Apr. 18th, 2007 01:30 pm
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I did something unexpectedly and potentially quite catastrophically stupid, but have been rescued from the consequences by an act of grace of the sort that one probably shouldn't talk about explicitly where other students might see it. Cryptic weblog time!

Meanwhile, I am going to see Ted Leo tonight. Prophecy tells us that it will be good.

Edit: It was good indeed! That man is way more fit than I am.
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Oh, right, so I got accepted into UBC! (I keep telling people individually, so I should really get around to mentioning it here.) They still require my high school stuff but apparently they didn't need it to make the decision. The news came in a big envelope displaying a picture of a woman jumping for joy on a grassy hillside and the legend, 'Yes!', so naturally my mother and I immediately on seeing it began talking about the possibility that it was a rejection. "This is what it would have been like if we'd decided to accept you..." "Right. If I had actually got in, I would have received the envelope that says, 'Yes, really.'"

(I also got into the honours program.)

I haven't done everything I need to to finalize the admission yet, but I have been able to register for classes, as illustrated here. PHIL 349A is a 'Philosophy of Religion' course, and PHIL 375 is 'Philosophy of Literature'; I dithered between the latter and a second-year English course for a bit, but A) this one is worth both philosophy and literature credits, and B) the other one conflicted with B5 night. On Friday I went and wandered around the campus a little, which I've done before but without ever ranging very far. It is large and architectually varied, dissected variously by roads and paths, an exciting and daunting thing for someone used to the provincally close-huddled buildings at Langara; if SFU is a fantasy castle, then UBC is a fantasy city. It gives the fractal and I'm sure quite genuine impression that every small corner of it, once investigated, will prove to be industriously engaged in something arcane, busy and marvellous. I'm glad I'll get to be involved in that, and I'm glad I'll have at least two years to explore.

Meanwhile, here are two neat recent things of the type that I can link to:

Rachel (and Brendan) are finalists in the latest Lyttle Lytton contest! ConBDAsalsations.

I found this website (through [ profile] jemale, who is the author and artist of Dicebox). I have never read or heard of this writer before, but the website is surely among the most wonderful things on the internet.
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This term I've been slowly watching a sort of graffiti gang war develop over the urinals in one of the men's washrooms in the A building at Langara, as a faction that writes positive, life-affirming messages like "Life is great!" has started to horn in on the traditional territory of one that writes grumpy abuse like "U ALL SUCK". It really is that polarised -- there's no mistaking one for the other, and there doesn't really seem to be anything in between; there really is, by the handwriting, more than one person on each side; and they really are not just working in parallel at opposing agendas but actually getting into arguments with one another right there on the wall. Here are some of my favourite exchanges:
  • "YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL!" "Hippie."
  • "F--- THE ENTIRE SCHOOL" "Wow u r sure energetic!"
  • "Jesus died for nothing." "NO."

Meanwhile, livejournal seems to have started Microsoft Word-style red underlining of words it finds dubious, but seems stuck on American spelling. Also, it doesn't recognise 'livejournal'; awesome.
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The north portal to the Langara student union building (that is, the exit facing the library) has double doors, with friendly green frames, of the sort where one of the doors extends a sort of metal lip over the gap between them so that they have to be opened the one before the other. They have the curious property that everybody who tries to open them tries the wrong door first. It apparently doesn't matter that there's a sign, in bold, helpful, red-on-white letters, saying "OPEN THIS DOOR FIRST"; others who I see approaching the doors are consistently misled and balked, and I myself, who have been here more than two years, will, unless I'm keeping the problem firmly foremost in my mind, reach quite confidently and unthinkingly for the subordinate door.

I can think of a few explanations for this -- it could be because we're most of us right-handed, for instance (although it doesn't seem to matter which side of the doors we're on), or that there's a general standard for which door has the lip which these doors flout, and our subconscious has noticed that even if we haven't -- but I prefer, because this is what it feels like, to think that it's the side-effect of some nearby perception-altering magic. Something in that part of the SUB, or just outside of it, is out of the ordinary, and ought to draw attention, or at least we ought to wonder sometimes; so those who don't want it to occur to anyone to wonder have put up this spell, or equivalent sufficiently advanced technology, so that we automatically take whatever it is to be so commonplace and unremarkable that our perception of it doesn't even reach our conscious mind. And then, having adjusted ourselves quite unconsciously in response -- perhaps even stepped around it -- we walk into the door.
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When I was down at Rachel's this time, she taught me how to brush my hair starting with the tangles at the bottom, and working my way up, which is much, much faster and more effective than the way I'd been doing it heretofore. I have to assume that this has been an established part of human hairbrushing technology for hundreds if not thousands of years, so I find it entertaining that I had long hair for more than a decade before I found out about it; what comes, I suppose, of descending from short-haired people!

