Obscurity Go

I've managed to find a class that gives me free stuff.

I'm enrolled in ENR something-something-something this semester (numbers are confusing, give me a break). A few days into the course they announced that a famous ENR guy is coming to OSU and joy of joys, our class is going to get to meet him! Along with that, our professors have gotten us each a copy of his book that we don't have to pay for!

And by “don't have to pay for” I really mean “the money came out of our tuition anyway and at least we're lucky enough to be the class that those hundreds of student funds are going to”. Really, it's terrific.

I tend to get excited about meeting famous people. For some reason “famous people” doesn't include the president or any members of the U.S. Government, but give me a chance to meet a maybe slightly obscure member of the people-who-know-all-about-energy and I am (apparently) all for it!

Daniel Yergin. That's that guy's name.  

Professor Primer

You know, I'm good at making assumptions based on virtually no data whatsoever. Great at it. Let me tell you my assumptions.
Science professors (of whom I have had one) are sad, depressing people. They've been too wrapped up in their work in the name of science and they've forgotten that there can be joy in the world. That there is more to life than proteins and enzymes and proving the existence of macro evolution. In general, they're sort of unpleasant odd flippy-flip hair,
Statistics professors are all Canadian. They, unlike their science-y counterpart, are extremely cheerful, and have not been bogged down by the data they wade through day after day. While they may spend year after year teaching students the same set of rules on how to organize their data into usable tables, they still look on the bright side of life. And they will never, no matter how hard they try, teach a class later than 8:30. Because the administration knows that only morning people should be allowed to teach morning classes.
History professors are quirky and eccentric in a well put together way. They show up to class very smartly dressed, although their outfit may sometimes be better suited to past centuries, and are extremely happy about what they teach. They want the whole world to know about how the Ottoman empire fell and how ancient Anglo-Saxons influenced modern life today. It doesn't really seem to bother them that this information is relevant to absolutely nothing that anyone will do in life. Really, they're just pretty happy that anyone shows up to class.

Irks

So here's something that irks me; abnormally sized books.
I work in a library. I spend seven hours a day reshelving books. I love doing it; it's the perfect job for a college student with a dream of being a librarian and slight OCD tendencies. The problem is that last part - I love organized books. I straighten the stacks as I shelve. I make sure that the books look nice on the shelf.
But then we get to the abominable abnormally sized books. Specifically the ones that are longer than they are tall. I hate them. They don't need to be that long. No book that short needs to be that long. Stop publishing those books. No one wants them. If they want to be that long, they should be taller, so that they just look like someone used an engorgement charm. Trust me. When we put those unexpectedly abnormally sized books on our shelves, they become a danger to all the other books around them. Why? People try to push in those books. They look like they're about to fall off the shelf because they're sticking out so far. Then the books on the other side of the shelf fall off, because they've been pushed off by those incorrigible abnormally sized books. It's horrible! It's a disgrace! Despicable!

I vote for a book sale. An abnormally sized book sale of all the abnormally sized books in this library. Right the wrongs of the abnormally sized!

Let My Sentimentality Make You Barf

A full living room is one of the happiest things that I experience. When such an occurrence happens at my house, it's my favorite time to be home. When I have to settle for sitting on the floor because every chair is taken, I am a little put off at first but really I love it. I don't like having to go out of the house to socialize, really. I could do without the trips to sociable eateries and bars (bars are especially boring when you cant drink, you know), but when the people come to me, I assure that I could not be more pleased with my surroundings.

Three people on the couch this morning; Testa, Jill, and Levon. One person on the blanket at the front of the room; Laura. Two people in wingback chairs; myself and Neely. One person in the game chair; Kurre. On the floor - Cathy, Mel, Biggs, White Chocolate, and Sterbz. Twelve people in my living room, sharing warm breakfast and prayer together. What could be better than this? The rest of the day I may see none of them, the house may be partly or entirely empty (more than likely really), except for myself. But looking back to the morning when the house was filled and the atmosphere welcoming and friendly, when I know that people genuinely wanted to be there and be together, that gets me through the day. maybe even the next couple days. I love my group, and depend on them for support, and it is days like today that I know that I feel like they're going to come through for me too.

