F in din gHo wA llth ePie cesF it

A correction to my last post--
I have been struggling for the last three to four weeks with my newest poem (spoken). And for a while the major issue was I couldn't find my own voice. I realized my philosophy contrary to Stephen King's (he always does end up being right, doesn't he?) had filled my brain with another's voice (Rives) and everything I was writing sounded like something he would say.
I tried desperately to fight this and I started to listen to some well-written rap (as given to me by Todd Hicks) which centered primarily on Lupe Fiasco's The Cool. This helped me to stray away from the un-rhythmic talking of Rives back to my own style which is grounded a bit more in a set flow and rhyming pattern.
So, King wins again. I bow my pen down in reverence...
However, I'm still struggling with this piece. And it really has been a tremendous learning experience. I've always admired Uncle Stevie for his ability to understand the craft of writing and why he is successful and so darn good at what he does (see On Writing for more information, again when it comes to writing, in my book King is one of the greats). But similar to him, I have been learning what it is that makes my old pieces ("Words" and "What Makes a Man?") so good. Besides the topics and the content, what about my style of the craft works? What works better?
I first struggled with putting too much of myself into the piece. I was telling too much of my story and while my experience leads my subjects, I am not the subject. I don't want to be the subject. I don't like attention. At all. Ever. It makes me feel awkward. Maybe because I've been ignored for most of my life (my parents are shaking their heads right now "No! It's cause you talk too much!!"). Anyway, bottom line my pieces are supposed to be universal and applicable to every audience member/reader. And while personal testimony helps, the vague experience that can be heard behind it is stronger.
I've also learned that my spoken poetry needs to be a bit ADD. It needs to jump around a little, be a little vague while still teaching and driving home one point. But it needs to move and move quickly in a flowing, transitional way.
Well, I don't know if any of that made sense, but there is so much learning when it comes to writing that I don't even realize occurred, and happens so subconsciously. Anyway, with how much of a rollercoaster this poem has been so far (I'm still not done, not even half way) I couldn't stand looking at this blog and seeing my last post completely contradict the way I feel now and what I've learned, so I had to correct myself and once again throw my lot in with Uncle Stevie.

Also, I've learned that the father to great writing is constant unsatisfaction. It leads to so many more wonderful and beautiful experiences and pushes me to rise away from complacency and an " eh, good enough" attitude.

I guess I'm still f in din gho wa llth epie cesf it together...hopefully they come together soon, if not you may be reading another post in five weeks that expresses more of my frustration.

Call Me a Crock Pot and Dub Me Simmering

I find myself very often in a limbo state. Not really suffering from writer's block but not over-flowing with ideas. In these moments of confusion, Stephen King says that he likes to go on walks (and it was on these walks, this limbo, that he was hit by a car...not a very promising thought).
I, however, have always found walks or any other sort of remaining-in-my-own-head activities as very restricting and not very useful. And it's not very often that I disagree with the King, so this is a rare moment.
I guess it's like Dr. Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds says, "Repetitive thinking is a death knell for the brain. For complete brain usage, diverse stimulation is the key." This show has seriously become my new addiction, it is truly incredible. If you've never watched it, do so now.
Anyway. So, in limbo, I find myself retreating into books or more recently spoken word poetry on YouTube. And it was this wonderful invention that showed me such amazing poets as Shihan, Gemineye, and the amazing Rives.
My brother has told me my entire life that he loves listening to me talk, the way I talk and what not I guess. I've never really understood this, until I started to watch Rives. I love the way his mind works, I love his craft and his ability to use words and I love the way he talks.
For more information on Rives click here, YouTube "Rives," or just watch these amazing pieces he did for TED.






He's definitely one of many ingredients I toss into my crock pot, just to let it simmer and see what comes out. Also check out "Kite" by Rives it's one of my favorites.

e.e., Willie, and Me

For our Analysis of Literary Forms class we've had to read a wide variety of very interesting pieces. Some of the most prominent in my mind are e.e. cummings and William Faulkner. Both of these writers were largely modernist in their style and composition, emphasizing free verse and stream of conscious quite frequently. And it is because of these two greats that I find myself doing this:

"These, Thoughts"

11/16/09

Do you love me more than these?

My mind

A vagabond

Roman, circus, or not

No home

[So many]

Just thoughts

[So many]

Wanderer

My mind

[So many]

thoughts thoughts thoughts thoughts fill my head

build build build control my mind sway me away from the

true path

[truth proven in vulnerable

forced to understand truth

broken till belief]

Then I hear—

Do you love me more than these?

