The Last King of Scotland

Charming. Magnetic. Murderous.

When you're fooled into sympathizing with the bad guy, you can't help but question yourself too. When that bad guy is Idi Amin, there's something wrong with you. Except that I think there are few people who wouldn't think, "Oh, wow, this guys actually kind of cool." Until you learn about the shit going on.

I gotta say the one thing I loved best was the way the movie ended with the Entebbe hijacking and the events that led up to Gallagher's escape from Uganda. Oh, and Forest Whitaker is amazing in this film, I should add.

________

On Friday, Sasha and I went down to Juna's to grab some coffee and talk like we normally do. That day, we were joined by Lukas who had just gotten out of an internship interview with the Ithaca Journal.

So we covered the basic subjects, and then Sasha had to leave, and Lukas and I went to get some pizza from Neds, when we learned that neither of us had the three dollars we owed Neds for the the pizza.

"I have a debit card," says Lukas.

"No swipe...no swipe thing. I don't have," the rather rude pizza man says.

With no money, and no pin number for the ATM, we don't have a choice. We start looking around for people who have money, yet no one will give us any. I grab my bag and search through the deepest crevasses for loose change. In the end, we come up with $2.50 cents, a full 50 cents short. Problem is, we already ordered.

"You owe me fifty cents, next time," he tells me.

Shit, I think, what is this guy trying to do, jack me out of money later? But what choice do we have? We just spent money we didn't have. So we accept and go eat pizza while laughing about it. In the back of my mind, I know that if I come to him on Monday, he's going to ask for a dollar or two. I'm cool with that, but I'm not cool with letting him play me like that.

But my mom comes in with fifty cents and thus we are rescued.

A fleeting dash of ego

"Donc, mot...?"

Good evening, everyone.

Homework assigned to us for French V on Tuesday was a French analysis of Guilliame Apollinaire's Le Pont Mirabeau, a simply yet aesthetically beautiful poem about...well, that's up to interpretation. Doing poems is enjoyable, because not only do I love poems, but sometimes, it's a poem I know by heart, like this time. Thus, the work was relatively easy for me.

Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine
Et nos amours
Faut-il qu'il m'en souvienne
La joie venait toujours après la peine

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

Les mains dans les mains restons face à face
Tandis que sous
Le pont de nos bras passe
Des éternels regards l'onde si lasse

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

L'amour s'en va comme cette eau courante
L'amour s'en va
Comme la vie est lente
Et comme l'Espérance est violente

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

Passent les jours et passent les semaines
Ni temps passait
Ni les amours reviennent
Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

"Le Pont Mirabeau"
Apollinaire, Alcools (1912)

French poetry's not everyone's taste. It tries a little too hard to be profound sometimes, but I find that Apollinaire does a good job making sure that the interpretation works literally as well as symbolically.

For an English translation, see Sasha's page. I do believe, however, that poetry was not meant to be altered, changed, or translated in any shape or form. You want to read Mongolian poetry? Learn Mongolian. The concept of poetry was created not for just the meaning (which can also be undesirably altered during translation) but also the aesthetics of the words and phrases themselves.

If you want to hear the song, the one that's NOT by the Pogues, check out Sophie Auster. It's quirky, but it's definitely pretty.

_____________

"If my penis were as big as my ego, I'd be King Kong."

- Dylan JJ

Thanks for the insight, Dylan.

So the uh, Physics midterm started today. First problem and I already skipped over it. Over at Sasha's house I began to calculate my grade if I say...uh, well forgot about the rest of the problems. When you start counting your score before you even finish the test, you know you're going to fail. Fail hard, too.

It seems like such a simple algebra problem, too, that I'm actually beginning to doubt myself. I used to have a pretty big ego when it came to being logical, but I figured that I'm not all that. Besides, that ego was all formulated. It wasn't ever really there; it started to fool the teachers into thinking that I was actually working, but I guess I let the little lie grow a little uhm, big. I'm not actually a member of the smart people crew. Haha. Member. Get it? MEMBER. Tee hee.

Whatever. My ego could use a beating.

