January 17, 2009
I have discovered a forgotten generation in UCXC history. They look like they should not have been forgotten.

I have discovered a forgotten generation in UCXC history. They look like they should not have been forgotten.

January 6, 2009
(From What Dreams May Come) After a mildly harrowing trip back to UChicago that resulted in me getting approximately 1 hour of sleep, I decided to go on a 12 mile run with a few of my teammates. We went northwards and cut east for a run through McCormick Place. Upon exiting, I looked towards Lake Michigan and the sun pierced through the overcast skies into the frigid yet unfrozen water, which shone an astonishing shade of blue. It looked almost tropical, and it invited me into the water. And then several neurons clicked together. I remembered a dream I had months ago. It hadn’t been particularly memorable. I had been running for a time, when I came to an attractive, remote Lake. I waded in and explored wooded and trodden shores. And part of me was irrationally tempted to wade in, despite knowing that the water would quickly freeze me, and that my teammates were speeding away at paces I could not match. Sleep Deprivation. But I will never forget the look of Lake Michigan that morning.

(From What Dreams May Come)

After a mildly harrowing trip back to UChicago that resulted in me getting approximately 1 hour of sleep, I decided to go on a 12 mile run with a few of my teammates.

We went northwards and cut east for a run through McCormick Place.

Upon exiting, I looked towards Lake Michigan and the sun pierced through the overcast skies into the frigid yet unfrozen water, which shone an astonishing shade of blue. It looked almost tropical, and it invited me into the water.

And then several neurons clicked together.

I remembered a dream I had months ago. It hadn’t been particularly memorable. I had been running for a time, when I came to an attractive, remote Lake. I waded in and explored wooded and trodden shores.

And part of me was irrationally tempted to wade in, despite knowing that the water would quickly freeze me, and that my teammates were speeding away at paces I could not match. Sleep Deprivation.

But I will never forget the look of Lake Michigan that morning.

Ragdoll Invaders

An entertaining game.

How well I can beat it is proportional to my alertness.

Tips: You shoot faster when you stay still. You move faster off the ground.

Also, the internet has informed me that I ran enough mileage in 2008 to run from Chicago to Orlando, FL, and back.

December 20, 2008
Is it safe? Are finals over? (From Flickr)

Is it safe? Are finals over?

(From Flickr)

December 18, 2008
Its all over - the quarter - finals. But the Memories of Insanity are Still Fresh.

Its all over - the quarter - finals. But the Memories of Insanity are Still Fresh.

November 30, 2008
“ Embrace the Storm!

The overcast sky gave way to dark night, under yellow street light. The wind now flowed from Lake Michigan, and it was different now - less kind. And as I stood out on the stones, the spray from waves breaking tall against the stony shore blew into my face. The buildings of Chicago, were obscured by fog, but the lights were seen…

But I felt compelled to journey on. But soon I had returned, and as i stood out once more the hail and the ferocious wind stung my face, and I knew that the storm had come. Undeniable.

November 29, 2008
“ Embrace the Storm.

The sky was overcast, and the brisk air blew off the expanse of Lake Michigan. And I reached a point. And I stood tall on the stones lining the watery deep, as I gazed out to the heights of Chicago.  

And I remember the rain beating me cold, and the snow building on my hair, and in looking back, I foresee the future to come.

