Moving on, today I debated Chris Carter in government. Our teacher thought it would be fun to put us up against each other because we were both on the debate team—never mind the fact that I had been on the team for four months and he had been on the team for four years. We were debating gay marriage. He was arguing in favor of traditional marriage, though he doesn’t personally agree with the argument. I guess that’s the problem with class debates, hey? Either way, he was still trying to beat me, if not for the sake of the argument, for the sake of his reputation. Ah, Chris. I won. I am happy about it, but at the same time I feel cheep. Chris was doing actual debate arguments (aka: gay marriage somehow leads to nuclear war/environmental apocalypse). But rather than stealing those impacts as I normally would, I appealed to the class and argued ‘no logical link.’ I don’t know. Well, actually, I think I did steal his impacts, but he insists that I didn’t. His argument was that allowing gay marriage causes dehumanization which in turn leads to nuclear destruction, and I said that not allowing gay marriage actually caused dehumanization “so I steal your impacts.” It happened pretty quickly though. It just doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would.
Exams start tomorrow. They were supposed to start today, but we missed last Thursday and Friday due to ‘cold weather.’ Whatever! This is Wisconsin! You’d think we’d be able to handle a bit of cold weather. Apparently not. I had to go an extra four days without seeing Damayanti or Sam because of cold weather!? Either way, exams were moved back. We still have Friday off, and then 7th and 8th hour are on Monday. Yay! An extra weekend to study for AP Chemistry! I’m not too bad at Chemistry, but any extra time would help. I’m exempt from government, since it’s my only semester-long class. Otherwise I’d be exempt from all of my other classes… well, maybe only math. I don’t think I can exempt myself from AP class exams.
Anyway, seeing as I haven’t written in this diary for a very long time, I am going to devote the next few pages to getting you up to date on my friends from high school (aka: everyone except family and friends that I made before my high school days).
02 December 2010
25 November 2010
January 20th 2009- Part I
January 20th 2009
Dear Diary,
Dream diary? Yeah, no. If I have a note worthy dream, yes I’ll record it, but, as you can tell from the year long lapse in writing, I’m not consistent enough to use this only as a dream diary, so screw that.
Today is history. I doubt I’ll even have to write this—as I should remember it pretty darn well—but here it goes: Barack Obama has just been inaugurated the 44th President of the United States. You know, last year I was seriously considering moving to Canada (to the point where I was seeing just how old I would have to be to earn citizenship on my own), but Obama has given me hope, a new found hope and pride, in America that I’m willing to work with. I really feel like some republicans are just stupid though. How could you seriously miss Bush? He screwed up the whole country and its reputation! Not to mention the fact that they liked Palin. Yeah, there’s someone I want running my country. Good Lord. Oh well. I know, I believe, that Barack Obama can fix America. We were watching the inauguration ceremony in my AP Biology class—well, the classroom. It was during our lunch period, so it wasn’t technically during class, and once lunch ended we had to turn it off. We talked about it for the rest of the hour though, so I don’t really understand why. Anyway, we were watching the inauguration and my friend Kelly pointed out that the turtle in the tank beside the screen was watching as well. We all decided that we loved that patriotic turtle because he was a fan of Obama. I feel so happy right now. This feeling is so much different from the feeling four years ago following the Bush-Kerry election. At that point I went to a Catholic school, and not that I think all Catholics are republicans (hello, look at me), but a lot of my classmates certainly were. And they simply would not let it die that Bush had been elected. But that doesn’t matter now. Today is history; the day after Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Tomorrow has come.
About “Tomorrow has come,” that’s actually in reference to the song “Tomorrow” from Annie. The musical this year is Annie, and I’m in the pit playing the clarinet, tenor saxophone and possibly bass clarinet. I was in the pit last year as well. That was the first year I was in it. I had wanted to be in it freshman and sophomore year, and sophomore year I almost got in… But I didn’t. It was really my fault that I didn’t get in; Mr. E. tried relatively hard to get me a spot. Either way, it resulted in my playing the alto saxophone (in a sad attempt to get myself a spot on something other than a keyboard version of the banjo), which resulted in my joining the jazz band, which resulted in my learning the tenor saxophone, which resulted in my getting a spot in the pit junior year. So it was all for the best in the end, I suppose. I am greatly looking forward to Annie, and though it wouldn’t necessarily be my first musical choice (West Side Story all the way), I’m sure it will be very, very fun.
