Hello!
I do not have anything particularly profound to write about at the minute. Rather this entry is just so I don't get out of the habit of writing in this thing, and to give me something to do whilst I drink my pre-bedtime chocolate milk (I realized recently that there was absolutely nothing stopping me from buying whole milk instead of skim, so I decided to take a walk on the wild side and make the switch. Like Ian said, you know your life is in trouble if the craziest choices you make involve purchasing milk).
I have been feeling nostalgic again, going through old videos on facebook, but I have already talked about that so I will skip the details. Suffice to say, I miss folks alot! Also adding to the nostalgia factor is that I bought a D&D book at this amazing amazing game store in midtown called The Compleat Strategist. Oh my god I could have spent so much more money in that place than I did, it is so dangerous. The book is called Iron Heroes, and it has a whole varient combat system, and is a low magic setting, so no Vancian spellcasting. Now I am commited to finding a group of willing (or not so willing) participants for a campaign! I will start by combing my acting class for likely recruits.
So I have been getting the usual career anxiety, but thankfully it is in a much diminished form than how it usually is. I was thinking about it, and it seems that more and more pressure is being put on folks my age to pick something and stick with it quicker and quicker. It seems a little ridiculous that at age eighteen I am supposed to make life choices about a life that I have not really experienced yet. Perhaps I am wrong about this being shoved on us sooner than previously, cause a few decades ago I don't think I would have been concerned about having a choice (I sometimes wonder if it would be easier if I lived in an age where if Father was a blacksmith, I would be a blacksmith. Prolly not, as I am not good with dirt and lice).
I am fairly certain I am going to be making a switch in majors next year, to something like a double in Philosophy/English, or Philosophy with a minor in Creative Writing, etc. Basically, I think I would like to be a writer, but I get crazy angsty about that too, and I worry about my inability to just sit down and write. The Parents insist I should not worry about this, and do what I like and see where it takes me, which is good advice. Still I have a hard time not obsessing. Oh well, all else fails I become a monk and help people out with stuff. Or become a tiger.
Sleepily,
Daniel Emerson
Friday, February 20, 2009
Monday, February 9, 2009
The Secret Lives of the Purple People
It was rainy that Tuesday evening, the kind of rain that felt like the universe was spitting on you just for being out of your house. The people of New York had been driven underground into the warm, slightly less damp tunnels of the subway system where, packed soggily in between emotionally dead businessmen, cranky old ladies, and hormone-crazed high school students, the Purple People sat.
Just two, next to each other on the subway bench. He wore an old Land's End winter jacket (purple), with striped pants (purple) and a hat to match. She wore a ribbon in her hair (purple), a tweed coat (purple), and a pair of Wellingtons (also purple). Both had glasses (not purple), and carried books (also not purple). (*Editor's note: try saying "purple" now. You can't!*) The train screamed along the tunnel connecting Manhattan to Queens, and there sat the Purple People, reading their respective books.
At first they did not notice each other. But soon, each began to glance over at each other, looking quickly back down as soon as the other seemed to spot the surreptitious glance. Stop by stop, the other passengers trickled out, till it was only the Purple People left in the car. Whole benches were open to them. But neither moved. Static crackled over the intercom, as the Infuriating Male Voice informed the Purple People that the train was being held momentarily by the train's dispatcher. Please be patient.
The N train slowly squeaked to a halt. They were outside now, looking over a smoky field of suburb, with factory towers rising like gray sunflowers out of the drizzle. The rain made slow taps on the roof, smudging the light that poured out of the Purple People car. Neither was pretending to read now. Slowly their eyes met. The Purple Man put down his book. Slowly he removed his coke bottle glasses. "Purple," he whispered, his grubby beard and balding head now dazzling in the flattering fluorescence of the subway lights, "is my favorite color." The Purple Woman removed her coke bottle glasses, her mousy hair spilling down in luxurious curls. "Mine too," she whispered. They locked eyes. They knew what this meant.
If you think they then professed their undying love, turn to page 193!
If you think they drew swords and swore on the graves of their forefathers to either put an end to their hated foe or else face the icy embrace of death, turn to page 196!
Bahahaha, that was a lot of fun! I dunno about you people, but I know which page I'll be turning to! Preferably, this story should be read by the smoky voiced narrator from Sin City as smooth, melancholy jazz plays in the background. If you lack such a narrator, your imagination will have to do.
In other news, I went to Comic Con and met Chewbacca! I talked to him and he said he liked my shirt! Let me repeat that: CHEWBACCA COMPLEMENTED MY CLOTHING. Were I to die right now, I would be at peace.
