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The Spangle Tigress' Ramblings!

A Glimpse Into The Mind Of A Musician

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Muzikitten

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October 15th, 2010

Yes, my life is full of parallels. Yes, I am what you were, and nearly where you were, back then. Yes, they are what we were. But they won't become what we are and I won't become you. I refuse. Do you hear that? I refuse to become you, you diseased, evil-infested scum; I won't even call you "scum of the Earth", for surely no natural thing growing upon the bosom of this gorgeous planet could be as vile as you have proven yourself to be. 

I can't believe the thought even entered my head, though as an imaginer and a worrier, it's hardly surprising that I would at some point entertain such an idea. The question now is, will I allow myself to obsess over this newly discovered coincidence/fatetwist/parallel? And should I? 

Let's assess: To not worry over something that will never happen is neutral and preferable. To worry over something that will never happen yields anxiety and expensive treatments and indicates a breach of trust. To not worry over something that will happen yields anxiety and expensive treatments once it does happen as well as a breach of trust. To worry over something that will happen yields anxiety and expensive treatments and indicates a total lack of trust.

Now, lacking any control over what will or will not happen, I can only control my decision to worry. Based on the above, it would be most worth my while to not worry, regardless of the future. Therefore, I endeavor to not worry.

Yes, not worrying... a novel concept if ever I saw one... What, precisely, does it entail? How does one go about not worrying? Or is it notworrying? Is that like not thinking about pink elephants, or not losing the game? (I just lost the game.) Is it a conscious effort, like not moving for two hours in an MR scan, or not laughing when playing "Baby, If You Love Me?" ("Baby, if you love me, will you please smile?" "Baby, I love you, but I just can't smile.")

You know something? If you weren't such an awfully hurtful manipulative pathetic excuse for a life form, I might still be friends with you, and I might have gone to you to ask, to discuss, to philosophize about the intimate details and semantics of "not worrying or notworrying". I bet you'd have interesting ideas on the subject. But I can't talk to you, now, can I? ... you cruel, irresponsible, soul-stealing, self-righteous bastard.

A gorgeous song that very nicely lends itself to a cappella, Imogen Heap's "Hide And Seek":

Where are we? What the hell is going on? 
The dust has only just begun to form
Crop circles in the carpet, sinking feeling.

Spin me 'round again and close my eyes.
This can't be happening
When busy streets amess with people
Would stop to hold their heads heavy.

Hide and seek, trains and sewing machines,
All those years, they were here first.

Oily marks appear on walls
Where pleasure moments hung
Before the takeover,
The sweeping insensitivity of this still-life.

Hide and seek, trains and sewing machines,
You won't catch me around here,
Blood and tears, they were here first.

Mm, whatcha say? Mm, that you only meant well? Well, of course you did.
Mm, whatcha say? Mm, that it's all for the best? Of course it is.
Mm, whatcha say? Mm, that it's just what we need? You decided this.
Whatcha say? What did she say? 

Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth,
Midsweet talk, newspaper word cutouts.
Speak no feeling. No, I don't believe you.
You don't care a bit. You don't care a bit.

Hide and seek,
Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth,
Midsweet talk, newspaper word cutouts.
Hide and seek,
Speak no feeling. No, I don't believe you.
You don't care a bit. You don't care a bit.


Hide and seek,
Bit, oh, no, you don't care a bit.
Oh, no, you don't care a bit.
Hide and seek,
Oh, no you don't care a bit.
You don't care a bit.
You don't care a bit.


I absolutely refuse to become you, some lying, stealing, poisonously selfish jerk. Therefore, gorgeous music and chemistry and chocolate shall occupy my thoughts until I am distracted enough to win The Game of Not Worrying.

(I just lost the game again.)

Besides, isn't the most obvious point from the fiction series I'm reading right now (in book six out of nineteen) that events are spirals; there will always be similarities, but nothing will happen the same way twice. (That reminds me, I really need to buy Run Lola Run, as I've been meaning to for years.) And the second biggest point is individual choice, that no one can force you to their will. So I'm safe, if I want to be. I want to be! I am safe!

An empowering song for everyone, not just Chinese cross-dressing girls, "I'll Make A Man Out Of You" from Disney's Mulan, written by Jerry Goldsmith:

Let's get down to business to defeat the Huns!
Did they send me daughters when I asked for sons?
You're the saddest bunch I ever met,
But you can bet before we're through,
Mister, I'll make a man out of you.

Tranquil as a forest, but on fire within,
Once you find your center, you are sure to win.
You're a spineless, pale, pathetic lot,
And you haven't got a clue.
Somehow, I'll make a man out of you.

I'm never gonna catch my breath.
Say goodbye to those who knew me.
Boy, was I a fool in school for cutting gym.
This guy's got 'em scared to death.
Hope he doesn't see right through me!
Now, I really wish that I knew how to swim!

Be a man! We must be swift as the coursing river,
Be a man! With all the force of a great typhoon,
Be a man! With all the strength of a raging fire,
Mysterious as the dark side of the moon.

Time is racing toward us 'til the Huns arrive.
Heed my every order and you might survive.
You're unsuited for the rage of war,
So pack up; go home; you're through.
How could I make a man out of you?

Be a man! We must be swift as the coursing river,
Be a man! With all the force of a great typhoon,
Be a man! With all the strength of a raging fire,
Mysterious as the dark side of the moon.

Be a man! We must be swift as the coursing river,
Be a man! With all the force of a great typhoon,
Be a man! With all the strength of a raging fire,
Mysterious as the dark side of the moon.

September 5th, 2010

100% Yield Chemistry

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So it turns out that there are more special, awesome, fantastic people in this world  than I thought. And that's not a bad thing at all! I'm truly privileged. Few things are better and none more desired by yours truly than to have a large batch of lovelies for mutual support, a proper campy comedy conclusion. It's the happily ever after, the Desert Spring, what life should ultimately be.

The problem arises in assigning socially acceptable roles for all of these fantastic people and actually fulfilling them as described. Especially when people tell me such truths, for truths I believe them to be, as I have heard. And this is where I get stuck. I honestly have no idea how I feel about it. Proud, scared, flattered, dangerous, unsuccessful, crazy, powerful, comfortable, terrified, untrusted, self typical, successful, prepared, immoral, liberated, sneaky, talented, trusted, good, bad, terrible, dreamy... yes? I think so? Sure. Why not. I guess....

But I can just ride this out, like I always do. It may take some time, but so much time is invested in the overall that this minor reaction certainly has time to run to conclusion. As long as there are no toxic products, the effects should be negligible, and all remain well in my flask. Not a single lab tech will disturb this flask since they know it won't be ready until 5773 and there's no reason to analyze its contents prematurely. My means aren't justified yet. Except that's not quite right; it does matter. Of course it matters. It matters to me.  

Please oh please oh please, I want to be a good person. Don't let me be otherwise.

April 22nd, 2010

Another Chapter

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So I move, on average, every three years. And not just down the street, either. I move, on average, two thousand miles. This gives me ample ability to recreate myself with relative frequency; like the freedom of summer camp, I can be the person I want to be without the limits of any reputation I'd've built among those in that sphere. It's thrilling to have such constant self improvement. The sky's the limit when you can reinvent yourself as frequently as you'd like.

And so the addiction begins.

And, well... It's been almost three years and I feel the tug. But I've got another before I go. And so I'll do my best to minimize the drama, mitigate the cravings, attempt to make it worthwhile for all of you to know me for the next twelve months.

