Sunday, April 29, 2007
Hilarious
This has nothing to do with writing, but I found it hilarious and have to share it with you. Some guy made a spoof of military hand signals. It is worth the couple minutes to read through it all. I'm off to work. Bleck.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Eagle
We spent my entire Textual Studies class talking about the following Tennyson poem in class today and discussing what the poem meant to us. Al, is it okay if I reprint the poem? And he says nothing because he's dead, so here goes:
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
I really don't like this poem. In class I compared it to a bathroom stall limerick; something that you will read, smile at, and then forget when you walk out the door. We were asked how we related to the poem and how we interpreted it. I said that I thought that there were undertones of death in the poem, but that I had no access to it because it seems to be very much about an eagle. I've been thinking about it for almost 2 hours now, and I still think that it is very much about an eagle. The eagle itself can symbolize many, many things for people, but in the end, if you don't care about eagles, you don't care about this poem. I'm interested to hear some of your interpretations, as I'm becoming more convinced that this is just a bad poem. Not necessarily a bad poem, but a simple elementary school type of poem.
THE EAGLE
FRAGMENT
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
I really don't like this poem. In class I compared it to a bathroom stall limerick; something that you will read, smile at, and then forget when you walk out the door. We were asked how we related to the poem and how we interpreted it. I said that I thought that there were undertones of death in the poem, but that I had no access to it because it seems to be very much about an eagle. I've been thinking about it for almost 2 hours now, and I still think that it is very much about an eagle. The eagle itself can symbolize many, many things for people, but in the end, if you don't care about eagles, you don't care about this poem. I'm interested to hear some of your interpretations, as I'm becoming more convinced that this is just a bad poem. Not necessarily a bad poem, but a simple elementary school type of poem.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
New Post
I felt obligated to post since I didn't yesterday. Yesterday was my birthday. Some people went down to Bison Witches and we ate and drank there. Then Katie, Mark (a guy I work with), and I headed to Barrymore's and closed it down. It was fun.
I haven't really done any fiction writing lately, but I am intending on starting my long research story this weekend. I'm pretty much just going to steal Michael's idea from class about having my main character buy a Triumph motorcycle online, get it, and ride it to Sturgis. What can I say, I'm lazy. More tomorrow.
I haven't really done any fiction writing lately, but I am intending on starting my long research story this weekend. I'm pretty much just going to steal Michael's idea from class about having my main character buy a Triumph motorcycle online, get it, and ride it to Sturgis. What can I say, I'm lazy. More tomorrow.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Birthday, Autism, 30 Books
So I get a phone call at around 8am this morning, which I naturally ignored and let go to voicemail. When I woke up around an hour later, I listened to my message from my mom. She sang me happy birthday. My birthday is tomorrow.
We had a really neat class discussion in Textual Studies today. We read journal articles from the various students out loud and then discussed them. Being a habitual people watcher, I always appreciate opportunities to see how other peoples' gears turn. My first instinct is to assume that people are weird because of their thought process. I think most people are at least mildly put off by what they consider abnormal. After a minute though, I begin to wonder what experiences in their life have shaped their cognitive processes, and then I become lost in my own little imaginative world trying to guess the history of their life. I keep myself pretty busy.
Speaking of cognitive processes, I saw a CNN report this weekend about an autistic girl who is amazing. She has videos on YouTube that you have to watch. Autism is like a secret society that the rest of us can't even begin to understand because we are cut off from communication (for the most part) with autistic people. This incredible woman provides unbelievable insight into autism for the rest of us (there is a hyperlink at the beginning of this sentence, I miss them all the time).
After my post about the short stories, I thought it convenient that I ran across a series of online articles and blogs about a radio host who gave a list of 30 books that every college student should read before graduating and the responses to it. I disagree with a lot of the choices, and my own list would look very different, but there are quite a few good books on there. Here is a sort of follow-up page, talking about some more books that you should read after the initial 30.
We had a really neat class discussion in Textual Studies today. We read journal articles from the various students out loud and then discussed them. Being a habitual people watcher, I always appreciate opportunities to see how other peoples' gears turn. My first instinct is to assume that people are weird because of their thought process. I think most people are at least mildly put off by what they consider abnormal. After a minute though, I begin to wonder what experiences in their life have shaped their cognitive processes, and then I become lost in my own little imaginative world trying to guess the history of their life. I keep myself pretty busy.
