July 1, 2015
June 26, 2015
Man I am turning into a caricature of myself. If I was in a young adult book, Encyclopedia Brown would divine that I was the culprit on the strength of a stray kleenex, or because someone overheard a series of staccato violent sneezes scuttling down the hidden passage away from the stabbed corpse.
All my life I have enjoyed my days (and my nights) allergy free. I have rested insolently on my laurels as family and friends suffered from hay fever and swollen eyes and what have you, and I have been untouched.
Now I sneeze in my lying down and in my rising up, and pretty much anytime I move my head all the time in between. I meant to try Zyrtec today (only the Walgreens kind so it is called Wal-Zyr. This bothers me. I think that Waltec sounds better) but I forgot. Le sniff.
June 12, 2015
So I’ve spent the last year taking math classes.
This is not because of some undying love of or unquenchable yearning for math. This is because I am in this tunnel, and at the end of the tunnel there is a stupid piece of paper that will be immediately followed by a couple of other stupid pieces of paper, all of which will allow me to do what I want with my life and simultaneously have dollars, and the piece of paper at the end of the tunnel absolutely requires that I take a lot of math classes. (Also I put off all of the math classes until the very end of my degree because I hated math. And I was stupid).
Perhaps you have guessed by the fact that I am actually writing about it now that I have burst out the end of that math taking tunnel and have taken the last math class I will ever have to take in my entire life, unless I decide at some point that I want to take more math classes, for reasons currently unknown but not at all unimaginable. This is a good guess, and is totally accurate. I am done with math classes. I am done with math classes. I am done with math classes. But you know what? Against all probable odds, to the great confoundment of anyone who cares, not least myself, I am not done with math.
It turns out that I like math. It also turns out that I am good at math. I do not enjoy learning brand new math concepts at the rate of six new modules per week for over a year straight; but I do like math. I am not immediately very good at any math I learn at the rate of six new modules per week and at this point my brain feels like so many stacks of frail sheets of twice-done homework paper, but you know what? In the long run and after outlandish amounts of dumb raw unflinching effort, it turns out that I am good at math. And that I like math. And also that I am a completely different person in certain parts of my neurowiring.
So here is something that I like, that I find funny, in celebration of the fact that I can understand some math jokes now.
May 29, 2015
Woohoo, art history midterm complete!
I feel however that my massive compilation of notes has not really been adequately utilized; not that I want a more comprehensive exam, but…does anyone need some 19th century art history notes? They are kind of burning a hole in my google docs.
Also after eight hours of brain gelling study and amalgamation, I find that I totally did not get to talk enough about some of the shit I wanted to. Anyone up for a sprightly discourse on Slave Ship or the Death of Marat or something? (I know, I know. I don’t recognize me either).
But I recognize this! Ha!
May 4, 2015
April 29, 2015
Ye golden gods do I have a lot of opinions about art.
I never would have assumed it, for me art was always something that existed more or less in a vacuum, the only possible reactions being ‘I like that’ or ‘I don’t like that,’ with obvious ranges of extremity, such as ‘I hate it’ or ‘I love it.’
I never learned shit about art, is what I am saying, and I always kind of believed that anyone that did was kind of a twat. There is a decided part of my being that still feels like this. I am sitting at home, eating salami and chevre and trying to feel all classy and shit while I attempt to write about art, and the only thing I can really accomplish with verity is that I have opinions.
Opinions like, fuck everything that came before realism and naturalism, these two are my lungful of air in a school term where I enjoyed class and neoclassicism way less than I enjoyed precalculus. I surprise myself on a regular basis.
One of these surprises is, I apparently hate a lot of great art. I think it sucks and I have no appreciation for it. Which realization has week to week made me feel like a plebe, and like this community college art history class was being wasted on me, not to mention my dollars, until we got to something I could actually identify with, so many chapters in. And suddenly, I am super interested in all of it. Now that I have found some relatable art to glom onto, every other style is just this contrast to it, like everyone that isn’t the Broncos. All at once I have this drive to have thoughts about the art I encounter, to wonder about where it originated and how it evolved into its finished self. I have this total twat urge to talk about it at least one tenth as much as I talk about math. And I totally wonder, art: