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"This is what civilization should look like."
-- Ralph Nader on Powell's Book Store

"That many people taking an interest is scary. The Internet is a scary thing. I'm a complete technophobe, which is why I don't have e-mail."
-- Orlando Bloom on his 'Net popularity

"Close only counts with horseshoes and hand granades."
-- Anonymous









































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Electric Sheep
:: 08:50 p.m. ::
:: Sunday, February 24, 2002 ::



"Exhilaration and lasting euphoria, which in no way differs from the euphoria of the healthy person... You can perceive an increase in self-control and possess more vitality and capacity for work. In other words, you are simply more normal, and it is soon hard to believe that you are under the influence of any drug."

--Sigmund Freud on cocaine


I shouldn't be allowed to dream. My subconscious could be a Hollywood writer... if all Hollywood writers used INSANE amounts of CRACK and dropped ACID like bunnies drop pellets!

~~~Ooooh... DreamBlog!~~~


A few months ago: my friends and I got caught in an evil, haunted house. Each hall was a puzzle; we had to solve them to get out. It was like a video game (a la Final Fantasy, or Resident Evil, or Myst), except from a first-person perspective. I was woken up about the time I was finally putting the clues together.

A week and a half ago: pod people took over Portland. This was a really intense, very strange dream. I could jump bodies at will... I just didn't have any choice where I wound up.

Last night: I don't remember clearly, but I think everyone died. Mostly horrible, painful deaths. Really creative ways to die, though. Too bad I can't remember them... just that they were creative.


It's official: I'm nuts!
DisorderRating
Paranoid:Moderate
Schizoid:High
Schizotypal:Moderate
Antisocial:High
Borderline:Low
Histrionic:Moderate
Narcissistic:Moderate
Avoidant:High
Dependent:Low
Obsessive-Compulsive:High

-- Click Here To Take The Test --



And guess what? According to TheSpark.com, I am "Definitely a Man!" They say this with 80% certainty. They also say...

'How do we know? Well, deep down, your gender affects everything about you, from your favorite number to your views on Canada. Many men who took the test think and act just like you, as you can see from the clusters above.

Statistically speaking, you are a dude.

As we said, this test gets smarter with every taker, and it's almost never wrong. You can make it even better by telling us it was right for you.'

Click One:
A) 'Amazing! I am a man!
B) You bitches, I am a girl.
'



Oh! The Inhumanity!
:: 05:39 p.m. ::
:: Thursday, February 21, 2002 ::





Sadly, I am not a human. I seem to be having the opposite of Eveline's problem.

I wouldn't mind being an LotR elf, I guess. Better then being a RealLife human... but LotR human would be best, for personal reasons. *wink*



Things That Go Bump in the Day
:: 05:06 p.m. ::
:: Thursday, February 21, 2002 ::



"When people are born, they're supple and soft;
When they die, they end up stretched out and rigid;
When the ten thousand things and grasses and trees are alive, they're supple and pliant;
When they're dead, they're withered and dried out.
Therefore we say that the firm and rigid are companions of death,
While the supple, the soft, the weak and the delicate are companions of life."
-- Laozi (c. 380 BCE)

There was betterness, in between my last blog and this. My mom took me out for a nice salad and Thomas Kemper Orange Soda, and I felt better.

Dad came back from his ski trip. It's strange, having him back after he's been gone so long... I locked the door when I came home today, instead of unlocking it.

Had a German vocab test today. It went well (I presume; I can't say definitely until I get my score back), mostly due to Benly One's helpful study aid.

Des died today. [I've raised swordtails for a long time. At the moment, I have six girls named after the Endless: Destiny (Dest), Death (Dea), Desire (Des), Despair (Dep), Destruction (Det) and Delirium (Del). I love them all, but I admit to a certain extra fondness for Del, the smallest.] Des was sick a few days ago, and I tried to take care of her. She seemed to be doing better (Dep, however, was looking like she was about to collapse). I found her in the corner of the tank, hiding from her sisters behind the water filter, as I fed them all today. She had just died. She wasn't floating yet, and her mouth was hanging open.

Dep is sick. I don't think she'll last long. Det isn't looking too keen. Del, Dest, and Dea seem to be okay, but I don't know how long that's going to last. This aggrevates me; I like to think of myself as a good fish keeper. I've raised these girls since July, 1999, and they've been so healthy and active for all that time.

Fish are hard to care for, when they get sick. You can't exactly take them into the vet. I've been doing everything I know how to do: oxygenating the water, raising the temperature, checking the pH (sadly, using a test kit that only goes up to 7.4, when swordtails can be comfortable up to 8.0), checking for ammonia and other nasty chemicals... I don't know what else to do!

