So here is the plan, concerning the good Dane of whom I wrote.

I shall take from in his play a speech of copious goodness, and prepare it in fine dramatic style. I shall then replace the goodly words of that speech with words devoid of sense, that is, gibberish, but having the same vowel sounds and stresses as the words of the original speech. I shall then speak that speech exactly as if I were reading the original speech.

This will illustrate what power, if any, the pure sounds of Shakspere's writing have when removed from their meaning. Also, it has the humour benefit of allowing me to read earnestly a goodly lot of gibberish.

I do believe that if I present this with the right mix of seriousness, mystique, and intellectual analytical scientific detachment, I can convince the class and (most importantly) Dr. Frogley that they have witnessed something meaningful. Plus, it sounds fun, and makes thorough use of three of my top four intelligences.

Thoughts? Suggestions? Spoiled fruit and vegetables?

The following post will at first seem to be one kind of undesirable entry, but turn out to be an entirely different kind of undesirable entry.

I took several tests online to determine what my relative strengths were in my multiple intelligences. Through a complex process of weighting* the various tests and averaging them, I got the following scores for the eight different intelligences.

Musical: 55
Linguistic: 46
Logical/Mathematical:44
Interpersonal: 37
Bodily/Kinesthetic: 36
Natural: 35
Visual: 28
Intrapersonal: 22

The categories are pretty self-explanatory: linguistic intelligence refers to language use (writing, speaking) as opposed to language analysis; natural intelligence is tree-huggingness. The rest are unambiguous, I hope.

Now for the sudden change from one type of post to another.

The reason I'm bothering to tell y'all this is Englische class. We need to make use of our stronger intelligences to create something for the class to illuminate an aspect of a work we study; specifically, I need to create something to illuminate an aspect of Hamlet.

As a note, I don't want to write a song. Yes, I've thought of that, as has every other person with a strong open quote musical intelligence close quote and a strong open quote linguistic intelligence close quote.

So, since I'm not strong in intelligent intelligence, I'm appealing to all you folk. Your mission is to think of something I could do, and post it as a comment. I may never find out if you read this and don't respond, but Jesus will know and will rain curses down upon you in His mercy.

John Q. Parker of St. Stephens, Mass-uh-chew-sits posted an idea here last year. The next day, he won the lottery, was cured of cancer, and married the love of his life.

James Q. Primrose of Stephenville NewFoundLand read this and didn't post an idea. The next day, the love of his life was diagnosed with cancer and his ex-wife won the lottery.

Bet you didn't see that coming.

Also, Jared Q. Pinter of Sankte Sven, Northern Europe has never read this and has not done anything about it. His grandfather had an operation to remove superficial skin cancer, someone he knew in high school won the lottery, and he thinks that his wife is probably the love of his life because he's not allowed to think otherwise.

Some things about which to think:
-Some youth infringed; 'twas like emerging from a beautiful Amazonian hole.
-I have been failing to write the same Englische paper for goodness-knows-how-long. Mayhaps there's something wrong with me.
-The schools are closing tomorrow. Leaves my current scene out of the 'not screwed' category. Also, I hope it's a short one because I definitely need to hand in many an assignment for many a course.
-In conversation, someone not of the declarèd readership mentioned something from one of the weblogs with which this humble journal shares links. Is there a significant undeclarèd readership for any/all of these things?

On society

Dog eat dog is just fine if you desire a society of dogs.

As an amendment to yesterday's post, I feel confident that there are indeed living human beings, yea, even on this planet are there living human beings who are conceivably stupider than I am. Someone has to elect Republicans, don't they?

And furthermore, the only reason I felt the need to be extravagantly and publicly regretful of my involvement in the scene is that I actually want to be in it. That's right, it's a good scene, and good people, and it will be much fun; I just know that I have no time for it, so the only responsible thing to do was kvetch about it as if it's something I'm doing against my will. That way, I could avoid being open quote irresponsible close quote.

