park talk

oh my goodness.

well, i'm done. i've just finished taking my last two finals. the one i had to submit for my criticism class put me through the wringer. i wrote ten pages on six different authors in one night. i think that is the closest i've ever come to being a basket case, loosing my mind. it was my own fault really, because i procrastinated so badly that i left myself only one night to do it. so. as of this point, i'm not so sure about that 4.0. i think i should just give up. the pursuit of perfection in college is virtually impossible. at this very moment, two of my classmates are sitting in this computer lab working on their criticism finals. i wish them luck because if its due by 3pm today and they're just now working on it...

also, the "d" on this keyboard is a little temperamental, so if some of my words are missing their ds, its because the key wouldn't cooperate. its like keys on the piano that don't play anymore--you never realize how much you need that key until it stops working. isn't it interesting that both music and literature require the use of the alphabet? i find it fascinating. to think that a symbol, a single character, can represent both a letter and a musical note. how do they read notes in regions where the Roman alphabet isn't used? are they obliged to conform to the use of the Roman alphabet when it comes to playing music? i think they must. and i could have a lot of fun playing with the multiple connotations of the word "key" in music and literature, but i think i won't. suffice it to say that the word "key" sums up the word "alphabet" when it comes to literature and music. it is the basic building block. at least in today's day and age where literature is usually created with the use of a keyboard and a computer. i'm very tempted to look up the etymological origins of this word...

i don't know what it is about this morning, perhaps it is the relief, but all these thoughts are coming to me unbidden. in the shower this morning i thought about packs: how most things that are bad for humans come in packs--cigarettes, beer, wolves...i think it's interesting that what is unhealthy for us comes in larger quantities. i mean, you can't buy one cigarette. maybe you could from a person, but not in a store. and anyway what kind of smoker only wants one cigarette? that just goes to show you how much i know about smoking. it's the same thing with beer. where can you buy one beer except in a bar? they sell them in packs everywhere else. sometimes they don't even sell them, they just distribute them in packs. large quantities, i tell you. it really is bad for us. only when the acquirement of such things is mediated by a person are we saved, ie: one beer at the bar from the bartender, one cigarette from a person. if we're left to ourselves in a market, we'll buy the packs. which is another reason why being a consumer is hard. you're taken advantage of by being made to buy a certain number of things. we need that human mediation. except, that is, when you're at Costco. human mediation there takes the form of people handing out samples and instead you get the reverse effect: if you like the sample, you buy the bag of 24 pieces, or the box of 50 rolls or what have you. but Costco is wholesale and you can't blame them. besides, some people only take the sample and make a meal of it (like my father) without buying the product, and in this case, the personal mediation works effectively. it's actually rather nice.

lastnight when i was writing my criticism final, my mind would wander and daydream. it was a necessity, really, otherwise i would have gone mad. i daydreamed about people, a scene with a dog i'm thinking of adding to a story, etc. in one particular instance, my mind wandered into two scenes from two different movies. they were Munich and The Prestige. in Munich, i recalled the scene where Eric Bana is walking down the street in New York with his baby in his arms. in The Prestige, i recalled when Christian Bale takes his baby into his arms while Hugh Jackman watches on enviously. those two scenes started me off and i ask you now: what is it about men holding babies that is so...moving? i don't mean to use this word in a deep, philosophical sense, but simply. people are moved by many trivial things--i mean for it to mean feeling affection, or feeling affected. i don't know what it is. i think it's the way they hold the child, how they are fully capable of holding the child with one arm. i think it's the combination of the man's strength and the child's vulnerability. i think it's the fact that a man must use a small amount of physical strength to carry the child, but every other type of strength they have is...poised, suspended, ready to protect the baby but at the same time, restraining itself so as not to be too harsh. maybe that's it. the potential energy, the potential strength you see in a man as he takes a baby into his arms. how he must be gentle, but at the same time ready. so gentleman. if you are to use a baby to gain the affections of a woman, do not simply push the unknown baby in a stroller. hold the child in your arms, and she will be mush. at least i would be.

and i think that will do it for now. now i must go and enjoy my freedom. happy holidays!

