If you know me, you know how much I like reading sports commentary and analysis online. Aside from the Detroit Tigers Weblog, which I’ve been a heavy reader of for more than three years now, I also got on board with Kyle J’s Spartans Weblog which was mainly following MSU’s Men’s Basketball team. Well, Kyle J’s quitting that biz in exchange for something more collaborative and inclusive. The Only Colors is a blog that has five authors who are all going to be giving their take on MSU athletics (the big addition here is football). Also, it has a great title. So if you want to start following MSU sports with the fervor and abandon of someone like me, bookmark it.
I have a habit of making giant lists of goals about the next week/month/year. The weird thing is that after I write them down, I don’t care about them anymore. In the imagining of their completion, interest wanes exponentially, and the things I finish are unforseen.
From the page: “Okay, I just played the full version and she died. It’s genuinely sad. I’m genuinely sad. I didn’t even see it, I was shooing my stupid obese cat off the desk. I looked back at the screen and the old woman had died. It was, like, a shock. For real. Even though I was fully expecting it to happen. I’m actually depressed.”
“wow i didn’t know so many people had the same addiction … i also eat baby power with cornstarch if i can’t get baby power i get ice lots of ice. i worry that because i eat baby power my weight is increasing.”—WikiAnswers commenter. “I EAT BABY POWER!” This is really weird. I was at this novelty shop earlier and there was a shelf full of herbs and natural stuff. There was an empty slot labeled “baby powder” which made me laugh because it was the only empty slot. Everything else was fully stocked. Didn’t know about this weird disorder.
“Facebook became fairly useless to me beginning about a year ago, once people that I do business with started friending me. Then my mom. At this point, there are too many of my social identities represented there for me to share anything of interest enough to all of them. Staring into that “share” input box I feel like I’m looking out on a crowd of like absolutely everybody I’ve ever met. Which is paralyzing.”—M (via dalasverdugo)
I have this big exam on Monday, where I have to study 7 tales from the Canterbury tales, as well as Troilus and Criseyde.
I’m really in it. Deep.
Any suggestions for a study method, besides just reading? (I don’t comprehend Middle English well at all, and reading the modern translations is hard to do on the screen. I suppose I could print them.) So?
“The Kaufman film has always been about the terror of being oneself, of being in this skin, this head, but it’s not a terror that causes him to turn away — instead it holds his unblinking attention.”—Philip Matthews with a few good words on Charlie Kaufman’s Synecdoche, New York. (via matthewb)
… He snatched it up, or tried to, because it was no longer so easy. It was so heavy now, so dense. Understanding even in its slumber that its host was being taken from it, the child reacted by clutching at Gray instead. He let it. Looking in its face, he found nothing evil there - nothing that would give him any reason to believe the kid was anything but a kid. It yawned, showing a row of baby teeth that were perfectly human. No fangs, or especially sharp incisors. Just baby teeth. To be safe, he checked Rebecca for bite marks, but found none. He shook her again, calling her name, but she didn’t respond anymore than she did the first threre times he’d done it. What if she didn’t wake up? It was his fault for falling asleep, for not watching the baby, keeping it with him. He stared into its face again, remembering his dream. He’d seen it open its eyes, dark black eyes, through his own eyelids. If it opened its eyes now, what would he see? What color, if it woke? That was when, standing in the room beside his wife with the child from the package clutched to him, he understood what he was looking at. The child’s eyes weren’t just closed, weren’t just shut like the shades over a window. No, the kid didn’t even have eyelids in the traditional sense. What it had was one sheet of skin that covered the top half of its face. There were bulges where the eyeballs were, but no way for any flap of skin to open and reveal them. The only holes in its face were its nostrils and its mouth. This realization led to another, one that pumped the fist in his gut against his spine.
aren’t always started with the intention on finishing, especially those which seem ridiculous (Sufjan Stevens’ fifty state album series). Rather, they’re started to prove that we can set goals that are bigger than ourselves. We prove that we’re crazy, stupid, and that we can’t finish things. But it’s not about what I can prove to you, rather, how can I impress myself?
“Don’t let us forget that the causes of human actions are usually immeasurably more complex and varied than our subsequent explanations of them.”—Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot (via psychotherapy) (via quote-book) (via finallyseeing)