On Movies and Writing

So yes... movies, and writing. That's pretty much been the extent of my past four days or so... That and class, which has been fairly unremarkable. The Sound and the Fury gives me a headache. I can see why people think it's a pain. I still don't see what everyone hates so much about Hemingway. At least you can read him. Though at least Faulkner doesn't come anywhere near the oatmeal properties of Three Lives. That still remains at the top of the Holy Crap WTF Were You Thinking books. Interesting idea when it's not over a hundred pages, honest, Gertrude Stein, but come on. Weren't you tired of writing that? I know sitting for portraits is boring, but eesh... was Picasso that poor of a conversationalist?

Anyway! Saturday (I think... maybe it was Sunday) I finally got to watch Mirrormask, because jabberwockeyes happened to have it. It was wonderful... very, very pretty. I kind of want to watch it again, even though there were bits of plot I reeeeally wanted to be explored more. I think a big part of the point was the pretty, though, and that was pulled off wonderfully. You could tell just by looking at it for three seconds who was behind it though. There's not much hiding McKean's style there, nor Gaiman's. Which is not at all a bad thing. (And oh, I think I may forever maintain that the Jim Henson workshop can do no wrong, but there's probably something in the past that I've overlooked where someone can prove me wrong. Or in the future. Please refrain from pointing it out.) And today I saw O Brother, Where Art Thou for film. At this point, I am completely certain that around the time it came out, I had no idea how to judge films, because it seemed like it'd be a totally boring and rather pretentious affair, and I thought that perhaps... I don't know what I thought. But what a good movie. I kind of wish I'd watched after City of God, which I just finished about half an hour ago, because that, though also quite good, depressed the heck out of me, whereas O Brother was pretty and funny. And full of good music.

Unfortunately, after three movies like that in a row, I'm kind of left sitting here going "Oh my goodness... Crap. I will never pass myself off as a writer." What's worse is that the reason I had to watch City of God was my writing class... and for part of our final, I have to write a story that uses the same sort of story-telling methods. Right. Like I can re-create a multi-decade based-on-real-life-type story with so many interweaving plots and characters. With great narration. Wonderful, really, when it all fits together. My hack-and-slash, got to get this done in the next week and a half job of it, though? I shudder to think what it'll turn out as. I really, really don't have enough time to devote to that class, and it makes me sad. And now I've stuck myself in yet another of my existential crises, where I have no idea what I'm doing as a writer, or non-writer, and I've started more things than I can possibly ever finish... mostly because I get to about 600-700 words, and have no idea where to go from there. Honest-to-goodness, I'm in that spot on at least three things right now, and one of them is due Thursday and needs another thousand words at least, and I just don't know what to do. I think there's a fine line between me being just far away enough from the internets to keep my creativity where I can channel it into things properly and where I am now, which is just sort of... lost. (I shouldn't even go into what the situation is now, but I know I will anyway. My recovery CD isn't going to be here for nearly a week, which means sending my comptuer off is totally useless until I get home, because I can't send it from here and have them return it to my house. And when I get home, I have to repair their computer because somehow they've gotten so much spyware on it that it's corrupted the operating system. Neat, huh? So when I get home I'll be without my laptop for two weeks, sharing a broken computer with three other people on dial-up. ... Sigh. I wish I'd been able to find a job elsewhere. I think by whenever I get my laptop back in June, I will begin my search for free wireless in the area in ernest... except we've only got two cars for four people... all of which will probably be working. Crap. This summer is going to be a horrible, horrible mess. I almost wish I could afford to stay here.)

So... that's pretty much the last four days for you. Class, homework (usually involving movies), and writing. And, of course, all sorts of fretting, most of it useless and needless, but just sort of how I operate. I hate being so lost right now. I had such good momentum going this quarter, and now, since I hate writing in the computer labs, it takes me three times as long to do anything, which kills all the time-wasting time I used to have in between. Oh well, at least it's sunny out. And warm.

I give up! WTF!

All right. I got back today, hoping for something interesting in one of my e-mail inboxes. Turns out my recovery CD has arrived. I guess I've had good luck with electronics-related things being shipped quickly. So I went "yay!" and went downstairs and picked it up, brought it up here, stuck it in my poor unhappy laptop...

At this point, words don't even explain my utter confusion and frustration. You see, I was rather amused that, despite the fact that I spelled my name for them, I still somehow became Terry on the envelope. Okay, I can see that... if I hadn't spelled it. Heck, I could see it even if I had spelled it, if they'd managed to end it in an ie. Who knows what my bank will do... hopefully they'll figure out the charge. Though, the receipt in the envelope said I hadn't been charged anything... even though they claimed it'd be $40. So, you know... confusion. Slight bemusement, because, really, can one triad of tech support, computer company, and repair places be that utterly stupid consistantly?

Yes. Yes they can.

They sent me the WRONG recovery CD.

Not only that... when I tell it to reformat, it comes up with WRONG MACHINE. In that obnoxious each-letter-is-giant-and-made-of-that-letter, isn't-this-cute? way that you used to see on like, old ATM machines. Like it's mocking me.

Dear Toshiba, If you are going to have a seperate recovery CD for A25s and A25-S207s, freaking make sure you can distinguish them by their serial numbers. Or, you know, ask. And kindly make sure your sales people are capable of listening to people's names. Omfgwtf, srsly. I just want my computer to work again.

Honestly. I would like to hitchhike to wherever these people are and just... I dunno, maybe it'd freak them out if I just glared at them from outside the window for a while. Or very loudly faked my own death. Maybe performance art. Performance art is fun. Honestly, wtf. How can I have so many problems getting this fixed? My goodness.

(Yes, this is hilarious. Though, if this were fiction, I think I'd have to tell the writer that they'd already passed the point where the joke was pushed too far. Because really, the only reaction you're getting out of this character now is slightly stressed-out, I can't believe this is still happening laughter. And what fun is that? The audience has got to be bored by now.)