Metacognition: Writing My Poem

Let me just start by saying that I hate poetry. I hate reading it, I hate writing it; I even hate looking at it. It just pisses me off. I'm left with a million questions at the end, I have to sit and analyze it even though I'm really not supposed to because I have to analyze everything, and writing it is the bane of my existence.

Reading poetry hurts my brain. I thrive on simplicity. I appreciate more than anything when people will just get to the point and not dance around anything, no matter how beautifully they dance. I love when people tell me, in the simplest, most basic words and sentences possible, what they plan on doing and why. That's not to say that I don't enjoy writing tricks like metaphors and similes and whatnot; I just can't stand it when poetry uses gigantic words that are supposedly "rich" and "exciting" when they could have substituted "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" with "cool". It's interesting, but it's too much for me. 

Yes, there are poems which use the simple words that I like, but then they're too short, or they don't give enough detail. I can't just have one moment. I have to know every single little detail about that moment. Who is the person? Why are they going to the store? What color is the door on the store? What are they doing after the store? Is this visit to the store going to change their life in any significant way? And it can't just be in little sentences--the more detail the better. Honestly, I just can't win with poems. Every one I've read has something I don't like. Plus, when I try to take my want of simplicity, directness, and detail and make it a poem, it doesn't work. It always comes out a story, or a paragraph, or something un-poetic.

Every time I try to write poetry, the words, phrases, and even the way I want to write it just slips out of my grasp. Using that little analogy (or whatever that was), if poetry were a fish, this is how our relationship would be symbolized:

    

As you can clearly see from my little GIF above, poetry and I don't get along very well. I think I can write it, and I think I can understand and conquer it, but then I actually set about doing the actual poetry writing. That's when everything falls apart and I lose every creative thought that had been in my head before.

So for this particular assignment, I had no idea what I was going to do. I wasn't inspired, I was exhausted, I was lazy, and I really did not want to write a poem. I stared at a blank Google Doc page for the good part of an hour, at 1AM because I couldn't think of creative words to put down. I had moments outlined, and they were good moments, but I wanted to make books or movies of them, not write some sort of "mind-stimulating" poem about them. I seriously just gave up and went to bed. I just couldn't do it. At five in the morning, I woke up, channeled every frustration I had over the past couple of weeks into the Google Doc, and arranged it in what (to me) seemed like a poem format. I added in unnecessary big words and ramblings that could be interpreted as poetic for good measure, and turned it in. 

Was I proud of my work? Not really. Could I have done any better? I don't think so. 

Then, the second draft came along. At that point, I had forgotten all about the rambling paper I had turned in weeks ago, and was surprised when I got it back; it sort of looked like a poem.

We were told to fix it up with some new guidelines, so I took it home, and the cycle began again. I'd stare at the poem and wait for inspiration to come to me, then give up and watch Netflix. Then I'd stare at it again and try to change words, and then I'd give up and do other homework. I did that until 2AM. Eventually, I just deleted the unnecessary words and fixed some of the sentences up. It still didn't feel like a real poem that I'd actually like yet, but it was a little better than the first draft. 

The third draft was a re-do of the second draft, so I figured that my edits weren't good enough. I deleted half the poem and channeled new frustrations into the paper. Then I arranged them accordingly and turned it in. I still was pretty annoyed with the poems I could produce, but it was getting better. At least now I had a semi-consistent format, a theme that I was comfortable writing about, and a story outlined a little bit. 

The fourth draft was better. Big changes still had to be made. Apparently, most of the problems were with how the story wasn't set in exactly one moment and how it was too vague. I devoted most of my time to cutting down the time frame. I rearranged things, characterized here and there, and I essentially transformed my poem into a short, short story in poem-form. It wasn't incredibly descriptive, but it was just enough so that it was at least semi-interesting.

I turned the fourth draft in, and I actually felt pretty happy about it. It was miles and miles up the road from the first draft, much better than the second, and made much more sense than the third. So, even though I don't like writing poetry, at least this poem (if you can even call it that) turned out okay. 

