"Oh Fox! Is this love? Can you tell me? What is love?"
I love the thrill, the rush, of the beginning of an album. The sounds that begin Sleater-Kinney's 7th, and final album, The Woods (2005) have been haunting me a lot the past few days. I've had a few other thoughts and songs on my mind as well, but "The Fox" sticks with me the most. The beginning of the end, if you will.
Yesterday was the anniversary of Richard Nixon's resignation in 1974. In some ways, that, too, was the beginning of an end, the end of any significant trust in government, the end of 60s --and by extension New Deal --liberalism. The Old Left was just that, Old. True, there are many other factors and moments that could be defined as the end of the post-war boom, the end of idealism, etc. I think the year 1968 also serves as a good indicator; however, as I've seen argued by people who lived through those times, though '68 is, internationally, the political end of postwar optimism, the cultural trends struggled forward (at the very least in the United States), with hippies still going on well through the '70s. There are even hippies today, of course, but in an effort to retain continuity rather than ingenuity, the prefix "neo" is attached, you know, the way "post" comes before so many things, like, most notably, "post-modernism", etc. Of course, this gets back to one of my big lessons from Kenez and Santa Cruz in general --the very concept of time is a very, very, value-laden essence.
It still strikes me as a cruel joke that when the French Revolution began, there was such an effort to break away from the past, they created a new calendar; however, when the Bolshevik Revolution occurred, they turned in their Julian calendar for the Gregorian calendar --you know, the one that the capitalists used and is still used in most of the world. True, there are other calendars, other modes of recognizing and organizing time. Funny, that the Gregorian calendar is supposed to have some science in it, yet most people I talk to about it, don't realise this: a day, that rotation on the axis, that very unit of time which transitions us from the minutia of seconds, minutes, and hours, and into larger chunks of time is NOT 24 hours --it is 23 hrs and 56 minutes. Seems rather nitpicky, no? Well, consider this: those 4 minutes we add to the day, for convenience sake, result in being 6 hours "off" the whole year. And, as a day is 24 hours, it takes 4 years (again, each year contributing 6 hours) to shift the whole time table off. The result? The leap year.
I tried some time ago (2006? 2007?) to challenge my conception of time. I would use the same basic units, minutes, hours, days, weeks, etc. However, I would rearrange the 12 month calendar into a 13-unit system. Why 13? Because, 52 weeks (one year) divides nicely into increments of 4 --which would also be in closer alignment with the lunar calendar, as a moon-cycle is roughly 27 days, and, well, a cycle of time would be 28 days. Thus, people might have a closer, and better idea of when the moon is full and what not, and no one has to bother guessing if the month has 30 or 31 days, etc. Of course, there is the problem of the leap year.
But, on an aesthetic level, it makes the organization of a calendar so much prettier; the dates align nicely, so that you know, if today is March 1st and it is a Tuesday, that every subsequent month will retain the numbers. For example: while today is Wednesday August 10th, 2011 we would be able to say that next year will also be Wednesday August 10th, rather than saying that no, August 10th 2012 was on a Thursday. It's just visually more appealing and easier, not having to guess the day of the week the event occurred on, and be able to just change the title above the dates. I hate that so many calendars, toward the end of the month, to save them time and space, will sometimes have it split like 24/31 in the end little box, meaning if you write on your calendar to keep appointments, you have to squeeze two day's events into one box. Sigh.
But, anyways, that went in a different direction than I thought it would. I had something planned out (in my mind, at least) about the significance of the opening track of an album, and about how "The Fox" not only opens the album The Woods, but it also opened that concert I saw them at in June 2005. But,I digress. Back to Nixon, the 1970s, and the end of eras.
I wrote someone an email in reference to the Nixon resignation anniversary, and about the significance of today, what would have been his grandmother's 86th birthday. I miss that woman, and I wasn't even related to her. I know I've said it before, but I just can't help but wonder how the family took it. And, on an interesting note that really did just occur to me that makes me quite happy, but doesn't necessarily remove the guilt I feel:
I didn't get to spend time with my own grandmother on her last birthday. Why? Because I was too lazy to get up to go to the hospital in the morning, and I had a lot of homework and projects and assignments. Like Europe in World War I, I thought the boys would be home by Christmas --meaning, in this context, that I thought I could at least see her for dinner. I ended up meeting to work on a group assignment at 12 (after getting a call a little after 11 asking where the hell I was) and stayed with the group until about 10 or 11, and still had to come home to finish some other homework. I remember that day, Sunday, February 3rd, 2002.