Dear Diary,
Dream diary? Yeah, no. If I have a note worthy dream, yes I’ll record it, but, as you can tell from the year long lapse in writing, I’m not consistent enough to use this only as a dream diary, so screw that.
Today is history. I doubt I’ll even have to write this—as I should remember it pretty darn well—but here it goes: Barack Obama has just been inaugurated the 44th President of the United States. You know, last year I was seriously considering moving to Canada (to the point where I was seeing just how old I would have to be to earn citizenship on my own), but Obama has given me hope, a new found hope and pride, in America that I’m willing to work with. I really feel like some republicans are just stupid though. How could you seriously miss Bush? He screwed up the whole country and its reputation! Not to mention the fact that they liked Palin. Yeah, there’s someone I want running my country. Good Lord. Oh well. I know, I believe, that Barack Obama can fix America. We were watching the inauguration ceremony in my AP Biology class—well, the classroom. It was during our lunch period, so it wasn’t technically during class, and once lunch ended we had to turn it off. We talked about it for the rest of the hour though, so I don’t really understand why. Anyway, we were watching the inauguration and my friend Kelly pointed out that the turtle in the tank beside the screen was watching as well. We all decided that we loved that patriotic turtle because he was a fan of Obama. I feel so happy right now. This feeling is so much different from the feeling four years ago following the Bush-Kerry election. At that point I went to a Catholic school, and not that I think all Catholics are republicans (hello, look at me), but a lot of my classmates certainly were. And they simply would not let it die that Bush had been elected. But that doesn’t matter now. Today is history; the day after Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Tomorrow has come.
About “Tomorrow has come,” that’s actually in reference to the song “Tomorrow” from Annie. The musical this year is Annie, and I’m in the pit playing the clarinet, tenor saxophone and possibly bass clarinet. I was in the pit last year as well. That was the first year I was in it. I had wanted to be in it freshman and sophomore year, and sophomore year I almost got in… But I didn’t. It was really my fault that I didn’t get in; Mr. E. tried relatively hard to get me a spot. Either way, it resulted in my playing the alto saxophone (in a sad attempt to get myself a spot on something other than a keyboard version of the banjo), which resulted in my joining the jazz band, which resulted in my learning the tenor saxophone, which resulted in my getting a spot in the pit junior year. So it was all for the best in the end, I suppose. I am greatly looking forward to Annie, and though it wouldn’t necessarily be my first musical choice (West Side Story all the way), I’m sure it will be very, very fun.
25 August 2010
Victor's Soliloquy
"You know, sometimes I find myself staring blankly forward, legitimately contemplating life. I find my contemplations to be rather negative. Frankly, the more I ponder them, the more negative they get. It's not that I'm contemplating life in general, or the meaning of life, just life. Mine, I suppose. It's not that my life is terrible, really, that I should end up thinking of it so dreadfully. I guess it's just suddenly starting to dawn on me just how long a lifetime is. People say it goes by quickly--which it does, I won't bother to deny. However, that being said, I think it goes by much more quickly when one is, for lack of a less cliche saying, having fun. A lifetime is a long time to be alone.
"I look at someone like Woodrow, who wants nothing more than to have a family of his own, and I feel pained to think he may never get it. The towns are small, they're highly judgmental, and we're rather far away. I fear I may have doomed him to a life with only us. Us at the castle, that is. I know I won't be going anywhere, and I'm afraid that he won't be willing to just pick up and leave when the truth is finally revealed that sticking around with me could mean the end of his dreams."
A long silence followed.
"But dreaming never dies." Claudia's voice entered, like a cool breeze on a hot summer's day, a sweet release pulling him from his trance-like state. He looked up at her, into her bright green eyes, feeling a wash of water flow through him, putting out the fires of self loathing that had so suddenly brewed. He had completely forgotten she was there.
Never again.
"I look at Patrick. Patrick doesn't care a snippet about anyone besides himself. I wonder how much if will hurt when he wakes up and realizes all that he's missed. I worry for the day when that happens. I worry that by the time he sees it, it will be too late.
