Jadey's Journal

Time:

10:22 am.

1. Put your playlist on random (or whatever passes for "random" on winamp)
2. Post the first line from the first 45 (skippings songs you don't feel like using, of course)
3. Get your friends to guess what song the line belongs to (if they're as bored as you are)
4. Give credit when someone guesses correctly (because it may be the most they ever achieve in life)

( A cultural item that is transmitted by repetition in a manner analogous to the biological transmission of genes. )

14 infections . . . breathe deeply.

Subject:	an abbrieviated essay on a profound sense of being
Time:	8:33 pm.

The fact is, living is about moving. Some part of me believes that man invented time-keeping as a monument to this very fact. So when I encounter a moment of the absolute sensation of life, I struggle to think of a way to memorialize it myself.

The dilemma is Heisenberg's -- to measure and record the facts of something so small as a moment is to irrevocably alter its action and essence, thereby rendering the true measure impossible. To take a picture or write a description, however poetic or well-framed, is to necessitate the stepping out of a moment in order to observe it through a mechanical object, rather than experience it with immediacy, and to later visit its altered form in order to verify an experience one did not truly have. Thus, human memory is not reproductive, but constructive, such that we never have the same memory twice, and even the cherished ones are new moments, experienced again for the first time, and new moments are uncapturable, like trying to draw the same cup of water twice from the same stream.

Yet these moments define us, enrich us, make us awestruck, and bring us unfathomable joy, and I wish to keep them, somehow, because the totality of the human endeavour is our struggle with the finite nature of things we wish would last forever. I find myself at odds with these moments, these awed encounters, and I rush to open every sense, every thought, every pore, efficient as a desert plant in the midst of an unpredictable rain shower, while at the same time attempt to devise a trap, a permanent store of this love and awe and life. Inevitably, the only sufficient homage I can invent for these moments are tears, themselves a mystery, a boon, a sacrifice, uniquely and universally human, and transient.

Subject:	"What are you doing, Frank?" "I'm quietly judging you."
Time:	6:22 pm.

I am having one of those just incredibly UP days. Man, the weather was actually reasonable with a nice wind, and I was out for a hard walk, and now I'm cruising on adrenaline. WHEE. I had a cool encounter in the Starbucks and I walked home to find Magnolia on the telly and I was listening to the perfect music and day-dreaming about getting the perfect advisor and a full SSHRC grant.

^___^

Awesometastic. I love you, John C. Reilly. And you, Paul Thomas Anderson. And mostly you, Aimee Mann.

(I started typing that title quote from memory as one of my favourites when that exact scene came on. HAH! Synchronicity. Perfect for this film.)

SUPPLEMENTAL: *checks the weather reports on the prairies and apologizes to Olwyn for bitching incessantly about how hot it is here*

*and cackles*

3 infections . . . breathe deeply.

Subject:	Easter just ain't what it used to be.
Time:	6:33 pm.

So I'm stuffing my yaw with stuffing, mashed potato, stuffing, coleslaw, and some stuffing (and cranberry sauce!), when there's a discovery in our kitchen!

Our chicken is green. The meat close to the backbone and into the breast is a bright and inexplicable olive green. Well, there goes my drumstick.

My current theories are 1) process using industrial dye in factory (maybe for tagging/identifying produce?) has gone awry, and 2) some kind of dye in the feed resulting in overdose.

Who knows. It doesn't look natural, either in colour or pattern. Meat wasn't outdated and looked all right every other way. Mother's calling public health tomorrow and then taking it back to the grocery store.

Bleh. I wanted that drumstick. Thank goodness for stuffing!

5 infections . . . breathe deeply.

Subject:	Reasons I Keep Reading the G&M
Time:	8:59 am.

Oh, Globe and Mail -- you may lie and misrepresent like every other media outlet, but you occasionally have hilarious help columns.

( Bromance is my new favourite word. )

( The brocabulary continues. )

Oh, the man-pain.

(One person in the comments found the columnist to be offensive toward gays, and to that I say TTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHHHPPPPPP. Obviously making fun of heteropanic, not homofabulous.)

7 infections . . . breathe deeply.

Time:

9:31 pm.

Music meme is done! Answers are posted and comments have been unscreened. Caleb wins with 26 points out of a possible 115. ^__^ So, what'll it be, Caleb? Craft? Music? Hug? Research doohickey? Baked goods? You decide!

This was fun. I'm glad we're all on the same page about Prozzäk. I'm really tempted to an all-Ani one, even though only three of you will know any of the songs. Hrm. Maybe I'll jazz it up another way.

Anyway, thanks for playing; you're all beautiful people.

4 infections . . . breathe deeply.

Subject:	Hypothetical Situations I Am Already Prepared For, #404 through #491.
Time:	8:19 pm.

So sometimes I have this thought:

If I ever needed to confirm [so-and-so's] identity by asking them a personal question the answer to which only [so-and-so] would know, I would totally ask them [random trivia]!

You know the scenarios I'm talking about: reincarnation, body possession, body-swapping, speaking from beyond the grave, alien impersonation, etc.

I have these thoughts all the time, but they usually slip my mind within a few hours. I'm trying to think of them all again, for kicks.