I think that it was a very standard creative process with me. In a way, I used my procrastination skills without even knowing it, because my mind procrastinated in giving me a useable copy of my poem that I could actually be semi-proud of. I also always did this assignment in the wee hours of the morning because my brain couldn't think of relevant information during the night. Also, the poem's quality increased with every time I turned a draft in. This can be expected, because that's generally the point of doing multiple drafts--getting the best final project that you can by fixing old essays you wrote that potentially have problems.

I still don't like reading or writing poetry, but my poem is okay in my book. It may be because I'm narcissistic and love myself and my writing more than others, but I think it's more because I had to go through with the whole creative process for it, so I really got to analyze it in my own way, which is my favorite thing to do. So, I actually enjoyed this assignment towards the end. It wasn't really thrilling, mostly because my mind just doesn't work poetically, but it was interesting.

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JUST FOR KICKS

A GIF Representation of How I Felt After Writing each Draft:

Draft 1:

Draft 2:

Draft 3:

Draft 4:

Metacognition: Organizing My "Man Drawer"

Before I even start trying to describe my epic battle with my junk drawer, I'd like to open with a very British video that reminded me of this assignment:

This is the most accurate video about junk drawers in the history of videos about junk drawers (which I'm sure is extraordinarily extensive and detailed). Though this clip focused on "Man Drawers", I'm sure that everyone has a junk drawer, regardless of their age, sex, or anything else. If it isn't a drawer, it's a corner, or perhaps a bin or a countertop, where you throw everything that you think you'll need in the future but rarely end up using. Old keys, spelling tests from the third grade, candy wrappers, photos from circa 1981 that you're not even sure how you got in the first place--it's all fair game.

My entire room is my "man drawer". I consider myself a professional when it comes to living in a disorganized fashion. I have a legitimate inability to stay neat and tidy. I just don't like it. It feels unnatural and strange. My bed stays unmade, my clothes stay on the dresser, my books stay on the floor, and my papers stay...everywhere. Finding things in my room is kind of like playing a giant game of "Where's Waldo?". Paradoxically, I'm a total clean freak. My floors stay insanely clean, even if they're covered in books and papers. My clothes are always clean and washed, as are my bed sheets and pillow cases. I dust everything practically every other day. So, essentially, I'm a clean freak with an organizing problem. Yeah, that seems about right.

Alright, find my history paper!

I decided that my entire room was too big of a project (well, actually I decided that I was too lazy to do it and I had episodes of "Sherlock" to watch and mashed potatoes to eat), so I decided to conquer one corner of it. The most disorganized corner. I prepped for the occasion very nicely--I got some Swiffer pads for any dust, I made an iTunes playlist, I stocked my room with garbage bags, and I even got my practically unused bookshelf semi-ready to house the large collection of books I had scattered on the floor. I was actually pretty excited to clean it--it was going to be a little bit of a challenge.

So, it began.

I turned on my music and went through what had to have been about three hundred papers about everything from the election, to advertisements for bacon soap (I'm utterly serious), to old chemistry papers, to drawings I did during lunch. After sifting through those I went on to the photographs. I have a cork board hanging in that general area, and occasionally a couple photos will find their way into the junk pile below. There were only a couple dog-eared dilapidated photos from the crew holiday party last year, and a few Christmas cards I had lost under the mountain of papers, but I was still glad to find them. With most of the papers and photos gone, the clutter was reduced significantly and I could go on to organizing books. The bulk of my work was in this category.

First, I handled paperbacks. Many of them were old Roald Dahl titles like "Matilda" and "The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar" and assorted books that I had read years ago during my fairy-tale/knights stage like "The Song of the Lioness" books and a dumbed-down copy of "Beowulf". On top of those were things I had read recently, like "The Secret Agent" by Joseph Conrad and a couple books on film and cinematography, as well as my favorite book, "I Am America (And So Can You!" by Stephen Colbert. After the lighter stuff had been cleared away, I got to the heavy lifting. I saw my hardcover copies of every Harry Potter Book, the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy, and my definitive book of every Sherlock Holmes story ever published. At the very bottom of the pile, I retrieved my huge, ten-pound brick of Shakespeare that I had bought for fifty cents at the Irish Heritage Center (which I found incredibly funny). I shoved all of those in the closet, slammed the door shut, and continued on my merry way.

