Visual of Nemesis

My nemesis was fictional: I wrote my narrative from the point of view of someone who cannot encode his short-term memories into long-term memories (a disorder that some people actually suffer with). However, I chose to do this subject because I do often times have trouble remembering things. Usually, it's the little things, like taking out the trash or printing an article. Although they are problematic, nothing cataclysmic results from the error. Occasionally though, I forget something huge, let's say to write a paper for school, which is obviously a colossal error. Imagining the life of someone who couldn't remember anything past a few moments reflected my situation, but also made me feel grateful for the memory that I do possess.

Here is a visual representation of what it can feel like when I forget things. It conveys the absolute power of the forgetfulness, while demonstrating how easy yet frustrating the situation can be.

Ira Glass

The more interesting part of Ira's discussion was the fact that one must "kill" the inferior parts of one's work. Now, Mr. Glass was referring to this idea from the perspective of radio broadcasting, but it is a notion that everyone can relate to, but one that only the most adept succeed in implementing.

At the beginning of any creative process, one will inevitably end up with "crap", as Ira so honestly put it. From my own experience, I can say that whether I am writing a poem, drafting a Magic deck, or composing a piece of music, only a miracle will result in a consummate first copy. The hardest part of revising this crap is weeding out certain lines, cards, notes, or phrases to add to the overall meaning or efficiency of the piece. This task becomes particularly daunting when I must remove a fragment of the work that I have taken a particularly intimate liking to, let's say it's a line in a poem. I may know very well that it needs to be removed for the overall success of the piece, though when I remove that single line, it feels as if part of me has contracted a terrible disease and died a gruesome death. So, Ira is right--in order to be successful, one must be willing to murder the crap he or she creates for the good of his or her work. Unfortunately, just identifying this fact isn't enough, and the real struggle is actually getting rid of some part of your work that you have grown attached to.

Open Mic Night

I thought the open night mic went fairly well. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, and although not too many more people outside of our class attended, students in the UC were turning and listening to us, which I found to be cool. Sure, there were a few distractions, and the microphone can be a bit difficult to speak into if one is not comfortable with it, but overall, it was a great experience.
My performance went better than I imagined also--it wasn't perfect, but I thought I did well both with my speaking and playing, so I hope that people enjoyed it. Everyone's works were quite outstanding actually--I was surprised at the unbelievable talent of those in our class.
When we talked about the event on Monday night, people believed that it would be better to have it in a more theatre-like auditorium or classroom--an opinion that I disagreed (and still disagree) with. Even though only one person outside of Engl 223 presented, many people walked by and were introduced to the event. If it was at a more isolated location, people would have to know about it ahead of time, and locate the specified meeting area on campus. I will be honest--I wouldn't go through all that trouble, unless it was at a convenient time for me. However, if I just saw some people presenting in the UC while eating my lunch, I would be much more inclined to participate and listen.
That being said, I do believe that the time needs to be a bit earlier. For people who live farther away and who don't stay on campus very late, the event was quite inconvenient. If we just moved it up a couple hours (to maybe 4 or 5 o'clock), people would be much more inclined to stay and share the experience with us.
Overall, I would like to do the open mic night again, and although we could have had a better turn-out, I do not think that a different location would resolve that issue.

Klosterman Review

For the most part, I found this book, "Killing Yourself to Live" by Chuck Klosterman, to be thoroughly enjoyable. The best aspect of the book is its perpetual humor--I never had to read long before having a hearty laugh over Chuck's drug addictions and women problems. Though most of the book is merely Chuck rambling about his journey across the country, he offers some clever and, in my opinion, prophetic insight into humanity's psychology.

My only (yes, ONLY) complaint about the travelogue is Chuck's references to rock songs, 97% of which I have never heard of. This seemed to alienate me at certain points in the text, though Chuck quickly drew me back in with his witty humor.

I have already recommended this book to several of my friends, providing quotes from it that put us both in stitches. And don't worry--one doesn't need to be a drunk marijuana fiend to enjoy the hours of humor encapsulated in this pseudo-stream-of-consciousness book.

