After reading THIS article--a response to Francis S. Collins's book The Language of God--I wanted to post a long, drawn-out, atheistic rant.
But I decided not to.
Probably better for everyone, eh?
Friday, July 10, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Revolver
After returning from London and Paris--two of the biggest tourist sites in the world--I feel obligated to funnel all of my anger about photography into a single entity.
You may be thinking "What's the big deal, Casey? Don't be such a prick!"--but I absolutely hate some of these twats that carry cameras around big cities.
First of all, I don't mind the occasional photo with your family. I might express a tinge of annoyance when my mom tells me to stand next to some monument, but it's all in good fun. I can understand how much it means to my mother. What I don't appreciate are the self-absorbed tourists that carry their video cameras around like a child. While I'm walking around the streets of London, the last thing I want to be worried about is whether or not I'm going to be seen in some future family video.
On that note--why do people tape absolutely everything?! I watched a family tape their entire stay in Westminster Abbey; are they planning on watching all of it at a later date? Will they sit down to later experience their entire visit to Poets' Corner? Mind you, they weren't even speaking: the father was just panning the camera around filming everything he deemed "cool."
I understand that we, as a society, feel the need to document every single moment of our lives--as evidenced by Twitter, Facebook status updates, and weirdly Orwell-ian Bluetooth tracking of concert-goers--but this is starting to get a little out of hand. I was routinely asked to step aside for picture of random shit in London. I'm not talking about memorials or landmarks--I'm talking about stores and streets. Excuse me for not wanting to step aside for your photo of a newstand--I'm trying to buy a fucking paper.
But--travelling even deeper into the unknown hatred of my mind--none of those minor twitches can compare to my ultimate pet-peeve: people who take pictures of art.
My family went to the Tate Modern, the Louvre, and the Orsay--and at each one there were dickheads who feel that their digitial camera can do a much better job of capturing Monets brush strokes or Van Gogh's color. I don't claim to know much about art, but I do know that it is supposed to be absorbed in person. If all you wanted to see was a picture of Van Gogh's self-portrait--then I have something to inform you of: Google Images.
GAH. I'm going to keep going: In the Louve--the Mona Lisa was made into a tourist attraction. I find that perfectly acceptable, as it is probably the most famous painting in the world--but the fact that there was a crowd of people around the frame taking pictures with flash absolutely infuriated me. Nobody I saw was simply standing there, admiring the painting. They must have felt that their camera phone could capture the moment even better than actual memories.
I'm reminded, once again, of the Bob Dylan quote my parent's used when I graduated high school.
You may be thinking "What's the big deal, Casey? Don't be such a prick!"--but I absolutely hate some of these twats that carry cameras around big cities.
First of all, I don't mind the occasional photo with your family. I might express a tinge of annoyance when my mom tells me to stand next to some monument, but it's all in good fun. I can understand how much it means to my mother. What I don't appreciate are the self-absorbed tourists that carry their video cameras around like a child. While I'm walking around the streets of London, the last thing I want to be worried about is whether or not I'm going to be seen in some future family video.
On that note--why do people tape absolutely everything?! I watched a family tape their entire stay in Westminster Abbey; are they planning on watching all of it at a later date? Will they sit down to later experience their entire visit to Poets' Corner? Mind you, they weren't even speaking: the father was just panning the camera around filming everything he deemed "cool."
I understand that we, as a society, feel the need to document every single moment of our lives--as evidenced by Twitter, Facebook status updates, and weirdly Orwell-ian Bluetooth tracking of concert-goers--but this is starting to get a little out of hand. I was routinely asked to step aside for picture of random shit in London. I'm not talking about memorials or landmarks--I'm talking about stores and streets. Excuse me for not wanting to step aside for your photo of a newstand--I'm trying to buy a fucking paper.
But--travelling even deeper into the unknown hatred of my mind--none of those minor twitches can compare to my ultimate pet-peeve: people who take pictures of art.
My family went to the Tate Modern, the Louvre, and the Orsay--and at each one there were dickheads who feel that their digitial camera can do a much better job of capturing Monets brush strokes or Van Gogh's color. I don't claim to know much about art, but I do know that it is supposed to be absorbed in person. If all you wanted to see was a picture of Van Gogh's self-portrait--then I have something to inform you of: Google Images.
