Topic: Posts

As I’m sure longtime visitors to TealArt will surely notice, we’ve changed and added a few new things to TealArt, and I think it’s only fair that we give all these things a little notice here. We’re posting more, which I hope will continue into the future, but after all of the non-log related things that I’ve worked on recently I kind of hope that we’re done in that area for a while. We’ve gotten everything spiffed up and pressed out, so things should be good for a while, and I think you’ll enjoy all of the enhancements we’ve made. So without further ado, here’s the litany of accomplishments:

• The addition of Paula Forbes. A writer friend of mine extraordinaire. Her stuff is great, and I hope you enjoy it. She’ll be posting stuff all over the site, I’m told, but look for journal entries.
• Peter McCabe is back for more. For somewhat obvious reasons, Peter hasn’t been overly prolific recently (read his previous posts for information), but he’s promised some more entries, some potentially lighter material as well.
• New Skins and new page. Before there were four skins which weren’t very compatible with most non-IE browsers. Now there are seven, with a total of 18 options such as different fonts, alternate sidebar location and additional browser compatibility.
• Content Pages: These are all of the pages on TealArt which aren’t dirrectly part of the logs. Lists of links, contributor profiles, the skin page, and other nifty stuff like that. The Content Pages link just gives you a good directory to all of this stuff, all in one place.
• Sam’s Blogwhore Blogroll Here’s just a list of links, powered by Blogrolling.com of the blogs and other related favorites that I enjoy. I have it on good authority that Chris is planning to have a similar page soon, but we’ll see. Enjoy this as a kind of supplement to the “Fresh Linkages” section.
• Paradigm Brainfeed: Some of you probably remember when we tried to have another log on TealArt that was supposed to be more relaxed and less formal than the main TealArt Journal. We called it Paradigm, and it didn’t really work out as we might have intended. So we stoped doing it. But then we decided to bring it back as a sidebar function in those skins with sidebars, so now we’re trying it out again, and we’ll see if it works. All the old paradigm entries are still there if you’re interested, by the way.
• A redesign of the way Featured Quotes and Fresh Linkage operate. Better archiving, better functionality on the sidebar. It’s a good set up. You’ll also note the slight change in name from the less creative “TealArt Links” and “TealArt Quotes,” but it’s still the same great stuff, only a little better
• Staff and Crew This page has all of the contact information for the TealArt staff if you’re interested in learning more about us and conversing with us. Profiles are forthcoming, I’m told
• CollectiveArts is closing, and we’re going to dedicate this energy towards TealArt. If your interested in the domain, talk to me, otherwise say your farewells.
• That’s it! Enjoy, and If you have any comments, questions, or suggestions feel free to talk to us about them. Also, remember to tell your friends about us, word of mouth is the best (and our only) method of promotion. Thanks again, as always, for reading.

I’ve been quite enamored of the last line of F. Scott Fitsgerald’s Gatsby for some time. I mean I’m not great fan of American Literature, and while I think there’s some really brilliant material in The Great Gatsby, on the whole I think its over done and despite it’s stark tone, I think there’s just too much glamorization. But the last line, I think is enough to make it really amazing. It’s been floating around the Quotes section for some time (it was actually the last quote I posted). But just in case you’re not familiar with it, here it is.o

Gatsby belived in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter--tomorow we will run faster, strech out our arms father…. And one fine morning---

So we beat on, boasts against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

--F. Scott Fitsgerald, The Great Gatsby

There’s something poetic and magical about those words, and they’ve been the source of a lot of inspiration. I wrote a short story, that has some promise, and on a whim I did a sketch that I’m going to print as an plexy glass engraving (intaglio/dry point). I might post the story on TealArt at some point, and I’m going to stick in the drawing in a bit. It’s pencil and paper, that I went over with marker and then scanned into the computer. I’ve taken that scan and provided a little bit of tone for the digital display, and I think it looks pretty good, considering that I drew it.

Comments are welcome:

I used to be thoroughly convinced that I liked science fiction books, adored them really. I loved, and to some extent still do love, sagas. These kinds of stories are still a really large part of who I am, and at least for the next sixty thousand words at least I’m going to be writing science fiction. (Another Round promises to be the shortest saga in the world. Ever. And don’t tell me about Gilgamesh, because Gilgamesh wasn’t science fiction. And don’t argue logic with me either! So there.) Beyond that, I’m not so sure though, because my tastes have really moved away from science fiction, at least in what I’m reading, and also what I’m writing in short fiction.

