Where Are You Going? Where Have You Been? (borrowed shamelessly from Joyce Carol Oates)

I won't pretend that I've never given a thought to my death. Sometimes the thought clings to me like ghostly fetters, and all other ideas kowtow to its weight. Mostly, however, I just avoid pondering on it for long.
Since last week, I've thought about my death more than ever before. Today, I turned in my obituary, written ostensibly by myself. The assignment was awkward to put it mildly, yet exciting as well. This was my opportunity to outline every long-term goal and desire that God has put upon my heart. Of course, I added a few personal wants, such as critical acclaim and success as well. Most importantly, this write-up forced me to choose what I wanted to do in my limited life. By my choices, neurology and fiction writing, I understand my true passions even more. So these are the things I want to do for the rest of life, the life works that I can't live without. My long-term plans will probably continue to fluctuate, but at least I have a working idea of how my life could be. I guess it's a start.

Class Guest Speaker: Kyle Serba, Sports Information Director

On Thursday, my Media and Society class had a guest speaker who works with both media and sports. Mr. Serba is in charge of filming games, releasing campus sports news, and other administrative duties. Although I have never been interested in collegiate sports media, some of the ideas he suggested for this department sounded fantastic. As a school recently upgraded to Division I, a coaches program and more filming of game play will be a step in the right direction. For anyone aiming for a career in production, this promises more opportunities for camerawork as well. Overall, I look forward to the updates being made in the sports media department.

For 24 hours, cellphones were not canon devices in my universe...

...and I nearly self-destructed. Well, not at first.
I begin my sans-mobile day in the afternoon, hoping to make the 24 hours pass by faster. So far, so good. The first few hours I spend in class, so I do not miss my phone at all. After class, I shut myself up in my room with a movie, and amazingly, no one interrupts me for 30 blissful minutes. Then my roommates invite me to water aerobics. Ok, I pause the movie to get ready. After all, who can resist an hour at the pool? At the gym, I swim to my hearts content with no pesky phone to pursue me from the deep. All joking aside, I truly do feel immense relief at not having to handle that device all night. Not once do I have to check my messages or return a call. I can just go through my day interacting only with people I see at the given moment. I feel vivified.
I return to my room after the swim and continue my movie. I get through it with minimal interuptions. Thanks to no cellphones of course! Then my roommates remind me to get ready for our night on the town. Here's where the torment begins.
I have to wash the chlorine from my hair, so I take much longer than usual to get ready. I'm almost done when my roommates suggest that they pick up the car from the parking lot. I agree and finish dressing. Minutes later, I'm wandering outside frantically peeling my eyes up and down the street and parking lot, searching for my roommates. I hurry back to the room, lest they return in my absence. Once I convince myself that they are not back yet, I race down the stairs to scan the streets again. After completing this ritual a couple times, I come up with a grand idea. In this unfamiliar world cellphones do not exist, but landlines do! I dial one of my roommates' numbers from my bulky, technologically uncouth corded phone. Oh yeah, who needs the mobile right? Why did I come up with this solution at the eleventh hour? Well, obviously, my dependency on cordless devices has temporarily damaged my critical thinking. The more sentimental explanation is that I was so distraught over my nonexistent cellphone, I couldn't think straight. Take your pick.
At any rate, I communicate with my roommates, and we have an awesome time. I come back so sleepy that I don't think of my cell once. The next morning, I awake to my alarm. At least that's what I think it is. The buzzing won't release me from its hold, even after I shut off my alarm. It must be that strange device sitting on my desk. In a somnolent state, I press a key. Sacre Bleu! Did I just touch my cell phone?! Thankfully, I immediately catch my blunder and proceed with my cellphone free world. It's a close call, nonetheless.
The rest of the day plays out as the last one did. I'm free from bothersome phone buzzes, but there's a hunger for my family back in Atlanta. I converse with them via e-mail, but there's nothing like the immediate gratification of a text message. Although this was an interesting experience, I am relieved when the statute of limitations is up. Almost on cue, I receive a call from my mother, and all is well.

Conclusion: Cellphones bring, with their convenience, certain annoyances that only come with technological advancement. Now, people can bug you almost anywhere, and you have nearly no excuse for missing a call. To eliminate any experimenter's bias, I propose going without people for 24 hours, keeping the cellphones, and comparing the results. I might discover that people are the problem, not that innocent little device buzzing plaintively at me from the corner. Then we can keep the phones and drop the callers.
Just kidding!

