The Fry Side

Back by popular demand is my fountain pen header.  I agree with you guys, it is a nice little something that signals it is my blog.

Overall, it is still a different theme.  The text style is nice, but the size is a tad small, so you can Ctrl – + (or Cmd – + on a Mac) to up the font size in your browser.

The only thing is that I’m not a big fan of the clutter at the top of posts with the tags and categories.  I ususally feel those are better served at the bottom of a post so you can click related categories after reading the full text.  Still, not too bad for the time being.  I’ll be fiddling with this stuff much more this summer when I think I may invest in my own web hosting service, rather than WordPress’s free service.

As a small update on me personally, last night I did a five minute presentation project for my psychology class.  I analyzed George Costanza’s personality through the lens of Albert Bandura’s loci of control.  It was also my first attempt at using PowerPoint to assist my speaking.  Normally I would just speak with notes, but in this case, I had video evidence of his behavior, so I succumbed to the beast.  (And yes, you all know I’m a very pro-Apple man, but the classroom computer was a Windows machine, so I sacrificed a chunk of my integrity for my education.)  As a personal reassurance, I still found the program cumbersome, and I only made five slides.

Oh, I got 50/50.

I do like to try to post what I can of the work I do in school.  So often, schoolwork appears to be nothing other than time spent alone or off somewhere out of sight from daily life.  Nothing is really produced by your presence.

This was what came out of an assignment to creatively create an artifact to represent my education.  What things I learned, how I changed, what affected me inside and outside of school.  For some reason unknown to me, my artifact became a poem.  I can’t really remember the last time I wrote a poem.  It was probably back in high school that I last wrote anything.

Here’s an excerpt:

Then…
Then when I was 17,
It was a very good year.
I read Orwell’s 1984 while near
The fallen Iron Curtain.
I saw the crumbled Wall, the ruins of evil
That compressed humanity.
And there I lived, the foreigner in
A foreign land.
A role I fell into completely.

[Note, I cannot help but put in any small reference/tribute to Frank Sinatra.  Don't ask why.  Full text after the jump.]

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