I've been feeding them more than normal, lately, in the hope that more food = more health. This is a really dumb idea, since over-feeding is a big cause of fish death, but my knee-jerk reaction when they act sick is to feed them more. In my nature, I guess.

I have many things left to do for school. I should go do some of them; maybe it will get my mind off the massacre of my fish. IB-related things due tomorrow, you know.



Oops! I SAT on a Bitch (2002)
:: 06:14 p.m. ::
:: Tuesday, February 19, 2002 ::



Now! I can't take it
Everything I know;
Realize that I'm nothing I wanted to be

I can never change
Anything I've done
Because it's the only thing I. Have. Left.

-- Spineshank - "New Disease"



I should never write when I feel like this.

I always tell myself that. I shouldn't write when I feel like hurting things. The closest thing, in this case, is the computer, and I do NOT want to hurt that...

Usually. At the moment, I'm remembering how satisfying it is to pick up a computer monitor and toss it towards the floor. There's a big crash, with glass, and sometimes pretty sparks and dead wires going every. which. way.

Nope. Don't... want... to hurt... computer...

I waited for a long time to take my SAT II's. Probably longer than I should have waited, but I usually do fine on standardized tests, so I didn't think it was a big concern.

Until I got my scores back. Then, my head met the wall. Repeatedly. With PAIN and BLOOD and VIOLENCE.

So, masochist that I apparently am, I re-registered to take the SAT IIs. I hoped, somewhere in my deep, twisted, overachiever/perfectionist soul, that those scores had been some sort of fluke.

I didn't think I could do worse, this time. I studied, like a good girl, and tried my best. I didn't feel *good* about my performance, coming out of the testing room, but I didn't feel particularly *bad* about it either. I couldn't do worse than last time, could I?

I got my scores back today. I did worse than last time.

How is it that I do this? I'm generally considered an intelligent person. I get good grades. I did fine on my regular SATs. I understand Physics, Math and Writing. I score well on tests in those classes. Why, then, DO I LOOK LIKE A FUCKING IDIOT ON THE SAT II SUBJECT TESTS?

...

Oops. The keyboard just hit the floor. I had to put back a few keys.

Why am I getting this worked up about a couple of numbers that really mean NOTHING in the eternal scheme of my life?

Colleges, colleges, colleges...

Which I have put almost *NO* effort -- but MANY hopes -- into. I need scholarships. I need acceptance.

Shit. I just wanted to be accepted to a few, you know? But I only applied to three (all "most selective," by the way), and I just had to follow expectations (whose, you ask? I never quite figured that one out) and apply to the highly-competitive engineering departments. Thus, no colleges for Saje.

Well. I never *really* wanted to be an engineer, anyway. But it would have been nice to be accepted into those engineering programs I applied to at colleges.

I want to take a year off, anyway. I just wanted it to be *my* choice, not the choice of the colleges I'm applying to.

None of it really matters, though. I should calm down.

I need to calm down.

FUCKITYFUCKFUCKFUCK

Want to defecate on collegeboard.com with me? C'mon! It's fun! Afterwards, there's beating! Everybody loves to defecate on and beat evil things, right?




'Tis of Thee
:: 05:25 p.m. ::
:: Tuesday, February 5, 2002 ::



"My plans are perfect. May God have mercy on Lee, for I will have none."
-- General J. Hooker on the eve of his crushing defeat by Robert E. Lee at the Battle of Chancellorsville


I have no life.

Really. I don't. I can't think of even one truly meaningful thing that I do with my time. Where do all the hours go? It never seems like there are very many, but I can never remember doing anything.

An Average Day in the Life of Saje:

7:55 AM: Rise. Become distressed about the fact that school begins at 8:20, and transportation is usually at least 20 minutes.
8:19 AM: Arrive at school. Pretend to pay attention for approximately 6 hours. Realize you'll never remember anything you "learned" today, and wonder why you bother.
1:45 PM: Leave school. Work on homework, purchase things to eat, or whatever suits your fancy.
2:40 PM: Return to school. Interact with Friendly people for 20 minutes. Generally act like an idiot, constantly speak with the proverbial foot in your mouth, and ignore most other people's feelings (not deliberately, but the effect is the same). Talk about things that have no importance in the real world ("I bombed that physics test...").
3:30 PM: Arrive home. Sort mail, feed cat, feed fish, feed yourself, check e-mail.
4:00 PM: Begin to "work" on the computer OR turn on music, close your eyes, and pretend that you don't have a headache.
5:30 PM: Welcome home parent(s). Ask mother about her day, receive the usual evasive answer, and avoid father as much as possible.
5:32 PM: Return upstairs OR throw up in toilet (due to headache). Try to work on homework.
Rest of evening: Zoo things. Throw-up things. Yoga things. Possibly TV things, depending on the night.
11:00 PM to 1:00 AM: Shower and go to bed.

Thrilling, huh? I know it's what my dreams are made of. (Sadly, it really is what my dreams are made of. Even my subconscious is monotonous and uncreative.)