But that isn’t what this entry is about. You see I’ve spent the last good little while listening to David Sedaris reading his essays and stories, and I’m both really inspired and discouraged at the same time. The kinds of stories he tells are both hilariously funny, and startlingly poignant, all in one breath. That’s the kind of thing I live for, the kind of thing I try to write, even if I fail miserably at that goal. So in that respect I’m really inspired by his work.

At the same time, just knowing that his stories are real, and that he’s not talking about things he made up, only increases the effect. His are the kind of stories that you just can’t make up, sometimes you can’t help but laugh, other times you’re stricken with an understanding. His styling enhances the feeling of realism, because it’s so honest, and sharp; it’s also completely transparent, which I find frustrating, but frustrating out of respect. Like any author that I have any shread of respect for, he makes it seem effortless, and frankly that pisses me off. I know, somewhere that it isn’t effortless and that he, just like I and everyone else I know slaves over his work endlessly, but when I’m listening to him read (because he’s probably the only author who should be absorbed via his own readings of his work, because it looses something on paper), I can’t fathom that truth.

The other thing that I know from experience is that this kind of story or essay that he writes is impossible to produce, or virtually so. In order to produce stories about life that have that kind of effect, you need to have a life that grants you first hand exposure to the kind of situations. I suppose we all do, but I guess that a lot of the time we just overlook the things that might work the best for such pieces.

But enough naval gazing, that was a couple of entries ago, and while meta-art discussions are interesting for a little while, they stagnate really quickly, and I’m going to start writing about what I listened to before I start having a meta-meta art discussion and my brain starts to hurt. Or not, but moving forward is, in this situation, preferable to standing still.

So check out his stuff, you could probably find a good deal of it by looking through the archives of NPR’s “This American Life” (which is a show I have a lot of respect for, even if I don’t really listen to it, and I might talk about it at some later point), but I’ve also come across a great archive of his stuff, located here, and almost all of the links still work, so check it out. I’d like to know what you all think of it, because I can’t think of anything really thoughtful to say, other than “listen to it.” Sometimes it’s better to just let peoples work to speak for itself.

So I’m not going to pull a Steve Bush and give a complete history of CollectiveArts and TealArt right now (ask me sometime about Steve Bush, and I might just tell you), because I think it’s fairly likely that you know more than you probably ever wanted to know of these sites' back-story. But I do think I’ve finally come to a conclusion that may offer some interesting insight, and there may be a tangible change at last.

There is one speck of history that I don’t tend to tell people very much. We’ll call this story ’the discovery of blogs:’ When Jason Dunn of PocketPCThoughts switched from Blogger to Greymatter, I discovered Noah Grey and Greymatter and a whole world of really great blogs. While I had seen blogger/blogspot stuff before, in the beginning at least, the people who took the time to use a program like Greymatter, generally had better quality work, but I digress. The possibilities that CMS’s like Greymatter and the blogging format inspired me and knew that I had to be a part of this whole movement (before it was a movement of course). But ever the individualist, I had to do something unique and different.

Thus the monster known as CollectiveArts was born. I really just wanted an awesome blog with a few really talented folks contributing and offering their unique perspectives. I dragged the CollectiveArts concept around countless times and the record really speaks for itself. At some point down the line, Lynda of DigitalWoe purchased the TealArt.com domain for a friend, but fatefully, those plans fell through, and she offered a two year registration of this quirky domain to anyone who wanted it. Ever the opportunist, I jumped on the offer and the monster that is this site was born. It’s taken us a long time to get on our feet technologically and personnel wise, but I think that now more than ever we really have that comfy awesome blog by a few really talented folks.

After almost two and a half years of trying to get this CollectiveArts project off the ground, we’ve finally got what I/we were looking for. The problem is, of course, that instead of an awesome site named CollectiveArts, we know it as TealArt. But the resounding question of: ‘what do we do with CollectiveArts?’ remained. Chris and I struggled with this one for a while, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s time to let go of CollectiveArts. It was a great experiment, and it paved the way for the development of this site, so I think it was really worth it, but I don’t think it’s worth clinging to the notion of CollectiveArts in light of what’s happened. So unless someone wants CollectiveArts.net, and makes an offer, we’re going to let it slip I think.

