another dull post

you are what you love
and not what loves you back

Yay Jenny Lewis.

Yay being bored at work, procrastinating my homework, and watching “Coupling.” It’s amazing how much I can multitask at just so I can avoid my proposal for my ethnomusicology project.

All of a sudden college involves actual work and lots of different research projects. In the next month, I have to develop my own neuroscience paper, do this ethnomusicology project, prepare a pre-1820 text for modern readers, write a couple concert reviews, and do regular homework. I guess I should be excited, since I’m always complaining about not having any challenges at school. Hooray, lots of work along with my actual job and my actual internship. Oh, life.

This winter I’ll be going to New York and Israel, though, so that should be a nice break. I should probably start learning some Hebrew and pay a little more attention to what’s going on in Israel at the moment, because I’m definitely an uninformed Jew when it comes to that. :-p

so.

I think I feel happy. I’m also terrified of school, because it’s actually kicking my ass like I never knew my ass could be kicked, and I don’t know what to do about that, because school has never been that for me. I should be happy for the challenge, but flailing through neuroscience isn’t really a challenge the way a hard piece of literature is.

But aside from that, I think I like where my life is headed for now. I feel a lot better about what’s on my plate, and about people who are becoming more important in my life. It’s like I’m calming down.

it’s been too long without some angst

i want love to love me back
i want two way conversations
i want love to love me back
one that can handle any situation
i want love to love me back

I adore Mandy Moore. And I just feel like echoing that sentiment today. Leaving choir today, some off-hand comment led to me saying, “Boys don’t like me,” which is generally true, to which Catherine replied, “Oh, they do,” to which I replied, “No, they use me and abuse me,” which is largely true as well, so Catherine said, “But they like you for that,” and then I said, “I’m just a toy for boys.”

A wholly uninteresting story, I know.

I don’t quite adore school this semester, though that’s mostly because I’ve gotten used to not having to do work, and this semester is going to be nothing but reading, researching, or going to work. Once again, I have three jobs. I’m crazy, and I can’t quite figure out why, except that I seem to hate free time. I don’t know where I’ll find time to write or read books, but I’m trying. I also want to finish some songs and make recordings, at least Garage Band-y ones, so that I can feel good about that. It should get easier since I’ll be taking piano lessons again (!).

Now, if the weather could just cool off and if I could stop having morning asthma attacks while I bike…

(New playlist up!)

crowd theory

I’ve realized that the reason I don’t enjoy large, loud concerts is because I am less capable than most at succumbing to a collective. Last night was the huge stadium concert, which actually looked fairly unimpressive, because the stadium seats 56,000, and about 12,000 people actually showed up to the concert, though close to none actually went to the entire six-hour event.

Anyway. Not my point. (But they should have had it in McKale so it would look more impressive.) I really, really enjoy good concerts. I do. I adore music, and there is something really special about witnessing its creation and performance live. But I am really not a very flamboyant spectator. This is how I know I would not be a good famous singer, much as I’d like to be famous. I can’t really free myself to move around a lot or scream or anything. I sing along, yes. That I feel almost compelled to do, and it’s hard to keep my mouth shut. But moving around and waving my arms and showing “my diamonds,” as Jay-Z asked us all to do, is hard to do.

Waving my arms is the worst. I feel supremely uncomfortable and self-conscious when I am doing that. I’m sure it’s actually gotten harder since leaving high school, since I don’t dance anymore. But it’s never been something I’ve been able to do naturally. It’s a strange feeling, but even though I feel stupid not doing it, I feel like I have a physical aversion to doing it if I actually try to be one of the crowd.

There’s this thing called crowd psychology, and you can google it or look it up on Wikipedia if you like. I think the best example of this is English soccer fans, if only because I’ve already had a long conversation with my friends about that particular theory and how it’s manifested in that group. But basically, it’s the idea that people do things they would never do otherwise when they’re in groups, and it’s also very easy to be caught up in a sort of collective conscious and feel the same, act the same, and react the same. This is how people can end up rioting after they win a soccer game, or how they can feel an amazing rush of adrenaline when they and their friends go after a rival team’s fans and start beating them to a pulp. Ahh, the rush of physical fighting! Such a guy thing. I really don’t get it.

