I'd completely forgotten about this blog, as evident by the 5 year gap in posts.
But since this is linked to a roommate request service for a conference - my first ever! - I figure I may as well update it so as to give some resemblance as to who I am.
Kinda.
At this moment, the conference is in a month and 12 days. I'm presenting the first day at around 12:15pm and I'm only slightly stressed out. Okay, a lot. My main stress factor is whether or not I'll be able to connect my phone to whatever tech they have so I can have my visual aids instead of printing out a bunch of handouts and crap. Just because reliability decreases with the more cables that are connected together, haha.
But my first conference during my first year of grad school. Really excited, but also kinda terrified because I worry about everything.
I never realized how expensive conferences are, at every step of the way. Hopefully I can find at least one roommate to split costs with. Hopefully we don't end up hating each other. I don't really see how that'd happen, but it's a fear, nonetheless.
I hope by this time next year, I'll have at least two more papers I feel comfortable presenting on - American Gods and one about the Whedonverse. Maybe one about Skyrim, since that's what I've been pouring all my waking hours into since I turned in my last paper (aside from the 3 times I've seen The Force Awakens, naturally).
Monday, December 28, 2015
Friday, December 3, 2010
Music.
We all have that one thing in our life that means more to us than anything else. For some, it's a material possession they refuse to part with for one reason or another; for others it's a person that's done unimaginable wonders to their life.
For me, it's music. My life and in what I deem important, as much stock as I put into people, culinary arts, visual art, and the numerous other things I do, music ranks the highest. Creating, performing, and listening to. Where I fall short in the ability to make the connection of mind -> hand -> paper = art, I can take chords, transpose, raise or lower them a minor, major, 5th, 3rd, or 7th, or ANYTHING, and just start pounding out emotion and create beauty.
Music is the only way I can look at complex mathematical equations and not shy away, it's the only way I can think logically and still be able to have a flowing thought process. As a friend once said, music is truly the only 2-Dimensional art, but in my mind it transcends dimensional and linear thinking.
Music is subjective. What we consider art is just noise to another person is just pretentious sell-outs trying to be something they're not to another. I accept this. My tastes in music are generally eclectic, and I can appreciate the spectrum of music laid in front of me. I try to discover new music every day, a new artist, some song that's phenomenal and astounding to hear.
Lately, I've been trying to shed part of myself that are pure poison to hold onto, parts of me I regret to have held onto so tightly for so long, parts that ought to have been released before they turned into a festering pustule under my skin. Through this, I've gone back to my musical roots in an attempt to reach nostalgia for a time when I didn't feel the weight of the world on my shoulders and when I wasn't so exposed to the toxicity of humanity. I've been listening to Enya, CSNY, Led Zeppelin, and Sarah McLaughlin to an almost obsessive degree, and I can't even begin to find the words to describe how refreshing it is.
To evoke nostalgia or release emotion, some people use smells, others food, others sight, others use material relics. I use sound. I listen to Enya's Watermark and CSNY's Deja Vu albums and I immediately smell the freshness of South Lake Tahoe pine trees, the constant crisp air stinging my nostrils as I inhale and taste life, the fields swaying in the wind, the grass stroking my cheeks as I roll and accept Mother Earth's embrace to the tune of a woodpecker. Lake Tahoe sits in the valley below the mountainside in pristine aquamarine, snowcaps reflecting as a reminder of nature untouched.
Actually, it's rather sad. Unless something hugely emotional happened, the most prominent memories of my childhood involve music. I first learned of Mount Diablo and remember going down one of Camino's many long and winding roads while listening to CSNY's "Teach Your Children," and talking with my dad about the song's meaning.
Enough on the nostalgia.
As I was saying prior to my trip down memory lane, music is the easiest way for self-expression, for myself, at least. If I can't create the music to match my mood, my expansive knowledge of music enables me to find the perfect song. No, I can't write song lyrics. My poetry sucks. Quips I blat onto the piano are short, short-lived, and beautiful. Mostly, they're in Ab or Eb, or just C Maj because I'm lame and tardo like that. Eb is my favourite chord, because of the range of emotion it holds. Most of them generally more melancholic and dark, but breathtakingly beautiful.