"Also, I've noticed of late that I've started using this for random ramblings as opposed to actual thoughts or ruminations on lofty ideals."
Every little while I'll notice that and make an effort to reverse it, until this truly is a concept blog instead of a diary.

I am officially the stupidest human being on the planet.

First orff:
Remember how I finished my director's scene, and was free from twenty-one-o-clock rehearsals every night?
W'rong.
See, there were some good peoples who had been looking for an actor with a y-chromosome, and they really needed one, and they hadn't found one.
Enter me.
Yes, I don't have time for this, but pushover that I am, I'm in their scene now. Any sane person would have left them high and/or dry, but I am now standing in for whoever the actual actor is that never showed up.
Worst is, they're all really grateful. They don't see that I'm not exactly a catch for their scene. Sample dialogue:
Me: Sorry I couldn't be here last week.
Them: You had a scene. Anyway, better we get someone a week late than not at all.
Me: Yeah, but better you get typhoid than me a week late.

Second stnank: I have yet to find my wallet/bus pass/music machine. By music machine, I mean this snazzy little device that plays music for use on bus or in class. Lotsa folk have them, and I seem to no longer be one of them folk. I really hope these things turn up.

Off to do some work of the not-failing-English variety.

"Some have said that a fiddle is a violin played incorrectly. Don't tell that to a fiddle player, because he probably thinks he is doing a good job."

Objective: Scientology

The Anna Nicole Show -> Anna Nicole Smith -> Actor -> List of Male Movie Actors -> Tom Cruise -> Church of Scientology -> Scientology

Next objective: Batmobile

I'm having one of those days. I've had more than 13 hours of sleep two nights in a row, and I just want to sleep more. So I think I shall.

Happy birthday to me.

As my birthday party:
Six Wikidegrees from anything to anything.

Start word cloud
End word bottle

Too easy.

Cloud -> Water -> Bottled Water -> Bottle

So, for now, we'll get the game going in the comments section to this. The start word for each section will be the end word of the previous one. Whoever completes the first one chooses the end word to the next, and so on.

Next objective: Jainism. So, you the reader will try to go from Bottle to Jainism in six clicks.


Have fun.

I had my director's scene today. If it wasn't good, nobody had the heart to tell me. When you think about it, the phrase 'nobody had the heart' is the same as 'nobody had the guts', but one of them is a lot prettier.

By the time I post this, it will officially be the day when, theoretically, the sun is in the same place in its orbit as it was when I was dragged screaming into this world.

Also, I had heard that there may have been some possible hangings out happening afterward, which is good, because I decided during the day today that hangings out were what I needed after several weeks of stress. Then, when I called after musicke knight (oh, yeah, I was in that, too), it turned out that there weren't. It occurs to me now that most of my viewing audience is probably at that literal arts party that I heard talk of somewheres.
So, I went home.

Anyway, I'm going to take off my suit, brush my teeth, and go to sleep. Tomorrow, I will ache and also be older.

This guy said something that is well worth quoting.

Also, I am quoting that thing that he said here.

It contains language not appropriate for Catholics.

Here is that thing that I said that he said that I said was quotable and that I would quote:
When I heard they had elected a new Pope I was kind of hoping he'd be all "hey guys! Being gay is totally okay! Oh, also we are sorry for all the persecution and crusades and child molestation and stuff." I should have known that Emperor-Palpatine-lookin' motherf'er wouldn't do it, though.

Memorable quote from within the quote: I should have known that Emperor-Palpatine-lookin' motherf'er wouldn't do it, though.

When I become awake enough to write my own words, I shall begin actually making good entries again. This will probably be on the weekend, when I will sleep in and wake up a bit older, numerically.

My eyes slide out of focus.
Staring through the monitor; on it swims a tasteful analog clock, no numbers.
An eclipse: tasteful hands align in an illicit nighttime rendezvous, south of where numeral two isn't.

Sleep is an appointment kept by the sane.

All results of modern psychology are entirely psychosomatic.

