It’s 3:14 in the morning, and I have one problem left to do. I’ve looked up all the definitions, drawn some pictures, and tried to do some calculations. I sit back to try to think of where to go now. As my body collapses onto my bed and my head sinks into the pillow, I try to pretend that I really care about weighted graphs and triangle inequalities. But, in actuality, I’m just wondering why the hell the Golden Girls got so popular.
Seriously. It’s about four old women. How did that happen?
ugh, before I forget, the biggest bitch in the world lives around here.
Normally, I say “hi” to people I just meet, because, you know, we’re all in this together and we might as well be brothers-in-arms or whatever, but whenever I said ‘hi’ to her, she was quick to look away and talk to someone else, or just look blankly at me and then go back to her work. It’s not that she’s shy either — no, far from it. She makes it known to her surrounders (I call them that and not ‘friends’ because I don’t see how such a bitch could make friends — it seems more probable that these people are simply surrounding objects that she manipulates) that she has tons of problems and that they’re all more awful than any of the surrounders could ever imagine.
You know what? We all have problems. And you know what? Most of us aren’t bitches. Some of us [adrianne.] even make entertaining blogs about out horrible, horrible lives.
So, really, stop bitching. I’m really sorry that I said hi, or that I accidentally walked by you, or that I’m present in the room or that I’m taking up a lot of your air or that the heat in my body is making the room too warm or that the cells that make up my skin could be used in some way to benefit you.
And I may be overreacting here, but, damn.
And you know, she’s nice sometimes, which makes me feel awful about calling her a bitch. If it were 1/4th of time time, I could sympathize. But, it’s more like 8/9ths of the time that she’s a bitch, and 1/9th of the time that I couldn’t care less about it. So, really, it’s 100% bitchy.
But for real. Shut the hell up and go live in a cave if the horrors of the world are too much for your eyes and hears — if you don’t like the music, then you shouldn’t be playing the cymbals in the orchestra. damn.
on a brighter note, I just ate an ice cream sandwich. I really, really, really had a craving for ice cream. But, I don’t know how well this is going to go over. Maybe I should just pop another lactaid.
i mean, it’s kind of dumb that they make the chewables taste like ice cream. There’s plenty of things that have lactose that aren’t ice cream. Plenty of things that don’t taste good after you ate a chewable pill that tastes like ice cream.
Just a quick post befo’ I leave to do my homework [in starbucks?] — I’ve been having a lot of vivid dreams lately. I’unno what it is. Might be the weather.
And speaking of which, today is a crisp 69 degrees — partially sunny. The sky is actually blue and there isn’t huge gusts of wind everywhere.
The rest of the week will not go below 54 degrees, apparently, as a high. This is pretty nice, fo’ reals. I am tired of being shut into my room just because I hate the freezing catacombs that make up the empty streets going to the main quad. but, it’s nice out today.
exercise for the reader: step aerobics.
This is from AOL news, so it probably won’t be up long. But, basically, a bunch of kids harassed this guy by walking on his lawn — which he apparently tended to five times a week or something. Then he shot and killed one.
Now, I don’t claim to know how any of those kids acted, or what that guy was like, or anything like that — but, imagine how that old guy felt at the very moment when he realized that he’d shot the kid, but the moment before he realized that he was going to have to go to jail for the rest of his life.
I bet that feeling is one of the greatest feelings ever.
No, not just a feeling after murder. I mean, a feeling after carrying out revenge. The old guy got picked a lot, and he only loved his lawn, you know? And the kids didn’t care. They were just being d-bags about it. So, as irrational and as strange as it may see to us, it seemed completely logical to the old man to take those asshole kids OUT. And, to him, this revenge — this literal annihilation of near-continuous irritating and anxiety — probably was a hundred times more powerful than sexual climax. Unfortunately, it lasts for only a split second.
What, then, is this feeling?
Exercise for the reader: revenge is obviously dependent on one’s conception of what justice is in a social setting — and this is, consequently, based on social norms. what, then, is revenge? is it a disciplining of a party for an act they did which is contrary to the beliefs of the revenge-taker? so, then, is this disciplining act entirely for the molding and shaping of the other person? if so, why does it feel so nice when one enacts revenge on another? why should oppressing make us feel good?
Quoted from an old Deadjournal Post of mine [numbering is for comments]:
[may 18, 2005] so i slept for some 16 hours, i guess. and it got a little creepy at the end.
[1] for whatever reason, my subconscious is obsessed with this childhood that I never, ever had.i, or rather, my subconscious drempt that i was watching saturday night live and rosanne of all people was on. but she was so incredibly old. and then my mother was old. and suddenly everyone was old, i realized, and that it must be depressing as hell to get older. it would get boring with everyone dead or dying.
[2] so i dont know if it was an overstimulation of my amygdala or friggin’ what, since all of this really depressed me. and my mind worked back to a scene from my false-childhood where there was this big kitchen thing in the middle of an old, sunny room and there were little cups or something.
[3] essentially, my subconscious remembers my childhood as an old room made exclusively of wood with sunlight coming in one or two windows and filling up the room enough to see all of the bits of dust fluttering about.