Piano, violin, cello, acoustic guitar, tenor saxophone, didgeridoo, bass flute, sitar, and French horn. In my opinion, the most beautiful instruments I've ever heard when used correctly.
Music provides an audience with the proper setting or emotion for what they're about to view, be it on screen or on stage. Horror movies would hardly be half as scary without a D Min chord striking, and discordant harmonics struck by the violinists to make you jump in your seat. Romance movies would be bland without the dramatic, joyous swells when the lovers embrace. You get where I'm going.
Music was intended to teach and evoke emotion from us, to help us tell stories to pass traditions on to our progeny and to keep a culture alive. While the importance of music most certainly seems lost with this generation, and those who created mainly for creation and a message being considered more and more oldies with every passing day, there are still those few needles in the haystack.
Music is the most important thing in my life.
Were I to lose my hearing, my life would end as I know it.
It's not melodramatic, it's truth.
For me, it's music. My life and in what I deem important, as much stock as I put into people, culinary arts, visual art, and the numerous other things I do, music ranks the highest. Creating, performing, and listening to. Where I fall short in the ability to make the connection of mind -> hand -> paper = art, I can take chords, transpose, raise or lower them a minor, major, 5th, 3rd, or 7th, or ANYTHING, and just start pounding out emotion and create beauty.
Music is the only way I can look at complex mathematical equations and not shy away, it's the only way I can think logically and still be able to have a flowing thought process. As a friend once said, music is truly the only 2-Dimensional art, but in my mind it transcends dimensional and linear thinking.
Music is subjective. What we consider art is just noise to another person is just pretentious sell-outs trying to be something they're not to another. I accept this. My tastes in music are generally eclectic, and I can appreciate the spectrum of music laid in front of me. I try to discover new music every day, a new artist, some song that's phenomenal and astounding to hear.
Lately, I've been trying to shed part of myself that are pure poison to hold onto, parts of me I regret to have held onto so tightly for so long, parts that ought to have been released before they turned into a festering pustule under my skin. Through this, I've gone back to my musical roots in an attempt to reach nostalgia for a time when I didn't feel the weight of the world on my shoulders and when I wasn't so exposed to the toxicity of humanity. I've been listening to Enya, CSNY, Led Zeppelin, and Sarah McLaughlin to an almost obsessive degree, and I can't even begin to find the words to describe how refreshing it is.
To evoke nostalgia or release emotion, some people use smells, others food, others sight, others use material relics. I use sound. I listen to Enya's Watermark and CSNY's Deja Vu albums and I immediately smell the freshness of South Lake Tahoe pine trees, the constant crisp air stinging my nostrils as I inhale and taste life, the fields swaying in the wind, the grass stroking my cheeks as I roll and accept Mother Earth's embrace to the tune of a woodpecker. Lake Tahoe sits in the valley below the mountainside in pristine aquamarine, snowcaps reflecting as a reminder of nature untouched.
Actually, it's rather sad. Unless something hugely emotional happened, the most prominent memories of my childhood involve music. I first learned of Mount Diablo and remember going down one of Camino's many long and winding roads while listening to CSNY's "Teach Your Children," and talking with my dad about the song's meaning.
Enough on the nostalgia.
As I was saying prior to my trip down memory lane, music is the easiest way for self-expression, for myself, at least. If I can't create the music to match my mood, my expansive knowledge of music enables me to find the perfect song. No, I can't write song lyrics. My poetry sucks. Quips I blat onto the piano are short, short-lived, and beautiful. Mostly, they're in Ab or Eb, or just C Maj because I'm lame and tardo like that. Eb is my favourite chord, because of the range of emotion it holds. Most of them generally more melancholic and dark, but breathtakingly beautiful.