Hesitation

Do you love me more than these?

Perhaps

Do you love me more than these?

Yes. Now, body, act.

God helps those who help

Others

I realize the brackets are very e.e cummings, but they really seem to set the text apart in a way that parentheses, italics, bold, all caps can't. And I think it's really important for the bracket portions to be separated.

Anyway, it's been a while since I've posted, and even longer since I've posted creativity, so I'm going to put one more up. This is a few months old, but still one of my favorites...maybe I'll put two.

"A Cigarette With God"

9/25/09

Does it hurt? I don’t

‘no.’

Confusion-delusion profuses

And the noose is

…not mine.

Hands in the air

With everybody else staring at me

There’s more rope if you wanna go…

Not mine.

And that’s where I struggle.

That’s where I hurt.

Where this heart screams that instead I

Take the noose!

And hang the emotions!

Fuck my heart!

I can survive

I can live

I’ll be OK!

And Norah calms me

“Something has to make you run…”

My feet are tired

They hurt

I need new shoes because these ones

Are worn

And sole-less

Thank God I’m not soulless with my

Feet on gravel

Blood

Crimson

Raw

Bones

And I’m tired.

Should I worry?

Do I dare?

My heart is bare from all these cares

And the cost of these fairs is so great my rhymes even fucking annoy me!

“All

This

Uselessness

I

Write”

Leave me on the tile

“emptiness”

Longing for

“Distractions.”

And finding God silent.

Leisure strolls with fear in tow.

Finding God waiting.

Smoking His last cigarette.

Where were You?

I felt You.

I saw You.

Knew You.

But couldn’t hear You.

“WAIT.”

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

And I wait

Are You annoyed?

Are you?

Cause I am!

Then He passed me His last

And taught me to relax

Taught me to calm the storms of my

Capsized, bleeding ship now floating

Where were You?

Where were You?

I was here.

I AM here all along.

I know. But where were You?

Silent. Does that bother you?

And then my turn…

I trust

And I wait

That one is what spurred on my recent post entitled "The 'Fuck' I'm Talking About".

I really enjoy it because it accurately shows my struggle at that time. And I think it is so beautiful. Sorry if any are offended (by either the f-word, or the image of God smoking [see The Fray's song "You Found Me"])

"Table"

9/15/09

Quiet night

Darkest liquid calm my nerves

I feel I am the only

One of my kind

Alone

Solitary

Table as my company

No kings or rich man can compare

Try, electric generators if you dare but

I know I am

Alone

Failed metaphors of poet’s past

May tempt my mind to ease

There is no one like

Me

We

Are alone

To hoard and store, few can compare

To this “fair” price we fare for our

Transgressions?

Nay, for our hope.

Ha ha ha!

Hope!

Thanks be to God for my hope!

This gift that I must hold for now

To save bestow for someone grand

But hold it close, keep it tight!

For hope will give me life…

And where does this hope lead?

This special hope bleed?

To love

Thanks be to God for my love

This gift I must hold for now

To save bestow—

Crimson

Clover

Crowded heart

Claustrophobia

I hold so much in my heart so much passion emotions love and I’m not sure what to do with it I don’t see a drain for my relief or a leak to release this swelling and so it builds builds builds builds builds and I am left to hold it with nowhere to put it no one to share it and you can’t see my pain you can’t understand…

And I don’t know why we’re alone

Or what great sins we to atone,

I only know that I have love

And not a way to rid me of—

These quiet nights

Downtown

Coffee shop

Table for one, please.

These are seriously my three favorite poems I've written this year. I think they are so progressive and show so much of my development as a writer and poet. They really are the essence of my recent poet-identity-crisis (see...oh I haven't written a blog about that yet...hm), my experimentation because of that dilemma, and the changes that have been happening in my life this semester.

Too much good stuff.

As always, thanks for reading.

Check the Cards in My Back Pocket

My mom said something interesting to me the other day.

"Nathan, you don't just keep your cards close to your chest, you hide them."

I responded by pointing at my sleeve, "You see that? You see that? That's a rock. Not because it really is, but because I tell you it is."

I know I have a problem. A problem many people may think is not that bad. I don't like to admit my feelings or present myself in a way that my feelings (whether romantic or otherwise—annoyance, anger, depression) are evident. Only recently (the last few weeks) have I begun to acknowledge outwardly as well as inwardly that I have problems, that I have issues that are important.

