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[24 Jul 2009|10:21am] |
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lol
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| Next semester |
[03 May 2008|09:04am] |
This is my schedule
MWF
Abstract Algebra 10-11am
Great Neglected Diseases 11am-12pm
Modern Geometry 2-3pm
GND Lab 3-5pm (M only)
TH
20 Cent. Amer. Lit. 12:30-1:45pm
And that's it! Nice and easy
Math GRE is tomorrow morning. I'm basically terrified; a heck of a lot rests on this one test.
Stress and money; money and stress. Blech
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[10 Aug 2007|02:27pm] |
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music |
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The Number 12 Looks Like You |
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So, I thought I was going to have my classes dropped on Wednesday, but they were...not. I was lucky enough to persuade the business office to give me until next week for my loan paperwork to come through. Whew.
This is the schedule as of now:
MWF
Probability/Statistics 11am-12pm
Intro to Speech 1pm-2pm
Real Analysis 2pm-3pm
TH
Tennis 12:30pm-1:45pm
Western Literary Tradition 2pm-3:15pm
And then I plan working in Multimedia 9-11 MWF and 9-12 TH
And then I plan on tutoring 3-6 MW (lab closes early on F) and 4-6 TH
busybusybusy
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| since I have affirmed that people will read...I suppose I will post |
[14 May 2007|09:16am] |
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This is how my semester turned out:
Poetry = B+
Brit Lit = A
Am Gov = B+
Combinatorics = A
Symbolic Logic = A
Bowling = A
3.73 on the semester; 3.65 cumulative. I can definitely live with that.
I was planning on taking Speech over the summer, but I can only get financial aid if I take 6 credit hours...which would be twice as expensive. Not to mention I'm already going to have, like, 9 more hours than necessary when I graduate; the last thing I need is another class. So I'm just going to squeeze it into next semester. I was really hoping to not have to do that, as my schedule was pretty awesome, but alas.
Next semester
MWF:
Prob/Stat 11am
Speech 1pm
Real Analysis 2pm
TH:
Tennis 12:30pm
West. Lit. Trad. 2pm
20th Cent. Am. Poetry 3:30pm
Hooray!
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[10 May 2007|09:39am] |
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Does anyone read this?
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| Blue |
[07 Feb 2007|09:26pm] |
Ukrainian sky
effects a cumulus grin.
The by-way gently perforates
the division
between land
and sky.
Brown beard, with those strange
red interlopers,
twirls under my fingers
compulsively. Reaching,
you free my hand
and leave it resting
on the console
near yours...
The burning road grants
quiet beneath the blue smiling.
We focus on voice,
not ineptitude of body.
From the window, sunflowers
nod their swaying heads.
Veined leaves touching bare;
straining to just
turn
their
heads... Bound
and endlessly tired,
they stretch and yawn until pale;
blanched to sky across
stalk and stem.
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| Damn Those Blood Suckers and Their Good Qualities |
[14 Sep 2006|12:25pm] |
break away from the regeneration process.
for if one photo is before then the other must be after.
so organize files and open windows,
because last summer's plot will be this season's destitution
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[14 Jul 2006|09:19am] |
she's the maid in the masquerade.
i'm the employee asleep at the factory.
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[14 Jun 2006|09:00am] |
| The Keys to Your Heart | 
You are attracted to obedience and blood.
In love, you feel the most alive when your partner is a ninja. Ninjas can birth boulders, and often do for fun/practice.
You'd like for your lover to think you are stealthy and deadly.
You would be forced to break up with someone who was a pirate. No one likes scurvy.
Your ideal relationship has ritual battles to the death. You crave a relationship where you always feel the warmth of bloodlust.
Your risk of cheating is zero. You care about nothing. You would always break a commitment if you felt like it. You don't need anyone; you're a goddamn ninja.
In this moment, you think of love as something you can karate chop the fuck out of, and you often do so. You're feeling very satisfied with that. |
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[04 Jun 2006|01:20pm] |
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I AM TEN NINJAS.
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[24 May 2006|11:05pm] |
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Gjort bort sig fuf!
