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What would you do if you knew you could not fail?

22, southern RI.

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Nov
23rd
Mon
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yo popski

There are certain aspects of my childhood where I’ve determined my parents did a good job and where they did a bad job. It’s 5:00am and really, I should be sleeping, but if I don’t get this down on paper, I know I’m going to forget this. These are almost like rules for my unborn son.

  • Brushing your teeth: When my parents told me to brush my teeth, their persuasive skills were all rhetoric, no reason: “you will brush your teeth because I said so!” To be a good parent, you must be tyrannical (to an extent). It has to be your way or the highway. But in my old age, I’ve come to realize that there could have been far better ways to get me to brush my teeth. It could have been phrased like this: “brush your teeth, because when you’re out wandering Antarctica in your mid-twenties, there won’t be any dentists that can patch up those cavities.”

Shit! Ok, ok! I’m going, I’m going!

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AN OPEN LETTER
TO MY ARTISTIC POTENTIAL.

Dear Potential,

Don’t act surprised. You had to know this was coming. You were my first love and I’ll always treasure what we had, but I’m getting older and it’s time to be honest: this isn’t going anywhere.

When I first met you I was smitten. I’ll never forget the moment I spotted you smiling at me from the back of the auditorium as I took the stage in our sixth grade production of South Pacific. That night you showed me what I’d be doing after school for the next six years while my friends played sports. You flattered me, spoiled me and showered me with attention. I was all yours.

I followed you to New York, honestly believing that it would work out. Ten years later, what have you left me with? A BFA? A stack of headshots that I no longer resemble? A single, misspelled entry in IMDB? So many promises … so many lies.

Just tell me one thing: did you ever really see a future for us, or were you leading me on from the start? I remember time after time asking you where you saw us in five years and time after time walking away with vague answers. You could never stay focused. When the casting directors stopped calling you thought we might write the great American novel. The next week you fancied us a stand-up comic. Potential, you had us playing keytar in a gay punk band for two years. TWO YEARS OF MY LIFE! Seriously, what is that about?

Even if we did continue this charade, how could I ever bring you back home to my family and friends? How do you think we would look together at my high school reunion? All my friends are becoming successful and earning accomplishments, while you insist on remaining potential. Remember Tristan, the kid from chemistry class who smelled like Chex Mix? Do you know what his potential got him? A boat. That’s right Potential, a goddamn sailboat.

My parents have wanted us to break it off for years. They tried to be supportive, pretended to be interested in you even though they knew you didn’t treat me very well. I told them that you loved me, that you had a plan. But you don’t have a plan, do you? I don’t think you ever did.

Please don’t try to contact me. The last thing I want to do is backslide into my destructive habits and I know that if I see you I’ll crumble and end up at a poetry slam or something. If, however, you feel like paying me back for all the money I spent on the improv classes, the Moleskine notebooks, the open mics, the guitar, the sampler, the home-studio kit, the mass mailings, the casting workshops, the interpretive movement jams, the subscription to Backstage, the props, the costumes or the many, many psychology books reaffirming my self-worth, you know where to find me. I’ll be at MIT.

Best of luck,
Jamie King
Brooklyn, NY

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Nov
19th
Thu
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micasaessucasa:

Source Unknown.

My goals in life were just rewritten.

micasaessucasa:

Source Unknown.

My goals in life were just rewritten.

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It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.

Theodore Roosevelt

a favorite quote of mine

(via reluctantbuddha)

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I do have flashes of brilliance unimpeded by crazy herbadge intake.
— my landlord, via email correspondence
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boom

boom

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“DON’T LET IT END LIKE THIS, TELL THEM I SAID SOMETHING!” - Pancho Villa’s last words

“DON’T LET IT END LIKE THIS, TELL THEM I SAID SOMETHING!” - Pancho Villa’s last words

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How frightening to think of the telelogical implications of telling your kid - when she’s at an age where he’ll believe there’s a Santa if you let her know, or a Satan if you rearrange the letters - that, above all else, he must follow these two guidelines in life:

