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

XII: An Awesome Day

This morning, on the way to school, a little boy called me Batman.




That is all.



-Emerson

XI: An Unintentionally Humorous Moment

Hello!

Okay, here is a bit of audience participation! This is an image I found whilst browsing through my art history text as I was studying between classes. It is a Civil War photograph called "A Harvest of Death." It is a very visceral, horrific image, and I was really captivated by it. I encourage you, the reader, to really have a look at it.

An now for a audio aid.

As I sat in the library looking at this photo, I was listening to my iPod. Here is what started playing quite suddenly. It works best if you click open the link in another tab, while still looking at the photo:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X0O7yUJBeTw

Needless to say, the whole library looked at me as I burst out laughing, while feeling horribly about myself. It's really only the first few chords that are so humorous.

-Emerson

X: Wherein I speak of Flowcharts

Hello!

I started to write an update the other day, but the foul spirits that live in my Internet connection chose to cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war, thus crashing the computer. Ah well, any excuse to use the phrase "cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war," because let's face it, that is pretty awesome. Anyway, this is how my weekend went!

On Saturday I was feeling restless, so I told myself that as long as I was going to not get together with anyone, I would do some interesting new things! I checked out the park and ran a few miles, which was actually quite surprising, as I have not run in a while. Astoria Park is very nice, and I have come to like it quite a bit. Despite going to bed late (I think I was watching more Monty Python), I set my alarm for 7:30 so I could take the subway down to Brooklyn. Reason being is that there is a Zen temple located on State street, and I thought it would be a very cool thing to check out. I enjoyed it very much, if for no other reason than it was a very new experience. However, there is one point that bothered me, which was that there was a lot of ritual. This wouldn't be weird anywhere else, but I had thought that one of the whole points of Zen was to avoid ritual, as it is unnecessary. I don't get the feeling that this was just a particular place that carried out services in a very ritualistic manner, but that this is the norm, and that my understanding just happened to be limited. This left me quite adrift for a while, and I still do not exactly know what to think. When I think of Zen outside of practice at a temple, I find it fits me very well and whenever I have practiced it on my own I found myself very in line with its ideas. Now I wonder if I have always had a warped vision of what Zen practice entails, or if this i sjust the nature of the beast. Whatever.

Haha, now that I think about it, I have a few humorous, totally unrelated stories. I was on line for the ATM the other day and there was this little old lady in front of me. Over her shoulder, I saw that her balance was something like $48.00. "This is awful," I thought. "Here I am, a college student with no real responsibility, who can just cruise on by, while this poor old lady has to struggle and worry over money." Then I checked my balance and it was $28.00. I felt better.
The other incident occured when I was watching Monty Python. a commercial came on that was like, "Bla Bla Bla for centuries art has glorified the beauty of the female form," and had all these pictures of classic renaissance art, and I was like "Hey I know these paintings, how nice." Then it said, "And hundreds of years later, we are doing the same thing." It was an advertisment for a strip club. I sat there, dumbfounded, and thought "Oh they did NOT just go there!" But they did. They just compared classic art to strip clubs. And I died a little inside.

On Monday was an audition for directing projects. I went in not really having my heart set on any sort of a part, and I felt that my audition did not go too great. And even though I didn't really know any of the plays or care much, I still felt irritated with myself. It is hard to deal with the more perfectionistic side of myself gracefully. However, of course, I got an e-mail saying I got called back for one of the parts, hurrah. It is amazing how even a simple thing can make me feel so much better (even though everyone can come and try again if they want to. Don't ruin my good mood with facts).

I was feeling pretty junky, as I am tossing about on the horns of a dilema, as usual. I can't decide whether to make the effort to go out, or stay inside. I actually made a flowchart A FLOWCHART for god's sake of my options. It was clearly labeled and highly logic, listing possible consequences and concers. Does everyone do this, or am I just that big a loser that I can't make decisions without charts? Oh well, at least I didn't color-code it...yet.

-Emerson

PS- I really do love flowcharts. So organized. So dependable.

IX: Wherein It is getting harder to make up these titles

Hello!

I played the violin today, for the first time in more weeks than I would like to count! Oh god, since the beginning of summer actually. Good lord, it is amazing how fast you forget things. Really basic things like counting, even. Everything looks very familiar somehow, and I know that I had the ability to read it blindfolded at one point, but now I found myself having to think a bit harder. At least, that is how it was at first. I had this vivid image of this old man led into a room of his childhood. Tottering, he makes his way to a music stand, where, before his almost disbelieving eyes lays his violin, resting on a pillow. A single tear rolls down his cheek as his tenderly lifts it to his chin and begins to play Meditation from Thais, his favorite song. All dignified the onlookers weep silently as his fingers dance over the strings, marking a course they know so well, a course they...
*ahem*. Got a little carried away there. No, I was not that old man, and the only reason the nonexistent onlookers would have cried is because it sounded so jarring. Seriously, even scales were a trick at first. It is bizarre and humbling to have to start from square one again. But enough on the violin (I will be working more on it).

