A vision of students today… Rather than helping promote learning and making learning material more accessible, technology is helping students waste time during and after class. It is a tool which is meant to be used to cut down on cost, less textbooks, etc....
To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what the direct, singular point of the video was. The bit about how much time kids waste in class on sites almost seemed like a thesis, but there was so much more (and unrelated) information throughout. Maybe the point was that college is handled haphazardly on both sides of the spectrum; how major universities make their students feel minuscule and unimportant (except when it comes to money), and how students don't always realize that even though they are in an unfortunate situation (in my opinion, the cost of education today is absolutely ridiculous), they are also privileged, and that while they're there, they might as well use their time wisely.
I do think that if students were made to feel more important, or at least human, then maybe they'd put more effort into their studies..but. No. That distance between student and educator isn't an issue at Community College, and yet I see the same things go on here.
The video made college seem hopeless and pointless and a waste of time and money, which is something that always lingers in the back of my mind. However, those feelings are strictly towards my own situation. See, I'm a lit major (or going to be when I get to a university..if I don't quit first) but I don't want to be a writer, I don't want to be a teacher..I just don't know. I think that's the problem with a lot of college students actually, they don't know what they want. It's too soon to know what you want out of the rest of you life, but then again, it'll always be too soon. Anyway, I love learning, so that's why I keep on keeping on. I just wish this 'hobby' wouldn't cost my parent's, and eventually me, so much.
…I'm only trying to get a degree so I can get a student visa in England. True story. But if that does happen, it'll be for a master’s program..years and thousands upon thousands of dollars away.
Oh! Oscar Wilde said: "Education is an admirable thing, but it is well to remember from time to time that nothing that is worth knowing can be taught."
And he knew everything. Also, all the information about me is essential in the quest for you to know everything. Ever. Like Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde.
I'm tired.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Darwinian Replicant I Don’t Like the Word Meme
I didn't really feel like pasting all of the rules and that, but I did feel like playing along, so here are my answers to the Darwinian game that Amy or Ms. Amy or Ms. Braziller or Ms. Amy Braziller or maybe Professor Amy Braziller posted in her blog:
The Questions and Answers:
• The best subtitled movie in modern pop culture is: Y Tu Mama Tambien (WORD!!) It would have been The Dreamers if Michael Pitt’s lack of talent wasn’t so irritating and distracting.
• The best breakfast food in American cooking is: Toast and orange juice!!!
• The best queer novel in 20th century fiction is: Our Lady of the Flowers by Jean Genet!!
• The best 1960s song in avant-garde rock music is: “Heroin” by The Velvet Underground
• The best British novel in gothic fiction is: The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
The Questions and Answers:
• The best subtitled movie in modern pop culture is: Y Tu Mama Tambien (WORD!!) It would have been The Dreamers if Michael Pitt’s lack of talent wasn’t so irritating and distracting.
• The best breakfast food in American cooking is: Toast and orange juice!!!
• The best queer novel in 20th century fiction is: Our Lady of the Flowers by Jean Genet!!
• The best 1960s song in avant-garde rock music is: “Heroin” by The Velvet Underground
• The best British novel in gothic fiction is: The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
Thursday, November 1, 2007
This I Believe: Life is a Four Letter Word / Joyride Neon
My friend, Brian, is filled to the brim with madness, with a pure and utter love of life and he lets nothing get in the way of his vivid vision of what life should be like, no matter what that vision may be at any given moment. He once moved to Texas to live in the back of a van just because there was an offer and because he could and so he did. Soon after he returned from his van-life, three or so months later, he left for Portland to live on various couches and to build mega-bikes, huge bikes stacked two-high and welded together. Brian is twenty-one years and human flesh of my belief.
I believe life should be beatific madness. I believe life should be spontaneous prose. (spoken quickly after, as if there is no period) Life should be Kerouac’s spontaneous prose; life should be On the Road. (short pause) I believe in wandering around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and going (emphasis on going), leaving no broken hearts*; I believe my life should be lived in between the lines of Allen Ginsberg’s Howl.
Easier said or read than done, however. It is so easy to get caught up in the fear of unknowns. (short pause) What will happen to me if I leave? Where will I end up? What will my family think, and (normal paced until about here, then spoken quickly as if there are no semi-colons) who will take care of my cat; what will I eat; where will I work; where will I live; will I have a home; what will become of my future; what does future even mean; will I die, and by that I mean will I die a horrific, premature death?
(pause a couple of beats)
Would a long life not fully lived be better than a short one of soul and rapture?