All that was left after papers, photos, and books, was the pile of assorted knickknacks. This encompassed everything from a music box that played "Let It Be", to a mini-TARDIS that I had carved out of balsa wood, to orange sticky notes, to my George Harrison documentary, and a billion other things. There were pieces of questionable Halloween candy, unmarked CDs, old pens with no ink, ancient letters, newspapers from 2008, a Scooby-Doo bobble head, and even a squashed Confederate cap that I bought on my 7th grade trip to Springfield. After each layer came another. The bottom-most layer was composed of a fine layer of dust that I hadn't gotten to for at least three months, a spider or two, some confetti, and some old legos.

Looking back on that last paragraph, I believe that I sound like a hoarder. Not to worry! It was remedied. I threw 75% of the crap in the trash, organized the remaining quarter, dusted the floor, washed the floor, dusted the furniture, and put away all the clothes residing on the dresser. At the end, I felt exactly like this:

One thing that I didn't realize until I completed my task? How big my room is. It's not particularly enormous, but it's a decent size room once you clean it up a bit. After cleaning, I think I seriously added a 5'x5' square to my room. A very clean, polished 5'x5' square that gives me so much more room to neatly organize things. I'm trying, see?!

In the end, I'm pretty glad that I organized my crap-corner/"man drawer". It's much nicer to walk through, it doesn't look as unappealing, and it's gotten my mom off my back a lot. I feel a little lost without my pile-o'-things at the ready, but I think that it was something that needed to be done. I feel a little more at ease without the pile, but I'm also both relieved and dismayed. It'll take me a little bit to get accustomed to the new layout of things. It's been unorganized for the good part of 2012, and changing it up is getting me out of my literal comfort zone. I officially consider this a New Year's Resolution fulfilled. There's another thing I don't have to worry about!

Metacognition: Under Pressure

It is 11:27PM as I am writing this. I officially have 32 minutes to finish this thing. Know what led me to this? That magical fifteen-letter word: procrastination. 

I've been a procrastinator since...well, forever. If I have an enormous project due on Monday? Sunday night is the night for me!If twenty-five percent of my science grade is riding on this one paper that's due three weeks from now? I have three weeks! Time to draw and write and build things! If my test score depends on me reading "King Lear" for English class tonight? Eh, I'll do it tomorrow morning. I am genuinely every teacher's worst nightmare. I have put off every single assignment I got this year until the last minute. Every "A" was a last minute adventure, every "B" was a pressed-for-time project, and every "C" or lower grade was an late night escapade in my mind. Teachers (rightfully so) encourage their students to plan their time wisely, and do their homework when they can so they don't have to worry about it later. This has never worked for me.

Anyone that knows me understands that I work the best under a large amount of stress. By large amount of stress, I do not mean staying up until three in the morning, getting by on chocolate and caffeine, and pushing all my homework until the last minute; by stress I mean the adrenaline rush I get from the due date being at such close proximity. This may sound strange, unhealthy, and completely unnatural, but these minutes two hours before the due date of an extremely large project produce some of my best work. 

I don't know what it is about waiting until the last minute that makes me work so well. My mind actually refuses to get down and dirty until about three hours before I know I either go to bed or go to school. This paper here? Yeah, I tried writing this about four hours ago. I couldn't even write my name, much less a well-formed paper. I can't focus until I know that I absolutely have to stop reading, or watching "Monty Python", or drawing squiggles all over my Spanish notebook. Even then sometimes, my mind just grinds to a halt and gathers cobwebs until it realizes, "Hey Emily! You've got an enormous project due in...seven hours? We can get started now! Nap time is over!" Generally, I work very efficiently during this time. I have no problem communicating my voice or my opinion to my target audience, my math concepts always make sense, and I can always find some sort of ridiculous pun in whatever I'm reading at the moment. It's during the day where I can't even tell people my favorite color.

I don't mean to say that this method has always paid off. Sometimes, I feel that the picture below accurately describes my existence.

