Character Sketch in E flat major

His name is Walter Petrelli, and he is currently losing his mind. The forty two year old grandson of Italian immigrants who left in the turmoil after the war, his heart is pounding like a drunk and unwanted ex against his ribcage. His doctor always told him that he had a weak heart, it would probably be what kills him if the boozing didn't do it first. But right now it seems like the nerves will be his death as he shakes and jerks around in his chair. The sound of footsteps walking up and down the aisle is amplified to deafening extremes within his mind and he pushes his gnarled hands into his slightly wrinkled face. Why here? he thinks to himself. Why, why, why does it have to be now?
His mind rushes back to the previous day, the withered form of his grandfather lying impotently in a hospital bed as his life faded away. Besides a faceless doctor at the other side of the bed, no one else is in this memory. His mind reaches back further, young and supple hands lifting up a black shirt from a box in the attic. There are medals on the breast of the shirt, medals that he did not understand until much later. Walter stares at his hands, at once so flexible but now twisted horribly. This can't do, he thinks hurriedly, this can't do at all.
He reaches into his tuxedo's pocket and takes out an unmarked pill bottle. A week ago Walter wouldn't have touched the stuff, but as the sound of walking and vapid conversations thunders outside Walter is reminded that this isn't last week. Swallowing three of the pills for good measure, he forces himself up and walks just outside of the stage.
"And tonight we give a thankful hello to Walter Petrelli, who lost his dear one-hundred and two year old grandfather yesterday but has soldiered on for tonight's performance." A muted wave of applause follows the announcer's diatribe and Walter walks toward the piano at the center. As the narcotics begin to course through his willing blood stream, he looks at his hands, once again flexible and young, and begins to play.

Dance With The Devil-Immortal Technique

I believe that this song proves that real hip-hop still exists. Immortal Technique poetically raps about his inner demons and the personal struggles that he has endured throughout his life. Although some may find this song disturbing, I believe that it is absolutely beautiful and incredibly real. I highly recommend giving this song a listen. I heard this song several years ago and it has always stood out and has never has left my mind. I feel that real hip-hop is poetic and its original purpose was for those who were struggling to tell their stories. This is exactly what this is.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pOu81npUe5o

Hero for Hire

The sign read "Julio Canallero, Hero for Hire," a description he hoped would be sufficient to potential customers. Wiping the sweat droplets that formed small lagoons on his forehead during muggy summer afternoons, he gazed at his creation. A smirk slowly crept along his face. Julio put down his paintbrush, its hairs black and thick like his own, as he backed away from the sign. Walking backwards, he was too enraptured by the sign to notice the man that he just bumped into. The stranger's gruff but impotent curses dissolved into the sounds of the bustling Lloresian street. The cries of fishmongers hawking their freshly caught wares competed with the yells of those selling fruits from vaguely described but assuredly exotic lands. People can buy almost anything on Prince Street, Julio thought to himself as he looked at the stylized portrait that stared back at him. And now they can buy a hero as well.
Gazing at the sign in front of his home, the self marketed hero stood still for a minute or two as his mind raced with feverish thoughts. The smirk on his face had evolved into a barely contained grin. However, his smile vanished and his brow furrowed as a new thought crept into his brain. Approaching the sign, he diligently added "Reasonable Rates" near the bottom. Julio then cast a quick glance through his open window into a workshop filled with augers, hammers, and various saws. Biting his lip slightly he hastily wrote "Will Also Repair Woodwork."
Dad would probably roll in his grave if I didn't include that, he thought as he returned to his well furnished abode. Grabbing a piece of sandpaper from a shelf he returned to his work on a toy duck Ricardo di Rozzi wanted for his latest son. Julio would have preferred to be out on the streets righting wrongs and besting dastardly villains, but for the time being heroics weren't going to pay for his meals. As daydreams of rooftop chases and daring duels raced through his head a series of knocks tapped against his door. Wow, Julio thought as he stopped his mechanical sanding and rose from his chair, I didn't think it would work this fast.

Happy

Happy by Pharrell Williams is one of those songs that will never get old. It is upbeat and fun, it makes you want to get up and dance. 

The music video shows everyday people dancing and smiling. They are in normal situations, going about their lives, yet nothing can bring them down. Every time I hear this song I smile. 

It makes me think about the bigger things in life, instead of the trivial problems that control our everyday existence. Happiness is what motivates people. It is a reminder to keep moving forward and follow the path the will make you happy. 

While looking for this music video, I came across 24 Hours of Happy. It is a website solely for this song, an extended version of the music video. Playing all day long, the site shows a variety of people dancing in places around the world.

Watch this video and remember that "nothing can bring you down." 

Modest Mouse's Little Motel

If you haven't watched the video, I definitely recommend it before you start reading. "Little Motel" is one of my favorite music videos. Modest Mouse usually has some really interesting ones, such as "Dashboard." However, I chose this one to write about in particular because when I first saw the video, I ended up crying.

The music throughout the song is rather hushed, enhanced by the scene set up of being late at night where the mother evidently checks herself and her son into a motel. My favorite aspect of this video is that everything is in reverse, but it's not something you notice until the mother carries her son out of the hotel room.

In essence, this story carries out from the ending without understanding the significance of why the mother and son ended up in such a place to begin with. While the mother is seen checking her son into the hotel, while she's buckling him up into the car, and when she's simply on the road, we don't really understand the significance of her actions.