Wish me luck.

April 3rd, 2010

So watching interviews with serial killers always scares me. Not because of who they are, but because of the themes involved:

Obsession with control, organization, and perfection -- me.
Odd sexual fantasies -- me.
The ability to greatly compartmentalize one's life (dual lifestyle) -- me.
The ability to earn others' trust quickly -- me.
Thinking the world revolves around oneself -- admittedly, sometimes, me.
Having a self vs world mentality, even if certain loved ones are part of self and not part of the rest of the world -- me.

To be completely realistic for a moment here, a few more facts from an expert I just saw interviewing serial killers, apparently there are three childhood/adolescent behaviors that together act as indicators for susceptibility:
1 - Abuse of animals
2 - Setting fires
3 - Bed wetting

Regardless, if any of you are ever worried about me falling down the spiral and being dangerous to anyone, including myself, please, PLEASE stop me! Please. Please don't let me hurt you. I have a feeling that I may be terribly harmful with minimal effort. I don't know if I can keep a good eye on myself. Police me, please.

She Really Left Her Mark

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So a few weeks ago, I saw a man on the train with the name "Bianca" tattooed on his neck. Who is this Bianca? Probably a significant other, considering the swirly font. How long have they been together? How much longer will they be? And if they ever breakup? What happens then? I have twice before in my life thought I'd be with a person forever... Needlesstosay, I was wrong both times. so while I love my current tremendously and want it to be eternal, I won't fool myself by claiming to know the future or, as he mentioned last night, jinx our relationship by putting his name on myself permanently.

But there are people I've known and loved who will be with me forever. And when I can no longer see them, no longer call them, no longer hug them, I can make them a part of me and fend off the loneliness of missing them.

My mom sent me a letter this week saying that Meme's part of my family wanted to have a reunion on July 31st this year. That the day after her death strikes them as a good day to convene made me cry. I literally just cried reading that small handwritten note, "just so you know". Thanks. Now I know.

But don't be surprised if I show up with a symbolic tattoo representing her -- the butterfly from her tags going into the wind.

February 20th, 2010

I figured it out today. I am so proud of myself because I finally figured it out and it all makes sense and, best of all, there's no guilt or shame to be had.

See, for several years now I've noticed a trend among people I try to get to know suggesting a search for a big brother. As a child, I always wanted one. And I've had many male friends who, older or younger than me, have in some way portrayed that kind of dependability and protectiveness. But I was still searching.

Then, by fate, I met you. Your first action was to help me in a creative and effective way. Knowing nothing about me, you showed compassion and thoughtfulness, thereby demonstrating the unconditional nature of a big brother's love. As you became my pillar of support, I tried all I could to return the favor, and our friendship grew exponentially.

Moreover, you were always there for me. Whether it was food, music, comfort, bear hugs, or laughter that I needed, you were game for anything. You picked me up at the airport. We went running through a "no trespassing" construction site together and ran from the cop car together. We sang together, in your car, in my apartment, in rehearsal with the group you refused to let me back out of auditioning for. You pretended to be my boyfriend when that creepy guy was hitting on me at homecoming. We even left the dance together, continuing that story. We had tickle wars.
We went to the movies together. We went out to eat almost once a week. We frequented one particular restaurant to such an extent that one of the employees asked if I was your girlfriend (to which you adamantly shook your head, of course). You flipped me MMA-style to teach onlookers how it's done (which I admit was fun on several levels). You were there for me that one night that I felt so anxious and worthless I made myself ill. Like someone who truly cares, your reliable companionship has been more important than I can describe.

And part of that worried me. I mean, you're ridiculously attractive and I knew that I loved you. I've admitted considering you, so this shouldn't come as a shock.
You weren't interested in me at all (I know because we've discussed it a few times), so there was no danger of Spangle's morals swirling down the drain. But now that I understand, I think I was just confused and truly had nothing to worry about:

A few weeks ago, I did a thought experiment (lovely things, those are), and discovered once and for all that, considered or not, and attractive or not, I wouldn't actually want that. Romance is not the manner in which I love you. *sighs of relief all around -- that would really have messed things up*. Your role is that of the big brother I always wanted, loyal and faithful, ever willing and able to help, and safeguarding me in my times of crisis.

So what you said about returning home and being able to say that you have earned the privilege to serve and protect us is completely, 100% in line.

When I got home from work today, the apartment was dark, silent, still. It felt empty. I picked up the Panda you gave me before you left and hugged it for the next several hours. I put in a movie, one I'd seen in the theater with you. I missed you. And I was finally ok with that, confident in myself that my attachment to you is ethical and wholesome as well as special and close.

And you know the other thing about big brothers? Even if they go off for a while to become military officers, they're yours for life. :)

February 12th, 2010

MY BOYFRIEND FLEW 800 MILES TO SURPRISE ME! My roommate and some of my friends knew about it and no one told me! Which is impressive, because he'd been planning this since November! 

My roommate got a phone call. Then she turned to me and said, "Close your eyes. Just trust me; it's really better if you don't see this. Promise me you'll keep your eyes closed." all serious-like, as if it were life-and-death. I closed them. She let him in. Neither said a word. He stood in front of me. She said, "Open them now." 

And there he was

standing in my living room.

And the first words out of my mouth: 


"What the crap?! Wh -- what the hell? What is this?!" (which, for me, constitutes shocked into speechlessness)

Thank you for this surprise visit.

And thank you to my friends for not letting me find out.

I love you all. <3
So after careful consideration, I love all the songs on Day & Age. But this one makes a good favorite for the sake of this post, Neon Tiger:

Far from the evergreen of old Assam,
Far from the rainfall on the trails of old Saigon,
Straight from the poster town of scorn and ritz
To bring you the wilder side of gold and glitz,

Run, Neon Tiger.
There's a lot on your mind.
They promised just to pet you,
But don't you let 'em get you!
Away, away, oh, run,
Under the heat of the Southwest Sun.

You took to the spotlight like a diamond ring
And came from the woodwork in the hopes they might redeem
Themselves for poor decisions
To win big.

Run, Neon Tiger.
There's a lot on your mind.
They strategize and name you,
But don't you let 'em tame you!
You're far too pure and bold
To suffer the strain of the hangman's hold.

I don't wanna be kept, I don't wanna be caged,
I don't wanna be damned, oh, hell.
I don't wanna be broke, I don't wanna be saved,
I don't wanna be S.O.L.

Give me rolling hills
So tonight could be the night
That I stand among a thousand thrills.
Mister, cut me some slack,
'Cuz I don't wanna go back;
I wanna new day and age.

Come on, girls and boys!
Everybody make some noise!

Run, Neon Tiger.
There's a price on your head.
They'll hunt you down and gut you.
I'll never let 'em touch you!
Away, away, oh, run!
I'm beggin' you, Neon Tiger, run,
Under the heat of,
Under the heat of,
Under the heat of the Southwest Sun.

Neon Tiger,
There's a lot on your mind.

February 11th, 2010

The Killers = Auditory Love

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With this fantastic mix of edgy, romantic, and whichever style Flowers feels like incorporating into that song (from electronica to ska), I've decided that The Killers are true musicians who make auditory love to their fans' ears.

So here are my favorites from each album, just because I can:

"Mr. Brightside" (from Hot Fuss):

I'm coming out of my cage and I've been doing just fine,
Gotta gotta be down because I want it all.
It started out with a kiss -- how did it end up like this?
It was only a kiss. It was only a kiss.