San-zi-gozyuu-go-hun Desu

There is a bright spot on my computer screen and it is making me paranoid because I'm afraid it's going to start multiplying. According to the internet this happens when water hits the LCD screen, so I've almost considered wiping the whole screen with a wet cloth so maybe it will just become a SUPER BRIGHT SCREEN. Yep. I'm sure that's exactly how that would work.
Remember how I said I wanted a skunk as a pet? I also want a burrowing owl. True story, bro.
This quarter, I've had my first experience with those huge lecture classes that everyone thinks of when they think about college. The lecture hall my Theater 100 class has a balcony with more seats! I didn't realize this until halfway through class when I looked up and say someone's shoes hanging over the balcony right above my head. It's really cool being in a lecture class that big, especially since if I look hard enough, I can find several people I know (in a university of tens of thousands, I have no clue how that works). Everyone talks about how impersonal big universities like this are, but I don't see it at all! I love huge lectures because I know I have a connection with everyone in the room (okay, I feel that way in Theater, I could care less about my Math peers). Plus, as my mom loves to point out, my Japanese classes keep getting smaller as I go on, and I know ninety percent of the people in my Japanese 103 class, and will continue to know them for another three years, since it's my major. Ohio State is a weird place, how the campus can seem so big and so small at the same time!
I swear that spot on my screen is moving. Legit.

Hello College. Remember Me, the Eco Freak?

Honestly, I always sort of figured that if there was one thing that college students would know about and uphold, it would be recycling.
I'm sure I didn't have the strongest grounds to back up this theory, but really now. College students are supposed to be the ones who know about the world. They're smarter (perhaps) than the average human, more likely to be a hipster and less likely to be a crack addict than the average high schooler or drop out. So of course that means that they should care more about the planet, and living in a sustainable environment, right?
Well, apparently I was wrong. No one - no one - in the Thompson library understands recycling.
Like, okay, it's one thing to simply not recycle. Sure, I want people to recycle. I want at least some of our resources to be reused so that we are not continually taking needlessly from the environment, but if people refuse to take part in that, I'm not going to pick a fight. Well, unless I know you - then I'll pick a fight. But I avoid that kind of thing with complete strangers.
But here's the problem we have at the library, and probably all over campus; people don't seem to know what goes in a recycling can. For instance; the styrofoam takeout containers from Canes? NO. The plastic bags from the grocery store? NO. Ziploc bags, apple cores, pizza boxes (still with pizza inside), broken mechanical pencils, tea bags? This is what I see every day when I put my apple juice bottle into the recycling (the trash can, I might add, contrasts nicely with the recycling; it normally has all kinds of paper and plastic). I mean, can anything really be done with the recycling that is taken out from here? Clearly, less than half of the stuff in the recycling can will be recycled, but is there a way that they sort it out, or do the recycling men just make a judgement decision and pitch all of it? I asked my co-worker one day why she put her used gum in the recycling. She told me it was because the janitors just put all of the recycling cans in the dumpster anyway. I mean really, what's the point of having recycling cans at this point? Clearly, no one except Environmental Policy majors can figure out how to use them.