Overall: A-

Killing Yourself to Live III

Well, first of all, I was relieved to find the quite extensive Fleetwood Mac reference at the beginning of this section. I personally love this book and think it is hilarious, but my lack of knowledge regarding Chuck's kinds of music has been a slight turn-off from the start. My mom is the one who sparked my interest in this band, and I even went to one of their live concerts last year (yes, they are, in fact, still alive).

The whole twelfth day involving Chuck's Nemesis was pretty amusing--just because most people, I'm assuming, have that one person whom they are friends with, yet consider a type of rival or even enemy. Throughout this chapter, Chuck also eludes to the "something" that is going to happen tonight. At the end, the reader can have a good, disappointed laugh when it is discovered that nothing happens. I actually have that thought a lot too--that either something really good or extremely terrible is going to happen based on the circumstances, but.....it never does.

Life

Life has been treating me well lately. I've been working pretty intensely on setting up a club, called the Japanese Manga and Cosplay Club. This organization is meant to be a place where UMD students can go and have meaningful discussions on different aspects of Japanese manga while befriending others with similar interests. Once we get going, we will also try to participate in local events revolving around manga and cosplay. Presently, I am only a few signatures away from submitting my petition to the SAO, so I am excited.
Other than that, nothing too interesting has happened--I had a pretty mellow break, but appreciated being able to see my friends (over the last few weeks, since the schools decided to plot against the students and make our breaks at different times). I have also been beefing up my Magic the Gathering decks, hoping to find some people to play with around campus and at home.
A couple weekends ago, my orchestra played Stravinsky's Rite of Spring, which even got aired on the radio. We actually did incredibly well--especially considering that the piece has been deemed the hardest composition of the 20th century. Thanks goes to my conductor and all my fellow musicians for making such an extraordinary event possible.

After scanning the recent posts on Postsecret, this one stood out at me the most because of its emotional profundity. A lot of people may think that they are the only ones who harbor a certain secret, and see themselves as inferior to others because of their deed. It doesn't matter what the act is itself--that is made clear by this postcard. What does matter is to know that others, even random people on a bus, may carry around your same guilt, your same negative emotions so no one should ever feel like they are a 'bad' person or that they are all alone in the world. Like a piece of poetry, these posts are able to concisely and often figuratively have a strong emotional impact on the reader. Most of them have very appropriate artwork, which adds to the overall meaning of the secret. And like a poem, these can be either humorous, or very serious and emotional like this one. The ambiguity in this example shows that, like many poems, these cards can have different meanings for a wide variety of people. I think that a website like this is a very good way to divulge and expel one's inner guilt, while providing others with hope for the future.

Viola (free verse poem)

I don't like free verse, so I don't write it often. I was wondering what improvements could be made to this poem. Also, there is supposed to be more form to the lines, but this site won't let me post it like that, so bear with me.

One stroke of the bow fills the room with a
Luscious sound
And a cloud of rosin dust is added
For dramatic effect.
The string keeps on living as the note echoes,
Groping every corner of the hall;
Feeding the hungry ears that yearn for that
Melodious flavor
Meticulously crafted of wood
And a life’s worth of joy
Melancholy
And dreams

Haiku

This past week has been fairly laid back. I've watched a grotesque amount of anime and played numerous hours of video games--hobbies I haven't had time for in a while, though I'm glad to enjoy these activities once again. As for the Superbowl, I really dislike watching sports on TV, but I felt it was the perfect opportunity to get together with friends I don't see often and meet some new people.

Haiku:

~The harsh midday sun
Shines down upon frozen leaves
That glisten proudly~

Poetry

Fairy Land by Edgar Allan Poe

Though I am rather familiar with Poe's works, this poem struck me as being different. Most of his other pieces, whether they be poems like The Raven or short stories, are story-based. This poem, however, was more just a description of a mystical realm. And though one might expect a poem titled "Fairy Land" to be happy, frolicky, and fanciful, Poe adds his own mysterious and dark twist to the subject. The rhyme scheme was also interesting because it is constantly changing from sight-rhymes to abab form to rhyming couplets. Perhaps these alterations in the rhyme mirror changes in the speaker's state of mind as he witnesses this "Fairy Land".


