Separation
There is no drinking allowed on the college campus,
but the campus ends at Lincoln Way.
Good old honest Abe
trying to separate the alcohol from the students.
But Welch Avenue spearheads into Lincoln Way,
trying desperately to rip through it
to reach those kids who try so hard to stay focused
and touch them with the outside world.
The name changes at the next intersection.
Welch becomes "Union Drive"
but not before it has encroached ever so slightly
into the land of academia.
And Lincoln goes back on his word
as they swarm across at the conclusion of class
and wait in the cold (and sometimes rain)
to go in to the bars.
Poem:
I have decided to keep the exercise section to just fiction exercises, since the only poetry exercises I'm planning on doing will have poems as their direct result. I think it would be silly to have two poems in a post, especially when I have a hard enough time coming up with them as it is. So on days like today where I use one of my books' exercises, I'll just post the prompt in this section so you have some idea of how it came about. Prompt for today:Write about where you live as if you've never been there. Use specific names.
I tried to be a bit fancy, and I really don't like how it turned out. I was giving the whole "double meanings" thing a shot, with "welch" meaning to go back on one's word, and Lincoln Way as more of a principle than a street name. But I think it just got confusing. I've just always gotten a kick out of how our campus is so set apart from the rest of town, and yet the "real world" crowds right up to us and the bars are right across the street. But I think there's a better way to go about capturing that idea.
Observation:
I've frequently clicked the little button at the top of the page that says next blog. Every time I do, I get my hopes up, but I don't think they have ever been satisfied. It seems like a huge number of the blogs out there are family ventures. They write about their days now instead of calling people on the phone, I guess. It makes sense from some points of view. This way they don't have to tell each friend individually what's going on in their life. They just post it for them to see when they have time. And they get to say exactly what they want to say without having to worry about being interrupted. I know I hate it when I'm trying to tell a story about my puppy and the person I'm talking to thinks their story about their dad dying is more important. Well, this solves that problem. But probably the biggest problem it solves is the problem of having to actually care about other people at all. Every person can post what's going on with their family and never have to read about their friends' activities. It's like there is this whole blogging "community" where everyone has agreed to write down their heartfelt experiences to be mutually ignored. But at least they can say they shared. In case you haven't picked up on this, I'm against the use of blogs for the purpose of meaningful communication, in much the same way I am against the idea of Facebook as a site for friends. Both blogs and Facebook have their uses, but they're not the ones they claim when they advertise.
Which makes me wonder what my blog looks like to any people who stumble across it using that button up there. Am I only interesting to the people who already know me? Would I stop and look at my blog if it wasn't mine? I have no idea, but I sort of doubt it.
Exercise:
"Your Best Friend is a Mirror"
Make this old saying your first line--- and start writing.
Your best friend is a mirror. They are perfectly capable of showing you who you really are, but most of the time they just lie to you because you let them. It's always the lighting, if I'm not mistaken. All of the mirrors in the world are located under harsh florescent lights, and you just can't trust what they're telling you. The acne looks worse, and your body is always falling apart. But you know it's just the bad lighting. Just like when your friend looks at you and shakes their head. As long as you stop them before they say what they're thinking, as long as you squeeze in your side of the story, you can change the light they see you in. You can take the florescence and turn it into the soft light of a restaurant, or the flickering of a fireplace. You can stop them from showing you what you really look like. Just make sure you get the first word in.
Me:
I really like the idea from the exercise above. I think I'll write a poem about it. That took much less than five minutes to write, but I was happy with where it was going and didn't feel like I could do the idea justice without properly thinking about it, so I cut out a bit early. I read the prompt and was very skeptical of the metaphor. I have never considered best friends to be mirrors, nor have I heard that saying. So I took it as a bit of a challenge, and I'm really glad I did. I'm going to post this now so it's up before I leave for the rest of the morning. Nothing that interesting has happened to me anyway. I know on days like that I promised I'd fill you in a bit on my past, so here's the random fact for today: I've always plunged headfirst into things. Those things have been intangible, like sports, books, and big ideas, but in this case I mean it a bit more literally. Like open windows, metal poles, and doorways. It's a miracle I have any functioning brain cells left at all. The best was the time I got four stitches in my forehead trying to run away from a dodgeball. I dodged the ball really well. Not so much for the volleyball net-pole.
January 22, 2011
Cold and Air Bubbles
A Cold Walk
There is only a thin crust of ice on the puddles
still crisp and rippling underneath
when pressed on, and the grass stems poking
through, like straws letting in the air
are weak points from which cracks radiate
as my foot forces water out around the edges
and bubbles skirt along the underside.
Eventually one foot sinks through.
Nothing that delicate can hold for long
under the constant pressure,
and water wells up out of the hole,
its release a relief
like a secret you knew you couldn't keep
but were waiting for the right time to share.
Poem:
It's Friday, which means I'm supposed to be expanding my style by encountering the work of other authors. Up for today's consideration is the work of Ted Kooser. If you haven't heard of him, you should look him up. I particularly like the style he uses in poems like "Mourners."
Mourners
After the funeral the mourners gather
under the rustling churchyard maples
and talk softly, like clusters of leaves.
White shirt cuffs and collars flash in the shade:
highlights on deep green water.
They came this afternoon to say goodbye,
but now they keep saying hello and hello,
peering into each other's faces,
slow to let go of each other's hands.
Ted Kooser
Delights and Shadows
Copper Canyon Press (c) 2004
I'm not sure it's legal to put this on my blog, but I don't think people should be mad at me for spreading good poetry. If anything, this should be incentive for you to buy the book if you like it. He didn't get to be Poet Laureate without knowing how to write poetry, after all. If I get yelled at, I'll take it down.
Observation:
I turned the heat down at my apartment yesterday after looking at my gas bill. Not that it was horrendous or anything, but it was about double what it was at this time last year, which drew my attention to the fact that I'm living less frugally than I used to. My bedroom is still quite warm though. The two televisions, the computer, and my almost constant body heat make it easily five to ten degrees warmer than the rest of the place. It's a bit inconvenient, though, since I like the air outside of my blankets to be cold when I fall asleep. That's the only time though. And if I turn the heat down to the point where my room is the right temperature for falling asleep, there's absolutely no way the rest of the apartment will be bearable. I guess this makes a good argument for having separate rooms for my technology and my sleeping quarters. Or maybe it's an argument for a one-room dwelling, so I wouldn't have to worry about the rest of the place being cold. Sounds like I'm destined for a trailer park.
Exercise:
"Lulu & Sandra Make Salad"
Lulu and Sandra are sisters. Lulu is jealous of Sandra. Sandra thinks Lulu is bossy. They are in Lulu's kitchen preparing a salad. Write the scene with dialogue.
