Life is good again now that I feel I’m using my time properly, so I can be a little more insightful tonight; let’s see what pops out of my mind.

I learned the other day that the word counter on this blog’s writing page doesn’t go down when I backspace – I wonder how many others gain a false sense of accomplishment from it.  At this point, it says I’ve written 83 words, and that’s a lie.  You can go and check it.

I’m watching a lot more movies as the semester winds down, or at least more movies of my choosing.  I’m watching the second half of Kill Bill because it’s on TV, and I watched the movie “Factotum” just before which caused a bit of a stir in the living room.  I put it on when I was alone in the apartment, and then my roommate comes in about 20 minutes in, and during a slightly odd part of the movie ten minutes later, he says with a tone of restrained anger, “What the hell is this?!”  I stutter, “It’s, it’s a comedy. thing.”  Nothing else was really said but I found it hard to enjoy the movie as I was considering if I should shut it off for his sake.  But then I got to thinking, I put up with all the crappy action movies and god damn kids’ shows these guys watch on a regular basis, so why can’t I watch something I alone like?  Another, more open-minded roommate came in and showed acceptance for the movie, so I had an unspoken majority now.  Sad that it comes to majorities in this residence, and after what happened next, I like to think I don’t even need a majority.

About an hour into the movie the first roommate was conspicuously tapping the couch he sat in, showing his obvious dislike.  He asked how much time is left in the movie, and while checking it accidentally shut off the movie.  He said I could keep watching, but then I pretty much called him out on how he doesn’t seem to be enjoying the movie.  But then he said it’s my TV as much as theirs: my thoughts exactly.  I figure he knows he was wrong in his first outburst, and didn’t have the balls to properly voice his wishes through conversation: ironic since he is one of the major proponents of airing out all conversation in the apartment. Basically, I’m awesome.

I didn’t want to use this blog to talk about little spats with people, but I started on it and went with it.  I’m not doing any editing, either, just letting things lie.  I figure this is fine to be doing, just to see how I do with initially putting things down.  Of course, the reason I prefer writing in the end is because I like the ability to fix it up before presentation.  Well, that’s why practice is never like the real thing.  Sure.

Back to the TV.

meeting my minimum requirements

shit, i’m tired

Rut

11 days until I go home for the holidays, but I can’t look forward to it yet.  Two project due dates and several tests loom before I can retreat.  I’m first focusing on my final paper for Writing Arts, which is about the ways in which writing and reading wear one down just as any activity would.  I couldn’t help but feel the fatigue I was writing about.  Even now it’s taking me the longest time to write this quick expression.  I fear I’m burning out.  The due dates and finals all end on Monday morning (I need to stay two nights longer because of required speeches on Wednesday) – so close yet so far.  I should be happy about my proactive approach, though.  I’m halfway done with this paper six days before it is due.  I guess what I’m so worried about is how slowly I’m writing it.  The focus is clear and the end results are looking good, but there’s only two and a half pages to take pride in after four hours of true effort.  I want to write this good faster.

I’m solely time-oriented.  Wasted time is always regretted to some degree.  A perceived setback is frustrating.  I think to myself: why couldn’t this paper have been completed today?  Could I have pushed myself harder?  If not, where did this semester’s efficiency and progress disappear to?  I must just be tired.  At least I’m making better use of my time than everyone else, and isn’t that the most important thing?

Response to a far-away tragedy

I don’t really like TV too much. If I put it on, it’s to watch some sporting event (which isn’t a poorly scripted program) or the Science Channel so I’m learning something while just sitting around (I’m presently discovering what the Earth would be like if it had no moon – fascinating!). Cable news is especially sickening with all its alarmist, ratings-based reporting. I still like to be informed of the happenings of the world around me, though, so I check CNN’s online counterpart frequently. Even on that website I need to do a bit of searching between the stories about celebrities and insignificant polls to find things that really matter, but it’s a much quicker process than watching some talking head.

Today’s big story which was worth more than a hyperlink to the web editors was a mall shooting in Omaha. I ignored it in the morning, which unfortunately demonstrates the semantic satiation of the word “shooter” I’ve fallen victim to. Or maybe the editor just beat around the bush too much with the title “Photos show shooter enter store, take aim.” Technically, this happens at the local GameStop all the time when a gamer walks into the store with a hunger for Halo 3. Then this afternoon I saw it again, and it struck me that this title implied that some kid walked out of his pitch-black basement of hate with an assault rifle and took out all his hatred for the capitalist holiday season in a self-righteous murder-suicide. “Oh,” I thought, “this is relevant.”

Back in the spring Virginia Tech was terrorized by some loner who had access to guns. We the concerned populace soon found out from the news that the loner was confused and angry, and that information was really information enough. We’ve seen enough of these bursts of violence, since Columbine and other school shootings, to know that anything can spring forth from the minds of the misunderstood.  With time, we’ll probably learn what compelled this nut to shoot up a busy shopping mall, but as I did in the above paragraph, educated guesses can already be made.  Maybe I passed over this story at first because it wasn’t that shocking; common sense told us all that the VT incident wasn’t the end of this, and this Omaha mess certainly won’t be either.  As long as red states embrace their Second Amendment rights, they will likely suffer from the side effects.

Inaugural post

The semester is almost over, which means institutional obligations are nearly up and I’ll feel vile for not doing anything with myself.  About two months ago I proclaimed on the sinking ship that was my class blog that I would resurface in my own blog sometime soon, as soon as I came up with a name.  Well, just now I came up with “Colorings,” based off of “Colors,” my new favorite CD that inspired me in such a way to today spill the beans in my mind to good friends.  And in the face of slow loading, I formed this new blog just in the nick of time to divulge the most present thoughts on my mind.  I plan to write on this blog every day until the beginning of the new semester, which with its two writing-intensive courses and four major courses promises to be the most challenging and important semester of my college career.  With hope, this blog will keep me sharp or make me sharper just because I’m writing on it constantly.  And for now I’m making it open for the public, ignoring the personally preferable ephemeral quality of writing.  I’m not sure why right now, but it just feels right for me to be finally baring my soul, to some extent, to the online community.

Tonight I plugged in the filing cabinet of the future that is my jump drive and revisited essays from two years prior, written around the time when I made the decision to change my course in life from architecture to writing.  I thought I was hot shit back then because everyone said I was a good writer.  Now, two years, a world of trouble and a galaxy of new teachings later these compositions are not the magnum opuses I believed them to be.  I cringed at my preoccupation with eloquence: too often the connotations intended for chosen words were extremely abstract.  I was pouring my creative heart and soul into these simple responses to social science essays, thinking that the teachers were ready to revel in my grandiloquence and herald me the next Poe (though I didn’t know about Poe’s knowledge of the English language at this time).  I used the passive tense too much and ignored proper structure.  After three semesters of writing classes here at Rowan and a bit of extracurricular growth my writing has matured, and it continues to mature with every new effort to write.  I believe that in six weeks, the approximate terminus prescribed to this confessional, I’ll be able to chart substantial growth in my abilities.