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Last update over six months ago...on par for all of my previous attempts at keeping a journal. I really like the concept, it's refreshing to find stuff that I've written when I'm moving or getting ready for a reformat. Reading through all of the stupid shit I bitched about and reminiscing on how much easier my life seemed back when I wrote it, though, seems to lead me to a really distressing pattern.
I also like the concept of a web journal, something I'm not going to lose or spill water on. So why don't I wax sarcastic more frequently and bore the dwindling number of my friends who bother to check in? My last updates were from paradise where I spent a week in good company drunk, smitten, and entertained. And since then...work, occasionally school.
I really miss Justin. I have friends that I've leaned on since he left for Toronto, but no one I have as much in common with. We've talked occasionally since he left, just like we were sitting on a rotten, cat-sprayed couch on that creaking deck. I guess the bullshit I see and hear and have to deal with every day has just seemed a lot less bearable since I lost the ability to go home and laugh with him about it. He and Amy should be in Belle Plaine for x-mas.
Dave's in Japan. I've been really struggling with enrollment for next semester, leaning more to the side of not enrolling. But every time I see he's updated, it reminds me that I actually do have a reason for getting a degree, even if it's masturbatory and short-sighted.
Thanksgiving should be an ordeal. We've had relatively calm nuclear family holiday dinners for the past few years, but this year we're hosting family and friends.
I just got a promotion. Which means that I'll actually have a title and some recognition for the work that I've been doing for the past seven months. Overdue.
So...there we have it.
Posted at: 22:00
[path: /yt] permanent link
I didn't take this picture, obviously, so I refuse to take responsibility for the fact that everyone's wincing. I REFUSE!!!
...it was freaking hot out there.
Kelly sang a song. There was an old hippie playing the bongos down on the beach. I'm told these two events were unrelated, but made for an amusing combination. The officiant was nice and extremely homosexual. I gave Megan away. She called me "daddy" and I vomited three times. I was thus forced to tell Megan and Alex about the "special hug" they'd discover that night that is reserved specially for prospective mommies and daddies. I think they understood.
Not really sure what else to say about the ceremony itself. It was short. They seem to love each other. I welled up a bit. This says it all, for me anyway:
After a clothes change, we were off to Mangoes for dinner.
Notice the cake. It was tasty. Unfortunately, this pleasant dinner was interrupted by a tactical nuclear strike.
Thankfully, the entire wedding party was saved from destruction by the strength of Megan and Alex's love for each other. Everyone else in the restaurant died horrible, horrible deaths.
Posted at: 22:00
[path: /travelog] permanent link
We went to the beach yesterday morning. The beach fucking reeks. Mucked up memories of our elementary school trip to the sewage treatment plant.
Alex didn't wear any sunscreen when we were at the beach this morning.
Needless to say, he was starting to feel the pain.
Went and ate some really tasty Cuban food. Some of the best (and cheapest) food we've had so far on the trip. I'd estimate that, not including airfare and the hotel, I've spent roughly $240 in the past four days. Thank God rent and tuition were due BEFORE the trip.
Then the ladies and the gents parted ways for the evening, for the customary same-sex-last-night-before-wedding-parties. The fairer sex went on to some kind of ghost tour, which was by all reports completely lame and largely involved taking pictures of buildings to find "orbs" floating in frame. With digital cameras. Whatever.
We MEN, however, went bowling. At least, that was the plan...
The place was called Stick and Stein, kind of a bar/pool hall/minibowling/arcade combo. It was actually pretty cool, in that Brian-only-feels-comfortable-in-total-dives kind of way. We bowled thrice. As previously indicated, the lanes were WEE, with the ten pins connected to the alley by a kind of rope system, so when you hit them they basically all fell down. The balls were also tiny, fitting easily in the palm of your hand, and with no holes. Very conducive to chucking at high speeds to get very satasfying explosive strikes. I need one of these machines for my living room.
