Saturday, July 14, 2007

At those moments when I really live, when rubber meets road and will meets world, I suspect that so much of life is just a rationalization we build around our fear and laziness.

Friday, July 13, 2007


[11:52:47 PM] Jay Goodman Tamboli says: Dude. Do you really have "J.D. Georgetown Law" in your signature?

[11:53:30 PM] Scott says:
I earned it damn it.

[11:54:07 PM] Jay Goodman Tamboli says:
I know. It just seems a little pretentious.

[11:54:29 PM] Jay Goodman Tamboli says:
But I'm checking to make sure it's listed in my Facebook profile.

[11:55:47 PM] Scott says:
Here's the etymology. My professor at Wake always signed his emails, Dan Locklair, Composer in Residence.

[11:55:58 PM] Scott says:
So I added to my footer: Scott Scheule, Student in Residence.

[11:56:03 PM] Scott says:
The music department liked that.

[11:56:12 PM] Jay Goodman Tamboli says: heh

[11:56:15 PM] Scott says: And i've been updating that line ever since.

Dear Beethoven:

You really are the greatest. Wild, isn't it?

Thursday, July 12, 2007


[7/11/2007 6:53:59 PM] Scott says: So I'm going to give you $40. If I don't approach two attractive girls by midnight tomorrow night, you can keep it.

[7/11/2007 6:54:16 PM] Jay Goodman Tamboli says: What qualifies as an "approach"?

[7/11/2007 6:54:25 PM] Jay Goodman Tamboli says: And if you get laid by the first one, is the second one waived?

[7/11/2007 6:55:03 PM] Scott says: Good question. Let's say, an approach will consist of, at the very least, an exchange of names. Getting laid is not an excuse.

[7/11/2007 6:55:09 PM] Jay Goodman Tamboli says: OK

Scene. Bar, Jay and Scott sitting at booth, drinking lager. 10 PM

SCOTT: That blond in the blue is cute.

Yep. But she's getting her meal in a bag. So she's leaving.

The universe is against me.

JAY: Wait--my God, she's actually eating her meal out of the bag.

SCOTT: Out of the bag?

JAY: Out of the bag!

SCOTT: I should go over.

JAY: You know, I'm not going to give you your money back unless you do. I'm too good a friend.

SCOTT: I know. That's why I picked you.


Scene. Jay sitting alone in booth. Scott sits down.

Give me my damn money.

JAY: I saw her laughing. That's good.

(long sigh, smile) Yep.

Blond girl passes table.

BLOND: Have a good night!

SCOTT: You too! ... Her name is Brenda.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Library Studying

JAY: I don't like that you have to pick how many practice questions you want. I wish I could just keep going for as long as I want.

SCOTT: Yes, but during the real Bar exam, you don't get to have as many questions as you want. You have to pick how many you want beforehand.

JAY: No, you don't. Be quiet.

SCOTT: And they're all written on paper cups, one on each.

JAY: Shhh.

SCOTT: You go up and you pull twenty paper cups down. One, two, three.

JAY: Quiet!

The answer is on the other side, but you're not allowed to turn it around.

JAY: Shh!

Monday, July 09, 2007


I woke up in a great mood this morning, and the only reason I could think of was a dream I had before waking.

Except it wasn't that great a dream, so that doesn't answer much.

In it, I had told a friend from high school that I would come visit him while he was in Darfur--my best friend in high school, who I haven't spoken to in a long while. I had to look up Darfur just now, since I had no idea what or where it is. In the dream, it was a country in Asia, south of Japan. I found it on a map in the dream--it was next to countries with names like Darkum, and Darlin, sticking out into the Pacific.

Anyway, something went wrong while I was flying over to Darfur and I ended up in Reykjavik. Reykjavik was great--the airport was this kind of Club Med resort, with lots of sunlight, green grass, picket fences, and attractive people walking around speaking what I assume was Icelandic. I wandered around for a while, but eventually I knew I'd have to get to Darfur or go home. So I found a ticket clerk who spoke English--it was bad English--and asked her how much a ticket to Darfur was. I expected it to be a lot since it was hell and gone from Reykjavik. Chances were I'd have to just go home--which was a bummer, since this was my only time off before the Bar.

Then the alarm woke me up. As I stumbled towards my clock, I mumbled: "I guess I'll never know if I made it to Darfur. Nice move, alarm clock." When I'm half-awake, I tend to anthropomorphize my alarm clock. These are all comments I've made:

"I'm coming! Shut up you bastard!"

"Touche, alarm clock, touche."

"And good morning to you, too."

Sunday, July 08, 2007

Works Cited

The impulsive creator of "overgrown forests" of music might seem a more powerful and more important and more rugged fellow. Speaking for myself, I am bored with undisciplined talent. The intertwining vines and aimless vegetation that spring from careless genius are of little use to a world which suffers from obscurity, and not from too much clarity. Life is so short that no musician has the right to expect any appreciable number of people to devote any appreciable part of their listening lives to the wild free notes that dribble from his talent but casual fingers. A large number of musical compositions, a large number of grand operas and light operas, are too long, too carelessly put together, and fail for this reason. They are not above the heads of the public. They are just not worthy of the public because the creative artist involved has been too self-indulgent actually to finish off his job.

Oscar Hammerstein II


Lately I've been interested in the debates on the nature of consciousness. It's interesting to watch because unlike, say politics, I don't have any horse in the race. Penrose has this quantum idea--I've only read his initial starts at this and not his fleshing out. I like that. Dennett seems rather silly, trying to support an ironclad materialism that ends up leading us down ridiculous avenues. Also, he's kind of a nasty writer. Searle makes interesting points.

From what I can tell--and I haven't read much--the debate rages between people who admit there's a big mystery to it all and those that insist that some complex algorithm is the explanation to that mystery but who nonetheless lack the means to explain how it explains anything.

At Wake Forest, the campus adjoined the Reynolda Gardens, which had a long field, a small lake, and trails through the forest.

The forest path was pitch black in the spring, when the trees were leaved. I'd go there in the dead of the night, and walk through it for no other reason than it scared me to death.

I still do that, in one way or another. Not often enough.

Works Cited

Never will we know his fabulous head
where the eyes' apples slowly ripened. Yet
his torso glows: a candelabrum set
before his gaze which is pushed back and hid,

restrained and shining. Else the curving breast
could not thus blind you, nor through the soft turn
of the loins could this smile easily have passed
into the bright groins where the genitals burned.

Else stood this stone a fragment and defaced,
with lucent body from the shoulders falling,
too short, not gleaming like a lion's fell;

nor would this star have shaken the shackles off,
bursting with light, until there is no place
that does not see you. You must change your life.

Rilke, Torso of an Archaic Apollo