Piano, violin, cello, acoustic guitar, tenor saxophone, didgeridoo, bass flute, sitar, and French horn. In my opinion, the most beautiful instruments I've ever heard when used correctly.
Music provides an audience with the proper setting or emotion for what they're about to view, be it on screen or on stage. Horror movies would hardly be half as scary without a D Min chord striking, and discordant harmonics struck by the violinists to make you jump in your seat. Romance movies would be bland without the dramatic, joyous swells when the lovers embrace. You get where I'm going.
Music was intended to teach and evoke emotion from us, to help us tell stories to pass traditions on to our progeny and to keep a culture alive. While the importance of music most certainly seems lost with this generation, and those who created mainly for creation and a message being considered more and more oldies with every passing day, there are still those few needles in the haystack.
Music is the most important thing in my life.
Were I to lose my hearing, my life would end as I know it.
It's not melodramatic, it's truth.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
The Pissing Contest of Nerddom.
Since when has playing WoW become a statement parallel to "NERDIEST NERD OF ALL NERDY NERDS EVER" ?
There are so many different facets to being what our society deems 'nerdy,' I fail to see how playing one simple MMORPG with millions of others gives one the right to say they're nerdier than, say, a theoretical physicist who holds in their collection every issue of The Flash and can recite all Lord of the Rings movies in Elvish, or Star Trek movies in Klingon.
To toot my own horn, I'm not the nerdiest nerd of all nerdy nerds ever, but I'm well-rounded in my nerd-knowledge, if you will. From liberal/performing/visual arts to comic books, from studying string theory to Warhammer 40K, I am a nerd. It never came from this determination to be the weirdest, nor the smartest (though intellectual pursuits are a major hobby of mine), merely eclecticism at its finest.
However, I scarcely feel the need to turn my nose up at others and puff my chest out, proclaiming how I'm more fantastic than they, how they could never possible attain MY level of awesome because I'm the end all of nerds. It's arrogant, overcompensation, childish, and, frankly, annoying as hell. Maybe it's simply a form of overcompensation for their own insecurities and shortcomings, or they actually believe they're that fantastic for having a small chink in the nerd world.
I dunno. It just seems like there's so much more to nerdiness, and to life, than WoW. It's not even that fun.
There are so many different facets to being what our society deems 'nerdy,' I fail to see how playing one simple MMORPG with millions of others gives one the right to say they're nerdier than, say, a theoretical physicist who holds in their collection every issue of The Flash and can recite all Lord of the Rings movies in Elvish, or Star Trek movies in Klingon.
To toot my own horn, I'm not the nerdiest nerd of all nerdy nerds ever, but I'm well-rounded in my nerd-knowledge, if you will. From liberal/performing/visual arts to comic books, from studying string theory to Warhammer 40K, I am a nerd. It never came from this determination to be the weirdest, nor the smartest (though intellectual pursuits are a major hobby of mine), merely eclecticism at its finest.
However, I scarcely feel the need to turn my nose up at others and puff my chest out, proclaiming how I'm more fantastic than they, how they could never possible attain MY level of awesome because I'm the end all of nerds. It's arrogant, overcompensation, childish, and, frankly, annoying as hell. Maybe it's simply a form of overcompensation for their own insecurities and shortcomings, or they actually believe they're that fantastic for having a small chink in the nerd world.
I dunno. It just seems like there's so much more to nerdiness, and to life, than WoW. It's not even that fun.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Expository and Explanative
Shaol agus ar = Life and Times, in Gaelic.
What better to name a snippet of a website dedicated to me relaying whatever thoughts I might have to the world to view at their leisure? Oh, ethnocentrism, how you've dominated American society and my generation.