Forgotten

I forget how many forms of creativity and media I have access to. I have a habit of getting stuck in a bubble with a single form for weeks verging on months, and forgetting that I can express myself in any other way.
For instance, there are times when my copic markers are my most prized possession, valued over every other item in my life. Then there are times like now when my markers sit on their own upstairs in my study, waiting for me to remember that they are an option in my life. It's not that I don't love them dearly, it's just that I forget about them. The same is true for any number of other media. I've been taking pictures of everything lately, which is something that I have not done in a long (read: loooooooooooong) time.  I've gotten caught up in the thrill of getting a new, good camera, and finding out what I can take pictures of, and who I can take pictures of without them noticing and thinking that I'm a freak. Because of this, though, I've left drawing behind. I haven't drawn anything in two weeks. But do you know what I haven't done for even longer? I haven't written any stories for a longer time than that. Plus, it's been years since I've done poetry. Did you know I can write poetry? I mean, I'm not all that good at it but I certainly have the ability, and in the past I have exercised that ability in a big way. But I haven't done that in a while.
Here's the problem; I want to get better. I want to get better at everything I do. But I do so much. I've never been the one to find my own category and stick with it. No, I find my own category and oh look - there's something over there I want to try! I made a camera case this weekend. I sewed a mouse and a sunflower onto the back. Did you know I could sew? Add that to the list of things that I forget I can do. I want to get better at everything, but I never stick with something long enough to really improve. I have the artists on the internet that I really look up to for their artwork, and I want my work to be like them. I want to improve to have a similar style, but the second I start getting invested in studying how they do anatomy, or how they shade their pictures, I find another amazing artwork and artists and oh I want my artwork to look more like theirs! 
I honestly really want to have an internet following. It's my dream. How am I supposed to get there if I cant have a unified enough art style, or be able to stick to one medium? You don't see that on the internet. You don't see people who do everything. They find one thing they're good at and they stick to it. I want that to be me. I want to be amazing at something. How am I supposed to do that, though, when there are so many different ways for me to express myself? I can't figure out what to do! It makes my life even more difficult with my obsessive need to archive things. I need to stick them in containers of the like. All of the line drawings together! All of the clay models together! Photographs, line up by date over here! But do I still put them all on the same site? Do I put different mediums on different sites? What do I do if I have something that fits in multiple categories, or if I draw a picture that goes with a story? How do I organize that?
I was told the other day that blog posts are meant to be short. I had been aiming at longer blog posts since I started blogging. Maybe I should stick to building bookcases.

Never Underestimate a Mountain Goat

Mountain goats are wholly unappreciated creatures. Has anyone else noticed this? They live in the mountains, for one thing. For another, they have been known to climb trees. Can your canary live in the mountains? Can your goldfish climb trees? I don't think so. Mountain goats are truly skilled creatures.
Speaking of amazing and adorable creatures; I want a skunk. When I get my own house, I'm going to own two cats and a skunk. That is my plan of action. The skunk will be named Miguel. We'll have fun times.

Afraid of the Dark?

Sometimes, I'm frightened of really weird things. Well, okay my roommate Testa seems to think that it's weird whenever anything frightens me, but we're excluding that opinion.
There is this weird memory I have. It's probably not a memory, really, but I can't tell what it really is. When I think of it, a picture forms in my mind. It's the skyline of a city, but it's not a realistic sort of skyline. The colors are all flat and bright, as if they're made of construction paper. The image of this, however, wasn't always this flat. I know that it used to at least elude to the idea that it was three dimensional, it was a real place out of my memory at some point, I can feel it. When the image comes to mind, it connects itself to the Columbus Public Library, so I'm guessing it's an image that I saw when I went there at some point as a kid. I get this feeling that it was something I saw, something that actually existed, but I don't know where in the library or by the library I would have seen such a place. It could be something that I saw in a picture book at the library, but even so I would think that I would remember this book, or at least the image as an illustration in some way.
But no. This image, dream, memory whatever it is comes into my mind in the most unexpected of times; most often in my dreams. When I have a real vivid dream, this city scape is in the background. It's been in several dreams over the years, appearing outside the window in airports and in the distance during a deadly capture the flag contest. Over time, I think the image has certainly changed, and I can only sort of sense what it used to be, but it's still there, unbidden, in the corner of my mind.
That's what scares me. I don't know where this image comes from, but it appears at those weird points when I have long since forgotten it, and then it is there again. It's hauntingly familiar and horribly distant at the same time.

