Things are picking up slow at the end of November and the start of December. Sorry, but apparently we have lives... (haha). We hope you had an enjoyable Thanksgiving!
Let’s start, shall we?
What About What? – Who said being selfish was a bad thing?
at the speed of BLANK – Life’s empty times.
Sift Through the Hourglass – Time goes by ever so slowly...and ever so quickly.
Stumble here, Stumble There – When will you 'stumble' on the perfect situation?
Ode To The Nice Guys – A special ode to all those nice(r) guys in the world [credits to Wharton Undergraduate Journal].
Smiles Spungold Wine – The unnoticed influence of the winding world.
To our heroes. – To those over the seas, and to those at home, and to any who served so valiantly, we honor you.
...PROPS..... – Whose side are you on?
. – Endless questions abound.
Let It Snow(: - The holiday season is a present full of joy.
Been There, Done That – When do we ever have enough time?
Honestly, “.” has got to be the most epic article name ever (well, next to [Untitled] of course). Although it makes it really hard to click the article to read it...maybe that was the point? -shrug- That's just DD I guess.
Hoorah! We made it to month of giving and joy. Cheers to December’s theme: 365 Days.
-the clam.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
November's Theme: Slipping Hourglass
Friday, November 28, 2008
Been There, Done That
“It’s almost like it happened yesterday.”
No doubt about that. Just a year ago, I was go-kart riding, slamming on the gas pedal and whizzing around the lanes—the closest thing I’ve gotten to the real thing. But just a year ago? That’s hard to believe. As fast as those karts were going, time passed by just as quick.
Not long after giving thanks, it’s now time to give presents.
And after giving presents, it’s time to start a new year.
The never-ending cycle just doesn’t end.
You value your family. You value your friends. It seems like we have so much time to value everything, but we always keep on complaining “there’s just not enough time”. I sometimes wonder if it’s the world that doesn’t have time, or if it’s just us who don’t have enough time.
Humans are given the gift to live decades upon decades, and you compare that to the lifespan of an ant—who doesn’t survive more than a couple seconds before someone comes along and “accidentally” steps on it. It’s true we don’t live as long as a tortoise, but who’s to say we don’t have enough time? I mean, do you want to live 150 years? Do you want to be there when global warming kills everything in existence? Do you want to be there when Denmark becomes an unhappy place? Do you want to be there when chimpanzees take over the world? Do you want to be there when the 43rd President dies YES?
We have the best lifespan of any living (or even nonliving things…which will survive forevermore unless it’s destroyed purposely) thing on Earth. And yet we still complain we don’t have enough time…
Even I don’t have enough time right now. But then again, who ever does?
-the clam.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Let it Snow(:
Don't be a Scrooge, and spread the love,
-my.great.ESCAPE.
.
