info @ the P.Pole 09.28.06

5 things i’ve come to loathe about school:

• graphing those damn polymonial functions, stating real and imaginary roots, domain and range, y intercepts, coordinates of locals maximums or minimums, symmetry, and end behaviour — that all adds up to really long, annoying, repetitive questions that don’t take long, per se, and aren’t difficult, but are just a searing pain in the anal region, not unlike symptoms of some STDs or sexual indecencies.
• taking notes on readings only to find my notes to be the answers to the comprehension questions assigned.
• being first labelled as a socially-dysfunctional teenage delinquent and later relabelled simply as bored
• carrying texts to and from classes, up and down stairs, when i only actually need them once in maybe a week’s worth of classes.
• walking blindly into quizzes and tests, where my academic fate hangs at the mercy of arbitrary evaluations that i never seem to know about in advance, meaning that every mark i get is quite honestly exactly what i know and don’t know, which either works for or against me, depending on the class — case in point, i got owned by a surprise (to me) biology quiz today, but owned a math quiz (equally surprising to me) two periods later.

and that is quite as best a summary of what i am finding quite dislikable about schooling so far. notice that i didn’t directly mention homework as one of the five. saying that one hates homework in general is as cliché as saying “The sky’s the limit,” or “Your mother’s hot.” both of course, are quite fictitious and should not be taken seriously. in my opinion, clichés are quite a good indicator of one’s imaginative power — or lack thereof. they are, in essence, prefabricated phrases and sentences that of what may or may not be. as such, resorting to their use denotes quite a lack of creative intellect, of willingness to exercise one’s own right to free speech. of course, it’s nothing serious to me, i just happen to have been reading Northrop Frye’s “The Educated Imagination”. though many of my friends at school may find this a tad nerdy/geeky of me, i actually appreciate this critic’s work and ideas for what they are, the musings of a well-read intellectual about the phenomenon of human literature. i won’t go any further into the subject — as i’m sure most people browsing blogs are not looking for lectures and lessons about english or literature. most people are looking for random entries about the day to day conventions of human life, and so:

i don’t like the rainy weather.
i like playing frisbee at lunch.
i don’t like rude people.
i like talking to whom i like.
i don’t like sweaty jeans.
i like writing about what interests me.

Void of Heart

Have any of you ever taken the time to sit down and think about all the things you take for granted? I did. It’s hard at first, to try and purposely think of what I take for granted, since, afterall, I do take them for granted. I don’t tend to pay them much attention, unconsciously accepting that they are constants that will never change. Now look around you, what do you see? Do you see a world that is eternal or temporal? Are your possessions going to last you a year? A decade? A lifetime? Are you even going to own what you own now indefinitely? Do you really even own anything? Is anything really yours to hold on to, forever and ever?
I do take things for granted. I’m human, I make mistakes. I’m proud and I tend to assume that I am in control, that I dictate and decide my destiny, that I am in possession of things both physical and metaphysical that I don’t really have any stake in. I fool myself into thinking that this is mine, and so is this, and that, and all these, I own this, this belongs to me, I deserve this and that, I will hold onto this, this is mine alone, I don’t need to share, I’ve this all to myself. But really, what do I own? Myself? Nope, I was supposedly made by God, my physical construct given to me from my parents. My toys? All bought with good money earned by parents (and gifts from others). My experiences? Apparently, all planned by God. My sinful nature? God didn’t give that to me, but Adam sure did. My salvation? I’m supposed to be chosen and provided for by God’s will alone. My knowledge? All human wisdom/knowledge is given to us from on high. My friends? True friendship isn’t by merit, but by design, and since I did not design myself or others, I cannot take credit for any of this.
When it comes down to it, we own nothing. I don’t own the clothes on my back, and you don’t own your good looks. If we don’t own anything, and cannot own anything, we cannot earn anything. We cannot deserve anything or claim any rights. We’ve no rights to claim! We’ce nothing! Nothing! Where, then, do we look to for purpose, identity, fulfillment, satisfaction, goodness, and life? Go find out.

Hail Silverstein

Tie me up with sheets, and hang me from your tree.
I’ll stay out here all night. It doesn’t even matter,
As long as I can see into your room and feel
Like I’m inside your life. I’ll follow you forever.

