More

So um I wrote a crappy essay. I kinda want it out of sight and mind so here it is. There were like ten-minute delays between each sentence or something so I really don't feel like editing it. Didn't even plan it out beforehand, so structure is lacking.

More

Life is art. Art is life. Everything has the ephemeral beauty of an eddy in the mist folding in on itself – nothing does. Art is interpretation; life is interpretation; we are who we make ourselves out to be. We make art out to be both beautiful and ugly and everything in between, but its innumerable nature itself is beautiful. Or repulsive. Everything humanity judges, everything humanity gives meaning to, everything humanity is, is art. But every piece of art we pass through softly with numb fingers touches us as well, and the observed changes the observer in the act as much as it is changed.

Music is the backbone of my life. It shapes my memories, my mood, and my perceptions. The hushed overtones of mourning at the last dance, the rawness of strings on fingers and bite of bow in hand, the daily pulses of bass washing over and wiping away stress – these are my memories. Each memory recalls to life a particular melody or strain from that time and, for a brief time, the emotions. Music molds not only the perceptions of the past, but also the present, for a Bruch concerto has the power to temper a mood just as ska can uplift my spirits. As much as I create music through violin, it creates a part of my consciousness that will likely never disappear.

Writing, too, changes self. Writing is an outlet, a pathway for the disorganized currents of the mind to come through in art. Writing is true creation. Through it I can induce something to blossom entirely out of myself, the only restraint being myself. I can distill myself, my thoughts, and my feelings into words. Writing is an open doorway to the mind, or a way to think aloud to the world. With it comes the power to persuade and compel, to reveal and show, to simply talk. Good communication is difficult in this world, for we humans are shallow beasts and self-awareness reaches very little of our being. The difficulty of writing, of putting myself on paper, reveals just how much I know of myself. Beyond my own writing, that of others has tremendous power to influence me. Dawkins and Dennett magnified the importance of rational thought; Paine had his common sense. The simple existence of a physical, tangible medium for abstract thought and communication is a wonder in and of itself.

Doubtless there are other mediums of art, other forms of human thought and interpretation. Writing and music are but the two forms that consciously influence me on a daily basis. But as a race, humanity and its culture are shaped by far more than just these two. Even considering all media of human expression, they're not all there is. Art is greater than the sum of its parts, greater than what we think it is. It's not simply a human creation but something that shapes humanity in return, holds a candle and a mirror to its face. And this meme is greater than that as well. Art is more.

Concisity

Okay, okay, I procrastinate on my freaking blog. Not good. Anyways, ramblings tonight commence.

So we're doing a group project in English on the Canterbury Tales. It's a whole write-your-own-modern-version thing. So, you know, you'd expect us to do something normal about some really normal inoffensive stereotypes, but no. No. You know what we do? My group is basing its tales around a group of random people high on freaking pot because some dealer snuck some brownies into an unlicensed samples stand at freaking Costco. Here you know what? I'll just put the somewhat-edited prologue here.

"Rain splattered across the flooding sidewalk as a plethora of Thousand Oaks citizens struggled to find shelter. Many flocked to the nearby Costco because of the undeniably pleasurable prospect of heart-warming food samples. Watching them all enter, a group of vagrants pretended to sleep in the untenable line of shopping carts. Three wore thin teal sports jackets in which secretly held a handful of hi-tech play toys, including two iPods and three cell phones.  Yet nearest to their hearts they clutched at their crumpled and battered welfare checks.              

Keeping a watchful eye upon these hobos an African-Canadian janitor stood by the wide entrance, leaning his chin against his broom handle—white moustache twitching as he stood sentry. An employee for fifteen years, he looked on quietly, his bald head gleaming in the fluorescent lighting hanging above the aisles.              

Meanwhile, out back near the truck loading docks, a 50-year-old transvestite waited for passing cars, hoping for a prospective client. Clad in a faded red trench coat, the aged woman endured the pouring rain. Luckily, a passing Mercedes stopped by the loading docks. Out of it came a businessman, formally dressed—suit, shirt, and tie galore—he had gone through this process before. After conducting the financial aspects, however, he found the Mercedes dead, for the battery had gone out in the pouring rain. The grey sky and curtains of rain forced the two to enter Costco to conduct business somewhere warmer.              

Immediately after the promiscuous couple entered, a group of blond-haired girls tiptoed inside, huddling together for warmth, giggling and complaining about the erratic weather. They dressed in almost nothing but cutoff shirts and shorts high enough to classify as Speedos. Following silently behind them, the swarthy male cheerleaders shook their curly hair, spraying the surrounding Costco customers with a mixture of both grease and water.              

