Poorly Greet Each Other, We Do.

Have you ever noticed how people have a strange way of greeting each other? If you haven't, you may want to start paying closer attention to what people say to you. I was sitting at work the other day, bored and watching the cashier when something caught my attention. My job, when cashiering, is to scan ID cards and be polite to the customers (a task that is sometimes easier said than done), so -naturally -a lot of people greet me. When they hand me the card, the first hing out of their mouths is normally some sort of greeting.

While I was sitting there, scanning cards, I noticed something about the way I was being greeted. Maybe it's just my generation, or maybe it's a lack of education (Which I doubt), but my generation seems to have forgotten that there is a difference between saying, "Hi," and saying, "How's it going?" 

I've compiled a list of the most common ways I've seen my fellow students greet each other (at my on-campus job, in class, and around campus). Here's the ones that seem to be exceedingly popular around the university I go to:

1) "Hi"

2) "Hello"

3) "What's up?"

4) " 'Sup?"

5) "How's it going?"

6) "How are you?"

7) "Hey."

8) "Hey!" 

Now, these greetings should look familiar to you. I'm sure that you've heard all of them at least once, but have you ever actually thought about what they mean? Some of them aren't even really greetings. They are, but they aren't. They're greetings in the sense that they can start a conversation and acknowledge the existence of the person they're being said to, but they aren't in the sense that they don't actually mean the same thing as, "Hello". For the sake of understanding my point, let's take a few moments to actually break down theses greetings.

1) "Hi": "Hi," is the little brother of "Hello". It means the exact same thing. It's merely a way of properly greeting someone. It's hard to misinterpret the meaning behind it, unless the tone it is spoken in is one of the darker emotions (i.e. anger, spite, depression...ect...). It's simple. It's straight forward. It doesn't need ask for anything more than an acknowledgement of it being spoken...which can be given in the form of a nod or a returning of the word.

2) "Hello": Is the exact same thing as "Hi", but more proper. "Hi" is the slang version of "Hello". It's the shortened version.

3) *** "What's up?": This is a question, not a greeting. Yes, it is used as "Hi" but it doesn't mean "Hi". It means, "I'm wondering how you're doing, why don't you tell me what's going on in your life." This one is one of the ones I see most commonly used wrong. I'll give you an example as to how it's used wrong after we're done breaking this list down. (NOTE: The greetings with *** fall under the example that will be given) 

4) ***" 'Sup?": Like "Hi" is the slang brother of "Hello", " 'Sup" is the slang brother of "What's up?" It means the same thing, yet it is more often times used as meaning "Hi" then actually used to wonder about what's going on in someone's life.

5) *** "How's it Going?": This one has the exact same meaning as "What's up." Again, a question, not an actually "Hello" 

6) "How Are You?": This one tends to be used properly. Though, sometimes it is misused in the same way as (3), (4), and (5). Normally -from what I've observed -when someone says this they actually are curious about how you are and are not just trying to do the socially acceptable action of acknowledging your presence.

7 and 8): "Hey." and "Hey!": There is a difference. "Hey." is spoken much like "Hi" and "Hello" are. It has the same meaning. However, "Hey!" is a prompt for conversation. If someone energetically says "Hey!" to you then the chances that they want a conversation are pretty high.

Now, with that being said, here's the example I promised you. This is an actual conversation that took place between me and a customer at work. Pay attention to what we're saying and see if you can catch on to why I decided to write this blog.


Customer: "How's it going?" 

Me: Well. You?

Customer: 'Sup?

Me:...um...nothing. You?"

Customer: Eh, can't complain.

Can you spot what's wrong with that conversation? If not, allow me to help you. The customer greeted me with a question, the question "How's it going?", and I answered said question before returning it to him. He them asked me another question...it becomes clear that he meant his first question to mean "Hi" and to not be answered. I still answer the second and again return it to him...then he responds as if I had asked him the first question again.

My question for you is why? Why in the world do we communicate like that? Surly we know our language better than we appear to...or are we really that horrible with our own words? We really need to start paying attention to what we say. To how we greet people, because we aren't greeting people properly.

My challenge for you is to start listening to what people are saying to you -to what you are saying to others -when you greet each other, and to try greeting each other in a proper manner.

The Wine Press Incident

On Tuesday the first of October, at 2:00 am, my friend and I found ourselves wide awake and discussing ZIP codes. Why we were discussing ZIP codes is a story in and of itself, but this story focuses on the results of that one. When one finds something interesting, they look into it. When two find the same thing interesting, they discus it. So, my friend and I discussed ZIP codes after an interesting textbook reading (yes, textbooks can be interesting). The results of such conversation, however, lead to an interesting event in the following hours.