Transition

It's the strangest thing to see that life goes on without me.
I spent a lot of time in high school thinking about what college would be like. I think I spent even more time in high school trying to avoid thinking about it. College was this frightening other-world kind of place. It wasn't quite real, and in all honesty, I regarded it the same way I regarded heaven; sure, it existed, but it was so far away that I would never really get there. It was a scary place where the workload was supposed to be so much that normal humans wouldn't function under the stress, and spend their days eating Ramen noodles and having stress attacks about the next test. It was a scary place because I knew that a lot of the people that I had closest relations with wouldn't be there any more.
Then I graduated. In all honesty, all of those thoughts about college sort of left my mind in the transition. In those summer months, I didn't think much about the high school world I left behind, or the fact that I was going to my dream college in a few months. Things became sort of surreal and at the same time so incredibly real. I moved into my ministry house with girls that I had known for years that had all graduated before me - I had dreaded and looked forward to this moment as well. I loved these girls and had missed them terribly when they graduated, but it was still the scariest thing to have to grocery shop for myself, to buy my own toiletries when they ran out, and to manage to figure out how to buy text books and get to class on time. One big change happened after another and it was all so much that it didn't even register to me what was happening.
Now, I'm in my second quarter of college. Life has developed an approximate, if slightly rocky, routine. Finally, I've started to look back on the life that I left.
And realize that other people are still living it.
A picture was posted on facebook that made me think this. It was a webcam photo of, I believe, Kevin, Jill, and Kelley. The three of them were all in my high school homechurch, Alpha, with me. Kevin should be a senior this year, and Kelley and Jill should be sophomores. They are in this world that I left behind, and they seem to be thriving in it. Back when I was in Alpha, relationships were a bit shaky. The group had just started growing my senior year,  but people were still getting their bearings, figuring out what kind of role they had in the group. I remember - it seems like years ago now - that one of the things that Joe and I (the two seniors of the group last year) worried about the most was what would happen when we were gone. We were the two leaders of the group, and the juniors at the time did not seem anywhere near to stepping up to fill the spots.
But I guess something changed. I don't know exactly what, but I know that that group has continued to grow. It's gotten better, even without me being there. I know a few college students that have stepped in as leaders because the group is so big, and it looks like people are actually starting to relate to each other more. Kevin, one of the two now-seniors, has at least stepped up to the point of being more than willing to drive people to Alpha this year, which is so much more than he was doing last year (and needed too, because in the past Joe and I were the only ones with cars). I don't know the details of Alpha anymore, I did graduate after all, but I hear updates every week, little accomplishments from the group, how it keeps growing, the breakthroughs that people have. It's amazing, and really weird to think about. I mean, I'm no longer there. Alpha is no longer my home. Yet often I have the thought that I'll be going there on Sunday, just like I did for those four years of high school. Like nothing ever changed.

Just Did a Christmas Post, Of Course This Should Be a New Years One!

So happy New Years! I mean sure, I'm like three days late for any such statement, but it's still 2012! Welcome to the year of the apocalypse! (as opposed to the past years, which I'm sure no one really thought were apocalyptic in any way)
Well I must say, so far 2012 has brought some wonderful mostly-relaxing evenings with my wonderful roommates. Last night Testa, Shannon and myself watched The Time Travelers Wife on my Mac-shift TV (haha, get it?), and while the movie was not so good (okay, I kinda thought it was stupid), I did get some wonderful time with them. Then the movie ended. I guess we just kept looking in the direction of the screen as we were talking after the movie ended, even as it went black. That, it turns out, was how Laura found us when she walked in. Three girls huddled on the couch covered in blankets because we have zero ventilation staring at a black computer screen. This sounds terribly pathetic. It was hilarious.
Also, Rachel doesn't have pants on. And by "doesn't have pants on" I mean she actually has shorts on but she refuses to admit that, and just keeps saying that she doesn't have pants on.

Merry Christmas and a Year Free of the Apocalypse!

It's Christmas in more than half the world right now! According to the NORAD Santa tracker, Santa is making his way through Portugal right now. I'm just writing to wish everyone out there an extremely merry Christmas!
Christmas is the time of year that I look forward to every year. I love giving presents (love, love giving presents), and honestly, I love getting them just as much. In my family, every Christmas Eve we eat Donatos Pizza, and Christmas day we eat cinnamon and orange rolls for breakfast before opening out stockings and presents. This was the first year that I was able really buy people gifts (thanks to my more than generous parents and my excellent job at the library), and I'll admit, I may have spent more than all of my roommates combined on presents this year, but it was all more than worth it. I know that Christmas has been horribly commercialized over the years, and people complain every year about how much Americans want to "get get get" on Christmas when we should just be enjoying each other's company and celebrating Jesus's birth, but still. I think that giving presents is more than appropriate and one of the best parts of this holiday!
That being said, Christmas is more than just about that. Christmas is celebrating the new life of Jesus, having been born about two thousand years ago. To celebrate this, my family, our friend Hai Ming, and I are watching The Nativity Story as we wait for Christmas to arrive. It's a wonderful way to spend this holiday season.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night. One more year is almost over and another one is beginning.

