Tuesday, November 18, 2003
Is there anyone else out there who used to absolutly love math class, that is when it was an exactling science. You know, when you went to class and 3+3 was always 6 etc. What the hell is with all this "well lets search for a more flexible answer to that problem"? I mean truthfully who the hell wants to walk into a second hour class early on a tuesday morning and hear their prof say something like that. And its not like he only said it once or anything, this guy is ALWAYS looking for a "more flexible answer." The first answer is good enough for me! And I even feel that I caught on pretty well when they said well there are two answers and sometimes three, but this guy is nuts. The way he puts everything is just crazy. I am mostly complaining about the sub we had today, since my prof's wife had a kid today and he wasn't there. But its the same with all the higher level math teachers.
On a much brighter note, and one the same subject. I have just recently finished a book called "Flatland." It a mathematical novel based in a two dimensional society. The fun begins when a square (a.k.a. a professional or business man; part of the upper middle class) is enlightend to the third dimension. His finding there after and his task at enlightening the remainder of the beings left in flatland is told throughout the rest of the novel. (If you're wondering, he isn't able to convert anyone to the teaching of the third dimension)
Reading this book is about the only reason I even pay attention in math class anymore, that and I have to if I want to continue going to college for free!
and if you buy it at Amazon.com is only $1.50 (its worth the buck, and the read!)
On a much brighter note, and one the same subject. I have just recently finished a book called "Flatland." It a mathematical novel based in a two dimensional society. The fun begins when a square (a.k.a. a professional or business man; part of the upper middle class) is enlightend to the third dimension. His finding there after and his task at enlightening the remainder of the beings left in flatland is told throughout the rest of the novel. (If you're wondering, he isn't able to convert anyone to the teaching of the third dimension)
Reading this book is about the only reason I even pay attention in math class anymore, that and I have to if I want to continue going to college for free!
and if you buy it at Amazon.com is only $1.50 (its worth the buck, and the read!)
Monday, November 17, 2003
So thinking back on last year is probably one of the funniest things I do! And I do it all the time, I swear, some of the funniest things happened over at the "white house." I think all the "visionaries" out there can agree. (WOW I am using "" way to often in this post)
So an explanation of what made me think of visions today. While sitting in a typical mundane lecture by either the Kent master herself or some bloated professional that thinks we were being graised by his/her presence, nobody was ever paying attention. In fact we were quite flagrant about it allot of the time. Of course there was the typical Liz Ackley can just stand up and scream about ants in the middle of a lecture or the hey we're just going to sit here laughing while some guy is talking to the press at the capital building. And then there were the yeah we just aren't going to come to class days for everyone (mine because I went to Boston in the middle of the week, Dave because he went skiing [I did that too], Liz and Liz cause they were "sick" [I did that too], Leah cause she ummm I don't think she even gave a reason she just didn't come, the Ravenites because there school never freaking has school when ours do!, and Stef because she didn't feel like coming on the LAST DAY!!). [wow that was a long ( ) wasn't it!]
So yeah besides all that, when we were actually in class and not watching people get naked and snatched (yes there were multiple movies with naked chicks in visions) everyone would draw pictures that seemed, at the time, absolutely hilarious and pass them around and people would add things to them. Kate Penn and I would draw the absolute most random things just adding little pieces to the picture until there was a gun and a dead kid. One of favorites though were extremely sarcastic coupons and vouchers for things that nobody would ever want, and sometimes for things that visions kids had to do!!! (YAY). So here is a sample (none of these are even close to some of the funniest but sadly they are all that is left):
Scan0002.jpg
coupon_visions.JPG
So an explanation of what made me think of visions today. While sitting in a typical mundane lecture by either the Kent master herself or some bloated professional that thinks we were being graised by his/her presence, nobody was ever paying attention. In fact we were quite flagrant about it allot of the time. Of course there was the typical Liz Ackley can just stand up and scream about ants in the middle of a lecture or the hey we're just going to sit here laughing while some guy is talking to the press at the capital building. And then there were the yeah we just aren't going to come to class days for everyone (mine because I went to Boston in the middle of the week, Dave because he went skiing [I did that too], Liz and Liz cause they were "sick" [I did that too], Leah cause she ummm I don't think she even gave a reason she just didn't come, the Ravenites because there school never freaking has school when ours do!, and Stef because she didn't feel like coming on the LAST DAY!!). [wow that was a long ( ) wasn't it!]
