Dr. Sexson make far too much of the stars that I put on my ceiling. They are old and I was young and the notion of making a realistic night sky out of my bedroom ceiling was far beyond my grasp. There are a few of the more commonly known constelations: Ursa Minor (naively recreated as a miniature of the big dipper), Ursa Major, Pegusus, Big dog, Little dog, and Orion are the only constelations I have, and they're not even in the right places.
I would feel dishonest if I led anyone to believe I had a fabulouse recreation of the night sky on my ceiling, but all the same, I think I did pretty darn good considering I was only eight years old at the time.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Provocative... or... as provocative as I am provoked
Passage uno: From Yates' The Art of Memory
I was wondering as I read the first chapter, if through the use of loci in the artificial memory one would eventually be unable to separate those memorized items from the memory of the place itself. For instance one might not be able to remember St. Peters Basilica without recalling the names of all the Smurfs (there were a lot of Smurfs). So here I find my fear confirmed in that "Aristotle says that some people have dreams in which the 'seem to be arranging the objects before them in accordance with their mnemonic system'- rather a a warning, one would think, against doing too much artificial memory." (31-32) Who really know what Aristotle talks about since Yates doesn't specify the context the allusion is truly used in.
Passage dos: From Ong's Orality and Literacy:
"Standard English has for ... a record vocabulary of at least a million and a half words... A simply oral dialect will commonly have... only a few thousand words." (8) Now I realised before that there were a vast number of words in the English language, more than any other, but I didn't really have clue as to the vast contrast. It does, however, confirm or reinforce a belief about English I formed long ago: It was practically created as a literary language, wit the tools necessary to be literally creative.
Such a vast vocabulary is perfect for for someone that wants to create in this language. It's like a crayon box. Spanish for instance ins the eight crayon box: Red, Yellow, Blue, Green, Purple, Orange, brown and Black. English gives us the 200 crayon box that has Periwinkle Blue, Stepped-on-Yer-Toe purple, dirty laundry Brown, and Mauve (to name a few). We even get the little crayon sharpener in the back of the box which is the Language's ability to adopt slang as real vocabulary (FYI Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious is finally in Webster).
Text Twa (french now suckas!) Kane's Wisdom of the Mythtellers: ***Coming Soon!!***
I was wondering as I read the first chapter, if through the use of loci in the artificial memory one would eventually be unable to separate those memorized items from the memory of the place itself. For instance one might not be able to remember St. Peters Basilica without recalling the names of all the Smurfs (there were a lot of Smurfs). So here I find my fear confirmed in that "Aristotle says that some people have dreams in which the 'seem to be arranging the objects before them in accordance with their mnemonic system'- rather a a warning, one would think, against doing too much artificial memory." (31-32) Who really know what Aristotle talks about since Yates doesn't specify the context the allusion is truly used in.
Passage dos: From Ong's Orality and Literacy:
"Standard English has for ... a record vocabulary of at least a million and a half words... A simply oral dialect will commonly have... only a few thousand words." (8) Now I realised before that there were a vast number of words in the English language, more than any other, but I didn't really have clue as to the vast contrast. It does, however, confirm or reinforce a belief about English I formed long ago: It was practically created as a literary language, wit the tools necessary to be literally creative.
Such a vast vocabulary is perfect for for someone that wants to create in this language. It's like a crayon box. Spanish for instance ins the eight crayon box: Red, Yellow, Blue, Green, Purple, Orange, brown and Black. English gives us the 200 crayon box that has Periwinkle Blue, Stepped-on-Yer-Toe purple, dirty laundry Brown, and Mauve (to name a few). We even get the little crayon sharpener in the back of the box which is the Language's ability to adopt slang as real vocabulary (FYI Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious is finally in Webster).
Text Twa (french now suckas!) Kane's Wisdom of the Mythtellers: ***Coming Soon!!***
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Tragedy and Memory
We touched briefly on the connection that tragic events have to our memory. J.F.K, Pearl Harbor, and the September 11th attacks provide a universal understanding of of such an impact on the individual memory, and Dr. Sexson provided us with his insight to JFK. Where he was, what he was doing, and his broadcast of it later that day.
