I Got Time

Today, for the second time in recent memory, I thought I had lost my metronome. It is a pretty small device, but very swanky, much like one of those new-fangled I-Phones that all the youngsters carry around. So, understandably, I was pretty upset. I went searching for it down in the drafty, cavernous passageways of the concert hall at ______ College/University, but there was no sign of my little blue Korg.

Then I found it in my violin case.

I was pleased not only because I had successfully recovered my rhythm-granting apparatus (though, admittedly, it would have been embarrassing if I had failed in doing so), but also because the misplacement of my metronome happens to serve as a terrific allegory for the passage of time. The hours while away! Daylight Savings expunges an hour from the record of human history! Hair turns brittle! Cats lose their ability to clean themselves by means of their own saliva! Tonight, let us all remember to appreciate every moment, including the ones that totally suck.

Guilt

I am writing a final paper for my class on Turkish music, and I feel terribly guilty. I am not plagiarizing or anything of the egregious sort; as Mrs. Meehan explains, "'That ain't my style'" (Chambers 182). "Then why do you feel guilty?" your subconscious demands of my conscious fingers which send echoing taps across the keys of my internally-churning laptop computer and into my anxiously waiting medulla, incus and stapes.

I feel guilty because I am being a jerk--a jerk of the wordy. I am usually a pretty concise writer, but my professor insists that this paper be at least 8 pages. So I am prolonging my incredulity-inspiring explanations, expanding my most insignificant insights, and repeating myself. Over and over and over.
I feel kind of bad about it, but I am also a little miffed about this 8-page regulation. And now that I have confessed to you, my digital priest of sorts, I feel a little bit better about the whole thing.

This is the point where you ought to go watch the scene from season one of the West Wing where C.J. and Sam call one another out for being triply redundant. One day I will have a B.A., if I ever finish this paper; C.J., on the other hand, was a B.A. from the moment of her birth.

 

Works Cited

Chambers, Robert W. Athalie. New York: D. Appleton and Company, 1915. 

A Brief Thought...

...though it is unclear whether thoughts differ in length. NEURONAL FIRING IS PRETTY CONSISTENTLY QUICK IN DURATION!

My thought:
I wonder what percentage of videos taken by digital cameras consist entirely of someone saying something to the effect of, "@#&, it's taking video."

That is my thought.

It's Finals Time

Facebook is to studying what Japanese is to proselytizing. If I were not an agnostic with mild Jewish leanings, I am fairly certain that I would believe that the Website Which Must Not Be Named is the devil's handi(social net)work which was crafted from fire and brimstone and servers for the purpose of driving me out of _____ College/University.* Am I conflating Harry Potter and Christianity? Yes. In an offensive way? Quite possibly. You know who else did? J.K. Rowling, say many from my country. My country is good because it has a bicameral legislature.

You know what's fun? Me neither. But I have been coming close to an answer as I near my third decade of life. I am pretty sure it is fun to play racquet sports, for instance--badminton and ping-pong are especially enjoyable. Then there are word games, which, problematically, exist not only in my physical analog reality, but in far too readily-accessible digital formats, as well. Wordsplay! Wordipelago! Facebook Scrabble, you slag, leave me to my earthly wanderings! Thank you.

Fun things are not necessarily the inventions and machinations of Satan, however. Knitting is fun! Playing music is fun--YouTube tells me that the most fun thing of all is stepping on those electronic piano staircases. Even homework can be fun, youngster!**





*I wonder if a comparable story can be found in the Bible!
**That is an essentially false statement.

Digital Stowaway

I have become aware of several things that I, a member of the digitized generation, cannot accomplish as a passerby in a largely analog world. (OK, so analog doesn't mean "uncomputerized," but there are so few acceptable words to use for this purpose that we need a neologism. I guess this semantic gap just goes to show you what a truly analog world we all belong to.)

