Alrighty, I Did Crap Today

It’s true–I had plenty of time, and not much to do, but instead of writing the (brilliant and witty) blog post I had planned, I watched the news and took a nap. Instead of doing my homework, I started Son of a Witch, the sequel to Wicked that I’ve been meaning to read for quite awhile. And instead of writing as much as I could have, I of course watched BSG.

Strangely enough, I can’t bring myself to feel all that bad about it. After, I subscribed to letter of my to-do list, if not the spirit of it.

Enjoy this picture of a kitten:

Oh, and I wrote another 374 words.

Battlestar Galactica Ate My Life

Oh my god, why haven’t I watched this show before? I got the miniseries for free on iTunes and watched it all in one sitting (and on my teeny iPod screen too…now there’s dedication).

I love it. Politics, religion, spaceships and a good dose of paganistic cloning thrown in there for flavor. It’s like the craziest, best, smartest soap opera ever with six plotlines at a time and wormholes.

I think Star Trek has been usurped. Sorry, trekkies.

I’ve been through the whole first season in  1 1/2 days.

***************************

I also wrote 310 words, but that seems less important somehow.

It’s Our Fault Classics are Boring

Classics aren’t supposed to be boring. That’s why they’re classics–because generations of readers have enjoyed them. Well, except for Le Morte d’Arthur. But I’m pretty sure that book just sucks. How many times can “horsed” be used per page?

And yet, English class is invariably voted “most boring” by a completely unscientific poll of high schoolers.

Partly, I think it there’s this idea that classics should be like vitamins–good for you, but not something you take without a grimace. And this attitude (however wrong) ha influenced the way we treat, teach, and talk about literature.

Take The Great Gatsby for example. It’s a sexy, tragic novel, and so to showcase this brilliant piece of literature, we give it a cover like this:

Sexy.

I work in a library, and so I get to hear a lot of frustrated parents griping about how all their thirteen-year-olds will read is Diary of a Wimpy Kid. And is it any surprise? No matter how many cutesy storybooks kids are read about not judging a book by it’s cover, they still do it. Why not give The Great Gatsby something better–like maybe a photographic cover, with a gorgeous blond woman (Daisy) in a gold dress (symbolism, see?) draped across a loveseat. How much more appealing is that? Heck–why does Lolita have a boring-ass cover? That book, at least, should bring the boys running.

The Great Gatsby is one of the first books a kid will read in high school. And usually, its introduced as “Great American Literature” or “The Novel About the American Dream.” Why don’t we teach books so that kids want to read them? Why isn’t Gatsby introduced as “A love triangle destroys a rich man in this decadent novel”? Then, after they’re hooked, we can get into the gold dress and the spectacles and the crumbling of the American Dream.

An even deeper question–why do we teach the books we teach? Surely today’s teenage girls will identify far more with The Age of Innocence or A Tree Grows in Brooklyn than Jane Eyre or Sense and Sensibility.

Kids need to read. Kids need to understand why these books are classics, why they are brilliant, why they must continue to be shared.

Boring literature teaches nothing.

**************************************

Day 26 of 30, 317 words.

Not a Real Post. Ugh.

Didn’t I tell you Fridays were always my worst days?

Only 293 words. At least they were for a scholarship essay, so I guess I shouldn’t feel too badly.

Edith Wharton, You Kill Me

Why do they give classics boring-ass covers?

So today I finished reading The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton, and if there is anything more embarrassing than nearly crying in the middle of class. The girl next to me actually looked at me oddly and asked if I was tearing up, which necessitated me concoting some tale about scratching my eye.

Great. Now I’m that girl.

But seriously, this book is gorgeous. Hearbreaking. Wonderful. Winner of the 1921 Pulitzer prize. And also, its only like seven bucks at Barnes & Noble. Seriously–go read it.

***********

I only wrote 281 words today. Sad.

My New Schedule & Writers of the Future

Thanks to iProcrastinate (second post in a row where I’ve mentioned it, I know, but it is free and I LOVE it) I’ve worked out a weekly schedule. I’m back to trying Russian (which I know I seem to say every 3 or 4 weeks) and working on a set schedule. After the 30 Day Writing Challenge is over I’ll also have a 2x a week blogging schedule.

So:

Every Day: write 250 words

Monday: Blog post, also comment on 5 other blogs (I am trying to be more of an active participant). Work.

Tuesday: 20 minutes of Russian practice

Wednesday: fanfic writing day! Also, the day where the next chapter of my multi-part fic will be posted. 30 minutes of real exercise.

Thursday: 20 minutes of Russian practice

Friday: Blog post. Work.