Now I'm fallin' asleep and she's callin' a cab
While he's havin' a smoke and she's takin' a drag.
Now they're goin' to bed and my stomach is sick
And it's all in my head but she's touching his chest now.
He takes off her dress now.
Let me go.

I just can't look; it's killing me
And taking control.

Jealousy, turning saints into the sea,
Swimming through sick lullabies,
Choking on your alibis,
But it's just the price I pay!
Destiny is calling me!
Open up my eager eyes
'Cuz I'm Mr. Brightside!

I'm coming out of my cage and I've been doing just fine,
Gotta gotta be down because I want it all.
It started out with a kiss -- how did it end up like this?
It was only a kiss. It was only a kiss.

Now I'm fallin' asleep and she's callin' a cab
While he's havin' a smoke and she's takin' a drag.
Now they're goin' to bed and my stomach is sick
And it's all in my head but she's touching his chest now.
He takes off her dress now.
Let me go.

I just can't look; it's killing me
And taking control.

Jealousy, turning saints into the sea,
Swimming through sick lullabies,
Choking on your alibis,
But it's just the price I pay!
Destiny is calling me!
Open up my eager eyes
'Cuz I'm Mr. Brightside!

I never... I never...
I never! I never!

"When You Were Young" (on Sam's Town):

You sit there in your heartache,
Waitin' on some beautiful boy to
Save you from your old ways.
You play forgiveness.
Watch him now; here he comes!

He doesn't look a thing like Jesus
But he talks like a gentleman,
Like you imagined when
You were young.

Can we climb this mountain? I don't know.
Higher now than ever before.
I know we can make it if we take it slow.
That's takin' easy. Easy now. Watch it go!

We're burnin' down the highway skyline
On the back of a hurricane
That started turnin' when
You were young,
When you were young!

And sometimes you close your eyes
And you see the place where you used to live
When you were young.

They say the devil's water, it ain't so sweet.
You don't have to drink right now,
But you can dip your feet
Every once in a little while.


You sit there in your heartache,
Waitin' on some beautiful boy to
Save you from your old ways.
You play forgiveness.
Watch him now; here he comes!

He doesn't look a thing like Jesus
But he talks like a gentleman,
Like you imagined when
You were young,
Talks like a gentleman,
Like you imagined when
You were young!

I said he doesn't look a thing like Jesus.
He doesn't look a thing like Jesus,
But more than you'll ever know.

(Day & Age still to come because I unexpectedly have to go to work today!)

January 31st, 2010

(no subject)

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So I'm almost completely finished with my summer applications, and it puts my mind at east to know that I'll be in one amazing lab this summer, and that it'll be at a school I'm considering (perhaps even a lab I might want for my thesis!).

And my father read over my resume and seemed to approve nicely (and I'll go ahead and trust his judgment, since he interviews coop applicants in his engineering research department).

And I've been sitting here in our pillow/blanket pile all day experiencing how Awesome Sundays are on Discovery.

And now we have several rented Disney movies to watch (because our blockbuster was offering a 99-cent 5-night deal for the Family section).

Throw in some leftover chicken/pasta nomminess and brownies iced with nutella, and I'd say it's a truly fantastic day!

January 21st, 2010

I Love Rzeznik

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So I remembered today just how amazing are Johnny Rzeznik's deeply emotive guitar writing and ultrasexy black leather rock'n'roll voice. Sure, he'd be nowhere today without the guy who taught him how to be a member of a band instead of a vagabond songwriter, and Robby has written some great songs, but I've got to hand it to the frontman. And I would expect nothing less from a pioneer of alternative at a metal label in an electro-crazed era.

I do intend to see City of Angels someday, too; I'm surprised at how many people love "Iris" with no awareness of its commission or understanding of its lyrics. They think "And I'd give up forever to touch you, cuz I know that you feel me somehow." is just an expression of lust, and then don't see the relevance of "You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be, and I don't want to go home right now." But the fact that they can love the song with none of the context is testament to the amazingness that is Rzeznik.

That identifiability is part of what makes his songs so fantastic. Regardless of what was going through his mind when he wrote them, almost all can be experienced very personally by the listener who can believe the lyrics to apply to their situation. In keeping with the Blues tradition of commisseration, listening to him sing is cathartic. While Robby writes mostly about his past in a less ambiguous way, Rzeznik songs fit nicely into anyone's heart... inlcuding mine.

Please accompany me through life, Rzeznik, and help me narrate my story with your gorgeous songs. 

January 18th, 2010

Hakuna Matata

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It's all just so sick, I can't keep it out of my thoughts. Murder, stealing someone's life, is one thing, but manipulating someone into suicide, stealing someone's will, is another altogether.

So my roommate has a Relient K CD and some of the songs caught my attention today, one of them being Who I Am Hates Who I've Been:

I watched the proverbial sunrise coming up over the Pacific
And you might think I'm losing my mind, but I will shy away from the specifics
'Cuz I don't want you to know where I am,
'Cuz then you'll see my heart in the saddest state it's ever been.
This is no place to try and live my life.

Stop right there; that's exactly where I lost it.
See that line? Well, I never should have crossed it.
Stop right there. Well, I never should have said that
It's the very moment that I wish that I could take back.

I'm sorry for the person I became.
I'm sorry that it took so long for me to change.
I'm ready to be sure I never become that way again
'Cuz who I am hates who I've been;
Who I am hates who I've been.

I talk to absolutely no one, couldn't keep to myself enough
And the things bottled inside have finally begun to create so much pressure that I'll soon blow up.

I heard the reverberating footsteps synching up to the beating of my heart.
And I was positive that unless I got myself together, I would watch me fall apart.
And I can't let that happen again
'Cuz then you'll see my heart in the saddest state it's ever been.
This is no place to try and live my life.

Stop right there; that's exactly where I lost it.
See that line? Well, I never should have crossed it.
Stop right there. Well, I never should have said that
It's the very moment that I wish that I could take back.

Stop right there; that's exactly where I lost it.
See that line? Well, I never should have crossed it.
Stop right there. Well, I never should have said that
It's the very moment that I wish that I could take back.


I'm sorry for the person I became.
I'm sorry that it took so long for me to change.
I'm ready to be sure I never become that way again
'Cuz who I am hates who I've been;
Who I am hates who I've been.

Who I am hates who I've been and who I am will take the second chance you gave me.
Who I am hates who I've been 'cuz who I've been only ever made me
So sorry for the person I became,
So sorry that it took so long for me to change.
I'm ready to be sure I never become that way again
'Cuz who I am hates who I've been.
Who I am hates who I've been.




Who I am hates that who I was lived only for you. This meant that when you withheld the affections you claimed to devote to me, I had to withhold the life I had devoted to you. I'm not expecting you to understand, because even the current me can't believe the past me would follow such logic. And I'm not expecting you to understand because there's no way you could possibly know what that's like, short of personally undergoing the first segment of a very slow suicide. (And by very slow, I'm talking a minimum of a month and a half, but for me, more likely around three months, provided I could finagle to be alone long enough during the critical days to actually die.)

Wonder not, therefore, why I want you gone from my life completely. The only wonder is that I failed to banish you sooner. Please, haunt me no longer. Do not attempt to repay me. Do not spend the rest of this year trying to fix something you don't understand. Only I can do that.