This is also how people feel when they go to a school football game and find themselves with a passion for their team that they never knew they had, or they notice that they’ve never had such a potty mouth before, or they realize that they and everyone around them is saying the same things, “oh!”ing at the exact same time, stamping their feet together, clapping the same rhythmic pattern, or what have you. Crowd psychology. Try and say you’ve never experienced this.

But I swear I don’t have that. I feel detached from other people almost all the time. I have definitely felt some moments of belonging, so I guess I’m not a complete alien, but those moments are things like bonding with the party room crew while we were sitting by the haunted house at Bennington College, or snapping a photo with my Kenya group soon after we’d returned, just before we went inside to graduate from high school. Group pride, certainly, and a sort of collective understanding and a feeling like in that moment, I loved those people more than anyone else, but never have I really lost myself in a moment that became a collective moment.

Even when Obama won the presidency, ecstatic as I was, I felt like I was faking it. I cheered because, yes, it was a wonderful thing, and because everyone else was doing it, but it was conscious. That’s not crowd psychology. It didn’t take me over; I just observed it and blended as well as I could. And even then, in a moment that I was truly happy and hopeful, I was not part of a collective conscious.

So last night, though I loosened up as the night went on, and I shouted the lyrics to “99 Problems” like nobody’s business, I felt completely aware of how out of my comfort zone I felt. And shouting the lyrics and dancing a bit was the only thing I did. My arms feel too heavy to wave them like everyone else; I don’t understand that whole diamonds thing because I’m definitely not as cool as I like to pretend I am; I did not shout out to Kelly Clarkson, “Kelly, I love you!”** repeatedly, and even if it had happened to be a Mariah Carey concert and I was thinking that same thing, I wouldn’t say it. I was lost in the musical conscious, but that’s not tangible, and it’s not even human. I am incapable of being part of a crowd.

I take back my earlier statement. I probably am an alien.

**This same girl at one point turned back to me and asked me something; I think the question was, “Aren’t you so happy right now?” which, looking back, is a really nice feeling to have, and I just smiled, because I wasn’t yet ready to buy the whole Kelly Clarkson deal (though after her entire set, I am sold–hers may not be my favorite style of music, but the girl is well-trained. She can belt, she can sing, she can scream–all in one song). Later, Kelly played a song from her new album, and this girl immediately grabbed her BlackBerry and googled the lyrics so she could sing along. Best. Concert. Moment. Ever.

***Also, check out Cindy Pon’s blog, book, and contest. She’s giving away a beautiful brush painting/bookstore gift certificate, plus a signed copy of her book, which looks awesome. You should click on the book cover now. Do it.

is this it?

I am really happy that high school and middle school are left behind parts of my life. Like, really happy. Middle school was an unhappy, uncomfortable time when I got made fun of a lot, and high school was just way too much drama and angst and feeling inadequate. Even now, if I find myself acting or feeling like a 16-year-old, I feel supremely uncomfortable and I want to hit myself and remind myself to stop being stupid. Last night I felt like high school, and even though it wasn’t that big of a deal, it was bad.

That said, there are a few things about high school that I do miss, friends and simplicity of life put aside.

Dances. This may just be a case of the-grass-is-always-greener, but I do miss going all out, dressing up, having my sister do my hair and makeup, and feeling absolutely gorgeous. No, I never had a date in high school, and if I did things over I think I would have tried harder to be less awkward and have more guy friends, but then again, I probably wouldn’t have so many ideas for short stories and novels if I had had a better high school experience. I digress. There is something that is so, so much fun about looking hot and having a lot of fun with your group of girlfriends. Especially dances of my last two years of high school, where though I was dateless, I finally began dancing with boys and developed maybe a bit of a reputation for being a somewhat slutty dancer. In high school, I was desperate to be slutty. I got over it at the end of the last year, and now I almost miss it, because life without scandal is a bit dull. I suppose I could join a dance group again, but that’s not the same kind of dancing. And I suppose I could go to clubs, but clubs are less safe than proms. At prom, you were with people that you felt comfortable with, even if you didn’t actually like them, and you still had the freedom to show a bit of a new side to yourself. And that’s hard to do. You’re not allowed to change in high school. Nobody understands if you do. I suppose sororities and fraternities still have formals, but they also act like high schoolers.

