Well I've ignored this for far too long. Here's some thoughts I guess.
Current Thoughts:
Well. I have approximately a semester left of undergrad. I say approximately because I still need to do an internship, but a semester of regular classes is all I have left.
That's it.
One semester.
Holy Fuck.
That's about as far as my thought process gets these days. I'm almost done. Holy Fuck. What the hell am I going to do with myself? I feel like I've blogged/ranted/journal'd about this before. But whatever. It's kind of a big deal.
I really don't know what I'm going to do with myself. I am awful at real life. Awful. I'm a barely functioning member of society. If you can consider someone who rarely interacts with society as a member of it. Anyway, future. Yuck. What the hell are you supposed to do after school? Chase your dreams? Go be a productive member of society? Go back to school? Shit, those are three entirely different plans of action.
I don't really have a dream to chase so that ones out. Or at least I don't have a dream I can think of. Maybe I should work on that. Anyway, the closest things I have to dreams are not career, or personal betterment, or world bettering ideas. They largely involve small goals, rather than big "chase your dreams, kid" type things. So making them the center of my life is still out.
Go be a productive member of society? Well due to the nature of our country I'm likely stuck doing this no matter what. So the only choice would be how to do so? Go career searching? Get some part time coffee serving job and hope I make fantastic Indie Rock friends who will drink and be better than everyone else with me? Back to the career thing. What career? Journalism? Some news gig? Counting words for dollars so I can try to live the life of a writer? Write a book? That no one will publish? Pander to trends and capitalize on them and make millions? Move to Colorado and be a rancher?
More school? My parents are really keen on this one. Like sound like they'll disown me if I don't keen. But what the hell would I go to school for? Journalism? English? Something else entirely? What?
There are far too many options. I just wanna run away and come back when my brain has some basic idea of what the hell I want to do. As of this second taking a bunch of odd jobs sounds like fun. Just for shits and giggles. Of course, that really doesn't do too much for me in the long run, but whatever. In my head working random things might be fun.
Of course, In a week I'll be back to thinking being a teacher sounds like a decent idea. Which makes little damn sense. Who put that idea in my head in the first place?
Quote of the Day:
"Nostalgia isn't what it used to be."
- Peter De Vries
23.12.10
15.11.10
It ain't easy being green
Kermit said it best:
Of course, Kermit and I are talking about entirely different things. Kermit, however, does have a point. I suppose my version of the song would be "it's not easy being geek" or some other such nonsense.
And I do mean nonsense. Because it's quite easy to be a geek. Sure, there are a few setbacks in the formative years of many peoples lives (high school teasing being one of them) but largely, being a geek is a fantastic thing. The geeks will rule the world. Etcetera, etcetera, yadda yadda yadda, life lesson.
Anyway, this post came about because I just got back a graded column I turned in for class. The grade itself is of no consequence, but the comments on it, however have led me down a train of thought I've been frequenting lately. I miss my nerd/geek friends.
Not necessarily the actual people, but the idea of having a group of similarly geeky friends. I miss that. I miss being able to talk about the newest gadget with fangirlish squeals in the background. I miss the times when saying I want an iPhone and an Android and a Blackberry didn't get me looks of complete and utter confusion as to why I would want so many expensive devices when they all do (in their minds) the same damn thing.
By god I miss my nerds. I miss stupid debates about the merits of one system or another, the talks of building a new desktop, and that group of people that used to (and still do if facebook posts are of any consequence) spend so much time getting pro at fighting games.
And this was all brought on by comments on an inconsequential column for class. We're supposed to be working on "specialty columns" and, like always, I defaulted on video games. Which, in retrospect, probably wasn't my best idea. But it wasn't my worst either I suppose.
I wrote (an admittedly not so great column) on achievements and achievement hunting. Mostly 'cause Kotaku had followed up on a previous article about a woman who was an achievement hunter. In a massively involved way. Anyway, the comments sections of those articles, especially the initial article, were pretty judgmental. Lots of bad mother accusations and similar thoughts were voiced and I thought it was a little obsessive, so I wrote (again, an admittedly not so great effort) about it.
My real problem with the comments arose when I was told to change to reviews (of games) for my next column. Now, ignoring the fact that I'm bad at following directions at times (now most certainly being one of them) I'd still have a problem with this suggestion.
Firstly, reviews are boring. At least I think so. Rather, I don't really like doing reviews. I don't think I'm qualified enough to do a review of... anything really. Sure I'm capable of making a small comment here or there, but largely I'm not qualified to review anything (for one, I'm horrible at actually finishing games that I start. Let alone finishing them in a timely manner).
Secondly, game journalism, from what I can tell, is moving away from a review based model. Yes, reviews obviously still exist, but the industry is looking for new ways and new things to report on. Remember way back when, when you could find several game magazines on the newsstands? Not so much anymore. The market is changing. The review based magazines of the past are, for one reason or another, disappearing. Newer magazines (many of which you actually have to search for to get a subscription) are publishing content with fewer reviews and more substantial, for lack of a better word, content. But of course, I can't expect my prof to have a grasp of that but I still can't let it go.
Thirdly (which I should probably stress is entirely a matter of personal opinion and based on nothing but my own bias) I don't give a shit what a general audience cares about. If this column were to have been published (which it most likely never would be, because as I have said, it's kind of awful) it (most likely) wouldn't be in some general interest publication. It would have been in a place where people who had a base understanding of what the hell I was talking about would have found it. It didn't cater to an audience that would need it explained, because the audience I had in mind would have already known the basic facts behind the article.
This is where "not my best idea" comes back into play. While in my all knowing and clearly fantastic mind, the article was for a more informed reader, my admittedly stupid mind forgot that my professor, the man who would actually be reading the article, had no fucking clue what I was talking about. Oops. Should have seen that coming.
As stated earlier, I found myself sincerely wishing I was still in contact with my techie friends. Not that they would have had any effect on my professors lack of knowledge (and my unwillingness to remember to factor that into my shitty columns) , but every time I find myself geeking out with out anyone understanding, I come back to that simple idea. This ideal that has somehow risen up to holy status in my mind. Nerdy friends. Someone to geek out with. Someone who understands my nerdbabble. Someone who knows more than my meager hold on the technosphere (which really is quite trivial, this is part of my problem as well. When I'm the most "techsavvy" in a room, we have a problem)
Anyway, tl;dr: where my nerds at?
Quote of the Day:
"Nerds are just just deep, and neurotic fans. Needy fans. We're all nerds, on one subject or another."
- Jonathan Lethem
Of course, Kermit and I are talking about entirely different things. Kermit, however, does have a point. I suppose my version of the song would be "it's not easy being geek" or some other such nonsense.
And I do mean nonsense. Because it's quite easy to be a geek. Sure, there are a few setbacks in the formative years of many peoples lives (high school teasing being one of them) but largely, being a geek is a fantastic thing. The geeks will rule the world. Etcetera, etcetera, yadda yadda yadda, life lesson.
Anyway, this post came about because I just got back a graded column I turned in for class. The grade itself is of no consequence, but the comments on it, however have led me down a train of thought I've been frequenting lately. I miss my nerd/geek friends.
Not necessarily the actual people, but the idea of having a group of similarly geeky friends. I miss that. I miss being able to talk about the newest gadget with fangirlish squeals in the background. I miss the times when saying I want an iPhone and an Android and a Blackberry didn't get me looks of complete and utter confusion as to why I would want so many expensive devices when they all do (in their minds) the same damn thing.
By god I miss my nerds. I miss stupid debates about the merits of one system or another, the talks of building a new desktop, and that group of people that used to (and still do if facebook posts are of any consequence) spend so much time getting pro at fighting games.
And this was all brought on by comments on an inconsequential column for class. We're supposed to be working on "specialty columns" and, like always, I defaulted on video games. Which, in retrospect, probably wasn't my best idea. But it wasn't my worst either I suppose.
I wrote (an admittedly not so great column) on achievements and achievement hunting. Mostly 'cause Kotaku had followed up on a previous article about a woman who was an achievement hunter. In a massively involved way. Anyway, the comments sections of those articles, especially the initial article, were pretty judgmental. Lots of bad mother accusations and similar thoughts were voiced and I thought it was a little obsessive, so I wrote (again, an admittedly not so great effort) about it.
My real problem with the comments arose when I was told to change to reviews (of games) for my next column. Now, ignoring the fact that I'm bad at following directions at times (now most certainly being one of them) I'd still have a problem with this suggestion.
Firstly, reviews are boring. At least I think so. Rather, I don't really like doing reviews. I don't think I'm qualified enough to do a review of... anything really. Sure I'm capable of making a small comment here or there, but largely I'm not qualified to review anything (for one, I'm horrible at actually finishing games that I start. Let alone finishing them in a timely manner).
Secondly, game journalism, from what I can tell, is moving away from a review based model. Yes, reviews obviously still exist, but the industry is looking for new ways and new things to report on. Remember way back when, when you could find several game magazines on the newsstands? Not so much anymore. The market is changing. The review based magazines of the past are, for one reason or another, disappearing. Newer magazines (many of which you actually have to search for to get a subscription) are publishing content with fewer reviews and more substantial, for lack of a better word, content. But of course, I can't expect my prof to have a grasp of that but I still can't let it go.
Thirdly (which I should probably stress is entirely a matter of personal opinion and based on nothing but my own bias) I don't give a shit what a general audience cares about. If this column were to have been published (which it most likely never would be, because as I have said, it's kind of awful) it (most likely) wouldn't be in some general interest publication. It would have been in a place where people who had a base understanding of what the hell I was talking about would have found it. It didn't cater to an audience that would need it explained, because the audience I had in mind would have already known the basic facts behind the article.
This is where "not my best idea" comes back into play. While in my all knowing and clearly fantastic mind, the article was for a more informed reader, my admittedly stupid mind forgot that my professor, the man who would actually be reading the article, had no fucking clue what I was talking about. Oops. Should have seen that coming.
As stated earlier, I found myself sincerely wishing I was still in contact with my techie friends. Not that they would have had any effect on my professors lack of knowledge (and my unwillingness to remember to factor that into my shitty columns) , but every time I find myself geeking out with out anyone understanding, I come back to that simple idea. This ideal that has somehow risen up to holy status in my mind. Nerdy friends. Someone to geek out with. Someone who understands my nerdbabble. Someone who knows more than my meager hold on the technosphere (which really is quite trivial, this is part of my problem as well. When I'm the most "techsavvy" in a room, we have a problem)
Anyway, tl;dr: where my nerds at?
Quote of the Day:
"Nerds are just just deep, and neurotic fans. Needy fans. We're all nerds, on one subject or another."
- Jonathan Lethem
29.10.10
Thoughts
This post is starting without any real direction. So we'll see where it ends up.
Last night was interesting:
I got annoyed and ranted and raved and vented and probably (at least on some level) scared the shit out of that dumb boy of mine. But that's neither here nor there. And not really what I want to talk about. Relationship problems are boring as fuck and usually resolved when someone stops being a dick. In this case it'll probably resolve itself when I stop showing the emotional range of a teaspoon, and he stops with the emotional range of a temperamental 14 year old girl. On her period. On her birthday. Which also happens to be the day of the big homecoming dance. When her boyfriend dumped her two weeks before. In order to go out with her slutty best friend. And her mom. Twice.
Of course, that's entirely exaggerated. But it was fun to write. So fuck you and except my charming metaphors.
In any case. I've realized that I get defensive and downright bitchy when people mention certain topics. Normally, I can blow off most of what people spew in my direction. I largely do not give a shit what anyone thinks about me (as I've probably mentioned before). However, the second someone starts questioning weither or not I'd help a friend/close associate/group I'm interested in while they're in need. I blow a fucking gasket.
It annoys the shit out of me. Because I KNOW if you even know half of the person I am then you'd know better to even suggest that shit to me. Or to insinuate otherwise. Because god fucking knows that I will be there to the best of my abilities. If I can't physically drag my ass over there under the guise of some lame ass excuse, I will electronically harass said person.
Unless due to other circumstances it is best for me to stay the fuck away. But that's not really the point of this.
Anyway. That shit annoys the shit out of me. It annoyed the shit out of me last night. And it's having lingering effects on today. So don't do that shit. If it annoys me for longer than a day, then you know damn well it'd annoy a normal person for a fucking month. And I can be a downright bitch when annoyed. Equal chances of passive aggressive bitchiness and ignoring your entire existence... actually those are probably one in the same. Oh well.
Either way, I've ranted to the internets about it now. I feel better. I also feel better 'cause of my silly extended metaphor of doom. Now, time to go watch pokémon and blow some stuff up in order to fully recover. Toodles internets, I'll probably be back sooner than normal. I have a feeling tonight will be interesting.
Quote of the Day:
"An effective way to deal with predators is to taste terrible."
- Unknown
Last night was interesting:
I got annoyed and ranted and raved and vented and probably (at least on some level) scared the shit out of that dumb boy of mine. But that's neither here nor there. And not really what I want to talk about. Relationship problems are boring as fuck and usually resolved when someone stops being a dick. In this case it'll probably resolve itself when I stop showing the emotional range of a teaspoon, and he stops with the emotional range of a temperamental 14 year old girl. On her period. On her birthday. Which also happens to be the day of the big homecoming dance. When her boyfriend dumped her two weeks before. In order to go out with her slutty best friend. And her mom. Twice.
Of course, that's entirely exaggerated. But it was fun to write. So fuck you and except my charming metaphors.
In any case. I've realized that I get defensive and downright bitchy when people mention certain topics. Normally, I can blow off most of what people spew in my direction. I largely do not give a shit what anyone thinks about me (as I've probably mentioned before). However, the second someone starts questioning weither or not I'd help a friend/close associate/group I'm interested in while they're in need. I blow a fucking gasket.
It annoys the shit out of me. Because I KNOW if you even know half of the person I am then you'd know better to even suggest that shit to me. Or to insinuate otherwise. Because god fucking knows that I will be there to the best of my abilities. If I can't physically drag my ass over there under the guise of some lame ass excuse, I will electronically harass said person.
Unless due to other circumstances it is best for me to stay the fuck away. But that's not really the point of this.
Anyway. That shit annoys the shit out of me. It annoyed the shit out of me last night. And it's having lingering effects on today. So don't do that shit. If it annoys me for longer than a day, then you know damn well it'd annoy a normal person for a fucking month. And I can be a downright bitch when annoyed. Equal chances of passive aggressive bitchiness and ignoring your entire existence... actually those are probably one in the same. Oh well.
Either way, I've ranted to the internets about it now. I feel better. I also feel better 'cause of my silly extended metaphor of doom. Now, time to go watch pokémon and blow some stuff up in order to fully recover. Toodles internets, I'll probably be back sooner than normal. I have a feeling tonight will be interesting.
Quote of the Day:
"An effective way to deal with predators is to taste terrible."
- Unknown
18.10.10
Choices
Ha. Posting. Finally.
Thoughts:
Last time I said I'd try to fill in whoever still reads this blog with information from two weeks ago.
I lied.
You see, the thing is. I tried to write that post at least four times. At least. I have drafts saved everywhere of my thoughts on the matter. And none of them came out like I wanted them to. Most were angry. Some were accusing. None were flattering.
So I've just decided to let sleeping dogs lie. There's no point in my dredging up unflattering thoughts about the past. All in all, my college education is not at stake, and there were just simple misunderstandings. I've moved on, and there are other things to worry about.
Like the fact that course requests starting this week. And I have no idea what to take. Sure, I've already listed the courses that I need to take, but the rest of my courses are supposed to be electives. And I'm struggling with figuring out what to take. There are so many options.
The best idea would be to take classes that add to my growing understanding of different ways to craft the English language (read: more writing classes) It would probably help me in the long run no matter what I decide to do. There's also the option of getting some practical experience by signing up for an immersive learning project centering on writing and design. And it just so happens that I like both writing AND design. Then there's the option to take a bunch of 100 level courses to boost my final GPA and make me look all shiny and smart.
Option One leaves me with more work for my last semester, but probably a greater level of happiness and grumpiness as I struggle my way through news/feature writing. It also gives me a greater understanding of features writing in general, one of the branches in Journalism that I'm actually interested in.
Option Two gives me more options in general. I'd actually have practical experience in my field (something I'm severely lacking in). I'd also probably get a larger understanding of design principles, and thereby something else to add to my satchel of tricks. I'd also probably be a little happier 'cause I wouldn't be bogged down entirely by the overwhelming process of writing. I'd have a little design to break the monotony of pulling my hair out as I stared at blank word documents.
Option Three, again, offers a chance at a higher GPA. Fodder classes that offer a fairly easy A and thereby a greater overall GPA. Which, due to faults entirely my own, isn't as high as it could be.
Option three probably isn't going to be picked. I'd be bored to death taking 5 week classes that I've already taken in some form or another, and the extra GPA points really aren't worth it. I don't particularly give a shit about my GPA. I never have. Yeah, getting about a 3.0 would be nice, but that'll probably happen after this semester anyway. And my major GPA will probably take away most doubts in the first place. Either way, I've never really thought grades mattered much. Sure, having good ones will help get your foot in the door, but if you don't know your shit, no matter what your GPA says you're not going to do well. And if there is one thing that I've taken from these past 4 years, it's how to tell the flow of the English language, and when it's fucked up.
Which leaves me with options one and two. Option two is really really tempting. But not for the reasons it should be. Practical experience is nice and all, but I think I want it for all the wrong reasons. I want it for marketability. Not for the class and experience itself. Which will probably give me issues in the long run (as far as the class is concerned). And if I go with option one, I can take the final fiction writing course. Which, conveniently, is about flash fiction next semester.
I love short writing. Short stories, magazines, columns, feature writing. It is innately interesting to me. Something about having such pure mastery over the written word that you can get an entire story out in just a few words. There's no room for the superfluous. Everything has to be succinct and mean precisely what you mean it too. Every word counts, and every definition counts. In my head, it's the ultimate form of English writing. It's probably why I'm torn between English and Journalism.
Journalism gives me the shorter writing I crave. English gives me the storytelling. Combine the two and it works out perfectly. You know, negating the whole nonexistent income thing. I suppose I should just be happy I'm not a poet.
I think I'll go with option one. It'll be harder, most definitely, but that's never really stopped me from doing anything.
Now... to take care of that hold on my account so I can actually sign up for my damn classes...
Quote of the Day:
"When your work speaks for yourself, don't interrupt."
- Henry J. Kaiser
Thoughts:
Last time I said I'd try to fill in whoever still reads this blog with information from two weeks ago.
I lied.
You see, the thing is. I tried to write that post at least four times. At least. I have drafts saved everywhere of my thoughts on the matter. And none of them came out like I wanted them to. Most were angry. Some were accusing. None were flattering.