At the Sea-Side by Robert Louis Stevenson

Though this is a rather short poem, it raises many questions. The speaker states, "A wooden spade they gave to me / To dig the sandy shore." So, the reader may ask, "Who are 'they', and why would they want this person to dig holes by the sea?" However, the only other information that is provided after that is: "My holes were empty like a cup. / In every hole the sea came up/ Till it could come no more." Overall, this poem leaves itself open for many different interpretations.


"Doing, a filthy pleasure is, and short" by Gaius Patronius

While most relationship poems that I encounter never involve sex, this one revolves around the subject. By revealing the crude, beast-like quickness of the act, the speaker shows how one should develop love for a person before engaging in sexual intercourse. In the beginning of the poem, the reader may question the speaker's blunt discussion of "Doing", but the true purpose shines forth in the end as he describes that love and emotion should come before instinct and instant gratification that can ruin one's relationship.


The Peace of Wild Things by Wendell Berry

This is a simple poem, that points out an important truth. The speaker is a person, inundated with the stress of everyday life. However, when she travels and spend time in the wild, she can finally be in peace. The wilderness is so much simpler than humans are, yet it is more peaceful and content. I'd like to think that the wild is God's realm, which is pure and mysterious, while human life is corrupt and hence stressful and often times too much for one to handle.

Inspiring Visual

Because I just recently completed the anime series "Wolf's Rain", this image immediately came to mind. Lord Darcia, to the right, did everything in his power to save his beloved Hamona--even turning half of his body into that of a wolf. In the series, this makes him the villain, though such a bold deed makes him a much more complicated character in my mind. To love someone so much that you would even sacrifice your own body and future to do so could be considered extreme, but is also shows a side of love that many humans are no capable of feeling or understanding. Whether it is love for a particular person, place, or ideal, everyone should have something that they are willing to risk everything for. This is the feeling that trumps every evolutionary theory of human development and reproduction, yet this is exactly the kind of emotion that makes people unique and inspiring.

Difference of Opinion

Presently, my life is pretty mundane. I go to school, do homework--that's about it. Last night, however, was more exciting.

After sitting in History and listening to my teacher describe all the sexual implications in the Bible, I felt ready and properly armed for some serious religious debate. My one friend seemed like the perfect candidate, for he is a very religious person. Don't get me wrong, I'm also a Christian, but unlike him I do not believe that the Bible is a consummate text that contains no flaws or contradictions. My view is that it was written by humans, and is thus flawed as we are.
I first asked him about the differences in the creation story between the first and second chapters of Genesis. In chapter one, the author claims that men and women were created at the same time. In the following chapter, however, it is said that Eve was created after Adam to be his "helper". This suggests the superiority of men over women, and is thus a very important contradiction of the text that cannot be easily overlooked.
His view is that the second chapter is not in chronological order and is meant to elaborate on what was said previously. However, it clearly states that man was created before the animals, which were in turn created before Eve, in Genesis two. There is ambiguity in the text, as my friend pointed out, but the fact remains that his interpretation would take more imagination and distortion of the actual words, while mine is far more obvious from the text itself. In fact, I don't have interpretation of the text except for the fact that it is flawed in this section.
Next we discussed the discrepancies between God commanding Noah to gather one pair of every animal before the great flood, and his later command to gather seven pairs of all the "clean" animals. Sure, this could also be an elaboration on His earlier statement (as my friend declared), but from going on what the text says alone there appears to be distinct differences that suggest the disagreement between the various authors of this book.
At this point, I was obviously irking my friend who lashed out at me, believing that I wouldn't consider his points in the debate. "Why must you question God's word? Why must you always be right?" he asked. I told him that I HAD considered his points, and that mine were simply...better. By better, I mean that I had more textual support that took less imagination to clearly explain.
Later on, I asked my friend about the numerous references (in Genesis one, Psalm 82, etc.) in the Bible to there being more than one god. It is my belief that there are other gods, and they simply do not concern us since our God is still the one who created us and watches over us. He, of course, argued against this saying that those other gods may refer to angels instead. If God is omnipotent and omniscient, he would surely not allows such gods to exist. Again, this suggestion is possible but not plausible according to the text that clearly states "gods". Even if it is poorly translated from the original Hebrew, there are blatant differences between the Hebrew words for "angels" and "gods".
Unfortunately, my friend will not waver in the belief that the Bible is a "perfect" book. With all the discrepancies I pointed out, it simply cannot be perfect. The stories are meant to teach lessons and outline a faith, but not to be taken literally, word-for-word. The fact that my friend and I had this discussion to begin with also conveys its imperfection. If it were completely perfect, it would not be ambiguous and there could be only one possible interpretation of each verse. That is my belief and I'm standing by it.

