Serious

... I call the arts “subjective truths” because, unlike math or chemistry, where there is only one solution, there are nearly infinite solutions to, say, a camera angle, colors to use, or an interpretation of a symphony. These solutions need not be right or wrong; they need only to be appealing. Something can be right and pleasing as much as it can also be wrong and pleasing. I immerse myself in these subjective truths.

I am an emotional person. I engross myself in what I play or what I write. I take the very extremes of emotion and empathy, and stretch them even further. My brother once said that it takes a sort of emotional genius to bridge the gap between the arts and beauty. In order to make true art, I must sacrifice part of myself to know what true beauty is. That’s how the deaf Beethoven wrote masterpieces; or, in a more modern setting, that’s how Nina Sayers from Black Swan was a showstopper. I want to think that I have not sacrificed something yet, so that when I finally do, I can finally be proud of my musical ability.

I am proud of the people who support me. It feels good to have people admiring and respecting what I do. From experience, standing alone onstage and acknowledging a thousand people—people I know, people I don’t know, people I may never know—is one of the best feelings in the world, because regardless of whether I know them or not, I will always have a lasting impression on them.

And as right as it was, or as wrong as it was, I will always be satisfied, because I know it pleased them.

Daylight Saving Time Was a Social Experiment

Daylight Saving was originally a social experiment created by professors to see if college students would be more productive if they had another hour to work.

It might be the most spectacular backfire in history; instead of seeing it as an academic advantage, students saw it as an opportunity to drink non-alcoholic beverages in excess, sleep, or watch funny cat videos on YouTube,

In the hopes that students would eventually catch on to their extra hour, they continued the experiment until an arbitrary date, in which they eventually gave up. To hide their shame, they gave Daylight Saving its name, made the arbitrary time official-sounding (2nd Sunday of March), reversed the start and end time, and then chastised students for not paying attention to trends in clock-changes.

How to never lose your cell phone again

I have always had a nasty habit of losing things. Cell phones, mp3 players, keys...If it has been in my possession for over two weeks, chances are that I have probably lost it. However, after re-watching an episode of Lost, in which <it's relevant but you wouldn't care anyways>, an idea struck me.

Most of my habitually-lost possessions are metal, correct? And metals are attracted to - besides where I am not - MAGNETS.

What if I build a giant huge kerfricking electromagnet, and any time something of mine gets lost, I'd switch it on? Okay, I'd probably have to warn the general public about this so something like this scene from Lost doesn't happen. Sure, I'd most likely have to sift through the vast amounts of scrap metal, ancient Native American treasures, and (probably) cars. But once I find it, it's mine again! Then I can switch the electromagnet off, and life would resume.

Disregard the irreversible damage that a magnet has on most electronic devices. It's not lost anymore, anyways.

oh, but it's Lost all right

Proper usage of "Myah"

The time was 3 pm.
Two figures emerged in the distance, atop a hill.
One, aloof, and the other, aloof.
College life at its finest.

Upon muttering "myah"  many times with my good friend Jessica (college life at its finest), we pondered the appropriate-ness of a audibly conspicuous "myah" syllable in public. A brainstorm ensued.

"Myah" can embody a myriad of emotions - you name the emotion, there is a fitting "myah" to accompany it. Here are some fine examples:

• Happiness
• A joyful "Myah." Instead of letting loose a high-pitched squeak in your efforts to conceal your joy, why not let it all out at once?  MYAH.
• Sadness
• "Mmm" can be a syllable of resignation, often muttered at a low pitch. Why not make it fancy and round it off with a lower-pitched "yah?"
• Anger
• Next time you've worked up a considerable temper, try venting in a stylish fashion. Flail the arms, and let out a vehement "Myah!" That'll teach them not to mess with you!
• Surprise 
• You know those times where you're so surprised you don't know what to say? Why not remember to say "myah" whenever you're surprised? Now you'll never just jump around in place awkwardly with your hands over your mouth (a common action I see in Deal or No Deal).
• Desolation
• Say, for example, you are waiting for a friend at a bus stop. What if he/she had never showed? What if he or she had stood you up and dashed your hopes of a romantic bus date, full of awkward odors and body contact and potholes? Hinging on Anger and Sadness, a paltry "Myah" will suffice, accompanied by sad body language. Keanu Reeves does it best.
• Frustation
• There are times when, no matter how hard you try, you cannot get something right. Be it a rubix cube, a lateral thinking puzzle ("shoutout to my roommate homie original gangsta phat vince thanx for da tip"), or the recollection of a J-Lo quote; sometimes it just isn't your day. Contorting your face and pounding the pavement makes you look only like a ninny. Why not show the world what self-control and discipline you have by looking stern and resolutely stating, "Myah?" This well-drawn fox (not of my creation) does it particularly well.
• Confusion
• Myah is now a question.
• Reflective
• "Myah"
• "Myah"
• Pensive



Sophisticated. Austere.