Speaking of cognitive processes, I saw a CNN report this weekend about an autistic girl who is amazing. She has videos on YouTube that you have to watch. Autism is like a secret society that the rest of us can't even begin to understand because we are cut off from communication (for the most part) with autistic people. This incredible woman provides unbelievable insight into autism for the rest of us (there is a hyperlink at the beginning of this sentence, I miss them all the time).
After my post about the short stories, I thought it convenient that I ran across a series of online articles and blogs about a radio host who gave a list of 30 books that every college student should read before graduating and the responses to it. I disagree with a lot of the choices, and my own list would look very different, but there are quite a few good books on there. Here is a sort of follow-up page, talking about some more books that you should read after the initial 30.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
400
400 visitors now. A quick check of my Statcounter page shows another visitor from China and I can now add Canada to the list as well. I actually passed 400 yesterday, but I had already posted and resisted the urge to double-post.
I have a bunch of stuff to write today for other classes by way of journals and a paper, so I'm going to busy after I get back from work.
I have a bunch of stuff to write today for other classes by way of journals and a paper, so I'm going to busy after I get back from work.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Orringer, Motorcycle
I was shocked when I came to the realization that Julie was going to kill off the little girl in her story. I realized it the second time she had the glass of red water in the story. I wasn't sure how, but I know. Vonnegut would've been proud.
Out of all of the visiting authors, I enjoyed her Q & A the most. Reason: the format was question, answer, anecdote! Weird concept, I'm asked a question, and I answer it before I ramble. Who would speak in such a manner? The obvious answer is that she is an alien. Or foreign. Immigrants seem to always have a better grasp of the English language than native speakers.
The most important thing that I gleaned from her speech was that when writing autobiographically, it helps to put yourself into a completely different character, like a child. Sense I tend to write pretty close to the vest, this will be a helpful tool that I can try out.
On an unrelated note, my motorcycle was supposed to be here 2 hours ago, but my shipper is running behind. I hope he gets here soon, I'm excited to see my pile of junk motorcycle, because it is mine.
Out of all of the visiting authors, I enjoyed her Q & A the most. Reason: the format was question, answer, anecdote! Weird concept, I'm asked a question, and I answer it before I ramble. Who would speak in such a manner? The obvious answer is that she is an alien. Or foreign. Immigrants seem to always have a better grasp of the English language than native speakers.
The most important thing that I gleaned from her speech was that when writing autobiographically, it helps to put yourself into a completely different character, like a child. Sense I tend to write pretty close to the vest, this will be a helpful tool that I can try out.
On an unrelated note, my motorcycle was supposed to be here 2 hours ago, but my shipper is running behind. I hope he gets here soon, I'm excited to see my pile of junk motorcycle, because it is mine.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Much Better
I got a decent night of sleep and feel much better today. No more anger. I think I'm still going to take a nap because I need to get rid of some of my built up sleep debt, but I think it's going to turn out to be a good weekend overall.
I do have some writing to do over the weekend. I have a paper that I need to finish as well as several journal articles that I have to write to get caught up for another class. It is interesting to write the journal articles because it is my own time to comment on what I thought of the story. We have read quite a few fantastic short stories. Good Country People by Flannery O'Connor, Hills Like White Elephants by Ernest Hemingway, and The Lottery by Shirley Jackson are all short stories that everyone should read. I'm assigning my few blog readers homework. Read these stories and then we can discuss them. Or don't, because there is really no consequence for not reading. Except shame.
I do have some writing to do over the weekend. I have a paper that I need to finish as well as several journal articles that I have to write to get caught up for another class. It is interesting to write the journal articles because it is my own time to comment on what I thought of the story. We have read quite a few fantastic short stories. Good Country People by Flannery O'Connor, Hills Like White Elephants by Ernest Hemingway, and The Lottery by Shirley Jackson are all short stories that everyone should read. I'm assigning my few blog readers homework. Read these stories and then we can discuss them. Or don't, because there is really no consequence for not reading. Except shame.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Fake Post
This is not an actual post. I wanted to write something. I have wanted to write something for two days now, actually, but I'm ridiculously negative for some reason. Rather than spread my downer attitude over the interwebs, I've chosen to limit myself to comments on other blogs. I'll snap out of it tomorrow. If not, I'll just fake it.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Poetry
We have begun our study of poetry in Textual Studies (again). I get a sick sense of enjoyment out of this time of class because I feel that there is a decent shot that I know more than the professor about the topic. What amazes me though is the inability and unwillingness of the students to open up to poetry. I have taken this class another time (don't ask), and the same thing was said at that time; "They just write like that to be confusing." It seems that most students didn't even make an attempt to understand the poem simply because it was a poem. No sense of adventure, I guess.
