So I wasted away my entire evening doing nothing, and now I’m here to write about it.

Actually, I did practice viola (spiccato double stops are exhausting) and do some Spanish homework. For el primero time, no este sure what lengua deber use. Dwee said something, and my brain said, “Respond: What?/º=¿Que?” but I wasn’t sure which one to use! I ended up kinda choking, then sputtering, ¿Que?

Poor Dwee.

After that, I tried to find an excuse for my English final project, which is to examine a character from a book we read this year, and examine that character’s world view. I use the term “excuse” because I wanted it to be all musical and such–it’s less concrete, less literature-ey, and generally more impressive. Unfortunately, I had no intention of spending $3.95 on stupid sheet music of that song in the movie that that girly-looking guy was singing.

Then I went to www.specgram.com, a Journal of Satirical Linguistics, and read this very entertaining article: Los Eres y el Erre. I was most amused to have read it in Spanish and caught almost some of the funny parts.

But the really wasteful segment follows. (Get it? Segment? Which is like seguir, which means to follow..)

As you may have been forcefully and repeatedly reminded and prodded about, the Sophomore class council had been selling spiffy T-shirts; Tie dyed ones were 15 USD, Black ones were 12. We were counting up all the money today, and people were like, “So dudes, our profit is like, per shirt. So like, do we know how many we like, sold? of like, each?”

I responded, “Well, we do know fo’sho’ that we took in 1483 USD.”

They said, “So how much of that is like, profit?”

Whilst our representatives were furiously typing up the orders onto some very organized spreadsheets, my eyes lit up with the passionate fire I have for mathematics, which I feed konstantly with logs and polynomeals. (Haha, Harmy’s punny today.) 

Diophantine Equation!!!!

TBC.

I just got out of the shower. [Si, es temprano–casi las nueve, pero The Apprentice is on tonight, and it’s really long, so I figured I’d go early.]

After lathering up and stuff, I started thinking about how, on the way back from my chiropractor appointment, I heard Charles Ives on the radio and actually recognized his style. I could hear the disjointed piano chords, whose placements probably make perfect sense; I could hear those “threads” of three-note noodles that GNHYO used a synthesizer for, played on a violin–remember that cellist-conductor with the incongruent accent who was talking about flannel?; I could definitely recognize the *noise*–>*short silence*–>”bell, timpani”–>*more noise* pattern. It turned out that it was his Sketches of Small New England Towns suite, or something. 

My exuberance peeved Dwee. ^.^ Poor Dwee. Deprived of her KC101.3 everytime I bloop into the car.

So when I was showering, I turned on the shower radio. The piece had a distinctly-Dvorak tune–I would swear that it was an exact quote from his New World Symphony; if not, then Mahler’s Titan. But then. 

The *noise with crazy trumpets blaring* struck me, and so did the *lush melody that definitely doesn’t belong in the march-like character of the rest of the piece* and *really, really twistly little rhythm* as did the *fife+drum* combo. 

But that stupid Dvorak theme stopped me from thinking, “This is Charles Ives!” Also, there were all those woodwind solos that sounded so Dvorak. 

Turns out that it was Charles Ives, indeed–his Second Symphony, which makes sense, since he composed about distinctly American sounds, and Dvorak tried to.

Then Dwee popped in and pointed at the radio with a peeved prodding look on her face. Poor Dwee.

Apprentice time! For once, I don’t hate either of the finalists. Tee.

Polyvalence *twitch*

Latter part of May 2006, in Pictures [clickit, svp]

In 7th grade Earth Science, our very first lab, called the Widget Lab, involved three paltry thermometers; one wrapped with a dry rag, one wrapped with a rag soaked in water, and one wrapped with a rag soaked in alcohol. Record temperature at x-interval, plot on graph, blah, blah, blah.

When it came time to write the lab report (see, back then, we wrote lab reports in science class, instead of answering questions.), I asked the teacher, Ms. Cafasso, why the alcohol thermometer got colder than the water one, but I think I was really wondering, “What was the fundamental difference between the two liquids that made them evaporate differently?”. She asked a question that led to my answering, “Alcohol evaporates faster than water,” which I think I already knew.

So now, as a 10th grader, I finally know. Fewer of those powerful H-bonds.

Uh..Happy memorial day, or “Sit-around-and-eat, Part II.” [Part I is Easter, I reckon, since many have forgotten the historical/religious aspecs of it and only use it as an excuse to eat chocolate, sugared marshmallows, and meat.]

