In Honor Of/ Channeling Kelli Fontenot

I sit in the first class meeting of Advanced Composition, a sickening mixture of excitement and exhaustion blurring the edges of my vision, when a tall, bone thin man enters the room. His thin-framed, wire-rimmed glasses sit atop a somewhat bulbous, hooked nose. He has three patches of hair, centered around a bald spot; they hardly meet each other, save for a thin shading of charcoal grey hair to act as a common ground.

His pants are probably two inches too tight and three inches too short, and yet this seemed to fit him perfectly. When he speaks, his voice is scratchy, something akin to the way Matthew McConaughey speaks in his movies.

We spend thirty seconds too long on the pronunciation and origin of his name--the "c" in Mischler is silent and it is of German descent. Both sides of his family are German, he tells us, by coincidence and not purpose.

He very promptly informs us that the focus of this English class is Science and I can already tell that I will either strongly like or strongly dislike this class and this teacher.

As I leave the classroom, the fragments of notes float on the board, glaring at my fervent belief that I will not to write them down.

In the Eye of the Beholder

Has anybody ever considered intelligence to be a form of beauty? I mean--intellect is relevant, right? Or rather being smart is all relevant. For instance, a political expert will seem endlessly smarter than I am--I don't dabble too much in politics, I don't claim to be learned, knowledgeable or well-read in that field. A debate against one of these people would render me speechless, dumb.

But on the same token--I can discuss literature until the sun goes black. I love literature, and I love to look into the intricacies of writing. I love to read a book and explain the allusions, to dwell upon the hidden theme, to pick out the meta messages. Compared to others, I would seem smart, I would seem to be an expert.

This is the true beauty of intelligence, right? That everybody has their own intelligence in a certain area.

I for instance am book smart--I nestle perfectly into a classroom, raise my hand, and regurgitate text book information, with a few of my own inferences and opinions, and smile as the rest of the students take notes on what I've said. I've been told I'm a good "explainer," that I'm good at breaking down text book information and saying in a way that makes people understand.

My mom's brand of smarts, however, falls outside of the world of Academia. She is people smart--she's good at reading people in a way that even I can't. She's also very "of the world." If she were put out in the wild and forced to survive on her own, she could. She'd be able to hunt and cook and barter when the need arose. She'd be able to survive. I admire that--because as important as it is for me to know that Haydn was born in Austria, it would never help me in survival. I could never impress a bear into not eating me; I could never help a fisherman study so that he would give me a free fish. I'd be lost. I admire her for being smart of the world.

My dad--the furthest of all my family from fitting into a classroom, has an odd sense of intuition. And he's a great cook. Both intelligence that I lack. I've come to find that the more you rely on teachers and textbooks to teach you, the less you remember how to read what your gut is telling you. I am not intuitive--if my stomach says "don't continue" in whatever I'm doing, I don't hear it. I'm too analytical. I pass that off as indigestion, heat exhaustion, and any number of other things. I often don't realize that I've rationalized my way out of intuition until it's far too late to do anything about it. Also--while I'm a decent enough baker, I'd never be able to cook like my dad does. He has the ability to look at a recipe and know exactly what kind of tweaking it needs to be perfect. He's efficient and knowledgeable in the kitchen--it's something I wish I had.

It's funny: even I am guilty of going about and judging people who are not as smart as me. "She failed the history test." or "He's never read My Sister's Keeper." or "He's never heard of Locke." And yet, they have every right to look at me and say "He can't hunt." or "He'll never be able to rebuild a car." and be just as smug. The only issue is that I would be angry--I would be hurt. It's not my fault that I have low aptitudes for kinesthetics and tactile objectives. But according to not only me, but many others as well--it is your fault if you're not literary minded, if you're bad at math, if you're not good in a classroom.

What a poor double standard we all set for one another.

Clearly, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And intelligence is more beautiful than anything else we have to offer this world.

The Semester from Hell

I counting down the days until this semester is over. So much has happened in these four short months that I swear a hit TV show could be lasted four seasons using material from just my life.

Let's recap:

Incredible Hulk ripped our door off the wall
Incredible Hulk smoked pot in my apartment
Incredible Hulk invited CREEPY SMOOTHIE GUY over to my apartment
Played the Wizard of Oz (that was fun)
Went to TMEA, came back with Bronchitis
Housing up the air

The Week from Hell:
Computer Crashed
Cat Died
Sneezed; viola broke

Taught a guy that the rapping mentioned in Poe's The Raven was not, in fact, rap music
Thwarted off creepy stalkers
Slept very little
Had a major argument over something minor

If we include last summer:
"My pants don't have buddons!"
and finding a dead body

I pretty much should have won best leading actor in a comedy series by now.