The chorus repeats, "that's what I'm waiting for, aren't I?" which seems to reflect not only the audience's waiting to understand the situation, but the mother herself at the beginning and end. In both instances, she sits by her son's bedside waiting for him to wake up.

Her expression gives nothing away all throughout the video, as though nothing were amiss. Similarly, the boy seems to simply be sleeping. Interspersed between some of the scenes is the blinking lights of a sign, giving a sort of whimsical feel, adding to the idea that everything is all right.

There are little cracks beneath the surface, however. Before the mother puts her son in the car, she looks around with a hand on the nape of her neck in a sign of nervousness. While gassing up her car, she smokes a cigarette to relieve stress. She takes her unconscious son to a diner for pancakes shaped like a monkey.

Right before the climax of the song and video, she has one flashback in sepia tone about she and her son at a playground together, running across the space. The transition shifts to her running out of the hospital cradling her sleeping child.

All in all, though this media is in video form, I hope to generate the same sort of emotions from reveals such as this one had. The use of flashbacks, setting, and beginning a story through the ending are all tools I hope to use effectively at some point. I don't believe I could ever master telling a story in reverse through prose, but that is a feat to go on the bucket list.

Where Did You Sleep Last Night

Where Did You Sleep Last Night is one of my absolute favorite songs. It has so much soul to it and the listener is able to feel the pain of the vocalist. This song was originally performed  by Leadbelly in 1944. This version is beautifully soulful and bluesy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=blI2dXHyBj0

Nirvana's cover is my favorite live performance to watch of all time. His emotions are so raw and clear that it is impossible not to be completely engaged in his performance.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-pBrDjSFT_E

Supernatural

It's totally minor, but I love how each title card of Supernatural reflects what the entire season is going to be about. It tells the whole story in the span of a couple seconds. Okay, you might need at least one episode per season to help you see the story captured in the span of a second. And as the series progresses onward, you can see the change, getting more complex. Most shows don't do that sort of thing. They stick to the same old same old. Which is why I feel this is really creative and fun, because it mixes things up and shows progression.

My favorite one is the last (and current) season title card. Fun stuff about the final title card:
1. It's about angels
2. The high pitched sound you hear is the "true voice" of angels when they talk, but we as humans cannot perceive something so intense.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BNO6PHE6HaA

Political Art?

Hi everyone, here is something I've been wondering about for awhile and I'd appreciate your thoughts on:

What, if anything, is the value of political art? Up until recently, I've thought that, in theory at least, the most well-done kinds of art are the ones in which a particular worldview, particularly a political stance is cleverly hidden "behind" the medium of the art. Now I'm starting to question that. I'm beginning to think that art, whether it be literature, music, painting, drama, what have you, concerns matters that run deeper than simply getting people over on your "side" in some particularly stylistic way; art, in its greatest form, seems to be exploratory rather than didactic, a vain attempt to express the inexpressible with the knowledge that it can never be done, but the results are quite beautiful anyway. Political art, on the other hand, exists to serve a purpose other than it's simply being; it's an especially useful rhetorical tool.

Take Macklemore's "Same Love" for instance:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hlVBg7_08n0

The message in the song is important and I no doubt agree with it, but with the exception of Mary Lambert's vocals, the song to me has always felt forced, like it's a sung list of a set of reasons to support a particular view (again, I applaud the artists' efforts and intentions, but most of the song's lyrics would be more at home in an essay than in a song). Lambert's chorus however, strike me as different than Macklemore's verse and thus almost out of place in the mostly-political song; her repetition of "My love, my love, she keeps me warm," hint both at the sweet comfort and at the unfathomable mystery of love. Macklemore's lyrics are a political stance whereas hers are a personal expression that, for me at least, hit much closer to home as to what good art is.

Thoughts?

I Will Shake Myself Into Your Pocket

I'll be honest here; I sometimes put on my best pair of headphones, click this song on, and do whatever the heck comes to my impulses.  I kick my legs out, flail my arms, halve over and bury my head in the carpet, roll myself in a blanket, twist any limbs I can in different ways; whatever the heck comes to my impulses.  I always thought I couldn't dance.  Most would still say I can't.  But now I know I dance.  I draw too, and write, paint, sing, play instruments, and whatever I want.  So, here's this song, and Thom Yorke dancing.  Feel whatever you're doing and get to know it in your own way. Surely there's some good that comes out of it.

Best Indie Albums of 2013

http://portable.tv/music/post/the-best-indie-albums-of-2013-you-arent-hearing-on-mainstream-radio/?slide=1#4

This was a website I happened to stumble upon this week while researching for a paper I'm going to be writing on mainstream music versus the alternative. Often times when confronted by various forms of media whether it's the TV, radio, news, magazines, etc. I feel as if the creativity in music these days is dead and lost; as if we're in a musical drought and it all got soaked down good into the dirt or slurped up by the sun and the clouds. And it makes me very, very sad. Because really, songs about partying are only fun some times. And songs about sex are only catchy until you hear the lyrics one too many times. And on top of that, those songs are played over and over again at restaurants when you're eating a burrito trying to talk with your friends or in public restrooms when you just want some peace and quiet by yourself in that little stall or in the car, on all three of the big radio stations in town at the exact same time. So not only are you hearing their same words so often that you can have that song memorized without even trying, but then of course, you have to multiply that feeling of monotony and the boring, bland, sameness by like 100 because out of the like 15 artists that are supposedly in right now, no one says anything revolutionary or exciting. It's like coloring in a coloring book as a child and only using various shades of beige and tan and white. When everyone is basically saying the same thing over and over again, it starts to sound like they're really saying nothing at all. Where's the color? Where's the life?

