I love the feeling of "past the point of no return". Like when I just pulled up my script for my independent study and found out that it had been erased and replaced with a script for my other class. Make no mistake, I had done this. I just don't remember it. And now I'm screwed.

But that could be a good thing. The teacher may not care for revisions and may only want the new scenes that I'm scrambling to write.

The cool part: There's nothing I can do about it. It's done and, amazingly, I have no worries about it at all.

Tomorrow: more revising on my short stories for class. Hopefully I won't erase those overnight in my sleep.

At first my heart sunk a little when Braden suggested that we go see "Changing Lanes" tonight after dinner. The preview kind of overtaxed my moral and emotional adrenaline enough - I didn't really want to spend two more hours with a messy ethical drama.

Also, while I really respect Samuel L. Jackson, I didn't know if I could bear him in any more contrite, broken (and second billed) parts after, oh, well, every movie that he's been in throughout the 1990s. He deserves better.

I also wasn't sure about Ben Affleck. Here's a guy that I'm just hoping to fail, but he never seems to. He's done every role rather well and doesn't seem to have the baggage of the rest of Young Hollywood(tm). Rich, famous, good looks - I couldn't bear to see that he's a great actor.

We went anyways. And I really liked this movie. It's the answer to the weak moralizing of "Pay It Forward" (Braden calls it "F*** it Forward"). Like the anti-trancendentalists of literature (Hawthorne, Poe), "Changing Lanes" really gets at the basic depravity of man before showing any signs of hope. And the scariest part - you come to understand that you, yes you, the normal person in the third row, are capable of all of these horrible things.

And a new favorite line. S.L. Jackson's friend, played by William Hurt, waxes eloquent on society and the responsibility of each human being: "It's a covenant! A covenant that you won't go batshit!"

Couldn't have put it better myself =)

A little more inflamatory than his other comics, but very, very funny (at least for me):

One down, Five to go...

My Script Adaptation teacher surprised our class - whatever we had in our backpacks for the class would end up being our final projects. He was tired of the semester, I think, and didn't want to hassle with a real final. Good thing I had a complete script in my bag.

So, that's one less project. Now I just need to revise my stories. And do that Joyce paper.

But otherwise, I'm getting excited - 15 days to graduation!

I think I've scared an internationally known writer...and I don't know what to do

Lorrie Moore came to speak at UCF this evening. Her work is rather good, especially a piece that got included in "The Best American Short Stories of the Century" called "You're Ugly, Too".

But maybe good writers should not be spoken too...at least, this is what I've decided after tonight.

I despise the book signing thing; the quiet, conveyor-like mass of readers or writers who haven't gotten anything published, at least not to any critical acclaim (otherwise they'd be somewhere signing books), some people bringing more than one copy, dictating to the author whose name goes on what book and whether they're a good little neice or a real hellion of a son (but I thought I'd get him a copy, just in case he starts reading like I'd like him to), and the author has to sit there and sign his or her name hundreds of times, pretending to care that you read her story and it inspired you to dump your boyfriend or that you, yes you, will someday be a famous writer and that her story, while not exactly rags to riches and more "I got my MA and sent a bunch of stuff out", inspired you to be who you are today.

That. That's what I despise. Even so, I got in line with my not-so-well-worn copy of her short story collection with the most acclaim ("Like Life") and waited for my turn. But I noticed that no one was speaking to her. This bothered me. So, I came up with something short and nice to say, something polite and yet personal enough to warrent saying outloud and to her. I said, "I'm glad you came to our school because I picked that "The Best Short Stories of the Century" book and I read your story and thought that it was really good. So I'm glad you came to our school so soon after that. Thanks."

Why? Why did I feel compelled to say anything at all? Why would it be good that she came to the school "so soon"? So I didn't forget who the hell she was? Because, if she didn't come, you know me - I would have forgotten who Lorrie Moore was and we would have a national crisis on our hands!

She just responded with a blank stare. But I didn't stop there. I actually went up afterwards and told her about an article online that went with her lecture that night. New stare - not blank - more like a deer in headlights. The poor woman probably thinks I'm going to stalk her now.

Authors should be admired from a distance. Authors should be read and not spoken to. Authors should not have to sign so many books.

So, my new political statement is the following: Free the Authors! Stay the hell away! (it's for their own good) =)

I really can not believe it. I got home tonight, after a rather hectic day at school, to see that my parents cleaned my room. This is amazing! I don't know whether to be really embarassed or ultimately grateful.

I'm so ultimately grateful. It was such a simple gift from them, and thoughtful - I almost teared up.

I played it off all cool-like: "Good thing I threw out all that porno from underneath my bed," said I.

"Ha Ha," said Mom.

***

The James Joyce speech went well. My teacher fell asleep during it, so that must be a good sign.

***

The UCF Literary Journal, "The Cypress Dome", was released today! I actually have a story in print. I'm very happy (especially because the journal has a really nifty pencil drawing on the front). It's nice to be published in something nice. How nice. Very nice.

***

(note: On verge of mental breakdown - the next few week's posts might be banal and/or unreadable)

I'm up way too late, but the coffee that I drank to help me through the writing of my speech is still time-releasing the caffine. The speech was finished an hour and a half ago.

I'm getting old.

But at least I'm prepared for tomorrow. My parents talked me down from my mental skyscraper ledge this evening- I started to panic when I looked at my schedule and noticed the sleep was not an option for at least two weeks. Mom did her mom thing and dad was quite understanding as well. They didn't make me feel stupid during the entire panic attack. I've got cool parents.

In the midst of the panic, I realized that I'm supposed to read part of my story at the Literary magazine reception tomorrow. That's going to be weird - reading my own writing outloud. Ugh. I made myself read the story again and I think I've picked out a good section...I'm ending with a cliffhanger sentence. Too bad the journal's free - otherwise we could make some money off the suspense.

Yeah, right.

Later, folks! =) Going to try out that bed one more time. I hope my mind realizes that "pillow = shut off".

From my actual experience (today), I can attest that Silk Soymilk Coffee Creamer is good stuff. The Silk makers - good people. Rejoyce non-dairy people everywhere!

I never knew that delerium and calm could go hand in hand. It's rather strange - I couldn't get to sleep last night because of all the assignments looming over my head, but at the same time, I knew that I could still graduate (albeit with bad grades). I did get to cut down on the amount of assignments, though, by finishing my Grad Writers Workshop stories early and reading a lot on James Joyce. Hopefully, a twenty minute speech will pour forth from me tomorrow.

If only Joyce would have embraced a label, I'd be fine. But noooo, he had to include both strong naturalism in his heavily symbolist works. He had to reject nationalism on the surface just to embrace it subtlely.

He's not making things easy for me.

Of course, there's always the two scripts, "Animal Farm" paper, Russian homework, Russian Exam, Marxist Political theory exam, and two short stories to revise to keep my mind off of Joyce.

But nothing could be as bad as getting your jaw popped back into place. Nothing. Thus, my calm.