Thursday, February 24, 2011
HIIIIIII
Sorry I haven't been on here in a while, I've neglected this blog in favor of KelseyComplains. Check it out. Please follow me. Suggest things for me to write about. Thanks!!
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Well today sucked. Hardcore.
:Guess who lost the Superbowl, and the Pens/Caps game?!
If you answered Pittsburgh, you win!!
(Shameless self-promotion: check out http://kelseycomplains.blogspot.com/ for more Superbowl snarky-ness and videos)
I'm very bitter. I want to knock Lil Wayne's teeth out. I hope the bastards blasting Green & Yellow in Maple East get hit by a meteor. You idiots probably can't even find Wisconsin on a map.
The Packers played a good game. We didn't. I'm sorry, I'm a Pittsburgh fan through and through, but we just didn't want it bad enough. At least we lost to a team I respect.
We didn't play at all until the end of the first quarter. We picked it up a little, then we made some stupid turnovers, stupid penalties and we lost. They were just the better team. So, Packers, I don't hate you. I just hate Lil Wayne and IUP and will channel my anger as such.
The halftime show was terrible. I don't even mind the Black Eyed Peas, but they were horrible live. Then to watch them contaminate "Sweet Child O Mine" with Fergie shaking her ass in the general direction of Slash?!? Oh why didn't James Harrison come out of the locker room and tackle her... I can't say anything bad about Usher because at that point I was so bewildered that I was no longer able to comprehend the Tron and travesty happening in front of me.
s;dfjuna;dfjv. I don't want to go to class tomorrow.
The Caps were also the better team today. There were a lot of stupid mistakes made by the Pens. We were out-skated and out-maneuvered. Several stupid turnovers. I thought for a second that we killed Mike Green because he was laying on the ice in a puddle of his own blood, bleeding from the ear. Some other guy on the Caps got a stick to the face. It probably should have been a penalty, but it wasn't called, so too bad.
On the bright side, Wallace almost killed a guy, Ovechkin got hit really hard and Cookie wanted to rip some faces off. I love Matt Cooke. Sure he's kind of a d-bag, but he's our d-bag. I would hate his guts if he wasn't on the Pens. But he is. And he's my solid second fave.
I'm sick of blaming losses on missing Crosby, Malkin and Asham. (Malkin tore his ACL and MCL last game, so he's going to be out for a while.) It's a big dent in the roster, no doubt, but we've been okay without them for the past few games. Hockey's a contact sport. People get hurt. It's best not to rely too heavily on anyone.
Also, my general feelings toward NBC can be summed up in one of my tweets from today:
"I hate NBC, their commentators and their cancerous preoccupation with Ovi. We'll get 'em next time, boys. #LetsGoPens"
The Pens never play well when NBC is involved. Their commentators are douchebags. And they should be banned from Penguins hockey.
So, I'm irritated and disappointed. I may not be going to class tomorrow. I just want to go to sleep and forget today. I sort of feel like I'm going to cry and puke and pass out then my brain will explode....and with all that I would still probably get an unexcused absence in Environmental Lit.
I'll post about commercials tomorrow. Lots to talk about. Also, I'm pretty sure Letang is engaged. Not that we ever had a chance, but I hope I'm not the only one that just died a little on the inside.
If you answered Pittsburgh, you win!!
(Shameless self-promotion: check out http://kelseycomplains.blogspot.com/ for more Superbowl snarky-ness and videos)
I'm very bitter. I want to knock Lil Wayne's teeth out. I hope the bastards blasting Green & Yellow in Maple East get hit by a meteor. You idiots probably can't even find Wisconsin on a map.
The Packers played a good game. We didn't. I'm sorry, I'm a Pittsburgh fan through and through, but we just didn't want it bad enough. At least we lost to a team I respect.
We didn't play at all until the end of the first quarter. We picked it up a little, then we made some stupid turnovers, stupid penalties and we lost. They were just the better team. So, Packers, I don't hate you. I just hate Lil Wayne and IUP and will channel my anger as such.
