Monday, April 23, 2012

New Boots

I'm at a loss for what to report, other than that I'm no longer an intern. Somehow, someone at work decided I'd make a decent full-time Copywriter, and the cool thing about bosses is that when they make a decision it actually happens. So now I come to my desk everyday and do the same stuff, except I'm salaried and I could probably leave for like an hour in the afternoon and stop acting like I report/am subservient to absolutely everyone, and so on. But instead I'll probably just still sit here and behave as though I'm working.

 Not having the "intern" suffix after whatever I'm doing out here in the real world is liberating, but also kind of sad. I really like the idea of having limitless choices regarding where and how I forge into the future, and I suppose I'll always have a bunch, but the field from which I pick them seems to be thinning. It turns out once you actually start being paid to write, you're qualified for much less other stuff. Ten years from now my skill set's going to read: "I can write stuff." Yay? Yay! Yay?!

 Also I bought a bike! I went with my friend Joe to Sports Basement for a "discount" bike and ended up spending $600. I stood there, hands in pockets, while Joe did all the talking. It was great. The bike is jet black and sleek as hell, and it's already named Sputnik by the company that manufactured it... which is a total bummer! Sputnik is a perfect bike name, and I want to keep calling it that but I can't just call my bike what's already printed on its side. That'd be a score of zero for creativity in my book - a score I just can't live with.

 I have other stuff to say (like, for instance, did Cabin in the Woods rip off "Smith Experience" or what?!) but I'm going to stop here because I'd prefer to get back into the swing of this blog describing specific scenes from my life, not just playing weekly host to a lame recap. The alternative is far more entertaining. Plus, the writing I do for this new job of mine discourages any instance of excess, which is like the exact opposite of how I normally write, so I'm feeling particularly self-conscious with this post.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

End of the World Dreams

While waiting for Mad Men to download through iTunes last night (that's right - I pay for quality entertainment) I talked with a friend about the end-of-the-world dreams we'd both recently experienced. Hers involved flying through space after the planet combusted and hanging out in a free-wheeling, ethereal cloud that defied all laws of gravity (read: fun) with a bunch of other survivors. Mine dealt with alien snowdrifts that sucked people under amid ominous groaning and clanking sounds (read: smoke monster) as the world grew darker and colder. Between the two, I'd take flying in space any day.

Everyone has those childhood misnomer-type situations where they grow up thinking one thing is totally normal only to eventually be proven wrong by other people who in no way were brought up the same. In my case, I thought it was perfectly natural to dream regularly and vividly, and for a good 80% of those nightly occurring dreams to be nightmares.

Big bad wolves. Marauders outside the window. Crab-like spiders. Freddy Krueger. A small door in the back of a closet leading to an underground chamber where pure, unadulterated evil lurks behind an even smaller, locked door. This was the stuff my youthful personality formed from, and I tend to think it explains a lot.

After I came out in college the nightmares ebbed quite a bit, which I thought was some cool psychological proof of something or another - don't ask what. Now when they happen, though, they tend to be epic and foreboding in a way I never before could have imagined. The scary thing about the end of the world that my dreams so convincingly iterate - and that movies and books of the same topic don't do nearly so good a job with - is the overwhelming element of confused dread that the looms over the proceedings. If the world were to actually end today (and assuming aliens or a mysterious otherworldly force is involved, which is always the case in my dreams), the first thing to go would be telecommunications, and, accordingly, any and all sense of knowing what's going on elsewhere. And we need to know what's going on elsewhere to make sense of anything.

Without online news or cell phones, a confused hush would quickly steal across the atmosphere. And within that hush would be our undoing. Can you imagine not knowing the first thing about the state of the rest of the world as the alien snowdrifts pile up outside your darkened windows? I can - but only because it already happened to me once. And trust me, it wasn't fun.