The semester is coming to a close. I'm in the middle of the week before finals. It's now Wednesday morning, 3:25 AM. I've gotten a good amount of work done today, but there is just plenty of other work that I have given up on because I have pretty much lost all hope. Like, how the fuck do I make a video essay?
At this point, I just CAN'T WAIT for finals week to get here. I only have 2 finals, and only one of them is test form. The other one is a take-home essay that is given and handed in the day before finals even start. Now, this week is another story.
I have been up until at least 4 in the morning each night so far since sunday, I have crew practice in 3 hours, which means I will be getting up in 2 1/2 hours, and I actually am at the point where I can't actually feel the fact that I'm exhausted anymore because my body is now just used to trying to ignore it. My body is probably yelling FUCK YOU FUCK YOU LET ME SLEEP, but I have these earplugs in. They're a brand new model. they're called the "last week of classes addition."
I thought it was finals week where everyone wanted to tear down that fence at Cornell so they can jump off a bridge. Guess not. Not for me at least. Between tomorrow (Well today, technically) and Friday, I believe it is 4 essays due. And I don't mean 4 essays that are well in progress either..
Cheers to the day.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Monday, December 12, 2011
Less getting, more giving
I'm terrified to say it, but I think that the time have finally come. My family called me yesterday to ask me the same old question: What do you want for Christmas?
I pondered and pondered and finally slugged out: "Uhh some new clothes I guess?"
The fact is, this was a lie. I don't want any new clothes. I really don't want anything. I have a month off for winter break. What else could I possibly want? All I want is to see my friends and party, and I'll be doing that for an entire month. I also want to be able to row, which I will, but I don't know how much I would consider my workouts a gift.
Anyways, I think the time has finally come in which all I'm really thinking about as far as gifts go are the gifts that I'm getting my family. I've been making the transition into this stage for years no, but it has come slowly. In high school, I began to only want clothes and music for Christmas. A couple years after that, I started to not care as much about gifts and begin to think about what I would get my friends (Because they're way more important than my parents right?).
Now, the time is finally here where I think about the town awesome college town I live in now and think about all the cool shit that I could get my parents for Christmas, and it actually excites me. Crazy to think about.
Guess after 19 I would hope that it doesn't seem that crazy.
I pondered and pondered and finally slugged out: "Uhh some new clothes I guess?"
The fact is, this was a lie. I don't want any new clothes. I really don't want anything. I have a month off for winter break. What else could I possibly want? All I want is to see my friends and party, and I'll be doing that for an entire month. I also want to be able to row, which I will, but I don't know how much I would consider my workouts a gift.
Anyways, I think the time has finally come in which all I'm really thinking about as far as gifts go are the gifts that I'm getting my family. I've been making the transition into this stage for years no, but it has come slowly. In high school, I began to only want clothes and music for Christmas. A couple years after that, I started to not care as much about gifts and begin to think about what I would get my friends (Because they're way more important than my parents right?).
Now, the time is finally here where I think about the town awesome college town I live in now and think about all the cool shit that I could get my parents for Christmas, and it actually excites me. Crazy to think about.
Guess after 19 I would hope that it doesn't seem that crazy.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Isn't it only a basketball game?
Many college basketball junkies out there may have witnessed the Cincinnati-Xavier basketball game this past week. If you did, you witnessed an absolute blowout by Xavier on their home court. In this case, you also saw a massive bench-clearing brawl after one of the cincinnati players decided to punch on of the Xavier players after he felt he was shoved.
This is where I wish I could just look inside one's head to see the actual though process behind what they're doing. The only way I can imagine it going through his head is by first recognizing everything that is going on around him.
"I've played like a pussy, we're down by 27 points, and we're on the road"
Next..
"He did just shove me"
Next..
*Replays first step*
Finally..
"I'm gonna hit him"
It just baffles me as to what he thought he was going to get out of this. Do you think you're going to be able to quiet down the crowd by punching the player on the opposing team that has outplayed you all night? Do you think that's going to make the crowd think twice about disrespecting you? Or, do you think it's actually just going to give them rightful reason to make an asshole out of you as you're escorted off the court by security and into the locker room. I think the third one sounds about right.
But the real problem is this. We are at a point today where every kid that finds out they have some skills throws everything out the window besides playing AAU. The thought of too many kids today is, I don't need school, I got my AAU team and my coach is gonna get me to Kentucky or Syracuse. I wont have to go to class, I just have to go for a year, maybe two, then go get paid $10 million to go shoot a basketball.
This process just makes bad people. It's simple. They make one dimensional, stupid, bad people.
It turns good kids into idiots who don't have enough common sense to realize that they should finish the game and go back to the locker room when they are down 27 points to their rival on the road, instead of looking for the closest opportunity to prove that, while you can't make free throws, you can throw a punch.
This is where I wish I could just look inside one's head to see the actual though process behind what they're doing. The only way I can imagine it going through his head is by first recognizing everything that is going on around him.
"I've played like a pussy, we're down by 27 points, and we're on the road"
Next..
"He did just shove me"
Next..
*Replays first step*
Finally..
"I'm gonna hit him"
It just baffles me as to what he thought he was going to get out of this. Do you think you're going to be able to quiet down the crowd by punching the player on the opposing team that has outplayed you all night? Do you think that's going to make the crowd think twice about disrespecting you? Or, do you think it's actually just going to give them rightful reason to make an asshole out of you as you're escorted off the court by security and into the locker room. I think the third one sounds about right.
But the real problem is this. We are at a point today where every kid that finds out they have some skills throws everything out the window besides playing AAU. The thought of too many kids today is, I don't need school, I got my AAU team and my coach is gonna get me to Kentucky or Syracuse. I wont have to go to class, I just have to go for a year, maybe two, then go get paid $10 million to go shoot a basketball.
This process just makes bad people. It's simple. They make one dimensional, stupid, bad people.
It turns good kids into idiots who don't have enough common sense to realize that they should finish the game and go back to the locker room when they are down 27 points to their rival on the road, instead of looking for the closest opportunity to prove that, while you can't make free throws, you can throw a punch.
Mono during winter break....Let's get get hammered, right?
So last Monday I went to the doctors because I was feeling pretty and low and behold, I test positive for mono.
Fucking wonderful.
What this means id that all the time for the next month or so, maybe more, I will always have a runny nose, sore throat, aching joints and an outrageous headache. And what will have an even bigger presence than all of these things put together will be my fatigue. Since Monday, I'm pretty sure that I've slept for an average of 15 hours a night. Most of the time, that's enjoyable, but 15 hours of sleep isn't enjoyable when you wake up after it and you feel like you just had a 3-hour night of sleep. It's a real let down.
Apparently this is what it will be for the next month. It also means that my rowing career will probably go to shit for about a month as well.
However, what I think sucks the most is something that is sad to realize it matters to me most...
"No drinking for at least the rest of the winter" the doctor says!?!?!?!?
Correct me if my thinking was wrong, but I was counting on drinking to be the only bright spot of my time of sickliness. Might this be the sign that I have a problem? It could be, but if whether or not I'm judged for it, I think I should get a little sympathy; I have needs.
Apparently I wasn't too up to date on my mono knowledge. Apparently it inflames my liver, so something like drinking, which pounds the liver even more, pretty much makes it exponentially dangerous.
BUT, here's my theory. I feel like if I take the rout of reverse psychology, and just get blackout drunk every night (Not just really drunk, like actually blackout), the gratuitous amount of alcohol in my bloodstream will actually destroy the bacteria, curing me.
I just have to sacrifice my liver. And those are a dime a dozen anyway.
This was all a joke by the way, I would never do this. I plan on taking care of myself and getting better.
But if someone out there is willing to sacrifice their liver in the name of science, I feel like this idea is worth a shot.
Fucking wonderful.
What this means id that all the time for the next month or so, maybe more, I will always have a runny nose, sore throat, aching joints and an outrageous headache. And what will have an even bigger presence than all of these things put together will be my fatigue. Since Monday, I'm pretty sure that I've slept for an average of 15 hours a night. Most of the time, that's enjoyable, but 15 hours of sleep isn't enjoyable when you wake up after it and you feel like you just had a 3-hour night of sleep. It's a real let down.
