As Cliched As It Sounds, I'm Trying To Find Myself

I've read several interviews with author Neil Gaiman where he has stated that the best advice for aspiring writers is to read. I have also heard time and time again that Orson Welles learned filmmaking by watching the films of John Ford over and over again. The main idea in both notions is that to be an effective story teller, you have to learn it from somewhere. Not simply from a textbook or a lit or film class, but from really analyzing and observing the work of others. I really want to believe that that's what I have been doing with the year and a half since I've graduated college. 

Almost every weekend I go to the movies. I purchase new books and DVDs almost every week. I seek out films and books by my favorite directors and writers and the works that have inspired them. Every now and then after taking in the latest film or book, I am struck with a bolt of inspiration that says "Holy crap, this is why I want to do this." A Clockwork Orange, Spider-Man, Rocky II, Shaun of the Dead, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Rushmore, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, The Rules of the Game; these are just a few films that have made me feel this way the first time I saw them. Each time I've felt that, I have longed to create that response in others. So I go in search of more. I take in more and more tales in the hope that I will discover the way to tell my stories. 

At least, that's what I hope I'm doing.  I wonder every day if everything I've read and seen is working towards something meaningful or if it's all part of some compulsion. I know that there are a few stories that I have written variations of over the years, but I have never been satisfied. I've come close once or twice, but I always worry that I won't be able to do it. Most people worry about finding meaning in the grand scheme of things and don't worry, I'm neurotic enough about that, but I think I worry more about finding meaning in my work. I know I haven't been out in the "real world" that long, but I worry every single fucking day that I'm wasting my time. 

Review: Tuesday February 12th, 2008

Some pretty sweet things have happened on February 12th.

• 1894- First artificial ice rink opens in North America is in Madison Square Garden.

• 1924 - Calvin Coolidge is the first president to deliver a speech over the radio.

• 1973- First US POWs released from Vietnam.

• 1999- Bill Clinton acquitted in his impeachment trial.

• 2008- Kyle Lutz had a hilariously awesome day.

• I won three games in EA Sports Hockey by at least 3 points in each game.

• I had a day off from work.
  

• I saw a 300 lb. woman on a bright pink scooter patiently waiting to pull out from a side road in my neighborhood.

• Power lines went down when a transformer blew a few houses down at about 9:15 PM and caused a fire in a yard. The white-trash photographer in me ran down the street, low quality digital camera in hand, and took a couple decent (but blurry) photos before two fire engines and four cop cars showed up. It was glorious.
  

• Most importantly, I had an encounter with yet another crazy person. This time it was not during my morning commute, but at Target. I was in the 'Family Planning' area deciding if I needed 'Ultra Ribbed' or 'Ultra Thin' when, very suddenly, a 55 year old man close to 7 feet tall approached me. "I need some help buying a razor," he said. I stared at this awkward giant for an uncomfortable moment. "I only have three dollars," he continued and held out three one dollar bills in one hand and a pink woman's hairbrush in the other. I wondered if he was homeless, crazy, poor or just all three. "I don't have any cash on me. Sorry," I replied honestly and an bit terrified. The man frowned as if I had crushed every dream he ever had and heaved a massive sigh. "I have to shave. I need a razor," he said, more to himself than to me, and walked away in search of someone else who could cure him of his heavy scruff.

I think I beat Bill Clinton, barely, for the best February 12th in the history of time.

Commute Rambling: The Political Historian

For anyone who rides a train or subway on a regular basis, you can point out that person who will say or do something that you will be sure to tell everyone at work about. Here in Atlanta I have the distinct pleasure of hearing a crazy rant more often than anyone else. On Sunday, one such rant occurred which will top my list of 'Commute Ramblings'.

I was in the last car heading eastbound towards Indian Creek. A man in a purple LSU sweatshirt and matching leather visor sat across from me and my co-worker. After this encounter, I plan on carrying a tape recorder with me during all train rides. The following are points the half-black, half-Italian semi-drunk man, who shall be named "Warren" from this point on, made.

• Only White People Understand Education. 'Warren' mentioned Yale in his ramblings about G.W. Bush (half of his tirade), then stated that Caucasians (me and my co-worker being the ones he pointed at) were the only people near him that understood that Yale means "good education".

• Yale = Free Pussy Pass. According to Warren, by being a student at Yale, whether you earned it through intelligence or genetics, it means you have bragging rights and therefore can use your educational institution as reasoning with a female to get some easy poon. I will also note that he said the word "pussy" about seven times in two and a half minutes in front of a sixty year old woman and her granddaughter of eleven.
  

• William Jefferson, King of the African-Americans. The blackest president is Bill Clinton. Warren had legitimate, undisputable proof. He said, "Bill Clinton plays the saxophone, wears sunglasses, and even made the woman that gave him a blowjob famous. He is a black man."

• JFK. We took a bigger leap back through time when the Political Historian made sure to bring up the fact that JFK was having "all kinds of crazy sex with Marilyn Monroe." At this point a crazy woman in the corner in a wheelchair yelled out "Joe DiMaggio!"

• I Will Not be Robbed. Before my co-worker and I (again, the only Caucasians nearby) disembarked from the train, we were assured by 'Warren' that we don't need to be afraid of him. He promised he would not follow us to our cars to rob us at gunpoint. I felt the weight soar off my shoulders.

All in all, the encounter with 'Warren' is probably one of the best Commute Ramblings I have... so far. I have no doubt that somewhere out there is someone crazier, drunker, more homeless, and wiser that will just so happen to pass me on the walk to work or, if the gods are kind, sit next to me on the train.