Especially this year my brand of procrastination has been failing me. It's not that I don't work well under pressured circumstances any more, it's just that these pressured circumstances have become almost too pressured. Every teacher likes to think that their class is the most important in their students' lives. My Chem teacher loves to give us labs because she expects that we all have three hours every other day to pre-lab, analyze data, and make charts. Similarly, my math teacher loves to give out daily math homework because he feels that we should have an extra hour to do that. Add Academy homework, health work, and extracurriculars, and you have an exhausted, overwhelmed, stressed-out kid. I have felt nothing but stressed all year long and my homework habits have done nothing to help me. I feel slow and sluggish and generally out of it in every class I attend not because I'm disinterested, but because I am utterly overwhelmed by the amount of thinking, work, and comprehension demanded by every teacher. The only way I have managed to get by without having a breakdown is Stage Crew. 

My thinking processes have stayed the same, I realize. I process things the same way, my views are very similar to what they were at the beginning of the year, and I generally write and analyze in a specific fashion. I just now realize that the way I execute my thinking, particularly in homework, needs a total makeover. 

((ONE MINUTE LEFT!))

Blogging Around

iMedia: Orchestral Skrillex by Stephanie

I chose to review Stephanie's post on orchestral Skrillex. This caught my attention because before listening to the song she posted on her blog, I thought that the words "orchestra" and "Skrillex" were on opposite sides of the spectrum. She really does a great job explaining how despite Skrillex's jarring form of dubstep can seem harsh to the ear and more like sounds and mechanical noises than actual music, his tracks (as well as all other dubstep tracks) are definitely music. The song was an orchestral version of a Skrillex song, and it was FANTASTIC! I enjoyed it almost as much as I enjoy the original tracks. This goes to show the amount of work these DJs put into their tracks. Stephanie really did a great job on it!

1. 
   Emily HorvathOctober 29, 2012 8:32 PM

   I completely agree with Stephanie on this one. I myself am a fan of some dubstep, and I thought it was really cool that she explained exactly how dubstep is real music. It definitely is one of the most misunderstood genres. Stephanie explains how complex the making of dubstep is; how you have to add layer after layer after layer of music or sound effect, and then loop it correctly, adjust every single pitch and note, add in vocals or piano, and do a billion other things. The amount of work that these DJs put into each track is simply astounding. She explains that if you replace the harsh, almost mechanical sounds of dubstep with the cello and the bass in an orchestra, the song is still a song. It is still music. YES. I've been waiting for this for months! Never have I heard anything more true. Though of course you'll get the desired effect of dubstep by using huge bass drops and electronic melodies, but musical notes are still musical notes. Pitch is still pitch. Dubstep is just using these devices in a different way. I really enjoyed reading this post, Stephanie!!

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iMedia: Flight of the Frenchies by Nonie

I reviewed Nonie's post on Flight of the Frenchies because I was seriously impressed with the video she posted, and even more impressed with her message. The video is essentially about a bunch of French guys who high-line and practically free fall from enormous cliffs. Most think they're crazy, but they love it so they continue to do it. Nonie says that this is how people should think; that people should do what they love to do, no exceptions. It was a great blog post with an awesome message!

1. Emily HorvathOctober 29, 2012 8:41 PM

   What an awesome post. First of all the video is fantastic; it's one of the coolest I've ever seen, actually. But Nonie's comments and observations really made it great. I wholeheartedly agree with her idea that we should just do it, even if it's scary. To me, that's an amazing way to live. To live every day doing what you love, and taking risks for that thing that you love, is a life that is really worthwhile and meaningful, as well as one full of action and fun. These guys in the video risk their lives doing what they love to do--and that's jumping off a cliff. It may seem crazy, but as Nonie said, "People should be doing the things they love because they love it, and for no other reason at all." Great post, Nonie!

   ReplyDelete

          
Also read: Sebas's Blog (One of the funniest blogs I have ever read!)
                 Ruhi's Blog (I enjoy everything about these blog posts. They're all so well thought out and in-depth!)
                 Ruxi's Blog (I can hear Ruxi speaking whenever I read her posts. Great voice, and supremely interesting blog posts!)

Emily von Horvath

An Inconvenient Truth: The Meaning of the Term "Depression"

I'll relate to you a conversation I heard in the hallway last week on my way to Health class:

(I'm just going to call these two Shaniqua and Giselle for the hell of it.)