So yeah besides all that, when we were actually in class and not watching people get naked and snatched (yes there were multiple movies with naked chicks in visions) everyone would draw pictures that seemed, at the time, absolutely hilarious and pass them around and people would add things to them. Kate Penn and I would draw the absolute most random things just adding little pieces to the picture until there was a gun and a dead kid. One of favorites though were extremely sarcastic coupons and vouchers for things that nobody would ever want, and sometimes for things that visions kids had to do!!! (YAY). So here is a sample (none of these are even close to some of the funniest but sadly they are all that is left):
Scan0002.jpg
coupon_visions.JPG
Times goes so much slower when there isn't much left. Well atleast thats the way it is when you're wating for time to go by, if you don't want good times to end its over right away. Well not that I'm not haveing a great time and all (yeah right) but I really want to get home and see you all. I know that when I get home the good times will sitll be rolling right along, I just hope I can still hop on for the ride. So there are just 9 more days (including today) untill I'm on a plane home! See you then!
Thursday, November 13, 2003
Yeah I know it's the first day of my Blog still, but I thought I would put some reading up for you. This is an origional work by none other than me. Read on at your own risk.
The Yellow Line
Trying to remember when I last saw her was impossible; it had been such a long time. So long that if I hadn’t gotten a letter in a few weeks, or maybe days, I might have forgotten her all together. She has that way with you, either you want to know hew completely or you can’t bear to remember a thing.
I arrived at the train station an hour early on the cold winter Friday. In this way I would be able to be reserve a bench to sit and wait. The thought had actually come to mind more than once that I would need to sit down upon seeing her step out of the train.
To mark my territory on the bench from the sure to be pushy tourists and crummy tourist "pick'er upp'ers," I took my bag off my shoulders and slung it long ways across the bench. It saved at least two spots this way instead of one. In a more curdious town it would have saved the entire bench but New Yorkers will push their way into, onto, and across anything! After placing the bag down rather quickly but in a manner as to look as if I could care less which way it fell I wondered whether it was safe to leave. After all, I could see the homeless guitarist in the corner. He eyed that bag like it was a fucking treasure. In fact I would be comfortable saying that I knew he was going to take it. It just about seemed like the sensible thing to do in his position.
Those dark eyes sunken into his matted brown hair, which in all likelihood could have been blonde considering the amount of dirt and grime which stuck to his beanie, probably from years of drug abuse and passing out with minimal bathing (if any). His eyes didn't move from it for what seemed like an hour but turned out to be 10 minutes when I checked my watch. Do you think he is actually thick enough to think that if he continues to play his offal guitar while practically drooling over an empty bag I wouldn’t notice?
I tried to just forget him though, and a good job at it I did. Soon enough I was preparing myself for the train that came in 6 and a half minutes late at just about 5:06.
----------------
The lights and sounds of the train get to the station deck at least 5 minutes before the damn thing is even in sight. And for a damn anxious guy like me its almost hell for that period. I tried getting closer to the tracks but saw nothing. And that painted yellow line scares you into staying a few feet back from the edge.
I would walk past it; truly, I have before, but once heard a story that the speed of the train creates a back draft that can pull one down to his death. For some reason dieing beneath the screeching wheels of an overloaded New York subway train just doesn't seem like the right way for me to pass. I'm still hoping something more dramatic catches me at the right time. 'Least that way I'd get in the paper or something.