So we’ve arrived, finally, at a solution that works really well for our needs, and you know, it feels great to be here! Registration is due in November (or it’ll slip), so I think we’ll start moving our email accounts out of there now, and the domain is now pointing to TealArt. I’m thinking of registering a couple of other domains that I’ve meant to take on for a while, but those will go to a more static portfolio type of site I think, if I even make a site for them. But as for display of my writing online, TealArt is my home; and I like it this way.

Editor’s Note: This entry will be posted as the category description for the “Beyond John Wayne category. I’m posting it here as a site update, for your own pleasure. Enjoy!

As some of you may already know, in order to get this International Baccalaureate Diploma you have to be able to do two things. First of all you have to be able to spell Baccalaureate (which I don’t quite have, but I suspect I’ll get it within the year) and you have to write a four thousand word “Extended Essay” in any subject of your choosing. It’s tough and a major pain, yes, but assuming your advisors are really awesome, as mine are, it can be a load of fun to have the opportunity to get into what you’re really interested in and get credit for. Also it gives you an opportunity to take all of the dry stuff you’ve done in class and have some fun with the topic.

In perfect form, my Extended Essay is going to be a masculinity study. (For those of you who don’t know, in IB there are a number of papers/projects that we have to complete, most of which are graded by IB people outside of the school, and usually out side of the country as well. Well all of my IB projects fall into the category of gender/masculinity/queer studies, but we’ll talk more about that in a little while.)

I have to have a draft of this paper before classes start in September, which shouldn’t be too much of a problem, but I do have to start working on it more. So in that motion, I’m going to start writing about it here at TealArt. We’ll probably get excerpts of this paper as I write it, and there’ll be a fair share of brainstorming. Think of it as a project blog, if you will. I at least think its interesting stuff and hope you do too (and all of your feed back is going to be really valuable).

I wonder if I post this paper, in stages to this website, and IB uses that anti-plagiarism software to search the web, and they find it here, will they start having farm animals (cows to be specific). Because it’s completely legit, unless of course IB is demanding first run online publication rights, which I sort of doubt. Having said that, if this stuff pops up on someone else’s website and I’m not credited, it could get ugly. Really ugly. So consider yourself threatened. You can use this material if you want, but credit is required.

The working title for this paper is “Beyond John Wayne: A Contemporary Definition of Masculinity,” and in it I hope to define the traditional conception of masculinity, as represented by the kinds of character’s John Wayne is famous for portraying, then show how this definition is both flawed and not realistic in both historical and contemporary circumstances. Finally, I plan to conduct interviews several with youth and young adults from various backgrounds to establish a realistic definition that makes sense in contemporary contexts.

I’m going to start handing out background surveys this week, (to give me material that I can build a more substantial and meaningful interview that’s tailored to the subject instead of something that’s to general and not substantive enough). Depending on how that goes, I should be able to start having interviews this week as well and thing will proceeded as they should.

Building the structure for a collective website is a really difficult task, especially when you’re building it for writers, chosen for their free spirit and individuality. Maybe it’s a lost cause, but I continue to think that the benefits inevitably out way the requisite headaches, and tribulations.

Three are two ways to approach the problem, and I’m not sure right now which is better. You can take the hands off approach, and provide possibilities and opportunities for your contributors. Give them lots of options and appealing benefits, and hope that everything else will attend to itself. Give people lots of room to be creative, because they are after all creative people, and don’t meddle too much or you could muddle the results. The only real possibility is that without any or at least very much structure, your people won’t feel very obligated to continue their responsibilities, and the other possible problem is that if you use this model you really have to be open to all of the creative improvisations of the crew, otherwise you’re not really being fair.

The other option is to provide lots of structure, instructions, goals, deadlines, and form. Let people improvise on your model, but make sure that everything happens in the ‘one right way.’ It should give you a controlled response and being structured encourages your crew to follow suit and adopt some kind of structure. The biggest problem with this is that if you sought out free spirits, then trying to establish some sort of control and structure onto their work and their creative styles can again produce the same result. People become frustrated, confused, and they feel constricted and nothing happens.

I tell you, that’s what happens reliably. About the only safe thing to do is to smile and walk down a very fine line and hope that all goes well. A very, very fine line.

