Friday, March 30, 2012
South Bank Chocolate Festival
Went down to the South Bank market today to get lunch but instead of the usual booths, the chocolate festival was going on! I couldn't resist picking up a milk chocolate and sea salt bar from Rococo Chocolates. Later I went back with my flatmates and bought cupcakes. I was also fascinated by, what at first glance I thought were chocolate covered strawberries but turned out to be chocolate covered vodka chilis, I didn't eat one.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Something I need to know
For a while I was having a lot of trouble trying to explain why I need a bit of time and space to breathe after I finish my MA. I was afraid it sounded like I didn't want to work or didn't realize that I do need to get a job but I am perfectly aware of those things. I want to work, I don't want to stay in my hometown forever, I just am tired of constantly hopping from one place to another. I recently read a blog post about how this is part of what being in your twenties means, you go from place to place to find yourself, you experience pain and loss and love and laughter and these moments help you develop as a person. And I agree. But for a moment I'd like to get off the ride and take a rest before I vomit all over the other passengers.
After the love I experienced sophomore and junior year and the loss I experienced senior year of college I just kept on moving because I had to. I had to finish, I couldn't afford to stop and think about everything because it would have crushed me. But in a way I feel like everything has just kept building and the pressure is making it hard to breathe. So I just need time. My mom put it a good way, she said if I had asked to travel around Europe for a year after graduating college she would have had no problem with that. And for me that is a good comparison, because for me, traveling is my normal life so taking a break for a little while is my version of wanting to go off and explore the world, the difference is that I want to do it in one place.
I may even find a place in the middle of nowhere to just be. Because I think if I try hard enough, it will show me something important about myself, something I need to know.
After the love I experienced sophomore and junior year and the loss I experienced senior year of college I just kept on moving because I had to. I had to finish, I couldn't afford to stop and think about everything because it would have crushed me. But in a way I feel like everything has just kept building and the pressure is making it hard to breathe. So I just need time. My mom put it a good way, she said if I had asked to travel around Europe for a year after graduating college she would have had no problem with that. And for me that is a good comparison, because for me, traveling is my normal life so taking a break for a little while is my version of wanting to go off and explore the world, the difference is that I want to do it in one place.
I may even find a place in the middle of nowhere to just be. Because I think if I try hard enough, it will show me something important about myself, something I need to know.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
The Wise Man's Fear
DAWN WAS COMING. The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts.
The most obvious part was a vast, echoing quiet made by things that were lacking. If there had been a storm, raindrops would have tapped and pattered against the selas vines behind the inn. Thunder would have muttered and rumbled and chased the silence down the road like fallen autumn leaves. If there had been travelers stirring in their rooms they would have stretched and grumbled the silence away like fraying, half-forgotten dreams. If there had been music . . . but no, of course there was no music. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained.
Inside the Waystone a dark-haired man eased the back door closed behind himself. Moving through the perfect dark, he crept through the kitchen, across the taproom, and down the basement stairs. With the ease of long experience, he avoided loose boards that might groan or sigh beneath his weight. Each slow step made only the barest tep against the floor. In doing this he added his small, furtive silence to the larger echoing one. They made an amalgam of sorts, a counterpoint.
The third silence was not an easy thing to notice. If you listened long enough you might begin to feel it in the chill of the window glass and the smooth plaster walls of the innkeeper’s room. It was in the dark chest that lay at the foot of a hard and narrow bed. And it was in the hands of the man who lay there, motionless, watching for the first pale hint of dawn’s coming light.
The man had true-red hair, red as flame. His eyes were dark and distant, and he lay with the resigned air of one who has long ago abandoned any hope of sleep. The Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, holding the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn’s ending. It was heavy as a great riversmooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.
-Patrick Rothfuss, The Kingkiller Chronicle: Day Two
The most obvious part was a vast, echoing quiet made by things that were lacking. If there had been a storm, raindrops would have tapped and pattered against the selas vines behind the inn. Thunder would have muttered and rumbled and chased the silence down the road like fallen autumn leaves. If there had been travelers stirring in their rooms they would have stretched and grumbled the silence away like fraying, half-forgotten dreams. If there had been music . . . but no, of course there was no music. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained.
Inside the Waystone a dark-haired man eased the back door closed behind himself. Moving through the perfect dark, he crept through the kitchen, across the taproom, and down the basement stairs. With the ease of long experience, he avoided loose boards that might groan or sigh beneath his weight. Each slow step made only the barest tep against the floor. In doing this he added his small, furtive silence to the larger echoing one. They made an amalgam of sorts, a counterpoint.
The third silence was not an easy thing to notice. If you listened long enough you might begin to feel it in the chill of the window glass and the smooth plaster walls of the innkeeper’s room. It was in the dark chest that lay at the foot of a hard and narrow bed. And it was in the hands of the man who lay there, motionless, watching for the first pale hint of dawn’s coming light.
The man had true-red hair, red as flame. His eyes were dark and distant, and he lay with the resigned air of one who has long ago abandoned any hope of sleep. The Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, holding the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn’s ending. It was heavy as a great riversmooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.