Apparently this is what it will be for the next month. It also means that my rowing career will probably go to shit for about a month as well.
However, what I think sucks the most is something that is sad to realize it matters to me most...
"No drinking for at least the rest of the winter" the doctor says!?!?!?!?
Correct me if my thinking was wrong, but I was counting on drinking to be the only bright spot of my time of sickliness. Might this be the sign that I have a problem? It could be, but if whether or not I'm judged for it, I think I should get a little sympathy; I have needs.
Apparently I wasn't too up to date on my mono knowledge. Apparently it inflames my liver, so something like drinking, which pounds the liver even more, pretty much makes it exponentially dangerous.
BUT, here's my theory. I feel like if I take the rout of reverse psychology, and just get blackout drunk every night (Not just really drunk, like actually blackout), the gratuitous amount of alcohol in my bloodstream will actually destroy the bacteria, curing me.
I just have to sacrifice my liver. And those are a dime a dozen anyway.
This was all a joke by the way, I would never do this. I plan on taking care of myself and getting better.
But if someone out there is willing to sacrifice their liver in the name of science, I feel like this idea is worth a shot.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Celebrating Roommate Month
It's 3am, and I feel like now is the time that I learn the true meaning of friendship. I'm sitting on the toilet at 3 in the morning in the stall next to the stall that my roommate is puking in. It's also Thursday (Well, now technically Friday), so my roommate, who will remain nameless at the risk of people finding out just how much fun he has on Thirsty Thursday, has had an interesting night.
I've gotten a few weird looks, sitting here on the toilet as I wait for the proper time to decide that *blank* has had adequate time to empty his bowels and drink him back into the dorm room. It's always funny to see that I never need to give an explanation. I simply get the look of sympathy from them at my situation, and a look of admiration as they look on the stall of my puking friend. In all seriousness, they are really impressed. I'm pretty sick at the moment, so I didn't go out tonight, but I myself will admit that most times, I'm pretty apt to go out on Thursdays and have a drink, but I can't really say that I've ever actually gotten to this point...on a Thursday that is. I guess I've just never been as thirsty as everyone else.
Nope. Instead, sickly little me has been in the dorm room all night watching Skins reruns and eating microwavable chicken nuggets. One may think this whole situation aggravates me. It does a little tiny bit, but that's only because I'm sick, and I have a class that starts in a little less than 5 hours. Outside of that, I really don't mind it at all. What would I have to talk about when I go home for break if I didn't have to do my homework sitting on a toilet in a bathroom stall every once and a while. After all, that's friends are for.
This man is lucky I love him.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
First semester almost over already? Color me excited.
It's 5 minutes until Thursday, and my week is over once the weekend starts, so we'll call this week just about over. That being said, I have just one more week of classes then one week of finals until I go home for a month for winter break. What a crazy thing to think about. I feel like I just got here.
A lot of things have happened over the course of the first semester. I had made and lost friends. I've worked my way up the ladder in a sport I've never done before. I've realized that the cold in Ithaca has been, to this point, completely overblown and overrated. My grades have gone up and down. I like to think that the grade in the class that I write this blog for is staying decent (And it depends on your definition of "decent"), but it might not be on account of how behind I am on the blogs. I've had one consistent independent throughout my entire first semester and that has been my weekends. The weekends are their own entity and I never know what to expect from them but, at the same time, I know everything to expect from them. That might be a curse and a blessing.
I think the most bizarre thing has been making trips home for vacations and discovering that my bed at home is not as comfortable as the one at school. Telling my Mom this was the wrong move, for all sorts of reasons. The most comforting thing going home for these breaks has definitely been the fact that my douchebag friends from home have not become bigger douchebags since we all left for school because they think they're the shit because they've been at college for a few months partying. We've all been doing that...
But luckily, they're the same douchebags, who I love. I just hope they stay the same for Christmas.
Maybe Google+ is good for something after all
I've been really skeptical of Google+ throughout the entire semester. I still am. I think facebook is just so much better. If you had invented facebook, you'd have invented facebook. If you didn't invent facebook. Then you probably just invented google+.
Ha. Ha.
Turns out, it's good for something after all. I don't want to take any credit away from my professor, because her comments are no doubt, at the end of the day, what turn my papers into presentable pieces of work. But I would definitely say that before that, what really helps me get past the initial wanting to just drown instead of going back of one of my shitty first drafts, is the feedback I get from my peers online. They tell me the simple things I want to hear. The things I want to hear are something like, "I might change this around a little bit," but they're usually mixed in with a little bit of, "Dude me too!" or "I totally get that" and shit like that. I don't know, it's nice to hear.
Once I get past these little things, along with everybody's comments constantly reminding me that I should probably use cited sources in a research essay, then I can move on to my Professor's comments. And at that point, they just seem a little more manageable, which is nice. I should probably get to doing that now...
Ha. Ha.
Turns out, it's good for something after all. I don't want to take any credit away from my professor, because her comments are no doubt, at the end of the day, what turn my papers into presentable pieces of work. But I would definitely say that before that, what really helps me get past the initial wanting to just drown instead of going back of one of my shitty first drafts, is the feedback I get from my peers online. They tell me the simple things I want to hear. The things I want to hear are something like, "I might change this around a little bit," but they're usually mixed in with a little bit of, "Dude me too!" or "I totally get that" and shit like that. I don't know, it's nice to hear.
Once I get past these little things, along with everybody's comments constantly reminding me that I should probably use cited sources in a research essay, then I can move on to my Professor's comments. And at that point, they just seem a little more manageable, which is nice. I should probably get to doing that now...
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Interview essay Feedback
So I can definitely take away several things from the feedback I got on my interview essay.
1) I should type slower. Apparently I'm most fluent in nonsensical gibberish. So I probably wasted a bunch of my editors' time correcting my grammar and structure mistakes. So it definitely wouldn't kill me to maybe take a little slower while I'm writing or maybe even read it over after I finish writing the whole thing (God forbid).
2) I definitely need to include my research in the draft instead of waiting for the final draft to include the research so I can just bullshit my way through the draft just so I can have something to turn in. Now I'm pretty much left with about twice as much work to do.
I'm coming to a conclusion that I just seem to make things harder for myself that could be so easy. I've always considered writing essays a strong suit of mine. There's probably a lot of simple thing I could be doing to make my life a lot easier and probably be getting better grades while doing it.
Anyways, the feedback was really helpful. I've added some research but I should definitely expand more into it. I've also completely switched from the Faderman method to the Walker method, which I'm happier. It could make for a really great paper.
1) I should type slower. Apparently I'm most fluent in nonsensical gibberish. So I probably wasted a bunch of my editors' time correcting my grammar and structure mistakes. So it definitely wouldn't kill me to maybe take a little slower while I'm writing or maybe even read it over after I finish writing the whole thing (God forbid).
2) I definitely need to include my research in the draft instead of waiting for the final draft to include the research so I can just bullshit my way through the draft just so I can have something to turn in. Now I'm pretty much left with about twice as much work to do.
I'm coming to a conclusion that I just seem to make things harder for myself that could be so easy. I've always considered writing essays a strong suit of mine. There's probably a lot of simple thing I could be doing to make my life a lot easier and probably be getting better grades while doing it.
Anyways, the feedback was really helpful. I've added some research but I should definitely expand more into it. I've also completely switched from the Faderman method to the Walker method, which I'm happier. It could make for a really great paper.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
What I Want as the Interviewer
The interview with my mom went great. It was actually a lot better than I initially hoped it'd be. That's because the interview subject turned out to be completely different than what I planned. My interview turned out to be about discovering the story of someone who had to fight their way out of alcoholism and drug addiction to find a new life for herself elsewhere. This all came from a burning desire to grow up.
Pretty good subject, huh?
I think it's great and I'm really excited to finish my paper on it. But I'd like you to know what I was initially looking for as the interviewer. My initial topic was to find out from someone's personal account of such things, the true effect of the political, social, and cultural movements of the 1960s, mostly pertaining to hippies.
I took a class on the subject my senior year, and I loved it. It was just all so interesting. And it wasn't some dope talking about how sweet following The Dead was. I saw the dark side of the glamorized sixties. I think most people are reluctant to recall the obvious yet somehow neglected events of the civil rights movement and the nixon years. No one wants to talk about social turmoil, political corruption, or, god forbid, mistakes at war. Everyone wants to talk about Woodstock.
