(A record store. Matthew is browsing the used DVD’s. He looks frustrated. Girl approaches.)
GIRL
That’s a good one.
MATTHEW
Huh?
GIRL
“Annie Hall.” Isn’t that...
(Gets a closer look at the DVD case.)
Oh, “Annie.”
(Suppresses a laugh.)
MATTHEW
Yeah, I was just...
GIRL
No, no. By all means...
MATTHEW
Really, I was just looking to see when it was made.
GIRL
Uh huh.
MATTHEW
I wasn’t going to buy it.
GIRL
Because you already have it.
MATTHEW
Oh, come on.
GIRL
Or, let me guess, present for your girlfriend?
MATTHEW
If I had one of those, she wouldn’t be a fan of movies like this.
GIRL
Uh huh.
MATTHEW
You totally don’t believe me.
GIRL
No, I do.
(He gives her a look.)
Really, I do.
MATTHEW
(Handing her a DVD.)
Here’s “Annie Hall.” I mean, if you were looking for it.
GIRL
Oh, I wasn’t. I just...
MATTHEW
...couldn’t help noticing me noticing “Annie Hall?”
GIRL
Sorry, was that weird of me?
MATTHEW
No.
GIRL
Yeah, it was. And now you’re all embarrassed and denying your love of musicals...
MATTHEW
(Putting “Annie” back on the shelf.)
You’re not gonna let that go, are you?
GIRL
Really, I don’t usually...approach people like that.
MATTHEW
Well, for the record I love “Annie Hall.”
GIRL
Me too, I watched it when I was younger but I didn’t really get it. You know?
MATTHEW
Yeah, I was that way with “Ghostbusters.”
GIRL
You know I’ve never actually seen that whole movie?
MATTHEW
What?!
GIRL
I know!
MATTHEW
No way!
GIRL
It’s one of those that no one watches now because they’ve all seen it, you know? I think it’s on my Netflix queue.
MATTHEW
Yeah, I use that line. It’s alright, you know? You don’t have to watch it, I guess.
GIRL
Well, thank you.
MATTHEW
But you’re missing out. I actually just watched “Annie Hall” this afternoon.
GIRL
For the first time?
MATTHEW
Yep. I’ve been watching a lot of movies lately, got surgery last week.
GIRL
Oh really? What kind of surgery?
MATTHEW
(Beat.)
How about we change the subject?
(They laugh.)
Sorry, I don’t know why I brought that up.
GIRL
I don’t know why I asked. I don’t really need to know.
MATTHEW
You don’t want to know.
(Beat.)
So...
GIRL
(Looking at “Annie Hall.”)
You know what I love about this movie? That montage at the end, with Diane Keaton singing and, you know, all the cheesy moments from the movie.
MATTHEW
Yeah.
GIRL
I don’t know. And you remember all of that started with a game of tennis, and she gave him a ride, and it all went from there. It’s just interesting, you know, thinking you can find someone to...give yourself to. And it’ll be something so simple. I mean, in the movie...
(Beat.)
It’s a good one.
MATTHEW
Yeah...What’s your name?
GIRL
Jordan. And...
MATTHEW
Matthew.
JORDAN
Nice to meet you. Uh, yeah. I recommend that one.
(Starts to move off.)
MATTHEW
Anything else?
JORDAN
(Turning back.)
What?
MATTHEW
I mean, other recommendations?
(She gives him a perplexed look.)
Sorry, just...
JORDAN
Well, I looked through most of these used ones. Not much here.
MATTHEW
Yeah the buy two get one free thing presumes we can find three we want to take home.
JORDAN
Exactly.
MATTHEW
I actually did a couple times.
JORDAN
Me too.
MATTHEW
We must have snatched up anything worth buying.
JORDAN
Right.
MATTHEW
I mean...
(Looking at the DVD’s.)
“The Love Guru.” Really?
JORDAN
And the, what, seventh “American Pie” movie? How many of these do we need?
MATTHEW
It’s for a generation raised on “Land Before Time.”
JORDAN
(Laughs.)
Right.
MATTHEW
Yeah, this was a bust, I think.
JORDAN
Better luck next time.
MATTHEW
Hey, uh...This is kind of...But, what are you doing tonight?
JORDAN
It’s 9:45.
(Beat.)
Nothing so far.
MATTHEW
I mean, I could get your number and call you up, ask you out, and we could have a great time. But, what about now?
JORDAN
I’m intrigued. You didn’t have any plans tonight?