The sun had not yet risen when I had awoken from my four hour slumber. I was groggily, like most people are when they first wake up, and hurried to get ready so my friend and I could get breakfast before classes started. We made it to breakfast and it was obvious that neither of us were fully awake, but we had no plans on skipping classes. We're at college to learn, not sleep, so we dragged ourselves to our classes.

My first class that day happened to be at 8:00 am, and was an Art History class. All seemed to be going well. I didn't need to talk much, but I did have to keep myself from dozing off when the professor shut the lights off to show some pictures on the projector.

We were talking about Martin Luther when it started. The Professor asked a simple question, "What are indulgences?"

No one answered. We sat in silence for a minute or so before I raised my hand. As many of you know, I'm an English major. I love the English language and know the definitions to many, many words. The professor called on me and I gave him the correct answer. "

"Indulgences are something, like a slip of paper, you buy that's supposed to get you or a loved one into heaven."

Class continued and we were talking about how the printing press started and what the inspiration behind it was. On the screen, in front of the class, appeared a picture of an old wine press.

The professor asked, "Can anyone tell me what this is?"

Again no one answered.

I stared at it for a bit, knowing what it was but finding myself unable to produce its name. Then I was called on.

"Ashley, what is this?"

For the life of me I couldn't recall what the name of the object was, so my brain seemed to decided the best option was to just give it's description.

"Um, it's the thing where you turn the handle and it drops that thing that falls and squishes grapes."

The professor stared at me for a moment before cracking a grin and saying, "You mean a wine press?"

"Yeah! That thing!" I exclaimed. That was the name I had been searching for.

Not my finest moment, by far, but definitely an mildly humorous one. I've shared the story with my friend, who I was awake with the night before, and she's determined not to let me live it down. I deserve it though. Seriously! A wine press! I should have known that! I did know that, but for some reason I couldn't say it.

Thus was discovered that I can't name objects in the early hours after late night conversations...I can only describe things using juvenile language.

Something Special

I'm sitting in my dorm, taking a break from the world. One of my friends is sitting to my right. I can hear the game she's playing on her computer. We've been studying for roughly two hours. It's no where near as long as we need to study, but it was some studying so we figured we deserved a break.

Sitting here now, with the string of lights on above my head and my back resting against the cold brick of the white wall behind me, I find myself thinking about theses past three weeks...and they've been great.

I've been hanging out with so many friends lately and have gotten my homework done. The class I dreaded most is looking to be one of my easiest. I'm almost afraid to mention all of the things that have going right lately. Words are powerful and I don't want the writing of them to shatter the goodness around me. I've felt like I've been in a dream. A really good dream, not one of the twisted nonsensical ones I normally have. It's like...like...all the worries of summer, all the tears I shed, all the depression I felt, has disappeared. I am literally joyful. I can't remember the last time I was this happy.

If you had told me five years ago that I would be where I am now, I would have called you a liar. If you would have told me four years ago I would have laughed at you. Three and I would have mumbled an, "I doubt it." Two and I'd say, "Maybe." One and your answer would be, "I hope." I'm here now and I can hardly believe it.

Two nights ago I found myself leaning against the wall, looking out my window at the brilliantly orange harvest moon. The soft glow of my string of lights was in the back ground and it and my desk lamp was playing with the shadows in the room. I wasn't doing anything other than admiring the night. It was so beautiful and I felt so great. I felt, infinite. Like nothing could touch me. A sense of familiarity passed over me. I knew I had never been in that moment before, but I felt like I had. That's when I remembered.

I've had an reoccurring dream for a few years now. Actually, it's more of a day dream. I'd space off and find my mind wandering to a scene just like the one I was in that night. I also associated peace and contentment to that scene...and when I was actually in it I felt them.

I don't know what it is about this year, but there is something special about it. There's something genuinely good engulfing it. It makes me excited to see what the year brings. It took a lot to return to college. There was a lot of stress, tears, and times I just wanted to give up. My hope had been shattered, I had laid on the floor -watching the ceiling fan -and wondered what the purpose of going to college was if I'd never get to finish. If I never got to reach that goal I set out to accomplish.

I'm back at college now, thankfully, and I can feel that this year is important. It's already shown to be. I've spoken to so many people (old friends and new) and have gotten to know their stories. I've been surrounded by people who love me for me. Who accept me and don't consider my weird habits or taste in music to be odd. These are the people I call friends. Some of them I've known since my freshman year, others I just met last year, and still others I only met a couple weeks/days ago. My schedule is constantly being filled up with friends. Who am I kidding though? I don't have a schedule. I did...then I decided that I actually want to have a social life. I haven't had a good social life in what's felt like forever, and oh how I've missed it. Even then, when I did have one before, it wasn't nearly as great as it is now. Probably because of the people I am currently spending time with. They just make it awesome.

Life's good. Life's great. And I'm hoping it stays that way.