I don't know how to deal with this problem. I feel awkward, I feel selfish when I talk about my problems. The only times I do are when I can't take it anymore (see U2's "I know I'll go crazy if I don't go crazy tonight" song...whatever the title is) or when I'm asked more than twice "What's up?"

"Hey wanna listen to me spill my guts about my problems?" sounds selfish. To me, it is selfish. (insert chuckle here) Yet, I constantly implore others for their issues, I am constantly trying to aid others and help them through their problems, in showing them love—in bending over backwards to love on them so that they feel safe and comforted. I can't help it, it's what I'm about. And if it kills me (which I think it slowly is) at least God will be happy I'm loving and my friends will be happy that they're no longer hurting. Is there relief in that? Is there some sort of "pouring back in" from all the pouring out I do? Yeah... Is it enough? I don't think so. I love to help. Every other week I look forward to Sack Lunch Ministries. I find relief there, there is a release of my pain when I'm with those people, when I feel that I'm doing good.

Last night I lay in bed and asked God, "What am I moving towards? What can be so amazing, so awe-inspiring, that it is worth all this pain?" I lied to myself and said there could be nothing that great. But deep inside I'm still, in part, an idealist, a romantic. And today it was echoed by a very good friend, "There is no 'probably' or 'sure.' Something great is coming. Something amazing is out there." I love her. She's such a good friend.

So, if you ever want to actually see what color that heart I like to say is a rock on my sleeve is, just check my back pocket, or ask three times—it builds so much, there's no way I'll be able keep it in with that kind of probing. Or if you think I'm selfish too, just come tell me your problems. I'd honestly love to hear them.

As always, thanks for listening—er, reading.

Perceptions. Distractions.

Perceptions.

We talked today (tonight) in class about perceptions. About how we perceive things differently. This was all spoken of in the name of criticism, how other cultures/time periods looked at a piece of literature etc etc etc, Professor Garton even talked about how my perception of the desk was different from his perception of the desk, and thus there were actually two desks (or as many desks as their were people in the room).

It's interesting to think of all the different perceptions in the world. How I perceive something is totally different than how you perceive it. And if I were to attempt to explain my perception to you, you come to it with your own and are thus biased (whether for or against mine).

Thus the question: is anything objective?

Well I don't want to get into that, but perceptions...

Perceptions make life interesting. Differing perceptions make life worth living. I would hate a world where everyone saw things the same, or rather everyone was sitting on my lap as the metaphor has it.

Some perceptions are annoying. Damn annoying. Others are admirable. Some are just unheard of. And still others are completely and utterly unique, but so profound that they catch you off guard.

In class we were talking about a story where a woman put a down payment on an abortion ($5 down payment, ha! still makes me laugh...) and Garton explained that it could be seen as admirable if it was used as a threat in order to get the man to shape up. I vocalized my agreement to this statement (that it was understandable, not that it was right). Hosanna objected and said the fact that the family didn't have the money to give their son 50¢ made the down payment/idea of a threat reckless and immature. I realized that I had not thought of that factor, granted I had only stated that I could see how the use of the abortion as a threat could be seen as noble, still it bothered me that I had failed to look at the issue from this perspective.

Small? Yes. Petty? Definitely. It still stuck with me and got me thinking about all these different angles I fail to see and factor in.

I realize I'm naïve at times and I'm fine with that (by fine I mean I acknowledge it and am working on it), I don't know...

Distractions.

There comes a time when life becomes too overwhelming. When things begin to wear you down to the point where you just want to scream because your emotions/mind/whole body is telling you that something is not right. If you're like me, and you've spent the last three years training yourself to never lose control in anger or even break down and cry, these times can be extremely difficult as there is no way to get rid your emotions.

As a writer, I typically turn to poetry.

Rocky Votolato sings:

"Caught me looking through you're eyes,

No, I'm not doing alright

I'm just as stupid and desperate as I've always been

All this uselessness I write

Just come at me with a knife

Come cut this sickness from my mind

Help me forget about a shattered lie

Bleed my failure into something right."