Sometimes, as I sit in the exact spot I am right now, I wonder why I’m here. Yea, I’m up at midnight watching a myriad of videos of Tegan and Sara, but isn’t that kind of an excuse? Is that really a reason? I can do that anytime I feel like, anytime I want to. But really, who ever does what they want when they can? Sometimes, we don’t even know if we know what we want…At midnight, I sit awake, seeing those familiar smiles, hearing those familiar laughs, those familiar jokes, those familiar croons.. Every time I do that, I know that the next day is a weekday (5/7 days at least…), I know I have to wake up to go through another day of ceaseless existence. As I sit here now, eating my mini Werthers Original hard candies, staring at a watch that no longer ticks, I wonder…is that a way to live? Or is it a way to exist? Everyone exists, but who really lives? Will I ever get to live? That’s a question that’s haunted me for a while, and an answer comes no closer. I know that even after midnight, I shouldn’t stare at the ceiling above me in bed listening to who knows what. I’m just trying to prolong the inevitable. Feebly trying to stop what I know is going to come anyway, me. My head is a classic clash between the romanticist and the cynic inside of me. F*ck the whole half full half empty thing, this is more of a…the glass will never be half full. F*ck off. F*ck you. Give up. Vs the glass might be half full someday, you never know? Of course, the cynic always overpowers its contemporary (cynical isn’t it?), which is a sad thought. As I wake up, half groggy from the sleep I didn’t get (or perhaps just that though), I run through the usual routine. Wash up. Teeth. Clothes (it’s a bummer I cant put no clothes). Food. Out. Now. The day runs by, and there(here) I end up, once again, at midnight, right here. Hope. People make it by with hope. Hope is something that should never be crushed down, never be put down, but damnit it happens anyway. When I do see it happening, when I’m insightful enough for once to see it, when I’m not blindly ignorant for once in my life, it pains me. With no hope there is no reason. If you stop being angry, sad, anguished, beaten down, well, you’ve stopped caring. What happens when you’ve stopped caring? It means you’ve given up on everything, on yourself. To me, that’s a scary thought. I fear that in myself, and subsequently in others. While that could be used as in excuse to point out my caring nature, it sounds more to me like there’s not an ounce of selflessness in there (it’s a wonder “we” don’t use the metric system, thanks to the stonecutters?...). Or is that just the cynic in me? Is there that part of me that wants to believe I am selfless; I am this part ideal thing, in my own eyes. It’s something that eludes grasp, eludes an arm that may have never been outstretched. Being self-content is something that sounds so magical and far off. Yet at the same time, it sounds like it’s right in front of me, and I just have to reach out of it. I just have to stop at midnight, and reach right into that screen. I just have to stop staring at that ceiling, and look through it. (cynical?...life:content with-you ignorant b*stard….not content-who isn’t you b*tch?) Maybe the reason I’m writing this in one big paragraph, with no cohesion whatsoever, is because I don’t know how. I have no sense of direction, I have no idea of what I want to do, of what I plan on accomplishing by writing this. Then I realize, that, the answer is nothing. There’s nothing I see that will happen from this. But we can dream right? I don't really plan on editing, this, on checking it. I don't plan to make it perfect, i don't plan on reworking it so it fits together. I dont really see how, why, or what? It coulda shoulda woulda. I’ve been tired for days and days…
-digitaldelay
Friday, November 14, 2008
...PROPS.....
-digitaldelay
Monday, November 10, 2008
To our heroes.
"AMERICA FOR ME"
'TIS fine to see the Old World, and travel up and down
Among the famous palaces and cities of renown,
To admire the crumbly castles and the statues of the kings,—
But now I think I've had enough of antiquated things.
So it's home again, and home again, America for me!
My heart is turning home again, and there I long to be,
In the land of youth and freedom beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars!
Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air;
And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair;
And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome;
But when it comes to living there is no place like home.
I like the German fir-woods, in green battalions drilled;
I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing fountains filled;
But, oh, to take your hand, my dear, and ramble for a day
In the friendly western woodland where Nature has her way!
I know that Europe's wonderful, yet something seems to lack:
The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back.
But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free,—
We love our land for what she is and what she is to be.
Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me!
I want a ship that's westward bound to plough the rolling sea,
To the bléssed Land of Room Enough beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars
As you may know, tomorrow is Armistice Day...More commonly known as Veteran's day. Last week, the citizens of America voted for a new President of the United States. But how many of them took this ceremony seriously? Did those voters know, that every four years, they are electing one of the most powerful persons of the world? Tomorrow is the day (not to mention every other day of the year) in which we should remember those brave soldiers that fought for our country and our rights. I was at this ceremony earlier today that celebrated these special people, both those still living and those that are not. It had deeply touched me, and it made me think, "I would be SO proud to be standing up there, like one of them, known for being a soldier/in the military/in the navy/in the air force...knowing that all that I have done and all the sacrifices I have made are being honored by someone out there." I really do think that. If I were to be drafted into a war, I don't think I would mind it much...I would be scared, sure, but I probably will pluck up my courage and look on the bright side of things (and I will find a bright side.) Those soldiers deserve to be thanked.