(pause a couple of beats)
I have been able to bury my fears long enough to undertake a couple of adventures, the most spontaneous being one to Manchester, England to see a Chinese Opera. Not four days after the mere thought had entered my head I was there; and never before had I felt such gratification, such happiness and delight, and all other emotions on the scale from good to bad. Never had I felt so complete and real and alive.
No, a long, consistent, and tedious life is not for me. But I’m not quite ready to let go of my comforts yet, to take that plunge into madness. Until I am though, I will follow those who already have, like my friend Brian. Until I am ready (beat pause) ‘the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "AWWW!"’**
The maddest person of all time, Neal Cassady, his last words were supposedly, “sixty-four thousand nine-hundred and twenty-eight,” the number of ties he had counted on the railroad line in his mad-life travels. Maybe, (beat pause) if I keep at it, (beat pause) those will be my last words as well, and (beat pause) even if they do come prematurely, they’ll be worth it.
* ‘..who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts..’ from Howl by Allen Ginsberg
** ‘But then they danced down the streets like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I’ve been doing all my life after the people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the sky and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “awww!”’ -On the Road, Jack Kerouac
I believe life should be beatific madness. I believe life should be spontaneous prose. (spoken quickly after, as if there is no period) Life should be Kerouac’s spontaneous prose; life should be On the Road. (short pause) I believe in wandering around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and going (emphasis on going), leaving no broken hearts*; I believe my life should be lived in between the lines of Allen Ginsberg’s Howl.
Easier said or read than done, however. It is so easy to get caught up in the fear of unknowns. (short pause) What will happen to me if I leave? Where will I end up? What will my family think, and (normal paced until about here, then spoken quickly as if there are no semi-colons) who will take care of my cat; what will I eat; where will I work; where will I live; will I have a home; what will become of my future; what does future even mean; will I die, and by that I mean will I die a horrific, premature death?
(pause a couple of beats)
Would a long life not fully lived be better than a short one of soul and rapture?
(pause a couple of beats)
I have been able to bury my fears long enough to undertake a couple of adventures, the most spontaneous being one to Manchester, England to see a Chinese Opera. Not four days after the mere thought had entered my head I was there; and never before had I felt such gratification, such happiness and delight, and all other emotions on the scale from good to bad. Never had I felt so complete and real and alive.
No, a long, consistent, and tedious life is not for me. But I’m not quite ready to let go of my comforts yet, to take that plunge into madness. Until I am though, I will follow those who already have, like my friend Brian. Until I am ready (beat pause) ‘the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "AWWW!"’**
The maddest person of all time, Neal Cassady, his last words were supposedly, “sixty-four thousand nine-hundred and twenty-eight,” the number of ties he had counted on the railroad line in his mad-life travels. Maybe, (beat pause) if I keep at it, (beat pause) those will be my last words as well, and (beat pause) even if they do come prematurely, they’ll be worth it.
* ‘..who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts..’ from Howl by Allen Ginsberg
** ‘But then they danced down the streets like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I’ve been doing all my life after the people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the sky and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “awww!”’ -On the Road, Jack Kerouac
Monday, October 29, 2007
don't try to tell me kate moss ain't pretty
What I saw in the video we watched today was a lot of truths and maybe half-truths, and a line so blurred between the two that I couldn’t tell the difference. The filmmaker did an excellent job of backing up her arguments, but a couple of the make-up ads’ deeper meanings were stretched a bit, I think. There was one about muting or something, and she said the subtext was women shouldn’t speak, but I think what it really meant was that it was light make-up, unnoticeable make-up. I can’t remember now exactly what was said, which is ruining my whole argument. There were many ads, though, she showed convening the same message of silence, and I agreed with her on most of them.
Another thing that really stood out as a possible half-truth was the argument designed after the ad with the blond girl looking down on the black boy. I could definitely see what she was talking about in the photo, don’t get me wrong; the only issue I had with that argument was that she only had that one advert to back it up.
Anyway, the bottom line is women are mistreated in the media; they are objectified and portrayed unrealistically, and it puts pressure on those of us not living in the pages of magazines or the static of TV screens.
Oh! And I thought that the ‘objectification of women in the media leads to violence against women’ argument was really interesting. I don’t solidly agree with it because I haven’t looked into it, but what she said made a lot of sense.
The thing that struck me most was how much I agreed with what she was saying, but how little I cared about it. I wasn’t enraged, and I feel I should have been. It’s like I’ve been beyond desensitized by it—‘it’s normal, it’s no big deal.’
