I was considering West Point until I read this: “Most are religious…The typical students at my school all wear the same clothes, have weapons in their rooms, and get graded on how well they beat up their classmates.” Thanks, Uncle Sam. But I’ll pass.
Recently I’ve noticed an “intermingling,” if you will, of the subjects. Tobias referenced what we were doing in MacKenzie (Dante), MacKenzie incorporated art into the “curriculum(?),” and Chambers had us analyze a poem as part of the final.
I slaved away for HOURS this weekend. Never during my tenure at Metro or EVER have I studied that intensely. It was not even cramming, but studying just to do so, with the hope that I might actually understand what is going on in that class.
What do I have to show for it? Absolutely nothing. It’s funny how irony keeps biting me in the ass. Just for the record, Red Bull is gross and doesn’t work—don’t buy it.
While looking out of the window in my mom’s office, I saw paperwork on her desk—paperwork she requested from the hospital about my grandma’s death. Curiosity got the better of me and I looked through it. Seeing notes on her time of death, cause of death, the time we were called, comments on our arrival, charts, release forms, autopsy results all brought back some pretty bad memories. I remember that evening almost exactly.
As a general rule of thumb, I do not like to be yelled at. On the flip side, I love pretty boys in black meshed shirts. How about that body rockin’? Last night I met up with Alex, Bridgette, Candice, Jewelz, and Stan for a hip-hop show at the Pageant. Despite the opportunity, there was no crazed fool dancing on my part. A quarter of the way into the third act, I came down with a major headache — one of those debilitating ones that are like “Mon Dieu!
I woke up late this morning, around 7, my mom yelling at me because of the time. Last night, I had trouble getting to sleep. I lied lay there, but sleep wouldn’t come. Instead, I thought about that day’s events. The line between dream and reality is a very fine one; I often get the two mixed up. I’m certain people can agree with this, given my tendencies to get confused about whether something I say happened did actually occur, or if it was merely a dream.
It’s official. There will be no strike. I suppose that’s good—although no one got exactly what they wanted, everyone got something. Except me.
I need some drama, people! Blow something up, build a Wal-Mart, something. Let’s shake things up a bit.
I’m not sure if GSA’s going to meet this week. Regardless of if we do or not, I’ve finally completed the climate survey. Now, to run it by Georgia and we’ll go from there.
Damnit, school tomorrow. I was enjoying the (5-day, mind you) weekend. Not only was it enjoyable, it was also productive.
For one, I submitted an IB Art research notebook that I am (somewhat) proud of, albeit late. Tobias wanted us to research Etruscan art, as well as a couple of pieces from the local art museum. I must admit, I was not particularly interested in the assignment, as usual—you’ve seen one ancient scuplture, you’ve seen them all.
On the evening of the 2004 Election, I found the most random sign outside of the Walgreen’s near Metro. It took me awhile to decipher what it said, or atleast rearrange the text into a more coherent form. Because I lack access to a camera at my will, I was not able to get as artsy with it as I would have liked. Still, it was a good find.
The concept of language perplexes me. How is language learned? As a language student, the answer might be obvious: through commercially-produced visual and auditory activities, as well as the occasional handout. However, as a language student, I also possess a language base; I knew English before I began my study of French, or any other language for that matter. How did I learn English? I remember owning Hooked on Phonics. Only recently have I actually thrown it away, and to this day I feel it is a scam—a waste of money.
This is a recollection of a dream I had many weeks—maybe a month or so—back.
I was at Metro, hanging out in my usual spot—on the table—when a bunch of people suddenly ran by me. Shawn was one of these people. He was chasing after someone, Jaquetta I think it was, because of the snow boots. Advance in time a few hours. I was told that Shawn had been arrested for robbery.
I thought Karsh’s 101 in 1001 was a good idea, so I decided to do something similar. I have never made a resolution — at least that I remember — but I figured why not? It’s (gonna be) 2005. I feel a little extra guidance couldn’t hurt. Enter 51 in 501.
The Mission: Complete 51 preset tasks in a period of 501 days.
The Criteria: Tasks must be specific (i.e., no ambiguity in the wording) with a result that is either measurable or clearly defined.