Cheers also for anyone else in the purchase of gifts from California. Not only do I get to stare at cute baby asses
but I also have possession of quite possibly a very rare item: a vinyl of early computer music compositions made here at uiuc (on the record are ‘Illiac Suite for String Quartet’ and ‘Computer Cantata’).
This will keep my Rick Springfield and Ukranian songs vinyls company.
Being that this was my last spring break, I could no longer stay put. Home was lovely in a way, with its cleanliness and abundant food and relaxation on the sofa. There was also some revelations that put the past and future in a new context, and a general unexcitement.
The last two points forced me to get away, so I bought a plane ticket to the east coast on Wednesday and crashed in my friend Rahat's apartment. In Manhattan.
Details of all the little activities I busied myself in are uninteresting to retell, but I had a great time wandering the city, dropping in on locally owned cafés and shops, getting lost in Times Square's lights at night. Et cetera.
But, but, there was one factor that made these events absolutely unforgettable. I'd spent much of those moments wandering with the most amazing girl I've ever met.
I don't know how exactly to describe Sabrina, except that everything is magic with her. She's smart and beautiful and funny. She keeps me at ease and on my toes. Holding her hands and kissing her lips is enough to make me feel like life made sense.
And on and on. Yeah, I'm in love. So much so that the rest of this semester doesn't seem like a big deal because, come summer, Manhattan will be my destination. ’No matter what’, as the Orbit Girl would say.
God, I hope this bubble doesn't burst.
‘He sounds like this (in the background), but his voice jumps roughly an octave in either direction. It is, for the record, excerpts from a recording session for his final music project’.
(And now, I'll step away for a week or so. Or try to.)
Say, what's Venus and Serena Williams doing walking down the street? And who's that guy with them? Serena's boyfriend? Perhaps.
Look: they're turning left onto another street, which happens to be named after them. (Serena and Venus Williams Street, Williams Sisters Avenue? One of those likely permutations.)
Now they're walking up to a townhouse door. Venus walks in, but Serena and the guy are standing outside. In the townhouse next door, the guy sees a naked girl walking around. He knocks on the door and she answers, naked. A Chinese girl. Maybe she's nervous, because she starts saying, in an accent, ‘We only do this to survive’. Ah yes, there's another naked Chinese girl that walks up to the door now.
It's all clear. Someone is importing girls from China to become prostitutes in America. There must be several more girls in the townhouse; the pimp isn't around, obviously. Why don't they just make a run for it? After they put on clothes, of course.
This guy is concerned for their well-being. He decides to call the police. Just before he does, though, the radio jumps to life at 6:31 in the morning. The story remains unresolved.
…With Rebecca De Mornay? What a life that would be.
You have successfully managed to cut the equivalent of a straight line over 1600 inches in length through card stock using a single blade. You kept the blade so close to the straight edge, pressed down so hard, that a notch has been formed on the blade and that, in turn, helped to guide accuracy.
Your left forearm is in pain from pressing the ruler down so many times over the span of two and a half hours. Your back is a bit sore from the rigidity required in keeping a straight path. But you are almost done.
Pray now, that a war to end all wars will spring up, but only after the critique tonight.
my typography project. And yes, it's forty-one pages (excluding a type specimen sheet, which I will make in a few moments).
I'm looking to spend $50 on printing, excluding the $25 already spent on interim printing, for the sake of seeing how it really looks on paper.
Going to my 8 AM Russian literature class five days a week doesn't seem hard anymore, not after this first lecture. The professor is an old guy. He reminds me of Hyman Roth in his looks and walk and stature; he also seems a bit strange, but not in a bad way.
The subject matter is interesting enough to keep me awake, and cutting sleep down to five or six hours a night might actually be beneficial to my overall well-being. And I need to be at full-time status to be eligible for health insurance from my dad's work.
I command the weather to stay where it is, or to deviate no more than five degrees from Spring-perfect, lest I become gorky to the max[im[ovich]].