GAH. I'm going to keep going: In the Louve--the Mona Lisa was made into a tourist attraction. I find that perfectly acceptable, as it is probably the most famous painting in the world--but the fact that there was a crowd of people around the frame taking pictures with flash absolutely infuriated me. Nobody I saw was simply standing there, admiring the painting. They must have felt that their camera phone could capture the moment even better than actual memories.
I'm reminded, once again, of the Bob Dylan quote my parent's used when I graduated high school.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Four Word Letter
As a future English major, I was very excited to witness, first-hand, all of the classic English being thrown around London. It felt a bit uncomfortable at first--as my American accent instantly labels me as a lazy, slobby, hick--but most of the people I met and spoke with were very forgiving. The awkwardness of having to ask "Could you repeat that?" did get a little tiring, and I was constantly looking at exactly which coins I had in my pocket--but, eventually, I was able to settle in and try to study exactly what makes the English language a little different.
Immediately after arriving from the Metro station, the change was particularly jarring. Instead of an "Exit" sign pointing us to street level--there was a "Way Out" sign. The obvious differences--such as the "u's" in "colour," "favourite," and "behaviour"--were all very apparent to me before I arrived, but I started to notice even more.
The English are obviously opposed to the letter "z." It is hardly ever used--except at the beginning of proper nouns, and even then I only saw it put to use twice. The letter is also omitted from usually simple words. "Recognize" and "energize" were the first two words I witnessed to become part of this phenomena--but anywhere where I've grown accustomed to a "z," an "s" has been substituted. The change wasn't as drastic as I had expected, but the sheer scale of the switch was quite amazing.
Rather than "line," the British use "queue"--which can also be turned into a verb, with the product being "queuing." This makes the entire process of standing in a line much more efficient--as the act itself has an entire noun, verb, and phrase attached to it.
One of the most surprising uses I noticed was the use of "suspension" as a noun. Rather than saying "No Parking"--a sign on the street would inform of a "Parking Suspension."
The language across the pond is definitely a bit more sophisticated. Simple signs that we take for granted, such as "Exit," are replaced with much more descriptive counterparts. This may have been the nerdiest blog you've ever read--minus all of that Harry Potter fan-fiction (you know who you are)--but, for me, this entire experience was extremely gratifying.
I made my literary pilgrimage to Poets' Corner in Westminster Abbet--where I was able to pay my respects to the authors I've practically worshipped over the years. Shakespeare, Wilde, Keats, Carol, Dickens, and Wordsworth were all memorialized (Did you catch the "z!") in Poets' Corner--and I felt honored to have the opportunity to show my appreciation. I just returned from a trip to the Pantheon, where I saw the graves of Alexandre Dumas and Voltaire. Before going off to college to study--just as these writers had done--I can safely say that I have made my trip to the Literary Mecca.
Immediately after arriving from the Metro station, the change was particularly jarring. Instead of an "Exit" sign pointing us to street level--there was a "Way Out" sign. The obvious differences--such as the "u's" in "colour," "favourite," and "behaviour"--were all very apparent to me before I arrived, but I started to notice even more.
The English are obviously opposed to the letter "z." It is hardly ever used--except at the beginning of proper nouns, and even then I only saw it put to use twice. The letter is also omitted from usually simple words. "Recognize" and "energize" were the first two words I witnessed to become part of this phenomena--but anywhere where I've grown accustomed to a "z," an "s" has been substituted. The change wasn't as drastic as I had expected, but the sheer scale of the switch was quite amazing.
Rather than "line," the British use "queue"--which can also be turned into a verb, with the product being "queuing." This makes the entire process of standing in a line much more efficient--as the act itself has an entire noun, verb, and phrase attached to it.
One of the most surprising uses I noticed was the use of "suspension" as a noun. Rather than saying "No Parking"--a sign on the street would inform of a "Parking Suspension."
The language across the pond is definitely a bit more sophisticated. Simple signs that we take for granted, such as "Exit," are replaced with much more descriptive counterparts. This may have been the nerdiest blog you've ever read--minus all of that Harry Potter fan-fiction (you know who you are)--but, for me, this entire experience was extremely gratifying.
