The contents has haved no discernible effect upon my writing

So, um, I know I only pop in now and then to miss people's birthdays and say pointless things, but . . . look! Something actually of consequence:

projectdownload

Go. Clicky! It's cleolinda-approved. 

aaaagh this is such a small community. (Real life community, I mean. The entire county is claustrophobic, usually in a good way.) When at our favorite little natural foods store yesterday, I recognized one of the employees. Hey, sez I, isn't that the guy from the Coma Lilies concert R. dragged me to at the Phoenix? I get a second look at him, and sure enough, it's him. I was going to say something to him, but honestly didn't get an opportunity. I would have fucked it up anyway, though, because (after much digging around on myspace figuring out who belongs to which dozen bands) he doesn't play for the Coma Lilies, just for like, three other bands that appeared that evening. Is it my fault that none of them can introduce themselves worth a damn? Fucking indie bands. So the conversation would have gone like this:

ME: Hey! You play for the Coma Lilies, right? I saw you at the Phoenix, and--

GUY HUNTER: No.

ME: . . . but you did play drums for Diderot or Iditarod or whatever the fuck the first band was, right?

GUY: maybe. Jeez, I can't believe you thought I played for the Coma Lilies. And that brand of tofu sucks.

ME: all righty then.

Aaaand, our fencing instructor was away at comiccon this week. I'm not sure if my step-brother Alexis is going or not, but I like to imagine them crossing paths, never knowing that they are both blessed with my acquaintance. Whoa.

(i'm practicing this whole "writing entries spontaneously" thing)

So, I'm rereading His Dark Materials in anticipation of the film coming
out this winter, aaand, of course, I was curious as to what my daemon
might be . . .

( Read more... )

Mind, I tried to be as honest as possible (and i retook the test to change one of my answers to a more accurate--and ugly--one) , so I don't know where they got "modest" from. Patient, self-deprecating, sure---but modest? I brag about buying muffins from neighborhood kids! (ie, "am i not a generous benefactor?") Lions are lazy, though, and better thought of than they should be--so that part's spot on.

(Gawd, I don't even remember how to format lj-cuts, it's been that long)

I have crispy yoga pants and a hot girlfriend. That is all.

I just found my first white hair. Oh my god, I was joking about going gray in my twenties. And I am not, for the record, even in my twenties. Oh my gawd.

It would seem that memes are the only thing that get me to post.

( Memeage )

As I may or may not have mentioned, I switched this year from my longtime mentor Linda to Kerry, because, you know, English/Literature is one of my strengths--believe it or not--and Kerry is much more Literature-oriented than Linda. This does not mean that we get along. Part of it, of course, is because I miss Linda, but Kerry's style of teaching is also more suited to, you know, regular school rather than independent study. (She actually just assigns things. Like, without discussing it with the student, omg.) And she is verbose. And I think I had to train her to exchange niceties. But! This week we had a bit of a showdown, along the lines of "Now, about complete sentences--" "They aren't necessary!" "They are proper English!" "But they aren't necessary! Should I just be redundant, redundant, redundant?" "Yes," and "Did you answer the questions about Eurydice?" "No." "And why not?" "I . . . there are several reasons, actually. One is I was pressed for time, another is I didn't like the poem." "That's a good reason." "I thought so." "Well, I'll just proceed to read the entire poem aloud. [And it was a different version! Wtfbbq!] . . . Something about the poem as a heroic cycle, Eurydice's empowerment, etc." "Well, that seems--odd--in the context." "?" "I mean, it's a Greek myth, Eurydice shouldn't be empowered. She's just a symbol and she should stay that way. It's Greek!" And Kerry conceded that I had a reasonable point, and now I feel much better about her and things in general. She stood her ground, I stood mine, and now I can at least respect her instead of calling her a cunt in front of my mother.

(I should point out that, at least to my mother, the above conversation between Kerry and I was pretty tense. Supposedly smoke was coming out of my ears, but mothers do tend to exaggerate.)

Anyway, um. I wanted to post something before I went off to Ashland tomorrow. Things are good. Things are very good.

Latin class is the awesomest thing evar.

