First, a link: http://chipmunkcar.blogspot.com/2009/04/summaries-of-different-sort.html
I posted this for the first time in October, but perhaps since it was a draft from April 23rd, that's the date it got posted to. Anyways, it's severe nerdery warning ahead on that one, but if you're interested in reading about some of what I read, click the link.
Also, I am resigned to life sucking until Sunday or at least until I get my applications in. This is okay. Because you know what? There will always be YouTube, and life will go on no matter how bad my Comp Sci design is.
I FEEL LIBERATED.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
On tribbles and Disney movies sucking
What the hell is a tribble?
Well, okay. Technically, I know what a tribble is. It's a small ball of fur from ST: TOS, and apparently it eats, and it reproduces. So it's like a bunny, but slimmed down to the bare essentials. Oh yes, and it sort of makes a dove-cat-hybrid sound.
I wonder if life would be easier as a tribble.
But mostly, I'm wondering what's up with the featureless fluffball type of animal showing up all over the place. I mean, sure, they're cute...sort of. But what purpose do they serve?
And since I have no idea where I was going with this, I'm going to change topics and say that though I am a die-hard classic Disney fan, there are some older Disney movies that just creeped me the fuck out.
Like, for example, Tarzan. I didn't mind most of it. Sure, the gorilla dying was sad, but for the most part everything was okay! And then. The villain's death scene? SO UNCALLED FOR, DISNEY.
We all knew how it was going to end up, and I'll be honest--it was way too gruesome for me. There wasn't tons of blood and gore, but nobody wants to watch a guy accidentally hang himself in an animated kid's movie. Even now, I prefer to watch death scenes where the bad guy dies at the hand of the hero. It seems more...civilized.
Another example of this would be The Hunchback of Notre Dame, which I could quite possibly go on for pages about. First off, the moral of this movie is so warped (and, surprisingly for Disney, accurate): Even if you have a good heart, the "hot" guy is going to get the girl. Because you're ugly, and nobody really loves you as anything other than that one guy who saved their life that one time.
Second, what the hell. The bad guy was pretty much killed by a stone gargoyle. Really, Disney? Are you going to try and push the whole "But Quasimodo is so pure of heart that he can't kill anybody!" shit?
Because that's what it is.
Well, okay. Technically, I know what a tribble is. It's a small ball of fur from ST: TOS, and apparently it eats, and it reproduces. So it's like a bunny, but slimmed down to the bare essentials. Oh yes, and it sort of makes a dove-cat-hybrid sound.
I wonder if life would be easier as a tribble.
But mostly, I'm wondering what's up with the featureless fluffball type of animal showing up all over the place. I mean, sure, they're cute...sort of. But what purpose do they serve?
And since I have no idea where I was going with this, I'm going to change topics and say that though I am a die-hard classic Disney fan, there are some older Disney movies that just creeped me the fuck out.
Like, for example, Tarzan. I didn't mind most of it. Sure, the gorilla dying was sad, but for the most part everything was okay! And then. The villain's death scene? SO UNCALLED FOR, DISNEY.
We all knew how it was going to end up, and I'll be honest--it was way too gruesome for me. There wasn't tons of blood and gore, but nobody wants to watch a guy accidentally hang himself in an animated kid's movie. Even now, I prefer to watch death scenes where the bad guy dies at the hand of the hero. It seems more...civilized.
Another example of this would be The Hunchback of Notre Dame, which I could quite possibly go on for pages about. First off, the moral of this movie is so warped (and, surprisingly for Disney, accurate): Even if you have a good heart, the "hot" guy is going to get the girl. Because you're ugly, and nobody really loves you as anything other than that one guy who saved their life that one time.
Second, what the hell. The bad guy was pretty much killed by a stone gargoyle. Really, Disney? Are you going to try and push the whole "But Quasimodo is so pure of heart that he can't kill anybody!" shit?
Because that's what it is.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
On being happy alone
I came across an untranslated word today while I was reading. The word was shumi, and the way it was described was as "something that makes you happy when you're alone". So I looked it up on Google, and that produced the definition of "hobby".
I'm kind of wondering now if that translation is oversimplifying things. I mean, I enjoy writing, and I enjoy drawing, but I wouldn't call it something that makes me happy. It's more like I have a compulsion to write and to draw sometimes, and I find it relaxing.
