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1642 Charleston Rd. Mountain View, CA
In front of the big glass building.
Announcing Ironic Sans: The Newsletter
3 years ago
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Worth
I went to visit my old high school today to meet up with a teacher I've been in contact with during my first of college.
It was nice knowing that what I've learned can help people go through Mercy with a better, more enriching experience.
It was also wonderful knowing that someone is interested in your experiences and wants to pick your brain.
So this is what it feels to be on the other side of my usual personality - the direct object instead of the subject. Or am I the indirect object? Yes, the indirect object.
I like being asked questions. Good ones. Thought-provoking ones.
I hope I can be as successful in a classroom as I am one-on-one with people.
It was nice knowing that what I've learned can help people go through Mercy with a better, more enriching experience.
It was also wonderful knowing that someone is interested in your experiences and wants to pick your brain.
So this is what it feels to be on the other side of my usual personality - the direct object instead of the subject. Or am I the indirect object? Yes, the indirect object.
I like being asked questions. Good ones. Thought-provoking ones.
I hope I can be as successful in a classroom as I am one-on-one with people.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Journals
Ever since I was a little girl, I've had an obsession with collecting empty notebooks and journals. I'd always imagine myself buying one, filling it with all my hopes and dreams then packing it away to read on a rainy day ten years from now, whether that reading was done by me or maybe my future children who happen to chance upon a box of forgotten but cherished things.
I think that if I write in a journal, I'll think too much about it, like how I think too much about everything I do. Because I want it to be honest, yet readable not only for myself but for my children later in the future who I hope will find it. I would want them to know that everything they're going through has been "gone through" before by thousands of generations before them.I would feel cheap writing to an audience even though it's supposed to be a private matter, but I can't help but think that whatever I would want to write down in the pages of forever would be readable. I guess it follows the type of "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say it at all" exercise. Once you write something down, it's your opinion made. Permanent and unable to be taken back, written language is official, because it can't be denied and suppressed like inner thoughts and opinions. I suppose that's why written language can be one of the greatest weapons in person's sort of metaphysical arsenal.
Journals should be more than just your daily happenings and events, like a Xanga blog or a transcript of what you tell your BFF on the phone late at night. It's more than just an itinerary. It should be a record of your philosophy on life. What you think, why you think it, and whether the people you hang out with think the same way. And since your philosophies are put in context of your then-current routine lifestyle, you can look back at any entry and see what kind of person you were existing as at that point in time. And I think that's important. Journals are recorded in real time, too. So the writing is raw and real and without the filter of a 'jaded' existence. It's important to see where you've come from, where you are right now, and see the progression (or maybe regression) in getting there.
The measure of a human life is progress. Journals record that. Why do you think it's so hard to read through Xanga entries or recount the memories of middle school with old friends? Because you've realized what you used to be compared to who you are now. If a man wrote an entry for every day of his life, and read this on his deathbed, he should feel proud of himself and satisfied. That's my philosophy on life.
When I have enough money one day, I'll go out to a bookstore and buy the perfect journal. It'd be leatherbound and soft. The margins would be just perfect, and bound in a way that I wouldn't have to struggle making it lay flat. It would pay for itself through sentimental interest rates, because the longer I keep it and keep writing in it, the more it'll be worth to me, for I hold sentimental value much more above monetary 8 days a week.
And then the curiosity will take the best of my future child, who will one day wander into the garage to look through the loads of unmarked boxes, and spend his entire afternoon reading about how strange yet familiar his mom sounded during her college years. And because of a decision his mom made years ago, he would forever continue to look at her with just another small yet significant dimension that wouldn't have been there before.
I think that if I write in a journal, I'll think too much about it, like how I think too much about everything I do. Because I want it to be honest, yet readable not only for myself but for my children later in the future who I hope will find it. I would want them to know that everything they're going through has been "gone through" before by thousands of generations before them.I would feel cheap writing to an audience even though it's supposed to be a private matter, but I can't help but think that whatever I would want to write down in the pages of forever would be readable. I guess it follows the type of "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say it at all" exercise. Once you write something down, it's your opinion made. Permanent and unable to be taken back, written language is official, because it can't be denied and suppressed like inner thoughts and opinions. I suppose that's why written language can be one of the greatest weapons in person's sort of metaphysical arsenal.
Journals should be more than just your daily happenings and events, like a Xanga blog or a transcript of what you tell your BFF on the phone late at night. It's more than just an itinerary. It should be a record of your philosophy on life. What you think, why you think it, and whether the people you hang out with think the same way. And since your philosophies are put in context of your then-current routine lifestyle, you can look back at any entry and see what kind of person you were existing as at that point in time. And I think that's important. Journals are recorded in real time, too. So the writing is raw and real and without the filter of a 'jaded' existence. It's important to see where you've come from, where you are right now, and see the progression (or maybe regression) in getting there.
The measure of a human life is progress. Journals record that. Why do you think it's so hard to read through Xanga entries or recount the memories of middle school with old friends? Because you've realized what you used to be compared to who you are now. If a man wrote an entry for every day of his life, and read this on his deathbed, he should feel proud of himself and satisfied. That's my philosophy on life.