Behind them entered two teenagers following their busy uncaring parents.  With night-black porcupine hair one of the teens stared at his GameBoy ^tm through half inch glasses, a glazed look in his almost-black squinty eyes. A Pokémon T-shirt hung loosely on his slightly pudgy frame. He was obviously Asian, but of which nationality who can ever tell? Spinning around him with Heelys the other young adult texted his cooler non-Asian friends. He clothed himself in a fine collared shirt inscribed with the insignia St. Paschal Baylon, which looked as if the student tried extremely hard to remove it but the ink settled deep within the threads. To remedy this he popped up his collar in a surprisingly vampire-like style and tucked but half of his shirt in his rumpled slacks.              

Striding into Costco with an air of pride, a hardworking Jewish student with short curly hair aimed for the school supply aisle to buy pens and pencils in bulk. He received both envious and annoyed looks from both the Catholic school student and the janitor. Nevertheless he hurried to his destination without observing the people around him—he was too good for them.              

Meanwhile, a shady looking man stood in the back corner of Costco. Wearing a black leather coat and ragged beanie he stood behind an unauthorized brownie stand. Although he seemed a creepy and undesirable man his delicious smelling pastilles attracted the noses of the cold and wet Thousand Oaks citizens, most of which found that nothing could go wrong in such a safe city. None of these mindless-sample-grabbing-never-actually-buying-anything customers knew of the “secret ingredient” the hook-nosed man snuck into their brownies. For the man was actually a drug dealer. The customers were soon all on what they called a “journey into a whole new mind” and after rounding them up in the Costco security office and capturing the pot smoking dealer that caused the entire dilemma, I heard them speak without restriction. Many times I want to forget that fateful day when I heard THE COSTCO TALES."

This is so freaking ridiculous we are going to be the only people in class laughing. Oh, oh, guess what? I get to do the hooker's tale. Wheeeeeee!

In other news we got crushed by Newbury on their home course. Everybody except varsity girls. We need to pull it together. Back to you, empty plot of future blog posts.

Progress

So. It's a Friday. Terrific. Heading out to a band festival-ish thingy tomorrow night, otherwise not doing much. I also get to write an article on my journalism teacher. Terrific. 

