Posts Tagged ‘whining’


if you haven’t completed syntax II, do not read this.

July 8, 2010


This is prompted by my esteemed colleague, Devin, who posted an analysis here of some Chinese sentences that he’s collected on his current travels there. Mind you, even if I didn’t have this severe (and reasonable!) phobia of lowering, I’d still take issue with the whole “let’s just stick a T in some place that has nothing to do with X-Bar” shindig taking place in the last trees of his analysis.

What I’m trying to say here is, I am incapable of going more than two months without syntax. Apparently. I’m sitting in some college library right now, I do not even know what college (they’re thick on the ground in Saint Paul, for some reason), obsessing over this instead of having real adventures. I suppose it’s consolation to myself for losing my cellist. (Sad story. I’ll tell you later.)


The Situation Has Failed to Resolve Itself.

February 11, 2010

I have done some thinking, and had some conversations with my father. He laughed at me, um, a LOT when I told him about my qualms about public/administrative figures following me on my public social networking device. He says it’s like standing on the street corner with my megaphone (I have a megaphone, by the way) and then getting mad when people I don’t like stop and listen to my inane rantings.

So, okay, I can accept that. I shall either stop whining, or lock my account so that I have a right to whine.

However! I still can’t accept @benladen’s banning. We’ve had confirmation (I’ll get back to this with links and screencaps) that it was really @mark_yudof’s office that reported Ben. We’ve had confirmation that Ben is not the only one to whom this has happened. I’ve read through Twitter’s Rules again, and the thing is, Twitter hasn’t officially said what Ben did wrong. The mechanism for contesting a suspension is essentially “Tell us what you think we think you did wrong and then tell us that we’re wrong about it.” This policy smells so much like a trap, and I can’t help but feel that @mark_yudof’s office knew this when they reported @benladen.

Ah, that is another thing. I have come to the conclusion that @mark_yudof and Mark Yudof are not entirely the same entity. The behavior on the account is too bizarre and erratic, and it only makes sense if both Mark Yudof the Person and Mark Yudof’s P.R. Staff are both using it. I hope I’m not wrong about this, because if I am the implications about Mark Yudof the Person are weird and unsettling.

Now, I’ve gone through what data we have and I’ve decided that while I remain hugely ambivalent towards Mark Yudof the Person (who can come to my party if he promises to warn me ahead of time and bring some good wine and not kick anyone out this time), I’ve got huge objections to @mark_yudof the Twitter Entity. That @mark_yudof, I intend to keep bugging, because that @mark_yudof is making the other one look bad. Worse. Whatever.
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Pronominal Theory: it’s not FOR you

January 29, 2010

An important note on Pronominal Theory mentioned below: I really really wanted to read more about this. So, naturally, I asked Prof. Godzich how one would do such a thing. His first question: do I read German? No. No I do not. However, like a FOOL, I told him that I do read Latin. So, later, when emailing for the reference, it turns out that the Latin translation was published in 1531 in Italy, and apparently the Professor just… knows a dude who knows a dude, so he read the manuscript in one of the libraries there that has it. He helpfully informed me that the Huntington probably had a copy (it sort of does; I mucked around in their catalog a lot) but it then turned out that no way in hell are they going to let me touch it without three or four more degrees than I have currently. I thought maybe offering to translate the Latin to English would be an awesome excuse, but no one wants a secondary translation and if they did they could probably get someone better than an undergrad linguist, so, it looks like I do not get to breathe near the Grammatica Speculativa, like, ever. This depresses me because no one seems to want to put it in English or helpfully scan the Latin or ANYTHING, and this is the single most obnoxious part about the Ivory Tower: sometimes I forget my keys and no one wants to throw down the spare to let me in. Damn it.

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Extremely Late Week3 Notes

January 20, 2010

These are extremely late because these notes were taken the week that we learned my mother had cancer. She’s since had her kidney out and is stable and starting to get up and about again, but frankly it’s a damn miracle I made it to any classes at all in week 3. This is, in fact, the only class of Translation Theory I got to that week; Monday was a holiday and Friday was the earliest I could skive off to get home and see my family. Thus, this post is the entire round-up for that week. Read the rest of this entry ?