So, as one can see, not every night is boring. However, I still wish that I did not have to rely on Biblical debates for my entertainment. =]

This is a humorous clip of Homer Simpson being sacrilegious, as my friend may think of me:

I once was a Beast (a unique retelling of the Beauty and the Beast)

Once when I was a mere lad, an old, haggard woman came to my mansion door during the darkest hours of the night requesting a room in exchange for a rose. First of all, we princes require sleep, and lots of it, to maintain our royal appearances, so I was not pleased at the arrival of this late traveler. Second, a rose is hardly an appropriate thing to give in exchange for my overbearing hospitality. So, in the end, I turned that old hag away. That turned out to be the worst decision of my life.

Now, how was I to know said particular old woman was a witch? They should warn me about such things. Anyway, I end up with a curse for being quote-on-quote “a spoiled little turd”. Maybe that’s not what she actually said, but whatever—you would think the woman would have been nicer if she really expected a room. And this wasn’t just any old curse. This particular curse transformed me into a hideous beast; a repulsive creature that I myself could hardly glance at in a looking glass. That wench even turned my servants into myriad household items—everything from teacups to armoires. In exchange for her little tantrum, the witch gave me the rose she had been carrying along with a magic mirror that would allow me to witness far-away events before telling me that if I could not love and be loved in my beastly form by time the last petal wilted and fell from the rose, I would be stuck as a beast forever.

How nice of her.

I spent the next several years in utter isolation, entertained only by my talking furniture (who became remarkably good at singing and dancing). Although I had no desire to become a beast for good, I simply was not into that whole “love” thing. My teenage emotions were in a very fragile state, seeing as I was going through puberty and all…anyway, years passed before I even came into contact with a woman.

It was a rather unordinary day (all my days were) when some old geezer came knocking at my door during a dreadful thunderstorm. Was this trap; a wizard perhaps attempting to cast another terrible spell upon my once-noble demeanor? I wasn’t going to take any chances with this man, so I gave him a room to stay the night—a nice damp one in the dungeon! Maybe he would serve as a scrumptious appetizer for my feral palate the following evening.

Unfortunately, I would never know how delicious this man really was. His daughter, a young, quite attractive yet slightly—strange—woman, came boldly treading into my palace the following morning in search for her missing father. My servants gave her a warm welcome—it was sickening to see how blatantly they disobeyed my wishes. So in return, I mustered up some ardent fury in my beastly gullet, and let out a roar to terrify the gods. However, this lass felt no apprehension in my overwhelming presence, and pleaded with me for her father’s freedom. When I refused most adamantly, she made an offer I simply could not pass by—her father’s emancipation in exchange for her lovely carcass…I mean…body. She would undoubtedly taste much sweeter than the old man, I thought with a grin as I sealed the bargain and locked the maiden in my elaborate guest room.

That evening, I ordered my servants to conjure up a royal feast for me and my new pet (after all, I’d need to fatten her up a little before digging my teeth into her soft flesh). But, the girl refused to meet me for dinner! What gall! What impotence! Infuriated, I chased her out of my mansion, smashing walls with my fearsome fists and howling after her into the dreary forest that surrounded my castle.