It struck me at the time as very selfish. I mean, really, I couldn't wake up early (like I had promised that I would) to see someone who raised me on what I had feared, but sort of new already, would be her last birthday. By then, my grandmother had deteriorated so much, it was a miracle she had even made it to that birthday. Originally, in August 2000, she was told she had a few weeks at best, that we should have just let her die in peace. Well, she lived until April 2002, outliving my grandfather --who had been significantly healthier than she when she first had her serious health problems diagnosed in August 2000. Even if she had made it to 2003, the dementia that plagued her would have been far worse. As is, there were relatives that hadn't seen her often to begin with that she didn't know or recognize; I bear a strong resemblance to an uncle, and she often thought I was him, and given my age, that it must have meant it was in the 1970s or so; she often talked of seeing people that were dead, or of events from even as far back as the '60s, as if they were occurring now. It was heart-breaking. Oh, and to top it all off, I had the guilt of knowing that one of her last public appearances, the last birthday she got to go out and celebrate with anyone --my grandpa, her children, etc -- was with me, my birthday in 2001, at my then favourite Chinese restaurant. It was a miracle she had even been able to attend that, as her health was in steady decline by then.
But, after that long ramble, the point is, I felt guilty for not being there for my grandmother. Well, grandma Betty was not my grandma, but that didn't stop me from calling her that, and acting as if she were my grandma. And, in a sign I can now retroactively see as perhaps a cosmic way of dealing with that guilt I felt (and still do, sort of feel) for so many years, I got to see grandma Betty on her last birthday. It was just a quick hello, as Beeg wasn't in town, so I had no real reason to go over there. But, I did. I don't mean to aggrandize myself or make it out to be more than it was, but I think she was pretty pleased and happy that if she couldn't see her real grandson, that she got to see one of his friends.
Anyways, I've got more to ramble about. As there is definitely too much on my mind, and not enough time to process or accomplish everything. Life on the run, that is the reality of these techno-driven times. Consequently, lately it has been hard to keep thoughts separate, as I've been pushing myself harder. It's funny, really, that at one point all I could pride myself on was my stamina. Today, I no longer have that stamina, in terms of intellectual capacity, to sit and read/research and write and edit a 15 page paper in 24 hours. I don't know how I did it; actually, I do. It was caffeine-induced, and was always scheduled somewhat in advance, with me blowing off classes the day before if necessary. In my undergrad years, writing sort of had this religious and serious quality to it. I'd put on a jazz record, or perhaps whatever album was in constant loop (I wrote a lot to the tunes of The Smiths and Pink Floyd, naturally) The problem with it, however, was that especially my linguistic prose was more pedantic than precise, more lyrical (ironically) than the scientific and analytic language required to show competency of the esoteric workings of a language, to show a dedication to the technical science that linguistics is.
I'm reminded especially of Syntax I right now, which really I must say was one of my favourite courses in college (definitely in the top 5), and it was probably the class and quarter I worked the hardest.
In the Winter of 2006, I got serious about studying. It was the last quarter that my GPA grew by any significant measure. After that, it sort of gradually dipped lower and then back up, and then lower again. Oh well. I suppose part of it, also, was that Mr. Hartley died toward the end, about a week or so before finals. I didn't want to miss his funeral, as I had already missed being there for him in his final days (I had been trying to reach him for months; at the funeral I found out that the reason I couldn't get a hold of him was because he was in and out of the hospital, finally ending up in hospice). His funeral was scheduled on the day of a final, but I had had the professor before, so I simply talked to him, and worked out an alternate method of testing, which actually worked out a lot better, I think.
When I first started this entry, I had relatively short (for me) paragraphs, that didn't really connect the dots or anything. I've gone back and had to edit quite a bit, adding large chunks; some paragraphs literally went from 2 sentences to 6 or more. And, of course, I introduced some new ones, too.
Today's topic at the meeting was honesty. I didn't give it much thought until just now, until I saw down to update. I thought I was gonna talk about my first day, about logistics and boring nonsense. I thought I was going to basically repeat and expand on some tweets, rehash some of the important emails I've sent out this week, talk about the mechanics of schools and teaching, maybe talk about the news, perhaps continue to repeat myself, the way I always do. Somehow, I ended up talking about time, death, etc.
Time is in constant, relative flux. There are many more changes to come, and the dust won't even really start settling until September --some 22 days away. It seems like an eternity, but as a former friend and psych major pointed out, that it is possible to start forming a habit in as few as 21 days.
I don't think I'm gonna get to everything I had planned for today. I really didn't make a good use of the afternoon, but I didn't nap. I did go for my walk, I did show up and maintain commitments, such as paying my past dues, etc. Oh, and if things do continue this way, I'll get at least an hour more sleep than I did last night, which is good, I think.
I actually feel better about life, right now. This entry was a good thing, I think. I think it helped connect a lot of the dots that have been floating through my mind. The longer I stay sober, the more a new paradigm, a new way of live, begins to create itself in my mind and develop deeper roots.
Tomorrow shouldn't be too different, in terms of basic structure. I just have got to figure out a way to decompress after school that doesn't involve taking a nap, and that doesn't make me feel guilty about lost productivity. Things will work out, I've just actually got to try, to push myself, to feel that exertion.
