The open house that my parents are throwing for my graduation is about to start (I think I hear the first person at the door). My parents are so generous--they've been planning and cooking for days (with the help of a vast group of friends and family). I better get out there...details to follow. =)

More Medallions, Spiderman, and the Ethereal Silence of Being Alone

So, yeah, graduation. I was told to arrive at the "Platform Party" room at about 9am. I thought that I'd be one of about 15 students to sit on the platform with the president, the speakers, etc. I ended up being one of four. I didn't really know what the whole thing was about until I got there and this PR woman starts "briefing" me on the "procedures" that I was to follow. It seems that I and the other three students all recieved a 4.0 in every class...that's why we were there. We were to follow bagpipe players into the arena and take our seats next to all the big wigs. I felt a little guilty about not really doing anything at UCF besides taking classes and going home. It was all "ra ra, alma mater" and I'm like, "What's our Alma Mater? Is it printed in my book?". Oh well, it was a surreal cap to the entire undergrad experience.

A strange phenomena took place once I was up on that platform--there was this amazing silence in my head. People were cheering, my parents were taking pictures, people were congratulating me, shaking my hand, but I heard nothing. I also didn't keep waving at my parents or look to them nervously during the whole thing. I was my own entity and things were slient--the event was very important, yet not important in the least, all at the same time.

I really didn't put all that much into commencment. But yet I feel like I'm my own person now that it's over. It's not like this happened as soon as I touched the degree folder, but I'm thinking that all of this attention on completing something has made me evaluate all the things I've completed lately. Things like my adolescence.

And while I feel more mature (heck, I'm going to be 24 in a week or so), I revelled in my adolescence tonight by watching "Spiderman". Sam Raimi at his commercially successful best--and a cameo by Bruce Campbell to boot. Tobey Maguire was quite good in the role (and while the papers say he's just playing a brooding teen, I found his performance to be quite optimistic, even giddy). Willem Dafoe scared the crap out of me and Kirsten Dunst was, well, Kirsten Dunst--she just floats from one role to the next like one grand audition--"See my range, America? Yeah, look for me to be around for about 60 more years."

Grand drama surrounded the event, yet some of it was off screen. I went to the movie with a few people from church. I'm so used to just walking out the door at any hour, but all of the guys and gals who went to the movie with me were young 'ens. Showtimes were cancelled and plans were changed in a blink of an eye, but parents were not consulted first, thus resulting in angry parents ("Parents angry!!!" says the Hulk--his new movie due soon, directed by Ang Lee. Did you hear that right? Ang Lee! And with Jennifer Connelly!). Anyways, I was totally ready to drive people home and forget the movie, but there was some fast talking done (they had already bought tickets) and everyone finally got to attend the 12:40am showing.

I felt that whole divide thing again. I realized that I couldn't really relate anymore to that strange place in between getting a drivers license and actually getting to choose where to drive and when. I can empathize, but not relate. And in my detached state, things became silent. People talked, I heard them, I responded, we laughed and freaked, but there was this strange, beautiful silence. I could smile in the midst of high drama and disparate personalities.

We took a small detour into Barnes and Noble (had to waste about 2 hours) where I ran into a long, lost friend...and her new husband. They are a very sweet couple and really cool--both music teachers. I could see the spark between them. I had to smile and sigh as they left. Everyone's getting married. Everyone's having kids.

It's like I'm being prepped for being alone, though, at least for the time being. My parents are here, but now they are more like friends. My friends are here, but I don't get to see them all that much, to lean in on them like I'd like. There're possible romantic matches out there, but none of them are "the one"--there's no "magic". And although I always thought that the advice of "you'll know" was total horsecrap, I've heard enough great couples testify to it that I'm starting to bend.

But I'm in no hurry. I'm really excited about the future. And I'm thankful for the silence, at least for the time being.

I had a fun night with the parents. We were invited to this shindig being thrown by the Honors College at UCF where they pass out these really geeky "medallions" (any award over five letters is pretty geeky) to anyone who completed the required honors coursework. It's not that I'm not proud of my achievements and all, but I'm going to be wearing a lot of crap around my neck and it just seems slightly hilarious when you add it to a mortar board and black gown. Who came up with wearing square plates on heads?

I was the underachiever of the table. To my left was an aerospace engineering graduate, to my right, a physics whiz. I introduced myself to the physics guy and asked his major, but he stopped talking to me once I said that I studied "Political Science." There were a few "hmm"s around the table. I tried to make up for it by flaunting the fact that I'm going on to study Creative Writing. That didn't help.

But we did have a nice moment in which all the guys at our table trancended major and minor, GPA and college rank--we all offered a communal snort when they announced that the required honors symposium was challenging and interesting. For a wonderful moment, we were just guys, rude and snide. Together. Cool.

Finished all of The Ice Storm. A great work--better than the movie in many ways. It's really wild how much of this book lives inside of the heads of the characters--pages and pages without any dialogue at all, yet it feels as if someone's talking at every given moment. Maybe because the author is pretty much the narrator and the narrator is always talking. Talking, talking.

If anyone can get their hands on a paperback copy, it might have the nifty essay that Rick Moody wrote about his experiences watching his book become a movie. I thought that maybe he would only have nice things to say. No, not in the slightest. He's mean and defensive and all around self-aggrandizing. It's a really great essay. I'm sure it's a very accurate portrait of how it feels for a writer's book to be eaten by Hollywood. I really recommend reading it even if you don't read the novel. I don't think Barnes and Noble will mind you taking a few moments in the pitifully stocked fiction department.

I also got my hands on David Sedaris's Me Talk Pretty One Day. I've been laughing my ass off (and marvalling at his very clean prose-y style). His essays are full of life and sarcasm--a superior combination--and seem to embody this "everyman" aspect even though I'm sure every man (or woman) is not as successful (read "well off"), dividing their time between New York City and France while being an openly gay (yet never really "fabulous!") essay writer for the macho-cigar-smokin' trio of Esquire, GQ, and the much-less macho, but still quite smoky New Yorker. Witty and quick reads--good stuff. Oh yeah, and the guy gets to work for NPR. Not fair.

So, as you can see, nothing has been happening in my life. I kind of like it. I gotta go to bed, though. I'm helping Megan's mom buy computer stuff tomorrow.

I just finished part 1 of Rick Moody's The Ice Storm. So far, the novel is very well done. The third person narration moves from one member of the family to another with each chapter, digging deep enough into each character's mind to give the prose a flavor of the character as well as a consistant narrative style...good, good, good. Also, Moody's writing style is letting me see that using strange language choices (that may seem over the top to some) can add a real originality and beauty to simple sentences.

Two standouts:
When describing the Williams brothers: "Still waters ran organized criminal networks and spearheaded new pornographic markets."

Paul's moment at the train terminal: "On the floor of the terminal, in the vast open spaces--bereft of the usual commuters--a platoon of men with blank faces and the cheapest spectacles sold books and records about meditation to the unsuspecting. Paul moved through them like a warrior."

Great stuff.

Hop on over to my newest project and let me know how slowly it loads. =) Soon the links will connect to our revamped websites, but until then, clicking on my face will bring you here.

Clicking on my face in real life will only bring you pain.

=)

PS - Working at Seminole Co. Clerk of the Court today. Gotta make up a bunch of time. But we're building a virtual tour of the darkest, most boring building in Central Florida...woo hoo!