  1. You must be kind to everyone
  2. The most rebellious act is to remain invisible and have an incendiary imagination able to fire salvo after salvo of skeptical reason at every ideological belief sent in your direction.
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I think this is really funny. There are ads out there advertising an online Ph.D from Liberty University in Theology. This is Jerry Fallwell’s touted academic system - the one where he hires URI Geology Ph.D students who study marine reptiles that existed 65 million years ago yet still retain a fervent belief in intelligent design as a better method than evolution. How does this happen? A strong, strong belief - one which I can’t come to comprehend. But as a Rhetoric student, I think I have to respect.

From the ad:

Liberty Baptist Theological Seminary’s Doctor of Philosophy Degree in Theology and Apologetics provides advanced training in the fields of Christian theology and apologetics, equipping students to become leaders in academics and ministry and providing direct interaction with leaders in theology and apologetics while also offering practical opportunities to write and teach in the field. This degree will qualify the student to teach at the university or graduate level, while also providing insight and information useful to the professional minister.

Technical Requirements:
Internet connection, web browser, email account, windows 98 or better, 120 MHz, 64 Meg RAM. Adobe Acrobat

On-Campus Requirement:
There are no on-campus requirements for online programs.

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Nov
17th
Tue
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Interpretive Demonstration Of The Fact That There is No Such Thing As A Private Language

David Foster Wallace (from footnote 23 in “Tense Present: Democracy, English, and the Wars Over English” in the April 2001 Harper’s Magazine)

It’s sometimes tempting to imagine that there can be such a thing as a Private Language. Many of us are prone to lay-philosophizing about the weird privacy of our own mental states, for example, and from the fact that when my knee hurts only I can feel it, it’s tempting to conclude that fo me the word pain has a very subjective internal meaning that only I can truly understand. This line of thinking is sort of like the adolescent pot-smoker’s terror that his own inner experience is both private and unverifiable, a syndrome that is technically known as Cannabic Solipsism. Eating Chips Ahoy! and staring very intently at the television’s network PGA event, for instance, the adolescent pot-smoker is struck by the ghastly possibility that e.g., what he sees as the color green and what other people call “the color green” may in fact not be the same color experiences at all: The fact that both he and someone else call Pebble Beach’s fairways green and a stoplight’s GO signal green appears to guarantee only that there is a similar consistency in their color experience of fairways and GO lights, not that hte actual subjective quality of those color experiences is the same; it could be that what the adolescent pot-smoker experiences as green everyone else actually experiences as blue, and what we “mean” by the word blue is what he “means” by green, etc. etc., until the whole line of thinking gets so vexed and exhausting that the a.p.-s ends up slumped crumb strewn and paralyzed in his chair.

The point here is that the idea of a Private Language, like Private Colors and most of the other solipsistic conceits with which this particular reviewer has at various times been aflicted, is both deluded and demonstrably false.

In the case of Private Language, the delusion is usually based on the belief that a word such as “pain” has the meaning it does because it is somehow “connected” to a feeling in my knee. But as Mr. L. Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations proved in the 1950s, words actually have the meanings they do because of certain rules and verification tests that are imposed on us from outside our own subjectivities, viz., by the community in which we have to get along and communicate with other people. Wittgenstein’s argument, which is admittedly very complex and gnomic and opaque, basically centers on the fact that a word like “pain” means what it does for me because of the way the community I’m part of has tacitly agreed to use “pain”.

If you’re thinking that all this seems not only abstract but also pretty irrelevant to the Usage Wars or to anything you have any real interest in at all, you are very much mistaken. If words’ meanings depend on transpersonal rules and these rules on community consensus, language is not only conceptually non-Private but also irreducibly “public”, “political”, and “ideological”. This means that questions about our national consensus on grammar and usage are actually bound up with every last social issue that millennial America’s about - class, race, gender, morality, tolerance, pluralism, cohesion, equality, fairness, money: You name it.

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