September 20, 2011...
Another week, another couple of pounds of brain fat at lost to thought. Whatever…that could mean. Things have gone well, but not swimmingly well yet. I have been working on my art history paper, due next Wednesday, my Spanish paper, due the following Wednesday, my Philosophy realization (which I’ll explain soon-Ed. note, I forgot to do that), and my presentation for SAGES, as well as my normal rations of homework. And that’s only till the end of the month! I knew the work was going to pile up, but I didn’t expect it this soon. If I just take it slow and steady, I might just be able to survive September with enough ligaments in my fingers for typing a seven-page paper. It has been an unexpectedly defining week, however. I’ve become closer with my roommate, my friend who lives across the hall, and with my own family. Something I’m especially beginning to miss is the appetizer sandwiches my mom occasionally made right before dinner. Standard ingredients: white (or wheat) bread slathered with mayo and mustard, ham, lettuce, tomatoes, mozzarella cheese, and slightly toasted for a satisfying crunching sound. Simple, yet perfect. I am reminded of how often my family embarrassed me, and how I’d wish their personalities were tweaked a little bit, but I’m realizing that their personalities define them for they are and I’ll won't dare to change that. I had dinner with my roommate’s family on Saturday, that was lovely(aside from the fact that I hadn’t left my dorm all day) since I had a delicious dinner, a very invigorating conversation, and got to see the most astounding record collection. I also saw my first record player, and got to listen to my first record: Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd. The first chords silently slipped through the speakers, a warm orange glow surrounded the walls, and my roommate’s father’s tales of musical ecstasy enchanted me. It was the perfect evening until my roommate took me to the Ingeniutyfest. It wasn’t a terrible event, but it was terribly overwhelming, with the numerous colorful works that attacked your senses, the amount of people who were there, the amount of people as high as paint chipping, and the amount of products being sold. I did like a huge wall that you could draw on, a dazzling performance by a woman with flexibility and large amounts of drapery, and an artist’s photoshops of numerous landmarks. It’s a night I won’t soon forget (for the wrong reasons). This weekend also featured my first chance to work directly with one of the guys of IgniteTV. We talked about his career and how it boils down to many avant-garde projects made only for his amusement, and our first conversation about potentially working on one of my projects. He told me that I’d have to wait till Wednesday to pitch my idea and see if it gets approved, which is discouraging, encouraging, and nerve wrecking. If all goes well, I’ll be able to direct my first short film which is a lifelong dream of mine. As always, we’ll just have to see what happens.
NW? - Progress NW?- I Shouldnt've...
Showing posts with label floyd. Show all posts
Showing posts with label floyd. Show all posts
Friday, February 24, 2012
Thursday, October 20, 2011
The Twentisecond One
Citrus Providers
When life gives you lemons, do the obvious. When life gives you grapefruit, throw it back since you don’t like it. Sometimes, the grapefruit has rotted beyond repair, and catching it means getting the rotten, sticky pulp all over your hands. You go to the bathroom to get the pulp off but the unbearable stench remains, so you douse yourself with many different perfumes and finally, the awful stench disappears. You’ve had the stench for almost 2 weeks, and very little people have decided to stick around and suffer through the stench with you. But those are the good guys, the defiant ones; they’re the ones who’ll stick around longer than the terrible smell. You can never predict the whereabouts of the grapefruit; some of them appear out of nowhere and hit your chest incredibly hard, others are coughed up and spit out (luckily, they’re not rotten), and others have just fallen from the sky, splattered all over the floor. You recognize that these aren’t your grapefruit and take a moment to wonder if you should care about the floor grapefruit. Your first instinct is to clean it up, and throw it in the dumpster or in some kind of compost heap. Once you’ve done that, you can’t help but wonder about the other grapefruit that makes up the compost heap. You realize that people might’ve been hit by the exact same grapefruit, but it’s such an embarrassing thing to happen to a person, getting hit by grapefruit, that it doesn’t surprise you that no one else ever talks about it. In fact, upon realizing the amount of grapefruit in the compost heap, you get sick of saying the word grapefruit and resort to calling it “Citrus provider”, but oranges and tangerines are also “citrus providers” so now you’ve blurred your understanding of the term. You start having dreams of “citrus providers” raining from the sky. Upon seeing the rest of the world take advantage of the “citrus providers”, from practical juice-making means to ridiculous robot making means, you start attacking everybody and stealing their “citrus providers”. In the dream, you create an enormous basket and with your imaginary strength, you succeed in taking away everybody’s “citrus providers” and decide to jump into the basket and dwell within the pulps and juices of the “citrus providers”. You have the time of your life within the basket until others realize the existence of the basket breaks various zoning laws and have the basket destroyed by missile fire (since it’s a dream, you know). No one considers the explosion causes all of the “citrus providers” to pour out of the basket at once and engulf everyone in sight. You’re the lucky one, however, and are the only one alive after the missile fiasco, but you look around and clearly see how everyone perished, by the means of your precious “citrus providers”. The thought makes you insane and you wake up, before any further damage is caused. At this point, waking up in a moistened bed, you think about all of the grapefruits of the world and wonder why the grapefruits come and go that easily. It’s been two weeks since your last grapefruit hit you, but you start yearning for the grapefruit, praying and making ridiculous ceremonies to bring it back. One summer afternoon, the clouds are the same purple-orange that led to the “citrus provider” storm, and you smile and wait patiently, only to be disappointed by the rain, saddened by the reaction from others, and furious from being tricked by Mother Nature again. You go into a crazed madness that leads you to a farmer’s market, still open at Midnight, apparently, and smash up every “citrus provider” you can see. Lo and behold, the cops have arrived, forgotten their training, and hurl a grapefruit right at your face. The grapefruit smashes and opens up immediately, covering your whole face like a ski mask. You’re sitting in the back of the cop cruiser, having refused to remove the grapefruit from your face. The cops think you’re the most ridiculous lunatic they’ve ever had to arrest, but you’re not listening. You have your grapefruit back and that’s all that matters. After a while, the grapefruit slowly slides off of your face, and lands onto your handcuffed arms. It’s not the same grapefruit you remember, just a convincing impostor. Your eyes, filled with grapefruit pulp and tears, burn savagely, and your body crumbles. Your time in jail is thankfully a quick one, as it’s your first offense. As you sit in jail with the grapefruit mask next to you, you consider the grapefruits in the compost heap again. You look at the grapefruit mask again.
