Today I learned that I’m easily amused.

I laughed. For hours. And hours. I laughed until I cried. And I still do every time I look at it. Beware of new catch phrases along the lines of “I’m an anteater”. You’ll hear ‘em.

Apparently I’m also easily bored and/or distracted. It’s hard to find the time to update this thing. Whoops!

So work is cool and all, but I have lots of down time when I’m not babbling incoherent (but nonetheless entertaining!) nonsense on the air. So I pretend to work by typing madly on the computer, when I’m really just browsing Wikipedia, Facebook, and other mindless websites.

Shameless plug!

Jack’s Pretty Sweet Blog. It’s actually called the Obnoxious Sidekick, if we want to get technical here.

Today I learned you can, in fact, have a blog about nothing
AND STILL BE ENTERTAINING!

Kudos to Jack, the blogger. I randomly found his witty material and was thoroughly enjoying myself for a good few hours. Anything to waste time like that here at work is given hearty thumbs up. Maybe I just like it because he’s an aspiring journalist, like myself. He blogs on various nerd things such as videogame reviews, some “robot” they have running around, his college experiences, and frequently posts videos of himself and friends playing Sony’s “Singstar” — basically nerd karaoke (that’s my favorite). Altogether wonderful stuff. Check it out.

Tagged: blogging, humor, IGN, IGN.com, Jack DeVries, The Obnoxious Sidekick, video games ]]> http://vytamin.wordpress.com/2008/12/23/the-obnoxious-sidekick-strikes-again/feed/ 1 Laura http://vytamin.wordpress.com/2008/11/17/looking-like-a-q-tip-on-fire/ http://vytamin.wordpress.com/2008/11/17/looking-like-a-q-tip-on-fire/#comments Tue, 18 Nov 2008 03:31:30 +0000 Laura http://vytamin.wordpress.com/?p=88 ]]>

So I’m a part of a residential college here at school, right. That’s where my arts+humanities part plays into my major. And this college (called RCAH) has afforded me so many fantastic opportunities. I’ve been able to see a touring group who perform songs and skits about the Edmund Fitzgerald and the Great Lakes (as well as participate in a personal Q+A with them); I’ve heard Orhan Pamuk, Nobel Prize in Literature Laureate, speak; and tonight I had the opportunity to go listen to Margaret Atwood, famous Canadian author and poet, speak. All for free, of course (that’s right, be jealous).

Of course she was fantastic. I was struck by her wonderful sense of humor and yet how she managed to stay so dignified throughout. She talked about the process of writing one of her latest books, Payback: Debt as a Metaphor and the Shadow Side of Wealth, wrangled in charming and witty anecdotes about her first book signing in a men’s underwear department, a parrot she knew of who was very intelligent and social, and told us about “what’s been on my mind lately”.

So what’s been on Margaret Atwood’s mind? She’s from Canada, but American politics was on her mind. The recent election of Barack Obama, the change in Americans (“Although they never really were the same even before that”). She’s been thinking a lot about the themes behind her book, Payback. And in a mere hour and a half, she took us through an analysis of every tiny possible meaning of payback — from revenge, to debt, to credit, to social propaganda, to advertising, to chimpanzees… as well as the intricate implications, meanings, connections and interpretations of each. She could make an observation into the human psyche out of anything. And she even told us a little story about a modern Ebeneezer Scrooge (named “Scrooge Nuveau”, as opposed to “Scrooge Original” (pre-ghosts) and “Scrooge Lite” (post-ghosts)).

Today I learned just how much conscious effort and thought goes into a novel.

I should say “into a GOOD novel”, since there are plenty of shallow, brainless novels out there. And this is a bit of a surprising lesson for me. I’m no stranger to reading and writing, as you can probably figure out by now. And I’ve written plenty of fiction in my time, including several novels that are under deep and heavy construction (been working on them for some time and are doubtful to be finished soon). And I’ve done plenty of research and graphing and charting and brainstorming and connecting. I get a kick out of it. It’s like eating a giant, warm, delicious sandwich when you’re absolutely starving. There’s something inherently satisfying about digging deeper into the themes of humanity and exploring them in an insightful, complex plot of characters and relationships that symbolize and represent so many other things.

But Atwood seems to take it to the next level. Sure, I’ll make up two characters who are supposed to represent something and pit them against each other in a struggle remniscient of a social problem, while using language to manipulate the feeling of it all. But Atwood takes something simple and abstract — like the idea of payback — and runs with it. She draws up theories, models and parables. She takes basic, unrelated ideas like revenge and credit and juxtaposes them together, only to end up with an analogy of the human experience that actually makes sense. It was utterly remarkable.

It was also inspiring. Although I tell the world my goal in life is to be a journalist, my first and true passion is writing — creative, fictional story writing. I just want to make money, too, hence the journalism “fallback”. Hearing Atwood describe her creative process made me want to re-settle myself into my own creative process, like I used to do before college and boyfriends and massive lengthy homework assignments came into my life. Who knows? Maybe I will.

ps: The title? Atwood came onto the stage in a red shawl and announced to the audience, “Someone told me earlier that I looked like a q-tip on fire.” Pause. “Well, I guess it’s better than looking like a q-tip that isn’t on fire.”

Today I learned that college classes are weird, unpredictable… and hilarious.

Funny story time.

I’m sitting in my goddawful Honors Economics class listening to the professor explain the Classical Model and it’s Misperceptions Theory in preparation for an upcoming exam. It’s a good-sized class, maybe 50 students or so, and we’re all very good and attentive and quiet.

Suddenly, a guitar strum comes from the back of the room. None of us really react right away, since maybe it’s someone’s strange cell phone going off, or someone in the hall. The professor continues. Then there comes another chord, held longer. Someone clears his throat.

I glance over my shoulder to see a young guy in a blue baseball hat with a guitar seated inconspicuously by the door. And as the professor stops talking because some guitar keeps interrupting him, the guy begins to play and sing a song (not very well, mind you) about how his dick is better than your dick. Sorry for the inappropriate language, but it’s what he was singing about. Can’t censor ‘art’.

The class listens, half staring at the kid in incredulity, the other half staring stubbornly forward with tense, awkward expressions. He sings his little song, explaining how he performs better and smells better. I’m watching my professor’s face in curiosity. He stands very still, arms folded, watching the guitar guy with an unreadable expression on his face. Finally, he ends his song and stands up, glances around self-consciously, and announces; “That’s all.” And walks out.

The class breaks into nervous, awkward laughter. The professor turns back to the board with a little smirk on his face, attempting to pick up from where he left off. Obviously, this is difficult, given the amount of distraction. The class twitters a bit more, and my neighbors decide that this must be some kind of fraternity pledge thing.

Finally the professor turns to the class, apologetically. “He was very brave, eh? Brave man.”

And proceeds to encourage us to answer his questions by referencing the “very brave man” who, if he could sing a song about his dick, we could certainly answer a question about the supply curve.