Socrates' Café: Thursday September 11, 2014 - "Why College?"

Socrates' Café Audio number 4:

After checking the blogs of the other participants in this discussion, I find that I am the only person that thought "if it won't let me upload audio, I'll just make it a video".

No, really. You didn't think about checking to see if it worked? Don't you know how to blog?

Okay. Here's some tips.

Don't use chat-speak on Blogger.

I get it. I use it. But Blogger is... too professional. (Blurgh.) And, most of you viewing this are doing this stuff for school. (Blurgh x2) So yeah. Keep your grammar in check. I am the grammar slammer. Here to check your typos.

Check what you wrote.

The audio doesn't work on Blogger. You... you actually didn't check, some of you. You just. Didn't. I'm kinda floored. You didn't even think, wow, lemmi see the masterpiece/utter crap that I wrote.

So yeah, that's my two cents. Not a penny for your thoughts, because two points = two pennies.

ONTO THE SOCRATES' CAFÉ.

I really think that dividing the groups into college types would have been beneficial. Art college debates would have been especially thought provoking! I honestly think that I got next to nothing from the talking this time around. It was disappointing.

I understand that for others, medical college and other fields heavy in the "knowledge" category would be required to go to college, or pursue an underground career otherwise. But art colleges are a lot more tricky.

When I think about art college, "dying in debt" is an honest to goodness potentiality.

People say it all the time. You've heard it in and out of the art world.

"Starving Artist", "Useless Career", "Impossible".

And sure. It differs. Fine-Art in this day and age is a hard road to walk. But animation is in demand. Well. Depending on the animation.

How often do you watch 2D movies in theater anymore? But you've seen 3D ones.

You've seen Frozen, How to Train Your Dragon 1 and 2, Brave, Tangled, Rise of the Guardians-

(Please, please, please watch this movie, and just look at the detail. You can see the stitching, the veins in the skin, Jack's eyes look like snowflakes, there's a whole animating program just for the sand, it's so gorgeous. Please watch Rise of the Guardians. It's not about Christmas.)

But all the cartoons are still 2D. Thank goodness for small blessings. Oh, but that's pretty hard to get into. I mean. You've gotta be pretty good to get with the bigger studios. Disney, Cartoon Network.

So. It going to college to learn animation techniques to possibly get a job in the animation field worth the potential 10, 20, maybe 40 years of debt?

Crippling debt, because I have very little financial support for college. My grades are pretty bad, and my art, while being better than average, isn't amazing.

Ugh, this is getting too long winded and personal and a little bit upsetting. I'm gunna stop here.

But yeah, the conversation would have been a lot more fulfilling if the... audience? Um. Selection was more selective. Dunno. Anyhow.

I'd say 6/10. Wasn't that bad, but honestly. Could be a lot better. :I

http://crwnly.tumblr.com/post/96828785864

Legit advice I swear.

The First Boy She Would Ever Kill by Annie Le, inspired by tumblr users nickcarragay and ptgreat

http://my-name-is-really-neil-mcneil.tumblr.com/post/95854873347/dustinmathisen-ptgreat-nickcarragay

dustinmathisen:

ptgreat:

nickcarragay:

petition to make young adult authors stop writing about girls whose lives change when they meet a boy

When she saw him time slowed to a stop.  He was so perfect and she knew her life would never be the same because she had finally found him.  The one.  The first boy she would ever kill.

-----

And then everything started moving again. She breathed breathes like they were her last. But no, these would be her first.

How would she strike? Not her gun or knife; she needed something quick and inconspicious. Poisons. Her ring would do. Slow acting. Small dose. Rhododendrens. It was 5:14pm, the poison would start around 10 or 11, and no one would be around. (She lamented the fact that she wouldn't see him die. It would be slow. He wouldn't even notice until it was too late. Until his throat clogged. Until his body shook. Until his heart stopped and-)

She smiled contently as she absently played with the ring she was wearing. (Carefully switching the cynacide with the rhododendren capsule.) Glancing around at the park in the hot summer, she rested her head on the palm of her hand. (Reaching back to click the button on her earring.) Her phone rang, and she fumbled in her giant purse to find it, gasping lightly at the text on the screen.

