Rocio Rants

2004-01-12T19:17:00.000-12:00

So I am in the process of writing a paper for a soc stats class of mine...my body being fully saturated with coffee and the deadline approaching quickly here is a preview of the paper being written...

my paper's working title:
Crime in the Ivy: Princeton Students Prostitute Themselves for Mo' Money or
How a random sampling helped me successfully determine that assholes attend
Princeton University

the intro to my paper:
"Deviant behavior. It's bad."

Study design:
"Princeton students. They got a survey. Some responded."

Findings:
"After careful analysis it was determined that despite attending all
lectures, precepts and labs I still have not successfully mastered SPSS. I
am therefore an idiot and incapable of understanding the easiest of all
forms of statistics. Therefore, not having an understanding of chi squared,
lambda or cramer's V and offering the most sincere of apologies I ask you to
assume my study did in fact work and the hypotheses postulated earlier in
this piece of crap paper were in fact true. Also, the correlations were
exemplarary and worthy of publication."

Appendix:
include outline of my small hand done in red crayon

2004-01-05T17:07:00.000-12:00

Whatever goofball uttered the phrase "silence is golden" never lived in West Texas.

Sure, after living a high-paced life complete with bad weather, (some) foul people and obnoxious deadlines hanging over your every movement threatening to bring about ulcers, panic attacks and premature graying (yes, at 21, much to my mother's dismay, I have some gray hair) it was nice to escape to dear old slow-paced west Texas where the people are nice and drawls don't exist (at least not among those I talk to)...but instead of listening to our radio stations which I have recently considered questionable at best and disgustingly slick--one (bad) song per fifteen Audio Express car stereo repair/Ford F-150 truck year end sale/Tres Mariposas (expensive old people clothing store) ads-- I thought it best to drive around listening to nothing but the breeze blowing through the back window that doesn't come all the way up. Dad never did fix that. Sure I taped a few of my WPRB shows but stopping to fast-forward my stupid chatter was annoying, I found myself uttering "Jesus, does that broad ever stop yapping?!" only to blush and cower over the wheel knowing full well that dumb kid on-air was me (thus new year resolution number one: stop the talk, play the rock or punk or pop whichever sounds better at the moment). This I hope to commit to heart until I chant like the protagonists in Animal Farm, "two minutes talk bad, four minutes rock good". Sure my time in Texas was nice; I read some David Sedaris (finally), learned to burn another traditional Mexican dish and I caught up on some TIME magazines--Saddam has an uncanny resemblance to my father on a bad day which, as my rightful American citizen duty, led me to interrogate him endlessly about his whereabouts these last few months, his bank account balance and finally, lacking the technology for a DNA analysis, I had to ask him to please eat his food with jalapenos and no water...having an alibi, a checking balance I was later told, nay ORDERED, not to touch and a willingness not only to eat jalapenos but asked to prepare in conjunction with tacos for him I decided that my dear old unsuspecting dad was no tyrant Iraqi dictator. That and I pitied the man who would want to eat something I cooked, punishment enough if the US government ever wants to hire me to torture Hussain in cruel and unusual ways with my own brand of horrid Mexican food. Plus, if dad ever had $750,000 in a hole he would not only have to fix my car window with something other than tape, he would have to buy and install a cd-playing car radio. Now had I listened to those Audio Express radio-land commercials I would have a price range and possible year end sale to work with. But my days in Texas were marked by uneventful and silent (again with the exception of the interstate "shhhuweee" and school zone "flop-floop-flop" noises, varying of course by speed) drives.

Enter college life. Leaving was sad yes, my props to mom's excellent home-cooked meals and family that never fails to tease/torment and ridicule (miss you!). A rainy welcome back in New York's LaGuardia airport was certainly depressing and what can I say about New Jersey Public Transit that hasn't been said before? But a large portion of college life is dominated by, well for me, sitting. Sitting in front of a cd player otherwise known as a computer (with relatively fast internet access as a cool accessory). Within minutes I had caught up on The Onion, indie music reviews, had bought not one but two tickets to shows in New York City (Les Savy Fav early February and then The Shins for V-day, what a treat!!). And of course there was the online broadcast of WPRB with a 103.3 frequency modulation. I love the awkward nervous college djs (otherwise known as my peeps) and the lack of ads not to mention the MUSIC-infused programs. Who would have thought RADIO STATIONS PLAYED MUSIC?! Good music to boot too. Now I know my ties to the station may make me biased but I strongly believe independent label music is wonderful--a prized and hidden gem many listeners never get a chance to discover. Unlike most mainstream radio, with the same song being played five times in the same hour until your body's defenses are down and you have to surrender to it like a malignant disease enveloping your being and in some cruel and incomprehensible way you are forced to believe it is good, independent radio strives to expose you to as many new and different artists as possible. That's right, we support and promote the underdog 24/7. In my head WPRB is the contemporary physical manifestation of the David vs. Goliath epic battle with every song/artist serving as a weapon and every new listener wounding (fatally so if it is a listener we keep) the evil monster that is mainstream radio. Yes I daydream and oversensationalize things in my head. No mom and dad I am not doing drugs. So that is why I love WPRB, I love not having a moment of silence in my life. I plan, dress and walk according to the music I am listening to every day. I get goosebumps and giddy in a way I cannot even begin to describe when I hear new music or buy concert tickets for $10. It's sad in a way to feel so happy, but that is a paradox I am willing to live with. So while I may sometimes yearn for my hometown and everything associated with it I do love the musically infused life I have chosen for myself in this small Jersey town. And maybe one day I can blow some unsuspecting El Paso kid away with the music she/he has so woefully been deprived of...yes, there will be a day of reckoning Goliath and what a glorious day that will be.