I was hoping that that's what I would get from my mom's experiences, but I got something else. Personally, I enjoyed that "something else". I've posted about my mom story before, and whoever reads that can see what an awesome interview that might have been. I didn't get what I initially wanted, but i think I got something better.
Pretty good subject, huh?
I think it's great and I'm really excited to finish my paper on it. But I'd like you to know what I was initially looking for as the interviewer. My initial topic was to find out from someone's personal account of such things, the true effect of the political, social, and cultural movements of the 1960s, mostly pertaining to hippies.
I took a class on the subject my senior year, and I loved it. It was just all so interesting. And it wasn't some dope talking about how sweet following The Dead was. I saw the dark side of the glamorized sixties. I think most people are reluctant to recall the obvious yet somehow neglected events of the civil rights movement and the nixon years. No one wants to talk about social turmoil, political corruption, or, god forbid, mistakes at war. Everyone wants to talk about Woodstock.
I was hoping that that's what I would get from my mom's experiences, but I got something else. Personally, I enjoyed that "something else". I've posted about my mom story before, and whoever reads that can see what an awesome interview that might have been. I didn't get what I initially wanted, but i think I got something better.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
My favorite essay is about Brooklyn. Not a shocker.
My essay class has read a lot of "The Best American Essays" this year, and for the most part, I've enjoyed them. There were a few that I found to be boring and sometimes just stupid, but most of them, I could really understand why they were in a book called "Best American Essays". I gotta say that I think my favorite was on called "Brooklyn The Unknowable".
"Brooklyn the Unknowable" was a essay in which the author gave us a narrative of his reflections on his childhood and where he is in life today, and where he stands on the place (Brooklyn) that he grew up. There were a bunch of things I loved about the essay. he points out the hospitality of Brooklyn to far outsiders, while the worst conflicts in Brooklyn come from issues of territory, that often involve places that are a few blocks away from each other. he discusses peoples' fear of Brooklyn, those mostly being people from Manhattan, called the Manhattanites. They are like two different countries that are so close to one another. The narrator himself even got a taste of Manhattan at one point, living there for a short while, and certainly loving it. And even though he swore that he would never go back, he eventually ended up moving back there, just a short distance away from where he grew up. It kinda tells us that no matter how much he want to leave and promise that we will never go back, which most of us do in our teenage years, we will mostly likely end up pretty close to where it all began.
I especially love his bit on the industrialization of Brooklyn. He says that although it make make more sense to change the low level buildings of Brooklyn and bring more a metropolistic aspect to it, he would regret the loss of the sun. This says so much about the beauty of Brooklyn, and what he has been shaped into because of living in Brooklyn. It was really a great read.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Be happy now? or be happy later...
I seem to be at a bit of an inner struggle. If you know my blogging habits, normally this inner struggle is me attempting to get all of the blog entires done so I can salvage my grade in the class.
Well, you're wrong, I won't give you what you want this time, even though not giving you what you want is probably the reason for my C+.
Anyways, my struggle at the moment involves my major. Maybe if I didn't have this inner struggle, I wouldn't even be in this class (Reading my entry from start to this point...Wow, I'm bitter). I'm at an impasse right now. I like to write. So I'm a writing major. That seems simple enough. Well, what doesn't seem simple enough is my career opportunities for when I leave college. I'm slowly beginning to realize that I should have came into this school as an exploratory major. I feel like I would have been in a much more comfortable spot that way. Right now, I'm looking at my options after I graduate: a magazine writer? a journalist (Probably not. Or else I'd be a journalism major)? a novelist (I've never written anything more than 12 pages. As an alsmost-nineteen-year-old, i feel like I might be a little behind on that), something else? Probably nothing else. I do like to write things. But more than my own writing, I like to analyze others' writing. That is what brings me the most excitement. I know, I have a wild life. But I love taking pieces of writing and deciphering what the author really wants and really means, how they did it and why they did it. I guess the only thing that falls under that category would be an english teacher. Well, I'm far off from that right now, as I'm not an english major.
But the struggle doesn't just begin and end with what I wanna do after I graduate. The struggle becomes even bigger with what I HAVE to focus on after I graduate college. I like to write, and I like to analyze text, but I don't like living in boxes. I know that not everyone ends up jobless after majoring in humanities, but it is usually the gifted individuals who make something of it. I'm discrediting myself as having no gifts, but I'd like to discover them before I decide that they're going to decide my future.
That being said, and though I spoke against it in high school, I'm probably going to look for a major to begin my sophomore year that will be a little more financially stable for my future. And though I haven't decided that major yet, I know for sure that a minor in an area focused towards business and finance certainly won't hurt me.
Well, you're wrong, I won't give you what you want this time, even though not giving you what you want is probably the reason for my C+.
Anyways, my struggle at the moment involves my major. Maybe if I didn't have this inner struggle, I wouldn't even be in this class (Reading my entry from start to this point...Wow, I'm bitter). I'm at an impasse right now. I like to write. So I'm a writing major. That seems simple enough. Well, what doesn't seem simple enough is my career opportunities for when I leave college. I'm slowly beginning to realize that I should have came into this school as an exploratory major. I feel like I would have been in a much more comfortable spot that way. Right now, I'm looking at my options after I graduate: a magazine writer? a journalist (Probably not. Or else I'd be a journalism major)? a novelist (I've never written anything more than 12 pages. As an alsmost-nineteen-year-old, i feel like I might be a little behind on that), something else? Probably nothing else. I do like to write things. But more than my own writing, I like to analyze others' writing. That is what brings me the most excitement. I know, I have a wild life. But I love taking pieces of writing and deciphering what the author really wants and really means, how they did it and why they did it. I guess the only thing that falls under that category would be an english teacher. Well, I'm far off from that right now, as I'm not an english major.
But the struggle doesn't just begin and end with what I wanna do after I graduate. The struggle becomes even bigger with what I HAVE to focus on after I graduate college. I like to write, and I like to analyze text, but I don't like living in boxes. I know that not everyone ends up jobless after majoring in humanities, but it is usually the gifted individuals who make something of it. I'm discrediting myself as having no gifts, but I'd like to discover them before I decide that they're going to decide my future.
That being said, and though I spoke against it in high school, I'm probably going to look for a major to begin my sophomore year that will be a little more financially stable for my future. And though I haven't decided that major yet, I know for sure that a minor in an area focused towards business and finance certainly won't hurt me.
Things I Thought I Knew About My Mom?
My first thoughts as to how the interview went: Amazing. Pretty good considering this was an interview done in the car on our way to Ithaca; my Mom taking me back to school from fall break. There were things that i was hoping for that I didn't get. I was hoping for more of a political stance from her. She admittedly was not as into the protest movement as much as she was the culture of hippie living in the 70s and 80s. She loved the music, the lifestyle, the drugs, the clothes, but the politics of it just didn't concern her much. That's ok though, better that one is honest about it. Honestly, I'm sure that most hippies back then thought like that, but getting involved in protests and politics was just part of the image, so they had to go along with it.
Anyways, I don't really care that she didn't have much to say about politics because she gave me one of the most interesting youth stories I have ever heard. In fact, it was kind of strange that I knew nothing of this before and was casually told in the car on the way back to college. What I didn't know was that my Mom was married to a hippie in Colorado for seven years. I didn't know that she lived in an apartment where all they owned were a bean bag and a stereo. Oh, and of course, a lot of weed. My Mom basically gave me the story of someone who lived what was the most fun during one's college years, but when it was time to be an adult in the years after college, she was trapped; trapped with addiction, trapped with hippies, and trapped with a husband that wanted her to move to Oregon with him to join a cult-like commune and study some weird hippie book. I don't want to give too much away. I hope that some of you or anyone that's reading this may actually read the interview...once it's finished that is. I have to put the whole thing together because right now, I have are the raw things that my Mom said. I'm actually in a bit of trouble, apparently it was a requirement to record the interview, not just an option. Oh well, what's done is done, I'll have to figure something out. But wow, hell of an interview..
