Nonsense, Drivel, and Balderdash

Then there are the 'networking websites' like Myspace, Facebook, Friendster, Hi5... the list goes on for a while. These vary in what they do and who they are aimed at. I must admit that I am quite a fan of facebook, and I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't a myspace member. Of course, with the exception of Facebook that actually targets people who go or have gone to school together and therefore know each other, most of these sites are just ways for people to spend countless hours browsing profiles of people they will never meet or looking at pictures that look nothing like the people they are meant to represent. Alternately, people spend hours trying to take pictures of themselves in bad lighting and from angles that hide all their bad features (acne, small boobs, large boobs, unibrow, webbed toes, antlers...) and highlight their good ones (right eyelid, small boobs, large boobs, flexing muscles, cheap tattoo done in a drunken stupor over spring break that says "i...

The internet has had huge social repercussions. In fact, the social repercussions are arguably larger than the economic or informative ones. Think what a huge difference that email has made on the way we keep in touch. We now have cheap and instant access to sending and receiving information across the globe. We can now make sure that our family members know how life is going, or send pictures to our friends, or contemplate if the amount of spam advertising penis enlargements is proportionate to the number of men that need them (lets hope not), and lets not even mention all the death threats we have all received implied in the content of those chain letters ("...if you liked this joke please resend it to 45 friends if you don't, then tomorrow both you and your loved ones will be hit by a bus full of rabid monkeys, flogged by the ghosts of the spanish inquisition, raped and pillaged by giant amoebas and consumed in the fire of the almighty. thanx! have a gr8 day!"). But be...

Life is finally starting to loosen up a bit. Last week was a stressful as trying to find a needle in a haystack, in the dark, during a blizzard, with polar bears chasing you around the haystack, and a sneaky Eskimo midget setting the whole thing on fire. Figuratively speaking, of course. I have never tried to find needles in haystacks and have nothing against the denizens of the artic. But yeah, it was a busy week. I spent massive amounts of time in the libary or at my computer or rushing to and fro, trying to get things done, and preferably on time. And it rained. Non-stop. Cats and Dogs and various other domestic mammals fell from the sky and left a mess all over the sidewalks. On top of that, as my previous posts probably gave away, I was hit with a post-graduation downer and was wondering what the heck I was doing with my life. So yeah. A flaming haystack. But it was all good, it reinforced my suspicions that we all really lack any sense of perspective in this world and that we are...

I only have one tutorial a week now for the next couple of weeks, which means that I will be able to enjoy them fully. And they are meant to be enjoyed, for they are all related to children's literature. This week I am doing one of my personal favourites, The Wind in the Willows. If you haven’t read it and are looking for a wonderful bit of summer reading, it is a delightfully whimsical piece of post-romantic literature. And it has a badger in it. Anyone who knows anything realizes that putting a badger in your story automatically grants it entry in to the halls of literary immortality. Oh, I went to Kenneth Grahame's (the author) gravesite today and paid my respects. It was a bit sad. In the same cemetery I also found the grave of poet and inkling Charles Williams, as well as one of the fathers of Aestheticism, Walter Pater. Oxford is cool like that.

Eva had this in her blog in honor of the honorable profession of the housewife (which she aims to be) and to teach all those feminists a lesson. It was all in good fun of course. But to prove that I am just as much a modern man as she is a woman, I reply with a similar quiz (translated into the native language of this blog): 1. Favorite domestic chore/duty: She said that her least favorite was shopping for food. I didnt even know that was a chore. That is one of my favorite parts of the week for sure. 2. Most hated domestic chore/duty: Cleaning out the fridge. Anything that can put me in contact with mold or other things that might decide to migrate to my skin and set up shop. 3. Favorite laundry detergent: dude, that one that smells like lavender. I love that crap. 4. Favorite kind of apron: I am going to have to be a guy on this one and go with those that have some stupid slogan on it like "master of the flame" or "boss of the sauce". If it includes pirates in any...

well, all in all, the graduation day didnt turn out as bad as could have been expected. Around 7 o'clock, my friend kate found me sitting at my computer listening to cathartic angry metal whilst dressed in a graduation robe I found in a broom closet. She insisted that I needed to get out and stop mourning my passing college years, which was probably true. So we went to a pub, had a couple pints and chatted. I needed that I think. We spent several hours out chattin about complete innane things which made me feel much better. Then I hung out in on of th other gordon houses watching "green wing" (a british comedy series) which made me laugh a bit. One of the nicest gestures was when I got home and I found a couple nice british beers on my desk, courtesy of my housemate Miriam. While that was nice in itself, there was a sticky note on top which said that I had a present in the fridge. In the refrigerator I found a nice half leg of lamb. Miriam is clearly an amazing human bein...

I am so depressed. Today is graduation day at gordon. Not only does that mean that I should be done by now, but it means that I am missing something that most of my american friends are all doing. The end of my studies will be a "non-event". But even worse is this pit at the bottom of my stomach that misses the hell out of all my gordon friends and the knowledge that it will never be the same between them and myself. I suppose this should have hit me when I left for oxford, but it has sunk in in a different way now. I really wish I were spending the summer living on campus and working grounds crew again. It is at moments like these that I dont give a crap about going back to spain and just want to go back to the good friends I made in Boston. It is only worse that in a week I will feel the opposite and then back again. If I could settle on one place it would be easier. Having my friends separated by a vast stretch ocean, and having to choose between the two groups, kills me. ...

A funny thing happened to me this evening. As I walked towards the library, I was filled with something I can only describe as 'rapturous joy'. This all may sound cheesy, but it is only because I have no way of putting it into words . It was so unexpected, and welcome, and strange. Anyone who knows me know that I am not prone to feel anything of that sort, which is why it was so strange. As I walked down the street, I was suddenly overpowered by a deep sense of happiness surging up inside of me in such a way that I could not help smiling and had to keep myself from skipping. I do not know what it was that brought it on. Perhaps it was that I had been profoundly moved by the end of George Macdonald's book Phantastes a couple of hours before. Or it may have been the effect of dusk on the ancient architecture. Or it may have been that the air was filled with the intoxicating smell of springtime. Or the way that the warm sun combined with the brisk air on my skin. Perhaps a bit...

I cannot figure out what is "good." I'm talking in terms of productivity and creative output. It is interesting that quality is so limited by the fashions of the day. Take Oscar Wilde for example, in his day he was considered a poet. In fact he was a poet long before he became the famous playwright he is known as today. And yet, if you are to read his poetry today you will realize that, generally, it is pretty terrible. It is an emphasis on all the most annoying and dated poetic figures found in Romantic poetry without any of the free flowing soul found in the better poems of the time. It is exceedingly cheesy and over the top and relies on seemingly formulaic compositional elements. All in all, most critics agree that it is terrible poetry (the one exception, for those who like to read poetry, is the Ballad of Reading Gaol, which he wrote regarding his time in prison). Now, my problem is not that Oscar Wilde could not write lasting poetry. Many good authors have tried th...