Final Assignment 2

April 26, 2007
Assignment 2
Writing My Life

Some of my favorite memories were those of this past summer, which I spent in Paris studying modern French theater, and traveling. It was here that I wrote and performed my first play. “Lost Angeles/Paris Trouvee” (trouvee means “found” in English) was based on the experiences of tourists in Paris. The play began in skits concentrating on emotions of anger, frustration, disappointment and even disillusionment of being an American tourist in a very foreign country. As the play progressed, however, the skits became more and more redeeming and positive. They concentrated more on the similarities between the French and American people, rather than cultural discrepancies. The play was almost completely based on my experiences of living in Paris, and being more than a tourist but less than a citizen. Initially, I felt frustrated and the language barrier was almost unbearable considering the fact that I had never been expected to function in a country where most citizens spoke a language other than my own.
The cultural differences were also difficult to deal with. A comedic scene in the play with two American women being verbally harassed by Parisian men on the street reflected what I commonly experienced walking through the streets of the city with my three attractive female friends. The dialogue I wrote accurately echoed the sentiments we often felt. “These French guys are so gross!” says one of the irritated American girls to her friend. It took some time to become accustomed to this behavior, but after a few weeks we realized that French men are simply more aggressive and forward than the typical American. Cultural differences like these made me uncomfortable at first, but then became normal (although still annoying) as the weeks went by. With each passing day, I became more proficient in the French language, culture and quirks. I started to fall in love with the European lifestyle that Parisians exemplify so well. This personal journey and growth was the foundation for the play and what the characters felt, thought and experienced.
One of my favorite professors once told me, “Your art reflects your life,” and gathering from my personal experience, I whole-heartedly believe this to be true. All my life, people, teachers and writing coaches have told me to “write what you know.” Simple enough, right? The theory meaning that your best writing will come from genuine accounts of experiences you’ve had, or aspects of life you know most about. This is what I do, and at my young age I realize there are not many subjects I can claim expertise in, but what I do know, I know well. I can write about myself, my family, my friends, places I’ve been, things that I’ve seen, memories accumulated, and lessons I’ve learned. I write about my life because my life informs my writing.
When it comes to writing characters in my stories or scenes, I tend to have little to no imagination. I think about extremely creative writing genres such as science-fiction or avant garde surrealism and feel a twinge of guilt when I realize how often I’ve shamelessly written myself into a script or story. A short play I wrote last spring, “The Airport,” told the story of a young woman in LAX airport trying to decide between taking a successful job in New York, or staying in Los Angeles. It’s no surprise that at the same time in my life I was trying to decide between going to journalism school at Syracuse University in upstate New York, or USC. Each of the other three characters were based on close friends of mine: the optimistic best friend, the guy who can’t function without being in a two-foot radius of his girlfriend, and the former fling who dropped out of college his senior year. Ironically enough, a few months after the completion of the play, I, following the footsteps of my own, self-titled character, didn’t get on the plane to New York and chose to stay in L.A. As strange as it might sound, instead of my life becoming my art, my art actually became my life.
Writing about my own life is somewhat of a love/hate relationship, I’ve learned. When you’re faced with the task of describing something you’ve done or felt, at times it can seem impossible. How can you describe how you felt the moment your lips touched those of your first love? It’s a memory most of us have, that we will never forget, but once we try to translate that memory into words, it always seems to be inadequate. It is in these circumstances that the written word fails me and doesn’t provide enough sustenance to feed my appetite for accuracy. An assignment in an advanced writing class once prompted me to write about my relationship with my Grandfather who recently passed away. Although emotions were fresh in my heart and mind, the words to describe them escaped me as I struggled to write something honest and eloquent. Being able to remember perfect details of a specific moment in time and lacking the ability to describe it on paper is the most crippling feeling I’ve experienced.
In my opinion, there are two kinds of writers in this world. There are the Arthur Goldens and the Hunter S. Thompsons. Arthur Golden created the believable and realistic “Memoirs of a Geisha” despite the fact that he is a man. While reading the scene where the main character, Sayuri, loses her virginity I could not believe I was reading words, adjectives, verbs that were written by a man. Now unless there’s a big secret that
somebody out there is hiding, Golden will never or has never felt the feelings of a young girl at that moment in her life. How he described it so intimately remains a mystery to me. Then, there is Hunter S. Thompson, gonzo journalist who combined reporting with fiction. His most well-known novel, “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,” is the story of a journalist and his attorney’s drug-induced adventures in sin city based upon…well…elaborations and extensions of experiences of Thompson and his attorney’s drug-induced adventures in sin city. As a reader and writer, I highly respect the work of both writers and “Memoirs of a Geisha” and “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” top my list of favorite novels. However, I am much more of a Thompson than I am a Golden because I could never feel comfortable writing a novel from the first-person point of view from someone whose time, lifestyle or gender I would never experience. Although some writers can effectively write this way, I felt that my best and most detailed work is inspired by my own life experiences.
Many times people have asked me what poem, story or paper is the most valuable to me. Without hesitation the answer always is, “My journals.” I’ve kept them for as long as I can remember, even when I couldn’t legibly write and the pink pages of my Hello Kitty diary were covered in crayola pictures of mermaids in stead of words. My collection of journals chronicle my life, and I have no better resource. All I have to do is open one and I’ll know exactly how I felt at age 13, 16, or even four days after my 20th birthday. I used to spend hours writing profiles on characters I was planning to use in plays or short stories including the tiniest details of physical descriptions, important childhood events, or even political views. I found this exercise helpful to better imagine a character but it somehow never felt genuine because the voice was still mine, the words were still my own. When I write about myself, however, the extra background work is not necessary and I feel more natural with my dialogue. If there’s anyone on this earth who I know the intricacies and intimate details of, it’s myself.
I know myself and I have enough experience under my belt to know what my strengths and weaknesses are as a writer. But more importantly, I can say that I know how to honestly distinguish where I’m “good” from where I’m “better.” I’m good at creative writing about characters. But I’m better when I’m writing about something I have had personal experiences with. For example, how could you possibly accurately describe Paris if you haven’t been there? How would one know how it feels to come home to aching feet you’re too scared to rub because they are raw and filthy from walking the cobblestone streets all day long or how could one correctly describe the tiny cracks in the wrinkled paint of the Mona Lisa, or the slightly musty smell of the canvas? Except you can’t exactly tell if the smell is from the painting, or the mass of warm bodies crowding around and gently pushing against your back, in a non-threatening way, as your neck strains to get a closer look. It is for these reasons that I don’t have a problem with my tendency to write about my life. Experiences, emotions and life are what inspire me, and in my opinion, creativity could never survive without inspiration .