Another thing that amazed me was that one girl, who seemed to be well versed in literature, made the serious suggestion that the meter in a sonnet that we were studying was accidental. At that moment I realized that a sort of literary xenophobia exists toward poetry. I've always somewhat known this, but after my initial experience with it, poetry isn't scary anymore. I actually enjoy staring at a confusing poem and trying to dig out the meaning.
I think the problem in the teaching of poetry comes from the fact that often times the teacher doesn't understand it either. I remember back to high school and can only think of one English teacher who would've understood poetry, but he never taught a class that dealt with it. I think this fact leads teachers and professors to present poetry as this alien (as in foreign, not Martian) thing that nobody understands, which downplays the importance of it in the grand scheme of literature. Somebody should fix this.
Another thing that amazed me was that one girl, who seemed to be well versed in literature, made the serious suggestion that the meter in a sonnet that we were studying was accidental. At that moment I realized that a sort of literary xenophobia exists toward poetry. I've always somewhat known this, but after my initial experience with it, poetry isn't scary anymore. I actually enjoy staring at a confusing poem and trying to dig out the meaning.
I think the problem in the teaching of poetry comes from the fact that often times the teacher doesn't understand it either. I remember back to high school and can only think of one English teacher who would've understood poetry, but he never taught a class that dealt with it. I think this fact leads teachers and professors to present poetry as this alien (as in foreign, not Martian) thing that nobody understands, which downplays the importance of it in the grand scheme of literature. Somebody should fix this.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Vonnegut
As all of you who read this know, Kurt Vonnegut died two days ago. I've commented on other blogs but I have yet to say something about it here, primarily because I don't really know what to say. In class, Michael commented on the fact that Vonnegut was the reason for his life-long interest in fiction. I'm slightly different in the fact that, while I joke about it, Vonnegut really was like a grandfather to me. I don't remember my own grandparents. They all died before I was 5. My only memory of any of them is my grandfather on my mother's side. I have two memories, actually. Memory 1: I'm laying on his lap as a very young child (guessing 2 or 3, as unrealistic as that is). He's wearing a cowboy hat and telling me war stories because he was in World War II. He told me that he shot Hitler in the ass. In reality, he was a personal guard for several generals throughout the war because he was too old to have enlisted in the first place, but the US Army is not stupid enough to turn away willing recruits. Before that, he drove amphibious ducks. I think he drove one to Normandy, but the entire was subject of D-Day was taboo and still is. That fact alone makes me positive that he did. This memory is suspect for several reasons. Reason one is that we are not supposed to be able to remember things before age 8. Reason two is that I have a photograph of my little self on my grandpa's lap while he is wearing a cowboy hat. Either my mother of myself probably made up the rest, but I don't care because the only other memory I have of him is my neighbor picking me up from school on April 10th, 1987. My neighbor only picked me up one time in my life. When I got home, my mom was in the kitchen with the lights off crying. She told me that I wasn't going to see grandpa anymore, and even though I was exactly two weeks shy of 5 years old, I knew that he was dead, and I knew what dead meant.
What all of this has to do with Vonnegut is that I never had the aged perception of the world in my regular life. To this day I don't feel sympathy for people who lose their grandparents because I never had the chance to make the attachment to my own. My own parents are in their sixties, making them as old as some of my friends' grandparents (screw proper pluralization, I'm drunk). Because of this fact, I felt a familial bond with Vonnegut from the moment I first read Cat's Cradle during my senior year of high school. Being a hardcore cynic myself, I instantly embraced the cold point of view that he often provided throughout his work. At the same time, I took it for what I think he meant it as: reality. The world is cruel in that it always ends in death no matter how enjoyable it may be. Often times, the world is not enjoyable. Between these times, we are graced with moments of genuine beauty. Our lives become a summary of those moments of beauty as we approach our own death. We start to read the obituary page as an excuse to tell our friends about the wonderful times we had with those that we loved who are now gone. We wonder about our own death, not because we fear it like we did when we were young, but because we are afraid that people won't see us in the obituary page and call up Earl to recount the time that the three of us got caught trying to paint profanity on the water tower in high school. Kurt Vonnegut was my grandpa. My grandpa died two days ago. So it goes.