Wholeheartedly,
Daniel Emerson
Just two, next to each other on the subway bench. He wore an old Land's End winter jacket (purple), with striped pants (purple) and a hat to match. She wore a ribbon in her hair (purple), a tweed coat (purple), and a pair of Wellingtons (also purple). Both had glasses (not purple), and carried books (also not purple). (*Editor's note: try saying "purple" now. You can't!*) The train screamed along the tunnel connecting Manhattan to Queens, and there sat the Purple People, reading their respective books.
At first they did not notice each other. But soon, each began to glance over at each other, looking quickly back down as soon as the other seemed to spot the surreptitious glance. Stop by stop, the other passengers trickled out, till it was only the Purple People left in the car. Whole benches were open to them. But neither moved. Static crackled over the intercom, as the Infuriating Male Voice informed the Purple People that the train was being held momentarily by the train's dispatcher. Please be patient.
The N train slowly squeaked to a halt. They were outside now, looking over a smoky field of suburb, with factory towers rising like gray sunflowers out of the drizzle. The rain made slow taps on the roof, smudging the light that poured out of the Purple People car. Neither was pretending to read now. Slowly their eyes met. The Purple Man put down his book. Slowly he removed his coke bottle glasses. "Purple," he whispered, his grubby beard and balding head now dazzling in the flattering fluorescence of the subway lights, "is my favorite color." The Purple Woman removed her coke bottle glasses, her mousy hair spilling down in luxurious curls. "Mine too," she whispered. They locked eyes. They knew what this meant.
If you think they then professed their undying love, turn to page 193!
If you think they drew swords and swore on the graves of their forefathers to either put an end to their hated foe or else face the icy embrace of death, turn to page 196!
Bahahaha, that was a lot of fun! I dunno about you people, but I know which page I'll be turning to! Preferably, this story should be read by the smoky voiced narrator from Sin City as smooth, melancholy jazz plays in the background. If you lack such a narrator, your imagination will have to do.
In other news, I went to Comic Con and met Chewbacca! I talked to him and he said he liked my shirt! Let me repeat that: CHEWBACCA COMPLEMENTED MY CLOTHING. Were I to die right now, I would be at peace.
Wholeheartedly,
Daniel Emerson
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Wherein I Talk of Break and School
Hello!
Well hey, look at this, a blog thing. I guess I should probably write something, huh? Yeah that sounds good.
So a few things have happened since October 15th 2008, which seems to be the last time I updated this thing. Much has stayed the same however: I worry about the future, my mind swings wildly around, and I get severely confused about a myriad host of exciting things both internal and external. So it goes. Most of my time in this gap was spent at home on winter break, which stretched all the way from December the 17th to February the 1st. WoW was played (lots...), Scrabble was lost (every time!), New Years was celebrated (just once), songs were sung (quartet style), and old friends were met (quite a few).
So out of all my now freshman-in-college friends spread throughout the country, one thing seemed to plague many of them as well as myself. There is this weird, ambivalent feeling about school that is not necessarily distaste; it is more of a confusion. Being home felt much more comfortable, and being around friends felt more natural. It does not take a genius to see why: we have been thrown into a very foreign environment that we have been a part of now for at most four months. Of course we are going to feel more secure and comfortable around people that we have known for years and in a town that we grew up in (the free laundry, unlimited sleeping, and lack of responsibility are certainly pluses too). From what I have gathered, this malaise is common among all new college students, and after a few more semesters we will probably look back at ourselves and wonder why the hell we felt this way. There is nothing terribly profound in this revelation, as we always like what we are more familiar with.
However, there is something sort of nice I learned about myself that ties in to all of this. It is a product of having the longest break, and thus having a lot of time to think and stare off into space. Firstly, there is something to be said about liking the familiar: why do I feel this way? Apart from the security, is there anything else that being home affords me? Somewhere along in break, my friend Jaime brought my backpack that I had lost last year over to my house (a backpack which I loved as my own and the loss of which devastated me). Inside it was like a time capsule, with all my old binders and notes preserved in their pristine condition, doodles and all. Happily I began picking through them, noting how miserable I seemed from my angry rambling written in the margins. However in retrospect, everything seemed easy and insignificant, and even the asshats that populated my classes seemed endearingly quaint. Part of this is, I am sure, just nostalgia.