The halftime show was terrible. I don't even mind the Black Eyed Peas, but they were horrible live. Then to watch them contaminate "Sweet Child O Mine" with Fergie shaking her ass in the general direction of Slash?!? Oh why didn't James Harrison come out of the locker room and tackle her... I can't say anything bad about Usher because at that point I was so bewildered that I was no longer able to comprehend the Tron and travesty happening in front of me.
s;dfjuna;dfjv. I don't want to go to class tomorrow.
The Caps were also the better team today. There were a lot of stupid mistakes made by the Pens. We were out-skated and out-maneuvered. Several stupid turnovers. I thought for a second that we killed Mike Green because he was laying on the ice in a puddle of his own blood, bleeding from the ear. Some other guy on the Caps got a stick to the face. It probably should have been a penalty, but it wasn't called, so too bad.
On the bright side, Wallace almost killed a guy, Ovechkin got hit really hard and Cookie wanted to rip some faces off. I love Matt Cooke. Sure he's kind of a d-bag, but he's our d-bag. I would hate his guts if he wasn't on the Pens. But he is. And he's my solid second fave.
I'm sick of blaming losses on missing Crosby, Malkin and Asham. (Malkin tore his ACL and MCL last game, so he's going to be out for a while.) It's a big dent in the roster, no doubt, but we've been okay without them for the past few games. Hockey's a contact sport. People get hurt. It's best not to rely too heavily on anyone.
Also, my general feelings toward NBC can be summed up in one of my tweets from today:
"I hate NBC, their commentators and their cancerous preoccupation with Ovi. We'll get 'em next time, boys. #LetsGoPens"
The Pens never play well when NBC is involved. Their commentators are douchebags. And they should be banned from Penguins hockey.
So, I'm irritated and disappointed. I may not be going to class tomorrow. I just want to go to sleep and forget today. I sort of feel like I'm going to cry and puke and pass out then my brain will explode....and with all that I would still probably get an unexcused absence in Environmental Lit.
I'll post about commercials tomorrow. Lots to talk about. Also, I'm pretty sure Letang is engaged. Not that we ever had a chance, but I hope I'm not the only one that just died a little on the inside.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
T.S. Eliot
We're reading Eliot for my Brit/Am lit class. This poem's called The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock. I love it. Don't stop reading after the first two lines, because I almost did. The first thing on here is from Dante's Inferno. I don't know what it means. If you're not into poetry, just read it and enjoy the language. It's great. Enjoy.
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats 5
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question … 10
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, 15
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, 20
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; 25
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate; 30
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go 35
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair— 40
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare 45
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, 50
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all— 55
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? 60
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress 65
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets 70
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! 75
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? 80
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, 85
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while, 90
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”— 95
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while, 100
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: 105
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
. . . . . 110
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use, 115
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old … I grow old … 120
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me. 125
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown 130
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats 5
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question … 10
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, 15
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, 20
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; 25
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate; 30
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go 35
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair— 40
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare 45
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, 50
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all— 55
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? 60
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress 65
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets 70
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! 75
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? 80
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, 85
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while, 90
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”— 95
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while, 100
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: 105
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
. . . . . 110
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use, 115
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old … I grow old … 120
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me. 125
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown 130
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
HEYYY
I just put up a new blog, same name as my older blog. It's for my social media class, but it'll be the same kind of bitching I did on that blog, and the same kind of bitching I do on this one. Only difference is that it'll usually be political or semi-political in nature.
So follow me, por favor. The link is http://kelseycomplains.blogspot.com
THANKS!
Also, reason 9,000 why I love Letang so much:
We both trip walking up the steps...especially when everyone's watching us.
So follow me, por favor. The link is http://kelseycomplains.blogspot.com
THANKS!
Also, reason 9,000 why I love Letang so much:
We both trip walking up the steps...especially when everyone's watching us.
All-Star Game
So, Letang's magnificent and Ovie's still a douche, so no surprises there.
