Chapter 5: I think I'm gonna stick around for a while so you're not alone

I meant to write this entry last night, and had started it, but it seems to have evaporated. And that's fine, since I'm not terribly in love with the idea of writing one post over the course of two days, but still... I did have stuff written. And this business of writing a post about two days is getting old.

Wednesday was a pleasant day. Despite the length and the rushing around, I always make peace with it because of the content. While I was finding it somewhat difficult to get ahold of the philosophy lecture, and the Narrative period seemed like a write-off, things usually get moving after lunch. Admittedly, I've formed a bit of a bad habit. The last couple weeks, the movies have been somewhat dry black & white foreign films with subtitles. I'm already very tired and find that format to be somewhat soothing, so in both cases I fell into a half-sleep for maybe as much as 10 minutes toward the beginning. However, my brain realizes this and prevents me from falling totally asleep by snapping me awake, and I'm attentive for the rest of the film, albeit with the crusty taste of stale Coke in my mouth. I've mentioned this to Eric and he said that tiredness is certainly not the ideal approach to watching a film, and, well, duh.

The film in question was Ozu's Tokyo Story, which was as mellow a film as I've ever seen. It was just so calm I couldn't help but be soothed into slumber.

From there, it was down to Old Vic and Poetry for the end of the day. As he read some poems and gave examples of word choice, I got a very sudden rush of inspiration and started scrawling what could be my next piece down in my notebook. We did a little small-group workshopping. When asked about the somewhat unusual rhythm of my third piece, I noted that I'd totally grabbed it from Bob Dylan, to much enjoyment of those around. Struck by this, one girl asked me if I "Thought in music" or something along those lines, and I didn't know what to say... so I just assured her I'm not insane.

This was followed by some larger workshopping, where I decided to read out my first poem, which had already gotten some notoriety. I mentioned that I'd gotten some conflicting feedback and wanted to get a larger sense of it. I took it as a good sign when the prof noted, prior to my reading, "I liked this one." So I read it, and as expected/hoped for, it got a laugh at the end. Being that it's called "For a Stalker," someone asked if it was autobiographical, and I said, "No comment." Laughter, murmuring, that means yes... and I just think, it is and it isn't. It really isn't, but sometimes I can't separate real events from my imagined interpretations - how I think things might have happened. I believe that's schizophrenia. I also joked, "I also can't say which character I am." Uncomfortable laughter. I signal that I'm joking, but hey, you never know.

The general feedback is that the ending is really strong, but some of the rhymes and rhythms are kinda weak, particularly in the third stanza. I'd generally agree, and all the feedback was pretty fair and helpful.

I walked with a friend to the subway, and we joked around about what degree we were getting feedback.

But either way, I got home and chilled out all evening.

Today, all I had was Astronomy. It was pretty dreary and chilly out, that nasty November way. Waiting outside the auditorium I struck up a conversation with a girl about this. When randomly approaching someone, you never know how they're going to react. They could just dismiss you and go, "Yeah. Sure." Or they might really be looking for someone to chill with. Me, I always find it good to know people in class, so a lot of the time I'll channel the spirit of my father and start the random stranger conversation. I mean, how else does one meet people in a class of several hundred people?

I set out on my way afterward. At Union, I passed by a busker. Now, I pass these people several times a day, but rarely pay them much mind. I wasn't going to give this guy a second either, when I realized he was singing "Leaving on a Jet Plane" and for whatever reason it struck me and I felt really good. So I took wahtever random change I could spare - some pennies and dimes - and dropped it in his guitar case.

"Thank you," he said, "This song's a bit old for you isn't it?" I told him no, it'd been covered a few years back, but I also knew the John Denver version. He explained that it was originally by Peter, Paul and Mary (I knew thy did it, but didn't know they were first) and that it was good I knew the Denver version. He asked if I was a musician, and I said no, just a music fan. He nodded and philosophized, "It's the best drug. It really flows through your veins... like that stuff," he gestured to the cup of coffee I was holding. I told him to keep up the good playing and he said thnaks and I was on my way. I rushed off and managed to make the train with only a few minutes to spare.

There was grocery shopping and some TV tonight, very relaxing. I also polished up my essay for tomorrow. I'm really hoping it doesn't suck.

I'm taking care of business, one thing at a time. I'm doing my best. Time to call it a night.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott