HAVE YOU GUYS SEEN THIS VIDEO
A HIGH SCHOOL BASKETBALL PLAYER WAS TRYING TO STOP THE BALL FROM GOING OUT OF BOUNDS AND ENDED UP NAILING AN AMAZING SHOT PLEASE WATCH THIS IT’S REALLY IMPORTANT
White people be out here jackin off on cookies, shootin up schools, and eatin tampons but you scared of a nigga wit dreads in a tall tee???
"i dont know how to phrase this really traumatic memory in a funny way so im never gonna tell anyone about it"
I don’t think we take enough time to appreciate the periods in our life when our noses aren’t runny. Is your nose runny right now? No? Think about that. Honestly reflect on it. Enjoy this era of peace. There are dark times on the horizon
I’m somewhat unmotivated today because it’s sort of a “day off”, but I keep getting very excited about the one thing I have to do today, which I should probably start soon. I told my group for my Electronic Music class that I would handle our final project all on my own if they just sent me audio clips of things going on at the gym. So now I have 20 or so random audio files and I have until tomorrow morning to turn them into some kind of 2-minutes-or-less-long piece of music. Pretty much a completely blank canvas and enough time to work with. Time to record, mix and master until my heart’s content.
For more on this story, click here to watch Aasif Mandvi report directly from Azeroth.
do u ever look at the mirror for a long time and then freak out cus ur face has been ur face ur whole life but ur still not used to it
17% of cardiac surgeons are women, 17% of tenured professors are women. It just goes on and on. And isn’t that strange that that’s also the percentage of women in crowd scenes in movies? What if we’re actually training people to see that ratio as normal so that when you’re an adult, you don’t notice?
…We just heard a fascinating and disturbing study where they looked at the ratio of men and women in groups. And they found that if there’s 17% women, the men in the group think it’s 50-50. And if there’s 33% women, the men perceive that as there being more women in the room than men."
It amazes me how worked up and stressed I got about tests and projects and the like in high school. The only core curriculum IB class I was in was English, and only for two years. Junior year (the first year) I had my IOP, Individual Oral Presentation, that I gave over this book Kokoro. Typically in an IOP, you offer insight/commentary on the book alongside some sort of “creative” element. I could’ve easily written a song, played an instrument, or rapped something (I actually wrote a rap for the project that I didn’t use; it combined all the showboating and irreverent humor of an unpracticed white boy rapping and the profound philosophical and personal insights of Soseki’s novel into a verse so overwrought I would’ve had to spend most of the presentation just explaining it, while dying of embarrassment) but I didn’t. From day one, when the teacher asked what we were doing, I had almost no answer. I knew what I wanted to talk about (“The Duality of Action and Reaction in Soseki’s Kokoro”) in part because I had been assigned the book and mostly because I gleaned little else but the very vague title of my presentation from actually reading the book.
My presentation was a 16 year old me poorly dressed and standing in front of 25 students I knew for a fact were smarter than me and cared less about this class, barely getting over my nerves in front of the class, going through a mostly scripted monologue about book, portraying multiple characters and arguments without actually indicated who I was referring to, walking excitedly throughout the room with my sleeves rolled up like an infomercial salesman, writing on the boards, stomping my feet, slapping my friend on the back (really, he was the opposite of a friend; he was the guy on drumline that made it harder for everyone and made us all hate him for it) to prove a point, pulling out my phone to play a recording of a teacher, and coming to enormous, far-reaching conclusions about the implications of the novel basically on the spot. The presentation, in retrospect, made little sense except to repeat and highlight the adage “for every action… reaction” and keep the class’s attention. I was applauded, questioned, laughed at, and generally well-received by everyone short of the teacher. She tore into me during my allotted (and audio-recorded) Q&A section, talking about how none of my presentation made any sense, talking down to me for being a first year IB student (most had already been in the program for 2 years), and, if I recall correctly, calling my presentation one of the worst she’d ever seen. Hell, she even pointed out that I wasn’t dressed well enough. Bitch. She told me my grade that afternoon— 79 —and offered to give me another chance, as virtually every other student would go on to get an A on what was said to be the biggest, most challenging, most important grade of the year short of credit exams. I wasn’t about to rewrite the presentation I’d performed no less than 8 times in preparation, and I was ashamed (but yet in a very punk, fight-the-power sort of way, also proud) from being shot down in front of the whole class. By the time I graduated, or maybe even by the end of that year, I realized that the assignment was no more than 15% of our grade, and I ended the class with a B+ or A-. Yet that fucking presentation will stick with me for the rest of my life.