...But then, I find websites like this and though I may not necessarily feel attached to every song on this list, at least it's different. At least they're trying. At least they still care about their art and not just their fame.

Creative Writing Warm Up Video!

Found this great video on Youtube! Its only 5 minutes and offers great tips! Check it out!

Animated Television Theme Songs and Redux

For many people, the things they remember most are what they've consumed in the media that was accessible to them as kids. For many people in this age (90's kids), what is remembered greatly are the TV shows and their theme songs for cable channels like Nickelodeon, Disney Channel, etc. I watched a lot of action cartoons and Japanese animation that has been dubbed into English. The biggest cartoon I remember from my childhood would definitely be the Pokemon anime series.

Pokemon is one of the biggest franchises from Nintendo, only being second to the Mario game franchise. Pokemon has not only succeeded as its original video game content (spanning 6 generation of games), it has also gone well in its animated television series with its many animated films, a separate animated four part movie, the comic series that have spun off of the video games and the anime, trading card games, and what is going to be examined by this post: its music.

Let's face it, if you were from the 90s and you watched KidsWB, you knew the first Pokemon theme song released in the English dubbed version of the show. But what's not to like about a song that is telling you to "be the very best" at what you dream of? It presents a challenge to the main character whose aim is to catch all of the Pokemon in the world (at the time, there were only 150...151...152? Little weird with everyone saying there is 150, but one Pokemon is numbered after a Pokemon that was created based off that one... and then a character gets a Pokemon that doesn't appear in the first games...). "Gotta catch 'em all" is the main phrase for the Pokemon games and while the kids are playing on their Gameboys Pokemon Red or Green/Blue, they're watching someone going through the different situations on the journey with obstacles that can come up, but were not programmed into the games. And let's face it, the tune is just way to catchy that even in adulthood, you have people who still remember all the lyrics to the song.

It's probably because of this nostalgia factor that made the producers decide that six generations later (over 10 years later), they would bring the song back in a new remixed way. The Pokemon count is now 718 (well... 721 after the announcement of 3 more Pokemon), and after dropping the catch phrase during the third generation games of Ruby and Sapphire, they're bringing it back in this new and improved season of Pokemon. While it is a more rock-ish, shorter version of the original song we all love, it still keeps the qualities of the lyrics. Because our Pokemon are our "best friends, in a world we must defend"!

There's been a bit of back lash though on the new remake. There will always be fans who enjoy original content over remakes and reboots. Pokemon is in that place where people will argue that the song is too different (there's one line that has "Oh" and the remake has the word "Yeah!" replacing it). It's not just the song that is in this position, many people (genwunners) prefer the first games to the newer games that are coming out. While everyone cannot be pleased with the nostalgia factor that producers tried to bring back with this song, I enjoyed it fairly well. I thought it was well done and still catchy. Compared to other songs used in recent seasons, it is definitely setting a better mood for the show versus some of the other songs. Although, I must say I prefer the Japanese original opening credits to the English dubbed opening credits for this season of Pokemon.

Here are the two different songs:

Original

The Remake

And... just to be fun, here's the Japanese opening for the current season. Just to show how different theme songs are when they are brought to different countries and altered to match the culture of that country:

And for those of you who haven't watched the show since you were a kid, how different those the animation style feel to you in this video? There were a lot of animation changes the show goes through in the last decade the show's been out.

Sad Music?

Do you ever have those days where you're in an incredibly good mood and the only thing that will put you in an even better mood is sad music? When I say sad music, I mean the kind of music that has been deemed by society as music that only sad people listen to. Like, when I'm in an amazing mood, I listen to a lot of Coldplay. And I'm not talking the newer Coldplay with all the pop and upbeat sound effects; I'm talking "The Scientist," "Yellow" "Till Kingdom Come," mountains and mountains of nostalgia Coldplay.
And, some people find that weird. And other people assume I'm in an on going state of mourning over the realities of existence. But the truth is, there's something about it that just makes me feel at peace with the world. It's as if there's no way for me to be sad because the songs are pulling out any bad emotion I might have and making them sound like a coherent... something. I love that. I can be lazy about expressing my feelings and just let the music do it for me. So, without further adieu, here's some Coldplay in the hopes that you have a good day.

Vito Corleone: A Classic Character

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XPTAjNVvrYg

My friends and I have found ourselves fixated recently on classic gangster movies.  We’ve been working our way down the list:  Goodfellas, The Score, Casino, The Departed, Snatch, RocknRolla (still counts), and, last and definitely not least, The Godfather series.  Talk about classic.  I am in no way a movie critic or gangster movie connoisseur, and will not attempt to be here, but The Godfather Part 1 it is widely regarded as the best gangster movie ever made, one of the best movies in general ever made, with one of the best performances ever given, and so on and so forth.  I mean, it has a 100% rating on Rotten Tomatoes.  The general consensus is: if you haven’t seen it, watch it; if you have seen it, you should probably watch it again.