I wonder if it’s still considered a tangent, when it’s what you started out talking about. You see, when I started writing this I wanted to show of what I’ve been calling the ‘inspirational document’ just a list of prompts and ideas that I put together outlining the kind of things I think make blogs interesting and special. There are a host of possible objectives that a blog can accomplish, but there are some things that I think blogs accomplish better than other things (and by reading this document you’ll get an idea of what I’m trying to say, I hope). So what does that have to do with the two approaches to group website management? I was kind of questioning the place of this document in my management of the website(s), and believe me, like all good tangents, it seemed like a better idea when I started out on it.

Write about your life. Blogs aren’t about the big picture things; they’re about the little events, the soft give and take about every day life. You needn’t write about something sweet or infuriating that a friend or familiar said to you yesterday. Write about something that happened a couple years ago, or even something that happened when you were a kid. A memory, an image. Defining moments are wonderful for description. Weblogs should capture, or at least attempt to capture the times when you were able to take a step back, and see things as they were: moments of insight and understanding. The mundane is also really great subject matter, things that everyone thinks about, but that maybe doesn’t receive adequate attention.

Write about the time when you discovered that the world just wasn’t fair, and that people didn’t always mean well.

Write about a favorite outfit/shirt/pair of pants that just fit right and felt good when you wore it. Use it as a metaphor. Run with it.

Tell an anecdotal tale or three about specific individuals, and about mannerisms that defined them as people in your mind. Old aunts and uncles when you were a kid. Perhaps your grandparents. And so forth.

One thing that one of the past incarnations of TealArt and CollectiveArts tried to do was clobber the meta-art discussion. Talk about the craft of being an artist/writer, discuss the interplay between art and music, and think about the relationship between art society/culture. It can get a little intense and self serving after a while, but it’s a good way to get grounded, sometimes.

While I haven’t posted a new entry to TealArt in far, far too long I haven’t completely forgotten about the site. I’ve been doing some backend work here and there, mostly during writing breaks on Another Round (I’m at the 15,000 word mark currently). So, as a result, the side bar is a little cleaner. I fixed a few problems with the CMS (which will explain the title in a bit), and I’ve begun working on an exciting project that I think you’ll all like when I get it done, but I’m not quite ready to talk about now. Let the suspense build.

We’ve also added another TealArt contributor. Paula Forbes is no stranger to my hair brained website ploys. I’ve worked with her on some very frivolous projects as well (oh, but boy, they were so fun), and her work is just great, so I hope you’ll enjoy her stuff. Peter McCabe also promises to start writing again, and I’m really looking forward to that as well. And, you still have Chris and me to boot.

Just in case any of you are interested in what’s happening over at CollectiveArts, I’m pleased to say that we’re getting really close to reopening the doors over there. Really close. So stay tuned, and if you’re interested helping out with that drop me an email. CollectiveArts is open to just about anyone who wants to join, within certain bounds (and subject to review, of course).

Now that we have that out of the way, I’d like to get back to the ‘coding on the battlefield,’ if that’s alright with you.

I’m glad it is.

I’ve noticed that when ever I’m faced with a problem that involves coding, recently that’s been PHP and HTML code almost exclusively, and I can’t seem to get it to work, I start cutting things out. Rather than try and fix daunting problems with the formation of the code, I cut offending portions out. It’s a philosophy that simpler is probably better than complexity, and that if I don’t absolutely need something, that I can probably do with out it. So this leaves me feeling like a surgeon on a battlefield, doing twenty or more amputations in an hour. Though I suppose having a log of everything your CMS does referenced by file name, time, and line of code isn’t quite the same as having an arm or a leg, but there may be similarities.

Well, anyway. I’m back here, and it’s good to be home.

Editor’s Note: This is a work of fiction, inspired by reality, such as it is. Pronouns are intentionally left vague, as most characters are composites. If you understand what’s going on, congratulations; please respect the wishes of everyone involved and speak about this with no one. Its safer that way, it’s happier. If I can keep my mouth shut for the better part of valor, then you can to. Chris as referred to in the last scene is of course Chris Knittel, for those of you who are curious. Some of the back story can be found here. For all of my family that reads the site, it’ll all become clear in the next week or so, wait till then and know that I’m not ready to talk about it quite yet. For the people from school, keep your mouths shut (and that’s serious folks. Please?) It’s really a matter of safety and of being comfortable. Respect that, both in this situation, and just in general. Thanks. Enjoy!

