Lazer Printers Will Kill Your Ass
Okay... I spoke way too fucking soon about the air conditioning/"the LB is much more comfortable than I remember it" thing. They arbitrarily shut off the air conditioning and turned on the heat around Thursday or Friday (I forget what day, exactly). Since I'm on the 9th Floor, and since it has been fairly humid in Boston lately, it's positively sweltering. Luckily I had the foresight to bring a massive fan this time, but still... fuck you, OHRL (Office of Housing and Residence Life). Fuck you hard.
Excuse me, there. I've been sick all weekend, so I've been in kind of a lousy mood. Also, Best Buy told me they'd call either Friday or Saturday to set up my second interview, and they totally didn't. The bitches. I'll see if I can make time to call them tomorrow.
I'm currently preparing for my poetry class tomorrow. I have to admit, this poetry thing is kind of growing on me. There's something satisfying to finishing a draft of a poem. You somehow feel like you made more progress than you ever did or would or could with a story. I suppose it's just an issue of length, but even if I wrote a poem that bombs, it feels like I'm closer to "completion', which, honestly, is something I feel like I've never qutie achieved. Of course, now the snooty "prose is better than poetry" part of my ego is speaking up, saying, "Well, that's just because contemporary poetry is such a meaningless clusterfuck. It's not that your poetry is good or passable; it's just that everybody forgot what good or passable is a long, long time ago." And then the budding poet in me goes, "Fuck you, dude, just because some people have stretched the medium too far, or written truly awful poems, doesn't invalidate all poetry. That's the same argument people make to decry video games, and you know we both agree what utter bullshit that is. Also, I challenge you to come up with a set of criteria for a 'good or passable' short story. Also, you're a stupid dickhead." And then the prose writer in me goes, "Yeah, but your momma likes it." And then the fat guy in me goes, "Man, I could sure go for a breakfast burrito right about now. With salsa." And then I fall twitching to the floor because the voices are just a side-effect of an aneurysm I'm having and then I die. So I better stop thinking about it so much and just enjoy it and concentrate on improving my craft, I guess.
Fun Fact: Spencer used to mix up the words "aneurysm" and "edema" quite frequently. This would often create unintentionally hiliarious sentences.
Anyway, I'm starting to get a little bit more confident with my poetry, and I'm starting to get excited with this class. Which is funny, because this is the classic Cycle of Spencer in a Creative Writing Class.
Step 1: Spencer enters the class, nervous about the fact that he hasn't written anything decent in a long time, worried he's rusty, worried he's a Bad Writer (tm).
Step 2: Spencer submits his first piece for the class, and because he hasn't written anything decent in a while, he blows his Creative Load (tm) and produces an unusually good first draft. It's well-received, and Spencer starts to get all cocky and shit.
Step 3: A Pretty Girl (tm) makes an innocuous compliment or two about his pieces. Spencer starts crushing on the girl hard. He makes a Solemn Vow (tm) to impress her with his newfound, amazing, God-like writing ability (see Step 2).
Step 4: Spencer tries to prepare another good draft for the workshop, but since he blew his Creative Load (tm) too early (see Step 2 again), it doesn't come as easily this time. Producing another draft requires actual work, which Spencer is allergic too, so his next few pieces are quite mediocre, making it impossible to woo the Pretty Girl (tm) and fulfill the Solemn Vow (tm).
Step 5: Spencer soldiers on, making awkward small talk with the Pretty Girl (tm) whenever the opportunity presents itself. Eventually, the Pretty Girl (tm) lets it slip that she has a boyfriend, or worse yet a husband, or WORSE YET a WIFE, because this is fucking Massuchusetts, and all hope of fulfilling the Solemn Vow (tm) is dashed.
Step 6: Spencer stops trying so hard, and the creative writing class becomes just another class. He passes with an A-.
Seriously, this is the fourth creative writing class I've taken at Emerson, and it always happens, without fail. I'm... uh, currently at Step 3.
But it'll be different this time! She doesn't just compliment my writing; she compliments my reading voice, laughs super-hard at my jokes, compliments my writing even when we're not currently talking about my writing... it's gonna happen this time, damn it.
The Cycle of Spencer in a Creative Writing Class, you see, is like a water-wheel powered by self-delusion. And I have a surfeit of that.
(My life is a goddamn mess.)