Apart from my inability to come up with appropriate words without the use of my computer's thesaurus, my early technological exposure has also resulted in a profound deficiency in my letter-writing capacity. I don't know how to buy a stamp in real life, for example, although the campus post office in my illusory collegiate life will sell one to me if I provide my student ID. I also don't know how to address correspondents other than by saying, "And now over to Sam with the weather."

 (That was a pun.)

Then there's the mess of the library here at _____ College/University. Why, I wonder, has looking for a book not progressed to a Google-like system? It is simply alien* to me to have to deal with call numbers, which, incidentally, constitute half of my list entitled Why the Federal Government Should Be Abolished.** Call numbers entail not only manually and laboriously searching through shelves for precise letter and number combinations that are not even written on shiny screens that double as Facebook-viewing apparatuses, but they also require finding pens and pieces of pulverized tree pulp. How primitive indeed.





*The "aliens" to which I link are probably not really aliens. Saying that something looks like fossilized cyanobacteria just means it looks like squiggly bits in rocks. Trust me--I took paleobiology. Homeslice.
**The other half is the bad typefaces found on C-SPAN.

Judging Covers

There is one institution that puts on display the deeply ingrained sexism of our western culture in such a subtle manner, yet so ubiquitously, that it is subversively disturbing and disturbingly subversive. I am not talking about advertisements. They are really not subtle:

 

This was on the main page of the GAP website. Weak woman leaning on man's shoulder for comfort, man uninterested in her suffering...we see this pretty much everywhere. Google a brand and you'll see it. No, what I am talking about instead is this:

No way, you say. The Harry Potter series is absolutely not sexist! Without Hermione, Harry and Ron would have been killed by Professor Quirrell on their second day of school. (Exaggeration, but I am too tired and busy to verify exactly when Hermione first saved their butts--although it is true that the boys were responsible for saving Hermione's butt, as well.)

Well, I do agree with you, hypothetical arguer. I am not talking about the content of the books, though. I'm referring to the front covers, specifically to the two letters accompanying Joanne's surname. At least 400 million of these covers are in existence, and on none of the covers can you find any indication of Rowling's gender. (Or sex.) J.K. Rowling is the author of the Harry Potter books because we would not read a book by Joanne Rowling. I mean, sure, some people would. But I don't think the series would have become a modern classic if it had been written by a woman: the audience just wouldn't have been there.

No way, you say. The Harry Potter books were obviously written by a woman! She's got breasts and ovaries and a vagina! Well, I do not disagree with you, hypothetical arguer. But let's take me as a case study. I read the Sorcerer's Stone when I was eight. At that age, I thought men were the best authors and women were, well, dumb. It wasn't my fault: I just grew up in the United States of the late 20th century. So, upon reading "J.K." on the cover, I simply assumed those initials referred to male names (mascunyms?). It was not until after I had fallen in love with the Harry Potter universe that I found out J.K. Rowling was female. I shudder to think about how I would have reacted to the cover of the Sorcerer's Stone if the author's name had been Joanne Rowling. I guess I would never have gotten my letter.

Oh, crap. I think I just inadvertently revealed the identity of _____ College/University. That's right. It's not an undergraduate institution at all. I'm actually a high school-age witch.

I Got 99 Problems...

...but a bitch ain't one.

I use a tuner to get my instrument in tune. I got 99 problems but perfect pitch ain't one.

I don't discriminate against those from other socio-economic classes. I got 99 problems but "you're rich" ain't one.

I don't let people dump dead people in a hole near my house. I got 99 problems but a ditch ain't one.

I am a Republican. I got 99 problems but Newt Gingrich ain't one.

I am a hipster. I got 99 problems but Abercrombie and Fitch ain't one.

I am a Muggle. I got 99 problems but a Snitch ain't one.

I am formerly from Chicago. I got 99 problems but Rod Blagojevich ain't one.

Thanks to ____, _____, _____, _______, and ______ for your help with this compilation!