All work and no Oblivion makes Schwa write essays about how Batman randomly punches people, how Captain America smashes through walls and lights people on fire in North Korea and Sonic has a crying disability.
Also gives me a chance to read about how Superman is a dick, how awkward and Creepy Batman is and how Captain America is a "Commie Smasher".
I'm just sitting here wondering why my peach is blackish brown and crispy. Like an apple. Like a blackish brown apple. Maybe I just picked up a really bruised apple. Then again it was fuzzy...a moulding apple? That would explain why it's blackish brown.
You can tell I have a paper to write, a paper to edit, three stories to read through, fifteen critiques, a medium sized paper, a reading response, two responses to READINGS, a thesis to edit, a portfolio to assemble and a really big paper to do. Why else would I be looking for ways to slack off? It's the only time I can find an excuse to waste time.
My tags sounded like a messed up poem when I typed them out, but blogger will rearrange them when I post. Sadface.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
MAI INTERNETS ASPLODED
Editing.
So I was editing someone's paper and I got super tired. Internet was slow, dictionary took about 5 minutes to provide me with useful philosophy definitions, so I quit. Next day I finish, mid-day, about 2 hours later than I said I would. I apologize and send the edit saying that my internet was giving me issues (a semi-true statement...but then again I could have picked up my dictionary FIVE STEPS away from me on my bookshelf...meh). Right after I send another e-mail to a client that I (still) need payment from. I had sent him two e-mails the week before with no reply. I finally got a reply about an hour later.
"Sorry, my internet was down all weekend. My payment is going to be a little late."
I'm going to chalk it up to karma.
Also:
I have decided, after using it, that the random made-up word "Asplode" sounds a little bit disgusting. Sounds like an explosive case of diarrhea. I'll add it to my dictionary along with "satisfication" and "chestknuckle".
So I was editing someone's paper and I got super tired. Internet was slow, dictionary took about 5 minutes to provide me with useful philosophy definitions, so I quit. Next day I finish, mid-day, about 2 hours later than I said I would. I apologize and send the edit saying that my internet was giving me issues (a semi-true statement...but then again I could have picked up my dictionary FIVE STEPS away from me on my bookshelf...meh). Right after I send another e-mail to a client that I (still) need payment from. I had sent him two e-mails the week before with no reply. I finally got a reply about an hour later.
"Sorry, my internet was down all weekend. My payment is going to be a little late."
I'm going to chalk it up to karma.
Also:
I have decided, after using it, that the random made-up word "Asplode" sounds a little bit disgusting. Sounds like an explosive case of diarrhea. I'll add it to my dictionary along with "satisfication" and "chestknuckle".
Monday, March 14, 2011
Blub
I need to pick a rock/metal concert to go see for my yearly personal outing. I don't go to many of these concerts, but I love them when I go. I love them because I'm so out of my depth it's hilarious. I am not the concert going type, but every time I go, I have a ton of fun and have a ton of stories to recount.
I don't go to clubs, I go to pubs. I don't go to house parties, I go to game and movie nights. I don't go to metal/rock concerts, I go to plays and Star Trek music collaborations with the Calgary Philharmonic Orchestra. Is this just my introverted nature or am I just a hapless fish out of water?
I've been using the word "hapless" a lot lately.
About a year ago I posted my adventure at the last metal concert I went to, complete with cotton candy hair, random water spraying and having to stop by a shady underground gay bar to ask for directions. I lost fifty dollars that night out of my pocket that night. I picture myself, this awkward young girl running around in the snow wearing black pants and a purple button-up shirt looking for a wad of money that I knew I wasn't going to find. Close to tears and devastated that I had lost money I spent a month walking dogs to earn I had to return to the concert and face the doorman, his raised eyebrows and scornful glares.