"I look at someone like Woodrow, who wants nothing more than to have a family of his own, and I feel pained to think he may never get it. The towns are small, they're highly judgmental, and we're rather far away. I fear I may have doomed him to a life with only us. Us at the castle, that is. I know I won't be going anywhere, and I'm afraid that he won't be willing to just pick up and leave when the truth is finally revealed that sticking around with me could mean the end of his dreams."
A long silence followed.
"But dreaming never dies." Claudia's voice entered, like a cool breeze on a hot summer's day, a sweet release pulling him from his trance-like state. He looked up at her, into her bright green eyes, feeling a wash of water flow through him, putting out the fires of self loathing that had so suddenly brewed. He had completely forgotten she was there.
Never again.
24 August 2010
Notes on Beautiful
Society has destroyed beauty. There seems to be a strange sort of paradox occurring in the world in which one can’t be beautiful and healthy at the same time—unless you’re an air-brushed actress who is seen with her clothes off relatively frequently. But at the same time, we do seem aware of this problem. Mind you, we do little to nothing in the area of fixing it, but we do seem aware. We are very aware that there are young people, mostly women, in the world who have a skewed body image of themselves. We give them diagnoses and put them into hospitals if necessary, teaching them to eat properly. The problem arises in the people who are never diagnosed because there isn’t technically anything wrong with them.
The problem resides in the people who are healthy but look into the mirror every morning with a slight sadness or disdain. They know exactly what they look like, there is no skewed body image and they are not changing their eating habits in any severely negative way. They may be dieting when they don’t necessarily need to, or running every morning in the hopes that their disdain may fade. These are the people who suffer from the horrible view on beauty yet who go unseen. The people who are pretty, and therefore unnoticed. The people who suffer not from anorexia or bulimia, but from a lack of self-esteem are the people who are suffering most in society today.
It’s a problem, and it needs to be fixed. Don’t ask me how, because I don’t know. I understand that the media may be the source—it certainly is one of the prime suspects—but which comes first? Is it really the media’s fault that as women on screen and paper got skinnier and skinnier, people seemed more and more interested in the people and mimic it more and more? Trust me, I would love to blame the media as much as anything else, and there is little doubt that the ugly progression of beauty was fueled by the media. But let’s face it; it’s not the media’s fault. The media cannot influence us unless we choose to be influenced.
I’m afraid I don’t really have much more to say on this topic. I know that my analytical inserts are usually at least 750 words long, and this one is barely over 400. What I needed to say has been said, so to say any more would be a waste of both our time. Until next time, and I apologize for the lack of writing (writer’s block isn’t fun); I will try to get my groove back as soon as possible.
Be careful where you step, young one; the water is only shallow for so long.
The problem resides in the people who are healthy but look into the mirror every morning with a slight sadness or disdain. They know exactly what they look like, there is no skewed body image and they are not changing their eating habits in any severely negative way. They may be dieting when they don’t necessarily need to, or running every morning in the hopes that their disdain may fade. These are the people who suffer from the horrible view on beauty yet who go unseen. The people who are pretty, and therefore unnoticed. The people who suffer not from anorexia or bulimia, but from a lack of self-esteem are the people who are suffering most in society today.
It’s a problem, and it needs to be fixed. Don’t ask me how, because I don’t know. I understand that the media may be the source—it certainly is one of the prime suspects—but which comes first? Is it really the media’s fault that as women on screen and paper got skinnier and skinnier, people seemed more and more interested in the people and mimic it more and more? Trust me, I would love to blame the media as much as anything else, and there is little doubt that the ugly progression of beauty was fueled by the media. But let’s face it; it’s not the media’s fault. The media cannot influence us unless we choose to be influenced.
I’m afraid I don’t really have much more to say on this topic. I know that my analytical inserts are usually at least 750 words long, and this one is barely over 400. What I needed to say has been said, so to say any more would be a waste of both our time. Until next time, and I apologize for the lack of writing (writer’s block isn’t fun); I will try to get my groove back as soon as possible.
Be careful where you step, young one; the water is only shallow for so long.