Rain Rain Break the Window

Coming back into reality can be horribly startling at times. That's the best way to discern an excellent book from a simply okay book. It's the excellent books that make you forget where you are in time and space, entirely blocking out the clock, one could spend hours reading an excellent book and think it was only minutes. Perhaps, of course, in my particular office this may be a problem, but it's all worth it in the end.
I hadn't, in a very long while, read a book that made me forget myself, become absorbed wholly in the story, the plot of another world beyond my own. It's a wonderful thing when such books are found, they are to be treasured for their wonder and remarkability. I finished The Soldier's Wife today, it was one of few books that I have read that come from the "adult" section of our library. I've been, little by little, trying to transition myself over from the teen section, but it's a scary change, the teen section has been my home for nearly ten years now, I know those shelves like the back of my hand. It was really an especially odd time to choose that book to read because I am trying desperately to finish off a 2011 reading challenge, of which I pledged to read 30 books in one year. I have a number of books from my ever familiar teen section checked out, each of which I could finish in less than a day instead of the three that it took to finish this one. Yet it was apparently a good choice, The Soldier's Wife was much more wonderful than I could have anticipated. I read most of it on our office during breaks between shelving books, and the cliffhangers were horrible when I found that I had to leave again to shelve. But the last section of it, the last bit of that wonderful book, was stunning. The last time I cried over a book was back in July, rereading the Harry Potter series, but this book more than deserved the tears that were shed to it. I cannot spoil it for anyone, that would be more terrible than the worst of crimes. Let me  be the one to assure all readers, however, that I, at least, fell in love with this book. There were certain parts that I didn't approve of, which I expected after picking it out of the adult section, and there was one little plot tail at the end that has been a little overdone, at least in what I have read, but overall it was too enthralling, too engaging, to be put down for longer than absolutely necessary. It was after I finally read those last few words and closed the pages that I realized how much I had missed - the calm albeit dreary day had long since turned into a torrential downpour that threatened to break the window above me, and half the people from my office were gone, already having started another cart which I had completely zoned out of. These are the best kinds of books. For a few hours today, I was living on an island occupied by German soldiers during World War II. Those were certainly scary times.

We are the Pirates Who Don't Do Anything

I've been trying to blog a new post (post a new blog) for hours. Nothing I starts gets more than a paragraph (short paragraph) or two in before I discard it. This is ridiculous. Because of my blogblock, you all are now welcome to know some interesting points about my life. Because I need to post something.

Our study smells like syrup, cat pee, or flowers. One of those.

The beta fish right next to me was flipping out just now - literally. Flipping out and in the water of his bowl.

I have discovered my love of the forties. The forties in England.

There is a Salsa Dance Party going on next door right now.

Jessie and I just watched the season finale to the first season of Doctor Who with the eleventh doctor. Still haven't seen the most recent one. It's driving me crazy.

I have been trying to get my scanner to work for TWO WEEKS at LEAST and it is still being absolutely unresponsive to any of my requests. I may light it on fire. Legit.

The song playing right now is "The Most Beautiful Girl in the Room"

There will be ten days until Christmas as of 28 minutes from me writing this.

No seriously, if you didn't see anything wrong with that, reread that song title.

My arm still hurts from ladling mashed potatoes for two hours yesterday. I consider that pathetic.

First Final

It's December. That means Christmas. I wish that was all that it meant. December means exams. Like, this week. Some lucky people are already done with them. Done with exams! I want to be done with them. Right now. But no,all of my exams are on Thursday - the last possible day. All of them. I'm so tired of studying. I'll never get through all of the material. Never. I'm going insane. I'm supposed to be studying last now. I've been studying for the last couple hours, at least. I want to do dishes. I want to clean the house. I want to blog or draw or anything but study. If I just don't go to any of my exams, I'll still get Cs in all of my classes. That should make me feel better, right? I think it should, but it doesn't. I hate this. There are three other people in my house taking exams. One of them is done already. One has resigned herself to studying only tomorrow morning, and one is out studying at her boyfriend's house. In my living room there are four people - two couples - who are not in college and so not taking exams. They are relaxing. They are hanging out. They are being sociable (within their respective couples). I have another night of this psychological torture before my exams come. I just want all of this to be over. Right now. Why isn't this over yet?

