Saturday, August 28, 2004

There used to be some concern, at least in my mind, that the things I write here are boring and repetitious, and void of any real content. That may even have been true while I was working retail during the past year. In light of the past hour and a half, though, I now feel much better about the things I used to write. I just spent a good size chunk of time reading a twelve page .pdf of a scanned chapter about narrative. The author had maybe three interesting points that could have been summed up in four pages. I wouldn't be all that upset, as twelve pages isn't normally very long, but I know that this probably won't be important in class Monday. The last reading assignment was a 30 page small print history of narrative, and I decided that I was going to read the hell out of it. I highlighted, wrote in the margins, and even made notes to myself about what I was going to ask in class and even made conjecture about what we might discuss as a whole. I'm a serious student now, right? No longer the aloof academic screw-up with a singular focus on animation that I was in undergrad, right? I read that damn thing for three and a half hours, fighting fatigue and my almost non-existent attention span, trying to make sense of the schizophrenic academic language that these damn things are always written in. My brother knows what I'm talking about; we've had this discussion about academic writing being needlessly complex and murky.

The discussion in class was focused around a powerpoint presentation of images pilfered from the internet. A dozen or so slides with jpegs on a black background as a (dubious) supplement to a lecture about symbols in history. We covered maybe half of what I had read for class. It was marginally interesting, but nobody else in the room really knew how to add to a possible discussion. I said something and one of my classmates, a card-carrying Superextrovert if ever there was one, said something, and that was it. These are smart people, too. Maybe things will get better, I don't know.

As I've been writing this, the squeaky-voiced guy I mentioned before sat down about thirty feet from me. I have my earphones in, and his little muppet voice still cuts through the live recording of the Smashing Pumpkins song "I am One"; roughly eight minutes of distorted guitar crunch and screaming vocals. This is no match for his super-sonic warblings, though. For some reason, I keep seeing him around this big campus, a place where it's possible to never see a good deal of the student population. Of course I see him, but for the life of me I can't seem to run into the cute Bulgarian artist with whom I discussed Christo and pop art for the better part of two hours the other night at the Hoarat. Insert irritated sigh here.

Tuesday, August 24, 2004

This whole grad school thing is a pretty strange endeavor. I think I'm getting the feel for it, but that could be because I took an allergy pill that put me in a stupor. From my antihistimine haze, this all looks pretty well possible to accomplish, but that could be because I'm incapable of panicking until the medication wears off. I set my work hours for this semester today. I had to distribute them around my already haptic schedule, but it should work okay. I do four hours a day, give or take, and most days I do two blocks of two hour shifts between classes. My office (yeah, office)that I share with my boss is right across the street from the comm building with all of my classes and a place to eat. It's all quite convenient. I'll often have only scant minutes to make it from work to class, but I scheduled plenty of time to eat lunch and dinner on most days.

The library here has a great collection of Kurosawa's movies here, so I checked out The Hidden Fortress, the movie that inspired Star Wars. I might even have time to watch it one of these nights when I'm not too tired.

Tuesday, August 17, 2004

I'm sitting in the BSU library right now with a clear view of a large gray cement pillar behind my monitor. Behind that the view is better, though, with many shelves of books and periodicals.

I moved the remainder of my stuff into my apartment last night, and to mark the occasion, Gerry and I went to the village to celebrate. We had a beer at the Bird, formerly a Buffalo Wild Wings franchise, followed by a stop at the Martini Bar across the street. It's a swanky little establishment, with cool lighting and reasonably clean couches. He had a fruity concoction, but I opted to wait for some time when I didn't have the overpowering flavor of Guiness in my mouth. We talked about all the usual stuff that we've talked about for years, and then chatted with the bartender for awhile. She was cool, but then some guy started trying to get into an argument with Gerry about how BSU's journalism program isn't as well respected as Notre Dame. I don't know what his problem was, but he had thick glasses, a hearing aid, and a high squeaky voice. Those disadvantages coupled with a bad attitude made arguing with him rather pointless and dull, so we left.

