Metacognition: Mashup

I'm not going to lie--when I first heard about this project, I was really, really not looking forward to it. I saw it as yet another pointless assignment that makes no sense and probably won't pertain to anything we're actually doing unless we totally bullshit every "connection" we find between our "Jane Eyre" sources and the media sources. I was dreading it. I despised it. I didn't even know what it was.

My opinion of the project got slightly better after we went over what we were actually supposed to do, but I still wasn't feeling it. I absentmindedly pondered writing essays, creating a Prezi doc, or doing a poster, but none of them sounded terribly exciting.

However, my inspiration comes to me from the strangest places. That night as I watched Nostalgia Critic, an online movie critic who reviews bad old movies, and one of the funniest and best critics I've ever had the pleasure of watching, Inspiration came to me in this form:

At this point, I realized that I could have a lot of fun with this assignment because I could play to my strength: movies and video. The next day I paired up with Ruhi and Sebastian, and the adventure began.

Despite the Critic's inspirational speech, things still went terribly wrong at first. We were pretty disorganized: one of us was traveling, one of us had rehearsals, one of us had tech, one of us got sick, one of us had plans, one of us was going to visit the Pope--the list goes on and on. We were all busy and didn't really know how to collaborate with each other. We only really had five days too, which is way too short to actually do a large in-depth project with three people. Eventually, Monday rolled around and we still didn't know what we were doing. 

So, we decided to break the group up partially, as our schedules just wouldn't work with each other. And then there were two days left. On Tuesday, my partner and I met at my house and planned everything out and made a flow chart and everything until we both had to leave for various rehearsals. We were still disorganized, but at least we had a plan--a glorious plan.

We essentially decided to make a video mashup highlighting the effect of individualism on the status quo. And when you hear status quo, what do you think of? THAT'S RIGHT: HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL.

From there, we jam packed that thing with every pop culture reference, every movie, every TV show, and every quote that we could think of that expressed that theme. There were a surprising amount of them--they show up everywhere.

We used clips from the Critic's video, a scene from "Wreck It Ralph", some Harry Potter, and even some Doctor Who. We interweaved them with our own comments, "Jane Eyre" stuff, and even "King Lear" clips. It was like skipping down Memory Lane surrounded by singing flowers, cartoon characters, and Jane Eyre--it was freaking awesome. We filmed all our original stuff Wednesday morning and everything looked wonderful.

Then, the Fire Nation attacked things came up and my partner and I couldn't finish the project together because we were both at rehearsal until late Wednesday night. I worked and worked on my laptop, editing clips together, downloading files, and piecing all of our hard work together; I seriously operated a spotlight with one hand and video-edited with the other. I started to run into problems: the school network was slow and I couldn't torrent any videos, files were too large; the screen was freezing. Alas, it was too late, and 9 O'clock flew by before I even registered that the thing was due. I texted my partner, who in turn emailed Mr. Allen, and I resigned myself to an I-am-staying-up-til-the-wee-hours-of-the-morning-because-shit-needs-to-get-done night. 

I got home at ten and worked non-stop until one in the morning. I not only recorded the Jane Eyre quotes, but I also spliced scenes from "Balto" with dis-attached audio and attempted to make a source page. I felt terrible. I finally uploaded the thing at about two in the morning, and then finished my other homework by four. It was not a fun day. No me gusta. 

So, yeah, the work was awful. We stayed up forever working on it, the thing wouldn't upload for like an hour, it was a pain trying to make our schedules work, and the time limit didn't help. But the finished product was something to be proud of, in my opinion. It was funny at all the right times, it had some of our favorite movies and videos in it, and it really fit with the theme. I think we succeeded in doing what we tried to do, and that's all I could hope for at this point. 

I really did do a 180º turn around with this project. I really enjoyed working with my partner, and I think that we made something great.

GIFS of the Day

Metacognition: Writing My Short Story

When I started writing my short story, it was 1AM on a Monday. At the time, I was tired, bored out of my mind, sick, and didn't really want to do the assignment at all. I kept trying to find "rich ideas" or whatever, but I couldn't formulate anything worth turning in. At 5AM, I finally decided to write out one of my better prompts and go with it. I didn't edit or formulate. I didn't even look at the rubric. I just wrote.

So, I turned that one in and forgot about it. I wasn't exactly thrilled about doing it. I generally like story writing, but I couldn't find a muse with this specific assignment, so writing it wasn't fun for me at all. I was just disappointed with it. When draft two came back, I still didn't really know what to do with it. I kind of messed with the end and added dialogue, but that's it. 

Step three brought about the biggest change. I actually had a story going on, at least, even if I didn't like it. It had a general flow, a main character, a setting, and actual dialogue and a sloppy plot. I still wasn't proud of it, but it was all I could bring myself to do. I contemplated rewriting it or completely starting over with a new story, but procrastination mixed with actual lack of time had me trying desperately to fix the original.

Step four was important too. I rewrote a lot of it, added some dialogue and such. I tried developing the characters, but I don't think it came through. In step five, I rewrote nearly everything: new dialogue, new characterization, a new addition to the plot. I was happy at least that it was a story. I wasn't really that happy with it, but it had to do. 

Today's blog post is short because I don't have much to say about this assignment. I think I did alright, but I lacked inspiration for the majority of it, so I don't consider it good work of mine at all. I do like my voice, and I think it comes through in places, but I really believe that the story itself is cliché, uninspired, and boring. My one highlight was planning out my characters. Both were semi-based on people I know with a couple characteristics of myself, so I grew pretty fond of them even if my plot sucked. 

That's all. I apologize for the abruptness of the blog, but I really don't have much else to say about it. 

GIFS of my working process:

Step 1

Step 2

Step 3

Step 4

Step 5

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!))