When life gives you lemons, do the obvious. When life gives you grapefruit, throw it back since you don’t like it. Sometimes, the grapefruit has rotted beyond repair, and catching it means getting the rotten, sticky pulp all over your hands. You go to the bathroom to get the pulp off but the unbearable stench remains, so you douse yourself with many different perfumes and finally, the awful stench disappears. You’ve had the stench for almost 2 weeks, and very little people have decided to stick around and suffer through the stench with you. But those are the good guys, the defiant ones; they’re the ones who’ll stick around longer than the terrible smell. You can never predict the whereabouts of the grapefruit; some of them appear out of nowhere and hit your chest incredibly hard, others are coughed up and spit out (luckily, they’re not rotten), and others have just fallen from the sky, splattered all over the floor. You recognize that these aren’t your grapefruit and take a moment to wonder if you should care about the floor grapefruit. Your first instinct is to clean it up, and throw it in the dumpster or in some kind of compost heap. Once you’ve done that, you can’t help but wonder about the other grapefruit that makes up the compost heap. You realize that people might’ve been hit by the exact same grapefruit, but it’s such an embarrassing thing to happen to a person, getting hit by grapefruit, that it doesn’t surprise you that no one else ever talks about it. In fact, upon realizing the amount of grapefruit in the compost heap, you get sick of saying the word grapefruit and resort to calling it “Citrus provider”, but oranges and tangerines are also “citrus providers” so now you’ve blurred your understanding of the term. You start having dreams of “citrus providers” raining from the sky. Upon seeing the rest of the world take advantage of the “citrus providers”, from practical juice-making means to ridiculous robot making means, you start attacking everybody and stealing their “citrus providers”. In the dream, you create an enormous basket and with your imaginary strength, you succeed in taking away everybody’s “citrus providers” and decide to jump into the basket and dwell within the pulps and juices of the “citrus providers”. You have the time of your life within the basket until others realize the existence of the basket breaks various zoning laws and have the basket destroyed by missile fire (since it’s a dream, you know). No one considers the explosion causes all of the “citrus providers” to pour out of the basket at once and engulf everyone in sight. You’re the lucky one, however, and are the only one alive after the missile fiasco, but you look around and clearly see how everyone perished, by the means of your precious “citrus providers”. The thought makes you insane and you wake up, before any further damage is caused. At this point, waking up in a moistened bed, you think about all of the grapefruits of the world and wonder why the grapefruits come and go that easily. It’s been two weeks since your last grapefruit hit you, but you start yearning for the grapefruit, praying and making ridiculous ceremonies to bring it back. One summer afternoon, the clouds are the same purple-orange that led to the “citrus provider” storm, and you smile and wait patiently, only to be disappointed by the rain, saddened by the reaction from others, and furious from being tricked by Mother Nature again. You go into a crazed madness that leads you to a farmer’s market, still open at Midnight, apparently, and smash up every “citrus provider” you can see. Lo and behold, the cops have arrived, forgotten their training, and hurl a grapefruit right at your face. The grapefruit smashes and opens up immediately, covering your whole face like a ski mask. You’re sitting in the back of the cop cruiser, having refused to remove the grapefruit from your face. The cops think you’re the most ridiculous lunatic they’ve ever had to arrest, but you’re not listening. You have your grapefruit back and that’s all that matters. After a while, the grapefruit slowly slides off of your face, and lands onto your handcuffed arms. It’s not the same grapefruit you remember, just a convincing impostor. Your eyes, filled with grapefruit pulp and tears, burn savagely, and your body crumbles. Your time in jail is thankfully a quick one, as it’s your first offense. As you sit in jail with the grapefruit mask next to you, you consider the grapefruits in the compost heap again. You look at the grapefruit mask again.
Some grapefruits are the lucky ones.
-To my sister.
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