I haven't fallen off the face of the earth, really. I've just been really busy. To tide you over, I offer some scans of my notebook this quarter, where I put all the assigned drawings and my notes or ideas from class discussions.
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My boat made it across the pool and back just fine, actually. It was the only boat that suffered absolutely no damage from the trip. It was one of six that were still usable after the race. Yay, me. Of course, I totally lost, but I didn't come in dead last in my heat. Photos of me to come when my classmate who took them e-mails them to me. I look cute. Seriously.
Crappy cameraphone photos of the race below.
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This is probably my last entry ever, as I prepare to meet my watery end tomorrow afternoon. So I figured it was a good time to show some boat pictures from our boat show this afternoon, and talk about matters of boat design.
(edited to add some more comments on boat design knowledge.)
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Last week was a frenzy of cardboard boat construction, which mostly involved tedious measuring of regular triangles and folding. Lots of wetting of paper tape, too. As a preview of the race on Saturday, I offer you this photo essay on boatmaking.
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I've been wanting a little bag to carry my knitting or crocheting around in. Nothing huge, just a small bag that can hold a few balls of yarn and the project itself, so I can carry my knitting on the bus or wherever I want without it getting all tangled up in my backpack. But sheesh, every bag I saw was either monstrously large (large enough to carry several major projects) or made out of something I did not care for (toile, denim, or faux-tapestry were the common offenders). So I decided to make one, because what's the good of being all handy and stuff if you never use it?
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I had an odd conversation at the bookstore today, as I was checking out. The cashier pointed to my left hand and said, "For a moment I thought you were wearing a wedding ring."
"I am wearing a wedding ring," I said.
"You're not old enough to be married."
"I'm probably older than you think."
"You're probably about 25. I'm a good judge of ages. I can always guess somebody's age."
"You didn't guess mine."
At this point I had to show her my ID anyway, so I pointed out my birthdate. She then accused me of having a fake ID, which is sort of an odd thing to say, because clearly I was not attempting to hide my age or anything like that, but I guess she was embarrassed by being so incredibly wrong about how old I must be.
I wonder if she will say that she can always guess somebody's age to anybody else. My guess is that she will, because irritating people never realize how irritating they are.
So the cardboard boat building continues, with minor interruptions for purchase of items like twine and a very long ruler (I can use just about any size of metal ruler, if you're casting about for somebody to take some of them off your hands, by the way, not that anybody ever is). Actually, the ruler has not yet been purchased because the fricking-fracking hardware store closed at 6pm which indicates that nobody who shops there has a regular job.
Anyway. I figured to show some more photos. Just to keep you all coming back for more excitement.
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As it turns out, I can take my writing test before I go to a watery grave in a cardboard boat (in an outdoor pool, rain or shine), so I was reading over some of the information on the test. It's a 500-word essay on some topic, for which you have two and a half hours.
Nothing makes you feel smarter than having the California State University system tell you that in order to graduate (or, in my case, in order to change status to graduate student), you must pass a (two and a half hour) (500 word) writing test where the following might be helpful:
The Writing Lab also offers a selection of helpful handouts on essay writing in general, on organizing paragraphs, on making paragraphs specific, on how to develop ideas rather than repeat them, on writing summaries, and a handout particularly designed to help students write under pressure.
Except possibly this passage:
If you want to brush up on grammar, punctuation, usage, or essay organization, the University Writing Lab Website has links to several helpful online resources. Some of these sites offer interactive tutorials and powerpoint presentations to help you review the basics of essay writing.
OK, I'll give you that for whatever reason, California taxpayers decided it was a bad idea to actually educate our children unless their parents are rich enough to send them to private school. But there's something wrong with needing to teach punctuation to college juniors, ya know?
(Before the e-mail starts, note that this test is used to get around taking a composition class (because you want to take other classes for most students, or because you would die of boredom in my case); foreign students don't have a choice about taking English composition, so it's not as if the people taking this test are not, in theory, fluent speakers of English.)
As I was writing this, it occurred to me to be grateful for one thing more in my life: I don't have to grade those tests.
This quarter is unlike last quarter in that we have huge amounts of work to do in studio. This is good and it is super busy-making. I do feel like I'm getting more real portfolio work in this quarter, but also I feel a little overwhelmed and rushed. Between long hours in studio and trying to get the dog enough exercise, I always seem to be running late for something.
Anyway, projects.
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I've just unearthed a small collection of phonecam photos of weird stuff around school and home. Check them out.
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Tonight Rosie and I walked almost all the way up the hill, and it was late and I was thinking it was getting on doggie dinner time, and I said, "Let's go home."
Rosie said, "No, let's walk the rest of the way up the hill and see what's there."
And I said, "But we know it's going to be more of the same."
"But let's just see what's up there. Let's go all the way up. Let's go all the way up and then go on still more, until we're tired and fall asleep, then we wake up and go some more."
So we walked all the way to the top and sniffed every bush in the cul de sac, and then we turned around and walked back home for dinner.
And I thought that in many ways, Rosie is a better architecture student than I am.
I got e-mail from a friend today that started out, "So, how's school going?"
I just finished my second day of classes. I'm not entirely sure how school is going, to be honest, but I can give you my impressions of my classes so far.
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The neighbor's dog has been barking again tonight, and so Rosie and I took a little walk and found the address of the house where it's penned up. I'm mailing them this letter tomorrow:
Dear WONDERFUL, CHARMING Neighbor,Thank you ever so much for leaving your dog outside to bark at night. Nothing is quite as home-like as the constant bark-bark-bark of a dog slowly going insane by being separated from its pack, don't you think?
Sometimes I lie in bed and listen to your dog bark for HOURS, secure in the knowledge that you would never do anything so inconsiderate as take it inside, where it would not bark and bring music into my life. The best nights are when it's really cold out, and I know the dog is cold and of course a caring, loving owner would have brought it inside, and yet you make the supreme sacrifice and leave it outside to serenade us for two, three, often even four hours.
I hope you leave your dog outside all the time from now on. Even better: why not just let it out to run around on the street? But you must be concerned that somebody who is not as dedicated as you to the evening concerts would take the dog inside and make it stop barking, which would be such a terrible loss to the neighborhood. Your devotion to the arts is commendable. Would that we all were as self-sacrificing, generous, and considerate as you.
Your Neighbor.
I'm in a really bitchy mood, but for god's sake it's not even as if they're not home -- I could see them sitting in there watching TV and just letting that poor dog bark at them through the back door. I wish they could get the dog taken away for treating it like that.