Anyways, I don't really care that she didn't have much to say about politics because she gave me one of the most interesting youth stories I have ever heard. In fact, it was kind of strange that I knew nothing of this before and was casually told in the car on the way back to college. What I didn't know was that my Mom was married to a hippie in Colorado for seven years. I didn't know that she lived in an apartment where all they owned were a bean bag and a stereo. Oh, and of course, a lot of weed. My Mom basically gave me the story of someone who lived what was the most fun during one's college years, but when it was time to be an adult in the years after college, she was trapped; trapped with addiction, trapped with hippies, and trapped with a husband that wanted her to move to Oregon with him to join a cult-like commune and study some weird hippie book. I don't want to give too much away. I hope that some of you or anyone that's reading this may actually read the interview...once it's finished that is. I have to put the whole thing together because right now, I have are the raw things that my Mom said. I'm actually in a bit of trouble, apparently it was a requirement to record the interview, not just an option. Oh well, what's done is done, I'll have to figure something out. But wow, hell of an interview..
I...The Interviewer..
So I'm new as an interviewer. I'm not really sure what it's going to end up like as far as the length, how involved my interviewee is, how into the subject she is, or how open and honest she will be. Then again, I am interviewing my mom, so, I'm sure that we will probably work together to make the interview sound good. The original person I wanted to interview apparently has one free hour over a period of 5 full days. this one hour is when I have a class. Ain't that a bitch.
I do, however, know what i want from the interview. I'm doing my interview on personal accounts of the influence of music and counterculture in the 1960s. I've had to change it around a bit, because, though my mom was influenced heavily by the counterculture movement, it occurred for her much more greatly during the late 1970s and early 1980s. So she is much more subject to the influence of the first movement in the 60s, rather to the actual movement itself. So, I'm basically hoping to get some juicy stuff. I want to know all about following the Grateful Dead in college. I want to know what the college experience was like living with a bunch granola heads in Colorado. I want to know what it was like with her conservative midwestern family from Iowa representing the exact opposite morals that she did during her years in Colorado. I want to know how her political views have been shaped to this day; what she thinks of protest movements, occupy wall street and such. I wanna know how she looks back on it all, now living a life that is probably an opposite world compared to her life in college and the four or five years that followed.
I think that if my Mom is willing to talk as much as I know she can, I think this could be a hell of an interview..
I do, however, know what i want from the interview. I'm doing my interview on personal accounts of the influence of music and counterculture in the 1960s. I've had to change it around a bit, because, though my mom was influenced heavily by the counterculture movement, it occurred for her much more greatly during the late 1970s and early 1980s. So she is much more subject to the influence of the first movement in the 60s, rather to the actual movement itself. So, I'm basically hoping to get some juicy stuff. I want to know all about following the Grateful Dead in college. I want to know what the college experience was like living with a bunch granola heads in Colorado. I want to know what it was like with her conservative midwestern family from Iowa representing the exact opposite morals that she did during her years in Colorado. I want to know how her political views have been shaped to this day; what she thinks of protest movements, occupy wall street and such. I wanna know how she looks back on it all, now living a life that is probably an opposite world compared to her life in college and the four or five years that followed.
I think that if my Mom is willing to talk as much as I know she can, I think this could be a hell of an interview..
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Look who's a college athlete
It's pretty crazy to think of how sports in my life have gone to this point. For about eight years ago. i dedicated myself to basketball and pretty much nothing else. This went until about my junior year of high school when I planned on playing basketball and college. I gotta say, thank god I'm not doing that. That would be miserable.
So around my junior year, I pretty much decided that I was bored with basketball, and that I just didn't have much interest in it anymore. keep in mind, at the time, I still maintained a spot as a captain on the varsity team (Yes, this is to silence anybody who immediately thinks that I got tired of basketball because I was the white kid who sucked). I wasn't anyone to fuck with on the court. I definitely held my own. I sometimes even began to have fun during the games. But, and I don't mean to sound like a jackass, at the end of the day, I was just so over going to practice with a bunch of kids who had very ambitious goals in basketball, while I became the one that, even though I earned playing time and put up my fair share of numbers on the court, just didn't give a shit our season and where my illustrious basketball career took me.
My senior year it got even worse. I'm pretty sure that I'm the only player in the history of my high school to hold a spot as a captain and not be a captain senior year. Yes, I'm proud of it. At this point, I had already taken up theater because of how jealous I was of the fun that my theater friends looked like they were having when they did it. At this point, even my mom gave me her blessing to skip practices and at this point I just wanted everything to be over.
Again, thank god that's all over, and now I'm in college. But, surprise! I'm a college athlete. Turns out tall kids make good rowers. So I'm doing that now and it's wonderful. After all, I get to go on the lake for the sunset every evening and row a boat. I can't complain about that too much. The strange part about it, is that I started doing it as a method of staying shape during college, to cancel out all of the beer and cheesy poofs. Now, I can't wait for racing season because I wanna win. Feels strange. But whatever, I'm glad I'm doing it. I'm in a renaissance of my athletic career. And I'm sure as hell glad that I'm not playing basketball. All of the guys on the basketball team look like douche bags.
So around my junior year, I pretty much decided that I was bored with basketball, and that I just didn't have much interest in it anymore. keep in mind, at the time, I still maintained a spot as a captain on the varsity team (Yes, this is to silence anybody who immediately thinks that I got tired of basketball because I was the white kid who sucked). I wasn't anyone to fuck with on the court. I definitely held my own. I sometimes even began to have fun during the games. But, and I don't mean to sound like a jackass, at the end of the day, I was just so over going to practice with a bunch of kids who had very ambitious goals in basketball, while I became the one that, even though I earned playing time and put up my fair share of numbers on the court, just didn't give a shit our season and where my illustrious basketball career took me.
My senior year it got even worse. I'm pretty sure that I'm the only player in the history of my high school to hold a spot as a captain and not be a captain senior year. Yes, I'm proud of it. At this point, I had already taken up theater because of how jealous I was of the fun that my theater friends looked like they were having when they did it. At this point, even my mom gave me her blessing to skip practices and at this point I just wanted everything to be over.
Again, thank god that's all over, and now I'm in college. But, surprise! I'm a college athlete. Turns out tall kids make good rowers. So I'm doing that now and it's wonderful. After all, I get to go on the lake for the sunset every evening and row a boat. I can't complain about that too much. The strange part about it, is that I started doing it as a method of staying shape during college, to cancel out all of the beer and cheesy poofs. Now, I can't wait for racing season because I wanna win. Feels strange. But whatever, I'm glad I'm doing it. I'm in a renaissance of my athletic career. And I'm sure as hell glad that I'm not playing basketball. All of the guys on the basketball team look like douche bags.
October already...
Jesus Christ it's October already. I feel like I just got to college yesterday and I've been here for, I wanna say, about 7 weeks now. Pretty crazy. it's going by about as fast as could imagine, if not a lot faster. It tells me several things. I feel like the time has gone so quickly because of all the fun I've been having, which is good. Is it really great if so much of the fun, though, is fun that i can't remember in the morning?
It's tough to decide, at this point, if I'm having a great time, or if I'm wasting my time. My classes are all going at least decently, which I'm happy about (Kind of). I've made friends and rowing is fun. Debauchery with the rowing team every weekend, doesn't get any better (I guess). How would I be doing in my school work if I didn't try to live the life of what the stereotypical party-apt college student every weekend, and even during most weekdays? What clubs would I be joining? What people would I be meeting? how much more in touch would I be keeping with my family. I wish they all had facebooks, being a good son and letting them know constantly that I love them would be so much easier if they were under my "family" list on my facebook. How selfish of them, they need to know better.
As I look back on seven weeks of school, I can only wonder how much quicker the remaining weeks will go by. And, really, it's sort of a good thing. Breaks come fast. Summer comes fast. So when you're not taking part in your normal, everyday debauchery at school, you can do it at home with all your old buddies. But what also comes quickly is graduation. Fuck, I have to be an adult soon. They even tell us that sophomore year is the time to start looking into grad schools. And now all of a sudden I feel like if I'm waiting tables at the pizza joint during my summers and not some fancy internship relating to what I wanna do with my life, I'll fall behind. So the fun and the stress come quickly.
I guess I should give it a rest for a little while and stop feeling sorry for myself. I'm haven't had midterms for first semester of my freshman year yet...