So I've just decided to let sleeping dogs lie. There's no point in my dredging up unflattering thoughts about the past. All in all, my college education is not at stake, and there were just simple misunderstandings. I've moved on, and there are other things to worry about.
Like the fact that course requests starting this week. And I have no idea what to take. Sure, I've already listed the courses that I need to take, but the rest of my courses are supposed to be electives. And I'm struggling with figuring out what to take. There are so many options.
The best idea would be to take classes that add to my growing understanding of different ways to craft the English language (read: more writing classes) It would probably help me in the long run no matter what I decide to do. There's also the option of getting some practical experience by signing up for an immersive learning project centering on writing and design. And it just so happens that I like both writing AND design. Then there's the option to take a bunch of 100 level courses to boost my final GPA and make me look all shiny and smart.
Option One leaves me with more work for my last semester, but probably a greater level of happiness and grumpiness as I struggle my way through news/feature writing. It also gives me a greater understanding of features writing in general, one of the branches in Journalism that I'm actually interested in.
Option Two gives me more options in general. I'd actually have practical experience in my field (something I'm severely lacking in). I'd also probably get a larger understanding of design principles, and thereby something else to add to my satchel of tricks. I'd also probably be a little happier 'cause I wouldn't be bogged down entirely by the overwhelming process of writing. I'd have a little design to break the monotony of pulling my hair out as I stared at blank word documents.
Option Three, again, offers a chance at a higher GPA. Fodder classes that offer a fairly easy A and thereby a greater overall GPA. Which, due to faults entirely my own, isn't as high as it could be.
Option three probably isn't going to be picked. I'd be bored to death taking 5 week classes that I've already taken in some form or another, and the extra GPA points really aren't worth it. I don't particularly give a shit about my GPA. I never have. Yeah, getting about a 3.0 would be nice, but that'll probably happen after this semester anyway. And my major GPA will probably take away most doubts in the first place. Either way, I've never really thought grades mattered much. Sure, having good ones will help get your foot in the door, but if you don't know your shit, no matter what your GPA says you're not going to do well. And if there is one thing that I've taken from these past 4 years, it's how to tell the flow of the English language, and when it's fucked up.
Which leaves me with options one and two. Option two is really really tempting. But not for the reasons it should be. Practical experience is nice and all, but I think I want it for all the wrong reasons. I want it for marketability. Not for the class and experience itself. Which will probably give me issues in the long run (as far as the class is concerned). And if I go with option one, I can take the final fiction writing course. Which, conveniently, is about flash fiction next semester.
I love short writing. Short stories, magazines, columns, feature writing. It is innately interesting to me. Something about having such pure mastery over the written word that you can get an entire story out in just a few words. There's no room for the superfluous. Everything has to be succinct and mean precisely what you mean it too. Every word counts, and every definition counts. In my head, it's the ultimate form of English writing. It's probably why I'm torn between English and Journalism.
Journalism gives me the shorter writing I crave. English gives me the storytelling. Combine the two and it works out perfectly. You know, negating the whole nonexistent income thing. I suppose I should just be happy I'm not a poet.
I think I'll go with option one. It'll be harder, most definitely, but that's never really stopped me from doing anything.
Now... to take care of that hold on my account so I can actually sign up for my damn classes...
Quote of the Day:
"When your work speaks for yourself, don't interrupt."
- Henry J. Kaiser
13.10.10
The Lauren Dailey Patented Method
My exploits amused me greatly. And this is a filler post until I can sit down and fill everyone in on the last week of my life. It was mildly eventful.
When Dealing With Non-Writers:
Him: What you do now?
Me: paper
Him: O?
Me: yes
Him: Going well?
Me: hi
Me: ok
Me: i'm just going to lay this out flat
Him: ?
Him: I do something wrong?
Me: 'cause i haven't been able to figure out a way to answer that question that doesn't involve stabbing and/or gratuitous amounts of stabbing. and no, you haven't done anything particularly wrong.
Me: i HATE that question
Him: O.o
Me: with a "i'm going to stab something" passion
Him: I'm sorry.
Me: lol not your fault
Him: I didn't know.
Me: just... avoid the how's it going question when i'm writing
Me: it ends in explitives and possible lead poisoning
You see, I become a horrendous prone to stabbing monster when attempting to write. Even if it is this shitty research paper. It's safer to just leave me the hell alone. Let me sulk and whine and make angry noises and type furiously and backspace even furiouser. Just let me be. Don't ask questions, you clearly won't get any answers. The compulsion monster has taken over and the Lauren who is a functioning member of society has left the building. Interrupting me is a conscious decision on your part and I can not fully be held responsible for any angry faces and/or noises I make in your general direction as a result.
And for god's sake. Don't ask me "how it's going" because all I want to do is rage. Rage, throw tantrums, and stab you with what ever writing utensil I have around. It's the most loaded horrible evil awful question you can ever ask me. If you wrote, you'd understand. But you don't. So just leave me in my horrible depression and angst filled writer's bubble. Eventually I will surface a worn and tattered socially functioning human being. Eventually.
Quote of the Day:
"what's the best way to say "i don't respond well to dumb ass mother fucking questions when i'm writing"
"stop talking, i'm writing"
- Lauren Dailey and Dayna Colbert
When Dealing With Non-Writers:
Him: What you do now?
Me: paper
Him: O?
Me: yes
Him: Going well?
Me: hi
Me: ok
Me: i'm just going to lay this out flat
Him: ?
Him: I do something wrong?
Me: 'cause i haven't been able to figure out a way to answer that question that doesn't involve stabbing and/or gratuitous amounts of stabbing. and no, you haven't done anything particularly wrong.
Me: i HATE that question
Him: O.o
Me: with a "i'm going to stab something" passion
Him: I'm sorry.
Me: lol not your fault
Him: I didn't know.
Me: just... avoid the how's it going question when i'm writing
Me: it ends in explitives and possible lead poisoning
You see, I become a horrendous prone to stabbing monster when attempting to write. Even if it is this shitty research paper. It's safer to just leave me the hell alone. Let me sulk and whine and make angry noises and type furiously and backspace even furiouser. Just let me be. Don't ask questions, you clearly won't get any answers. The compulsion monster has taken over and the Lauren who is a functioning member of society has left the building. Interrupting me is a conscious decision on your part and I can not fully be held responsible for any angry faces and/or noises I make in your general direction as a result.
And for god's sake. Don't ask me "how it's going" because all I want to do is rage. Rage, throw tantrums, and stab you with what ever writing utensil I have around. It's the most loaded horrible evil awful question you can ever ask me. If you wrote, you'd understand. But you don't. So just leave me in my horrible depression and angst filled writer's bubble. Eventually I will surface a worn and tattered socially functioning human being. Eventually.
Quote of the Day:
"what's the best way to say "i don't respond well to dumb ass mother fucking questions when i'm writing"
"stop talking, i'm writing"
- Lauren Dailey and Dayna Colbert
3.10.10
A whiney rant
Ha. Clearly I am horrendous at keeping promises to myself.
Here There Be Updates:
So, As of right this very moment I am sitting on my bed in my room at home staring out of my perpetually fogged up window. I wish this were an important detain, but really, it's not. It's just a view that over the years I have taken for granted.
Year after year the tree in our front yard grows larger and I can no longer fully see the houses across the street from me. I see snippits between the leaves, but that's about it. I'm sure I'll see them again once fall really kicks in and the leaves all fall off, but again, that's not important.
What is important, however, is that soon. Maybe really soon, I won't be "living" in this room. This house won't be "my" house. Eventually, an eventually that is fast approaching, I will have to make my own forays into the world and learn how to live on my own. And not a college dorm type of on my own. An on my own that doesn't involve me moving back home at the end of the semester and jaggedly trying to mash my piece of the family puzzle into a spot where its no longer fits.
And I don't know if I'm so independent as to be entirely ready for that.
By July (hopefully) I will have completed an internship and graduated. I will be one of... three friends doing so. Ray will be graduating after the fall semester, Brittany after the spring, and me in the summer. Thats it. I don't really know anyone else graduating. The vast majority of my friends are a year or so behind me in schooling. Theres not going to be a massive send off of, "hey lets keep in touch and hangout and explore our lives as newly freed adultlike things". There's no "hey, I'm not exactly doing anything yet either, want to be roommates?"
But then again, last time I tried that shit it ended horridly and I would have been better off moving across the country to reaches unknown without the safety net in place for all the good it did me.
But still, it'd be nice to know someone in a similar situation. Not a feeling of, oh hey you're going off to be all graduated and lonesome as all of your friends are still chillin back at school.
This blog has become epically whiney. And I feel the proper response is, for now, to quit worrying so much and grow a pair. Because growing up is a part of life, and it's not like I haven't been through this before right? You know, minus thew whole grown and with bills and loans to pay back thing.
Here There Be Updates:
So, As of right this very moment I am sitting on my bed in my room at home staring out of my perpetually fogged up window. I wish this were an important detain, but really, it's not. It's just a view that over the years I have taken for granted.
Year after year the tree in our front yard grows larger and I can no longer fully see the houses across the street from me. I see snippits between the leaves, but that's about it. I'm sure I'll see them again once fall really kicks in and the leaves all fall off, but again, that's not important.
What is important, however, is that soon. Maybe really soon, I won't be "living" in this room. This house won't be "my" house. Eventually, an eventually that is fast approaching, I will have to make my own forays into the world and learn how to live on my own. And not a college dorm type of on my own. An on my own that doesn't involve me moving back home at the end of the semester and jaggedly trying to mash my piece of the family puzzle into a spot where its no longer fits.
And I don't know if I'm so independent as to be entirely ready for that.
By July (hopefully) I will have completed an internship and graduated. I will be one of... three friends doing so. Ray will be graduating after the fall semester, Brittany after the spring, and me in the summer. Thats it. I don't really know anyone else graduating. The vast majority of my friends are a year or so behind me in schooling. Theres not going to be a massive send off of, "hey lets keep in touch and hangout and explore our lives as newly freed adultlike things". There's no "hey, I'm not exactly doing anything yet either, want to be roommates?"
But then again, last time I tried that shit it ended horridly and I would have been better off moving across the country to reaches unknown without the safety net in place for all the good it did me.
But still, it'd be nice to know someone in a similar situation. Not a feeling of, oh hey you're going off to be all graduated and lonesome as all of your friends are still chillin back at school.
This blog has become epically whiney. And I feel the proper response is, for now, to quit worrying so much and grow a pair. Because growing up is a part of life, and it's not like I haven't been through this before right? You know, minus thew whole grown and with bills and loans to pay back thing.
29.9.10
Well, that didn't go as planned
Ha, said I'd do daily then screwed up the very next day. Oops.
Do what you love:
I suppose there's merit in that statement. The "happiest" people are always the ones who love what they do and do what they love, right? At least, that's what they want you to believe. I'm not sure if it works out like that in the end seeing as I have minimal "real world" experience. But I'd like to believe that's true. It's why we tell people to follow their dreams and whatnot, right?
As a result we end up with a kind of split culture. We have those kids who have always known what they wanted to do, and have worked at their goals since forever. But we also end up with the kids who seem to just be meandering along hoping something will stick someday.
I'm pretty sure I'm in that second group.
I have hobbies. I function in society. And at the risk of sounding conceited (which admittedly, I probably am) I'm normally half-decent at whatever I put my mind to. But I'm also in my senior year of college with very little idea of where I want to go from here. My hobbies have very little professional impact. Unless I wanted to magically take up game design (which I don't- programming bores me to death).
So far, my path has been "do what you don't hate". Which isn't a terrible way to go about things, but probably not the best way either. This particular train of thought has run rampant though my scant few "adult-like" years. Have a project? Somehow relate it to video games or fencing. At least then I don't entirely hate the project.
Like now. I'm in a design class where I'm designing my own magazine. My magazine topic? Fencing. Why? Because the pictures will probably turn out half decent, and because the existing fencing magazine pisses me off. As a result, I don't particularly hate this project, and I'm learning more about design.
Honestly, I came into this blog believing I'd rant and rave about that project. But clearly that didn't work out so well and larger whiny and complainy bits of me took over.
In short, I guess I know what I'm doing with myself in this very instant, but I also have no idea how to go about the future. At least, not the long term future. I'm not quite equipped yet to say I've chosen the career path I want to go down. And even though I know people on a whole end up doing lots of things and that your undergrad major doesn't entirely define you as a person for the rest of forever, I'm still vary about it. Because that's how the world wants to make me feel.
Sign up for a journalism major? Clearly you are going to be a reporter for the rest of forever and do hard hitting news stories and uncover the next watergate. Lies and deceit. There's more to journalism than that. And there's also the fact that I'm a lazy ass reporter. I don't particularly like it. Column's are ok, but getting a column seems much more difficult than getting a beat. Hell, it's probably more difficult than moving to the middle of nowhere and being a "writer".
I suppose it'll come to me someday. After I get more practical experience in the world. Maybe I'll concentrate on that for what's next in my life. Practical experience. Take a few internships, pay off some loans. Then figure out if what I'm doing is really what I want to be doing. Or maybe I'll just run off to grad school, get my MFA, and teach at some college for the rest of forever. Who knows.
Quote of the Day:
"The place where optimism most flourishes is the lunatic asylum."
- Havelock Ellis
Do what you love:
I suppose there's merit in that statement. The "happiest" people are always the ones who love what they do and do what they love, right? At least, that's what they want you to believe. I'm not sure if it works out like that in the end seeing as I have minimal "real world" experience. But I'd like to believe that's true. It's why we tell people to follow their dreams and whatnot, right?
As a result we end up with a kind of split culture. We have those kids who have always known what they wanted to do, and have worked at their goals since forever. But we also end up with the kids who seem to just be meandering along hoping something will stick someday.
I'm pretty sure I'm in that second group.
I have hobbies. I function in society. And at the risk of sounding conceited (which admittedly, I probably am) I'm normally half-decent at whatever I put my mind to. But I'm also in my senior year of college with very little idea of where I want to go from here. My hobbies have very little professional impact. Unless I wanted to magically take up game design (which I don't- programming bores me to death).
So far, my path has been "do what you don't hate". Which isn't a terrible way to go about things, but probably not the best way either. This particular train of thought has run rampant though my scant few "adult-like" years. Have a project? Somehow relate it to video games or fencing. At least then I don't entirely hate the project.
Like now. I'm in a design class where I'm designing my own magazine. My magazine topic? Fencing. Why? Because the pictures will probably turn out half decent, and because the existing fencing magazine pisses me off. As a result, I don't particularly hate this project, and I'm learning more about design.
Honestly, I came into this blog believing I'd rant and rave about that project. But clearly that didn't work out so well and larger whiny and complainy bits of me took over.
In short, I guess I know what I'm doing with myself in this very instant, but I also have no idea how to go about the future. At least, not the long term future. I'm not quite equipped yet to say I've chosen the career path I want to go down. And even though I know people on a whole end up doing lots of things and that your undergrad major doesn't entirely define you as a person for the rest of forever, I'm still vary about it. Because that's how the world wants to make me feel.
Sign up for a journalism major? Clearly you are going to be a reporter for the rest of forever and do hard hitting news stories and uncover the next watergate. Lies and deceit. There's more to journalism than that. And there's also the fact that I'm a lazy ass reporter. I don't particularly like it. Column's are ok, but getting a column seems much more difficult than getting a beat. Hell, it's probably more difficult than moving to the middle of nowhere and being a "writer".
I suppose it'll come to me someday. After I get more practical experience in the world. Maybe I'll concentrate on that for what's next in my life. Practical experience. Take a few internships, pay off some loans. Then figure out if what I'm doing is really what I want to be doing. Or maybe I'll just run off to grad school, get my MFA, and teach at some college for the rest of forever. Who knows.
Quote of the Day:
"The place where optimism most flourishes is the lunatic asylum."
- Havelock Ellis
27.9.10
Back on Track
Alright. I've been more than neglectful. I need to put a stop to that.
On a random note, there are people screaming outside my window:
Back on track. I mean that. Or, at least I hope I do. This post will, hopefully, be the reboot of me and writing and such things. For the better part of the summer I didn't update nearly as frequently as I should have, and not for any particular reason (other than perhaps shear laziness on my part).
I am now five weeks or so into the semester, and I'm getting into a much better rhythm of what to do, and when it needs to be done.
But that's not really what's important here. What's important is that I'm back. Full blown. I'm not going to commit to a 90 in 90 again (at least not yet), but I am going to commit myself to at least attempting to update this thing once a day. It isn't guaranteed to happen, but the motivation is back. I need to get back into the swing of things. The art of crafting words into coherent thoughts and getting everything out.
I miss it. I honestly miss sitting down and ranting and raving about nothing more than the trivial details of my journey's through writing. Of course this time through won't be exactly the same, and there will be far less "Damn you Brad" (which unfortunately will probably make for a less amusing blog). But in its place there will most definitely be more "Damn you Literature writers" because I am drowning in David Copperfield at the moment. And David Copperfield is not something that I ever imagined I would enjoy drowning in, but apparently I do. (Something about the ridiculousness of every bad thing in the world that could possibly happen to this kid happening is distinctly amusing in my eyes)
In any case, I intend to get myself back on track. As far as writing goes at least. So here's to nothing, or rather, something. Hopefully more somethings will be appearing on this oft-neglected blog sometime in the near future.
Quote of the Day:
"Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple"
- Dr. Suess
On a random note, there are people screaming outside my window:
Back on track. I mean that. Or, at least I hope I do. This post will, hopefully, be the reboot of me and writing and such things. For the better part of the summer I didn't update nearly as frequently as I should have, and not for any particular reason (other than perhaps shear laziness on my part).
I am now five weeks or so into the semester, and I'm getting into a much better rhythm of what to do, and when it needs to be done.
But that's not really what's important here. What's important is that I'm back. Full blown. I'm not going to commit to a 90 in 90 again (at least not yet), but I am going to commit myself to at least attempting to update this thing once a day. It isn't guaranteed to happen, but the motivation is back. I need to get back into the swing of things. The art of crafting words into coherent thoughts and getting everything out.
I miss it. I honestly miss sitting down and ranting and raving about nothing more than the trivial details of my journey's through writing. Of course this time through won't be exactly the same, and there will be far less "Damn you Brad" (which unfortunately will probably make for a less amusing blog). But in its place there will most definitely be more "Damn you Literature writers" because I am drowning in David Copperfield at the moment. And David Copperfield is not something that I ever imagined I would enjoy drowning in, but apparently I do. (Something about the ridiculousness of every bad thing in the world that could possibly happen to this kid happening is distinctly amusing in my eyes)
In any case, I intend to get myself back on track. As far as writing goes at least. So here's to nothing, or rather, something. Hopefully more somethings will be appearing on this oft-neglected blog sometime in the near future.