Sandra wasn't sure the salad ingredients required quite as much attention as Lulu was giving them. She was sure that there must be something else Lulu could do other than look over her shoulder.
"Now, I know you probably don't do this much at home, what with having your own maid and all, but it's important not to cut the peppers too small. People like a bit of a crunch to their peppers, I've found."
"Okay, Lulu; I've got it. Isn't there something else you could be doing?" Sandra's grip on the knife was growing decidedly less relaxed, and her motions became more deliberate with her sister's criticism. Lulu was reveling in the fact she was finally the one in charge. Normally these dinners were held at Sandra's house, but Lulu had risen to the occasion after the recent fire.
"I suppose I could find something," Lulu said. She didn't move. If anything, she hovered closer.
"Well?" Sandra turned, knife still in hand. "Why don't you do that?"
Me:
Last night there was an interesting phenomenon at the Australian Open, where there was an air bubble underneath the surface of the court. This air bubble stopped the ball from bouncing at all, which was sight I found completely astounding. I have decided my blog might be less boring if I add things like this for you to see for yourself.
So that was definitely something I had never seen or heard about before. The way the ball didn't even roll was just hilarious to me. Apparently they just wound up using a power drill and a hammer to get the air out and continued play.
In what is hopefully the last chapter in the saga of the deaf girl, she was back in class today. This might still be an indicator that she's secretly reading my blog and accepted my implied apology.
Also while I was on campus, I began to think today might be particularly cold, as four different people commented on my shorts. Two of them were exclamations made to friends that I overheard, and two people just directly informed me of the facts of my attire. Much to their surprise, I was already aware of what I was wearing. I do appreciate their good intentions though. If I had been wearing them by accident, I certainly would have been glad to have my attention drawn to that fact.
There is only a thin crust of ice on the puddles
still crisp and rippling underneath
when pressed on, and the grass stems poking
through, like straws letting in the air
are weak points from which cracks radiate
as my foot forces water out around the edges
and bubbles skirt along the underside.
Eventually one foot sinks through.
Nothing that delicate can hold for long
under the constant pressure,
and water wells up out of the hole,
its release a relief
like a secret you knew you couldn't keep
but were waiting for the right time to share.
Poem:
It's Friday, which means I'm supposed to be expanding my style by encountering the work of other authors. Up for today's consideration is the work of Ted Kooser. If you haven't heard of him, you should look him up. I particularly like the style he uses in poems like "Mourners."
Mourners
After the funeral the mourners gather
under the rustling churchyard maples
and talk softly, like clusters of leaves.
White shirt cuffs and collars flash in the shade:
highlights on deep green water.
They came this afternoon to say goodbye,
but now they keep saying hello and hello,
peering into each other's faces,
slow to let go of each other's hands.
Ted Kooser
Delights and Shadows
Copper Canyon Press (c) 2004
I'm not sure it's legal to put this on my blog, but I don't think people should be mad at me for spreading good poetry. If anything, this should be incentive for you to buy the book if you like it. He didn't get to be Poet Laureate without knowing how to write poetry, after all. If I get yelled at, I'll take it down.
Observation:
I turned the heat down at my apartment yesterday after looking at my gas bill. Not that it was horrendous or anything, but it was about double what it was at this time last year, which drew my attention to the fact that I'm living less frugally than I used to. My bedroom is still quite warm though. The two televisions, the computer, and my almost constant body heat make it easily five to ten degrees warmer than the rest of the place. It's a bit inconvenient, though, since I like the air outside of my blankets to be cold when I fall asleep. That's the only time though. And if I turn the heat down to the point where my room is the right temperature for falling asleep, there's absolutely no way the rest of the apartment will be bearable. I guess this makes a good argument for having separate rooms for my technology and my sleeping quarters. Or maybe it's an argument for a one-room dwelling, so I wouldn't have to worry about the rest of the place being cold. Sounds like I'm destined for a trailer park.
Exercise:
"Lulu & Sandra Make Salad"
Lulu and Sandra are sisters. Lulu is jealous of Sandra. Sandra thinks Lulu is bossy. They are in Lulu's kitchen preparing a salad. Write the scene with dialogue.
Sandra wasn't sure the salad ingredients required quite as much attention as Lulu was giving them. She was sure that there must be something else Lulu could do other than look over her shoulder.
"Now, I know you probably don't do this much at home, what with having your own maid and all, but it's important not to cut the peppers too small. People like a bit of a crunch to their peppers, I've found."
"Okay, Lulu; I've got it. Isn't there something else you could be doing?" Sandra's grip on the knife was growing decidedly less relaxed, and her motions became more deliberate with her sister's criticism. Lulu was reveling in the fact she was finally the one in charge. Normally these dinners were held at Sandra's house, but Lulu had risen to the occasion after the recent fire.
"I suppose I could find something," Lulu said. She didn't move. If anything, she hovered closer.
"Well?" Sandra turned, knife still in hand. "Why don't you do that?"
Me:
Last night there was an interesting phenomenon at the Australian Open, where there was an air bubble underneath the surface of the court. This air bubble stopped the ball from bouncing at all, which was sight I found completely astounding. I have decided my blog might be less boring if I add things like this for you to see for yourself.
So that was definitely something I had never seen or heard about before. The way the ball didn't even roll was just hilarious to me. Apparently they just wound up using a power drill and a hammer to get the air out and continued play.
In what is hopefully the last chapter in the saga of the deaf girl, she was back in class today. This might still be an indicator that she's secretly reading my blog and accepted my implied apology.
Also while I was on campus, I began to think today might be particularly cold, as four different people commented on my shorts. Two of them were exclamations made to friends that I overheard, and two people just directly informed me of the facts of my attire. Much to their surprise, I was already aware of what I was wearing. I do appreciate their good intentions though. If I had been wearing them by accident, I certainly would have been glad to have my attention drawn to that fact.
January 21, 2011
In Which I Make it Really Hard to Come Up With Titles for My Entries Due to Their Random Contents
2 degrees off
You did more than a 180,
turned further from me
than opposite can imply,
and now suddenly
we joke and such
like 360 happened
and it’s okay again.
But really it’s a 358
or so, since there’s a gap
I’m not sure we can close.
2 degrees of difference
between the way we were
and now, slightly askew
2 pointer fingers trying to meet
with one eye closed
and depth perception a bit off.
Poem:
I'm constantly fascinated with other people's ability to put things behind them. I am not that sort of person. So when people pretend that things are okay when I know they're not, I try to play along, but always feel what I hope this poem conveys. And the worst part is, I'm pretty sure everyone feels this way during these awkward situations where we all pretend things are okay, but nobody can break the facade. Nobody wants to, I guess. So we just keep going, a bit off, until we forget. Except I rarely forget.