Is it really a table?
So, you I used to have a pretty good grip on what exactly physical objects were. When I see a pencil, it's a pencil. When I see a desk, it's a desk. And, as goes the great saying, if it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it's a fucking duck....Well that might not exactly be very famous. A friend of mine said it once and he was pretty drunk. Could have been a great man, so if it was, I credit him. Hell, I think my drunk friend is a great man anyway.
Anyways, so, a table is a table right?
WRONG.
The truth of it actually is, that we have absolutely no right to call just any table that we see, a table. What petty attributes do we give such objects? A flat circle, oval, square, or rectangle surface? Four legs? Solid material? For all we know, this could all be bullshit. Because the real truth is that we know nothing about what a table actually is. Somewhere out there, there is a great, all-seeing table that is the true definition of a table. It is the absolute truth of what a table actually is. The tables that we know, love, cherish, and possibly take for granted, may be nothing like tables at all.
I attribute this realization to two people. The first is Plato. What a guy. Plain and simple, he was the one who said this. He discussed absolute truth, this absolute truth being that the things we may think to be facts (lol, oxymoron there) may not be anything like we perceive them to be at all. This is because somewhere out there, there is an ultimate being of that object or idea, that puts all impostors, such as these so-called tables, to shame.
The second person I credit my realization to would be my western civ professor. She explained this to me and acted just crazy enough while doing to convince me to give it some consideration.
I didn't give it too much thought. It's a fucking table for christ sakes.
Anyways, so, a table is a table right?
WRONG.
The truth of it actually is, that we have absolutely no right to call just any table that we see, a table. What petty attributes do we give such objects? A flat circle, oval, square, or rectangle surface? Four legs? Solid material? For all we know, this could all be bullshit. Because the real truth is that we know nothing about what a table actually is. Somewhere out there, there is a great, all-seeing table that is the true definition of a table. It is the absolute truth of what a table actually is. The tables that we know, love, cherish, and possibly take for granted, may be nothing like tables at all.
I attribute this realization to two people. The first is Plato. What a guy. Plain and simple, he was the one who said this. He discussed absolute truth, this absolute truth being that the things we may think to be facts (lol, oxymoron there) may not be anything like we perceive them to be at all. This is because somewhere out there, there is an ultimate being of that object or idea, that puts all impostors, such as these so-called tables, to shame.
The second person I credit my realization to would be my western civ professor. She explained this to me and acted just crazy enough while doing to convince me to give it some consideration.
I didn't give it too much thought. It's a fucking table for christ sakes.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Fear.
Fear is an interesting things to ponder. I have fear about many things. It comes in shifts and waves depending on where I am in my life. When I was young, my greatest fears came from wanting to make sure I caught my favorite cartoons. I would also get the occasional worry about, when my parents went out to dinner and I was left with the babysitter, whether they would ever come home again. After all, where should they have the right to go that I can not go with them? Well, this was the five-year-old me.
As I grew a little older, my fears began to morph to how I would be perceived in school. This did not come arise as much in high as it did in middle school, as I went to high school in a very liberal environment. I was in my awkward stage, and I slaved over keeping up with whatever was cool. The only thing I never surrendered was my music taste. I always listened to whatever I wanted to listen to. However, I could still not let any of my classmates new that I liked to listen to The Clash instead of Chris Brown. Funny how the guy who beats his spouses makes music more suitable for the younger than the Grateful Dead do.
Anyways, in high school, the biggest fears were keeping my social life stable, maintaining a stable relationship if I was in one at the moment, and, finally, getting in to college. Those seem like pretty reasonable things to worry about to me. After all, those are what's most important right?
When I think about it, it seems pretty awful. Faderman's interview told of a group of people on the run from soldiers who wanted nothing more than kill them and to do every possible awful thing that they could think of before that. There are people in third-world countrties whio fight every day for survival, and there main worries usually center around just getting the adequate amount of food for that day. Why do I have the right be afraid of my parents not coming home, how my "friends" at school feel about me, or, god forbid, getting a low grade?
I don't think it's a good excuse for it, but the reason I'm afraid of these things is because I'm selfish. I want to do well. I want to get good grades in college, and end up having a good set-up for after I graduate. I want things. I want a nice house and a nice girlfriend (well, maybe...), and the people from Faderman's interview wanted just to live. So where the hell do I get off? But that's the truth. It's because of the way I was raised; I was raised with opportunities. If I don't make something of myself, what point will there be to any of the things I was provided with when I was younger? I'm afraid more than anything of wasting what has been given to me since I was little. It's selfish, but it's right.
As I grew a little older, my fears began to morph to how I would be perceived in school. This did not come arise as much in high as it did in middle school, as I went to high school in a very liberal environment. I was in my awkward stage, and I slaved over keeping up with whatever was cool. The only thing I never surrendered was my music taste. I always listened to whatever I wanted to listen to. However, I could still not let any of my classmates new that I liked to listen to The Clash instead of Chris Brown. Funny how the guy who beats his spouses makes music more suitable for the younger than the Grateful Dead do.
Anyways, in high school, the biggest fears were keeping my social life stable, maintaining a stable relationship if I was in one at the moment, and, finally, getting in to college. Those seem like pretty reasonable things to worry about to me. After all, those are what's most important right?
When I think about it, it seems pretty awful. Faderman's interview told of a group of people on the run from soldiers who wanted nothing more than kill them and to do every possible awful thing that they could think of before that. There are people in third-world countrties whio fight every day for survival, and there main worries usually center around just getting the adequate amount of food for that day. Why do I have the right be afraid of my parents not coming home, how my "friends" at school feel about me, or, god forbid, getting a low grade?
I don't think it's a good excuse for it, but the reason I'm afraid of these things is because I'm selfish. I want to do well. I want to get good grades in college, and end up having a good set-up for after I graduate. I want things. I want a nice house and a nice girlfriend (well, maybe...), and the people from Faderman's interview wanted just to live. So where the hell do I get off? But that's the truth. It's because of the way I was raised; I was raised with opportunities. If I don't make something of myself, what point will there be to any of the things I was provided with when I was younger? I'm afraid more than anything of wasting what has been given to me since I was little. It's selfish, but it's right.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
I'm Terrified Of Women
Well, fucking cheers to Brian Doyle. Now I'll never get married.
...That was a bit aggressive for the start of a post. I'm sorry.
I'll start over..
So I read a really great and creative essay the other day in my essay class. Don't let the intro to the post throw you off. It was inspired by Brian Doyle's "Irreconcilable Dissonance". It terrified me and made me never want to reach my late twenties, but the essay was awesome and I loved reading it. It's a story about love that involves no love. Doyle pointed out to me that it is what makes our marriages great that breaks them up. What makes our marriages great is the stupid shit that we have to put up with and handle each and every day. People commit to each other for the rest of their lives because they're ready to take that on, right?
Turns out the reasons that wives divorce their husbands is because they pick their noses and because they make pissing jokes on the fire hydrants on the sidewalk. And the reasons husbands divorce their wives is because they're "tired". It's all kind of a scary thought. It seems like the same stuff that makes the marriage work is what destroys it.
I guess "destroys" is a strong word. It depends on how seriously you take marriage. Anyways, it was a really good essay. Funny too. I recommend it, but only if you're single.
...That was a bit aggressive for the start of a post. I'm sorry.
I'll start over..
So I read a really great and creative essay the other day in my essay class. Don't let the intro to the post throw you off. It was inspired by Brian Doyle's "Irreconcilable Dissonance". It terrified me and made me never want to reach my late twenties, but the essay was awesome and I loved reading it. It's a story about love that involves no love. Doyle pointed out to me that it is what makes our marriages great that breaks them up. What makes our marriages great is the stupid shit that we have to put up with and handle each and every day. People commit to each other for the rest of their lives because they're ready to take that on, right?
Turns out the reasons that wives divorce their husbands is because they pick their noses and because they make pissing jokes on the fire hydrants on the sidewalk. And the reasons husbands divorce their wives is because they're "tired". It's all kind of a scary thought. It seems like the same stuff that makes the marriage work is what destroys it.
I guess "destroys" is a strong word. It depends on how seriously you take marriage. Anyways, it was a really good essay. Funny too. I recommend it, but only if you're single.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
What Others think Of My Conscious..