MATTHEW
Well, I was going to eat a pizza by myself, watch “Citizen Kane,” and probably write a blog about our society’s abysmal taste in movies.
JORDAN
Sounds like fun.
MATTHEW
Actually, I’d probably think about writing a blog but I’d just end up falling asleep watching “How I Met Your Mother” episodes from a sketchy Japanese website.
JORDAN
Side Reel?
MATTHEW
Wow, how embarrassing that you know that.
JORDAN
So, what did you have in mind?
MATTHEW
Uh, I...My plan really only got as far as “Wanna go out.” Do you like food?
JORDAN
I love it. I had dinner a couple hours ago, but...
MATTHEW
How about we split an app sampler at Applebees?
JORDAN
Ooh, that sounds great. Do you like the mozzarella sticks?
MATTHEW
They’re all yours.
JORDAN
Hmmm, maybe we could sub more buffalo wings.
MATTHEW
That’s what I like to hear.
JORDAN
Then what?
MATTHEW
Ummm...
JORDAN
See where the evening takes us?
MATTHEW
(Laughs.)
Wow, I’ve never tried that.
JORDAN
Neither have I.
MATTHEW
Sounds great.
(They walk together out of the store.)
Funny story, I was there with my buddy the other day and he thought our waitress was cute, but he was afraid she saw him checking out this other waitress...
(They exit.)
Friday, June 19, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
Just the perfect blend-ship
This will be one of those sappy blog entries that makes people wonder who I am and what I’ve done with Matthew Greene. I hung out one night last week with a group of friends I haven’t seen for a while. It was a good time and I was happy to have the chance to catch up and see how life has been treating them. (You know, marriage, babies, missions, the basics.) I was glad to see they have kept in touch and a little disappointed that I haven’t stayed as close as they have. But most of all it made me reflect.
You see, this group of friends came into my life right when I needed them. And I do not want to sound like some overstuffed New Era testimonial in saying this, but I realized what a blessing their friendship was. I was going through what was indisputably the most difficult period in my life and I was determined not to let anyone know. I had moved into a new student ward and I was wary of diving into any social scene. A combination of health issues, personal struggles, and big disappointments gave me enough misguided motivation to keep to myself. My acquaintance with these few good souls (wow, what am I, one hundred years old?) changed that.
The really remarkable thing is that, barring espionage or supreme powers of perception, they had no way of knowing really what was going on with me. Of course, as we got to be closer friends I told them some of the gory details (and wouldn’t you like to know what they were) but for the most part they had no idea. I was just a guy in their ward who struck up a conversation at a “Linger Longer” and got roped into a “Dinner Group.” (I was not yet dead set against such singles ward festivities.) They weren’t trying to “reach out” or “fellowship” someone they thought was in trouble. At least I don’t think they were. (Not any more than people in general think I’m “in trouble,” that is…) The fact is, they were a group of fun people who liked to have a good time and shared their general love of living with everyone around them.
I didn’t realize it at the time and perhaps I didn’t think about it as fully as I should until the other night, but these friends, simply by being themselves and being able to show kindness and love to each other, lifted me out of the proverbial rut and helped me to have a better time than I would have thought possible that fateful Spring term, oh so long ago. They weren’t trying to be anything more than they were: good people and good friends. But that was exactly what I needed.
I got me thinking (because, really, what doesn’t?) about my own interactions with people. Often I find myself wanting to help people I think are having a difficult time. I’ll try to do exactly what these people did not: reach out, extend sympathy, offer advice, try to understand what they’re going through, etc. Perhaps we all just need to simply be cool and have a good time. I guess what I’ve realized is that when we’re doing that we’re giving more to those around us than we realize. And the nights when I think my time is better spent sitting at home and working on my latest project could perhaps be better spent just having fun with friends. Apparently, it makes a big difference
So, other then a public cyberspace “thank you” to any of those few and pround who know who they are, I guess this blog should serve to reaffirm my commitment to be a good friend to those few friends I have and the those I should be making. It’s also a reminder to all you tuning in at home that maybe we in being ourselves and loving each other are working miracles in the lives of those around us every day. And chances are, we have no idea.
You see, this group of friends came into my life right when I needed them. And I do not want to sound like some overstuffed New Era testimonial in saying this, but I realized what a blessing their friendship was. I was going through what was indisputably the most difficult period in my life and I was determined not to let anyone know. I had moved into a new student ward and I was wary of diving into any social scene. A combination of health issues, personal struggles, and big disappointments gave me enough misguided motivation to keep to myself. My acquaintance with these few good souls (wow, what am I, one hundred years old?) changed that.