So what does this have to do with what I was talking about? What I began to realize was that as I was somewhat unhappy in high school, I sought to leave everything having to do with it behind. Hell, I even started going by my middle name, to the confusion of many. However, so eager was I to distance myself from high school that I left behind some parts of me, parts which I viewed as false so that I could "be myself" once I reached the promised land. What I did not realize that some of what I left behind was not bad or false, but just as integral to me as whatever sides of myself that come out now. Ironically, I had scorned the idea of "reinventing myself" at college, as I thought I was pretty okay as I was. But in my haste I did not realize that I was indeed reinventing myself by trying to run from old experiences, which I think accounts for some of my anxiety at school. This is why I found it refreshing to be at home (to the point where I often did not want to go back). I suppose another way to put this was that I failed to count my blessings while living in my old town (though in my defense, this is pretty hard to do while playing volley ball in gym class for the umpteenth time).
I had expected to go to college and find my niche and meet new people and all aspects of my old life would fade away. This is not to say that I would abandon all my old friends for new ones, but I thought I would find people even more similar to me and everything would be dandy. However I know now that many of my old friends are still just as dear to me. I do recognize that this is due also in part to familiarity; maybe when I get to know my college friends more, they will become just as dominant in my life. But nevertheless, I am glad that I have my old friends too. That is one thing I do very begrudgingly give to the Facebook, that it is very easy to stay in touch.
Or maybe I am just being silly. Whatever. Time to go watch The Highlander.
Cheerfully,
Daniel Emerson Khost
Well hey, look at this, a blog thing. I guess I should probably write something, huh? Yeah that sounds good.
So a few things have happened since October 15th 2008, which seems to be the last time I updated this thing. Much has stayed the same however: I worry about the future, my mind swings wildly around, and I get severely confused about a myriad host of exciting things both internal and external. So it goes. Most of my time in this gap was spent at home on winter break, which stretched all the way from December the 17th to February the 1st. WoW was played (lots...), Scrabble was lost (every time!), New Years was celebrated (just once), songs were sung (quartet style), and old friends were met (quite a few).
So out of all my now freshman-in-college friends spread throughout the country, one thing seemed to plague many of them as well as myself. There is this weird, ambivalent feeling about school that is not necessarily distaste; it is more of a confusion. Being home felt much more comfortable, and being around friends felt more natural. It does not take a genius to see why: we have been thrown into a very foreign environment that we have been a part of now for at most four months. Of course we are going to feel more secure and comfortable around people that we have known for years and in a town that we grew up in (the free laundry, unlimited sleeping, and lack of responsibility are certainly pluses too). From what I have gathered, this malaise is common among all new college students, and after a few more semesters we will probably look back at ourselves and wonder why the hell we felt this way. There is nothing terribly profound in this revelation, as we always like what we are more familiar with.
However, there is something sort of nice I learned about myself that ties in to all of this. It is a product of having the longest break, and thus having a lot of time to think and stare off into space. Firstly, there is something to be said about liking the familiar: why do I feel this way? Apart from the security, is there anything else that being home affords me? Somewhere along in break, my friend Jaime brought my backpack that I had lost last year over to my house (a backpack which I loved as my own and the loss of which devastated me). Inside it was like a time capsule, with all my old binders and notes preserved in their pristine condition, doodles and all. Happily I began picking through them, noting how miserable I seemed from my angry rambling written in the margins. However in retrospect, everything seemed easy and insignificant, and even the asshats that populated my classes seemed endearingly quaint. Part of this is, I am sure, just nostalgia.
So what does this have to do with what I was talking about? What I began to realize was that as I was somewhat unhappy in high school, I sought to leave everything having to do with it behind. Hell, I even started going by my middle name, to the confusion of many. However, so eager was I to distance myself from high school that I left behind some parts of me, parts which I viewed as false so that I could "be myself" once I reached the promised land. What I did not realize that some of what I left behind was not bad or false, but just as integral to me as whatever sides of myself that come out now. Ironically, I had scorned the idea of "reinventing myself" at college, as I thought I was pretty okay as I was. But in my haste I did not realize that I was indeed reinventing myself by trying to run from old experiences, which I think accounts for some of my anxiety at school. This is why I found it refreshing to be at home (to the point where I often did not want to go back). I suppose another way to put this was that I failed to count my blessings while living in my old town (though in my defense, this is pretty hard to do while playing volley ball in gym class for the umpteenth time).
I had expected to go to college and find my niche and meet new people and all aspects of my old life would fade away. This is not to say that I would abandon all my old friends for new ones, but I thought I would find people even more similar to me and everything would be dandy. However I know now that many of my old friends are still just as dear to me. I do recognize that this is due also in part to familiarity; maybe when I get to know my college friends more, they will become just as dominant in my life. But nevertheless, I am glad that I have my old friends too. That is one thing I do very begrudgingly give to the Facebook, that it is very easy to stay in touch.
Or maybe I am just being silly. Whatever. Time to go watch The Highlander.
Cheerfully,
Daniel Emerson Khost
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