Damnit, I don't know how to end. I guess this is how?
Yesterday was the anniversary of Richard Nixon's resignation in 1974. In some ways, that, too, was the beginning of an end, the end of any significant trust in government, the end of 60s --and by extension New Deal --liberalism. The Old Left was just that, Old. True, there are many other factors and moments that could be defined as the end of the post-war boom, the end of idealism, etc. I think the year 1968 also serves as a good indicator; however, as I've seen argued by people who lived through those times, though '68 is, internationally, the political end of postwar optimism, the cultural trends struggled forward (at the very least in the United States), with hippies still going on well through the '70s. There are even hippies today, of course, but in an effort to retain continuity rather than ingenuity, the prefix "neo" is attached, you know, the way "post" comes before so many things, like, most notably, "post-modernism", etc. Of course, this gets back to one of my big lessons from Kenez and Santa Cruz in general --the very concept of time is a very, very, value-laden essence.
It still strikes me as a cruel joke that when the French Revolution began, there was such an effort to break away from the past, they created a new calendar; however, when the Bolshevik Revolution occurred, they turned in their Julian calendar for the Gregorian calendar --you know, the one that the capitalists used and is still used in most of the world. True, there are other calendars, other modes of recognizing and organizing time. Funny, that the Gregorian calendar is supposed to have some science in it, yet most people I talk to about it, don't realise this: a day, that rotation on the axis, that very unit of time which transitions us from the minutia of seconds, minutes, and hours, and into larger chunks of time is NOT 24 hours --it is 23 hrs and 56 minutes. Seems rather nitpicky, no? Well, consider this: those 4 minutes we add to the day, for convenience sake, result in being 6 hours "off" the whole year. And, as a day is 24 hours, it takes 4 years (again, each year contributing 6 hours) to shift the whole time table off. The result? The leap year.
I tried some time ago (2006? 2007?) to challenge my conception of time. I would use the same basic units, minutes, hours, days, weeks, etc. However, I would rearrange the 12 month calendar into a 13-unit system. Why 13? Because, 52 weeks (one year) divides nicely into increments of 4 --which would also be in closer alignment with the lunar calendar, as a moon-cycle is roughly 27 days, and, well, a cycle of time would be 28 days. Thus, people might have a closer, and better idea of when the moon is full and what not, and no one has to bother guessing if the month has 30 or 31 days, etc. Of course, there is the problem of the leap year.
But, on an aesthetic level, it makes the organization of a calendar so much prettier; the dates align nicely, so that you know, if today is March 1st and it is a Tuesday, that every subsequent month will retain the numbers. For example: while today is Wednesday August 10th, 2011 we would be able to say that next year will also be Wednesday August 10th, rather than saying that no, August 10th 2012 was on a Thursday. It's just visually more appealing and easier, not having to guess the day of the week the event occurred on, and be able to just change the title above the dates. I hate that so many calendars, toward the end of the month, to save them time and space, will sometimes have it split like 24/31 in the end little box, meaning if you write on your calendar to keep appointments, you have to squeeze two day's events into one box. Sigh.
But, anyways, that went in a different direction than I thought it would. I had something planned out (in my mind, at least) about the significance of the opening track of an album, and about how "The Fox" not only opens the album The Woods, but it also opened that concert I saw them at in June 2005. But,I digress. Back to Nixon, the 1970s, and the end of eras.
I wrote someone an email in reference to the Nixon resignation anniversary, and about the significance of today, what would have been his grandmother's 86th birthday. I miss that woman, and I wasn't even related to her. I know I've said it before, but I just can't help but wonder how the family took it. And, on an interesting note that really did just occur to me that makes me quite happy, but doesn't necessarily remove the guilt I feel:
I didn't get to spend time with my own grandmother on her last birthday. Why? Because I was too lazy to get up to go to the hospital in the morning, and I had a lot of homework and projects and assignments. Like Europe in World War I, I thought the boys would be home by Christmas --meaning, in this context, that I thought I could at least see her for dinner. I ended up meeting to work on a group assignment at 12 (after getting a call a little after 11 asking where the hell I was) and stayed with the group until about 10 or 11, and still had to come home to finish some other homework. I remember that day, Sunday, February 3rd, 2002.