Quote of the Day:
"Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple"
- Dr. Suess
3.8.10
Write it out
Back again. Need to write it out, you (might) know how that goes.
People Person:
It's funny. Half the time I'm largely a people person. The other half of the time, I hate everyone. But that's not really true. I love people. I always have. They fascinate me. Everyone does in some way or another. But I'll be damned if I want to deal with them all the time.
I am not capable of dealing with people on a constant basis. I've tried. Believe me, I've tried. I just can't. After a while, I snap. Well, not really snap it's more of a shut down. I need to recharge and reboot before I can deal with people again. Not just large amounts, but small amounts of people too. I just need time to sit down, not think, and not interact in any detailed manner with anyone.
Every now and again, I need time where the most human interaction I have is with the lady in the checkout line, reading posts online that other people that I don't particularly know have made, and utilizing human made goods. Thats it. I don't care who you are, honest to god no matter how much I love you, but you need to shut the hell up and leave me alone.
Yes it's rude. Yes, you probably will feel like I'm being short tempered with everyone around me. It's probably true. But just give me a day or two of space. Time when you leave me to my own devices, and I'll be back at fully functioning capacity in no time. I really am a social creature, just one that needs a break and time to recharge.
For the last month or two or three I've been going nonstop with people who constantly demand my attention for one reason or another. And my patience is wearing thin. Yes, you can be just as loud today as you were a month and a half ago. But today, I'll be damned if you aren't driving me insane and practically begging me to punch you, whereas last month I may have laughed.
It's not you. It's me. But please people, know when it's time to just shut the hell up and leave someone alone. The demands can stop for a day or two. I have yet to fully recover from the demands of having three large family gatherings in a row. I love my family to death, but I'll be damned if it isn't a zoo when we're all together.
People Person:
It's funny. Half the time I'm largely a people person. The other half of the time, I hate everyone. But that's not really true. I love people. I always have. They fascinate me. Everyone does in some way or another. But I'll be damned if I want to deal with them all the time.
I am not capable of dealing with people on a constant basis. I've tried. Believe me, I've tried. I just can't. After a while, I snap. Well, not really snap it's more of a shut down. I need to recharge and reboot before I can deal with people again. Not just large amounts, but small amounts of people too. I just need time to sit down, not think, and not interact in any detailed manner with anyone.
Every now and again, I need time where the most human interaction I have is with the lady in the checkout line, reading posts online that other people that I don't particularly know have made, and utilizing human made goods. Thats it. I don't care who you are, honest to god no matter how much I love you, but you need to shut the hell up and leave me alone.
Yes it's rude. Yes, you probably will feel like I'm being short tempered with everyone around me. It's probably true. But just give me a day or two of space. Time when you leave me to my own devices, and I'll be back at fully functioning capacity in no time. I really am a social creature, just one that needs a break and time to recharge.
For the last month or two or three I've been going nonstop with people who constantly demand my attention for one reason or another. And my patience is wearing thin. Yes, you can be just as loud today as you were a month and a half ago. But today, I'll be damned if you aren't driving me insane and practically begging me to punch you, whereas last month I may have laughed.
It's not you. It's me. But please people, know when it's time to just shut the hell up and leave someone alone. The demands can stop for a day or two. I have yet to fully recover from the demands of having three large family gatherings in a row. I love my family to death, but I'll be damned if it isn't a zoo when we're all together.
17.7.10
Zoom Zoom
Le Gasp. Another post. My brain must be functioning again. Weird.
I wanna go fast:
I just went go-karting with the family. I don't know if it's just me, well no. Actually, I know it's not just me. But I really, really enjoy going fast. I know it's not just be because there are entire industries built up around this ideal. But that's not really the point. Not yet at least.
There's just some trivial basal level of joy I get when ever I go fast. Sprinting. Cars. Go-Karts. Motorcycles. Mini-Bikes. Boats. Whatever. There's just something about the world zipping by faster than I'm used to that I enjoy. The wind whipping through my hair, and all those other crappy cliches. I love it all. I don't know why. But something about those little carts today. Something about moving in and out of the cars. Going from the inside lanes to the outside for a pass, and back in for yet another. Something about those little bits of rubber flying up and beating the shit out of my face and eyes. (yeah, I even enjoyed it when I couldn't hardly see). It's all just exhilarating.
It's kind of funny that I like going fast so much. Everything else I do is at my own (normally slow, lazy and lethargic like) pace. I don't drive fast. I don't particularly walk fast. I don't like running (because the term "running" usually entails a jog which I find quite boring). None of my usual hobbies entail any quick movements, and even if they do, I tend to rely on an alternative approach.
I can see why people like racing so much now. Even though I can't bear to watch it myself, participating would be a blast. Well, except for the fact that I'd probably end up crashing and blowing up. But the not crashing or blowing up parts would be great.
I should probably just stick to going fast on things that realistically, aren't really going all that fast. Like go-karts and mini-bikes. Less chance of me blowing up, still maximum feeling of "Awesome I'm going fast!".
I'm going to stop now. Because really, there's only so many ways for me to say "I like going fast" before I run out of things to say.
I wanna go fast:
I just went go-karting with the family. I don't know if it's just me, well no. Actually, I know it's not just me. But I really, really enjoy going fast. I know it's not just be because there are entire industries built up around this ideal. But that's not really the point. Not yet at least.
There's just some trivial basal level of joy I get when ever I go fast. Sprinting. Cars. Go-Karts. Motorcycles. Mini-Bikes. Boats. Whatever. There's just something about the world zipping by faster than I'm used to that I enjoy. The wind whipping through my hair, and all those other crappy cliches. I love it all. I don't know why. But something about those little carts today. Something about moving in and out of the cars. Going from the inside lanes to the outside for a pass, and back in for yet another. Something about those little bits of rubber flying up and beating the shit out of my face and eyes. (yeah, I even enjoyed it when I couldn't hardly see). It's all just exhilarating.
It's kind of funny that I like going fast so much. Everything else I do is at my own (normally slow, lazy and lethargic like) pace. I don't drive fast. I don't particularly walk fast. I don't like running (because the term "running" usually entails a jog which I find quite boring). None of my usual hobbies entail any quick movements, and even if they do, I tend to rely on an alternative approach.
I can see why people like racing so much now. Even though I can't bear to watch it myself, participating would be a blast. Well, except for the fact that I'd probably end up crashing and blowing up. But the not crashing or blowing up parts would be great.
I should probably just stick to going fast on things that realistically, aren't really going all that fast. Like go-karts and mini-bikes. Less chance of me blowing up, still maximum feeling of "Awesome I'm going fast!".
I'm going to stop now. Because really, there's only so many ways for me to say "I like going fast" before I run out of things to say.
14.7.10
Drug of choice
Inspiration just hit. Might as well record it.
Past and Present:
Alright. So, on my facebook a "friend finder" box popped up. I wasn't going to click it, but it started irking me, so in order to remove it, I clicked. What appeared was a list of people that I don't particularly associate with, or even remember any more. Except for one name. A name that is attached to a kid that used to be an extremely important part of my life.
I know I've ranted about this topic before, but it's one that I can't help but revisit every once in awhile. This kid used to be my best friend. We were near inseparable for years. But we grew apart. That's how the story always goes, isn't it? Well, at least, that's the story I'm used to. There are those other kids who have known the same people their entire lives. But fuck them, I'm telling the story. And this story is about people who don't have people like that.
I just facebook creeped a little. His profile is mostly closed off, but I could see the pictures. It's interesting. I've lived across the street from this kid for a while now. I learned more about his current life from those scant few pictures than I've known in a long time. It's so... interesting to see how people have changed. I don't even think about him that often anymore. Just a passing thought when his annoying ass car pulls into his driveway at all hours of the day (apparently he's really into cars now (doesn't make his fucking car any less annoying)). But now I'm wondering. What would have happened if I'd stayed in touch with him? Would we still be friends? Would we just be acquaintances? I mean, hypothetically I would just walk across the street and start up a conversation one day.
But I won't. Probably never will. I'll probably just sit around and wonder every now and then. I might even think back on better times when we ran around and played together. But it's just so strange. Thinking back on all the people who used to be so important to me, who are now little more than a passing face. But in a way it's nice. I can think back on the good times I used to have with this kid, and there's little animosity. He's one of the few that I parted with on good terms. There's so many others that if I passed them on an entirely empty street, I'd still pray they didn't see me. But after 10 minutes or so of looking through snippets of his life I'm left mostly curious about how it's been going. And with a lingering negativity left by others who are also no longer parts of my current life.
There are so many other "best friends" from once upon a time that for one reason or another, my body just has an unavoidable urge to run away from. Funny how that works. Ex-best friends seem to always be the ones you want to see the most... and the least.
And every time their names or faces pop up in my news feed there's a tiny whirlwind of emotions. Part of me is curious and wants to see how they've been doing. Another part remembers the good times. Then there's the part that remembers what went wrong. And then there's the tiny part of me that always wants to reach out and start anew. Pretend the past never happened, pretend that just talking to them would make everything ok. Pretend that neither side had done any wrong, that everything was the same as before. I always end up drowning out that tiny part. It's locked in some tiny closet in my mind gagged and bound.
Occasionally, like now, I wonder what could have been and what could be. Generally it's prompted by something, like the facebook updates, or even a dream. But like always, I'll drown out the thoughts with my drug of choice- the stories, and the friends who are still around. Tales of Vesperia has quite a few interesting characters. And there's almost always at least one person around who can distract me from my thoughts.
But tonight, I can only hope that I don't hear his car pulling into the driveway. Memory lane was never my favorite place.
Quote of the Day:
"I have lost friends, some by death, others through sheer inability to cross the street."
- Virginia Woolf.
Past and Present:
Alright. So, on my facebook a "friend finder" box popped up. I wasn't going to click it, but it started irking me, so in order to remove it, I clicked. What appeared was a list of people that I don't particularly associate with, or even remember any more. Except for one name. A name that is attached to a kid that used to be an extremely important part of my life.
I know I've ranted about this topic before, but it's one that I can't help but revisit every once in awhile. This kid used to be my best friend. We were near inseparable for years. But we grew apart. That's how the story always goes, isn't it? Well, at least, that's the story I'm used to. There are those other kids who have known the same people their entire lives. But fuck them, I'm telling the story. And this story is about people who don't have people like that.
I just facebook creeped a little. His profile is mostly closed off, but I could see the pictures. It's interesting. I've lived across the street from this kid for a while now. I learned more about his current life from those scant few pictures than I've known in a long time. It's so... interesting to see how people have changed. I don't even think about him that often anymore. Just a passing thought when his annoying ass car pulls into his driveway at all hours of the day (apparently he's really into cars now (doesn't make his fucking car any less annoying)). But now I'm wondering. What would have happened if I'd stayed in touch with him? Would we still be friends? Would we just be acquaintances? I mean, hypothetically I would just walk across the street and start up a conversation one day.
But I won't. Probably never will. I'll probably just sit around and wonder every now and then. I might even think back on better times when we ran around and played together. But it's just so strange. Thinking back on all the people who used to be so important to me, who are now little more than a passing face. But in a way it's nice. I can think back on the good times I used to have with this kid, and there's little animosity. He's one of the few that I parted with on good terms. There's so many others that if I passed them on an entirely empty street, I'd still pray they didn't see me. But after 10 minutes or so of looking through snippets of his life I'm left mostly curious about how it's been going. And with a lingering negativity left by others who are also no longer parts of my current life.
There are so many other "best friends" from once upon a time that for one reason or another, my body just has an unavoidable urge to run away from. Funny how that works. Ex-best friends seem to always be the ones you want to see the most... and the least.
And every time their names or faces pop up in my news feed there's a tiny whirlwind of emotions. Part of me is curious and wants to see how they've been doing. Another part remembers the good times. Then there's the part that remembers what went wrong. And then there's the tiny part of me that always wants to reach out and start anew. Pretend the past never happened, pretend that just talking to them would make everything ok. Pretend that neither side had done any wrong, that everything was the same as before. I always end up drowning out that tiny part. It's locked in some tiny closet in my mind gagged and bound.
Occasionally, like now, I wonder what could have been and what could be. Generally it's prompted by something, like the facebook updates, or even a dream. But like always, I'll drown out the thoughts with my drug of choice- the stories, and the friends who are still around. Tales of Vesperia has quite a few interesting characters. And there's almost always at least one person around who can distract me from my thoughts.
But tonight, I can only hope that I don't hear his car pulling into the driveway. Memory lane was never my favorite place.
Quote of the Day:
"I have lost friends, some by death, others through sheer inability to cross the street."
- Virginia Woolf.
11.7.10
Learning
It's been awhile. I can't say that I've been doing all that much. I mean, I have, but nothing that would prevent me from blogging if I wished to do so. Anyway, here's a post. Just a small trickling of things on my mind.
I don't know how to say this:
It's no big secret that during the summers my creative output seems to grind to an unappealing halt. Actual pen on paper, or fingers on keyboard type writing is always at a minimum. It happens occasionally but never with any real results. Just rantings, drabbles (that could admittedly one day turn into something should I ever feel the need to revisit the scribblings) and diary type entries, much like this one. But largely any creative tendencies my mind has are just passing thoughts, and possible fan characters for existing series. Nothing really spectacular. The closer I get to graduation, the more the lack of free writing worries me.
All summer I've had the nagging feeling at the back of my head that I should be doing something. I should be writing. I could be creating a world no one has ever thought of, crafting the beginnings of a tale that could capture the worlds hearts or some shit like that. But then I go back to doing whatever it is I'm doing. Mostly because, I haven't found my original world yet. I haven't been able to sit down and plan out what the world will look like, what will happen to it, and who will be there.
But then, as I wrote that last sentence, I remembered something (which means that this blog post probably won't go where I wanted it to go at all). (In my opinion) The best stories are never planned. I've never written that way. My best work never comes from something that I've tried to plan out, in any aspect of my life. I like not knowing what will happen. If I don't know what will happen readers probably won't either. There's a certain lack of predictability when the story flows straight from the heart. The characters come alive in a way that they're not allowed to when they're preplanned.
So I begin to wonder, why am I so concerned about writing in a way that has never come naturally to me. The best thing for me to do, would to be to just sit down and write. Not from some pre-planned notes. Not from a half-formed out line, but from my heart. And if sitting down to write produces nothing "inspiring" then there's even a form of inspiration in that. Of course, this process only works well for the fictional realm. The second I tried to apply this method to a more non-fictional setting, everything fell to shit in 30 seconds flat and I ended up cursing myself, my 'work', the assignment, and everyone even mildly involved.
I suppose the purpose of that mild revelation was to tell myself to just relax. To just find a character (of which there are plenty floating around in my head) and write about their lives until something interesting pops up. It doesn't have to be amazing. It never has to be amazing. Even the most (seemingly) ordinary situations can provide incite into life and the human condition. Which is the only thing I've set out to do from the beginning anyway. To show life as it is, for better or worse. Be that through dragons and goblins, or average ordinary people. The goal is always the same, and I needed to remember that. So I'm glad I did.
But that wasn't the point of all this. What I set out to do was detail what I do, without fail, every summer while I'm distinctly not writing much.
As I've said before, my obsession with stories, and the art of written storytelling has kind of been ingrained in me since I was little(er). And as such, while to the outside viewer I may appear to be doing jack shit with my summers, I have always been amassing a large amount of stories. Of all kinds. I've been through countless stories this summer alone. Some I read for the craft, to see how they were put together, what the good parts were, how it was accomplished, if I've ever done something like that, if I'll ever be able to do something like that. Other's I've read for the simple joy of the story. To see where the story is going, what the characters feel, and if that feeling was transferred over to me.
I've been trying to sample all different kinds of stories. In high school, my primary reading base was fantasy novels. With a few science fiction adventures thrown in. I've expanded my tastes more, I've read different kinds of stories (I have yet to expand myself into the sappy love stories that my sister loves so much, but I'll probably try at least one sometime soon) my bookshelves are no longer solely inhabited by fantasy works (though I won't lie, MOST of them still are).
Not all of them are stories contained in the pages of novels though. The same process happens with stories in any medium. Movies, games, plays, anything. I look at the words on the page, and while part of me is enjoying the story simply for the story, as time wears on (and this part of me starts becoming more noticeable) the other part is taking note of the words used, how they're being used, why they're being used, and the effectiveness. This part of me is becoming both comforting, and annoying. I'm glad that I'm discerning these details now. It means that I have actually been learning something at school, and retaining it. But it also means that I get ripped out of the fictional dream because of bad prose. Not too bad of a trade off, but when I'm simply reading an article in time and then literally laugh out loud and change stories because of a poorly done lead... well I'm a bit concerned. Normal people don't read the newspaper to see if the writing is up to par. They read it for the news. I read it to see if it's shit or not, who cares about the content.
Mildly concerning indeed. But. Again, it means that my own craft is improving. And that I can see the mistakes of others, and try not to repeat them myself. I don't know how well it's carried over into the journalistic side of things, but at least my prose has improved. Journalism style writing, well that's a different beast that will probably require a lot more work before I can even pretend to say I have any idea what I'm doing. But some aspects have improved, and for now, that's enough.
...though, ridiculously soon that won't be enough either... stupid looming graduation.
Quote of the Day:
"Friends have the power to excel your life, or destroy it."
- Adam Murphy
I don't know how to say this:
It's no big secret that during the summers my creative output seems to grind to an unappealing halt. Actual pen on paper, or fingers on keyboard type writing is always at a minimum. It happens occasionally but never with any real results. Just rantings, drabbles (that could admittedly one day turn into something should I ever feel the need to revisit the scribblings) and diary type entries, much like this one. But largely any creative tendencies my mind has are just passing thoughts, and possible fan characters for existing series. Nothing really spectacular. The closer I get to graduation, the more the lack of free writing worries me.
All summer I've had the nagging feeling at the back of my head that I should be doing something. I should be writing. I could be creating a world no one has ever thought of, crafting the beginnings of a tale that could capture the worlds hearts or some shit like that. But then I go back to doing whatever it is I'm doing. Mostly because, I haven't found my original world yet. I haven't been able to sit down and plan out what the world will look like, what will happen to it, and who will be there.
But then, as I wrote that last sentence, I remembered something (which means that this blog post probably won't go where I wanted it to go at all). (In my opinion) The best stories are never planned. I've never written that way. My best work never comes from something that I've tried to plan out, in any aspect of my life. I like not knowing what will happen. If I don't know what will happen readers probably won't either. There's a certain lack of predictability when the story flows straight from the heart. The characters come alive in a way that they're not allowed to when they're preplanned.