I spent the concert standing in one of the raised deck areas away from the crowd of people on the floor. The opening band amused me a great deal with their showmanship, but I was happy to be out of harm's way. I don't do well in crowds. By this I mean I have a tendency to get knocked around, scratched, pushed, stepped on, pushed then stepped on and yelled at. I need about fifty more pounds on me for this to be fun. I also avoided getting the random bursts of water from the lead's mouth. Mr. Bald Man standing beside me with his daughter found this hilarious...and no doubt stupid. Though that makes me wonder...who goes to a metal concert with their daughter? A daughter that's over 18 because it was adults only. Meh.
I have been focusing on identities and perceptions lately in a lot of my writings, and I often wonder what other people see in me that I can't. I'd like to think I know myself quite well, that I can hide my emotions and thoughts at will and have a certain demeanour and way of carrying myself. In the last while, I've learned how very wrong I am. I'd like to think myself experienced, that I've tried a lot and seen the world, but there's so many instances where that idea gets beaten down quicker than you can say "you live under a rock honey".
I remember my first clubbing experience. I wish I had a recording of myself that night. First time clubbing. First time legitimately drunk. First time dancing like a fool because I was drunk. Let me just tell you that I'm not what you call the clubbing, drinking and dancing type...at least everyone else had a good laugh at my expense.
The occasion was my good friend's 18th birthday. I wasn't too keen on going, but I was willing to take one for the team so to speak. She said to use a sort of code word to let the people inside know we were part of a group. My problem was I tried to tell the bouncer this code word. I am happy to admit that he was thoroughly confused as to why I kept saying "dreamboat" to him. Thankfully my friend saved me further embarrassment by ushering me inside.
I've yet to find a place I hated more. A building full of drunk, petty, loud, obnoxious people dancing, scrutinizing and dressed like cracked out barbie dolls. Okay I exaggerate, but there's my perception popping in. I followed a few of my friends to the back where there were pool tables and creepy older men that would just stare. Then they'd move to a closer table and stare. Then they'd get another drink and stare in the "unstarable" places. We decided to go to the bar and get some drinks.
I got drunk on a rum and coke, a beer (Heineken I think) and a tequila shot. It was the tequila that did me in. I now hate all three drinks. I'm more of a Rickard's and Keith's beer (Canadian if these aren't available), Caesar, Vodka, Gin and Tonic kind of person. I didn't know that at the time of course. All I remember is being extremely dizzy, flailing around on the dance floor and driving in a car with too many people in it. I think we had four people in the back and three in the front...still not as bad as the time we fit 13 people in a station wagon in high school, but that's another story (though I remember I was in the "trunk" and it was VERY UNCOMFORTABLE).
Tequila has haunted me ever since...as well as the dreamboat.
I got a little better at composing myself at clubs and bars. I still don't frequent them. I think the last time I was at a club was May 2009. After attending a hockey game with my cousin from Chicago, he wanted to see 17th Ave and the bars down there. I had never been to the bars on 17th, so I just improvised. We walked down there and found Bob the Fish on the corner of 17th and 3rd. I was already pretty drunk on two beers (I'm a lightweight okay? besides, it was SADDLEDOME beer...you know that shit's not what it seems). Got another beer at Bob the Fish and tried to keep my cousin away from my phone since he kept trying to take it to text a friend of my multiple times to get her to come out.
We got tired of that place soon since it was overcrowded, so we walked down the street a bit more. I think my cousin was worried about me after three beers. I'm a giddy drunk, and I never think I'm drunk when I actually am. We stopped in a couple places to take a look, completely passed over an extremely colourful place that looked like a disco, and finally stopped at a club I can't remember the name of.
My cousin asked if we were dressed well enough to go in. Both of us were wearing jeans and Flames jerseys. He skips over our clothes and looks at our shoes. I was wearing brown skater shoes. He was wearing black dress shoes. He looks at me, tells me my shoes are iffy, but that my cousin's were good enough for both of us.
Are shoes normally a deciding factor for club entrance?