17 August 2010
Notes on Music
I have found throughout the years that music teachers think that they can, for some reason, decide what is and is not music. Of course, the opinions vary from one teacher to the next, which, in itself, poses one of the key problems in their claim. Some teachers would die before calling Lady Gaga musical genius, while others cringe at the idea of Andrew Lloyd Webber being considered amazing. Some teachers don’t believe in the jazz clarinet; some don’t believe in jazz at all. Some teachers think that classical music is the only music worth a dime and that rap is not worthy of any recognition and should be wiped out. Is this a problem? My friends, this is just the beginning.
I think it is time that the definition of "music" be changed. True, the definition has stood high and proud for many years now, but imagine what life would be like if we all held true to rules and definitions hundreds, even thousands, of years old. Society changes all of the time, and with it should change definitions. Definitions should be used to decide what something is or is not in any sense beyond the purely scientific (though even this can be called into question as time continues). Definitions should be changed to allow things to be correctly called what they truly are.
I have heard it said that without music, we would not be civil, but like animals. I think this is a false statement. As a proud, fictional British man once said, "Any savage can dance." And though these words are cruel and demeaning, one can hardly deny their truth. The simple fact of the matter is that music keeps us leveled. With technology booming, it is hard for humanity to remember that is, in fact, animal. Music keeps us off of our high horse. Music attaches us to nature and our beginning more than any other human creation. Perhaps this is due to the fact that “any savage can dance.” Elephants in India can be trained like any 5th grader to play various instruments—mostly percussion—and in Jane Goodall’s camp, there was a chimpanzee who reached the top of his hierarchy by banging garbage tops together. Music is, plainly and simply, animal.
Music needs to be redefined. Music can be anything from Beethoven to Lady Gaga to the wailing of horns as cars drive through New York City on a very normal morning. Music should be considered to be any sound, or series thereof, that causes some sort of internal reaction in someone—anyone. Music is an expression of self. When you find a music teacher who can define each and every one of the students in their school using classical music, please let me know so I can give them an award for the most closed-minded person to walk the Earth.
Ignorance! Society is feeling a massive spur of ignorance! We think, we insist that we know everything. We pull out our dictionaries to prove other people wrong when we should be pulling out pencils and editing our dictionaries. Imagine what a better place the world would be if definitions were more inclusive rather than exclusive. We’re sitting peacefully inside our perfectly defined world, ignoring everything that goes wrong because our darned definitions. Redefining music is only the beginning. It’s time for change, massive change. But before we can change the politics and the laws and the tiny other insignificant details, we need to change the dictionary. So much be changed by typing a few extra lines into a book that’s too large for its own good anyway. At the point when views are being forced upon others with the dictionary, there is a problem.
Perhaps one of the reasons music programs are failing around the country is because people are getting so picky about what music is. There is little doubt in my mind that the true reason is because we, the younger generation, keep telling the kids younger than us that it is failing, thus resulting in them not really wanting to be involved, thus resulting in decline. BUT regardless of the true reason, I’m sure that more kids would be in band if every now and then we played a strong beat, heavy percussion section, and more kids would undoubtedly join choir if we could drop the Gregorian Chants for once and pull out some pop (and no, allowing pop songs in the top choirs won’t do the trick, guys). We need to reach out. We need to expand. I am a fan of, what I consider to be the new classics (Williams, Horner, Howard, Giacchino, etc.,) but I will be the first to acknowledge that anything usable for purposes of self-expression counts as music. If not to me, to someone else.
Music: a sound, or series thereof, that causes an emotional response in the listener or can be used as an expression of self.
At least then the teachers can’t tell us that we’re wrong.
I think it is time that the definition of "music" be changed. True, the definition has stood high and proud for many years now, but imagine what life would be like if we all held true to rules and definitions hundreds, even thousands, of years old. Society changes all of the time, and with it should change definitions. Definitions should be used to decide what something is or is not in any sense beyond the purely scientific (though even this can be called into question as time continues). Definitions should be changed to allow things to be correctly called what they truly are.