What I'm talking about is the NHL All-Star Game. Tanger was on Team Staal and Flower was on Team Lindstrom. Tanger also shares the red and white with Ovechkin, who decided to throw a stick at a guy, which sparked the ONLY penalty shot in the history of All-Star games.
But Tanger got 2 GOALS!! He did really well. Flower had a rough first period. They scored four goals on him pretty quickly. Then Team Staal scored 4 goals too. But, Team Lindstrom won 11 to 10. The game was kind of lame because there was no real hitting, but I'm sure it was still a lot of fun for the players to share ice with the best in the league.
The skills challenge was fun. Letang won the skating backwards race-thing. Fleury made an ass out of a few guys during the shootout and the breakaway challenge. The best part was Ovechkin falling over a wire after taking his shot in the hardest shot competition. The idiot had already broken his hockey stick and had to use Letang's to complete his number of shots, then he tripped over the wire and acted like a moron.
Because Crosby and Geno weren't there, the camera people felt the need to focus on Ovechkin the whole damn time.
Clay Aiken sang the national anthem and 3 Doors Down played after the first period ended. This, NHL, is why more people in the U.S. care about football.
I can not wait for the superbowl. The town's gone crazy already. I was home this weekend for a wedding and to go to the Strip District to find a black and gold scarf. You couldn't go one block in Pittsburgh without seeing a jersey or something Steelers-related. I can't wait till I'm 21 and can go to South Side for Superbowls. Until then, I'll be yelling at the TV in my room and affectionately calling Roethlisberger every swear word you can think of because that man makes passes to his eye floaters at times.
It's like 6:30 a.m right now and I'm up. I fell asleep last night around 6pm, intending only to take a power nap, but then slept till 3:30 a.m. and had to wake up and read 125 pages of A Sand County Almanac and write a paper on it. Oh, college...
Just for fun, here's an interview with Letang after the skills challenge. The first 9 seconds are of him looking awkward while the other guy is getting interviewed.
What I'm talking about is the NHL All-Star Game. Tanger was on Team Staal and Flower was on Team Lindstrom. Tanger also shares the red and white with Ovechkin, who decided to throw a stick at a guy, which sparked the ONLY penalty shot in the history of All-Star games.
But Tanger got 2 GOALS!! He did really well. Flower had a rough first period. They scored four goals on him pretty quickly. Then Team Staal scored 4 goals too. But, Team Lindstrom won 11 to 10. The game was kind of lame because there was no real hitting, but I'm sure it was still a lot of fun for the players to share ice with the best in the league.
The skills challenge was fun. Letang won the skating backwards race-thing. Fleury made an ass out of a few guys during the shootout and the breakaway challenge. The best part was Ovechkin falling over a wire after taking his shot in the hardest shot competition. The idiot had already broken his hockey stick and had to use Letang's to complete his number of shots, then he tripped over the wire and acted like a moron.
Because Crosby and Geno weren't there, the camera people felt the need to focus on Ovechkin the whole damn time.
Clay Aiken sang the national anthem and 3 Doors Down played after the first period ended. This, NHL, is why more people in the U.S. care about football.
I can not wait for the superbowl. The town's gone crazy already. I was home this weekend for a wedding and to go to the Strip District to find a black and gold scarf. You couldn't go one block in Pittsburgh without seeing a jersey or something Steelers-related. I can't wait till I'm 21 and can go to South Side for Superbowls. Until then, I'll be yelling at the TV in my room and affectionately calling Roethlisberger every swear word you can think of because that man makes passes to his eye floaters at times.
It's like 6:30 a.m right now and I'm up. I fell asleep last night around 6pm, intending only to take a power nap, but then slept till 3:30 a.m. and had to wake up and read 125 pages of A Sand County Almanac and write a paper on it. Oh, college...
Just for fun, here's an interview with Letang after the skills challenge. The first 9 seconds are of him looking awkward while the other guy is getting interviewed.
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