Shaniqua: "Oh my God, I've been feeling really crappy lately!

Giselle: "That sucks. Why have you been feeling bad?"

Shaniqua: "I dunno. I think I'm clinically depressed or something."

Giselle: "Why do you think you're depressed?"

Shaniqua: "Well, my hermit crab (Yes, hermit crab) died a couple days ago, and my dad has really been cracking down on my grades. It's awful!"

Giselle: "That sucks, dude." 

Shaniqua: "Ugh, I'm so depressed right now! I'm going to go to lunch and eat away my feelings or something."

This conversation pissed me off more that you know. I know that Shaniqua meant her conversation with Giselle to be taken as a joke, but in all honesty, depression is not funny at all. 

People often use the term "depression" lightly. The consider it depression when you are sad about the cafeteria not having burritos in the morning, or not being able to go to your favorite after school club one day. While depressed is technically defined as a state of general unhappiness or despondency, the medical term depression is much more serious than that. People who are depressed can be unhappy for extraordinary long periods of time for no reason. They can become withdrawn, negative, irritable, constantly tired, and agitated. In the worst bouts of depression, people can have feelings and thoughts of worthlessness, hopelessness, self-hate, and even death or suicide. This medical condition is generally caused by a lack of the chemical serotonin in the brain. Serotonin is a neurotransmitter that directly controls moods, especially moods of happiness, joy, or elation. Some people take pills to boost their serotonin levels, while others take other forms of medicine. Some even opt to try and deal with depression without medicine at all. Depression can be caused by many factors: death of a close friend or family member, low self-confidence, divorce, abuse, job loss, or even failing a class. Depression can even come about without any warning.

Activity of a depressed brain VS activity of a not depressed brain

So here's where we get to the part that rubs me completely the wrong way. It's not just people using the word "depression" lightly who irk me, it's also people who try to blame all their problems on depression when they really have no depression at all. How many times have you heard someone claim that they are depressed purely because they've had one bad day? How many times have they come to school the next day their normal happy selves? I'm guessing a lot. This has happened to me numerous times. In the case of one friend, I had to deal with her mood swings between "depressed" and elated every single day. She was in no way depressed; she would just complain about stupid things all day and then claim that they were making her sad and lonely. She was a social butterfly, had numerous friends, was totally happy and healthy at home, and had no problems at all.

Zero. 

Zip. 

Nada.

I'm utterly serious. There was no hidden story in the background. She was just bored with her life and decided to claim to be depressed to get attention and sympathy. I'm not just making this up, assuming, or making hasty judgements about her. She actually told me this.

My friend is not the only person I know who has faked depression in order to get sympathy. I've had countless friends try to get their parents and teachers to believe that they were depressed so that they could get a break from them. Some of these people would say that they were so "depressed" that they could just stop trying, and told everyone that they believe that everything was meaningless. They took a medical condition, faked being diagnosed with it, and then acted out being severely affected by it to get attention. Depression is one of those disorders that is especially hard to diagnose. If someone has shingles or meningitis, they need only go to the doctor's office and the doctor can prescribe them medicine because they can see the physical traces, and can gauge pain. Depression is a mental disease, and no one but you can feel what is going on in your brain. People can easily fake being depressed, same as any person can fake being happy. 

This cannot be tolerated. Not only are they messing with their friends', family's, and teachers' heads, but they are also contributing to more confusion about depression. It's absolutely unacceptable

Other things that annoy me about people's perception of depression are the stereotypes associated with depression. People think that men and women who have been diagnosed with depression are always sad, and they they always are negative and down in the dumps about everything. Another common stereotype is that they can't have fun or be funny. All of these are completely false. Just because someone is depressed doesn't mean that they can't be happy or laugh or be fun. They just have trouble with becoming sad and getting out of that sadness.