So I begin to wonder, why am I so concerned about writing in a way that has never come naturally to me. The best thing for me to do, would to be to just sit down and write. Not from some pre-planned notes. Not from a half-formed out line, but from my heart. And if sitting down to write produces nothing "inspiring" then there's even a form of inspiration in that. Of course, this process only works well for the fictional realm. The second I tried to apply this method to a more non-fictional setting, everything fell to shit in 30 seconds flat and I ended up cursing myself, my 'work', the assignment, and everyone even mildly involved.
I suppose the purpose of that mild revelation was to tell myself to just relax. To just find a character (of which there are plenty floating around in my head) and write about their lives until something interesting pops up. It doesn't have to be amazing. It never has to be amazing. Even the most (seemingly) ordinary situations can provide incite into life and the human condition. Which is the only thing I've set out to do from the beginning anyway. To show life as it is, for better or worse. Be that through dragons and goblins, or average ordinary people. The goal is always the same, and I needed to remember that. So I'm glad I did.
But that wasn't the point of all this. What I set out to do was detail what I do, without fail, every summer while I'm distinctly not writing much.
As I've said before, my obsession with stories, and the art of written storytelling has kind of been ingrained in me since I was little(er). And as such, while to the outside viewer I may appear to be doing jack shit with my summers, I have always been amassing a large amount of stories. Of all kinds. I've been through countless stories this summer alone. Some I read for the craft, to see how they were put together, what the good parts were, how it was accomplished, if I've ever done something like that, if I'll ever be able to do something like that. Other's I've read for the simple joy of the story. To see where the story is going, what the characters feel, and if that feeling was transferred over to me.
I've been trying to sample all different kinds of stories. In high school, my primary reading base was fantasy novels. With a few science fiction adventures thrown in. I've expanded my tastes more, I've read different kinds of stories (I have yet to expand myself into the sappy love stories that my sister loves so much, but I'll probably try at least one sometime soon) my bookshelves are no longer solely inhabited by fantasy works (though I won't lie, MOST of them still are).
Not all of them are stories contained in the pages of novels though. The same process happens with stories in any medium. Movies, games, plays, anything. I look at the words on the page, and while part of me is enjoying the story simply for the story, as time wears on (and this part of me starts becoming more noticeable) the other part is taking note of the words used, how they're being used, why they're being used, and the effectiveness. This part of me is becoming both comforting, and annoying. I'm glad that I'm discerning these details now. It means that I have actually been learning something at school, and retaining it. But it also means that I get ripped out of the fictional dream because of bad prose. Not too bad of a trade off, but when I'm simply reading an article in time and then literally laugh out loud and change stories because of a poorly done lead... well I'm a bit concerned. Normal people don't read the newspaper to see if the writing is up to par. They read it for the news. I read it to see if it's shit or not, who cares about the content.
Mildly concerning indeed. But. Again, it means that my own craft is improving. And that I can see the mistakes of others, and try not to repeat them myself. I don't know how well it's carried over into the journalistic side of things, but at least my prose has improved. Journalism style writing, well that's a different beast that will probably require a lot more work before I can even pretend to say I have any idea what I'm doing. But some aspects have improved, and for now, that's enough.
...though, ridiculously soon that won't be enough either... stupid looming graduation.
Quote of the Day:
"Friends have the power to excel your life, or destroy it."
- Adam Murphy
21.6.10
When words fail
Yo. It appears that I'm back. And by back, I mean "hey look a post".
It Happened Again:
And by it happened again, I mean, I woke up from a dream intent upon capturing it. It's been awhile since that last happened. But the last time, it wasn't visual. It wasn't really a dream. It was all flowing text that my mind could only barely keep up with. But last night, last night was a definite image.
I had a dream that there was some crazy lady in my grandparents garage, and she wouldn't leave. Which, you know, is kind of interesting. But more interesting was her face. Or at least, to my sleep muddled brain that was most interesting. She was a hispanic lady, maybe a young looking mid-50s. She didn't have many wrinkles, but there were traces of her age. I don't remember much of her facial features anymore (I fear I waited too long to write this out) but I do remember the grin. She had a creepy, sadistic type grin on her face in one of the frames of my dream. Just one frame. Mere seconds dream time. But it's stuck with me. It immediately struck me as off. And so it should have, because any time a grin of the face of someone in your dreams reminds your unconscious self of the creepy grin you saw in an anime last week, you know something is off. I can't exactly explain it. Though, believe you me, my brain desperately tried. Which, hours later as I finish this post, sparks a question in my mind.
Am I forever doomed to have to define certain things in terms of other things? Am I not capable of defining them in their own right? Or is it just this one smile. The smile that so easily reminds me of the dwarf in the flask? Is that why people appreciate a well thought out analogy? Similes? Metaphors? Because it's easier to grasp and because we lack the ability to define some things in their own right? I don't think it's just me. Or so many cliches wouldn't be similes. But still, I wish I could explain the grin in words and not similes. Or at least in a simile that didn't cater to japanese pop culture.
Quote of the Day:
"The artist doesn't have time to listen to the critics. The ones who want to be writers read the reviews, the ones who want to write don't have time to read the reviews."
- William Faulkner
It Happened Again:
And by it happened again, I mean, I woke up from a dream intent upon capturing it. It's been awhile since that last happened. But the last time, it wasn't visual. It wasn't really a dream. It was all flowing text that my mind could only barely keep up with. But last night, last night was a definite image.
I had a dream that there was some crazy lady in my grandparents garage, and she wouldn't leave. Which, you know, is kind of interesting. But more interesting was her face. Or at least, to my sleep muddled brain that was most interesting. She was a hispanic lady, maybe a young looking mid-50s. She didn't have many wrinkles, but there were traces of her age. I don't remember much of her facial features anymore (I fear I waited too long to write this out) but I do remember the grin. She had a creepy, sadistic type grin on her face in one of the frames of my dream. Just one frame. Mere seconds dream time. But it's stuck with me. It immediately struck me as off. And so it should have, because any time a grin of the face of someone in your dreams reminds your unconscious self of the creepy grin you saw in an anime last week, you know something is off. I can't exactly explain it. Though, believe you me, my brain desperately tried. Which, hours later as I finish this post, sparks a question in my mind.
Am I forever doomed to have to define certain things in terms of other things? Am I not capable of defining them in their own right? Or is it just this one smile. The smile that so easily reminds me of the dwarf in the flask? Is that why people appreciate a well thought out analogy? Similes? Metaphors? Because it's easier to grasp and because we lack the ability to define some things in their own right? I don't think it's just me. Or so many cliches wouldn't be similes. But still, I wish I could explain the grin in words and not similes. Or at least in a simile that didn't cater to japanese pop culture.
Quote of the Day:
"The artist doesn't have time to listen to the critics. The ones who want to be writers read the reviews, the ones who want to write don't have time to read the reviews."
- William Faulkner
8.6.10
Tutoring
I'm so neglectful:
But I can't help it. Or, rather, I could, but I simply don't put forth the effort to remember to not be neglectful. Right now, I'm staring at my brother staring at a math packet. He's working on equivalent fractions. Now, of course, the only thing he's doing is complaining that he doesn't know how to do what he's supposed to be doing. But unfortunately for him, we went over essentially the same thing yesterday.
So while he continuously gets frustrated, I'm sitting here writing about him getting frustrated. He's not seeing the link between the two sets of problems. I could be the person that walks him through everything. I could just flat out tell him he needs to find the common denominators and cross multiply and all that bull. But thats not what I"m here for. He needs to work it out for himself. Once he works the problem out for himself, he always understands better in the long run. Which is something his teachers always manage to neglect. And seeing as I can't get fired for being neglectful to a 5th grader, he's getting the crash course he needs now, before he goes into a class with 1 teacher and 20 something other kids.
Which is a funny feeling. I can tell he hates me and is frustrated with himself and the work every time I leave him hanging for an extended amount of time. Of course, if he still doesn't get it after awhile, I help him with a problem, and leave him to the rest. And I am immediately reminded of my own forays into the academic sphere. I don't think I ever had quite so many issues with the learning process when I was his age, hell even when I was older. But I do recognize the teaching method I seem to have acquired. I can almost name all the teachers who (seemingly) left me out to rot before giving me an abrupt nudge in the right direction right as I was about to give up.
Which makes me wonder if I should keep someone around to for all intents and purposes appear disinterested and then yell and throw me off cliffs when I come to them. I'd probably hate and appreciate them as much as my brother hates and appreciates me. But god, I don't know if I want a bastard like me hovering around while I'm pretending to be productive.
Quote of the Day:
"Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work."
- Thomas A. Edison
But I can't help it. Or, rather, I could, but I simply don't put forth the effort to remember to not be neglectful. Right now, I'm staring at my brother staring at a math packet. He's working on equivalent fractions. Now, of course, the only thing he's doing is complaining that he doesn't know how to do what he's supposed to be doing. But unfortunately for him, we went over essentially the same thing yesterday.
So while he continuously gets frustrated, I'm sitting here writing about him getting frustrated. He's not seeing the link between the two sets of problems. I could be the person that walks him through everything. I could just flat out tell him he needs to find the common denominators and cross multiply and all that bull. But thats not what I"m here for. He needs to work it out for himself. Once he works the problem out for himself, he always understands better in the long run. Which is something his teachers always manage to neglect. And seeing as I can't get fired for being neglectful to a 5th grader, he's getting the crash course he needs now, before he goes into a class with 1 teacher and 20 something other kids.
Which is a funny feeling. I can tell he hates me and is frustrated with himself and the work every time I leave him hanging for an extended amount of time. Of course, if he still doesn't get it after awhile, I help him with a problem, and leave him to the rest. And I am immediately reminded of my own forays into the academic sphere. I don't think I ever had quite so many issues with the learning process when I was his age, hell even when I was older. But I do recognize the teaching method I seem to have acquired. I can almost name all the teachers who (seemingly) left me out to rot before giving me an abrupt nudge in the right direction right as I was about to give up.
Which makes me wonder if I should keep someone around to for all intents and purposes appear disinterested and then yell and throw me off cliffs when I come to them. I'd probably hate and appreciate them as much as my brother hates and appreciates me. But god, I don't know if I want a bastard like me hovering around while I'm pretending to be productive.
Quote of the Day:
"Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work."
- Thomas A. Edison
24.5.10
Gotta Catch 'Em All
Fist off, I'd just like to say that I adore how I said I'd continue this blogging thing, and then the first thing I did was abandon ship. Oh me.
What'll I do now:
Well, for the past week or so I've managed to keep myself occupied. And by "occupied" I mean, I read 365 chapters of the pokemon adventures manga. I'd have read them all, but for the life of me, I cannot fine a translated copy of 366. I don't know exactly when I started this mission, but damn did I enjoy it. I'm well aware of the fact that I could be ridiculed into oblivion for this, but hell if I care.
The manga follows 13 main characters (the characters mirror the main games(for those of you sensing a number discrepancy pokemon green version was released in Japan only alongside pokemon red version and blue was the third edition while yellow was an additional version. The Japanese version of Blue was the formula for Red and Blue everywhere else, and yellow functioned as the third wheel.) and they're all well done. Compared to the anime at least. The manga, on a whole, is much more enjoyable than the anime. The characters are better done (sorry Ash but I'll choose Red every time now), the themes are better, the pokemon are more badass, and the evil gangs are actually a threat. It's infinitely cooler, especially for me, 'cause apparently the manga world is closest to what Satoshi Tajiri (creator of pokemon) had in mind when he created the world. Shit blows up, legendary pokemon wreak havoc, and people and pokemon die. It's badassery.
Overall I've determined my favorite characters in the series from this. Before actually reading the manga my favorite character was automatically Gold. I'd read up a bit on the characters and seen artwork and stuff and basing my favorites off of that Gold came out on top (It doesn't hurt that Gold has always been my favorite of the game entries either, and the character design from that is still my favorite.) But now Gold has been moved down to a still respectable second place. I now have a ridiculous love for Ruby.
Which is mildly ironic. Ruby/Sapphire were my least favorite of the games. Probably because of the time frame in which they were released. I was in jr. high/high school when they first came out and not as willing to admit my all encompassing love for pokemon due to peer pressure. Since then I've given the 3rd gen more of a chance (I played through most of the game (Sapphire version I believe) when they first came out). Last year I played through a significant portion of Emerald version and I don't hate it nearly as much.
But back on topic. Ruby is undeniably my favorite character from the series. He goes against the archtype. He's superficial, a bit flamboyant, and entirely obsessed with Pokemon Contests (the more 'girly' aspect of the pokemon universe). I loved him from the moment he was introduced. In his first appearance he tries to subdue wild pokemon by asking them to join his team because they looked "cool" when that inevitably failed, he tried to subdue them with cool looking, but battle worthless moves. He ended up having to run away as they chased him. Of course, his character grows over the course of the series, and you learn more things about him, and through it all I enjoyed his growth more than that of any of the other characters.
As I type this I've been trying to come up with a list of my favorite characters from the series, but it's been hard. I've got the top three filled out, but ranking the rest has been hard.
1. Ruby
2. Gold
3. Diamond
4. ???
No luck with the remainder of the list. Maybe listing them all will help.
Red
Blue
Green
Yellow
Gold
Silver
Crystal
Ruby
Sapphire
Emerald
Diamond
Pearl
Platinum
Listing isn't helping. Maybe tiers.
Ruby. Gold. Diamond.
Blue. Red. Green.
Crystal. Platinum. Yellow.
Pearl. Sapphire. Silver. Emerald.
That'll work. I can tier them. Though that doesn't really mean much either. Outside the first tier, it's not very set.
In the long run, I don't know why I'm trying to rank my favorites. I hardly ever bother to rank things. Outside of the top three it doesn't really matter. But I just had this compulsion to try to rank them. God only knows why. But I had it. And I failed miserably. But I'm ok with that. Maybe that means it wasn't really that important in the first place. Dunno, dun care. I'm going to go play Batman now. Ray's inspired me.
Quote of the Day:
"The future will be better tomorrow."
- Dan Quayle
What'll I do now:
Well, for the past week or so I've managed to keep myself occupied. And by "occupied" I mean, I read 365 chapters of the pokemon adventures manga. I'd have read them all, but for the life of me, I cannot fine a translated copy of 366. I don't know exactly when I started this mission, but damn did I enjoy it. I'm well aware of the fact that I could be ridiculed into oblivion for this, but hell if I care.
The manga follows 13 main characters (the characters mirror the main games(for those of you sensing a number discrepancy pokemon green version was released in Japan only alongside pokemon red version and blue was the third edition while yellow was an additional version. The Japanese version of Blue was the formula for Red and Blue everywhere else, and yellow functioned as the third wheel.) and they're all well done. Compared to the anime at least. The manga, on a whole, is much more enjoyable than the anime. The characters are better done (sorry Ash but I'll choose Red every time now), the themes are better, the pokemon are more badass, and the evil gangs are actually a threat. It's infinitely cooler, especially for me, 'cause apparently the manga world is closest to what Satoshi Tajiri (creator of pokemon) had in mind when he created the world. Shit blows up, legendary pokemon wreak havoc, and people and pokemon die. It's badassery.
Overall I've determined my favorite characters in the series from this. Before actually reading the manga my favorite character was automatically Gold. I'd read up a bit on the characters and seen artwork and stuff and basing my favorites off of that Gold came out on top (It doesn't hurt that Gold has always been my favorite of the game entries either, and the character design from that is still my favorite.) But now Gold has been moved down to a still respectable second place. I now have a ridiculous love for Ruby.
Which is mildly ironic. Ruby/Sapphire were my least favorite of the games. Probably because of the time frame in which they were released. I was in jr. high/high school when they first came out and not as willing to admit my all encompassing love for pokemon due to peer pressure. Since then I've given the 3rd gen more of a chance (I played through most of the game (Sapphire version I believe) when they first came out). Last year I played through a significant portion of Emerald version and I don't hate it nearly as much.
But back on topic. Ruby is undeniably my favorite character from the series. He goes against the archtype. He's superficial, a bit flamboyant, and entirely obsessed with Pokemon Contests (the more 'girly' aspect of the pokemon universe). I loved him from the moment he was introduced. In his first appearance he tries to subdue wild pokemon by asking them to join his team because they looked "cool" when that inevitably failed, he tried to subdue them with cool looking, but battle worthless moves. He ended up having to run away as they chased him. Of course, his character grows over the course of the series, and you learn more things about him, and through it all I enjoyed his growth more than that of any of the other characters.
As I type this I've been trying to come up with a list of my favorite characters from the series, but it's been hard. I've got the top three filled out, but ranking the rest has been hard.
1. Ruby
2. Gold
3. Diamond
4. ???
No luck with the remainder of the list. Maybe listing them all will help.
Red
Blue
Green
Yellow
Gold
Silver
Crystal
Ruby
Sapphire
Emerald
Diamond
Pearl
Platinum
Listing isn't helping. Maybe tiers.
Ruby. Gold. Diamond.
Blue. Red. Green.
Crystal. Platinum. Yellow.
Pearl. Sapphire. Silver. Emerald.
That'll work. I can tier them. Though that doesn't really mean much either. Outside the first tier, it's not very set.
In the long run, I don't know why I'm trying to rank my favorites. I hardly ever bother to rank things. Outside of the top three it doesn't really matter. But I just had this compulsion to try to rank them. God only knows why. But I had it. And I failed miserably. But I'm ok with that. Maybe that means it wasn't really that important in the first place. Dunno, dun care. I'm going to go play Batman now. Ray's inspired me.
Quote of the Day:
"The future will be better tomorrow."
- Dan Quayle
18.5.10
Ranting
And here it goes again.
It's been a week:
Just a week. I've been out of school for a week, and it already feels like a month. A week ago I was mildly excited to be free for the summer. Now, a week has gone by, and I"m almost ready to go back. I'm at the point where I'm a few boredom filled days away from saying I'd rather be fighting some article for J280 again, rather than sitting at my kitchen table staring at the piranha swimming into the sides of his tank for the billionth time.
I'm tired of being here already. Now, this isn't a sad lonely "wah my high school friends kinda sucked, I hate fishers, I'm so lonely" type post. This is a I'm starting to feel the boredom post. This is a I'm tired of cleaning up my siblings messes, carting them around like a taxi cab, and generally having nothing to do type post. Of note: I'm also tired of the stench my brother seems to radiate. Ten year old boys are so gross.
But at the same time. I'm not ready to go back. I don't want to be responsible. I don't wanna have to be all adult like in a year or so. I don't wanna have assignments to do. I don't wanna do the school thing. I'd honestly settle for the early semester gig. The part where you're not doing much, the projects haven't piled up yet, and generally you have more free time than you should. That part would be cool. There's still a bit of work to be done, but mostly it's just goofing off. But then theres the knowledge of mid semester work, and that sucks, so I'd almost rather be here, sitting at my table staring at dumb ass fish.
