Monday, May 5, 2008
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Sometimes I get nostalgic for the earlier days of the internet, when everything was really just first setting off, at least from my point of view. Pages that were so new around the year 2000 are now shells of history floating around on the internet between fancy flash sites and .php and so many others. Don't get me wrong, I think the progress is great, especially since pages nowadays are generally easier on the eyes and clear to navigate. For example, back then, blogging would have been considerably more arduous, especially if I wanted to add special graphics to my page.
Still. I can't be the only who smiles when she remembers things like embedded midi, can I? And HTML before any of its extra add-ons? Even tiled backgrounds.
Ah well. I suppose you can't stay in the same place for ever. But it was glorious while it lasted, wasn't it? So much potential in our hands and we had no idea.
Still. I can't be the only who smiles when she remembers things like embedded midi, can I? And HTML before any of its extra add-ons? Even tiled backgrounds.
Ah well. I suppose you can't stay in the same place for ever. But it was glorious while it lasted, wasn't it? So much potential in our hands and we had no idea.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Since everyone is fascinated by my life, I figured I'd give y'all (um, by which I mean no one) an update on my life. Maybe if I become famous someone will dig this up and talk about it . . . nahhh.
So, let's see. Lately I've decided that sucking as much as I do at geography is shameful for me. It's really important to understanding what's going on in the world, and I have no excuses for not knowing it. Therefore, I've decided to study/improve at it. (Because I'm a dork, in case you didn't catch that.) And, though I'm not terribly surprised, so far I actually love it. I can name all fifty states + capitals, and could place them on a blank map (as long as I didn't actually have to tell you where the capital was, I haven't got that down yet). I can also name all the provinces of Canada. I think this is a pretty good start to understanding the geographical world around me. Next I'm gonna focus in a little on the separate states and get general ideas about them. Did you know Oklahoma has four mountain ranges within its borders? Well, now you do. Nearly pointless trivia FTW!!
Also, I've decided to learn to play the harmonica. So far, 's goin' okay. I'll keep my empty blog updated.
I guess I should probably stop avoiding getting up and eat.
P.S. Daylight Savings Time is so much suck.
So, let's see. Lately I've decided that sucking as much as I do at geography is shameful for me. It's really important to understanding what's going on in the world, and I have no excuses for not knowing it. Therefore, I've decided to study/improve at it. (Because I'm a dork, in case you didn't catch that.) And, though I'm not terribly surprised, so far I actually love it. I can name all fifty states + capitals, and could place them on a blank map (as long as I didn't actually have to tell you where the capital was, I haven't got that down yet). I can also name all the provinces of Canada. I think this is a pretty good start to understanding the geographical world around me. Next I'm gonna focus in a little on the separate states and get general ideas about them. Did you know Oklahoma has four mountain ranges within its borders? Well, now you do. Nearly pointless trivia FTW!!
Also, I've decided to learn to play the harmonica. So far, 's goin' okay. I'll keep my empty blog updated.
I guess I should probably stop avoiding getting up and eat.
P.S. Daylight Savings Time is so much suck.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Gods above and below, printing stuff takes a lonnnnnng tiiiiiime. Stupid photo printers, they're like, "We're out of paper. All of us. At the same time. OH ALSO we need new ink. Nao. KTHX." So then everybody ha to wait for the poor lab monitor to fix everything AT ONCE. Now they're supposedly all fixed but geeze, I'm starving, and you're only allowed to eat at this one little table that's all the way over there.
SIGH.
Okay, I think that was enough whining.
FOR. NOW.
*dun dun duuun*
SIGH.
Okay, I think that was enough whining.
FOR. NOW.
*dun dun duuun*
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Sunday, March 2, 2008
2000 words attempted
I've recently decided that if I want to be a writer, I've got to start working on my writing habits, so I'm trying to write somewhere from 1000-2000 words a day. Figure that should set me up to finish the novel I'm working on about three friends split up for college in at least a couple of months. (I realized that it's basically something I have to write as soon as possible, because as I get older, it's not really going to have the same feelings in it.)
