Day 145
Not only do I have to instruct high school kids that are way smarter than myself, I promised them I would create for them a blog. Last week they sort of listened as I rambled on and on about the purpose of the blog. The glaze faded from their eyes when they began to talk about the colors used for it. Pink and black was the decision reached in the lively ten minute debate. This was great I'd thought, all they expect out of my technical (lack of) expertise is to make something pink and black, no problem. So, I popped onto my trusty blogger and set about the creation.
According to the fashion folder I bought at Staples last week pink and black are very in colors. Apparently, blogger doesn't find this to be true in fact the only thing even close to being usable in their blog templates had polka dots on a neutral background there may have been a mauve-toned dot but definitely not pink or black. I thought about using the same template that my own blog has but then worried if I were drunk (as I usually am at night time) there is a possibility that I could accidently spread the nastiness of The Emily Papers onto these children. But then again it could start up a legion of snarky bloggers. And plus, if they liked my blog I could be very popular. Which exactly why I shouldn't be teaching high schoolers because every time I make a move or go to school to see them I want to be popular. It's even worse than when I was in high school. But, I must remember it's always the ones who really want to be popular who never are.
Today during television writing class I became a zombie. Somewhere around when the grits of my coffee met up with the tater tots and bacon in my stomach a reaction occurred where I became totally zoned out. It could've been that or all the talk of zombie plot lines that somehow assimilated itself into my behavior. This is troublesome. What if someone wrote a story about a serial killer and I started behaving like that? Could I use the class as my defense? Seriously, they should put a disclaimer on these classes.
So after I quit smoking and groping nasty strangers in bars I thought I had rid myself of bad habits for good. This may be true but it doesn't stop me from acquiring a host of annoying habits (worse than bad habits because they are harder to break because they are waaaay more addicting than cigarettes and strange men). These are the sort of habits that find me gnawing my cuticles until they bleed and chewing on my hair. Yes, I chew my hair. Don't ask me about it because then I get self-conscious about it for a week (which is also addicting but makes me chew more hair). The latest annoying habit is whining about how I don't know what a narrative arc is. Everyone I know has heard me bellyache about this topic that my advisor pointed out to me a few days ago. I know that I could find a "narrative arc" but I am so consumed with whining about it (annoying habit) that I must wait for another annoying habit to replace it.
The great thing about annoying habits is that they are totally unexpected. Like for the last two weeks I have been obsessing over roller derby. I am a little concerned that my new hobby is stalking comic book writers. I am trying to see it as an educational opportunity to mask the creep factor but have not quite convinced myself of this, yet.
Tonight I found myself at the faculty reading for my program. This is the powerhouse showcase, these are people who have written shelf-loads of books. Here are a few things that happened:
-I met strangers who belonged to a writing group and the old guy with white curly hair tried to bribe me with strawberries for unknown reasons.
-The head of my program I call him "Captain" is an older white guy with amazing 1980's big glasses that he's probably actually had since the 80s read from his manga book. Apparently, he writes manga which is cool but I wonder if I am supposed to be creeped out or awed by the fact that the book is seemingly about pretty women falling in love with each other and he looks like he could be my grandpa.
-My friend and I plucked rose petals from the centerpieces on the tables which I proceeded to rub on my lips for a half an hour without realizing that this was an odd thing to do.
-My favorite professor told an amazing story about how he lived in a house of writers when he was young and there was a fire one day and before saving his sleeping girlfriend he boxed up four containers of his manuscripts. There are so many reasons why he is my favorite.
-There was another piece that was a woman on film wearing a glove that was supposed to make sounds. I want one of those just to make swearing more fun. If I had one I would learn the movements to make the sounds for "motherfucker" and it would come out in a Stephen Hawking voice. What's better than that?
-A woman read what must have been a 25 page memoir piece about adopting/conceiving a child which was interesting but long. What made it awesome was that she held her head low when reading the piece but every so often she would look up while still speaking and words would catch the microphone and be thunderous at inappropriate times. Then, I wondered what if this was what she had intended if so I commend her for it and not judge her just as a creepy yoga freak but a person of artistic note.
After the reading I went down to the pub that was crawling with undergrads. The reason for me even going in was to see the Indian dude I got drunk and kissed the cheek of and ran off. This was about 54 days ago on the night before he left to go back home. I didn't quite know how to approach him. I went up and said, "Hi." He extended his hand into a formal handshake and smiled. Later, I greeted my favorite Latino slutty man and he said, "Your boyfriend was asking about you." "Which boyfriend?" He nodded toward the Indian man. I looked at how the jeans of the Indian man clung to his muscular thighs and realized that life wasn't so bad afterall.
-Canadian Castaway
-
No comments:
Post a Comment