I spent a miserable weekend doing what I wanted to do.
    I know this must seem ironic: I was doing what I wanted, and yet I was miserable? 
    It really is quite frustrating to realize that a consciousness of my responsibilities guarantees that I will not be truly happy until after I'm dead.  After all, I may have a job that I love and enjoy, but I am obliged to work there.  If I ever decide (as one is allowed to do as a child) that I don't enjoy it and want to do something else for a day- I can't.  It's not allowed.  I am required to work to feed myself, and whether I am growing my own food or working a good job so I can purchase the best from Fresh Market, the fact that I must work for it makes the work unpleasant.  I can't grow food for a hobby because the responsibility of feeding myself requires that I treat the growing of food with more care than I would a hobby.
    Which, horrors, means I can never write for a living. 
    I spent the weekend reading, writing, and visiting friends.  I also went to bed each night with a distinct feeling of wasted time.  I didn't sleep very well and spent a good deal of time feeling depressed.  Oddly enough, the highlight of my weekend was teaching Sunday School for 2-3 year olds Sunday evening.  It was the first responsible thing I'd done all weekend. 
    It's days like these that I take a little excursion into my imagination and place myself on a small, fertile farm in the wilds of north-middle Tennessee.  On my ideal farm, I live by myself in a well-insulated stone hut, and have more than the average farmer's luck in growing enough to easily sustain myself. 
    Bob, of course, wouldn't appreciate it if I were to run away into the wilds, so I haven't done so yet.  But it's an intriguing thought.

It was in the process of moaning about my upcoming music research paper (5 pages minimum on the Overture to Mozart's Magic Flute opera) that V (my roomate) and I began to discuss how we each went about writing a paper.  For my latest music assignment, my teacher would like us to write the opening paragraph of the research paper.
    "That's not fair," V exclaimed when she heard this.  "The Introduction is always written last!"
    This got me to thinking about how I went about writing a research paper.  V apparently does it the proper way: she writes an outline, writes the main body first, then the conclusion, and finally the introduction.  For scientific papers, this might actually be the best approach, since the results are presented first in the abstract, followed by the introduction of the subject.  I've also been taught this is the proper way to write an essay though I only composed 1 set of essays like this, and that was under a strict British teacher in the 12th grade.  Before and after that, how have I written essays? 

    First I find my sources.  What was once the slowest part of the process has now sped up dramatically, and within 3 hours, I am tottering home from the library with 6-10 books on my subject.  With those and online sources scattered across my desktop and computer desktop, I open a blank Word document.  And I begin writing.  But not complete sentences, or even whole ideas.  A rough outline might appear, and within its boundaries, I usually jot various significant quotes from my sources.  Random paragraphs might appear as I am inspired, as well as random bits and pieces of stuff that has nothing to do with the subject at hand.  In the end, any trace of proper outline has disappeared, and the document appears as though a digital bomb has gone off in its midst.  I then leave the document in this state for a day or so, during which time I think about the paper (and perhaps stress about the paper), but I rarely write anything.
    The actual writing occurs a day or so later, when I sit down, turn on whatever music I feel will inspire me, and wait for the inspiration to hit.
    V said, “Really?”
    Oh, yes, really.  And a long walk usually helps the inspiration to hit sooner.  When I do start writing, I usually write from beginning to end, cutting and pasting whatever bits from the bombed document that I like.  When the paper is completed, I proofread for grammatical errors, but it is highly rare that I change anything more than a comma or a word here or there.
    This method has its drawbacks, the most obvious being: What do I do when inspiration doesn’t come?  Thankfully, that’s never happened.  Not yet, anyway.  Something always comes.   
    I should also point out that my best high-school essay under the aforementioned British teacher was my first, which was written as I have just described.  Further essays under her direction were written by outline and strict procedure, and they lacked the spark (and the grade) of my first essay.
    In the process of writing this, I think the inspiration for my introductory paragraph on Mozart has finally hit.  So, the purpose of writing this post having now been accomplished, I am off!  May you all enjoy an inspired week!

In honor of Dumbledor's two favorite words, my post will be just as random.
    Once in a while, I meet an annoying person.  Before I met Bob, I used to wish that the annoying guy would ask me out on a date for the sole purpose of my (not so nice) refusal. 
    I splattered myself with safranin in lab today.  Unfortunately, while most of it is on my hands (reminiscent of chicken pox), a goodly spot is on my jeans as well.  So, bright person that I am, I decided to use a blue pen in my bag to try to cancel the red color on my jeans.  The result... was purple.  (Oh, and yes, safranin is permanent.  So once the blue ink washes out, my red will be back).  I guess it's time for new jeans.  David, my lab mentor, recommended a lab coat.  I don't understand how he and Patrick can not get the stuff on them, though.
    There is nothing better than being read Winnie the Pooh by a British guy who can do all the voices perfectly.  And there is nothing funnier than seeing a bunch of adults totally entranced by the British guy reading Winnie the Pooh with all the voices done perfectly.  (This was 3 years ago, btw, at the church retreat in Germany... the adults sent the kids to bed, and then all gathered downstairs with their beer and wine to hear the pastor read aloud from Winnie the Pooh.  Best Pooh reading I've ever heard).
    What else is new?  I'm enjoying Pippi Longstocking for the first time... shame on my for not reading it earlier.  I'm also enjoying a book about a boy who visits France shortly after WWII... but not too much on it, because I'll write a review later.
     For up-coming movies, I'm looking forward to Spiderwick Chronicles and Nim's Island, if I can ever work up enough money to get tickets.
    Other than that... it's getting late... and I have papers to read and showers to take and sleep to be slept.  Have a good evening!