I'm supposed to be helping work with my dads website right now. But I don't feel like it. Which is bad, because I'm hoping to get paid for all this, so I need to be earning my keep. But every time I start working on it, I remember exactly why I've never been a CS or graphics kid, even though I have an innate interest in it all. the work is boring as fuck. I can only take so much copy/paste and the like. It's killing me a little bit (not really, but more than an hour of it is of severe detriment to my work ethic). I've always liked the outcome of all the work, and the process for most of it. But damn if I don't get bored actually doing the work.
Which is why I'm sitting here typing out this blog instead of copy pasting my ass off so that I can get new shoes (I'm still aiming for finishing this summer with some fly ass shit). I need to be copy pasting. But I figure blogging is a better way to not do work than playing Torchlight again. And god knows, If I weren't blogging and talking to people on facebook, I'd be slaying some zombies and skeletons with my bad ass (mostly bad) Torchlight skills.
Quote of the Day:
"The sweat of hard work is not to be displayed. It is much more graceful to appear favored by the gods."
- Maxine Hong Kingston
It's been a week:
Just a week. I've been out of school for a week, and it already feels like a month. A week ago I was mildly excited to be free for the summer. Now, a week has gone by, and I"m almost ready to go back. I'm at the point where I'm a few boredom filled days away from saying I'd rather be fighting some article for J280 again, rather than sitting at my kitchen table staring at the piranha swimming into the sides of his tank for the billionth time.
I'm tired of being here already. Now, this isn't a sad lonely "wah my high school friends kinda sucked, I hate fishers, I'm so lonely" type post. This is a I'm starting to feel the boredom post. This is a I'm tired of cleaning up my siblings messes, carting them around like a taxi cab, and generally having nothing to do type post. Of note: I'm also tired of the stench my brother seems to radiate. Ten year old boys are so gross.
But at the same time. I'm not ready to go back. I don't want to be responsible. I don't wanna have to be all adult like in a year or so. I don't wanna have assignments to do. I don't wanna do the school thing. I'd honestly settle for the early semester gig. The part where you're not doing much, the projects haven't piled up yet, and generally you have more free time than you should. That part would be cool. There's still a bit of work to be done, but mostly it's just goofing off. But then theres the knowledge of mid semester work, and that sucks, so I'd almost rather be here, sitting at my table staring at dumb ass fish.
I'm supposed to be helping work with my dads website right now. But I don't feel like it. Which is bad, because I'm hoping to get paid for all this, so I need to be earning my keep. But every time I start working on it, I remember exactly why I've never been a CS or graphics kid, even though I have an innate interest in it all. the work is boring as fuck. I can only take so much copy/paste and the like. It's killing me a little bit (not really, but more than an hour of it is of severe detriment to my work ethic). I've always liked the outcome of all the work, and the process for most of it. But damn if I don't get bored actually doing the work.
Which is why I'm sitting here typing out this blog instead of copy pasting my ass off so that I can get new shoes (I'm still aiming for finishing this summer with some fly ass shit). I need to be copy pasting. But I figure blogging is a better way to not do work than playing Torchlight again. And god knows, If I weren't blogging and talking to people on facebook, I'd be slaying some zombies and skeletons with my bad ass (mostly bad) Torchlight skills.
Quote of the Day:
"The sweat of hard work is not to be displayed. It is much more graceful to appear favored by the gods."
- Maxine Hong Kingston
16.5.10
Party time
Hello again, missed me, didn't you?
Well that's interesting:
Alright, so yesterday was my brothers first 10th birthday party. I say first, because apparently next weekend there will be another one. Damned spoiled little kid has so many friends that he gets two birthday parties. Hell, I wish I had had enough friends to have one. Haha. In any case, it was an interesting affair.
Bill came down from Muncie-town to visit/help out with the party. We ended up getting chased around by 10 year olds with plastic swords for hours on end. Those little bastards are evil. One of them was wielding the damn thing and practically spanking me with it while I was trying to restrain my brother. I let go and ran away after 3ish hits. Bill was consistently pelted with flying blades, poor fencing attempts, and thrown, yes thrown, double ended spear toys. I felt bad for him. So bad, in fact, that I jumped him and held him down for a bit so he'd get attacked more. I'm so nice.
We ended up beaten and bruised. Bill has, or at least had, a lovely Harry Potter-esque scar on his forehead from where we think one of the kids stepped on his face. Poor guy. We only made two kids cry during it though, so thats a plus. One got the wind knocked out of him, and my brother may have gotten a little squished. But all in all, nothing too major with the kids and injuries. We were the ones taking most of the beating. And by "we" I clearly mean him. My method of fighting has always been to run away and hit when the opportunity presents itself.
We then proceeded to partake of the kickball game from hell. I swear, at some point during the day, we went from 6 little boys to, the entire neighborhood trying to play. It was ridiculous. We were babysitting the entire street. The kids argued the whole time. Bill laid down the law, and when that didn't work I used my epic ability to be loud as all hell. Screaming shut up seems to be highly effective. Only one more kid cried during that, and he wasn't one of ours, so all in all, good game I suppose. Felt bad for the poor kid though, he was so confused.
Over the course of us getting our asses beat and injuring ourselves (Bill did something to his knee, I'm just lazy and out of shape and wearing the wrong shoes constantly). Bill managed to meet dad. Later on they did the whole question answer session, for which I pretended to be sleepy so I wouldn't be included in any of it. I'm so nice, throwing the poor boy to the wolves like that. But seeing as death threats were kept to a minimum "if he stays, he's in the basement with the boys. if he's found elsewhere, he's dead and buried in a neighbors yard" I think it went well.
T'was funny though. Mom pointed out today that he's a bit... clingy? Touchy-feely? Something of the sort. Of course, I cannot deny these claims. He really is. Has to be half a centimeter away at all times. We talked about it a little, but mostly it came down to "yeah, I know. But it is better than he was before... haha?" I haven't really garnered Dad's opinion on him, but I'm sure I'll get it eventually.
It all amounted to a very interesting day. From which I am still recovering. I'm sore in places I have no clue as to why they'd be sore, and I've been managing a headache with meds all day. But it was fun? I guess. It wasn't bad at least. I just don't know if I can do that again for next weekend. This next batch of kids had better be calmer. I don't wanna have to play rough like that again. It's so exhausting.
Quote of the Day:
"You can't help getting older, but you don't have to get old."
- George Burns
Well that's interesting:
Alright, so yesterday was my brothers first 10th birthday party. I say first, because apparently next weekend there will be another one. Damned spoiled little kid has so many friends that he gets two birthday parties. Hell, I wish I had had enough friends to have one. Haha. In any case, it was an interesting affair.
Bill came down from Muncie-town to visit/help out with the party. We ended up getting chased around by 10 year olds with plastic swords for hours on end. Those little bastards are evil. One of them was wielding the damn thing and practically spanking me with it while I was trying to restrain my brother. I let go and ran away after 3ish hits. Bill was consistently pelted with flying blades, poor fencing attempts, and thrown, yes thrown, double ended spear toys. I felt bad for him. So bad, in fact, that I jumped him and held him down for a bit so he'd get attacked more. I'm so nice.
We ended up beaten and bruised. Bill has, or at least had, a lovely Harry Potter-esque scar on his forehead from where we think one of the kids stepped on his face. Poor guy. We only made two kids cry during it though, so thats a plus. One got the wind knocked out of him, and my brother may have gotten a little squished. But all in all, nothing too major with the kids and injuries. We were the ones taking most of the beating. And by "we" I clearly mean him. My method of fighting has always been to run away and hit when the opportunity presents itself.
We then proceeded to partake of the kickball game from hell. I swear, at some point during the day, we went from 6 little boys to, the entire neighborhood trying to play. It was ridiculous. We were babysitting the entire street. The kids argued the whole time. Bill laid down the law, and when that didn't work I used my epic ability to be loud as all hell. Screaming shut up seems to be highly effective. Only one more kid cried during that, and he wasn't one of ours, so all in all, good game I suppose. Felt bad for the poor kid though, he was so confused.
Over the course of us getting our asses beat and injuring ourselves (Bill did something to his knee, I'm just lazy and out of shape and wearing the wrong shoes constantly). Bill managed to meet dad. Later on they did the whole question answer session, for which I pretended to be sleepy so I wouldn't be included in any of it. I'm so nice, throwing the poor boy to the wolves like that. But seeing as death threats were kept to a minimum "if he stays, he's in the basement with the boys. if he's found elsewhere, he's dead and buried in a neighbors yard" I think it went well.
T'was funny though. Mom pointed out today that he's a bit... clingy? Touchy-feely? Something of the sort. Of course, I cannot deny these claims. He really is. Has to be half a centimeter away at all times. We talked about it a little, but mostly it came down to "yeah, I know. But it is better than he was before... haha?" I haven't really garnered Dad's opinion on him, but I'm sure I'll get it eventually.
It all amounted to a very interesting day. From which I am still recovering. I'm sore in places I have no clue as to why they'd be sore, and I've been managing a headache with meds all day. But it was fun? I guess. It wasn't bad at least. I just don't know if I can do that again for next weekend. This next batch of kids had better be calmer. I don't wanna have to play rough like that again. It's so exhausting.
Quote of the Day:
"You can't help getting older, but you don't have to get old."
- George Burns
15.5.10
Sendoff (90 of 90)
Holy shit. This is it. I made it 90(ish) days of continuous writing and blogging.
Update ya:
Alright, for the final(ish) send off I'm going to fill you in on what I've been doing all night, then move into the inevitable "holy fuck 90 blogs in 92 (I think) days" bit.
So at some point tonight my dad decided to throw me in on his business projects. I've been working with the IT guy all night on getting his website up and running, and so far so good. It's a good thing I'm a quick study. I don't actually know much about IT or... tech in general really. I'm just good at looking like I know shit. So this has been interesting. But, hey. I'd like to think I've been of some help, and that I've contributed. At the very least, I'm hopping the write ups of PR stuff will sound decent what with the me writing my way through school. But yeah, had fun hanging out with the old guys and listening in on old dude talk. Interesting stuff.
Now, for the meat and potatoes. This is my 90th blog post. I haven't been the most consistent updater, but I haven't been bad at it either. At least, I'd like to think I haven't. I made up for nights I didn't manage to post, and I have consistently managed to write at least once a day. It's been fun. I've talked about my life, and a bunch of other random shit that that entails. I hope any readers I've managed to gather have managed to stay entertained over the course of these past 90 days. I know I've enjoyed my exploits in blog writing.
I honestly don't think I'll quit the consistent updates. They may not be quite so regular seeing as I won't feel bad for not writing before passing out, but they will continue. It's been a good project. If I'm supposed to be working at being a writer, I might as well write, you know? What kind of writer doesn't write? I don't know where the rest of my adventures through blog-land will take me, but then again, I didn't know where my blogs were going when I wrote them either. This blog has evolved into a tale about well, life. It's been about writing a lot (mostly bitching about writing, admittedly), its been about friends, it's been about a little of everything. It'll probably keep being about a little of everything. Mostly because that's how my brain works.
So here's my great 90 in 90(92ish really) sendoff. See y'all tomorrow night lovelies.
Lauren.
Quote of the Day:
"I shall never be ashamed of citing a bad author if the line is good."
- Seneca
Update ya:
Alright, for the final(ish) send off I'm going to fill you in on what I've been doing all night, then move into the inevitable "holy fuck 90 blogs in 92 (I think) days" bit.
So at some point tonight my dad decided to throw me in on his business projects. I've been working with the IT guy all night on getting his website up and running, and so far so good. It's a good thing I'm a quick study. I don't actually know much about IT or... tech in general really. I'm just good at looking like I know shit. So this has been interesting. But, hey. I'd like to think I've been of some help, and that I've contributed. At the very least, I'm hopping the write ups of PR stuff will sound decent what with the me writing my way through school. But yeah, had fun hanging out with the old guys and listening in on old dude talk. Interesting stuff.
Now, for the meat and potatoes. This is my 90th blog post. I haven't been the most consistent updater, but I haven't been bad at it either. At least, I'd like to think I haven't. I made up for nights I didn't manage to post, and I have consistently managed to write at least once a day. It's been fun. I've talked about my life, and a bunch of other random shit that that entails. I hope any readers I've managed to gather have managed to stay entertained over the course of these past 90 days. I know I've enjoyed my exploits in blog writing.
I honestly don't think I'll quit the consistent updates. They may not be quite so regular seeing as I won't feel bad for not writing before passing out, but they will continue. It's been a good project. If I'm supposed to be working at being a writer, I might as well write, you know? What kind of writer doesn't write? I don't know where the rest of my adventures through blog-land will take me, but then again, I didn't know where my blogs were going when I wrote them either. This blog has evolved into a tale about well, life. It's been about writing a lot (mostly bitching about writing, admittedly), its been about friends, it's been about a little of everything. It'll probably keep being about a little of everything. Mostly because that's how my brain works.
So here's my great 90 in 90(92ish really) sendoff. See y'all tomorrow night lovelies.
Lauren.
Quote of the Day:
"I shall never be ashamed of citing a bad author if the line is good."
- Seneca
13.5.10
Age (89 of 90)
What? On time again? Preposterous.
Oh Lawd:
Summer continues as usual. And by as usual, I mean, I hardly know what day it is, dad has secretly supplied me with food at all hours of the night, and I've generally moved very little. But, it's getting more exciting. My computer to TV cables came in the mail today, so now I can watch pokemon on a bigger screen! It makes hulu so much more exciting. Shut up. Stop judging me.
But in other news. I'll actually be leaving the house tomorrow. I'll be with Stephanie and her rugrat Shelby in the morning. Then I may or may not be making my way to Muncie for the day-ish. I honestly hope I can get down to Muncie, but it's kind of inconvenient. I'm supposed to get my brother to speed camp (that damn little beast and his freakish training) for 10am Saturday, then he has his birthday party which I've been roped into helping with.
That little monster is going to be 10 soon. It's crazy. I feel all old and sentimental. Where's the time gone? He'll be in 5th grade. Lindsey will be a freshman in high school. Fuck, I'm (hopefully) graduating next year. What the shit? When did we all get old(er). We were cleaning out the basement the other day, and of course all the baby toys and stuffed animals were the first to go. We all just got so... big at some point. I don't know when. But we did. My brother is turning into a boy thing. He's got shoulders, and he's all tall and shit. What happened to the little kid I could beat up with no effort what so ever? Now I actually have to mildly attempt to restrain his scrawny ass.
It's weird. It's really weird. I'm that old person at home now. I've hit that "old" brink. For my area at least. Which is weird. Because at school I'm little. But at home, I'm surrounded by 15 and unders. Which really isn't that big of a gap in the real world, but this isn't the real world. This is home. At home I'm the oldest kid on the street. At home I'm the resident "old" kid. Surrounded by tiny little things that I almost run over in my car 'cause they're still too stupid to not dart out into the street. Shit, I'm not even that much older than the high school fucktards running around. But there's a difference. There's a difference between me, and those 18-19 year old high school seniors. I can just sense it. Maybe it's because I'm a jackass and I hate everyone (it's probably because I'm a jackass and I hate everyone) or maybe there really is a difference.
Maybe at some point in the 2-3 years age that separates me from the high school kids, I learned something. Or maybe I really do just have a god complex and think I'm better than everyone. It's probably both. Mostly the holier-than-thou attitude. But every time I see them around I can't help but smirk. Mostly because outwardly they (generally) fall into a category of people I can't help but laugh at (admittedly there's a high chance they're not all whores and meatheads, and that they're all very nice and good people on the inside). But still, a lot of them project that douche-y aura. (Of note: there's a chance that some of them aren't even in high school, some of the younger ones look epicly of whore) What the hell happened to kids?
My brother collects some bracelet thing called silly bands. I hope he stays like that for a while. I'm already loosing Lindsey to the "more grown than I should be" crowd. Can I keep one innocent one please? It'd be nice. I'd hate to have to come home and beat the shit out of males and females. The boys will be easy(er) to beat off. The girls? Those bitches get fearless.
Quote of the Day:
"Your first appearance, he said to me, is the gauge by which you are measured; try to manage that you may go beyond yourself in after times, but beware of ever doing less."
- Jean Jacques Rousseau
Oh Lawd:
Summer continues as usual. And by as usual, I mean, I hardly know what day it is, dad has secretly supplied me with food at all hours of the night, and I've generally moved very little. But, it's getting more exciting. My computer to TV cables came in the mail today, so now I can watch pokemon on a bigger screen! It makes hulu so much more exciting. Shut up. Stop judging me.
But in other news. I'll actually be leaving the house tomorrow. I'll be with Stephanie and her rugrat Shelby in the morning. Then I may or may not be making my way to Muncie for the day-ish. I honestly hope I can get down to Muncie, but it's kind of inconvenient. I'm supposed to get my brother to speed camp (that damn little beast and his freakish training) for 10am Saturday, then he has his birthday party which I've been roped into helping with.
That little monster is going to be 10 soon. It's crazy. I feel all old and sentimental. Where's the time gone? He'll be in 5th grade. Lindsey will be a freshman in high school. Fuck, I'm (hopefully) graduating next year. What the shit? When did we all get old(er). We were cleaning out the basement the other day, and of course all the baby toys and stuffed animals were the first to go. We all just got so... big at some point. I don't know when. But we did. My brother is turning into a boy thing. He's got shoulders, and he's all tall and shit. What happened to the little kid I could beat up with no effort what so ever? Now I actually have to mildly attempt to restrain his scrawny ass.
It's weird. It's really weird. I'm that old person at home now. I've hit that "old" brink. For my area at least. Which is weird. Because at school I'm little. But at home, I'm surrounded by 15 and unders. Which really isn't that big of a gap in the real world, but this isn't the real world. This is home. At home I'm the oldest kid on the street. At home I'm the resident "old" kid. Surrounded by tiny little things that I almost run over in my car 'cause they're still too stupid to not dart out into the street. Shit, I'm not even that much older than the high school fucktards running around. But there's a difference. There's a difference between me, and those 18-19 year old high school seniors. I can just sense it. Maybe it's because I'm a jackass and I hate everyone (it's probably because I'm a jackass and I hate everyone) or maybe there really is a difference.
Maybe at some point in the 2-3 years age that separates me from the high school kids, I learned something. Or maybe I really do just have a god complex and think I'm better than everyone. It's probably both. Mostly the holier-than-thou attitude. But every time I see them around I can't help but smirk. Mostly because outwardly they (generally) fall into a category of people I can't help but laugh at (admittedly there's a high chance they're not all whores and meatheads, and that they're all very nice and good people on the inside). But still, a lot of them project that douche-y aura. (Of note: there's a chance that some of them aren't even in high school, some of the younger ones look epicly of whore) What the hell happened to kids?
