Zach Oooh!n
Always things.
What happens in the forest when a tree dies a slow and horrible death; or ten things I hate about you, a list dedicated to _______
10. You can hear a song gasping it’s last breath through the floor of my apartment. Seriously, you know it’s over when the guy below me is cranking yer single at wall shaking decibels. Today, Rest In Peace, Dashboard Confessional, “Screaming Infidelities”. Not the whole album, mind you, cos why would anyone want to listen to the whole album? Actually, starting today he’s playing “SI” and then the second single from the album, which is a step in a direction, at least.
9. Microsoft Word must be eliminated, if only cos I can’t make a list that counts down without it trying desperately to make an 11 after the 10.
8. Or an 8 after the 9. And I’m fucking tired of people comparing Interpol to Joy Division. Not because the comparison is off, but because it has become the only band they compare them to, as if they were called Joy Division 2 or something. Other bands Interpol sound like: A less sexy Spoon, Juno, The Clash, The Cure, the Smiths, others. Many others. but the point of a great record is that yes it sounds like other music we’ve heard before (the technical term is intertextuality, or that what has been done before reflects on what you do now) but it has that thing, those moments, that sets it apart.
7. Today I had to tutor at this place called the UCLA. Wait, before I tell this, he’s just put “SI” on for the fifth time in twenty-four minutes. I timed it. Not hard to do, since he’s got it up to 11, but still. So moving on. This girl comes in, an African-American girl from the South Side of Chicago. She comes in cos her professor wrote the following on her paper: You could benefit from going down to the UCLA, they have writing tutors who can help you with the problems I have circled in your essay. The problems are all grammatical, and all have to do with the fact that she isn’t translating her speech patterns into “formal” (read: White, upper-class, overly-educated) English. She was having serious troubles with. Wait. Make that six times in 26 minutes. She was having serious troubles with verb-subject agreements, i.e. “She make five apple pie”. This is not a serious problem in regards to the quality of her thoughts, her paper was quite good, in fact. This is a serious problem for her future ability to succeed in college. That doesn’t mean she should abandon her language, quite the opposite. But can you imagine how hard it is/was for me to explain a concept that should have been impressed upon her over thirteen years of formal education??? When I explained the idea to her, she looked at me and said “I’ve never heard of that.” Impossible, you think? Not likely. I got the impression that she had not written a formal assignment ever in her life. I’ve been told by students of mine who are from poor areas that they have written ten to fifteen formal papers maximum. And I mean ever. And they get sent to college (with excellent, if skewed, GPA’s) and are expected to do well and they get here and they hit a fucking brick wall. And we blame them, as if they could help it, and we pat ourselves on the back for giving them the opportunity to succeed, at least, when the door was shut before they could even see what was behind it. And this professor, of all people, has the nerve to send a student like this to me, a fucking Graduate Student in Creative Writing, with my fucking grammar knowledge being controlled by the same part of my brain which decodes and grades musical harmony (I shit you not, it’s true) which is fucking full if you haven’t read this page before, and this woman expects me to help this student, instead of helping the student herself, and expects it in a session which lasted fifteen minutes. Eeek gads.
6. Greg Statique should be in full shut-down mourning right now, as his loved Viridians (or sad-ridians, as they are now named) were given the proverbial rogering by my friend Sako’s team, a team that had under-achieved all year until last week. GregStatique: you played your fantasy heart out, and I’m fantasy proud of your fantasy achievements. Now, I don't have to fantasy kick your fantasy brains out on my way to the championship. All that work, for what?
5. I had that problem with the ingrown toenail? Months ago? So it’s finally on its way to healing, and what do I do today? I smash the other one, leaving a fragment of a nail and some blood in the trail.
4. From Harper’s Weekly: “Bush and Blair also mentioned a 1998 report by the International Atomic Energy Agency and said that Iraq could be six months away from developing nuclear weapons. "I don't know what more evidence we need," Bush said. But the IAEA report, it was soon noted, said no such thing. In fact, the report said that Iraq had been six to 24 months away from developing the bomb _prior_ to the Gulf War and the subsequent weapons inspections but that there was no evidence that Iraq had retained the physical capability to develop nuclear weapons now. An IAEA spokesman pointed out that Bush had also misinterpreted the satellite photo: "There is no new information about any Iraqi nuclear activity." A White House official later admitted that mistakes had been made.” Great.
3. Bertolt Brecht, from his essay, “Writing the Truth: Five Difficulties”, “To renounce payment for may be the equivalent of giving up the work, and to decline fame when it is offered by the mighty may mean to decline it forever. This takes courage”.
2. I’ve made it to 10,000 pages in my assault on the printed word. 5000 pages, 3 months. I can do it.
1. Bears. I. Love. The.
Next five: “obstacle 1” by interpol; “guys like me” by aimee mann; “answering machine” by the replacements; “wha?” by lois lane; and “fortunate son” by creedence clearwater revival.
in the stereo: Rilo Kiley
And what's this I hear about our very own Mast Fatt joining a band in Chicago? And playing here on the 27th? Say it's so, old boy, and describe your living conditions. And email me your address, cos I found something you'd like to have.