Nine o' Clock Coffee

Every single class at Ohio State is offered at 10:30 in the morning. All of them. Sure, most of them are offered at other times too, but if you're lazy or forgetful like me, what you'll notice is that ten thirty seems to be the last slot open for everything, which is especially odd, since it does seem as though that is the prime class-taking time. It frustrates me so that the ONE class that I have to take for my major this quarter is offered at, what a shock, ten thirty. Distressing.
On another note, I love the word distressing. Also, the word ridiculous. Those are two great words. I think I started using distressing to replace depressing, which is odd because they're not the same meaning.
In other news (which is different from "on another note" because news references television, while notes reference music), Christmas is coming, guys! Tomorrow is December. December may be my favorite month of the year, fo' realz. Anyone who hasn't already needs to go start streaming the Radio U Christmas Channel (radiou.com, you'll find it). It makes for such a cheery morning, being able to get up and turn it on on my brand new tiny laptop with amazing battery and just carry it around from room to room. I did all of my dishes this morning. Actually, let me tell you about these supposed dishes. See, I planned on getting to work at 10:15. So I was going to leave home at 9:30, because I always assume it takes me forty five minutes to get to work. I think this may, in fact, be a vicious, vicious lie. Why, you ask? It was 9:30 when I finally made it downstairs this morning. Then I decided that I needed to do all of my dishes from the last two or three days. It was only after that that I thought to make my (mom) coffee and cream cheese my cinnamon bread. Then I had to wait for my coffee to cool down. I feel sure that this must have taken about fifteen minutes at least. Then I still needed to drink my coffee. I did all this, stood for a while at the bus stop, and got to work. Know what time it was when I was entering the Library? 10:10. WHUT. This is crazies. Ridiculous. Distressing. How, I ask how, does this happen? Did I just add an extra hour between nine and ten this morning? I feel like a member of the new midnighters, but we'll have to name ourselves the nineoclockers. That doesn't sound as cool. It just doesn't.

Practice Practice Practice *Headdesk*

I like to consider myself a writer. I also like to consider myself an artist. I'm entirely amateur in both of these aspects, but I like to think that over time I'll be able to work myself up to a respectable level with both.
Whenever I see a great writer or artist asked for advice about how to improve, no matter what they respond with, it always ends or begins with "practice."
Practice is answer to the questions of "life, the universe, and everything." It's always what people need, whether they are willing to admit it or not. I've tried to avoid this thesis for many years of my life, but whether I like it or not, that's what the answer is.
I have never been able to look back on something I wrote and say "that was a good work." I love the concepts of what I write, but rarely can I reread what I wrote. It grates my ears; it's neither eloquent not graceful, and rarely do I feel as though I can portray the right emotion. When writing commentum (fiction), I used to put too much detail into describing my characters, and none of the surroundings. Now I put too much detail into my surroundings, and none into my characters. When I write dialogue, it gets choppy at best and my use of pronouns is never where it should be, as I just forget to use them altogether when I'm writing because it takes so long that I forget who is saying what, and have to write the name to remind myself. My chapters are only a page or two long, which I cannot explain except to say that my writing is so bare-bones that I leave 80% of the details that I should be putting in. To be succinct, I hate it. I'll write for the experience of writing, and because I feel as though I have all these ideas in my head that I don't want to forget, but I don't have the skill to really record them the way they should be recorded, and for that I feel slightly shameful.
It was for this very reason, that I can see every flaw in my writing, that for long stretches of time I don't write. I'll create a dialogue or narrative in my head of everything I can think of, because I so desperately want to consider myself a writer, but I don't have the guts to put anything down on paper (virtual or otherwise). Thus, improvement has not so much been an option. Lately, I've taken on a different stance. I know that for a long time yet I'll probably still hate my writing, but if I don't write, I will never surpass my current state and God knows that would be depressing. So I'm ignoring my writing and I'm just going to keep barreling through it whether I like it or not.
On the other hand, there's my drawings. As opposed to my writing, I've always been especially proud of my drawings and paintings when I think I've done a good one. When I finish something, I'm proud of it and I like to show it off. I know in the back of my mind that I need plenty of improvement on that front too, though, for two main reasons. One is, of course, that the artists that I follow on various sites have been better than me since I discovered them, and I have been able to watch their abilities grow and explode overtime, much more than mine have, leaving me farther behind. The other is that I keep record of my drawings, and when I look back at something that I previously considered my best and most inspiring piece of work, I can now point out so many flaws and problems and it looks unbalanced and askew and I'm sure that if I flipped the image it would look as sideways as if I had taken opposite corners and stretched it out, if you know what I'm saying. My main problem with improvement on my artwork is that I have found that I really have to work to find something to make into a full-scale drawing. I don't know for certain, but I feel as though if I were to just doodle whatever came to mind for hours, I would get the same basic headshot and positioning with a bajillion slightly different faces and hair styles. Whenever I draw, I feel as though I can come out with one very good drawing, and then everything else is bland and forgettable and not even worth coloring. It's depressing really, as I'm afraid that I'm losing my imagination, day by day.
Really though, deep down I'm pretty sure that's not true. I get the feeling that it's really that I simply cant draw as well as I would like to, I want to be able to draw so many dozens of different poses that I know right now I wouldn't be able to accomplish. I want to be able to lay out my drawings in such a way that there's not just one person standing in a normal face-forward arms-at-her-sides persons standing slightly left of center. I have been neglecting drawing anything for month, though, because I've feared that everything would come out the exact same way. Practice cant make that much of a difference when every picture is the exact same, right?
Well I've decided that I need to change that. It's harder than with writing because I want to make an instant digital archive (see: blog) of everything that I draw, so I need to actually hook up my scanner (no idea how that works) or use my tablet (which I only want to use with photoshop, which then limits me to a cold lonely study unless I want to drag my desktop down a flight of stairs). I'll get it working somehow. Maybe.