“I’m so full of things to say my mind is talking nonstop and has been for a while and I can’t get it to top I can’t get it to slow down, and you know on one hand I don’t want it to slow down to stop because this is an amazing feeling an amazing buzz and why should it stop? It doesn’t have to, but I would like to regain some semblance of coherence, some semblance of internal sanity.” I said breathing only occasionally.

“You should talk to Hawthorne about your syntax,” She quipped. I sneered. “But seriously. All things end sometime, but I’m sure you’ve thought about that,” she said rolling her eyes.

“Hey, I can’t help it; but yes, I’ve thought about it a little, and I think that it’s worth ignoring that for a little while, to let what happen will and just try. I’m allowed, am I not?” I asked. I was so excited that it hurt and that was after hours of distance and time for reflection. My mind was still reeling and if I didn’t pay attention to it I’d probably lose my self to an incoherent manic attack,

“So tell! Tell! What happened? Was it perfect?” She asked.

“I can’t, and perhaps that’s part of the problem. And yes, yes, yes it was; even moreso than I might have imagined. I have all this joy and excitement and but its ok, I mean it’s not a fun thing and I can completely respect things from his point of view. It’s so familiar, like I was there a couple of months ago and now… now it’s different for me, but I still know, all too well, what that fears like. So I can completely respect where he’s coming from,” my words were bordering on incoherent, but that was ok, she’d understand, and it was probably the best reflection of how I was feeling.

“Oh that’s awesome.”

“Yes. It’s unreal, it’s completely uncharted territory. A brave new world. And it feels good. I feel good.” What more could I say, what more was there to say?

Perhaps that was a question better left unasked, I thought as I was bombarded with a thousand little manic thoughts that wanted to be spoken but that I knew I mustn’t speak.

I whimpered joyfully in protest, but restrained myself. Thinking of nothing else todo I unfolded my arms and hugged her. She understood.

“I don’t know, I feel a lot better about him now,” She said idly as I stood there.

I bit my tongue softly in my cheek and nodded. I couldn’t— or wouldn’t—say anything, despite really wanting or needing to say a lot of somethings. “Yeah,” I mumbled, not releasing my tongue.

“He seems to be really cool, underneath all of that. I spent some time with him after we closed up that project and the personality really started to show.”

I moved my eyebrows up in a surprised expression and waited for more information. I hoped I was convincing.

“I don’t know,” she said. It strikes me as ironic that she, and I to a lesser extent, said ‘I don’t know’ before any thought that we obviously did know but were hesitant to vocalize. “Before I was just kind of afraid and thought that he was weird, but now I really find I have a lot of respect for him, and I’m realizing that all of the assumptions that I had made about him were wrong. And that’s a good thing,” She said as she reached around and messed with her hair. It was interesting to see how it all fell back into place and still looked wonderful. I was almost jealous.

“And who knows, maybe he’ll manage to come out some day,” she added.

I nearly chocked on my tongue. I wanted to twitch or wink or give some hint as to what had happened over the past couple of days, but managed to restrain it. “Yeah, who knows,” I said when I had regained my internal composure. We walked off towards class talking about something else, something completely unrelated, but I wasn’t there, not in mind anyway.

“What happened? What happened?” She asked instantly as she sculpted a fine detail into the wet clay that she held tentatively in her hands. “It’s as if you got some sort of a buddy,” she added without really meaning it.

“Well, yeah, kind of,” I said very softly.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” she said, once she saw the look on my face and knew that I wasn’t just playing around. “Someone from here, or not?!?” she asked excitedly pointing the ground.

I nodded and put my finger up to my pursed lips and tried to inspire her to be a little quieter. I felt like the entire room was looking at us and listening intently to what we were saying, though I knew they all could probably care less.

“So is it like, him, the guy who, everyone know, and everyone like thinks and dude and oh my god,” she said softly as she bent over the table, as if that would make her voice softer.

“Yeah,” I said.

She grinned. “That’s so awesome,” she said, and I think she meant it. I was happy. I grinned and nodded, but didn’t make any noise. I didn’t dare. “I’m so happy now!”

“You know, I think a lot of people have had a lot of respect for you since you’ve come out,” She offered after a while. I knew it was connected somehow.