I made my literary pilgrimage to Poets' Corner in Westminster Abbet--where I was able to pay my respects to the authors I've practically worshipped over the years. Shakespeare, Wilde, Keats, Carol, Dickens, and Wordsworth were all memorialized (Did you catch the "z!") in Poets' Corner--and I felt honored to have the opportunity to show my appreciation. I just returned from a trip to the Pantheon, where I saw the graves of Alexandre Dumas and Voltaire. Before going off to college to study--just as these writers had done--I can safely say that I have made my trip to the Literary Mecca.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Observations From London
I need a place to publically acknowledge all of the weird shit that has been happening to me in London so far. This list has mostly been in my notebook--but it's gotten to the point that it would just be easier to compile it here.
June 28th, 2009
- Has anybody ever actually bought anything from SkyMall? There seems to be quite a market for lawn ornaments...
-Nothing can destroy a peaceful, serene Pink Floyd album like a screaming child seated directly behind you.
-Nintendo DSs obviously emit a plane-destroying signal frequency.
-I'm just as excited for the accents as I am for the art.
-People REALLY want you to know what movie they're watching--as assessed by the cacophony
of portable DVD players in my general vicinity.
-When the lights dimmed in the place--after waiting on the runway for almost an hour--I felt like yelling "Woo!" as if I were at a concert. I'm fairly sure others felt the same.
-Flying in the '70s must have been amazing. Everyone would just be smoking and drinking. They should reinstate that policy--as it would make the whole experience much more manageable.
-Whenever I sit anywhere near the wing, I have a sudden urge to pretend to be William Shatner in that episode of The Twilight Zone. Hold your applause, fellow nerds.
-First class seats shouldn't get oxygen masks or floatation devices--just to even the odds a bit and make them a bit more wary of coach passengers.
-The longer the flight, the less space you'll have. I was on a two hour flight to Salt Lake City, Utah--and NOBODY was on it, but the twelve hour flight to London made me feel like cattle.
-Flight attendants speak more about "special credit card offers" than they do about safety procedures. That makes me a bit uneasy--but now that wall-sized map of the world in SkyMall looks much more easily attainable...
-In America: White guy with dreadlocks = Total prick
In London: White guy with dreadlocks = Ladie's Man
-I went into a McDonalds by myself and ordered a large drink. Just for fun, I decided to use a fake British accent to see if anyone would notice. Nobody did. I felt a lot better about myself.
-The British use coins for the 1 denomination. How do they tip their strippers?
And finally--the most annoying thing about this trip so far...
-Anything announced over any sort of intercom will undoubtedly be repeated by my mother or father in the worst British accent imaginable. We ride the subway almost ten times a day. The pain is intolerable.
June 28th, 2009
- Has anybody ever actually bought anything from SkyMall? There seems to be quite a market for lawn ornaments...
-Nothing can destroy a peaceful, serene Pink Floyd album like a screaming child seated directly behind you.
-Nintendo DSs obviously emit a plane-destroying signal frequency.
-I'm just as excited for the accents as I am for the art.
-People REALLY want you to know what movie they're watching--as assessed by the cacophony
of portable DVD players in my general vicinity.
-When the lights dimmed in the place--after waiting on the runway for almost an hour--I felt like yelling "Woo!" as if I were at a concert. I'm fairly sure others felt the same.
-Flying in the '70s must have been amazing. Everyone would just be smoking and drinking. They should reinstate that policy--as it would make the whole experience much more manageable.
-Whenever I sit anywhere near the wing, I have a sudden urge to pretend to be William Shatner in that episode of The Twilight Zone. Hold your applause, fellow nerds.
-First class seats shouldn't get oxygen masks or floatation devices--just to even the odds a bit and make them a bit more wary of coach passengers.
-The longer the flight, the less space you'll have. I was on a two hour flight to Salt Lake City, Utah--and NOBODY was on it, but the twelve hour flight to London made me feel like cattle.
-Flight attendants speak more about "special credit card offers" than they do about safety procedures. That makes me a bit uneasy--but now that wall-sized map of the world in SkyMall looks much more easily attainable...
-In America: White guy with dreadlocks = Total prick
In London: White guy with dreadlocks = Ladie's Man
-I went into a McDonalds by myself and ordered a large drink. Just for fun, I decided to use a fake British accent to see if anyone would notice. Nobody did. I felt a lot better about myself.
-The British use coins for the 1 denomination. How do they tip their strippers?
And finally--the most annoying thing about this trip so far...
-Anything announced over any sort of intercom will undoubtedly be repeated by my mother or father in the worst British accent imaginable. We ride the subway almost ten times a day. The pain is intolerable.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
We All Well Know...