("The Night's Disguise" from the album "Makers")

I always sing "Help me forget about a shattered life," but apparently that's wrong and I just learned that. I like my line better, frankly. :) I love this chorus (I love this song, I love this album, greatest album of all time in my book) because I feel like this so often. Some of my favorite bits are "No, I'm not doing alright," "All this uselessness I write," "Just come at me with a knife/Come cut this sickness from my mind," and "Bleed my failure into something right." Ok so that's almost the whole chorus, but I said it was one of my favorite songs so, give me a break.

For me, recently, I have learned the value of distractions in these times of desperation and utter emotional/mental/physical retreat. Mainly I turn to stories. Television mostly because I can relax. Many, many times books, don't get me wrong I'm still an English Major, c'mon. Often I turn to music.

Many times I find people to be a distraction. Friends for coffee or a movie. Sometimes just in thought a person can be a distraction.

The point? No point. I ramble. Forgive me if I talk a little wild. Not like anyone reads this anyway. :) These are my thoughts.

Now, I need a distraction. Pizza and the season premiere of How I Met Your Mother? Yes. Please.

Evolution Week to Week//The Progression of Movement

I am an incredibly analytical person.

I am incredibly self-reflective.

I spend much of my time pondering actions (others and my own) and reflecting on what they (I) do and what it means about their (my) personality.

I'll be honest.

Most of my thought time is spent pondering myself. Thinking about why I think the way I think, why I do what I do, and whether I feel that in the eyes of God it is an acceptable action or train of thought.

I fail at this often.

Not in the weighing whether God would be pleased or not, but that God wouldn't be pleased with what I do.

For those of you that knew me when I was in high school (and for those of you reading this [if any] that means none of you), you know I was a very different person.

I was talking to an old friend about this last night. I asked her if there was anything about myself that she thought I should fix. She told me that the one thing that she had always tried to help me mature past I had already fixed.

To a degree.

She said that she had always tried to get me to become confident, and to be confident with myself enough to not care what others thought and to just have fun.

Again, for those who didn't know me, I used to be an extremely uptight, prudish person, who was extremely self conscious. Extremely.

Many (I use that word loosely when referring to my blog readers) of you may now be making the joke "used to!?! Ha!" Whatever... :)

Seriously though. I have relaxed a lot since then. And it's because of a lot of different things that have happened to me in the last two years.

The first thing I would relate this to was my trip to Europe. I traveled to Europe the summer of 2007, right before college, with 50 people I had never met and traveled to 8 different countries in 2 weeks on a bus. Now, the company I went with was aimed at people 18-30 years old. So safe to say I was with a bunch of partiers.

Not my forte.

Still really isn't.

But I'm much different now when it comes to those types of people and those situations than I used to.

If you want to know more about this trip, I have many stories about awkward situations and funny encounters that are still very non-Nathan.

The next post-it on my descansos timeline, I would say, was my freshman year.

Specifically, my roommates.

Living with the three guys I was forced to stay with taught me a lot, and really massaged this idea into my brain of relaxation and chillness. I really attribute my recent lack of anger issues (another thing I used to struggle with a lot) and the limited patience I now have (which is still leaps and bounds more than I had before) to them.

I really had a tough time that year in my room, but now I wouldn't trade it for anything. All those long nights of asking them to turn down the TV because it was 3 in the morning and I was trying to sleep...

Sigh.

Good times.

This next pin-point is more spread out and really comes before my Europe trip and extends till today. It's also the most vague point I will make.
And this is it: love.
Various love encounters (and very much so lack thereof) have really shaped my thoughts, my emotions, and my contentment when things are out of hand (which if you read my blog semi-regularly, you know really bugs me. See "Frustrated With Rocks...").

There have been plenty of girls in the last 6 years that in one way, shape, or form taught me more than I could ever put into words and perhaps more than I will ever know.

For that, I thank you.

The last post-it would be labeled: "Surgery"

My surgery this last winter gave me so much time to chill and relax. I had to. There was nothing else for me to do. I really think that those 6 weeks changed me a lot more than I realize. As well, I think getting my jaw fixed (and more recently my braces off ) has increased my confidence and comfortability with what I look like. Which directly reflects on how I act.

Anyway, I say all of this because I realize how many mistakes I make. And how often I completely screw things up. And how much more work I have to do. I know I will never be perfect, but it is still something I have to keep in mind. Because what I do, what I say, the look I give has more of an effect than I can possibly imagine.

At Clash 'n' Bowl last week I was nominated for King and had to walk down the red carpet and show off for everyone how awful (amazing) I looked. When I was standing in line, my thought was "I have to go all out, I have to just forget all these people are watching and just have fun. I have to." So I did, to the best of my ability.