The Top 5 "What the heck?" moments - Heroes edition!

As a writer, I appreciate Heroes for its engaging plots and the taglines that make nerdy fans everywhere drool. (My "Save the Cheerleader, Save the World" t-shirt still turns heads.) There are, nevertheless, plot elements that don't entirely make sense, or better yet, make you say "What the Heck?!"
Disclaimer: I am an uber-fan of Heroes, the kind of devoted viewer who will chew the head off of anyone who criticizes my show in anything but snarky fairness. That being said, I love poking fun at the things I love. Call me a hypocrite if you will.

The "What the Heck?" list:

1)Either Peter is too emotionally weak to resist a family hug, or he is an idiot. Why hasn't he learned that interacting with Petrellis in general, much less touching them, is a dangerous enterprise? And no, they will not cut you slack because you are their lovingly dense brother/son. Case in point: Nathan says, "Now give your big brother a hug" (or something along those lines) then has HRG taser little bro half to death. Idiot!

2)Speaking of Peter, it was nice to see him working as a paramedic. (Translation: It was nice to see him...um...WORKING!) Why is it that no one has a steady job on this show, save Matt Parkman of course, the all-around "I'm already a hero. I'm a policeman!" good guy. Sheesh, I wouldn't mind seeing Claire with a babysitting gig just to give the show a boost of realism. How do they eat...

3)...oh, that's right, they don't. This is a show notorious for its controversial character starvation diet. I cannot recall many episodes in which a character has consumed food, or even come near it. Well, except that time when Sylar was eating ice cream! And all this time, I thought he was sociopathic terminator robot with no human needs. He may not require regular sustenance, but he's a sucker for Baskin Robbins. Go figure. I feel like passing out meal replacement shakes so that they can eat on the run.

4)Speaking of running, Claire has been doing plenty of that lately, most of the time from her father. Both of them! Why can't this girl have one Dad who is not self-serving and balancing precariously between moral ambivalence and grandiose evil scheming? Why can't at least one of them put her interests before his own and take her out for breakfast and some Daddy-daughter bonding? Wait, that would require that they actually eat, wouldn't it. So never mind the breakfast. I'm still holding out hope that Claire will discover a long-lost step-father who can save her from her deadbeat dads.

5)Finally, my biggest current pet peeve of heroes: Where are the kids? Micah the techno-extraordinaire and Molly the human GPS have been missing from the show since the beginning of the season. I understand that their storylines are wearing thin, but at least give them more graceful exits. Molly was taken to the airport by Mohinder so that she could be flown somewhere safe. Wait...he sent a ten year old on a plane ride alone? And this is safer than being protected by a mind reader and strong man? Who wants to bet he was just tired of playing dad?
And the last time we saw Micah, he was grieving his mom. And just like that, he had left our tv screens, leaving ethereal memories of the adorable boy that was. Then, in the volume 3 finale, his picture is shown in a stack of hero photos handed to the president. Why would they show his face again if he was gone for good? Any reasonable person can guess, based on this clue and Heroes track record of raising characters from the dead, that it wouldn't be too far-fetched to bring this kid back. Besides, it is necessary to the life of the show. Any show's success can be attributed to the number of cute kids who have appeared on it. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating slightly. But still, epic cuteness is always welcome. I love a good Splenda rush.

Coraline (NOT Caroline!)

I am a pretty mellow person, so I have only a few, quite reasonable pet peeves. One is scraping an iron frying pan, another is erasing a white board and leaving residue behind, and another is folding books into insane contortions that, as you read, leave personal creases and dog ears. Like I said, run of the mill annoyances.
There is one elusive idiosyncrasy that, before now, I did not realize I possessed. Why has it incubated for so long? Because I had never seen it done before. Now, thanks to Focus Features, it has been done to one of my favorite books, Coraline by Neil Gaiman. What have they done, you ask? They have....gasp...altered the tone of my story completely to reach a larger audience.
Okay, so maybe that is not the worst thing they could have done to the book. I think the character of Wybie Lovat might take that prize. But nevertheless...Every trailer I have seen has transformed this chilling, gothic story into James and the Giant Peach meets Alice and Wonderland. Hold on, James and the Giant Peach was scary. And if you don't believe me, you try watching the shark scene alone in the dark.
But maybe I'm being too harsh to the film. Maybe I can attribute my annoyance to false advertising, incredibly false advertising, and I will be properly horrified in the theater. I will certainly give the movie a chance to redeem itself. Neil Gaiman deserves this. And if the movie is good, I'll give him AND Focus Features praise for respecting a classic story. And if not...well, I'll just tell myself that I'm not watching Coraline but Caroline, a fun story about a girl with spunk and a magical, harmless, completely unscary world. Nothing wrong with that. I'll just discreetly leave and head to the right theater, the one that is showing the movie I really paid to see...wait, that was it?!