[4] since i spent my entire childhood playing videogames and sleeping, i dont really know where it got that image from.
[5] another false image i remember is watching the rain from this big window in my living room.
[5] i also tend to beat myself up for learning things. like, i feel that my childhood has ended solely because i learned things.
[6] then i wake up and try to rethink all of this. and it doesnt make sense at all to me, and i no longer care about any of it. i’m glad i’m older. i’m glad i learned things. i dont yearn for childhood. i dunno what’s wrong with my subconscious, but it’s kind’a weirdin’ me out.
So, lemme go step by step. Step one, excuse my misspellings. Step two, excuse me for being pretentious.
1: This was a dream that I don’t remember exactly, but I’m able to reconstruct it in my head. It really creeped me out at the time, since it was really a point where I was fixated on my mortality. I’d spend a really long time wondering what death would be like and if I’ll even know if I died, etc. It was, I feel, a way to rationalize my parents getting older. For some reason, at that point, I realized that my mother and father were much older than I thought they were — I’d always figured they were around 40; but in fact, they were more like 50-something. I think this was around the same time when my friend’s mother died, and so it was fresh in my head. Also, just as context, I think this was the time when I was so annoyed at living at home that I just stayed in my room all day and worked on the internet. “worked”. It was this point that I was too afraid to call friends and would often rely on people to call me; I sort of just felt at the mercy of everyone else’s commands. Then, at this point, I think, my grandma noted that one of her friend’s died. Or one of chet’s friends died. And I just thought that it would suck to be the last one of all of your friends to die. What would you do? You’d be so weak and tired. That’s an idea that scared me for a while.
2: I don’t, at all, remember this image. I think that, if anything, it was from my playroom with this little blue table which I used to sit at. I don’t know about little cups. In fact, I’m not even sure that the little table has anything to do with it. It may have been when I was very small [5?] and got a record player in the front room of our house with the sun shining though the windows. Really, it just seems like there was so much more sun than was possible in my house. We didn’t get big windows until much later.
3: This is a common image that I saw. It was the guest bedroom of my grandmother’s house modified slightly to be more isolated, tan-colored, itemless with only a large, square bed adjacent to the windows. And the windows had light coming in through them, but I couldn’t see the outside for some reason. I was very small, even restricted to the bed[?] and it didn’t seem like it was from my point of view. The dust in the air was made visible due to the sunlight. This is one of the most calming images I have in my head, because I don’t try to rationalize any of this. It just happens. This is one of my only memories where everything just is and doesn’t do anything.
4: This is true. A lot may be from my early childhood [< 5].
5: This isn’t a false-image. This actually happened with my mother and father. We were watching a storm from the sliding glass door. Actually, it might be a false-memory. I don’t know. I just think about it a lot. I just recently had a dream with it, actually. Which is sort of strange.
6: This is my attempt at repression.
exercise for the reader: read your old blogs.
I went to the city today. I’ll update quickly: 3 shirts, 1 pair of shoes, 1 bathing suit, and that’s about it.
For some reason, I’m constantly worried about getting my homework done on time this quarter. I mean, it’s always important, but this quarter I’m really stressin’ over it. I really need to do the reading for sosc, I really need to do graph theory, I really need to do the gesture stuff, and I really need to do analysis. We’re going into 5th week, I think, which marks around the halfway point, so at least I’ve got that going for me. And the weather is great. Really. It’s finally warm out — and hopefully, it’ll be warm for a few more days before the temperature plunges back into the thirties.
I don’t know what it is, but my Firefox isn’t working. At all. Period. How am I updating? Well. Well.
This has kept me occupied, instead of Sosc reading, for something like two and a half hours. I’d suggest reading the first ten pages, then read it at 50 page intervals.
It always upsets me that I didn’t get into a computer-based field. I love computers, and I love learning things about’em. I think it really just was all too much for me to handle. Everything was just so overwhelming, and I didn’t know where to start. I’m gradually picking things up, but like an old man trying to fit in with a new generation, I generally get pwnd.
According to weather.com, the lowest average temperature’s going to be on Thursday — of, about, 45 degrees. Which ain’t too shabby, no.
And I’m often conflicted about now — should I go home? Should I stay here? What do I have there? What do I have here? I’m going to be, hopefully, getting an apartment for next year and this summer, so I will have that, — but, I will need to work to pay for it. In addition, a lott’a my friends are staying here for the summer.
I do miss home, don’t get me wrong — but what do I have there? Red Bank? Starbucks? Target? I really don’t go anywhere. I’m not going to make any new friends. It’ll be the same as every other summer from 12th grade onwards. So, really, it’s a question between: do I want to relax and do nothing, or, do I want to work and learn maths?
Oh well. Okay, to bed.
Exercise: find the flaw in this argument.