A problem I've been struggling with for a while is that of, er, this journal. As you may have noticed, I'm hardly the ideal blogger. I just don't have the urge to record my life or thoughts, and when I do I'm too lazy to actually compose them. The first reason, I think--speculate--is because I already live inside my head to such a great extent. I constantly narrate my life mentally, and thus I don't feel the need the need to do so further. Any issues that I imagine other people deal with partly by journal-keeping, I deal with by thinking or talking it out with my mom. Of course, the semi-contradiction to this is the fact that I am very fond of writing by hand and often to so to order my thoughts. I haven't even entirely gotten past the point where I have to write down what I need to say before I make a phone-call. (I'm getting much better, acktcherly. I no longer become hysteric.)

~~~

That paragraph was written on the 2nd of this month.

*mumblemumble* I didn't want to post my city in metaquotes, but for the benefit (or not) of anyone in the area, particularly nextian I'm in Santa Rosa, California.

The world is entirely too small. Not an hour after I learned omg machiavelli squee nextian was in Healdsburg I read haydenthorne's latest post, in which she linked to her friend Ro. And lo, in Ro's gallery there is a drawing I have saved on my hardrive, sent to me two years ago by a former friend. I never knew the name of the artist or even the title. This is the same former friend whose LOTR fic was used as an example of Mary-Sue/Un-Elven names by limyaael. All of these coincidences are fairly little things, of course, but I'm still fascinated and disturbed by how interconnected everything is.

In other news, I desperately need some new icons. Also, I made a chipotle cherry-peach pie today. Well, I helped.

For the first time this summer I am wearing a tank top.

It is, at the moment, rainy and overcast.

My timing rocks.

No, really, this is the first outfit I've worn in ages that does not disguise the fact I have "large fleshy things protruding from my chest." [- beau_brummell] For someone with a fairly full, hourglass-shaped, albeit big-boned figure, I am remarably adept at hding it. Hips? I have no hips! The empire needs no hips.

Tressa's SN : hey
Ren Shadowflame: hey
Tressa's SN : who dis?
Ren Shadowflame: Tressa?
Tressa's SN : no its her friend
Tressa's SN : rachel
Ren Shadowflame: ah
Ren Shadowflame: jolly good then
Tressa's SN : who is this?
Ren Shadowflame: why are you IMing people you don't even know?
Ren Shadowflame: the mind, it baffles
Tressa's SN : cuz im boared
Ren Shadowflame: really? you've been attacked by a boar?
Tressa's SN : no? u r quite strange
Ren Shadowflame: thank you, it's all in good fun
Tressa's SN : ok im swiching to my aim later
Ren Shadowflame: ta

I hope you will excuse all blunders as it is the first letter I ever wrote. nearly three hours past my usuual bed-time.

( Cut for your convenience!  )

Upcoming:
A Review of Why Homoeroticism is Hot As Meat Loves Salt

Graduation Pics. Let it not be said that I deny my eager fans a look at my amazing powers of androgyny. Or something. It's obscenely late, you know. I think the last time I was up past eleven was New Year's; I'm only up this late because I swore I would write an entry tonight. Huzzah for me!

I seem to be becoming a sort of paradox; my appearance is becoming more androgynous (well, I've only been mistaken for a boy thrice) while my focus shifts to stereotypically feminine activities--cooking and sewing, though the sewing is still sort of a hazy goal. It's rather interesting to mark my--I hate to use the term personal growth, but there you have it. Oh, I'm not-really-an-androgyne-but-I-wish-I-were and I'm okay . . . The thing is, I didn't shave my head at all because of, er, appearance-as-it-relates-to-gender, but I've been happier I think since I did it. Of course, that could simply because I don't have a waist-long mass of hair to worry about.

. . . Bit of a digression, there.

Yes, so--I had remarkable luck at the bookstore today, buying no less than thirteen books. My purchases were once strictly fantasy, but it would seem my intellect has grown *snort* that much more--I didn't even get out of the literature section. Let's review my hoard, my wonderful hoard *insert gratuitous Gollum references here* what I've bought, shall we?

David Copperfield
A Tale of Two Cities
Madame Bovary
Death in Venice
Perfume: The Story of a Murderer
The Crimson Petal and the White
The Prince
Maurice
Dracula
Frankenstein
The Love-Artist--It, um, had a pretty cover and is about Ovid. Not that i've actually read Ovid, but, er. It was seven dollars and it was pretty.
As Meat Loves Salt--Again, it had a pretty cover. It's set in seventeenth century England, civil war-era, and I am already hooked. It's going to be brilliant. It must be brilliant.

and, lastly,

Scandalmongers--I plead historical-fiction-with-pretty-cover once more. That, and it reminds me of DMT in general and orangutan in particular.




