rainy days are hella nice for being chill and doing work

so i decided today when not paying attention to someone saying something that this blog thing would be a goode thing to use for my attempts to keep writing during school. particularly since the only people who read it will be people who want to know what i'm writing fo reals. there's this blu & exile thing that i'm feelin, berto sent me a link to one of the songs and it's goode rainy day music it seems.

anyways. writing is important to stay alive. i like to write things that include aspects of my own life and things that include nothing of my own life. very nice.


and these are all first drafts that may never go anywhere or will go very far. just some bt dubs stuff.

Next Post:
-books!
-why these cookies are awesome
-did she make the Kool-Aid yet?
(answer: no)


Performance Of Self In Everyday Life

For a young man and a young woman, who shall be referred to as Brendan and Bri respectively, who are enchanted by one another, but unable to find the courage to express as much directly through words or actions, a simple agreement to meet for lunch in Sharples expands to an hour long performance session. While each attending party wishes to be viewed by the other in an air of the utmost hip and chill state, their performances succeed only in confusing the other with subtext within subtext and responses of such nonchalantness that they are read as a lack of interest.

Before the lunch has even begun, the actors practice lines for their characters. The performance begins moments before the meeting as Bri stands in the bathroom of the dining hall alternating between hairstyles of hair half pulled back to allow the full face to be seen or let loose to suggest an air of whimsical mystery as she practices giving eyes of a playful, yet oddly mature for the age of eighteen, nature to the mirror above the sink. She decides upon a simple style and moves on to apply concealer to physical spots that she wishes to remain unknown, two slightly varying shades of blush to her sucked in cheeks for contouring purposes, mascara to give full volume and body to eyelashes, and several strokes of eyeliner around each eye, providing them with a “come-hither” look that appears to be achieved by natural means. Her actions are a result of several magazines strewn across her bedroom floor explaining to her the different ways in which makeup can be used to make her more beautiful and thus more appealing to the sex of her choice. Such forms of conditioning, however, do not affect only her, for across the dining room’s entrance hall, in the Men’s Restroom, there stands Brendan, in front of a mirror, pushing his locks around his head, attempting to make them ruffled in just the right way that they look as if they fell as such by mere serendipity. He only considers the wind-blown look because he learned last night, via research of one kind on her Face Book profile page, that Bri’s favorite musician is a man of constant wind-blown locks, and Brendan believes that imitation will wildly increase his chances. Bri reminds herself that Brendan’s best friend’s cousin’s girlfriend mentioned something about him preferring Jay-Z to Nas in a conversation last week. Brendan repeats Bri’s three favorite movies under his breath as he leaves the restroom. They are both under the impression that the other is looking for someone quite like themselves in interests and nature, and will do what it takes to convince the other that they are that person. What neither of them understand is that both of them yearn for someone who will teach them new things and show them ways of living life that they’d never considered. Their own yearning to be seen as someone worth liking, and the consequential belief that the person that they are is not worth liking, leads them down these paths of self-destruction.

Brendan and Bri greet one another with awkward hellos that betray their outward attempts of continuously high levels of confidence. As they search for an empty table amidst the sea of chaos that is a college dining hall at the peak of the lunch hour, their inner streams of conscious thought clash wildly with the conversation they hold. To the simple question of “How was your day?” Bri responds without looking directly at Brendan, choosing instead to keep her eyes focused for a table while saying, “Good. You know how it goes, daily grind and whatnot. Astronomy’s getting easier, Film is a bore, and that Harry Potter class I’m in is full of people who like Harry Potter much too much,” all the while composing within a symphony of thoughts that have piled throughout the day. Her Astronomy class continues only to get harder, but to betray such a fact will shatter the perception she wishes Brendan to have of her, one of an easy going intelligence that applies itself to all subjects. Film has never been a bore and the thought of spending fifty-five minutes discussing the difference between a pull-back camera motion and a zoom excites her to no end, but to mention this would take away from the character that she wishes him to get to know better, for that character is much to cool to be so excited about such a medium. Then, of course, there is her Harry Potter Literature course, one which she’s dreamed about taking since she learned of its existence, a fact that will remain internalized in front of Brendan for fear of the association it may bring to his mind. During the simple minute of searching for a table and placing their belongings down, Bri has managed to deconstruct her own interests and attempted to fit them to the interests that she perceives Brendan to have. What she has not considered, however, is that as Brendan’s coy smirk played out on his face to her response, within him his heart wrenched from sadness, for he loves Harry Potter, and he’s always admired those who work with Film more than any other medium. While they stand in lines with trays ready for food, discussing the events of their weekends, Brendan begins to give in to the idea that Bri’s own ideas and ways of living may have surpassed his own so greatly that a romantic match can be found only in a man of much older age and greater prestige.

As Brendan tells her of his weekend filled with red cups and no sleep for there was simply too much fun being had, Bri nods and smugly smiles in agreement as if hers was quite the same. Though she tells him a story of nightly parties of “epic proportions”, there is a nagging in the back of her conscience that reminds her of the Saturday night she spent happily curled up beneath layers of blankets while watching the fifth Harry Potter movie for the thirteenth time since it premiered on DVD. With each passing moment of conversation throughout their lunch, Bri is no longer who she is but rather who she wishes Brendan to see her as. Brendan is not a lover of Star Wars to Bri, but a young man of constantly windswept hair and mysterious conversation patterns.

The young couple is experiencing several forms of perception at once. They are perceiving their own performances one way, Bri as undeniably hip and Brendan as one of few words but much mystery. They read into one another’s performances as being much better than their own and thus lacking compatibility with one another. The final tier of their performances, the level which one with views into their minds can see, one which they themselves know exist, the true person beneath the masks that they wear. They are eighteen year olds who find themselves with butterflies in their stomachs when they’re near one another. Two people who are both nerds of some sort at heart but don’t trust their own personalities to allow the truth to shine through. They latch on to the fears that surround surrender of one’s self to another and give in to the underlying pressure of performing for each other.

After this lunch they will go their separate ways to head nods and fist bumps that serve as good byes and inform their eagerly awaiting friends that they’re not as in to the other as they thought they were. Another performance of self, for the truth is that Bri doesn’t believe that Brendan likes her in any way shape or form which is quite the shame, for she would have liked someone to appreciate the very unconventional qualities she strove to hide. Brendan will tell his friends that Bri isn’t his type, while thinking inside of how perfect he thought she looked that one morning he saw her without makeup on in the library, hiding in the stacks, laughing quietly to herself over an Orson Scott Card novel. Brendan and Bri suffer from a common belief that the philosophy of “Just be yourself” actually calls for one to be exactly who they think someone else wants them to be, when in the end, the self was what the person wanted.