Bad Education x Tres

Sometimes, I really believe there is something wrong with me. Like how I think school dances are inconceivably boring ,and I'd actually rather do my homework. That's harsh. Maybe there is something wrong.

Alas, no homework last night, and no dance either. Instead, watching badass flicks with the homies. I brought a whole stack of DVDs to Mary's house, and Sruthi, dear girl, immediately zeroed in on Bad Education. So Bad Education it was--come to think of it, a rather bad decision considering adults were home. Still, parental supervision was minimal and we were rather self-supervising anyways.

By this third time watching Bad Education, the shock and novelty of sex worn off. I could sit through without cringing, but it still surprised me. It was definitely more explicit than I remembered. Poor Olga, I'm afraid she's permanently scarred.

Bad Education was a rather polarizing film, especially along Almodovar's fans. Compared to his warm, gooey stories, Bad Education is coldly clinical, a disection of narrative structure and psychopathic cunning rather than the messy pathos that characterized his earlier melodramadies. It is masculine and distant--by god is it brilliant. The layered construction is so skillfully crafted in the editing and script. I agree that Bad Education is emotionally distant; it doesn't immerse you in the world so much as unfold like an elegant flower before your eyes. There's plenty to admire as an outsider. How amazing it would have been to figure how every twist as it hit. Damn you Internet spoiliers; I never go to do that.

Google is My Crack

That is all.

Academic Soup: Communism Upsets Renaissance Art, Falls to College Essay

By some dumb line-up of the schedule, I'm actually one night ahead on the Euro homework, and at least one month behind on the college stuff, but I digress. In my homework perusing, I read a Time article on Renaissance portraiture, which caused a profound sense of deja vu, especially upon the bit about prostitutes dying their hair blond with urine. (Such salacious details find comfortable niches in my brain.) Indeed, I had once read this article in a random Time from the library discard pile. I even have a vivid memory of the accompanying picture of Ginevra de Benci as painted by Leonardo da Vinci. No doubt the vivid memory is because this portrait was one of the select few represented in the Acadec Renaissance Art.

Speaking of Acadec, Chinese art is as boring as hell. If it isn't boring, the writers sure have made a fair attempt at making it so. The CD on the other hand, greatly amused me with the inclusion of Chinese pop songs. My dear mom made an attempt to educate me on all affairs Chinese, beginning with the personal affairs and wives of Mao. I know all about his affairs and nothingof his policies.

Nation Merit Scholarship essay is not being written. It is simply not happening. What a load of bull I have to write about myself. I feel like a lying, cheating braggart.

School atmosphere is buzzing with college talk and flu viruses. Both have a fair shot at the title of Biggest Stress Inducer.

Why Facebook Belongs to the College Crowd ONLY

While searching for the esteemed Zhang clan on Facebook, I encountered a rare species: someone over the age of 40. People you do NOT expect to find on Facebook:

Be a C student in Calc

Despite failing spectactularly on my first BC calc exam, I remain in a remarkable state of Zen-like calmness. Is it senior slide catching up to me? Lethargy and inertia seem the predominate state of my being.

After seeing a small (this is Noeth) red C- on my calc test, in addition to a scrawled note demanding "more study needed," I reacted with little emotion. Perhaps it is a profound state of denial, but I really don't seem to care. Or this there some Freudian defense mechanism (i.e. denial) pretending to me I don't care? There was also a supreme confidence that I would do much better on the next test, that I was capable of doing much better. Really, you think I would freak out more after getting the lowest math test grade of my life. This is from first grade onward and includes all those tedious hours of Kumon. Whatever the case, I cannot profess to be easily moved. I believe myself to be a rather sensitive person--hypersensitive in some cases--but I rarely, rarely cry.

Maybe it's just back-to-school blues, but I have been very spacey all week. I read the instructions on tests all wrong, skip questions on accident, am especially inarticulate, and generally seem to be operating in another dimension. I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself king of infinite space.