I realized last night at my 10 year reunion how ridiculous the premise of Grosse Point Blank is. John Cusack, you weren't old. You weren't even close. Please stop acting like you were having a mid-life crisis at 28. Although, honest admission, when I saw this movie for the first time, I was a wee lass and I remember thinking, wow, Ten Year Reunion, he must be old. Thanks Hollywood, for skewing my age perception goggles. I'm better now.
As the year windeth down, I've been doing to a little introspective retrospection, and have decided that I need to get. on. the. ball. One way to do this, I think, is to push myself to write more. Even if it's crap. This means finishing the NaNoWriMo novel, more blog postings (including going back to writing book reviews), and (my boss will be pleased) more academic writing. The last thing I had fun writing was my Spanish paper about reggaeton. Who would have thought that 9 pages in Spanish on Puerto Rican identity would have been so engaging? I could feel those language muscles flexing. I write best with a challenge in mind.
I know I will be in NY, oh, tomorrow, so starting off with a lofty goal seems the surest path to failure, sadness, and self-loathing, which is no way to start the next decade, so... my compromise is that I will write what I like best: lists! I will embrace my need to organize and tally, and let it come spewing back out in some sort of semi-interesting way. I expect the first one this evening. Oooh, anticipation! *Due to unforeseen circumstances, I have failed already... One day, I will learn, just apparently not yet.
Hey Briana - cover the kids' eyes.
Finally, on an odd, yet completely relevant note, someone used the term "mental masturbation" in conversation with me the other day. It's become stuck in my head lately as a litmus test of every action I engage in. For example, this blog. What is the point exactly of spouting off all the nonsense that is in my head? I'm sitting here clicking away at the keyboard, thinking, "Oh yeah baby, that's a good metaphor. Nice alliteration." But does that necessarily lessen the importance of the experience, even if it's just for me? I'm not sure, but now it's one more thing to think about on those long drives to the 'Boro.
As the year windeth down, I've been doing to a little introspective retrospection, and have decided that I need to get. on. the. ball. One way to do this, I think, is to push myself to write more. Even if it's crap. This means finishing the NaNoWriMo novel, more blog postings (including going back to writing book reviews), and (my boss will be pleased) more academic writing. The last thing I had fun writing was my Spanish paper about reggaeton. Who would have thought that 9 pages in Spanish on Puerto Rican identity would have been so engaging? I could feel those language muscles flexing. I write best with a challenge in mind.
I know I will be in NY, oh, tomorrow, so starting off with a lofty goal seems the surest path to failure, sadness, and self-loathing, which is no way to start the next decade, so... my compromise is that I will write what I like best: lists! I will embrace my need to organize and tally, and let it come spewing back out in some sort of semi-interesting way. I expect the first one this evening. Oooh, anticipation! *Due to unforeseen circumstances, I have failed already... One day, I will learn, just apparently not yet.
Hey Briana - cover the kids' eyes.
Finally, on an odd, yet completely relevant note, someone used the term "mental masturbation" in conversation with me the other day. It's become stuck in my head lately as a litmus test of every action I engage in. For example, this blog. What is the point exactly of spouting off all the nonsense that is in my head? I'm sitting here clicking away at the keyboard, thinking, "Oh yeah baby, that's a good metaphor. Nice alliteration." But does that necessarily lessen the importance of the experience, even if it's just for me? I'm not sure, but now it's one more thing to think about on those long drives to the 'Boro.
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