War is bad. Mechanized war is worse. War fought by the masses for the few rich and powerful is worst.

I heard this song on NPR, on their folk music show: 

One More Parade

By Phil Ochs and Bob Gibson

 

Dm
Hup, two, three, four, marching down the street
C                            Dm
Rolling of the drums and the trampin' of the feet
Dm
Generals salute and mothers wave and weep(?)
F              E7    A   - G
Here comes the big parade
A   - G
Don't be afraid
A7
Price is paid
Dm
One more parade

F                    C
So young, so strong, so ready for the war
Dm                  A
So willing to die upon a foreign shore
Gm                       A              C
All march together, everybody looks the same
F           E7             A   - G
So there is no one you can blame
A
Don't be ashamed
G          A7
Light the flame
Dm   A7 Dm
One more parade

Listen for the sound and listen for the noise
Listen for the thunder of the marching boys
A few years ago their guns were only toys
Here comes the big parade
Don't be afraid
Price is paid
One more parade

So young, so strong, so ready for the war
So willing to die upon a foreign shore
All march together, everybody looks the same
So there is no one you can blame
Don't be ashamed
Light the flame
One more parade

Medals on their coats and guns in their hands
Trained to kill as they're trained to stand
10,000 ears need only one command
Here comes the big parade
Don't be afraid
Price is paid
One more parade

So young, so strong, so ready for the war
So willing to die upon a foreign shore
All march together, everybody looks the same
So there is no one you can blame
Don't be ashamed
Light the flame
One more parade

Cold hard stares on faces ? so proud
Kisses from the girls and cheers from the crowd
And the widows from the last war cry into their shroud
Here comes the big parade
Don't be afraid
Price is paid
Don't be ashamed
War is a game
World in flames
So start the parade

Como se llama?

Very eventful week, this one.

I seem to have been selected by the Link Crew folks, in a process as mysterious as that of college admissions–there’s no way to know why they chose some, and not others. Methinks they tried to get a group that would look nice on paper, in statistics, though.

The training was on Thursday. Remember that game with the paper squares on the floor, with some representing turtles, and some rocks, and you had to get across it? The trick was to bend the corners of the turtles and crumple the rocks, so that there would be a clearly defined path. My Link Leaders never told me that–we ran out of time before we could finish. Really, I think kids who are ordinarily motivated would have a hard time ‘getting in to’ some of those games, particularly if they’re in random groups without their friends. And just think how interested and enthusiastic the lethargic, cafeteria-fry-eating kids would be!

Uh..Lock your backpack in your gym locker. People steal money.

Salsa dancing was fun today, albeit a little hot and difficult to follow if you couldn’t see the feet of the instructor. I enjoyed gyrating my hips and forgetting the steps when with a partner.

WTF’s a Thistle Tube?

Eew. I just did a whole set–all 85–of an SAT II Chem test. See, I had no idea that you still get the pesky .25 raw point deduction, even when you omitted, so I had 9 wrong, an 9 omits because I had no clue (reeeeeeddddooooxxxxx) or I was so mad at Barron’s awful, risibly presposterous wording. Assuming that I would’ve gotton lucky and guessed myself 1.8 (rounding up to 2) correct answers, my idiotic mistake of not reading not telling about the omit thing cost me a completely significant (slight sarcasm) ..10 points. At least according to a scaling system by a different book, because Barron doesn’t give any. Losers.

Yup. I suck at learning Chemistry from review books. Granted, I have a Dwee, but still, I wish we had time to do redox and acids and bases and all that fun brackety stuff. (Not really) Additionally, there’s all this stuff on the test about laboratory setups that no public school would ever afford. You tell me the difference between a stopcock and pinchcock.

Now, I’m perfectly aware that the folks at Collgeboard know about the dire financial situations of high schools nationwide and intend for hopeful, collegebound kiddies to stare at pictures of crosssections of weird tubey-pipey-CaCl2 and memorize the names of all those tubey-pipey thingies.

On a happier note, I found an uproariously witty site, All Too Flat. It has Famous Scientist Trading Cards, a docubloggary (documentary) of when they made a huge cube statue into a giant Rubik’s cube, and other stuff I haven’t seen yet. Tee.

My mom, ever resourceful, has discovered that a cheese slicer works wonderfully for pre-splitting giant Costco muffins in half, so that one can eat half a muffin without polluting the other side. Huzzah!