Most of us in the class were not even a glimmer in our parents eye at that point, but we do have the tragedy of 9/11 to impress itself upon our memories. The tragedy is burned into our memories like an everlasting yesterday, vividly depicted and better remembered than our own breakfast each morning. I myself was in 7th grade, getting ready for school when my grandma called my mom. She told my mom to turn on the news, that she couldn't describe the disaster and that my mom would have to see for herself. She also made my mom promise not to turn on the TV until "the kids were all out of the house." (I didn't learn this until later)
My ride took me to school, and while we were outside waiting for the doors to open I was told by Kerry Cicero that planes had flown into the twin towers. I didn't believe this and remained skeptical until an announcement came over the intercom during first period asking all teachers to turn on their television sets. I don't think I need to explain what was on the television that day.
I was in second period when the first tower fell. It was geography with Mr. Horst and I sat next to Michael Tevlin. on 9/10 he talked at length about Al Quida, the Taliban, and Osama bin Laden. It was nothing but the facts, that the Taliban controlled Afghanistan, and bin Laden was the most wanted man in the world. On 9/12 Mr. Horst was detained by the FBI for questioning, and released when they were convinced that his discussion and this tragedy were only coincidence.
My dad, on the day of the attack was on an airplane flight from Boston to Salt Lake City. He was stranded in Salt Lake and rode a greyhound back to Billings. I remember telling my English teacher that I was worried about him.
I was at lunch when the second tower fell and didn't find out until 5th period. 5th period was usualy a completely silent study hall, but that day we were allowed to have the TV on.
My day at school was unproductive. None of the teachers assigned any work, saying that they wanted us to spend our night with our families. When I got home My mom was in front of the TV crying, I still went to football practice, though most of the players and coaches never showed; there were ten of us and one coach...
My memories are jumble whaen I try to write them down, but they are as vivid as anyhting else in my life.
On a less universal note, I had a friend die in a longboarding accident two years ago. Andrew was hospitalized for head trauma at 9 O'clock on July forth the summer after I graduated. I got the call while watching the fireworks show. It had only barely begun. I could take you to the spot in medowlark park just north of central avenue in billings where some friends and I were watching from.
I can't even remember where I spent the forth of july last year.
Most of us in the class were not even a glimmer in our parents eye at that point, but we do have the tragedy of 9/11 to impress itself upon our memories. The tragedy is burned into our memories like an everlasting yesterday, vividly depicted and better remembered than our own breakfast each morning. I myself was in 7th grade, getting ready for school when my grandma called my mom. She told my mom to turn on the news, that she couldn't describe the disaster and that my mom would have to see for herself. She also made my mom promise not to turn on the TV until "the kids were all out of the house." (I didn't learn this until later)
My ride took me to school, and while we were outside waiting for the doors to open I was told by Kerry Cicero that planes had flown into the twin towers. I didn't believe this and remained skeptical until an announcement came over the intercom during first period asking all teachers to turn on their television sets. I don't think I need to explain what was on the television that day.
I was in second period when the first tower fell. It was geography with Mr. Horst and I sat next to Michael Tevlin. on 9/10 he talked at length about Al Quida, the Taliban, and Osama bin Laden. It was nothing but the facts, that the Taliban controlled Afghanistan, and bin Laden was the most wanted man in the world. On 9/12 Mr. Horst was detained by the FBI for questioning, and released when they were convinced that his discussion and this tragedy were only coincidence.
My dad, on the day of the attack was on an airplane flight from Boston to Salt Lake City. He was stranded in Salt Lake and rode a greyhound back to Billings. I remember telling my English teacher that I was worried about him.
I was at lunch when the second tower fell and didn't find out until 5th period. 5th period was usualy a completely silent study hall, but that day we were allowed to have the TV on.
My day at school was unproductive. None of the teachers assigned any work, saying that they wanted us to spend our night with our families. When I got home My mom was in front of the TV crying, I still went to football practice, though most of the players and coaches never showed; there were ten of us and one coach...
My memories are jumble whaen I try to write them down, but they are as vivid as anyhting else in my life.
On a less universal note, I had a friend die in a longboarding accident two years ago. Andrew was hospitalized for head trauma at 9 O'clock on July forth the summer after I graduated. I got the call while watching the fireworks show. It had only barely begun. I could take you to the spot in medowlark park just north of central avenue in billings where some friends and I were watching from.