The graduate development conference this morning was actually worthwhile in a big way. It turns out that my old high school friend Jessica is a grad student here too. We caught up with each other during breaks and over lunch. I also met a couple of people from my same area of digital storytelling. Media geeks aplenty. I talked to one of my co-workers, and she said that my work computer is awesome. I get a GB of RAM.

After the conference I went and took a walk through the art museum here. The collection is pretty nice, with a couple of Ansel Adams prints and a Degas statue, among a few other names I recognized.

I got my student ID picture taken. If you can imagine me as Andy Kaufman, that's what it looks like. Kind of crazed, but fortunately not at all like the passport photos of the 9/11 highjackers. That counts for a lot, I think.

My stuff is still mostly scattered and in boxes and I need to go to the store to buy food. I haven't any orange juice, and I fear I may succumb to the scurvy.

Sunday, August 15, 2004

Last night was honored to attend the wedding of my former roommate Todd and my friend Christa. Wedding reception, to be precise, at the botanical conservatory. The wedding was a smaller family and cameraman only affair before the meal. I arrived a little late after cleaning up from moving my stuff to my apartment earlier, and dinner had already started. I was pretty sure this was the right place. All wedding parties look the same until you recognize someone you know. In this case, Andrew, my friend and conscience during college spotted me and called to me from where he was sitting. I hadn't seen him in a long time. His hair was always long in college, then he cut it short a while back, and now it's getting longer again. This may sound rather pedestrian, but it's significant to me. We were the two long-haired art students, you see.

The wedding reception was outdoors in a tent on a beautiful evening. It was idyllic, really, not a cloud in the sky. It's what you get when two artists get married. There were little girls who I assumed to be her cousins wearing wreathes of orange leaves who were darting around laughing as little kids are prone to do. A band was playing acoustic music, sometimes featuring a seven-year-old fiddle player who was really good.

I went to drop off my wedding present on the designated table and then to congratulate Todd and Christa. They were both much cleaner than I had seen them in years. Todd was clean shaven with a neatly trimmed goatee, and Christa didn't have any paint on her hands. Other people at their table looked more familiar, though. Marlon had his Canon XL-1s with a big shoulder-rig and eight-inch digital display. James was alternately using Todd's 16mm Bolex camera and Super-8 camera. He handed me the Super-8 for when the bride and groom danced together and with their parents. All was right with the world, then. Just like in college, Todd was directing, and James, Marlon, and I were shooting footage. I can't wait to see the final edited product. Rachel, James's wife and professional photographer, was shooting still images with a professional digital camera that made me quietly drool with deadly-sin level envy.

James pulled me aside and told me that Todd was going to play a song that he wrote for Christa as a surprise, and I needed to film that too. Armed with the Super-8 I filmed Todd playing his guitar and her reaction to the song. It was one he wrote back when we lived in an apartment. I remember him staying up all night writing and playing, and a couple of days later the apartment office gave us a notice that we'd been too loud because of the guitar sound all night. I slept through it, so it wasn't that loud at all, but the lady next door didn't like it.

We all sat around talking and catching up on everything we'd done at and since USF. I got to talk to Christa's Mom briefly, too. I always had oddly spontaneous conversations with her, like the time she called Todd and I's dorm room looking for Christa. She was out with Todd, so we ended up having a nice conversation about art history and things to see in Italy. I also saw Todd's lifelong friend Russell, to whom I am forever indebted because he got me a Smashing Pumpkins ticket back when they were at Purdue.