So then what makes me happy when I am alone? I feel I ought to exclude the Internet, because it's an interaction of sorts, and it's not like being entirely alone. TV is the same way--you're watching real people, even if they're just actors.
Reading, on the other hand, makes me unashamedly happy. I like sitting down in an abandoned corner with a book and a mug of tea for a few hours.
...It's pretty sad, but that's about the only thing I can come up with. Perhaps that's good enough.
My advice: think about what makes you happy, then take a day where you blow off college stuff and just do that. College is not worth constant misery (just almost-constant misery).
I'm kind of wondering now if that translation is oversimplifying things. I mean, I enjoy writing, and I enjoy drawing, but I wouldn't call it something that makes me happy. It's more like I have a compulsion to write and to draw sometimes, and I find it relaxing.
So then what makes me happy when I am alone? I feel I ought to exclude the Internet, because it's an interaction of sorts, and it's not like being entirely alone. TV is the same way--you're watching real people, even if they're just actors.
Reading, on the other hand, makes me unashamedly happy. I like sitting down in an abandoned corner with a book and a mug of tea for a few hours.
...It's pretty sad, but that's about the only thing I can come up with. Perhaps that's good enough.
My advice: think about what makes you happy, then take a day where you blow off college stuff and just do that. College is not worth constant misery (just almost-constant misery).
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
On having problems and wanting them
I live vicariously through fictional characters; I celebrate their successes because I have very few of my own.
At least, this is my theory. I ought to just admit it: I've had no major problems in my life, and so I've had no overwhelming feelings of triumph from conquering those obstacles. My victories are little ones, and for the most part created to make myself feel better.
I'm not saying this necessarily bad, I'm just saying that this is how I observe things to be. I'm assuming I will one day "grow up" and stop wanting to win out over something greater than myself. Again, I don't mean to imply that this is a bad thing or a good thing, it's just an assumption regarding the future.
There's a lot to be said about the loss of childhood, but I think that's a discussion for a later date.
Mostly, what I'd like to talk about is the idea of wanting trials and tribulations. It seems like one of those things where the people who have curly hair want straight hair, and the people who have straight hair want curly hair, and the people who have wavy hair complain just for the sake of complaining. Not to dumb down the concept, but that does sort of seem to fit.
I feel untried and, on a more superficial level, like I have no right to many things (for the most part, wanting sympathy/attention) because my life has been pretty damn easy. I know others who feel the same way. But of course, I'm sure if I spoke to people who I would say have gone through much more than I have, I doubt they'd really say that they like, in retrospect, having had those experiences and becoming--or not becoming--a "stronger person". Is this because we have no higher goal in mind when we suffer? Is it just that people don't go off adventuring any more? We can't take pride or happiness from our achievements, because ultimately no matter how bad our lives are, we aren't suffering for a greater cause--we're just suffering. And yet that still seems preferable to not suffering at all.
Going back to the last post, this is the sort of thing that makes me interested in psychology. There's a whole mess here that's been wired into our brains (or in the case that I'm totally off the mark, just mine) and it needs untangling. I'd like to cast some blame on my love for fantasy/sci-fi novels as a child, but the truth is that many books and films have some sort of connection to these ideas--why, after all, do we make movies about certain people? Because they've had to go through something we never will, and this fascinates us.
Perhaps I'm being too general with my assumptions. Draw your own conclusions, or just wait until I cheer up and go back to posting my usual fare of spastic topic-jumping. I should be back to my usual self soon (actually, another topic for a later time--what constitutes my "usual" self? The self I show my family? My friends? The self that appears, like now, when I think I won't be judged/heard by anyone?).
At least, this is my theory. I ought to just admit it: I've had no major problems in my life, and so I've had no overwhelming feelings of triumph from conquering those obstacles. My victories are little ones, and for the most part created to make myself feel better.
I'm not saying this necessarily bad, I'm just saying that this is how I observe things to be. I'm assuming I will one day "grow up" and stop wanting to win out over something greater than myself. Again, I don't mean to imply that this is a bad thing or a good thing, it's just an assumption regarding the future.
There's a lot to be said about the loss of childhood, but I think that's a discussion for a later date.