Finally the ageing cart pulled up to me with that disgusting sound of dieing cats (the old grey kind). I almost would have rather come late then to have heard that sound, but I was so excited at the moment that this time the thought left my head much sooner than it might have under normal circumstances. I tend to dwell on the worst kinds of things, which don't help my condition one bit. Obsessive cumpuls...iary, or some over rated word like that. I think the doctors make it sound worse then it is, they want me on the drugs for it. Even when they give me those free trials I never take them. They're just like the cigarette industry, make'em addictive so as to get me hooked. I'm no fool.
Cart three wasn't too far behind the first. I was almost positive three was the number she had written me. At this point though I truly had forgotten and was merely guessing.
The doors swung open on the cart and I, as slyly as one possibly can, closed my right eye. I see better out of that one anyhow so it wasn't a big matter to squint the left. I thought doing this would help ease the strain of seeing her. I was so excited after all, I wouldn't want to have to rely on falling back onto my bag the first time I see her in 360 some days.
The first few people to exit didn't look much like her, although I was mostly relying on her to recognize me since I could barely see a thing. The only thing I could make out was a dirty old man with a bag that he should have been wearing on his shoulder held in his left hand. Rather than sensibly rapping the shoulder strap over his shoulder he clenched the bag prudishly.
It did take a minute, I have to admit, I'm not the brightest dog ever born (although at more than one point in my life I wondered if anyone else had ever notices that dog was god spelled backwards). Soon enough though it clicked, I swung around and that damn guitar playing ho-bo had made off with my bag.
Looking around I couldn't find him anywhere, so I started off jogging down the deck towards the direction he had been walking. To this day I can't figure out why the hell I was chasing after him. Before I left the god damn house I emptied that bad and put some stuffed newspaper in it just incase something of this sort happened.
About the time I reached the steps I gave up and turned around, bent over catching my breath I didn’t even notice the train pulling away. It seemed odd to me that it was gone already; I must have been so involved in running that I completely missed the horrid sound and bright lights. In fact I had probably been running for a much longer distance than I first thought. The long walk back proved my inhibitions. I watched for her on the way back, turning to look over my shoulder every so often.
She wasn't on the bench when I got back to it.
There wasn’t anyone waiting for a cab when I grabbed mine.
I don't like using the phone.
She never wrote.
I had thrown away her address.
---------------
Had she come and gone? It ate at me everyday. Once I attempted to track her down and ask her, but soon decided against it out of embarrassment.
She was gone, I might as well be.
All I think about are the yellow lines now. They haunt me in my sleep and linger in my wake.
------------
The thick line looks thinner now...
A smaller step to take...
Grey cats...
Strong gusts...
Bright lights .
The Yellow Line
Trying to remember when I last saw her was impossible; it had been such a long time. So long that if I hadn’t gotten a letter in a few weeks, or maybe days, I might have forgotten her all together. She has that way with you, either you want to know hew completely or you can’t bear to remember a thing.
I arrived at the train station an hour early on the cold winter Friday. In this way I would be able to be reserve a bench to sit and wait. The thought had actually come to mind more than once that I would need to sit down upon seeing her step out of the train.
To mark my territory on the bench from the sure to be pushy tourists and crummy tourist "pick'er upp'ers," I took my bag off my shoulders and slung it long ways across the bench. It saved at least two spots this way instead of one. In a more curdious town it would have saved the entire bench but New Yorkers will push their way into, onto, and across anything! After placing the bag down rather quickly but in a manner as to look as if I could care less which way it fell I wondered whether it was safe to leave. After all, I could see the homeless guitarist in the corner. He eyed that bag like it was a fucking treasure. In fact I would be comfortable saying that I knew he was going to take it. It just about seemed like the sensible thing to do in his position.
Those dark eyes sunken into his matted brown hair, which in all likelihood could have been blonde considering the amount of dirt and grime which stuck to his beanie, probably from years of drug abuse and passing out with minimal bathing (if any). His eyes didn't move from it for what seemed like an hour but turned out to be 10 minutes when I checked my watch. Do you think he is actually thick enough to think that if he continues to play his offal guitar while practically drooling over an empty bag I wouldn’t notice?