Today was a okay day I guess. As it is Wednesday, I got to sleep in till 12:30, though I had to go to rehearsal at 2:30. Had pancakes with chocolate chips, yay! This seems like the making for a really great day, but as I made my way home from acting class I very quite morose. Class itself was pretty intense. Ellen is very, very passionate about what she does, and as such she can be a little much sometimes. I guess it is a good thing, and it didn't really bother me in class, but it is the only thing I can think of that put me in a glum mood. I had this whole elaborate thing to say about this homeless man on the subway, but it has all gone completely out of my head, and honestly I don't know if i feel comfortable relating all my inmost thoughts to the internet. Suffice to say that put me in an even blacker mood, and as I walked home everything seemed to remind me of something wrong and how bleak things can be. I wish I could explain it better, but I probably don't have the time to be mucking about on the internet. On the plus side, this did kinda put me into my Cleaning Madness/Do Something mode, which was nice. Hopefully I don't get lazy with all my vows to do something creative or new.
-Emerson

VIII: The Secret Life of Peter Morchov

Peter sat on the plastic subway bench, wedged in between two middle aged Asian women, chatting away as the train wound its way through the dark tunnel of Manhattan to Queens. Irritated, he glanced at the two women, seemingly oblivious to their fellow passengers. On any normal day, Peter would not be perturbed by the rudeness of others, but this was far from a normal day. He glanced down at his hands, twitching and constantly moving. Mentally he chided himself. Guilty hands were a rookie's mistake, a clear give away. Certainly, he had killed before, though never, not even the very first time, did it disturb him as it did today. Peter was in fact a man very well acquainted with death, both in the dealing of and the close proximity to.

The others that were sharing the bench with him could not have possibly guessed that this pudgy, tennis shoe-wearing facade masked lightning reflexes, iron strength, and the cold mind of a professional assassin. Still his fingers twitched. "Get a hold of yourself," he murmured aloud, hastily checking himself as a man sitting across from him noticed his fidgety movements and apparently one-sided conversation. In an effort to relax his mind, he let himself wander back to happier times: his harsh, foreboding training camp miles and miles out in the Russian countryside. Around a third of those who entered did not exit. And it was his home, his most beloved place. He recalled the initial nerves, the false acceptance, the blinding pain, the overwhelming fear, and then true acceptance. And peace. Yes, he remembered the peace. The peace that comes only when facing death, inevitable and unconquerable, and feeling only indifference. Peter carried that indifference with him on every single job, every mission since he left that camp twenty five long years ago. He carried it to such an extent that it became his life. His own outlook, his goals, his identity, all faded in time, falling by the wayside as all unneeded things are. It was for this reason he took on his most recent assignment, when he should have balked and walked away. It was for this reason the woman he loved was dead.




Phew, ha ha ha! That was kinda fun! This was the original intent of this blog, to chronicle the unknown and fantastical stories of the inhabitants of this frantic city (with a bit of artistic license). I hadn't done one up until now because I was a) too lazy and b) caught up in detailing my new experiences. As things begin to fall into more of a routine, I decided to get crackin'. I probably will look back on this as a little goofy, but whatever. More will come, I imagine. I not that all the stories I do make up for people are all very, um..."fanciful." I do not ever seem to invent realistic, boring, depressing lives that people actually probably do live. Assassins and secret wizards trump that. That doesn't sound too healthy now that I think of it, but it is only because I want people to live interesting lives! Crazy as they are.
-Emerson

VII: Wherein I talk of chocolate milk and acting class.

Hello!

One of my favorite things in life is drinking chocolate milk with a spoon. It takes a bit longer, but I am 100% sure that it makes it taste at least 40% better. Be careful of spilling, especially over expensive laptops, and it will make you feel like a better person. Try it. Try it.

But onwards. This was my second day of Script Analysis and Art History, and yesterday I had my first acting class! I was so nervous that it would be full of stupid theater people who bug me, BUT so far as I can tell there is not one in the bunch! What good luck (especially with no Naked Man. Oh god I was so frightened). To give an illustration, the first exercise we did was to get to know each other. We were not allowed to speak anything except our names, and we had to know each other by the feel of our hands. In other words, we spent about 20 minutes in silence, just feeling each others hands very carefully. It sounds like it would be tremendously awkward, but everyone took it completely in stride. Then we had to go to the front of the class and put our hands behind our backs. People would come up and take our hands, and we would have to know who it was. It was magical and oddly intimate. The teacher seems like a cool lady, but very serious about theater, which kind of frightens me. But thus far, I am managing to keep up with my work and schedule. This isn't too impressive considering it has only been a week, but I think it is pretty good for me, and I am good about writing down my commitments. Quite soon, for acting class we will have to schedule independent rehearsals with our scene groups, which kinda worries me. But I am sure I'll get used to it.

For art history we visited the Met today. God, I am just not used to being early! I had time to kill and more, whilst I worried whether I was in the right place. I met someone cool who was also early, a junior, though this is his first semester as well. He transferred from a school in Texas, though his permanent home is in Rome, which is crazy. We looked at renaissance art, and observed the methods and styles. Looks to be a fun course!

I am really sleepy. So sleepy, in fact, that I actually am going to skip watching more Samurai Champloo (I've already watched waaaaaay to much in a 24 hour window anyway).
Night!

-Emerson