I wish I could talk smart

When I'm writing, I'm generally pretty articulate, due in no small part to the ability to pause, think, then type whatever bit of nonsense is on my mind at the time. I can be picky with words. Words are important, and while I know a lot of them, I'm a little insecure with them. I want to be a hundred percent sure of a word's very most precise definition before I use it (I think that's why I admired The Road's vocabulary so much; Cormac McCarthy's language is eerily specific).

When I'm writing, I like to think of this as a talent. Generally I don't overstep my pathetic little shack of knowledge in the sprawling city that is the English language, and when I do, it is very carefully, usually with a friend, and I go equipped with only the very best anti-"You just made an ass of yourself" arsenal courtesy of the Oxford Dictionary.

When I'm speaking, it tends to be a problem.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not inarticulate (I hope). In fact, on some days I can get downright annoying (proven positive by several co-workers) in my attempt to keep expanding my vocabulary. You can never have too many words: never.

But other days my brain just completely shuts down. Or rather, my mouth does. I have all these really clever, salient things to say, and what comes out can often sound scarcely better than what might come out of a preschooler.

Example: The other day, I was trying to describe a scene in Amelie, and defaulted to the word "funnest" (which, I know, doesn't exist, or if it does, exists in a very shady back-alley of that city of language, one you wouldn't want to be lost in without a weapon or very large friend). Someone challenged me on it, and while mentally I was going "Yeah, absolutely.", what came out of my mouth was something like "Arg words hard today Matt not want."

I think it's because, when I think, I don't necessarily think in precise language so much as big nebulous clouds of vaguely connected intuitive bubbles. Which sounds ridiculous now that it's written down, but there you have it.

I'm not sure why I wrote this, except maybe as a brief apology for any time when I've ever A) started rambling incoherently or B) reduced to some kind of caveman-like grunting in the middle of conversation.

By the way, did you know what a "catamite" is? Me neither, 'till I read The Road. Apparently it's a young child in a relationship with an older man.

Seriously, McCarthy, now you're just showing off. We all get how smart you are.

POETRY but not

A white fire

shines bright

But don't FORGET

it's still a flame

and fire burns.

dumbass.

This is What Me Writing an Essay Looks Like

This post was written while writing an essay for my American Literature course. Images and anything in brackets were added afterwards for clarity. The rest is full-grade I-shit-you-not serious.

Lime energy drink. Oh God mistake.

Blue energy drink. Much better.

Oh God the aftertaste. The aftertaste.

Water. Lots of water.

Revisiting one’s origins to discover oneself … I need to watch cartoons.

Pokemon! Gotta catch ‘em all!

Oh my God I am writing the wrong essay. Pokemon and Oscar Wao would’ve been brilliant.

Too late now. This is why I shouldn’t wait so long to write my essays.

The first season of Pokemon probably doesn’t count as American Lit. anyway.

The first season of Pokemon definitely doesn’t count as American Lit.

Okay that is the third time Milkman’s name became Ash Ketchum.

Pokemon is way better than I remember.

Also way worse.

I bet Junot Diaz (pictured right) is a cool guy.

Probably a bit of a dick though. No one reclines like that in the real world. Look at me, I’m cool and post-modern and bald!

I wonder if I can slip in the term bildungsroman without researching it.

If I wanted to be a clever asshole and risk getting skewered I’d put in one of those Diaz style footnotes and explain I know what bildungsroman means because as a twelve-year-old a doctorate student gave me a blistering criticism of my “Trite run-of-the-mill bildungsroman trash.” I was twelve.

And seriously, is that the best a goddamn postgrad student can muster? Against a twelve year old?

Probably wasn’t even a real postgrad student.

I mean seriously, I was a twelve year old writing about dragons.

Is that a Simpsons Christmas episode? Awesome!

Carol of the Bells is possibly the best Christmas song ever.

I wonder if anyone actually knows the lyrics to it.

I remember once I thought to myself “Only douchebags use words like limning and subverting and juxtaposing.” That thought has prevented me from using each of those words about three times each, thanks to some weird sense of loyalty to pastMatt. PastMatt was an idiot.

Third time I called Song of Solomon by Native Son. (Two novels we studied on the course).

Oh my God is it three thirty AM? I still have two paragraphs to write.

Better put in A New Hope. That’ll help me write.

Holy shit I love Star Wars.