It was an enjoyable wedding reception. I like those two together, and I can only say that about a certain number of people. I know some couples who I don't think will last more than ten years, but I'm confidant that Todd and Christa have a long, crazy life ahead of them.
I have a cell phone now. It's a big step for me, as I generally don't approve of the devices. I think they're needless gimmicks, toys of affluence, arrogant, and rude. I despise classical music ringtones especially, and most other cellphone noises in general. I don't like the feeling that I'm always available with this, either. So why, then, can I not put the thing down? I'm enamored with it. I've fiddled endlessly with the little features, trying various display color schemes and wallpapers. Currently I have a little cartoon bomb icon in the back, though I'm strongly considering changing to the black pumpkin icon. There doesn't seem to be a cool skull icon, but if there were, I'd use that. I check obsessively for missed calls and voicemail messages, though this has yet to be an issue, as only three people have my number. I don't know what I would say if someone would call me, though. I'm not really a talkative person. The phone is a little smaller than my iPod, but I have yet to decide of that is significant. I suppose it won't be that bad to have, but if I ever leave it on during class or in a movie theater and it rings I'll have to commit seppuku.

Friday, August 13, 2004

I got my first look at my apartment today. In a way, I signed the lease sight-unseen, but I had already seen what it would be like when I took a tour with Gerry and his kin. The walls were freshly painted white and the electricity was on and powering the refrigerator. My brother filled my ice cube tray, so at least it's doing something somewhat constructive. Also, for some reason www.apartmentsguide.com/ gave me a $50 discount on my first month's rent. I've never been to this site, but if they're footing the bill for part of my rent, I'll give them a plug here. It probably means that one of their admins reserves the right to crash on my floor for a couple days, though.

Sunday, August 08, 2004

Last Saturday at 5:56 PM I shelved my last book at the library. Feeling a strange sort of giddiness surge through me as I stood up, I wheeled my big wooden cart back to the employee elevator on the fourth floor and proceeded to the basement where I removed my ID tag and walked out for the last time. No more books in bulk for me, just one book at a time now. An oil tanker full of rolaids and preparation h couldn't match the level of relief I felt as I made the two block trek back to my car, past the bank buildings, through the alley with the Cthulhu graffiti, and across the freshly paved road to the library lot. Even the mundanity of the local radio stations couldn't quash my good spirits.

I stopped at Books Comics and Things and picked up Ultimate Nightmare #1 and the new Batman 12-cent Adventure. Ultimate Nightmare seems interesting, and it's written by Warren Ellis, so I expect good things, even though most of the pages are ads. The Batman 12-cent stories are always cheap springboards into longer story arcs, which serve as a great preview of things to come. This particular issue wasn't particularly interesting or well-written, but for 12 cents, it was a decent read.

Last night, as I was practicing my guitar, I accomplished something significant (for me). I was practicing the song Jennifer Ever by the Smashing Pumpkins, which uses the F chord often. Normally, I can't hit this chord at all, but last night I did.

So, thus begins a week of preparation for moving to BSU. I'm going to do as much laundry as I can while I'm here so that I don't have to worry about that later, and so I don't smell funny as I introduce myself to new aquaintainces. I have a decent hodgepodge collection of amenities and brickabrack from my previous college experience, except for a dish drainer for the sink. It seems an odd item to be lacking, but I never had one when I lived in an apartment my senior year, so I didn't know that I needed one until someone told me.

Tuesday, August 03, 2004

I've been really boring for the past week. Just dull. The next few weeks will be much busier as I pack and move to BSU, so I've allowed myself some downtime. Yeah, that's the ticket.

I've been reading The Smashing Pumpkins: Tales of a Scorched Earth by Amy Hanson. I ordered it at Barnes and Noble and it came in a month ahead of the scheduled release date, much to my surprise and delight. It's a little bit challenging to read, though. I'm pretty sure the author did all of the editing herself, judging by the unusual amount of cliches and egregious similes. The book is really well researched, though. I mean really well researched. The author gathered information from sources so obscure that even the most devoted fansite wouldn't have on file. Even personal interviews with producers who remember the band from back in 1988. It was at least twenty-five pages before the first Metro concert was ever mentioned.

I went to the eye doctor this morning. My eyes are fine, even though I got them dilated. When I left I needed sunglasses for anything brighter than indoor lighting, and my peripheral vision was so wide I could almost see my ears. I looked pretty cracked-out.

This is my last week at the library. I'm not especially sorry to leave this job, even though I like some of the people I work with. I am going to miss the cheese bagels from the food cart in the entryway, though. Those are amazingly good.