2003-12-03T02:16:00.000-12:00

Do you know about Phineas P. Gage?

He was a railroad foreman who one day he suffered an accident when a metal rod went completely and straight through his lower jaw and up into his frontal lobe and exited at the top of his head.

Story has it he was completely lucid as he was taken to the hospital.
After being treated he became disconnected with the world, no longer dependent, lost his job and couldn’t keep another. He was rude and foul-mouthed.

He traveled some but was mostly unstable. Then one day he just disappeared. Just like that. Records show he died in 1860.

I sometimes wonder if I ever had an excuse (like an accident involving a metal rod through my head) if I could just pick up and go. Just disappear. Truth is, I would need a metal rod to escape; some people use the barrel of a gun. Not me. I believe Phineas Gage just decided that being a foreman at a railroad company wasn’t his thing. The brain damage justification was needed to explain his newfound apathy. Perhaps he was just a nihilist.

I often sit and think kind of wishing for an accident of my own to set me free. With or without it though, one of these days I’m just going to pick up and go. Just disappear…like Phineas Gage. Call it brain damage if you must, but I know I'll be as lucid as ever.

2003-11-03T15:22:00.000-12:00

continued list:
Neutral Milk Hotel- King of Carrot Flowers Pt. 1
("and this is the room one afternoon I knew I could love you and from above you how I sank into your soul...") SO LOVELY.

Wilco- She's a jar
(sure it talks about domestic violence but he loves her, right? right?)

2003-11-01T19:59:00.000-12:00

So I was thinking of a few "love" songs that would impress the hell out of me if put on a mixtape/cd. Now I'm not new to the mix cd business, it's how I correspond with friends and whatnot...and being a dj is essentially like making mixes for your friends (provided they happen to be listening which mine often are not...except for a Palo Alto friend and a Boston occasional listener friend *thanks). But some of these are 'unconventional' love songs that either make me go "aww" or make me cry in the I-feel-all-warm-inside way or just do something for me in one way or another, I don't know I'm strange. I thought I'd share a few and add on later as I stumble upon them.

In no order whatsoever:
Yoko Ono- Will you touch me

Broken Social Scene- I'm still your fag

Scout Niblett- Linus
(this one really would make me swoon, if I ever found a guy who appreciated it as a love song...well they'd get it in a mix)

The Breeders- Do you love me now?
(almost too obvious but good, I like Kim Deal)

The Postal Service- Such Great Heights (bonus points for Iron and Wine version)
("I have to speculate that God himself did make us into corresponding shapes like puzzle pieces from the clay")

The Postal Service- We will become silhouettes

Skip James- Devil got my woman
(it has to be the scratchy vinyl version to have a full effect)

2003-10-31T08:31:00.000-12:00

Funniest thing happened today...

I was walking around Nassau, that street of pretentious and pompous J.Crew/Rolex wearing people (no offense if you fall into this sad category), listening to Ted Leo. I really like this Ted Leo album, Tell Balgeary, Balgury is Dead, and when the song Sword in the Stone came on I unknowingly sang my favorite lines out loud, except of course I had my headphones with the music really loud so I didn’t actually hear myself doing it.

“you better walk around, cause no one’s gonna drive you
walk around, cause no one’s gonna drive you
walk around, cause no one’s gonna drive you home
I’m not impressed with your desire to be the biggest in the bowl
You’ll still just be a little shit in a world that’s just a big shit hole”

So when I open my eyes and see people staring at me I realize I sung that loudly, you can’t imagine the look of horror I got from people and their kids, parents actually pulled their kids towards them. What, was I gonna lunge at them and steal their baby Gap kid lollipops?! I had to run my Princeton Record Exchange carrying bum back home trying not to laugh too hard. Oh god, that was slightly embarrassing and now I’m almost certain the village people have been informed of a skirt and converse wearing punk kid who sings loud profane songs publicly. If I see them coming at me with pitchforks I’m fighting back! I know other songs too dammit!!

2003-10-28T18:22:00.000-12:00

I found the progression of my insanity incredibly funny in retrospect...in RETROSPECT.