Man, January is almost over. I answered Brendan a while ago about The Pinhoe Egg and Slave Day, and I've been taking classes for about three weeks now. Metaphysics is fun in the expected Philosophy way, as well as containing a majority of people I've either been in philosophy classes with before or recognize because I've often seen them about the halls. This seems very thematically appropriate for my last semester.

As you may recall, I eventually after a fair deal of consideration chose a section of English with an unknown professor, entirely because it was going to read Le Guin's The Dispossessed. I arrived on the first day of class to find that that professor had fallen victim to some unspecified misfortune, and that his classes had been taken over by one of the other professors in the department -- who brought with her an entirely different syllabus. So much for making decisions! Perhaps it was a little lazy, anyway, to try to keep so to studying books I already love, although I would like to take an English class focused on SF sooner or later. Meanwhile the revised class is adequately interesting, although I'm noticing a strange trend in the English classes I've taken so far of treating the students like we're younger and less, hm, trustworthy, than most of college has assumed -- a strange mixture of academic rigidity and intellectual tentativeness.

Astronomy is pretty awesome in a bunch of specific Astronomy ways I didn't quite know how to expect. Here are some of the awesome things we do in Astronomy:

  • We talk about the night sky in ways that are fascinatingly anachronistic -- for instance, we speak as though the stars were affixed to a rotating 'celestial sphere' -- which feels very Steampunk to me.

  • Sometimes we get laser pointers, which we use to point at where various stars would be if the room were the sky. We tend to sort of swarm; most of them will be clustered pretty close to the right place, but there are always a few outliers wavering nervously around the edges, so that, while they're clearly part of the general effort to point, they also wouldn't seem to be anywhere near it if no one else were up there. One of the laser pointers instead of a dot projects a large shape of the Eiffel Tower, which was apparently a prank of a previous term's class (the professor is French).

  • We watch slightly corny Discovery Channel-style movies about the makeup and behaviour of celestial objects (one each for the sun and the moon, so far), which leave me feeling surprisingly but powerfully peaceful, like I'm exactly the right size in scale.

  • Once she gave us grids and had us colour in the boxes based on charts of sunspot activity, so that we could see the patterns over years. (They sort of make eleven-year-long arrowheads.) The general joke is that they've misunderstood what type of 'arts students' we are, but actually that was a lot of fun.
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Once more, I've answered people's questions on books. (All of those but the last are written from a perspective assuming that the addressed has also read it, although I avoided spoilers.) Check out the rest of the thread for further remarks from commenters including cola's story of how he stole something from the library once.

Speaking of libraries, this is a clumsy segue. I tend to disambiguate the three library systems I patronize in my own head by referring to the NVDPL as the 'District Library', the NVCL as the 'City Library', and the VPL as the 'VPL'. Recently it's occurred to me that the second of these, at least, is useful to nobody but me, since anyone else will (and does) naturally assume that when I say 'City Library', the city I'm talking about is downtown.

Speaking of things I got from the libraries, and since graphic novels don't come up in my novel-reading posts, I want to register that Scott Pilgrim is really good. No, better than that.

I finished both of my essays due the beginning of this last week on time; the one for Ethics was just barely the minimum length, and the one for Existentialism was about a page over the stated maximum, which I think indicates mostly that Existentialism is harder to talk about. It's interesting that, when I'm not actually engaged in writing an essay, I forget what the composition actually feels like; I can already feel it fading out to something vague and nebulous that, when it comes up again next term, I'll mostly have to assume that I can do out of a sort of faith in history. Meanwhile, I have two finals left -- Existentialism, tomorrow, and then Japanese on Thursday, neither of which I have studied for quite so much as I should -- and then the jewels will be ours -- forever!
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First, Saturday, the day of my birthday party; )

then, Sunday, a day of misadventure. )

Monday was anticlimax and anticipation. )

Now, it's now; still basically Monday. It's still not actively snowing, and everything is kind of holding its breath. I printed off my English essay, did some kanji homework, wrote this entry, and go back to waiting with the rest.
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I am trying to figure out which classes to register for, when I get to register for things on Monday. I am definitely going to take the second year Metaphysics course.