What all of this has to do with Vonnegut is that I never had the aged perception of the world in my regular life. To this day I don't feel sympathy for people who lose their grandparents because I never had the chance to make the attachment to my own. My own parents are in their sixties, making them as old as some of my friends' grandparents (screw proper pluralization, I'm drunk). Because of this fact, I felt a familial bond with Vonnegut from the moment I first read Cat's Cradle during my senior year of high school. Being a hardcore cynic myself, I instantly embraced the cold point of view that he often provided throughout his work. At the same time, I took it for what I think he meant it as: reality. The world is cruel in that it always ends in death no matter how enjoyable it may be. Often times, the world is not enjoyable. Between these times, we are graced with moments of genuine beauty. Our lives become a summary of those moments of beauty as we approach our own death. We start to read the obituary page as an excuse to tell our friends about the wonderful times we had with those that we loved who are now gone. We wonder about our own death, not because we fear it like we did when we were young, but because we are afraid that people won't see us in the obituary page and call up Earl to recount the time that the three of us got caught trying to paint profanity on the water tower in high school. Kurt Vonnegut was my grandpa. My grandpa died two days ago. So it goes.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
300, Different Writing
Over 300 unique visits as of today. Hooray! I don't think that I've had any cool foreign visitors lately as I haven't been religiously checking the stat counter like I used to, however, I get a sick sort of ego boost from realizing that people have checked out my speck of the Internet 300 times.
I have a paper due in my Textual Studies class tomorrow. I haven't started it yet. It has a fairly creative component to it in that we have to decide how to market a specific work. We can describe target audiences, describe the materials, the whole thing. It should be fun for a change. I hate writing bland scholarly-type research papers. It is just so limiting and boring. If true scholars were writing research papers, I would think that they would be less boring.
I have a paper due in my Textual Studies class tomorrow. I haven't started it yet. It has a fairly creative component to it in that we have to decide how to market a specific work. We can describe target audiences, describe the materials, the whole thing. It should be fun for a change. I hate writing bland scholarly-type research papers. It is just so limiting and boring. If true scholars were writing research papers, I would think that they would be less boring.
Saturday, April 7, 2007
Anger, Easter
I'm inexplicably angry today. I can feel myself waiting for a reason to get mad, and I'm not sure why. Nothing of note has happened that should make me mad, but I still somewhat am. I really envy doctors because the human body and its workings are a mystery to me. I envy mechanics too. And engineers. People who know how stuff works are brilliant.
I'm guessing that meeting up with my family for Easter will provide a wealth of new story material. I really love my family now, which is still sort of odd for me because we didn't get along well in high school. I realize that it was mostly me being a rebellious punk ass, but I think a big part of it was that we didn't quite understand each other then. We have fun now. I might take my laptop so I can instantly record any events of note. Happy Easter all, of if you're not Christian, happy Sunday.
I'm guessing that meeting up with my family for Easter will provide a wealth of new story material. I really love my family now, which is still sort of odd for me because we didn't get along well in high school. I realize that it was mostly me being a rebellious punk ass, but I think a big part of it was that we didn't quite understand each other then. We have fun now. I might take my laptop so I can instantly record any events of note. Happy Easter all, of if you're not Christian, happy Sunday.
Friday, April 6, 2007
Cary Holladay, Blogging, Broken
Cary Holladay was neat. At least that's what I'm told. I missed the Q & A because I fell asleep sometime around 3ish (I'm guessing, not exactly certain as I was asleep) and woke up at 5pm. Everybody else in class told me that she was just as entertaining as Josip, and that she could talk ceaselessly (but in a good way). I felt bad because I had a hard time staying focused during her reading because I was still tired, but I was drawn in by her self-induced mini-discussion after she was finished about disappearance. Apparently all writers have odd little fetishes, and hers circles around how freakishly common it is for people to just vanish. She also had a neat story about a psychic horse with its own gigantic wooden typewriter. I would like to see a picture of that.
I've been an incredible slack ass again this week about blogging, I will whip it into shape next week fo' sho'. Again, my apologies.
