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The writing

If you’re taking summer classes (ha!) then maybe you saw my article in yesterday’s issue of the Daily. If not, you can check it out via one of the links. It’s definitely not the best thing I’ve ever written for the paper, but it’s certainly the longest, and the first to be accompanied by an illustration. My summer editor has accommodated my eccentricities like a seasoned veteran thus far, and I think we’ll get along famously.

Ah, the writing. Most of the time, I enjoy it leaps and bounds more than the computer science shtick, and this worries me. For fall quarter, I’m currently signed up for ten credits of English and three of CS, and I may be applying to English in the near future. Listen, no one’s more surprised than me. I’ve always considered myself a math-science person with few exceptions, but I can’t deny that my grades in English are markedly better than those in my “real” major, and maybe that means something.

In any case, I can’t ever seem to write enough to satisfy myself. I love writing. It’s something I enjoy, and I suppose that should be the case, given how much time I spend writing for, working on, or thinking about this site. Don’t think I don’t appreciate your patronage to my little domain; I’d drink poison for you, provided it was only a little bit and there was an EMT on call. Writing for the Daily this spring and for this site on an almost daily basis has been incredibly fulfilling – knowing that people read what I write, and that some of them care or even appreciate it, is more than just an ego-stroking. Your attention gives me hope that this is something I could do as a real thing, outside the internet and the college scene. Fame is probably beyond my reach, but I think that, with your help, I could achieve minor celebrity, the sort of status where maitre d’s still snub you but grim fourteen-year-olds dressed all in black shyly ask for your autograph. I think I could live with that.

Maybe you noticed the row of rainbow-colored buttons on the right there. Maybe you clicked one, out of spite or love, it doesn’t matter to me. If you haven’t done so yet, please do; if enough people rate me highly, I’ll start attracting attention at bloghop, and then… probably nothing. But at the very least it will make me feel all tingly inside, in that good, wholesome way.

In other news, I’m an uncle. My brother’s wife Dina delivered a 6 lb. girl Tuesday night, little Alison Adele. The spelling for the first name is up in the air right now – hopefully Rob will read this, see how much better it looks with one ‘l’, and make the right decision. Of course I plan to leave my mark on the little tyke to the best of my ability: “Can you say indie? Iiiiiindiiiieeee.” But then, I’ve been trying to sway Rob’s taste in music (and other things) for years with little success. One thing is certain: that girl will be pale, red-headed and freckly. Hopefully she didn’t get all the awkward genes in my blood line, but an adolescence of sunburns and fire-crotch jokes is practically guaranteed.

Posted in Musings.


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