Liverpool!

Totally and extremely relevant to my last post, I just went to the most fantastic Linguistics seminar today. The speaker (oh my goodness she was from New Zealand) was giving a talk today titled Football vs. Football. To summarize, she and one of her friends went to Fados and saw that the soccer fans there, although American, would gain a British accent when cheering for their team. So the two of them conducted an experiment that was all about how when fans of a team take on a sort of identity from that team, they can affect a similar accent.
In other words, if I start watching British soccer, I'm going to adopt a British accent.
Yes.

Really, that's all I had to say on that topic. I just wanted to let you know my future plans to infiltrate the land of Great Britain with a soccer accent. Now I just need to find a team to cheer for.

Sometimes

Sometimes I just need to write. Honestly, though, those are often the times that I can't think of a THING to write ABOUT. I think it's because normally when I want to write, it's because I'm just so darn excited about something that I want to share it with the world, you know? But the thing is, it's really probably not that interesting to OTHER people, when I really think about it. Like right now. Do you know what I'm excited about right now? British things. British things are really not that interesting on their own. It's like a sentence with a noun and no verb, there's really not much point to it. Like, hey guys, guess what? And you guys are all like, what? And I'm like, BRITAIN. Now, is that supposed to be interesting? Because clearly, it isn't. I need a plot for my post. I can't just be like, let me list everything I love about Britain because, well, I would start to consider myself incredibly shallow and then I would get depressed and wonder why I'm just sitting here switching between watching Merlin and Doctor Who (although this point is no longer valid now, because we are now watching Enchanted). Speaking of Merlin and Doctor Who, the main character of Merlin (you know, Merlin) was in an episode of Doctor Who! And I found this out because for a second it occurred to me that the guy who plays Arthur in Merlin might be the guy from the Narnia series, Peter (which I thought because I saw a commercial for Narnia on the Enchanted DVD). So I looked him up and he clearly wasn't but then I went back to see who the actor who plays Merlin had also played in and it said Doctor Who and I was like HEY, and then I realized that he in fact played a character that I had looked up a while ago because I thought he was the guy who played Edmund in Narnia. Long story short? I think that everyone in Britain was at one point a character in Narnia. Maybe I should be worried about this. Also, Narnia is in our refrigerator. I'm sure of it.
So anyway. I want to read some British books. Were the shoes books British? Are fairy tale books British? Oh good, my roommates just got home.