But at least I'm still smiley.

Good luck on your finals, all who don't read my meager blog.

What's Good for the Goose

A criticism of double standards:

So--please allow me to blow off some steam. An argument arose between a friend and I today, that really brought a lot of things to a head. Some harsh things were said, and while I do not regret the things that I said, I do regret the way that I went about saying them.

It has been brought to my attention that I love too hard and I care too much. By more than one person. I have been informed that I allow people to walk all over me, and I am beginning to see it. For example, in this particular argument, my friend and I had worked together on a project. I merely asked this person for the written copy of what we had done, because during the planning process, my computer was not working. I was informed that I was being unfair, and that they should not have had to do all of the work. As I recall, typing the written part of a group effort is not "doing all the work," as the partners had to contribute to the group to be able to have anything to type.

For years, this particular person has come to me when they needed something, and every time I have dropped what I was doing to offer help. And, yet, if I needed their help, in return, they were reluctant to acknowledge me, and in most cases refused to help. The issue that arose in this argument was not the fact that they refused to share their work with me. That's never been a problem for me--I can whip out a five page paper within a couple of hours and a few cups of coffee. I haven't maintained a 3.89 GPA in college by expecting others to do my work.

The true issue is the way that I was treated. That I have been treated upon multiple occasions. Whenever somebody is willing to go out of their way to help you, you should offer them the same courtesy. Whenever somebody is willing to devote more time to you than you are willing to devote to them, then you should correct that. You never know when you'll need that web of support backing you one day, but because of the way you've treated them they'll be gone.

I truly have no hard feelings over my argument today--and even apologized. Their current status will inform you that they have not forgiven me, and probably won't for a while. And that's okay--I will chose to be the bigger person in this situation. I apologized for a situation that escalated quickly, got out of hand fast, and could have been avoided with a little bit of courtesy from both parties.

This being said, I urge you all to try harder to make time for anybody that needs your help, or to show appreciation to those who have helped you relentlessly in the past. One day, you will lose that help, otherwise, and then you'll grow to see what you truly had.

The Effect of Social Media

It's a Friday afternoon and you begin to make plans with your friends.  You take out your day planner and the calendar on your cell phone to ensure that you do not have any social engagements.  You start to send out a text message, inviting some of your closest friends over for some drinks and a movie, something casual, something fun.  It is, after all, the week of your birthday, and you're ready to celebrate.

However, as you feel the excitement welling in your stomach for the fun you will have after a hard week of exams, you get ten text messages that reject your plans.  "I'm sorry..." they all begin.  "But, it wasn't on Facebook, so I made other plans."

You suddenly feel upset--rightfully so.  But the real issue here isn't the fact that you won't be spending the evening with your friends.  The issue is the fact that your friends expected it to be on Facebook for it to be official.  It wasn't enough for your friends to consider that your birthday was approaching and you would want to relax and celebrate.  It wasn't considered to ask you if you wanted to hang out for your birthday.  The only thought that crossed their minds was the fact that you had not sent out a Facebook invitation, or made a MySpace event.

When did this world grow to be controlled by Facebook, or other forms of social media.  My Twitter status does not have to inform my friends that I am going to the bathroom for me to actually be going to the bathroom.  I do not have to make a Facebook invitation to ask my friends to join me at Taco Bell to eat.

This social media movement has caused spontaneity to be all but nonexistent.  I cannot call somebody at the spur of the moment for fear that Facebook has already informed them of a party across town, of a concert in Dallas, of a dinner at Chili's.  What happened to being whimsical?  What happened to being irresponsible and playing it by ear?

Or do I need to invite you all to my Facebook event "Playing by Ear.  Hosted by: Paul Adams. Where: Somewhere?"

Top 10 Signs You Need a Weekend

10.) By 4:00 on Monday, you're already apologizing for things, saying "It's been a long week."
9.) You catch yourself falling asleep throughout the day--even during your lunch break.
8.) You can't remember the last time "8 hours" and "sleep" were used in the same sentence.
7.) You prayed that the tornado last night would destroy your place of business, just so you could sleep in.
6.) You'd rather record The Office and go to bed early than to watch it when it premiers like everybody else
5.) You've seriously considered quitting life to join the circus or to be a hobo.
4.) Even though you've turned all your work in one week late, you still consider that to be "on time."
3.) You can't remember your girlfriend/boyfriend's name.
2.) You can't remember your own name.
1.) You don't have time to finish reading this post.