  Last Saturday, I had the great fun of traveling to Atlanta with Bob.  For someone who hates cities and driving (like me), it was really nice to travel with someone who likes both (Bob).  We ate at Popeyes on the way down (never had it before; it was good) and shortly thereafter, ran into rain.  After struggling along at 40mph in blinding rain while trying to clear the windshield, we finally hit drizzle and were able to speed up to somewhere near the speed limit.  From there we traveled a wee bit out of our way to Fry's Electronics (this one 30 mi E of downtown), then to a garden store, then Cheesecake Factory, and finally Emory.
  Unfortunately it rained the whole time and we hit a bad snag of traffic on the way back from Fry's.  Part of the traffic was due, I think, to an odd intersection for a toll hwy (can't remember road names), but the other part seemed to be a large portion of the population trying to get to Linux Square Mall... which, unfortunately, is where we wanted to go, too.  After struggling for far too long, we gave it up and went to the garden store instead.  This interesting store... whose name I cannot remember, but the catalogue is upstairs... is like the Ace Hardware for rich gardeners.  It's not a hardware store... but... well... there's a connection there somewhere.  Anyway, they sell a variety of stuff, from house/garden plants (including a wide array of orchids) to patio furniture to seed packets to decorative items.  I can't say I was impressed with all their stuff- some seemed a bit overpriced for the quality I was observing- but there were some fireplace pits that I really liked.  And there were other oddities (like gingerman-shaped birdseed cakes) that I'd enjoy buying and using if I had the money.  But that won't happen for a good decade or more. 
   Following our short excursion there, we went ahead to the Cheesecake Factory up the street, even though it was just 5pm.  This turned out to be a good thing, since the line for the valet parking extended into the street.  Here, for a long story short, we ended upstairs at a quiet table.  After Bob explained to me the size of the plates, we decided to split a pasta dish... something bolognase with white truffle oil.  It was totally fantastic!  Then came, of course, the cheesecake.  Bob had kaui... kauwi... ah, well, something with chocolate and goodness, and I had lemon raspberry.  I don't think we finished either slice because we were so stuffed from the pasta (didn't finish it either).  I need a bigger stomach! 
  After that came the concert at Emory.  (Still raining).  I wish I could remember all the people who were there.  Alison Brown, Emory's Celtic Choir, and Moya (Enya's sister) were 3 groups there.  Also present were an Appalachian musical family and a harpist and... another group who's name I've forgotten.  Fantastic concert!  Really great stuff; I had a blast!  Afterwards, Bob (and I) got to meet Moya and he got her Christmas cd autographed. 
  And then, of course, came the long drive home.  I don't remember much of it, and Bob probably remembers less, him being more tired than I.  I started getting dizzy trying to keep my eyes open towards the end.  I think we crashed into Chatty around 1:30 am.  Yurg. 
  Speaking of which, it's getting late-ish now.  So, farewell!  I look forward to posting my further adventures.  (With any luck, someone out there is looking forward to reading them).

I finished the book Dragon Rider, by Cornelia Funke, shortly before Thanksgiving Break.  I enjoyed the book a lot, and thought I would write a quickie review about it for anyone interested in light Christmas reading.
  Summary: Dragon Rider is the story of a dragon, brownie, boy, and hommunculus (little, human-like creature made by a human from another living creature) who set out in search of the home of dragons, the Rim of Heaven.  Along the way, they meet a certain professor who knows a lot about magical creatures, a djinn, a basilisk, dwarves, fairies, elves rats, and a golden monster who wants to see the end of the dragons.  Like Funke's other books, (Thief Lord is my favorite) this story is brimming with creative creatures and exciting places, a refreshing change from certain other books which copy from what's already there.  Granted, all the creatures mentioned have existed in fairy tales since Greek days, but like Tolkien, Funke has provided her own interpretation for what these creatures are and how they function.
  I don't have many complaints about the book.  This is definitely a kid's book, but it makes for great rainy-day reading.  I'm not a huge fan of the translation (original language = German): awkward examples abound, especially in the beginning and ending chapters, of poorly-translated sentences.  An example: Twigleg says, "Believe you me..."  In German, "Glaubst du mir..." (or Glauben sie mir, if plural), it makes perfect sense; the literal translation, however, does not. 
  Another example is when Sorrel and Firedrake are reunited after escaping from an abandoned warehouse in London.  Sorrel exclaims, "Hey, hey how are you?"  To me, this sounds horribly awkward in English.  This could possibly be a result of the book being one of Funke's earlier works, and therefore not as well written as, say, The Thief Lord.  But I have a lot of problems with that sentence.  For one thing, it doesn't make sense as a literal translation from the German: only your doctor would ever ask you How are you?  If this is actually the meaning intended, then I can think of a thousand better phrases to translate the sentence: even "Are you ok?" sounds better to me than "Hey, hey how are you?"  If it's not literal, then Sorrel is simply giving a greeting of some sort, and the translation of the phrase can be even more freely done... which is why I fault the translator for picking such a poor way to phrase it.
  Overall, though, the book is a fun read and fairly quick.  The quirky translations are a little distracting at first, but once the story picked up, they seemed to disappear.  I've added the book to my Christmas list, as the German Drachenreiter.  (hint hint, *cough cough*).