Nuclear Goldfish

You know how in families you sometimes get siblings that are complete opposites and every one acts surprised when they learn for the first time they are brother and sister?
Well, that's my family in a nut-shell.
We've got my Mom, my Dad, little brother Zack, and me. Zack and I are polar opposites. We are yin and yang. We don't look or act alike, even a little bit. First of all, I have blonde hair and blue eyes, while Zack is a brunette with a head of the most full, curly hair you've ever seen. His eyes are a dark brown, and he bears rememblance to my mother while I, on the other hand, look more like my fair father.
Physical differences aside, we are two completely different people in terms of personality too. I am the loud, outgoing, "crazy" one who was always causing and getting into trouble. My brother was the quiet, more reserved one, who likes to hang out in groups but is often working alone or playing the guitar.
Now, with all of our differences, you may be thinking "is there ANYTHING they have in common?" The answer to that question, is yes! We do share common interest, one of them being music. We both have a passion for music. Although he is more interesting in the production side of music, and I'm more interested in singing or dancing, we both can appreciate a good song!
I went home for a portion of Spring Break to catch up on some sleep and homework. While I as there, I had the opportunity to hear my brother's band for the first time! Like I mentioned before, he is a little shy, and although he had been a member of Nuclear Goldfish for a while, I had never been in town when they had a show. However, recently Nuclear Goldfish had been spending a lot of time in the studio putting together a full-length CD. When it was finished, Zack was very secretive about the final product. Not even my parents were allowed to hear it. But when I came home and asked him to play it for me, surprisingly he did. And surprisingly, it was a pretty good CD (considering it was their first time in the studio).
I was very proud of him, it looks like my little brother has been stepping of his shell...you never know, he may become a rock star one of these days!
Check out his band, Nuclear Goldfish!

Blog 3. Tim's Show.

Last night, I brought some my roomate, her boyfriend, and a sorority sister to see my friend Tim Fagan perform at Santa Monica Bar and Grille. I had never been to Santa Monica Bar and Grille before, and it's been a long time since I saw Tim so I figured this would be a great opportunity to experience something new and old at the same time. My friends and I entered the cavernous restaurant, which was dimly lit. Each table had candles and the stage was illuminated with yellow light. The crowd was small, but it didn't seem to matter to Tim.
Tim played very well, as he always does. However, I wasn't too happy when he played many cover songs. His own original work is great, so I don't know why he felt compelled to play so many songs written by others. Perhaps it was the intimate crowd, probably full of strangers (besides me and my friends). All I know about guitar is from what I've learned from my talented little brother, but with that limited knowledge I can say that Tim played well. He also kept switching between electric and acoustic (depending on the song) which was nice, but also kept the audience waiting.
When he wasn't rocking out, or switching instruments, Tim was interacting with the audience. He is really great at involving people in his shows by playing silly games with the audience; "name that tune!" and the prize always is a free CD. For such a small crowd, the dumb games works. However, I'd hate to see him try this in front of a large crowd. It would be mayhem! Tim is a very friendly, personable kind of guy and when you have people-skills, why not use them when you can?
Overall, I enjoyed our excursion to Santa Monica Bar and Grille to see Tim. He is a talented man who has come a long way in the few years that I've known him. I think will go far in the music industry. Also, when we talked to him before and after the show, my friends got to know him and now he has at least 3 new fans.