After watching the film, we looked up Marlon Brando (the actor who plays the main character, Don Vito Corleone).  For the purpose of this blog posting, I am considering Wikipedia a reliable source.  We found that critics have raved since the release of the film about the success of the character of Vito Corleone.  He is considered the fourth greatest male character in the history of cinema.  The wiki page also quotes Brando on his approach to the character.  I’ve attached a clip from the very beginning of the movie (so that there are no spoilers) that I think embodies much of the Don’s personality. 

Although this is cinema, which deals in the visual compared to the linguistic as with literature, I still feel that the authenticity and purpose which the actor and director had with creating the character can relate back to our writing.  We are currently exploring how to create a character that is significant, interesting, purposeful, and worthwhile, all of which are traits that could be applied to Vito Corleone.  I believe we can see in this clip how the dialogue, actions (vs. movements), appearance, and setting combine to create a vivid character, even in only the first ten minutes (this clip is a few minutes into the beginning of the movie).  I think that valuable insight can come from studying others’ successful characters, both in literature and in cinema.

Humans of New York

Over the past couple of weeks I have been obsessed with this blog called Humans of New York. It is a a collection of quotes and stories with photographs of people all over New York City. This video gives a small glimpse into the background of Humans of New York and the guy who started it, Brandon Stanton.

Humans of New York is all about the people. They are individuals within their own world, each of them has a story to tell and a lesson to teach. The blog does not follow a set guideline or list of questions, it is personal and creative, pertaining to each person. The quotes are sad, inspiring and thoughtful.

The photos of the people are beautiful and intriguing, especially when matched with their quote. Each post gives a new glimpse into the lives of everyday people. They have a past, a life worth noting and showing the rest of the world. One sentence and a photo, that is all it takes to change your views on anything and everything.

Humans of New York Blog  and Facebook Page 

Stacks of Books

I recently came across this picture while I was wasting time on the internet, and I just think it's one of the most fantastic and accurate things I've ever seen.  I suppose the picture mostly speaks for itself, but, for the sake of a blogpost, I guess I'll talk about it for a bit.

My favorite thing about this is that it takes into account how, without knowledge of the outside world, without the glimpse of human nature and the myriad of themes and storylines books can offer, an individual really is just stuck in his own little bubble.  He is just stuck in the little world of his head and the few people he talks to and, really, it could all be very happy (his bubble is even complete with the clichéd sunshine and butterflies image).

When you just beginning looking beyond your horizons and at the world beyond--when you pick up those first few books of real literature--it could all seem quite dark, which I believe is what the second man is demonstrating.  When you just emerge from that cocoon, everything can seem quite disappointing and hopeless--things aren't a fairytale, you realize.  There aren't picturesque, perfect endings, and sometimes the worst things happen to the best people (and the worst people often get away with the best things).  

Towards the end of our trilogy, the final stage is wisdom.  Nirvana.  Books can bring about the greatest understanding about the littlest things and that’s why I think they are so important.  Stories themselves are important.  And, although I’m sure I don’t have to tell anyone here this, I hope that we all keep reading until we are like that third man, looking off into the sunset.

Hurt- Johnny Cash

For this blog I decided to look at one of my all time favorite songs: Hurt by Johnny Cash, and especially this one verse that stands out to me.
This was originally performed by Nine Inch Nails.  I prefer this cover not only because I love Johnny Cash, but because he does something really great with the lyrics.
There's a stanza in the original song that goes:

I wear this crown of shit
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair

In Cash's version, this verse goes:

I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair

The rest of the lyrics are the same, but I thought that difference did something crucial for my understanding of this song. Because, gross, crown of shit? That's just nasty. Crown of thorns, besides being less gross, has biblical undertones and is an allusion to Jesus' suffering. While yes, Cash was a born-again Christian, this change doesn't come across as evangelical in the slightest. Instead, it alludes to feeling martyred and finally being beaten. The song is called "Hurt" and is about addiction, pain, being at rock bottom.

It's touching to see Cash perform this song, since he covered it shortly before his death. You can hear the world-weariness as he sings, "What have I become, my sweetest friend? Everyone I know goes away in the end."

If you haven't heard it yet, go listen!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3aF9AJm0RFc

40 Days of Dating

http://fortydaysofdating.com/

In honor of Valentine’s Day I thought I would post a blog that went around my office last semester. We had all taken the time to read it in between emails and phone calls. And now we have recently learned that Warner Brothers has also picked up the screen rights to this blog.  It is about two graphic designers who are good friends that decide to try a dating experiment. It is witty as well as slightly sad, and it doesn’t hurt that the male designer looks a lot like Macklemore. The rules state they must see each other every day and at the end of each day they must blog about it. It is fun to read the two posts side by side and understand how the two respond differently and you are able to read about how each gender reacts to the same event. When I read this it was almost painful but it is definitely an interesting idea. The blog is brightly colored and extremely artistic as well; it includes pictures and videos to accompany their written posts. They both state that the experiment was a success and to find out what happens you will just have to read

for yourself. 

Ponton, Osvaldo. 40 Days of Dating. 2013. Photograph. Digital Spy. Digital Spy, 18 Sept. 2013. Web. 13 Feb. 2014.

Modest Mouse - Dramamine

I chose to pick apart Modest Mouse's song Dramamine since SongMeanings.net had horrible interpretations of this song...