Also, semi-unrelated, runway models are that thin for an actual reason (they’re not selling bodies, they’re showing clothes, and curves would be distracting. They are human hangers. And they make that choice.), so people really need to calm down about that. And why is it okay to tell one they’re too skinny, but it’s not okay to call one fat?
Another thing that really stood out as a possible half-truth was the argument designed after the ad with the blond girl looking down on the black boy. I could definitely see what she was talking about in the photo, don’t get me wrong; the only issue I had with that argument was that she only had that one advert to back it up.
Anyway, the bottom line is women are mistreated in the media; they are objectified and portrayed unrealistically, and it puts pressure on those of us not living in the pages of magazines or the static of TV screens.
Oh! And I thought that the ‘objectification of women in the media leads to violence against women’ argument was really interesting. I don’t solidly agree with it because I haven’t looked into it, but what she said made a lot of sense.
The thing that struck me most was how much I agreed with what she was saying, but how little I cared about it. I wasn’t enraged, and I feel I should have been. It’s like I’ve been beyond desensitized by it—‘it’s normal, it’s no big deal.’
Also, semi-unrelated, runway models are that thin for an actual reason (they’re not selling bodies, they’re showing clothes, and curves would be distracting. They are human hangers. And they make that choice.), so people really need to calm down about that. And why is it okay to tell one they’re too skinny, but it’s not okay to call one fat?
Q. anton, did you sell your soul?
For the 'This I Believe' essay, I did a straight up and down Kerouac Tristessa-style stream of consciousness to get things flowing; so I thought that might be cool to see. The soil or something...before roots there was soil. And MS Paint art, too!!
I BELIEVE IN DIGGING SERVO BEATIFIC BEAUTIES OF INNER TRUST AND B.E.ING
I believe in living fully and freely! I believe in running at it shouting--whether it be an angry bull life death art music life! I believe in Anton Newcombe, Neal Cassady, Hunter S. Thompson, Jack Kerouac's spontaneous prose in life and love and holy buddha of writing. Brian E. and moving to texas to live in a van. I believe we should not be for sale! The Beatles were for sale. I believe we should find our path and stick to it, not become slaves or drones to society, but the Anton way of sitars being more important than homes or tiny comforts. I don't believe in half-assing life. Life is not an essay. I believe in digging things and digging them fully and to the extent of bursting them and yourself until there is nothing but Jack's kitcat's golden thoughts in Mexico hanging in the air in particles like a dream and like those little tv people in Willy Wonka. I believe in letting yourself go completely, as mad as you like. I believe I need to follow my own advice more closely. I believe we are all genius all the time and that should be golden rule in all rule book of time. I believe in the power of love though I do not believe in love. I believe there is no yin or yang but I might not really believe that I wish I could. I believe we need to be free from ourselves before we can be free from anything else. I believe in closing my eyes and jumping, in doing what you like. In never questioning yourself or anything if that's what you really want. I believe in Joel Gion and servo and free and easy take 2. Dig yourself. Dig words. I believe in experience if you want it. I believe in not believing anything, if that's what you dig. I believe in speeding on the highway of life on reallife streets in a speeding jag bill bones bill bones knows what I mean! (Metaphor right there, for what, I don't know). I believe in chasing dreams. I believe in poetry--in joyride neon I don't care if it's not realistic I like it that way and that's the way it should be always forever and ever. It's all possible if you're willing to let yourself go that far (but you won't, it's a shame). Beatific angelhaired hipsters boxcars boxcars boxcars the madness by itself and flowing flowering stand next to my flower the madness of a speeding green automobile Cassady and daisies flowers flowing like Rimbaud and it was like he was not even there and they did not see him. A season in hell une saison en enfer
connais-je encore la nature? me connais-je?Plus de mots. J'ensevelis les morts dans mon ventre. Cris, tambour, danse, danse, danse, danse! Je ne vois même pas l'heure où, les blancs débarquant, je tomberai au néant.
Faim, soif, cris, danse, danse, danse, danse! DO I KNOW NATURE YET? DO I KNOW MYSELF?--NO MORE WORDS. I WILL BURY THE DEAD IN MY BELLY. YELLS, DRUM, DANCE, DANCE, DANCE, DANCE! I CAN'T EVEN SEE THE TIME WHEN THE WHITES WILL LAND AND I WILL FALL INTO THE VOID.