Take a real number x between 0 and 1. Suppose the probability of guessing that real number x is 0 since there are an infinite number of reals between 0 and 1. Then take y. The probability of guessing x or y is also 0. Continue, until you have a countable [but infinite] set of values between 0 and 1. By the same argument above, the probabiliy of guessing ANY of them is still 0. Next, construct an uncountably infinite set of these numbers, and we will have, by the same argument, a probability of guessing any of them of 0. But, as this is uncountable, we can add as many elements as we’d like from the reals and have it stay uncountable — so, add every real between and including 0 and 1. By the same argument, we have a probability of guessing any of them of 0. Now, say we guess ANY value y between 0 and 1. Clearly, this is in every real, so we have accurately guessed a number. Clearly, the probability is, then, not zero. Therefore, the probability of guessing a real number between 0 and 1 is nonzero.
Looking through my old conversations with people I used to talk to.
******: its just easier to be bisexual than gay. when youre bisexual you can at least pretend to be straight. thats why i think its fake. its just a gay kid trying to fit in with straight kids or a straight kid trying to fit in with gay kids. its kind of pathetic really
I’m pretty tired of the bisexual-hating agenda of some gay \ straight people. Really, it’s gott’a stop. I don’t feel like writing any more on the topic now, but I’m getting an essay together about it. Everything is just so slow going since the last part of Rudin is particularly impossible. Define what? Partitions of who?
Exercise: EXPLAIN THIS TO ME.
So, I took off of work yet again. I don’t know why they don’t just fire me.
My stomach is killing me, and my head is pounding.
What do you think? I’m not gonna tell you what I think.
I think it’s time for a fascist revolution.
First, I have not slept yet. I’ve been up literally all night doing my homework. Luckily, this time, I got EVERYTHING done except 1 full problem and half of one problem in graph theory. Whew. I literally just ran out of time. It was awful. Anyhow.
So, three things happened. I’ll tell you them, then I’ll go to bed. So, here goes:
First, my step aerobics class was canceled because the CD player didn’t work. And what’s step aerobics without music? Basically just climbing stairs. And we can do that anywhere.
Second, I got some hummus.
Third is a story. So, I’m walking home on 57th, and the homeless man who’s always on 57th stops me and says, “Got anything?” — yeah, anything. I mean, I did, but I was like, “I got no cash dollars on me — ” but because he was RIGHT in front of university market and because I was about to go in, I clarified, ” — just a card, sorry.” And I did that quickly, and started to walk in. “Can you get me a sandwich, then?”
So, you all know my opinion on the homeless and giving to them. And I said before that if I knew it was for food or something, I would give. So I said, “Sure.” And then he goes, “And some chicken wings?”
I walk into the store and browse around. The sandwiches are $6 for the cheap ones — $10 for the big ones. Now, there is no way in hell I’m going to spend $6 on a homeless guy’s sub. I may have said I’d give — but, seriously. $6 is a lot to me. There’s many, many things I can do with $6.
On my debit card, I had about $12. I wanted to buy things that amounted to about $10, but I couldn’t buy his sandwich then. So, being very tired — and seeing as how he was watching me through the glass — I just gave up. I went out of the store with NOTHING, and said, “I forgot my wallet at home.”
So, he looks away from me and doesn’t say anything. As if I’ve insulted him. Another kid walks by and he goes, “Wanna buy me a sandwich?”
So, I felt used. And I had no food. Honestly? I was angry. I just got used because I am a non-homeless person with cash. This is why I hate when I talk about not wanting to give to the homeless and people saying that I’m a jerk or that I’m selfish.
I just got USED as an OBJECT; as a MACHINE to MAKE HIM FOOD. I am a unit that takes in requests and spits out sandwiches. This is not something that I do — I don’t care how desperate someone is. If he said thank you, or something even along those lines, then maybe I wouldn’t be as mad. But now I’m foodless (of course, I could have been like, “screw you, homeless guy.” and walked back inside, but I didn’t for some reason) and I’m pissed and I just hate that the homeless always stand RIGHT THERE AT UNIVERSITY MARKET.
ugh. this will come back to bite me, no doubt, but i’m pissed about it now.
off to bed. ugh.
Jon and I were arguing for what seemed like hours about which Bright Eyes song had the best lyrics on Cassadaga. Now, I know I haven’t finished my critique of the album, which I will do on Wednesday [with some neat surprises, maybe!], but during a particularly heated point of our debate, we noticed something strange about the lyrics to “If the Brakeman Turns My Way.” Maybe you, too, can find the error.
Look at this.
And this.
And this.
And even this.
Now, if you’ve listened to it and still can’t find the error, here’s a hint: start listening at 1:26.
Yeah. So. Where’s the movin’ out?
Jon and I couldn’t find a single site that had the ‘moving out’ part in it — which is irritating, because, then, how the hell are you going to figure out what he’s saying after the first moving out? Is it ‘gott’a movin’ out’ or ‘Godiva movin’ out’ or ‘Doralia’s movin’ out’ or what? Honestly, I don’t know.
Now, really. It’s one thing to leave out things that are clearly in the background (eg. middleman’s “ditch diggers, …, bone polishers, dog [?] robbers, … , field nurses, … , bootleggers, …etc.”, or “saddlecreek fucking records!” in the an attempt to tip the scales interview), but really, now. Conor himself even says it at 4:01 in the song!
Conclusion? Don’t trust lyrics. Go with what’s in your heart and in your head, kid.
PEAZE.