Lyrics:

Travelling swallowing Dramamine
Feeling spaced breathing out Listerine
I'd said what I'd said that I'd tell ya
And that you'd killed the better part of me
If you could just milk it for everything
I've said what I'd said and you know what I mean
But I still can't focus on anything
We kiss on the mouth but still cough down our sleeves

Travelling swallowing Dramamine
Look at your face like you're killed in a dream
And you think you've figured out everything
I think I know my geography pretty damn well
You say what you need so you'll get more
If you could just milk it for everything
I've said what I said and you know what I mean
But I can't still focus on anything


Explanation:

So many interpretations of this song include some reference to overuse of Dramamine, a drug used to control sickness during car, boat, or airplane rides. However, although bands are notorious for their use of drugs, Modest Mouse's "Dramamine", I believe, is based on a bad relationship, and it's rocky movements like that of the sea, or rough car ride.

 The first verse hints at the turbulence of this relationship with the lines, "And that you'd killed the better part of me... If you could just milk it for everything." These two lines indicate that in the situation or relationship, one person is feeling very used, that some part of them is now stripped away from their character at how this ephemeral person has treated them. Moreover, one person wants to leave but doesn't, "I've said what I'd said and you know what I mean. But I still can't focus on anything." If these lines do not make this detrimental relationship clear, the next line, "We kiss on the mouth but still cough down our sleeves", serves to show that regardless of the intimate acts committed, this line implies the relationship makes each person sick.

The second verse really makes the first verse's conflict seem mellow, opening with a violent line, "Look at your face like you're killed in a dream" signifying the lengths at which the relationship is deteriorating. Following this line, "And you think you've figured out everything. I think I know my geography pretty damn well", signals to the listener that the singer believes the other person is at fault for the relationship's mishaps, and may have been blamed for all the problems. Next is a new line showing that the singer is constantly giving to this other person, "You say what you need so you'll get more" followed by a repeated line, "If you could just milk it for everything", both displaying a begrudging desire to give this other person what they want. The song ends with the same verse ending, "But I can't still focus on anything". Dramamine is a symbol in this piece as the desire for not feeling that sickness from the relationship's rockiness.


When in such a relationship with someone you care about, in a relationship with ups and downs or starts and stops, such as a boat ride or car ride, it almost feels like there is no focus in actual life because the relationship is taking up a huge portion of attention and focus. Dramamine is the metaphorical bandaid holding the relationship together by numbing the sickening effects of what is actually happening. The tone does the song justice in relating a kind of motion that carries the lyrics over unseen lyrical waves, splashing and crashing emotional undertones against the listener's psyche.

Hope you enjoyed!

Withering Away

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K6bQg74P7_Q

 

More often than I like to admit, the song "Wither" by Dream Theater describes my writing process. Describing the frustration of writer's block, the song show the desperation of the lyricist as he tries to "let it out" and fill the page. Before listening to this song I had thought of writer's block as a problem strictly for writers or poets, lyricists just had to come up with some rhyming verses and a chorus that would be repeated (seemingly ad infinitum at times). However, this song showed me that every type of writer faces a time when s/he has no idea  how to begin or continue their work (though I probably won't be able to make a boatload of money describing my writer's block).

Whenever I find myself staring at an empty page or a half finished paragraph I typically start listening to music in order to revitalize my creative energies. Strangely, even a song about my exact same situation can do wonders for my formulation of ideas. The combination of emotionally charged lyrics and skilled instrumentation is able to greatly focus my mind and get me to think about how I can create a certain mood or describe a character's emotions (awesome rocking is optional but it also helps reenergize me when I'm tired). Sometimes I'll just close the document or notebook I'm working in and just listen to one of my favorite albums. By the time I'm finished something has generally popped into my head and I'm able to "let it out" as well.

Old School vs. New School

I am curious as to whether the preferences of your reading and music tastes are similar to my own. I am not entirely sure as to why I feel this way, in particular, but, I do. Regarding music and books, I would much rather have the physical book and the hard copy CD than own the digital version or the kindle, on-line book. I cannot fathom why I feel this way- what makes it more desirable to have the actual copy versus the one that is not tangible. There is something about the way a book feels in my hands as I turn the pages, or the way a CD looks to me as I place it in my stereo that gives me a sense of...pride? Again, I am unsure of what to call it, but perhaps I am not the only one that feels this way? Any input regarding this preference?

Mojo in the Morning-- Homophobic?

Yesterday, I drove to school as I always do around 9 am. I have four preset stations in my car that I manically flip through with the touch of various buttons on my radio. I know 9 am is late morning for a lot of people, but for me, I am rarely mentally ready to take on the public world. When I first wake up, I'm very shy and very comfortable in my solitude. It's as if my mind is still in its private, little shell, dwelling on my dreams. So, those four buttons and the ease with which I can push them is absolutely crucial to my morning ritual. I need things that can ease me into my day, and provide me with the appropriate energy for taking on my world. But yesterday, I heard something on the radio that really upset me and I feel the need to tell people that I am upset in the hopes that it will upset them too. I am boycotting Mojo in the Morning. On station 92.9 here in Tucson, there is a morning radio show in which a group of people, much like John Jay and Rich (only less funny), banter about random things-- TV shows, music, relationships and dating advice, etc. I don't know the names of the main speakers on Mojo, but yesterday, the two gentlemen were discussing their individual "Guys Weekend". One of the two had spent the weekend in Vegas, watching the Super Bowl with his closest bros; the other had spent his time drinking beers and playing poker. And of course, these two were arguing about whose weekend was the most "manly". They went on and on, and I began to notice that this argument was seemingly becoming more and more passive-aggressive when finally, to my disgust and dismay, one of the two says something like, "How was your weekend better? You spent your entire weekend in the gayest city in the country". I gasped. I could not believe that a radio personality would say something like this on live radio. I instantly switched the channel and won't be listening to their show any more. Though I am unsure of which city Mojo was referring to, I don't see any way that this comment can be taken positively. At least to me, this comment was very offensive and shocking, but anyways, if anyone has any thoughts on this, I would love to hear them. Sorry I'm posting late.