Let me tell you, my . . . singular to zero blog reader(s), some things I think about writing. Writing---for me, anyway---is not something that always comes easily. Sure, you have those moments where everything's going beautifully. "Ah!" you think to yourself. "It's all coming together! I see now why they went to the City in the Clouds on the back of a crocodile! Oh, this is just lovely for my character development, their interactions here are wonderful! I'm so happy, I---crap. What happens now?"
It took me kind of a long time to understand what Philip Pullman meant when he said, "There's no such thing as writer's block." I'm not entirely sure I agree with him, but definitely, after writing my first novel (that is still SO satisfying to say.), I get what he meant a lot more than I ever did before. Writing ain't easy, but eventually you've just got to force yourself past the difficult bits.
More often than not, writing is slogging through stuff you're unsure of rather than breezing through perfect scenes. Sometimes you know exactly what to do, but just like everyone else, writers do not produce life's work with a finger snap. (Shocking, I know.) And, though some people might scoff, it's bloody hard work, especially when you hit a wall.
Hitting a wall, as I define it: you either a) don't know what's coming next, b) don't feel like writing this boring part, or c) you just---want the book or story to be written, somehow, all the bits between where you are and the end filled in magically. (Sadly, no dice on that one.) "Writer's block" is a prolonged form of hitting a wall. For me, that's when I just sit at the wall after I hit it, staring bewilderedly at its mossy bricks and moaning about my terrible fate.
For Philip Pullman, there's no writer's block because he forces himself over the wall. He (as he admits freely) of course spends some time "whinging", but after a certain point he just sort of sighs and forces himself to write something. In the end, a lot of writing is about being able to force yourself over those walls. A lot of the time, that means letting yourself write utter crap just to get past it. (If that wasn't so hard, more people would do it.) And it's not something you can just learn to do perfectly. Sooner or later, you're going to hit another wall and have to whine and then push yourself over.
So, writing is like fighting. (Whoohoo similes!) Some days you battle the beast and emerge victorious, brandishing its head---and some days you tumble out of the cave with a dented helmet and a concussion.
Today I battled the beast and came out all right, actaully. I'd say maybe a few scrapes on my armor, and I've only got a few scales to show for my efforts, but hey, I forced myself past a couple hard bits, and that's something.
Um, I'm sure I had some eloquent conclusion to this, but astonishingly enough, my sparkling brilliance begins to diminish at 2AM, sooo, you'll be left without one. Dreadfully sorry, chaps and ladies.
Side note: it's funny when you go back and read over something you hated writing and discover it's not something you hate reading. This is what happened with me and Devon, a character in above-mentioned novel. His voice is hardest for me to get, because it's least like my own florid style, so at first I was like, "BLAARGH. Too plain, but must not embellish." Reading over, it's actually one of my favorit bits, which surprised no one as much as me. Go figure. Still, I'm not convinced he won't prove difficult later. I'm watch you, Dev.
Let me tell you, my . . . singular to zero blog reader(s), some things I think about writing. Writing---for me, anyway---is not something that always comes easily. Sure, you have those moments where everything's going beautifully. "Ah!" you think to yourself. "It's all coming together! I see now why they went to the City in the Clouds on the back of a crocodile! Oh, this is just lovely for my character development, their interactions here are wonderful! I'm so happy, I---crap. What happens now?"
It took me kind of a long time to understand what Philip Pullman meant when he said, "There's no such thing as writer's block." I'm not entirely sure I agree with him, but definitely, after writing my first novel (that is still SO satisfying to say.), I get what he meant a lot more than I ever did before. Writing ain't easy, but eventually you've just got to force yourself past the difficult bits.
More often than not, writing is slogging through stuff you're unsure of rather than breezing through perfect scenes. Sometimes you know exactly what to do, but just like everyone else, writers do not produce life's work with a finger snap. (Shocking, I know.) And, though some people might scoff, it's bloody hard work, especially when you hit a wall.
