Bona Fide Boredom.

What is it with my muse and showing up as soon as I have important things to take care of? Today was devoted to writing my senior project paper. But of course she was there to distract me, coming up with new video projects left and right and leaving my fingers itching to pull away from the keyboard, pick up a pen, and write in the new story.

But nrooooo! I needed to work on my paper. Of course she won't participate in THAT, and I'm left on my own to spread my very dry topic out over six pages. So far I have about, uh, one page, with one-inch margins. You know what? Screw one-inch margins, 1.25 are sooo much easier to read. Maybe then, writing this paper wouldn't be like freakin' pulling teeth.

I'm in a good mood though, as I started reading Catch-22 and am now thoroughly in love with Joseph Heller. His prose reads like poetry--there's this wild rhythm to it that makes it seem like it should be spoken. I'd actually really like to use something of his for my YAC audition monologue. Whaddya think:

As far back as Yossarian could recall, he explained to Clevinger with a patient smile, somebody was always hatching a plot to kill him. There were people who cared for him and people who didn't, and those who didn't hated him and were out to get him. They hated him because he was Assyrian. But they couldn't touch him, he told Clevinger, because he had a sound mind in a pure body and was as strong as an ox. They couldn't touch him because he was Tarzan, Mandrake, Flash Gordon. He was Bill Shakespeare. He was Cain, Ulysses, the Flying Dutchman; he was Lot in Sodom, Deirdre of the Sorrows, Sweeney in the nightingales among trees. He was miracle ingredient Z-247. He was -
'Crazy!' Clevinger interrupted, shrieking. 'That's what you are! Crazy!
'- immense. I'm a real, slam-bang, honest-to-goodness, three-fisted humdinger. I'm a bona fide supraman.'
'Superman?' Clevinger cried. 'Superman?'
'Supraman,' Yossarian corrected.

I think it would be fun. But then, I think playing a science experiment gone horribly awry, a girl who thinks she's a plant, would also be fun. Perhaps my perspective is a little distorted. And by distorted I mean freakin' weird. What can I say...I like a challenge?

In other news, I will be writing my college essay based on the phrase: "What is this? No, it's not a podium. It's a lectern. Why is that important? Because it's NOT A PODIUM!"
You see, the assistant dean of the school of communications said it at American on Friday, and I think I laughed the loudest of everyone in the room, cause right away it reminded me of three english teachers: (1) The grammar nazi, (2) the sweetheart, and (3) the goofball. I realized any one of them would've made the same exact joke in the three years of english in which i learned the most. And over these three pivotal years, the way I tell a story has improved immensely. And over these three years, I've gained better stories to tell. AND as I've grown, I've met more and more people to share my stories with.
And that, in a nutshell, is who I am. Now LEMME IN YOUR SCHOOL!

Well, hopefully, this is considerably more dynamic than last night's note of boredom. Off to more important things--ie getting under the covers and watching a movie.