Journal Journal: The search for company
Today I embark upon a mission for friendship. A mission for love. I am leaving to find meaning in a friendship which should never have been understated.
Have a happy new year's all.
Love.
Today I embark upon a mission for friendship. A mission for love. I am leaving to find meaning in a friendship which should never have been understated.
Have a happy new year's all.
Love.
I have passed my calculus class! Life is gooood. Most of my grades were A's with a couple B's and C's. I'm okay with that, I can do better next semester.
So I was writing this bomb funk journal entry. And then stupid contextual menus crashed Chimera. I need the 60meg update to 10.2.3...damn this infernal modem!
after not sleeping last night, getting the shuttle at 6am, taking the plane to Chicago 8:45 to 10:30 (Chicago time), hanging out with Angie for an hour, flying from Chicago to LA 3:30pm CA time, and sitting in LA traffic for an hour to finally get to my rainy home 15 hours from when i started, i'm exhausted. oh yeah, i smoked some extraordinarily good ganja with TJ and Mike on the way home. It's good to be back in CA.
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Today's edition of Slashdot links to an interesting story on bringing a baby grand piano to the Amazonian Wai Wai tribe. Supposedly they are a very musical tribe, with beautiful chorals. I wonder how having a western instrument would affect their sonority and harmony. Be interesting to gradually listen to their harmonies change. I wonder if they were never exposed to it, a 4-5-1 progression would eventua
Cyclic journies through space. Gas and stars mixing with the music. Minimalist beauty and eternally minute detail. Emotion mixed with steel, the march trounces on. So many destinations for life, why does it choose the route it does?
This is the coolest thing I've ever seen. Somebody buy me one. Pllllleeeeazee? thanks.
I never thought I'd actually do the journal thing, and who know's whether or not I'll ever write in this again, but here it is. My online journal. Wow. You must be stoked. Another individual dribbling on about insignificant events in his life. Mr. Optimist, that's my name.
Get hold of portable property. -- Charles Dickens, "Great Expectations"