“And these blasters, too inaccurate for Sand People. Only Imperial Storm Troopers can miss this damn badly.”

Maybe I just lack the capacity to be a woman, but Robert Pattinson does not seem attractive. I mean, I can look at a guy and say “That’s a good lookin’ fella.” But at the wrong angle ol’ Robert’s face looks like a foot. Particularly that pouty angle he’s always doing for Twilight.

Dear Professors,

Pleas stop rewarding my procrastinating. It's forming some really bad habits.

Sincerely,

Matt

Yeah, I know what bildungsroman means

One of the definitions that may appear on my American Literature final is bildungsroman.

For reasons exclusive to my own past, this is all at once a giveaway mark and a horrible, horrible memory that scars my consciousness to this day.

When I was twelve, I was--if you can believe it--an aspiring young writer. I was also, one will note, twelve. My age might've varied anywhere from 12-14, but it was certainly not much out of that range. As any 12-14 year old who read fantasy with a love bordering on the obsessive, I wrote simplistic, childish fantasy: you know, swords, dragons, elves, dwarves, that stuff. Mine were tinged by a subtle undercurrent of JRPG trends, since at the time I played more or less nothing but JRPG videogames, but the differences were mostly aesthetic.

Anyway, like a good many young, aspiring writers, I posted my stories on Fictionpress, in the hope of receiving some constructive criticism, and praise. Okay, let's face it: I wanted praise real bad. I wanted people to be like "Dude, you should get published right now."

Unsurprisingly, this did not happen. There was a fair bit of praise, though, which naturally swelled my little head like an overblown balloon. Little did my poor, balloon-headed 13-year-old self know that a post-graduate needle was hurtling towards my ego at ramming speed.

One day, I log on to my fictionpress account and check my reviews. One new review, the counter says! "Yay!" I think. I then read the review.

What followed was to be an absolutely blistering criticism of just about every word that I had written. Naive kid that I was, I endeavoured to contact this person and try and benefit from their insight: they were, you see, a post-graduate student.

Actually, I don't even know if they were postgrad. I just know they had some sort of degree in English.

Anyway, this person proceeded to sneer, snark, and generally mock my genuine attempts to understand just what the problem was with dragons and elves and dwarves and whathaveyou. At one point came the somewhat illuminating phrase: "You've basically written another generic bildungsroman, and not even a good one."

Not wanting to be a fool, I feverishly googled bildungsroman and learned all I could about it.

So, yeah. That's how I know what bildungsroman means. (Also, if you check the wiki for bildungsroman, The Name of the Wind is listed as an example. How cool is that?)

OBVIOUS ANALYSIS

SARAH PALIN TWEETS A LOT AND LOOKS DUMB DOING IT.

HAHAHAHAHA.

WHY CAN'T WE STOP TALKING ABOUT HER OH GOD.

Once upon a time . . . .

I had some knowledge of photoshop. Using what remains of that skillset, I created this . . . .

Yeah, I'm pretty pleased with myself.

This Seriously Just Happened

Today I have to submit a paper that is due. This paper is worth 25% of my final grade in my Medieval Studies course. Now, normally such a hefty piece of evaluation would merit equally hefty preparation, writing, and research. Normally. Except there are a few problems with this equation.

1. I'm lazy.
2. I'm fairly good at writing.
3. And Medieval Studies is, to quote Austin Powers, my bag, baby. Yeah.

This probably has something to do with my "paper topic":

Imagine you are a scribe in a medieval cathedral or monastery with a manuscript to copy. Describe your task, how you set about it and the difficulties you encounter carrying it out from day to day.

Groovy, baby.

Okay, I'll stop with the Austin Powers reference now, lest this blog become an exercise in '60s nostalgia . . . .

So, the scene laid, one now sees that this was a chance for me to shine. My professor was all but asking me to display all the skills I've acquired over a long career of slacking off to write medieval fantasy. With a little, teensy bit of preparation, surely I could have secured a mark of the highest degree.

Instead I wrote it at 1 o'clock last morning. And y'know what? I like to think it's still pretty damn good. Of course I still have yet to get the paper back, so perhaps I'll finally meet my long-deserved comeuppance.

Here's hoping I won't.

Pure Nerd Glee

I made Patrick Rothfuss laugh.

Relatively minor? Of course.

Is it freaking awesome? Also: of course.

Just thought I'd share that. It brightened up my morning a bit too much. Almost to a creepy degree, truth be told.