I have heard it said that without music, we would not be civil, but like animals. I think this is a false statement. As a proud, fictional British man once said, "Any savage can dance." And though these words are cruel and demeaning, one can hardly deny their truth. The simple fact of the matter is that music keeps us leveled. With technology booming, it is hard for humanity to remember that is, in fact, animal. Music keeps us off of our high horse. Music attaches us to nature and our beginning more than any other human creation. Perhaps this is due to the fact that “any savage can dance.” Elephants in India can be trained like any 5th grader to play various instruments—mostly percussion—and in Jane Goodall’s camp, there was a chimpanzee who reached the top of his hierarchy by banging garbage tops together. Music is, plainly and simply, animal.
Music needs to be redefined. Music can be anything from Beethoven to Lady Gaga to the wailing of horns as cars drive through New York City on a very normal morning. Music should be considered to be any sound, or series thereof, that causes some sort of internal reaction in someone—anyone. Music is an expression of self. When you find a music teacher who can define each and every one of the students in their school using classical music, please let me know so I can give them an award for the most closed-minded person to walk the Earth.
Ignorance! Society is feeling a massive spur of ignorance! We think, we insist that we know everything. We pull out our dictionaries to prove other people wrong when we should be pulling out pencils and editing our dictionaries. Imagine what a better place the world would be if definitions were more inclusive rather than exclusive. We’re sitting peacefully inside our perfectly defined world, ignoring everything that goes wrong because our darned definitions. Redefining music is only the beginning. It’s time for change, massive change. But before we can change the politics and the laws and the tiny other insignificant details, we need to change the dictionary. So much be changed by typing a few extra lines into a book that’s too large for its own good anyway. At the point when views are being forced upon others with the dictionary, there is a problem.
Perhaps one of the reasons music programs are failing around the country is because people are getting so picky about what music is. There is little doubt in my mind that the true reason is because we, the younger generation, keep telling the kids younger than us that it is failing, thus resulting in them not really wanting to be involved, thus resulting in decline. BUT regardless of the true reason, I’m sure that more kids would be in band if every now and then we played a strong beat, heavy percussion section, and more kids would undoubtedly join choir if we could drop the Gregorian Chants for once and pull out some pop (and no, allowing pop songs in the top choirs won’t do the trick, guys). We need to reach out. We need to expand. I am a fan of, what I consider to be the new classics (Williams, Horner, Howard, Giacchino, etc.,) but I will be the first to acknowledge that anything usable for purposes of self-expression counts as music. If not to me, to someone else.
Music: a sound, or series thereof, that causes an emotional response in the listener or can be used as an expression of self.
At least then the teachers can’t tell us that we’re wrong.
13 August 2010
The Woman Named Amy
So I met this woman named Amy. The situation had the strong potential to be extremely awkward. She and her boyfriend, my neighbor, were coming over for dinner with his two sons. But the thing is, her boyfriend is the ex-husband of one of Mom's best friends. I found myself trying, yet failing, to convince myself that I could truly, honestly like her.
She seemed impressed by me right off the bat. This was, by itself, somewhat surprising. My surprise was only to be built upon. The conversation was between my mother, Amy, and myself, and it turned to politics. Being sincerely impressed at the 19-year-old with not only an opinion, but one that could be reasoned and explained fairly well, I, for lack of a better phrase, blew poor Amy out of the water.
Finding myself somewhat captivated by this new woman who had not only faced family tragedy, but also done volunteer work in Africa and visited Italy some five times, I sort of followed her about the house, dancing between conversing and listening intently.
Through a series of chance events and encounters, I wound up alone in the library with that very woman. It had arisen earlier that I was floating in the center of three very different majors; psychology, film, and marine zoology (which apparently does not actually exist, so marine biology). She asked me how, exactly, I had ended up in such a position, seeing as the three are hardly related. Sure, film can go with either of those, but psychology and marine biology don't really have many over-lapping features. I explained how I had happened upon psychology via my grandfather. She then asked my how marine biology had happened. What was it that I liked so much about marine biology?
The speechlessness that ensued is impossible. I opened my mouth several times, feeling an answer of the tip of my tongue that was so completely imagery that I couldn't even begin to imagine how to describe it. Each time I tried to speak, my smile grew slightly larger. With a breath of almost exasperation, but far too joyful to be anything of the sort, I admitted defeat. I found myself talking about the most pointless things: my frustrations at humans interfering with marine life during "research," my thoughts being the exact opposite of my mother's "they sure are ugly things aren't they," upon the viewing of a Great White Shark. The more I spoke, the more I knew, the more I realized, the more I found myself saying, "that's probably what I'll end up doing."