Then, some Area51 and some racing games, and then Alex started to feel worse, so we headed back to the hotel...
and watched some shitty heavily censored cable movies. Though this sounds lame, fun was had. Alex didn't really want a bachelor party, so this was all thrown together last minute, but friends+quaintly small bowling=fun. At least that's what I remember from junior high math.
So, wedding's tonight, Alex was rocking back and forth last night with the chills from what might be heat exhaustion or food poisoning...anyones guess at this point.
Hoping for the best in Key West,
Hypenated-Brian
Posted at: 22:00
[path: /travelog] permanent link
Took me two days to get the internet working in my room reliably, so we've got a lot of ground to cover...
Before we delve in too deep, lets take a moment to meet our intrepid cast:
From R-L: Alex and Megan, Scott and Sandi,
Katie, Me, and Kelly
Ok, so the bottom row really got the short end here. I have a ton of pictures of random signs, roosters, and the ocean, but those are the best pictures of Katie and Kelly I have. The picture of me was taken moments ago when I realized that, for obvious reasons, I have no pictures of myself. I'll do my best to improve this deplorable situation in the days to come.
Anyway...
The flights down to the island were plagued by rain and crying, as I mentioned earlier. The man that was sitting in front of us on the plane had the tiniest ears that I've seen. This was especially accented because he had gigantic sausage fingers that were trying to manipulate the complex Delta headset in order to affix it to the limited ear-real-estate he had to work with. It will haunt me to my end days that I didn't man up and take a picture of tiny-ears.
We seem to have brought the rain with us, it's constantly drizzling and frequently raining in earnest. The parking lot outside our room has been a perpetual lake ever since.
Thus beach plans for the first morning were shattered. And so, we went downtown. Our first tourist-trap was The Pirate Soul Museum. This was the once private collection of pirate memorabilia of inspiritional-speakin' Pat Croce, now in museum form! It was small, expensive ($12.95 per!), but quaint and kitschy. And I'm a sucker for the kitsch. The relics were billed as authentic, but looked extremely fake. There was a Jolly Roger displayed in the end room, supposedly one of only two recovered Jolly Rogers from that era. A very convincing Jack Sparrow impersonator related all of this to us, and then mugged for pics. Expensive, touristy souvenir pics. Megan bought one. Go figure.
So, we hit a few stores, and then Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville.
Best thing about Margaritaville:
Worst thing about Margaritaville: Jimmy Buffett background music. Yeesh.
As night fell, we were off to Mallory Square to celebrate the sunset and watch some pretty impressive street performers.
And then, karaoke. Which was...karaoke. I didn't get to sing, which is fine because I picked a really lame song. Kelly rocked out the Evanescence and Aretha Franklin. Kelly sings good.
OH, I saved the best for last: This box was on the counter in a deli, next to some cookies, the register, and a tip jar. Words fail me.
Post-coital love from Key West,
Brian
Posted at: 22:00
[path: /travelog] permanent link
I am still alive, despite storms and crying babies. The cryingest of babies.
I don't know how much to tip a cabbie. I don't know how much to tip the bellman. So I've decided tipping is a fools game.
More as it comes.
Posted at: 22:00
[path: /travelog] permanent link
Off to Key West for Megan's wedding. Updates of the trip to follow, depending on wi-fi availability in the hotel.
NERDS!
Posted at: 22:00
[path: /travelog] permanent link
Update: More Hilarity from the bottom of the My Documents barrell
My student housing roommate preferences form, five years ago. Haute 2005 commentary, now in italics!
1. What is your smoking preference?
I do not smoke, nor can I tolerate the smell of smoke. My father smokes, and it disgusts me.
Heh
2. Do you want a very clean room, a very messy room, or do you really not care either way?
I do not consider myself a "neat freak," and I can tolerate a moderate level of clutter. However when I need to find something, I want to be able to find it without searching through piles of junk.
Still true, though a quick look around my room reveals the fact that the desire to find things is vastly outweighed by my supreme laziness
3. Try and estimate how late you think you will be going to bed and how early you will rise.
My earliest class begins at 8:30 AM, so I plan on going to bed between 11 PM and midnight, and as such I would appreciate a semi-quiet environment around that time. I will need to wake up around 7:00 AM.