Apparently I'm broken as I cannot seem to get on and stay on a normal sleep pattern. As you can see by the time stamp it is 4:55am as I'm writing this, and I'm still up. I'm flat out exhausted, but I can't make myself go to sleep. Being intensely analytic, I'm trying to figure out what personal BS is causing this, and I really can't find any specific thing that I'm aware of that is bugging me. I have lots of little things wearing on my mind right now, but I don't think that even all of them combined can be the cause of the insomnia. The most likely culprit now is that I'm actually on track to graduate in May, which means I'll have to grow up in a shade over a month. I don't want to grow up. Ever. I enjoy being irresponsible and inquisitive. I enjoy being selfish. I enjoy learning by making bad decisions like staying up until 5am for no good reason. In fact, I think I'm going to spend the next few minutes looking for parts for my motorcycle, which will arrive via truck on April 21st, 3 days before my birthday. Happy birthday, me!
I've been an incredible slack ass again this week about blogging, I will whip it into shape next week fo' sho'. Again, my apologies.
Apparently I'm broken as I cannot seem to get on and stay on a normal sleep pattern. As you can see by the time stamp it is 4:55am as I'm writing this, and I'm still up. I'm flat out exhausted, but I can't make myself go to sleep. Being intensely analytic, I'm trying to figure out what personal BS is causing this, and I really can't find any specific thing that I'm aware of that is bugging me. I have lots of little things wearing on my mind right now, but I don't think that even all of them combined can be the cause of the insomnia. The most likely culprit now is that I'm actually on track to graduate in May, which means I'll have to grow up in a shade over a month. I don't want to grow up. Ever. I enjoy being irresponsible and inquisitive. I enjoy being selfish. I enjoy learning by making bad decisions like staying up until 5am for no good reason. In fact, I think I'm going to spend the next few minutes looking for parts for my motorcycle, which will arrive via truck on April 21st, 3 days before my birthday. Happy birthday, me!
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
Sorry, Bapsi, Cary
I haven't posted since Thursday, and I'm sorry for the delay. I know the three of you were crushed. I went to Colorado from Friday-Sunday with some friends from UNL so I was unable to post. I was able, however, to get in some quality Cary Holliday (sp? I don't have my book right now) reading time.
I thoroughly enjoyed the story about the girl whose was obsessed with the lost hot-air balloon father (again, no book to reference for a title). I thought the idea was intriguing, and the story was very well written. It kept me off balance but not in a bad way, and I felt satisfied with the ending. It is nice to finish a story without very many questions about what happened for once. Unfortunately, nothing else has really impressed me yet, but I'm not done with the book so hopefully there is at least one more jewel in there for me to enjoy. It's not that I find her writing bad, it just doesn't distinguish itself very well. She's no Barthelme.
I think Michael pegged Bapsi's visit well in class. I was unable to attend the reading at night, her forum talk at 1pm was fairly boring. She did have neat things to say and neat stories, but she just wasn't able to keep the attention of the audience. My favorite part was the story about the looters coming to their compound. I imagine it was a little more intense and complicated than she described it, but the way she told it cracked me up. "Hey, we're here to loot from you guys." "No thanks, but would you like some water?" "Darn, we were really looking forward to looting, but I guess water is cool too." Unreal. OK goodnight.
I thoroughly enjoyed the story about the girl whose was obsessed with the lost hot-air balloon father (again, no book to reference for a title). I thought the idea was intriguing, and the story was very well written. It kept me off balance but not in a bad way, and I felt satisfied with the ending. It is nice to finish a story without very many questions about what happened for once. Unfortunately, nothing else has really impressed me yet, but I'm not done with the book so hopefully there is at least one more jewel in there for me to enjoy. It's not that I find her writing bad, it just doesn't distinguish itself very well. She's no Barthelme.
I think Michael pegged Bapsi's visit well in class. I was unable to attend the reading at night, her forum talk at 1pm was fairly boring. She did have neat things to say and neat stories, but she just wasn't able to keep the attention of the audience. My favorite part was the story about the looters coming to their compound. I imagine it was a little more intense and complicated than she described it, but the way she told it cracked me up. "Hey, we're here to loot from you guys." "No thanks, but would you like some water?" "Darn, we were really looking forward to looting, but I guess water is cool too." Unreal. OK goodnight.
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