Collecting Complaints

I should be working on a paper right now. One thousand words on three to ten lines of Canterbury Tales. I've got about eight hundred, so I'm doing alright, but I'm bored with it. And I don't really have a thesis or my three to ten lines picked out, so at the moment it's just a critical analysis of the Pardoner's Tale.

I'm working on writing a play. It's simply called Bitch, but that's really because I don't know what it's about yet. It started when I had the idea that it would be sweet to do a show that had a really minimal set consisting of a rotating stage with a card table and four chairs on it. There are four characters who talk while playing cards. I've been stealing and altering words from bands and my friends, as well as writing my own stuff. It's only five pages at the moment and it's really disjointed. I don't really know how to write a play. I'm making up my own rules, which I suppose is a good thing, but I wish I had some idea of what I'm writing about.

I was home over the weekend for my grandmother's funeral. It was a strange experience. I'd never been to a funeral, so in that sense it was odd, but it was also hard seeing and talking to my dad for the first time in four and a half years. In that time, he got married and I graduated from high school and moved on to college. We have a lot of catching up to do.

While I was home, my mind slipped into "break" mode because spring break is coming up in less than a week. It was dangerous. That's why I have this paper looming over my head. I also have a number of other midterm assignments due in the next few days. I would really like to be done with the next week so I can relax.

I ended up hanging out with my good friend Adam, as well as a few others while I was home. We talked and shared a pot of chamomile tea. It was a relaxing evening spent with good friends. It was something that I don't get here at school. Maybe I don't let people in as much as I let my friends in high school in, but I don't feel like I know anyone, or that anyone knows me, as much as I know my good friends from home. At school I feel like I'm constantly treading softly and making sure to not offend anyone, where as at home, I don't have to. I know the limits, and so does everyone else.

During the course of that night, Adam turned me on to a band called Defiance, Ohio. All of their music is available for download from their website. They remind me of a mix between Murder by Death and Against Me! which is a very good thing in my book. I especially like their latest release The Fear, The Fear, The Fear. There's some really beautiful stuff happening in their music, between the lyrics, the strings, the minimalism, the recording quality and the work ethic they have. I appreciate it a lot, and recommend it very highly.

That's enough for now. I'll have a more substantial and less vain post soon, hopefully. Until then, be well.

Going to Glory

It's been far too long.

First, the show I've been working on for the past three weeks just closed. It was a phenomenal show and I'm very proud to have worked on it. I was very happy with the way my sound design turned out and how it was received, and I was overwhelmed by how well the show went over. It was stunning. I'm especially proud that one of my peers directed it, and eight of my peers acted in it. The talent that I am constantly surrounded with is incredible.

Ok. Enough of that. On to serious things.

Last August, both of my grandmothers were diagnosed with different types of cancer. Two weeks apart. That in itself was difficult for me to handle, but even harder was the fact that my paternal grandmother chose to forgo treatment entirely. She decided that at eighty, she had lived a full life and was ready to, in her words, "go to glory." How does one begin dealing with the fact that a loved one has decided to gracefully step out of this life and into another one? I wish I knew.

This past Monday my grandma Rita passed away. I have been very blessed up to this point in my life, in the respect that the only grandparent I lost, I never knew in the first place. In fact, I've never had a close family member pass away in my lifetime. My grandma Rita's husband, my grandpa John, died before I was born. Rita then remarried my step-grandpa Tom who has, for me, simply been grandpa Tom.

As far as I can tell, I'm fine, though at this point I'm very removed from the situation. I haven't seen my grandma since December, though I've talked to her on the phone and corresponded via the U.S. Postal Service. I'm at school at the moment with no way to get home until Thursday, just in time for the visitation. I can only imagine that when I get home, the weight of what has happened will hit me. At this point, nothing has.

The initial jolt of, "Grandma Rita passed away today," has passed and my life has gone on. It's had to. I have school work to do, friendships to maintain, and a future to look forward to. I like to think that grandma Rita would approve of this. She wasn't a very fussy woman (except when it came to grammar - I hope I'm serving her well, English major that I am), so I think she would have expected us to grieve briefly and move on.

Obviously, she was a strong and graceful woman to decide to "go to glory" in the way that she did. It was her decision all along. I can only hope that someday I will be as strong as her. I never intended for this blog to be a place for me to share my poetry, but I wrote something over the past few months after finding out that both of my grandmothers were sick. Here it is:

i’m holding on to every word
that i imagine You would say
if You were to pass this way
before you leave the world.

things like:
"I'll watch everything you
do
and be proud just the same
I'll watch everything you
do
And love you just the same."

we were never that close
but we were close enough.
though, it's next to impossible
for me to describe
the changes You have made
to my being.

You were and are
beautiful.
You are and will always be
beautiful.

You embody the word
mother
and are every bit as grand
as Your title implies.

i'll miss the little things.

Al Capone thanks you for the card

It's been far too long since I spewed the contents of my mind onto my computer. Much of that is due to the fact that second semester has begun. As such, much of my brain power is being diverted from creative endeavors to scholastic work. This is a sad reality, but a reality nonetheless.

I wish I could say that my classes have given me a lot to ponder, that ideas are flowing between my professors and myself. Sadly, that is not the case. I am reading Beowulf, something I have wanted to do for some time and am now getting to do for class. It's a wonderful poem and I highly recommend it.

The only thing that has been kicking around my mind recently, aside from classes, is the fact that I am no longer a teenager. I turned twenty a week ago. I meant to write a post commemorating the occasion but was distracted by a number of things. Most notably, St. Valentine's Day.

My birthday happens to fall on Valentine's day, and every year I have mixed feelings about this. As a child, I was always a little angry that the decorations weren't for me, and that everyone got cards on my day. I have utmost pity for anyone whose birthday falls on or near Christmas or any other gift giving holiday. On the other hand, people respond differently to the fact that it's my birthday than they would otherwise.

As I grew older and came to understand what Valentine's day meant to our society at large, I became even more angry. "Should not people tell one another that they care on every day of the year?" thought I. "Of course they should!" I responded. This is, of course, not necessarily reasonable. What really irks me about the holiday is just how much stock people take in it. I simply can not believe how many relationships are made and broken on February the Fourteenth.

Now, I have a girlfriend. We've been together for over a year now, and have had two Valentine's Day's together. I was frank with her last year and said that I don't like the holiday. I feel like such a whiny bastard saying that because it is my birthday but, the fact is, I wouldn't like it either way. So I made a point to tell her that I appreciate her, but I make a point to do that anyway.

Another thing that irks me about the holiday is the number of people who make a big deal out of the fact that I do not make a big deal about the holiday. Here's my response to them: "Wouldn't you rather people celebrated you were it your birthday?" Sure, it's a little vain but, to be fair, I don't sound like such an asshole when I say it.

I guess it's my way of telling people to not take too much stock in a holiday on which a massacre occurred (and here I'm referring to the St. Valentine's Day Massacre of 1929, not the horrible tragedy that occurred at Northern Illinois University last week).