Tossing the nearly empty cup of Iced Chocolate Chai Tea Latte, with extra whipped cream, into the trash as she jumped from her seat, she pretended to reply to the text distractedly as she hurried down the park sidewalk. Right into him. Her phone fell to the grass, and she brought up a hand to cushion the impact, but only succeeded in slapping the boy's arm. (His sleeves were rolled up in the sticky heat. How stupid.)

"Ohhh my gosh, I'm sooo sorry!" she exclaimed, backing up, grasping tightly at her hands (and closing the cap on the needle).

He laughed and said, "It's fine," and picked up her phone, handing it to her. She smiled sheepishly.

"Thanks." As she ran off, her lips curved, and she pressed her big thick glasses up. Baggy shirt, short shorts with a high waist, clunky boots, and plain brown and blonde hair in a messy bun. She was just another clumsy summer hipster.

She disappeared into the city crowds, just a drop in the sea.


-----


First off, I'd like to talk about how I had to google: "how to kill someone in public with poison", "how to assassinate someone in public", "poisons without traces", "slow poisons without traces", and "polonium poisoning".

...

I had to google those things.

Writing is hard and researching is typically filled with the paranoia that the NSA is over your shoulder.

Also, I've been sick since Friday. I was deliriously functioning on meds yesterday. I am coughing my left lung out, and also tearing a bloody hole in my throat.

Sorry if this isn't my best work.

The story is based on the idea above, and continues off of it. Honestly, it's such a great idea. For this story, the main character is a girl that has been trained to be an assassin since birth, and, at the age of 17, takes part in her first hit.

I Broke a Leg, but Then Kept Walking

(I Lost My Head, but Then Kept Talking)

I had a dream once. An actual dream. While sleeping. It was a really crazy dream. I have dreams fairly often, but this one always sticks with me. I’m not entirely sure why, but it had been especially notable. I was told that most dreams consist of daily life, and are usually forgotten about because of that.

It had started in a large cafeteria, like a mix between a very small, clean, fancy plane hangar, and a normal school cafeteria. It had a slanted beige ceiling, and huge windows in the triangle formed by the slanted ceiling and walls.

I remember my hair was long and black, with short bangs, and a red shirt and black shorts. I had been sitting with my friends, talking and eating lunch, when a boy burst through the windows.

He was wearing a baggy gray pull over hoodie and black jeans, his eyes were gray-blue, and his hair was light blue. He was holding a katana.

Everyone was running out of the cafeteria, screaming, and I pulled a katana from beneath the table, and leapt at him. It was like something from an anime. The cafeteria emptied out, with the clashing of metal, and several long tables were destroyed as we fought. Suddenly, I had the upper hand, and took his head off.

In the moment of calm, I spoke with him. I am not sure how he was still talking at this point, besides dream reality. He had been sent to kill me. But he didn’t want to. I sympathized with him.

“Let me take you to the nurse.”

Now let me just. Pause.

Okay. The school nurse. Will. Fix. Your. Decapitated head from body. Situation.

I am still so confused. Dream reality is so weird.

Regardless, I did not know my way around the three floors, more than 20 hallways, school building. After wrapping the head in a magically appearing towel and running through the cafeteria double doors, I managed to find the front office. The lady there gave me directions to the nurse’s. I ended up in the wrong room, however, because I am not the best at dream-navigation. I put the blue haired kid’s head down before entering.

It ended up being a pitch black room with reflective wires everywhere. I was hell-bent on making it through them, under the illusion that the nurse’s office was through the wires. The room slowly drew me into a trance, and I tried dancing through them, but a wire hit me almost every time I moved. It was as though I was slowly falling asleep, or being paralyzed.

But the boy’s voice brought me back, and I made my way from the tangle of wires, back to the door, and continued the search for the nurse’s office.

I finally opened a door to a porch. And the elderly school nurse sat at a cabana set with another lady, laughing at the sunlight and bright green grass and sprinklers outside.

“Help! Please help him!”

The nurses pulled me in for conversation, even as I tried to tell them that the head in my arms needed help. Finally, they asked,

“What’s in that bundle of towels you have there?”

Opening it, however, there was a Barbie doll with a black swimsuit and bright, curly red hair. I was so confused, and the elderly women said,

“Oh! How fun!”