The really remarkable thing is that, barring espionage or supreme powers of perception, they had no way of knowing really what was going on with me. Of course, as we got to be closer friends I told them some of the gory details (and wouldn’t you like to know what they were) but for the most part they had no idea. I was just a guy in their ward who struck up a conversation at a “Linger Longer” and got roped into a “Dinner Group.” (I was not yet dead set against such singles ward festivities.) They weren’t trying to “reach out” or “fellowship” someone they thought was in trouble. At least I don’t think they were. (Not any more than people in general think I’m “in trouble,” that is…) The fact is, they were a group of fun people who liked to have a good time and shared their general love of living with everyone around them.
I didn’t realize it at the time and perhaps I didn’t think about it as fully as I should until the other night, but these friends, simply by being themselves and being able to show kindness and love to each other, lifted me out of the proverbial rut and helped me to have a better time than I would have thought possible that fateful Spring term, oh so long ago. They weren’t trying to be anything more than they were: good people and good friends. But that was exactly what I needed.
I got me thinking (because, really, what doesn’t?) about my own interactions with people. Often I find myself wanting to help people I think are having a difficult time. I’ll try to do exactly what these people did not: reach out, extend sympathy, offer advice, try to understand what they’re going through, etc. Perhaps we all just need to simply be cool and have a good time. I guess what I’ve realized is that when we’re doing that we’re giving more to those around us than we realize. And the nights when I think my time is better spent sitting at home and working on my latest project could perhaps be better spent just having fun with friends. Apparently, it makes a big difference
So, other then a public cyberspace “thank you” to any of those few and pround who know who they are, I guess this blog should serve to reaffirm my commitment to be a good friend to those few friends I have and the those I should be making. It’s also a reminder to all you tuning in at home that maybe we in being ourselves and loving each other are working miracles in the lives of those around us every day. And chances are, we have no idea.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Graveyard Shift
I’ve found I’d rather watch my second choice TV show than endure the commercials they show on Lifetime. This should, perhaps, make me wonder why I want to watch Lifetime programming in the first place.
I’m working a graveyard shift tonight and I’m employing everything in my disposal to stay awake. My friend told me to write a blog entry of my late night thoughts. The night is still young but I figured I’d get started now.
I really need to pace myself. I think among the many lessons I’ll learn tonight will be the importance of saving either the box of cookies, the bag of chips, or the package of candy for a little later than midnight. Tasty as the Zours are they would probably be of more assistance when my eyelids inevitably start drooping to the point of slapping myself to stay awake.
1:41 AM: I just finished watching “Slumdog Millionaire,” a movie that I would recommend without hesitation to just about anyone. I love that there’s still a place somewhere for the unabashed optimism we see in Bollywood films. “Slumdog” deals with some tough stuff but there is a sense of destiny, of the universe conspiring for the good of our hero. And there’s just something cathartic about rooting for the underdog and watching him win a fortune AND end up with the girl of his dreams. Sometimes, things DO work out. We lose sight of that in the grit and cynicism that we often associate with real artistic merit. Maybe this fascination of mine has more to do with the fact that I’ve lost a good deal of my own cynicism recently than anything else. (This is thanks, fittingly, to the girl with whom I first watched this particular movie.) And I like to think that losing some of my “edge” doesn’t have to negatively affect my writing. Maybe happy endings can be beautiful too. There, I said it.
4:02 AM: Time is moving by astoundingly quickly. I’m supposed to check the kids every fifteen minutes to make sure they’re not sneaking out or up to anything other than, well, sleeping. I had a bit of a heart attack a couple hours ago when one girl decided to move from her bed to the empty bunk above her. I saw an empty bed and my career as a group home tracker flashed before my eyes. However, I found her and all is well. That was, up until now, the most interesting part of the night. And I hope it stays that way. “Ed Wood” was a fun show. I’ll probably watch one more movie to pass the time. What a great job!
6:13 AM: So, “City of Angels?” Not such a good movie. And it came so highly recommended by everyone who tried to talk me out of hating Nicholas Cage. I didn’t mind it much but I was severely underwhelmed by the whole experience. I am currently caught up in a “very special” episode of “Saved By The Bell.” Zach and Slater were suspected of smoking pot because, I mean, what could be more likely than that? Then they went around a circle and told stories about their friends who had gotten involved with various types of hard drugs culminating in Jesse’s (the one who isn’t Tiffany Amber Theissen) confession about her crippling addiction to caffeine pills. Why I am watching “Saved By The Bell” is a mystery to me. I must be tired. Especially since I’m blogging about it. Come to think of it, caffeine pills might be a good investment for future graveyard shifts. I’m just kidding, of course. The temptation to sleep wasn’t even much of a reality tonight. Maybe I’ve found my calling at last: staying up all night.