Alice Through the Looking-Glass -Today, after awaking from hours of dream-filled sleep, I got an early birthday card saying that today was the start of another 365-day journey around the sun. But I disagree. This will count as last weeks post as week as next weeks post… maybe. Allow me to explain: Let me go back to 770 Days ago. It was an overcast Thursday evening.  I was driving some teammates from cross country home, as an early wintry-mix was falling from the sky, and then we happened on a random tree in the road. We stopped, and cleared it from the road, but then we turned a corner and saw another… and another. Once I had delievered my passengers, I started home myself, but I was unable to resist the urge to pull over to look around. As I stood outside, white slush shone brightly on the bright green leaves. A loud cracking sound pierced the air as a tree collapsed, and before it dawned on me to climb back into my car, a woman got out of her house to ask what was going on. The moment she stepped back into her house, a tree fell, ripping off the gutter to the right side of her house. It dawned on me to go home. - It was the night before homecoming. As class treasurer, I was bound to go to back to decorate the gym. But there was a last minute cancellation notice that PM activities were canceled. The power flickered in the house. - 769 days ago, I awoke to a dark and cold house. I heard  chain saw buzzing in the distance. A curious view greeted my eyes as I looked outside. In a winter nightmare, a man with a chain saw was in what remained of a tree, and he was cutting off what remained of a branch that was blocking what was visible of the road. Every fall, I’d played under that tree, until I outgrew such revels. I would use the garden hose to shoot the leaves off and see how many I could get to fall down. But that tree was completely gone. The trunk stood. 2 of the 3 main limbs were snapped, and a third had all of the leaves glued to the ground under an icy sheet. - And I remember going outside in the icy snow, and trying to look down a half-mile worth of road, and seeing only a few houses down. The trees were everywhere but in the air. They’d taken every one’s power lines, phone lines, heat, food, and clean water. Needless to say, school was canceled - it would remain so for 2 weeks of cold. - I remember being alone in the mess of boxes downstairs in the dark. Flashlight time was finite. If I could run a laptop, I could have saved my flashlight, done work, and provided work in one move. My Dad’s laptop was in reserve, so I had to deal with the 2 busted ones. After some tinkering, I got one of them to boot up despite the fact that the motherboard was on the fritz. But it was sensitive to motion, so I sat softly typing in the dark. I typed the first of 3 essays of my University of Chicago application. I remember it was something to the effect of why I wanted to attend the University of Chicago, and that I had a lot to say on the subject. When I was finished, I shut it down with an hour of battery remaining. - 768 days ago, I booted it up again expecting to reread my essay and start the second one about what kind of music/poetry/writing I was into. Unfortunately, I touched the computer too hard, and it stopped. It never ran again. I had made no copies of the first essay. Technology was dead to me. The uncommon application was rather fun. Unfortunately, the University of Chicago never saw fit to send me a paper copy of the uncommon application. Consequently, there would be no awesome handwritten college essay produced during my 2 weeks in the stone age. I really regret that I didn’t give it a shot because I feel like I would have been more proud of the result. I wanted to write about the following: “Essay Option 3: You are hosting a brunch of historical, literally, or other disreputable persons (think: Mad Hatter’s Tea Party). What is your menu? Who are your guests? In answering this question, imagine a scenario: We want some exposition, serious or silly, we would accept some dialogue, and we are willing to trust you to respond in such a way that your brain power, your imagination, your sense of taste, and your capacity to tell a story reveal something true about you.” Unfortunately, I had always wanted to read Alice in Wonderland, and Through the Looking-Glass, and I had not done it at that point. Consequently I felt unprepared to answer the question. ((I would have invited Charlemagne, a super penguin that lived in a submarine in antarctica - which would turnout to be me, Tolkien, Faraday, Lavoisier, and a mad hatter for good measure. Lavoisier would presume that I was supposed to be the main food item, but I would outwit him in the end, and we would finally consume copious amounts of orange soda. A rousing game of jeopardy would be involved somehow. Maybe.)) As a result, I used the design your own prompt option, and it was dark. It was very dark. I remember my trombone teacher asking if I was feeling alright when he was asking about my essay. So much left undone. So the essay that I would write 759 days ago, once I had access to the 21st century again, was something like this: You wake up one dark night lying on the side of the street with a splitting headache. Unfortunately (or fortunately), you discover that you are dead. What happens next? I gave a terrible terrible response, to what could have been a good narrative. —- October, 2007, I am in the Reg, and I am talking a break from endless problem sets, and I look up Alice in Wonderland, and through the Looking-Glass, and I check them out from the library, and I decided that I would read for one hour everyday from then on, but it only lasted long enough for me to read the forward. I finally read it approx. 340 days ago. It would appear that Carroll had an unhealthy friendship with an 8-year-old girl for whose enjoyment these fantasy stories were written. On the other had, the illustrator John Tenniel was awesome in all areas of endeavor, despite the fact few remember his illustrations in 2 famous books. It would appear that wikipedia doesn’t do him justice. I might have to edit the article on him. The whole point of this long entry (that few if any will read) is that life is a journey that is not measured merely in years, deadlines, and timespans. It is a journey measured in accomplishments, deeds, and  misadventures. Everyday begs to be an adventure, but you must know how to answer. Do not praise the sun in flight, but do not go gentle into the night?