It all fits together. The only thing that makes summer even mildly tolerable is the idea of sitting underwater for hours at a time. Mom often referred to me as a "sealy," the proper term for which is a "Selkie," because the seals at the zoo seemed somehow drawn to me--added of course, to the fact that I only ever came up from beneath the water's surface to breathe. Even when I was deathly afraid of sharks, and wouldn't dare sleep with any part of limb hanging from my bed for fear of it being eaten off, I was completely captivated and fascinated. I went whale watching with Mom while in Boston, and though I got sea sick and didn't see more than the lower backbone of a few Mink and Finn whales, I have never been happier (with a few rare exceptions--all of which you are aware)... Mom refuses to be truly satisfied until she has seen a humpback dive. I refuse to be happy until I have seen a whale dive from beneath the surface.
And thus, a conclusion was reached, and the only question yet to be answered it how.
She seemed impressed by me right off the bat. This was, by itself, somewhat surprising. My surprise was only to be built upon. The conversation was between my mother, Amy, and myself, and it turned to politics. Being sincerely impressed at the 19-year-old with not only an opinion, but one that could be reasoned and explained fairly well, I, for lack of a better phrase, blew poor Amy out of the water.
Finding myself somewhat captivated by this new woman who had not only faced family tragedy, but also done volunteer work in Africa and visited Italy some five times, I sort of followed her about the house, dancing between conversing and listening intently.
Through a series of chance events and encounters, I wound up alone in the library with that very woman. It had arisen earlier that I was floating in the center of three very different majors; psychology, film, and marine zoology (which apparently does not actually exist, so marine biology). She asked me how, exactly, I had ended up in such a position, seeing as the three are hardly related. Sure, film can go with either of those, but psychology and marine biology don't really have many over-lapping features. I explained how I had happened upon psychology via my grandfather. She then asked my how marine biology had happened. What was it that I liked so much about marine biology?
The speechlessness that ensued is impossible. I opened my mouth several times, feeling an answer of the tip of my tongue that was so completely imagery that I couldn't even begin to imagine how to describe it. Each time I tried to speak, my smile grew slightly larger. With a breath of almost exasperation, but far too joyful to be anything of the sort, I admitted defeat. I found myself talking about the most pointless things: my frustrations at humans interfering with marine life during "research," my thoughts being the exact opposite of my mother's "they sure are ugly things aren't they," upon the viewing of a Great White Shark. The more I spoke, the more I knew, the more I realized, the more I found myself saying, "that's probably what I'll end up doing."
It all fits together. The only thing that makes summer even mildly tolerable is the idea of sitting underwater for hours at a time. Mom often referred to me as a "sealy," the proper term for which is a "Selkie," because the seals at the zoo seemed somehow drawn to me--added of course, to the fact that I only ever came up from beneath the water's surface to breathe. Even when I was deathly afraid of sharks, and wouldn't dare sleep with any part of limb hanging from my bed for fear of it being eaten off, I was completely captivated and fascinated. I went whale watching with Mom while in Boston, and though I got sea sick and didn't see more than the lower backbone of a few Mink and Finn whales, I have never been happier (with a few rare exceptions--all of which you are aware)... Mom refuses to be truly satisfied until she has seen a humpback dive. I refuse to be happy until I have seen a whale dive from beneath the surface.
And thus, a conclusion was reached, and the only question yet to be answered it how.
12 August 2010
Passion
All I have are words, yet speechlessness is all I can muster. The feeling inside of me right now is so completely undescribable, I can't even tell you how undescribable it truly is. It's a joy, an exhileration, a fear... an unbelievable fear.
It's like love--assuming, of course, that I was correct in interpretting this feeling as love when I felt it before. It's like beauty defined is second best... or even nothing compared.
Is this it? This must be it. I think I may have found my passion.Th question now is how to achieve it.
Ideas, anyone?
It's like love--assuming, of course, that I was correct in interpretting this feeling as love when I felt it before. It's like beauty defined is second best... or even nothing compared.
Is this it? This must be it. I think I may have found my passion.Th question now is how to achieve it.
Ideas, anyone?
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