Apparently <3 is supposed to be a heart! Ohhh...
The internet is so retarded.
Why isn't PH a beaver in a pirate costume, then?
2007/09/29
Paper
Philosophical problems and philosophical writing require careful and extended reflection. Don't wait until two or three nights before the paper is due to begin. That is very stupid.
Ah, Jim Pryor, how dare you call me stupid. Though I am, I have less than two days to wite my 5-7 for Poli Theory. Which, apparently, is pretty much philosophy. I keep distracting myself, too. For example, I rearranged the furniture in my room, made omelettes, partied, slept, lined up my shoes in a row, did laundry, wrote on my blog, made a receptacle (tin can) for my pens and pencils, thought about buying a chair, made an excel spreadsheet, arranged guitar picks like flower petals, set my alarm clock for monday morning, and made a to-do list which says WRITE PAPER in big letters. Hey, I even hi-lited it. In four different colours. Now I'm looking for some popsicle sticks, and a glue gun...
Ah, Jim Pryor, how dare you call me stupid. Though I am, I have less than two days to wite my 5-7 for Poli Theory. Which, apparently, is pretty much philosophy. I keep distracting myself, too. For example, I rearranged the furniture in my room, made omelettes, partied, slept, lined up my shoes in a row, did laundry, wrote on my blog, made a receptacle (tin can) for my pens and pencils, thought about buying a chair, made an excel spreadsheet, arranged guitar picks like flower petals, set my alarm clock for monday morning, and made a to-do list which says WRITE PAPER in big letters. Hey, I even hi-lited it. In four different colours. Now I'm looking for some popsicle sticks, and a glue gun...
2007/09/18
2007/09/03
Montreal, a confessional
I'm torn, simply. On the one hand I wake up screaming at the imaginary people invading my room, on the other hand I
And that's just it.
I have no other hand that I know of. I've heard second years say, "Remember ____ at frosh? He/She was insane!" and I already know that to a certain percentage of this school, that's me. I've spent one night at my own rez in the past 6 days, but there are very few people I've met that I'd spend any time with later. While I should have been meeting people similar to myself, I was...perverting myself to some ideal that I have never ascribed to in the past, and with luck never again in the future.
(Right here, I got up and cooked myself some eggs and hashbrowns, grabbed some cereal and yogourt, and broke my fast in style)
And now I'm back, completely changed from something simple, wonderful, food. Overwhelming hope...music is so important to me, it can cheer me up in a second.
"Remember cuddles in the kitchen, yeah to get things off the ground..."
In conclusion, I have an overwhelming urge to write extremely long letters, but only so I can get extremely long replies: full of daily mundanities, petty problems, and other bullshit that is the stuff of life. The faint, confused pulse of the western world.
And that's just it.
I have no other hand that I know of. I've heard second years say, "Remember ____ at frosh? He/She was insane!" and I already know that to a certain percentage of this school, that's me. I've spent one night at my own rez in the past 6 days, but there are very few people I've met that I'd spend any time with later. While I should have been meeting people similar to myself, I was...perverting myself to some ideal that I have never ascribed to in the past, and with luck never again in the future.
(Right here, I got up and cooked myself some eggs and hashbrowns, grabbed some cereal and yogourt, and broke my fast in style)
And now I'm back, completely changed from something simple, wonderful, food. Overwhelming hope...music is so important to me, it can cheer me up in a second.
"Remember cuddles in the kitchen, yeah to get things off the ground..."
In conclusion, I have an overwhelming urge to write extremely long letters, but only so I can get extremely long replies: full of daily mundanities, petty problems, and other bullshit that is the stuff of life. The faint, confused pulse of the western world.
2007/07/06
Bananeananas had their first real gig last night, and it's safe to say they killed. At the Tsawassen Arts Centre, to a paying audience. 5$ at the door for a night of performers, Bananeananas being the first act, and yet we have not seen any income yet.
Oskar: "So, reelly, how many uv yoo speek French?"
(At least half the audience raise their hands)
(At least half the audience raise their hands)
Claude: "C'est manifique, ça!"
Oskar: "Oh crap. Those uv yoo weeth your hands raised, pleese try not to leesten."
They played the singles: l'Amour Banale and Tuons les Blancs. If anyone has a venue for Bananeanans to play, they are willing to work for peanuts. Or cashews, if you can afford them.
2007/06/29
French Story
I came up with an interesting story for my Français 12 exam; the topic was: "You're going on vacation. After an hour of travel, you realize you're on the wrong bus."
So I told the story of Oskar Lafayette, a toxicologist who works at a methadone clinic in Vancouver. He's depressed, because all he sees is heroin junkies every day, so he decides to go on vacation. To Moscow.
After an hour of travel, he realizes it's impossible to get to Moscow by bus. It turns out he's headed for Moscow, Idaho, where there is nothing interesting, just potatoes.
Being the toxicologist that he is, he starts experimenting with potatoes in his hotel room, and within a week has develloped a cure for heroin addiction made entirely from potatoes.
There's one problem, though. Idaho doesn't seem to have any addicts to let him test his formula. Suddenly a tour bus pulls up; this is the week of the Moscow, Idaho International Jazz Festival. Suddenly he has all the heroin addicts he could wish for.
A month later, he's a millionaire and hero thanks to his wonderful universal cure, and everything is great!
So I told the story of Oskar Lafayette, a toxicologist who works at a methadone clinic in Vancouver. He's depressed, because all he sees is heroin junkies every day, so he decides to go on vacation. To Moscow.
After an hour of travel, he realizes it's impossible to get to Moscow by bus. It turns out he's headed for Moscow, Idaho, where there is nothing interesting, just potatoes.
Being the toxicologist that he is, he starts experimenting with potatoes in his hotel room, and within a week has develloped a cure for heroin addiction made entirely from potatoes.
There's one problem, though. Idaho doesn't seem to have any addicts to let him test his formula. Suddenly a tour bus pulls up; this is the week of the Moscow, Idaho International Jazz Festival. Suddenly he has all the heroin addicts he could wish for.
A month later, he's a millionaire and hero thanks to his wonderful universal cure, and everything is great!
2007/06/27
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