A question has been raised regarding my use of what could be called "bad" words in my blog as well as why I have a difference between the way I speak and the way I write. Some people who know me, but have not read my writing would be surprised to know that I use "bad" words in my writing (as you can see from the title of the blog =) )...shocked even. And people may wonder why I think this is okay, especially since I call myself a Christian.

Well...

For one, I do not personally believe that bad words hold any more moral weight than non-bad words...it's mostly the context in which they're used that gives them a moral meaning. Otherwise, they're just random collections of certain letters taken from 26 possible letters (to paraphrase Kurt Vonnegut). For any writer, words are mainly the paint with which they paint their "pictures"...this would include bad words. The short answer: I use bad words in my writing for impact, for dialogue of certain characters, and sometimes for humorous effect.

Why don't I usually use these words in my speech? Am I not being a hypocrite? Actually, no. When I'm talking to people, I personally do not like to use harsh language because I like my speech (coming from myself and not from a character) to be clear of any obstacles in meaning. I'll usually only use bad words in speech if I can good a good laugh out of it - and with any humor, the more sparingly you use something, the funnier it becomes. I also like my speech to be acceptable to many audiences - you can't really control what you hear in the same why that you can control what you read.

Isn't this blog just me speaking to the void? No. I consider this an exercise in writing (even though I'm rather inarticulate and spell things wrong). I'm experimenting with things, even though that might not be apparent. It's all about me or my friends or things I've seen and read; however, no matter how "true" the things I'm saying are, I'm mainly a character of this blog and, therefore, bad words will pop up in the same way as they do in my writing.

I'm not trying to shock or have a forum of un-Christian-like behavior so that I can "get all of it out" before church. This is me, that is me, all of it is me - I just make choices when it comes to words and I use different words in different venues to paint different pictures.

This Public Service Announcement has been brought to you by Keith =)

Love to all!

Forgot to mention: I have dark burgandy hair once again. It's just something that I do. I predict that I'll go bright red and then inky black soon, if all the previous hair color cycles hold true. I've found that punishing my natural hair with chemicals seems to make it behave.

Also, started reading Susan Minot's "Monkeys". I should be finishing "A Passage to India", but, darnit, I was tired and wanted lighter prose.

I'm not an activist or anything, but I find south London's new "scheme" for cannabis enforcement to be quite reasonable. They're saving taxpayer money and confiscating the drugs that are actually on the person at the time of their warning. No jail, no paperwork, no inflation of price - it's amazing what a little moderation can do for public policy. Maybe I will get into politics here and there after all =).

In other news: Mom is finally home and is resting on the couch, catching up on all the TV she's never watched. It's very good to have her home.

"Passage to India" by E.M. Forster is turning out to be quite good, despite the intrusive omnicient narrator. I'm not saying that sweeping novels shouldn't be told from a 3rd person omnicient point of view - I'm just saying that it would be nice to identify with a main character. Instead, Forster divvies up dialogue and interior thoughts so systematically and evenly, it's like communist prose.

Either way, Forster has a knack for the perfect emotional line at the perfect time; if anyone else tried such a thing, it would come across as schmaltz. Bravo, Mr. E.M.!

Big thanks to Juan for today's (3/20) posts on writing failure. For such a sad topic, the posts brought a smile to my face and were strangly comforting. Very good medicine! =)

We must respect the shredded book.

***

In other news, I thought that I would have had "Passage to India" read by now. I don't. The teacher has already stated that I don't have to have it finished (b/c of being at the hospital during the time we were supposed to read it), but I'm thinking that the best thing would be to just not go to class. Out of sight, out of mind...well, that mixed with the fact that the other kids will wonder why I got to put it off. Too messy...

Now I really feel like shit. My blog comes up as the only website for the search term " turetts syndrome test" and someone visited because of that. My bad spelling is causing others to search in vain. Horrors!

I had a little chat with my writing professor today about a variety of things, some personal...which she promptly shared with the class. This now makes me truly pathetic and a teacher's pet. How will I ever get the other kids to like me?!?

I'm so kidding.

Except for the part about the teacher - she really did tell the whole class about my insecurities and writing obstacles. In all fairness, I did say she could when she asked me point-blank during class. =)

Workshop went quite well. I was very pleased - good advice, well-though-out critiques, and flying diet coke cans...what more could one ask for? I can't wait to revise.

Afterwards I bought a Publix sub and watched Ally McBeal with my father. How horrifying - it was all about sex. My dad politely watched and refrained from asking why I insist on watching television. Thank you, Dad =).

We learned how to order food from a resteraunt in Russian class! It's actually easier than English. All you do is take the phrase for "I will" and link it with what you want to order. The important part is declining the food you want to the accusative case. Here's an example:

Ya boodoo reeboo - (Accusative) = I will have fish.
Ya boodoo reebah - (Nominative) = I will be a fish.

As you can see, declining nouns is very important.

***

Avant Garde class was very interesting. One of our teachers, Dr. Stella Sung, is a concert pianist, modern composer, and 20th century music expert. She walked us through various advancements in Avant Garde music from World War I until the late 1950s. My favorite piece was "Ballet Mecanique" by George Antheil - it was one of the first large scale performances to incorporate an electronic player piano (as well as sirens, mechanical percussion, and all sorts of noisemakers). The piece evokes a factory crossed with a 1940s mobster movie. It's really brilliant, however I don't think it's really all that "prophetic," as Antheil's current groupies would like us to think; it's more of the artist's reaction to the industrialization of the time. Either way, it's worth a listen if you like Modern Classical music.