I'm not really sure if I was amazing...

Actually I know I wasn't because I didn't win. Well, that might not have had to do with my strut (though it was amazing) and more to do with the fact that when it came time for everyone to cheer for their pick, I didn't egg anyone on. Ok, I'll strut and show off but I'm not going to beg for your cheers. Sorry, I still have my pride. :) So I just stood there and smirked.

Obviously my nonchalance was not what people were looking for. But I knew that.

But I'm really proud of myself for doing it as well (or not) as I did.

But it's little things like that that I take as a victory. My next goal: dancing. I am so self-conscious about dancing in public, at dances, whatever. So my new goal is to, once again, go all out. My aim is seriously to be as carefree as Niall when he's at dances (see Josh's Wedding, sorry no link, just ask someone, he was having so much fun).

I can't do that. It's difficult for me, but I'm working on it. And I've come so far, so I'll just give it time and it'll come. Baby steps, right? (see What About Bob?)

Also, and I realize this is a huge blog, thanks for bearing with me. Well, if you have...

Anyway, I also along these same lines have been thinking about the fact that I had so many plans for this year that were canceled on me.
The first being going to England. That didn't work out. Various reasons.
Then RA. Well, I don't even want that now. Wouldn't work out. They were right not to pick me.
And then the internship at 826 Tutoring Center in Echo Park. Which again, didn't work out.

Ever since I found out that I wasn't going to have any of those things, I have wondered, "What is my next year going to be like? Should I think that this is an opening so that God can do something awesome? Or am I just putting God in a box he doesn't belong in? AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!"

But I'm a fatalist when it comes to some things. "It is what it is. No worries" (see window sticker of truck in Hope parking lot, that little piece of plastic and adhesive got me through a lot of tough times).

So I don't know what this year holds. What's going to happen. But I'm interested. And I hope it's something interesting and fun, that I won't expect.

We'll see.

I'm ready.

Whenever it comes...

Thanks for listening...er reading.

Frustrated with Rocks and Failing at Hard Places...

I've realized the last few days how much I enjoy problem solving. I had to change a light bulb at work, but it was one of those artsy-mini ones that can point in a million directions so I had no idea how to unscrew any of it. And it took me a while to figure it out. I began to think about all the different little projects that I have enjoyed figuring out, typically things I have had to build (don't get too excited, they've all been furniture pieces that I've followed the directions, ie desks, tables, chairs, etc etc etc. Nathan still does not do physical activity, save for walking, and not just from A to B but also as a leisurely activity).

Anyway, the thought progressed to "Man, I really enjoy problem solving in general. Laying out an issue and figuring out each part so to complete the entire thing. That's probably why I'm a writer..."

And then, the thought became "Oh my god! I hate when the solution to a problem is 'wait' or 'you can't do anything.'"

And now I'm frustrated with problems that have solutions that are "waiting" or are "out of my hands."

That's it. That's my rant.

Short

Sweet

To the point

...? Maybe not.

Realized I hadn't written in a while, so thought I might jot a bit.

I'm also frustrated with gravity, but that's a different rant, and also most likely more to blame on my clumsiness...

The Anvils, Booby Traps, and Car Explosions of Chivalry

So I've been thinking for the past few weeks...as I often do. Though, the thoughts I am about to unveil typically (though not always) come when I am holding the door open for a girl.

Why is it chivalrous for me hold a door open for a girl? What is the point of that? Is there some ancient tradition that I'm missing? Or is it simply common courtesy? 'Cause if so, then I'm not buying it. Oh and no, I don't have my receipt. Sorry.

Now, I'm not bashing chivalry in any sense, nor do I abhor courtesy. In fact I have often been criticized for being too courteous at times. There are those reading who are now laughing because they know me as a jerk (ass), and others who are nodding their heads because they themselves have said this to me. I do my best and try my hardest to be chivalrous and courteous to as many beautiful girls as I can, but I may have to stop following what we ideally see as "chivalry," and instead do the exact opposite.

Spitball with me for a second, because here is what I was thinking today when I held the door open for Hosanna and let her walk through first.

What the hell am I doing!? What if there is a booby trap on this door and I just killed her!

I pictured myself opening the door, she thanking me and walking through, and a giant anvil falling on her head! Then she died, and I felt really bad.