____________

It's always fun getting into philosophical debates over trivial matters. That's how I spent my afternoon though, debating over cappuccino and 5-layer chocolate things and sporadic internet at Juna's. Nothing too hardcore today, though, just the usual relative good and bad that makes our world worth living in, and that perhaps human intelligence will outlive its usefulness one day, where one day civilization will stagnate because we have nowhere to turn.

Sasha and I pretty much rock.

Spill/Simplicity?

as if i left my sanity at home
i part with Juna's door
one hand on the handle
one on my existence
i take five steps forward
aimless steps
worthless steps
five bricks forward
that do nothing
but to deprive
me
of life
as my life
my life
falls out of my
hand
falls out of my
and fills the cracks
in the street so i go back in
to grab another one for
one dollar and
twenty-five cents

_________

First day home?

Feels like shit. I can't function today. You know what it feels like?

Okay. So think of a great big can of Dr. Pepper, all shaken up and ready to blow. And think of, instead of opening the top, suddenly the can is turned inside out and the gas dissipates ingloriously.

Oh, and simplicity? Ah, yes, the ever-so-elusive New Years resolution that's put somewhere on your list, and forgotten just as you realize that you want to keep the byproducts of life. You want to stay an incorrigible pack rat, hold on to the trash that accumulates in your house, or your computer, or your mind. It won't go away, because in reality, you don't want it to.

But I do. I want it out. Last month I remember sitting here at Juna's cafe after school, telling myself that I was scared of change. I told myself that I'd never feel the same way, that there was no way I could revert to my stagnant self. But weeks, later, I'm thinking to myself, where's the change? What have I to be scared of? What's happened to me?

On the bright side, my dreams have disappeared altogether. Sleep is a void.

Vicious cycle? Maybe. But if it's not change, then what is it? Am I complaining too much?

Am I thinking too hard?

__________

Oh, theres a change. This is odd...there's a line at Ned's Pizzeria.

And after watching this video, you can't say you don't have any respect for JT.

Come on people.

__________

“i'm convinced you're sad”

an unexpected response?

not really; predisposition is not

a crime

is it?

Change

Chilled at Bela's for lunch with Simon and Sasha, and played some Xbox. We ended up being late for French class, but so was everyone else. I love ACS. We are not a real school.

___________

I'm sitting exactly opposite the place I normally sit here. It's awkward, it's weird, but it's not as disorienting as I thought it would be. The orange couch is across the atrium from me, and there sits a man working on his MacBook Pro. I don't know why...I just prefer a window seat today. There's more clarity here than there is over there.

I've been feeling less than happy recently. I don't really know what it is with me, and what's making me so depressed, but it's this very...odd...confused feeling. And I think I know what it is.

Could it be? Could it be that I'm just afraid of change? Of growing up?

Of course, Mirko. It's totally natural. It's a very human thing to do, to be scared of shifts in your existential rhythm.

But it's not natural for me. It's not something I've ever had to be scared of. And I think I know why I've suddenly changed my mind. Recently, I had never been so happy about the way things were, and there was my mistake. I had become so settled in the world I lived, that when I realized that it would eventually have to change, I began to panic.

I want to offer myself a way to settle this. But every solution is temporary. I don't think I'll ever be so content again. It's not reassuring, but it's gonna help me accept it.

But me? Scared of change?

That's right. I am. I've very afraid.

___________

http://www.sculleydesign.com/ - This is some of the best art I've seen in a while. Some absolutely beautiful paitings and some just as cool graphic design. If I was a painter, that's what I would be most proud of painting.

ALSO...

Italy bans skinny models - I know all the health risks and shit involved if it doesn't go ahead, but I think it's also the destruction of a tradition.

Adieu, all you anorexic models...

Speech vs Writing

I thought I'd do some extra pictures today. I'm testing out this whole 2GB memory card concept. Haha, this makes me think of the days when a gig was enormous storage space for a computer.

The visitors from Rochester totally swamped the school today. It's not easy to make a good impression on these people, since normal life for us is just so...free, when compared to a normal school. You can't not hack in the halls and go online at school meetings and take photos in Global Studies class. Denying all that is just a concept we've never even heard of.

I had a conversation today with Sasha and Mia about the way I write, and how radically different it is from the way I speak. Yeah, you can sort of tell who the writers are when you read their work, but it's not the same with speech. Sure, there are vocal timbres, but the words we choose in speech are more or less similar.