Strictly Lit! (I mean it this time!)

So here's the thing: I've posted several entries, and none of them have much to do with literary interests. Before my loyal readers (lacking in that department currently, but just you wait) abandon me for false advertising, I plan to unsully my name by providing my ingenious perspective on an actual book for once. Here goes. Let's talk The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield. I love this book with a fierce passion that extends beyond childish fancies or critical appreciation. I love the book for its fantastical nature and its scholarly, yet lyrical wording. It impressed me, astonished, frightened me, and at times ensnared me in a deathhold. There are few adjectives that I could use to describe its affect, and at times I wonder just what drew me to this type of story. Then I cradle the book in my palms and reread my favorite passages. And, just like that, I remember.

The story is rather complex and intertwined, so I will only briefly explain it here. The book follows the perspective of Margaret Lea, a young biographer who was raised in a bookstore, literally. Her father owns an antique bookshop, which shelves rare and classic novels, almanacs, references, and so on. From her experiences in this store, she has developed a fervor for the written word above human beings, a fervor aptly described by Setterfield. The language she uses to intimate reading could only be written or even appreciated by a reader. To continue, the story begins when Margaret is sent a letter from the mysterious Vida Winter, the top living writer in the world. Winter has fabricated countless stories of her life for years, and now she is finally ready to tell the truth. Struck by Margaret's understanding of siblings in her previous work, Winter is willing to tell her story only to her. Margaret is then free to do with it what she wishes. Margaret agrees and is whisked away to Winter's estate.
But this is mere backstory. The plot proper begins with the tale itself, a sordid mystery involving dysfunctional siblings, a governess, and a terrible fire. To complicate things, some aspects of Winter's life mirror Margaret's own, so she has vested interest in how this story turns out. The rest I leave for you to discover.

Setterfield coaxes out her story with affection and takes her time with every passage. The story is long but also intense, so it never feels drawn out. I often relished the more verbose scenes, because they offered a needed break from the pulse-pounding drama of Winter's recollections. Even when you are given information, however, it is just enough to keep you immersed in the story. Nothing is as it seems. The most straightforward element in the story is quite twisted. There is so much that you don't know, but until the end, even you are not sure that you don't know it. This book is a game, a wicked but brilliant game. And the prize? If the twist itself is the trophy, fully understanding said twist's implications is the prize money. It is the reader's job to figure out which one he or she values more. For me, the jury's still out. Any excuse to reread my new favorite book of all time. I will warn you: falling in love with this novel will lead you into a voracious search for new material from the author. Unfortunately, her next novel is still in progress; regardless, I expect only great things from Mrs. Setterfield.

Yesterday, a blustery snow day that I spent entirely indoors, I watched history and progress coincide. I watched the presidential inauguration from the awkward bustling of the burgeoning crowd to the final waves of Obama and his wife to the former head of state and his first lady. No detail of the ceremony escaped me as I sat transfixed at my television screen. Of all the emotions I experienced that morning, the most dominant was admiration. Admiration for Obama's courage in taking a nation in such turmoil, admiration for his loyal, headstrong wife, admiration for his fatherhood, and admiration for my nation's wise choice. But most of all, admiration that I finally had a president who reminded me of Dad. Not just because of his brown skin and love for his two daughters, something my father and he have in common, but because of his character and his honor. My father is my human hero, and now my president is a close second. My memories of the ceremony will last forever. I will draw upon these memories as encouragement to perform at my best in every aspect of my life. And now, as a black community, we have no excuse not to pursue the dreams imposed on our hearts. I watched the inauguration on my television in my dorm room, but even if I had not been home, I would have found a way. From cellphones, to laptops, to Ipods, there is always something. There are certain things that you don't want to miss, and there are some things that you simply CAN'T miss. Watching President Obama solemnly swear upon THE Lincoln Bible (He is the first president to do so since Lincoln!) was the latter.