***

There's this crazy stalker guy who keeps bugging me about my computer, every time I'm in the campus cafe. I will use the force to kill him or, at least, keep him away. Help me use the force, won't you? Concentrate real hard. =)

***

Here are two great online comics to help you waste time:

Sam Brown's Exploding Dog. Send him a one line saying and he will most likely turn it into a comic. His one panel stick figure comics are some of the most expressive and simple pieces of art I've seen.

MegaTokyo - Follow the adventures of Piro and Largo as they muddle around in Tokyo after getting drunk at a gaming convention in the US and buying one way tickets to Japan. The creators of this strip have rather good comic timing and a firm grasp on characterization. I've learned more about gaming, Japan, and anime over the last few days then ever before.

Later folks... =)

I am truly an ungrateful piece of shit. Or was. Or...just let me explain.

For the past few days, my mom has been in the hospital. She had her large intestine removed - otherwise she would have died from something called Crohn's disease. She's been hooked to tubes, cut into various pieces, put back together, hooked to more tubes, injected with morphine multiple times per hour, and has had to lay on her back for days while people come in and ask her all sorts of stupid questions so that they do not feel uncomfortable visiting someone in massive pain.

Somehow I turned the past few days into something about me. What happens when I see her after the surgery? I almost black out and faint from shock. What do I do when she's coherent enough to talk to? I unload my problems...to her, to the woman in the bed on morphine with staples in her stomach. What's the only thing I can think about while I'm holding her hand and stroking her forehead? How soon can I get out of here so that I can finish my homework?. I'll admit it, I was a real shit, selfish too.

I'm not saying that I didn't care for mom or love mom over the past few days - I was just so preoccupied with trivial things that I drove myself crazy. Here's a random sampling of the worries that were in my head:

1) 25 page paper and 30 minute speech on James Joyce due in one week.
2) 75 pages of a screenplay due over the next few weeks.
3) No work done for Seminole Co. in quite a few days.
4) I somehow convinced myself that no one likes any of my writing and then I read each critique posted online in such a way that I could maximize my story's deficiencies.
5) Russian test due.
6) Supposed to have read "A Passage to India" over spring break - instead, surgery happened.
7) Various moral, ethical, spiritual, sexual, interpersonal issues were floating around in my head - beating each other to a pulp.

As of noon today, I had decided that:
1) I would never be a good writer...ever.
2) I would never move out of the house.
3) I would fail every class and never progress into any higher schooling.
4) I would end up penniless and alone...forever.
5) I'm not a good cook - ok, so I'm random.

I don't know what triggered it exactly, but I realized the shittyness in all of the above. I collected my thoughts and started the day over at around 1pm. I wrote a few emails and did a little mental reprogramming. Results:
1) All of my teachers gave me extentions on major projects. They also each voiced concern over my mother's health and let me know that they didn't think less of me for having difficuties dealing with all the family stuff as well as my 6 classes.
2) I was able to spend time with mom without worrying about anything. We talked and laughed and had a great time.
3) I'm not the best writer, but dammit, some people liked my story AND had really good advice.
4) I don't have a general feeling of dread anymore.

Hot damn, I'm back =)

***

Now onto something more specific - I'm so thankful for my Grad writers workshop. At first, I get this whole inferiority complex, but then I started to really read the critiques and try to understand where each person is coming from. Most are coming from the point of view of helping me write the story that it appears I'm trying to write. Those people (Juan included, if you're reading this =) ) all gave me at least one really good thing to look at in my story. I can tell that they have my best interests in mind because I feel like revising when I hear the suggestions, not buring the story in the trashcan (I always liked the contained nature of trashcan fires).

Only one of the critiques bugged me in a non-helpful way. Supposedly, it's apparent from my writing that I have no experience with Russia or Moscow, that this reader just didn't "buy it". Also, the orphan in the story is "too pitiful". While I'm never one to state, "but it happened" - to digress, this same line looks like it will be quite a powerful line in Todd Soldnz's new movie, "Storytelling" - I do know a little bit about Moscow having lived there for quite a while. I'm not sure what I was supposed to put in my story, men with fur caps or maybe long lines of people waiting for toilet paper? Unfortunately, the Russia of the 1990s looked quite like America, just with crappier cars and better public transportation. No lines, no KGB people stopping your car, no matchmakers or bearded men doing Russian dances in the street - just McDonalds, the vodka kiosk, badly manufactured blue jeans, Taco Bell, KFC, Coca Cola, Orlando Magic T-shirts (as well as merchandise for the "Washington Rednecks"), and people who spoke some derivative of the Slavic language. As for my "too pitful" character, it's depressing how many orphans have two parents who just don't want them and carry around strong physical defects from a complete lack of any health care.

Oh well, the entire rant above is just whining... but it felt good and I'm not allowed to do it in class. =)

Just found out that my blog is number five or six on Google when you search for the phrase "teryaki sauce". I don't know what to feel - should I feel bad that I misspelled it or that someone went to a site called "Don't F*** With Mr. Zero" to find out about it...