Because I Am Silly...

Sometimes I forget to read the titles of articles, books, and short stories. It’s actually kind of weird for me because they are the most enjoyable part of any story to write: anything from obscure Stanley Kubrick references to multiple sentence long abstractions on the feeling of 95% cotton on a bearded face have all made it into my obnoxious headlines.

Where am I getting with this? This is a necessary self-reminder, not  a literary device--I ramble sometimes. I recently became engrossed in this article by Susan Orlean from a collection of literary journalism. She was writing about this wee 10-year old boy-- which was originally supposed to be this story about MaCaulay Culkin but she was super-sassy so that doesn't matter--generally covering the life of cooties and cartridge-based video games.

Stirring me out of my general nostalgia was this quote:

“..the collision in his mind of what he understands, what he hears, what he figures out, what popular culture pours into him, what he knows, what he pretends to know, and what he imagines, makes an interesting mess.”

The agelessness of her analysis struck me as revelatory of what narrative journalism should aspire to become. It seemed so out of the blue, in the midst of Streetfighter II ramblings and elementary school drama, but still wildly appropriate for any age at any time--this young boy just happened to be more impressionable due to his place in time. So natural! So unique! So contemplative!

Then the natural progression of my pause brought my eyes to the tip-top of the page where the title poked itself into my cornea: “The American Man at Age Ten.” Oh, well duh. It is supposed to be removed from time. It is supposed to be about his natural progression. It is supposed to be a contemplation of the beginnings of the male psyche during one such specimen’s formative years.

Now that doesn’t devalue the quote, or the gentle progression towards the general critique that Orlean jumps from the many spring-boarding ‘whats’--it just felt intriguing to have the story told without the obligatory spoiler at the beginning. It isn’t a big spoiler, but just enough to take away my ignorant a-ha moment. Oh well.

Writing Process Stuff That I Should Have Done Earlier

It is no secret to most that I am uncomfortable writing about myself. Or speaking about myself. In general. It makes me quick, irritable, and overall ornery. But mostly it just makes me rambly and boring. For this story, I made the conscious choice to turn myself into a character--or at least my narration of myself. It is also difficult creating dialogue, or "remembering" dialogue, when you don't know if their is any. My desire to entertain comes in direct conflict with my desire to be as accurate as possible. While I am sure there are ways around it, i.e. with the use of current discussions and anochronisms in the realm of the story, it was still one of my greater obstacles for writing the piece as a whole.

Finding the right amount of personal information to give, when you know you are talking about someone that is at times lounging on the same Pikachu blanket as your are while writing on that laptop, was another struggle. This is also known as "I don't want to piss you off honey, because I generally enjoy our relationship and curry Thursdays." It's interesting how invasive we can be as journalists in other people's lives, but when it came to write about myself, I became much more conservative: hidden behind a character and delicately positioning my words as to not offend anyone but an grumbling Zac Clark Sr.

Homeless In Kazoo: Dependently Independent

The trial and mild inconvenience of being a privileged white male. The first in a series. I am experiencing homelessness.

Statements like that might lead to some rather inquisitive questions, like:

Well, Zac, if you are homeless, how the hell are you accessing the interwebs to make such a statement?

To which I’d gladly respond:

Why, I am using my ASUS Ultrabook with a touch-screen and SATA drive that allowed me to create the post from boot-up to word-processing program in less than 30 seconds.

Alright, so the question is being slightly avoided with the shifting of shoulders and waving hand gesticulations, but it is a flushingly embarrassing question: Why are you without house and home yet provided with a $1000 dollar laptop by your father who is currently spending his springs in a Dutch resort drinking mango smoothies on the flour-textured beaches of Aruba?

It's explained by Abby, my girlfriend. No she didn’t kick me out--in fact she and I will be coming on a year of consistent tolerance of each other’s pizza toppings come April 28th, meaning that dating her for a year has made me vegetarian and I can no longer enjoy pepperoni. I’m assured that there is a meatless alternative.

She is a year older than me, and her being a senior and me being a junior, has allowed her to enjoy off-campus living from the wee, prestigious liberal arts college we both attend. Typically you aren’t allowed to leave until your senior year, as underclassman are encouraged to focus on college community, tacitly allowing upperclassman to follow the higher pursuits of illicit substance abuse and undisturbed sexual activity.  

With such benefits, we started living together almost a month into our relationship. Quickly my dorm-room was abandoned to the roommate who gave his grumbled consent to the new living arrangement with something like a “I’ll be sure to have sex with my girlfriend with this gift you have given me.”

