, more so in certain situations. The type of job is a big factor and I think nationality or culture also makes you rmore or less likely to "follow in the footsteps of _______". I'm not really part of that; I don't have those factors in my favor and I'm not sad about it or anything. I mean I know it's all too possible that I could end up being very miserable on account of being forced into work I don't like OR disowned for resisting. But I do like the idea. Pride of the family...something, something. I dunno. I guess I just like that extra something... I'm thinking of Carrots of the Pirebbean and Lord of the Rings since somehow they both incorporate this concept. I guess I'm just jealous of olde ways and simpler times.
Monday, 3 September 2007
reasons you are jealous of my bodacious ways:
#2
French Vanilla (by Breyers), strawbees and crumbled homemade Betty Crocker double-chocolate cookies.
mm!
Sunday, 2 September 2007
2 things I realized today
Number One: I don't want to ever be stabbed (or even stabbed to death) though I once thought I could handle it.
Number Two: The term "supermarket" really is a compound word.
This morning, my pastor was talking about buying peaches at the market.. and in my head I was like, "No one goes to the market," and I think he thought something similar because he soon corrected himself: "At-at the supermarket..." and I thought whoa...
Super+market... it's a market (like non-corporate vendors bringing crops or crafts from their very homes which is nice but not overly convenient or diverse in most situations, especially to a big-headed big-city-er like me) but it's super. The information superhighway.. supernatural..superscript...superlative... it's like a market but larger..like 20 markets put together with longer hours and colder representatives.... It's like the Farmer's Market got Industrial Revolutionized. Hearing the term in two parts was such a weird and unsettling moment for me. Ha.. it was like when my friend said, "airport" right after, "sea port" and me and another girl in the room were like, "Ahhhhh.."
Number Two: The term "supermarket" really is a compound word.
This morning, my pastor was talking about buying peaches at the market.. and in my head I was like, "No one goes to the market," and I think he thought something similar because he soon corrected himself: "At-at the supermarket..." and I thought whoa...
Super+market... it's a market (like non-corporate vendors bringing crops or crafts from their very homes which is nice but not overly convenient or diverse in most situations, especially to a big-headed big-city-er like me) but it's super. The information superhighway.. supernatural..superscript...superlative... it's like a market but larger..like 20 markets put together with longer hours and colder representatives.... It's like the Farmer's Market got Industrial Revolutionized. Hearing the term in two parts was such a weird and unsettling moment for me. Ha.. it was like when my friend said, "airport" right after, "sea port" and me and another girl in the room were like, "Ahhhhh.."
Saturday, 1 September 2007
Lifehouse's Everything Skit
Well, this post was deleted by accident (it's because embedded YouTube videos tend to mess a lot of things up) so what I remember writing is that my prevalent feeling after watching the video was that I was wasting my life. What was worse is that I didn't even have my own life anymore. I was wasting the life that cost a lot to sacrifice. There was more and I wish I knew it but I don't so here's to letting things go.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=cyheJ480LYA
http://youtube.com/watch?v=cyheJ480LYA
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