HUNGER, THIRST, YELLS, DANCE, DANCE, DANCE, DANCE!
the insanity of addiction (not a good thing) of Crowley of blushing and rushing. rushing into the literature of life of living in and through words and nothing else--ever. beat beat like a heart beats it doesn't stop it doesn't think it just is life should be love life should be spontaneous prose a buzz of flies between the pillows and it's written no small surprise you might wanna stick one on his nose around his teeth down this drug hole of him with nowhere else to go
I BELIEVE IN DIGGING SERVO BEATIFIC BEAUTIES OF INNER TRUST AND B.E.ING
I believe in living fully and freely! I believe in running at it shouting--whether it be an angry bull life death art music life! I believe in Anton Newcombe, Neal Cassady, Hunter S. Thompson, Jack Kerouac's spontaneous prose in life and love and holy buddha of writing. Brian E. and moving to texas to live in a van. I believe we should not be for sale! The Beatles were for sale. I believe we should find our path and stick to it, not become slaves or drones to society, but the Anton way of sitars being more important than homes or tiny comforts. I don't believe in half-assing life. Life is not an essay. I believe in digging things and digging them fully and to the extent of bursting them and yourself until there is nothing but Jack's kitcat's golden thoughts in Mexico hanging in the air in particles like a dream and like those little tv people in Willy Wonka. I believe in letting yourself go completely, as mad as you like. I believe I need to follow my own advice more closely. I believe we are all genius all the time and that should be golden rule in all rule book of time. I believe in the power of love though I do not believe in love. I believe there is no yin or yang but I might not really believe that I wish I could. I believe we need to be free from ourselves before we can be free from anything else. I believe in closing my eyes and jumping, in doing what you like. In never questioning yourself or anything if that's what you really want. I believe in Joel Gion and servo and free and easy take 2. Dig yourself. Dig words. I believe in experience if you want it. I believe in not believing anything, if that's what you dig. I believe in speeding on the highway of life on reallife streets in a speeding jag bill bones bill bones knows what I mean! (Metaphor right there, for what, I don't know). I believe in chasing dreams. I believe in poetry--in joyride neon I don't care if it's not realistic I like it that way and that's the way it should be always forever and ever. It's all possible if you're willing to let yourself go that far (but you won't, it's a shame). Beatific angelhaired hipsters boxcars boxcars boxcars the madness by itself and flowing flowering stand next to my flower the madness of a speeding green automobile Cassady and daisies flowers flowing like Rimbaud and it was like he was not even there and they did not see him. A season in hell une saison en enfer
connais-je encore la nature? me connais-je?Plus de mots. J'ensevelis les morts dans mon ventre. Cris, tambour, danse, danse, danse, danse! Je ne vois même pas l'heure où, les blancs débarquant, je tomberai au néant.
Faim, soif, cris, danse, danse, danse, danse! DO I KNOW NATURE YET? DO I KNOW MYSELF?--NO MORE WORDS. I WILL BURY THE DEAD IN MY BELLY. YELLS, DRUM, DANCE, DANCE, DANCE, DANCE! I CAN'T EVEN SEE THE TIME WHEN THE WHITES WILL LAND AND I WILL FALL INTO THE VOID.
HUNGER, THIRST, YELLS, DANCE, DANCE, DANCE, DANCE!
the insanity of addiction (not a good thing) of Crowley of blushing and rushing. rushing into the literature of life of living in and through words and nothing else--ever. beat beat like a heart beats it doesn't stop it doesn't think it just is life should be love life should be spontaneous prose a buzz of flies between the pillows and it's written no small surprise you might wanna stick one on his nose around his teeth down this drug hole of him with nowhere else to go
Monday, October 22, 2007
But when you're happy and you're feeling fine then you'll know it's the right time..it's the right time to shake along with me!
http://youtube.com/watch?v=Q9zgT3WzTVA
The advert begins with a young woman holding a classic glass bottle of Coca Cola standing in a dark-green living room. The tone is surreal, and is set by the vibrancy of her red dress and matching red hair, and the blue bird perched on her shoulder. The bird flies out of the window prompting her to follow it which leads to many a good act. Outside, she sees a parched jogger (he’s black, by the way (I’d say Afro-American, but this ad was aired in Australia, and I don’t know the PC term there. Already I’m losing my cool Coke points.)) and gives him her Coke; he then grabs and apple off a tree for a child who then gives the apple to a homeless man who then gives his umbrella to a businesswoman when it begins to rain who then attracts the missing bird with crumbs from her sandwich and finally the bird flies to the red girls shoulder and all is well.