Don’t cut me down just yet;
I’ll make things right again.
Don’t close your blinds on me…

I will never recover from this.
I will never believe in this again.
And I can never go back to the way I used to be before this started.

The snow won’t go away, my nose runs down my face.
No one sees me here. It doesn’t even matter.
And every step I take, I stay in the same place.
I can’t begin to start again, why can’t I just be perfect?!

You see my ghost and you’ll never forget it.
My face is as white as the snow that haunts me…
Your windows, my door, and nothing can stop me.
Sometimes betrayal can make you happy…

Don’t cut me down just yet…
I’ll make things right again.
Don’t close your blinds on me.
- Silverstein, The Ides Of March

Here’s a little history lesson for everyone. As far as the story goes, Julius Caesar, at one time Dictator over the Roman Empire, was assassinated on the Ides of March (15th of March) in 44 BC. It was supposedly plotted and carried out by his friend/colleague, Brutus, who recruited others to aid him in his cause. The assassination had occured in a public setting, with hundreds of senators as witnesses, the perpetrators in clear view for all to see as they repeatedly stabbed the brilliant military leader and politician to a mangled mess.
There has always been great speculation as to who exactly was behind the vile deed. Some suspect Caesar’s hand in his own death, claiming that such a death would encase his dignity and magnificence, which he would otherwise have been stripped of as his mental and physical health were beginning to fail him — he had been suffering from a worsening case of epilepsy at the time. This might explain why, even though he was warned that his demise was to come on the Ides of March, he had refused protection from his guards on the very day of his death. Peculiar. Others believe it was an act done out of indignation, as Caesar had reportedly refused to stand to honour several senatorial representatives sent to speak with him. Such an injurious act to their egos could hardly go unpunished.
Is it just me or is this history actually fascinating?! Perhaps it is only Canadian history that is dry, senseless propagandar aimed at creating a false sense of patriotism and national-worth.
Click title for tune. I really dig this one, out of the entire album. This song is quite emo. It plays will into my ears.

It Might Be You

Click title for the tune.
I had bought an entire volume of “Hollywood Piano Tunes” CDs years back. They feature pure piano renditions of many famous songs from classic movies. I personally love them, because they have a certain calming effect on me.
Here’s a pretty one.
It sounds somewhat sad to me, but pretty nevertheless. Then again, a lot of things tend to [unintentionally] sound sad to me lately.

EDIT: On a less calming note (pun intended), Silverstein is sounding very good and very sad right now. Perhaps I will showcase some of their stuff in a later post.

Haruhi Suzumiya-itis

I’ve got it. It causes anyone who has it to fall head over heels for Haruhi. Seriously, this anime series (spanning just fourteen episodes) is the best I’ve ever seen. Next to no fillers. Beautiful artwork. Solid soundtrack. Completely original concept. Lovable characters. Perfect pacing and character development. All round astounding. And the finale! Simply perfect. Wonderful conclusion to a wonderful series. The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya is a must see for anyone. Highly recommended. Just look at me! I can’t even for complex sentences. I’m still stunned from finishing the last episode ten minutes ago. Five astronomical stars out of five for Haruhi!

What are you still reading this for?! Go out and watch it! Do anything you need to to get your hands on a copy! Do it! Quick! Before it’s liscensed! Hell, I’d pay to own a hard copy of the series — preferably with english subtitles. Seriously, go check it out.

info @ the P.Pole 09.18.06

5 things i’m planning on doing this year:

• scoring at LEAST a 6 out of a maximum of 7 in each of my IB exams (French and Economics)
• successfully completing SPH 3U (grade 11 Physics) in virtual school before the summer
• cranking a totally kick ass/ half-decent/ mediocre yearbook with the rest of our merry little company
• clearing up some ideas for my future a little bit more
• coming to terms with some serious insecurity and trust issues

yes, i realize this has mostly (but not completely) to do with schooling, which is something that’s been on my mind. the only exception to that theme would be the last item, which could quite possibly be up for discussion at a later time. i guess we’ll just wait and see, won’t we? here’s the not-so-random song of the post (click title as usual):

She fooled all of her friends into thinking she’s so strong,
But she still sleeps with the light on,
And she acts like it’s all right on, as she smiles again.
And her mother lies there sick with cancer,
And her friends don’t understand her.
She’s a question without answers
Who feels like falling apart.