I may have given you Snow Crash, but it was given to me by someone who meant the world to me at the time. Who is he now? Someone I haven't heard from in nearly six years. Do I still think of him now and then? Sure. But I respect him too much to follow him into the future.

The best thing you can do for me is absolutely nothing. More importantly, the best thing you can do for yourself is to watch Meet The Robinsons.

January 12th, 2010

Like A Million Bucks

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I made a discovery this morning on the shuttle: all you can know about the people around you in terms of connections is that you love them; your sense of reciprocation is solely based on their actions that make you believe they care about you. Thus, it is very important to demonstrate that you care about them -- it's all they can know.

So I offered you my hand in exchange for a small change in your behavior, that you, for once, stop treating me as if I don't matter. You've done it for two and a half years as a friend of mine. You did it for months while we were together. How could you be dating someone, theoretically in love with this person, and completely ignore them through all forms of communication for months a time? It's as if I didn't exist to you, despite your attempt to convince me that I was real. So either you were just being cruel to me, or you were trying to teach me to be independent via unethically manipulative jerkmoves.

So you refused my second chance, something I warned you not to do, thus prompting me to give you up for good; if there's nothing I can do to matter to you then I shall discontinue my attempt at investing in your welfare. I was surprised that you even noticed. However, none of your old apology techniques will work on me; someone who's suffered them before understands the tricks and you can't shame me twice. Check my email? No, the only thing I need to know is that you treated me like shit, still treat me like shit even after I've asked you not to, and I have no reason to expect anything different from you. So you're gone from my life. Completely.

The moment I decided that today, on the shuttle, just after my discovery, I suddenly noticed the sunlight. The Killers were playing in my ears, "Destiny is calling me. Open up my eager eyes, cuz I'm Mr. Brightside!". The traffic around us glistened in the morning. As I stepped off the shuttle to walk to the station, walking in my bulky jacket, I felt like a million bucks. Striding through the garage, I called someone who shows me he cares about me, and left him a message: "The world is a lovely place and I belong here." 

I have emancipated myself -- I don't need your confirmation of my value.

And here's the best part: I don't care if my realization of this fact was your intent this entire time. I still win. 

October 3rd, 2009

They're students together, and though distinctly different, have a group cohesiveness and loyalty enviable for any. Their closeness makes them a real family, if unbiological. They spend all of their free time together. Their mission is to make people happy. That is exactly what I want most out of life; more than the scientific pursuit of knowledge, more than understanding my own self, I want membership in a group of individuals only slightly more devoted to each other than they are to some lovely altruistic goal (even if they do benefit from said altruism and thus could be said to act selfishly thereby -- I say this as a utilitarian). And when their group was threatened, I cried. I cried hard. 

I cried remembering the people I knew in elementary school, those in my scout troup, the one that fell apart when the leader moved away and no one was quite devoted enough to take her place.

I cried remembering the people I knew in middle school, those who competed with me musically and thus could never be true friends because we would never get over the hierarchy of whom was a more talented performer, who could play a chromatic scale faster, who had the more complicated part of that duet or that four-hands piece, whom had accomplished more for his or her age compared to the rest, etc.

I cried remember the people I knew as an expat, those with whom I had formed a terribly strong bond if a harmful one, those people I loved without liking them, the one I did also like and who let me into his world, the pain I lied in order to distract myself from the pain of losing him, and all the pain of the aftermath thereof, the people who taught me how and when to manipulate and how and when to give up.

I cried remembering the people I knew in high school who resembled theirs so closely with a charismatic leader who had pulled me into the group, distinct personalities who each won me over differently though I was the newcomer and they had known each other for years, a group I had loved and whose death I had mourned for a year by the time we dispersed, and how unlike I imagine with theirs this one has already all but died less than three years later.

I cried so hard that I became dizzy, my hands and feet began to tingle, and everything turned red and buzzy.

I cried knowing that the family-like group I have tried to forge here is only a sad mockery of theirs for three fundamental reasons: we are not devoted to any such higher order as making people happy, I seem to feel more loyalty to it than any else does or than it does to me, and it cannot possibly be anything but temporary. I cry because I finally realize that it just doesn't happen in this world. I cry because I give up.

What now? Keep trying despite forknowledge of failure, or renounce it completely for self-sufficience and denial of desire? And don't forget the foolish hope that someone will read this and cry with me and know that they're not alone, that we are devoted to preventing anyone else from ever feeling this way, and that this is the closest we will ever come.

August 9th, 2009

Like A Predator Priest

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"Long time - how goes it? Wanted to say hi & tell you about a concert of mine in Spet. Not sure if you'll be around at that time. Hope all is well -"

Yeah, it's been a long time. You know why? Because you FUCKING FUCKED UP, that's why! 

How goes it? You mean, how is my life without having you around in whom to confide and on whom to depend unhealthily? Pretty swell, actually! 

You wanted to say hi, huh? Did you want to say hi the way you said hi the last time I saw you? 

You wanted to tell me about a concert of yours and you're not sure if I'll be around. No, I won't be around. You know why? BECAUSE OF YOU, DAMNIT! I can NEVER go there again and mostly because of YOU, FUCKING BASTARD! 

You hope all is well...

Is all ever well? 

Like a God, I worship Music. Like a priest, you represented the entirety of Music for me at that time. Like a naive high school Musician, I delighted to be in your presence and learning from you and existing as a kindred during the time that you were alive. And then like a Predator Priest, you closed the blinds and closed the doors and took me to where there were no windows. And I was so in awe of you and so trusting of you that I submissively let you do whatever you would. You sick fucker. And I can't even excuse you as not being aware because you waited until I was eighteen after teaching me for three years. Fuck you. You almost destroyed my faith and my trust in humanity. You hurt me more than anyone else ever has. And you don't even realize it... Fucker.

I want to hate you, but I don't, but I can't forgive you, either. You are holding me back. I resent that I can't let this go. But would you be able to, if it were you? (Don't answer that; I'm pretty sure you could, being one of the desensitized people that I simply refuse to become, despite your efforts.)

Just please don't text me. Or solicit communication of any sort. Ever. Stupid fucking kindred confidant who preyed on my trust. 

July 11th, 2009

Yes, the real thing: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cHvDTUSd1Ws

"American Pie" by Don McLean:

A long, long time ago,

I can still remember how
That Music used to make me smile,
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And maybe they'd be happy for a while.

But February made me shiver.
With every paper, I'd deliver
Bad news on the doorstep.
I couldn't take one more step.
I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
But somethin' touched me deep inside
The day the Music died.

So bye, bye, Miss American Pie.
Drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry.
Them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye,
Singin' “This'll be the day that I die,
This'll be the day that I die.”

Did you write the book of love
And do you have faith in God above
If the Bible tells ya so?
And do you believe in Rock and Roll?
Can Music save your mortal soul?
And can you teach me how to dance real slow?

Well, I know that you're in love with him
'Cause I saw you dancin' in the gym.
You both kicked off your shoes.
Man, I dig those rhythm and blues!
I was a lonely teenaged bronkin' buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck,
But I knew I was outta luck
The day the Music died.

I started singin' bye, bye, Miss American Pie.
Drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry.
Them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye,
Singin' “This'll be the day that I die,
This'll be the day that I die.”

Now for ten years, we've been on our own
And moss grows fat on a Rolling Stone
But that's not how it used to be.
When the Jester sang for the King and Queen
In a coat he'd borrowed from James Dean
In a voice that came from you and me.