Hitting a wall, as I define it: you either a) don't know what's coming next, b) don't feel like writing this boring part, or c) you just---want the book or story to be written, somehow, all the bits between where you are and the end filled in magically. (Sadly, no dice on that one.) "Writer's block" is a prolonged form of hitting a wall. For me, that's when I just sit at the wall after I hit it, staring bewilderedly at its mossy bricks and moaning about my terrible fate.
For Philip Pullman, there's no writer's block because he forces himself over the wall. He (as he admits freely) of course spends some time "whinging", but after a certain point he just sort of sighs and forces himself to write something. In the end, a lot of writing is about being able to force yourself over those walls. A lot of the time, that means letting yourself write utter crap just to get past it. (If that wasn't so hard, more people would do it.) And it's not something you can just learn to do perfectly. Sooner or later, you're going to hit another wall and have to whine and then push yourself over.
So, writing is like fighting. (Whoohoo similes!) Some days you battle the beast and emerge victorious, brandishing its head---and some days you tumble out of the cave with a dented helmet and a concussion.
Today I battled the beast and came out all right, actaully. I'd say maybe a few scrapes on my armor, and I've only got a few scales to show for my efforts, but hey, I forced myself past a couple hard bits, and that's something.
Um, I'm sure I had some eloquent conclusion to this, but astonishingly enough, my sparkling brilliance begins to diminish at 2AM, sooo, you'll be left without one. Dreadfully sorry, chaps and ladies.
Side note: it's funny when you go back and read over something you hated writing and discover it's not something you hate reading. This is what happened with me and Devon, a character in above-mentioned novel. His voice is hardest for me to get, because it's least like my own florid style, so at first I was like, "BLAARGH. Too plain, but must not embellish." Reading over, it's actually one of my favorit bits, which surprised no one as much as me. Go figure. Still, I'm not convinced he won't prove difficult later. I'm watch you, Dev.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Monday, February 4, 2008
Educations!!
Today I shall be educating you about the cardigan. (Some people might think this is a ridiculous subject for a blog post, but nobody reads this thing anyway, so I may do as I please. XD Plus if you stick around, there's something awesome at the end of this post.)
The cardigan is a type of knit sweater. It is distinguished from the traditional pullover sweater in that it buttons up the front, whereas pullovers are simply, well, pulled over the head. No buttons involved here, no suh. But what makes the cardigan interesting is that its namesake was a complete and total idiot.
Also known as James Brudenell, the 7th Lord Cardigan completely bollixed up almost everything he attempted to do, except bragging, apparently, which was one of his few skills. He was born in 1797 in England, and went into the military at age 22. In the 1800s, England had a "purchase by commissions" system, which means that any ol' chump could essentially buy a promotion if they had the money. That's exactly what Brudenell did---landing himself as commanding officer of older, more experienced men.
In a vain attempt to assert his authority over these men, he resorted to petty bullying. Oh, good job, Lord C., good job. He actually did such a bad job that he was dismissed from the army. However, in the tradition of the more reprehensible members of the aristocracy, he appealed personally to the king, who then granted him command of the 11th Hussars. Other exploits of his include having a guest arrested for "defying" him---i.e., not knowing about his conventions about dinner and ordering something that Lord Cardigan didn't want at his table---and getting into a duel with a former officer. He was let go by the slightest technicality on that one.
So, after being regaled with Lord Cardigan's various mishaps, you shouldn't be surprised to hear that he was the commander of the Light Cavalry Brigade in the Crimean War.
Historians are uncertain as to what part, if any, he played in orchestrating the actual charge. Wikipedia tells us, "The extent to which Lord Cardigan was to blame is unproven, since he attacked only after expressing his doubts and receiving a direct order in front of the troops from his immediate superior Lord Lucan, Commander of the Cavalry Division. The order had been conveyed by Captain Louis Nolan, who died in the charge, and Cardigan blamed him for passing on the order incorrectly." What they are certain of is that he was not the upstanding commanding officer he should have been in this suicidal charge, which killed about 1 in 7 of his soldiers. Various accounts have him either running away during the battle or retreating before his men.