I’m working a graveyard shift tonight and I’m employing everything in my disposal to stay awake. My friend told me to write a blog entry of my late night thoughts. The night is still young but I figured I’d get started now.
I really need to pace myself. I think among the many lessons I’ll learn tonight will be the importance of saving either the box of cookies, the bag of chips, or the package of candy for a little later than midnight. Tasty as the Zours are they would probably be of more assistance when my eyelids inevitably start drooping to the point of slapping myself to stay awake.
1:41 AM: I just finished watching “Slumdog Millionaire,” a movie that I would recommend without hesitation to just about anyone. I love that there’s still a place somewhere for the unabashed optimism we see in Bollywood films. “Slumdog” deals with some tough stuff but there is a sense of destiny, of the universe conspiring for the good of our hero. And there’s just something cathartic about rooting for the underdog and watching him win a fortune AND end up with the girl of his dreams. Sometimes, things DO work out. We lose sight of that in the grit and cynicism that we often associate with real artistic merit. Maybe this fascination of mine has more to do with the fact that I’ve lost a good deal of my own cynicism recently than anything else. (This is thanks, fittingly, to the girl with whom I first watched this particular movie.) And I like to think that losing some of my “edge” doesn’t have to negatively affect my writing. Maybe happy endings can be beautiful too. There, I said it.
4:02 AM: Time is moving by astoundingly quickly. I’m supposed to check the kids every fifteen minutes to make sure they’re not sneaking out or up to anything other than, well, sleeping. I had a bit of a heart attack a couple hours ago when one girl decided to move from her bed to the empty bunk above her. I saw an empty bed and my career as a group home tracker flashed before my eyes. However, I found her and all is well. That was, up until now, the most interesting part of the night. And I hope it stays that way. “Ed Wood” was a fun show. I’ll probably watch one more movie to pass the time. What a great job!
6:13 AM: So, “City of Angels?” Not such a good movie. And it came so highly recommended by everyone who tried to talk me out of hating Nicholas Cage. I didn’t mind it much but I was severely underwhelmed by the whole experience. I am currently caught up in a “very special” episode of “Saved By The Bell.” Zach and Slater were suspected of smoking pot because, I mean, what could be more likely than that? Then they went around a circle and told stories about their friends who had gotten involved with various types of hard drugs culminating in Jesse’s (the one who isn’t Tiffany Amber Theissen) confession about her crippling addiction to caffeine pills. Why I am watching “Saved By The Bell” is a mystery to me. I must be tired. Especially since I’m blogging about it. Come to think of it, caffeine pills might be a good investment for future graveyard shifts. I’m just kidding, of course. The temptation to sleep wasn’t even much of a reality tonight. Maybe I’ve found my calling at last: staying up all night.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Life is good...
Okay, now it’s time for the game. This one is called “What class is Matthew not paying attention to today?” And the answer is…World Religions. But, in my defense, I am paying a sort of half attention.
So, what is going on with me right now? I’ve noticed that this blog has become a sort of sounding board for my frustrations and confusions. At this point in my life, however, I am not feeling particularly frustrated or confused. I am pretty uniformly happy; see me for details.
ANYWAY, I think in an attempt to make up for the negativity that has pervaded my posts here, I’m going to try and concentrate on the positive for a few moments. What follows is a list of some reasons I have to be happy right now:
-New music. (That sounds like a “Ragtime” reference.) My latest iTunes purchase is “Poses” by Rufus Wainwright and I am FURIOUS I lived 22 years without it. (Never mind the fact that it came out last year.)
-Food discoveries. I HAVE to give a “shout out” to the Penny Royal Café, which is probably the coolest place in Provo and whose sandwiches are revolutionizing my life.
-“Berenice.” I am pretty proud of this show and I’m glad people are enjoying it. But to add to the happiness, it’s almost over! It’s bittersweet, but the enormous relief that will come on Saturday night almost eradicates the bitter.
-The weather. I forgot how much I love the sun.
-The exciting feeling you get as the semester winds down. A little bit of stress, a little bit of relief, and everything in between seems heightened in a way. Really.