Observation:
In the class that I dropped (Philosophy of Technology), my professor said that we students were part of the computer generation. He said he had experienced the boom of computer use, but that we were the ones raised on it. I found myself questioning this. It may be true that I am quite dependent on computers. I take them for granted, use them constantly, and understand almost nothing about them. But I look at the people these days who are even more attached to their iPods and phones than I am, and I wonder whether there will ever be an actual computer generation. I remember when the internet was relatively new. I remember using floppy disks that stored almost nothing. Compared to what the kids today are used to, that stuff is ancient. And I'm sure it will be the same when those kids age ten years. My dad remembers when calculators were a ridiculously expensive commodity, and he's obviously lived through everything I have. Sure, if it's understanding how computers work that defines the computer generation, he's not a part of it, but then neither am I. And neither are the kids today. As technology becomes more prolific. complicated, and specialized, the number of people who understand all of any single thing diminishes. Programmers understand software (though not usually all the programming languages involved), developers understand hardware (and hardly ever all hardware), and the common people understand what's still wrong. So if there is a computer generation, it's certainly not mine, or if it is, I'm not part of it.
Exercise:
Your Mom at Five"
Imagine you are your mother. You're five years old. What are you seeing / thinking / doing?
I just finished watching a nature show, and oh my goodness the animals and the trees and the water and the grasses and everything looked so interesting. I've never seen anything like a crocodile here, but I guess they wouldn't like the ice very much. They would look so funny slipping around on their short legs! I guess I'll just take it for granted that huge things like rhinos and elephants exist. I know monkeys exist, because people have told me not to act like one, but they look like they're having so much fun that I don't want to stop. But the best part was the giraffes. I'm even less sure they are real. They're taller than my house, and their colors are like the fieldstone of the walls around me, all spotted with brown. They look so funny when they bend down to drink, front legs splayed open and maybe one good shove could send them tumbling. But I love them, and when people ask me what I want to be when I grow up, I know exactly what to tell them. "I'm going to be a giraffe," I say, and I stretch my neck as far as I can. I dream big.
Me:
And now you all know my mom wanted to be a giraffe when she grew up. True story. At least nobody told her she couldn't be. I actually have no idea how that came about, or at what age, so forgive my inaccuracies. But it's worth a story, I think.
Brownies were made at my apartment recently, which is an event I have mixed opinions on in retrospect. See, I eat an unhealthy amount every time they come out of the oven, which is obviously terrible. But on the other hand, I then feel sick for the rest of the night, which prevents me from eating as much quantity-wise as I might normally. Yes, this is a horrible thing, and bad for me in that it stops me from eating vitamins and results in me eating unhealthy or useless calories, but by the time I went to bed, I actually did weigh a bit less than I normally do at night.
And the last thing I have to say: the deaf girl I wrote about a while ago was gone from my last class. I really hope my blog had nothing to do with it. I'm quite confident it didn't, since according to the statistics it shows me readership peaked about a week ago and has been declining ever since. So I guess this is my desperate plea for you to spread the word if you enjoy reading. Thanks (both for reading, and in advance for any readers you might send my way).
You did more than a 180,
turned further from me
than opposite can imply,
and now suddenly
we joke and such
like 360 happened
and it’s okay again.
But really it’s a 358
or so, since there’s a gap
I’m not sure we can close.
2 degrees of difference
between the way we were
and now, slightly askew
2 pointer fingers trying to meet
with one eye closed
and depth perception a bit off.
Poem:
I'm constantly fascinated with other people's ability to put things behind them. I am not that sort of person. So when people pretend that things are okay when I know they're not, I try to play along, but always feel what I hope this poem conveys. And the worst part is, I'm pretty sure everyone feels this way during these awkward situations where we all pretend things are okay, but nobody can break the facade. Nobody wants to, I guess. So we just keep going, a bit off, until we forget. Except I rarely forget.
Observation:
In the class that I dropped (Philosophy of Technology), my professor said that we students were part of the computer generation. He said he had experienced the boom of computer use, but that we were the ones raised on it. I found myself questioning this. It may be true that I am quite dependent on computers. I take them for granted, use them constantly, and understand almost nothing about them. But I look at the people these days who are even more attached to their iPods and phones than I am, and I wonder whether there will ever be an actual computer generation. I remember when the internet was relatively new. I remember using floppy disks that stored almost nothing. Compared to what the kids today are used to, that stuff is ancient. And I'm sure it will be the same when those kids age ten years. My dad remembers when calculators were a ridiculously expensive commodity, and he's obviously lived through everything I have. Sure, if it's understanding how computers work that defines the computer generation, he's not a part of it, but then neither am I. And neither are the kids today. As technology becomes more prolific. complicated, and specialized, the number of people who understand all of any single thing diminishes. Programmers understand software (though not usually all the programming languages involved), developers understand hardware (and hardly ever all hardware), and the common people understand what's still wrong. So if there is a computer generation, it's certainly not mine, or if it is, I'm not part of it.
Exercise:
Your Mom at Five"
Imagine you are your mother. You're five years old. What are you seeing / thinking / doing?
I just finished watching a nature show, and oh my goodness the animals and the trees and the water and the grasses and everything looked so interesting. I've never seen anything like a crocodile here, but I guess they wouldn't like the ice very much. They would look so funny slipping around on their short legs! I guess I'll just take it for granted that huge things like rhinos and elephants exist. I know monkeys exist, because people have told me not to act like one, but they look like they're having so much fun that I don't want to stop. But the best part was the giraffes. I'm even less sure they are real. They're taller than my house, and their colors are like the fieldstone of the walls around me, all spotted with brown. They look so funny when they bend down to drink, front legs splayed open and maybe one good shove could send them tumbling. But I love them, and when people ask me what I want to be when I grow up, I know exactly what to tell them. "I'm going to be a giraffe," I say, and I stretch my neck as far as I can. I dream big.
Me:
And now you all know my mom wanted to be a giraffe when she grew up. True story. At least nobody told her she couldn't be. I actually have no idea how that came about, or at what age, so forgive my inaccuracies. But it's worth a story, I think.
Brownies were made at my apartment recently, which is an event I have mixed opinions on in retrospect. See, I eat an unhealthy amount every time they come out of the oven, which is obviously terrible. But on the other hand, I then feel sick for the rest of the night, which prevents me from eating as much quantity-wise as I might normally. Yes, this is a horrible thing, and bad for me in that it stops me from eating vitamins and results in me eating unhealthy or useless calories, but by the time I went to bed, I actually did weigh a bit less than I normally do at night.
