Roads - Portishead

Checking in with the self-obligatory End of Week I report.

My classes shouldn't be all that hard this semester, just time-consuming. This is a problem considering I also have a job, a girlfriend, a social circle, and a promising new career with KCSU. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, I attended DJ training last night and have my newbie show Sunday at 10:00PM. You all should listen in because then you can laugh with each other at the oddity of hearing my voice stumble over words on live radio. For you extra-FoCo peeble, you can stream the show via KCSU online. Just remember to correct your time cart. I'm thinking of using Yorick as my radio name (after the dead jester in Hamlet V.i for you non-literary types). I was considering Orpheous (the Greek god of music), but Yorick is less of a tongue exercise. Plus, I'm sure DJ Orpheous has been used before. Ready thyself, Horatio, for DJ Yorick!

According to some person on MySpace, the Death Cab for Cutie show is happening the night after the Coheed/Dredg/mwY/Blood Brothers show. Better yet, the 7th and 8th are Friday and Saturday nights. Also, he claims Every Time I Die is coming with The Chariot on Oct. 1, which is the night after BNS. Here's to being show-drunk. You people with at-home cable should verify these show times.

Now I return home to partake in Fruity Pebbles.

End Over End - Foo Fighters

So my new job is okay, but today I discovered a major downside: the dietary manager apparently has a penchant for bringing her daughter in with her. This particular daughter is no older than 12, has a raging Dauphin complex, and merits her own special trough in Yubaba's pig pen. I dislike children as a rule, but it's always nice to receive first-hand reinforcement of one's convictions. Her presence makes everyone on staff unhappy and cranky, so tonight's work environment was a vacuum of positive energy. And I had indigestion.

This past week has been devoted to my actually moving in to my apartment. My parents and I both had a few days wide open, so I got all the junk I've kept at their house over to mine. I've also rearranged and cleaned, so you people won't recognize it when you come over next. Well, you will, but you'll be surprised at the increase in cosmetic appeal.

I finished both Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close this week as well. Zen's attack on Aristotelian logic was unexpectedly vengeful and left me reeling, but I've started to digest Pirsig's Sophism. ELAIC was amazing, but not jaw-dropping like The Dark Tower or the Ender's Game quartet. At times, it seemed Foer was almost looking for ways to be profound instead of letting them come naturally. Also, Oskar's disjointed knowledge base was somewhat frustrating. He had far more knowledge than any literal nine-year-old, so the natural holes in it were frustrating. Still, a very good book, and I'm certainly none the worse for reading it. I'm already 100 pages into A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers, but I expect my progress will slow with the advent of school.

School. I have my first class in 9.5 hours. Music Theory, followed immediately by Music Appreciation. Shakespeare will round out the day. I'm fairly excited about my classes this fall, mainly Creative Writing and Creative Seminar. I want to see what I'm capable of.

Now for it, friends.

Bar Chords on an Out-of-Tune Guitar - Patrick Hollen

People tell me I'm smart on a fairly regular basis. Especially people I don't know very well. It usually comes after I mention some obscure, useless fact filed away in my cerebral archive. I guess I know a lot about a lot of things. I guess that equals "smart."

But I don't want to be smart. I want to be brilliant.

Brilliant like Mark Twain. Brilliant like C.S. Lewis. I want to improve the lives of people I've never met. I want to create works replete with Robert Pirsig's Quality. I want to pose ideas and perspectives that will spark other thoughts and perspectives. I want to have the respect of people I respect. I want people to look at my life's work and say it meant something.

I guess I'm just afraid I'm a self-deceived poseur. That I should really be doing some mundane, ordinary job but am too afraid to admit it.

Sometimes, I really hate this multiple choice future.

The District Sleeps Alone Tonight - The Postal Service

So I was asked yesterday if I am happy. Happy with my life, happy with my direction, et al. I answered, "Yes, for the most part. I am." An honest reply, and I thought the inquisitor was posing the question of her own volition.

As it turns out, Melissa was the one really asking the question.

Maybe I shouldn't be getting so upset about this, but I don't think she deserves that answer. Yes, I am happy, but not because she "set me free to find the love of my life." That decision, while painful, wasn't what really did me in. It was her conscious betrayal not only of my trust but of my being. The resulting pain and confusion led to some bad decisions on my part (namely the whole fiasco with Kara). I don't blame her for my role in making those choices, but had she simply been honest with me, I would have been much more clear-headed this past winter.

But enough of that.

Good news: I've finally found some courses to fill the three credits I'm missing from percussion studio: Music Appreciation and Shakespeare I. Oddly enough, this makes me feel much more at ease about the transition. I guess it just makes me secure that I won't be wasting a semester by taking fewer credits than I'm capable of handling, especially since I'm already so far behind. The e-mail to Eric telling him of my withdrawal has been sent and the pertinent classes have been dropped. With the class change, I'll actually be taking 18 credits, but I have some catching up to do. All that remains is a mosey on down to the administration annex and request yet another major/minor change form.

R4wk!

A Good Man Is Hard to Find - Sufjan Stevens

I love sunsets.

Regarding my previous post, I've decided that I can't devote my life to petty squabbles.

I think I'm at a good place in my life right now, which scares me immensely. As Ender Wiggin once said, "I've lived so long with pain, I wouldn't know who I am without it." Not that my life has suddenly become perfected simply because Victoria is now a key player, mind you. Even if she's been a great source of joy and peace, there are other things going right independently of her. Getting rid of the immense burden that was my Music Composition major is one of those things. The mistake I made cost me a semester, but at least I know I'm not cut out for the classical music world. We'll see how this semester goes, but perhaps English is where I should've been all along.

Anyway, with that, Victoria, a steady job, great friends, my own place...yeah, it scares me. I feel like it's a house of cards, just waiting for the tiniest of breaths to blow it away. Unfortunately, past experience has made me wary of good things.

A Little Longing Goes Away - The Books

I feel exceedingly strange right now.

The e-mail to Eric Hollenbeck informing him of my decision to leave the percussion studio has yet to be written and sent. I'm hesitant for reasons that aren't entirely clear. My reasoning is sound, it's not like he'll miss me, and it needs to be done. I guess I just hate closing doors because I'm so indecisive. Maybe the lack of a suitable class to fill the three missing credits is causing some of the delay. Irrational, I know, but "it's a fool that looks for logic in the chambers of the human heart."

.......

Despite all appearences of nonchalance, I can't shake this pathological drive to impress people. This is compounded to the nth degree by certain people I maintain regular contact with. Well, a certain person. A person who seemingly stops at nothing to inflate his ego by using my humanity as a foot-operated pump. I am fully aware of his own insecurities but somehow am unable to bypass his animosity. Suffice to say, I feel exceedingly shitty in his presence. I'm constantly on edge, knowing any and every mistake I make will be inflamed to the stoking of his self-satisfaction. It's not any of you readers (unless he somehow got the URL from a FoCo resident). As far as I know, he doesn't even have a Blogger identity. I'm sure he'd accuse me of being whiny and butt-hurt should he read this, but I find such self-ignorant arrogance abhorrent.

My feet are cold.