After my unrestricted flow of adrenaline was finally depleted, I felt exhausted. I dragged myself up to my room at the very top of the mansion and plopped my hairy form into bed. There, I looked into my magic mirror (as I often did when feeling bored or tired) and saw that poor girl being pursued by some mangy wolves. Don’t get me wrong—I had neither the strength nor the desire to save her. Yet, something deep inside my bosom told me that I must do the right thing. What a nuisance one’s conscious can be at times!

So I darted into the shaded woods as fast as my beleaguered body would go. I caught up to the girl just in time—the wolves pounced and I clawed them to the ground, breaking jaws and biting huge chunks of their flesh as the lady watched in sheer horror. I’m not sure what she was more scared of—me or the wolves! It took only seconds for the animals to give up on their prey; I was obviously far more powerful than any of them. That fight sure did me in though, because before I could drag the poor dame back to my abode, I blacked out.

When I awoke, I was in my own library. I looked down at my body (as I often did when I awoke, making sure I hadn’t turned back to human form just as suddenly as I turned into a beast) and saw that my scratches from the previous night’s struggle had been treated and bandaged. To my great surprise, the girl was there with me, reading a stack of books off one of my numerous shelves. She was pleased to see me awake and offered me lunch. We shared the meal together, and when I asked her why she had been taking good care of me, she responded, “You saved my life—I couldn’t let you suffer out in the woods alone.” Maybe, I thought, this girl isn’t so bad after all.

After lunch, she went back to reading one of my books. “Oh, I sure do love this one,” she said as her eyes frantically darted from line to line, absorbing the literature as a plant absorbs sunlight. Most girls are not interested in books and such, but this one—well, let’s just say that she was different. After a while, I grew bored of sitting around and asked her to join me in a stroll around my grounds.

It was a snowy yet beautiful day outside. The birds were singing and great glistening icicles formed on the various overhanging arcs and edges of my looming castle. As we journeyed around the vast property, Belle (I had discovered that that was the woman’s name) surreptitiously constructed a snowball and threw it at the back of my neck. My first sudden twinge of anger turned to amusement as I got my revenge by throwing a huge cloud of powdered snow upon her dainty jacket. We played like children for what must have been hours. I don’t think I had ever had so much fun in my entire life—let alone with a woman. She was so beautiful as she pranced through the snow, a soothing smile on her face and shimmering snow in her hair. I had never gazed upon such a fair maiden and I thought of how lucky I was to finally have someone who understood who I was under my grotesque and fearsome appearance.

That night we finally had our feast together, followed by a spectacular ballroom dance. I wore my best princely garb and I lent Belle a dress that looked absolutely stunning upon her commensurate frame. We danced the entire night away, as if nothing else mattered except our feelings for one another. At least, I hoped she felt similarly toward me as I felt toward her. Perhaps then I could finally break that cursed spell. But at that moment, none of that mattered as we danced with our bodies pressed close as one.

After we tired from dancing, I allowed Belle into my chambers to show her my magic mirror. However, when she gazed into it she saw her father dying out in the forsaken forest. How such a wonderful evening can be ruined so easily! She knew it not, but there was but three hours remaining before the last petal fell from my rose and I was trapped as a beast forever. However, I loved Belle so much that I could not see her in distress over her father, so I released her, tears forming in the crevices of my beast-like eyes.

I waited around for what felt like an eternity for Belle to return, but she did not. When I went to look for her in my mirror, I realized that she mistakenly took it along with her! Dismayed and inundated with hopelessness, I reluctantly awaited the time where all chances of my turning back into a human would be gone. As a brooded my fate, I thought I heard sounds coming from the forest. It must be Belle, back to save me, I thought. I went out to my yard to greet her, but instead of facing a beautiful girl, I was faced with an angry mob, armed with a variety of weapons meant to cut and gouge my beastly flesh.

