Labor day weekend has snuck up on me. Of course, it doesn't really mean anything to me except for the continuation of this perpetual summer of 2010. What a drag of a summer. I feel like I did so little.
Now now, Katrina, let's actually think of the nice things that happened. First of all, I graduated, and that is still the ultimate joy. Secondly, I have nearly finished my thesis which will be submitted to the Zoetrope contest soon (the Coppolas are my homeboys, obviously, so I expect great things from that). I've written a few short stories and submitted them for publication consideration (though of course I've been rejected from each publisher), I made two short films that I find somewhat satisfying to watch, and I had a job for a little while.
Oh, have I not mentioned what happened there? Well, it took me forever to go through the hiring process at the Santa Barbara job, and in the meantime I did some independent work for one of the clients, a woman with CP. A very infamously difficult woman, as it turns out. Anyway, once training was supposed to start I told the woman that I needed to complete training before we went any further (her parents were determined to get her going as early as possible, but without involvement from the organization that I was supposed to start working for we were floundering around without a game plan of any kind). TWO WEEKS LATER (yeah) I finally got into training and shadowing for another girl that I would be working with (whom I loved, I will miss her). But I was then told that the CP woman as well as the other girl were going to be on long vacations. Ok. I tried to hang in, though it got to the point that I had no money to even commute to SB to work. I was then notified that CP woman would be even longer than expected, and I was asked if I still wanted the job. I took it as a sign-- I did not want this job, I did not want this job from the start. I had had bad dreams about it, for heaven's sake, and I've been paranoid about how I would get out of it once I found a preferable job (these sorts of special needs people jobs of course want committment, which I couldn't give). Anyway, I was given the easy out and I took it.
Lately I've been interviewing for a very cool shop in downtown Ventura (5 minutes from where I live). It's a writing job, and it would consist of me writing newsletters, articles, salesletters, blurbs, and blogs. I really want this job, but it's taking a long time as well. I felt as though it was meant to be but now I've had enough time to start worrying about it.
In the meantime I've been trying to write, but of course sans structure I am not a dedicated little person. I've watched alot of TV lately, though I like to think it's good and inspiring television. I've become more of a TeVee-er than I ever have been, and I think it's because television has really gotten great lately. I would love to write for television, for something like Breaking Bad (of course) or Mad Men or Deadwood or even something like Criminal Minds (the only good cop show on these days). Or even the HBO stuff like The Big C or Weeds (which I haven't seen much of, but still) or United States of Tara. And How I Met Your Mother, which is a shining example of the sitcom's refusal to die! Oh yes happiness.
Anyway. Yes, okay, alot of TV recently. I really should probably dabble in the real world some more.
I'm in the midst of reading a number of books, as per my ADD usual (I actually wonder about my ADD qualities sometimes-- I don't want to read too much into it, but I certainly have concentration issues), two being East of Eden and The Heart is A Lonely Hunter. EoE hasn't grabbed me yet, though I always like Steinbeck's writing style. Lonely Hunter doesn't really flow like a story, just a set of characters getting older in a southern town. It's quite good thus far, and reminds me alot of To Kill A Mockingbird. Both books were written by southern women, which I find interesting. Anyway, the only thing I notice in Lonely Hunter that ticks me off is the dialect-- when certain books try to capture a certain way of speaking, be it deep southern or cockney, I tend to shut down or skim. Their Eyes Were Watching God is an example of this. Obviously, there has to be some way of expressing that manner of speech, but that's so difficult in print. All of the "black folks" in Lonely Hunter annoy the crap of out me and I have no patience for reading their dialogue. If they were characters in a film, I would probably feel differently, as I do like the feel of a southern accent and certain odd or backward phrases, like "over yonder" and "fixin' to" and "'first place..." Anyway, I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I think writers need to be careful with dialect and their expression of "sound" as it can distract from what the words actually mean. Also, it is quite enough to notify the reader that the subject speaks with a twang rather than sounding out the sound of the twang in the subject's speech. I don't like it! I don't!