People have tried to diagnose me as depressed for a while. My seventh grade teacher asked me to my face if I was depressed, then proceeded to ask my mom about it. My brother constantly tells me that I look and act depressed all the time. My mom even wanted to have me tested for depression because she thought that my low-self confidence and desire to stay in the background was due to depression about my appearance. I know for a fact that I am not depressed. I have my bad days like anyone else, but I can get out of that sadness easily. I need time to recover, but I know how to get out. I know people who can't get out. My best friend Brian has been diagnosed as depressed for about three years. He comes to school every day, he jokes around, he smiles, and he laughs like the rest of us, but underneath that facade he has trouble staying happy. He's not always sad, but he becomes despondent for no reason, or over little bad things that had happened that day, and then he can't become happy again. His depression has a lot of side-effects: He has extremely low self-confidence, he can't sleep, he has difficulty concentrating in class, and he can become withdrawn easily. Some days it's not easy being around him because he's so far into his hole of pity that he can't see out of it. He's an extraordinary, wonderful, amazing person, but his depression keeps him from seeing that.

My best friend

I don't mean for this post to be an ode to my best friend, but he is one of the reasons that depression became such an important issue to me. We as a society see depression as a taboo. We tell those suffering from it to keep it in the dark and to hide it away so that "normal" people don't have to see it. If we don't see it as a taboo, we distort the meaning of depression and use it too lightly or in the wrong connotation. We need to show that just because someone has depression doesn't mean that they are always unhappy, and we also need to show that pretending to be depressed is not okay. Clinical depression needs to be brought out of the dark, just as our definition of depression needs to be.

-Emily of the Horvath

iMedia: Where the Hell Is Matt?

  "Where the Hell Is Matt?"

  "I don't know. Where is he?"

   Apparently, he's traveling around the world to do a jig with random people on the street. "Where the Hell Is Matt?" is a video created by Matt Harding and sponsored by Stride Gum that followed Matt's journey across the globe. Stride had seen a video that Matt's friend had taken of him dancing in the street during their time backpacking throughout southern Asia, and asked Matt to consider making a video for them. This turned out to be the best decision Matt had ever made. Stride sponsored a large trip that allowed Matt to visit 42 countries and videotape his dancing experiences in each of them. The result is absolutely mesmerizing.

  First off, the scenery is gorgeous. It's probably the first thing that anyone notices about the video. He travels to beautiful places like the Giant's Causeway in Northern Ireland, the Cape of Good Hope in South Africa, Lancelin, Australia, and other stunning destinations. Each of these places are beautiful, but I give special props to Matt and the cameraman for choosing locations that really showed what the country was proud of, or things that the country was known for. In Bhutan, it was the Buddhist monastery. In Sydney, Australia, it was the Opera House. In Chicago, it was The Bean. These images allowed for the audience to make a level of connection that would have been impossible if Matt had danced in front of "Joe's Hot Dogs" even if the sign on the door clearly read, "Joe's Hot Dogs. Chicago, IL". Even when he danced in places with no landmarks, the terrain and the background still gave people an idea that they were looking into Zambia or any other country.

The dancing is the most recognizable feature of the video. Matt's signature dance moves add the comedy and give it a flair that sets his video apart from others. The dance is remarkably simple--in fact, it reminds me of my little cousin's impersonation of how leprechauns dance. Yet the simplicity is what made the dance so great. He didn't spend all his time choreographing insane dance numbers because that would take away from the rest of the video. The video wasn't about the dance; it was about how the dance brought people together. Matt kept the dance simple and silly so that everyone could join in, regardless of age, skill, coordination, or anything else.

To me, Matt's video is saying that everyone is connected somehow. Maybe our interests are different, our cultures are different, our looks are different, and our languages are different, but all it takes is a guy with a weird dance move and a video camera to bring us all together for a good time. That's how people should be, in my opinion. Perhaps we stay out of each other's lives for the most part, but when it really matters, we can rally together and get it done. In this video, the people rallied. You can see people of all ages, sizes, races, and cultures coming together in this video and having fun. No one cared about anything but having an awesome time and having fun dancing with everyone. It was the same in every group. The Polish, the French, the Spanish, the Zambians, and every other group of people had a great time, and it was astounding.

"Where the Hell Is Matt?" is of the most beautiful videos I've ever seen on YouTube. It's one of those videos that really restores your faith in humanity, and even after watching it just one time, you realize that the real beauty is not the scenery, or the music, or even Matt's dancing--it's the people who dance with him.