Possibilities )

In the absense of unforeseen developments, it's looking (now that I can see them laid out like that) like it will probably be the first one.
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Here is a monologue that I wrote, had corrected, and am now in the process of memorizing for Japanese class. It has the sort of stumbling simplicity you'd expect from a second semester language student. Having such a drastically limited ability to express myself is one of the things that's actually pretty frightening about my attempt at bilingualism; another is having to accept that words and the concepts they refer to are fundamentally not the same thing.

カット )
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In the student union building, when I passed through it on my way from my Ethics class to the library, they were playing music very loudly; I think that it was Michael Jackson's 'Thriller'. In the part of the room that sometimes functions as a stage, a man in an executioner's mask and several others in masquerade masks stood against one wall watching gravely as a man in a Spider-Man mask (with backup dancers) breakdanced furiously in the centre of the floor.

I keep forgetting that it's Hallowe'en, which makes these experiences a lot more surreal.
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Since I don't think I'm going to have any personal reading time to speak of for the remaining few days of the month (I'm right in the middle of a three- or four-week period of unusually intense schoolwork, which is also in large part why I haven't been writing here), I may as well post my October reading now. In keeping with the new tradition, I'll once again happily elaborate on my experience of any of these if asked.
Patrick O'Brian, Master and Commander
John M. Ford, The Dragon Waiting
C.J. Cherryh, Brothers of Earth
Peter S. Beagle, Tamsin
Steven Brust, Agyar


Oct. 13th, 2006 08:11 pm
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I was able to get a Sufjan Stevens ticket, after all. The show is tomorrow. Financially it probably wasn't a good idea, but how could I not? Emotionally (you may recall, faithful reader, how disappointed I was not to be going to this show) I can't really process it yet; I'm just kind of bewildered.

At Zulu, they were playing the new Decemberists album, and I asked, "Is this the new Decemberists?" and I was right, so I got to sound hip. Everything I've heard off of that album -- this was, to be precise, the second thing -- has been really good.

Meanwhile, homework! I've been sort of furiously treading water where school is concerned; my taking four classes has not at any point actually overwhelmed me, but having it continue not to do so takes a lot of my attention. I often feel like it takes much less to get my life filled up and busy than it does the lives of many of my friends or acquaintances and the people I read about, which maybe has to do with my constitutional tendency to want to potter around and breathe a lot between the things I'm doing, but anyway I feel quite busy right now and that's pretty much just my Langara classes and the homework therefrom. (On the other hand, a couple of people including a professor have responded to my description of my courseload by remarking that it's a heavy one, so maybe it really is. It's kind of worrying that, having nearly completed two calendar years in college, I still have only the vaguest ideas of a lot of things that other students seem to know instinctively.)

I think that my research essay for English class, which is currently in the preparatory stages, is probably going to be the most unpleasant part of this term. Since I was pretty much bound to be stressed about it, thinking about it that way feels a lot more hopeful than it sounds.

While I'm talking about school, I should probably mention in public that it looks like I'm going to be transferring into UBC's philosophy department as a second year student this coming summer. And then I guess I'll get a philosophy degree. This has by slow degrees come to seem the obvious course of action, though my answer to the question that everybody asks next ("What does one do with a philosophy degree?") is still very vague. But hey, UBC! Where I've been telling my weblog I'd like to go for years before even Langara. It has kindly waited for me to be ready.

Autumn is remembering how to be my favourite season again. The sun is leaving, but -- after a sadly overheated September -- has relented its way back to a temperature that I find basically perfect, kind and warm and windy. I feel filled up and inarticulate in the usual way, in love with the whole atmosphere, skin on out, and crunching wherever I step.
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This (late) afternoon, a key fell off of my laptop. Rather than evincing any sensible reaction, such as trying to work out how to fix it, or just typing on the newly bare stump of its function (which still works), I've spent the evening trying to speak lipogrammatically without the missing letter. So far, I've been managing pretty well, though I'll probably cast off my arbitrary chains the moment it turns out actually to be any significant inconvenience.