-Friendly wagers with my roommates. We bet pizzas and Frosties back and forth. I am not ashamed of this, maybe because I always win.
-People who make you smile whenever you see them. If you don’t have one of them, I suggest you find one.
WHAT? So much happiness. This must be something of a shock for everyone who knows me. I blame the sunshine. But really, life is good. Have you noticed? If you’re not feeling so hot, maybe my list can give you some ideas: listen to Rufus Wainwright, eat at the Penny Royal, come see “Berenice” (shameless plug).
And I’ll have you know I took two good pages of notes while I wrote this. I’m beginning to think I learn best when I’m mid-blog. I guess we’ll see at the end of the semester…
So, what is going on with me right now? I’ve noticed that this blog has become a sort of sounding board for my frustrations and confusions. At this point in my life, however, I am not feeling particularly frustrated or confused. I am pretty uniformly happy; see me for details.
ANYWAY, I think in an attempt to make up for the negativity that has pervaded my posts here, I’m going to try and concentrate on the positive for a few moments. What follows is a list of some reasons I have to be happy right now:
-New music. (That sounds like a “Ragtime” reference.) My latest iTunes purchase is “Poses” by Rufus Wainwright and I am FURIOUS I lived 22 years without it. (Never mind the fact that it came out last year.)
-Food discoveries. I HAVE to give a “shout out” to the Penny Royal Café, which is probably the coolest place in Provo and whose sandwiches are revolutionizing my life.
-“Berenice.” I am pretty proud of this show and I’m glad people are enjoying it. But to add to the happiness, it’s almost over! It’s bittersweet, but the enormous relief that will come on Saturday night almost eradicates the bitter.
-The weather. I forgot how much I love the sun.
-The exciting feeling you get as the semester winds down. A little bit of stress, a little bit of relief, and everything in between seems heightened in a way. Really.
-Friendly wagers with my roommates. We bet pizzas and Frosties back and forth. I am not ashamed of this, maybe because I always win.
-People who make you smile whenever you see them. If you don’t have one of them, I suggest you find one.
WHAT? So much happiness. This must be something of a shock for everyone who knows me. I blame the sunshine. But really, life is good. Have you noticed? If you’re not feeling so hot, maybe my list can give you some ideas: listen to Rufus Wainwright, eat at the Penny Royal, come see “Berenice” (shameless plug).
And I’ll have you know I took two good pages of notes while I wrote this. I’m beginning to think I learn best when I’m mid-blog. I guess we’ll see at the end of the semester…
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
A close encounter...read at your own risk...
I’m sorry, I have to tell this story. It is not for the faint of heart.
The other day in the Cougareat (BYU’s food court) I witnessed one of the strangest displays I have ever seen. As I sat eating my five-dollar footlong, there was at a nearby table a boy and girl who seemed to have never touched someone of the opposite sex before. They were adorably awkward They made quiet conversation for a while, sitting across the table from one another and I relished in the discomfort of it all. These ugly ducklings seemed to be turning into swans in one another’s eyes as they sat in the crowded student centers with their forgotten teriyaki bowls. It was sweet. Then it got weird. All of a sudden, I looked up again and they had shifted position so they were sitting right next to one another. His eyes were focused so intently on hers that I thought she might burst into flames. I really couldn’t believe what I was seeing as his hand shakily made its way from his side to hers and hovered over her knee. This was bizarre and I was riveted. To my shock, the girl looked at him and NODDED. I kid you not! With the green light, the boy proceeded to lower his hand and rested it gingerly on the girl’s knee. She reacted with…delight and then returned the favor. Hands on knees. It could have stopped there and I still would have been quite disturbed. But it did not. At this point I averted my eyes for a moment and saw the table next to mine, its inhabitants also watching the unorthodox scene before us. A quick glance around the surrounding tables confirmed my presumption: we were all watching. The love fest was encircled by tables at which sat an audience of befuddled BYU students. Surely these two noticed they were the object of bewildered observation by more than a few. THEY DID NOT. They only saw one another. When my gaze made it back to the lunchtime spectacle she was guiding his hand slowly from her knee up to her shoulder. He put both hands on the girl’s shoulders and I was hoping for a minute that he would shake her out of her hormonal trance and she would do likewise to him. No such luck. The exploration continued. I tried to concentrate on their faces (though by this point trembling fingers had settled there) and I saw that accompanying the unbroken eye contact were occasional bits of dialogue I couldn’t hear. I don’t know if I have ever wished more fervently for super-sonic hearing than I did at that moment. My best guesses as to what was being said included gems like: “Touching? This is great! I can’t believe we’ve never tried this before,” “I wonder if anyone else knows about this,” or my personal favorite, “I really liked the knee, what else is good?” I’ll spare you the gory details. Suffice it to say, it took about five minutes for the make-out session to begin at which point the situation ceased to be fascinating and became just another PDA. Up until that point, however, they had out rapt attention. Try as we did, we could not look away. Like a train wreck. I looked around when the show was over at my fellow spectators and we breathed a collective sigh of relief that this macabre extreme expression of sexual frustration and twisted public display of…whatever that was had come to an end. I finished my sandwich and went back home to the HFAC, not quite sure what I had just seen.
