Spanish I – A
Microeconomics – A
Eco Stats – A-
Brown & White – A
Guitar – A-
Piano – B
I really like how I managed to get the worst grades in the easiest classes – it makes me look at least 10 times smarter than usual. Perhaps I should invest in a keyboard. And a lack-of-procrastination machine.
Fear not, Bling has found a winter home a mere 10 miles or so from here. It’s nice to know he’ll be taken care of, but I’m still going to miss the little guy.
Today, he has: yawned, burped and done his mating dance.
I was going through my “My Stuff” folder today and realized that I’ve only taken 20 pictures this semester. Twenty. By comparison, I had averaged approximately twice that number every month since I got the camera two years ago.
I have five pictures of me, five of my room and the rest are of Bling.
It’s a bit depressing, because they don’t really represent anything that happened this semester. And, with my offline journal becoming a mockery of what it used to be, I won’t be able to look back at anything in my old age and remember what I was doing/feeling/etc. right now.
I need to work on that posthaste.
The loneliness of a slowly emptying campus is setting in. I have nothing to do but study, no methods of escaping the shrinking walls of my dorm room.
I think I’m studied out already; I know I shouldn’t've skipped all those economics stats classes just because I thought 11 was too early to be un-abed. There’s only so many times I can read the words “null hypothesis” and “standard error of the mean” without wanting to cry.
The distractions are good, although temporary. I can play as myself in the latest Gamecube football game and score six touchdowns. Or I can try to decide who was more deranged: the fictional Charles Kinbote annotating/hijacking a 999-line poem or the very real Vladimir Nabokov who invented him in “Pale Fire.” And when I grow weary of those, I can always spend five quality minutes watching the “Hey Ya” video.
It’s that time of year again: finals week, when a young boy’s fancy turns to absolute hatred of everything. Plus everyone hates me because I allegedly “don’t have any finals.” I really do have finals, but not until the weekend, and I have other things to do between now and then, things like: clean my room, read some books, apply for some internships, pack and find someone to house poor Bling for the winter.
Oh, I guess I didn’t mention it before, but Kristen unfortunately had to back out of her offer to care for the little guy, and I haven’t been able to find a suitable replacement yet. I’m beginning to worry.
Speaking of Kristen, she skipped town today after giving me some fantastic consolation prizes. It’s really a shame because, until mid-January, I’ll have no one to: eat dinner with, lose to at Scrabble, listen to me whine about losing at Scrabble, give me books, make warm milk and ease my worries about school.
Oh, speaking of which, I’m worried about school (I believe this is what the French refer to as a “segue,” and a good one at that), even if there’s a lot of time between now and the things I am afraid of.
I don’t want to take the reporting class next semester. I haven’t been confident in my writing for weeks and haven’t figured out how to fix that. I also planned on taking it during a very easy semester, a hope that is looking all too unlikely at this point. But I need need need the clips I’ll get, so there’s really no dropping allowed.
I don’t want to be in charge of the editorial pages. Firstly, I’ll have a not-good assistant, one who won’t know how to keep me sane or lay out the damn page. I would be much happier if I was a step down on the masthead, even if the “assistant” didn’t mean anything and I split evenly with my boss whatever work we needed to do.
I don’t want to work. I like my job most of the time, and I definitely need the extra money, but I’ve been crabby so much lately and I think it can be blamed partly on 23 hours at the coffeeshop every week. I plan on cutting my hours in half for the spring semester, but I might end up conceding a few hours out of nicety.
I don’t want to live at 226 Warren Square next year. This one’s way off in the future, but it has been bothering me more and more lately. I never should’ve signed the lease so hastily, but, at the time, it seemed like the only option that didn’t involve living on my current hall again. I just have this gut feeling that it will end up in disaster.
So, yeah, I have not been too happy pretty much since Thanksgiving – I think it was the insomnia and overwhelming amount of alone time that set it off. Since then, I’ve tried [and probably failed] to put on a happy face all the time and just wait it out, but it hasn’t worked. I’m not really sure what to do. Sorry.
I spent a good chunk of my Thanksgiving Break sprawled on an uncomfortable couch, limbs akimbo, watching VH1’s “I Love the 80s: Strikes Back.” There’s a certain kind of torpor that comes with being stuck on an empty campus for a five-day weekend; I couldn’t bring myself to move.
The marathon of nostalgia not only entertained but also got me to thinking about why, exactly, a 10-year period is the grounds for classifying pretty much anything in a society that still can’t accept the metric system.
The Pixies are one of the most prominent victims of this as far as the music world is concerned. Anyone familiar with their work will tell you they were one of the best bands of their era — but what exactly does that mean?