Alice Through the Looking-Glass

-Today, after awaking from hours of dream-filled sleep, I got an early birthday card saying that today was the start of another 365-day journey around the sun.

But I disagree. This will count as last weeks post as week as next weeks post… maybe.

Allow me to explain: Let me go back to 770 Days ago.

It was an overcast Thursday evening.  I was driving some teammates from cross country home, as an early wintry-mix was falling from the sky, and then we happened on a random tree in the road. We stopped, and cleared it from the road, but then we turned a corner and saw another… and another.

Once I had delievered my passengers, I started home myself, but I was unable to resist the urge to pull over to look around. As I stood outside, white slush shone brightly on the bright green leaves. A loud cracking sound pierced the air as a tree collapsed, and before it dawned on me to climb back into my car, a woman got out of her house to ask what was going on. The moment she stepped back into her house, a tree fell, ripping off the gutter to the right side of her house. It dawned on me to go home.

-

It was the night before homecoming. As class treasurer, I was bound to go to back to decorate the gym. But there was a last minute cancellation notice that PM activities were canceled. The power flickered in the house.

-

769 days ago, I awoke to a dark and cold house. I heard  chain saw buzzing in the distance. A curious view greeted my eyes as I looked outside. In a winter nightmare, a man with a chain saw was in what remained of a tree, and he was cutting off what remained of a branch that was blocking what was visible of the road. Every fall, I’d played under that tree, until I outgrew such revels. I would use the garden hose to shoot the leaves off and see how many I could get to fall down. But that tree was completely gone. The trunk stood. 2 of the 3 main limbs were snapped, and a third had all of the leaves glued to the ground under an icy sheet.

-

And I remember going outside in the icy snow, and trying to look down a half-mile worth of road, and seeing only a few houses down. The trees were everywhere but in the air. They’d taken every one’s power lines, phone lines, heat, food, and clean water. Needless to say, school was canceled - it would remain so for 2 weeks of cold.

-

I remember being alone in the mess of boxes downstairs in the dark. Flashlight time was finite. If I could run a laptop, I could have saved my flashlight, done work, and provided work in one move. My Dad’s laptop was in reserve, so I had to deal with the 2 busted ones.

After some tinkering, I got one of them to boot up despite the fact that the motherboard was on the fritz. But it was sensitive to motion, so I sat softly typing in the dark. I typed the first of 3 essays of my University of Chicago application. I remember it was something to the effect of why I wanted to attend the University of Chicago, and that I had a lot to say on the subject. When I was finished, I shut it down with an hour of battery remaining.

-

768 days ago, I booted it up again expecting to reread my essay and start the second one about what kind of music/poetry/writing I was into. Unfortunately, I touched the computer too hard, and it stopped. It never ran again. I had made no copies of the first essay. Technology was dead to me.

The uncommon application was rather fun. Unfortunately, the University of Chicago never saw fit to send me a paper copy of the uncommon application. Consequently, there would be no awesome handwritten college essay produced during my 2 weeks in the stone age. I really regret that I didn’t give it a shot because I feel like I would have been more proud of the result. I wanted to write about the following:

“Essay Option 3: You are hosting a brunch of historical, literally, or other disreputable persons (think: Mad Hatter’s Tea Party). What is your menu? Who are your guests? In answering this question, imagine a scenario: We want some exposition, serious or silly, we would accept some dialogue, and we are willing to trust you to respond in such a way that your brain power, your imagination, your sense of taste, and your capacity to tell a story reveal something true about you.”

Unfortunately, I had always wanted to read Alice in Wonderland, and Through the Looking-Glass, and I had not done it at that point. Consequently I felt unprepared to answer the question. ((I would have invited Charlemagne, a super penguin that lived in a submarine in antarctica - which would turnout to be me, Tolkien, Faraday, Lavoisier, and a mad hatter for good measure. Lavoisier would presume that I was supposed to be the main food item, but I would outwit him in the end, and we would finally consume copious amounts of orange soda. A rousing game of jeopardy would be involved somehow. Maybe.)) As a result, I used the design your own prompt option, and it was dark. It was very dark. I remember my trombone teacher asking if I was feeling alright when he was asking about my essay. So much left undone.