Hi, all. So I'd like to talk about some of the feedback I got on an essay that might have been one of the most enjoyable writes I have ever done. I loved writing an essay on my stream of consciousness because, as I have said before, I love to be impersonal, and on this assignment, I was able to do just that. I love talking about what other kids are doing out on the quad, Cornell's suicide rate, and thongs....lots of thongs. I wrote it with almost the same mind set that I write most of these blogs, and that can't be too terrible can it?
Anyways, I was really happy to hear my feedback because my peers that read it seemed, for the most part, to enjoy it and find something significant out of it. I did discover that I may have the potential to confuse a few people with my opening line: "Charlie told his mom that he would buy the pencil himself". I am coming to the realization that not every person happened to have an english teacher in high school who was obsessed with Virginia Woolf, therefore transitioning that obsession over to me. So when I write that line, I wrongly assumed that everyone would just get that that line alludes to the opening line of Woolf's "Mrs. Dalloway". Oh well, I don't have regrets, I will continue to allude to allude to my favorite writer and just hope that enough people get the reference, though I suppose it was a little smug of me.
Besides that, both of my classmates seem to have a good reaction to the paper, admiring my openness towards contradiction, opening up the floor for the inner debate in my mind about social norms and why people do what they do. People seem to like the thong story. I'm glad they reacted well to that. Anyone who reads this that is still in high school (I don't know why a high school student would read this, but whatever), don't worry, you will definite have many thong-related adventures when you get to college. It's a good time.
One of the big things that I can tell that I need to work on is how people will receive my tone. When I mentioned in my paper that it would be absurd for me to actually sit down to eat lunch by myself, some people may actually think that I personally and terrified to just sit down and eat lunch by myself, when what I would really like to do is say to the reader that this is a point being made about the general overview of the masses, especially in high school and college settings. To their credit, this is not the easiest thing to conclude in my paper, because I'm pretty aggressive with my fears to eat lunch by myself and walk around outside without anything important to do. Overall, I'm happy with how it turned out. Now, to edit...
Anyways, I was really happy to hear my feedback because my peers that read it seemed, for the most part, to enjoy it and find something significant out of it. I did discover that I may have the potential to confuse a few people with my opening line: "Charlie told his mom that he would buy the pencil himself". I am coming to the realization that not every person happened to have an english teacher in high school who was obsessed with Virginia Woolf, therefore transitioning that obsession over to me. So when I write that line, I wrongly assumed that everyone would just get that that line alludes to the opening line of Woolf's "Mrs. Dalloway". Oh well, I don't have regrets, I will continue to allude to allude to my favorite writer and just hope that enough people get the reference, though I suppose it was a little smug of me.
Besides that, both of my classmates seem to have a good reaction to the paper, admiring my openness towards contradiction, opening up the floor for the inner debate in my mind about social norms and why people do what they do. People seem to like the thong story. I'm glad they reacted well to that. Anyone who reads this that is still in high school (I don't know why a high school student would read this, but whatever), don't worry, you will definite have many thong-related adventures when you get to college. It's a good time.
One of the big things that I can tell that I need to work on is how people will receive my tone. When I mentioned in my paper that it would be absurd for me to actually sit down to eat lunch by myself, some people may actually think that I personally and terrified to just sit down and eat lunch by myself, when what I would really like to do is say to the reader that this is a point being made about the general overview of the masses, especially in high school and college settings. To their credit, this is not the easiest thing to conclude in my paper, because I'm pretty aggressive with my fears to eat lunch by myself and walk around outside without anything important to do. Overall, I'm happy with how it turned out. Now, to edit...
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
My Inner Critic? Or Maybe An Over Analyzing Idiot?
You could take a wild guess that I would like to talk about my so-called inner critic. Well, I'm sure "so-called" is an aggressive term, because it definitely exists, and I definitely have one. However, contrary to how some other people may view it, I view my inner critic in a very nice light. To me, my inner critic is what helps make me great. I don't think I have gotten to the level of a great writer yet. I am an aspiring writer. Whoops, sorry...One who aspires to write things. But, again, aspiring but not yet great. I will get there. My inner critic is one who challenges my work, not challenging me on the basis that it is wrong, but on the basis of what exactly could be done to make it even better. It challenges me to bring out even more creativity than I already have in my work. My inner critic tells me to think about what other greats have done and tells me not to try to be like them, no, but to think about how they thought. What were their strategies to get to the points that they did? My inner critic is something that tells me to look back at my work and say, "You should have done this."
Now, if you have read the article that was assigned to my Intro to Essay class, you may catch wind of what i was doing in the first paragraph. If you haven't, here it is: http://www.alistapart.com/articles/banishing-your-inner-critic/
Anyways, after reading the article that this idiot scrounged together at some attempt to look like a new and creative thinker, you can see that I spent the first paragraph of this post speaking very highly of all the things that Denise Jacobs says are evil and hurtful for the writer; the things that are holding me back...? Jacobs thinks it makes sense to compare the thing about me that could potentially make my writing great to a troll under a bridge. According to Jacobs, improvement is holding me back. The should's and could's of my critiquing are much less my inner critic as much as they are an outer critic. It's this crazy thing called critiquing my work. Crazy, I know. Vince Lombardi once said, "perfection is not attainable, but if we chase perfection we can catch excellence." now, doesn't that just make sense? There's not really much to it. I almost feel dumber writing this post because I am trying to explain why it does not make sense for Jacobs to be arguing that constructively trying to improve in your writing is this troll under a bridge just trying to hold you back.
Then Jacobs takes a big turn for the worst. With all of her wisdom, she tells us how the key to conquering this evil aspect of our mind is to make partnership with it so that we can, yes, you guessed it, be constructive with our inner critic. I feel like hypocrisy is too mild of a term for the end of this article. Congratulations Denise Jacobs, you made me dumber today. That being said, I think I can honestly say that I think Denise spent less time in her article that I do on these blog posts...
Now, if you have read the article that was assigned to my Intro to Essay class, you may catch wind of what i was doing in the first paragraph. If you haven't, here it is: http://www.alistapart.com/articles/banishing-your-inner-critic/
Anyways, after reading the article that this idiot scrounged together at some attempt to look like a new and creative thinker, you can see that I spent the first paragraph of this post speaking very highly of all the things that Denise Jacobs says are evil and hurtful for the writer; the things that are holding me back...? Jacobs thinks it makes sense to compare the thing about me that could potentially make my writing great to a troll under a bridge. According to Jacobs, improvement is holding me back. The should's and could's of my critiquing are much less my inner critic as much as they are an outer critic. It's this crazy thing called critiquing my work. Crazy, I know. Vince Lombardi once said, "perfection is not attainable, but if we chase perfection we can catch excellence." now, doesn't that just make sense? There's not really much to it. I almost feel dumber writing this post because I am trying to explain why it does not make sense for Jacobs to be arguing that constructively trying to improve in your writing is this troll under a bridge just trying to hold you back.
Then Jacobs takes a big turn for the worst. With all of her wisdom, she tells us how the key to conquering this evil aspect of our mind is to make partnership with it so that we can, yes, you guessed it, be constructive with our inner critic. I feel like hypocrisy is too mild of a term for the end of this article. Congratulations Denise Jacobs, you made me dumber today. That being said, I think I can honestly say that I think Denise spent less time in her article that I do on these blog posts...
Monday, September 26, 2011
The Dead Book Review
I definitely wouldn't call myself an aspiring writer. This may come as a shock (I guess "shock is a little extreme, but there would at least be surprise) to many of those in my "Intro to Essay" class, seeing how it is a class designed for students who seem to be determined to do just that. To be honest, I'm not completely sure whether or not I want to stay in the major. I probably should have come into school as an exploratory. I just thought "writing" sounded like the safest description of the kind of area i wanted to study. Because it's true! I want to write things. That's why I think that, instead of an aspiring writer, I would rather call myself some some aspiring to write stuff. I like the way that sounds...it really rolls off the tongue.