Among the things I can't say while I keep to this restriction:

  • Cola's real name, or mine.
  • Most of the usual names for the religiously numinous.
  • The most basic conjunctions.
  • A lot of things in the past tense.

Last night, I was triumphantly able to complete an essay for English class, which I went on to turn in this morning (my professor was sick, so I left it just within his office by the usual means. On my way to school, before I knew about that class' cancellation, I saw two of my classmates from it walking along 49th on exactly the wrong trajectory to get there on time; I was in remarkable confusion about what this might signify -- might I have somehow lost two hours? Or they, got two back? Were they aliens, with some clever machine by which they might seem, to anyone who saw them, to be some familiar but not well-known acquaintance? -- until I got to class, so learning the truth.) Tomorrow there is a kanji quiz as well as an Existentialism exam, after which I may relax somewhat about schoolwork at least for the rest of the week -- that is to say, the last part of the week. Man, this paragraph was troublesome.

It is, in fact, a long last-part-of-the-week, because of Thanksgiving. (Yes, really, America.) It is also time for V-Con, but I probably won't go.
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Final Fantasy was amazing. I want to use the word 'euphoric'; anyway it induced euphoria in me, an heady and uncritical joy. The rest of the audience seemed to be in a similar place, and we cheered him hugely and called him back for two encores, at the second of which he seemed gratifyingly incredulous. Several people called things adoringly salacious at the stage; I am pretty sure that all of them were men.

So far I see that I have said nothing specifically about the performance, and reported only on our reactions to it. Umm. He played a version of 'Arctic Circle' that in my mind totally eclipsed the recorded version. He played I think four songs that I didn't recognize, not including the two covers during the first encore, but including a manyfold-extended version of the arrow song from the second album. He played the piano sometimes, but not (amusingly) for 'This Lamb Sells Condos'. He did not play the song in my music field, although somehow it was the one in my head by the time I got home. I love his violin and his voice and his charm and self-effacement.

The opening acts were also a pleasant surprise, although later hugely overshadowed in that way that good openers to an awesome show so often are.

Now I am post-euphoria, which was manifesting itself as gloom for a little while, but I managed to get through most of that by ranting to my sister about Kierkegaard for a while. (I probably don't really understand Kierkegaard.) So mostly I am just enormously tired and slightly unsteady.

Elise asked me if I had any enemies. I said that I didn't think so. If you are my enemy, you should probably let me know. Perhaps we can come to some settlement?
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Yesterday, I read a short story that I really didn't like, but that I kept reading and finished because it was required by my English course. This is the first time that that has ever happened to me; I'll bet there are a lot of people who consider it a universal experience.

(I also read another story for the same purpose, today, that happily I liked a lot better. I have still to read a bunch of Aristotle and write several kanji several times, so I guess I'd better get on that.)
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Few-months-old writings that I'm getting around to posting in my livejournal: poem, song.

On Tuesday (which was the first day of school), sometime during the two hour gap between Ethics and Japanese, the power went partially out. Some halls and classrooms were still lit, and others dark; about half the lights in the library were on, and a third of the computers. I went to Japanese, anyway, but before we were even through the roll call, the Langara security guard with the bushy moustache came in and told us that they were evacuating the building.

I hung around outside long enough to pick up on the general gossip that all the classes had been cancelled because of the power, and to run into Jen, from the Japan group, who was something like the third of the Japan people I'd seen that day, though aside from Marilee I haven't seen any since. It's good to know that they still exist. We talked a little (ruefully) about the tendency of that sort of group trip to develop a close camraderie among people who afterward, for the most part, immediately get about the business of never seeing one another again, and made vague suggestions toward counteracting that; eventually.

Most of the power was back on for Wednesday, but there are lingering aftereffects, the most noticable of which is that all the air-conditioning is down. This does not make it as fun as it might be to take classes on the stifling-even-in-late-autumn third floor of the A building. (Handy guide to Earth's northern hemisphere seasons: it is right now a late, and rallying, summer.) Estimates vary widely as to when this is liable to be corrected; Leduc-sensei, in Japanese, reported direly that she'd been told that it could be as long as six months, whereas Marilee on Thursday told me that she'd heard it would be fixed the next day. There was another power-down today -- that is, Sunday -- this one scheduled, for maintenance, so I suspect that this, if it didn't solve it outright, was at least part of the effort.