But access to the piles of stale, smoky clothing; musty library of paperback Hermann Hesse novels; and iron, Finnish steamer trunks that comprised my material possessions, remained within my meagre college student powers. Due to student conduct laws and housing bullshit, I was required to continue paying the Department of Student Living $3000-$4000 dollars a quarter for a glorified storage space. My now-ex roommate referred his new single room as his “masturbatorium.” I wasn’t there so the accumulation of tissues and ransacking of $30 dollar Target bowl chairs didn't irk me that much. I got to live with my girlfriend while having a safe back-up plan that only needed a bit of bleach to be as good as new.

Until a few weeks ago. Thought this ASUS laptop is a mighty gift indeed, luxury doesn’t come naturally to my divorced parents. With my mother and stepfather working to pay off my step-sister’s college bills off, and a father prone to galavanting across floral Caribbean beaches with his girlfriend, myself developing a sense of fiscal responsibility doesn’t seem too obtuse.

It’s not pleasant. Thinking about money doesn’t produce hives but I’d like to think it agitates my self-diagnosed psoriasis. Or I hope that is psoriasis. Either way it creates the nervous gut-busting grumble of anxiousness and dependence on others when I realize I owe them.

So when thinking about my tuition bill, and how those tens of thousands of dollars added to my student loans are being poured into someone else’s sex cave, it dawned on me like a TLC special that an easy way to save money would be to just move stuff out of the dorm space that was currently converted into my slap shack

So when the official opportunity came to uncheck student living from my tuition box, I took it.

But being a full time student, even with two part-time jobs, finding the money and time to apartment search was difficult, and the soonest one I could find was ready for move-in April 28th. That left me with a month of homelessness.

So here is this petite, auburn-haired stage director and blacksmith with the tendency to squeak like a woodland creature when tickled telling me that she wants me to live with her. Really live with her this time--unmarried and barely able to help out with utilities. Basically paying for my housing. Cook me meals. Comfort makes me uncomfortable. I owe her.

Admittedly staying with Abby is nice, but acquiescing living space to her other five housemates can be taxing. Not to say that they don’t deserve the space, they pay rent and all, but they bump into my vintage ‘80’d speakers and scoff at my collection of Beach Boys vinyl. Though my stuff shouldn’t be there, in their home. I owe them.

So no, I’m not technically homeless. I have loving, amiable, welcoming girlfriend and friends, too, who are allowing me in their home with no real escape plan. I’m stuck there. They know that and I know that, and it doesn’t seem to cause them to break out in various skin diseases but my fingers are itchy. Welcoming dependence, and realizing I don’t have a choice, changes the dynamic of Abby and I’s relationship. I am burden, and it doesn’t  matter if I am light or heavy,

She hasn’t kicked me out, and I haven’t snuck any pork-roast into her curries so hopefully that means we’re in the green in terms of relationship status, but I’m in her hands for another two weeks. But, if I want independence: from finance, parents, school; albeit for only two weeks, I have to depend on her.

So Maybe I Need to Calm Down...

(courtesy digital trends)


Having slowly--very slowly--narrowed down my topic, along with writing up a rather antogonistic rough draft, I looked around for something that fit the idea of cutting out cable and watching internet television. I also tried to talk about class, but felt that it needed a bit more of an accurate critical edge.

http://www.digitaltrends.com/home-theater/how-to-cancel-cable-and-get-tv-on-your-pc/

The above article seemed to sum up my financial assertions with a touch more of forgiveness, and helped me realize I need some more nuance, and acceptence in my own writing or risk alienating more individuals rather than convincing them.

Such is what I thought.

One More Time: Abstract

So, trying it out, this abstract thing...yeah. 

#4 Join the Cult: Binge Watching vs. the Uplugged Premiere

House of Cards premiered last month, specifically, February 1st on Netflix. I didn't care. That isn't to say I had been looking forward to the show--in fact I have been looking for an excuse to watch the show for weeks now. But, I didn't really care about when it was coming out. I'd like to focus on  the new trend of binge watching shows and why it is ultimately the way we as media consumers are all going to go.

To do this, I'd "binge-watch" House of Cards by watching at least three episodes a day to finish the 13 episode season. This would generally define what binge-watching and hopefully allow for a clear mind on what that experience is like for those unfamiliar---then I would be arguing as to why this is ultimately the most personal and customizable way to consume media while simultaneously being the most addictive. 

Who: Er, House of Cards?

