I would have loved to blog about the parade, the MVP trophy, and all the festivities in Boston as they were happening, but my computer decided to break. It's still broken, actually.
I have a Toshiba Satellite L305D-S5893. It was purchased on Black Friday, November 2008. I didn't use it until August 2009. From the beginning, I've had hard drive crashes, which sometimes bring the computer to an unusable crawl, but must be endured in order to get past the block and run normally. The screen is completely shot; I'm currently running on an external monitor trying to back up all my data, including over a hundred gig of torrented videos.
The computer was $480. For that much money, one would think it would last a little longer. Actually, being RGB dependent isn't so bad. Problem would be in obtaining what I need to set up full time, since I'm using a friend's screen right now. And now I have to talk to people about what I should do. My parents think I should buy a new laptop. I don't really want a new one. I've hardly gotten anything near my money's worth out of this one. It was broken half of last school year, it seems. I'm always having to find ways around things. I usually do my work in the labs, but how do I explain that to my parents, who bought me this for my education?
*Groan* This is why I prefer desktops.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
The Final Countdown
Game seven on the road. Lord Stanley's Cup is in the house. The end of the second intermission. The Boston Bruins are ahead 3-0. Cue the music.
Twenty minutes remain. I wait, scarcely breathing, drool sometimes dribbling out, because my entire being is so invested in the game that I can't remember to swallow. And yet I spend the intermission updating my fledgling blog. Go figure.
Hockey. Bruins pennant. Bruins watch. Bruins t-shirt. Bruins charm strung up with my Saints medals. Bruins backpack. Bruins baseball cap. And of course, Glen Murray #27 Bruins jersey.
Update: 22:45 BOSTON BRUINS WIN THE 2011 STANLEY CUP!
Twenty minutes remain. I wait, scarcely breathing, drool sometimes dribbling out, because my entire being is so invested in the game that I can't remember to swallow. And yet I spend the intermission updating my fledgling blog. Go figure.
Hockey. Bruins pennant. Bruins watch. Bruins t-shirt. Bruins charm strung up with my Saints medals. Bruins backpack. Bruins baseball cap. And of course, Glen Murray #27 Bruins jersey.
Update: 22:45 BOSTON BRUINS WIN THE 2011 STANLEY CUP!
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Canta, Mi Chitarra
I just bought some stuff for my guitar. Slowly, slowly, I've been developing what I have for my guitar playing. I learned on my dad's guitars, an Aria twelve-string acoustic and a Harmony hollow-bodied electric. Last summer one of my co-workers was selling one of his guitars to raise money for his wedding. I'd wanted a guitar of my own for a while, so I bought his electric, an Epiphone SG Special. Came with a distortion pedal, but that's all. I took some picks from home, got a friend's spare amp this school year, and now I'll finally have a strap. That and another capo. My first capo sorta blew apart in my hands. That's the problem with paying only three dollars. Another thing I'm doing is trying some heavier strings. My dad always uses D'aggio ultra lights, but he never tunes down. Then again, a capo with heavy strings is a recipe for some broken strings.
Well, we'll see. I'm hoping this will be a good move. I've waited. I enjoy playing, and I want to sound a little better when I cover Three Days Grace. And my picking might sound a little better if the strings are a little tighter, though solos might be a bit harder to play. I'll find out soon.
Well, we'll see. I'm hoping this will be a good move. I've waited. I enjoy playing, and I want to sound a little better when I cover Three Days Grace. And my picking might sound a little better if the strings are a little tighter, though solos might be a bit harder to play. I'll find out soon.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
In Pursuit of Lord Stanley's Cup
So tonight was game two of the Stanley Cup Finals, the Boston Bruins versus the Vancouver Canucks, and Vancouver took the game eleven seconds into overtime.
I screamed. Again. I think the neighbors will pick up on the pattern soon, from the amount of Bruins paraphernalia I have everywhere from my dorm's door to my backpack to my jersey to my watch! At the end of game one, I screamed "Nooooo!" in a way to do Luke Skywalker and Simba proud. Tonight, I moaned as one who is in deepest mourning in between despairing cries of "What the eff was that?!? What the effing hell was that?!! Why him of all people?!?!" For lo and behold, who should score the game winner and have two goals and an assist, besides Burrows?