And the last thing I have to say: the deaf girl I wrote about a while ago was gone from my last class. I really hope my blog had nothing to do with it. I'm quite confident it didn't, since according to the statistics it shows me readership peaked about a week ago and has been declining ever since. So I guess this is my desperate plea for you to spread the word if you enjoy reading. Thanks (both for reading, and in advance for any readers you might send my way).
January 20, 2011
Winter
Spring
It is that day
when everyone else realizes
spring is inevitable
swarming the newly-soft ground,
spreading their blankets
where I stood in the drifts
just a week ago.
They throw Frisbees,
running, catching, dropping,
imperfect and annoying,
since I had laid claim
to this spot when it was still,
ice, and snow.
Poem:
I used to spend a lot of time on campus. I would hang out in computer labs, meet people to throw frisbees at all hours, and just be there in general. On multiple occasions I went on the open area of central campus while it was still covered in a foot of snow and threw with some equally crazy people. So this poem is about that. And about the fact that other people are only willing to do these things when the weather is perfect. I like to think that sets me apart. The thing I dislike most about this poem has to be the title, which is incredibly cliche.
Observation:
People are like gas. And, while it may seem like something I would say, in this case I am not talking about flatulence. I'm talking about how they expand to fill whatever space they are given. But I guess they're really more like a liquid, since they are obviously strictly bound by gravity, and so tend to stick to the surface. Either way, this characteristic can be quite annoying. It makes it incredibly hard to pass people on a bike, for one thing. I can't begin to count the number of times I've been stuck behind a group of chattering girls taking their sweet time walking between classes. They hardly make way for people going the opposite direction, so it's no surprise they take no account of the fact that there could be a person on a bicycle behind them who is constrained to the sidewalk by snow and yet doesn't really care what they put in their hair this morning. When I'm biking with someone else it's not too difficult to remedy the problem. I simply start talking really loudly as we make our approach. Sometimes I talk really loudly about the fact that it's necessary to talk really loudly in order to get people to let you by. Now, I know people think they make bicycle bells for this sort of thing, but I can't stand them. I generally can't stand the people that use them. "Ding ding! Make way, for it is I, the person so uptight and snobbish that I feel it is necessary the tone of a bell precede me wherever I go." Not for me. In general, I'm perfectly fine making a jaunt off the sidewalk to go around, but this snowy weather is interfering. It was slow going today between classes. I was almost late, despite leaving earlier than usual.
Exercise:
"Extremely Famous"
You (or your fictional character) are suddenly extremely famous. In what ways does your (or your character's) life change?
His meteoric rise to fame was nothing like he had pictured it. He was supposed to make it big with his voice. He had auditioned for American Idol on three separate occasions, for crying out loud. Every time they told him to keep trying, that if he loved singing, to keep at it. He wasn't supposed to be famous for simply being alive. The floods had been getting a lot of local news coverage, but when the video of him on his porch floating downstream hit the internet, something about it struck a national chord. He had just been sitting there. Well, and when he noticed the camera, he had started singing. He wasn't the kind of guy to pass up a bit of attention. And now here he was, the star of YouTube smash hit "Weird Singing Guy Floating Away" and he was being interviewed by morning talk shows and the local newspaper. Even his friends were calling him up to talk. At first he tried to use the attention to get some recognition for his voice, but he soon realized the laughter directed his way was not due entirely to his sense of humor. Disheveled and a bit downtrodden, he went back to his porch (the only part of his house he could reliably locate), and sat wondering what to do next. Fame was fine and all, but it hadn't gotten him off the porch.
Me:
I felt surprisingly bad today. I never really got my day going how I was hoping, and it all concluded with a rather poor showing on my bicycle. My legs were tired, my calf was cramping, and I just couldn't get focused. Things I take for granted were giving me pain, and for that reason, I retreated to my room to try and at least enjoy my night. But for some reason, that didn't quite go according to plan either. I can't really explain it. Some rhythm of my day was off, and it persisted. There was nothing I could point to as the cause, but the accumulation of it all left me quite underwhelmed. I don't know whether this is a common occurrence among others, but I can't really recall it happening prior to this. Maybe it's what they refer to as waking up on the wrong side of the bed. Anyway, hopefully it will be gone soon.
I had my first poetry class today, and I plan on using it and this blog in tandem to improve my writing. I think I'll start including some poetry exercises on occasion, too, since I have two books centered around finding things to write poems about, and I wouldn't want them to go unused. Besides, it good to have a break from fiction exercises every once in a while.
It is that day
when everyone else realizes
spring is inevitable
swarming the newly-soft ground,
spreading their blankets
where I stood in the drifts
just a week ago.
They throw Frisbees,
running, catching, dropping,
imperfect and annoying,
since I had laid claim
to this spot when it was still,
ice, and snow.
Poem:
I used to spend a lot of time on campus. I would hang out in computer labs, meet people to throw frisbees at all hours, and just be there in general. On multiple occasions I went on the open area of central campus while it was still covered in a foot of snow and threw with some equally crazy people. So this poem is about that. And about the fact that other people are only willing to do these things when the weather is perfect. I like to think that sets me apart. The thing I dislike most about this poem has to be the title, which is incredibly cliche.
Observation:
People are like gas. And, while it may seem like something I would say, in this case I am not talking about flatulence. I'm talking about how they expand to fill whatever space they are given. But I guess they're really more like a liquid, since they are obviously strictly bound by gravity, and so tend to stick to the surface. Either way, this characteristic can be quite annoying. It makes it incredibly hard to pass people on a bike, for one thing. I can't begin to count the number of times I've been stuck behind a group of chattering girls taking their sweet time walking between classes. They hardly make way for people going the opposite direction, so it's no surprise they take no account of the fact that there could be a person on a bicycle behind them who is constrained to the sidewalk by snow and yet doesn't really care what they put in their hair this morning. When I'm biking with someone else it's not too difficult to remedy the problem. I simply start talking really loudly as we make our approach. Sometimes I talk really loudly about the fact that it's necessary to talk really loudly in order to get people to let you by. Now, I know people think they make bicycle bells for this sort of thing, but I can't stand them. I generally can't stand the people that use them. "Ding ding! Make way, for it is I, the person so uptight and snobbish that I feel it is necessary the tone of a bell precede me wherever I go." Not for me. In general, I'm perfectly fine making a jaunt off the sidewalk to go around, but this snowy weather is interfering. It was slow going today between classes. I was almost late, despite leaving earlier than usual.