Oh, and while the King was lookin' down,
The Jester stole his thorny crown.
The court room was adjourned.
No verdict was returned!
And while Lennon read a book on Marx,
The quartet practiced in the park
And we sang dirges in the dark
The day the Music died.

We were singin' bye, bye, Miss American Pie.
Drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry.
Them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye,
Singin' “This'll be the day that I die,
This'll be the day that I die.”

Helter Skelter in the summer swelter
The Byrds flew off with a fallout shelter
Eight miles high and fallin' fast.
It landed foul on the grass.
The players tried for a forward pass
With the Jester on the sidelines in a cast.

Now the half-time air was sweet perfume
While sergeants played a marchin' tune.
We all got up to dance,
Oh, but we never got the chance
'Cause the players tried to take the field.
The marching band refused to yield.
Do you recall what was revealed
The day the Music died?

We started singin' bye, bye, Miss American Pie.
Drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry.
Them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye,
Singin' “This'll be the day that I die,
This'll be the day that I die.”

Oh, and there we were all in one place,
A generation lost in space
With no time left to start again,
So come on, Jack, be nimble, Jack, be quick.
Jack Flash sat on a candlestick
'Cause fire is the devil's only friend.

Oh, and as I watched him on the stage,
My hands were clenched in fists of rage.
No angel born in hell
Could break that Satan's spell,
And as the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial right,
I saw Satan laughing with delight
The day the Music died.

He was singin' bye, bye, Miss American Pie.
Drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry.
Them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye,
Singin' “This'll be the day that I die,
This'll be the day that I die.”

I met a girl who sang the blues
And I asked her for some happy news,
But she just smiled and turned away.
I went down to the sacred store
Where I'd heard the Music years before,
But the man there said the Music wouldn't play.

And in the streets, the children screamed,
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed,
But not a word was spoken;
The church-bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most –
The father, son, and the holy ghost –
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the Music died.

And they were singin' bye, bye, Miss American Pie.
Drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry.
Them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye,
Singin' “This'll be the day that I die,
This'll be the day that I die.”

They were singin' bye, bye, Miss American Pie.
Drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry.
Them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye,
Singin' “This'll be the day that I die.”

July 9th, 2009

So there was this lovely, scintillating end to the week that I was privileged to experience for three years. And while I was naive enough to believe that it could just stay eternally shiny in our memories, it certainly was not your place to besmirch it so -- I mean, I didn't, so why did you have to? It wasn't fair of you to withhold from me the respect I at least was willing to show you... but being female and much younger and much less experienced and not as talented a Musician as yourself, there was no real reason for you to respect me, was there? I just wish you had enough of a heart to try reciprocation. But you never wanted to reciprocate with me, refused to let me help you in any way no matter how many times I tried, never shared anything real with me, forced me to act the fan just to get a glimpse. I once wrote of you as untouchable, and that's exactly what you are... you fucking jerk.

I'm not sure whether I hate myself for trusting you more than I hate you for abusing my trust. Because to do so might be giving you too little credit; afterall, I did look up to you -- you were a living god to me -- and I can't erase that and do injustice to my personal history... I never believed you capable of such deep betrayal. Or maybe I am right; maybe I just imagined that you understood, that you were so amazing, that we were on the same plane, and you completely misinterpreted me and all of the time we spent in the Rockout Room... you fucking jerk.

I just don't know which possibility hurts more: that you missed so completely or that you knowingly denied us what I had spent three years constructing... you fucking jerk.

For God's sake, have you no respect for ANYTHING? You knew my place at the time, and you certainly knew yours, unless there's something you didn't tell me. There wasn't room for me on your plane or vice versa, and you fucking KNEW that. Either you weren't aware of that lack of space, or you were aware and just wanted to be a fucking jerk and destroy all positivity in my plane... I can't even go there anymore, I didn't get to see her last year because of you, YOU FUCKING JERK! WHY would you ruin something so important to me? What gave you the right? All the songs I gave you? All the songs you gave me? I didn't know that Music could be used as a bartering tool for betrayal.

Were you trying to teach me a lesson, discourage me from following you? Did you know that that lifestyle wasn't good for me? Then why would you make me think I was so special? Did you just do it for the money, you stupid jerk? And so you had to push me away so hard at the end when you realized I was so enchanted with it all? Was it an attempt at doing me a favor? He did me a similar favor and today I understand his cruelty and wouldn't trade it for anything, but if your actions were such an attempt, then having less grace and no confession of purpose makes that hypothesis less likely.

I can't believe how much I hate you for this. I can't believe you even did it in the first place. *sigh* You stupid fucking jerk of a bastard! I just hate you so much, it hurts. And I feel so childish for it.

Do you think you won? Are you proud? Do you sit back and smile on the days it was "There she is" at the screen and fffs and my abalone-inlayed little Ibanez you sold me? Are you happy with yourself for how you (mis)handled me? Goddamn it, I hate you. And I wish I didn't. And that just makes me hate you more.

At least I was able to tell a few months ago, but something about him being more fair than I made him less concerned than I think he should have been. Maybe knowing planes for Sky gives him a better understanding of all sorts of planes and he (and you?) saw room where I didn't. But I am not ready to forgive you.

Don't be surprised if I never forgive you. Because when she left and I felt abandoned, and when she made me want to leave, and when they erased me, and when he nearly did unknowingly make me leave, those hurts healed quickly and I was able to forgive them. I think that you are the only living thing to hurt me this deeply, this quickly, this suddenly. You never even made yourself a part of things, just entered through the back door and out of the blue broke the one thing of which I was most proud, like a fucking jerk.

Thinking about you makes me want to cry and just grip something so tightly that it crumbles. Thinking about you almost makes me want to hurt myself. I mean, you had no problem hurting me, why can't I? But I could just never hurt you, even if I tried to, even if I wanted to... so I guess you did win. Survival of the 'fittest' reigns in all situations.

I guess being a fucking jerk means you survive.

But I think the worst part of all this is that I don't wish any guilt on your mind but hope that you live a life of Music until a soft, swift death... and in this case, I am not proud of my merciful thoughts. 

June 22nd, 2009

... I almost killed six people today. Well, I couldn't really see, so there may have been more of the strangers. And considering the aftermath, probably more than that, too. And if Terry Pratchett's Mr. Pump (the golem)'s actuarial view of death is to be believed, then definitely more than just those.

Is it a valid excuse that some people are shiny and matter to me while others don't (including some of those whom I almost killed today)? Is it a valid excuse that humans are cruel and likely deserve frightening, painful deaths? Is it a valid excuse that I have also killed many, many a fire ant and participated in both accidental and purposeful deaths of a few Sprague-Dawleys? Is it a valid excuse that I now feel as if I am dangerous and should be kept away from other living things? Is it a valid excuse that we're all going to die anyway? 

Of course not.

Other people kill out of necessity for their survival, out of jealousy, out of a misplaced sense of justice, out of righteously protecting the innocent. I almost killed between six and x people today because, like a big cat hunting, I cannot easily switch tracks once I choose one. And I was stressed because everyone was already mad at me for getting lost (because googlemaps led us astray) and their frustration and lack-of-thinking was clogging up my feel. But, once again, those aren't sufficient justification.