Mostly, what I'd like to talk about is the idea of wanting trials and tribulations. It seems like one of those things where the people who have curly hair want straight hair, and the people who have straight hair want curly hair, and the people who have wavy hair complain just for the sake of complaining. Not to dumb down the concept, but that does sort of seem to fit.
I feel untried and, on a more superficial level, like I have no right to many things (for the most part, wanting sympathy/attention) because my life has been pretty damn easy. I know others who feel the same way. But of course, I'm sure if I spoke to people who I would say have gone through much more than I have, I doubt they'd really say that they like, in retrospect, having had those experiences and becoming--or not becoming--a "stronger person". Is this because we have no higher goal in mind when we suffer? Is it just that people don't go off adventuring any more? We can't take pride or happiness from our achievements, because ultimately no matter how bad our lives are, we aren't suffering for a greater cause--we're just suffering. And yet that still seems preferable to not suffering at all.
Going back to the last post, this is the sort of thing that makes me interested in psychology. There's a whole mess here that's been wired into our brains (or in the case that I'm totally off the mark, just mine) and it needs untangling. I'd like to cast some blame on my love for fantasy/sci-fi novels as a child, but the truth is that many books and films have some sort of connection to these ideas--why, after all, do we make movies about certain people? Because they've had to go through something we never will, and this fascinates us.
Perhaps I'm being too general with my assumptions. Draw your own conclusions, or just wait until I cheer up and go back to posting my usual fare of spastic topic-jumping. I should be back to my usual self soon (actually, another topic for a later time--what constitutes my "usual" self? The self I show my family? My friends? The self that appears, like now, when I think I won't be judged/heard by anyone?).
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
On psychology and zombies
I'm pretty much screwed for my Computer Science quiz, and for the design due Friday for the next program, and for Computer Science in general, which I actually sort of detest just a little.
In more positive news....erm. We have some dead bees in a plastic container? With a little lens so we can study them up close? I feel like we obtained this a long time ago, and those bees have actually been dead for YEARS. In which case, hey, cool, mummified bees!
...It's really sad that this is my more positive news.
Just saying.
Also, I was blog creeping. A spambot said that one of 'Do's posts "was likeable". Nobody says my blog posts are likeable. Nobody said my blog posts were likeable even before I'd locked the blog and squirreled it away at a different URL. Mom, the spambots are excluding me again!
And I'm hungry. Am I actually this bad at staying on topic in person? If so, serious kudos to all of you as this would make me one of those people who everyone doesn't like but who is totally oblivious to that. I am very good at being oblivious. Apart from being an apathetic bitch, it's one of the main reasons why I'd be great as a psychologist.
See, look. I'm on a different subject again, and this time I didn't even mean to be. But while I'm ON the subject, I might as well touch on it for a moment before my butterfly-brain goes off. So we had an interesting discussion today about how people see their own attractiveness and whether or not it's more complicated than the studies that simply say "Oh yes, and women see themselves as less attractive because of the media and discrimination" make it out to be. Which I'd really hope is true. But my point was that getting into people's heads like that makes me nerd out with happiness. Not in a creepy way--it's less about specific examples and more about what makes different sorts of people tick. I mean, I see aggressive behavior from someone, and I just want to sit down and dissect it, because not everybody gets angry for the same reasons. Some people bottle up emotions and eventually hit the stereotypical breaking point, others are less straight-forward. I don't think I'm an emotions-bottler, but I'm one of those people who has cumulative emotions. Lots of little things bothering me will make me seriously angry by the end of the day, and it takes time, rather than one big explosion, to make me unwind. And when I'm angry, I don't direct it. It just....goes. People sitting next to me who are too close, people who talk too much, all the things that normally I wouldn't let bother me just drive me up the wall. It happens all the time, too, which is inconvenient. Especially in class.
Granted, what would be really nice would be to work out a way to help myself NOT fall into this mess. But I guess that's what other people are there for, right? We can't tell ourselves this stuff and have it really work, but sometimes hearing it from other people is a nice shock, and it does us good. Ponder that for a while, and then (and I can't believe I'm writing this) leave a comment if you too have ever tried to dissect someone WITH YOUR MIND.
Oh wait, I'm not done yet.