I tried to tell myself that this had been a sweet scene of chaste physical expression of love. In a food court. At lunchtime. Sure. And it was none of my business, I know. Goodness knows, when you’re out in a very public place you can expect the degree of privacy you need to discover the body of your significant other. What?! I try to be understanding, but you know what? No. It was just weird.
PS: If you are reading this and you were one of these two Cougareat lovebirds, please contact me. I have a LOT of questions.
The other day in the Cougareat (BYU’s food court) I witnessed one of the strangest displays I have ever seen. As I sat eating my five-dollar footlong, there was at a nearby table a boy and girl who seemed to have never touched someone of the opposite sex before. They were adorably awkward They made quiet conversation for a while, sitting across the table from one another and I relished in the discomfort of it all. These ugly ducklings seemed to be turning into swans in one another’s eyes as they sat in the crowded student centers with their forgotten teriyaki bowls. It was sweet. Then it got weird. All of a sudden, I looked up again and they had shifted position so they were sitting right next to one another. His eyes were focused so intently on hers that I thought she might burst into flames. I really couldn’t believe what I was seeing as his hand shakily made its way from his side to hers and hovered over her knee. This was bizarre and I was riveted. To my shock, the girl looked at him and NODDED. I kid you not! With the green light, the boy proceeded to lower his hand and rested it gingerly on the girl’s knee. She reacted with…delight and then returned the favor. Hands on knees. It could have stopped there and I still would have been quite disturbed. But it did not. At this point I averted my eyes for a moment and saw the table next to mine, its inhabitants also watching the unorthodox scene before us. A quick glance around the surrounding tables confirmed my presumption: we were all watching. The love fest was encircled by tables at which sat an audience of befuddled BYU students. Surely these two noticed they were the object of bewildered observation by more than a few. THEY DID NOT. They only saw one another. When my gaze made it back to the lunchtime spectacle she was guiding his hand slowly from her knee up to her shoulder. He put both hands on the girl’s shoulders and I was hoping for a minute that he would shake her out of her hormonal trance and she would do likewise to him. No such luck. The exploration continued. I tried to concentrate on their faces (though by this point trembling fingers had settled there) and I saw that accompanying the unbroken eye contact were occasional bits of dialogue I couldn’t hear. I don’t know if I have ever wished more fervently for super-sonic hearing than I did at that moment. My best guesses as to what was being said included gems like: “Touching? This is great! I can’t believe we’ve never tried this before,” “I wonder if anyone else knows about this,” or my personal favorite, “I really liked the knee, what else is good?” I’ll spare you the gory details. Suffice it to say, it took about five minutes for the make-out session to begin at which point the situation ceased to be fascinating and became just another PDA. Up until that point, however, they had out rapt attention. Try as we did, we could not look away. Like a train wreck. I looked around when the show was over at my fellow spectators and we breathed a collective sigh of relief that this macabre extreme expression of sexual frustration and twisted public display of…whatever that was had come to an end. I finished my sandwich and went back home to the HFAC, not quite sure what I had just seen.
I tried to tell myself that this had been a sweet scene of chaste physical expression of love. In a food court. At lunchtime. Sure. And it was none of my business, I know. Goodness knows, when you’re out in a very public place you can expect the degree of privacy you need to discover the body of your significant other. What?! I try to be understanding, but you know what? No. It was just weird.
PS: If you are reading this and you were one of these two Cougareat lovebirds, please contact me. I have a LOT of questions.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Stream of consciousness
I don’t know why I so much do not want to be in my World Religions class right now. I woke up this morning completely uninterested in going to any of my various commitments today. I ditched my first class so I could swing by the HFAC and try and track down the hat I wore yesterday and left in D-341. I found it. Someday I’ll go to the HFAC to see my kids in shows. I think it might be nice not to feel at home in there. I have another year of HFAC-dwelling ahead of me and, really, I can’t complain about much.