But that's not what bothers me so much, because accidents are accidents and no one can deny that. My fear is Gene's; in order for an accident to be excusable as an accident, all it must do is be an accident....

Yeah... I'm fucked up, aren't I? (Well, I'd have to be to have anything in common with Gene Forrester, right?)

And in a strange way, it relates to and differs from the only accident I have ever had.... (in lj post "I'm Stupid" from December 16th, 2006).

There, it was very slow, very harmless -- only property damage, and I was shaking and crying and calmed myself by singing, and my very caring then-boyfriend listened to me panic for a moment and then brought me back to ok-dom by singing "Lean On Me" over the phone.

Here, it was very fast, very didn't-happen -- only lots of fear, and I never crisised but haven't been able to sleep, and my very caring boyfriend is so sweet that I didn't want to scare him but he figured it out despite my ambiguity and then when I asked if he would take that position in the future if I'm unconfident acquiesced responsibly....

So one accident occured and I freaked and the person I was depending on made me feel better, while the other didn't occur and I'm doubting my judgment (as are I'm sure the others who would have been my victims) and the person I depend on agreed to help prevent this happening again.

I mean... no one died by my hand today! It's alright, right? I should be able to sleep tonight knowing I failed to kill anyone!

But all I see when I close my eyes is that car, us in it, dying, and all of the countless actuarial victims suffering... because of me....

June 16th, 2009

I have to make the plans. I always end up making the plans. No one else apparently cares enough to make things happen, and if I don't make the plans, then they'll never be made (let alone implemented) and nothing will ever occur and life will suck in the most angstily emo fashion and make you want to die.

Why does no one else care? Either because they disagree that life sucks without plans or because they know I will eventually do it myself and are willing to let me be responsible for the happiness that keeps away the emodom. I haven't yet figured out that one; perhaps it's different for different people.

How do I know no one else cares? Since they're rarely as enthusiastic about the plans as I am and because they don't make the plans themselves, I am left to imply that they simply don't care as much as I do enough.

This doesn't really bother me at all... I'm not complaining about this... I rather like this system -- I trust my own plans as long as I have input from intelligent people around me... No, what bothers me is when people dislike my plans or seek to interrupt them just because they didn't get to make the plan themselves... I mean, it's not like I didn't discuss it with them or ask for their input, so all I can come up with to explain their displeasure is the petty selfishness that wants to capture and fangle the plan just to piss me off.

...

And then sometimes I'm just being paranoid and all they want to do is help and make everything go smoothly! :)

June 13th, 2009

Taken from Animegirl: 

http://www.helloquizzy.com/tests/which-fantasy-writer-are-you

See my result:
http://www.helloquizzy.com/results/which-fantasy-writer-are-you/?fromCGI

It's a lovely quiz, very fun and thought-provoking questions, and it actually tells you something at the end! 

Enjoy!



June 8th, 2009

So the batch of lovely characters who had accompanied me for what now could be called many years and the entirety of my existence has left me. Whether eaten by the Timekeepers, content in the Field, or wandering in the south the last of his kind, they have left me. And considering the way that their world ties into ours, those who went back couldn't be my forbears, and so, having been lost, I have lost them all. Their legend remains with me, but they are gone.

And Terry Pratchett taught me yesterday that what separates a heroic Hermes from an antagonistic Hermes is that the former does not intend to kill people (does not kill people in a non-actuarial sense) and uses a spoon, whereas the latter does not care whom he kills (in a physical, hire-a-hitman sense) and does not enjoy a real game with real rewards/consequences.

And you are absolutely driving me crazy. I can't stand it! On the one hand, you've disappointed yourself and me so greatly -- which you likely don't need to hear me say again -- that thinking of you conjures up a mixture of frustration and fear... I really meant it when I said that it implies I cannot trust you... please prove that fear unnecessary.

On another hand, you're leaving that place and finally severing the strongest bond that could keep me returning to Where I Am No Longer Welcome... I'm just going to miss her terribly... and I hope she knows how much she still means to me... ah, but she never will, right?

And on the third hand, knowing we are half-way through does not seem to quench my loneliness or quell the constant nagging feeling that you should be here... not that I should be bringing up such a scene which is so close to home (though you hate it when people try to protect you from reminders)... and not that we're necessarily half-way through yet -- especially if the first hand's issue isn't solved SOON (in fact, it may even be too late).


Don't let me down. Please don't let me down. And don't insult my dog. And don't spend money on things you don't need, since you might need it once your benefactors discover the first hand's issue -- I don't trust them and neither should you.

Also, I've been having nightmares of squeaking deaths and I need to talk to that vet to see if she can help me distance myself because my source of data is too high up on the biological-organization scale to avoid the squeaking deaths: I can't limit myself to cells or cell systems, and this organ cannot survive alone for more than about two minutes.

And the bookstore pisses me off by having only the first and third novels in a trilogy when I already have the first and need the second. However, this bookstore also makes me smile by having the first book in a fifteen-book series in which I am very interested -- yes, illustrated by Royo -- which I have calculated to be something around a $120, 200-hour investment.

And the garbage truck woke me an hour before I wanted to wake up this morning, which is really pathetic, because that's more than an hour before we would normally have to wake up, except that we have this horrid New Employee Orientation thing which begins early and lasts an indefinite amount of time and I need to rescue my film from the freezer because it's been exposing all weekend and don't feel comfortable waiting until after the horridientation.

Please, can good things happen? It's not really a matter of what I deserve (I have no idea what I deserve), I just don't know if I can handle any more that this simultaneously.

May 12th, 2009

Happiness Is A Warm Sun

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So they each confronted their fears to reconnect with their world and be able to protect it against the invasive parasites. And he confronted his fears, his guilt, his shame, etc in order to reconnect with the other world and be able to protect his own against the invasive corrupt tyrant.

Do they do this because they wish to or because they simply must?

Why is this tactic insufficient for me? Is it because they're fiction? Am I not fiction, too? 


I wish that my sense of connectedness weren't so fickle. But ever the scientist, I think I am slowly starting to notice what helps: You help, of course, but at this point only within a twenty-foot radius; using glistening keys to make such gorgeous Romantic sounds or vibrating thin pieces of skin to make my entire person resonate at night in solitude; harmonizing to my satisfaction with a pop or rock song as familiar to me as the lengths of my fingers; a blue sky with clouds on a sunshiney day; kicking some major carbonyl ass on an Organic Chemistry final, or feeling as if I have worked and done well in any sort of endeavor; turquoise, tigers eye, moonstone, hematite, and howlite; stripes of black and white or feathers of gold; the Elder Futhark, language of my ancestors; the glory of summertime when all is lovely in the world and just existing, of which you are certain, is enough....

May 2nd, 2009

I'm sorry that we pull at each other's stability and I'm sorry that it gets to be too much sometimes.

I'm sorry that I have to be one more thing to take up your time and energy, but I like to think it's worth it to you.

Aang inspires me to Musically decode the sacred... it's just so lovely and pure, I cannot stay away, and I almost cannot believe that such gorgeous inspiration comes from a Nickelodeon-sponsored TV show.

The freedom you grant me is generous and the chances you will take yours are slim, which, though a sad thought, shows me your love as the sacrifice of your choice for mine. 

Music done at night in serenity is best. It doesn't break the stillness but comfortably creates it. And I think it is that which makes me feel connected, more than anything else I love.

It is this thought which I shall try to keep in my head today as preparation to live it again for my audience.

