This morning I happened to be on the BYU campus and a student suggested a topic for my writing. I wasn't looking for a serious subject, I was only looking for two or three words to spawn a line of thought for a writing exercise. Just like in theatre, where improvisation exists as an exercising the skills commonly applied by talented artists, a writer sometimes will write without any forethought and perhaps stumble upon a muse resting beside a clump of birch. Every once in a while we will find this muse and the point of this exercise immediately becomes a mad rush to wake the muse before our onward rushing minds carry us beyond the effective range of our voices and we lose our chance at creating something extraordinary (or at least ordinary).
In writing, as in theatre, we very rarely stumble upon these muses, but we do find that we are inadvertently honing the skills we need to capture and wake our muses when the day finally comes when we do find them sleeping just where they were the last time we missed our chance.
But I'm not here to write about writing. I'm here to generally annoy people...I mean, I'm here to write about my thoughts...I mean, I'm here to write with the barest minimum of thought which may have the effect found at the beginning of this ludicrous and grammatically incorrect sentence. But that will only happen if I'm lucky.
So, BYU students once thought that BYU stored enough food to feed the whole student body in case of an emergency. When I heard that this morning I immediately thought of the LDS church's suggestion that each member store enough food for a year. I wondered where the food was stored. I hadn't seen any granaries nearby.
The student that I was talking to then informed me that BYU had stopped storing this large amount of food and required students to come up with their own storage. But wait, it's not as bad as it sounds. When said student mentioned food storage, she was talking about an emergency supply of food for a week and a 72 hour emergency kit.
Why shouldn't a college student be able to store a week's worth of food. I've been a college student. A one week supply of ramen noodles fits nicely in a cupboard. Any person intelligent enough to get to college ought to at least have the intelligence required to have enough food in case of an emergency. I know that isn't always the case, but I could do it, and I'm not even that smart.
Oh, well. It turns out that BYU doesn't, and never did have food stored for 33,000 students. That's just the food that they have on campus at any given time in the on campus kitchens, vending machines, and food court. So, it looks like this blog is once again pointless.
Thank goodness.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Moderation
I've created many a post in my time; Seventy, to be exact. But I don't think I'd call myself an expert.
But you should feel free to call me an expert if you want to. Because, in the end, what does it take to be an expert at blogging. If you can log your thoughts on the web then you have create a weB Log of your words. It's like writing dear diary, except in stead of writing to some future grandchild who will open up a dusty book they find in an attic, your audience is immediate. Not that a blog necessarily needs a large or immediate audience, but the possibility of immediate response is clearly present. I wonder how much like "Reality" TV that makes our blogs?
On the other hand, I thoroughly enjoy running rampant through the hearts and minds of my friends, acquaintances, and strangers online. Some blogs even offer genuine insights into political, philosophical, or even religious questions.
Long live the blog, and longer live those who can find the good ones for me and send them to me in my email so that I don't have to look myself.
In other news, Ray Bradbury has recently been poked fun at because he doesn't like the internet. A few people say, "But isn't this the man who wrote Fahrenheit 451? He was almost prognostic in his description of future technology." I say to those people, "Read the book."
The internet allows for many connections, but we should never forget to feed the connections we already have to those who live off the screen and in our homes. Moderation in all things, my friends. Moderation in all things.
Except maybe Ice cream. Not frozen yogurt. The real stuff. Eating Ice Cream every day...that's some good living. Unless you are lactose intolerant, then I guess you can eat something else. But as for me and my house, we will eat Ice Cream. Or sorbet, or even sherbet, or yogurt, or pudding, or even Jell-o (TM). But most of all we eat ice cream. Yeah, I know. I shouldn't have capitalized it the first two times. It's not a proper noun. Sorry. Sometimes I get a little over excited.
But you should feel free to call me an expert if you want to. Because, in the end, what does it take to be an expert at blogging. If you can log your thoughts on the web then you have create a weB Log of your words. It's like writing dear diary, except in stead of writing to some future grandchild who will open up a dusty book they find in an attic, your audience is immediate. Not that a blog necessarily needs a large or immediate audience, but the possibility of immediate response is clearly present. I wonder how much like "Reality" TV that makes our blogs?
