The Intern

A part of me still thinks of Monica Lewinsky when I hear that word.

It’s that time of year again, when young folk scurry around trying to find unpaid work because no one will hire them for paid work.

I am one of those people, even though I’m not young anymore.

I literally got a reply saying my responsibility will be fetching coffee, but this is what my $55,000 education has prepared me for: I am a top-notch, private university educated coffee fetcher!

I don’t mind, actually, but I’m terrified that I won’t actually pass muster as a coffee fetcher, nevermind a future producer. The point of coffee fetching is to apprentice under such professionals and get on the good side of them until they let you touch expensive shiny stuff.

“How on Earth did you get into film school?” you may be wondering. I’m not quite sure either.

More Leap Day miracles…

It’s snowing and I don’t have weather resistant shoes.

Also this one line of the application they sent me is bugging me:

“Undergraduate students only.”

Hmm.

Senioritis?

Almost never have I whipped out a mobile device and started tapping on it in the middle of a lecture.

I’ve only done it when the lecturer is far enough away for me to get away with it.

This also bothered me in undergrad, however, when we had a big lecture theater in which we took Intro to Film Studies and had screenings. I used to fall asleep, either curled up on my boyfriend, a freshman I was in the process of corrupting that year, or I actually paid attention. Sometimes I even took notes, but who takes notes in a screening?

But people would whip out their mobile phones, which back then, didn’t have the Internet on them, but still lit up with text messages. The mobile revolution. What is so goddamn important you can’t wait an hour to tell someone about it?

The worst is when people do it when the teacher is standing two feet away. They usually do that thing where the mobile is in their lap under a table, as if it’s not obvious you’re staring at your crotch. In screenings the light bothered me most – the theater lit up with the glow of all the little screens. In brightly lit rooms it’s just because the person is speaking like five feet from us and several people’s eyes are all down in their laps. They’re usually women, so it’s not their penises. It’s texts, or instant messages, or cat macros, or something.

Now, granted, I’m in class right now, but our professor ran off somewhere, so people are watching videos of women getting suffocated by sheet cakes. But he was here two seconds ago, and eyes were not on him.

The only thing I learned in college was to pay attention, or pretend to pay attention.

It’s a good skill. I have not mastered not yawning, though.

Leap Day Memories

Looking back is something I’m pretty obsessed with, so I have a lot more pressing problems than bipolar disorder.

It’s not just a case of leaving out old photos and diaries and coming back to them every week or month or anniversary. It’s a case of actually being unable to delete my old LiveJournal so I put it on my harddrive and made it searchable.

I keep thinking I’m going to forget important things, and then it always turns out I only forgot the insignificant ones.

Continue reading

So why start a blog?

Good question. Because I used to be an aspiring writer.

I’ve put pen to paper countless times (and not the sort of “countless” that is used as hyperbole to mean “a lot;” I mean I lost count). Or rather, fingertips to keyboard. I grew up with paper and around puberty switched to digital. I don’t have those old notebooks anymore. With a psyche as conflicted as mine, I wanted to be rid of reminders. But I have a lot of digital files I’ve kept, and I mean a lot.

But why should you care? I haven’t demonstrated my writing chops to you yet. And if those old ones were so hot, why aren’t I published by now?

Fear. Ice-cold terror.

Apathy.

One of those.

I try to think of the kind of blogs I actually read, and they go like this:

-Fanfiction. Love it. You may not be familiar with participatory culture, but I am. I’ve been a part of it for a long time, but not in deep enough to really have solid ties within any fandom. It’s tough to keep friends online and off.

-Worlds I’m not familiar with. This is also the number one rule of screenwriting. (And reality TV/documentary producing.) You draw the audience into a world unfamiliar to them. Exotic. As simple as a chef’s kitchen or as complex as the planet in that blue cat movie. (Ava-what?)

-Celebrities. This sort of goes with worlds I’m not familiar with. If a celebrity is writing about their day, sometimes I want to hear about it. Why? Because our culture is kind of fucked up.

-Comedians. If it’s funny, I’ll follow it. I’m gonna combine this with movie and game reviewers, because more often than not, I like critics who are also entertaining. So Comedian/Critic/Reviewer.

Why haven’t I listed advice or practical things like cooking or how-to’s? Because I don’t give a shit about those unless I have a very specific question that needs answering.

So why should you read me? Will I fall under any of those categories? I see you hoping it’s not fanfiction.

Possibly it won’t. I’ve washed my hands clean of that for the most part, and the number one venue for fanfiction on the Internet is still…

…drum roll please…

LiveJournal! There’s that name again. Who ever heard of it? If you’re asking that, then you’re not a true fan of anything. Except maybe sports.

What did Eris write about that was so scintillating?

Well, when I go back and look, it’s actually my most heartbreaking pieces about memory and longing. About the fleeting nature of joy and passionate love. About how life changes as you grow older, and wisdom is only gained by learning from mistakes.

Shit like that.

Whew. I’m getting ahead of myself. I could only make you believe I can write if I actually pull this off. And I can’t let it all out now. Do I even have it in me?

We’ll see.

-Eris

How do you start from scratch?

It’s gonna be hard to get used to using pseudonyms after years of LiveJournaling, but as you probably know, LiveJournal isn’t the Internet. You Googled me and here you are. Finding someone on LiveJournal is like looking in a haystack. Or at least, it used to be, before everybody deleted their accounts.

“You silly woman,” my classmate said, “Telling your Facebook friends you’re depressed!”

I’ve somehow ended up in graduate school, and despite the inner battle it took to get here (and the pleading I had to do with recommendation writers), I’m still astonished I’ve ended up here at all.

I have bipolar disorder, and I don’t have the cool, hip mania that makes you creative and shit. My mania is a simmering temper. I always stray towards depression, so my classmate told me to find something I’m passionate about – some cause, or something – and give a voice to the voiceless, blah blah blah, bullshit crap crap.

It’s true, however. I came to this school to try and find my passion. I’d lost it a long time ago.

If I ever even had it.

Let’s sum this up, though. I’m in my late twenties, I’m a woman, I go to graduate school, I’m a manic depressive with annoying classmates.

Welcome to my blog. Lord help you from here on out…

-Eris