Moreover, his conduct after the infamous battle is appalling. He missed two battles, and although in the past he had always kept his troops well-equipped, as winter hit the remains of the Light Brigade, food, shelter, clothing, and horse fodder were all running low. Lord C. wrote letters about the deficiencies, and . . . that's it. He could easily have sent a few men to the coast for more supplies, but would not allow any men to leave because "the enemy might stage a surprise attack." As a consequence, many horses died, and the members of the Light Brigade underwent great hardship. Lord C. finally returned to England in 1854, claiming "bad health", though the war was still in motion, and would not end for another two years.
Unfortunately, due to widely held journalistic misconceptions, on his return, he was greatly lauded as the hero-commander of the Light Brigade, and enjoyed a great fan following for a while. (Here's where the sweater comes in---they were modeled, supposedly, after the type of jacket he wore during the war, and a great number were produced and bought.) Lord C. went along with the stories of him as a great commander, bragging about his part in the battle and telling great stories of his bravery. Luckily, when the real soldiers returned from the war, the public opinion about Cardigan changed, as more truthful accounts were made known. Typically, Lord C. just went on pretending he was the great and brave commander of the stories, and remained in command for 11 years, followed by a peaceful retirement.
Ugh. What a complete and total idiot. And to think he got to meet Queen Victoria for his supposedly brave leadership! Blech. Sometimes the public opinion disgusts me.
Oh, I feel I have to give credit to my source---most of this comes from here, though I googled a bit to ensure it wasn't one of those "WIKIPEDIA LIEZZZZ" moments.
Aaaand now, for the greatest thing in the world. SO FUNNY.
The cardigan is a type of knit sweater. It is distinguished from the traditional pullover sweater in that it buttons up the front, whereas pullovers are simply, well, pulled over the head. No buttons involved here, no suh. But what makes the cardigan interesting is that its namesake was a complete and total idiot.
Also known as James Brudenell, the 7th Lord Cardigan completely bollixed up almost everything he attempted to do, except bragging, apparently, which was one of his few skills. He was born in 1797 in England, and went into the military at age 22. In the 1800s, England had a "purchase by commissions" system, which means that any ol' chump could essentially buy a promotion if they had the money. That's exactly what Brudenell did---landing himself as commanding officer of older, more experienced men.
In a vain attempt to assert his authority over these men, he resorted to petty bullying. Oh, good job, Lord C., good job. He actually did such a bad job that he was dismissed from the army. However, in the tradition of the more reprehensible members of the aristocracy, he appealed personally to the king, who then granted him command of the 11th Hussars. Other exploits of his include having a guest arrested for "defying" him---i.e., not knowing about his conventions about dinner and ordering something that Lord Cardigan didn't want at his table---and getting into a duel with a former officer. He was let go by the slightest technicality on that one.
So, after being regaled with Lord Cardigan's various mishaps, you shouldn't be surprised to hear that he was the commander of the Light Cavalry Brigade in the Crimean War.
Historians are uncertain as to what part, if any, he played in orchestrating the actual charge. Wikipedia tells us, "The extent to which Lord Cardigan was to blame is unproven, since he attacked only after expressing his doubts and receiving a direct order in front of the troops from his immediate superior Lord Lucan, Commander of the Cavalry Division. The order had been conveyed by Captain Louis Nolan, who died in the charge, and Cardigan blamed him for passing on the order incorrectly." What they are certain of is that he was not the upstanding commanding officer he should have been in this suicidal charge, which killed about 1 in 7 of his soldiers. Various accounts have him either running away during the battle or retreating before his men.
