Have yo ever wondered where people go when they're not with you? I mean, not in a creepy obsessed Sleeping With the Enemy sort of way, but more like Everybody loves Raymond or Seinfeld?
Just picture this. Your life is a closed set, and the only time we see the other characters in your story are either when they come into your set, or you take a journey into theirs. You're just standing around, doing some kind of dialogue about toast, until Kramer comes in and makes the scene all crazy. Now, many people probably choose not to theorize about the wherabouts of lesser players in their grand tale of comedic tragedy and woe, or drama or whatever. But sometimes, I catch myself being really bored with my own story. As with now, while I sit playing with my laptop and wondering what crazy capers my friend Robbie has gotten off to?
I wonder if anyone ever thinks of my set, and asks themself what I do all day, when I'm out of sight of the camera of knowledge? Am I one of those characters interchangeable in several stories who are once out of sight, indeed out of mind? Or am I the dynamic Sydney Bristowe type, who's life is so fascinating that watchers can't wait to tune in? A thrilling recurring cameo, perhaps, in a slightly more interesting tale? Mysterious fodder for gossip, or merely a part of the backdrop upon which those off-set rarely comment? This is not about gossip, people. It is about the stage. The lights, the camera, and the action.
Sometimes, I have to ask myself, which part do I play? Am I writing the script, or am I making it up as I go along? Or, more frustrating still, am I merely following the mediocre dialogue set down by some waiting-to-make-it Friends groupie who still has yet to master the art of unaffected wit? If someone ever figures this enigma out, will you please let me know?
I'll be in my trailer.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Monday, August 06, 2007
Where to go from here...
Lately, I've been giving a lot of thought to my future. Not in the way that most college-aged people do, where you bat around ideas about whether to live in this state or that one, and how to pay off your student loans. It's actually more like a five year old who says one day "I want to be an astonaut" and the next day decides they want to be a world-class jockey instead.
When I was about 9 years old, I wanted to be Chase Meridion from Batman Forever. Maybe I was closer to 11 at that point, but it doesn't really matter. She was just so unbelievably hot. And cool, and collected. I don't think I really had any idea what a criminal psychologist was at that point, but it was badass, and that was enough for me. A few years later, I think I graduated into wanting to be some kind of business woman, and my friend Jenn and I would play Realtors; instead of playing house, we would sell them for millions.
This, I think, is what led me into business in high school. My Junior year, I joined a club called DECA, and straight up without knowing a thing about entrepreneurship and finance, I made top three in the state and went to nationals. Two years in a row I was a top competitor in the FMDM (Financial Managment Decision Making) category, which basically consisted of role-play meetings where I would tell the CEO of WhateverCorp how to manage his marketing and advertising funds. It was a total crock, I'll never know if I won because I secretly have an aptitude for money managment, or if it was that I had way too much confidence and a whole lot of BS skills that was pro-requisite for a 17 year old. And have I mentioned that I hate both mathematics and money?
Throughout this entire study of my life, it is important to note that all this time I was writing. More so when I was in grade school, but I loved to make up stories. Once or twice, when I was in middle school, I actually won statewide writing competitions at a high school level. Still, I never really thought anything about it. After my first year of college, I soon realized that pre-managment core and it's stupid Calc 119 wasn't going to work with me, and so I turned back to my neverending, deeply respectful relationships with Lois Lane and April 'Neal. I was going to major in Print Journalism, and become a reporter.
Now that I'm so close to graduating, and have worked in the Television Journalism world for almost a year, I'm beginning to think that maybe I should just go back to what I've always been effortlessly good at. And that is writing stories that I completely make up. As my favorite roomate once put it (actually, I think it was earlier today), I don't like dancing to anyone's beat but mine. I not only beat my own drum, but I built it, too.
And so I think I shall be of a profession that is as open and enigmatic as the English language, and twice as old. I will be a writer.
When I was about 9 years old, I wanted to be Chase Meridion from Batman Forever. Maybe I was closer to 11 at that point, but it doesn't really matter. She was just so unbelievably hot. And cool, and collected. I don't think I really had any idea what a criminal psychologist was at that point, but it was badass, and that was enough for me. A few years later, I think I graduated into wanting to be some kind of business woman, and my friend Jenn and I would play Realtors; instead of playing house, we would sell them for millions.
This, I think, is what led me into business in high school. My Junior year, I joined a club called DECA, and straight up without knowing a thing about entrepreneurship and finance, I made top three in the state and went to nationals. Two years in a row I was a top competitor in the FMDM (Financial Managment Decision Making) category, which basically consisted of role-play meetings where I would tell the CEO of WhateverCorp how to manage his marketing and advertising funds. It was a total crock, I'll never know if I won because I secretly have an aptitude for money managment, or if it was that I had way too much confidence and a whole lot of BS skills that was pro-requisite for a 17 year old. And have I mentioned that I hate both mathematics and money?
Throughout this entire study of my life, it is important to note that all this time I was writing. More so when I was in grade school, but I loved to make up stories. Once or twice, when I was in middle school, I actually won statewide writing competitions at a high school level. Still, I never really thought anything about it. After my first year of college, I soon realized that pre-managment core and it's stupid Calc 119 wasn't going to work with me, and so I turned back to my neverending, deeply respectful relationships with Lois Lane and April 'Neal. I was going to major in Print Journalism, and become a reporter.