I've been kind of exhausted the whole week, stumbling over the sudden need to get up about three hours earlier than I'd been accustomed; this combined with the heat and the starting-school hecticness has often left me feeling in a sort of haze of mental slowness and clumsiness communicating. Because of this in turn I've been responding to my classes in general with slightly more anxiety than I might have otherwise, and feeling out-of-breath already keeping up. They justify this to greater and lesser degrees; Dale, teaching Ethics, is as charming and comfortable as always (he made all the same jokes the first day), while the English teacher has informed me to my horror that he expects handwritten drafts of all the take-home essays.

I do not remember if there are other things I meant to talk about. Wait, yes I do; I've been wanting to say at least a little bit about my impressions of Ursula K. LeGuin's original Earthsea trilogy, which I read for the first time immediately before school began. But I'm pretty tired, so I should probably do that later.
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Here are the classes I'm planning to take this fall, plus helpful annotations. They have the interesting and convoluted property that none of them are on quite the same set of days (which unfortunately means that there are no days off this time, though Friday is but lightly loaded).

Monday Tuesday Thursday Friday

11:30 - 12:30: Philosophy 2202 - "Ethics"
Both the philosophy courses I'm taking this term are second year, which feels pretty daring because I've never taken a second year course before; but it's philosophy, which I sure do like. This one is by Dale, who also taught the first year course on ethics that was one of my first classes ever at Langara, so there is some continuity for you.

Monday Wednesday

12:30 - 2:30: English 1128 - "Short Prose Sls & Composition"
This class also evokes the past. Remember a long time ago when I took the Langara English Test and failed, or so I thought, because I didn't finish my essay, and the rules for the test said that this meant automatic disqualification? (I guess that was here.) Some time possibly measured in years later, I was poking through my information on the langara website and discovered there that I was recorded as having completed the test with a '5' (which is, for extra surrealism, the highest mark). So, yeah. Either the rules lied to me, or the examiners liked my essay so much that they wrote a computer simulation of me that finished it within the allotted time, and declared that good enough. In either case, nobody thought to mention it to me.

This is the beginning English course recommended for people who got that score, which I'm finally taking because I might transfer a university which would expect it of me, and because there are interesting English courses later on for which it's a prerequisite. I don't know what an 'Sl' is, but it probably involves writing essays, sigh.

Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday

2:30 - 3:30: Japanese 1215
The second part of the first year Japanese course I began in the fall. I wanted to take this from Hayashi-sensei, who went to Japan with us, but alas, he isn't teaching it this term, so I'm back with Ms. Leduc (who isn't terrible; I just like Hayashi). If they tend to stagger the classes like I suspect they do, then he may never be teaching the one I need next, unless I wait a term fallow; that would be sad.

Tuesday Thursday

3:30 - 5:30: Philosophy 2225 - "Existentialism"
And here is the other of those second year courses, taught by Bernelle Strickling, the mysterious and reclusive* head of Langara's philosophy department. I am extraordinarily vague on what existentialism is (except I think it convinces people to drink themselves to death?), so I look forward to a great deal of education.

(* I've actually just never had her.)

So, that's four. (Pictorial representation.) I have fond hopes of not dropping any of them; we'll see how that goes.
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I'm typing this on Memory -- or rather, Memory's shell, the gutted Memory, reset like _Quinn's Ping. I have the old hard drive here, too, though I still don't know what if anything I might be able to get back from it. Maybe in the meantime I should call this version 'Amnesia'.

I went to the library and got out Pamela Dean's Juniper, Gentian and Rosemary, which is turning out to be charming in a lot of similar ways, or maybe parallel ways, to Tam Lin; it's not the same book, but it tastes almost the same, so it's like having a Tam Lin that's new. Similarly, I've got out Noe Venable's album "Boots", which I've had for a couple of years but somehow never properly listened to until now, and there are songs there that are ragged and yearning and soaring in the way that Noe's older stuff has for me and her newer, for all that I love "The World Is Bound By Secret Knots", has never quite captured, and they have that, but I've never heard them before, so they can astonish me and fill me up just like Boots the song did in 2002. That pleasure, to get back the freshness of something worn with love, is so rare; to have it twice at once is intoxicating.

