Tying Up Loose Ends Before Turkey Day

The professor put the offer on the table: watch the movie Away From Her on your own or come into class on Tuesday and watch it.  I contemplated blowing off the movie, but since I had another class afterwards and my laptop needed to be recharged, I took the professor up on his offer.  There was only a handful of students in the class when the professor arrived, and I quipped that we had enough to play basketball. 

Away From Her  is based on Alice Munro’s short story, “The Bear Came Over The Mountain”, which was originally published in The New Yorker.  It’s a tragic story that leaves little for catharsis.  It’s not tragic in the way Romeo & Juliet is tragic though, it’s more of a building pit in your stomach from the early moments of the film that just keeps getting worse.  The film lulls you ever so peacefully with the idyllic, snow-covered landscapes of rural Canada and snapshots of the happy couple, Grant and Fiona, of which the movie centers. 

I don’t want to spoil the movie, but I’ve dubbed it “the Anti-Notebook“.  The Notebook retold the tale of a how a love was discovered, built, and maintained up until the moment it was extinguished in this world.  This film doesn’t leave any warm and fuzzy feelings in your stomach.  While Alzheimer’s became an element of the twist in The Notebook’s plot, Away From Her takes your heart down the emotional whirlpool that the disease creates.  The ending of The Notebook gives the viewer a moment of catharsis, while Away From Her abruptly ends with an empty feeling of inconclusiveness in regards to the storyline, but definitely causes the viewer to spend more time in afterthought.

Getting Around To It…

Some time ago I thought of doing a “friend tribute” where I would devote an entire update reflecting on a friendship that I hold dear.  Time passes and updates start becoming sporadic, and I never got around to doing it.  I think I’m going to start that now since I have some time to spare.  If you’re a friend and would like to hasten your tribute, don’t hesitate to contact me here or in an email, and I’ll get right to it.

Meandering Through Friday…

I chuckle to myself whenever Roxan laughs at tech-related humor.  I’m sure whatever she’s laughing at has some comedic value, but what’s really funny to me is the “g33k” when it comes to g33k humor.  It turns out because I’m much worse.  I’m a less evolved kind of geek.  I laugh at things so stupid such as the misuse of quotation marks so the  joke’s really on me. 

Being Civilized Sucks

Pirates hold a place in modern mythology as if they were old relics from a time so far gone that we dress up as pirates for Halloween, have mock “Talk Like a Pirate Days”, and have multibillion dollar movie franchises based on a boring Disneyland ride.  Pirates are real and are wreaking havoc off the coast of Somalia in Africa.  They’ve comandeered several ships and are using the ransom money to prop up mini-economies in the lawless nation.  The Saudi oil tanker, Sirius Star, was taken by Somali pirates and are asking for $25M in ransom.  First of all, there should be no way a fucking oil tanker could be seized by a group of rag-tag pirates!  Oil tankers are FUCKING HUGE so it should take a long while for pirates to scale the multi-story facade of a tanker.  Sure, the pirates are armed with machine guns and RPGs, but why the fuck aren’t there people with guns on the tanker?  Military tactics 101: he who has the high ground has the advantage.  There is no reason someone shouldn’t be plucking the pirates one-by-one as they climb the rope.  It should be like shooting fish in a barrel.  I’ve read reports that the “international community” frowns on ships arming themselves.  It’s too bad the criminals don’t like to play by the rules.

From the Inane File

 I noticed a Facebook update that my cousin is now friends with his ex-wife.  Thank God for Facebook!  It’s taking a while to warm up to Facebook or FB as some people like to call it.  There’s just too many things going.  I’m only 28, but I might as well be 68 with my resistance to technology.  I blame my parents for waiting until I was eight before getting me a Nintendo, and it’s their fault we didn’t get the internet until damn near the turn of the century.  What’s with all the applications?  Does a person really need hundreds of applications to deflect boredom?  And what’s with people constantly updating their status?  Do people really need up to the minute updates on what a person is thinking or feeling?  Really?  Well FUCK YOU, you arrogant prick!  I was doing just fine a minute ago not knowing that you’re wondering how you got lint in your navel.  Sometimes I wonder what person does during the day besides the dozens of quizzes and other mindless bullshit that facebook inundates you with.

Hello me?