Art and Beauty

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Though I don’t know who ‘they’ are –who the first people were to speak those words were –they were right. Beauty isn’t universal. This could potentially be a hard concept to grasp because we are use to refereeing to some things as beautiful. A butterfly is beautiful, a moth isn’t. A baby is beautiful, a Chinese Crested dog isn’t. Society teaches us to define things as beautiful or ugly, but what is beautiful to one person is trash to another. Where I may find the history of the English Language to be beautiful another will find it to be duller than a lecture on lettuce. Beauty is what we are fascinated with; what takes our breath away, fills us with aw, and evokes the desire to learn more or be a part of that which we perceive as beautiful.

           

Beauty is not universal, but art is. We often relate art and beauty. We call Van Gogh’s Starry Night and Michelangelo’s David beautiful. When we think of art we think of beauty. We think graceful lines and playful scenes, but sometimes art isn’t made to be beautiful. Sometimes it’s made to be grotesque. Made to open eyes to a dark reality. Beauty isn’t what makes art. Vases and paintings, sculptures and stories, aren’t put before a jury who decides if they are beautiful enough to have the title of artwork, if their creator deserves to be called an artist.  

            Art, my dear friends, is not the measure of beauty but the unleashing of creativity. It is personal expression upon any canvas its creator chooses to use. Paintings are art, writing is art, architecture is art, fashion is art, dance is art, even the way you speak can be an art. Art is creativity at work. It is a statement to the world, and it has the power to change lives.  

The Cottontail Occurence

Coming from a relativity small city, where country living is just as popular as Starbucks, I'm a fan of harvest season. The blood moon, the nights spent in the crisp autumn air, hay rides, bonfires, s'mores, husking...as summer ends the joys of autumn swoop in and steal our hearts...at least my heart. Unfortunately, being a college student, I'm not actually in my home state during harvest season. I get to catch the first part of it, but most of September and October are spent studying. However, I still make sure to make time for my favorite holiday...Halloween. 

As soon as harvest season starts, though, I'm ready to begin the picking. Plucking tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, and beans from their vines, helping my mom prepare for her annual canning adventure, and trying to dig through the thick vines of the garden without angering any snakes...it's all pretty fun, really. 

A few days ago -I think it was close to a week ago, really -I volunteered to venture to the garden to get some fresh vegetables for dinner. My mom, as always, let me go. I pulled a large green plastic bowl from the cupboard, put on my old converse -as if I'd let my new ones touch the garden dirt -and traveled the sidewalk around the outside of my parents' house to the garden.  

My family's never had that large of a garden. It's just a modest sized square with various vegetables and marigolds, but it's a place I like to spend time in. harvesting vegetables while the scent of their plants, the marigolds, and the morning glories hang in the air...it's pretty close to heaven on earth. I was doing just that about a week ago. With the green bowl sitting beside me, my hands were plunged into the thick vines of the tomato plants. My eyes were trained on the leaves, the dirt, the shadows, on the look out for those shifty serpents that liked to sleep among the plants.  

Snakes don't really scare me. They have as much right to live on this earth as we -humans -do. As long as they don't threaten me, I'll leave them alone. I mainly look out for them because I don't want to startle them and earn a nasty fang mark from them. So, I kept my eye out for them while inspecting tomatoes. 

I had just pulled a rotting red tomato from the vine when I hard the planets to my right shiver. I wasted no more than a glance on the plants, figuring it was nothing more than a bird, but as I tossed the rotting fruit on the ground the plants began to shake violently. My attention was drawn to them and, slowly, I stepped away from the plants. In order for the plants to be shaking as they were, something of decent size had to be throwing quite the tantrum within them...and I had no interest in finding out what it was. 

I went to the other side of the garden, deciding to try my luck with the cucumbers instead, all the while keeping an eye on the tomato plants. The plants stopped their seizures after a few moments and I brushed it off. It was probably just one of the next door neighbor's cats; Romeo or Juliet deciding to hang out in the garden for a while.  Or it could have been the neighbor across the street's freaky looking Chihuahua. Either way, I had left the green bowl over by them and I needed to put some vegetables in it -my attempt at harvesting the cucumbers failed by the way, so I had green beans and peppers instead . I walked over to the bowl, intending on grabbing it and fleeing, but the plants began to shake again as soon as I approached them. 

"Chill, Ash, it's just a cat," I told myself. "No reason to get so jumpy." 

Hesitantly, I knelt to retrieve the bowl. Before I could even stand up, the creature inside the plants jumped out, aimed right for me. I have to admit that I screamed. Like, literally. I fell back, as the startled scream left my lips. The source of the plant's shivering landing right beside me. It's fluffy body moving fast as it hopped away. That's right, it was a bunny. A fluffy, white-tailed, brown-furred, long-eared bunny. And as I stared after it, hopping off the yard and across the street, I heard laughter tear through the air. From my place on  the ground, I half turned to see the next door neighbor leaning against the railing of his back porch. His laughter was deep and I swear he was almost crying from the force of his guffawing. 