Now that I'm so close to graduating, and have worked in the Television Journalism world for almost a year, I'm beginning to think that maybe I should just go back to what I've always been effortlessly good at. And that is writing stories that I completely make up. As my favorite roomate once put it (actually, I think it was earlier today), I don't like dancing to anyone's beat but mine. I not only beat my own drum, but I built it, too.
And so I think I shall be of a profession that is as open and enigmatic as the English language, and twice as old. I will be a writer.
Friday, August 03, 2007
New Friends, Old Friends, Red Fish, Blue Fish
Make new friends, but keep the old.
One is silver, and the other, gold.
It's a song that many of you know, and my mom used to sing all the time to me whenever I would come home from elementary school and explain to her that I'd lost or gained a friend. This happened with an alarming frequency, and usually with very little notice. Luckily, this has somewhat ceased to happen, as we are all quite mature now, but somehow the song still continues to creep me out. In fact, if you chant it softly to yourself while rocking back and forth, it sounds exactly like something straight out of A Clockwork Orange. Yeuch.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, friends.
Having had the distinct blessing this night to reune with two of my older compatriots, and do a little more bonding with a fellow dweller (who shall remain unnamed because she reads this blog, and I just like to be sneaky) I was faced with the opportunity --some might say for disaster, as it often is-- of uniting the two sides of the bridge if you will, in an attempt to hold on to all that is good in life.
Introducing your old friends to your new ones is always a tricksy business. For one thing, your new friends will undoubtedly find some of your behavior a little strange, as you revert back to your comfortable oddities in the presence of those who have seen it all before. Then, there are the inside jokes that you simply haven't had much time to cultivate and therefore aren't as plentiful with the amgos nuevos. This can cause a lot of awkward tension, if you're not careful to explain where needed and gloss over gracefully when more information on the subject would inevitably be TOO much information. Although, sometimes you just can't help yourself, and things spill out that are either regrettable or shocking, make you want to take back your past when viewed through the eyes of an objective observer, or maybe a little of all three.
One good thing about new friends is that they tend to have a much better opinion of you than the old ones do. Of course, new friends weren't there that time when you took off most of your clothes at a 7-11 gas station and posed for photos, nor will they ever see those photos because you've long since destroyed them. They also weren't there the time you fed toothpaste cookies to a mortal enemy. They share none of your guilt (or, in some cases triumph) for the crazy shennanagins you've had.
Old friends sometimes forget to call you for long periods of time, but for some reason the history seems to make up for it. In a way it's almost like meeting someone new, but then three minutes later someone brings up a story and it's like you never left. Or they never did.
Basically, all I'm trying to say is that the creepy song is as true today as it was in the yoreness of peanut butter sandwiches and noon naptimes. New friends and old friends are both like unto precious metals. They should be harvested from their natural habitat, burned until they are unrecognizable and then hammered into something shiny and used as pretty accessories. And even though mixing silver and gold is SO 1980s and currently fashion feaux pas, you should do it anyway, because it's fun.
One is silver, and the other, gold.
It's a song that many of you know, and my mom used to sing all the time to me whenever I would come home from elementary school and explain to her that I'd lost or gained a friend. This happened with an alarming frequency, and usually with very little notice. Luckily, this has somewhat ceased to happen, as we are all quite mature now, but somehow the song still continues to creep me out. In fact, if you chant it softly to yourself while rocking back and forth, it sounds exactly like something straight out of A Clockwork Orange. Yeuch.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, friends.
Having had the distinct blessing this night to reune with two of my older compatriots, and do a little more bonding with a fellow dweller (who shall remain unnamed because she reads this blog, and I just like to be sneaky) I was faced with the opportunity --some might say for disaster, as it often is-- of uniting the two sides of the bridge if you will, in an attempt to hold on to all that is good in life.
Introducing your old friends to your new ones is always a tricksy business. For one thing, your new friends will undoubtedly find some of your behavior a little strange, as you revert back to your comfortable oddities in the presence of those who have seen it all before. Then, there are the inside jokes that you simply haven't had much time to cultivate and therefore aren't as plentiful with the amgos nuevos. This can cause a lot of awkward tension, if you're not careful to explain where needed and gloss over gracefully when more information on the subject would inevitably be TOO much information. Although, sometimes you just can't help yourself, and things spill out that are either regrettable or shocking, make you want to take back your past when viewed through the eyes of an objective observer, or maybe a little of all three.
One good thing about new friends is that they tend to have a much better opinion of you than the old ones do. Of course, new friends weren't there that time when you took off most of your clothes at a 7-11 gas station and posed for photos, nor will they ever see those photos because you've long since destroyed them. They also weren't there the time you fed toothpaste cookies to a mortal enemy. They share none of your guilt (or, in some cases triumph) for the crazy shennanagins you've had.
Old friends sometimes forget to call you for long periods of time, but for some reason the history seems to make up for it. In a way it's almost like meeting someone new, but then three minutes later someone brings up a story and it's like you never left. Or they never did.
Basically, all I'm trying to say is that the creepy song is as true today as it was in the yoreness of peanut butter sandwiches and noon naptimes. New friends and old friends are both like unto precious metals. They should be harvested from their natural habitat, burned until they are unrecognizable and then hammered into something shiny and used as pretty accessories. And even though mixing silver and gold is SO 1980s and currently fashion feaux pas, you should do it anyway, because it's fun.
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