- Emily G. Horvath I

Best of the Week: Male Brain VS Female Brain

In class this week, we talked about male brains versus female brains. Male brains are systematic and use mechanistic thinking, which means that they try to analyze, explore, and construct systems and figure things out systematically, while female brains are empathetic and mentalistic, which means that they attempt to identify the thoughts and emotions of others and try to respond the those thoughts and emotions with an appropriate reaction. To me, it's essentially figuring things out versus understanding things. If this is the case, then my brain is a dude. Seriously.

I've been a tomboy forever. I find most girly things unnecessary, painstaking, and annoying. It's always been this way. While other girls in Kindergarten were playing with dolls, I was building lego fortresses for my army men. While female classmates in second grade were jumping rope to nursery rhymes, I was acting as the leader of my "neighborhood army", a very menacing team of kids between the ages of two and nine who protected the neighborhood from demons, monsters, and evil invaders from other neighborhoods. In eighth grade when other girls were worrying about dresses and boys, I was worrying about trying to amass a knowledge of World War II so I could ace history class and talk with my brother about guns and weapons. Even now I'm out of touch with my "girly side". I have no interest in fashion, I despise wearing dresses; I'm not into really anything that girls find cool right now. Hell, I spend my time building things and getting covered in blood, sweat, sawdust, and paint everyday!

It's not just my interests that differ from most females, it's my behaviors. I hate showing emotions in public, I'm extremely bad at comforting and nurturing, and the closest I go to freaking out about something cute is when I see a picture of an adorable animal, or on occasion, a cute boy. Other than those times, I just give a nod of the head and comment, "Nice." That's as far as I go. 

So if everything about male brains versus female brains is true, I'm pretty damned sure that I have a male brain. However, there's an argument to be made here: Do I have a male brain because I don't like dresses, I used to build fortresses for army men out of legos, and I like to build things? Or do I think that I have a man's brain because the activities listed above are considered "manly" activities in our society? Based on the definition of a male brain, I'm have a male brain because I like to systematically figure things out, and I tend to lean towards activities that necessitate using machines and mechanical processes. I also have a male brain because I tend to keep emotions in check and have trouble connecting to peoples' emotions. Based on society's view, I have a male brain because of the way I act and what activities i enjoy.

It has been decided that male brain v.s. female brain is purely a way to judge how one thinks of things and reacts to them, as well as how they process that information. That's a very black-and-white concept. Society's view is much more complex.

In our society, males are given the model of being strong, protective, very physical, athletic, supportive of their family, and strong-willed. They are given toy cars and told to play baseball or football when they are younger because that's "what boys are supposed to do". Girls are given expectations of being smart, emotional, nurturing, caring, levelheaded, dependable, good wives and mothers. They are given dolls and told to play House because that's "what girls are supposed to do". These ideas are part of society's views of how men and women should act, and how they should treat each other. These views contribute immensely to peoples' ideas of how they should be, and how they should act. It's frowned upon when girls trade makeup and tea parties for over-alls and playing in the mud because it's too "masculine". It's frowned upon when boys trade monster trucks and basketball for dance and home-ec because it's too "feminine". Kids are forced to fit themselves into society's molds and choose one or the other. It's awful.

I identify as a female, and I know that I'm not the only other girl in the world with a hatred for dresses, or the only one who gets Sudden-Bolt-Syndrome when I see other peoples' emotions. I actually find it a bit easier to understand why I think and act the way I do now that I've learned the differences between the two brains. It's extremely interesting, and that is why I find to to be the best of the week.

- Emily de la Horvath

Captured Thought: Focusing Lights

Why is it that theatrical lighting seems so easy, but ends up being one of the most odious, meticulous, painstaking adventures in theatre? And why did it take me so long to understand it?