Exercise:
"Extremely Famous"
You (or your fictional character) are suddenly extremely famous. In what ways does your (or your character's) life change?
His meteoric rise to fame was nothing like he had pictured it. He was supposed to make it big with his voice. He had auditioned for American Idol on three separate occasions, for crying out loud. Every time they told him to keep trying, that if he loved singing, to keep at it. He wasn't supposed to be famous for simply being alive. The floods had been getting a lot of local news coverage, but when the video of him on his porch floating downstream hit the internet, something about it struck a national chord. He had just been sitting there. Well, and when he noticed the camera, he had started singing. He wasn't the kind of guy to pass up a bit of attention. And now here he was, the star of YouTube smash hit "Weird Singing Guy Floating Away" and he was being interviewed by morning talk shows and the local newspaper. Even his friends were calling him up to talk. At first he tried to use the attention to get some recognition for his voice, but he soon realized the laughter directed his way was not due entirely to his sense of humor. Disheveled and a bit downtrodden, he went back to his porch (the only part of his house he could reliably locate), and sat wondering what to do next. Fame was fine and all, but it hadn't gotten him off the porch.
Me:
I felt surprisingly bad today. I never really got my day going how I was hoping, and it all concluded with a rather poor showing on my bicycle. My legs were tired, my calf was cramping, and I just couldn't get focused. Things I take for granted were giving me pain, and for that reason, I retreated to my room to try and at least enjoy my night. But for some reason, that didn't quite go according to plan either. I can't really explain it. Some rhythm of my day was off, and it persisted. There was nothing I could point to as the cause, but the accumulation of it all left me quite underwhelmed. I don't know whether this is a common occurrence among others, but I can't really recall it happening prior to this. Maybe it's what they refer to as waking up on the wrong side of the bed. Anyway, hopefully it will be gone soon.
I had my first poetry class today, and I plan on using it and this blog in tandem to improve my writing. I think I'll start including some poetry exercises on occasion, too, since I have two books centered around finding things to write poems about, and I wouldn't want them to go unused. Besides, it good to have a break from fiction exercises every once in a while.
January 17, 2011
Oh Television...
Why I’m not Sleeping
It’s too nice to take a nap,
so I go outside and look at the clouds
for inspiration,
but it’s too sunny to write,
and I’d rather lie down
where the wind doesn’t reach
and enjoy the red and orange
heating my eyelids as I turn my face
and listen.
You’re a continent away
as your voice breaks the ambiance.
Out of reach,
but tempting me to grasp-
though my hand remains empty
in the end-
and yet, for a while,
I can feel your softness
as it slides away.
Poem:
This one is included here by request. I undoubtedly would have gotten around to putting it on here anyway, but having someone actually like my poems enough to request one pretty much trumps whatever else I might have done. So let this be a lesson to you, dear reader. If you have any interesting ideas for a poem, just comment on my post. It can be as vague as “write a poem about a piece of jewelery,” or as specific as “remember that time we were hanging out and the television wouldn't work so we played cards instead and even though the cards were really bent and you could tell when the jack of spades was coming it was fun? Could you write about that?” I'd be delighted. (That never actually happened, but it's a pretty specific example.) Or if you are familiar with any of my poetry, you can of course let me know what you like.
Observation:
I just saw a commercial for a VW Jetta that highlighted its intelligent crash-response system. Now, I'm generally all for technology doing things for us, but is it really that necessary to have your doors unlocked for you when you're in a crash? I'm oblivious to the details required to make this a feature, but obviously there's something tied into the door's locking mechanism, so isn't that just another thing that could go wrong with your door's ability to open at some point down the road? And that's really a small gripe compared to the issues I have with the commercial in general. Maybe it's just me, but the commercial seems to be taking it for granted that whoever buys this car is going to crash it. I would really like to think that the selling points of a car could be things that make the driving experience better rather than implying there's a good chance you're going to be in a life-threatening situation.
It's gotten to the point where any feature a company can think of to stick in a vehicle automatically becomes something they think will make buyers want to spend thousands of dollars on. I can sort of see the logic with truly interesting ideas, like when all-wheel drive was invented, or integrated GPS/MP3 technology, but this seems to have gone a bit off-target. Just to reiterate, the company is saying, “Now, we know our car might poor handling and could exhibit brake failure at any moment, but don't worry. We've thought of that. No, we haven't tried to prevent crashes. But when you do find yourself closely acquainted with whatever tree, lamppost, or pedestrian happened to be in your way, we have this really swell technology that will make sure you can get out and start running from the cops right away.”
Exercise:
"Shelly's Scene Objective"
Actors identify their characters' overall objective, as well as their scene objective. Applying this to writing, assume your character is "Shelly"; her overall objective is to get married; her scene objective is to get "Kyle" whom she has just met, say, in a coffee shop, to ask her on a date. Write the scene from Shelly's point of view.
Kyle would do nicely. He seemed to be of an appropriate age, his build suggested moderate physical activity, and the computer in front of him demonstrated both means and intelligence. In short, there was nothing wrong with him. Good enough. Shelly carefully looked just past him, making sure there was no way she could be mistaken for staring, just waiting for him to make a move. While she was prepared to stay like this for hours, she was sure the coffee she had noticed him drinking (at a not-displeasing rate) would necessitate locomotion of some sort in the near future. And she would be ready. Her napkin was all set at the edge of the table, just waiting to be blown slightly by an inexplicable breeze, and she was poised just as precipitously, ready to retrieve it. It would be no fault of hers that Kyle might be passing her table just as she leaned down, and certainly she couldn't be held responsible should she require him to introduce himself after such a rude oversight. Yes, it was the waiting, the stalking, Shelly enjoyed the most.
Me:
I might be letting television back into my life. It's astonishing the way it doesn't seem important until you look to see what's on. After that, there's almost no resisting. Luckily, most of what I'm watching right now is sports, and since I can't stand the commentators anyway, I can mute them and do something else at the same time. Today that activity was biking with a basketball game on in the background. Unfortunately, I noticed immediately that there was a decrease in my form on the bike while I was trying to watch the action on screen. Perhaps I should have shut off the game and focused on my riding, but I told myself that there will be things happening during a race too, and I will need to maintain good form through distractions all the time. So I came up with a compromise. I took the commercial breaks as a time to focus on form and do a bit of an interval-style workout and just focused on keeping my cadence up while the big people on TV were doing interesting things. I'm not sure how I did, but I think if I can use this to develop the habit of maintaining a good cadence no matter what is going on around me, that will be significant accomplishment.
It’s too nice to take a nap,
so I go outside and look at the clouds
for inspiration,
but it’s too sunny to write,
and I’d rather lie down
where the wind doesn’t reach
and enjoy the red and orange
heating my eyelids as I turn my face
and listen.