I saw Zombieland. And let me just say right now...BEST ZOMBIE MOVIE EVER. Mostly because zombies, and shotguns, and not taking itself seriously, and college coed zombies, and giant truck love, and redneck love, and my new favorite piece of advice:
Nut up, or shut up.
In more positive news....erm. We have some dead bees in a plastic container? With a little lens so we can study them up close? I feel like we obtained this a long time ago, and those bees have actually been dead for YEARS. In which case, hey, cool, mummified bees!
...It's really sad that this is my more positive news.
Just saying.
Also, I was blog creeping. A spambot said that one of 'Do's posts "was likeable". Nobody says my blog posts are likeable. Nobody said my blog posts were likeable even before I'd locked the blog and squirreled it away at a different URL. Mom, the spambots are excluding me again!
And I'm hungry. Am I actually this bad at staying on topic in person? If so, serious kudos to all of you as this would make me one of those people who everyone doesn't like but who is totally oblivious to that. I am very good at being oblivious. Apart from being an apathetic bitch, it's one of the main reasons why I'd be great as a psychologist.
See, look. I'm on a different subject again, and this time I didn't even mean to be. But while I'm ON the subject, I might as well touch on it for a moment before my butterfly-brain goes off. So we had an interesting discussion today about how people see their own attractiveness and whether or not it's more complicated than the studies that simply say "Oh yes, and women see themselves as less attractive because of the media and discrimination" make it out to be. Which I'd really hope is true. But my point was that getting into people's heads like that makes me nerd out with happiness. Not in a creepy way--it's less about specific examples and more about what makes different sorts of people tick. I mean, I see aggressive behavior from someone, and I just want to sit down and dissect it, because not everybody gets angry for the same reasons. Some people bottle up emotions and eventually hit the stereotypical breaking point, others are less straight-forward. I don't think I'm an emotions-bottler, but I'm one of those people who has cumulative emotions. Lots of little things bothering me will make me seriously angry by the end of the day, and it takes time, rather than one big explosion, to make me unwind. And when I'm angry, I don't direct it. It just....goes. People sitting next to me who are too close, people who talk too much, all the things that normally I wouldn't let bother me just drive me up the wall. It happens all the time, too, which is inconvenient. Especially in class.
Granted, what would be really nice would be to work out a way to help myself NOT fall into this mess. But I guess that's what other people are there for, right? We can't tell ourselves this stuff and have it really work, but sometimes hearing it from other people is a nice shock, and it does us good. Ponder that for a while, and then (and I can't believe I'm writing this) leave a comment if you too have ever tried to dissect someone WITH YOUR MIND.
Oh wait, I'm not done yet.
I saw Zombieland. And let me just say right now...BEST ZOMBIE MOVIE EVER. Mostly because zombies, and shotguns, and not taking itself seriously, and college coed zombies, and giant truck love, and redneck love, and my new favorite piece of advice:
Nut up, or shut up.
Monday, October 12, 2009
On stories
So two things. One, I changed the layout, because I was feeling empowered. Yes, I can!
Two, I sort of want to tell a story. So I'm going to, even though my hands are STILL really cold and not working (I went for a run because I was really pissed off, and then some lady on a bike yelled at me to hurry up and cross the crosswalk or she'd hit me, and I really wanted to tackle her but she was attached to a small child. So I didn't).
It's the story of the lemmings, the turtle, and the partridge. Or maybe it's not. Maybe it's the story of me being supremely pissed off and not entirely sure how to deal with it. Maybe it's the story I'm supposed to write for English but don't want to (because I think Chekhov is, quite honestly, not worth imitating).
But it's a story.
....And apparently that little paragraph was it. My brain is suddenly empty of all stories save for the first story I ever really told on my own, which involved a port-a-potty named Honeybucket and his quest. Really. I sent a port-a-potty on a quest. He (of COURSE it was a he) met a bunch of other inanimate objects on his way to the junk yard, and the last one was, and I kid you not, the Big Car-Crusher-Thingy-That-Crushes-Cars-Because-That's-What-It's-Supposed-To-Do.
Seriously.
That's what I called the story's villain. This story was apparently hilariously funny to small children, and it involved chirping, "My name's Honeybucket!" pretty much every few seconds. I don't really remember how it goes, but I feel like Honeybucket was eventually able to convince the Car-Crusher-Thingy not to crush him (even though that's what it's supposed to do), and live a free and happy life in the wild. Or something. Maybe he was just happy to go on fulfilling his purpose of holding people's bodily waste.