“As if it was a surprise to anyone. You all knew,” I said. I still haven’t completely decided how I felt about the glass closet. In some cases it made coming out easier, and in others it was just frustrating.

“Yeah, but still, its cooler when you’re actually out, instead of just having to assume and worry that you haven’t figured it out and would do something stupid to try and disabuse us of the notion. You know where I’m going?”

“Yep, and you’re right I hope.” I agreed.

“Why did it have to take me so long to figure it out?” I asked silently, looking up hoping that some goddess would have an answer for me.

I think I got an answer later; someone asked “if you didn’t have to come out, if everyone knew you were gay from the starting line and was completely cool with it, would you like that?”

My immediate reaction was to say “oh god yes!” but then I thought about it and realized while I would probably really like homophobia to end, I think that figuring out sexuality and what it means to me is a privilege that I wouldn’t dare give up. Everything in life will teach you a lesson and help you grow, if you let it; and through coming out I’ve been able to gain an insight into myself that I wouldn’t dare give up.

“Hey, Andy, err, Chris,” I said as I started to stand up and wave to him. I still couldn’t get his name right on the fly, after four years of thinking of him as ‘Andy’ the fact that his real name was Chris hadn’t really set in. It made things easier, I knew too many people named Chris and this distinction made it a little bit easier; even better he responded to Andy just as well as he responded to Chris, maybe even a little better.

The café was bustling and I had managed to secure a small table in the corner for our chat. When he arrived I shook his hand, like I’d done a thousand times and we took our seats.

“It’s good to see you,” it’s been a while. He was right; we’d been really busy for far too long; but we’ve been coming to this little table in the corner every few days for years. Years. And we talk, about projects we’re working on, the torments of education and life, and lots of other little nothings. He’s the only other male I’ve ever really connected with, well maybe until now, and I’m not sure how my life would be with out him.

He has short hair that would probably look really cool if he gelled it, but perhaps that’s what drew me to him: he had the potential to be a really cool popular kind of person, but he startled the fence and still dared to be buddies with someone like me. In retrospect I think he’d probably laugh at me and claim to out geek me in the geek contest, but that was part of the game I suppose.

“Yeah, so what’s up with you?” I asked, taking a sip of tea.

“Nothing much, the usual. Their pulling all of the usual tricks and it’s frustrating, but such is life,” he reported. I nodded, there would be more eventually, ’nothing much’ usually meant so much more; if it meant anything else then we would never talking about anything at all. “You?”

“I don’t know, I’m still fairly manic feeling, I’m so excited, there’s so much that I want to yell at the top of my lungs so that everyone can hear, but I can’t,” I said trying not to fidget with the packets of sugar sitting on the table.

“So I take it you two aren’t going to be out?”

I ignored the comment, in part because it had an obvious, but also because I didn’t want to explore the question. People would surely notice, I mean how could they not? But then it wasn’t my choice to make, and given the circumstance, and given that it was really his choice, I was ok with this. I chuckled, when I listed everything out in my mind, it all seemed like a big mistake waiting to happen, but then I thought of the look in his eyes and the feelings I got from his words, and it seemed like after coming out, that I was completely at peace about this one. It never stopped to amaze me.

“I’m learning a lot about the closet now. Because I’ve been through my own closet once, and now I’m kind of half in somebody else’s both vicariously and in a very real way, I feel like I know a lot more about it now. And I’m really comfortable. It scares me even, but just a little,” I said.

“Never quite saw it that way,” he commented, looking on and waiting for what he knew was coming. It was interesting, despite the fact that he’s two years older and probably smarter than me, I constantly feel like I’m showing him the world, and it’s wonderful.

“Yeah.” I drifted off for a while and tried to form something coherent, or at least something close. “I think the problem isn’t that I have a problem letting him stay in the closet. I mean I think people disserve to stay in the closet until they have everything sorted out, and defiantly through high school. There are limits to that, obviously, but we’re no where near a limit right now. It seems that my problem is that there’s no way I can be excited, no way I can tell my friends, no way I can express any of this.”

“The curse of the extrovert,” he commented.

“Totally.” He knew me too well, but then we’d been over that already.

There were three words scribbled on the title page of my English paper, and after several long moments of collaborative deciphering I and several other members of my class were able to make out the following: “Too Plot Centric.”

Too Plot Centric.