Sleepovers. I just found a bunch of bags in my room that I should probably get rid of. I like having bags of different sizes, but the amount I have is ridiculous. And I realized half of these bags I only use occasionally to take things to class, and then to stuff things in for a slumber party. Why don’t we have slumber parties anymore? College introduced the idea of sleepovers with boys, as in making out with them and then falling asleep in your twin bed, and that is definitely good fun, but it has also deleted silly girls’ nights, when you just sit around in cute pj’s and giggle about things and watch movies. I don’t really understand why this isn’t a necessity to more college girls. How can you not still have a hole in your heart begging to be filled with gossip, bashing boys who treat you badly and swooning over the ones who don’t or who haven’t yet, and watching embarrassingly, unabashedly romantic movies that you don’t want to admit you actually life? College should be the place for even better sleepovers, because they can have all those things but better stories, because in college you have sex, and you can add liquor to the mix and make silly girly cocktails (because college parties may be about alcochol, but they are not about good drinks. Keystone is unacceptable), and you don’t have parents around so there’s no need to hush up when you talk about the really risqué things. I want to reinstate slumber parties into my life.

Discovering new places. I really, really love that I live away from my parents, because I still see them a lot, but I have my space. We get along much better. But it’s also turned me into a hermit. Everything I need is in my house, and everything outside of my house is expensive, so why go anywhere? I spend too much time inside, and I don’t go to places except to restaurants close to campus. In high school, you’re always trying to find places to go that are parent-free, but that’s not all those places do. It’s like how you need to read lots of different things to be well-rounded or to have good ideas for writing–you need to be exposed to lots of different places just to remember that there are different places, and just to see new things and people and ways of life. I miss nights at parks, in parking lots, outside on trampolines, at bookstores, at strip malls, just sitting in cars in driveways.

I’ve started ordering zines again, and I almost want to make one. I haven’t for probably three or four years. Strangely, now that I have a bit less angst and I’m a lot more comfortable with myself, I miss being emo. I’m sure I still am, but zines are invoking those painful but raw and inspiring moments of angst. Now if I could just have these other three things, I’d be good.

short and sweet

I bought myself two new books today. This was wholly unnecessary, as I own at least fifty books I have not yet read, and I have a reading list of well over 100. But I can’t control myself, and I love bookstores, and I figured that at least I was buying books of short stories, which I don’t read enough of, and I decided that this would help me further the education I am getting in my fiction writing classes at school, which all have focused on short stories.

One book is a large collection of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s shorts. The other is an anthology about adolescence, which should prove to be entertaining. Plus, a lot of my writing focuses on that, so it’s good to see what’s out there. The short story anthologies for our classes always duplicate famous stories, and they get so dull. I know I should read the classics, and I do, but crotchety old men get rather boring, as do cliché assignments like Jamaica Kincaid’s “Girl” (itself wonderful writing, but it as an assigned reading kind of hackneyed and obvious) and the same story by the same writers. This is my problem with poetry anthologies as well. I understand that I should read a lot of one author to really understand them, but is it too much to ask that not every collection have the same poems in it? William Carlos Williams wrote more than one good poem. Shakespeare did more than comparing thee to a summer’s day. Blah, blah, blah.