It's probably the best story I've ever come up with. I sort of wish I could remember it all, write it down, and turn it in.
Sadly, I can't remember it, so I have to write another story, which I should probably get started on. But I hope you were touched by Honeybucket.
Two, I sort of want to tell a story. So I'm going to, even though my hands are STILL really cold and not working (I went for a run because I was really pissed off, and then some lady on a bike yelled at me to hurry up and cross the crosswalk or she'd hit me, and I really wanted to tackle her but she was attached to a small child. So I didn't).
It's the story of the lemmings, the turtle, and the partridge. Or maybe it's not. Maybe it's the story of me being supremely pissed off and not entirely sure how to deal with it. Maybe it's the story I'm supposed to write for English but don't want to (because I think Chekhov is, quite honestly, not worth imitating).
But it's a story.
....And apparently that little paragraph was it. My brain is suddenly empty of all stories save for the first story I ever really told on my own, which involved a port-a-potty named Honeybucket and his quest. Really. I sent a port-a-potty on a quest. He (of COURSE it was a he) met a bunch of other inanimate objects on his way to the junk yard, and the last one was, and I kid you not, the Big Car-Crusher-Thingy-That-Crushes-Cars-Because-That's-What-It's-Supposed-To-Do.
Seriously.
That's what I called the story's villain. This story was apparently hilariously funny to small children, and it involved chirping, "My name's Honeybucket!" pretty much every few seconds. I don't really remember how it goes, but I feel like Honeybucket was eventually able to convince the Car-Crusher-Thingy not to crush him (even though that's what it's supposed to do), and live a free and happy life in the wild. Or something. Maybe he was just happy to go on fulfilling his purpose of holding people's bodily waste.
It's probably the best story I've ever come up with. I sort of wish I could remember it all, write it down, and turn it in.
Sadly, I can't remember it, so I have to write another story, which I should probably get started on. But I hope you were touched by Honeybucket.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
On cats and chocolate and yesterday
So a) I totally called it and b) THERE IS NOT ENOUGH CHOCOLATE FOR COPIOUS CONSUMPTION TO OCCUR. Which is depressing. I plan on running to QFC tomorrow to stock up. In between running around the island trying to drop people off and pick people up and do a dance involving three walruses and a cup of tea. Don't judge.
On the other hand, this Saturday is Diwali, which usually means yummy food.
On the other, other hand, I just took the SAT. The high school kids from where I took it make me feel better about myself, but 4 hours of testing is a pain in the ass no matter what. And I woke up at six. And I was babysitting, so I went to sleep at 12:30.
Majorly ew.
At least I got paid, so even if I didn't go to Homecoming (which, in my opinion, is no great loss), I wound up a little richer. Money is power and all that. Or, as LS would say, money means eventually, everyone will work for me. Muahaha.
Oh, the life lessons I've learned from high school. Aren't they precious?
Speaking of precious, we got barn cats, finally. We've been having a serious rat problem, but the problem is that there are always a couple of rather large dogs wandering around, so we've been having a hard time finding cats who'll catch rats and not flip out at the sight of a German Shepherd. Presumably, someone managed to track a pair down. I've only met one so far, but it's super cute. Not as cute as my puppy, or Cuddles, or Elsie the slab cat, but still super cute.
I'm just hoping it doesn't leave dead rats everywhere, because that is almost as gross as the SAT. Almost.
On the other hand, this Saturday is Diwali, which usually means yummy food.
On the other, other hand, I just took the SAT. The high school kids from where I took it make me feel better about myself, but 4 hours of testing is a pain in the ass no matter what. And I woke up at six. And I was babysitting, so I went to sleep at 12:30.
Majorly ew.
At least I got paid, so even if I didn't go to Homecoming (which, in my opinion, is no great loss), I wound up a little richer. Money is power and all that. Or, as LS would say, money means eventually, everyone will work for me. Muahaha.
Oh, the life lessons I've learned from high school. Aren't they precious?
Speaking of precious, we got barn cats, finally. We've been having a serious rat problem, but the problem is that there are always a couple of rather large dogs wandering around, so we've been having a hard time finding cats who'll catch rats and not flip out at the sight of a German Shepherd. Presumably, someone managed to track a pair down. I've only met one so far, but it's super cute. Not as cute as my puppy, or Cuddles, or Elsie the slab cat, but still super cute.