Black Francis and company released four studio albums in their short career, one per year from 1988 to 1991. That’s two albums in each decade, but we’re only allowed to classify them as an ’80s band or a ’90s band. Usually this requires too much thinking and the Pixies fall by the wayside.
On a smaller scale, why is the calendar year the basis for so many lists? The Gregorian calendar was implemented to simplify the calculation of Easter’s date, not as a means of rating music over time. The albums from the first half of any given year might not be on the same playing field as those from the second half, or vice versa.
Fortunately for you (unfortunately for me), society dictates that I’d be an impotent music columnist if I didn’t provide a list of the year’s sine qua nons, so I will. There are some ground rules, however.
As hard as it is to compare music across long periods of time, it’s equally difficult to weigh against one another the different mediums it can be released on, so this is a list of full-length studio albums only — no EPs, no greatest hits or other types of compilations, no live albums, no soundtracks and, apologies to Neil Young and Elvis Costello, no reissues.
And, given my limited knowledge/funds, this list is as subjective as it gets; I can only rank albums I’ve listened to thoroughly. So, much as I enjoyed the few songs I heard by The Decemberists, The Shins and The Postal Service, they won’t be included. I couldn’t even find much-lauded records by British Sea Power and The Hidden Cameras. And, let’s face it, there just wasn’t enough time to fully digest Britney Spears’ latest. Here goes:
10. (tie) Rufus Wainwright, “Want One” — Wainwright warbles; critics rejoice. It’s not a bad formula. The only adjective I could invent to describe this one was “Rufus-y.”
10. (tie) Damien Rice, “O” — It was happenstance that I became cognizant of this guy — one track on a mix CD from an acquaintance, you know the drill. In any case, Rice has a great set of vocal cords and broguishly troubadours his way to a convincing debut.
9. The Minus 5, “Down with Wilco” — Wilco’s a great band, as is R.E.M., so putting all of the former and half of the latter into a blender that spits out CDs should yield pretty decent results. This side project collaboration, a self-proclaimed “tragedy in three halfs,” is a low-key masterpiece — certainly not a “Yankee Hotel Foxtrot” or a “Murmur,” but who could expect that?
8. Fountains of Wayne, “Welcome Interstate Managers” — I would probably classify the Fountains as just another power pop band after one listen of any of their albums, but a closer look reveals that their songwriting belies that categorization. “Stacy’s Mom” may have been this summer’s big hit, but you might be surprised by the charming “Valley Winter Song” and the kitschy, alt-country “Hung Up on You.”
7. Ben Harper, “Diamonds on the Inside” — This is Ben Harper’s weakest album. That said, it’s a fantastic, although unfocused, piece of work. In just the first six tracks, Harper touches upon reggae, pedal steel blues, Cat Stevens-ish folk, Hendrix-inspired rock, soul and funk.
6. Kings of Leon, “Youth and Young Manhood” — The Kings of Leon set the bar high with their impressive debut EP, “Holy Roller Novocaine,” and their first full-length album goes out of its way to attest that it wasn’t just beginner’s luck.
5. Guster, “Keep It Together” — The members of Guster prove that they aren’t one-trick, acoustic-guitar-and-bongo ponies with “Keep It Together” by introducing a bass guitar, drumsticks and even a banjo to the mix. There are a few misfires, but “Amsterdam” and “Careful” contain some of the best hooks this side of a Bass Pro Shop.
4. Radiohead, “Hail to the Thief” — The band that took the guitar away from rock ‘n’ roll brought it back, sort of. This was supposed to be a return to the days of “The Bends,” but ended up somewhere between “OK Computer” and “Kid A.” That is to say: it’s in very good company.
3. Belle & Sebastian, “Dear Catastrophe Waitress” — The quixotic Scottish something-tet have released their most accessible album to date, a veritable indie pop magnum opus. Stuart Murdoch hasn’t lost his ability to write great lyrics, nor his nifty accent.
2. The White Stripes, “Elephant” — In March, this album was surrounded by a sea of hype. While it may not quite have lived up to the standard set by “White Blood Cells” and “De Stijl,” “Elephant” is straightforward bluesy garage rock worthy of all the accolades it has received.
1½. OutKast, “Speakerboxxx/The Love Below” — This can’t be my favorite album of 2003, considering I’ve only heard five 30-second snippets of it, but every pretentious year-end top album list needs an unexpected genre in a high position. I don’t doubt, however, that Big Boi and Andre 3000 have put together a solid record, and the catchiness of “Hey Ya” alone has made me want to dance to the nearest store and pick this up.
1. Beulah, “Yoko” — This is so good. Do yourself a favor and buy it. Right now.