I tried to just forget him though, and a good job at it I did. Soon enough I was preparing myself for the train that came in 6 and a half minutes late at just about 5:06.
----------------
The lights and sounds of the train get to the station deck at least 5 minutes before the damn thing is even in sight. And for a damn anxious guy like me its almost hell for that period. I tried getting closer to the tracks but saw nothing. And that painted yellow line scares you into staying a few feet back from the edge.
I would walk past it; truly, I have before, but once heard a story that the speed of the train creates a back draft that can pull one down to his death. For some reason dieing beneath the screeching wheels of an overloaded New York subway train just doesn't seem like the right way for me to pass. I'm still hoping something more dramatic catches me at the right time. 'Least that way I'd get in the paper or something.
Finally the ageing cart pulled up to me with that disgusting sound of dieing cats (the old grey kind). I almost would have rather come late then to have heard that sound, but I was so excited at the moment that this time the thought left my head much sooner than it might have under normal circumstances. I tend to dwell on the worst kinds of things, which don't help my condition one bit. Obsessive cumpuls...iary, or some over rated word like that. I think the doctors make it sound worse then it is, they want me on the drugs for it. Even when they give me those free trials I never take them. They're just like the cigarette industry, make'em addictive so as to get me hooked. I'm no fool.
Cart three wasn't too far behind the first. I was almost positive three was the number she had written me. At this point though I truly had forgotten and was merely guessing.
The doors swung open on the cart and I, as slyly as one possibly can, closed my right eye. I see better out of that one anyhow so it wasn't a big matter to squint the left. I thought doing this would help ease the strain of seeing her. I was so excited after all, I wouldn't want to have to rely on falling back onto my bag the first time I see her in 360 some days.
The first few people to exit didn't look much like her, although I was mostly relying on her to recognize me since I could barely see a thing. The only thing I could make out was a dirty old man with a bag that he should have been wearing on his shoulder held in his left hand. Rather than sensibly rapping the shoulder strap over his shoulder he clenched the bag prudishly.
It did take a minute, I have to admit, I'm not the brightest dog ever born (although at more than one point in my life I wondered if anyone else had ever notices that dog was god spelled backwards). Soon enough though it clicked, I swung around and that damn guitar playing ho-bo had made off with my bag.
Looking around I couldn't find him anywhere, so I started off jogging down the deck towards the direction he had been walking. To this day I can't figure out why the hell I was chasing after him. Before I left the god damn house I emptied that bad and put some stuffed newspaper in it just incase something of this sort happened.
About the time I reached the steps I gave up and turned around, bent over catching my breath I didn’t even notice the train pulling away. It seemed odd to me that it was gone already; I must have been so involved in running that I completely missed the horrid sound and bright lights. In fact I had probably been running for a much longer distance than I first thought. The long walk back proved my inhibitions. I watched for her on the way back, turning to look over my shoulder every so often.
She wasn't on the bench when I got back to it.
There wasn’t anyone waiting for a cab when I grabbed mine.
I don't like using the phone.
She never wrote.
I had thrown away her address.
---------------
Had she come and gone? It ate at me everyday. Once I attempted to track her down and ask her, but soon decided against it out of embarrassment.
She was gone, I might as well be.
All I think about are the yellow lines now. They haunt me in my sleep and linger in my wake.
------------
The thick line looks thinner now...
A smaller step to take...
Grey cats...
Strong gusts...
Bright lights .
If you are already here, then damn! You found my new web blog really quick. My web blog will be something like an online journal of what the heck I'm up to. In most cases it will be entirely boring to any person who doesn't know me, but if for some strange reason you find this interesting and you have no idea who I am.... Umm stop stalking me! OR wait... actaully, just have fun reading the nonsense that makes up life.
Surgeon General Warning:
This Blog may, and most likely does, include incorrect grammar & spelling as well as blasphemous (profane) language. Read on at your own risk.
Surgeon General Warning:
This Blog may, and most likely does, include incorrect grammar & spelling as well as blasphemous (profane) language. Read on at your own risk.