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[05 May 2006|09:39am] |
"When a pungent odor drifted downstairs during his mother's bridge game, it meant that Ritty was dangling his metal wastebacket out the window, waiting for the flames to die out after an abortive experiment with shoe polish--he meant to melt it to use the liquid as black paint for his "lab," a wooden crate roughly the size of a refrigerator, standing in his bedroom upstairs in the rear of the house. Screwed into the crate were various electrical switches and lights that Ritty had wired, in series and in parallel. His sister, Joan, nine years younger, served eagerly as a four-cents-a-week lab assistant. Her duties included putting a finger into a spark gap and enduring a mild shock for the entertainment of Ritty's friends."
best older brother ever.
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| obligations |
[01 May 2006|03:32pm] |
Leave your name and:
1. I'll respond with something random about you
2. I'll challenge you to try something
3. I'll pick a color that I associate with you
4. I'll tell you something I like about you
5. I'll tell you my first/clearest memory of you
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of
7. I'll ask you something I've always wanted to ask you
8. If I do this for you, you must post this on yours
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[20 Apr 2006|10:26am] |
Time doesn't exist....clocks exist.....
"Let me tell you about my first cadaver. I was thirty-six, and it was eighty-one. It was my mother's. I notice here that I used the possessive 'my mother's,' as if to say the cadaver that belonged to my mother, not the cadaver that was my mother. My mom was never a cadaver; no person ever is. You are a person and then you cease to be a person, and a cadaver takes your place. My mother was gone. The cadaver was her hull. Or that was how it seemed to me."
"The seminar is nearly over. The video monitors are blank and the surgeons are cleaning up and filing out into the hallway. Marilena replaces the white cloth on her cadaver's face; about half the surgeons do this. She is conscientioucly respectful. When I asked her why the eyes of the dead woman had no pupils, she did not answer, but reached up and closed the eyelids. As she slides back her chair, she looks at the benapkined form and says, 'May she rest in peace.' I hear it as 'pieces,' but that's just me."
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[14 Apr 2006|11:56pm] |
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physics = karma
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[11 Apr 2006|12:38pm] |
Nothing's so lucid as the promise of dreams, but these pills we found just make me sleep.
There's nothing quite so pure as the written word my dear, so lets have ourselves a little poem.
Until the will to speak loses urgency
Our animal indecency in print is so blasé
It's about the bell tower, at the golden hour.
Angel of the spires climbs her steel cage staircase spine, angle of desire
Ascend the wrought iron, one by one, wrung by wrung
Is it the rising roof line that makes me feel so swallowed whole?
or the way my body barely pricks the sky?
The same as a century's worth of virgin's blood that's passed through my longing veins,
scheming to convince my aching mind that pleasure's got nothing on the miracle of need.
Nothing's so purile as meter and rhyme when you can't see the ground from that ledge, and this perch is so far, far from the nest.
Gravity doesn't grant me the privilege of failure my bough never breaks
I don't stumble into anything
so I climb and I carve my initials in the bark with that feather I found but its all so contrived.
And my genes didn't bless me with the foresight of a sage but I know how this will end, in apologies and ink on the page.
A slowly-constructed crow-quilled confession of my spirit to all of you,
black waterproof ink scars the board, so hot-pressed, pristine and pure.
A slowly-constructed manifestation of "to tremble",
as base as a bridge in a song and less like the poem that I promised you.
Nothing's so lurid as haiku-d'etat on sidewalks in white outlined chalk,
all I've got are these ink-smeared lines.
With our voices in harmony...the offering...of a crow-quilled threnody.
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[20 Mar 2006|08:48pm] |
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Why is what is?
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[03 Mar 2006|09:54am] |
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Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself. Proof is the idol before whom the pure mathematician tortures himself.
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[09 Feb 2006|12:54pm] |
Naturally Smart
You're a naturally smart person. Your intelligence comes to you naturally, rather than from instruction - and you are better with applied or more real-world things... which comes in handy, here in the real world.
0% applied intelligence
60% natural intelligence
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Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com
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Where's the other 40%?
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[29 Jan 2006|12:19pm] |
Guilty Pleasures:
1. meticulously organizing/categorizing everything
2. taking things apart, putting them back together
3. finding relationships in numbers that i see while driving
4. certain girl movies
5. Justin Timberlake
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