I'm just hoping it doesn't leave dead rats everywhere, because that is almost as gross as the SAT. Almost.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
On PMS and massive sleep deprivation
Arr, I be marooned on the island of no inspiration!
And this is pissing me off.
Mostly because I feel a really strong urge to write....but the words aren't feeling so happy with me right now.
And I'm feeling an even stronger urge to read, and I don't want it to be Anna "Love Hexagon" Karenina.
I want to read something good. Something that makes me cry a bit. I need to get that out of my system. And then I can go back to liking books that involve dragons and zombies and badasses in pink jumpsuits.
I'm also really grumbly right now because of these various feelings (oh, the inconvenience of not being a robot). If I grumble at you, or ignore you, or hunch over into a grouchy little fetal position, forgive me. I'm hoping it's PMS. At least then I can cure it with the copious consumption of chocolate.
Also, on the subject of PMS (AKA THIS IS YOUR WARNING: RUN NOW, SQUICK WILL FOLLOW).
I feel like girls blame it for a lot of things, but at the same time it's really weird how consistent it is in terms of what sort of havoc it plays. Like, I always get really mopey, which makes me angry, so I'm miserable to be around. I also definitely have wild chocolate cravings. And then equally consistent, I have terrible cramps for a single day. Which, you know, it could be a lot worse. And I've noticed that if I get distracted (by video games or bad TV or good TV or my PUPPY), they're pretty much ignorable. Which, okay. I should hate less on the girlbits than other people.
But. But. Here's something really weird. Having been a beanpole for most of my life (until my metabolism slowed the fuck down around 8th/9th grade, curse it), I sort of expected I'd get my period...late. And I was all "Oh rats, once again I will be the late bloomer". Except this was not to be. And I realized, as soon as I got it, that it was pretty much THE WORST. I mean, it's inconvenient and awkward and painful and just kind of gross. And it has no respect for the fact that you were in class, trying to go about your every day life. Or on your class trip. Or about to go to Hawaii. Or in India, where most places don't actually have toilets.
Oh, the stories I could tell. I'm not sure if it's just that my luck sucks, or if everyone has tons of stories like I do, and we just never swap them (we should. It would be amusing and I would feel better about how unlucky I am). Is it sad that in some ways, I can't wait for menopause?
OKAY THE SQUICK IS DONE NOW.
But I'm not done yet! I've got more to whine about in a vaguely pathetic manner! Like the fact that I'm so exhausted, I've been driving hunched over the wheel like an old lady in order to stay awake! My sister calls it Beaver-Mode. Beaver-Mode Ishani has created a new dance style called "How to dance while not falling asleep on I-5, which would probably be a stupendously bad idea". Seriously. I was yawing so hard I was crying on the way home today. This is bad. Someone should do something. Like write my college apps for me.
That would be nice.
And this is pissing me off.
Mostly because I feel a really strong urge to write....but the words aren't feeling so happy with me right now.
And I'm feeling an even stronger urge to read, and I don't want it to be Anna "Love Hexagon" Karenina.
I want to read something good. Something that makes me cry a bit. I need to get that out of my system. And then I can go back to liking books that involve dragons and zombies and badasses in pink jumpsuits.
I'm also really grumbly right now because of these various feelings (oh, the inconvenience of not being a robot). If I grumble at you, or ignore you, or hunch over into a grouchy little fetal position, forgive me. I'm hoping it's PMS. At least then I can cure it with the copious consumption of chocolate.
Also, on the subject of PMS (AKA THIS IS YOUR WARNING: RUN NOW, SQUICK WILL FOLLOW).
I feel like girls blame it for a lot of things, but at the same time it's really weird how consistent it is in terms of what sort of havoc it plays. Like, I always get really mopey, which makes me angry, so I'm miserable to be around. I also definitely have wild chocolate cravings. And then equally consistent, I have terrible cramps for a single day. Which, you know, it could be a lot worse. And I've noticed that if I get distracted (by video games or bad TV or good TV or my PUPPY), they're pretty much ignorable. Which, okay. I should hate less on the girlbits than other people.