"Wakarimas ka, Collins-San?"

I've started my first year of college, which means I have also started my epic and amazing first quarter of Japanese. It's a scary class, with 45 minutes of recitation (not resuscitation) class each day, and 45 minutes of lecture every Thursday and Tuesday. Among the other incredible changes to how I learn a language, in our daily recitation class (also called ACT class), there is no English allowed. Once roll call starts being called ("Adams-San!" "Hei!" "Brown-San!" "Hei!"), the only English that comes out is when explaining the surroundings of whatever scenario we are discussing. Even then, it's all in simple phrases such as when the Sensei points to a picture of a building on a power point and saying "Tookyo University, new exchange student" but even then, the words are dutifully performed with a Japanese accent, rendering them almost unintelligible if one is not paying attention.
We have six different Senseis (teachers) that cycle in and out of the classroom. Three of which are Japanese (Kuwai-Sensei, Fuse-Sensei, Tsuchiya-Sensei), and three American (Mason-Sensei, Christenson-Sensei, Curtin-Sensei). After a few weeks of class (five weeks? Has it really been five weeks?), their individual affect on the class has become incredibly apparent, and incredibly unique from one another. The three prime examples that I have are Kuwai-Sensei, Tsuchiya-Sensei, and Christenson-Sensei.
Kuwai-Sensei is an older Japanese lady. She seems genuinely excited about the class, her fragile frame bursting with energy as she asks us whether we want to eat, drink, or play a game (in Japanese, of course). However, the air in the room when she walks in is tensed with nerves. As happy as she is, Kuwai-Sensei strikes fear into the hears of everyone in the classroom. Her snap decisions to point to... you! "Kiree zya nai desu ne?" will end in a few seconds of stammering before she swirls to another person, your score for the day having dropped at least 20% in those five seconds of nerves. When Kuwai-Sensei is in the classroom, there is silence by everyone except those whom she is addressing, and when she makes a joke, people genuinely want to laugh, but even the giggles are infused with the nerves of hoping she doesn't hone in on the one who is laughing to ask the next question. At the end of class, when Kuwai-Sensei exclaims "otsukare samadesita!" everyone lets out a sigh of relief that it's over.
Tsuchiya-Sensei is a young Japanese man, in his late twenties if I would guess, with a wedding ring on his finger. He's excited to do his job as a teacher, excited and happy to interact with us and invent new ways to convey the material. When he walked into the classroom this week, he turned to the class and informed us "I had a powah-point for class, but I thought this would be more fun" and proceeded to spend the class drawing horribly inaccurate pictures on the board with crazy gestures and using his own cell phone for conversations with us (Sidner-San! Odenwa desu!). On days when we're taught by Tsuchiya-Sensei, our class is lively, holding side conversations that are surprisingly relevant to whatever he is saying. No one is ever afraid to answer his question because he rarely brings around his clipboard (forever the symbol of being graded) while he's conversing with us. Those are the classes we always look forward to the most.
Christenson-Sensei (I'm really not quite sure if that is how his name is spelled) is quiet. When he walks into the classroom, people don't always notice at first. Maybe though, it's not even that he's quiet. Everyone can certainly hear him when he starts roll call, but we all feel as though we have to be quiet ourselves, to catch every word he's saying. When Christenson-Sensei is teaching, anyone could hear a pin drop - in the class next door. No one talks unless specifically spoken to, copying his minimalistic airs. He speaks with emotion, as any good teacher does, but even his emotion is exuded quietly. We don't have nearly as much of a fear of grading with him, because his normal style is to take the clipboard and go around the room once, asking us our CCs (core conversations, basic vocabulary), and seemingly grading us on that one encounter, which by then we will all have practiced quite a bit. I'm fairly sure at this point that he grades us at other times and we simply don't notice, but it takes the pressure off, none the less. His classes do seem a bit more drawn out, however, because we are rarely passing the time talking. Still, a longer class is preferable to a more stressful class.
Honestly, I love class with any of my teachers. Even Kuwai-Sensei has earned the nickname (unknowingly) in one class "Kawaii Kuwai," meaning cute Kuwai, because even as scary as she is, she's still adorable. This has been, so far, an amazing year.