Or maybe I just find the entire concept of a blog completely frivolous and superficial and have created this from sheer boredom and a want to be mocking in my own way. :)
I'm visiting my ex-slash-best friend in his apartment for the weekend. I have our French Bulldog snoring away on my thigh and my best friend sitting next to me laughing about memories and demotivational posters while watching The Big Bang Theory. There's nothing better than being able to escape from life for a weekend or so and spend time around somebody I can be myself around, all that sappy, cliche BS. Really, though, I just enjoy being able to spend time in this state of living in a different reality. I'm certain I could explain it better were it not 3:30am. Really, though, coming to visit him is very much like stepping out of my life and back into this place where time hangs lazily in mid-afternoon sun and being able to watch it drift by and sip casually on a nice Chardonnay. Then at times a sudden airship drops from the sky, bombarding this pleasant scene with cannons and artillery rounds and it becomes all out war for a few hours.
Then I look to my left and see our dog suckling with his underbite and tongue sticking out to next week. All is well. :)
Being here is really the only time I get to play video games, too, which is just fantastically unfortunate. I need money.
As it stands, I'm still just a teenager pursuing a career in the arts of some fashion. I feel partially obligated to already know what I'm doing and be a few years further down the road than I really am. Maybe I expect too much of myself but maybe I don't. Who knows? It's my first example of living life and I'm only going based off observations and advice of ... well, I'd say elders, but really just my parents and best friend.
Let's see. Where am I in life? I'm 19 and pursuing a career in culinary arts, specifically baking and pastry. I work as much as possible to pay the bills and enable myself to become an independent person. I was in a fire accident about a month ago and have been recovering since.
For those who don't know, fire fucking hurts. It's easily the worst pain I've ever felt, and my ICU roommate told me she'd rather give birth than go through her burn healing and skin grafts again. Mine was lighter fluid induced, and affected my arm and my entire upper torso. I'm certain some of it will scar, regardless of the doctor's thinking. I know scarring when I see it. Growing up in nature taught me a few things of that sort.
What better to name a snippet of a website dedicated to me relaying whatever thoughts I might have to the world to view at their leisure? Oh, ethnocentrism, how you've dominated American society and my generation.
Or maybe I just find the entire concept of a blog completely frivolous and superficial and have created this from sheer boredom and a want to be mocking in my own way. :)
I'm visiting my ex-slash-best friend in his apartment for the weekend. I have our French Bulldog snoring away on my thigh and my best friend sitting next to me laughing about memories and demotivational posters while watching The Big Bang Theory. There's nothing better than being able to escape from life for a weekend or so and spend time around somebody I can be myself around, all that sappy, cliche BS. Really, though, I just enjoy being able to spend time in this state of living in a different reality. I'm certain I could explain it better were it not 3:30am. Really, though, coming to visit him is very much like stepping out of my life and back into this place where time hangs lazily in mid-afternoon sun and being able to watch it drift by and sip casually on a nice Chardonnay. Then at times a sudden airship drops from the sky, bombarding this pleasant scene with cannons and artillery rounds and it becomes all out war for a few hours.
Then I look to my left and see our dog suckling with his underbite and tongue sticking out to next week. All is well. :)
Being here is really the only time I get to play video games, too, which is just fantastically unfortunate. I need money.
As it stands, I'm still just a teenager pursuing a career in the arts of some fashion. I feel partially obligated to already know what I'm doing and be a few years further down the road than I really am. Maybe I expect too much of myself but maybe I don't. Who knows? It's my first example of living life and I'm only going based off observations and advice of ... well, I'd say elders, but really just my parents and best friend.
Let's see. Where am I in life? I'm 19 and pursuing a career in culinary arts, specifically baking and pastry. I work as much as possible to pay the bills and enable myself to become an independent person. I was in a fire accident about a month ago and have been recovering since.
For those who don't know, fire fucking hurts. It's easily the worst pain I've ever felt, and my ICU roommate told me she'd rather give birth than go through her burn healing and skin grafts again. Mine was lighter fluid induced, and affected my arm and my entire upper torso. I'm certain some of it will scar, regardless of the doctor's thinking. I know scarring when I see it. Growing up in nature taught me a few things of that sort.
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