What.

“Here, just add water!”

Soaking it, suddenly the Barbie grew into a young girl with red hair and a colorful bathing suit, who ran through the sprinklers in the grass while screaming in delight. I was confused. I was very confused. I was trying to find the boy.

I woke up.

I have no idea what in high heavens that dream was a result of.

I’ve had other dreams.  I was a boy with a white shirt and brown hair and a clone that was trying to kill me, until we were fighting on a pirate ship in the middle of a storm and I saved their life and they promised to look after my friends. I was a free runner, swinging through an abandoned metal city of fire escapes and metal sky scrapers covered in red and rust. I was a magical girl, with shoes that let me jump through the air for ever and ever.

This dream, though. There was something about holding a dangerous weapon, throwing myself through the air as though I was beyond human, flashing through the air at speeds that no one could see, forcing metal against metal, and the shrill sound as the blades slid off of each other.

It was… amazing.

 Alternate Title by Mrs. Calland & Sam(?)

Success is... a Text Entry.

Well. Here I am. The last necessary post.

Yeah, I might be putting more up.

For this last one, I'd like to talk about my personal definition of SUCCESS.

It probably won't be anything surprising.

The public's definitions of some words are more concrete than others.

Perhaps, if I asked you the meaning of living?

Well, that would be hard to say. Breathing? Beating heart? Working mind? Experiencing the world?

How about the meaning of yolk?

That's easy. It's the yellow part of an egg that holds nutrition.

See? That difference? SUCCESS is in between, though. It is closer to yolk, thankfully.

So. My personal definition of SUCCESS is:

Doing the BEST

YOU

can

do

to do what you   want   and/or   need   ,

even if it's not what you SHOULD do.

Did you read that with  CLEAR .  AND .  EX .  ACT .  EM .  PHA .  SIS ?

No?

Then I want you to go back. I'm trying to be informative. And philosophical. It's kinda rude to skip. I guess you can. If you want to. I probably wouldn't even find out unless you told me.

You can skip if you want to. It's a long read anyways.

Continuing on...


"But what does it mean, Annie?" (Asks the imaginary audience, in Annie's head.)


BEST

Well. Doing your best is obvious. It's in the way that people climb Everest.

It's the struggle. It's the passion. It's the blood, sweat, tears, and other bodily fluids.

Like spit.

(Hahah, I know what you were thinking of. Probably. Possibly. Maybe you're thinking about food.)

YOU

Everyone is different. Everyone is an individual. Even twins, identical to the same molecules. Even they live different lives. Because one stands on one side of the other.

So. You may excel where others fail, and you may fail where other's fail.

And you go at your own pace. You do the best that YOU can do. Not the best that the BEST PERSON can do. That person isn't you.

And the best that YOU can do, doesn't mean the best while ignoring your health.

If you need to nap for an hour or two instead of studying? You ███████ do that.

You need to remember that you have to love yourself before you love anyone or anything else.

Love yourself.

You are (probably) human. You (usually) only have one life (or at most 9 lives).

So take care of yourself. Not just physically. Mentally.

If you need a day to watch Netflix or old movies that you watched for the first time when you were 5 and maybe cry a bit because the worst day of your life is happening now?

Do it.

A day of struggling to keep it together is not worth an A+.

SUCCESS is keeping yourself healthy and getting a D because you stayed home to keep your head fixed on your shoulders.

It's the best YOU could do.

Because it's not

"if you push yourself to the limits till you puke",

it's

"if you pushed yourself and paced yourself".

So. So. Does SUCCESS have a measurement?

Yes. Yes it does.

It's your's.

I read a story once. It was short. Three people played Go Fish.

In the end, three of them won.

Because one was ███████████ it and playing a totally different game, because his goal was to make his friends laugh.

And one won.

And the last was entertained.

(That's the point of games. Mario Kart on Rainbow Road is not a game. And Zathura is not a game. Zathura is literally a murder device only given to the very worst of people with the best of intentions.)

(Your intentions.)

(Which are murder.)

(Do not give people Zathura.)

(Or Jumanji.)

(Don't.)

This turned out longer than I wanted. I did say in my introduction that I rambled a lot. But it's hard to be precise. I didn't have enough time to be more precise. (Hahah, what a throw-back that was.)