• Elation
• You won a million dollars on Deal or No Deal. Rather than being trite and jumping around in place awkwardly with your hands over your mouth, why not scream, at the top of your lungs, "Myah?" You're a millionaire now. You do what you want.

Very fine examples of proper "Myah." Very fine indeed. Now I'm going to bed, because I'm tired. Myah.

How to get pumped

Coming back from a mildly exciting football game (read: UNDERSTATEMENT), I was ready to kick a large cast iron statue down and squeeze cumquat juice in my right eye. Willingly. What galvanized my persona in such a mindset?

Getting pumped, of course.

This was not your normal pumped. When I get pumped, I normally jump around and act visibly excited. However, in this case, you could not only see my excitement, you could also smell and taste my excitement.

That's right, it was very well possible to put my excitement into your mouth and taste it.

So how does one reach such a level of pumped? It's no easy task. There are a few essential steps you must take:

• You must wear appropriate attire. If you are planning on being excited for a soccer game, it is probably best to not wear a Scottish Caber Toss shirt, regardless of your affection for said sport.
• The event for which you are excited for must be worth the excitement. Being excited for a Firebird Football game is understandable, whilst my excitement for a music camp's annual dance is not.
• Your excitement for the event must be genuine. It's the difference between:

 

~ AND BETWEEN ~

~ OR, BETTER YET... ~

• You must have an appropriate outlet to express your excitement. Stay with a group of friends, or relatives you can trust not to tell the rest of your extended family about your grandiose undulation! That way you can avoid emasculation whilst still looking like an imbecile.
• DO NOT CONTAIN IT. You will explode.
• Accessories are optional, but they can be double-edged swords. Cowbells and boomwhackers are very appropriate, but if you don't keep them under control, you may end up with a miffed crowd around you.

Six solid steps to see maximum excitement within yourself. Now go do something exciting, like listen to Dale Carnegie speak, or play hopscotch with bears, or adopt kittens.

Influence (and sh*t about which you probably don't care)

Drugs and music are related, huh?

George Harrison of The Beatles wrote the sitar-laden song Within You Without You while high. It's one of my favorite Beatles songs.

John Butler smokes pot (frequency unconfirmed on my side), but he's one of the best guitarists I've ever heard.

But they won't influence me in that way one bit. I'm clean, and I prefer it that way. Just because I listen to hippie music does not necessarily mean I will do drugs. Music influences me, but in a spiritual or emotional way more than a physical way.

Speaking loosely of influence, one of the things that greatly bothers me is the way that pop music samples or copies music. I've been a fan of Modest Mouse for around seven years now, and hearing Lupe Fiasco copy "Float On" greatly disturbed me and prompted me to punch a large birch tree down. Even more aggravating was an artist directly sampling Eurythmics' Sweet Dreams are Made of This. I heard the unforgettable synth intro and got excited for a heavy dose of Annie Lennox, then  SUDDENLY, RAP. I was disgusted and shocked into submission and spent the next two days unconscious. The doctors told me I was muttering the letter Y before I awakened. I declined psychological evaluation.

This makes me assume that the artists who directly sample other artists lack the talent to write their own music. Given, we're running out of original music that sounds good, but if Handel can write hundreds of original songs in the baroque period (roughly 17th-19th century), Aaron Copland can write original songs in the 20th century, and hundreds upon hundreds of composers between the baroque-20th century period can also be original, the 21st century is becoming trite.