I can't even remember where I spent the forth of july last year.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Memorization of a Room
So, I thought I'd show of one of the few things I have memorized: My old bedroom at my parents house. This may sound trivial; who doesn't know what their bedroom looks like? Well you'll see that I am a fan of mementos, and have plenty of them on the walls of my room. Some have stories, some don't, but I can picture everything on my walls, desk, and dresser with what should be 100% accuracy.
Mind you my parent's house is in Billings, and I sleep there about one to two months a year.
I'll start with my ceiling. It has a large collection of glowing stars that get thicker in the corners. I put them there when I was pretty young, and the only constellation I knew was the big dipper, which is recreated near the east wall of the room. I attempted to recreate the little dipper, but in my naivety organized it exactly as the big dipper, only smaller. It made sense at the time. It is situated right next to the big dipper.
My bed is in the northwest corner of the room and fills about a third of the small space. Directly above it is the Italian flag, a souvenir that my parents brought back from their month long escapade around Italy. My family is primarily Italian, but with some Scottish/Irish and Norwegian blood mixed in. Those flags, however, have not made it onto my ceiling as no one in my family has been there.
On the Norther wall is a window. Mine is a basement room, so the view isn't great. Directly to the left of the window a row of broken CD's lines the top edge of the wall. Below them is a giant (fake) $100 bill signed by all the members of Seventh Day Slumber (A small rock band from Memphis). Continuing from right to left is a poster of R.E.M., A poster of some girl I thought was hot (I was 13. Give me a break. Besides, it's the Nordica girl, so technically it's a ski poster), and... actually that's it on that wall.
To the right of the window is a whiteboard with an intricate drawing of a Celtic cross and a quote from Mark Twain that reads "Clothes make the man, naked people have little or no influence in society." The magnets are fashioned after street signs, and haven't held anything up for quite some time.
This whiteboard is situated above a corner desk (north-east) that doesn't have a chair. The chair is currently at my kitchen table here in Bozeman. On the desk are various papers that I don't need but can't throw away, a cup stuffed with various colors of Sharpie markers and an organizer that I put papers and mail in when I never want to see them again. Also above the desk are two pictures of corvettes (I don't even like corvettes) and an old wake board without bindings. There is also a shirt from a store in Portland called "Wham!" that I outgrew. Unfortunately this store stopped making this shirt, which at one time was famous all over Oregon, so I could not bring myself to part with it. It's pinned to the wall next to the wake board.
There's a bookshelf next to the desk. It boasts both my Music and Book collections, both of which I've developed some pride in, but I just don't want to list all of that crap. Maybe another day. There are other things as well: A small and ultimately useless safe, a coin bank from 1979 that's shaped like the liberty bell, a bronze 3d map of Montana, and a lamp that spins around in circles.
The west wall has a great history to it. From left to right (kinda) there is a yield sign (I didn't steal it, I found it. The fact that it was attached to a pole by a road is totally consequential) and a small American flag below which is a photograph of the air-craft carrier that my great-grandad served on in WWII and a photo of the World Trade Centers monument lighting up the night sky. To the right of that little montage is a broken racket from the most brutal game of full-contact badminton in history and a poster from Warren Miller's Storm signed by Kurt Miller. Kurt Miller runs his father's ski-film empire, and one day my dad met him at an airport bar. They got drunk together and a week later a package shows up at our door full of free Warren Miller stuff... yeah... we were pretty stoked. Next to the poster is a flattened Oreo box (long story), a toy pistol (also a long story), and one of those cool old SMITH stickers that was raised and textured. What happened to those. The last thing on the wall is a chart of guitar chords that I've looked about twice in my life.
My dresser, which is now full of everything BUT my clothes, sits on the south wall between my door and my closet. Above it hangs My old electric guitar (my first. A Yamaha that I received for Christmas in 8th grade), a collection of state quarters (painfully incomplete), a GI Joe from D-day, Operation Overlord, still in the box... OK... I failed. I forgot what all was on that last wall, but the picture above is exactly the wall I was talking about. I can't believe I forgot the Chili pepper lights!