This is the beginning of the end. Plop your butts down in front of the television and watch Cartoon Network at 4:30 PM central.
I woke up this morning feeling that I needed one for my project, just to give it that special touch. It's bound to change when the desire to do such things overcomes me.
Dean (Jr?) of Dean's Superior Blueprint seems like a very quirky fellow. Cool hair, too.
Also, Bruce Litchfield is by and far the nicest assistant dean I've encountered. The other two I've talked to (one today, one a year ago) made me feel like I was just some loser for wanting to drop classes because the computer wouldn't let me.
Alas, I survived the beating heart and sweaty palms as Dean Brown picked at me and, ultimately, dropped the course I wanted dropped. Had I held out for Litchfield's reply to my e-mail, none of the nervousness would have occurred.
If everyone was blind I'd walk around campus naked.
…for cleaning our kitchen. It feels sanitary again.
Floor is vacuumed; window is cracked open; several typography books are chaotically ordered on top of my bed; very traditional flavor of incense is wafting through the room. It is time to start working.
I had a dream last night that took place in something like a camp (a Salute Your Shorts sort of thing). And there was a group activity going on somewhere. Then, this couple threatened and scared everyone to the point that they made a teacher hold a student's arms behind his back. This couple then proceeded to stab this student in the chest with scissors.
The couple disappeared with the boy. It turns out they were cannibals. On top of that, they kidnapped a baby. No one could find them. I think I was looking for them with my dad, and we ended up on top of some strange pyramid.
Anyhow, the girl was eventually isolated from the guy, and she said the only reason she did this was because the guy told her to.
There's more, but the details always escape me. How many times I've wished that I could record my dreams…
Party 1, consisting of Andrew and Kaiser: they go to Blockbuster in search of a potentially fine comedy and settle on Kids in the Hall's Brain Candy DVD. After purchasing alcohol, they return to Kaiser's apartment and find Party 2 – Dave – reclining. He asks what they've been up to and seems baffled when he hears the answer. But why?
A few more inquiries later as to the choice of movie, he extends his right hand toward the Playstation 2 and coils it back, grasping a vhs copy of Brain Candy.
Would you believe it?
Through the combination of midi and fm synthesis, I've created this, ‘A Sad-But-Funny Looking Man and His Problems’ (1.8 megabytes). Perhaps it's not the most beautiful song, but, I've successfully made Aphex Twin look like the Britney Spears of electronica.
Another layer of success, I think, is that my music professor was heard uttering ‘great!’ a couple of times after my piece and no one else's. And, honestly, I think I surpassed the rest of the class for once in my life (excluding high school physics and calculus).
I am saddened that no song attempts since ‘Nameless Echoes’ were ever successful. One would think that, with training in various musical things, the attempts would turn out better than a song made with no prior experience.
Nay.
I don't know whether I should be disappointed in, or curious to test, the anger that churned through my head when a frat boy honked at me while I was crossing 5th and Daniel. He didn't have his turn signal on at any point, he didn't honk until he was clear to turn.
What I imagined as I stared at him was that I'd throw a rock at his car; he'd stop and confront me; I'd tell him he shouldn't be such an asshole; he'd provoke me; I'd smash his face into the back of his head.
Whether I actually have the ability to do such a thing remains to be seen.
Must eat Chinese now. Must make self sleepy before self starts to cram.
char* day_status()
{
char* str = malloc(1024);
str = "boxers and undershirts: clean" +
"feeling: just fine" +
"weather: unbelievably beautiful; too perfect" +
"downside: studying.";
return str;
}
So the midterm was a Viking ship, and I was quite an attractive village woman being conquered by big, strong Nordic warriors. And, alas, Derek won't allow me to give him a Red Bull enema to soothe my woes.
There is a twinkling little star in my life, however, that I've just seen the preview for: Piglet's own movie, coming out next Friday. Though no one will accompany me to see it, it should be fun nonetheless. I hope the parents don't think I'm some sort of pedophile.