[fair warning; it gets technical from here]

I say trite, because I've noticed a large shift in the pattern of pop lately. In a workplace where the radio is constantly playing popular music, I've been noticing a shift from the VI - VII - i progression (e.g. Tik Tok) to the i - III - VI pattern (e.g. Yeah 3x), focusing not on minor lifts, but mediants ( III ) and submediants ( VI ). The minor tonic ( i ) has been staying; I can only speculate that it gives the song a dark and dirty edge to it, and minor keys are suitable for dubstep breakdowns or breaks (dubstep; another rising trend I see).

Artists have also been raping syncopated rhythms. Most of the songs I hear today are prime examples; Britney's Till the World Ends, the backing of Ke$ha's We R Who We R, and Chris Brown's Yeah 3x. It's something that is easier sung, not read. I can only imagine thousands of people at a Britney sing-along receiving a songbook and seeing:

All this being said, I'm not going to listen to this stuff as a hobby. Don't get me wrong, I'm interested in pop music, but mostly for the direction. Where's it going? Only time can tell.

Or Katy Perry will tell.

[Appendix on pop music; opinion]

Smells

I hope it is completely normal that I associate certain smells with certain events of my life and video games. I don’t know the exact nature of the association, but for me, each smell is connected to some sort of illness.

For example, I associate the smell of spaghetti with Tony Hawk’s Downhill Jam. The story behind this is that I was struck with a bad case of the flu some years back. My only option (besides rain-dancing with bears [school, whatever]) was to stay at home and play video games. It just so happened that I had rented Tony Hawk’s Downhill Jam, and I proceeded to play it. For dinner that night I had spaghetti warmed up from a small container, and it was sitting right next to me as I vicariously jammed downhill. The smell must have been completely trapped in my sinuses, as the smell of spaghetti lingered for days and days before my flu subsided. From that point forward, whenever I eat spaghetti, I think of said game, and whenever I play said game, I smell spaghetti.

Another fine example is Animal Crossing with fruity cough drops. While this may be a bizarre connection, I rationalize that the things we most remember are the traumatic things that have happened to us. I mean, wouldn’t you remember if you were mauled by a bear at five years old? Either that, or you would totally repress it, but odds are you’d be scarred in some sort of way that you’d remember it. Um…..

Anyways, Animal Crossing.

In the Christmas in which I recieved Animal Crossing (2005, I do believe), I had a terrible cold. I mean terrible in something like sealing my nose shut with rubber cement, walking around with onions glued to my cheeks, and being drugged with a quarter of a dosage of anesthesia for a healthy human male. After receiving the game, I promptly stuck the disc in the Gamecube, and started incessantly playing. My mother, being the loving mother she is, recommended cough drops to me, and I, in a sinus-driven daze, took them. Again, my sinuses trapped them, endlessly assaulting my olfactory sense. Think of it as a small puppy that follows you along your merry way down the road. It’s cute and adorable for a while, but after said while, you’d start to get annoyed, and after a long while, there would be nothing you would love to do more than to drop-kick it to The Land of Oz. The same principle applies to fruity cough drops and sinuses: The fruity smell is nice and all, but after a while it’s all you smell, and you go crazy. After my cold cleared up, I now associate that game with the smell of fruity cough drops.

What makes smell connected to memories? Why is it only sicknesses? Maybe I can make my own associations. The next time I get the flu or some other sinus-clogging ailment, I’ll fill the room with Vanilla Tropic air fresheners, and play Rock Band nonstop. I’ll see if I can’t make my own.

Why I Will Never Watch Daytime Television

The first thing I heard when I walked into the room was the television. "Would you rather give up showers..........or sex?"

Turns out it was a daytime show. The View? No. The Rosie O'Donnell Show? No. As the World Turns? No. Ellen? No. Rachael Ray Show? No. All my Children? No.

Oh no, turns out it was the talk show, "The Talk."

Very original, CBS.

My brother was watching Daytime television shows when he left for a friend's house, and he ever-so-graciously left the TV on for my viewing pleasure. However, the only show I would ever watch is Lost, so when Lost ended, so did my reason to watch television. However, today I was feeling a little curious, so I ventured into the room, holding a pillow--obviously a shield against any impending stupidity that emerges from the boob tube.

The pillow and I were immediately floored by said question at the beginning. Pillow, don't worry. I understand you couldn't protect me.

Why six pseudo-famous women would want to talk about pointless and/or controversial subjects (there is often a thin line between the two) while 4.2 million viewers watch (source, Feb 11 '11) is beyond me. Oftentimes the ladies start squabbling, and what I hear thereafter very closely resembles a crowded cave of bats.