This would be why I hate August

August 13, 2009

I don’t mind admitting that I’m having a hard time this month. I have a long history of seasonal emotional troubles, and late summer is always the worst. I may have taken on more than was wise for summer classes, and I’m now regretting it– but it’s much too late to drop one class, because these sessions are only five weeks long and all the administrative dates are accelerated.

One of the strong contributing factors to my stress right now is the fire. That’s very close to where I live. About five miles. And I’ve lived in California all my life; I’ve always been peripherally aware of seasonal wildfires, always moreso when the smoke gathered and choked us all in Silicon Valley for weeks at a time. It’s not really the smoke I’m worried about just now, though. The wind is gusty and keeps changing– it’s blowing the fire away from us now, yes, but it can easily change in less than twenty minutes, and these fires spread, like… well, like wildfire. It went from nothing to a thousand acres over the course of last night.

I can’t really do anything about this right now, though, except put all my precious papers and instruments in my car with me before I go to school. I’ve got about seven continuous hours of class today, plus a midterm. Originally this post was going to be a P.S.A. about fire-safety and wild-fire preparedness, but I think I’m a little too stressed out to write that up right now. Oh well.


Ceci N’est Pas Une Blogge.

February 22, 2009

I’m a little hopped up from residual endorphines (or something) from the gym today (where I proceeded to kick my own ass quite brutally), but the soreness hasn’t quite set in yet so I’m just drained, and a little manic. I desperately want to drive up Highway 1 to San Francisco to wander around the city looking for something we can’t find. Like a parking spot in North Beach, or something of that ilk. Unfortunately, I lack the car to do such things. I lack the money to do anything interesting in downtown Santa Cruz. I’m too exhausted to go wander in the woods. I’m sick of my knitting, I can’t concentrate on my reading, nothing is happening on the internets anywhere, and no one else is up for another party tonight. So I’m sitting here, blogging about how I’m not doing anything. Golly, isn’t that just fascinating?

Oh, but I can at least report that, having thoroughly perused MIT’s list of “hacks” (pranks), they’re really not as epic as some of the tales I’ve heard. Still rather epic, yes, just not that amazing. (My father once told me they put a car in the university president’s office. I suspect he was hyperbolizing.)


Weekend Reflectionings

February 11, 2009

(I like adding -ings to things that are not present active participles. It’s a very roundabout way of verbing something.)

On Saturday, I spent a good deal of time with vaseline and saran wrap in my hair, breathing through a straw, lying blind and immobilized on the floor of one of the art buildings. My housemate, Becca, is using my face for an art project. There are, as a result of Saturday, now eight copies of me on the kitchen table. She’s got plaster, two different kinds of wax, and latex. I think the others are still in the art buildings. Jokes abound about using my face as a weapon, or attributing flaws to me via my face. Or, in the case of the latex copy, using my face as a condom. It’s a little disturbing.

On Sunday, I was taken by my parents and youngest sister to lunch up Highway One at Davenport. The smoked salmon over polenta was exquisite. Afterwards, we went spiking for a little while, then checked out the beach near Davenport. (Spiking is a rather unique activity my family partakes in. My father is an amateur blacksmith, so when we’re near a railroad that has had recent work done, we’ll go walk along the tracks and pick up the discarded railroad spikes and other steel and iron detritus for his use in the shop. He makes rather lovely (I think) knives out of the spikes. Very industrial-punk grunge style, but with an odd medievel flare to them.) Davenport is absolutely gorgeous, and was even moreso on that foggy, windy day. I still regret that my camera is out of commission.

While they were here, my family also delivered my birthday presents. I got books (Tales of the City, Here Comes Everybody, and Oscar Wilde’s plays) and my violin, now refurbished into playability! My violin is violet, so this is especially delightful. Now I just need lessons. And a lot of practice.

I don’t really care to talk about Monday. It was a day of awkwardness and embarrassing my poor Latin teacher in front of his mother. Today, however, programs were successfully conquered, through a combination of teamwork and brute force. It was immensely satisfying, and once everything is finalized I’ll be sure to link to the results from here.

As a side note: In cyberpunk we’re reading Dead Girls by Richard Calder. Well, technically we’re reading the whole trilogy, but I’m still on this first one. It involves zombie vampire doll robot prostitutes, and I highly recommend it.