Anyways, that being said, no matter where you may find yourself in the area of writing things, there are certain pieces of work that just apply to you, no matter what you're doing. "The Dead Book" did just that for me. In fact, "The Dead Book" probably would've done this for me had I not even been aspiring to write anything. Churchon's essay tells her narrative of the part of her job as a nurse where she has to pronounce deceased patients. Churchon gives a much different aspect to this practice than one might think. The procedures, the effects, the emotions, and the lessons learned that come with the responsibility that Churchon and many other nurses are faced with is one that i was, for the most part, very unaware of going into my reading of the piece.
The piece really made me think about when one day someone will be pronouncing me once I have passed and what the transition is like between my last breath and when I'm on the table being pronounced. But, jeez, enough of that. That's getting a little too emotional. Basically, I just recommend that you read this essay. Look it up somewhere. It has taken so many great strategies from many famous crafters of the essay and molds them into a piece on a subject that no one would really ever think would even be written about, let alone shown in the light of such emotion.
By the way, if you're still on the fence about reading it, it's only five pages...
Anyways, that being said, no matter where you may find yourself in the area of writing things, there are certain pieces of work that just apply to you, no matter what you're doing. "The Dead Book" did just that for me. In fact, "The Dead Book" probably would've done this for me had I not even been aspiring to write anything. Churchon's essay tells her narrative of the part of her job as a nurse where she has to pronounce deceased patients. Churchon gives a much different aspect to this practice than one might think. The procedures, the effects, the emotions, and the lessons learned that come with the responsibility that Churchon and many other nurses are faced with is one that i was, for the most part, very unaware of going into my reading of the piece.
The piece really made me think about when one day someone will be pronouncing me once I have passed and what the transition is like between my last breath and when I'm on the table being pronounced. But, jeez, enough of that. That's getting a little too emotional. Basically, I just recommend that you read this essay. Look it up somewhere. It has taken so many great strategies from many famous crafters of the essay and molds them into a piece on a subject that no one would really ever think would even be written about, let alone shown in the light of such emotion.
By the way, if you're still on the fence about reading it, it's only five pages...
Saturday, September 24, 2011
The "Art" Of The Personal Essay
So, as you all know (Sorry, that was a little narcissistic. you may very well not know), my knowledge of what an essay exactly is has been getting farther and farther away from me as I have progressed in my Intro To Essay course at Ithaca. Again, this is not a bad thing. I think it's a great thing, and I would like to talk about a friend of mine (Well, I wish...) that only helped me become less knowledgable about the essay, but helped me become more knowledgable as a writer, Phillip Lopate.
Lopate's work in "The Art Of The Personal Essay" has certainly laid some ground for me as to what I can do as an Essayist. What I think has affected me the most is his ideas on "The Idler Figure". Lopate describes the idler figure as something that can give the writer the ability to have a more personal feel. To be more specific, many times the idler figure can have the feel of someone who's just going on rambling about whatever may pop into their head. this sort of thing makes me think of Virginia Woolf and her style of writing. As much as I love her work (She is probably my favorite writer. Not a creative pick, I know), sometimes it just seems to eloquent to count as what Lopate is describing.
But then I found the best example of what I was looking for. Montaigne's "Of Books" gave the best example for me of a man who could truly portray himself, the narrator, the speaker, as the idler figure. He truly gave me feel of an old man that was just rambling on whatever came to his mind. It's not as bad as it sounds. I mean it to be a good thing. You'd get it if you read it. What he also does is put himself on the level of the reader. He basically makes every confession about his thinking as a writer that most writers want to keep from their readers. Montaigne tells me that he reads many books, but often times to does understand them. He even goes as far as to tell me that when he does read a book that he understands, he forgets it easily? Really? That's pretty honest of the guy. But I love it.
Another element of the idler figure is surely the ability for a character or persona to be in the action, however connecting with the reader one what the main ideas are of the writing. No one did this better, in my opinion, than F. Scott Fitzgerald in "The Great Gatsby". Nick Caraway was described as a character that was "within and without". He was the best observer in the history of literature, while still being one of the central characters of the novel. This is how I connected with him so easily, and how the books like "The Great Gatsby" and "This Side Of Paradise" become some of my most treasured reads.
So, to sum it up, I still don't know what an essay is, and writers like Woolf, Fitzgerald, Montaigne, and Lopate are the ones who are making me better at not knowing what it is every single day.
Lopate's work in "The Art Of The Personal Essay" has certainly laid some ground for me as to what I can do as an Essayist. What I think has affected me the most is his ideas on "The Idler Figure". Lopate describes the idler figure as something that can give the writer the ability to have a more personal feel. To be more specific, many times the idler figure can have the feel of someone who's just going on rambling about whatever may pop into their head. this sort of thing makes me think of Virginia Woolf and her style of writing. As much as I love her work (She is probably my favorite writer. Not a creative pick, I know), sometimes it just seems to eloquent to count as what Lopate is describing.
But then I found the best example of what I was looking for. Montaigne's "Of Books" gave the best example for me of a man who could truly portray himself, the narrator, the speaker, as the idler figure. He truly gave me feel of an old man that was just rambling on whatever came to his mind. It's not as bad as it sounds. I mean it to be a good thing. You'd get it if you read it. What he also does is put himself on the level of the reader. He basically makes every confession about his thinking as a writer that most writers want to keep from their readers. Montaigne tells me that he reads many books, but often times to does understand them. He even goes as far as to tell me that when he does read a book that he understands, he forgets it easily? Really? That's pretty honest of the guy. But I love it.
Another element of the idler figure is surely the ability for a character or persona to be in the action, however connecting with the reader one what the main ideas are of the writing. No one did this better, in my opinion, than F. Scott Fitzgerald in "The Great Gatsby". Nick Caraway was described as a character that was "within and without". He was the best observer in the history of literature, while still being one of the central characters of the novel. This is how I connected with him so easily, and how the books like "The Great Gatsby" and "This Side Of Paradise" become some of my most treasured reads.
So, to sum it up, I still don't know what an essay is, and writers like Woolf, Fitzgerald, Montaigne, and Lopate are the ones who are making me better at not knowing what it is every single day.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Bloggers Recommending Blogs
Life as an amateur blogger (Ha. Oxymoron) is pretty sweet. It gives me a lot of liberties. it lets me do things that people can look at and say, "Pfft, what an amateur." That's fine! Everyone has to start somewhere. And since this blog isn't that good, I'm going to do someone else a good service. I'd like to recommend to you, another blog that you might find interesting.
http://dooce.com/ is probably the reason that I originally did not want to start my own blogs. I viewed blogs as superfluous, self-centered, and generally focused around things that i just didn't give a flying shit about. Then, through the teachings of one of my writing professors, I discovered that a lot of blogs can do people a great service. There are blogs that give cooking recipes (Not that i can cook), there are blogs that give political news and updates, and even many that give sports updates...Now I'm just off topic.
The blog I would like to recommend to all of my loyal readers (Irony. I have none.) is Dooce. Dooce represents basically the factors of a blog that I don't like. HOWEVER, it's just funny. It's as simple as that. Heather Armstrong basically just talks about the simple, casual, and everyday factors of her life that can sometimes drive her crazy. A lot of it focuses around her husband, which makes for some decent comedy. Girl power!!! (Just kidding) Not only is it funny, but it made me realize that what attracts us to these pointless, conceited, narcissistic blogs is the simple, comedic way that we ourselves can relate to the issues of the blogger. It's as if, by reading their posts, we can have a conversation with them about without ever having to meet them (Thank God). So as you can see, what I hate(d) about most blogs is really what I admire about Dooce. So I really recommend that anyone who is bored enough to read my blog, to give Dooce a read. If it doesn't at least give you a chuckle or two, you can come back here and listen to me bitch about college.
http://dooce.com/ is probably the reason that I originally did not want to start my own blogs. I viewed blogs as superfluous, self-centered, and generally focused around things that i just didn't give a flying shit about. Then, through the teachings of one of my writing professors, I discovered that a lot of blogs can do people a great service. There are blogs that give cooking recipes (Not that i can cook), there are blogs that give political news and updates, and even many that give sports updates...Now I'm just off topic.