I proposed I do a blog entry in which my words mimic my speech as closely as possible. I'll do that some other day...

Mia and Sasha just left. So now I'm once again on the orange couch. Just doing my thing, trying to write but failing miserably, trying to do my homework but hopelessly distracted, trying to reach an instant messanging service but too tired to type that fast to that many people.

There's a man from me at my 11 o'clock, and he's staring intently at his computer with his trangular Sony headphones. His unshaven face is rocking back and forth to an inaudible beat and he seems focused on nothing other than his own work. Every now and then his nose twitches and he eats part of his cookie. Doesn't he ever bother to check out his world?

Also sitting across from me, across from the orange couch on the other wall is a girl with the kind of hair that is generally reserved for scenesters. But she doesn't present herself that way. They're black dreadlocks behind smooth hair and mahogany highlights, the colors my hair used to be back in 9th grade. She's wearing a black chemise and black trousers, and she'sreading a book while she plays with her hair. She's been smiling the whole time. It kind of makes me happy, even though I've--

Oh my god, Mirko. You're scaring yourself again. Please stop before you go crazy...this is dangerous for you.

I think I should go home soon. I'm getting sick of constantly relogging on. I'm gonna find someone with a cell phone now.

Love,

- Mirko

P.S. http://www.devilducky.com/media/54406/

Juna's Cafe

It's well after school now. It's even almost dark.

Yet it's only 4:15.

I'm sitting on the big orange couch at Juna's Cafe drinking Papua New Guniea coffee, juggling time between sips and taps at the keyboard.

I don't really know what I'm doing down here. I don't remember why I wanted to go down here anymore. Oh yes, that's right. I went down to hang out with Sasha for a bit, but he turned back halfway when his parents found him. So then I figured I could use some coffee. Then I got some coffee. So then I figured I could probably start my essay on Holocaust connections, or if I wasn't in the mood I could write a little.

On my way down, I resisted the urge to run. I was in no hurry, but I needed coffee.

Is that a paradox? Wasting energy in order to reach it?

Instead of the essay I promised my teacher or the story I promised myself, I'm caught up in just about everything else. Particularly the other people sitting here at the cafe. I'm watching them, listening to them. No, per se, I'm not barging in and interjecting, but I'm certainly observing from across the room.

Two college students, one with jet black hair hidden under a green bandana, conversing loudly about a Korean preacher with a incomprehensible wife. I think she's also a barista here. The other girl has a round face and blonde hair. She says she has to actively look at her to understand her. But she has to go, else she misses a rendezvous. She picks up her jacket.

The History of Art. A bagel with butter and strawberries. He puts down his jacket and unravels his scarf. He begins to eat his bagel. The book opens. A picture of the Alhambra in Spain. Judging by the book and his interest, he's probably an art or history major somewhere.

A couple, one man and one woman. The woman has her hair in a bun and has beautiful eyelashes. She's reading a book. The man wears a brown sweater, black hair, and tight jeans. He's writing with a green pen. Or doing the crossword. Or doing sudoku. Something that's turning his mind away from his female friend.

Oh my god, what am I doing? Is that how bored I get? So bored that I have to watch other people for my own amusement? I'd be kind of freaked out if I were them, and admittedly, I'm creeping myself out just a little. But I don't think they know I'm doing this. This isn't illegal or anything.

This coffee is good. When I entered the cafe, I thought I'd be coming in for a chai. But I needed more caffeine. The barista behind the counter, a former ACS student with blonde hair, small blue eyes, and an apron, recommended the Papua New Guinea. I eyed the Sumatra, but I went for the Papua as recommended.

It's keeping me awake, at least. I'll go home in half an hour. I'll do some homework, read a bit, then probably resume my life behind a computer screen.

Oh yes, yesterday. Yesterday. Mmm. Jammed with some vibes yesterday. Didn't go well. Couldn't count for shit and David couldn't walk for shit and the vibraphonist played maybe 3 songs. Shit. So yeah. Now I'm tired. Bitch stay out of my way. On a lighter note, I consumed a total of 2 slices of lemon pie at the dinner last night, so yeah. I got that whole near-death feeling you get from all that fat and sugar.

Love.