Burrows should have been suspended, hands down. He bit Bergeron, for crying out loud! But there he was, unpunished, inviting Lapierre to be his usual self and take the high road, rubbing it in Bergeron's face with the relish of a grade schooler sticking someone's head in the toilet. Glad to know that when Vancouver fans start to deride the Bruins for what happened in the last series against Tampa, they truly have the higher moral ground.
Has my sarcasm dripped off your screen yet? Because this is less than thinly veiled. This is what I hate most, when someone does something wrong and gets rewarded, not just in hockey, but everywhere else as well. And so for my hockey team to be getting burned by like this, is like taking some road rash, rubbing it with sand paper, dumping on some salt, and then pouring on lemon juice for good measure. However, it could still get worse. And so long as it can get worse, it can get better.
Two games at home up ahead! Here we go, Bruins! Here we go!
By the way, whoever decided the home games of the finals should be on Versus should be locked in a roomful of Bruins fans stuck with only basic cable at game time. That is all.
I screamed. Again. I think the neighbors will pick up on the pattern soon, from the amount of Bruins paraphernalia I have everywhere from my dorm's door to my backpack to my jersey to my watch! At the end of game one, I screamed "Nooooo!" in a way to do Luke Skywalker and Simba proud. Tonight, I moaned as one who is in deepest mourning in between despairing cries of "What the eff was that?!? What the effing hell was that?!! Why him of all people?!?!" For lo and behold, who should score the game winner and have two goals and an assist, besides Burrows?
Burrows should have been suspended, hands down. He bit Bergeron, for crying out loud! But there he was, unpunished, inviting Lapierre to be his usual self and take the high road, rubbing it in Bergeron's face with the relish of a grade schooler sticking someone's head in the toilet. Glad to know that when Vancouver fans start to deride the Bruins for what happened in the last series against Tampa, they truly have the higher moral ground.
Has my sarcasm dripped off your screen yet? Because this is less than thinly veiled. This is what I hate most, when someone does something wrong and gets rewarded, not just in hockey, but everywhere else as well. And so for my hockey team to be getting burned by like this, is like taking some road rash, rubbing it with sand paper, dumping on some salt, and then pouring on lemon juice for good measure. However, it could still get worse. And so long as it can get worse, it can get better.
Two games at home up ahead! Here we go, Bruins! Here we go!
By the way, whoever decided the home games of the finals should be on Versus should be locked in a roomful of Bruins fans stuck with only basic cable at game time. That is all.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Just One Story
My grandfather is dying of cancer. His children have gathered around him at the ancestral home of my clan. From the eleventh to the thirteenth, the generations surround him of those who consider Cape Cod a sort of origin. I'm stuck at my job, waiting. It was impossible to alter my schedule in order to be there this weekend with everyone else, but I called my aunt and so was able to talk to them. I was uncharacteristically emotional, far more so than when my grandmother actually died, though I was far closer to her than I am to him.
The reason I'm so upset is because I don't have any stories to pass on. With my grandmother, she was moving away to Florida and leaving Massachusetts, where she was related to half the dirt and grass, behind. I took my mother's advice and asked Grandma to tell me a story of when she was young. And I heard many stories, about my great-grandmother, who was crazy, but free-spirited and loved to travel; about the divorce proceedings, and the pain of choosing her father over her mother; about the hurricane, and walking to a cottage on the Cape in the middle of the storm; of all her teeth falling out at eighteen; about Aunt Betty Mason, the millionaire's wife, of the Mason-Dixon Line fame; about saving Grandpa's life after he was stung by some bees; about out-shooting Grandpa with a .22 and earning her official marksmenship certification; about playing pool and badminton with Grandpa and fueling their rivalry; about her various cats and their backgrounds; about studying abroad in England; about teaching special-ed; about pursuing psychology; about raising five kids; about my dad as a child; about her favorite poets; about medieval studies.