When I have enough money one day, I'll go out to a bookstore and buy the perfect journal. It'd be leatherbound and soft. The margins would be just perfect, and bound in a way that I wouldn't have to struggle making it lay flat. It would pay for itself through sentimental interest rates, because the longer I keep it and keep writing in it, the more it'll be worth to me, for I hold sentimental value much more above monetary 8 days a week.
And then the curiosity will take the best of my future child, who will one day wander into the garage to look through the loads of unmarked boxes, and spend his entire afternoon reading about how strange yet familiar his mom sounded during her college years. And because of a decision his mom made years ago, he would forever continue to look at her with just another small yet significant dimension that wouldn't have been there before.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
are there lilac trees in the heart of town?
I think I need a hobby. But not a new one. I suppose you can call me a Jackie of All Trades because I know an adequate amount of information on a lot of subjects, but not enough to make it something I really stick to. I suppose blogging can be a hobby, but hardly anyone reads my blogs and I don't blog about anything interesting. Case in point, this will just be a list of things I'm gonna consider picking up again. I don't know why I'm blogging this, but it's too late to delete it now!
Things I can pick up (again)
Photography
Astronomy
Guitar
Crafting
Knitting
Cooking
Songwriting
Poetry
Silkscreening T-shirts
Doing stupid things to my computer
Things I can learn:
Blogging about something consistently interesting
Baking/The art of confections
Video blogging (ugh)
Sewing
Crocheting
hrm... choices...
Things I can pick up (again)
Photography
Astronomy
Guitar
Crafting
Knitting
Cooking
Songwriting
Poetry
Silkscreening T-shirts
Doing stupid things to my computer
Things I can learn:
Blogging about something consistently interesting
Baking/The art of confections
Video blogging (ugh)
Sewing
Crocheting
hrm... choices...
Friday, August 1, 2008
Need: Musical switch, $25 OBO
4:07am
I wish I could quit learning about all things music. All of it. Right this very second. I don't want to learn any more. I don't want to know any more. And if I had another wish, I wish I could go back to... the end of my senior year, where I discovered vocal jazz music and became an equal-opportunity-listener of all things classical. Where the only choral, or even just serious music I've dealt with was Tri-School Chorus. My brain would be void of everything...
I think its related to an issue we discussed at Voice Lab one day. Singing is easy. But its making music that's hard because it involves so many thought processes. The best singers have a thinking problem.
I don't really know what's happening to me. I'm starting not to enjoy music the way I used to. I'm not even sure if I really enjoy it now. Unlike 80% of my friends, I didn't grow up playing an instrument. I wasn't shoved into piano lessons or flute lessons at 6 years old. I really knew nothing about music until about 5 years ago, and never really became self-aware until less than that. It's a strange term -- "self-aware". It's what you and Asimov fear Robots will do before they take over the world. But it's an appropriate term, because there is a huge difference between "knowing" something and "realizing" something.
But anyway.
When I actually did start exploring the worlds of classical and jazz on my own, it was like being in Europe without a map or a guide. Through pop culture, I knew all the big, famous composers and artists. Even recognized some of their major works. But Europe is so much more than its famous landmarks, just as music is so much more than its celebrities. It was discovering the famous cities and civilizations as well as the little towns and villages and alleyway eateries where all the locals go to. I would learn things here and there through friends and mentors, but it only chipped away at the wonder and awe I felt as I wandered around.
Ignorance really is bliss. Because as the saying goes with all art, "I don't know what this is, but I know what I like." I enjoyed every concert or recording or radio broadcast I heard. With a bad ear and no real technical knowledge of music, I just loved whatever was played for me and never really thought too much about it. Of course, people have their own tastes (I never really liked that experimental jazz crap they play on KCSM after midnight), but I wasn't ever really too picky about anything.
Because I was absolutely ignorant about anything musical, it didn't take much to please me. In fact, it was something I was proud of. I used to sit next to Brendan when he had to do performance evaluations on the concerts we'd go to. And I thought to myself, "Man, I don't know what the hell he's talking about. But good thing I don't know, because I wouldn't be able to enjoy this performance."
But the exact thing has happened to me. With all this wonderful knowledge comes the hardened task of having to bear it with you through every concert, recital, performance, etc. Maybe it's a burden I have to bear, or a switch I haven't yet learned to turn off. But I can't listen to a piece of music and just enjoy it. You know, enjoying the moment of sitting and relaxing and letting the music just flush over you. Nope, those days are over. I've lost a bit of ignorant wonder when it comes to music, especially classical. My brain is constantly analyzing, interpreting, evaluating, and -inging everything it can all at one time. It would be automatic because, of course, it was how I was trained to listen. And it's frustrating since,as with any type of art, the more about technique and skill you know and recognize, the easier it is to notice when people don't have it. Further, because I didn't grow up with a musical background, I'm definitely not used this kind of constant analysis.