Meh. Inside we head for the bar. We weren't the only ones wearing jerseys thankfully, but we were certainly under-dressed. Most of the people there were out in dresses and suits. At the bar my cousin insisted I get some water while he got his drink on. It was at the bar where we met Ultimate Frisbee Guy. No idea what his real name was...I don't remember. My cousin struck up a conversation with this guy talking about basketball and such. He introduced me, and from that point on he kept trying to get me to agree to come and watch him play Ultimate Frisbee at the Calgary Sport and Social Club.
Then he kept buying us drinks. I did about two of the shots before I started pouring them out behind his back into an empty glass. My cousin saw and started laughing, because he started doing the same shortly after. They were pretty nasty shots. My cousin then bought us a couple round of shots worth about 20 dollars for fun and to pay the guy back. He took them, but insisted on paying 40 dollars for them. My cousin just shrugged and took the money.
We are wonderful people.
He got constantly creepier as the night went on. My cousin said if he was bothering me that he'd take care of him, but that he didn't think he could take on him and his friends combined. We stayed there until about 2:15 in the morning when the bar started to close.
Yes, the bars close at 2 in Calgary. Yes, our night life sucks.
We left the bar and decided to get pitas. Apparently we weren't the only ones in the mood for pitas, because there were about 20 people lined up for them. We got our pitas while my cousin kept asking the guy in front of us what he thought about some basketball teams. Pitas in hand we went in search of a taxi. His idea of getting a taxi was standing in the middle of a road waving his arms. Apparently that's how you do it in Chicago. We finally got a taxi after I convinced him to get off the road, and knowing little about taxis, I got in the front seat. Thankfully the driver probably just passed it off as drunkenness.
I can imagine how I looked these nights, how naive I probably seemed to all the people around me, and yet that's part of what makes the experience fun for me. When I'm completely out of my element, and end up having adventures. Hundreds of people have crazier stories than I do, but this is what passes for excitement in my life.
Is this why people think I'm so innocent all the time?
I don't go to clubs, I go to pubs. I don't go to house parties, I go to game and movie nights. I don't go to metal/rock concerts, I go to plays and Star Trek music collaborations with the Calgary Philharmonic Orchestra. Is this just my introverted nature or am I just a hapless fish out of water?
I've been using the word "hapless" a lot lately.
About a year ago I posted my adventure at the last metal concert I went to, complete with cotton candy hair, random water spraying and having to stop by a shady underground gay bar to ask for directions. I lost fifty dollars that night out of my pocket that night. I picture myself, this awkward young girl running around in the snow wearing black pants and a purple button-up shirt looking for a wad of money that I knew I wasn't going to find. Close to tears and devastated that I had lost money I spent a month walking dogs to earn I had to return to the concert and face the doorman, his raised eyebrows and scornful glares.
I spent the concert standing in one of the raised deck areas away from the crowd of people on the floor. The opening band amused me a great deal with their showmanship, but I was happy to be out of harm's way. I don't do well in crowds. By this I mean I have a tendency to get knocked around, scratched, pushed, stepped on, pushed then stepped on and yelled at. I need about fifty more pounds on me for this to be fun. I also avoided getting the random bursts of water from the lead's mouth. Mr. Bald Man standing beside me with his daughter found this hilarious...and no doubt stupid. Though that makes me wonder...who goes to a metal concert with their daughter? A daughter that's over 18 because it was adults only. Meh.
I have been focusing on identities and perceptions lately in a lot of my writings, and I often wonder what other people see in me that I can't. I'd like to think I know myself quite well, that I can hide my emotions and thoughts at will and have a certain demeanour and way of carrying myself. In the last while, I've learned how very wrong I am. I'd like to think myself experienced, that I've tried a lot and seen the world, but there's so many instances where that idea gets beaten down quicker than you can say "you live under a rock honey".
I remember my first clubbing experience. I wish I had a recording of myself that night. First time clubbing. First time legitimately drunk. First time dancing like a fool because I was drunk. Let me just tell you that I'm not what you call the clubbing, drinking and dancing type...at least everyone else had a good laugh at my expense.