Moreover, his conduct after the infamous battle is appalling. He missed two battles, and although in the past he had always kept his troops well-equipped, as winter hit the remains of the Light Brigade, food, shelter, clothing, and horse fodder were all running low. Lord C. wrote letters about the deficiencies, and . . . that's it. He could easily have sent a few men to the coast for more supplies, but would not allow any men to leave because "the enemy might stage a surprise attack." As a consequence, many horses died, and the members of the Light Brigade underwent great hardship. Lord C. finally returned to England in 1854, claiming "bad health", though the war was still in motion, and would not end for another two years.
Unfortunately, due to widely held journalistic misconceptions, on his return, he was greatly lauded as the hero-commander of the Light Brigade, and enjoyed a great fan following for a while. (Here's where the sweater comes in---they were modeled, supposedly, after the type of jacket he wore during the war, and a great number were produced and bought.) Lord C. went along with the stories of him as a great commander, bragging about his part in the battle and telling great stories of his bravery. Luckily, when the real soldiers returned from the war, the public opinion about Cardigan changed, as more truthful accounts were made known. Typically, Lord C. just went on pretending he was the great and brave commander of the stories, and remained in command for 11 years, followed by a peaceful retirement.
Ugh. What a complete and total idiot. And to think he got to meet Queen Victoria for his supposedly brave leadership! Blech. Sometimes the public opinion disgusts me.
Oh, I feel I have to give credit to my source---most of this comes from here, though I googled a bit to ensure it wasn't one of those "WIKIPEDIA LIEZZZZ" moments.
Aaaand now, for the greatest thing in the world. SO FUNNY.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
A moment of nostalgia . . .
Does anyone else remember when you actually had to make HTML documents in Notepad? *sigh* Table tags, I miss you.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Notes on various relationships
Bad boyfriends: girls, money and half-assed apologies do not a loving relationship make.
Great friends: the kind of people you can sit around with, reading "interesting facts", and be completely happy and entertained.
Great friends: the kind of people you can sit around with, reading "interesting facts", and be completely happy and entertained.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Update on those gigantic four-hour breaks: I love the fact that I can use the darkroom now because I have a card.
I love the darkroom. I love the darkroom. I don't think I can say this enough---I love the darkroom.
I just can't really even put it into words, why it is that I love it so much. The first time we went in there it was so strange, because everybody was crowded into such a small place. But the actual process, and the creation of---well, it's just something else. Holding in your hands a photo that you put into the chemicals, something that you made entirely with your own two hands---I don't know, watching the image billow up into black and white is like seeing something real and whole transformed into something magical. Modern alchemy.
Of course, I don't know how to do any actual PHOTOGRAPHS yet. I can make photograms, which are created by arranging items on top of light sensitive photo paper, then exposing the paper to light for some amount of time. But I'm pretty much in love with the entire process, and I am dying to learn how to do pictures from negatives. I may be forced to teach myself, but god, the prospect of knowing is exciting.
In other news, the idea of being a museum curator is sounding pretty damn attractive. DAMMIT. WHY CAN'T I LIKE THINGS THAT MAKE MONEY.
Ah well. Perhaps one of my books will become a bestseller and I can laugh in all the faces of, um, the people that mocked me. Which is a short list. So then I'll probably go laugh at Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect, because they're hilar. Yeah that's right, I was too lazy, so I shortened it. Bite me! (Don't really. I've been quite clumsy the past couple of days and have quite a few paper cuts to show for it, so I'm in enough pain already.)
Also, damn, I think Andrea is getting me to watch American Idol. Ugh. It's a despicable show but some parts of it are just quite compelling.
I love the darkroom. I love the darkroom. I don't think I can say this enough---I love the darkroom.
I just can't really even put it into words, why it is that I love it so much. The first time we went in there it was so strange, because everybody was crowded into such a small place. But the actual process, and the creation of---well, it's just something else. Holding in your hands a photo that you put into the chemicals, something that you made entirely with your own two hands---I don't know, watching the image billow up into black and white is like seeing something real and whole transformed into something magical. Modern alchemy.