Always things.
What happens in the forest when a tree dies a slow and horrible death; or ten things I hate about you, a list dedicated to _______
10. You can hear a song gasping it’s last breath through the floor of my apartment. Seriously, you know it’s over when the guy below me is cranking yer single at wall shaking decibels. Today, Rest In Peace, Dashboard Confessional, “Screaming Infidelities”. Not the whole album, mind you, cos why would anyone want to listen to the whole album? Actually, starting today he’s playing “SI” and then the second single from the album, which is a step in a direction, at least.
9. Microsoft Word must be eliminated, if only cos I can’t make a list that counts down without it trying desperately to make an 11 after the 10.
8. Or an 8 after the 9. And I’m fucking tired of people comparing Interpol to Joy Division. Not because the comparison is off, but because it has become the only band they compare them to, as if they were called Joy Division 2 or something. Other bands Interpol sound like: A less sexy Spoon, Juno, The Clash, The Cure, the Smiths, others. Many others. but the point of a great record is that yes it sounds like other music we’ve heard before (the technical term is intertextuality, or that what has been done before reflects on what you do now) but it has that thing, those moments, that sets it apart.
7. Today I had to tutor at this place called the UCLA. Wait, before I tell this, he’s just put “SI” on for the fifth time in twenty-four minutes. I timed it. Not hard to do, since he’s got it up to 11, but still. So moving on. This girl comes in, an African-American girl from the South Side of Chicago. She comes in cos her professor wrote the following on her paper: You could benefit from going down to the UCLA, they have writing tutors who can help you with the problems I have circled in your essay. The problems are all grammatical, and all have to do with the fact that she isn’t translating her speech patterns into “formal” (read: White, upper-class, overly-educated) English. She was having serious troubles with. Wait. Make that six times in 26 minutes. She was having serious troubles with verb-subject agreements, i.e. “She make five apple pie”. This is not a serious problem in regards to the quality of her thoughts, her paper was quite good, in fact. This is a serious problem for her future ability to succeed in college. That doesn’t mean she should abandon her language, quite the opposite. But can you imagine how hard it is/was for me to explain a concept that should have been impressed upon her over thirteen years of formal education??? When I explained the idea to her, she looked at me and said “I’ve never heard of that.” Impossible, you think? Not likely. I got the impression that she had not written a formal assignment ever in her life. I’ve been told by students of mine who are from poor areas that they have written ten to fifteen formal papers maximum. And I mean ever. And they get sent to college (with excellent, if skewed, GPA’s) and are expected to do well and they get here and they hit a fucking brick wall. And we blame them, as if they could help it, and we pat ourselves on the back for giving them the opportunity to succeed, at least, when the door was shut before they could even see what was behind it. And this professor, of all people, has the nerve to send a student like this to me, a fucking Graduate Student in Creative Writing, with my fucking grammar knowledge being controlled by the same part of my brain which decodes and grades musical harmony (I shit you not, it’s true) which is fucking full if you haven’t read this page before, and this woman expects me to help this student, instead of helping the student herself, and expects it in a session which lasted fifteen minutes. Eeek gads.
6. Greg Statique should be in full shut-down mourning right now, as his loved Viridians (or sad-ridians, as they are now named) were given the proverbial rogering by my friend Sako’s team, a team that had under-achieved all year until last week. GregStatique: you played your fantasy heart out, and I’m fantasy proud of your fantasy achievements. Now, I don't have to fantasy kick your fantasy brains out on my way to the championship. All that work, for what?
5. I had that problem with the ingrown toenail? Months ago? So it’s finally on its way to healing, and what do I do today? I smash the other one, leaving a fragment of a nail and some blood in the trail.
4. From Harper’s Weekly: “Bush and Blair also mentioned a 1998 report by the International Atomic Energy Agency and said that Iraq could be six months away from developing nuclear weapons. "I don't know what more evidence we need," Bush said. But the IAEA report, it was soon noted, said no such thing. In fact, the report said that Iraq had been six to 24 months away from developing the bomb _prior_ to the Gulf War and the subsequent weapons inspections but that there was no evidence that Iraq had retained the physical capability to develop nuclear weapons now. An IAEA spokesman pointed out that Bush had also misinterpreted the satellite photo: "There is no new information about any Iraqi nuclear activity." A White House official later admitted that mistakes had been made.” Great.
3. Bertolt Brecht, from his essay, “Writing the Truth: Five Difficulties”, “To renounce payment for may be the equivalent of giving up the work, and to decline fame when it is offered by the mighty may mean to decline it forever. This takes courage”.
2. I’ve made it to 10,000 pages in my assault on the printed word. 5000 pages, 3 months. I can do it.
1. Bears. I. Love. The.
Next five: “obstacle 1” by interpol; “guys like me” by aimee mann; “answering machine” by the replacements; “wha?” by lois lane; and “fortunate son” by creedence clearwater revival.
in the stereo: Rilo Kiley
And what's this I hear about our very own Mast Fatt joining a band in Chicago? And playing here on the 27th? Say it's so, old boy, and describe your living conditions. And email me your address, cos I found something you'd like to have.
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