Mixed results

Today I felt the death of winter. The streets overruneth with melted snow (water) and my ears didn't get cold. Sure as shootin', these are signs of spring. Just like old folks can predict the weather based on which parts of their body swells or jingles or falls off.

Yesterday, I almost died. Death by pizza cutter. Pathetic.

Regret

You shouldn't have eaten at Panda Express.

-stomach.

Things of Import

I've spent a large portion of this day doing whatever strikes my fancy. Surprisingly, despite the break in which I made some parmesan crusted chicken and earl grey, that's consisted primarily of listening to the Kingdom of Heaven station on Pandora. The list of songs that fit this genre are comparatively few, yet exceedingly epic. Many are saturated with string virtuosos to make you weep, followed by the sustained wave of sound that accompanies an impending buildup of music that will swell forth to burst through your chest. This music makes me buoyant and smiles come unbidden to my face. It is sad to me that these songs are no longer appreciated as they once were. They are now relegated to poor grade school recitals and heard by unfeeling masses who understand movies only for the visual aspect they produce. The greatest gift that the movie industry has given is not the thousands upon thousands of hours of rather mediocre entertainment, but rather the outlet through which classical music has survived and evolved.

Sappy.


Alright guys, here's the rub: I have no goal for my life. I need one. I hate wasting time. It's a precious commodity that I can't get back. I want to use my overabundance of time to accomplish something. Unfortunately, I do not feel like I'm accomplishing anything worthwhile in college as college itself has been the biggest let down since The Phantom Menace. So, I need a side project. I need to commence writing this Byzantine epic and stop just talking about it. And I want to get into mosaics. Yup.

Pickup Line Outro: "Hey baby, you in Slytherin or Gryffindor? Because I'd like to Slytherin your Gryffindor."

gross. funny.

Cops and Robbersons

Those of you who've read up on your early nineties' Chevy Chase trivia probably just let out a little squeal of excitement, like a piglet. Alack and alay, that I must dash the very reasonable hopes of these pigmutants out there, but I am referring to the rather odd looks that TWO university cops gave me today. I'd compare their interest in me to if they saw a box of donuts attached to my head and that box of donuts was doing something suspicious, like not being frosted and sprinkled. I did not wholly understand because there was no suspicious box of donuts (I checked). I think I'll attribute it to the fact that I've got a rather Harry Potter-esque scar on my forehead at the moment and these cops must be in league with good ole Major Tom and Jerry. If you know me, you know that I am loathe to infringe on intellectual property, and describing my malediction in this way pains me to a great extent, but necessary nonetheless (it's so awesome that 'nonetheless' is one word).

TOPIC CHANGE:

Whenever I remember the name of Weezer's lead singer, I think "that's kinda neat." Then I think about this:And bonus points* to the person that can tell me what this is.

*Disclaimer! Bonus points are not actual currency and are not accepted in most states as legal tender, excluding Delaware.

Attack of the Bros!

In my morning class today, while quietly ignoring the professor and his incessant babbling, I was ignominiously assaulted with foul speech of the undereducated. It went something like this -

Bro 1: dude, i totally was gonna get word (as in microsoft. I admit that I assumed it was innuendo until later in the conversation. let's read on...) last night, but it cost like 40 bucks! i'm not gonna do that shit. dude, my cash is fo' my booze.

Bro 2: true that shit, dude. but, dude, why didn't you tell me, bitch? i pwn those codes for getting word.

Bro 1: fo'realz?

Bro 2: no doubt. word, excel, powerpoint, all taken care of, bitch (apparently, bro 1 is bro 2's bitch. while it seemed endearing, it also implied an inordinate amount of ownership for two fellas).

Bro 1: you can give me the code now, though, right, dude?

Bro 2: NOPE, shit, bitch. it's gone now. but, dude, it's like 10 dollas if you get it with they CYC's! GO TEAMS OF THE UNIVERSITY! (I paraphrase)

Bro 1: thanks dude.

Bro 2: no problem dude.

Bro 1: how do you use quicksilver?

Bro 2: DUDE. it's so simple.

Bro 1: dude, just tell me, dude.

Though the scene required proper action and terse words on my part, I suffered beautifully and did not administer sufficient chastisement as is demanded by the decorum of a gentleman.

P.S. The majority of that conversation has been tampered with by a scurrilous nave. I mainly wanted to talk like a knight, such as has been featured in the book I have been reading, in that last sentence there. Be warm in heart, I spared you the 'thees and thous'.

P.P.S. After class was over, I overheard those same Bros talking about trying to pick up chicks. They were quite philisophical about it. Well, medical maybe. They both agreed that it's much easier to hit on girls when they've already got a girlfriend. Their unassuming agreement with each other was quite funny, but...ASSHOLES. Jesus. Girls are people too.

Classic

I explained in an earlier post, or at least I remember thinking about explaining, that the title of this diversion, Sailing to Byzantium, I stole from a William Butler Yeats poem. This one:

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
- Those dying generations - at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enameling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

'Tis a great poem. And I don't really like poetry. Poets are musicians that can't sing or play an instrument. Less than, as it were, like an associate professor to a professor. But there is something magical about an artfully crafted sentence. In many cases, it's the difference between "Hulk Hogan" and "oscar material" in the movie world. Speaking of the movie world. The first line in this poem seems to have been the inspiration for a film. The other reason I couldn't be creative in my title is that I am instantly captivated by anything that makes the slightest reference to the Byzantine Empire. Something as esoteric and eloquent as sailing and Byzantium is quite a catch.

I've been trying to find the poem I wrote based on the 9th century Carolingian epic "Chevrefoil." Naturally, mine was "Aluminumfoil." It's been hard goings, as I wrote that on a computer that has since become obsolete. BSoD almost daily. I think I also wrote a poem about a squid. Or I read one about a squid once. I wrote some damn fine stories once too. The True Story of Snow White, consisting of 5 parts, and some story about an egyptian sage that was off the hook. Oh, my youth.

Really?

I recently came across a trailer for this new movie.



A few things. I don't know if you noticed, but the movie is called Clash of the Titans. Basically it is 300 with less naked dudes and more naked (hopefully?) fantastical Greek monsters. Then, I noticed the ever so hilarious sync up of the scorpion tail jabbing the ground with the ill fitting musical choice. That was trailer gold. Lastly, the only words shown during this little gem, used to clarify or explain in most trailers, instead repeated the title in a different word order (i.e. Titans will Clash). That, dear readers, was retarded. Uproariously so, but retarded nonetheless. The creative director of that trailer needs to be bitchslapped. Maybe shot. Whatever.