A HAHAHAHAHA *wipes tear* Oh my
4. What kind of music do you like?
I like all kinds of music, except for country music and rap (which could only loosely be interpreted as music anyway). Recently I have started to listen to punk rock bands like Dead Kennedys. I really enjoy punk rock because it actually has a message, not just a fat beat with meaningless drivel spoken over it like that which is played over all the major radio stations in my area.
Ah, a preference with veiled, unrequested editorializing...beautiful.
5. What are your hobbies?
When I find free time I enjoy reading, discovering new bands, talking with my friends, working on leisurely video projects, and spending time on an online gaming community commonly referred to as MUD.
meh
6. Who is your favorite superhero, and why?
My favorite superhero would be Wolverine from the X-Men. Setting aside his (almost) indestructible adamantium skeleton and claws, and his heightened healing ability, he's just a really cool guy. He is independent and gruff, yet he has a great sense of humor and a deep heart. Wolverine is a true Byronic hero
Wolverine = Byronic hero. Me = pretentious freshman.
Posted at: 22:00
[path: /yt] permanent link
I was cleaning up my PC (easier than cleaning up my room), and I found some papers that I had written in high school. The most interesting of these was one that I had titled *winces* "Abortion: Making a Life or Death Decision." I didn't know that I had an official stance on abortion, much less a ham-fisted, sweetly naive and ignorant one, but apparently my younger self had this covered. Featuring such embarrassing lines as "What America needs more than anything is a strong moral leader that will rid our country of the horror of abortion" and "A message needs to be sent by the American government that abortion is not a 'way out.'"
Wowza.
Posted at: 22:00
[path: /yt] permanent link
Nothing much of late. I go to class occasionally, I go to work, I play WoW, I sleep a lot, I don't do laundry or take out the trash.
I hate my apartment. A few weeks ago, I woke up to the sound of rain in the hallway again. I open my door to find the Fury of the Nile ride from Worlds of Fun has found its way into the hallway, the kitchen, and the living room. Apparently the upstairs neighbor decided to run a bath at 7am, then decided to make a sammich and forgot about the bath for 45 minutes while it flooded her apartment, and then mine, and then the downstairs neighbor in turn. Oddly enough, the downstairs neighbor was the first to notice. Then I woke up. Then the repair guy woke up the offending flooder by entering her apartment. Nothing was seriously damaged, but the walls are still damp three weeks later, and will likely mold and shoot out spores to colonize Justin and me in our sleep. We will then become the living dead, shooting out spores that will colonize all people we come into contact with. Pod people will reproduce at an exponential rate, silently conquering the world. All because of that fucking sandwich.
I enrolled again for the fall. Seems to be an exercise in futility, but it makes my parents happy. I know that there are benefits to getting a bachelor's degree. Going to class, working on projects, taking quizes and tests, succeeding. These things make me feel intelligent and worthwhile. But this feeling is fleeting, and I start skipping and failing, and it all seems futile. But I keep coming back for more. The classes I've chosen seem like fun, but they all do, in the beginning.
Posted at: 22:00
[path: /yt] permanent link
Stumbled upon something in the archive that I wrote three-four years ago for a gaming site to earn journalist credit for an E3 pass. My travel arrangements fell through, so I wasn't able to go to the convention, but I kind of like this piece. Not enough that it wasn't very difficult to resist the urge to edit...but still.
-----
Two months ago, I had a dream that I was sitting, smoking on the jungle gym in the yard of the elementary school I attended a lifetime ago. I don't smoke, well, I didn't at the time, I think the smoking was simply my recent viewing of The Royal Tenenbaums mucking around in my pre-sleep memories.
Margot Tenenbaum appealed to me as few characters are able to do. That it's Gwyneth Paltrow on screen doesn't hurt, but it's more the depiction of stunted emotional growth in full force that really touched me. Popular culture is saturated with stories of the gifted child forced to grow up and excel, despite feelings of extreme isolation. However, once these children prove how amazingly they can overcome whatever obstacles are intended to drive the plot forward, they continue to grow and mature, and find their respective happy endings.