The occasion was my good friend's 18th birthday. I wasn't too keen on going, but I was willing to take one for the team so to speak. She said to use a sort of code word to let the people inside know we were part of a group. My problem was I tried to tell the bouncer this code word. I am happy to admit that he was thoroughly confused as to why I kept saying "dreamboat" to him. Thankfully my friend saved me further embarrassment by ushering me inside.
I've yet to find a place I hated more. A building full of drunk, petty, loud, obnoxious people dancing, scrutinizing and dressed like cracked out barbie dolls. Okay I exaggerate, but there's my perception popping in. I followed a few of my friends to the back where there were pool tables and creepy older men that would just stare. Then they'd move to a closer table and stare. Then they'd get another drink and stare in the "unstarable" places. We decided to go to the bar and get some drinks.
I got drunk on a rum and coke, a beer (Heineken I think) and a tequila shot. It was the tequila that did me in. I now hate all three drinks. I'm more of a Rickard's and Keith's beer (Canadian if these aren't available), Caesar, Vodka, Gin and Tonic kind of person. I didn't know that at the time of course. All I remember is being extremely dizzy, flailing around on the dance floor and driving in a car with too many people in it. I think we had four people in the back and three in the front...still not as bad as the time we fit 13 people in a station wagon in high school, but that's another story (though I remember I was in the "trunk" and it was VERY UNCOMFORTABLE).
Tequila has haunted me ever since...as well as the dreamboat.
I got a little better at composing myself at clubs and bars. I still don't frequent them. I think the last time I was at a club was May 2009. After attending a hockey game with my cousin from Chicago, he wanted to see 17th Ave and the bars down there. I had never been to the bars on 17th, so I just improvised. We walked down there and found Bob the Fish on the corner of 17th and 3rd. I was already pretty drunk on two beers (I'm a lightweight okay? besides, it was SADDLEDOME beer...you know that shit's not what it seems). Got another beer at Bob the Fish and tried to keep my cousin away from my phone since he kept trying to take it to text a friend of my multiple times to get her to come out.
We got tired of that place soon since it was overcrowded, so we walked down the street a bit more. I think my cousin was worried about me after three beers. I'm a giddy drunk, and I never think I'm drunk when I actually am. We stopped in a couple places to take a look, completely passed over an extremely colourful place that looked like a disco, and finally stopped at a club I can't remember the name of.
My cousin asked if we were dressed well enough to go in. Both of us were wearing jeans and Flames jerseys. He skips over our clothes and looks at our shoes. I was wearing brown skater shoes. He was wearing black dress shoes. He looks at me, tells me my shoes are iffy, but that my cousin's were good enough for both of us.
Are shoes normally a deciding factor for club entrance?
Meh. Inside we head for the bar. We weren't the only ones wearing jerseys thankfully, but we were certainly under-dressed. Most of the people there were out in dresses and suits. At the bar my cousin insisted I get some water while he got his drink on. It was at the bar where we met Ultimate Frisbee Guy. No idea what his real name was...I don't remember. My cousin struck up a conversation with this guy talking about basketball and such. He introduced me, and from that point on he kept trying to get me to agree to come and watch him play Ultimate Frisbee at the Calgary Sport and Social Club.
Then he kept buying us drinks. I did about two of the shots before I started pouring them out behind his back into an empty glass. My cousin saw and started laughing, because he started doing the same shortly after. They were pretty nasty shots. My cousin then bought us a couple round of shots worth about 20 dollars for fun and to pay the guy back. He took them, but insisted on paying 40 dollars for them. My cousin just shrugged and took the money.
We are wonderful people.
He got constantly creepier as the night went on. My cousin said if he was bothering me that he'd take care of him, but that he didn't think he could take on him and his friends combined. We stayed there until about 2:15 in the morning when the bar started to close.
Yes, the bars close at 2 in Calgary. Yes, our night life sucks.