You’re a continent away
as your voice breaks the ambiance.
Out of reach,
but tempting me to grasp-
though my hand remains empty
in the end-
and yet, for a while,
I can feel your softness
as it slides away.
This one is included here by request. I undoubtedly would have gotten around to putting it on here anyway, but having someone actually like my poems enough to request one pretty much trumps whatever else I might have done. So let this be a lesson to you, dear reader. If you have any interesting ideas for a poem, just comment on my post. It can be as vague as “write a poem about a piece of jewelery,” or as specific as “remember that time we were hanging out and the television wouldn't work so we played cards instead and even though the cards were really bent and you could tell when the jack of spades was coming it was fun? Could you write about that?” I'd be delighted. (That never actually happened, but it's a pretty specific example.) Or if you are familiar with any of my poetry, you can of course let me know what you like.
Observation:
I just saw a commercial for a VW Jetta that highlighted its intelligent crash-response system. Now, I'm generally all for technology doing things for us, but is it really that necessary to have your doors unlocked for you when you're in a crash? I'm oblivious to the details required to make this a feature, but obviously there's something tied into the door's locking mechanism, so isn't that just another thing that could go wrong with your door's ability to open at some point down the road? And that's really a small gripe compared to the issues I have with the commercial in general. Maybe it's just me, but the commercial seems to be taking it for granted that whoever buys this car is going to crash it. I would really like to think that the selling points of a car could be things that make the driving experience better rather than implying there's a good chance you're going to be in a life-threatening situation.
It's gotten to the point where any feature a company can think of to stick in a vehicle automatically becomes something they think will make buyers want to spend thousands of dollars on. I can sort of see the logic with truly interesting ideas, like when all-wheel drive was invented, or integrated GPS/MP3 technology, but this seems to have gone a bit off-target. Just to reiterate, the company is saying, “Now, we know our car might poor handling and could exhibit brake failure at any moment, but don't worry. We've thought of that. No, we haven't tried to prevent crashes. But when you do find yourself closely acquainted with whatever tree, lamppost, or pedestrian happened to be in your way, we have this really swell technology that will make sure you can get out and start running from the cops right away.”
Exercise:
"Shelly's Scene Objective"
Actors identify their characters' overall objective, as well as their scene objective. Applying this to writing, assume your character is "Shelly"; her overall objective is to get married; her scene objective is to get "Kyle" whom she has just met, say, in a coffee shop, to ask her on a date. Write the scene from Shelly's point of view.
Kyle would do nicely. He seemed to be of an appropriate age, his build suggested moderate physical activity, and the computer in front of him demonstrated both means and intelligence. In short, there was nothing wrong with him. Good enough. Shelly carefully looked just past him, making sure there was no way she could be mistaken for staring, just waiting for him to make a move. While she was prepared to stay like this for hours, she was sure the coffee she had noticed him drinking (at a not-displeasing rate) would necessitate locomotion of some sort in the near future. And she would be ready. Her napkin was all set at the edge of the table, just waiting to be blown slightly by an inexplicable breeze, and she was poised just as precipitously, ready to retrieve it. It would be no fault of hers that Kyle might be passing her table just as she leaned down, and certainly she couldn't be held responsible should she require him to introduce himself after such a rude oversight. Yes, it was the waiting, the stalking, Shelly enjoyed the most.
Me:
I might be letting television back into my life. It's astonishing the way it doesn't seem important until you look to see what's on. After that, there's almost no resisting. Luckily, most of what I'm watching right now is sports, and since I can't stand the commentators anyway, I can mute them and do something else at the same time. Today that activity was biking with a basketball game on in the background. Unfortunately, I noticed immediately that there was a decrease in my form on the bike while I was trying to watch the action on screen. Perhaps I should have shut off the game and focused on my riding, but I told myself that there will be things happening during a race too, and I will need to maintain good form through distractions all the time. So I came up with a compromise. I took the commercial breaks as a time to focus on form and do a bit of an interval-style workout and just focused on keeping my cadence up while the big people on TV were doing interesting things. I'm not sure how I did, but I think if I can use this to develop the habit of maintaining a good cadence no matter what is going on around me, that will be significant accomplishment.
January 16, 2011
The Australian Open and Other Things I Can't Help But Watch
Walls
Thank you for walls,
the thin boundaries
preventing
life from entering my day.
The door to the classroom
closes,
and you are forgotten
for the most part,
but when I leave
my thoughts alone
they turn
to places I can no longer go.
So I prolong my day
with people,
only alone
to fall asleep
but inevitably
there is that moment
(those hours)
between climbing into bed
and forgetting
that belongs to you.
Poem:
This one doesn't really require any explanation. Upon looking at it again, I'm not too sure of some of the really short lines, but that might just be left over from yesterday's style change.
Observation:
I went to see "The Social Network" recently at our local discount movie theater. I mention this not because I'm intending to write a movie review, but simply to discuss my reason(s) for seeing it. I hold no delusions. I'm perfectly aware that the only reason I ever wanted to see it was because of the previews. In fact, I distinctly recall thinking, "That movie looks really bad, but I need to know what happens after that scene in the preview." You know a method is effective if it works despite its incredibly obvious nature. It's sort of like blackmail that way. They hold the rest of the movie hostage, issue you a ransom note in the preview, and to fulfill your desire you have to fork over perfectly good money. And the whole time you're thinking, "Is this really necessary?" Now, I'll admit I have left some of my metaphorical loved ones to die. I was fully intending to see movies like "Despicable Me" and "Dinner for Schmucks" even though I was pretty sure they held no value beyond a couple of forced laughs. But I just never had the heart to pay the fee required of me, and left them at the mercy of those toying with me.
But "The Social Network" was just too tempting. All of the scenes that showed Mark Zuckerberg in a supremely confident position even as he was being sued for millions of dollars, then cut out before I learned anything quite relevant just frustrated me enough to spend some money. And I was completely right. So I guess I can't be disappointed with the movie, since it did absolutely everything I was expecting. I'm now in this interesting dichotomy, where I'm a bit disappointed that it didn't do more that I was expecting, but not allowed to be disappointed because it did exactly what I knew it was going to do. There were the gratuitously underdressed girls, the beginning of the company, the computer jargon-filled phrases, and the completely unwarranted scenes included only because they were guaranteed a few laughs. All in all, I thought it was worth my time, since I saw it late at night and wasn't going to be doing much otherwise, but it's not really a movie I would recommend. Unless you've seen the previews. Then your decision to spend the money is completely warranted.