She knows, she’s so much more than worthless;
She needs to find a purpose.
She wonders what she did to deserve this.

She’s calling out to you.
This is a call, this is a call out,
‘Cause everytime I fall down, I reach out to you.
And I’m losing all control now,
And my hazard signs are all out.
I’m asking you to show me what this life is all about.

And he tells everyone a story,
‘Cause he thinks his life is boring.
And he fights so you won’t ignore him,
‘Cause that’s his biggest fear.
And he cries, but you’ll rarely see him do it,
And he loves but he’s scared to use it.
So he hides behind the music,
‘Cause he likes it that way.

And he knows, he’s so much more than worthless;
He needs to find the surface.
‘Cause he’s starting to get nervous…

Have you ever felt this way before?
‘Cause I don’t wanna hide here anymore.
Take me to a place where nothing’s wrong,
And thanks for coming. Shut the door.
And they say Someone out there sees us:
Well if You’re real, then save me Jesus.
‘Cause I’ve been this way for far too long,
I wasn’t meant to feel alone.

Show me what this life is all about…
- Thousand Foor Krutch, This is a Call

i consciously left ces paroles un-emphasized. think about it.

EDITED

The One In My Dreams

Simply put, she’s the most beautiful girl in all of the land. Seek as you may through this charming country’s side, pp and over the hills of yellow (sometimes striped with black), down and around the winding rivers of stone — the trees of the banks of which, with their arms outstretched towards one another’s eerie glows of yellow, green, and red, form a canopy above. Their spindly, cold fingers, as much as they may stretch, will never make contact. What indestructible hope. As such, I have digressed. My focus is not on the unmoving trees, neither the frozen rivers, nor the golden charcoal hills of this foreign land. These all pale — infinitely more so — to the beauty and splendor of my Urban Princess. All others pale before her modest glow. Paint and easel in the most skilled of hands would do her no justice and the language of the wildest imagination could never even approach such eloquence or grace. She’s the One in my dreams, the Temptress in my nightmares, the Wick in my candle, the Lightning in my storm, the Stitches in my wounds. She’s my beautiful Eve. Will I confess upon her what she must surely know? No! I must guard my words. She mustn’t know yet. Hold my tongue. Rest silent. If she’s the blood in my veins, then she will have this sacred chamber all to herself. Here she will be safe from all harm and trouble, push and pull. Here she will stay and rest, refresh and cure. When she is ready, she will move forth, flowing into every part of me. Oh how I long for the day when my blood can course as freely as it had in times long past, in the Garden of Bliss.
Until that day, here I will lie in wait.

Note: I’m feeling all weird and fluffy inside right now and I hope that explains all this seemingly random bursting of words and thoughts. Enjoy, as you see fit.

Ms. Stress

Spoiler Alert: This post is quite random/ranty/stupid. Allons-y!

Who’s to say how to spend
This young day to its end?
How it stings when you say
These same things in your way.
When you’re right, stop and think in
Black and white, it must sink in:
How will things stay the same?
This he sings to your name.
What [the heck] am I writing about?
It’s a lie! Sauerkraut!