Yes, but what IS light?

My astronomy teacher told us something pretty crazy today.  He claimed that we (and by we, I mean him and other crazy smart scientist folk) don’t know what light is.  He told us that he can tell us how it behaves, but not what is IS.  It acts like a wave and like a particle at the same time.  It has no mass but it has energy and the ability to make things happen.  He said the closest definition he could give us was that it is a way of transmitting energy between masses… but that was not a nearly full enough definition.

I think it’s crazy that we don’t have an answer to this.  We have equations – mathematical interpretations of how it works.  We know how to use it, both in daily life and in crazy-awesome-sciencey-stuff (my technical jargon needs a little work).  But we have not yet figured out its essence.  It’s almost a philosophy thing.  “Yes, but what IS light?”  Can you hear the dusty old professor asking?

My instructor today told us a story about his college days.  He went and asked his “really old, really German” physics professor to explain light to him, and the professor referred him to the philosophy department.  “We don’t answer questions like that in physics.”

So, light is a duality.  Light is mathematical.  Light is without substance but not without influence.  Light is… sounding like the start to a really great think and a really great write.

Character Developement

Name:  Liam Torres

Occupation:  FBI Agent located in New York.  Liam is the type of person that throws himself fully and completely into his work, staying long hours and working on weekends.  It's not particularly that he has a strong sense of justice or even that he has something personal against the criminals that he so diligently chases and puts behind bars; its more that he just loves the challenge.  He sees chasing criminals--especially the intelligent ones--as a sort of chess game, moves of logic.  He loves the mental stimulation of cracking particularly good cases, just as he loves solving difficult sudoku puzzles.  

Age:  Mid-thirties 

Personality:  Liam is a very simple man.  For a guy with such an elaborate and complicated job, he is remarkably laid-back outside of the office (and even in the office at times).  He is quiet and thoughtful, but that's what makes him a good leader.  Everyone in the office looks up to him--waits for his opinion, even if it is just a nod of the head.  

Appearance:  It's hard to find Liam not in a suit.  He doesn't have very many of them, but he is always wearing one.  He is average height and has an average build and, really, most things about him are quite average.  Mouse brown hair, deep brown eyes--nothing that warrants a second look.  There is not really anything about Liam that is special--appearance-wise.  He is the type of person that can pass through a crowd completely unnoticed (coincidentally, this also makes him a good agent, as no one he investigates particularly pays any attention to him at first, especially when he's not talking).

Family-life:  Liam is married to a lovely woman named Aubrey.  She is only a few years younger but they have known each other since high school and have been married since their mid-twenties.  Their marriage is relatively happy, except that Liam job sometimes becomes a priority for him--leaving Aubrey with many hurt feelings.  In any case, they still love each other and any major conflicts are still hidden well below the surface.  The Torres' have two young kids, a boy and a girl.  The boy is five years old and the girl is nine.  The boy, nicknamed Tommie, is carefree and is a part of the local T-ball team.  The girl, named Jenna, is much more somber and aware of many things that children her age are not usually aware of.  For example, she notices that her dad is away at work much more often than the dads of her friends.  She also sees how her mom spends much of her time alone, and that her dad has never come to one of her piano recitals or Tommie's T-ball games.  

Life-goals:  Liam wants to spend the rest of his life doing what he is doing.  He loves his job and would never want to do anything else.  

Character Exploration #3

She traveled across the desert on an old bicycle dragging behind a tiny dust-clad teardrop trailer. She never had a name, though her customers called her many names, most of which weren’t worth repeating. The craggily skinned-ones took one look at her glossy black horns protruding out from behind her ears, curled around her face, and called her sister. They traded ctenoid scales harvested from the sea’s sirens, pried off while still alive, she’d often say. It was not true. The brief pause between their exchange of half a pound of dreamer dust made the notation entirely worth it.

Others, the ones made of volcanic rock, whose ember glow shone through beneath the thin cracks of their flesh- they caught sight of her ruby clawed hands, took them in their own, and said, “Help.” With a headshake, she would slip away, move on from their village without staying to rest. They never bought anything from the witch. Not with merchandise like eyes and teeth, nails and scales, and the rare vial of blood with a name scrawled across the front. Even she did not know its purpose. She only made the deliveries, collected dust, and browned further beneath the relentless summer sun.
Her long paisley patched skirt billowed around her legs as she pedaled across the desert grasslands, never catching on the spokes. Occasionally, she pulled a strand of short bleached hair from her face, which whipped behind her along with the faint breeze. From traveling the same route for so long, she could practically ride with her eyes closed. She had miles to go before the next stop at one of the major cities, her last in the circuit before going back to the facility to restock. But she would not return.

The Girl That Loved the Stars

Slate eyes flew open, greeted by the Milky Way spilled across the sky above. The planets and stars visible in the quieter end of the city smiled down on her, giggling as they danced among one another. The late summer air swept at her body that was sprawled out in the grass.