IM AWAY MESSAGES DURING MIDTERM WEEK:
(with midterms and papers clustered near end of week, please excuse profanity it was midterm week after all)

MONDAY
4AM
"fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck"

TUESDAY
7PM
"I'm not suicidal. I'm almost entirely certain I'm not, but perhaps my body was trying to tell my mind something when it stepped out in front of that SUV. Thank you to the kid who pulled me back, my parents appreciate it (they'd send you a fruit basket but they and I don't know you) and thank you to the makers of anti-lock brakes: keeping sleep-deprieved kids alive one midterm week at a time"

later that day or does it count as the next?

1AM
"When did I go from taking my milk and sugar with a hint of coffee to taking my coffee with a grain of sugar no milk?"

WEDNESDAY
5AM
"SLEEP...well let's call it a NAP. Let's see, adding four hours to what i've slept so far would make...ah yes, 6 hours of sleep in the last 3 days. AND DON'T FUCKING ASK WHY I'M TWITCHING, I CAN'T BLOODY HELP IT!!"

"Ever feel like you've managed to fill your head with so much random information you feel like it might explode? And as the goo flows everywhere you realize all the wasted effort and precious time you lost in putting it there? If you see me walking around campus with my arms around my head, it's only cause I want to keep it all in until it's safe to let go"

"Elliott Smith passed away...shit."

later that day after listening to too much Elliott Smith

"Does any of it really matter in the end? I need coffee and a walk...and happy music"

THURSDAY
4AM
"I don't understand why this university doesn't press pause on the little academic program it's running, let us mourn Elliott Smith and delay midterms! Writing and reading until I pass out...must sleep sometime in near future"

FRIDAY
1AM
after drinking gallons of black coffee, having one cigarette (shh), sleeping only a few hours in the last week and BEING TOLD I LOOKED DEAD! *SORRY if a girl can't keep up appearences while studying, cramming, reading and writing like a madman/woman!!*

"hahaha...ha.....ha....hmmm. losing it. lost it, can't find it, won't find it ever. hehe ho ho. mmm-hmm girlfriend!"

6PM (after last midterm paper turned in)
"Sleeping...wake me up when summer rolls around"

2003-10-12T01:31:00.000-12:00

Another reason why I don't like Mill (in case my rant wasn't enough):

"The utilitarian doctrine is that happiness is desirable, and the only thing desirable, as an end; all other things being only desirable as means to that end...the sole evidence it is possible to produce that anything is desirable is that people do actually desire it." pg 35
-John Stuart Freakin' Mill, Utilitarianism (2nd Edition)

2003-10-12T01:30:00.000-12:00

ON MILL

First things first. I am currently in the process of writing a philosophy paper on John Stuart Mill's Utilitarian theory. Let me mention how badly I want to drop-kick Mill before I even get started. My first objection to Mill comes from the fact that you can't quantify happiness. Even if you could, why would you want to? To spend a lifetime figuring out if an action maximizes happiness? Or better yet if the repercussions of your actions maximize happiness? Good lord, ONE ACTION COULD HAVE A CENTURY'S WORTH OF REPERCUSSIONS! BY THE TIME WE REALIZED IT WAS WRONG WE WOULD BE DEAD--having lived an immoral and unutilitarian life!! Objection number two: if Orwell could re-write Animal Farm (but why would we want him to) and incorporate Mill into the text he would proclaim proudly, "all happiness is equal, but some happiness is more equal than other happiness". Right. First, if you can't determine how "good" a certain type of happiness is then how can you determine which type of happiness is better? At least crazy Bentham said all happiness was equal, which meant you didn't have to rabbit punch your friend in an effort to prove that your type of happiness was better than his type of happiness.

Ugh, and I was never taught how to write a philosophy paper. My idea of one, according to what I have so far, consists of a really really abstract and condescendingly verbose take on my regular sociology papers. I've read over the ONE page I've managed to type and I say "consequentially", "therefore", "hence", "by definition", "if and only if" and "by default" millions of times and some of those words, or rather ALL, are SYNONYMS!!!

All I've managed to conclude is the following:
NOTHING EXISTS! UTILITY DOESN'T EXIST! HAPPINESS DOESN'T EXIST! AND BY DEFAULT MORALITY DOESN'T EXIST! MILL THEREFORE BASED HIS THEORY ON THE UNEXISTANT NATURE OF THE CONCEPT OF UTILITY WHICH IS BASED ON NOTHING CONCRETE OR MEASUREABLE! HE'S A FOOL! WE CAN'T DEFINE HAPPINESS. WE CAN'T DEFINE MORALITY. I'M NOT HAPPY AND MY ACTIONS DON'T MAKE ANYONE ELSE HAPPY WHICH COULD MEAN I'M IMMORAL! MILL IS CALLING ME IMMORAL FOR NOT BEING HAPPY!

oh god, my head hurts and I just turned all red and I think the room is spinning (that could be the nail polish remover though)....

and at this point all I know is that I know nothing. Now, Descartes, he was a genius.

but since in my little world nothing exists, I'm leaving this unfinished paper to take a late night walk while listening to Jeff Mangum...even he makes sense to me (sometimes) and I'm certain he's a genius too.