It has me thinking of Tam Lin, though, and this entry that I wrote nearly a year ago, and the recurring theme of my longing for belonging. A couple of months ago, on a sunny day, Elise and I went for a walk near Langara, and we passed a yard with a wooden playset set up in it, which got us talking about treehouses; I remarked that I had never had one, and that I had always wanted to, as a child, and Elise (being one of the sweeter people that I know) declared that we should certainly build one together. But it felt like that wouldn't quite be satisfying; what I'd wanted wasn't so much the structure of the treehouse as its ideal, the close-knit gang of childhood comrades, all living nearby, all coming regularly to a place they'd built, deep in the pockets of each other's lives. This old dream was really just another manifestation of my pervasive desire for a place to belong.

Since writing that entry, I have often (though not always) been less content than I was at the end of it. This term, Langara has finally become a place that I know people; where it's more likely than not each day that I'll see somebody I know in the halls, and stop to talk. I've only just made this, but I'll probably need to leave it soon. I went by to see Dale the other day, and he remarked that I probably had nearly enough credits to make a university transfer by now; he said that I should seriously consider it, because it was really a much neater environment for someone like me. He's probably right. I'll have another semester here, maybe two, and then I'll move on.

This is one of the most frustrating and exhausting aspects of schooling, and one of the few that Windsor House doesn't seem to have an answer for, although I guess that you get to come back, in a sense, once you have kids. How can I keep building these communities if I'll just have to leave them behind?
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Today I turned in a sloppy but acceptable philosophy essay, and yesterday I did passably well (so to speak! Ha, ha) on my Religions final, so now I get to relax without feeling guilty for the first time since my computer died. (My Japanese final is not until the 20th.) Consequently I feel a lot better.

The Queen of England, Canada, etc. has a page of 'Elizabethfacts' for her eightieth birthday. Most of them are sort of dry ("Since 1952, The Queen has conferred over 387,700 honours and awards."), but every once in a while you get one like, "The Queen learnt to drive in 1945 when she joined the Army.", or, "The Queen sent her first email in 1976..."
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(I wanted a longer and more meandering subject, but apparently that's after a certain point discouraged.)

Last night, I went to a free advance screening of Brick, which I enjoyed so much that I'm afraid to talk about it here at any length. I don't think I could give a rational description.

It is now only slightly over a month until I am going to Japan. (!) For those readers who don't yet know, I'm leaving the 7th of May, returning on the 27th ("That's twenty... One"). Before then, I need to

  • Apply for and receive my new passport. I've left this ridiculously late, but still not late enough that I'm particularly worried.

  • Figure out what it makes sense for me to take along, and particularly whether that category includes my laptop (also, regardless of the answer to that, whether I'll have the regular opportunity for weblog posts or e-mails).

  • Go in early tomorrow morning to give a travel agent a cheque for a fair deal of money.

  • Finish up the current school term by writing a couple of final exams and an essay.

Probably it's this last that will absorb most of my attention for the next week or two.

Those 'Isaac Mizrahi' bus stop ads (which I guess are for clothing?) have a really successful model; whenever I see them, I want to stop and look at her. It's not exactly physical attraction - at least, not in the traditional variation - but there's something arresting about her face, and its expressions. She looks... Clever.

Cherry blossoms!

I have a painful pimple, right now, on the edge of one of my earlobes, and of course I keep touching it. In addition to the usual irrational impulse to keep poking at things like that, there's the fact that I've discovered that, though the pimple itself is on the front of my ear, I can feel it at the back, through the skin. It feels really weird.

I conceived of most of this entry early in my bus ride home from school, but I had to wait until I'd arrived before I could write it; no doubt it mutated, some, in that time (in addition to the certain mutations that are inevitable in the setting down of any narrative, given the brain's ability to fill in or skip over gaps or awkward places so thoroughly that it doesn't even recognize them until it comes time to lay a thing out, in order). It seems like livejournal's newfangled 'current location' field can't be very interesting* until I'm able to make an entry from any arbitrary place it occurs to me, rather than having to seek out these sorts of weblog 'save points': home, schools, libraries. Probably some people, with their cell phones, already have this. This reminds me of cola's idea of the 'blog fight', where two people would stand in some public place, with spectators, and post furiously at one another, until some victory condition was achieved (the other duelist's hands getting tired?).

(* Though it may serve me well in Japan.)


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Andy H.

February 2013

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