Cat Noises

I am a Calico. Mrrrorrwwww!

Today I also found some awesome hair photos, from when I woke up with a faux-hawk at Alexei's apartment.







































Rock to that! Although Ive taken the lip ring out since then.
Another anecdote: There was a bit of enraged name-calling at council tonight. The words "tyrant" and "incorrigible prick" were thrown about. It was a painful council. Most Persona Non Grata proceedings are, however. Regardless of the motivation I am moved to shed some light on the mysteries of manager meeting. I thought hard about how to do this and decided it could be explain rather simply.
This is what manager meetings are like:

















































Can one still really worry that there is an issue of abuse of power at issue?
To any paranoid individuals of that opinion, I offer the following facts, which should be kept in mind:
1. Summer council has no real power
2. The house is cleaner than ever I have seen it, especially in a summer semester
3. We live in a new age of the USCA: post-chateau. The policies passed by board concerning the roof need to be enforced by someone. Board will look to that managers. What are we to do? We need bad press about as much as we need an outbreak of pink eye (the latter Im afraid we have to deal with at the moment). We dont need another Chateau and the bad press has got neighbors itching for a reason to sue; to think poorly of the coops, like the papers have told them they should. They are wary of us and we need to be wary of them.
4. Your momma
5. Council approves motions to rename the south-pole and force Mike Linsner to do a keg-stand. Council is absurd. CZ is absurd.
What is there left to say? Vote anarcho-royalist, i suppose, and dont fear the reeper.

Why Is The Floor As Low As I Can Go?

I was recently explaining differing views on possible world semantics to Micah. I was fairly painstakingly tracing the nuances between popular and opposing views (Lewis, Kripke, Descriptivist, etc...) and he asked me something unexpected. These potentially useful theories are all well and good but he wanted to know why humans feel the need to project themselves (or in this case, anything at all)? This was not a question I was prepared to answer. Disarmed I scoured the web for something resembling an answer. It was Micah who found it and it would make an amazing Thesis topic!

The idea was that mirror neurons triger a similar function in the brain. This may be more of a cognitive science answer than a philosophy answer but its not as if the two are mutually exclusive, now is it? Wikipedia has an informative article on mirror neurons. Basically we would be talking about the potential significance to language: why do we project, in language, other worlds, which imitate or mirror that which we experience empirically? The easy answer is that this tool- possible world semantics- allows us to answer some questions about modal claims (possibility, contigency and necessity, for example). The remarkable thing about mirror neurons is the implication (and Grice surely is motivating me to continue with this problem) that there is another motivation, a neurological motivation, for postulating possible worlds.

As a side-note, this is, apparently, the best of all possible worlds or so is the return on a google image search for best possible world:

Tonight I took a quick trip to downtown Berkeley to make use of the ATM at Washington Mutual so that I could pay off my house fees. This is nothing out of the ordinary, mind you. When I approached the ATM I noticed there was something or some things lying about, scattered around the ATM, which is about 20 feet from the enterance to the BART station. I found 5 perfectly scuplted light weight wooden stakes. I immediately snatched one up in my little hand and tested it's craftsmanship, which was stellar I might add. The euphoria and marvel at my discovery soon wore off , however, and I began to wonder about the purpose of 5 perfectly scuplted wooden stakes lying scattered on the ground in downtown Berkeley at 11:00pm. My grip on the stake in my tiny hand grew tighter and I found myself hurried in my withdrawl looking over my shoulder every few seconds, suspicious of any sound or movement. My transaction complete, I ran to the patch of well lit area on the street corner and waited for Lindsay to pick me up.
My heart was beating so quickly and I was sweating when I jumped like a bolt of lightning into the passenger seat. I hadnt thought about how I must look to him, holding the stake white-knuckled just above my shoulder. "What on earth is THAT!" he asked me.
"A stake" I responded curtly, calming myself down.
"Oh" he said, unsurprised, "you should have gotten one for Rachel. You know, she's into all that Buffy shit."
I couldn't respond. All I could muster was frozen blinking. My lack of aplomb was palpable. I mean, could he not see that we were obviously in certain peril, that I SHOULD have grabbed all 5 stakes entirely for our protection and that the mere existence of 5 wooden stakes was clearly the harbinger of knavery; not to be taken as lightly as "buffy shit".
I made it home safely, so far. I still have the stake on me. I'm thinking of crafting a belt for it.

WTF?

So does anyone else see Greenaway in this? The absence of synchronicity between the audio and visual inputs? The framing (the mise en abyme), etc...? What does Sofia Copolla think she's getting away with? Certainly, it promises to be sexy, but then so does Greenaway. Its as if Sofia took the Draughtmans contract and mixed it with the hottest New order song she could find. I'd say she was biting his style, but at this level I believe its simply called 'Plagarism'.

Delirium and Pilates

I have been sitting in the basement of Soda Hall since 6:30pm. It is now 6am. The delirium has set it. My code is broken and I have been reduced to the level of you tube.

Micah asked recently after an evaluative difference between Yoga and Pilates. Other than explaining stretching vs. toning I realized a demonstration is necessary. Pilates as a preformance is erotic in an entirely grotesque sort of way. Short of video-taping myself thusly engaged, I have found a very popular music video. I do not know how much exposure it recieved in America, but it was HUGE in Europe while I was living there. (a fact I found more than a tad disturbing).

And with that, dear readers, I return to reading and re-reading the Scheme book. I am confident that although where Computer Science is concerned I have the brain processing power of a zuchinni, my esoteric knowledge will be my saving grace. I know what the vocative case is and how to implement it. I cannot be wholly inept.