I asked, and so I received a wealth of stories, to add to my own experiences of Grandma. And so, with the tradition of stories, I'll be able to pass these memories on, and the generations will not be forgotten. As for Grandpa -- he's a member of this, that, and the other committee, a retired USAF major, a volunteer plow-driver, a former EMT for the fire department, a school board member, and local politician. His hobbies include traveling, genealogies, the weather, and his cat, Emily. I know a lot about Grandpa. We didn't talk or write often, but it's not like we never communicated at all. And yet, all I know is a list of facts, some more interesting and some less. I can tell you he hunts squirrels, but that's a far cry from relaying a story about my other grandfather chasing a squirrel with a shovel after his BB gun backfired. You see the difference?
It's through stories I remember my great-grandmothers, who passed on before I entered kindergarten. I only have a handful of memories about them, yet I know who they are through the stories left behind. I never met great-great-Grandma Mary, but she's one of the people who I really long to meet in the afterlife, if things should so work out. I feel like I can hear her voice saying "the angeli are a-coming" when her great-grandchildren flock into the room. Great-great-Uncle Tom never really talked so much about his past as much as he made up silly stories on the spot and dropped distilled wisdom into the mix (at the end, maybe five or six times consecutively!). As for Grandpa, though, I have no stories I tell of him, other than what I can pull from the facts. I've never heard him tell a story, even if it's just about his part in the Memorial Day parade. Facts. Facts don't make memories. He's just going to be forgotten, unless his kids suddenly radically change and start telling stories about him. Because, y'know, even if I ask, his kids have nothing to say.
That's my fear: to be forgotten. Then I'd know that I really did leave no impact. My faith is weak. I don't really fully trust that there's anything after this life: this life is my story, and it's end is my end. If it isn't passed on, it's like I cease to exist. Is that all that's in store for Grandpa? Even if his family has gathered around, isn't that the loneliest thing? I kept meaning to ask him directly, "Please tell me a story," but tonight, I talked to him on the phone, and there's no way; even if he's still alive, he doesn't have the strength. What I wouldn't give for just one story!
The reason I'm so upset is because I don't have any stories to pass on. With my grandmother, she was moving away to Florida and leaving Massachusetts, where she was related to half the dirt and grass, behind. I took my mother's advice and asked Grandma to tell me a story of when she was young. And I heard many stories, about my great-grandmother, who was crazy, but free-spirited and loved to travel; about the divorce proceedings, and the pain of choosing her father over her mother; about the hurricane, and walking to a cottage on the Cape in the middle of the storm; of all her teeth falling out at eighteen; about Aunt Betty Mason, the millionaire's wife, of the Mason-Dixon Line fame; about saving Grandpa's life after he was stung by some bees; about out-shooting Grandpa with a .22 and earning her official marksmenship certification; about playing pool and badminton with Grandpa and fueling their rivalry; about her various cats and their backgrounds; about studying abroad in England; about teaching special-ed; about pursuing psychology; about raising five kids; about my dad as a child; about her favorite poets; about medieval studies.
I asked, and so I received a wealth of stories, to add to my own experiences of Grandma. And so, with the tradition of stories, I'll be able to pass these memories on, and the generations will not be forgotten. As for Grandpa -- he's a member of this, that, and the other committee, a retired USAF major, a volunteer plow-driver, a former EMT for the fire department, a school board member, and local politician. His hobbies include traveling, genealogies, the weather, and his cat, Emily. I know a lot about Grandpa. We didn't talk or write often, but it's not like we never communicated at all. And yet, all I know is a list of facts, some more interesting and some less. I can tell you he hunts squirrels, but that's a far cry from relaying a story about my other grandfather chasing a squirrel with a shovel after his BB gun backfired. You see the difference?
It's through stories I remember my great-grandmothers, who passed on before I entered kindergarten. I only have a handful of memories about them, yet I know who they are through the stories left behind. I never met great-great-Grandma Mary, but she's one of the people who I really long to meet in the afterlife, if things should so work out. I feel like I can hear her voice saying "the angeli are a-coming" when her great-grandchildren flock into the room. Great-great-Uncle Tom never really talked so much about his past as much as he made up silly stories on the spot and dropped distilled wisdom into the mix (at the end, maybe five or six times consecutively!). As for Grandpa, though, I have no stories I tell of him, other than what I can pull from the facts. I've never heard him tell a story, even if it's just about his part in the Memorial Day parade. Facts. Facts don't make memories. He's just going to be forgotten, unless his kids suddenly radically change and start telling stories about him. Because, y'know, even if I ask, his kids have nothing to say.