We left the bar and decided to get pitas. Apparently we weren't the only ones in the mood for pitas, because there were about 20 people lined up for them. We got our pitas while my cousin kept asking the guy in front of us what he thought about some basketball teams. Pitas in hand we went in search of a taxi. His idea of getting a taxi was standing in the middle of a road waving his arms. Apparently that's how you do it in Chicago. We finally got a taxi after I convinced him to get off the road, and knowing little about taxis, I got in the front seat. Thankfully the driver probably just passed it off as drunkenness.
I can imagine how I looked these nights, how naive I probably seemed to all the people around me, and yet that's part of what makes the experience fun for me. When I'm completely out of my element, and end up having adventures. Hundreds of people have crazier stories than I do, but this is what passes for excitement in my life.
Is this why people think I'm so innocent all the time?
Monday, February 28, 2011
W VS E
I'm convinced Westerners and Easterners write differently. I suppose it's the same with Northerners and Southerners, but living in Alberta, I'm caught up in the East and the West. This is a theme in my own work, and a huge topic in North American history (I'm not sure if it's more of an issue in Canada or if it's the same in the States).
At any rate, the people from West Canada certainly write differently than the people in East Canada. Westerners appear to be fans of short sentences and straight-forward facts. The Easterners love their long, flowing sentences with over-the-top metaphors. I'm convinced the thesaurus is their top tool, followed by a dictionary. I often wonder what causes the differences. Of course there are the exceptions. There are many exceptions, but I can't help but notice that novels written in, say, New York, are a lot more “elegant” than ones written in somewhere like Saskatoon. Does this have to do with the environment? The vernacular? The way Easterners and Westerners look at life? How we live our lives? Or is it just like saying a gigantic “screw you” to each side?
As for myself, I prefer to write simply. I find that my vocabulary and range of sentences are lacking in breadth and depth, but at the same time I try to write the moment. I'd rather have the reader engaged with the actions and characters rather than in awe of the elaborate vernacular and beautiful descriptions. Tell it as it is rather than confuse the hell out of everyone. Not that these wondrous sentences cannot be enjoyed and even admired. I am often jealous of these fantastic similes and personifications and descriptions and verbs, but sometimes they slow the story down to the point where I read entire paragraphs without absorbing any of the content. By the time I get to the end of the page, I couldn't tell you what happened, but I couldn't keep track of the numerous words that I was either impressed by, or had to consult a dictionary for.
I may be exaggerating a bit.
On the other hand, the simple, straight up approach can get painfully repetitive. I conducted an experiment in WMRR (my novel in progress) by bringing up the find feature in my word processor. I search for how many times I used the word “watch” and came up with 66 results within the first 100 pages. My largest offence was the last chapter where it turned up 10 times. This is mostly because I haven't edited it yet, but I shouldn't make excuses.
Some time when I don't have three research essays and a truck load of readings to do, I'd like to do a little reading and research of my own. I'm sure tons of work has been done on this topic. An inventory of styles would be interesting to make as well, just in my causal (or school) readings. My fiction writing professor stated that there was a certain Albertan vernacular that appears in writing that mimics the way we speak. Reading the lines, you can almost hear the words being spoken. I have to agree with this notion, encountering it many times myself.
Regardless, neither form appears to be inherently better, though many would argue for one side or the other. I like to look at it as a learning experience, where elements can be taken from both sides to make something entirely new. I've done more critical reading in these past two years than I have done in my entire life, and I think that shows in the progression of my reading and writing abilities. I see right through the mechanics now.
I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE.
And this is where the internet has broken me folks. Schwa out.
Shwout?
At any rate, the people from West Canada certainly write differently than the people in East Canada. Westerners appear to be fans of short sentences and straight-forward facts. The Easterners love their long, flowing sentences with over-the-top metaphors. I'm convinced the thesaurus is their top tool, followed by a dictionary. I often wonder what causes the differences. Of course there are the exceptions. There are many exceptions, but I can't help but notice that novels written in, say, New York, are a lot more “elegant” than ones written in somewhere like Saskatoon. Does this have to do with the environment? The vernacular? The way Easterners and Westerners look at life? How we live our lives? Or is it just like saying a gigantic “screw you” to each side?