For Bina, I would totally just say, "Duncan?"

And for Amy, it would have to be, "Lemons?"

I have about six thousand for Val, but I'm drawing a blank on them right now. Ditto for Caleb. But I've had these thoughts about all of you at some point!

So in case anyone ever impersonates you or you ever have to speak through another person's body, I am totally down with it.

That is all.

4 infections . . . breathe deeply.

Time:

10:26 pm.

Last chance to get points in my song lyric meme challenge -- no definitive winner yet! Totally up for grabs still. Possible prizes include music from the list (your choice), baked goods, hugs, a silly arts and crafts project, or maybe even, if you happen to have a burning question in the area of the soft sciences, a mini-research project!

(It makes me cry to realize that baking, crafts, and lit reviews are my strengths. I fail.)

I'm going to post the answers and unscreen the comments on Monday evening.

breathe deeply.

Subject:	Rather than be meaningfully productive...
Time:	10:16 am.

I did a music lyric meme, just like everyone and their mum. ("Farmers. And farmer's mums.")

Anyway, I changed the rules because I are rebelz and I want to make this even more interesting for myself.

50 songs.
Lyrics may or may not be the first ones in the song.
Comments are screened.
If it's an Ani song (many are), bonus point for naming the album it originally appeared on.
If it's in a different language (some are), bonus points for a good approximate translation.
**If it's part of an original soundtrack for a TV show or movie, the name of such will be sufficient as the "artist"; same if if the composer is liable to be more well-known than the vocalist (think classical).
I am going to score these; one point for the correct artist*, one for the correct title.
Winner gets something cool and non-monetary.
God, I need to spend less time devising useless games for my own amusement.

*There is one tricky cover, I warn you now.

( Music time. )

P.S. I am so dated by my music. -__-;;

P.P.S. My shuffle feature is balls. Really. It plays a preselected loop of sixty or so songs. Random, yes, but not exactly comprehensive.

P.P.P.S. One day I'm going to do an all-Ani meme. Her lyrics are too damn fun.

SUPPLEMENTAL: And guesses count, so don't be shy. No points off for wrong guesses. You can try as long as you like, but you're on the honour system: no cheating!

24 infections . . . breathe deeply.

Subject:	"Once bread become toast, it can never go back."
Time:	10:31 pm.

My mummy got new pyjamas for Christmas, so now she looks like the blue teddy bear from Duckman. I giggled myself silly while rubbing her belly and calling her a plush toy. That made her awfully disgruntled and she proceeded to do an interpretive Care Bear Stare. (Meaning she doesn't know what that is, but she gave it her all. She kind of looked like a demented ewok.)

Watching Xena again. I'm caught between loving the all-out woman!lovefest that this show is (both for women in general and for women who love women), and feeling a little sad that Hercules and Iolaus didn't get to have near so much fun, even of the platonic hugging/snuggling/saying-"I love you"-a-bunch-of-times variety. Then I remember Torchwood and the universe evens out.

Also, buckets of cheese. Made of dork! Oh, Sam Raimi -- you're so obvious in everything you do, or are even peripherally involved in, and it's usually wonderful. ~~Usually.~~

(My mum is so cute, I just want to cuddle her to DEATH.)

12 infections . . . breathe deeply.

Subject:	"When I see pineapples, usually they're muppets."
Time:	10:52 am.
Music:	The Call - *Nsync.

*IMMENSE IRRITATION*

( Daily cup of rage. )

Why, why, why did those frat boys think it would be a good idea? Someone please explain. Okay, the sign was dumb, whatever. But why in front of the Women's Center?

SUPPLEMENTAL: And then there were the comments. These make me angriest of all.

Current winner: "Tasteless? Yes. Sexual harassment? No. Legal action? LOL. Cupcakes at the Women's Center need to worry about more important things... like shaving their pits and finding a boy thirsty enough to lay with them."

ARGH. I know it's partly the anonymity of the Interweb giving people the option to say things they might not say otherwise, but GODDAMNIT the opinions are there anyway! And a satire defense doesn't cut it. Satire is context, content, and intent, not just a tag you can affix to any idea you want to express with immunity from retaliation.

SUPPLEMENTAL SUPPLEMENTAL: Unrelated, but apparently I'm allergic to studying now. Every time in the last three weeks that I've sat down with a textbook I've started feeling seriously ill within the hour. Now, maybe you say it's just coincidence, 'tis the season for sickery and all, but what do you say to the fact that the only reliable cure seems to be boyporn? It's a conspiracy, says I!

5 infections . . . breathe deeply.

Time:

12:55 pm.

My last two weekends have been made of girl-party. Pretty damn cool.

I'm in the class of ultimate redundancy! Fortunately he seems to be covering all the overlap in one go. But, yeah, the first part of the class is "How to write your research paper" (I wrote one in the sister class to this last semester). Part two is extra time to work on our first lab assignment, which I wrote last week and had him give a once-over to before class.

I'm not being productive at all right now. And I'm not really paying attention either. Kinda feel like a jerk! Ah well. He knows I have nothing else to do, and I don't think he really cares, so long as I'm not a distraction. Damn noisy keyboard though.

Whoops, new info! Paying attention now.

breathe deeply.

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