Saturday: Post the next one of my one-shot fanfic series (I wrote about a third of these during last week’s Fanfiction Spree, so I won’t need to start writing new ones for awhile). Today will also be my “short story day” where I work on small more experimental projects.

Sunday: 20 minutes of Russian practice. 30 minutes of  real exercise.

Also, if anyone has entered the Writers of the Future sci-fi and fantasy writing contest (this quarter) then I have to tell you I can’t wait for the results. I’ve only gotten an honorable mention before, but I really fell in love with the story I entered this time.

*****************************

740 words today!

Help Me Find an App?

346 words today. A respectable amount, considering it’s midterm season.

I am in need of an app. Currently I have a MacBook and use iProcrastinate, which I absolutely adore as a to-do list, but I am looking for some sort of cheap (i.e. under $5) diary app that will just give me a place to record daily word counts, ideas, etc.

Does anyone have anything they use for this?

The 6 Rules of the Internet

Most Nobel Peace Prize winners have only tried to reform one country, or stopped a single measly war (see: Teddy Roosevelt). But I think I’ve git something on all of them. You see, I’ve figured out how to ease race relations, calm international disputes, and lower today’s rising levels of weaponized idiocy. All it takes is people following 6 simple guidelines.

1. Don’t Feed the Trolls. You know those people who post idiotic, inflammatory comments, seemingly for the sole purpose of getting a rise out of people? Those are trolls. They work kind of like Evil Tinkerbell–the less attention you pay to them, the less power they have on this mortal plane. I know it’s hard–but you can’t push the “reply” button. I’ve seen whole forums destroyed by a single well-timed troll.

Typical internet commenter.

I see troll-feeding mostly on news sites and Fox Sports, which makes me think this is mostly an older person problem. We young un’s are just too cynical to try to get into philosophical debates with criminal anarchists.

2. DLDR. This is something I took from fanfiction forums (which is one of the most civil and courteous online communities I’ve seen–at least the genres I visit). In a nutshell, DLDR means Don’t Like Don’t Read, or more broadly, Leave Other People Alone, Dammit.

If you encounter something on the web that you know will offend you and you look at it anyway, then you have no right to get all pissy about it. Like evangelical Christians who comment on slash fanfic and rage about how sinful it is. They were the ones who decided to read it, knowing full well what it was. The fanfic writer did nothing to coerce them into reading, nor is he/she harming anyone else. So there is no reason to angrily comment. Just go read something else.

Just keep repeating “live and let live” to yourself, even when you hit that creepy part of DeviantArt.

3. You Get What You Ask For. This is a close corollary to DLDR.

If you go looking for disturbing/disgusting parts of the internet, then you do not get to whine to me about how disturbed/disgusted by it you are. Seriously. If you type “fetish” into Youtube for shits and giggles, then you deserve that video of the elderly gentleman humping his car.

I refuse to believe there is anyone naive enough to think that Googling “furry pictures” will bring images of Beanie Babies.

4. Stop-Read-Think. Remember how in kindergarten they taught you to Stop-Look-Listen before you crossed the street? Well before you hit “post” you should always go through the Stop-Read-Think checklist. Really, it’s quite simple.

Stop. Don’t push post. Check for any grammar/spelling errors that cause most Youtube commenters to sound like morons.

Read. Read your comment to yourself in an utterly neutral voice, just as the people on the other end of the internet will.

Think. Is that witty allusion to Hitler and black people really as drily satirical and tongue-in-cheek as you thought, or did you just get yourself an invitation to the next neo-Nazi coffee klatch?

5. Remember What the Internet Is. The internet, wonder-box that it is, is only as good as the people within it. Remember that 300-lb woman dressed as Rainbow Brite at the Wal-

Why?

Mart last week who was trying to shove grapes down her shirt? Well right now she’s blogging about why the March of Dimes is run by Iran. Probably with several dozen exclamation points.

The internet is like one of this blind speed-dating nights they have at local bars. Sure, 90% of the people there will be perfectly well-adjusted, but the other 10% will be so bats hit crazy that the rest will scare you anyways. And that 10% is responsible for 90% of all internet content. Seriously–it’s a scientific fact.

Everytime my parents or another pre-computer human rant about nyan cat or any of the other stupid stuff on the internet, I just have to chuckle. How quaint–they expect this to be useful!

6. If You Think It’s Stupid It Probably Is. This is why I have never watched Jersey Shore. Or the Kardashians. ‘Nuff said.

****************************

Today is day 21 0f my 30 day writing challenge. I did 315 words, and finished a short story, though I really dislike the ending. Oh well, that’s what editing’s for, right?