Now what exactly does that mean? I was clueless, and given that I had a few rather imposing projects to work on, and that the revision of this paper wouldn’t really be due for several months, I didn’t invest any additional emotional energy into it until a little while ago when the words “Too Plot Centric” popped into my head, and I thought “now what in god’s name does he mean by that?

Then I connected the dots, and realized what exactly he meant by “Too Plot Centric.” Only by looking at this from his perspective was I able to fully understand what he was looking for, and the more I consider it, the more driven I am to completely deny him the pleasure of receiving it, because he’s looking for an analytical method that I don’t exactly think should be applied to any of the humanities, epically literature.

For those of you unfamiliar with the school of literary thought known as New Criticism, it is a product of the modern paradigm that promotes examination of literature in terms of the techniques and devices used to deliver the point. It aims to create a objective look at literature by removing all, or as much context as possible from the analysis, and focusing analysis on small selection and more minute details of a text.

This is the school of criticism that the Collage Board features for the AP Literature and AP Literature/Composition tests, and it’s also the school of criticism which has given us academically viable papers that propose such outlandish theories which seem to have little barring on the piece itself.

My complaint is that looking at a piece with an eye towards new criticism, robs the context and the soul of the literature, which may be convent for a text book, but isn’t healthy for exposing people to literature. You can’t even hope to examine literature without looking at the authors contextual perspective, for instance you can’t look at Oscar Wilde’s work without really considering his homosexuality and how that reacted with the culture of his day, and you can’t read anything by Jean Anouilh without really considering how existentialism and the experience of living during the Nazi occupation of France affected his themes and messages (which I think makes his retelling of Antigone all the more interesting and ironic.) I think if you take this out, you lose something fundamental about the work. Additionally, I tend to be of the school that says that a writer’s write so they their works can be considered as written, for this reason I’m wary of literature texts full of no complete works and lots of excerpts, as well as literary schools that pay attention to details at the expense of the big picture.

Too Plot Centric.

At least where I’m standing, people write fiction to make a point about humanity, or something the world, and they create (hopefully) compelling characters and situations that convey this message. Unfortunately characters and situations don’t exists well in a vacuum and you need something, some element that binds everything together and gives the story meaning and purpose, an element that puts the characters and situations in terms that the reader can understand.

Something like, oh I don’t know, plot?

So then pray tell, how can an essay examining literature be too plot centric?

The problem with the modern paradigm is that it tries to isolates things, and idealizes an objective point of view that doesn’t really go very far in the underlying effort of academic studies which should be to create a better understanding of ourselves and the world around us.

Too plot centric?

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“So you said you’re single,” I asked, though I did my best to made it completely clear that I wasn’t expressing interest: just small talk.

“Yeah; for now. But you might want to check back in a week,” he said.

“Oh? This sounds like there might be a good story in there,” I said, perking up.

“I suppose. I’ve always really been single; you know the closet, then all of this damn work, not to mention virtually non-existent pool of possible suitors. I mean I’m not opposed to the notion of dating, but all of the blocks haven’t really fallen into the right places,” he said putting his pencil down on the table and slouching down in the chair.

“Well you can’t exactly sit around and do nothing and wait for the blocks to fall out of the sky in perfect order.”

“That’s what they tell me, and I know it; however, getting everything in perfect order is a lot harder than you’d think.”

“I know.” I said taking a sip of a Pepsi. “They?”

“Never mind,” he said as his face went blank while he looked for the next thing to say, and got lost somewhere along the way.

“So you’re not opposed to dating someone, circumstance has prevented you thus far, but what’s this about a week?” I asked hoping that this would bring him back around to the juicy gossip that I was waiting for.

“Wha--? Oh, right. Yeah,” He said as he found his place and resituated himself in the land of the coherent. “So there’s this guy…”

“This sounds like it’s about to be a really bad pun.”

“I sure hope not,” he said chuckling.

“Who?”

“Just think, out of the people we know, who seems the most likely to be gay?”

“Tom?!?” I asked shocked that he would even think of being interested in Tom.

“No, not Tom, you Dimwit,” he spat.

“Oh, yeah, him, that seems like a fairly safe bet, though I’m not sure.”

“Are we ever really sure until they tell you? Even then? At this age, here, it’s scarcely even worth it. But beside all of the obvious little things which don’t necessarily mean a whole lot, he’s been flirting with me for weeks,” he said, attempting to not seem shallow or devoid of insight.