I’m really sorry to anyone who read that half-assed attempt at coherent poetry. Yes, I was bored, so I wrote something a little bit random, a little bit pseudo-wannabe poseur poetic. It was a good way to blow… 5 minutes. I’m sick and quite drained so give me a break.
So yes, as you know, I went to “Yearbook Camp” (later named “Yearboot Camp”) for the night of Friday and almost all of Saturday. It was fun to get to know a couple of previously-strangers (namely, Lily and Amreet) better, along with getting to chill and whatnot with Borianna a lot. Looking back, it was a love-hate thing. On one hand, it was great to work on developing ideas and concepts for the upcoming year, laughing at Imran, and cracking jokes pretty much non-stop. At the same time, certain people just piss me off. It’s not like they’re totally jerks/jackasses/whatever kind of mean word you’d attach to generally unpleasant people. It’s just that I find interrupting anyone — not just me in particular, mind you — is really disrespectful. Sure, I guess it happens time to time when people are a little too overexcited, but seriously, interrupting everyone (peers AND superiors), and then announcing, “I’m about to say something! Everybody listen to me and pay attention to me!” (seriously, that’s what she — the annoying person who’ll remain unnamed for now — said, at least three to four times in one meeting), that’s just asking for some angry vibes. Of course, me being the diplomatic type — am I? Shivon said so, so it must be true! — I didn’t make a big deal about it… at first. I find that when I’m sick with a sore throat, stuffed head, and lacking sleep, I tend to get quite terse. Not with everyone, just with specific people who ask for it. I don’t really see how I can last the rest of this year with someone who will literally fuss and disagree with everyone else’s idea (which usually gets cut off half-developed anyway), and then state the exact same thing (only with approximately 200 extra words) five minutes later, and claim that her idea is much better. What does that count as? Concept-theft? Loose-lips? Blither-face? I can’t even begin to pin point exactly what I dislike the most, disrespect for others, or self-glorification. Oh well, live and let live. I just hope she doesn’t cross me anymore than she needs to. As Amreet would say, “Sigh” (literally, he says the word!).
Wow, I went on a lot longer about the stuff I didn’t like versus the stuff I did like. It seems I am a pessimist… Yeah, I guess I am sometimes — many times actually — but hey, Allen admitted that he didn’t think of me as one. He thought of me more of someone who’s realistic and honest, and honestly right now, the thing I remember the most about camp was the annoyingness. And now that I know how annoying it is to be interrupted, I will try and make note of that so I myself don’t do it — because I realize that I do that too sometimes.
And that lends itself to the next part of this entry. Sometimes I find I say too much. Of course, when I’m saying it, I obviously haven’t thought of the implications that may/may not come with certain utterances, however arbitrary or insignificant I may think them. For example, I personally think it’s one thing to appreciate someone’s good traits — such as beauty, or smarts, or creativity, or whatever the trait may be — but it is an infinitely far cry from feeling anything even remotely like a specific, intentional affection for that person. This is obviously applying to when I comment on someone’s anything and everyone gets on my case, ridiculing me for feelings I don’t have for the person (who’s more or less always a girl when this happens). An example of this can be readily found in my experience during Yearbook Camp, where word got out that I had said, “_________ (Gr. 12 girl with dimples) has dimples.” Obviously, this implies that I am severely in love with the unnamed mistress of my wildest, most vivid, and according to the plethora of Gr. 12 girls present, wettest dreams. I guess it’s my fault for admitting to a fact in plain, public sight. Stupid girls. The other case of when I say too much is not so much the “random statement of approval” and more like the “statement with reciprocity expected”, and this is when I happen to share something that I consider of great importance and expect some sort of “reimbursement for my troubles”, if you will. Of course, these types of scenarios never play out exactly as I intend, and so I usually end up with unexpected and disappointing acknowledgements of [pseudo-]understanding, or nothing back at all — I’m not sure which is worse. Tis a sad fate to feed into what seems to be a one way avenue. Yes, this is getting into somewhat emo territory, but oh well, I’ve never been one to refuse a wandering.
Speaking of wandering, click the title for a Backstreet Boys song (The One). Yes, I realize that this might lose me a good many fans — possibly even all 2 of them — but heck, if they judge me then they aren’t my fans! There’s only room for hardcore groupies in my world! You know, the kind that have the “Have my babies!” signs. Of course, I’d courteously refuse, but really, I’d be flattered.
Getting away from ideas of fornication and boundless promiscuity, let’s talk a little about the Amazing Race that I ran yesterday with Yasmin as my partner. The premise of the game is to complete all the Roadblocks (tasks mandatory for completing the race) while fulfilling as many of the Detour tasks (extra items to collected on the way that will otherwise count against your final time) as possible, and all within the shortest time frame. Long story short, Yasmin and I owned everyone by a good 30 minutes, even AFTER stopping to help a female biker who got clipped by, yes you guessed it, a female driver.** Don’t worry, the lady who got hit was fine — she suffered some scrapage on her left elbow and possibly some slight trauma from the impact, but nothing exceedingly gory or injurious — but the woman who hit her began to cry. For nothing. Out of shock mostly. Typical. Being the only male around, I felt it was my duty to comfort and calm everyone of my female acquaintances down so I lightly patted her (the clumsy driver) on the shoulder — awkwardly at best — and reassured her that the cyclist was going to be fine. That was actually quite an interesting part of my day. Thank God for protecting that rugged biker. Had the taxi behind the biker been going any faster, I’m almost certain things would have turned out much differently. Phew. A tight scrape, if you ask me. No pun intended — but enjoyed nonetheless. Anyway, after a good 2 hours of blitzing our way through downtown Toronto, Yasmin and I finished on time, 5:30 at Bloor and Yonge. Later that night, we were each presented with 20 dollar gift cards for Chapters & Co., which I find a pretty decent recompense for our efforts (though it wasn’t all too hard anyway). It was fun indeed. Now I’m wondering why I’ve never done a Project TDot before. Oh that’s right, I’m lazy.
So yes, without an actual ending to this post, I’ll just recap everything I’ve already said.
I am sick and tired (no, seriously, I am sick and tired, not in the idiomatic/hyperbolic sense).
I had fun at camp, even though some people really buggered the crap out of me (I’m not being literal this time).
I am annoyed at people — specifically girls — who either extrapolate too much or too little from my words.
I thought the incident with the biker was quite an interesting happening, though scary.
I was part of the pair that owned everyone else in the Amazing Race held in a part of town I really don’t know and I’m proud of it.
And now I’m about to work on some ToK (Theory of Knowledge/Philosophy) homework. Perhaps I’ll write about my ponderings a little bit later on this week. Who knows.