I can imagine Jung's thought process: "I study the mind. I require a mind to study. I have a mind. I shall study mine owne minde." Within a weeke, he could have imagined himself an world of wonders on the inside of his head. Now, I'm not saying that his work is without merit; it is a very good filter through which to examine the great big general mish mash (GBGMM, scientifically) which is us.

Wonders on the inside of his head; perhaps he was an opium user. His work has that aftertaste of that one step past brilliance into the disturbing surreal that we find so often in opium users -- if we open up at random the grand book of opium-users-one-step-past-brilliance-into-surreality, we find on facing pages "Coleridge, Samuel Taylor" and "Coltrane, John". I don't know if Jung is in there too, but he would fit in well in that company.

Note: You may have noticed that my posts have a habit of evolving. If I read something on my site I don't like, I will often change it.

I have discovered that the more tired I am, the less effective my writing is. It's not a surprising correlation, but if you check my times of posting, you'll probably notice that the long, abstruse, painful posts come at times or on days or in weeks when I'm exhausted.

I've also discovered that my shift key is broken. It makes it hard to type capital letters.

I've also discovered that the NYT crossword is so much harder than others as to be an entirely different skill set.

Ciao

Today, I saw many a director's scene. One was a play. Danny along with the sea of deep blew me away. Honourable mentions go to a hotel away from the pigeons and der lieder.

After that and a bit of a rehearsal, I hung around and talked for an aeon until we were thrown out by and talked with at length, in that order, Herr Greif. Special thanks go to хороший камрад SG and his kin. With their aid and their Smarties, I made it to the transitway.

I had already filled out the Citizen's crossword for the day, so, finding myself bored, I picked up the lesser of the two evil dirt-spawned devil-papers and turned to its crossword. I had not a pencil; I asked the lady sitting next to me; neither had she a pencil -- the wrong purse, she explained. She did lean over and say "47 down -- 'toe'". We spent the rest of the busride filling out the crossword, sans crayon, in our heads. It was a formidable exploit, and entertaining, too; it elevated the Metro crossword from a motor exercise to an intellectual challenge.

As I passed through the abhorrent commercialist hive that separates the penultimate leg of my voyage from my final bus, I borrowed on a permanent basis, nay, was given by superlatively helpful staff at the OC transpo booth, a mechanical pencil. As I walked through this oversaturated world of jarringly tasteful music and nauseatingly stylish colours, I filled in the crossword I had largely solved with my stranger from the bus. I found a very few words missing.

I also found that I had missed my bus. This left me with half an hour to spend (I think that the phrase 'time to kill' expresses a needlessly brutal sentiment), and I knew I did not want to venture back into the expressionistic hell that is a shopping mall. I came upon nothing less than a used record store, the term 'record store' applying even to establishments that deal not in vinyl. There were five minutes before the store was due to close, so it was (naturally) the perfect time to take a look around.

About four and a half minutes later, I realized that I don't carry cash at the moment. The lady behind the counter figured it out too. She recommended that, if I did want to build a jazz collection--I do--and I want to do it cheaply--I do--I ought to come on down in the mornings on Monday through Thursday. I said I would. I knew as I said it that I couldn't. I just sort of said it anyway.

I caught my bus home.

At the risk of jeopardizing the integrity of my cover, I may or may not be performing in what may or may not be a performance event on the date which may or may not be Friday the 13th (gall darn, I just noticed that) of May. For what may or may not be further details, stay alert and stay safe.

Ciao,
That guy who may or may not write that thing.

So, another culture club became existant today. It is a club centred around something I don't have in common with many a people I have much in common with.

I think we should start a bacterial culture club, to celebrate this diverse culture that thrives even now in the dankest corners of our society.

Also, I have taken to doing the crossword in the lesser of the two evil papers that have spawned from the rich microbial culture on the floors of city buses. It is like a crossword for dummies.

Also, I get home circa eight of the clock most nights due to rehearsals. You non-performers have no clue how lucky you's.

This post is so parallel, I have decided that it should end with a rhyming couplet.
But it won't.