“Yeah, I’ve kind of seen that.”

“And the vibes I’m getting from him are somewhat intense. But you’ve noticed it too? A couple of other people noticed it. That’s a good thing I guess, I mean it makes me feel like I’m not projecting this all,” he said sounding relieved and somehow excited. Now he was interested in telling the story: it looked like I just might get my story after all.

There was a prolonged silence where neither of us spoke, and before he got the chance to drift off into some other realm, I thought it might be a good idea to jump start the conversation. “So say something. I don’t want to count how many times you’ve told me that one.”

He chuckled: this was a start. “Yes, but given his reputation I wouldn’t want to push to hard and have him be wierded out and run away screaming.”

“He was great when you came out though,” I pointed out recalling the somewhat comedic episode.

“Yeah, and that really surprised me, so I’m questioning all of my previous assumptions, but at the same time you know people act differently when ‘You’re Gay?’ suddenly becomes ‘I’m Gay,’ and I’m not about to ruin anything with rash behavior.” He explained.

“Fancy that!”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” I said smiling. “I agree and in the end it’s you’re relationship—such as it is—after all. We’ll ignore for a moment the fact that it’s so obvious to everyone that you two are cruising each other,” I said, punctuating the point with a grin and a very soft chuckle.

“I suppose, but anyway. Things may be looking up though.” he said shifting his weight in the chair and yawning.

“So you’ve said. What happens this week?” I asked. We’d discovered long ago that blunt communication was better in the long run for all involved parties.

“Well a couple of days ago he said ‘And there’s something I need to talk to you about,’ in that way. I mean what else could it be?”

“I’m not going to answer that for your piece of mind.” I said chuckling.

“Oh, shove it would you,” he spat. “When I approached him about it later, he was like ‘after we get done with this next project,’” he said illustrating his quote with a wide sweeping gesture that puzzled me slightly.

“That doesn’t seem logical.”

“Well it wouldn’t be logical to you or me, but let’s look at it from where he’s standing,” he suggested and stared at me, I suppose he expected me to take in the alternate perspective without any assistance.

“I suppose it makes sense. Maybe a perfectionist thing, or just wanting to have free time, or just wanting to be free of commitments so he can crash and smolder if he needs to,” I theorized, speaking almost before the thoughts were fully formed.

“That’s where I was coming from. The accounting for every contingency would certainly fit with the character,” he agreed.

“Since the project is over this week…”

“Yep. Whatever will happen will happen.”

“Which is of course too slow for you right now?”

“I don’t think time could move slower,” he lamented

“Hi there Mr. Kydd! What’s the plan for today’s class?” I called out over his shoulder to our history teacher; the only problem was that Kydd was on the other side of the building stuck in front of a half awake, at best, class at the moment.

He jumped in his chair and looked around frantically for the teacher who wasn’t really there; but the point was made. “I hate you. I really hate you. You know that don’t you?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, not to seem like a complete asshole right now, but why are you getting your hopes up, he’s not going to be here or anywhere close in six months, and besides you two have diametrically opposed interests and opinions. If you don’t kill each other within the first six seconds, I’d personally be shocked,” I said growing serious. The sad part is that it was the truth.

“Thank you for your vote of confidence. I think worrying about him leaving is really putting the carriage before the horse, hell; this whole conversation is putting the carriage before the horse,” he said appearing somewhat frantic.

“I’ll give you that one,” I said looking inquisitively as he calmed down a little. “But you still are opposite types.”

“Isn’t that what makes things interesting. And I don’t think we’re opposite types. Opposite backgrounds perhaps, but are we really so diametrically opposed type wise?”

“Probably, but you’re right, I suppose.” I said. Despite the fact that he was slightly confused and not quite sure of where he was going, he still had more insight into this screwed up world than he, or anyone else I knew, deserved to have. Damn him.

“I mean where’s the fun if you always know what he’s going to say, do, or think? Remember what Brad Grahm said in that Fray story? ‘Passion, requires just that, an undying passion to discover the unknowns of the other person’ or something like that.”

“Granted,” I relented reluctantly.

“So there’s not much I can do,” he said loosing himself to some alternate plane of thought, only this time I let him go.

“Except wait.”

“Except wait,” he repeated absentmindedly.