But of course this isn't the only type of booby trap that could have afflicted her today. What if when I opened the door (or let's say that I don't open the door and instead let her open the door and walk through, while I follow. I often do this because it is too awkward for me to maneuver in front and open the door) and then she walked through and a huge circle saw dropped down and cut her head off!

What am I to do then? "Oops. Sorry. I was just being courteous."

NO!

In this scenario it would be better for me to walk through the door first, let myself get destroyed by the anvil or decapitated by the saw, rather than let Hosanna die!

OR!

What if I take a girl out to dinner and I decide I should open my car door for her and wait for her to get in before I do (I did this for Angie Abbe after formal). Simple, right? Courteous, correct (alliteration rules)? NO!

What if one of my crazy roommates decided to play a little trick on me so that my car EXPLODES! the next time I get in it (haha, those crazy roommates of mine). And after I shut the door, before I get in, THE CAR BLOWS UP! and she dies! So sad.

Or a not too common chivalrous maneuver is to walk on the street side of the sidewalk. I've been told this is so if a car drives by and there is a puddle, the girl doesn't get wet.

BUT!

What if we're walking by a gas station and there are some very hot male models having a gasoline fight (as they often do), and one of them accidently lights a match (who can blame them?), then the entire gas station blows up, killing her, but because she was there, it saved me because the fire deflected around me! And she died. How terrible.

Well...at least she didn't get wet!

I am never letting a girl go through a door before me, letting her in my car first, or letting her walk on the gas station side of the sidewalk. She will be protected. Again, except from water.

"Proposing a 'Swift' and Pretty Decent Proposal"

(Article to come two weeks from today. In which case, on that day, this post shall be deleted as it will no longer be necessary. Sorry for the inconvenience, and heartache over a post on this blog being deleted)

To clarify, this post is to fill for the posting of my upcoming opinion piece that I am very excited about.

I have recently become enthralled by Jonathan Swift's satirical essay entitled "A Modest Proposal." So much so that I have determined to write my own satire piece (published in our fair Hope International Tribune two weeks from today) in the vein of Swift's humor and intelligence.

I accept that I shall be a mere pebble in the shadow of a monolith, though I pray to God a pretty pebble at that.

To prepare for the greatest opinion piece I shall write whilst a member of the newspaper staff* I have posted a link to Swift's essay.

Be forewarned:

- it was written in 1729 in Ireland so the spelling and sentence structure is a bit different

- it is 6 pages long when typed into Word (single spaced, 12 point, Times New Roman), that's a 12 page exegetical paper roughly

- it is meant to critique the proposals made to solve the economic crises of the time (sound familiar?) and possibly the over population issues they were dealing with

- it is completely and undeniably ridiculous in all the points it makes

- it is very long winded, though this was the style of the time, it also increases the hilarity since his sarcastic proposal is so deep and intricate

- it uses harsh language such as vermin, filth, and famine

In addition, if you do not like 18th century literature or do not wish to read that much (I would implore you to rethink this since the essay is nothing short of utter, divine, satirical glory), please enjoy many other such literary pieces that may be a bit more modern.

Some acceptable replacements may be McSweeney's or The Onion.

An example of a great article from both may be Michael Ian Black's piece on eating babies (very similar to Swift's) and that bit about the Pope, abortion, fornication, and self-gratification.

Also I'm sure you can see that I found the link button. I'm a bit trigger-happy.

In conclusion: satire rules, and no one likes babies.

*This assumes that my "French Fries...I Mean C'mon!" article will be good, but not great; it also creates a loophole for any opinion piece I write in the coming years as a freelance; and assumes (as in ass-out-of-you-and-me) that you even care about anything I write (reading my blog does not prove that to me). Also, this does not imply that "Nerd is the New Cool" was not a great article, simply that a satirical article eclipses one about nerdom, however incredible all things nerd may be.

Virtues and Fairytales...yet "Sexy"

So Kelsey Dettman text me yesterday and asked me what I was doing tomorrow (that is today) and Sunday (that is tomorrow). I said I was free most of both days. She asked me if I would be willing to "star in an awesome video that would make me the most famous person in library videos" (not her words, but doesn't that make it sound awesome?). Anyway, so I said yes.

And actually right now we're filming. I'm on my computer sitting here listening to Kelse as she explains what the video is.

It's actually really funny. She described it as "a library psa that is like a beer commercial without the beer" (those are her words, c'mon you think I could make that up?).