Exercise:
"Popol Vuh: Seven Random Bits"
I just pulled the Popol Vuh off the shelf and found these seven random bits:
~sweet drink!
~Jaguar
~undone
~you tricksters!
~And they remembered what had been said about the East.
~vagabonds
~corn with fish
What can you write in five minutes that incorporates all of these?
And the village was concerned about the jaguars, for they remembered well what had been said about the East and how it had been foretold that at the first sign of the large cats, ominous things were to follow. They organized a feast, inviting important members from surrounding village councils to partake in what might be the last gathering before the supernatural events overwhelmed them. They had corn with fish, potatoes, and in the center of the long, crudely cut table, a boar sat, roasted in all its glory. And the drink. Sweet drink! Mulled wine of many varieties, touches of honey, and for those who wanted, grain alcohol. They were merry in the face of unusual portents, and by the time the last vessel of wine had been emptied, they had almost put them out of mind. But in an instant, it all came undone. The table shook, the sky flashed, and a deep unease came over the crowd. All they could think of was the influence of the supernatural, and they raised their faces to the sky, crying "You tricksters!" at the gods, sure that in no time they, the chiefs of the area, would be reduced to vagabonds.
Me:
I'm just sitting here wondering how many people have realized the headings of my blog sections spell "poem." Other than that, not a lot of interesting stuff has been happening. Except, of course, for the beginning of the Australian Open. I still enjoy tennis a great deal, and I am conveniently awake for a decent amount of the live broadcast. I started tennis on a whim, for the most part. It all started at some courts near my grandma's house in Wisconsin, where my mom and I went to hit for some reason I don't remember. Well, I had seen some of my high school classmates playing on various occasions, but once I'd tried it out for a while, I began to question what about the sport was so difficult. This was at the beginning of my sophomore year. By the spring I had made the bottom of the varsity team. The next year I was near the top, and ready to work toward a state title for my senior year. I was serving at over a hundred miles and hour, and with some work on my backhand, I felt like I could make a good showing. And then it ended. As has happened with almost everything I've tried, I just lost my grasp on what was important about the sport. My period of rapid improvement had expired, and I realized that even if I did as well as I was hoping, I wouldn't be in a good position to continue playing in college. So I cut my losses, or so I told myself. Looking back, it's more obvious that I didn't like dealing with the pressure. Once I had stopped exceeding expectations and started simply meeting them, it became harder to motivate myself. It had lost its appeal.
Thank you for walls,
the thin boundaries
preventing
life from entering my day.
The door to the classroom
closes,
and you are forgotten
for the most part,
but when I leave
my thoughts alone
they turn
to places I can no longer go.
So I prolong my day
with people,
only alone
to fall asleep
but inevitably
there is that moment
(those hours)
between climbing into bed
and forgetting
that belongs to you.
Poem:
This one doesn't really require any explanation. Upon looking at it again, I'm not too sure of some of the really short lines, but that might just be left over from yesterday's style change.
Observation:
I went to see "The Social Network" recently at our local discount movie theater. I mention this not because I'm intending to write a movie review, but simply to discuss my reason(s) for seeing it. I hold no delusions. I'm perfectly aware that the only reason I ever wanted to see it was because of the previews. In fact, I distinctly recall thinking, "That movie looks really bad, but I need to know what happens after that scene in the preview." You know a method is effective if it works despite its incredibly obvious nature. It's sort of like blackmail that way. They hold the rest of the movie hostage, issue you a ransom note in the preview, and to fulfill your desire you have to fork over perfectly good money. And the whole time you're thinking, "Is this really necessary?" Now, I'll admit I have left some of my metaphorical loved ones to die. I was fully intending to see movies like "Despicable Me" and "Dinner for Schmucks" even though I was pretty sure they held no value beyond a couple of forced laughs. But I just never had the heart to pay the fee required of me, and left them at the mercy of those toying with me.
But "The Social Network" was just too tempting. All of the scenes that showed Mark Zuckerberg in a supremely confident position even as he was being sued for millions of dollars, then cut out before I learned anything quite relevant just frustrated me enough to spend some money. And I was completely right. So I guess I can't be disappointed with the movie, since it did absolutely everything I was expecting. I'm now in this interesting dichotomy, where I'm a bit disappointed that it didn't do more that I was expecting, but not allowed to be disappointed because it did exactly what I knew it was going to do. There were the gratuitously underdressed girls, the beginning of the company, the computer jargon-filled phrases, and the completely unwarranted scenes included only because they were guaranteed a few laughs. All in all, I thought it was worth my time, since I saw it late at night and wasn't going to be doing much otherwise, but it's not really a movie I would recommend. Unless you've seen the previews. Then your decision to spend the money is completely warranted.
Exercise:
"Popol Vuh: Seven Random Bits"
I just pulled the Popol Vuh off the shelf and found these seven random bits:
~sweet drink!
~Jaguar
~undone
~you tricksters!
~And they remembered what had been said about the East.
~vagabonds
~corn with fish
What can you write in five minutes that incorporates all of these?
And the village was concerned about the jaguars, for they remembered well what had been said about the East and how it had been foretold that at the first sign of the large cats, ominous things were to follow. They organized a feast, inviting important members from surrounding village councils to partake in what might be the last gathering before the supernatural events overwhelmed them. They had corn with fish, potatoes, and in the center of the long, crudely cut table, a boar sat, roasted in all its glory. And the drink. Sweet drink! Mulled wine of many varieties, touches of honey, and for those who wanted, grain alcohol. They were merry in the face of unusual portents, and by the time the last vessel of wine had been emptied, they had almost put them out of mind. But in an instant, it all came undone. The table shook, the sky flashed, and a deep unease came over the crowd. All they could think of was the influence of the supernatural, and they raised their faces to the sky, crying "You tricksters!" at the gods, sure that in no time they, the chiefs of the area, would be reduced to vagabonds.
Me:
I'm just sitting here wondering how many people have realized the headings of my blog sections spell "poem." Other than that, not a lot of interesting stuff has been happening. Except, of course, for the beginning of the Australian Open. I still enjoy tennis a great deal, and I am conveniently awake for a decent amount of the live broadcast. I started tennis on a whim, for the most part. It all started at some courts near my grandma's house in Wisconsin, where my mom and I went to hit for some reason I don't remember. Well, I had seen some of my high school classmates playing on various occasions, but once I'd tried it out for a while, I began to question what about the sport was so difficult. This was at the beginning of my sophomore year. By the spring I had made the bottom of the varsity team. The next year I was near the top, and ready to work toward a state title for my senior year. I was serving at over a hundred miles and hour, and with some work on my backhand, I felt like I could make a good showing. And then it ended. As has happened with almost everything I've tried, I just lost my grasp on what was important about the sport. My period of rapid improvement had expired, and I realized that even if I did as well as I was hoping, I wouldn't be in a good position to continue playing in college. So I cut my losses, or so I told myself. Looking back, it's more obvious that I didn't like dealing with the pressure. Once I had stopped exceeding expectations and started simply meeting them, it became harder to motivate myself. It had lost its appeal.