My brother collects some bracelet thing called silly bands. I hope he stays like that for a while. I'm already loosing Lindsey to the "more grown than I should be" crowd. Can I keep one innocent one please? It'd be nice. I'd hate to have to come home and beat the shit out of males and females. The boys will be easy(er) to beat off. The girls? Those bitches get fearless.
Quote of the Day:
"Your first appearance, he said to me, is the gauge by which you are measured; try to manage that you may go beyond yourself in after times, but beware of ever doing less."
- Jean Jacques Rousseau
12.5.10
Steam for Mac (88 of 90)
Steam for Mac Steam for Mac Steam for Mac
Steam for Mac:
I'm ecstatic. Steam is finally on Mac. When my PC crapped out on me a few months ago, I thought I was doomed. And by that I clearly mean my dad convinced me to get a mac (he's a mactard hardcore) and I thought I was going to have to kiss gaming goodbye. Not that I game on PC often (I really haven't participated in much more than guild wars) but I was still going to miss my few steam purchases.
But now, now it's on mac. And I'm stoked. I haven't actually booted up a game yet (mostly because the games I did have still haven't been ported over, but theres a high chance that at least a few of them will) but I will eventually. Maybe tomorrow. Valve is so awesome they decided to make portal free for awhile, so I took the ages of downloading and managed to pick that one up for free. I've always wanted to play, but it tried to explode my poor little HP. Hopefully this macbook will be able to handle it better, not that I'll be surprised it it decides to explode as well.
My only question is: Where the hell is TF2. I wants it. I've wanted to play for years now, but again, poor little HP and it's exploding tendencies. The mac should be able to handle it, but unfortunately, TF2 isn't here yet. So I'll have to wait. Semi-patiently. I want mac to be a semi-established platform. Then again, maybe I don't. I hardly ever PC game as is, it'd be just another excuse for me to buy games I'll hardly ever play.
Speaking of games I'll hardly ever play, I'm highly tempted to go buy Monster Hunter Tri. But I don't have anyone to hunt with, and I never hunt anyway. The game is far too intense for me to play on a regular basis. But I wants it. Probably because its shiny. This is my problem.
Me and games, we go way back. Give me something new and shiny and I'll love it. I really will. Hell, I'll learn everything there is to know about a game that I'll never buy, never play, and never care about past its release. But for the months before the release, I'm its biggest fan. After, not so much.
Maybe it'll go the same way with me and Steam. We'll see. I don't think I'd fall out of love so quickly if there was something to keep me coming back. Something persuasive. Something addicting. Like Guild Wars. It kept me coming back for years. I still want to go back (but alas, I have a mac and no working bootcamp). I've been going back to pokemon since 1997 when it first came out. Something about those damn little monsters. I'll go back for black and white even though the starters are ugly as shit. Something has to capture me.
Something about the world. Something about the story. If the story doesn't capture me, there's no hope. I'll never come back regularly. So maybe I'm downloading the wrong type of games. Maybe I need to get more RPG's again. Because lately, my tendency to return to games is slim. I haven't consistently played anything since Infinite Undiscovery last summer. Again, an RPG. I'd go for FF-whatever number they're on, but I never make it through those either. Probably gameplay related, because the story is always pretty boss. So come on desktop games, help me out here. Pull me in. Capture me. I'm waiting.
Quote of the Day:
"It is not necessary to understand things in order to argue about them."
- Pierre Beaumarchais
Steam for Mac:
I'm ecstatic. Steam is finally on Mac. When my PC crapped out on me a few months ago, I thought I was doomed. And by that I clearly mean my dad convinced me to get a mac (he's a mactard hardcore) and I thought I was going to have to kiss gaming goodbye. Not that I game on PC often (I really haven't participated in much more than guild wars) but I was still going to miss my few steam purchases.
But now, now it's on mac. And I'm stoked. I haven't actually booted up a game yet (mostly because the games I did have still haven't been ported over, but theres a high chance that at least a few of them will) but I will eventually. Maybe tomorrow. Valve is so awesome they decided to make portal free for awhile, so I took the ages of downloading and managed to pick that one up for free. I've always wanted to play, but it tried to explode my poor little HP. Hopefully this macbook will be able to handle it better, not that I'll be surprised it it decides to explode as well.
My only question is: Where the hell is TF2. I wants it. I've wanted to play for years now, but again, poor little HP and it's exploding tendencies. The mac should be able to handle it, but unfortunately, TF2 isn't here yet. So I'll have to wait. Semi-patiently. I want mac to be a semi-established platform. Then again, maybe I don't. I hardly ever PC game as is, it'd be just another excuse for me to buy games I'll hardly ever play.
Speaking of games I'll hardly ever play, I'm highly tempted to go buy Monster Hunter Tri. But I don't have anyone to hunt with, and I never hunt anyway. The game is far too intense for me to play on a regular basis. But I wants it. Probably because its shiny. This is my problem.
Me and games, we go way back. Give me something new and shiny and I'll love it. I really will. Hell, I'll learn everything there is to know about a game that I'll never buy, never play, and never care about past its release. But for the months before the release, I'm its biggest fan. After, not so much.
Maybe it'll go the same way with me and Steam. We'll see. I don't think I'd fall out of love so quickly if there was something to keep me coming back. Something persuasive. Something addicting. Like Guild Wars. It kept me coming back for years. I still want to go back (but alas, I have a mac and no working bootcamp). I've been going back to pokemon since 1997 when it first came out. Something about those damn little monsters. I'll go back for black and white even though the starters are ugly as shit. Something has to capture me.
Something about the world. Something about the story. If the story doesn't capture me, there's no hope. I'll never come back regularly. So maybe I'm downloading the wrong type of games. Maybe I need to get more RPG's again. Because lately, my tendency to return to games is slim. I haven't consistently played anything since Infinite Undiscovery last summer. Again, an RPG. I'd go for FF-whatever number they're on, but I never make it through those either. Probably gameplay related, because the story is always pretty boss. So come on desktop games, help me out here. Pull me in. Capture me. I'm waiting.
Quote of the Day:
"It is not necessary to understand things in order to argue about them."
- Pierre Beaumarchais
Hobbies (87 of 90)
Again, late post. Whoops.
You need a hobby hun:
You see, the problem with this statement is that I have plenty of hobbies. I may or may not have watched approximately 30 episodes of pokemon yesterday. Now, is there a problem with this, inherently, no. There was a problem once I started getting bored and fell asleep during numerous episodes (which I then restarted from the last part I remembered), but there's no inherent problem with pokemon being my hobby.
Well, maybe. I am a 20 year old female, so it is a bit against the grain. But I have no trouble with against the grain. But I see where the boy is coming from. I need a normal people hobby. A hobby that doesn't involve me sitting in pj's all day and watching 10 year old cartoons. Of course, my reply was that I have plenty of hobbies. I really do. My problem is that they're all story related. Or expensive, hell often times they're both. It's been discussed, but I'm obsessed with stories, the good and the bad. I will just as easily be captured by say Twilight's (admittedly terrible) story line, as I will the Monte Cristo's of the world. But books are mildly expensive and I am fast running out of shelving space. This hobby also doesn't require the donning of pants.
I've also made fencing a hobby. But I just don't believe the neighbors will appreciate it if the quiet girl who never leaves the house suddenly comes out waving a sword around at their children. Doesn't seem like it'd be the best idea I've ever had. So while this hobby may require pants, It also requires someone to stab at, which I don't have.
Video games are a constant source of love and entertainment in my life, but again, they do not require pants for me to enjoy. So, what then, would I take up as a hobby to both keep myself entertained, and leave the house. Dancing has been suggested, but as Dayna knows, that's almost impossible to get me to do. If I run, I treadmill it, If I play, again, it's electronically.
What is this ridiculous obsession with the outdoors? Yes they're pretty, yes its nice to be outside once in a while, but why do I have to go out there all the time to be considered "normal". Tanning is stupid, reading outside is a pain, and playing games (of the electronic variety) is even worse. I was not made for the average 20 year old girl activities. And trust me, if I had friends I'd go outside and play with them should the occasion warrant it. But, you see, I don't have those, so solitary indoor activities are just fine. Now, is there a problem with me not having any friends, maybe. But that's another blog post.
For now, the lack of friends hasn't become a detriment to my summer. It inevitably will as I slowly become more hermit like again, but for the moment, I'm alright not having those "friends" of which you speak. And by friends, I clearly mean the kind you can call up and physically see within 20 minutes or so. I have plenty of friends overall. Just very few within seeing distance at the moment.
Quote of the Day:
"A waist is a terrible thing to mind."
- Jane Caminos
You need a hobby hun:
You see, the problem with this statement is that I have plenty of hobbies. I may or may not have watched approximately 30 episodes of pokemon yesterday. Now, is there a problem with this, inherently, no. There was a problem once I started getting bored and fell asleep during numerous episodes (which I then restarted from the last part I remembered), but there's no inherent problem with pokemon being my hobby.
Well, maybe. I am a 20 year old female, so it is a bit against the grain. But I have no trouble with against the grain. But I see where the boy is coming from. I need a normal people hobby. A hobby that doesn't involve me sitting in pj's all day and watching 10 year old cartoons. Of course, my reply was that I have plenty of hobbies. I really do. My problem is that they're all story related. Or expensive, hell often times they're both. It's been discussed, but I'm obsessed with stories, the good and the bad. I will just as easily be captured by say Twilight's (admittedly terrible) story line, as I will the Monte Cristo's of the world. But books are mildly expensive and I am fast running out of shelving space. This hobby also doesn't require the donning of pants.
I've also made fencing a hobby. But I just don't believe the neighbors will appreciate it if the quiet girl who never leaves the house suddenly comes out waving a sword around at their children. Doesn't seem like it'd be the best idea I've ever had. So while this hobby may require pants, It also requires someone to stab at, which I don't have.
Video games are a constant source of love and entertainment in my life, but again, they do not require pants for me to enjoy. So, what then, would I take up as a hobby to both keep myself entertained, and leave the house. Dancing has been suggested, but as Dayna knows, that's almost impossible to get me to do. If I run, I treadmill it, If I play, again, it's electronically.
What is this ridiculous obsession with the outdoors? Yes they're pretty, yes its nice to be outside once in a while, but why do I have to go out there all the time to be considered "normal". Tanning is stupid, reading outside is a pain, and playing games (of the electronic variety) is even worse. I was not made for the average 20 year old girl activities. And trust me, if I had friends I'd go outside and play with them should the occasion warrant it. But, you see, I don't have those, so solitary indoor activities are just fine. Now, is there a problem with me not having any friends, maybe. But that's another blog post.
For now, the lack of friends hasn't become a detriment to my summer. It inevitably will as I slowly become more hermit like again, but for the moment, I'm alright not having those "friends" of which you speak. And by friends, I clearly mean the kind you can call up and physically see within 20 minutes or so. I have plenty of friends overall. Just very few within seeing distance at the moment.
Quote of the Day:
"A waist is a terrible thing to mind."
- Jane Caminos
11.5.10
Grades (86 of 90)
Late again, I got sick-ish last night and passed out unexpectedly early. My B.
It's that time of year:
The time of year when half my known universe is excited, and the other half is reluctantly excited. Constant Facebook updates tell me that half my friends are enjoying home, and the other half would gladly be anywhere else. I'm falling in between the two groups this year. I'm glad it's all over, really glad. But I'd rather be glad elsewhere. Glad somewhere where I didn't automatically dislike 90% of the population.
But along with this time of year comes the inevitable flood of the grade induced Facebook status. Grades came in last night, and my poor Facebook is drowning in them. I'm happy from my friends and acquaintances, really I am. They seem to be happy with themselves this time around. It's always disheartening to wake up one morning and find one of your friends might not make it back the next semester. But they seem to have done well this time around, and I'm happy for them.
As for me, I'm fairly happy too. An A and all B's. Not too shabby. I earned that A. And I (maybe) earned one of those B's. The rest are throwaway. Grades given not based on effort or any work ethic on my part but on latent ability to not suck. But I saw all of these grades coming, except for maybe that surprise B I (possibly) earned. But I have this feeling, that this last semester was the start of something. It's taken me 3 full years (in college, 20 years if we're looking at my life) to get to a point where I honestly work at something. Hopefully it'll carry over to this next year. Because, honestly, I'm getting tired of relying on latent ability to not suck. Two of five classes challenged me to do anything more than sit in class and pretend to pay attention. I swear, occasionally, it makes me feel like a genius. Which I'm not.
I'm not super intelligent. I'm just not an idiot. I'm decent at retaining information, which is how I've made it this far. I have close to zero study skills because I've never had to learn them (again, decent at retaining, why study when you can retain enough to get a B in the first place). And I'm not particularly good at anything. Except for maybe writing. Emphasis on the maybe here. I'm not even going to pretend to be God's gift to anything.
Any talent I have probably came from an innate ability to read. That's about the one thing I do well on my own. I can read, and therefore have been gifted the ability to steal as well. Which is a trait I believe is residual talent in all writers. People are decent writers, not of their own design, but because they've gathered the ability to uniquely jack talents and ideas and concepts from the things and people around them and smoosh them all together in a fashion that becomes their own "style". And the tenacity to be willing to sit down and be told their shit sucks about a million times before they have even one word right. But that's just being stubborn. Which, I suppose can be considered a talent in this field. Without a stubborn sense of the divine self, you probably couldn't make it too far as a writer (not a person who writes mind you).
So, my semester really came down to: latent ability to not suck, innate reading skillz, and my stubborn nature. Even being forced to utilize those last two counts as a very good semester in my book. I'm proud of my A and hard (possibly) earned B. And looking back, those are the only type of grades I've ever really been proud of. The ones where I actually had to write. There have been far too few moments like this, but as my senior year approaches, and a future hopefully spent writing, I can't help but think I'll actually be forced to work again. And the thought, well it's bittersweet. But mostly sweet.
Quote of the Day:
"When the going turns weird, the weird turn pro."
- Hunter S. Thompson
It's that time of year:
The time of year when half my known universe is excited, and the other half is reluctantly excited. Constant Facebook updates tell me that half my friends are enjoying home, and the other half would gladly be anywhere else. I'm falling in between the two groups this year. I'm glad it's all over, really glad. But I'd rather be glad elsewhere. Glad somewhere where I didn't automatically dislike 90% of the population.
But along with this time of year comes the inevitable flood of the grade induced Facebook status. Grades came in last night, and my poor Facebook is drowning in them. I'm happy from my friends and acquaintances, really I am. They seem to be happy with themselves this time around. It's always disheartening to wake up one morning and find one of your friends might not make it back the next semester. But they seem to have done well this time around, and I'm happy for them.
As for me, I'm fairly happy too. An A and all B's. Not too shabby. I earned that A. And I (maybe) earned one of those B's. The rest are throwaway. Grades given not based on effort or any work ethic on my part but on latent ability to not suck. But I saw all of these grades coming, except for maybe that surprise B I (possibly) earned. But I have this feeling, that this last semester was the start of something. It's taken me 3 full years (in college, 20 years if we're looking at my life) to get to a point where I honestly work at something. Hopefully it'll carry over to this next year. Because, honestly, I'm getting tired of relying on latent ability to not suck. Two of five classes challenged me to do anything more than sit in class and pretend to pay attention. I swear, occasionally, it makes me feel like a genius. Which I'm not.
I'm not super intelligent. I'm just not an idiot. I'm decent at retaining information, which is how I've made it this far. I have close to zero study skills because I've never had to learn them (again, decent at retaining, why study when you can retain enough to get a B in the first place). And I'm not particularly good at anything. Except for maybe writing. Emphasis on the maybe here. I'm not even going to pretend to be God's gift to anything.
Any talent I have probably came from an innate ability to read. That's about the one thing I do well on my own. I can read, and therefore have been gifted the ability to steal as well. Which is a trait I believe is residual talent in all writers. People are decent writers, not of their own design, but because they've gathered the ability to uniquely jack talents and ideas and concepts from the things and people around them and smoosh them all together in a fashion that becomes their own "style". And the tenacity to be willing to sit down and be told their shit sucks about a million times before they have even one word right. But that's just being stubborn. Which, I suppose can be considered a talent in this field. Without a stubborn sense of the divine self, you probably couldn't make it too far as a writer (not a person who writes mind you).
So, my semester really came down to: latent ability to not suck, innate reading skillz, and my stubborn nature. Even being forced to utilize those last two counts as a very good semester in my book. I'm proud of my A and hard (possibly) earned B. And looking back, those are the only type of grades I've ever really been proud of. The ones where I actually had to write. There have been far too few moments like this, but as my senior year approaches, and a future hopefully spent writing, I can't help but think I'll actually be forced to work again. And the thought, well it's bittersweet. But mostly sweet.
Quote of the Day:
"When the going turns weird, the weird turn pro."
- Hunter S. Thompson
10.5.10
Silence is Golden (85 of 90)
Happy Mother's Day y'all. Hope you appreciated the women in your life. The ones who raised you, even if they're not your mom.
Once again, I don't know what words will follow:
It's mother's day. I feel I should be compelled to write about my mom and all the whatever's we've gone through, and all the awesomeness she is. But I just don't feel that compulsion. She's just not the (writing) topic of the day. Even if this is a day we as a society have set aside for her.
Instead I'd rather concentrate on me. Again. Tomorrow marks the day I'll officially begin changing my summers at home. I'll run a mile or two. Probably. Hopefully. I'm determined to finish setting up my room. And I'll hopefully manage to feed myself. There's not much food around here... at least not food I want. If all else fails, I'll go up to subway and have them make me food.
But tomorrow is the first day I'll be alone again. Alone in my house. Hell, the first time I've been alone in a while, just in general. I haven't really been alone for longer than sleeping in an extended period of time. I honestly can't remember the last time I was by myself. It'll be interesting. I've got a month of weekdays spent alone. I'll have to adjust again. It's strange. I normally have to adjust to being around people so much, but over the past few months, I've been continuously surrounded.
I'll probably play music. And clean more. And fill the silence with something. It's so strange going from one mode to another. I'll have to switch gears from this "social" mode I managed to pick up, and go back to normal mode. Or it's going to be very hard to not hate this summer. Very very hard. The more I think about the people here, the less I want to be here. It's a feeling I'd rather have forgotten, but it comes back every summer. Every summer I'd rather be somewhere else and here all at once. I want to be with my family. But I'd rather be with them somewhere else. Anywhere else. Because here, they have lives, and I have a vat full of memories. Ew. Who wants those creeping around.
Quote of the Day:
"You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than a year of conversation."
- Plato
Once again, I don't know what words will follow:
It's mother's day. I feel I should be compelled to write about my mom and all the whatever's we've gone through, and all the awesomeness she is. But I just don't feel that compulsion. She's just not the (writing) topic of the day. Even if this is a day we as a society have set aside for her.