But it hit me that I can’t further my education if I haven’t learned anything. I have a lot of snobbery going into my writing classes here, which stems out of a variety of things: 1. I was trained in high school to consider myself completely above U of A; 2. I naturally consider myself above most things; 3. U of A’s creative writing program is nothing special unless it’s the MFA, which obviously I am not getting right now; and 4. I really have not learned that much about writing, at least not in a direct way, in either last semester’s beginning class or this semester’s intermediate class. I definitely learned a bit about craft in the beginning class, because we actually had to read a book about writing, and we had lectures and exercises that specifically helped us develop certain aspects of writing, from dialogue to setting to whatever. And, of course, we all know that the best way to become a better writer is to actually write, and to read anything and everything. Duh. So practicing my writing by having to write stories for class is always a good thing.

But it’s like I can’t remember anything I learned last semester, and this semester we only practice and half heartedly critique, rather than hone skills. What does that leave for the advanced writing class? Never having been one to write short anything, I have a lot of trouble with short stories. And after a semester and a half of “college writing classes,” I don’t really know much more about the art of short fiction than I did when I was writing paragraph-long stories in second grade. I have no idea what I’m doing. Teach me, please.

here’s to you

Oh, G-d. It’s begun again. College writing workshops always turn me into such a bitch, but can I help it if I think people who don’t know the first thing about writing shouldn’t be allowed to take them?

I have a feeling that even though this is a more advanced class, one specifically for majors and minors and not for people to use as an arts class, it’s not going to be as good as my class last semester, which wasn’t all that great. Mostly I think my teacher, who does seem pretty cool, won’t appreciate my contributions to workshop. She seems too concerned with not hurting people’s feelings, and she’s a bit flaky with order and structure. I subscribe to the idea that anyone who is going to be a writer needs to a) have some natural talent, b) be willing to realize that natural talent isn’t everything, c) read a lot and internalize at least the basics, like how to spell things and use correct grammar, and d) have a fucking thick skin.

I most definitely didn’t have one when I started writing. Who would at seven? But once I started to get serious, I started going to writing classes, and any discomfort or offense I took, I kept to myself. And I used it. I was really hurt by a lot of the things said about my writing, but looking back, it either wasn’t that mean, or it was completely on target. And I knew I wanted to be a writer, so I just kept working.

My problem with college writing classes is that I waste money ($17 in copies last week and a bunch of people just missed class and asked me for an emailed copy later) on copies of stories that are generally not read until the day of workshop, not the night before, as assigned. No comments are written on them, because no one understands the concept of a useful critique. What is a workshop but a waste of time to the writer and the critiquer if the critiquer has only read the story once and only has about three general comments about the entire thing? No one even looks confused when they hand the blank story back to the writer. Thanks, guys.

I’m applying for NYU’s Writers in Paris program this summer. If I get in, I’ll be able to finish my workshop portion of my minor there and not have to take any more of U of A’s worthless undergrad creative writing classes. Everywhere I go, I still look to recreate my experience at NBF, which will probably never happen, but since this program requires a sample as the application, maybe the quality will be upped just a little.

And if not, who cares? It’s Paris!

oh, life

I have everything I need but no idea how to use it.

de-contextualizing

I’m lyric diving. It’s so much fun. I have this notebook where I write down random lyrics from songs that stand out that I really love, for their language, for their sentiment, for their rhyme, for whatever. There are some that, when taken completely out of context, mean something different from their original song, and sometimes I can no longer remember what song that is, unless I figure out a rhythm and a tune to read the words to. It’s a fun game that you can play over and over again.

I’m also doing stuff with bits of lyrics that I’ve been writing lately. I have a couple choruses and good melodies, but verses are so much harder. I don’t want to cop out and only do like one verse, a million times the chorus, and a bridge. That’s weak. I need to learn garage band and guitar; that would help. And I want a piano that I don’t hate, like my piano rather than the one that came with the house, so that I can use that as well.

I have to present my French blog to my French class this week, possibly today. I hope not today. I’d rather pretend to pay attention and really just do some writing today. Until I get my novel back, I’m trying hard not to care by spending my writing time on journaling, on song lyrics, and on writing the bedtime stories my dad used to make up for me and my sister. Those are going to be fabulous fairy tales when they’re done, I can just feel it.