Friday-ish Post
When a man dies of starvation in the United States it's a real trick,
since calories are everywhere, waiting to be picked up
and put back in play, burned off and added to entropy.
We seem to pride ourselves on our food, and our practice
of discarding food, which is probably fine, since it gives the homeless
something to do. The dumpsters have ladders on the outside
to encourage clambering up to peer over the edge
like a toy boat in a stream, hovering just before it plunges
over the cascade. But should they take the plunge into the manky smells
they will note there is no such convenience to help them out.
Peeking in is encouraged, and it's sure sometimes there will be
that treasure glinting back up at you. They put it there to tempt you,
the expiration date just yesterday, and not even old enough
to start changing colors or smells. Its nutrition information
says it has calories galore, and who cares the vitamin percentages
dwindle in reverse proportion to the percentage of daily value
of saturated fat? It's a trap. It shouldn't be a surprise.
I mean, they didn't even put a ladder on the inside.
Since I missed my update for Friday, I thought I'd do my “in the style of another poet” poem for today. I have a number of poetry books on my shelf, and I was planning on doing one in the style of Lawrence Raab, whose book The Probable World I greatly enjoyed. But then I realized the reason I enjoy it is because we have similar styles and views on a lot of things. So I wound up opening a book I have for my poetry class this semester for the first time. It's called Inseminating the Elephant. I'm not really sure was was going through the author's head when she called it that. Who wants to admit they're reading a book with that title? But anyway, that's the style I tried to imitate. Some things that are different from the way I normally write: sentences ending in the middle of a line
longer lines in general
obscure analogies
talking about death in a casual way
train of thought style
uncommon descriptive words
Observation:
In my Philosophy of Law class there are two people in the front of the room. One is obviously the professor, but the other is a sign language interpreter, which is something I was not really expecting. Now, I sit in the front row, and I happen to be on the side of the deaf girl, so I am uniquely positioned to make a few comments on the situation. Obviously, I have nothing to say against the idea of there being a deaf person in the class. But if I'm not allowed to do things unrelated to class because the people around me might find it distracting, what should be said of having a person right in front of me gesticulating wildly? Granted, it's not like she chose to be deaf, and it's not like this introductory class requires my undivided attention, but if I'm frequently busy watching the sign language communication, and I can only assume I'm not the only one thoroughly intrigued.
And as long as I'm on the topic of special accommodations, I guess I'll mention the fact that the teacher requested that someone take notes in a carbon-sheeted notebook so the girl could have a copy. But the teacher already writes all of the important things on the chalk board. So I'm not sure what the deaf girl is actually doing all class. She doesn't have to take notes and she doesn't have to participate. It probably sounds like I dislike her being in class. This is not the case. I just wanted to point out some things that people might not be considering.
On that same line, I want to talk about some other things this has made me think of. The first is that knowing sign language must be pretty awesome. It's so easy to talk without people knowing what you're saying. For all I know, the translator person is saying funny jokes about how awful I dress. Then it occurred to me that while there are some fun sides to sign language, it must suck occasionally. Like, whenever you want to do something with your hands, it means you're essentially mute for the duration you want to be, for instance, writing something down. Also, it was quickly made evident that some things are just really cumbersome for sign language. The teacher made some point about mathematical constants, and to illustrate it she put the equations for gravitational attraction saying “gravitational force equals the product of the two masses times the universal gravitational constant divided by the distance squared.” As she said that, I looked at the interpreter-person in the front of the room. She looked so depressed.
Exercise:
"Grandpa Is Backing Out..."
Grandpa should not be driving. But no one dares to hide the car keys. What happens this time? Write the scene.
Rich old men have the fastest cars to ever travel ten below the speed limit. That is, except for Herbert. Herbert isn't about to let all that money go to waste. He spent half on his car, and put half aside for speeding tickets and, should the need arise, bail. When I watch from across the street (usually from the relative safety of my living room), I wince every time the garage door opens. Before it's even two thirds of the way up, out tears the Ferrari Enzo, glaringly red, with sunglasses doing their best to hide the wrinkles behind the steering wheel. A mashing of gears ensues, and a thunderous noise later he has disappeared from view, though the black number eleven he has left behind remains a testament to his takeoff. Screeches, honks, and dull roar echo back over the housetops, and I am impressed by the fact that all of these fade without the din of sirens being added to the mix. “Huh. He doesn't usually make it quite that far,” I remark to myself as I turn away from the window. We'll see if upon his return he has the patience to wait for the garage door to open all the way. Last time he didn't quite, and there's still a bit of a red streak along the bottom of the door.
Me:
I'm okay, I guess. I'm afraid class being back in session means that my thoughts have turned away from the interesting things going on around me and toward the interesting things going on in my head. So all that's really been preoccupying my time has been silly philosophy, none of which is interesting enough to include here. Examples of topics include what makes “acting” distinct from other ways of “doing,” the difference between rationality and reasonability, and the idea of diversity. The most interesting of these might be diversity, since in class we were discussing whether or not diversity could be something that could be forced. We had just concluded that at least some types of diversity were necessary (a conclusion I'm still not quite sure I agree with, though I can see why people might think so), and that led to the question of what would happen if diversity stopped occurring naturally. Like, what if we all grew so homogenized that it wasn't quite natural to think of ourselves as a diverse populace? Could we force people into diversity in order to maintain the discourse many think is necessary for any sort of progress?
Speaking of diversity, I learned that one of the biggest determining factors for a person's opinion on gay rights is whether or not they know a homosexual. A person who comes in close contact with someone who identifies as gay is incredibly more likely to vote for things like gay marriage and anti-discrimination legislature. This probably seems obvious, but it made me think of how many people are afraid to come out to the people they know. Because of this fact, though, when a person stays in the closet, not only are they making themselves unhappy, they are making it harder for people like them. According to factual sources (Wikipedia), between two and thirteen percent of people identify as homosexual. Now, even taking a number near the bottom of that range, say five percent, means that if every homosexual made their orientation known, and if everyone had twenty close friends/family members, everyone would support gay rights legislation. Obviously these leaps in conclusions are incorrect due to population distribution and peoples' standards for friend selection (among many other things), but I still think that fact should lend encouragement to the people out there who are struggling.
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