Eak. I'm sounding depressed, but I'm really not. I accepted this a long time ago, and I'm just re-hashing it for some unknown reason.

I'm going to submit things to the Polyglot Early Submission Contest tomorrow, if I can get things together tonight. Happy, this makes me. (Of course, they won't accept anything of mine, but it feels nice to submit things to this sort of contest for once.)

I spent SuperBowl Sunday alternately watching the game (and the ads, which are generally just as much fun) and making inari. It was more fun than I was expecting; it was almost soothing in its simplicity. I remembered exactly why I like cooking, time permitting.



Me-dee-aw-kra-T
:: 08:25 p.m. ::
:: Monday, January 28, 2002 ::


"Some men are born mediocre, some men achieve mediocrity, and some men have mediocrity thrust upon them. With Major Major it had been all three."
-- Joseph Heller, Catch-22, 1961


If I were a Dead Russian Composer, I would be Dmitri Shostakovich!

I am a shy, nervous, unassuming, fidgety, and stuttery little person who began composing the same year I started music lessons of any sort. I wrote the first of my fifteen symphonies at age 18, and my second opera, "Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District," when I was only 26. Unfortunately, Stalin hated the opera, and put me on the Enemy Of The People List for life. I nevertheless kept composing the works I wanted to write in private; some of my vocal cycles and 15 string quartets mock the Soviet System in notes. And I somehow was NOT killed in the process! And Harry Potter(c) stole my glasses and broke them!

Who would you be? Dead Russian Composer Personality Test



I had the opportunity to "people watch" for a little while today. I took a later bus than usual, and it went past Lloyd Center at just the right time to catch all the Benson High School students. Benson has a different mix than Lincoln does; even just looking at them, you can see how different an experience it would be to go to Benson, instead of Lincoln.

My head was beginning to ache, so my eyes were getting sensitive to light. I stopped rereading my Jane Austin novel about the time one of the Bensonites came and sat down next to me (they always sit perpendicular to me, and never move aside when you want to get off the bus; these are traits I've noticed mostly in young people who live on the East side of the river). I spent most of the bus trip home listening to all the different conversations. There were at least a dozen other high schoolers on the bus with me. A few Lincolnites, some Clevelanders, a Franklan (I think), and the gaggle of Bensonites.

I'm amazed by the differences in conversation, in speech, in mannerisms... the Bensonites and the Lincolnites might have been from different planets. I wondered what someone from a foreign country might think, listening to the various forms of "English" used on that bus. It's so far away from what we teach in the classrooms. It's so engrained in the various parts of our culture, too.

Just random thoughts. I enjoyed my people watch, but I don't think I can express what I learned from it very well. It's not like I'm an award-winning writer or anything.

Wait! Dammit. I am. There goes that excuse... I'll have to think of other ones.

I should be TOKing. I strongly dislike headaches; they provide a convenient excuse not to do homework, but such slacking leads to yet more headaches down the line. It's a vicious cycle, I tell you!

Winter Weather
:: 08:31 p.m. ::
:: Sunday, January 27, 2002 ::



"Satellite photography in the 1970s gave rise to the long-range weather forecast, a month at a time. This in turn gave rise to the observation that the long-range weather forecast was wrong most of the time. In turn, this gave rise to the dropping of the long-range weather forecast, and to the admission that really accurate forecasting could only cover the next day or two, and not always then."
-- Miles Kington, 1983


I had forgotten what it was like to sit, safely inside by a warm fire, and look out at snow. It's such a homely, comforting feeling. It went well with my beat-up copy of "Pride and Prejudice," which I'm re-reading for the upcoming English IB oral exams.

Needless to say, it snowed last night. Not too much, down here on the valley floor, but just enough that most things were covered in white this morning. The snow's all gone now, but there's a slim chance the moisture will freeze and there won't be school tomorrow.

Yeah, right.

I decided to archive my old entries. Not to many of them, sure, but they were getting a little long, in this format. You can find 'em under "we.blog" if you really care to visit them.

I re-took the SAT IIs yesterday. The experience left me wondering why, exactly, I re-took them. I strongly dislike tests; I always have. I suppose it was a pride-based decision, when I got my scores back from the last bout. A knee-jerk, "I can do better than that" reaction.

I'm all cured now. No more masochistic urges in Sajeland.

Well, maybe just a few.

SNOW! In PORTLAND! Be amazed!




This site was created December 12, 2001 by Saje (add the .com). Unless otherwise attributed, all quotes and material are her intellectal property and cannot (some would say should not) be removed or copied without her permission.


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