That isn’t to say that I’m sure my children will do shows. I’m not going to force them into theatre by any means. But that’s neither here nor there.
The girl next to me is eating a peanut butter sandwich. I hate that. I hate whenever people eat in class. I mean eat anything, not just foods I’m allergic to. Okay, not everything. If you want to crack open a bag of Swedish Fish or sip on a Jamba Juice, have a party. But don’t bring your lunch into class. That bugs.
“That bugs?” I don’t say that. Who am I? The protestant reformation. Luther preached that the daily life should be a repentance. Just in case you were worried I wasn’t paying attention to the lecture that’s going on. I like that. The daily life should be a continual, renewed turning oneself unto God and living closer to His teachings. That’s a good way to look at it. Protestant as he was, this was probably in reaction to Catholic confession. I have a strange desire to go to Catholic confession someday. I’m just curious about the whole thing and I imagine it’s a romantic, liberating feeling. I took communion once. In Italy. I was also blessed by the Pope. I love Catholics.
I wish I could do that thing where you wear a long-sleeved shirt under a short-sleeved shirt. That never looks good on me. Someday I will be rich enough that I’ll never be thirsty. That would be my first order of business as a rich guy: Jamba Juice on demand for me and my kids. Who may or may not do theatre. I’m indifferent. I just hope I have some someday. I have to find a wife first. Ha! And that is a subject for another time.
That isn’t to say that I’m sure my children will do shows. I’m not going to force them into theatre by any means. But that’s neither here nor there.
The girl next to me is eating a peanut butter sandwich. I hate that. I hate whenever people eat in class. I mean eat anything, not just foods I’m allergic to. Okay, not everything. If you want to crack open a bag of Swedish Fish or sip on a Jamba Juice, have a party. But don’t bring your lunch into class. That bugs.
“That bugs?” I don’t say that. Who am I? The protestant reformation. Luther preached that the daily life should be a repentance. Just in case you were worried I wasn’t paying attention to the lecture that’s going on. I like that. The daily life should be a continual, renewed turning oneself unto God and living closer to His teachings. That’s a good way to look at it. Protestant as he was, this was probably in reaction to Catholic confession. I have a strange desire to go to Catholic confession someday. I’m just curious about the whole thing and I imagine it’s a romantic, liberating feeling. I took communion once. In Italy. I was also blessed by the Pope. I love Catholics.
I wish I could do that thing where you wear a long-sleeved shirt under a short-sleeved shirt. That never looks good on me. Someday I will be rich enough that I’ll never be thirsty. That would be my first order of business as a rich guy: Jamba Juice on demand for me and my kids. Who may or may not do theatre. I’m indifferent. I just hope I have some someday. I have to find a wife first. Ha! And that is a subject for another time.
Monday, January 26, 2009
More adventures in over-thinking
Some more ideas I’ve been tossing around…
I started reading a book in the Freshman Academy office called “Generation Me.” It’s one of those books about my generation written by someone of my parents’ generation voicing the same complaints we’ve heard our entire lives. It was amusing if not totally edifying.
It did get me thinking. What is my generation? I was thinking about this in my Dramatic Literature class today. (Yes, it was a productive day for me in TMA 396.) Theatre majors spend two semesters dealing exclusively with what people have written about theatre. We look at theories, at criticism, at different movements in the history of performance. (We spend two other semesters just talking about this history.) We read plays but only incidentally, only to see how they illustrate, refute, confirm, or engage in some sort of dialogue with one theoretical idea or another. We report on assigned reading and try to prove we’ve understood the concepts presented. We sit at desks, listen politely, raise our hands, and engage in academic conversation.
Sound familiar? Probably, if you’ve ever been a student. I started thinking about the play “The History Boys,” a text that questions the validity of academia and examines how this all-too-familiar scene intersects with the ubiquitous “real world” we hear so much about. In one memorable scene, a teacher’s excitement about his student’s understanding of the Holocaust is met with hostility on the part of another instructor. When Irwin, in response to this student’s astute comment, exclaims “Good,” Hector responds: “No, not good. Posner is not making a point. He is speaking from the heart.” Bu that’s what we do, isn’t it? We make points, we prove our worth, our intelligence. We prove it to our professors, our peers, and most importantly (of course) to ourselves. We have learned from a young age that success, meaning, and some sort of transcendent worth comes from the classroom. I’m no exception to this rule. I tear up at the end of “Dead Poets’ Society” just like the rest of you. BUT, when the dust settles, what happened in that classroom means nothing if it is not followed by something meaningful, if those boys’ newfound self expression or sense of individuality does not lead them to lead good lives, to help others, to be productive, and to overcome the resistance they’ll meet out in the real world.