So the premise is that I am an "inadequate" library patron who can't find "full text articles" online, and Bethany and Angie are "sexy" (notice the quotes, haha. No I like them, kinda ;) ) librarians who laugh at me for my "inadequacy." Then a voice from above explains to me how to find "full text articles." Then both "sexy" librarians are impressed with my "full text article" and come over pulling their hair down and looking like beer commercial girls and start to "flirt" with me. I then look up at where the voice came from and mouth "thank you."

So yeah. That's what's going on literally at this moment. In fact, here's what I wrote, verbatim while we were testing my fingers typing:

"This is really cool. I’m sitting here in the International Business Office shooting a video for Kelsey’s project that is about library This is really bad grammar eveyrhting that I am writing and Kelse says I should put this in my blog. I should! That’d be awesome! Now she’s filming above my hands and it’s weird because I don’t like my hands."

That's a direct copy of what I wrote, hence everything being spelled bad. Andie don't make fun of me, I know there are grammatical problems with that section.

Anyway the only reason that I even posted this is because Kelse joked that I should be blogging while we're filming. So I am. I might attach a link to the actual video once it's done, just so anyone who read this and cared can see it. I think it's going to turn out to be pretty funny.

BTW the "full text articles" is in fact to be a penis reference. I realize that by saying penis I have made my blog explicit (ha! Yeah, no). So yes, as a clarification, "full text articles" = penis.

It's Time to Define Myself

It seems that everyone around me is attempting to define themselves. They are looking for specific boxes to put themselves in. And while I hate boxes (not purely in the metaphorical sense of thinking, but especially in the moving sense [I always use bags, or flat pieces of wood. Unnecessary? Perhaps. But it's a statement and to be maintained, extreme measures must be taken and held. Stop rambling in parentheses? Sure.])...

...

Oh, there I was.

—And while I hate boxes, it's the new fad and the only reason you are even reading what strange ideas I decide to spout about (rhyme!) is because of a fad (one I enjoy whole-heartedly mind you). Thus I have decided to find my own definition for myself. My own box.

I'll begin with the boxes I've seen others sitting in.

About a week ago Niall decided to classify himself as a "minarchist." Don't know what it is? Wikipedia it (yeah, it's a verb now, like Google. Also spaghetti has been updated to an adjective, just a heads up next time you can't find the words to explain...well anything really). Anyway, Wikipedia minarchist, that's how Niall found out about it. So Niall is a minarchist.

Then tonight I just read Alaina's blog about her own self discovery of her sexist nature (not really sure if that sentence was grammatically correct, if it wasn't Andie will comment on this post and the score will then be 6-0, if it was...well then it was). The strange bit about Alaina being sexist is that she's sexist against women (so she says, I don't believe it, I think it's against mannequins. Don't worry Ellen, we love you, wherever you are).

I need to stop using parentheses. If I use one more, you should stop reading.

No one's going to read my blog anymore. Sad.

Anyway, Alaina is a sexist.

Niall is a minarchist.

Now me.

Well I don't really care for miniature dolls, so I can't join Niall in his box.

And I love mannequins and women, so Alaina will sit in her box alone.

So let's see...what am I?

I am an anglophile.

Well, I do enjoy angel hair pasta. Right angles look pretty cool, too. But I don't enjoy geometry or crumpets. No, I'm not an anglophile.

I am an anthropoid.

No, I don't read many anthologies. Unless I have to. I enjoy full texts. And I know for a fact that I'm made of flesh and blood not wires and metal gears. So, no. Not an anthropoid.

I am suave.

No, I actually use a name brand from CVS. It seems to work best with my hair and body.

This is proving difficult.

I am a rock.

I do have very tough skin (I don't bleed. Period). I do often sit about and appear to do nothing at all. I would guess that if we could master the technique of mind reading, we would discover that rocks think and are most likely over-thinkers. This is true of me. Am I a rock? Wait, I'm not bumpy. No, I am sadly not a rock. Close though. Yeah, I know. I got excited, too.

I am a pirate.

No that's Chris. Why would you think I was a pirate?

I am a merry-go-round.

I do view myself as very colorful. I wear every color (blue, red, gray, black, and white). I enjoy spinning in circles. In fact I keep returning to the same places I've been before (room, work, class, room, caf, room, repeat). Hm. I am a— No. Too gay.

That's it!

I am a lesbian.

Ben Folds just convinced me.

Solved.

Hey look. I stopped using parentheses!