** Okay, by now, I must confirm that I am indeed not sexist, just observant and none too forgetful.

info @ the P.Pole 09.14.06

Firstly, what happened in Montreal yesterday is totally messed up, a genuine product of the System. It’s tragic really. But life goes on. Though I do not wish to disregard/ignore what has happened, I am forced to continue on with life, just like everyone else. Just like with the stabbing that happened. Just like with the girl who got herself smashed on the concrete sidewalk after falling off a balcony while in a state of drunken delirium. Life must go on, I suppose.
On a happier note, I’m going to be attending “Yearbook Camp” from Friday, 3:15 pm until Saturday, 10:00 pm. Lots of stuff to do and be done.

5 things that I’m hoping to get done in the next few days:

• finalizing a theme for this year’s yearbook
• getting to know some people on the committee better
• tackling and hopefully seriously thinning out my huge pile of homework
• restoring my computer to its previous save-state/image file and reconfiguring all the tweaks (soon to be noted and posted about, after re-tweaking)
• resolving this smouldering… je ne sais quoi that I’ve found inside of me

Camp should be interesting, if not very much fun for someone like me, who doesn’t share particularly strong bonds with people outside of my Christian circle — then again, it’s never too late to start working on it. Many times I find myself interacting with school friends not really out of volition, but more out of necessity. Don’t get me wrong, I really do enjoy their company. I love how me and “the guys” can play frisbee one day and somehow end up discussing and debating the meaning of Truth the next. In fact, that’s what happened yesterday. Many times I find myself with “views” or “beliefs” that are conflicting or “stumbling blocks” to my friends’, and vice-versa. I think it’s great and truly a blessing to have such intellectuals as companions and peers, that we can debate and argue and prove and disprove to one another, constantly learning and re-educating. To understand and to teach are two beautifully inspired needs of human beings. Woo, what a digression.

EDIT: Photos will come shortly thereafter, if there are indeed any notable ones.

The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya

I just started watching this anime series. As Arnold had promised, it really is about nothing, but it’s amazing. The kind of random-stupidness humour that Melancholy is full of is exactly the kind of stuff that I appreciate. Definitely worth checking out if you’re an anime fan.

On another note, I am in need of a shave… but maybe I’ll leave it for one more week. Won’t be trying to look prim and proper for anyone until the 16th. Win! Of course, my mother might have a thing to say about it — oh well! Maybe I’ll see how long I can stand it before I have to shave.