As for myself, I prefer to write simply. I find that my vocabulary and range of sentences are lacking in breadth and depth, but at the same time I try to write the moment. I'd rather have the reader engaged with the actions and characters rather than in awe of the elaborate vernacular and beautiful descriptions. Tell it as it is rather than confuse the hell out of everyone. Not that these wondrous sentences cannot be enjoyed and even admired. I am often jealous of these fantastic similes and personifications and descriptions and verbs, but sometimes they slow the story down to the point where I read entire paragraphs without absorbing any of the content. By the time I get to the end of the page, I couldn't tell you what happened, but I couldn't keep track of the numerous words that I was either impressed by, or had to consult a dictionary for.
I may be exaggerating a bit.
On the other hand, the simple, straight up approach can get painfully repetitive. I conducted an experiment in WMRR (my novel in progress) by bringing up the find feature in my word processor. I search for how many times I used the word “watch” and came up with 66 results within the first 100 pages. My largest offence was the last chapter where it turned up 10 times. This is mostly because I haven't edited it yet, but I shouldn't make excuses.
Some time when I don't have three research essays and a truck load of readings to do, I'd like to do a little reading and research of my own. I'm sure tons of work has been done on this topic. An inventory of styles would be interesting to make as well, just in my causal (or school) readings. My fiction writing professor stated that there was a certain Albertan vernacular that appears in writing that mimics the way we speak. Reading the lines, you can almost hear the words being spoken. I have to agree with this notion, encountering it many times myself.
Regardless, neither form appears to be inherently better, though many would argue for one side or the other. I like to look at it as a learning experience, where elements can be taken from both sides to make something entirely new. I've done more critical reading in these past two years than I have done in my entire life, and I think that shows in the progression of my reading and writing abilities. I see right through the mechanics now.
I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE.
And this is where the internet has broken me folks. Schwa out.
Shwout?
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Wind Tunnels
The University has become an expert in such matters. I assume without meaning to. They have made at least 2 successful ones on campus, one in the path between Social Sciences and Administration and one now between the old library and the new Taylor Digital. Every time I walk in these areas the wind is blowing. And it's COLD. Seriously is this some sort of multi-million dollar experiment or is the university just bad at placing buildings?
Maybe I should ask the engineers with their shrinking hallways and doors that lead to no where.
Maybe I should ask the engineers with their shrinking hallways and doors that lead to no where.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Triple Corpse Hammerblow
Death metal is...pretty awful.
After much contemplation. I am pleased with my wedge of internet. Mmmm wedge.
ARGH WHY WON'T THE LINK WORK?
http://www.paranormal-encyclopedia.com/f/forer-effect/
Here you can have this one instead.
Also Blogger doesn't like LESS THAN 3.
After much contemplation. I am pleased with my wedge of internet. Mmmm wedge.
ARGH WHY WON'T THE LINK WORK?
http://www.paranormal-encyclopedia.com/f/forer-effect/
Here you can have this one instead.
Also Blogger doesn't like LESS THAN 3.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Hey Now
Not cool bro:
http://openmedia.ca/meter
Also, I have left retail. I plan on not returning. At least...for a very long time. I am sad to say goodbye to my coworkers. Then again, they're just at the mall so it's not like I won't see them again. Meh. Anyone up for a Dance Party? I've scheduled one for WS on March 22.
Gatta get up to get down.
http://openmedia.ca/meter
Also, I have left retail. I plan on not returning. At least...for a very long time. I am sad to say goodbye to my coworkers. Then again, they're just at the mall so it's not like I won't see them again. Meh. Anyone up for a Dance Party? I've scheduled one for WS on March 22.
Gatta get up to get down.
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