Laboratoriness

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So despite how wonderful she is, politics interfered with my plan of stability. He didn't have to be such a jerk about it, but I do recognize that he had my interests in mind and he really was being considerate towards my moral issues with harming cute furry white animals -- not that that matters too much since I'll have to be doing that this summer anyway.

And it really is better for me to get involved with human-based, clinical work that has a dual focus of a) productively increasing our body of knowledge and b) improving the lives of those who suffer from really interesting psychiatric conditions. And it really is better for me to learn about lab politics and their evils in my first lab rather than be mislead and later disenchanted. And it really is better for me to have failed at some point so that I'll fully appreciate success when it occurs -- such as this summer. And since she is willing to personally recommend me to any one of her colleagues, I feel I have tremendous leaving power as her role as my ally has not ended.

This summer = co-authorship for < three months of forty hours/week of paid funinalab with an apparently talented PI: He's not been teaching for four years and he's already tenured! *impressed nod* Yeah, seriously impressive. And for me to be on a piece of his work will increase my status to a far greater extent than having done Westerns for a considerate but uncommunicative jerk for eleven months who ignored me for the last four. I can't believe I managed to fall into such a great situation with such great people!

Communications have begun with a clinical researcher downtown but as he only teaches on Mondays (and as I gave him three people to track down as references for my character/abilities), he has not responded.

Furthermore, everything seems in place for my Fellowship application for next Spring; I just need to make sure to choose my recommenders carefully (her and him, both young and talented, most likely) because I noticed that for summer programs, those who received letters from that other exceedingly awesome man all rejected me, so mayhap I should avoid sending his letters anywhere.

Also, sitting down and talking with people is fantastic and should be both spontaneous and frequent.

April 5th, 2009

So here's a little segment of Fancher's Pioneers of Psychology, chapter 12 (The Developing Mind), explaining the uses and limitations of IQ tests. (I have made the quotation into more paragraphs than it is in the book so it's easier to read.)

I thought I'd put this up here, just to give hope to all of those who believe themselves to be intellectually inferior, and to shock some humility into those who believe themselves to be intellectually superior:

Terman's major interest, however, lay in children with IQs higher than average. Perhaps partly because he had himself been a precocious student who passed through school much faster than most, he suspected that "advanced" children in general tended to grow up as unusually capable adults.

To test his hypothesis, he followed two complementary strategies. First, he and his graduate student Catherine Cox examined the childhood biographies of more than three hundred eminent historical "geniuses." Although data were often scanty, virtually every case showed some evidence of childhood accomplishment in advance of one's years -- often quite spectacular accomplishment. (Inlucded in Terman-Cox's list of documented child prodigies were several pioneers from earlier chapters of the present book, including Descartes, Leibniz, Kant, Darwin, and Galton.)

Terman and Cox accordingly argued that if Binet-type intelligence tests had been available in the past, most people who turned out intellectually great in adulthood would also have achieved high IQs as children.

Terman's second attempt to relate childhood precocity to adult achievement followed a complementary strategy, and led to his most extensive and famous research program.

In the early 1920s his students tested more than 250,000 California schoolchildren, to identify a group of 1,528 "gifted children" with IQs above 140. He then proceeded to investigate all aspects of these children's lives at regular intervals as they grew up. Terman's successors still continue to study the survivors of this group, now well into their seventies.

And how did they fare? Statistically speaking, the answer is that they did very well indeed. Compared to a random sample, a high proportion entered the professions, with many earning national or international reputations. More than thirty become eminent enough to be listed in Who's Who.

Taken as a whole, the group attained more education, earned more money, and in general led healthier and apparently happier lives than the national average.

At the same time, the study showed that the high IQ alone does not guarantee success, for a significant minority failed to lead objectively successful lives. Moreover, the group contained surprisingly few individuals successful in the creative arts (as opposed to the professions), and none who have won the Nobel Prize or become celebrated "geniuses."

In countless other studies since Terman's, IQ scores in the general population have been found to correlate moderately but far from absolutely with variables such as academic grades, years of education finally completed, and salary levels in adulthood.

Thus, in general, high IQs have turned out to be good but far from perfect predictors of intellectual success. In spite of the widespread tendency to equate high IQs with "genius," the evidence suggests that the tests still work relatively better for their original purpose -- the diagnosis of retardation. 


My interpretation of this is that if your IQ is above average, you're probably above average, but the scores' precision dwindles above 110 or so. Inversely, if your IQ is below 80, then you're probably going to find it difficult to fit in with your peers.

And if you find your IQ to be less than 140, it's ok! You, unlike your "superiors", have a chance at being successful in the arts or winning the Nobel Prize!

April 2nd, 2009

So today was Chinese takeout day, and today's fortune cookie read:

Let someone know how special they are to you.

So here goes:

You are ridiculously awesomely fantastically wonderfully amazingly magnificently fascinatingly dreadfully excellently overwhelmingly alarmingly terrifically extremely astonishingly incredibly monstrously phenomenally superbly impressively unbelievably fabulously astoundingly stunningly prodigiously marvelously exceptionally tremendously preeminently remarkably uncommonly crazily implausibly staggeringly breathtakingly special to me.

(My lack of commas is grammatical.)

A song that has always been special to me -- I remember dancing around the living room when I was 4 years old to this song and not understanding the words or their Scottish accents -- "I'm Gonna Be" by the Proclaimers:

When I wake up, well, I know I'm gonna be,
I'm gonna be the man who wakes up next to you.
When I go out, yeah, I know I'm gonna be,
I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you.

If I get drunk, well, I know I'm gonna be,
I'm gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you,
And if I haver, yeah, I know I'm gonna be,
I'm gonna be the man who's haverin' to you.

But I would walk five-hundred miles
And I would walk five-hundred more
Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles
To fall down at your door.


When I'm workin', yes, I know I'm gonna be,
I'm gonna be the man who's workin' hard for you,
And when the money comes in for the work I do,
I'll pass almost every penny on to you.


When I come home, oh, I know I'm gonna be,
I'm gonna be the man who comes back home to you,
And if I grow old, well, I know I'm gonna be,
I'm gonna be the man who's growin' old with you.


But I would walk five-hundred miles
And I would walk five-hundred more
Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles
To fall down at your door.


[Scatting]


When I'm lonely, well, I know I'm gonna be,
I'm gonna be the man who's lonely without you,
And when I'm dreamin', well, I know I'm gonna dream,
I'm gonna dream about the time when I'm with you.


When I go out, well, I know I'm gonna be,
I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you,
And when I come home, yes, I know I'm gonna be,
I'm gonna be the man who comes back home with you,
I'm gonna be the man who’s comin’ home with you.


But I would walk five-hundred miles
And I would walk five-hundred more
Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles
To fall down at your door.


[Scatting]


And I would walk five-hundred miles
And I would walk five-hundred more
Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles
To fall down at your door.

As I always say, anything for my people...

March 31st, 2009

So I was metacognating earlier today while walking in the lovely sunshine, thinking about my thoughts because something was just tugging at my metaphorical sleeve. And when I confessed to myself what was happening in my mind, guilt seeped from hypothalamus to frontal cortex, who then took control and told my dopaminergic system to 'sit down and shut the fuck up, you addict'.

I just cannot believe that I would do such a thing...

But knowing myself, I can completely believe that I would do such a thing...

I should've known this would happen. It just hadn't in a while -- and never quite in this way -- so I assumed that all was safe.