Instead I'd rather concentrate on me. Again. Tomorrow marks the day I'll officially begin changing my summers at home. I'll run a mile or two. Probably. Hopefully. I'm determined to finish setting up my room. And I'll hopefully manage to feed myself. There's not much food around here... at least not food I want. If all else fails, I'll go up to subway and have them make me food.
But tomorrow is the first day I'll be alone again. Alone in my house. Hell, the first time I've been alone in a while, just in general. I haven't really been alone for longer than sleeping in an extended period of time. I honestly can't remember the last time I was by myself. It'll be interesting. I've got a month of weekdays spent alone. I'll have to adjust again. It's strange. I normally have to adjust to being around people so much, but over the past few months, I've been continuously surrounded.
I'll probably play music. And clean more. And fill the silence with something. It's so strange going from one mode to another. I'll have to switch gears from this "social" mode I managed to pick up, and go back to normal mode. Or it's going to be very hard to not hate this summer. Very very hard. The more I think about the people here, the less I want to be here. It's a feeling I'd rather have forgotten, but it comes back every summer. Every summer I'd rather be somewhere else and here all at once. I want to be with my family. But I'd rather be with them somewhere else. Anywhere else. Because here, they have lives, and I have a vat full of memories. Ew. Who wants those creeping around.
Quote of the Day:
"You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than a year of conversation."
- Plato
9.5.10
Random (84 of 90)
Haha, late again. It seems that even when I'm not at school, weekend posts are a never constant thing.
Weird:
So, today I realized that I hadn't gone a 24 hour period without talking to that boy for a exceedingly long time. As in, it had been since Spring Break. That's about a two month period. I'm pretty sure I've gone longer periods without talking or seeing people I've lived in the same house with, hell, the same dorm room.
It was strange. I could tell I hadn't talked him all day, it was like some weird absence thing. I fear this won't bode well. In any case, I spent all night talking to him on skype. My siblings were highly amused, especially my sister. She took the opportunity to talk as much as she could. As in, while I was off unpacking and cleaning and moving things around in my room, she'd steal my computer and start a conversation. Haha. Crazy little girl.
My room is a wreck. It's worse than it was before. But I'm slowly getting things in order. I want it to be clean, so I won't feel bad playing xbox and generally being the lazy ass I am. In fact, I only feel bad now because my things are still occupying a section of the main level as well. Once I get everything cleaned up to the point that my stuff is all in one place, I'll probably feel better about the cleaning thing. But for now, I'm still surrounded by a mess of books, games, and memorabilia. In fact, right now my feet are resting on a box of my younger years. Yearbooks and old trophies abound. Along with old sparing gear and police brutality sticks. I was such a rad kid, and violent. I love my tonfa though, I wish I had spent more time learning them. We also found my boken in the basement, which is pretty rad. It seems I move from one violent weapon to the next.
It's swords now, they're much stabbity-er than the other weapons I've played with. But fencing blades are pretty blunt if you think about it, especially the stabbing/poking weapons I play with, as opposed to the slasheyness of sabres.
Looking back, this blog post makes little sense, but that's ok. It matches the clutter in my mind, and in my room.
Quote of the Day:
"If the English language made any sense a catastrophe would be an apostrophe with fur."
- Doug Larson
Weird:
So, today I realized that I hadn't gone a 24 hour period without talking to that boy for a exceedingly long time. As in, it had been since Spring Break. That's about a two month period. I'm pretty sure I've gone longer periods without talking or seeing people I've lived in the same house with, hell, the same dorm room.
It was strange. I could tell I hadn't talked him all day, it was like some weird absence thing. I fear this won't bode well. In any case, I spent all night talking to him on skype. My siblings were highly amused, especially my sister. She took the opportunity to talk as much as she could. As in, while I was off unpacking and cleaning and moving things around in my room, she'd steal my computer and start a conversation. Haha. Crazy little girl.
My room is a wreck. It's worse than it was before. But I'm slowly getting things in order. I want it to be clean, so I won't feel bad playing xbox and generally being the lazy ass I am. In fact, I only feel bad now because my things are still occupying a section of the main level as well. Once I get everything cleaned up to the point that my stuff is all in one place, I'll probably feel better about the cleaning thing. But for now, I'm still surrounded by a mess of books, games, and memorabilia. In fact, right now my feet are resting on a box of my younger years. Yearbooks and old trophies abound. Along with old sparing gear and police brutality sticks. I was such a rad kid, and violent. I love my tonfa though, I wish I had spent more time learning them. We also found my boken in the basement, which is pretty rad. It seems I move from one violent weapon to the next.
It's swords now, they're much stabbity-er than the other weapons I've played with. But fencing blades are pretty blunt if you think about it, especially the stabbing/poking weapons I play with, as opposed to the slasheyness of sabres.
Looking back, this blog post makes little sense, but that's ok. It matches the clutter in my mind, and in my room.
Quote of the Day:
"If the English language made any sense a catastrophe would be an apostrophe with fur."
- Doug Larson
8.5.10
And so it begins (83 of 90)
Well, blogger. I'm home.
Home is where the heart is:
A short few hours ago I was romping (well, more like zombie-shuffling) around BSU. I was exhausted and dragging my ass to and from finals. And when the last one was done, it didn't even register. The semester is over. It's over.
I still can't believe I won't be heading back Sunday night. Back to the place I've grown to love. Back to my friends, my second family. I can't believe I won't be back for months. Even as I sit here staring at the boxed up parts of my life. Ever since I got home I've been moving. Changing things around, tearing down posters, unloading boxes. I've been preparing.
My room is coming along nicely. The walls are bare, the TV and xbox are up. My books are scattered around, waiting to replaced on their proper shelves. And I already feel lighter. It's as if a weight is being lifted off of my shoulders. A weight I hadn't known was there. In this house, my childhood was suffocating me. But I can already feel the change. See the shift being reflected in my possessions. And I'm glad I've managed to stay up long enough to start changing things. I'm still exhausted.
But, I miss them already. My second family. It hasn't even been 24 hours since I last saw most of them. But it's a Friday night, and instead of being dragged off for some shenanigan filled adventure, I'm sitting at home, staring at the computer screen that will once again become my best friend. My friendship with my computer has been on the back burner for a while now. And honestly, I didn't miss it. But now I'm home again. Back in a place where I have few friends. Back in the place that I so desperately want to escape for that very reason. My only attachment to Fishers is my family. I don't particularly have HighSchool friends. I don't have any connection to this town any more. I haven't wanted to be here since I started college. Not after my past with people from here.
I'm still mildly terrified of running into a large group of my old friends. The thought of it is not something I relish. I can handle maybe one or two at a time. But a group? I don't know how well I'd manage. Especially when theres no one else to turn to. No one close by anyway. It can be so lonely here. It hasn't fully hit yet, but after 2 summers experience with the feeling, it's only a matter of time before it strikes again.
Quote of the Day:
"Actions lie louder than words."
- Carolyn Wells
Home is where the heart is:
A short few hours ago I was romping (well, more like zombie-shuffling) around BSU. I was exhausted and dragging my ass to and from finals. And when the last one was done, it didn't even register. The semester is over. It's over.
I still can't believe I won't be heading back Sunday night. Back to the place I've grown to love. Back to my friends, my second family. I can't believe I won't be back for months. Even as I sit here staring at the boxed up parts of my life. Ever since I got home I've been moving. Changing things around, tearing down posters, unloading boxes. I've been preparing.
My room is coming along nicely. The walls are bare, the TV and xbox are up. My books are scattered around, waiting to replaced on their proper shelves. And I already feel lighter. It's as if a weight is being lifted off of my shoulders. A weight I hadn't known was there. In this house, my childhood was suffocating me. But I can already feel the change. See the shift being reflected in my possessions. And I'm glad I've managed to stay up long enough to start changing things. I'm still exhausted.
But, I miss them already. My second family. It hasn't even been 24 hours since I last saw most of them. But it's a Friday night, and instead of being dragged off for some shenanigan filled adventure, I'm sitting at home, staring at the computer screen that will once again become my best friend. My friendship with my computer has been on the back burner for a while now. And honestly, I didn't miss it. But now I'm home again. Back in a place where I have few friends. Back in the place that I so desperately want to escape for that very reason. My only attachment to Fishers is my family. I don't particularly have HighSchool friends. I don't have any connection to this town any more. I haven't wanted to be here since I started college. Not after my past with people from here.
I'm still mildly terrified of running into a large group of my old friends. The thought of it is not something I relish. I can handle maybe one or two at a time. But a group? I don't know how well I'd manage. Especially when theres no one else to turn to. No one close by anyway. It can be so lonely here. It hasn't fully hit yet, but after 2 summers experience with the feeling, it's only a matter of time before it strikes again.
Quote of the Day:
"Actions lie louder than words."
- Carolyn Wells
7.5.10
Love it (82 of 90)
And another delayed post. Mostly because I got dragged off to dinner, then to fencing, then to ironman last night. I do not regret this.
I am Ironman:
But not really. I'm Lauren. I wish I were Ironman, or rather I wish I knew him. Not just Robert Downey Jr. but Tony Stark.
You see, I've always had a love/love relationship with Tony Stark. Ever since I found out about the character, I've loved him. In some ways, it doesn't make since. He's an archtype that a lot of people dislike. He's rude, arrogant, full of himself, rich, and alcoholic. It's a daunting combination of bad character traits.
And a lot of the dislike for Tony Stark stems from this. Which, in some ways, is understandable. Most people naturally dislike ass-holes. It's a built in reflex. If someone is an asshole, then well, you really don't like them. I, on the other hand, have some sort of fatal attraction to them.
Charismatic assholes are my favorite. In real life and in fiction. They're just all sorts of fun. Of course, I don't just mean your run of the mill average asshole. But the assholes with a purpose. The one's who know they're assholes, and continue to be one anyway. Not because they're genuinely terrible people, but because there is a method to their madness.
But, unfortunately, many people don't see the method in the madness. And over time, I've decided it's because they have never had to deal with a proper ass-hole before. I've spent my entire life surrounded by this particular breed of asshole. It's probably a large part of why I am the way I am now. And I think more people need to be raised by assholes. Or at the very least, come into contact with them. Two of the most influential people in my life fall into the category of asshole. They pushed me more than anyone else ever has, and I thank them for that. They may be assholes, but it's a breed of assholery that helps people grow. I spent my childhood with assholes, I'm not afraid of them now. I'm not afraid of authority. Difficult people are a welcome challenge. Why? Because I've dealt with it all before. It's easier to take in stride.
So, Tony Stark. I love him to death. He's an asshole, and he knows it. He's a fucking genius, and he knows it. He acts better than you, because he is better than you. But he won't leave you hanging. He saves the world in his trillion dollar suit of brilliance. He's got your back. Even if he's an arrogant prick about it along the way.
Quote of the Day:
"The trouble with jogging is that, by the time you realize you're not in shape for it, it's too far to walk back."
- Franklin P. Jones
I am Ironman:
But not really. I'm Lauren. I wish I were Ironman, or rather I wish I knew him. Not just Robert Downey Jr. but Tony Stark.
You see, I've always had a love/love relationship with Tony Stark. Ever since I found out about the character, I've loved him. In some ways, it doesn't make since. He's an archtype that a lot of people dislike. He's rude, arrogant, full of himself, rich, and alcoholic. It's a daunting combination of bad character traits.
And a lot of the dislike for Tony Stark stems from this. Which, in some ways, is understandable. Most people naturally dislike ass-holes. It's a built in reflex. If someone is an asshole, then well, you really don't like them. I, on the other hand, have some sort of fatal attraction to them.
Charismatic assholes are my favorite. In real life and in fiction. They're just all sorts of fun. Of course, I don't just mean your run of the mill average asshole. But the assholes with a purpose. The one's who know they're assholes, and continue to be one anyway. Not because they're genuinely terrible people, but because there is a method to their madness.
But, unfortunately, many people don't see the method in the madness. And over time, I've decided it's because they have never had to deal with a proper ass-hole before. I've spent my entire life surrounded by this particular breed of asshole. It's probably a large part of why I am the way I am now. And I think more people need to be raised by assholes. Or at the very least, come into contact with them. Two of the most influential people in my life fall into the category of asshole. They pushed me more than anyone else ever has, and I thank them for that. They may be assholes, but it's a breed of assholery that helps people grow. I spent my childhood with assholes, I'm not afraid of them now. I'm not afraid of authority. Difficult people are a welcome challenge. Why? Because I've dealt with it all before. It's easier to take in stride.
So, Tony Stark. I love him to death. He's an asshole, and he knows it. He's a fucking genius, and he knows it. He acts better than you, because he is better than you. But he won't leave you hanging. He saves the world in his trillion dollar suit of brilliance. He's got your back. Even if he's an arrogant prick about it along the way.
Quote of the Day:
"The trouble with jogging is that, by the time you realize you're not in shape for it, it's too far to walk back."
- Franklin P. Jones
6.5.10
Crusader (81 of 90)
Alright. Here we go. Last nights post was delayed due to procrastination.
Bad Religion:
So, I was thinking about religion earlier. I'm not entirely sure why, but it just crossed my mind. Maybe because I'll be going home soon, and as such, will most likely be attending church more frequently than I do now. Which is to say, I'll go at least once, haha.
In any case, I've been thinking about the different types of religions, how I was raised, and what my beliefs are now. And, I've found, that over time, my beliefs have changed.
Which they probably should have. You know, what with the growing up and "finding yourself" bull shittery and whatnot. But when I was younger, I don't think I particularly had a religion. Yes, I went to church. Yes, I was baptized as a baby. Yes, the only thing I'd been introduced to was Christianity. And as such it shaped me and my morals. But my family has never been super religious. We were your average Christians, church on sundays, celebrated the holidays, baptized the babies, said our prayers, and touted God's grace when it was appropriate.
But by and large, we honestly weren't all that religious. And I myself, am even less so now.
In a way at least. i don't really go to church all that often anymore, but I do say my prayers every night before bed, and before most meals. Partially because it's how I've been conditioned, partially because I do what to give thanks. But the difference is, now I know who I'm praying to. When I was younger God was just that big guy in the sky mom said to pray to. Now, he's a definite force of ideals that I believe in. I don't know if I fall under the Christian sense of God anymore. At least not in the strictest sense.
The way I've structured my ideals generally comes down to "don't be a dick". Which, coincidentally, coincides with a lot of religious beliefs. I believe there is a God. Just one. I believe that he make take on different forms. And as different forms, different people see different things. Which is why I'll never knock (most) any religion. In your world, God is this. As long as you're not "being a dick" you're square. Hell, you don't even have to believe in a God.
But everyone believes in something. And I think, that as long as you're a decent person, why's it matter what God you do or don't believe in? Just because I consider myself to (loosely) be Christian, and you consider yourself atheist or pegan or pastafarian or whatever, it doesn't mean I'm any better a person than anyone else. I don't believe there's a God who actively interferes with our lives (and if there is I bet he's playing the sims with our lives, watch out for disappearing doors and pool ladders). I think our strength and wisdom and ability to learn comes from people.
We learn through stories, which is why the Bible is so loved. It's got a shit ton of stories in it. Even if they're all written in funny language that takes forever to understand (which is precisely why I've never made it through). But just because you haven't read the Bible, or the Torah, or the Quran or whatever, doesn't mean you don't learn. There are plenty of other stories that you can learn the exact same lessons from. And some of them come with dragons, which, come on, are infinitely cooler than a kid with a sling shot.
So all in all, this really isn't a post about my religion, or lack there-of, but about being a decent person. None of us knows for sure what happens when we die. And all of us are trapped on this planet we call Earth with a few decades to live and make a life for ourselves. So why waste it arguing religious bullshit and judging others based on things that don't particularly matter (unless ones religion is douchbaggery). Not all Christians are bible thumpers, not all Muslims are terrorists. So for _____ (insert religious figure there) sake, shut the hell up and argue about something important. Like hungry babies or something.
Quote of the Day:
"Am I not destroying my enemies when I make friends of them?"
-Abraham Lincoln
Bad Religion:
So, I was thinking about religion earlier. I'm not entirely sure why, but it just crossed my mind. Maybe because I'll be going home soon, and as such, will most likely be attending church more frequently than I do now. Which is to say, I'll go at least once, haha.
In any case, I've been thinking about the different types of religions, how I was raised, and what my beliefs are now. And, I've found, that over time, my beliefs have changed.
Which they probably should have. You know, what with the growing up and "finding yourself" bull shittery and whatnot. But when I was younger, I don't think I particularly had a religion. Yes, I went to church. Yes, I was baptized as a baby. Yes, the only thing I'd been introduced to was Christianity. And as such it shaped me and my morals. But my family has never been super religious. We were your average Christians, church on sundays, celebrated the holidays, baptized the babies, said our prayers, and touted God's grace when it was appropriate.
But by and large, we honestly weren't all that religious. And I myself, am even less so now.
In a way at least. i don't really go to church all that often anymore, but I do say my prayers every night before bed, and before most meals. Partially because it's how I've been conditioned, partially because I do what to give thanks. But the difference is, now I know who I'm praying to. When I was younger God was just that big guy in the sky mom said to pray to. Now, he's a definite force of ideals that I believe in. I don't know if I fall under the Christian sense of God anymore. At least not in the strictest sense.
The way I've structured my ideals generally comes down to "don't be a dick". Which, coincidentally, coincides with a lot of religious beliefs. I believe there is a God. Just one. I believe that he make take on different forms. And as different forms, different people see different things. Which is why I'll never knock (most) any religion. In your world, God is this. As long as you're not "being a dick" you're square. Hell, you don't even have to believe in a God.
But everyone believes in something. And I think, that as long as you're a decent person, why's it matter what God you do or don't believe in? Just because I consider myself to (loosely) be Christian, and you consider yourself atheist or pegan or pastafarian or whatever, it doesn't mean I'm any better a person than anyone else. I don't believe there's a God who actively interferes with our lives (and if there is I bet he's playing the sims with our lives, watch out for disappearing doors and pool ladders). I think our strength and wisdom and ability to learn comes from people.
We learn through stories, which is why the Bible is so loved. It's got a shit ton of stories in it. Even if they're all written in funny language that takes forever to understand (which is precisely why I've never made it through). But just because you haven't read the Bible, or the Torah, or the Quran or whatever, doesn't mean you don't learn. There are plenty of other stories that you can learn the exact same lessons from. And some of them come with dragons, which, come on, are infinitely cooler than a kid with a sling shot.
So all in all, this really isn't a post about my religion, or lack there-of, but about being a decent person. None of us knows for sure what happens when we die. And all of us are trapped on this planet we call Earth with a few decades to live and make a life for ourselves. So why waste it arguing religious bullshit and judging others based on things that don't particularly matter (unless ones religion is douchbaggery). Not all Christians are bible thumpers, not all Muslims are terrorists. So for _____ (insert religious figure there) sake, shut the hell up and argue about something important. Like hungry babies or something.