I have never had a spiritual experience--but I came pretty damn close tonight during the mewithoutYou concert. Only a band with an amazing back-catalog and a diverse sound could ever have this effect on me--and I was lucky enough to be there for it to happen.
Chanting the lyrics in a tiny bar, while others around me did the same, was at the same time both therapeutic and deeply emotional. My lungs were gasping for breath at the end of every song--having screamed as loudly as possible.
You know, I always used to scoff at those people in church who would raise their arms to the sky and gyrate along to the music as if possessed--but now I completely understand. I had my spiritual moment tonight, and I feel very different. I still don't truly believe in any God--but I definitely believe in myself more than I ever have. I caught myself raising my hands to something I don't believe in.
Tie me up! Untie me! It doesn't matter at this point. I've let loose my ties to the past and moved on. Her ideas of perfection always bothered me, but part of me always wanted to believe along with her. I wanted to believe her when she said we were "perfect for each other," which, of course, was not true. I was never able to believe--mostly because of my general stubbornness--and I'm glad I never succumbed to those feelings. My spirituality is simply not found within the walls of a church. I found it tonight. Perfection is such an odd concept. It is one theory that can rarely be observed. The "perfect" circle. "Perfect" symmetry." She can believe it if she'd like--but I feel sorry for her. Truly.
Chanting the lyrics in a tiny bar, while others around me did the same, was at the same time both therapeutic and deeply emotional. My lungs were gasping for breath at the end of every song--having screamed as loudly as possible.
She's like a hot cloth on a fevered head,How can I even respond to that? The imagery and sound is just so touching that it's hard for me to even put its effect into words. Aaron Weiss--as Kevin and I were joking--may not be the voice of our mainstream generation, but he is undoubtedly the greatest lyricist I have been able to witness in his prime.
And like a needle she leads me (while I follow like thread)
Tie me up! Untie me! All this wishing I was dead is getting old...
IT'S GETTING OLD!!
... it goes on, but it's old.
-"Tie Me Up! Untie Me!"
You know, I always used to scoff at those people in church who would raise their arms to the sky and gyrate along to the music as if possessed--but now I completely understand. I had my spiritual moment tonight, and I feel very different. I still don't truly believe in any God--but I definitely believe in myself more than I ever have. I caught myself raising my hands to something I don't believe in.
Tie me up! Untie me! It doesn't matter at this point. I've let loose my ties to the past and moved on. Her ideas of perfection always bothered me, but part of me always wanted to believe along with her. I wanted to believe her when she said we were "perfect for each other," which, of course, was not true. I was never able to believe--mostly because of my general stubbornness--and I'm glad I never succumbed to those feelings. My spirituality is simply not found within the walls of a church. I found it tonight. Perfection is such an odd concept. It is one theory that can rarely be observed. The "perfect" circle. "Perfect" symmetry." She can believe it if she'd like--but I feel sorry for her. Truly.
If you fail to see a problem, which I find hard to believe,
Or if you're hanging on from branches licking honey from the leaves;
You say, "The hopelessness of living... and the childishness of suicide!"
But there's a call to love my brother that can never be destroyed.
-"Leaves"
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Fast Women and Slow Horses
Summer always makes blogging feel unimportant. I've either been out around town or holed up in my apartment-like upstairs loft.
Who needs blogging when I can play Street Fighter all day?
Anyway--I'm heading up to NAU for orientation tomorrow. I'll be alone, which should make the experience very note-worthy. I'm hoping to meet lots of new people with some similar interests and to develop some early friendships.
Not much to say. Too much to do.
Oh--and I bought two bootlegs on vinyl that will be sending my children through college. Thank you, Radiohead.
Who needs blogging when I can play Street Fighter all day?
Anyway--I'm heading up to NAU for orientation tomorrow. I'll be alone, which should make the experience very note-worthy. I'm hoping to meet lots of new people with some similar interests and to develop some early friendships.
Not much to say. Too much to do.
Oh--and I bought two bootlegs on vinyl that will be sending my children through college. Thank you, Radiohead.
Monday, June 1, 2009
One Soft Infested Summer
I wanted to grab you and kiss you one last time.
Somehow I held myself back.
That white dress sure as hell didn't help.
Somehow I held myself back.
That white dress sure as hell didn't help.
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