I’ve stumbled upon my own blog from a link from a friend’s blog.  Thanks Sarah! 

Jessica most recent update on her blog states she’s beginning a new era where she’s going to make an attempt to maintain her site with updates.  That was thirteen days ago.

Why do I neglect my blog?  If anything, I should be the one of my friends consistently writing since I chose this damn craft as a possible career.  Make that POSSIBLE in caps lock because while I’m stupid enough to have even considered it, I’m not naive enough to believe in its possibility.  Sometimes, it’s better to be both. 

I have my second short story due in a couple weeks, and I’m still on phase 1/2 of the process.  Phase one-half means I’ve acknowledged the assignment but haven’t quite begun formulating potential stories.  I’ve had a couple ideas here and there, but when it comes down to actually developing them, I’m not sure I can constrain the plot within the parameters of a short story…

• A federal agent is on the case of a series of murders that appear politically motivated.  Several leaders of liberal interest groups and a TV show pundit are found murdered.  It’s a government conspiracy Tom Clancy-like story that might be a little too complex to be jammed into 12-16 pages. 
• The Last Ride of the Cowboy Coach – a high school football coach who’s popular with his players in a football-crazy Texas town is forced out by a hostile schoolboard who believes they know how to run a football program better.
• A father suspects his son of experimenting with pot and is then forced to reconcile his past drug use and his present responsibility as a parent. 

Most of the stories submitted so far deal with the typical themes of love and death.  I already wrote nostalgic/tragic piece, so I want to try something new.  If I had to make a determination about myself, I’d say I write drama a lot better than comedy, but maybe I could try comedy just to give it a spin. 

I really can’t wait for the semester to be over, but I’m NOT looking forward to due dates.

The problem with being an English major is the extreme subjectivity of its grading rubric.  I poured my heart out in my short story.  It was the most serious I had taken an assignment in recent memory.  If Proscrastination was a country, I’d be the President, but I finished writing my working draft an entire week before it was due and spent that week meticulously poring over every word and detail.  Every time I read the draft I would make revisions up until the morning of the day it was due.  The night my class critiqued it, I defended every plot element, every detail with the ferocity of tigress protecting her cubs.  I got a fucking B+ on it.  A FUCKING B+!!!!!!!!  Never had B+ felt so empty before in my life.  I was crushed for a few days afterwards seriously reconsidering whether or not I even had the necessary skills to be in the program.  The professor made a comment that he would’ve liked the ending to conclude with an image of the characters of the story rather than an image from The Wonder Years, and that was the difference between an A and a B.  That is such fucking bullshit!!!  I WANTED the final image to be of The Wonder Years because it’s a significant element of the story.  It wasn’t like I had very many syntactical or proofreading errors.  There were some, but not enough to forsake the critical elements of the story.  It sucks that a professor can just arbitrarily deduct points because an element of the story doesn’t confine to his whims.  On top of that, the fucking T/A made some nitpicking comments about the vocabulary — “inevitable”, “genuinely” — being too advanced for the characters’ age (junior high).  Look here bitch… those were 6th grade vocabulary words at St. James.  I’m sorry you didn’t learn them until high school, but try expanding your thought process.  Then that fucking cunt had the nerve to say that she was more impressed with the character’s language as a kid than when he’s an adult.  FUCK YOU BITCH ASS CUNT!!!It’s times like this I wish I were a fucking math geek because 2 plus 2 ALWAYS equals 4. 

An interesting observation about my story: the girls in my class were SHOCKED that kids in junior high were trying to have sex.  The guys in my class, including my professor, all agreed with my point of view.  Are girls that naive?  Seriously girls, guys have been trying to get into your pants since they discovered it felt good bust a nut.  For me, I was twelve.  Now, whether or not guys are successful that young is a whole other story. 

I have the same professor in another English class called “Intro to English Studies” which is a theory-centric course about English studies in the academy.  Basically, it’s all the egghead crap that English majors talk about to appear intellectual i.e.: Literary Theory, Queer Theory, Minority Discourse, Deconstruction, etc.   I wrote an argument paper the day it was due and got an A+.  Not only did I get an A+, but the professor asked me if he could use my paper as an example for future classes.  I finished writing that paper a couple hours before it was due, and I’m getting praised for it?  And I fucking HATE writing academic papers.