Katie Oh Says…

And, oh, perhaps I am pretentious, but today my professor told me he couldn’t see me in the pieces I had turned in and I nearly wept. I know it is just these pieces, because I have been told on several occasions that I come through in my writing, but goodness, I nearly packed my bag and headed back to Pittsburgh just then.

Amanda and I picked our room: 305 Willoughby. She is going to paint a portrait of me. I am going to read her my words.

I have yet to actually cry after a critique, but I suspect it may come soon. It’s not that I have enough faith in the pieces that it’s heartbreaking to hear that people don’t like them; it’s just the knowledge that oh, goodness, I just have so far to go. It is what I am here for.

Eric Rosenblum (who, by the way, was attempting to describe a scene in a story in workshop that involved a woman shaving her pubic hair and used the word “genitailia” and we were all giggling, even him) gave us an essay by Amy Hempel to read. In it, she describes being in Gordon Lish’s workshop at Columbia.

She says this:

There is one last thing on this subject of How Hard. Lish says you must have a deep sense of how hard a job it is in order to have a shot at greatness, so that you are not satisfied too easily. Which is why, when one of our number says that it is too hard and she is going to quit, Lish says, Now.

“Now you are ready to begin.”

1: ABC has a new show called “The Unusuals.” It’s a crime show about the NYC police unit that deals with crimes that are, well, unusual. For example, in the opening episode: a crime committed by a man wearing a hot dog suit, and a serial killer… who murders cats. So, whatever, interesting setup. [I won't go into a full review here, though I have a lot to say about it.] BUT! Parts were filmed in Fort Greene! There were no street signs shown, but as the characters were walking past a pole, it had one of those “Fort Greene Historical District” signs at the top. AWESOME.

2: Today I sat next to one of the actors from Oz on the subway. I about peed myself. AWESOME.

Disclosure: This may make me sound like a pretentious jerk. Frankly, I’m irritated enough to not care.

I am studying writing. My peers, who are good writers, assure me that I am not the worst person in the world at this. My work has been published. I am fairly certain I am going to be able to make this a career.

That being said: I am sick of this trend. This trend being the  comment or message from someone who had no real interest in writing before saying “oh, I’ve been writing recently too! Look!” followed by said writing being awful. This is often coupled with a “oh, I’m not very good at this! It’s probably awful!” And yet, you posted it on the internet, of all places.

Let me ask you this: what about the arts makes everyone think “I can do it, too!”? I would never “dabble” in surgery. I couldn’t practice law “on the side” or sneak away at night for my second job as a nuclear physicist.

I have a theory: it is the things we are taught to do young. We write. We draw with crayons. We fingerpaint. People make a living doing this, right? I can, too!

No, you can’t. If I am reading your work and your characters are muttering, sighing, and bellowing sharply, deeply, and coyly, you are doing it wrong. Just because you can use a thesaurus doesn’t mean you’re actually good at stringing words together. If your story ends in sunshine and rainbows, I will vomit a little in my mouth. I actually brainstormed it and cannot think of one good story or book that ends with everything being “okay.” Perhaps Anthem, but that’s a character escaping from an oppressive world into an uncertain one. Or maybe To Kill A Mockingbird, but even then, it’s not exactly happy, what with Atticus’ client being killed and the elder Ewell trying to kill Scout. Even if things end up “all right,” traumatic things and weird twists have led to this “all right” state of being.

This isn’t just writing, though I thought I’d start with that for a prep. These days, everyone’s a photographer. It’s kind of unfortunate and scary on some level, the ease with which people can pick up a digital camera and photoshop and suddenly are “artists” in their own mind. My friend, do you know what an enlarger is? Do you know how to develop photographs from film directly? No? And you’re a photographer?

Of course, this is not to say that there can’t be artists hidden in every day people. Clarence Darrow, for a time, shared an office with an unsuccessful lawyer by the name of Edgar Lee Masters. That lawyer, on the side, wrote The Spoon River Anthology. And this is also not to say that some widely-accepted “artists” aren’t bad, but I would reckon that more often than not, they are openly criticized for it. See my unabashed over-used example of Stephanie Meyer.

To bring it back around, I suppose I just get upset when people declare they are “making art” and then it turns out bad and they don’t seem to realize it. I’m devoting my life to this. I am sitting here, having spent hours [no, seriously, hours] just thinking of the correct way to phrase things in this blog post. If I were to clock how long it takes me to write a short story, including the editing process, to get it to where I’m not ashamed of it for looking “amateurish” it would probably be no less than 20 hours. And that’s for something that’s maybe 5, 6,000 words. You word-vomit this thing onto the internet and expect me to pat you on the back for it? I don’t think so. I’m concerned that you don’t think it’s bad and, perhaps even worse, you think I will give you some sort of positive reaction for it when I just spent a whole semester working towards writing a piece that is only half-good by my own standards.

If you need me, I’ll be working on my freelance project. It’s a cure for the common cold, which involves a mixture of honey and arsenic. I’m thinking of applying for a patent because, y’know, I can do it too!

Ahh, yes, that’s the name we chose for ourselves and look! So fitting.

I don’t even really know where to start: it’s been a heck of a time, frankly. The beginning, probably a good place.

Mark came in, ear infection and head cold, and met me outside Union Square. We happened to be there the same time as Cat-Hat-Man, which was epic to say the least. He looked frazzled, that special way people do when they get sick the first day of vacation. We ate mac and cheese and meandered back to Brooklyn.

And then, the Jew Party! Purim, or something like that, and there was an RV filled with Hasids driving around my block, blaring rock music with Yiddish lyrics. You can’t make this stuff up. We crept out onto the stoop and stood, pretending to smoke our cigarettes, but sneaking peeks into the buildings when the doors would open up and the people would spill out. Celebration!