The blog I would like to recommend to all of my loyal readers (Irony. I have none.) is Dooce. Dooce represents basically the factors of a blog that I don't like. HOWEVER, it's just funny. It's as simple as that. Heather Armstrong basically just talks about the simple, casual, and everyday factors of her life that can sometimes drive her crazy. A lot of it focuses around her husband, which makes for some decent comedy. Girl power!!! (Just kidding) Not only is it funny, but it made me realize that what attracts us to these pointless, conceited, narcissistic blogs is the simple, comedic way that we ourselves can relate to the issues of the blogger. It's as if, by reading their posts, we can have a conversation with them about without ever having to meet them (Thank God). So as you can see, what I hate(d) about most blogs is really what I admire about Dooce. So I really recommend that anyone who is bored enough to read my blog, to give Dooce a read. If it doesn't at least give you a chuckle or two, you can come back here and listen to me bitch about college.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
My Weaknesses Make My Strengths
It's hard to think about my strengths as a writer. I must say, I think they became much better once I sat through one or two of our classes. I guess that simply regards the essay. In high school, I don't think I was ever really able to use the best of my strengths as a writer, being how formal everything was.
Now, I'm not a very formal guy. Hell, I don't even know how to tie a tie. I brought two pre-tied ties to college with me incase I ever needed to look snazzy for anything. I think that right there might be one of my biggest strengths as a writer; my ability, or comfort level and desire rather (I guess it's not an ability), to be open, honest, and casual. Now, I know every piece of writing cannot be casual. There are many things that must always be written in a formal fashion. What a spoiled child I would be if I could just write all the time about the strange morning smells of the dorm or what debauchery i like to take part in on weekends. One can only wish. I would say that would be my specialty though. I think that when I do it correctly (kind of ironic) and do it well, I think I can really draw people in with a very personal feel to everything I write.
I want to write personally and causally to you for a simple reason. I'm not better than you. I just want to talk to you. I want to have fun. I feel like I can maybe make a friendly connection with a reader by writing this way. So, that being said, I really hope anyone reading this is finding it enjoyable, because as of right now, this is the best I got. Maybe when I'm in the mood you'll hear something better, but for now, you'll have to deal with this, so I hope you like it.
Now, I'm not a very formal guy. Hell, I don't even know how to tie a tie. I brought two pre-tied ties to college with me incase I ever needed to look snazzy for anything. I think that right there might be one of my biggest strengths as a writer; my ability, or comfort level and desire rather (I guess it's not an ability), to be open, honest, and casual. Now, I know every piece of writing cannot be casual. There are many things that must always be written in a formal fashion. What a spoiled child I would be if I could just write all the time about the strange morning smells of the dorm or what debauchery i like to take part in on weekends. One can only wish. I would say that would be my specialty though. I think that when I do it correctly (kind of ironic) and do it well, I think I can really draw people in with a very personal feel to everything I write.
I want to write personally and causally to you for a simple reason. I'm not better than you. I just want to talk to you. I want to have fun. I feel like I can maybe make a friendly connection with a reader by writing this way. So, that being said, I really hope anyone reading this is finding it enjoyable, because as of right now, this is the best I got. Maybe when I'm in the mood you'll hear something better, but for now, you'll have to deal with this, so I hope you like it.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Starting A Blog...For Real This Time
So, I'd like to start off my mythical second blog entry by skipping to my conclusion. I'm completely fucked. You may take the time to notice that fact, by seeing that this is in fact only the second blog entry on my stream after, I want to say, three weeks of class. Oh well, you win some and lose some. Wow, what a plethora of subjects I have at my finger tips for me to blog about, especially since I haven't done any. So, theoretically, this could be a pretty juicy post. Well if you think that, you're probably shit out of luck. On the contrary, I'm probably make most of these posts pretty bland so I can make sure to just get enough posts to get me caught up in the class...At least I'm honest.
What can i talk about? How about what I've learned about the essay? Before I entered my essay course, i viewed the essay with a lot of discuss, even though I like to joke with myself that i might be a writer. I simply thought of it as something that I just have to do once I'm given the prompt from my teacher. Or maybe, if I'm really lucky, maybe I get to read a book and then make my own thesis and my own argument. What a thrill. What a plunge...I should get out more.
Luck at this. This is my second post on my blog. Everybody, get ready to avoid "Whatcha Got Chaz?" for a while because it's going to be constant and rapid postings of what will probably be sheer crap. I just hope this post is relevant to any of you. wasn't this the subject of our first or second post out of like twelve? There's another hint. Avoid this blog. You'll be reading the stressed out writings of a student that's pretty behind. Or maybe it'll amuse you...Maybe even make you feel better about yourself? Whatever it does, i wish you the best.
Anyways. Where was I? Right. The bloody essay. I think I left off with how I always thought the essay was the blandest task to be asked of the student. Well, after reading a few spiels by some of our favorite authors, well, I have a little different of a perspective. I've actually had my perception of the essay made much less clear. I have no idea what an essay is anymore. An essay is a piece of writing about a subject. So here I present to you my latest essay. Are you ready for this?
"Essay"
How wild was that? So contemporary. It's an essay about an essay. God, I'm new age. Anyways, I'm really happy with my new perception of the essay; this perception really being nothing. This perception lets me write the stream of consciousness piece about the pencil. It lets me write that piece of shit and call it a work of art. I love what i think of the essay. I think Virginia Woolf loved what she thought of the essay. I think the poet Allen Ginsberg loved what he thought of the essay. I think I want to keep this outlook.
What can i talk about? How about what I've learned about the essay? Before I entered my essay course, i viewed the essay with a lot of discuss, even though I like to joke with myself that i might be a writer. I simply thought of it as something that I just have to do once I'm given the prompt from my teacher. Or maybe, if I'm really lucky, maybe I get to read a book and then make my own thesis and my own argument. What a thrill. What a plunge...I should get out more.
Luck at this. This is my second post on my blog. Everybody, get ready to avoid "Whatcha Got Chaz?" for a while because it's going to be constant and rapid postings of what will probably be sheer crap. I just hope this post is relevant to any of you. wasn't this the subject of our first or second post out of like twelve? There's another hint. Avoid this blog. You'll be reading the stressed out writings of a student that's pretty behind. Or maybe it'll amuse you...Maybe even make you feel better about yourself? Whatever it does, i wish you the best.
Anyways. Where was I? Right. The bloody essay. I think I left off with how I always thought the essay was the blandest task to be asked of the student. Well, after reading a few spiels by some of our favorite authors, well, I have a little different of a perspective. I've actually had my perception of the essay made much less clear. I have no idea what an essay is anymore. An essay is a piece of writing about a subject. So here I present to you my latest essay. Are you ready for this?
"Essay"
How wild was that? So contemporary. It's an essay about an essay. God, I'm new age. Anyways, I'm really happy with my new perception of the essay; this perception really being nothing. This perception lets me write the stream of consciousness piece about the pencil. It lets me write that piece of shit and call it a work of art. I love what i think of the essay. I think Virginia Woolf loved what she thought of the essay. I think the poet Allen Ginsberg loved what he thought of the essay. I think I want to keep this outlook.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Procrastination
I have such a love/hate relationship with procrastination. It has caused me more pain than even the worst of injuries, yet it has provided me with some of the best times of my life. It's because most of the best times of my life have come when I could have and should have been doing something just a little more productive! This entry even probably could have came a little earlier. But hey, a man has laundry to do, skins episodes to watch, mario karts courses to conquer, music to download, lives to save, etc... That in itself may be why I procrastinate, because I look at the amount of time that I have to get something done and give that amount of time much more credit than it deserves. I give it this level of confidence that I should not give even the closest of my friends. I look at this enormous black hole of time that I have to get a piece of work done and tell myself that most of that can be spent at the gorges instead of inside at my desk. On that note, it can definitely be looked at as something just just simply happens but also as something that is a choice. It is a choice because I am making a decision that writing this blog is just not that important. That's why I made sure to conquer the all-cup tour on mario kart double dash before writing this entry. But it is also something that just happens because I'm completely aware that one of these days, it't going to be a lot later than 8:45pm and I'm going to keep telling myself that I have so much time. The world of my procrastinating decision making is something that just happens without my control. The decisions i make within that world happen on the part of greed, lust, and all other things unholy. It's even happening right now as I write this piece. I'm not too focused on this anymore. Mainly because I'm kind of over the name "Whatcha Got Chaz?" for my blog. I think I like TypicalChaz better. Well, that's it for now. I have more worlds to conquer.
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