Things I Do Not Understand About Women

Well, technically I am one, but sometimes the behavior of the women around me is so utterly bizarre that I wonder if I am some sort of alien anthropologist transplanted here. Either that or this is how all girls who would rather be at Comicon than prom feel. For much of my existence I have been cataloging these odd behaviors in the hopes of sometime learning enough about evolutionary theory to understand them.

Glass Dishes. In my mind, the dishwasher is there to wash the dishes. Therefore, anything that will fit without breaking is going in there, dammit. But one of my mother’s (and according to dish soap pellet commercials, many other women’s) distastes is for cloudy dishes.

Seriously, who cares if glasses are cloudy? The bitchy lady from the neighborhood association? She hates us anyway, after we planted the geraniums more than three feet from our mailbox. Will a cloudy pan lid seriously impede a woman’s cooking ability?

Make Up Your Freaking Mind. This causes serious problems for me. There seems to be this thing where women don’t like to have an opinion about anything, even if it’s just where to go to dinner, so all conversations go back and forth for ten minutes with the other person slowly chiding the female into stating her preference.

So when my friends (especially the male ones) ask me what I’d like to do, and I say, “I don’t care” they think this is there cue to ask me over and over, like I am for some reason withholding my vital choice between Chinese Place 1 and Chinese Place 2.

Knowing All the Hot Guys’ Names. I still don’t know who Ryan Gosling is. I mean, I’m sure I’ve seen him in something but I could never connect the name to the face. Maybe I’m overly picky, but whenever my friends like to dissect various Universally Attractive celebrities/guys-we-know-not-in-a-stalker-way my reaction is usually “eh.”

Maybe this is one of those geek-girl things again, but I like personality. And dark hair. And names that do not begin with ‘S’ or ‘P’ cause those are ugly names (well, maybe that’s just a me-thing).

You wanna know two of my fantasy guys?

Oh yeah, I went there.

Clothing. This is more a for-women thing than a women-thing, but seriously, do you know how freakishly hard it is to buy clothing? There isn’t a standardized size (I’m a small at Ann Taylor Loft but a medium/large at Old Navy). And because of “layering” half the stuff you want to buy is see-through. Or skin tight. Or short sleeved in winter in Michigan. The last time I saw a genuinely warm long-sleeved shirt–not a cardigan–was when I could still buy stuff in the juniors’ section and not feel like a total slut.

****************************

It’s also day 20 of my Writing Daily challenge. I did 853 words today. It’s the last day of my all-fanfic week, and I feel nice and caught up. One reviewer emailed me about how nice it was for me to be back to posting every week, so I think taking a week away from my “real” projects was worth it to build up a nice catalog of chapters.

Things I Irrationally Fear

While I’m not agoraphobic, arachnopobic, or acrophobic, I do have my fair share of crazy, irrational fears.

• Hand Sanitizer. I hate the stuff. I don’t know why. It smells gross, it looks like something hospitals dispose of in biohazard containers, and when the high school boys would throw it around in spurts of male glee it made me want to scream. Of course, as all of my friends know about this, they would torture me by setting a bottle of it on my desk or carefully putting a dot of it on my chair. Ugh.
• Pools. Strangely, I have no fear of lakes, oceans, or rivers. Just pools. I don’t like them. I’m not terrified of them, as in I can still hop in there and marginally enjoy the experience. But there is something malevolent about that clear water, the people carelessly dropping themselves from boards (is this the middle ages?) head first. Good grief. There’s a reason you’re discouraged from dropping your children into a lake headfirst in order to teach them to swim.
• Dropping My Small Things. Apparently this is rather common. Every time I move an inch I have to re-check my pockets for my flash drive, iPod, money, cell phone, etc, out of paranoia.
• Infinity. I’m not sure if this is a me-fear or an everyone-fear, but it’s probably the strongest one I have. I don’t fear ghosts or asteroids or hurricanes, but I fear time. I fear what I can’t control, and I can’t control the fact that my future is spiraling out in front of me, a galaxy with each star another path to take. I can’t have them all. Time marches on as the only unstoppable force in the universe, and try as I might I am not an immovable object. I fear age. I fear failure, and loose ends, and regrets.

             I know that there are some things that I will probably never see in my lifetime, or at least not at an age where I will be young enough to take part myself. Interstellar travel, for one. True virtual reality, for another. The singularity. The day when a third-party candidate is elected president. Contact with another life form.

There are things I want to do, too. Little silly goals that I don’t voice. I certainly can’t do all of them. Things go undone. People live with parts of themselves that they lock away. There is, to some extent, no way around this reality. Humans are imperfect, regretful beings.

Time marches on. All we can do is make the best of it.

*********************

289 words today. Still in my slow period, and with all the crap I have to do next week I’m worrying about how long this will go on.