Another story: in my 2nd year of IB English, we had a similarly stern older woman, and the class was known to be at least as tough. Probably more so. This year, we had to do an IOC, Individual Oral Commentary, which is a 20-minute, audio-recorded spoken analysis by the student of a play, short story, or poem we’d discussed throughout the year. The total number of pieces we had to know in advance was 25. There simply wasn’t enough time to read, annotate, and organize your thoughts on a piece before the commentary. The process was this: you pick a card from a shuffled “deck” which tells you the work, you’re provided a copy of the text, asked a general question about it, always something that allows lots of room for examples and explication, given around 20 minutes to prepare, and then expected to speak for 15-20 minutes. Part of this time the teacher will be in the room asking follow-up questions, and part of the time you will be alone. This was right around finals at the end of my senior year, and I had started buying Concerta from a girl I drove to school. Imagine a mixed race, drug-addled Zooey Deschanel. That was her. I typically took the Concerta to study after school or on weekends, but today I took it fairly early on during the day because I knew I could get out of my remaining classes to prep for the IOC. By the time I got to the room for my IOC, my stomach was empty, my hands were cold and clammy, I was shaking, my mouth was dry, but damn it all I was focused. Unfortunately, the card I picked was “The Fish” a poem I never adequately grasped in class. I think I missed the notes or discussion or something. I don’t even remember the author. The prep was hell, trying to decode this meaningless symbolic poem in order to fit the context of some bullshit question without enough time to put my mind straight about what I was going to talk about. By the time I was in there with the teacher, I was gasping for air due to my cottonmouth, hands shaking as I fumbled through notes, head spinning, voice cracking and mind racing through all the bullshit I could possibly say about a poem that I fundamentally did not understand whatsoever. It was awful. 16 straight minutes of “uhhhhhh…. What the author probably meant was….. uhhhh…” If I heard that recording today, I’d probably throw up. I know she has some of the better-scoring IOCs on hand at the school, but hopefully that “analysis” of mine is in a landfill somewhere. I think this teacher was used to students getting nervous about the assignment; she said a polite “that’ll be all” when I came, flipping and stumbling like a wrecked racecar up to a finish line, to the end of some thought that seemed like a conclusion. I didn’t find out that grade until much later. I don’t think it was any worse than my IOP, but it certainly wasn’t better work of mine. I believe it too ended up constituting an anticlimactically small portion of my grade.
The final outcome of all this? Getting a 4/5 on my English IB test and Ap English IV test, passing both classes by a wide margin, getting 3 english credits for college, and ultimately (due to what I’m sure were unrelated circumstances) getting 15 hours or so of college credit that I did nothing to earn whatsoever in addition to those I tested for.
High school is weird. If you’re going to college, you suffer through classes that pretty much get more and more stressful right up until you graduate, and everything just kind of falls apart after that. I don’t think I’ll ever be that stressed about an academic assignment that mattered so little again.
Man I want to write a song or fiddle with some chords or write lyrics or something but I have a debilitating amount of accounting to study today and no guitar at the moment. I’m hoping this brief moment of writing gets some of that out of my system. I have to make an 83 on this final to get a B, because I have really fucked up this semester in what was supposed to be one of the easier business courses I would take. I didn’t even do well on the homework that told you the answers if you asked it tobecause I forgot to do so much of it. I got 77s on two tests (and the homework) and an 86 on one test, leaving my grade an upped-middle D at the moment. The class is scored on an accumulation basis, hence the discrepancy. If I were to get roughly an 83 on the final I would be at the very low end of a B, otherwise I’ll almost certainly get a C. Curves are not unheard of, but I haven’t been told to expect one either.
After my ACCT test (8-10am Monday) is Poli Sci, which I spent all day yesterday studying for. I was oddly motivated for most of about 10 hours, stopping only to smoke, eat, shower, and eventually go visit a friend, which took up a little more than 2 hours that I suppose could’ve been spent studying, but by 11pm I was done with anything related to government. Last night was bizarre. Not in a bad way. It definitely merits writing of its own, but I lack the creative capacity and time to do it justice now. Maybe tomorrow evening, if the memory is still as fresh.
Back to Process Costing and CVP Analysis.
Nothing, literally nothing could make me laugh harder than this did.
Mark Twain’s House, Hartford, CT
Photo by Frank C. Grace (Trig Photography)
if this place is not haunted then i am not a person.
I hope that the days of luxurious homesteads are not behind us. I would love to have a house that ornate.