You want something to memorize? try to remember all the crap that's on that tiny section of wall. I dare you.
Damn... I'm done. Goodnight.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
This is going to be a brief blog, just an A.D.D. moment that I had while reading Yates. There's an excerpt in there from Cicero reasoning that, since humans are sight dependant creatures it makes sense to coordinate memorized material with visual counterparts, but I'm interested in the other senses as well.
I remember an old spice comercial that said smell is the strongest sence tied to memory. I also remember a comercial saying "If your grandfatther hadn't woren it, you wouldn't exhist" but that's totaly unrelated. It might just be marketing, but it makes sense too. How often has a cinimon scented candle transported people back to their best christmas memories?
Anyway, my Idea is to try the efectiveness of scents to recall objects. Rather than relating a memorized object to an aspect of a building, relate it to the scent of orange juice or pine-sol. I'm going to test this idea... yes I am.
I remember an old spice comercial that said smell is the strongest sence tied to memory. I also remember a comercial saying "If your grandfatther hadn't woren it, you wouldn't exhist" but that's totaly unrelated. It might just be marketing, but it makes sense too. How often has a cinimon scented candle transported people back to their best christmas memories?
Anyway, my Idea is to try the efectiveness of scents to recall objects. Rather than relating a memorized object to an aspect of a building, relate it to the scent of orange juice or pine-sol. I'm going to test this idea... yes I am.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
First Week of Class
Well, My first seek of classes went famously. how about yours? I have a lot of reading and only one professor that threatens to lull me to sleep, which is a record fo any semester. (For the record it's not Sexson.) However I'm not here to talk about those classes so...
The names of the nine muses:
I had no Idea, so I went to ask dear old Wiki what he had to say and I learned that they are:
-Calliope, the head honcho and muse of epic poetry
-Clio, muse of history
-Erato, Muse of erotic poetry (like the crappy romance novels you can buy at gas stations that just have vividly described sex scenes.)
-Euterpe, muse of lyrical poetry
-Melpomene, the muse of tragedy
-Polyhymnia, the muse of sacred song
-Terpsichore, muse of dance
-Thalia, muse of comedy
-Urania, muse of astronomy.
I know. Fascinating. It kinda makes you want to go write poems about all the different muses right? No? When did history become a creative art anyway? I know historians and students of history, but they don't seem very artistic. Where's the creativity? Where's the craft? All history is is the regurgitation of what one's been told, even if it is interesting.
Speaking of history, I might as well share my last name: Crawford. It's Scottish for "Ford where Crows Gather." I know... Boring. I didn't make it up, it was given to me.
The history part is a little more interesting. My cousin once did some research on our name and family tree and found out the Crawford clan was the Scottish clan that William Wallace's mother was from.
I can't remember what else I was supposed to write about. Besides I'm going to go watch that Clint Eastwood movie... Mmmm.... I can already feel my IQ flowing out of my ear.
The names of the nine muses:
I had no Idea, so I went to ask dear old Wiki what he had to say and I learned that they are:
-Calliope, the head honcho and muse of epic poetry
-Clio, muse of history
-Erato, Muse of erotic poetry (like the crappy romance novels you can buy at gas stations that just have vividly described sex scenes.)
-Euterpe, muse of lyrical poetry
-Melpomene, the muse of tragedy
-Polyhymnia, the muse of sacred song
-Terpsichore, muse of dance
-Thalia, muse of comedy
-Urania, muse of astronomy.
I know. Fascinating. It kinda makes you want to go write poems about all the different muses right? No? When did history become a creative art anyway? I know historians and students of history, but they don't seem very artistic. Where's the creativity? Where's the craft? All history is is the regurgitation of what one's been told, even if it is interesting.
Speaking of history, I might as well share my last name: Crawford. It's Scottish for "Ford where Crows Gather." I know... Boring. I didn't make it up, it was given to me.
The history part is a little more interesting. My cousin once did some research on our name and family tree and found out the Crawford clan was the Scottish clan that William Wallace's mother was from.
I can't remember what else I was supposed to write about. Besides I'm going to go watch that Clint Eastwood movie... Mmmm.... I can already feel my IQ flowing out of my ear.
Friday, January 16, 2009
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