But. But. Here's something really weird. Having been a beanpole for most of my life (until my metabolism slowed the fuck down around 8th/9th grade, curse it), I sort of expected I'd get my period...late. And I was all "Oh rats, once again I will be the late bloomer". Except this was not to be. And I realized, as soon as I got it, that it was pretty much THE WORST. I mean, it's inconvenient and awkward and painful and just kind of gross. And it has no respect for the fact that you were in class, trying to go about your every day life. Or on your class trip. Or about to go to Hawaii. Or in India, where most places don't actually have toilets.
Oh, the stories I could tell. I'm not sure if it's just that my luck sucks, or if everyone has tons of stories like I do, and we just never swap them (we should. It would be amusing and I would feel better about how unlucky I am). Is it sad that in some ways, I can't wait for menopause?
OKAY THE SQUICK IS DONE NOW.
But I'm not done yet! I've got more to whine about in a vaguely pathetic manner! Like the fact that I'm so exhausted, I've been driving hunched over the wheel like an old lady in order to stay awake! My sister calls it Beaver-Mode. Beaver-Mode Ishani has created a new dance style called "How to dance while not falling asleep on I-5, which would probably be a stupendously bad idea". Seriously. I was yawing so hard I was crying on the way home today. This is bad. Someone should do something. Like write my college apps for me.
That would be nice.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
On imitation and literature
In English class the other day, the teacher said that unless you're a genius, you learn how to write by copying other writers. Now, I don't think I'm a genius (if only, right?), but the few attempts I have made at copying other, talented writers have gone miserably south. I would demonstrate just how far south, but I don't think you would appreciate it. Also I'm not sure I could stand the humiliation.
So here's the question of the day: can a regular person really not learn to write on their own?
Personally, I'd think that good writing comes from reading, and reading alone. You don't have to directly imitate one writer or another; rather if you have a library of sorts in your head you can take your favorite writing styles from various authors and put your own twist on them. It's really damn hard to make yourself write exactly like someone else, and in my opinion it's because you SHOULDN'T be trying to write in a single author's style. Kind of seems like plagiarism, you know? And honestly, it's not anything groundbreaking if someone's done it first-- aren't you limiting yourself by sticking to a preordained style?
Anyways, something to mull over. Also, on a somewhat unrelated note, people (in general) need to pull their heads out of their asses and realize that just because a piece of writing isn't "great literature" doesn't mean it has no value. I used to make this argument and say that the point of a novel was to be both interesting and entertaining. I feel like I should add that I've found a few novels that fit those qualifications and are also astoundingly well-written. And I don't mean, "Oh, they're better than most of the other novels that I think are fun." I mean, "Holy shit, I think I like this better than anything else I've ever read EVER." And that's saying something--I know I don't read tons of "literature", but I am still fairly well-read, and a lot of the classics actually just can't compare to the novels I'm thinking about.
Eventually, I'll brainwash you all into not being the least bit skeptical about my taste in music or books. Really. It will happen.
So here's the question of the day: can a regular person really not learn to write on their own?
Personally, I'd think that good writing comes from reading, and reading alone. You don't have to directly imitate one writer or another; rather if you have a library of sorts in your head you can take your favorite writing styles from various authors and put your own twist on them. It's really damn hard to make yourself write exactly like someone else, and in my opinion it's because you SHOULDN'T be trying to write in a single author's style. Kind of seems like plagiarism, you know? And honestly, it's not anything groundbreaking if someone's done it first-- aren't you limiting yourself by sticking to a preordained style?
Anyways, something to mull over. Also, on a somewhat unrelated note, people (in general) need to pull their heads out of their asses and realize that just because a piece of writing isn't "great literature" doesn't mean it has no value. I used to make this argument and say that the point of a novel was to be both interesting and entertaining. I feel like I should add that I've found a few novels that fit those qualifications and are also astoundingly well-written. And I don't mean, "Oh, they're better than most of the other novels that I think are fun." I mean, "Holy shit, I think I like this better than anything else I've ever read EVER." And that's saying something--I know I don't read tons of "literature", but I am still fairly well-read, and a lot of the classics actually just can't compare to the novels I'm thinking about.
Eventually, I'll brainwash you all into not being the least bit skeptical about my taste in music or books. Really. It will happen.
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