It struck me at the time as very selfish. I mean, really, I couldn't wake up early (like I had promised that I would) to see someone who raised me on what I had feared, but sort of new already, would be her last birthday. By then, my grandmother had deteriorated so much, it was a miracle she had even made it to that birthday. Originally, in August 2000, she was told she had a few weeks at best, that we should have just let her die in peace. Well, she lived until April 2002, outliving my grandfather --who had been significantly healthier than she when she first had her serious health problems diagnosed in August 2000. Even if she had made it to 2003, the dementia that plagued her would have been far worse. As is, there were relatives that hadn't seen her often to begin with that she didn't know or recognize; I bear a strong resemblance to an uncle, and she often thought I was him, and given my age, that it must have meant it was in the 1970s or so; she often talked of seeing people that were dead, or of events from even as far back as the '60s, as if they were occurring now. It was heart-breaking. Oh, and to top it all off, I had the guilt of knowing that one of her last public appearances, the last birthday she got to go out and celebrate with anyone --my grandpa, her children, etc -- was with me, my birthday in 2001, at my then favourite Chinese restaurant. It was a miracle she had even been able to attend that, as her health was in steady decline by then.
But, after that long ramble, the point is, I felt guilty for not being there for my grandmother. Well, grandma Betty was not my grandma, but that didn't stop me from calling her that, and acting as if she were my grandma. And, in a sign I can now retroactively see as perhaps a cosmic way of dealing with that guilt I felt (and still do, sort of feel) for so many years, I got to see grandma Betty on her last birthday. It was just a quick hello, as Beeg wasn't in town, so I had no real reason to go over there. But, I did. I don't mean to aggrandize myself or make it out to be more than it was, but I think she was pretty pleased and happy that if she couldn't see her real grandson, that she got to see one of his friends.
Anyways, I've got more to ramble about. As there is definitely too much on my mind, and not enough time to process or accomplish everything. Life on the run, that is the reality of these techno-driven times. Consequently, lately it has been hard to keep thoughts separate, as I've been pushing myself harder. It's funny, really, that at one point all I could pride myself on was my stamina. Today, I no longer have that stamina, in terms of intellectual capacity, to sit and read/research and write and edit a 15 page paper in 24 hours. I don't know how I did it; actually, I do. It was caffeine-induced, and was always scheduled somewhat in advance, with me blowing off classes the day before if necessary. In my undergrad years, writing sort of had this religious and serious quality to it. I'd put on a jazz record, or perhaps whatever album was in constant loop (I wrote a lot to the tunes of The Smiths and Pink Floyd, naturally) The problem with it, however, was that especially my linguistic prose was more pedantic than precise, more lyrical (ironically) than the scientific and analytic language required to show competency of the esoteric workings of a language, to show a dedication to the technical science that linguistics is.
I'm reminded especially of Syntax I right now, which really I must say was one of my favourite courses in college (definitely in the top 5), and it was probably the class and quarter I worked the hardest.
In the Winter of 2006, I got serious about studying. It was the last quarter that my GPA grew by any significant measure. After that, it sort of gradually dipped lower and then back up, and then lower again. Oh well. I suppose part of it, also, was that Mr. Hartley died toward the end, about a week or so before finals. I didn't want to miss his funeral, as I had already missed being there for him in his final days (I had been trying to reach him for months; at the funeral I found out that the reason I couldn't get a hold of him was because he was in and out of the hospital, finally ending up in hospice). His funeral was scheduled on the day of a final, but I had had the professor before, so I simply talked to him, and worked out an alternate method of testing, which actually worked out a lot better, I think.
When I first started this entry, I had relatively short (for me) paragraphs, that didn't really connect the dots or anything. I've gone back and had to edit quite a bit, adding large chunks; some paragraphs literally went from 2 sentences to 6 or more. And, of course, I introduced some new ones, too.
Today's topic at the meeting was honesty. I didn't give it much thought until just now, until I saw down to update. I thought I was gonna talk about my first day, about logistics and boring nonsense. I thought I was going to basically repeat and expand on some tweets, rehash some of the important emails I've sent out this week, talk about the mechanics of schools and teaching, maybe talk about the news, perhaps continue to repeat myself, the way I always do. Somehow, I ended up talking about time, death, etc.
Time is in constant, relative flux. There are many more changes to come, and the dust won't even really start settling until September --some 22 days away. It seems like an eternity, but as a former friend and psych major pointed out, that it is possible to start forming a habit in as few as 21 days.
I don't think I'm gonna get to everything I had planned for today. I really didn't make a good use of the afternoon, but I didn't nap. I did go for my walk, I did show up and maintain commitments, such as paying my past dues, etc. Oh, and if things do continue this way, I'll get at least an hour more sleep than I did last night, which is good, I think.
I actually feel better about life, right now. This entry was a good thing, I think. I think it helped connect a lot of the dots that have been floating through my mind. The longer I stay sober, the more a new paradigm, a new way of live, begins to create itself in my mind and develop deeper roots.
Tomorrow shouldn't be too different, in terms of basic structure. I just have got to figure out a way to decompress after school that doesn't involve taking a nap, and that doesn't make me feel guilty about lost productivity. Things will work out, I've just actually got to try, to push myself, to feel that exertion.
Damnit, I don't know how to end. I guess this is how?