That's my fear: to be forgotten. Then I'd know that I really did leave no impact. My faith is weak. I don't really fully trust that there's anything after this life: this life is my story, and it's end is my end. If it isn't passed on, it's like I cease to exist. Is that all that's in store for Grandpa? Even if his family has gathered around, isn't that the loneliest thing? I kept meaning to ask him directly, "Please tell me a story," but tonight, I talked to him on the phone, and there's no way; even if he's still alive, he doesn't have the strength. What I wouldn't give for just one story!
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Manga Mania Part I
While I work my summer job, I am distanced from my local library. Since I can't cover a thousand miles every three weeks, I've been limited to what my school library has for reading material, and academic libraries don't carry a lot of manga or murder mysteries. However, I have a friend who returns home frequently and can get books back and forth.
RIght now, he has out the first eight volumes of the manga adaptation of The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya. This prompted us to search the light novel series, since he was wondering if the series was completed. Turns out the limited editions of books ten and eleven came out back on May 25th, and the regular editions are coming out the 15th of this month. The books are really one two-part release, The Secret of Haruhi Suzumiya, and end the series. Haruhi Suzumiya has been a bit of a phenomenon, one of those series any otaku worth their salt at least has heard of. This is admittedly my first time reading the series. I'm very interested in the ending, particularly because my friend pointed out how everything really could be caused by Kyon, not Haruhi. It's a good theory, with a lot of merit.
1) Kyon is the one who makes the speech at the beginning about the ordinariness of life. When Haruhi brings up the possibilities of aliens, time travelers, sliders, and espers, Kyon doesn't know what sliders are, but one of each of the other three gather around.
2) When Haruhi gets into a funk, Kyon is the one who pulls her out. He may not realize it, but he loves her, and wants her happy. Maybe his mutual displeasure opens the "closed spaces"?
3) Haruhi always misses out on seeing all of the supernatural, unusual things she's causing, but Kyon witnesses them all.
4) Things usually work out in order to make Haruhi happy. Couldn't this just be more of Kyon acting on her behalf? She's also never aware of anything strange happening, the same as all of the ordinary students in the class.
5) If Kyon is God, it wouldn't be that hard for Haruhi, as the catalyst for his powers, to act as a sort of middle man for the energy transmission.
Again, that's my friend's theory, and I personally think the writing won't prove that complicated, but it's not impossible for a light novel. I'm looking forward to the time when the English translation comes around, though I may have to wait for the manga adaptation instead.
RIght now, he has out the first eight volumes of the manga adaptation of The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya. This prompted us to search the light novel series, since he was wondering if the series was completed. Turns out the limited editions of books ten and eleven came out back on May 25th, and the regular editions are coming out the 15th of this month. The books are really one two-part release, The Secret of Haruhi Suzumiya, and end the series. Haruhi Suzumiya has been a bit of a phenomenon, one of those series any otaku worth their salt at least has heard of. This is admittedly my first time reading the series. I'm very interested in the ending, particularly because my friend pointed out how everything really could be caused by Kyon, not Haruhi. It's a good theory, with a lot of merit.
1) Kyon is the one who makes the speech at the beginning about the ordinariness of life. When Haruhi brings up the possibilities of aliens, time travelers, sliders, and espers, Kyon doesn't know what sliders are, but one of each of the other three gather around.
2) When Haruhi gets into a funk, Kyon is the one who pulls her out. He may not realize it, but he loves her, and wants her happy. Maybe his mutual displeasure opens the "closed spaces"?
3) Haruhi always misses out on seeing all of the supernatural, unusual things she's causing, but Kyon witnesses them all.
4) Things usually work out in order to make Haruhi happy. Couldn't this just be more of Kyon acting on her behalf? She's also never aware of anything strange happening, the same as all of the ordinary students in the class.
5) If Kyon is God, it wouldn't be that hard for Haruhi, as the catalyst for his powers, to act as a sort of middle man for the energy transmission.
Again, that's my friend's theory, and I personally think the writing won't prove that complicated, but it's not impossible for a light novel. I'm looking forward to the time when the English translation comes around, though I may have to wait for the manga adaptation instead.
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