Not to mention the controversy:

holy buckets of bats

I think I will stick with The Price is Right, even if we will never ever have another Bob Barker.

You know, perhaps I should rename my blog to "The Blog," and someday it will become as popular as "The Talk." ...Of course, disregarding the demographic (middle-aged women and my brother).

Title

What should go in a title? As my close friend who may or may not be my brother deliberates on a title for his blog, I try to give him advice:

• Do not use the word "zsderw." It is off-setting and irrelevant to anything you may ever write about.
• Puns are okay. As long as the pun does not leave the reader with his forehead ingrained in the keyboard, it is fair game.
• If it is excessively long, it will be hard to remember; if it is excessively short, it will also be hard to remember. "myblogonwhichihavespentmanyworkinghoursandalsotunaiamveryfunnyhahalol.blog.com" or "qgk.blog.com" will not ring very many bells with your readers.
• You must be very careful using your name in a blog, especially if it entails a pun. "Nick Knacks" or "Nick of Time" will most likely induce rapid bowel movements, and in some rare cases, a state of catatonic shock.
• Medical emergencies aside, your name in a title will insinuate personal connections with the blog. Unless you're ready to undertake a personal connection with a server, or your blog will send a personal message to the readers, a name is no-go.
• Your blog title must be relevant to your interests. For instance, "Bears 101" should not be a blog about Nancy Pelosi.
• Internet references are okay, but for the love of god, no smileys, and no bastardized memes (e.g. lolz)
• Punctuation should be kept to a minimum, if any. Unless the phrasing requires it, commas and exclamation marks and question marks and full stops should be omitted. Please do not split hairs and ask about obscure punctuation marks, such as the Index.

As a side note, my brother is discovered to breathe louder than most dogs on Mardi Gras.

Let's Stereotype Some More: How to Look like a Bro

Whoa, you're buff. Like, really buff. We're talking abs harder than your pe...lvis.

You also have amazingly high amounts of testosterone.

You've got spiked hair.

To top it all off, you also have a girlfriend!

Four of them!

And by "girlfriend," I mean "girls you like and hang out with and enjoy their company while, unbeknownst to you, they hate you with every fiber of their being and would like nothing more than to club you with a bloodbat!"

Wow!

It sounds like you have it pretty good there. Why not showcase your personal success to the world?

LET'S DO THIS.

What you will need

• A camera (the higher the quality, the better the world can see your beautiful face)
• A medium-large sized mirror
• A slightly messy room
• Your sweet self

Looks like we're set here.

What you will need to do
If you don't do all this right, you will suffer uncanny amounts of emasculation. More than usual, anyways

1. Work out a little bit before you take the picture. Make those muscles show. Grrrrrr.
2. Apply gratuitous amounts of hair gel. If it leaks down onto your face, DO NOT wipe it off. You must say it is sweat. Manly sweat.
3. DO NOT WEAR A SHIRT. I don't care if it's as tight as Tetris, don't wear a shirt. People just love staring at your bellybutton. I suppose...an open shirt is alright, but it must be plaid.
4. Make sure the camera is in the picture. That's what the mirror is for. This means you must be holding the camera. What, you think you're gonna set it on a flat surface, set the self-timer for ten seconds, and use both your hands for a gang sign? No no no, you're way too cool for that much work. Besides, too much work will spread your manly sweat around, and you'll look like a tryhard. You don't want to look like a tryhard.
5. Your body pose should be something between a.) the ending pose of the dancers in the So You Think You Can Dance opening, and b.) Jabba the Hutt's dead body. This means you have a lot of territory you can cover. Use your imagination! That's how Shigeru Miyamoto became so popular. You can be no different!
6. What about your hand? What should it be doing? Something cool. I'll leave that up to you.
7. Sunglasses are optional, but they MUST cover over 35% of your face.
8. For the love of Cthulhu, do not smile. Cthulhu will not love you if you smile.
9. Take the picture already. Your biceps aren't getting any stronger holding that camera.

So now you're done! Post that to Twitter or Facebook or Photobucket or eHarmony, and watch as the world calls you a bro. brotastrophe

Wasn't that easy? Now you can go back to pumping iron and hanging with your girlfriends. Watch out for bats though, bro. It's a harsh world out there.