Quote of the Day:
"Am I not destroying my enemies when I make friends of them?"
-Abraham Lincoln
5.5.10
Dear Non Writers
Alright, I'm going to write this earlier than I initially planned, only because I think there's something you need to understand. And I'm feeling the need to rant.
Dear Non-Writers:
If I happen to be bitching about writing, just accept it. Don't try to console me, don't try to sympathize. Don't try to say you've been there before. Don't try to compare your page limit to mine. Don't tell me how many papers you have to write. Just, please, don't.
You see, the truth of the matter is, none of it, and I mean none of it is helpful. I'm bitching because I need an outlet. Not in any way shape or form do I want you to do anything about it, or even comment more than a general "that sucks". You cannot do anything. Anything. Let me restate that, you do not have the qualifications or capability to understand anything. Yes, I understand you got decent grades in English in high school. That's fine and dandy. But you are not a writer. You have never been, and unless something changes, you have no intention to be.
And I'm ok with that. Really I am. I'd hate to hang out with only writers all the time. We're such self important God-Complex wielding bitchy assholes. All of us. If you're a writer and you're reading this, and you dare to deny it, I will flat out call you a liar. Search your heart, you know it to be true. But really, it's fine to not be a writer.
But there are times, like now, when I really don't want to hear your non-writer advice.
No, I am not writing a "paper", yes, occasionally I will call it so. But only because I know your non-writerey mind doesn't fully understand just how distinct the differences are between a short story, an essay, a critical essay, a creative critical essay, a news article, a magazine article, a feature, a criticism, a public interest piece. Among the many other differences I deal with on a daily basis. And normally, I won't begrudge you the difference, because you just don't understand. Which is fine. But as I near the end of my rope with the non-cooperative articles I'm fighting, not writing, but fighting the inability to understand the difference irks me.
No, I cannot increase my word count by adding more "the's". That's ridiculous. Yes, my word/page count is almost always more of a guideline than a set thing. No, you can't help with critiques. Again, I know your skills were adequate for high school, and yes, you could probably catch the grammar and "this makes no sense" mistakes. But it all comes back to the understanding bit. You have to understand the craft before you can adequately edit anything. Know what I'm doing, what I'm trying to do, where it's falling apart, what's missing, and what I need to get there. And largely, non-writers cannot provide what I'm looking for. Nothing against you, but you probably suck and can't help me much.
There's something you have to understand about being a writer. Not just someone who is told to write something, but a writer. There is something that separates a writer from someone who writes. Something that you can't really be told, it's something you learn/come to realize on your own. But that something, is why you're all of no real assistance. Sorry loves, but really. There's just a certain writer-ly pain and annoyance and attitude that you can't really understand unless you've attempted to be, or are trying to be a writer.
So please, non-writers, when I bitch, just bitch back about your respective fields. I know you don't understand. You know I don't understand. Let's just keep that happy medium, shall we. I really don't need you channeling another narcissistic, high and mighty, asshole of a writer. Especially one that has no idea what their doing. Go back to being nice, normal people. I bitch at you, because I don't want to hear writer bitching back.
End bitchy self important I pretend I'm a writer rant.
Quote of the Day:
"It's none of their business that you have to learn to write. Let them think you were born that way."
- Ernest Hemingway
Dear Non-Writers:
If I happen to be bitching about writing, just accept it. Don't try to console me, don't try to sympathize. Don't try to say you've been there before. Don't try to compare your page limit to mine. Don't tell me how many papers you have to write. Just, please, don't.
You see, the truth of the matter is, none of it, and I mean none of it is helpful. I'm bitching because I need an outlet. Not in any way shape or form do I want you to do anything about it, or even comment more than a general "that sucks". You cannot do anything. Anything. Let me restate that, you do not have the qualifications or capability to understand anything. Yes, I understand you got decent grades in English in high school. That's fine and dandy. But you are not a writer. You have never been, and unless something changes, you have no intention to be.
And I'm ok with that. Really I am. I'd hate to hang out with only writers all the time. We're such self important God-Complex wielding bitchy assholes. All of us. If you're a writer and you're reading this, and you dare to deny it, I will flat out call you a liar. Search your heart, you know it to be true. But really, it's fine to not be a writer.
But there are times, like now, when I really don't want to hear your non-writer advice.
No, I am not writing a "paper", yes, occasionally I will call it so. But only because I know your non-writerey mind doesn't fully understand just how distinct the differences are between a short story, an essay, a critical essay, a creative critical essay, a news article, a magazine article, a feature, a criticism, a public interest piece. Among the many other differences I deal with on a daily basis. And normally, I won't begrudge you the difference, because you just don't understand. Which is fine. But as I near the end of my rope with the non-cooperative articles I'm fighting, not writing, but fighting the inability to understand the difference irks me.
No, I cannot increase my word count by adding more "the's". That's ridiculous. Yes, my word/page count is almost always more of a guideline than a set thing. No, you can't help with critiques. Again, I know your skills were adequate for high school, and yes, you could probably catch the grammar and "this makes no sense" mistakes. But it all comes back to the understanding bit. You have to understand the craft before you can adequately edit anything. Know what I'm doing, what I'm trying to do, where it's falling apart, what's missing, and what I need to get there. And largely, non-writers cannot provide what I'm looking for. Nothing against you, but you probably suck and can't help me much.
There's something you have to understand about being a writer. Not just someone who is told to write something, but a writer. There is something that separates a writer from someone who writes. Something that you can't really be told, it's something you learn/come to realize on your own. But that something, is why you're all of no real assistance. Sorry loves, but really. There's just a certain writer-ly pain and annoyance and attitude that you can't really understand unless you've attempted to be, or are trying to be a writer.
So please, non-writers, when I bitch, just bitch back about your respective fields. I know you don't understand. You know I don't understand. Let's just keep that happy medium, shall we. I really don't need you channeling another narcissistic, high and mighty, asshole of a writer. Especially one that has no idea what their doing. Go back to being nice, normal people. I bitch at you, because I don't want to hear writer bitching back.
End bitchy self important I pretend I'm a writer rant.
Quote of the Day:
"It's none of their business that you have to learn to write. Let them think you were born that way."
- Ernest Hemingway
4.5.10
Dual Nature
Hello there. On time blog post again? What what!
Simplicity:
Well, I was supposed to be writing today after I distinctly did not write yesterday. But that didn't happen because I was yet again kidnapped by ones Bill and Raymond. We brought Morgan along for the ride today as well. T'was fun.
It was simple again. Just four people occupying the same space. I don't know why, but that feeling is like my ultimate... something. I don't know what word to put there. But the calmness of people being able to occupy the same space without necessarily interacting the whole time is something I love. It's amazing.
It lets you know that you're comfortable enough with someone to just sit. You don't have to talk, you don't have to do anything. You can just be near each other and be happy for the company. Maybe that's why I enjoy it so much. Because I've hardly gotten the chance to just be comfortable like that.
Contrary to popular belief, I'm an extremely chill person. I don't need to be doing something all the time. I'm not all that loud 90% of the time and I'm really not all that hyperactive. Now, of course, a lot of people only see me in the 10% of the time when I am hyped up, loud, and operating with the attention span of a rodent. But for the most part, I'm really not that way.
So when I get the chance to just be me and chill in someones presence I can really appreciate it. It's rare that people get to know that side of me and I'm actually happy when they do. I'd rather have everyone know that I'm not some hyperactive easily excitable twit all the time. I'm only that way sometimes. You are more likely to find me lazing around quietly, than running around excitedly.
But the excited part of me is the only part that some people know. The loud, mildly obnoxious, irresponsible, carefree twit I can be. It's both a persona, and a part of me. It's a part of me I play up to my advantage on occasion. It's a part of me that allows me to live the way I do. But it's also a problem on occasion. There are goods and bads. But I think the two sides of me even out. At least in a way better than Harvey Dent could handle. And, honestly, I'm ok with being almost split in my behaviors. It's what makes me, me. Even if people discredit me because they only know one side. It's always amusing to surprise them with the other side on occasion.
Quote of the Day:
"I like long walks, especially when they are taken by people who annoy me."
- Noel Coward
Simplicity:
Well, I was supposed to be writing today after I distinctly did not write yesterday. But that didn't happen because I was yet again kidnapped by ones Bill and Raymond. We brought Morgan along for the ride today as well. T'was fun.
It was simple again. Just four people occupying the same space. I don't know why, but that feeling is like my ultimate... something. I don't know what word to put there. But the calmness of people being able to occupy the same space without necessarily interacting the whole time is something I love. It's amazing.
It lets you know that you're comfortable enough with someone to just sit. You don't have to talk, you don't have to do anything. You can just be near each other and be happy for the company. Maybe that's why I enjoy it so much. Because I've hardly gotten the chance to just be comfortable like that.
Contrary to popular belief, I'm an extremely chill person. I don't need to be doing something all the time. I'm not all that loud 90% of the time and I'm really not all that hyperactive. Now, of course, a lot of people only see me in the 10% of the time when I am hyped up, loud, and operating with the attention span of a rodent. But for the most part, I'm really not that way.
So when I get the chance to just be me and chill in someones presence I can really appreciate it. It's rare that people get to know that side of me and I'm actually happy when they do. I'd rather have everyone know that I'm not some hyperactive easily excitable twit all the time. I'm only that way sometimes. You are more likely to find me lazing around quietly, than running around excitedly.
But the excited part of me is the only part that some people know. The loud, mildly obnoxious, irresponsible, carefree twit I can be. It's both a persona, and a part of me. It's a part of me I play up to my advantage on occasion. It's a part of me that allows me to live the way I do. But it's also a problem on occasion. There are goods and bads. But I think the two sides of me even out. At least in a way better than Harvey Dent could handle. And, honestly, I'm ok with being almost split in my behaviors. It's what makes me, me. Even if people discredit me because they only know one side. It's always amusing to surprise them with the other side on occasion.
Quote of the Day:
"I like long walks, especially when they are taken by people who annoy me."
- Noel Coward
2.5.10
Geekdom abound (78 of 90)
Ah, well'p Sunday well spent.
My Pokemans, Let me show you them:
So, it's funny. Two days ago I said I wanted to be all healthy and stuffs. Lies and deceit. Well, at least in practice it's a lie. Or, rather, I haven't implemented the whole "healthy me" game plan. Hopefully I'll start once I get back home. In the mean time...
I've been watching pokemon all day. ALL day. Nothing but pokemon episodes. Watching pokemon, playing pokemon, researching pokemon. I have a problem. A poke-problem. I'm entirely addicted. But my team is beginning to shape up. Sure, it's still entirely unbalanced and ridiculous, but I'm finally getting more of the members of my final team.
So very many hours of pokemon. As I type this, I'm watching the end of Bye Bye Butterfree, and going back and forth between this and Pokemon Gold. I've decided to train a Murkrow for the first time. I normally go with Hoot-Hoot/Noctowl, but I decided to switch it up this time.
In other nerdly news, we went to steak and shake today. Had many lovely conversations. And by many lovely conversations, I mean, we spent the entire time talking about Pokemon, Batman, and Macs. So very much time spent geeking out. It was enjoyable. I don't get much "geek out" time anymore, what with me talking to semi "normal" people now.
It's nice knowing that should I need someone to geek out at, they're available. It's been a while since I've had a bunch of dorks to geek out at. That being said: here's what's on my mind, geek wise:
1. I hate and love apple. (as I hate and love myself (lol see that LotR reference go go go but I don't really hate myself)))
I know it's terrible. I know I could have gotten a much better PC for the same amount of money as the macbook I'm typing on now. I know that gaming is shit on this thing (but looking up with Steam for Mac coming out April 4th Valve time (which means, god only knows human time)). I know that I can't do much with this thing. I know. But. It's so damn pretty. So damn pretty. And the iPhone, yeah, I'd be better off with a droid. But, iPhone. App Store. Convenience. Buh. Damn you Steve Jobs. Damn you. I've fallen into your target audience trap after years of struggling. I blame my father.
2. My pokemon team is shaping up nicely. I've got 3.5 of 6 pokemon choosen to follow me through the game. I say 3.5 because I'm not entirely sure if I'm going to keep my Furret with me. It's so cute. So TM-able. But so... not good. Haha. Hypothetically, and in the story line I've made up in my head, it's an amazing choice. But for battle functionality, it's not so great. But oh well. The story line is more important to me anyway, and in the story version... Furret is the Pikachu to Tony's Ash.
3. My boy knows things about comics? What? Score. I foresee many moments of pure geekery. And also agrees that Namor is 1000% better than Aquaman in all aspects. Now for the Psylocke (Betsy Braddock) v. Jean Grey (Phoenix) v. Emma Frost conversation. The choice could be a deal breaker, haha.
My Pokemans, Let me show you them:
So, it's funny. Two days ago I said I wanted to be all healthy and stuffs. Lies and deceit. Well, at least in practice it's a lie. Or, rather, I haven't implemented the whole "healthy me" game plan. Hopefully I'll start once I get back home. In the mean time...
I've been watching pokemon all day. ALL day. Nothing but pokemon episodes. Watching pokemon, playing pokemon, researching pokemon. I have a problem. A poke-problem. I'm entirely addicted. But my team is beginning to shape up. Sure, it's still entirely unbalanced and ridiculous, but I'm finally getting more of the members of my final team.
So very many hours of pokemon. As I type this, I'm watching the end of Bye Bye Butterfree, and going back and forth between this and Pokemon Gold. I've decided to train a Murkrow for the first time. I normally go with Hoot-Hoot/Noctowl, but I decided to switch it up this time.
In other nerdly news, we went to steak and shake today. Had many lovely conversations. And by many lovely conversations, I mean, we spent the entire time talking about Pokemon, Batman, and Macs. So very much time spent geeking out. It was enjoyable. I don't get much "geek out" time anymore, what with me talking to semi "normal" people now.
It's nice knowing that should I need someone to geek out at, they're available. It's been a while since I've had a bunch of dorks to geek out at. That being said: here's what's on my mind, geek wise:
1. I hate and love apple. (as I hate and love myself (lol see that LotR reference go go go but I don't really hate myself)))
I know it's terrible. I know I could have gotten a much better PC for the same amount of money as the macbook I'm typing on now. I know that gaming is shit on this thing (but looking up with Steam for Mac coming out April 4th Valve time (which means, god only knows human time)). I know that I can't do much with this thing. I know. But. It's so damn pretty. So damn pretty. And the iPhone, yeah, I'd be better off with a droid. But, iPhone. App Store. Convenience. Buh. Damn you Steve Jobs. Damn you. I've fallen into your target audience trap after years of struggling. I blame my father.
2. My pokemon team is shaping up nicely. I've got 3.5 of 6 pokemon choosen to follow me through the game. I say 3.5 because I'm not entirely sure if I'm going to keep my Furret with me. It's so cute. So TM-able. But so... not good. Haha. Hypothetically, and in the story line I've made up in my head, it's an amazing choice. But for battle functionality, it's not so great. But oh well. The story line is more important to me anyway, and in the story version... Furret is the Pikachu to Tony's Ash.
3. My boy knows things about comics? What? Score. I foresee many moments of pure geekery. And also agrees that Namor is 1000% better than Aquaman in all aspects. Now for the Psylocke (Betsy Braddock) v. Jean Grey (Phoenix) v. Emma Frost conversation. The choice could be a deal breaker, haha.
L is for the way you Look at me
Alright, update for tonight. It's actually on time, which is mildly shocking. And by mildly, I mean, I didn't expect this either. Haha.
You said what now?:
Alright blogger. I'm going to lay it down for you. What I'm thinking, what I'm feeling. What's happened in the past few hours. I normally do that, but I don't know if it's ever been to this extent. So lets see how this works, shall we?
Today, I hung out with Bill and Ray for the majority of the day. As the night wore on, Tori and Dayna showed up. Followed by Morgan. Which isn't so odd, it's the usual suspects really. Bill, Ray, and I played various video games and just kinda chilled. An afternoon at Ray's apartment. Nothing really of note.
But as the others arrived we started getting closer to party time. It was a small thing, just the above mentioned people. Nothing fancy, just the 6 of us hanging out and doing our thing. We played rockband all night. Nothing fancy. I just got back a few short minutes ago.
That boy. I think he said I love you. And by "think", I mean, I know he said "I think I love you" or some such thing. I, of course, pretended to be tipsy. I'm not shocked. I'm not surprised. I'm not scared or prepared to bolt. I don't know what I am.
I think I'm more contemplative than anything. Why say that now? Why me? Why now? What? Why didn't I say "I know" like Han Solo? That would have been badass. Instead I simply replied "mmkay" and continued my tipsy performance. Why does this kid think the sun shines out of my ass?
I don't understand people. I don't understand myself. Somehow, I just never envisioned the "I love you" talk ending like this. I was prepared for an "OH SHIT, FLEE" moment. Not... this. Whatever this is. I guess I'm just curious is all. I mean, what the hell. I'm an asshole, I'm awkward, I'm mildly evil, and the list goes on. -sigh- crazy boy. What am I going to do with him?
You said what now?:
Alright blogger. I'm going to lay it down for you. What I'm thinking, what I'm feeling. What's happened in the past few hours. I normally do that, but I don't know if it's ever been to this extent. So lets see how this works, shall we?
Today, I hung out with Bill and Ray for the majority of the day. As the night wore on, Tori and Dayna showed up. Followed by Morgan. Which isn't so odd, it's the usual suspects really. Bill, Ray, and I played various video games and just kinda chilled. An afternoon at Ray's apartment. Nothing really of note.
But as the others arrived we started getting closer to party time. It was a small thing, just the above mentioned people. Nothing fancy, just the 6 of us hanging out and doing our thing. We played rockband all night. Nothing fancy. I just got back a few short minutes ago.
That boy. I think he said I love you. And by "think", I mean, I know he said "I think I love you" or some such thing. I, of course, pretended to be tipsy. I'm not shocked. I'm not surprised. I'm not scared or prepared to bolt. I don't know what I am.
I think I'm more contemplative than anything. Why say that now? Why me? Why now? What? Why didn't I say "I know" like Han Solo? That would have been badass. Instead I simply replied "mmkay" and continued my tipsy performance. Why does this kid think the sun shines out of my ass?
I don't understand people. I don't understand myself. Somehow, I just never envisioned the "I love you" talk ending like this. I was prepared for an "OH SHIT, FLEE" moment. Not... this. Whatever this is. I guess I'm just curious is all. I mean, what the hell. I'm an asshole, I'm awkward, I'm mildly evil, and the list goes on. -sigh- crazy boy. What am I going to do with him?
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