She must’ve fallen asleep – not much of a surprise. She had been recounting a story of the stars she had repeated for so long, she couldn’t remember if she had made it up or if her mother told it to her as a bedtime story.

A colossal, shimmering star had fallen in love with a smaller star and its beauty despite its small size and dimming glow. Unbeknownst to the Colossal Star, the Smaller Star was dying. Once the Colossal Star learned of the fate of the Smaller, it wished that it could touch her, just once, before the Smaller went out. It begged so hard to collide with the Smaller, even if it meant its own death as well.

Of course, the Colossal Star’s wish came true – the two stars collided, creating a magnificent supernova. It was incredibly romantic. At least to Hunter.

That’s where all of Hunter’s love lied – among the stars. It was safe there and had no risk of rejection. She could reveal all her questions, all her secrets, to her flickering friends and she knew they would be safe and there would be no judgment whatsoever. Because of this, Hunter swears though that the stars loved her back. She could tell by the way they shined, once again swearing that they shone much brighter for her. 

Counterculture Countered

Recently I was offered a job at Honeywell of Tucson to manage Honeywell physical assets.

Prior to this offer, I've worked in different positions that required me to be less than this professional... Freshman year I decided that I'd wanted to piece and stretch my ears, and put all sorts of jewelery in them from jellyfish plugs to custom cherry wood inserts. Every since I was young I had the idea of getting my ears pierced in some way, however, I never knew how undesired these "modifications" are in the professional world.

By why is this? Why is a professional society so scared of a new standard? It seems as if with my hiring, and the hiring of others who are adorned with tattoos and similar "counterculture" norms, companies are being reformed by those they are hiring. In my career searching, I have met countless individuals who have gotten past the traditional American thoughts on these personal choices of their employees, yet the traditional atmosphere lingers.

Over time our generation will become the new norm, but what comes next... well, that will be very interesting.

Subtle Brilliance

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LqhvJrcMV9c

On the first day of class, I read aloud my in-class exercise where we were asked to write, as loyal to memory as possible, an unforgettable scene from a film. The one that immediately popped into my head was the opening scene from American Hustle. Everyone who's seen the movie will probably (I hope) agree that it was an entertaining opener to an entertaining movie, but only when I rewatched it several more times on YouTube I realized how subtly ingenious it is. In almost 2 minutes, we are introduced to a character--and a particular aspect of that character, namely that he puts on a fake combover every morning as part of his daily routine--and we get a preview of the film's major themes right from the get-go. As the film progresses, it becomes clear that the putting-on of the fake hair is a metaphor for the presentation of a fake self to the world, which is how the struggling characters get by. Images, illusions and lies. Notice how twice in the opening, we think we are looking at the real Irving as he glues and pats his tufts into place, when the camera zooms out to reveal that the whole image was actually in the mirror. Images, illusions and lies. How brilliant.

Falling Storm

Eyes shut, can only feel the air around. Body floating amongst a sea of black, empty and void of any light or color. Silence all around except for the soft puffs of air escaping from the mouth. The air felt like ripples of water moving past as if the air was water. 

Suddenly, the breaths were broken. Violent, harsh coughs raked the throat. Arms flailing and the peaceful air attacked. Air rushing past from below, chilling like the wind from a blizzard. No air could be breathed in, only hacked out as both hands reached up, one at the throat and one at the mouth.

Falling, faster and faster and faster until...

Bam! My body jolted as I felt the soft, but squeaky surface of the pillow top bed. Coughs continuously passed up my esophagus as I desperately covered my mouth with two hands. Something soft and gentle began to rub my back as I laid on my side, finally beginning to recover from the coughing fit. I could hardly breathe with the sore lump that had formed in my throat. Turning around, my hand met his, our eyes meeting and showing concern and worry. Must have woken him up with the weird muscle spasm.

Rubbing my hand against his furry face, the curled, black hairs smoothing out to my touch, I felt him relax, his eyes closing and his breaths soft again. Sitting up, I moved past him and walked through the dark room to find a glass for water.

The dream symbolized my body suddenly crashing health wise. And that too early to be awake on a Friday morning began my bothersome, but short time of being sick.

Excessively Human

I was sitting in Russian today and my conversation partner turned to me and told me that she was feeling "burnt out." Not in Russian though; it's only a 101 class and I'm pretty sure "burnt out" is an idiom specific to the English language. I could be wrong. I'm wrong about a lot of things. Anyway, I don't know what it was about the way she said it: the used up look in her eyes or the grating tone of her voice, but the words "burnt out" sounded a lot... darker than they usually do.

So I started thinking about it more, and I came to the conclusion that being "burnt out" is a pretty dark thing to be. I thought about candles and the way they look without any flame. I thought about forest fires and the animals and people that try to escape them. I thought about wires short circuiting and the charred remains of a campfire and matches and cigarettes and burn wounds. There's a lot implied with the words "burnt out." It's like saying your an extinguished flame. Like you're a set of remains rather than something living. Like you're not useful. And I'm not sure if that's such a healthy mentality to have. Even if it's just an undertone. I feel like we have enough words to say that we're not happy, not enthusiastic, tired of school, bored at work, bored with a person, difficult to be around, just don't care right now without implying anything about our own worth. Because the feeling of being "burnt out" is a very human thing. So, maybe that's what we should say: "Today I'm feeling... excessively human."