Margot never grew up. The image of a young girl taking up the very adult, very stupid habit of smoking to me represents this forced maturity. It is tragically adorable to a kindred spirit to see the ways a talented child deals with these complex emotions. Seeing that girl still childishly hiding this habit from friends and family twenty-two years later, still, in fact, wearing the same girlish skirts, hits very close to home for a newly minted "adult" who also vainly holds on to the vices of his childhood.
And so I find myself this morning, and most other mornings, atop the jungle gym. It was on a whim at first that I left home thirty minutes early, bought my first pack of cigarettes, and set out to re-enact this dream that I was caught up on. I found this place not surrounded the forest I remember, but a denser forest of pre-fabricated housing. Whim quickly flowed into fascination at the changes the playground saw while I should have been changing as well. I like to think that it is this fascination, rather than any physical addiction to my new clandestine habit, that has brought me thirty minutes out of my way every morning. Everything that was once wooden is now rendered in brightly colored plastics shapes. The teeter-totters and merry-go-rounds were missing in action, likely victims of over-zealous parenting. The only familiar object in the yard was the jungle gym. Though, looking at my perch similarly reminds me of the ravages of time, what once looked so much like a magic carpet now calls up trigonometry.
The shapes may have changed, but looking around I can see that the general form has remained the same. In the far corner, I see the spot where I sat with my friends and remember when we finally figured out that "Aziza" was the answer to the Enchantress' final riddle. Seeing the swings through the smoke produced as I take a drag brings back being blown away by the ending of Ender's Game for the first time, just before the bell rang. And the ensuing cough brings back the physical sensation of the seemingly impossible task of inflating the gigantic Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles blimp I brought for show and tell.
This flood of memories laps over consciousness, and I recall all the times technology passed me by. Nintendo became Super Nintendo and then Nintendo 64. Cassette tapes became CDs. Computers could talk and play games with each other. Books were ordered into chapters, and soon became thick, thousand page novels. I learned how to pinch every penny of allowance and lunch money in order to keep up with the steady pace of progress.
Keeping up is a rather sobering thought. Though I used to glaze over the pain in order to look back fondly on the giants of my childhood, now, sitting and smoking, I see Margot Tenenbaum smoking beside me in her bathtub. Video games and books were tools to escape the harsh reality of the other loud, mean children I couldn't understand. I took comfort in my isolated superiority through the shower of grown-up smiles at the big words and concepts I gleaned from their popular culture. I subsisted almost entirely on the admiration of teachers and parents alike, and I drove myself to learn and acquire in order to impress. Gaming was then both relaxation and socialization, the only bridging interest among my few friends.
As years passed and I grew and found myself, gaming was no longer a necessity. I now had real friends, I had involved myself in hours of service groups, stage productions, and part-time jobs. What had once been associated with a need for companionship and activity had been replaced. However, the obsession with books and games remained, associated now with the relief and joy they once provided in a much more practical sense.
And now I'm on the verge of becoming the adult I so admired as a child. Moving into my first apartment, half-way through my college education, and recently legally of-age, I have all of the components of adulthood under my belt. And yet, gaming remains a giant albatross around my neck. I have great difficulty finding my identity as a modern, twenty-first century adult when I would much rather stay up for an all-night dungeon crawl than complete the work required for passing my biology lab. When notes from my Japanese class are illustrated with Ninja Turtles and Sludge Vohaul. When time and time again I fail to meet expectations because I willingly distract myself. Sharing a cigarette in secret with Margot, I see that I too have failed to grow past the level of maturity with which I felt comfortable. Nostalgia has become a vice, a distraction from the responsibilities of adulthood only a child could envy.
And yet, as I stabbed out my cigarette this morning, awash in a sea of unpleasantly colored pre-formed plastic and pre-fabricated metal, I decided that distraction is better by far than delusion. I am comforted by the fact that though I am no longer a teenager, I still remember how to disappear into fantasy. Though I often look back on the way things were, I am still enraptured by the way things will be.