What: Binge Watching on Digital Mediums (Netflix, Hulu, Tivo?)

When: Now

Where: My laptop

Why: To Show the Effects of Binge Watching and Why It is Done

Abstract(s)

I have been struggling with identifying a topic that has a fresh impact on media that most people consume today. As a result, I have three luke-warm proposals I'd like to pose for peer pondering:

#1 If You Can't Beat Them, Be Them:

Network programming has traditionally carried the banner of decency for television watcherss around the U.S. Recently, violence, sex, and profanity---traditionally seen in cable television---have been showing-up with higher frequency in prime-time programming. These provocative shifts are paired with more subtle changes like shorter season length and longer running time, for network shows that mimic--or are increasingly similar to--cable television shows. Is there a demand for violence, sex, etc. on network television? Is it attempt to cash in on the "Golden Age" of cable television? Or is it just a ploy to draw an increasingly unplugged audience away from Netflix, Hulu, etc.?

#2 Big Reach, Little Town:

Digital music is accepted amongst  the media moguls. It has even start turning a profit rather than costing execs. the millions they spend in piracy settlements. But while the industry becomes enamored with internet-savvy consumers, how do the up-and-comers, the not-yet-famous bands, utilize digital media kick music out of the garage and into customers/listeners buds? Has it been beneficial? Have they abandoned physical media altogether? Specifically, how have Kalamazoo bands--and other Michigan-based acts--utilized technology in the post-CD era?

#3 That One Guy, Made-it-Big:

Nathan K. is a name known well enough around the Kalamazoo bar scene--but his band Stepdad is know better around the U.S. than anywhere around here. How has this Michigan-born artist gone from the basement scene of Kalamazoo to national touring act, and what does it mean for other artists in an area qualified as one of the most musically metropolitan in Michigan?

I'd love comments, critique, etc. on the ideas above. I have more contacts for the ones below, but there seems to be more promise and nuance in the top proposal. That being said, they may very-well all need a thorough run through the garbage disposal to find some nutritional substance among them.  

Mr. McFarlane Goes To Washington, Brings Back First Lady, Oscars Get Dirty

The goal of the 2013 Oscars seemed more shock than awe, and they didn’t come from the awards themselves.

Alumni of the Golden-Statue Club were the predictable winners: Christoph Waltz won his second, Daniel Day Lewis his third, Ang Lee his second. Jennifer Lawrence won her first, and a bunch of technical awards went to Life of Pi. Anne Hathaway had a darling acceptance speech.

The only striking award was given to Argo for best picture, but considering the Golden Globe hype and critical brouhaha after director Affleck’s Oscar-snub, it still didn’t warrant a spit-take.

Instead, host Seth McFarlane, Family Guy and Ted creator, provided most of the eye-openers for the night.

During the opening ceremony, Denzel Washington’s character from Flight made a guest appearance as a sock-puppet doing cocaine, which  McFarlane assured viewers was okay because “Denzel was in all those Nutty Professor movies.”

William Shatner had to chide the television veteran, “you’re a white man in 2013; you can’t do black hand!”

“No that’s not as bad as it gets,” McFarlane assured after a John Wilkes Booth joke.

The official theme of the night’s Oscars was “Music and FIlm,” celebrating the nostalgia of movie-musicals and film-scores, but McFarlane’s own theme prevailed: Oscar self-acknowledgment and derision.

Traditional, Oscar-typical musical performances of a (flat) Shirley Bassey performance of “Goldfinger” in celebration of James Bond turning 50 and a full-cast stage performance of “One Day More” from  the Les Miserables ran second banana to McFarlane’s two originals,  “We Saw Your Boobs” and “Bless All The Losers”  that remained the glaring highlights of the night.

Jack Nicholson (accidently?) revealed why in his co-presentation with the awkwardly-telecasted First Lady about why they don’t have someone up front “messing around; making comments about rouge, chiffon, sequins and ringlets,” because that’s whole point--the Oscars escape reality, they don’t critique it.

But McFarlane’s commentary focused on the divide between the people that actually watch movies; audiences that laugh at the homophobic-racist-classist jokes be made throughout the evening, and the uplifting quality of films that Mrs. Obama claims “help us celebrate, broaden our minds, lift our spirits....no matter who we are, where we’re from, or who we love...”

It seemed inappropriate fiction compared to the glamour and gold and whiteness of the celebration that included jokes about how you can only be Jewish in Hollywood and if musicals were gay enough, it was hard to see how accurate her words were.