-my.great.ESCAPE.
Smiles Spungold Wine
Quite recently, a friend of mine said that he was undecided on whether he wanted to join a certain group/club/gathering/cult/etc. He was having trouble deciding because he wanted to be “different”, and “do his own damn thing”. He then proceeded to ask me, “What shall I do oh great and wise master of digitally delaying?”(Or something along those lines) Of course, being the wonderful person I am, I used all of my gathered wisdom to respond with, “Socrates, I fu---ing ain’t.” (maybe that’s a bit too surreal, but you probably [don’t] get the point thanks to my perfectly clear, logical, and orderly method of [attempted] writing) This event made me think of a certain experiment conducted by some dudes in white lab coats. They had a room full of “actors”, and one genuinely idiotic person. They showed a picture of a line on one side, and three lines of varying lengths on the other. The question was placed on which line matched the length of the lone line. Also, the three lines on the other side weren’t exactly so close you needed a microscope with like…10,000,000,000x to differentiate them or anything, this is the kind of thing a six-year-old could do while vomiting and totally pwning a Halo 3 multiplayer game. (due to my strong personal convictions, I would like to state that I have nothing against six-year-olds vomiting, although maybe with six-year-olds playing a game meant for drunken fratssholes…did I just make up a word?). Still, with such an easy task, whenever the other “experimentees” purposefully identified the wrong line as the right one, the genuine person generally followed. We just love conformity don’t we now? We also love Cracked.com (which is where the info is from…ahem), I hope I get paid for saying that too. Imagine that on a wider scale, something like…the actual damn world. But, as I might have stated sometime long, long ago, and as Cracked also did…, there are those who conform against conformity, which is pretty much conformity, just with the word conform repeated twice in a three word span. So, doesn’t that mean that there’s not much we as humans, sociable beings, can do? “Socrates, I f--ki-g ain’t.”
And thanks to that random title making thing for my lovably messed up title
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Ode To The Nice Guys
Ode to the Nice Guys
This rant was written for the Wharton
Undergraduate Journal
This is a tribute to the nice guys. The nice guys that finish last, that never become more than friends, that endure hours of whining and bitching about what assholes guys are, while disproving the very point. This is dedicated to those guys who always provide a shoulder to lean on but restrain themselves to tentative hugs, those guys who hold open doors and give reassuring pats on the back and sit patiently outside the changing room at department stores. This is in honor of the guys that obligingly reiterate how cute/beautiful/smart/funny/sexy their female friends are at the appropriate moment, because they know most girls need that litany of support. This is in honor of the guys with open minds, with laid-back attitudes, with honest concern. This is in honor of the guys who respect a girl’s every facet, from her privacy to her theology to her clothing style.
This is for the guys who escort their drunk, bewildered female friends back from parties and never take advantage once they’re at her door, for the guys who accompany girls to bars as buffers against the rest of the creepy male population, for the guys who know a girl is fishing for compliments but give them out anyway, for the guys who always play by the rules in a game where the rules favor cheaters, for the guys who are accredited as boyfriend material but somehow don’t end up being boyfriends, for all the nice guys who are overlooked, underestimated, and unappreciated, for all the nice guys who are manipulated, misled, and unjustly abandoned, this is for you.
This is for that time she left 40 urgent messages on your cell phone, and when you called her back, she spent three hours painstakingly dissecting two sentences her boyfriend said to her over dinner. And even though you thought her boyfriend was a chump and a jerk, you assured her that it was all ok and she shouldn’t worry about it. This is for that time she interrupted the best killing spree you’d ever orchestrated in GTA3 to rant about a rumor that romantically linked her and the guy she thinks is the most repulsive person in the world. And even though you thought it was immature and you had nothing against the guy, you paused the game for two hours and helped her concoct a counter-rumor to spread around the floor. This is also for that time she didn’t have a date, so after numerous vows that there was nothing “serious” between the two of you, she dragged you to a party where you knew nobody, the beer was awful, and she flirted shamelessly with you, justifying each fit of reckless teasing by announcing to everyone: “oh, but we’re just friends!” And even though you were invited purely as a symbolic warm body for her ego, you went anyways. Because you’re nice like that.