Granted, I am not saying that the classroom is a useless arena for self-discovery and enhancement. I am saying that I’m afraid that all too often it stops there. That’s where “my generation” comes into this. We are the inheritors of postmodern thought and have grown up with the assumption that questioning anything and everything was the norm. Actually, maybe more and ideal than a norm. My generation would bristle at the suggestion that the classroom or lecture hall was paramount. We are all about alternative methods of education and deconstructing the accepted behaviors and ideas in society. But what does that really mean? Are we still trapped by the legacy of the past that tells us that the pinnacle of understanding is a thesis or dissertation? We talk a lot about alternate schools of thought. But often that’s what we do. TALK. (“Yes, you’re absolutely right. We can’t take for granted that traditional forms of expression are the most effective. Why don’t you write a paper about that?”) So, what do we do? As someone who has played the game of academia (and quite successfully at that) for fifteen years, how do I escape this black hole of original thought? Is it worth playing the game to be able to have the chance to fix it? Or am I already a sell-out? Yes, I’m getting my degree. Yes, there is probably more school in store after that. But I have to keep asking myself: “Then what?”
I started reading a book in the Freshman Academy office called “Generation Me.” It’s one of those books about my generation written by someone of my parents’ generation voicing the same complaints we’ve heard our entire lives. It was amusing if not totally edifying.
It did get me thinking. What is my generation? I was thinking about this in my Dramatic Literature class today. (Yes, it was a productive day for me in TMA 396.) Theatre majors spend two semesters dealing exclusively with what people have written about theatre. We look at theories, at criticism, at different movements in the history of performance. (We spend two other semesters just talking about this history.) We read plays but only incidentally, only to see how they illustrate, refute, confirm, or engage in some sort of dialogue with one theoretical idea or another. We report on assigned reading and try to prove we’ve understood the concepts presented. We sit at desks, listen politely, raise our hands, and engage in academic conversation.
Sound familiar? Probably, if you’ve ever been a student. I started thinking about the play “The History Boys,” a text that questions the validity of academia and examines how this all-too-familiar scene intersects with the ubiquitous “real world” we hear so much about. In one memorable scene, a teacher’s excitement about his student’s understanding of the Holocaust is met with hostility on the part of another instructor. When Irwin, in response to this student’s astute comment, exclaims “Good,” Hector responds: “No, not good. Posner is not making a point. He is speaking from the heart.” Bu that’s what we do, isn’t it? We make points, we prove our worth, our intelligence. We prove it to our professors, our peers, and most importantly (of course) to ourselves. We have learned from a young age that success, meaning, and some sort of transcendent worth comes from the classroom. I’m no exception to this rule. I tear up at the end of “Dead Poets’ Society” just like the rest of you. BUT, when the dust settles, what happened in that classroom means nothing if it is not followed by something meaningful, if those boys’ newfound self expression or sense of individuality does not lead them to lead good lives, to help others, to be productive, and to overcome the resistance they’ll meet out in the real world.
Granted, I am not saying that the classroom is a useless arena for self-discovery and enhancement. I am saying that I’m afraid that all too often it stops there. That’s where “my generation” comes into this. We are the inheritors of postmodern thought and have grown up with the assumption that questioning anything and everything was the norm. Actually, maybe more and ideal than a norm. My generation would bristle at the suggestion that the classroom or lecture hall was paramount. We are all about alternative methods of education and deconstructing the accepted behaviors and ideas in society. But what does that really mean? Are we still trapped by the legacy of the past that tells us that the pinnacle of understanding is a thesis or dissertation? We talk a lot about alternate schools of thought. But often that’s what we do. TALK. (“Yes, you’re absolutely right. We can’t take for granted that traditional forms of expression are the most effective. Why don’t you write a paper about that?”) So, what do we do? As someone who has played the game of academia (and quite successfully at that) for fifteen years, how do I escape this black hole of original thought? Is it worth playing the game to be able to have the chance to fix it? Or am I already a sell-out? Yes, I’m getting my degree. Yes, there is probably more school in store after that. But I have to keep asking myself: “Then what?”
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