Just thought I'd leave this little tidbit.
Statistics for 10-09-2009 21:17:57

Cubes Solved: 46/49
Number of Pops: 0
Average: 35.84
Standard Deviation: 4.16
Best Time: 25.82
Worst Time: 43.70
Individual Times:
1.    34.36    B' F' L2 F2 L R' D' R2 B2 L2 F2 R D' L B' D B' F2 D L R' F2 D B' L2
2.    35.36    B F' R2 D2 B L2 D2 U2 L' R2 U' L' B2 R2 F2 L' B' U B2 L' D2 U' F2 U2 R
3.    37.79    F2 L B' F L R B2 F' L2 D L B' D' B2 U' R' U' L' R F' D F2 U' B' U'
4.    36.98    L' F L D R D U2 L U L' R D F' D U2 L2 R F2 R' B' L2 R' D' F L2
5.    36.72    D' U2 L R' D2 U2 R B2 F2 D U2 R' B2 F R D R' F L' D' U2 F2 U B' F
6.    30.45    D U' B D R2 D' U' L2 R' F2 D2 L' U2 B2 L2 U' L' U L2 D B' F' D2 F2 U'
7.    DNF    F2 L' F2 U2 B' D2 F L B2 F2 L' R F L2 R2 D U F L2 D' U2 B' F L2 B'
8.    40.72    U2 F2 D2 F2 D U2 R' B2 D' F2 L R2 B F2 U F L2 D2 F' D' F L2 R' D U'
9.    36.08    L' B2 F' L2 U2 B L F2 L F U' B' D2 U2 F2 R2 B' D2 U2 R' B' L B2 F R'
10.    41.00    L R2 B F' D' L2 B F R2 F2 R2 F' R' F2 R D' B R2 D2 B2 F2 L2 R F L'
11.    35.10    L' R D' U2 B' F2 L' U' B2 F U R' D B2 R B F U2 L2 D R2 U' L' R U'
12.    31.58    F2 L R' U2 L B F' L2 R2 B' L U F' U' L2 D B' D' B F L2 U B' U' R2
13.    37.84    B2 F2 L' U2 B' F2 L' D' U R' B2 F2 D2 U' F' R D L' R U' L' R' F2 U B2
14.    41.71    U' L R F D U L' R' F2 D' U' R' D2 L' U2 F L' R B' F L' R2 B' D' U
15.    25.82    U2 R' D2 L R2 U' B' F2 D R' D2 U' B2 F2 D2 U2 B F' D L2 B' F2 U' R D2
16.    36.77    B F L B2 F2 R' B2 L2 B' D L R2 B2 U2 L2 R2 B' L' D' U B L2 B' D' U
17.    32.79    D2 L B D U2 L R2 F L' F' L' D2 B' D R2 F' U' L2 R' U2 R B2 F R' B
18.    38.79    U R' B R2 D U' R' B2 F L R' U2 B2 U L U' F' D U' B F D2 U' L2 B'
19.    35.10    L R' B' L D2 U2 L' R F U L2 U2 B F2 D U2 B R F2 D' U F' L2 U2 R2
20.    40.83    B U' B2 D2 U2 L' D U' F L' R' F2 R' B U L D U L B F2 L' R2 B F2
21.    35.99    L R U2 F2 L2 F2 D' U R2 B D R2 F2 U L' D' F L' D2 U2 L' R2 F2 R F'
22.    36.30    U R2 B2 R2 F D2 B' F2 L' R' U' L2 B2 R2 D2 U R' B L2 D2 B2 D U L R2
23.    32.80    D F2 L R U' B' F2 L' U2 B' F' D2 R' F2 D2 U2 B F2 D2 L2 F2 D' U F' D
24.    36.07    D U' B' F U' B L F2 U B R' U' R2 F L D F' R' D' U2 B' F2 R B2 F2
25.    41.80    F' L2 R2 D U L U R' B L' F D U' R B' F L' B2 D' U F L' F L R
26.    DNF    R' F2 D2 L' R D2 U B2 F L' D2 L2 R' B' R U L' R' D L R B' F L2 B'
27.    30.19    L R2 D2 B2 F' D' U B2 F L' D' U L' R' U' B2 F D2 B L2 R' F L2 R' B2
28.    33.42    R' B' L B F2 D' U B' F D U2 R2 F' L R2 F R B2 D' L F2 U' B F U'
29.    39.16    B' F2 U' B2 D2 U R2 B2 F L' R' D2 U2 R2 F L2 U2 F2 L R U B2 F D' L2
30.    39.23    L F' U' F D U' L2 R D L2 R F2 D L F2 U F2 D R2 B D2 L R B L'
31.    35.25+    B' U2 L2 R F D2 L' R' F' L' U' B' F L2 R2 D2 U2 L' R' B2 D L' R' F R'
32.    34.24    F2 D' U F2 D' R' D2 U2 L2 R2 D U L R2 B U B L' R' B D U' B' R B
33.    43.70    B' F U L R' B' F L2 U F2 D2 U L2 R' D' U B2 F' L B2 F2 L' B F2 L2
34.    37.93    B2 F2 R D L' R' B' F L D' L R U L2 R B2 F2 D2 B L2 U' L' R B2 R
35.    30.29    L' R' D' R D2 F2 L' R2 F' D' U L2 U2 L' U R' F' D2 R F L' B R' D' R
36.    35.64    L R2 F2 L R' B' R2 D' F2 R D R2 D' U' L D2 U2 B F2 U' F2 D U' B' F'
37.    31.74    D2 U2 L2 B R' B F L R' U' F2 D2 R D' B' L2 F R2 U2 B D2 U F2 D' U'
38.    37.12    F U' L B2 L R2 D' L' R2 D U2 F2 U' B F2 L D U' L' B2 D L' R' B2 U2
39.    27.12    D' R F' U' L2 R U B D' L2 R2 D2 L' R2 D2 U2 L R2 B2 F2 U2 L2 B' R' D'
40.    35.50    R' D U' L' R B2 F2 U2 R' U' B F L' F2 D' U' F2 L F L2 D U' B D' U'
41.    43.69    D B2 F D2 L B' U' L2 D R B2 D' R' D' U' L R2 U F D' F' U B' F2 U
42.    37.48    L R2 F' L' R2 B2 L F U L B' D' L R2 B2 F2 D U2 B2 L' R' D2 U B F'
43.    39.67    B2 L R2 F2 D' U F2 U R B' R' B' L2 R B L2 F' R' B' F' D B' F2 L' R
44.    35.32    B' L B2 F D L2 B2 D' U2 L' B D' U F D2 U B2 F' L2 B2 D' U L' U2 F2
45.    DNF    B F' R F' D2 U2 B2 D' R' D F2 D' U L' D2 U B F L' D' B' F' U' B2 F
46.    26.94    R' B F' L R' F' L' R B2 F2 D' U L2 R' B2 D B' U' L2 B F U2 L B F
47.    37.56    D L B L R B' D' U' B L R' U2 L R2 U' F2 L B2 F L2 R2 D2 U' B' D2
48.    29.89    D2 U B D L U F2 L B' U2 L D2 F' R' D' U' L R2 D2 U B2 F L2 B F'
49.    38.92    B L R F2 R2 D L' B F' D L' R2 B F' L' R D' U L' D' R B2 F L2 R

Postmeet

We did alright. Pummeled everything but Agoura's JV Girls team, methinks.