The nice guys don’t often get credit where credit is due. And perhaps more disturbing, the nice guys don’t seem to get laid as often as they should. And I wish I could logically explain this trend, but I can’t. From what I have observed on campus and what I have learned from talking to friends at other schools and in the workplace, the only conclusion I can form is that many girls are just illogical, manipulative bitches. Many of them claim they just want to date a nice guy, but when presented with such a specimen, they say irrational, confusing things such as “oh, he’s too nice to date” or “he would be a good boyfriend but he’s not for me” or “he already puts up with so much from me, I couldn’t possibly ask him out!” or the most frustrating of all: “no, it would ruin our friendship.” Yet, they continue to lament the lack of datable men in the world, and they expect their too-nice-to-date male friends to sympathize and apologize for the men that are jerks. Sorry, guys, girls like that are beyond my ability to fathom. I can’t figure out why the connection breaks down between what they say (I want a nice guy!) and what they do (I’m going to sleep with this complete ass now!). But one thing I can do, is say that the nice-guy-finishes-last phenomenon doesn’t last forever. There are definitely many girls who grow out of that train of thought and realize they should be dating the nice guys, not taking them for granted. The tricky part is finding those girls, and even trickier, finding the ones that are single.
So, until those girls are found, I propose a toast to all the nice guys. You know who you are, and I know you’re sick of hearing yourself described as ubiquitously nice. But the truth of the matter is, the world needs your patience in the department store, your holding open of doors, your party escorting services, your propensity to be a sucker for a pretty smile. For all the crazy, inane, absurd things you tolerate, for all the situations where you are the faceless, nameless hero, my accolades, my acknowledgement, and my gratitude go out to you. You do have credibility in this society, and your well deserved vindication is coming.
Fu-zu Jen, SEAS/WH, 2003
p.s. love nice guys.
Stumble here, Stumble There
"I'm a big believer in random capitalization. The rules of capitalization are so unfair to words in the middle." (Margo Roth Spiegelman, Paper Towns)
Occasionally, of course there are those capital I's for "when I got married, when I broke my arm, when I had sex for the first time in the backseat of a Chevy, and etc... If only we could fine moments like buying your favorite book as significant parts of the story of you and how your sentence ends.
Maybe then, when people do a biography of you, it won't start with "KARMA POLICE WAS BORN ON_____ AND DIED ON_____ BECAUSE SHE O.D'd ON METH STICKERS", and instead start with "KARMA POLICE'S FAVORITE AUTHOR WAS JOHN GREEN BECAUSE HE ENCOURAGED HER TO BE WHO SHE IS TODAY AND MADE HER WISH SHE HAD GREEN EYES LIKE ALASKA YOUNG, WHO IS ONE OF HER FAVORITE CHARACTERS FROM HER FAVORITE BOOK LOOKING FOR ALASKA."
Maybe.
In life everyone's always searching for that "BIG CRAZY AWESOME THING" that can change who they are and change the course of their everyday life. Of course this can be in the form of "marriage, love, getting into Harvard", but why can't it be in the form of "That time I got Hit On by the Main Singer of The Maine"?
Now that'd be a story to tell.
Perhaps what Margo Roth Spiegelman is trying to say in that little ditty of hers is that she is a firm believer of spontaneity. Perhaps she believes random behavior that can entertain and spice up a sentence so that not only the first word seems important. That's what I believe she's thinking (Or, if you want to think literally, what John Green is thinking).
