Where has all the creativity gone? Who sucked the originality from Hollywood? I watched a movie today. I usually don’t go to the theater to see movies–I’m cheap. Today I coughed up the money and sat through a movie I was told was good. And for the most part it was a pretty good movie. I didn’t mind paying $3.50 (ah, bless those matinees) to see it. It was The Patriot with Mel Gibson. If you’re thinking about seeing it, here’s the run down: no sex, no foul language, lots of bloody war violence. The battle scenes are similar to Braveheart and Saving Private Ryan, although a bit milder.
So a federal judge has ordered the online music-swapping Napster to shut down by midnight tonight. Since the announcement was made Wednesday evening there’s been a flurry of activity and a flurry of voices saying a whole lot of I’m not sure what. If you don’t know, Napster is a computer program that allows users to share mp3 music files for free. The record industry hasn’t been too happy with this, since nearly 85% of the music swapping involves copyrighted songs, and they slapped Napster with a lawsuit. The judge ordered Napster to shut down during the trail, and things don’t look too good for the company that started the music swapping melee.
I’ve found that trying to write fiction stories for these ponderings is very difficult. I don’t have time to sit down and write an entire story, so I just write chunks. Every night I sit down and try to remember how the story is coming so far. I have a rough idea in my head of how I want the story to go, but usually I haven’t thought about how that particular night’s segment will go. Sometimes I come up with a good idea and it works. Other times I feel like it’s a transition scene that needs to be cut out. It’s kind of hit or miss.
A muffled thumping was all that reached Jeanie, but it woke her just the same. It sounded like her brother was moving furniture in the room above her. It echoed through the house, and Jeanie rolled over trying to ignore it.
But the muffled thumping was thunder from a coming storm. Sighing Jeanie tossed the covers aside and marched upstairs to see what the noise was.
People change. 700 miles and 7 months and you wonder what happened. The old crowd is never the same and you can’t live in the past. Going home becomes a more and more depressing experience. Old friends standing around, nodding, telling stories about the past, trying in vain to bring each other up to date. But it never quite takes hold like it used to. For all our technological advances we still can’t keep in touch and keep the growing distance at bay. It grows deep inside each of us and pushes us farther and farther away from one another. Only when you’re standing right next to the person can you ever hope to hold on and struggle through the minute changes that will one day become miles. You can only hope you’ll grow together and be intertwined through those miles.
Is it okay to tell a story with no particular place to go?
The rocking chair slowly came to a halt and Jeanie listened to the quiet of the night. Everything was still and the minute noises of the house echoed loud and clear from the darkness. She unclenched her hands and let her knees fall from her chest back to the floor. She slowly stood up and decided to go to bed, although she knew sleep would allude her.
Why did things seem so complicated now, Jeanie asked herself. When she was younger and couldn’t sleep at night she used to dream of living in a different time. She would imagine growing up in the 1940’s, when her parents were her age. She’d imagine herself blowing kisses to her soldier husband, and then join the work force at the factory making bullets for her husband’s machine gun.
But Jeanie didn’t smile back at the stuffed bird. She flopped in the old wooden rocking chair, hardly thinking how old it was. Her mother bought it when Jeanie was born so she could rock the newborn baby to sleep. Jeanie pulled her knees up to her chin and let the chair rock on its own.
The presidential election is near at hand and I can’t help but feel a sense of patriotic duty. I also can’t help but feel a sense of patriotic uselessness. Politics seems to be such a far cry from the common person that I question how we have any influence at all. Look at the people running. George W. Bush and Al Gore. Where did these guys come from? Al Gore is a little more well known. He’s been the vice president for eight years doing a whole lot of who knows what. Before that he was a senator doing who knows what. George W. Bush is the governor of Texas, and that’s about all I can tell you. Just how he launched himself into the national scene, I don’t quite know.
Yes, yes, those of you who are smarter than me will roll your eyes and lecture me on the campaign process, the primaries and all that fun stuff. But I can’t help but wonder who really cares. I’ve yet to see a candidate that I felt would actually listen to my opinion. I’ve yet to see a candidate that comes close to lining up with my values. It’s like a lose-lose situation. Perhaps I’m just not in the majority. Perhaps I’m just not well educated. Perhaps I’m just a little cynical. I can’t help but feel there’s a closed door meeting held somewhere that determines who gets to be president. The election process is a sham, two puppets from which to choose, but really there’s only one puppet master.
Is this just me, or is this years of conspiracy talk and apathy? No wonder voter turn out is so low. However, I plan to vote. I’m not entirely sure what it will accomplish, and I’m not entirely sure which puppet I’ll choose, but at least I’ll exercise my rights. Maybe somehow this year will be different. Then again, maybe not.