Improv

This semester I am enrolled in Eric Trules' Improv acting class.
I signed up for the class because my roomate, and best friend here at USC was taking it too and I thought it would be a fun thing to do during her last semester (she's a senior). So we signed up, thinking an improvisational acting class would be easy and fun. Little did we know what we were getting into.
Eric Trules is a man with an extensive acting and modern dance career. He has been doing this for many years and apparently, he is quite famous (or infamous) among USC students because many students who enroll in his class were reffered by a friend. I had no idea so many people had heard things about this class, and was surprised to see that many other students in my class had.
After the first day of class, it became very clear that this class was not going to be what we expected. Instead of verbal improv, Trules made it clear that this class was going to be focusing on a more physical-reaction improvisation. Immediately I wanted to drop the class and pick up another elective. However, I decided to stick it out because there would be no final, and I wanted to take a class with my roomate.
This class might be the most difficult thing I've done in college (and believe me, I've overcome some OBSTACLES). Every day I come out of class, telling my friends that today we "acted like dogs" or "connected our bodies like a machine" or "made-love to the wall" and they look at me like I'm crazy! Not that it really matters, but I guess I have to say that I agree with them. I think it's crazy too.
Maybe I'm saying this because I'm a commercial actress (more than anything), but I really don't understand the method to the madness. I can't connect with it, even though I try each week in class.
Trules keeps asking us in class if we've reached any epiphanys about improv, acting, or life this semester. I can't say that I have, but I'm hoping that at the end of the semester I can look back on what I did and be grateful for taking the chance to run around a classroom pretending to be a 5-year-old who has to pee really bad!

Hunter S. Thompson

The more I work on my Assigment 3 paper, the more enamored I become with Hunter S. Thompson. He was such an interesting person, with a very unique life. Ultimately it is my goal to write more like him. I wish I could do it in my journalism classes here, but USC's school of journalism is more of a finesse school. Learning about Thompson makes me wish I had more freedom, or at least took some creative writing classes.
Right now, as I write this paper, I am struggling with the question; "Is journalism art?" I can't decide. I guess it depends on how you look at it, but what Hunter S. Thompson did will probably always be remembered as art. And for that, I respect him. He inspires me to be more creative with my writing, which is not often commonplace in the broadcast journalism world.

Famous Thompson quotes:

"I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me."

"If I'd written all the truth I knew for the past ten years, about 600 people - including me - would be rotting in prison cells from Rio to Seattle today. Absolute truth is a very rare and dangerous commodity in the context of professional journalism."

"If you're going to be crazy, you have to get paid for it or else you're going to be locked up."

"Publishers are notoriously slothful about numbers, unless they're attached to dollar signs - unlike journalists, quarterbacks, and felony criminal defendants who tend to be keenly aware of numbers at all times."

"The TV business is uglier than most things. It is normally perceived as some kind of cruel and shallow money trench through the heart of the journalism industry, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free and good men die like dogs, for no good reason."

"You better take care of me Lord, if you don't you're gonna have me on your hands."

Feist's New CD

I can't wait for Feist's new album to come out.
This fall I became obsessed with her old CD, "Let it Die."
My best friend attends Berklee College of Music in Boston and she burned me a few CDs of what she was listening to over the summer. I always liked Feist's voice on a few tracks, but never listened to the whole CD. However, when I actually sat down and played the entire album, I realized how good she really is. Her voice sounds like she has been classically trained, but there is something alluring and sylistic about her voice.
"Let it Die" is something I would play over dinner with a glass of red wine.
She's also very Parisian, and I like that about her.
I would reccomend her to anyone who likes Fiona Apple's style.
So, look out for her new album this Fall!

I Don't Know if Anybody Reads This, But...

My mom just called me to say that her best friend's standard poodle, Max, went into cardiac arrest last night at 1:00 in the morning. The doctors tried to recessitate him, but he did not make it and 30 minutes later he died.
Would you like to know how he went into cardiac arrest?
This dog had to go under the knife because he swallowed a Ralph Lauren wallet. Now, Max was no ordinary dog. He ate everything. A plate full of cookies....survived. A plate full of brownies...survived. A leather work-out glove...pooped it out. A various assortment of chanel bags and shoes....expensive dog with expensive taste. Nevertheless, he SURVIVED all of these things.
But a Ralph Lauren wallet did him in.
Ralph Lauren puts a lot of crappy dyes into their products, especially leather, and it ate away at Max's intestines. If the stuff they put in a wallet is enough to send a standard poodle into cardiac arrest...I am NEVER purchasing Ralph Lauren EVER AGAIN.

just thought you should all know if you care about this sort of thing.