hiatus

i feel i must write because this blog has gone almost a whole month without my...comments.

it is week 10. finals week is next week and tomorrow is the last day of classes. everyone i know says that this quarter went by the fastest and i agree with them. i don't know what it is. maybe it seems shorter because last year i had madrigal dinner to worry about--extra rehearsals eight nights of performing, the day to put up the sets, the day to tear them down...i miss it. whether or not i deserve it, there is some chance that i may get a 4.0 this quarter. we'll just have to see. i didn't recount in here the terrible ordeal of midterms and the results thereof. let us just say that i am not so hopeless after all. i'm still not driven, but my mind is as sharp as ever.

last time i was here, i introduced my professors and my classes. now that i look back, i realize how differently i feel now. i have come to truly admire and appreciate my criticism professor. despite his non-P.C. comments and his bola ties and his theatrics, he's a very fierce, very intelligent, very opinionated, very compassionate man. and i've grown very fond of him. its such a shame that the quarter has ended so soon. the same with my epic and romance professor. i liked her from the start and it was a bittersweet last lecture today. my bio professor i do not care for at all. not at all. the TA for the class swings back and forth: at times i like her, at times she irritates me so badly that i call her names, which if you know me you know is a very rare occurrence. my french professor i have always liked and i hope to see him again someday. i cannot miss him because i'm sure our paths will cross again. and my writing teacher.

my writing class in general i will miss. i started the class feeling displaced, very aware of my lack of self-confidence. those younger than me were more comfotable expressing their opinions. but in those strange and unwitting ways that i have, i've somehow proven to them that i am intelligent and they began to treat my silence and my faltering ways with more compassion--i'd hope with more liking. and their reactions to my stories were also favorable. i have come to appreciate them, all of them, and i'd like to think that they've come to appreciate me, although i'm sure i require more of their patience than any of the other class members. and again its such a shame that the quarter ended so soon. through the weeks i've learned my writing professor and i like him so well that i will miss him most of all. at least, i say so now. but even if i don't miss him, i'll always remember him. i wish him luck and i hope to seem him again.
he mentioned something about guilt today: how guilt is a reaction to inaction. how guilt is based on a perception of the future and how it can determine what we choose to do or not do. some people would call guilt conscience. the strange thing is, guilt refers to both the past and the future. it has marvelous rapport with time. if a person knows they will feel guilty for not doing something, they will do whatever it is they were hesitant to do. in this way, guilt changes the future. if a person feels guilty for doing something after the fact, then guilt refers to a past action. however the guilt regarding this past action will most likely keep the person from repeating the same action/mistake. in this way, the guilt that refers to the past at the same time alters the future. a marvelous rapport. conscience, on the other hand, seems to refer only to the present. conscience is that thing that operates in the moment. it does not take into account how the person will feel in the future or how the person feels about past actions, it analyzes the situation at the present. and for typical representations of conscience, time seems to stop altogether while the person consults the angel on one side and the devil on the other.

people always talk about how unreliable memories are. they say that when we look back whatever we remember has been altered by bias. but nobody ever specifies whether or not pure memory exists. is it possible to really remember every detail? or are we just fooling ourselves and it wasn't like how we remember it at all? i ask, because lastnight i was remembering Paris. and while i was remembering Paris, my mother was remembering Firenze and asked me to take out my cameos so we could find a good chain for them. i haven't looked at my cameos since our last night in Rome. so when i took them out...it was with a unique sense of wonder. they were made in a place that i have only been to once. and as i revealed them once again, i found a set of italian mosaic earrings that i had gotten at the Vatican and completely forgotten about. and in a rush i remembered the sense of tension and defiance i felt when buying them: how i no longer had the funds to buy them but i decided to do so anyway because i was in Rome and when would i get another chance? i remembered the italian leather, the swedish clocks, the landscape from France, to Switzerland, to Rome. i don't write about the trip much. not here, not in any of the other records i keep. i also have not looked at my souvenirs since the night that we got back. it's a strange sort of silence i'm keeping, but keeping it is what i think is best.

next week is my last shot. i hope i get it right.