I don't want to be a kid again, but I don't want to lose the drive and obsessive love I've known all along. There is some unidentifiable balance, something ambiguous thing that I want to be.
And I realize, sitting in the trough of a very large sine wave, that will have to suffice as my identity as a young adult for this morning, as I'm now exceptionally late for work.
Posted at: 22:00
[path: /yt] permanent link
Starting this one with another quote from my wonderful co-workers:
"When it comes to poo, I'm very anal."
--Rose
I get a call from Michael tonight while I'm at work, he wants to let me know that Dacia's (the downstairs neighbor) apartment is flooding. Now, I've been at work all day, and Justin was in Belle Plaine, so I'm a little concerned. Their apartment has flooded before when our toilet overflows, or the shower is running, but since no one's home to use the facilities, water is apparently flowing of its own accord.
So I leave work and go home, and find brown water that's leaked into the hallway from the bathroom. I turn on the bathroom light, and find more of the brown water, plus black chunks of unidentifiable material standing on the bathroom floor, as well as in the bathtub, but predominately in the toilet. The toilet water is full of black water, the toilet seat is stained with brown water and covered in black chunks.
Given this evidence, I can assume that water, and presumably sewage, has issued forth from the toilet and the tub to curse my apartment. I'm surprised by lack of smell, but peeking my head into the bathroom treats me to the distinct smell of poo. So I call the landlord, no answer. I call the emergency maintence number, no answer, I leave a message. Thirty minutes later I get a call back from the maintenence guy, and we have the following conversation:
Him: Yeah, I was upstairs today doing some work on the sink, so a pipe fitting must be loose and it's leaking through the ceiling.
Me: Well, the water is brown, and there's black chunks everywhere. There's also stains in the tub and toilet.
Him: Yeah, the water looks like that because it came through the drywall.
Me: I don't think you understand, this water didn't come through the ceiling, it came out of the toilet and tub.
Him: Yeah...
Me: So I'm wondering what to do with this sewage...
Him: Yeah, well I don't have anyone I can send out tonight, so I'll have someone out tomorrow morning.
Me: So you want me to leave this sewage all over the bathroom and hallway leading into my kitchen for the next sixteen hours?
Him: Yeah, like I said I don't have anyone to send out tonight.
*long pause*
Me: So, your recommendation is to leave this sewage standing until you can send someone out tomorrow.
*longer pause*
Him: *extremely huffy* Well I guess I can come out with a mop myself...
Me: Look, I don't want to be an asshole, I just don't think it's a good idea to have sewage all over my apartment all night.
Him: I'll be right out. *click*
----
I hate to be the demanding late-night-asshole but sweet Jesus, if I'm getting paid to not make poo explode all over someone's bathroom, and I do make poo explode all over someone's bathroom, I like to think I'm not going to sass them about taking care of it.
Of note: I told the landlord today that I'm moving in August. Fuck this place.
Posted at: 22:00
[path: /yt] permanent link
I know I've bitched a lot about work, but here goes again:
Background: We're setting up an e-mail account in Outlook Express
Caller: It says "Display name"
Me: This is where you enter your name as you want it to be displayed when you send mail to people
Caller: So I want it to be [caller's name].com?
Me: No, you probably just want to put your name there, this is how people will know that the e-mail you send them is from you.
Caller: *long, long, long pause, peppered with loud, melodramatic sighing, and sporatic, slow typing*
Me: *muted sound of me bashing my head against my desk*
Caller: Okay, what now?
Me: You entered your name?
Caller: Yes.
Me: Okay, click on the "Next" button.
Caller: "Next?"
Me: Yes.
Caller: Click on it?
Me: Yes, please.
Caller: Okay.
Me: Okay. Now, you're going to enter your email address, please enter [his email address].
Caller: ...so this is where I do the shift thing?
Me: Yes, the @ is "shift-2."
Caller: *the slowest typing I've ever heard, seriously like 3 whole minutes passed here*
Caller: I'm sorry, I not very good at this.
Me: That's okay. If you've got the e-mail address entered, please click next.
Caller: Click next?