On another note I've fallen in love with Stumbling. No link there, because I want you kids to discover what it is by yourselves! oh The Drama! Just go on Google and type in 'STUMBLE' and click the first link and be happy for hours of just click click click here and there. :)
Just be warned that it's highly addictive and makes me stay on the computer for more hours than is healthy for a gal like myself.
over And our to You kids,
karma Police
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Sift Through the Hourglass
Ever wondered what it would be like to travel at the speed of light? Apparently, that is exactly 299,792,458 kilometers per second. That's crazy!!! I mean, even Dash can't travel that fast! Ha...Ha...
So time sort of tests your patience, right? Like a long-distance relationship with a boy/girlfriend, or your friendship with your best friends after you've moved far, far away from the past two and a half years. Time allows you to either forget the past, or remember it, good or bad...You may see someone you haven't seen in "forever" and say, "My, you've grown up so fast!" Did they indeed grow up that fast, in what's really so little time, or did they actually grow up really s l o w in such a l o n g period of time?
When you look at an hourglass, or even a clock for that matter, do you feel rushed? Like karma police described, either your "time is running out" or "time goes by really slowly". But in fact, it's going the same pace, ALL the time, right? Of course it is. What you're doing affects the speed you feel in which time runs. Anyone can relate to that. Everything uses up time. If we were just frozen in TIME, what would happen then?
Did I just waste your time by repeating the word "time" all those times?
Well, till next time...
-my.great.ESCAPE.
(Recognize the picture above? It is a famous painting called The Persistence of Memory, by artist Salvador Dali. Photo Credit goes to Wikipedia.)
Saturday, November 1, 2008
at the speed of BLANK
There are two ways to view life as we know it: it's half full, or half empty. Depending on a persons mood (whether they've had a good day- whether they've gotten laid), maybe they can be 'okay', a perfect balance of in between. Is that really possible, though, in the world today when kids hang themselves because of messages on social networks such as myspace? The answer is- 'uhhh.. yeah?'
Gwen Stefani once said 'times goes by so slowly', and yet Muse on the contrary crooned that 'our time is running out', so which exactly is it? I'll tell you that when I'm in those last ten minutes before school ends it's the first, yet when I'm with someone I love, it seems to go by in a flash. All in all, it seems we have little control over time no matter what we may think. No matter how many to do lists you make, you can't exactly control your bladder so your need to pee strikes at exactly nine forty-five in the morning.
Really, you can never have a strict hold on time. Sure, we can have a gist or a guesstimation of sorts, but no matter what you can't keep sand from slipping through cracks naked to your eyes. You can't keep certain people from thinking of you and calling you up when you really do have to study for your finals.
You can't prevent an argument about orange juice when it's just inevitable and it wasn't part of your itinerary.
So, Tuesday is the big big day for all of us in the U.S.A. Obama or Mccain? I guess time can only tell who wins and who can be the best for us.
karmapolice
What About What?
Sometimes we live for ourselves. We indulge in ourselves. We love to talk about ourselves. Why? No matter how much we think we may hate ourselves, our own self is probably the most important thing to us, in more ways than one.
For example, let’s say two people are drinking orange juice, which just happens to be from Costco, and it also happened to come alone and not in any combined packages. As both finish drinking, they realize a momentous dilemma is upon them. Who shall return the carton of O.J. to the fridge, which so happens to be a few steps away? For the next few minutes, or moments, the two argue ceaselessly, when in that time they could have had some more orange juice, returned the carton, and then learned how to play the theremin. One argues that ‘the one who takes it out’ puts it back, while the other says that ‘the last one to use it puts it back’. Well, it soon becomes resolved. Then the next day the same thing happens, except they each use the other excuse to fit their situation.
Well, while they might think they’re doing a good thing by avoiding any interstellar conflict, they really could just be scared for themselves. To be honest, if I was one, I’d be scared of ramming into some giant rock/molten fireball.
-digitaldelay