I returned from the debauchery and decadence of touring the east coast with a renewed zest for migrating away from the evils of myspace. So welcome, dear readers, to Lorien's legitamite blog. My trip back to the east coast was truly awe inspiring. I had to marvel that it was in fact my life I was living. I arrived in Norfolk and my mother took me to a spa and then to a wine bar where I drank alot of delicious spanish wines and got drunk enough to regale my mother with tales of the Rioja I had been drinking in Madrid and other true stories about myself. As Mike Birbiglia says, "I should have said Nothing". My favorite wine of the night was Pinot Evil. Ive read some poor reviews of it online, but this batch was outstanding- light tannins with a hint of black cherry.
The next morning my mother handed me the keys to a convertible and I drove across statelines to a rather famous crab-shack virtually inaccessible by car (you must sail or row or motorboat), where my father, brother, aunt stephanie, cousin Melissa and Roxie were waiting for me. I sat down and my father said "Lorien this is Raul and Alejandro from Peru, give them your car keys." Unwittingly, I did. I ate some very non-vegan (as was characteristic of the trip) crab dip and boarded Roxie's sailboat, Dalliance. We rafted up with Second Star, my father's boat and eventually sailed home. Thankfully, I still had a convertible AND one in working condition when I returned. I never saw Raul or Alejandro from Peru again.
During the next week I spent quite a bit of time at Harry Browne's, an upscale bar and restuarant in posh pretentious Annapolis with my unerringly anti-posh and unpretentious crew, whom I still refer to lovingly as the Grotto kids. Many of them had just returned (packing, as it were) from Bonnaroo. I learned a few things about myself that week. For instance, when I am already drunk I tend to order bourbon, Old fashioneds, to be specific. Additionally, Brooks and I wear the same size pants. A fact I became aware of through a trial and error process on state circle. I probably would have been embarrassed if I felt shame. However, I still stare blankly, quizzically when people exclaim "You have NO Shame!" as if shame were something worth having. I also ran into my high school boyfriend Chris... while I was wearing Brooks' pants. Other lessons included: Engaging Bobbick in a game of King of the Vampires, or any biting based game is pure folly; My brother loves me enough to drive me to New Carrollton station at the drop of a hat; the Visionary Art Museum never disappoints; Baltimore is still a relic; Nathaniel is charming and his ceiling fan may indeed be the Best Thing Ever. The climax of this fantastic journey was my final evening on Jesse's beach across the creek from my father's house. It was that evening that reminded me of the other-worldly nature of my life out there and of the stories that had my urban bay area folk scratching their heads wondering why I yearned for a past that was clearly fictitious fantasy at best.
We intended to go boat house jumping, but the jellyfish twarted our best efforts. Its an experience of loss of control and trust. Not everyone can do it. Under cover of night you climb to the roof of a boathouse and walk bravely to the edge. Peering downwards there is nothing to be seen but a black abyss and I always have to take a deep breath, contemplating leaping into that abyss. The boathouse we generally use (which needless to say does not belong to any of us) is approximately 40 ft above the water. That means you are in free-fall just long enough that the scream which inevitable eminates from your terrified physicality (convinced of the peril your mentality has inflicted) is muffled by your splashing entrance into the Severn River. In a word, it is exhilarating, that is, when there are few or no jellyfish. Instead we built a fire on the beach, drank some vino and went jellyfish hunting. It was Jesse, armed with a headlamp who snarred the most and moreover it was his initiative to make an act of war against thier kind. He lamented in the end that Jellyfish have no nerve ending and could not feel their deaths in the common sense. We piled them so high atop our beach fire that Jesse's bacon tips possessed a jellyfish-smoked flavor, or so I am told. I did not indulge in the bacon personally. After a few entendre-ridden verbal rounds with Tyghe I curled up next to Nathaniel and took a very contented cat nap listening to the tide slowly creep up on me. The tide made my exit interesting, to say the least. I was wear 4 inch heels, which turned out to be the precise footwear for the occasion up until the tide had come in. Generally, barefoot is proper foot attire for the beach, however our beach was crawling with sand fleas. I alone emerged unscathed, unbitten, albeit cursing my soggy feet.
I accidently left my camera behind in Berkeley. I have a precious few photos:


Returning to the east bay was disorienting. I was again the Czar of Labor, a student and employee, all positions with great responsibility. I was thrust immediately into dealing with the 100 or so miscreant hippies who I had thus far blissfully ignored. I love Cz, but organizing Czars often seems a futile endeavor. It also brings out the decietful and manipulative aspects one doesnt often see in one's friends and co-habitants.
I started my computer science class, which means I started learning Scheme. The most impressive thing I have done so far is write a rock-paper-scissors machine. This was a feat for me considering that for a good 3 days it was just a win machine. No matter what 2 variable combination of rock paper scissors you entered you won! As good for self esteem as it was, it was not accomplishing its intended function. Finally, I got the code working. I was so ecstatic I squealed in delight, much to the astonishment of my teacher and classmates. Many of whom laughed at my childishness. In some ways, coding like video games is a drug. It engages the reward centers and releases delicious chemicals and endorphines. Its recursive, the coding is a reward in and of itself. That is the impetus that lead me to find the Knights of the Lambda Calculus. Im considering making buttons to advertise our loyalty for my entire class. Maybe I am a child, no?
The photos of me were taken by Micah. last week.

xoxox
Lorien
"All knowledge is worth having."