Mark and I got bagels, which he found to be amazingly delicious, and then he had to get back to Times Square to meet his travelling partner.

And then Travis showed up that evening, and there was MoMa, vegan soul food, Margaritavillefest ‘09.

And, as always, back to Pittsburgh; a six-hour drive through winding hills and damn I just wanted to be home.

I kicked my feet up, relaxedddd and essentially did nothing for a week. I did catch glimpses of the Sonic and Five Guys being constructed in Greensburg; so exciting! Good food, so close now!

And then, back to Brooklyn and a ludicrously busy week: confirmations, news searches, complicated trips by train and then! The Vagina Monologues. Not quite as exciting as last year, but we pulled it off, raised $115 for charity, which I’m considering an accomplishment.

And now: veging time. My stress level back to normal [somewhere between a 4 or 5 on a daily basis, on a scale from one to ten] and I’m done.

This took far too long to get posted, and for that, I apologize. I am not good with promptness.

Here’s a smattering of quotes that illustrate why I sometimes want to curl up into a ball at work.

Jaiden: [pokes my belly] Miss Katie, your belly is soft. And big!

Kyla: [takes my hand, examines it closely] I like your nail color! But they are all messed up.

and, today:

Yvette: [touches her finger to my chin] Miss Katie, you have lots of bumps on your chin. [I sigh.] They’re all over your face, too!

The babies [kindergarteners; try spending any time with them and not want to call them your babies] have been so adorable recently. Caleb tapped me on the shoulder during quiet time and declared that “Taerica says she’s a hundred years old!”

“No she’s not,” Paul said. “People can’t be a hundred! Sea turtles can, though. Sea turtles can be a hundred.”

“People can be a hundred,” I said. “Not a lot of them, but some.”

“But then they’re about to die,” Paul said. I couldn’t help but chuckle.

Today is Dr. Suess’ birthday and also marks the first time in five years that the NYC school system declared a snow day. This is disappointing: the kindergarteners were going to celebrate Dr. Seuss’ birthday today, and I was going to collect all the books of his I could find from the America Reads office. I will, of course, take them on Thursday, but it’s still a bit of a disappointment to not get to spend the week with the books and the kids.

I love Dr. Seuss. The Lorax is probably one of the best children’s books that contains a moral. My senior year, Dave Majewski, the only teacher I’d had every single semester of my high school career, sat down the kids about to graduate and read us “All the Places You’ll Go,” his own way of telling us all goodbye. I teared up quite a bit, because I was going places, farther away than the rest of my classmates. Oh, the places I went.

And speaking of places, my new favorite place is in my apartment, with pizza and friends. We’ve all been having a hard time recently: our personalities seem to be leeching off of that of some of our friends, and we all feel discombobulated. This is what college is all about, though: records on the player, flipping through fashion magazines, spending too much on cute underwear. Nights spent feeling like things will never be back to normal, whatever normal is.

And it’s not just here: my friends back home have been dealt blows, disease, divorce. This is where the distance is difficult; I want to offer hugs and laying in bed together, eating ice cream and watching 90’s sitcoms. I do have some comrades planning to visit: Mark is going to come for a day, stay on my couch, go to the diner, meet my here-family. Travis is coming for a few days, and he’s going to take me back to Pittsburgh. There will be readings and exploration: a slice of my life.

I am glad I do not have class today. Given, I am still keeping somewhat busy, with some reading and assignments I need to do, and a trip to Park Slope with April. But there’s something nice about not having to peel yourself away from your comforter until noon. Sleep in.

Happy birthday, Dr. Seuss.

I don’t have anything new to post today, so here’s a picture of a guy in Union Square with a cat sitting on his head.

I love New York.

This might be the best valentine ever.

Nothing has really happened recently. I decided online dating was a bust and got a haircut. A 20-dollar haircut, at that!

A $20 haircut in nyc is, for the record, unheard of. We’re talking the cheapest cuts at the sketchy salons will runyou at least $40. But at the Aveda Institute, the students do cuts for $20, since they need like 100 hours of haircutting. So the cut took like an hour and a half, but was totally worth it. Clearly.

And, now, for your viewing pleasure, have this year-old SNL sketch wherein Andy Samberg professes his love for Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. There is, obviously, nothing more worthy.

So, I’ve been asked to write for the Norwin Star, a little paper that serves my local area at home. My first real gig! I approve. I’m going to be writing about New York versus small-town-Pittsburgh, connections I am constantly making, and the things I love about the area.

And, the cutest thing I’ve seen all day: http://niemann.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/02/02/i-lego-ny/

A man, now living in Berlin, sees New York in his children’s Legos.

Well, my team did it. The Steelers are now the most Super Bowl-winningest team in the NFL. And Bruce! Bruce with his slide into the camera and the fact that he’s still so cute after all these years. That 100-yard interception, I was hooting and hollering all the way through. Troy Polamalu’s hair now covers part of his numbers: that’s my team.

And then, I got word: the man who sells vegetable peelers in Union Square passed away. I remember the first time I ever visited Union Square with my family, noticing the man and thinking “I wonder what he’s all about?” He sold these peelers every day, at the upper left-hand corner of the square, right outside the farmer’s market.

Turns out he had an apartment on Park Avenue and sent his daughter to an Ivy League school. The New York Times, curious as I, wrote an article about him a few months ago. How he managed to wear that khaki suit every day, sitting on a small bench on the sidewalk with his demo vegetables. Peelers, every day, and wealth. And now, no longer. I had always meant to buy one.

And then: my cousin Jen is officially engaged. How exciting engagements are! All the planning. Allegedly, (or, rather, last time I heard) they’re planning on Mexico, a destination wedding. Love and beaches. I will be there.