So. The list reads rather like a "Recommended Books for Your Highschool Student", doesn't it? Ah, well. I may be illiterate but I am determined to rectify that. My goal is to be a scholar. I want to be a critic and artist too, yes, but partly because I can then be fabulously wealthy and spend all my time researching random things.

Well. A not-really-an-androgyne-but-I-wish-I-were can dream, can't she?

I have eaten today:

1 banana
1 serving of yogurt
1 handful of cashews
and
Many, many cookies

I'm finishing up my Tuberculosis project--and it isn't due 'til tomorrow! How very professional of me. I just completed a draft of "A Brief History", which is sloppily constructed but--I hesitate to call it impressive, but I'm pleased with it. I only decided to include an overview Monday; I had orginally planned to write an essay focusing on the cultural influence of tuberculosis, decided I didn't have enough time to do proper research, especially since it's a topic I'm actually excited about, then compiled statistics and a timeline--and then I decided to write an essay to flesh everything out. Huzzah. It's awkward and short but I wrote it! *does an absurd happy dance*

(An aside: How sad is it that 510 words is actually long by my standards?)

. . .

I forgot the last sentence of the conclusion. The draft I gave to my mom for her to read ends: "Tuberculosis remains, and perhaps always will, the"

Heh.

Edit: . . . How, exactly, does one pronounce "Koch"? As in Robert Koch? Because it makes sense to pronounce with the hard "ch" sound, but I'm not sure I can say that without snorting, immature as I am.

Temporary colorscheme--which, knowing me, means that I will probaby keep it for a bout a year. I think I need a custom layout. Something parchment-grunge-Victoriana. I'd do it myself if I knew the first thing about the coding. Or if I had any initiative.

Maybe I'll tweak the colors tomorrow. Right now my brain is sort of fried.

Book meme!


1. Total number of books I've owned:

Ahahaha. Somewhere in the hundreds. Right now I've enough books (admittedly including sketchbooks, journals, and textbooks) to fill a 3' by 7' book case and a 30'' by 48''. And I purge my collection regularly.

2. The last book I bought:

Oscar Wilde by Richard Ellman. Before that, The Great Romantics.

3. The last book I read:

I honestly can't remember the last book I finished. I never got all the way through The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown or A Song for Arbonne by Guy Gavriel Kay. ( The latter I intend on finishing eventually) Right now I'm reading:

Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
The White Death: A History of Tuberculosis by Thomas Dormandy
Don Jaun by Lord George Gordon [Noel] Byron (Off and on)
Oscar Wilde by Richard Ellman (Just begun)

I'm also half-way through The Picture of Dorian Gray and De Profundis, but I'm trying to concentrate on THE WHITE DEATH for now.

I've a bit of a wandering attention span.

4. Five books that mean a lot to me:

Er.

Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier: The language. The poetry and beauty of the language. *Swoon* I wrote an essay on the style, and I didn't even have to bullshit, the prose is that wonderful. Besides, Inman is awesome, and not just because he was played by Jude Law.

The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde by himself: Nothing I could say would encapsulate what Wilde's works mean; he was a genius, and that's really all I can say.

American Gods by Neil Gaiman: I think this may have been my introduction to Neil Gaiman, though I wouldn't swear to it.

You know, I'm sort of grasping at straws, but perhaps The Lions of Al-Rassan by Guy Gavriel Kay? I think it's what turned me on to Teh Awesomeness of Tragedy . . . or something. My advice? Don't read the epilogue right after the last chapter. Epilogue BAD! Last chapter GOOD!

Aaand I can't think a fifth book, whiche I think proves how poorly read I am.

5. Tag 5 people here and have them fill this out in their LJs:

If I knew anyone well enough to tag them I . . . probably wouldn't anyway. Just go for it, y'all.

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I pressed 'post' but it didn't want to. Uh, pretend this was posted yesterday.

So, it's Cinco de Mayo, which means that the whole town is partaying. I think the helicopters constantly flying overhead really add to the festive atmosphere. Agh. Last year, apparently, we nearly had a riot, thus the hightened security. Hightened security? Preventitive measures? I don't know. But my delicate constitution, it cannot take these conditions! 'Tis fifteen minutes past my bedtime.

Really, I should consider myself lucky. I, unlike other members of the household, will actually be able to sleep. Not much manages keep me awake.

My god, you would not believe how many absurd typos I can fit into a few paragraphs.

. . . is that the caprice lasts a little longer

So, to inspire myself to write, I'm trying out a totally artificial style. Such a style forces me to, you know, actually form complete sentences without injecting tons of filler. So. This may work out well; this may make me sound like the dull undereducated inarticulate git I am. We shall see.

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