-Patrick Rothfuss, The Kingkiller Chronicle: Day Two
The Name of the Wind
My name is Kvothe, pronounced nearly the same as "quothe." Names are important as they tell you a great deal about a person. I've had more names than anyone has a right to. The Adem call me Maedre. Which, depending on how it's spoken, can mean The Flame, The Thunder, or The Broken Tree.
"The Flame" is obvious if you've ever seen me. I have red hair, bright. If I had been born a couple of hundred years ago I would probably have been burned as a demon. I keep it short but it's unruly. When left to its own devices, it sticks up and makes me look as if I have been set afire.
"The Thunder" I attribute to a strong baritone and a great deal of stage training at an early age.
I've never thought of "The Broken Tree" as very significant. Although in retrospect, I suppose it could be considered at least partially prophetic.
My first mentor called me E'lir because I was clever and I knew it. My first real lover called me Dulator because she liked the sound of it. I have been called Shadicar, Lightfinger, and Six-String. I have been called Kvothe the Bloodless, Kvothe the Arcane, and Kvothe Kingkiller. I have earned those names. Bought and paid for them.
But I was brought up as Kvothe. My father once told me it meant "to know."
I have, of course, been called many other things. Most of them uncouth, although very few were unearned.
I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life. I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to Gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep.
You may have heard of me.
-Patrick Rothfuss, The Kingkiller Chronicle: Day One
"The Flame" is obvious if you've ever seen me. I have red hair, bright. If I had been born a couple of hundred years ago I would probably have been burned as a demon. I keep it short but it's unruly. When left to its own devices, it sticks up and makes me look as if I have been set afire.
"The Thunder" I attribute to a strong baritone and a great deal of stage training at an early age.
I've never thought of "The Broken Tree" as very significant. Although in retrospect, I suppose it could be considered at least partially prophetic.
My first mentor called me E'lir because I was clever and I knew it. My first real lover called me Dulator because she liked the sound of it. I have been called Shadicar, Lightfinger, and Six-String. I have been called Kvothe the Bloodless, Kvothe the Arcane, and Kvothe Kingkiller. I have earned those names. Bought and paid for them.
But I was brought up as Kvothe. My father once told me it meant "to know."
I have, of course, been called many other things. Most of them uncouth, although very few were unearned.
I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life. I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to Gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep.
You may have heard of me.
-Patrick Rothfuss, The Kingkiller Chronicle: Day One
Monday, March 19, 2012
Friday, March 16, 2012
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Friday, March 9, 2012
EPIC
“For two hundred years I have been bound by my oath that I would not use my powers for personal gain, nor for the gain of my people. In return we would be allowed to come here and live in quiet harmony in a place unbound by iron.”
He didn’t say whom he’d sworn his oath to, though Charles rather thought it didn’t matter. For one such as this fae, an oath sworn to a child was as valid as an oath sworn to a king or the pope.
Tipping his bloody blade toward the body on the ground, Beauclaire said, quietly, “The time of that oath is past, broken by this man and by those who freed him without regard to justice. I reclaim my magic for me and for my people. Our day begins anew.” Then he raised the dripping sword up toward the sky and announced harshly, “We, the fae, declare ourselves free of the laws of the United States of America. We do not recognize them. They have no authority over us.
From this moment forward we are our own sovereign nation, claiming as our own those lands ceded to us. We will treat with you, as one hostile nation treats with another, until such time as it seems us good to do elsewise. I, Alistair Beauclaire, once and again Gwyn ap Lugh, Prince of the Gray Lords, do so determine. All will abide my wishes.”
The white horse raised his front feet and spun, bounding down the stairs and back through the path the other riders had made for him. As the white horse ran, a white mist rose behind him, covering them all for a moment before dissipating, taking with it all the fae.
-Patrica Briggs, Fair Game
He didn’t say whom he’d sworn his oath to, though Charles rather thought it didn’t matter. For one such as this fae, an oath sworn to a child was as valid as an oath sworn to a king or the pope.
Tipping his bloody blade toward the body on the ground, Beauclaire said, quietly, “The time of that oath is past, broken by this man and by those who freed him without regard to justice. I reclaim my magic for me and for my people. Our day begins anew.” Then he raised the dripping sword up toward the sky and announced harshly, “We, the fae, declare ourselves free of the laws of the United States of America. We do not recognize them. They have no authority over us.
From this moment forward we are our own sovereign nation, claiming as our own those lands ceded to us. We will treat with you, as one hostile nation treats with another, until such time as it seems us good to do elsewise. I, Alistair Beauclaire, once and again Gwyn ap Lugh, Prince of the Gray Lords, do so determine. All will abide my wishes.”
The white horse raised his front feet and spun, bounding down the stairs and back through the path the other riders had made for him. As the white horse ran, a white mist rose behind him, covering them all for a moment before dissipating, taking with it all the fae.
-Patrica Briggs, Fair Game
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Stumbling my way through
Classes end in two weeks, how is it already March? I turned in my midterm essays last week and then had a pizza party on saturday with my classmates. The pizzas we made were delicious, my friend did one with olive oil, mushrooms, mozzarella and stilton, sooooo yummy. The deadline for the Media Awards has passed so now we are just getting everything ready for the judging. Mom leaves India next week, I wish I could be there, I miss it. A friend from college just got engaged, it feels strange. I feel old and young at the same time like life is flying by while I'm slowly stumbling my way through it.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Saturday, March 3, 2012
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