Still, maybe I'm looking at it the wrong way. Maybe the enjoyment becomes replaced with other things that come with musical knowledge, like recognizing when the composer or conductor or choir or whatever does something awesome and you're like, "Yeah! Kickass!" Those little moments of awesome when you hear a chord sung really well or when you're in a church where the dynamics are supposed to be ppp and you open your mouth and they sound forte. I suppose that's a type of joy you can only experience with knowledge of the art.
I don't know what I'm rambling about. Scarily, it sounds like I hate... knowing things. What's worse, it's gaining deeper knowledge of something I really love. But that's not the case. I'm just shaken by the fact that I can't listen to music the way I used to anymore. As a musician, that's awesome. That means I'm learning and applying. But as a casual listener (which I guess I'm not anymore, like a solider/civilian), it sucks.I guess what I really want is a switch in my brain where I can shut down everything musical I've learned when I want to, and switch it on when I need it. There's times where that knowledge is definitely advantageous, and there's times where I just want to chop my head off but leave my ears.
And although anatomically and physically that isn't possible, we can all wish for something, right?
4:56am
I wish I could quit learning about all things music. All of it. Right this very second. I don't want to learn any more. I don't want to know any more. And if I had another wish, I wish I could go back to... the end of my senior year, where I discovered vocal jazz music and became an equal-opportunity-listener of all things classical. Where the only choral, or even just serious music I've dealt with was Tri-School Chorus. My brain would be void of everything...
I think its related to an issue we discussed at Voice Lab one day. Singing is easy. But its making music that's hard because it involves so many thought processes. The best singers have a thinking problem.
I don't really know what's happening to me. I'm starting not to enjoy music the way I used to. I'm not even sure if I really enjoy it now. Unlike 80% of my friends, I didn't grow up playing an instrument. I wasn't shoved into piano lessons or flute lessons at 6 years old. I really knew nothing about music until about 5 years ago, and never really became self-aware until less than that. It's a strange term -- "self-aware". It's what you and Asimov fear Robots will do before they take over the world. But it's an appropriate term, because there is a huge difference between "knowing" something and "realizing" something.
But anyway.
When I actually did start exploring the worlds of classical and jazz on my own, it was like being in Europe without a map or a guide. Through pop culture, I knew all the big, famous composers and artists. Even recognized some of their major works. But Europe is so much more than its famous landmarks, just as music is so much more than its celebrities. It was discovering the famous cities and civilizations as well as the little towns and villages and alleyway eateries where all the locals go to. I would learn things here and there through friends and mentors, but it only chipped away at the wonder and awe I felt as I wandered around.
Ignorance really is bliss. Because as the saying goes with all art, "I don't know what this is, but I know what I like." I enjoyed every concert or recording or radio broadcast I heard. With a bad ear and no real technical knowledge of music, I just loved whatever was played for me and never really thought too much about it. Of course, people have their own tastes (I never really liked that experimental jazz crap they play on KCSM after midnight), but I wasn't ever really too picky about anything.
Because I was absolutely ignorant about anything musical, it didn't take much to please me. In fact, it was something I was proud of. I used to sit next to Brendan when he had to do performance evaluations on the concerts we'd go to. And I thought to myself, "Man, I don't know what the hell he's talking about. But good thing I don't know, because I wouldn't be able to enjoy this performance."
But the exact thing has happened to me. With all this wonderful knowledge comes the hardened task of having to bear it with you through every concert, recital, performance, etc. Maybe it's a burden I have to bear, or a switch I haven't yet learned to turn off. But I can't listen to a piece of music and just enjoy it. You know, enjoying the moment of sitting and relaxing and letting the music just flush over you. Nope, those days are over. I've lost a bit of ignorant wonder when it comes to music, especially classical. My brain is constantly analyzing, interpreting, evaluating, and -inging everything it can all at one time. It would be automatic because, of course, it was how I was trained to listen. And it's frustrating since,as with any type of art, the more about technique and skill you know and recognize, the easier it is to notice when people don't have it. Further, because I didn't grow up with a musical background, I'm definitely not used this kind of constant analysis.
Still, maybe I'm looking at it the wrong way. Maybe the enjoyment becomes replaced with other things that come with musical knowledge, like recognizing when the composer or conductor or choir or whatever does something awesome and you're like, "Yeah! Kickass!" Those little moments of awesome when you hear a chord sung really well or when you're in a church where the dynamics are supposed to be ppp and you open your mouth and they sound forte. I suppose that's a type of joy you can only experience with knowledge of the art.
I don't know what I'm rambling about. Scarily, it sounds like I hate... knowing things. What's worse, it's gaining deeper knowledge of something I really love. But that's not the case. I'm just shaken by the fact that I can't listen to music the way I used to anymore. As a musician, that's awesome. That means I'm learning and applying. But as a casual listener (which I guess I'm not anymore, like a solider/civilian), it sucks.I guess what I really want is a switch in my brain where I can shut down everything musical I've learned when I want to, and switch it on when I need it. There's times where that knowledge is definitely advantageous, and there's times where I just want to chop my head off but leave my ears.
And although anatomically and physically that isn't possible, we can all wish for something, right?
4:56am
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