Me: Yes, please.
Caller: Okay, "my incoming mail server is a POP3 server?"
Me: Yes, please click in the entry field and enter [incoming mail server]
Caller: Click it?
Me: Yes please.
Caller: Nothing happens.
Me: Please click in the field marked "My incoming mail server:" and type [incoming mail server]
Caller: Nothing happens.
Me: Nothing happens when you click in the white field, you don't see a flashing cursor?
Caller: Yes, I see a flashing cursor.
Me: Please type [incoming mail server]
...
And so on.
God help me. Fucking AOL expatriates.
Posted at: 22:00
[path: /work] permanent link
Should all people be allowed internet access?
I just got done speaking with a gentleman for 30 minutes about his new computer, internet access, and e-mail. He's one of those types that feels compelled to interrupt constantly to mention, again, that he knows nothing about computers. They're so mystified by computers, in fact, that they can't follow simple instructions. I had to spend five minutes helping him find the delete key on the keyboard, amid his constant protests of "There ain't no delete key on mah keyboard." Calmly as I can: "Sir, the delete key is most likely just to the right of the backspace key, underneath the insert key."
I don't care that you don't know anything about computers. That's why I'm here, that's why they pay me. However I can't do my job if you can't function as a medium and relay the evidence of your OWN FUCKING EYES.
So I wonder, what do we, as a cyber-society, gain from this new member? Someone who can't read the keys on his keyboard. Someone who has no intention of learning anything about his box, for whom the PC is an ebay terminal. Hard to imagine that in a few hours, his PC will serve as a zombie for some worm, serving it to the rest of the internet at large.
Maybe there should be some sort of certification required for internet access. I know this seems ridiculously elitist, which it is, but bear with me. In order to be able to operate a car, you're required to be certified by the government. One reason for this is that when you're behind the wheel, you're steering a monstrous weapon down through heavy traffic. You have the potential to do a lot of damage. I know as I type this that I'm reaching, but connecting a WinXP pc to a cable modem also carries the potential to do damage. Unless it is thoroughly secured by OS updates, a firewall of somesort, it only takes a few minutes for the pc to get infected by some kind of trojan that will in turn launch attacks against similarly unsecured boxes, forming a vast, DDoS army. There's only so much that the ISP can do. We can inform you about PC security, provide documentation, even provide AV software, but unless the customer actually installs, upgrades, and runs this software, unless they keep the OS up-to-date, and keep abreast of security issues, education is in vain.
I know that this is a problem largely caused by security exploits in Microsoft OSs, but Windows is not the only vulnerable OS. We've had some calls from people running Mac OSX who are infected with similar worms, which will most likely burn like wildfire through the security un-conscious Apple community.
I feel that it's important to note that I know that no one is born with PC savvy. I don't expect everyone that I speak with to be an expert, I don't scoff at minor mistakes in terminology and laugh in their face. The people in question here are those that refuse to learn, refuse to accept that there is any kind of discernable pattern or logic with their computer...people that feel that it is powered by some kind of magic, and who only learn to ape the incantations necessary to access email and ebay.
So, I guess the question is this: Is the money that fools will pay for a piece of equipment they refuse to understand, and the money they will routinely pay to repair this equipment when it fails through their negligence, worth the network congestion their zombie boxes cause?
Posted at: 22:00
[path: /work] permanent link
I'd like to start off today's discussion of my co-workers, and work environment with the following quote:
"Seriously, and without euphemism, fish tacos are really good."
--Kristin
So, for some reason Steve has been googling information about various animals for the past hour, and sharing this information with those of us around him. This has spurred some of the most ridiculous conversation I've had the pleasure of witnessing in some time. For example, Steve found that the platypus is poisonous, and has been ranting about it for some time. Suddenly, Brad appears over the cube-wall and lets loose the following:
"You know what mammal's not poisonous? The hippo. Hippos are awesome!"
...
I really have nothing to add to this.
