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I logged into my Imeem account yesterday, only to find out in horror that the website had been bought out by Myspace.
…what the frick?
Really? Why Myspace? It seems it didn’t exactly “buy” Imeem; it’s more like Myspace ate it up. All my playlists and saved music are gone. My account is now nonexistent. I’m so mad right now.
So for now, I’ve settled on a combination of Pandora and Grooveshark as my Imeem replacement. Seems to be working so far…
I still miss my playlists.
Christopher Isherwood, A Single Man
These are the last words of the book, fierce, factual, yet speculative. What I have to stress yet again is the sheer tact with which the authorial voice has insinuated its analogy and its hypothesis. “Unsnoring” is a word that tells us physically what might be there by its very negation; “associate” quietly and accurately suggests a connection far looser than we regularly assume for the elements of human identity. The effect of it, all is double: we are both less and greater than we thought. We are less because we are, after all, mere mechanisms, and because we are just like rock pools, separate collections of loosely associated characteristics; but we are greater because the very looseness of the association makes us the more readily part of the infinite consciousness of God. Identity is transcended but here far more thoroughly and less comfortingly. The last sentence consists of a firm statement barely softened by the minuscule modification, rhythmical and syntactical, of the final three words-it is bleak indeed. The whole of the book’s ending is all the more of a rhetorical triumph in that Isherwood has been enabled by his analogy to make his point about the relation between the individual and God in an entirely unreligious context, and without faltering in the consistency of his fictional terms. No deus ex machina here. George has returned to the great ocean, as Isherwood the man has by now. It is a Vedantist emphasis, the main emphasis of the whole book too, made with an exquisite delicacy and in no way that alters the narrative conventions already established.
Kobe Bryant is a god.
Video here.
Loris showed me this yesterday. HAHA so funny, but at the same time, quite an interesting read. Left me wanting a bit more.
Yesterday, I went to a bookstore in Hollywood called “Samuel French” to attend a book signing for a book that one of my professors co-wrote (you can buy it on Amazon here). Samuel French has 4 locations: Hollywood, Studio City, NYC, and London.
I didn’t think to take pictures because I assumed there would be pictures online, but unfortunately this was the best I could find. Samuel French is a performance bookstore, specializing in show business. Honestly, I have never seen so much literature regarding show business. There were full scripts of pretty much every major play and musical and Broadway production ever written, books on film editing, books on acting, books on animation, and so much more. In fact, I found a book there that I just might order on Amazon (here).
The environment was amazing as well. The bookstore had a major hipster feel, like something out of (500). The people there were pretty much hipsters as well. At the same time, Samuel French wasn’t that big; it was small enough to give a very quaint, comfortable feeling.
I absolutely recommend this bookstore for anyone who wants a new, interesting environment.
OLD NEWS: My dad’s birthday was on 11/28, and I don’t think my family did anything to celebrate it. My mom and brother didn’t even mention anything about it. I told him “Happy Birthday” and gave him a hug, and I could’ve done more, but unfortunately I had to study for those two lab exams -_- Anywho, I hereby promise myself that when I graduate from college/med school/whatever and get a job, I will treat my dad out to dinner for his birthdays, or get him presents, or whatever. Anything that will make him feel special on his special day. I also hope this birthday neglect doesn’t happen to me when I get old…
“Mister Rogers went onstage to accept the award — and there, in front of all the soap opera stars and talk show sinceratrons, in front of all the jutting man-tanned jaws and jutting saltwater bosoms, he made his small bow and said into the microphone, “All of us have special ones who have loved us into being. Would you just take, along with me, ten seconds to think of the people who have helped you become who you are. Ten seconds of silence.”
And then he lifted his wrist, looked at the audience, looked at his watch, and said, ‘I’ll watch the time.” There was, at first, a small whoop from the crowd, a giddy, strangled hiccup of laughter, as people realized that he wasn’t kidding, that Mister Rogers was not some convenient eunuch, but rather a man, an authority figure who actually expected them to do what he asked. And so they did. One second, two seconds, seven seconds — and now the jaws clenched, and the bosoms heaved, and the mascara ran, and the tears fell upon the beglittered gathering like rain leaking down a crystal chandelier. And Mister Rogers finally looked up from his watch and said softly “May God be with you,” to all his vanquished children.”
Do this every single day of your lives, and I promise you will never ever be unhappy.
This made me quite teary-eyed. What a great man.
Shoot, this is really touching.
So yeah. My longboard’s here. :D
Deck: Derringer 28
Trucks: Original S6 (150mm)
Wheels: Orangatang Stimulus, Yellow, 70mm/86a
Happy December!
Ohman.