████ it. That's all I have to say on the matter now.

I don't get why we're doing our Summer Reading on the definition of success when the definition is so obvious. It's just the good feeling. You're not going to be successful even if you've got trillions of dollars unless you're happy with it. But, lets be honest. You are definitely gunna be happy if you had trillions of dollars. Money doesn't mean happy, but financial stability isn't a ███████ curse. Like damn, if I could pay for college. If I could afford a place to stay and be guaranteed to have the things we take for granted. Like general safety, substantial food, clean water, shelter, clothing, furniture (bed, tables, chairs, etc), cleaning utilities (shower/bath, shampoo, conditioner, etc, deodorant, lotion, etc.), electronics (desk comp, laptop, tablets, phones, smart phones, gaming systems, handhelds, etc), internet connection. My future is so NOT SOLID that I am terrified and I am NOT sure if I am going to be successful, because not having even three of those things is a THING that could happen. Rock bottom is a type of success. It means you can work your way up.

Perspective is a plus. At least I have perspective. And reluctant, paranoid, painfully sarcastic and vague optimism.

Success is... an 8tracks playlist.

Success is some good vibes to get you to get yourself successful.

Listen on 8tracks.

Art (c) Me

Success is... Art.

Success is the best you that you can be. Not the best that the best can be.

Art (c) Annie Le

Success is... a .GIF.

Success is doing what you can to get where you need.

Success is... a Quote.

"I did things in my 30s that were ignored by the world, that could have been quickly labeled a failure. Here’s a classic example; in 1974 I did a movie called Phantom of the Paradise. Phantom of the Paradise, which was a huge flop in this country. There were only two cities in the world where it had any real success: Winnipeg, in Canada, and Paris, France. So, okay, let’s write it off as a failure. Maybe you could do that.

But all of the sudden, I’m in Mexico, and a 16-year-old boy comes up to me at a concert with an album - a Phantom of the Paradise soundtrack- and asks me to sign it. I sign it. Evidently I was nice to him and we had a nice little conversation. I don’t remember the moment, I remember signing the album (I don’t know if I think I remember or if I actually remember). But this little 14 or 16, whatever old this guy was… Well I know who the guy is now because I’m writing a musical based on Pan’s Labyrinth; it’s Guillermo del Toro.

The work that I’ve done with Daft Punk it’s totally related to them seeing Phantom of the Paradise 20 times and deciding they’re going to reach out to this 70-year-old songwriter to get involved in an album called Random Access Memories.

So, what is the lesson in that? The lesson for me is being very careful about what you label a failure in your life. Be careful about throwing something in the round file as garbage because you may find that it’s the headwaters of a relationship that you can’t even imagine it’s coming in your future."

— Paul Williams

Success is considering if your "failure" is really a failure.

Who am I? I'm █████ ██.

Alright. So first off, this isn't a post for the "5 posts about Success" for my summer homework. But what it IS, is a post about me. Because everyone should introduce themselves. Its how things go. In our society.

Typically.

Some kids forget to do that. They're children. It's understandable to forget what names are. They just like people and talk about TV and play on swings together and forget about their own birthdays.

...

What was I saying? Right. Me.

Sorry. I ramble. A lot. It happens. Often. Very often. So often that it's happening now. Again.

I'm Annie Le. It's nice of you to read this.

I love drawing, reading, and I dabble in writing.

I like all of the cats, and big, quiet dogs.

My favorite foods are ramen, spaghetti, hot pot, and quail eggs.

I enjoy watching anime, cartoons, live action shows, movies, short animations, reading books, comics, manga, fanfiction, playing RPGs, MMOs, sometimes first person shooters, and listening to music and podcasts. Basically, I'm a huge ███████ nerd.

And in the end. The one thing you never hear?

I like myself too.

Do you like yourself too?

So that's me. The shortened version. But why am I on here anyhow? Aren't I usually on tumblr? Yes. I am. I am usually on tumblr for at least 8 hours a day. Which isn't actually an exaggeration. Which is a bit pathetic, but it's true. So. Why am I here?

We just don't know? ??

This blog is for my summer homework. Summer project? If you want to call it that, I suppose. The goal?

5 multimedia posts about success.