Posted at: 22:00
[path: /work] permanent link
So...I've missed a week of two of my classes. It started the way that it always does, three or so weeks in, I'm tired, I miss something of moderate importance and then I start freaking out. It becomes impossible to rouse myself from sleepy logic, and I start missing more and more and then I have to start dropping classes. I'd like to say that this is due to trying to juggle a 40 hour work week on top of classes, but I know that's not the case. I seem to have lost something since high school/my first few years of college...lost my ability to pull things together and finish strong. I guess I just stopped caring.
However, I'm up on time this morning ready to go with readings done and homework ready to submit. I'd like to say that I've been tested and found worthy, but I'll have to wait until tomorrow when I have tests in the two classes I've been skipping to make that call.
Posted at: 22:00
[path: /school] permanent link
It's amazing how the best-laid plans, even plans involving the Lord's breakfast, can be completely sundered by sleepy logic. Y'know, that special logic of the just-wakened mind that's able to convince you that since you only have fifteen minutes to get ready for work/school, you might as well just go back to sleep. That, even though you've saved doing all of your laundry, homework, shopping, taxidermy (?), etc, for your one day off, it's okay to sleep until 3:00p and accomplish nothing.
Last week I slept through morning classes on Wednesday and Friday. I'm pretty shaken by this, I set a goal not to skip any classes this semester, and I only made it three weeks. So, now that the seal is broken, I guess it's what I do from here that really reveals my character. Or at least that's what a wizened sage should tell me. If this was a video game. Which would be really cool.
Posted at: 22:00
[path: /school] permanent link
My Survey of Japanese Film class requires that we submit all of our papers through a service called Turn it in! This service apparently distills your paper down to the delicious chewy center, and compares that deliciousness with the flavor of papers that have been submitted before, noting any similarities and flagging you felonious as the case may be. I don't have any major gripes with this in theory, excepting the fact that my tuition is likely paying for this service. What troubles me are passages like the following from the Services Faq:
Can Turnitin be used for instructor or institutional archiving needs?Yes, we do archive all papers submitted to our database by registered users. Extended use of our service builds a comprehensive archive of papers and ensures that students will never recycle papers from previous classes.
So, basically, they're keeping my papers forever...and since when is it a crime to utilize past research in a new context? My real beef, though, is this sneaking suspicion that they'll use my papers in conjunction with their search algorithm to assess future papers. Which means that I'm paying for a service, though in very small part, with my tuition, to heavily scrutinize my papers via automation, distilling my paper into data for future analysis of other kids' papers. My academic work, then, is being given away for free to help feed a commercial venture for which I have no input, information, or control, and from which I will see no kind of monetary return.
Fucked. Up.
Posted at: 22:00
[path: /school] permanent link
broken chords can sing a little
We watched A Page of Madness in film class on Wednesday. Apparently the only known prints of the film were thought to be lost/destroyed for about 50 years until a copy was found inside a barrel of rice...somewhere in Japan *totallypaidattentiontoclass*. And what a find! The movie was... intriguing, but very hard to watch. It was a silent film, with no cards, featuring the most repetitive, discordant soundtrack. Based in an insane asylum, it followed a man who recently left his wife, causing her to go insane and drown their infant child. She had been committed, and he had taken up a janitorial position to watch after her. There's no real cohesive whole, mostly just short bursts of scenes, not directly related to each other, with interspersed flashes of light. The introductory text indicated that the 1920's Japanese audience found the 60 minute movie exhausting...
Me too.
Posted at: 18:00
[path: /school] permanent link
Found this today at work, which eventually progressed to downloading the mp3s and listening to them on a loop for several hours with Justin. Turns out, 12 years had no effect on my spot-on memory of every last lyric. So I'm sitting next to my roommate, passionately singing along with my fucking eyes closed. This somehow then leads to MC Hammer: 2 Legit 2 Quit, This is the Way We Roll, s Family finally climaxing with Danger Zone. Sweet Justin was paranoid that our hubris, blasting Danger Zone at 2AM, would surely rouse the gods of The Crossing to play it every night for the next two months. I fear no song from the Top Gun soundtrack, I say bring it.
Posted at: 22:00
[path: /yt] permanent link