On the other hand, I thoroughly enjoy running rampant through the hearts and minds of my friends, acquaintances, and strangers online. Some blogs even offer genuine insights into political, philosophical, or even religious questions.
Long live the blog, and longer live those who can find the good ones for me and send them to me in my email so that I don't have to look myself.
In other news, Ray Bradbury has recently been poked fun at because he doesn't like the internet. A few people say, "But isn't this the man who wrote Fahrenheit 451? He was almost prognostic in his description of future technology." I say to those people, "Read the book."
The internet allows for many connections, but we should never forget to feed the connections we already have to those who live off the screen and in our homes. Moderation in all things, my friends. Moderation in all things.
Except maybe Ice cream. Not frozen yogurt. The real stuff. Eating Ice Cream every day...that's some good living. Unless you are lactose intolerant, then I guess you can eat something else. But as for me and my house, we will eat Ice Cream. Or sorbet, or even sherbet, or yogurt, or pudding, or even Jell-o (TM). But most of all we eat ice cream. Yeah, I know. I shouldn't have capitalized it the first two times. It's not a proper noun. Sorry. Sometimes I get a little over excited.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Where was I thinking?
"Daaad." It's the petulant cry that any parent knows. "That's not a story!"
Yeah, he's right. Even my six year old son knows when a group of actions with a bit of dialogue fails to make a story.
I encountered this protest the other night when I was trying to calm my kids down. I often tell them stories that include strange characters and more than likely I will include their ideas. But this time "That's not a story!" fit perfectly.
I find it strangely satisfying that it's so easy to tell bad entertainment from good. Now, I almost wrote that it's easy to tell bad art from good (actually I wrote it and then erased it). But there is a real difference between art and entertainment. Just like friendly Mr. Square and Sir Rectangle, entertainment can be art, and art can be entertaining, but these two words are not synonyms. And more often than not you will find that art that moves your soul or inspires you to greater heights can bore most people to tears. Understanding art takes skill and training. Art is like a secret code to anyone who has read the right book. But some art, and I like to aim for this kind whenever possible, speaks to those who haven't read the right book as well as those who have.
Entertainment on the other hand, and all the art that falls into this category, lends itself to understanding from even six year old children who barely know how to add 6 and 20 (just so you know, that's 26).
So, that's not a story. We all know it, and sometimes we're willing, like the six year old, to hold the supposed story teller accountable. In fact, criticism comes easy. We all know when we come away from something unchanged. Art is an interpretation of life, and the secret behind life is that everyone in your audience has that trait...the being alive trait. So everyone is an expert. That makes my job hard, but it also makes it worth that much more when I recieve a different response like, "That story stinks."
Hey, at least it's a story.
Yeah, he's right. Even my six year old son knows when a group of actions with a bit of dialogue fails to make a story.
I encountered this protest the other night when I was trying to calm my kids down. I often tell them stories that include strange characters and more than likely I will include their ideas. But this time "That's not a story!" fit perfectly.
I find it strangely satisfying that it's so easy to tell bad entertainment from good. Now, I almost wrote that it's easy to tell bad art from good (actually I wrote it and then erased it). But there is a real difference between art and entertainment. Just like friendly Mr. Square and Sir Rectangle, entertainment can be art, and art can be entertaining, but these two words are not synonyms. And more often than not you will find that art that moves your soul or inspires you to greater heights can bore most people to tears. Understanding art takes skill and training. Art is like a secret code to anyone who has read the right book. But some art, and I like to aim for this kind whenever possible, speaks to those who haven't read the right book as well as those who have.
Entertainment on the other hand, and all the art that falls into this category, lends itself to understanding from even six year old children who barely know how to add 6 and 20 (just so you know, that's 26).
So, that's not a story. We all know it, and sometimes we're willing, like the six year old, to hold the supposed story teller accountable. In fact, criticism comes easy. We all know when we come away from something unchanged. Art is an interpretation of life, and the secret behind life is that everyone in your audience has that trait...the being alive trait. So everyone is an expert. That makes my job hard, but it also makes it worth that much more when I recieve a different response like, "That story stinks."
Hey, at least it's a story.
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