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So... going to Europe in a few days and no time to update while I'm there.
So I'll leave you with some photos I took at a fashion show. That should entertain you for a little while, at least. Till I get back and get more photos up. =)
http://carletoncanada.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2069547&l=63504&id=90401552
Voila.
So I admit, I was never a big fan of Vonnegut. I read some of his work, and they were really bloody good. Still, I wasn't really 'a fan', persay.
So it should be no surprise that I didn't care all too much when he died. I mean, yes, there was a tinge of "damn, there goes another one of the greats of our time"... but not truly devastated, so I didn't pay much more attention to it than "well, damn."
However, a friend of mine was pretty upset about it. He didn't know why himself the day of, but he was obviously agitated. Snarkier than usual, and... well, angry. He identified it later... I respect that kind of lamentation.
The thing that it highlighted for me, however, was the fact that I could tell he was agitated that day, but that same day, I was listening to a lot of other people talk about Vonnegut's death and how tragic it was... without getting any sense that they actually cared. If anything, I would bet that they were the ones that went immediately to clear out the shelves of every major bookstore of his work.
It's bloody disgusting. Is that all the lives of the greats amounted to? For their deaths to be made a farce by an army of fashionistas?
*sigh*
As my friend says: "can you let the man perform, without capitalizing on his DEAD BROTHER?? Jesus!"
okay this is ridiculous.
it is april.
it is snowing out and the car across the street is blanketed.
and it just started.
mind the lack of caps... i am tired out.
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Props to Jack for sending this to me.
Shannon leaves tomorrow for Belgium again. It was tremendously nice seeing her again, though I'll see her in a couple of weeks.
Notes from the night:
- music night was pretty fantastic. It's a shame I have been sick and haven't had the time to practice anything for it... I really wanted to do ... well, I'll save it for next year.
- the bartender either didn't know what scotch was or really had the hots for me. I asked her for a double and she pours me a full glass, then charges me $9.50 for it.
- drums are fun.
- girls that dance with their whole body, rather than just hopping around and/or moving their arms... are incredibly rare and awesome. Yes? Yes.
- poutine is delicious.
- Firefox's spell-checker does not recognize poutine as a word. I had to add it. What a shame.
- history will not remember you if you are a hero. Villains are different... they are remembered forever because human beings are more amicable to not romanticizing villainy and/or acts of maliciousness. Heroism eventually turns to myth as the stories get older, as people are less inclined to believe in overwhelming good. Villainy, however, is preserved in history.
Thoughts Suggested by a College Examination
High in the midst, surrounded by his peers,
Mangus his ample front sublime uprears:
Placed on his chair of state, he seems a god,
While Sophs and Freshmen tremble at his nod,
As all around sit wrapt in speechless gloom,
His voice in thunder shakes the sounding dome;
Denouncing dire reproach to luckless fools,
Unskill'd to plod in mathematic rules.Happy the youth in Euclid's axioms tried,
Though little versed in any art beside;
Who, scarcely skill'd an English line to pen,
Scans Attic metres with a critc's ken.
What, though he knows not how his fathers bled,
When civil discord piled the fields with dead,
When Edward bade his conquering bands advance,
Or Henry trampled on the crest of France,
Though marvelling at the name of Magna Charta,
Yet well he recollects the laws of Sparta;
Can tell what edicts sage Lycurgus made,
While Blackstone's on the shelf neglected laid;
Of Grecian dramas vaunts the deathless fame,
Of Avon's bard remebering scarce the name.Such is the youth whose scientific pate
Class honours, medals, fellowships, await;
Or even, perhaps, the declamation prize,
If to such glorious height he lifts his eyes.
But lo! no common orator can hope
The envied silver cup within his scope.
Not that our heads much eloquence require,
Th' Athenian's glowing style, or Tully's fire.
A manner clear or warm is useless, since
We do not try by speaking to convince.
Be orators of pleasing proud,--
We speak to please ourselves, not move the crowd:
Our gravity prefers the muttering tone,
A proper mixture of the squeak and groan:
No borrow'd grace of action must be seen;
The slightest motion would displease the Dean;
Whilst every staring graduate would prate
Against what he could never imitate.The man who hopes t' obtain the promised cup
Must in one posture stand, and ne'er look up;
Nor stop, but rattle over every word--
No matter what, so it can not be heard.
Thus let him hurry on, nor think to rest:
Who speakes the fastest's sure to speak the best;
Who utters most within the shortest space
May safely hope to win the wordly race.The sons of science these, who, thus repaid,
Linger in ease in Granta's sluggish shade;
Where on Cam's sedgy banks supine they lie,
Unknown, unhonour'd live, unwept-for die:
Dull as the pictures which adorn their halls,
They think all learning fix'd within their walls:
In manners rude, in foolish forms precise,
All modern arts affecting to despise;
Yet prizing Bentley's, Brunck's, or Porson's note,
More than the verse on which the critic wrote:
Vain as their honours, heavy as their ale,
Sad as their wit, and tedious as their tale;
To friendship dead, though not untaught to feel,
When Self and Church demand a bigot zeal.
With eager haste they court the lord of power,
Whether 'tis Pitt or Petty that rules the hour;
To him, with suppliant smiles, they bend the head,
While distant mitres to their eyes are spread.
But should a storm o'erwhelm him with disgrace,
They'd fly to seek the next who'd fill'd his place.Such are the men who learning's treasures guard!
Such is their practice, such is their reward!
This much, at least, we may presume to say--
The premium can't exceed the price they pay.
Unlike the old tune...
I do need arms around me,
and I do need drugs to calm me.
Puked my guts out this morning for three hours straight.
Currently depressed for many reasons.
Sadsadsadsad.
Beatles time.
I need a hug. Not just a regular one... a really long one. I am so fucked up right now.