So the essay that I would write 759 days ago, once I had access to the 21st century again, was something like this:

You wake up one dark night lying on the side of the street with a splitting headache. Unfortunately (or fortunately), you discover that you are dead. What happens next?

I gave a terrible terrible response, to what could have been a good narrative.

—-

October, 2007, I am in the Reg, and I am talking a break from endless problem sets, and I look up Alice in Wonderland, and through the Looking-Glass, and I check them out from the library, and I decided that I would read for one hour everyday from then on, but it only lasted long enough for me to read the forward. I finally read it approx. 340 days ago. It would appear that Carroll had an unhealthy friendship with an 8-year-old girl for whose enjoyment these fantasy stories were written. On the other had, the illustrator John Tenniel was awesome in all areas of endeavor, despite the fact few remember his illustrations in 2 famous books. It would appear that wikipedia doesn’t do him justice. I might have to edit the article on him.

The whole point of this long entry (that few if any will read) is that life is a journey that is not measured merely in years, deadlines, and timespans. It is a journey measured in accomplishments, deeds, and  misadventures. Everyday begs to be an adventure, but you must know how to answer.

Do not praise the sun in flight,

but do not go gentle into the night?

November 16, 2008
Old University of Chicago Songs

I ran into this awhile back. Old University of Chicago songs.

Once upon a time, the University of Chicago, was young, athletic, and hungry for traditions.

And traditions came and went. Some came back. Athletics came and went… and came back.

But Little of these songs have survived to present. Are they University of Chicago heritage or not?

The one many contemporary students would recognize is:

“I’m Strong For Chicago”

I’m strong for Chicago: C-H-I-C-A-G-O
The girls are the fairest, the men are the squarest, of any old place I know.
I’m strong for Chicago,/The place where the breezes blow
No matter the weather we’ll all stick together for C-H-I-C-A-G-O.

————-

There are some funny ducks among this song list, especially:

“The Gridiron Glide (mostly boring)”

And, I don’t see how this is singable:

“The Girl in the Graduate School”

Oh, her hair is far from curly, she’s no lovely little girlie, and you’ll see her late and early in the librarie;
And the folks are all declaring that the hats which she is wearing are the sort they were preparing back in 1903.
It is always her endeavor to be very, very clever, and you’ll find that she will never get below B plus.
She is down on silly chatter—fun to her is idle patter—and she says it doesn’t matter if her hair is in a muss.

When she looks up from her learning, sees some lad and lass returning, from a stroll,
       she has a yearning for the days of yore.
Just to hang o’er Love’s abysses just to dream of someone’s kisses which she says she never misses,
       never thinks of more,
Though she scorns all fetes and dances, all the happy youthful glances, and the merry life’s entrances
       as in days gone by.
she may seem quite antiquated—there’s small chance that she’ll be mated—she is knocked and never feted,
       There’s no sparkle in her eye.

(chorus)
When a girl comes up to Varsity, comes to study for her Ph.D., having taught a year or two maybe,
       She has woes.
She came not to play but learn instead, still she is a girl when all is said, for she has a heart as well as head,
       Even if she hasn’t any beaux.

——————

On a totally unrelated note, I’ve meant to post to tumblr every sunday, but I’ve let it fall by the wayside. So I gave it 3 posts at once. Given my constant concerns for problem sets, and essays, and midterms. In fact, one of each is very pressing in my mind, and though it matters between little and none,

I thought I’d have some fun.

So many efforts - all melded together, faded. So many runs. - Such is one dimension of how I spent 3 months of my life. One of the things I like about the running log is crazy bar charts that summarize a long period of time. But the chart can never bring back the feeling of the cool breeze of your face or the excitement of trying to beat the clock. Such things are the dimension of memory, dreams, and action.

So many efforts - all melded together, faded. So many runs. - Such is one dimension of how I spent 3 months of my life.

One of the things I like about the running log is crazy bar charts that summarize a long period of time. But the chart can never bring back the feeling of the cool breeze of your face or the excitement of trying to beat the clock. Such things are the dimension of memory, dreams, and action.