Of course, I don't know how to do any actual PHOTOGRAPHS yet. I can make photograms, which are created by arranging items on top of light sensitive photo paper, then exposing the paper to light for some amount of time. But I'm pretty much in love with the entire process, and I am dying to learn how to do pictures from negatives. I may be forced to teach myself, but god, the prospect of knowing is exciting.
In other news, the idea of being a museum curator is sounding pretty damn attractive. DAMMIT. WHY CAN'T I LIKE THINGS THAT MAKE MONEY.
Ah well. Perhaps one of my books will become a bestseller and I can laugh in all the faces of, um, the people that mocked me. Which is a short list. So then I'll probably go laugh at Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect, because they're hilar. Yeah that's right, I was too lazy, so I shortened it. Bite me! (Don't really. I've been quite clumsy the past couple of days and have quite a few paper cuts to show for it, so I'm in enough pain already.)
Also, damn, I think Andrea is getting me to watch American Idol. Ugh. It's a despicable show but some parts of it are just quite compelling.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
My dear blog, I've been neglecting you. I'm dreadfully sorry. My excuse is that I was taking December off to chiiiill after my intense novel-writing November. I still sort of can't believe that I actually did that. Whooo! One life goal accomplished! Now if only I can finish the damn trilogy, haha.
Let's see, I'm back at school now. It's funny, we settled in pretty quickly, but the homesickness will probably hit me at some point soon. Of course I miss everyone. I especially miss my parents, who are in West Drayton right now. *sigh* I miss London sooo, sooo much. I would love to be there RIGHT NOW.
Buuut Seattle's pretty cool, and I absolutely love my school. I seriously do. It's so beautiful up here, and I missed my libraries. I have got to go to one of them for longer than two minutes soon. I could hit up the library in my gigantic four-hour break tomorrow.
My schedule this quarter's pretty sweet, nice 'n' relaxed. The classes, on the other hand, might be sort of difficult. They're going to be a LOT a LOT a LOT of work. Photo and poetry in the same quarter---what was I thinking?! Well, I know what I was thinking. It's just, I'm a reluctant artist. It's very hard for me to show things to people, but that, in the end, IS why I took these classes: I love both the subjects, and I want to force myself to be more comfortable in putting myself out in the world. We'll see how it goes, eh?
Biggest news lately: I cleared up my closet and below my bed and they are both BEAUTIFUL. It's basically amazing. I still have to clear up my desk, but after that, my areas will be totally clean and wonderful. *happy sigh*
Okay, I should probably try and force myself to go to historical linguistix reading. Wish me luck.
Let's see, I'm back at school now. It's funny, we settled in pretty quickly, but the homesickness will probably hit me at some point soon. Of course I miss everyone. I especially miss my parents, who are in West Drayton right now. *sigh* I miss London sooo, sooo much. I would love to be there RIGHT NOW.
Buuut Seattle's pretty cool, and I absolutely love my school. I seriously do. It's so beautiful up here, and I missed my libraries. I have got to go to one of them for longer than two minutes soon. I could hit up the library in my gigantic four-hour break tomorrow.
My schedule this quarter's pretty sweet, nice 'n' relaxed. The classes, on the other hand, might be sort of difficult. They're going to be a LOT a LOT a LOT of work. Photo and poetry in the same quarter---what was I thinking?! Well, I know what I was thinking. It's just, I'm a reluctant artist. It's very hard for me to show things to people, but that, in the end, IS why I took these classes: I love both the subjects, and I want to force myself to be more comfortable in putting myself out in the world. We'll see how it goes, eh?
Biggest news lately: I cleared up my closet and below my bed and they are both BEAUTIFUL. It's basically amazing. I still have to clear up my desk, but after that, my areas will be totally clean and wonderful. *happy sigh*
Okay, I should probably try and force myself to go to historical linguistix reading. Wish me luck.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)