The leader of this group was Gaston, an arrogant man who approached me without fear and prophesied my certain death. Fear welled inside my bosom and I retreated into my mansion, the mob close behind me. I was eventually chased onto the roof, from which there was no escape. Though a brigade of armed men had me corned, all I could think about was Belle—the beauty that I was to never set eyes on again. Just then I heard a delicate voice rise over the chants of the mob and say, “Beast, don’t worry! Have strength!” It was Belle. She had finally come back because she cared for my safety. At that moment, strength, the true strength that can only be evoked by the one you love, filled my fearsome body and I clawed my way through the mob, slaying men right and left. Skulls cracked and bones crunched under the weight of my vicious fury. Finally, I was faced with one last opponent—Gaston. “I won’t let you have Belle, you filthy beast,” he jeered as he spat on my uncovered feet. At this point, my rage was uncontrollable and I lashed out at this man with all the beastly power at my disposal. However, he was a skilled fighter and dodged the majority of my blows. I took several cuts from his blade and fell to the ground. There he loomed over me, dagger in hand and a malicious look on his face. I couldn’t believe that I, a once-proud prince, would die in such an agonizing manner. As he prepared to deliver the final blow, I thought of Belle—such a fine woman did not deserve this swine of a man. So with every last bit of strength, I kicked out his shins with my powerful leg and impaled his chest with my sharp claw. He staggered for a moment and plummeted from the rooftop to his death.

I had won Belle. However, I was severely wounded from the fight and the last rose petal was sure to fall at any second. What a fitting ending for a beast, I thought. Then in the light of a nearby window I saw her. She panicked when she saw my frightful condition and hugged me close to her, whispering, “Please don’t die, please don’t. You fought so valiantly, and all for my sake. You are a true man among beasts, and I love you.”

With those words the spell was broken and my servants and I returned to our former selves, and Belle moved back into the castle with me where we were to live happily ever after.

Beauty and the Beast

My favorite folk tale is Beauty and the Beast because both of the main characters, Belle and the Beast, are surprisingly deep and it proves to be a very dramatic love story that both children and adults are apt to enjoy.
The Disney version is the telling that I am most acquainted with, so this description will be based off of it. In this story, Belle, a misunderstood, yet beautiful and intelligent young woman, wanders into a forest in search of her missing father. When she finds him imprisoned by a terrifying beast, she offers herself in exchange for her father's emancipation. From the intro of the film, the audience knows that the Beast is really a prince who refused to let an old woman stay in his mansion, and was thus cursed. After transforming him into a beast and his servants into common household items, the old woman gave him a rose and a magic mirror and warned him that if he could not love and be loved by time the last petal falls, he would remain a beast forever.
In the Beast's castle, considerable tension arises between the Beast and Belle who refuses his invitation to dinner. Though the Beast instructs his servants not to feed her, they disobey him and become friends with the maiden. Eventually, Belle and the Beast become good friends and share some endearing moments together such as a snowball fight and an elegant ballroom dance. Because of his deep admiration for Belle, the Beast even allows her to use his magic mirror, in which she sees her father dying in the woods. Although there are only a few hours left before all the petals fall from the rose, the Beast allows Belle to save her father.
When they both safely arrive back at their house, Gaston, Belle's narcissistic suitor, arrives with a mob and threatens to lock her father in a madhouse for his belief in the Beast if she does agree to marry him. With the aid of the Beast's magic mirror, she proves his existence, but then the mob turns their hostilities toward the Beast and runs to his mansion in an attempt to slay him. After an epic duel, the Beast kills Gaston but is mortally wounded himself. Belle arrives in the nick of time and confesses her love to him, changing him and his servants back to human form.
In my opinion, the best part of this tale is the strong bond that the Beast and Belle form. At first they have nothing but utter disdain for one another, but eventually that disdain turns into pure, unequivocal love that allows the Beast to save Belle's father over himself. This bond is the major element that I wish to stress in my unique telling of the Beauty and the Beast.

About Me

I am currently attending U of M-Dearborn and studying Psychology and English. My dream is to become an industrial psychologist in a major Japanese city. Things I enjoy include playing viola (or any other stringed instrument) and martial arts. I am in the DSO Civic Orchestra, and I also play chamber music with some of my friends. My major job is a Tae Kwon Do instructor and I really enjoy teaching my students.
I'm writing this blog for my creative writing class, which seems really cool thus far considering I love this subject and Professor Potvin is very engaging.