Guh, I'm such a horrible person... but I guess I'm really, really good at what I do...

Well, fortunately, no one need ever know, (unless of course anyone already does, but anyone who can read my classic obviousness, including you yourself, I trust to be intelligent and compassionate) so no consequences shall be suffered by anyone involved.

But perhaps the worst of it is that I wouldn't undo this, not for anything. I love it. I will even enjoy the silent pain that inevitably goes with this; I am more than compensated.

And I even gave you an indirect reason to believe it would happen, and either the connection was lost on you or you just didn't care to stop it! Ha!

Oh, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck... How could I fall into this again? Will I never be a decent human being? Or is decency defined as willpower's triumph over all else? Because I can certainly handle that -- my willpower is my trump card, and I never lose. (But you might, despite what you've said!) And a lack thereof here is something that I would never do for three deeply moral reasons: I would never hurt you, I would never hurt you, and I would never hurt you. Hurting myself is something I would do but also a reason to trump myself.

And you... Oh, you... I'm afraid I shall not apologize, for two reasons: first of all, apologizing would require admitting something of which you need never know; secondly, apologizing would be a lie, since I can not be accountable for such things and have done nothing concerning this issue for which I feel I should be held responsible.

Why, then, am I so terrified and guilty? Because I've found myself in this boat three times before and to follow the rest of any of the patterns this time would be devastating to all of you and more. So instead I shall use this as the control -- ever the experimenter.

So I hereby chastise myself for disagreeing with myself, for getting into patterns, for not being more concerned than I am, and for being too pussy to stand up and inform
(no pun intended).

Is this what you meant when you warned me? Or is the lack of willpower what you meant? Mayhaps it is time to ask... Just please don't make me confess; I already know how everyone would respond, which I understand was what necessitated you confession. I'll be good, I promise. Please don't make me confess! I love it all too much to interfere. Love? Oh, don't get me started on the absurdly numerous varieties of love which I am priviledged (or is it skilled?) enough to experience.

OK, how about a song, one about a city I hate that still somehow manages to make me cry occasionally, "2017 Miami" by Billy Joel:

I've seen the lights go out on Broadway.
I saw the Empire State laid low,
And life went on beyond the Palisades.
They all bought Cadillacs
And left there long ago.

We held a concert out in Brooklyn
To watch the Island bridges blow.
They turned our power down
And drove us underground,
But we went right on with the show!

I've seen the lights go out on Broadway.
I saw the ruins at my feet.
You know, we almost didn't notice it;
We'd seen it all the time
On 42nd Street.

They burned the churches up in Harlem,
Like in that Spanish Civil War.
The flames were everywhere,
But no one really cared;
It'd always burned up there before.

I've seen the rats lie down on Broadway.
I watched the mighty skyline fall.
The boats were waiting at the battery.
The Union went on strike;
They never sailed at all.

They sent a carrier out from Norfolk
And picked the Yankees up for free.
They said that Queens could stay.
They blew the Bronx away
And sank Manhattan out at sea.

You know, those lights were bright on Broadway,
But that was so many years ago,
Before we all lived here in Florida
Before the Mafia
Took over Mexico.

There are not many who remember;
They say a handful still survive
To tell the world about
The way the lights went out
And keep the memory alive.


Oh, that was lovely. How about another Billy Joel classic, maybe one that's more relevant to this post? "Summer Highland Falls":

They say that these are not the best of times,
But they're the only times I've ever known.
And I believe there is a time for meditation
In cathedrals of our own.

Now I have seen that sad surrender in my lover's eyes
But I can only stand apart and sympathize
For we are always what our situations hand us.
It's either sadness or euphoria.

So we'll argue and we'll compromise
And realize that nothing's ever changed;
For all our mutual experience,
Our separate conclusions are the same.

Now we are forced to recognize our inhumanity.
Our reason coexists with our insanity.
And though we choose between reality and madness,
It's either sadness or euphoria.

How thoughtlessly we dissipate our energies!
Perhaps we don't fulfill each other's fantasies,
And as we stand upon the ledges of our lives
With our respective similarities,
It's either sadness or euphoria.

My answer is that it's simultaneously sadness and euphoria, and I'll take them spread out across my life, thank you. It Ain't No Crime, is it? 

And now perhaps
the loveliest, most majestic song they ever recorded, "Bridge Over Troubled Water" by Simon and Garfunkel... and it applies to all of you:

When you're weary,
Feelin' small,
When tears are in your eyes,
I will dry them all.

I'm on your side,
Oh, when times get rough,
And friends just can't be found!

Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down.

When you're down and out,
When you're on the street,
When evening falls so hard,
I will comfort you.

I'll take your part,
Oh, when darkness comes,
And pain is all around!

Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down!

Sail on, Silver Girl;
Sail on by.
Your time has come to shine;
All your dreams are on their way.

See how they shine?
O
h, if you need a friend,
I'm sailing right behind!


Like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind.
Like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind!

So now all I have to do is either put it in the highest gear and stall out, or just drive off the edge of this cliff silently and lie about the cause of my injuries. Hah, I'll probably even seek you for help... and you'll never know... Hah. I am so good at this. *sigh*

I promise, I try to make it worthwhile for all of you to have me in your life.

March 29th, 2009

You were there for me during the single most hopeless moment of my life, my attack of insecurity so extreme that I became physically ill and could not be comforted. And while I sobbed nonstop and my mind was filled with the wasteful, unworthy nothingness that was my self, you kept me talking, kept me online, kept me acting on my sensory information (making me grab a blanket when I realized I was shaking with cold as well as anxiety), kept me from harming myself in the multitude of ways I could have. And you stayed with me until late in the morning, until I was finally exhausted, had ceased crying, and craved darkness, and never once complained about being tired or needing sleep or gave any hints of wanting or needing to leave.

Wonder never therefore why I care so much for your well-being. Jeopardize
your well-being never therefore; I would never forgive myself if I were to fail you in the way you never failed me.

Please take care of yourself as well as I would take care of you. Please take care of yourself as well as you took care of me.



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Internships!

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So last year, I chose two summer research internships in February and found two lovely recommenders with good credentials (a professor in whose lab I work and a dean with whom I took a discussion-related class) and neither accepted me.

So this year, I chose five summer research internships in December and used the same two lovely recommenders and so far, two have declined me and one has accepted me (and I'm using that acceptance to urge the other two into acting soon)

I haven't had that much more interaction with either recommender since then, so either starting two months earlier, sending three more applications, or being a year more experienced made the difference. But the experience shouldn't make a difference, since all of the programs say that research experience is not required and they in fact encourage those who don't have research opportunities at their home campuses to apply. It might be that my essays were that much more fantastic, since I have a lable for my primary research interest (Cognitive Neuroscience of Emotion!) and I'm just a little more fluent in Neuroscience now than I was then. It might be that opening my range of searches to the entirety of the United States gave me better options, whereas last years' had to be within driving distance of two specific small towns in the Northeast. Or maybe I'm just more open-minded this year, including animal behavior and psychiatric nursing instead of pure lab benchwork. 

Either way... I GOT AN INTERNSHIP! Someone wants to pay me $4000 to have fun in their lab all summer, and they're going to pay for my membership fees for a few professional associations, and they're going to check in with me every year to guide my scientific progress. How darling are they?!

As for the other two from whom I have yet to hear a decision, I have already commenced Operation Play The Remaining Program Admission Committees Off Each Other.
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