Myself, didn't do so well. Had no kick at all last mile, as usual, although I felt like I didn't try as hard on the big hills. Tried to tail somebody instead of doing my own thing this time, but still couldn't keep up with them. Terrible.

Premeet

Cross-country meet tomorrow versus Agoura on our home course. Trying to wrap my head around how I'm going to run this, seeing as I may have the honor, responsibility, and terror of actually scoring for our team. Need to try to pull off a sub-20. Heat should be fine tomorrow, don't know about how the hell I'm going to do well without preparing today with hydration and whatnot. I'll just go and drink a few gallons before I head off to bed tonight.

Trying to internalize the "no pain, no gain" mentality is actually rather hard for me. Surprise, surprise. At least I'm actually trying.

Don't

I'm addicted to distraction. As a privileged little child of suburbia, there's a lot I should be doing. I'm not doing much of that.

Time and time again, experience has taught me that I can procrastinate on anything and expect to 'do well,' thanks to lax expectations and basic memorization skills. Homework? No problem. Menial chores? Sure. Notes? Yep. Studying for tests? Definitely. Social life? I'll get around to it eventually. The habits I've built up over my short span of time in this mortal coil are horrible. I've been able to do anything expected of me so far in a lazy, nonchalant manner with no problem at all.

What happens, then, when I venture out into the realm of independence and actual responsibility? With my tendencies toward actual thinking and work, how the hell do I expect to survive? I don't give a shit about anything because I've never had to. I don't accomplish anything worthwhile because I've never had to. I don't strive beyond what is expected by authority figures because I've never had to.

I'm starting to feel the effects of all this in my second year of high school. There's no reason why I shouldn't be working on scholarships, volunteering, or in any manner actually enriching myself. Instead I'm content to be mediocre, to remain complacent and go with the crowd, to complete the bare minimum and dare to say I've accomplished something. I'm not helping people. I'm not helping the community. I'm not helping myself. I'm not helping fucking anything as I while away the time, leeching off life like a horrid parasite on the rest of the world.

You know what the worse part is? I'm conscious of all this. I know I can do more. I know that I'm not. I know I can try. I know that I'm not. There's so much potential for something good here utterly wasted that it sickens me. And yet, I still haven't done anything about it. It's just so terribly bitterly ironic that I laugh, but yet I still don't do anything. Accomplishment is within my reach, within the dignity of man.

So why don't I? I can, if anybody else can. But I don't. What can I blame? Is it simply me? Can I place the onus on genetics? That's not fair to my parents. What about my environment? Has being raised decadently in a middle-class role killed my motivation? But my brother's accomplished. He lived in the same house, the same room, the same school, and accomplished far more than what I have now. Was it public school? The state of being force-fed busy work and basic information as boredom consumed me? And yet there are individuals who've worked through complacent circumstances to challenge themselves. Why don't I? Why is this in my nature? I'm able to question it but I don't try to change anything?

Where the hell is my motivation?

So um so um I know exactly zero people read this ESPECIALLY SINCE YOU KNOW I POST EVERY LIKE FIVE MONTHS anyway I kinda got the urge to write something again after reading two friends' blog. SPEAKING OF WHICH HERE YOU GO NONEXISTENT READERS HERE IS YOUR LINK TO THE AWKWARD FLAGPOLE. IT IS PRETTY AWESOME YOU SHOULD READ IT.

Attempt to revive the creative fraction of my brain commencing after this post. EXPECT MORE NONEXISTENT READERS. In other news I am kinda hyper right now. Hm.

AP Biology

It's finally over. All of it. Ever. Everything I spent an entire week cramming for is done. Completely. Gone. The multiple choice, the free response, that annoying little acorn logo. Until next year, that is. AP European History next year. That'll be fun.

In other news, not much.

Today's links:
Tasck, a useful little Ajax-based task list.
Goblins, a D&D-based webcomic written from the eyes of goblins. Great art and artist.

Day in the Life of a Leech

So about right now I should be studying for my Advanced Placement Biology exam tomorrow morning. Yeah. I'm not, obviously. Why not? Because I'm fucking awesome, that's why.

So anyways, a succinct introduction to myself and this blog. I'm a freshman in high school, a cross-country/track runner, a violinist, and a pirate. I'm the typical angst-ridden egotistical suburban teen who can't find himself in a world where he's been given pretty much fucking everything.

This blog exists for few reasons.
1) I want to be able to threaten people with, "I'm going to blog about this!"
2) Right now I believe that someone is actually going to read this blog.
3) Right now I believe that someone might actually care about this blog.
4) I need something to do besides cramming, thank you very much.

With that said, welcome. You're not in for much.