Hiding from the Fog

Prologue

            Boss Hexe created a deadly Fog; it was a poison that killed all who breathed it in. Those who were lucky died within a few minutes of inhalation, but those that weren’t so lucky had tossed and turned with their worst nightmares before being scared to death for weeks. The wilderness reclaimed the earth and animals turned loose on the streets and attacked the people, strangely unaffected by the Fog.  Two large tribes of people live in the land; one ruled by a Council of Three and one ruled by a Vicar, both vying for the safest ground: Havenwood Asylum, a long abandoned mental hospital, where the bolts designed to keep people in could now be purposed to keep animals out.

            Bea was a beautiful young woman, despite the scar on her face where the wolf tried to blind her. Her hair was the color of the sun before it was blocked by the sickly green fog in the air, and her skin was pinkish, despite being kept in the dark for so long. Her eyes were blue, like sapphires and her lips were the color of the reddest rose. But beauty didn’t matter anymore. It was leadership and wiliness that kept her people alive, and she was the cleverest and wisest of all the young adults in her tribe. She would take the place of the Head Councilwoman when it came the proper time.

            Today was the meeting between the two tribes. Both were exhausted from three years of battle with each other and with the animals of the wild. The Vicar and his son Henry would be discussing a treaty to equally divide Havenwood Asylum with the Council of Three and their heirs.

            After the Council and its heirs were seated in the meeting chamber, the Vicar and Henry were ushered in, taking the side opposite of the six. The meeting began, and both sides put up an incredible argument.

Bea soon fell in love with the aggressive and charmingly intelligent young man across from her. Henry refuted her arguments with the slightest ease and fought for the rights of his people, while his father offered a few quiet compromises, passively giving in to the demands of the Council so long as his people were out of the openness of the wild. All would have been settled, but Henry was not satisfied. He demanded that the two tribes merge, but the Council refused. Infuriated, Henry took his father and left, declaring a final battle, and that the winner should inhabit the Asylum.

            Bea truly loved Henry, but now she knew she would have to kill him if her people were to live. She wept silently as she stared across the football field at her beloved. He was armed with a flint ax and a shield, his chestnut hair blew in front of his golden eyes, but he held her gaze.

A shout came from the Head Councilwoman and the charge began. Both sides clashed with a roar. The fight had begun. Bea was sure to fight Henry, so she knew exactly when he died then she could drown her grief in the blood of his army. They circled and lunged and parried each other in a beautiful dance surrounded by death and gore. No one noticed the Fog had begun to descend from the sky and onto the field where the fighting took place. It wasn’t until it had claimed its first few victims that the armies put on their gas masks. The fighting continued.

Bea and Henry faced off. With a feign at her side and a swipe at her face with the shaft of his ax, Henry knocked Bea’s mask off her face. All fighting stopped. The cleverest young woman fell. Both sides had respected her, and Henry secretly loved her, but no one ever thought the brave heroine would die to the Fog. As soon as she hit the ground Henry had picked up her mask and placed it against her face in hopes she hadn’t breathed any of the Fog, but the tiniest whiff made its way into her lungs where she was poisoned with her worst nightmares.

            Both tribes took up space in the Asylum and watched Bea fight her biggest fears in her sleep. Henry was determined to stay with her until the cure was found. Troupes of spies had been sent out to find the cure of the Fog for their beloved Bea, but not a single spy returned.

            The two tribes had merged as one and grieved over Bea, even though she still lived. Hers was the longest death ever lived, a full three months thus far, but she still tumbled in her sleep. Henry had almost given up hope, until a single spy stumbled through the door, more dead than alive. He told of a place not so far guarded by the most ferocious beasts of land and sky defending a laboratory. In there, lived Boss Hexe, where he did cruel experiments and sought to worsen the deadly quality of his dreaded Fog.

            Henry and the three men left of his party of twenty stepped into the laboratory. Most of his friends were eaten or torn apart by the creatures outside. The dimly lit hall with flickering lights led to a set of double doors. Behind these doors, was Boss Hexe. Hexe was expecting them, with tea and four wooden chairs across from his lab table. Of course, Henry was in no mood to chat. He held up the small mad scientist by his collar and demanded the cure to the Fog. But all Hexe said was this:

I comfort you in the dead of night

And I keep away the monsters that fright.

I do not live but I never died,

I am filled but not satisfied.

In my belly is the cure you seek.

            Henry dashed Hexe’s head to the floor for an answer, but the madman died before he said anything else. Henry looked around the room for the creature Hexe spoke of. The room was filled with the mutants of his experiments but none fit the description of the rhyme, until Henry’s eyes set on a small teddy bear behind a window of glass. He smashed it open and ripped into the belly of the teddy bear and found a vial wrapped in a napkin with a formula written on it. Two of the men stayed behind to create more of the elixir while Henry and the other man ran back to the Asylum to cure Bea.

            Henry and the man rushed to Bea and poured the elixir into her mouth. With a cough and sputter her eyes fluttered open to see her beloved Henry smile and laugh in relief. He picked her up and kissed her lightly and held her close. The cure was found and the world was to be saved.

            The two tribes worked together to bring the crop dusters out of the rust. They filled the tanks that used to contain pesticides with the life giving elixir and veteran pilots from the army of the past flew the planes across the city, curing hundreds of people inflicted by the Fog. The earth came back to life and the animals became tame once again. The world lived happily ever after.