For the past week at Stage Crew, I have done almost nothing but focus lights. This is both an annoying and interesting job to do, especially for people like me, who have had little to no experience in the impressive field of stage lighting. I focused my first light about a week ago. I hadn't focused one before because I had been terrified of it. It seems incredibly complex and scary the first time you do it. I constantly wondered, "Holy crap, did I just break a $300 light because I loosened one screw too much?" It's absolutely nerve wracking! There are so many knobs, buttons, bolts, and screws that you almost can't wrap your head around it. I had tried for the entire year that I had done Crew to figure out how to use these lights, but it was to no avail. Rich, the head of Crew, had his "lighting team" last year, where everyone was already trained, and they were all fantastic at working with lights, so an itty-bitty Freshman like me had no chance of actually getting to work exclusively with them. I picked up bits and pieces of information from upperclassmen, but nothing very extensive. The "information", if I can even call it that, was more like, "To turn the light off, you have to unplug it" and "Don't touch that! You'll burn your hand!". So, I had no experience with these fixtures until this year rolled around.

This year, Rich had to make new teams because almost all his skilled workers were gone. However, we're all still trying to figure out our place in Crew, so Rich had to teach us all everything he could. There was so much to learn in four or five days! With the upperclassmen from last year gone, we had a whole new ballgame to learn, and not much time to do it. I was put in the category of "Knows just about as much as the Freshmen" when it comes to lighting and sound, two incredibly important parts of theatre, so Rich took me aside and taught me a little about it. He read it to me off the top of his head while I tried to take mental notes. There are tons of different types of stage lights, like PAR lights, floodlights, Fresnel lanterns, and Source Four ERS's just to name a few. Different kinds of lights are used to different jobs during a show--floodlights illuminate large areas, while Source Fours are used to profile, or highlight, one particular area or thing. He showed me the different knobs and what they were used for, and how to open and close the shutters and such. At that point, I thought that Rich was just showing me the lights to show me. I thought. Suddenly, I get a wrench and a harness thrust into my hands and am told to harness up and go in the catwalk. Rich shows me how to put on the harness, makes sure everything is okay, and shows me how to climb up the ladder safely. Then I'm on my own. My mind was racing. I had been waiting for a whole year to do this, but I was nearly shaking in my Vans when I was put on spot like that. I wasn't sure that I could do it. Thankfully, Rich is a somewhat-patient man, and was very good at explaining what I was supposed to be doing. I hung lights, focused them, messed them up, refocused them, took them down, put in gels or gobos, or did whatever Rich wanted me to do with them. Yet I was still confused. It was all entering my head so fast that it didn't process correctly.

I spent the next couple of days focusing and hanging lights for Rich, and doing exactly what I was told. This was all fine and dandy, but I still didn't understand what I was doing. I could focus them, but not without the help of Rich, or Bradley, or Cody. I wasn't self sufficient at all. This bothered me immensely. No matter how hard I tried, I would always have to run to one of the boys, or to Rich, or to one of the upperclassmen for help. I just couldn't process all the knobs and buttons and terminology that were dancing around in my head. That all changed during eighth period a couple days ago.

I reported to Rich during eighth because I'm his lab aid, and I have to check in with him to see if he needs any things done. He sent me on little errands around the auditorium. I got the podium out, cleaned up zip-ties, helped Caeli get the R-FU out, and set up a couple microphones. It was all busywork. Then came the moment of truth--Rich told me to head up to the catwalk to focus. My stomach dropped to my feet. I grabbed my wrench, harnessed up, clambered up the ladder, and waited for Rich's instructions just like always. We were focusing lights on the risers for the choir concert, so Rich had people "model" and told me where to point the light and how sharp I should make it. This time was different, however. Rich would bark instructions at me, and instead of asking, "How do you turn that?" or "How do I do that again?" I reacted quickly, almost mindlessly, and efficiently. I was pleasantly surprised. I had been struggling so hard to master the art of focusing lights over the past week, and even a little bit Freshman year, and I had finally figured it out! Rich also seemed pretty happy that he didn't have to explain where the yoke and the C-clamp were connected for the umpteenth time. I had no idea what had facilitated the transition from royally clueless to decently smart about lighting, but thinking back to it, I realize that I had over-analyzed the entire situation. I had paid so much attention to the terminology and the generally unimportant things that I had shunted the important knowledge out of my head. I thought that I relied upon Rich or Bradley to tell me how to focus these fixtures, while in the back of my head, I knew how to focus them all along. I just had been thinking about it the wrong way.

-Emily of the House of Horvath

A Source Four ERS [In case you were interested :)]