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Tuesday, February 11, 2003
08:12 a.m.
Hn...
I had a dream last night. Y'know, one of those kinda fluffy ones, where you go squish and know you are *so* a teenage girl.
...I only hope real V-day turns out half that good. Buh, who am I kidding? If he's still talking to me at the end of the day it'll be a victory...
Saturday, February 8, 2003
10:44 p.m.
I should be....
-doing my cum review
-starting my Bio lab
-sleeping
Instead I am watching DVD episodes of Six Feet Under (Michael C Hall rox my socks!), chatting, and considering writing.
I am so lame.
Saw Drawer Boy tonight. Kicked ass.
^_^
More when eppy stops... oh... corpses...
Friday, February 7, 2003
02:04 p.m.
Heh...
'My So-Called Life' by the Ataris is stuck in my head. Heh.
Anyway, actaully had fun in CALM. Got to nurse the flaming narcissist in me and write about myself. And added pictures. And talked about tights. ^_^;;;
^-_-^ <----Nekko!
Woot.
Can you tell it's a Friday?
Wednesday, February 5, 2003
09:27 a.m.
My Essay
Heh... I *wish* I could hand this in...
Of Course
I am a band student, and as such take English twenty all year, every other day. And, though nothing sounds that appealing to any student first thing in the morning, I have come to dread those day ‘b’s when I am once again faced with the looming phantom that is English class.
It is not because of the people I am with, as one would expect. I fear no taunts and jeers from my fellow students. Indeed, my reasons for cowering in horror at the very thought of the course lie more in what we study than who I study with.
A good lesson can transcend a bad teacher. Even the greatest, made-for a Hollywood feel-good-movie-type teacher could not overcome the lessons we learn. I say thins not in idle loathing, but because the same feeling has been brewing in my brain since September of last year. I have never been satisfied by this subject known as English. I have never even been challenged by it.
And maybe therein lies the problem with this class. English twenty is taught as though all its students hate and deplore writing. As though it is an activity paramount to seal hunting, or visiting the elderly. However, I know a great wealth of people who do write in their spare time- get this: purely for enjoyment! How insane is that?
To the Alberta government- great diviner of education programs, it is probably shocking.
And when you’ve dedicated at least a few hours of conscious thought to writing ever week of your teenage life, well, a lot of the concepts being taught are old news. I have a style. Yes, it grows and changes. But nowadays, those fluxes come more from personal opinion, mood, and differing maturity levels than from the introduction of ‘new concepts. Concepts, I might add, that I have been quite comfortable with for years.
Education researchers love to rabbit on about ‘lack of stimulation’ and ‘teaching to the child’, and yet in English class, which in itself does hold a very vital life skill, we learn concepts that are either far below the writing level of many or so far reaching as to be ridiculous.
Take story analysing, for instance. There is nothing wrong with analysing the motives of a character; in fact knowing what makes people act the way they do is a great ability. But there is a point where the whole idea is taken into extreme. Asking someone to use examples from a story to show how two characters turned out based on their history- when such history was never in evidence- is far-reaching.
As is reading three months worth of stories, essays, and articles on why men are to blame for every problem in society from haircut costs to the energy crisis. There is nothing wrong with a good, pro-female article now and then. They can be real eye-openers, and an interesting look at a different viewpoint and side of life. Reading twenty feminist articles in a row, which proceed to become more and more radical, might not even be a bad thing. That is, if each article were to be used as a launching pad for objective discussion.
As of yet, all such over-the-top articles have been unflinchingly backed, worshipped, and praised by the teacher. Unbiased discussion about the differences between the sexes, and other viewpoints and how they compare has been so farimpossible. Instead the classes are left with remnant guilt, and the feeling that a topic has been shoved down their throat to the point of chocking.
What have I learned this year? That it costs more for women to get a haircut. Men are the equivalent of Satan. And I don't want to take English thirty.
Saturday, February 1, 2003
05:21 p.m.
Musing
music: Crown of Scars- Lifehouse
I think I like Nuendo. SHe's the only person in the whole Elemental Reality universe smart (or maybe experienced) enough to have any clue as to what Kyel's going through.
Gollen, on the other hand is one of those classic, by the book/form psychiatrists, who just moves from patient to patient as fast as possible doling out medication. Maybe she was a good doctor once, and too many years of hospital bueracrecy killed her. Or maybe she just has a shitty personality.
From Part 4...
"Is there a history of mental illness in your family?"
"No." he had no idea. And that wasn't why he'd tried to kill himself.
"Have any traumatic events occurred recently which might have effected your decision?"
"No." She didn't even blink at the lie. Just made her fucking checkmark. He wanted to scream. Wondered what would happen if he actually told her the truth. Hell, maybe she had a box for that.
"Any history of rape or domestic abuse?"
He couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe she would ask him it just like that. Like asking 2% or whole milk. Paper or plastic. "No." They lying got easier. Maybe he could get through this.
"Loss of appetite?" He nodded, may as well give them something. He hadn't eaten in two days.
Yeah... the sad thing is arrogant doctors, who don't listen to their own patients exist. I have this on real authority- and I don't mean ER or Chicago Hope. It's kinda sad...
Saturday, February 1, 2003
04:59 p.m.
Bright College Days! Football games, necking on the 'quad'...
music: Walk Through the Fire- Buffy
Blah. Mom and I had the 'school' conversation again. That is, the one where we discuss whether it wouldn't make more sense for me to stay at MHC for my 1st two years of pre-journ. Which alway brings up the "Oh hell NO" response and the warning flags.
It's not even that I hate this city. It's a nice, cute little place. But, and this is very very important, I. Do. Not. Want. To. Go. To. College.
At all. Especially not Here. If I'm going to school I'm doing the Uni thing. I just want to, s'all. And I don't want to do it in this town. I don't like our college. Just don't. The theatre's nice, but the rest of it is... ugh.
*sighs* Maybe I'm whining about nothing. Besides, if I don't actually apply to the school I can't get in...
But you didn't hear that from me.
Friday, January 31, 2003
10:10 p.m.
And...
11 times I edited the last entry for typos and shitty HTML
Friday, January 31, 2003
09:56 p.m.
Blargity
music: Tear Me Down- Hedwig and the Angry Inch
My Life, in Numeric Format
1 day of the new semester
2 days with of the new journal layout
3 homework assignments
4 conditions which Katelynn must agree to for me to go on band tour
5 'carefully crafted words' which must be somewhere within my English project
6... nothing. There is no six! Mwah...
7 times 2 days until V-day and the culmination of 'Op C'
8 bucks for a 600 pack of paper at Staples. Much more for graphing calculator
9-20c, the make of my printer wh/ I could not remember when buying an ink cartridge
10 is the time of the end of this entry
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