If you drink Coca Cola, you’re stylish, original, socially conscious, culturally conscious, and probably even environmentally conscious. If you drink Coca Cola you are peace and love. Coca Cola is the elixir of peace and love.
It’s almost convincing, really. With all the bright colors and the clear air and the dream-like apple tree. You want that. I want that. The light and frilly advert gets us revved up and ready for a personal revolution, we are going to be helpful to those around us, we are going to hold open doors, and share what we have with those who don’t, and smile all the time. But first we’re going to have a Coke. For energy. And, we are going to look good, too. While doing good deeds.
We will be hip if we do these things. How do we know? The nice original penned-for-Coke song by Jack White tells us so. Jack White is hip. The color red is hip. We want to be hip. But we also want to be helpful..and hip. We want to be helpful if it’s hip.
*** I'm going to finish this as soon as I can figure out either how to write it or how to quit taking it so seriously
The advert begins with a young woman holding a classic glass bottle of Coca Cola standing in a dark-green living room. The tone is surreal, and is set by the vibrancy of her red dress and matching red hair, and the blue bird perched on her shoulder. The bird flies out of the window prompting her to follow it which leads to many a good act. Outside, she sees a parched jogger (he’s black, by the way (I’d say Afro-American, but this ad was aired in Australia, and I don’t know the PC term there. Already I’m losing my cool Coke points.)) and gives him her Coke; he then grabs and apple off a tree for a child who then gives the apple to a homeless man who then gives his umbrella to a businesswoman when it begins to rain who then attracts the missing bird with crumbs from her sandwich and finally the bird flies to the red girls shoulder and all is well.
If you drink Coca Cola, you’re stylish, original, socially conscious, culturally conscious, and probably even environmentally conscious. If you drink Coca Cola you are peace and love. Coca Cola is the elixir of peace and love. It’s almost convincing, really. With all the bright colors and the clear air and the dream-like apple tree. You want that. I want that. The light and frilly advert gets us revved up and ready for a personal revolution, we are going to be helpful to those around us, we are going to hold open doors, and share what we have with those who don’t, and smile all the time. But first we’re going to have a Coke. For energy. And, we are going to look good, too. While doing good deeds.
We will be hip if we do these things. How do we know? The nice original penned-for-Coke song by Jack White tells us so. Jack White is hip. The color red is hip. We want to be hip. But we also want to be helpful..and hip. We want to be helpful if it’s hip.
*** I'm going to finish this as soon as I can figure out either how to write it or how to quit taking it so seriously
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Writer-Director of Earthy movies Sponsored & Angeled in Heaven
I don’t really know what to write about for this blog, so I’m just going to do a sort of stream of consciousness ramble type deal. Jazz blogging. My feet are cold right now and it’s probably because it’s freezing outside, but I think that it could actually mean a lot of things. Things I won’t go into because they’re not very interesting. But ambience comes to mind right after that..which is weird. I don’t know how it fits in. Visual ambience, like the way Sofia Coppola films look. Now I have Sometimes by My Bloody Valentine stuck in my head. And it makes me want tea? This is seriously what I think about all day. All the time. My math class started Thursday, and I was so upset about it I couldn’t concentrate at all in Literature (which I have before math), so I spent much of the class time doodling miso soup bowls. Literature is my favorite class because I think it might be my favorite thing ever. That might not be true, but it is true that I think about miso soup a lot at school. Nowhere else though, just at school. I don’t know why. I’d love to be able to bring miso to school, but I’m so paranoid about getting seaweed stuck in my teeth. That’s a fact. There are other facts... Neal Cassady was a fact. He was..matter. “FORK IT!!” I lent my favorite movie out which was a stupid thing to do because right now I’d like to watch it. I’d like to forget about the things that I must get done and just watch that movie. I don’t have that much to get done, but I’d rather forget about it anyhow. Just like I’d like to forget about my cold feet. Now my arms are cold too, and I have no idea what that might mean. But it is rising to my scalp and it feels funny. I think it might sound like I’m on drugs, but I’m not. “Your mom freaked me out..” If I could tour with any band I know who it would be. It probably wouldn’t be fun at all. It would be terrifying, I’m sure. I wish I knew how to play the sitar. I wish I knew someone who owns a sitar..I just want to see one in person. George Harrison is my favorite Beatle. OH! I bought The Magical Mystery Tour dvd this weekend, and it is hands down my number one favorite movie along with like five other movies. “No, don’t knit for me.” I want to paint The Beatles. Are you awake? I’m not. I wish I could sleep.
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