I’ve been a frequent reader of the Tool FAQ for a while now, even though it hasn’t been updated in more than two years. I remember reading a long time ago about Maynard’s side projects and finding out about his fake band Titannica for the movie Run Ronnie Run. I had no idea what this was at the time, but have since been introduced to Mr. Show by Jackee and seen Run Ronnie Run. The fake band features Anthrax guitarist Scott Ian and Hole sub-drummer Samantha Maloney as well, and only has one song out called Ass Kickin’ Fat Kid. The song comes on during one of the best scenes in the movie, an overly produced fight scene involving a rather corpulent video game playing teenager.
I just finished reading A Hero of Our Time again. It’s the book I’ve read the most in my life, and I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve gone straight from cover to cover through various translations. Every time I’ve read it for the last eight years, I’ve grown a little more. Certain parts that I may not have understood before become clear and relateable.
One particular passage struck me this time; Vera’s final letter to Pechorin.
For three hours now I have been sitting at the window and awaiting your return…But you are alive, you cannot die! The carriage is almost ready…Farewell, Farewell! I am lost — but what of it? If I could be certain that you will always remember me — I say nothing of loving me, no — only remember…Goodbye! Someone is coming…I have to hide this letter…
I now fully understand Vera’s final wish, having since wished the same thing myself. Yet it’s something I cannot explain, even when I myself share this feeling. Why this need to not be forgotten? Why does remembering mean so much?
Is it the need to know that I am important to someone, even if it was some ephemeral relationship or some personal mistake? Is it so that I can believe that I was so special as to be unforgettable, an egotistical or perhaps insecure shroud to fool myself? Is it to give my life meaning, a sort of purpose to know that I can indelibly change the lives of others? Or maybe it’s to know that the feelings I experience, however bathetic or affected, mean something to someone. I usually pride myself in being able to perfectly understand the feelings I go through, but this idea has left me at a loss. I wonder if others have ever felt the same way. I remember not understanding this desire in myself at the time, but believing that I would eventually.
Now I’m not sure if I ever will.
The best weather of the year has finally arrived. The coolness of the autumn is in the air, along with the grey-washed skies that mark this time of year. The odious summer has left, and I can wear my turtlenecks and sweaters. Dolly can now resume her perch at my A/C free sill, and I can open up my window to let the freshness of the air inside. I miss the brilliant white winter, but still find myself wishing that this weather would last forever.
I should be catching up on years of poor marks in French class right now. Since the government technical support specialist jobs are all bilingual imperative, everyone is required to have BBC/BBC level reading/writing/oral skills in both English and French. The reading and writing tests are this Thursday, running at about an hour an a half each, et je ne suis pas prêt.
Someone got here by searching for “onegin and pechorin”, and I must meet this person.