I stood from the ground, brushing off my jeans and muttering about a stupid bunny rabbit when the neighbor called out. 

"Scared of rabbits, are we? You know, cottontail doesn't bite!"

I didn't reply back, but to offer him a wave and a smile. He's a relatively older man, probably somewhere in his late fifties...maybe older, and that was the first time I had ever seen him smile. Normally he just leans against his back porch railing looking depressed, sometimes with a cigarette between his lips. It was kind of nice to hear him laugh. To know that he had smiled at least once...even if it was from a stupid moment on my part. 

Whoever that rabbit was, it sure made my neighbor's day to see it scare the living daylights out of me...and, consequently, it added a bit of sunshine in my own life. Even I, the victim of the bunny's attack, have to admit that the whole thing was rather amusing. Though, I still can't believe that a rabbit was the cause of my momentary fear. 

Uncertainty and Hope

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep."

~ Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost

It's a bit past 3am where I'm at and I sit upon my bed, pondering life and its events. Life has been somewhat of a difficult time lately. I've felt like I've been trudging through a lake of jello, making progress but moving slower than a snail on its death bed. It's okay though. Hard times bring about good thoughts. 

I've mentioned before, in an earlier posting, about the vow I made as a child. If you recall, I referred to it as my Cardboard Box Dream. I've been thinking a lot about that vow lately. Things that have come up have basically left me to compare my life with other peoples (never a good thing to do, by the way) and I've laid awake wondering just how I got to where I am. I'm so close to accomplishing my dreams, or reaching one of the goals I have been talking about since...well, since forever, but things have been trying to keep me from it. A year and a half. Three semesters worth of schooling and I could reach that goal. I can see it. Its so near, yet so far away. 

College isn't an easy thing in general and paying for it is harder, but its worth it. At least, that's what everyone says. I'm still in college so I can't say whether the green grass on the other side is actually worth the walk through the desert that it takes to get there. I trust those who tell me it is, though, so I trudge on. 

I'm getting off point though, well, not really off point...I just took a little narrow ally way off my main point, but it works. I apologize now though for any rambling. I've spent a great deal of this last week thinking, and sometimes when I spend a lot of time thinking I don't always verbalize exactly what I want to say in the correct format. Meaning: forgive my nonsensical babbling. 

Back to the whole cardboard box thing. You may recall me writing that I had reached a point where I wasn't really sure if I was still okay with that vow. I wasn't even sure how I got to not being okay with it; it was just something that sort of happened. This last week, really these last two days, I've spent more than a few hours laying in meditation over that vow. 

I've laid on the floor, staring up at the rotating ceiling fan, or on my bed and gazing up at the string of white Christmas lights that I mainly keep because it's symbolic to me, thinking about life's current trials and what I would do if -for some reason -I could not reach that goal I've been working towards. I cried at the thought of failing, for to give up on my dreams and settle is a failure I have literately sworn that I would not do. I've seen too many of my friends do just that and, though some are happy, they killed their potential. They basically committed suicide. Not physical suicide, obviously, but by giving up on their dreams they killed part of themselves and they no longer have that full flame of passion that they use to. It's a sad sight. I, one who believes so strongly in the idea that anyone can achieve their dreams if they try hard enough, hate to see those who have settled...especially when I know for a fact that some of them could have been great. Wasted potential, that's what I myself consider the worst failure. You can disagree with me if you like, but I myself don't want to be one who gives up on my dreams just because of a 'little' issue. Okay, so it might be a big issue, but still...in my time thinking I've reached a conclusion. I've decided that fail or succeed, I'll be fine. 

I've come up with a backup plan, just in case I don't reach my dream, and I've thought about that cardboard box. You know, I can honestly say, at this point, that if that cardboard box thing ever did happen I'd be content. I'd probably be scared and worried, but I'd be okay. Life isn't easy, but the trails are what makes us stronger and I -as a writer -believe that each new trial (Each new experience), no mater how difficult it may be, holds the potential of being an inspiration to someone else later on. I write to change the world, but to change it I have to know it, and that means taking both the joys and pains of life on with an open mind. Two writings have already come out of my recent trials, it'll be interesting to see what other ones they influence later on down the road.

I'm going to leave you with those two writings, but before I go, refresh yourself on the beginning words of this entry. Those lines, the ones  I opened with, come from a Robert Frost poem (Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening). Now, I'm not going to tell you why I put them there, for that's a mystery you'll just have to ponder over,  but I encourage you to look up the full poem and read it. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening and Paul Laurence Dunbar's We Wear the Mask have been two poems that have been running on repeat in my mind lately. Good thing about being an English student, there's always some piece of literature that pops into mind when situations arise. 

Now, dear souls, for the poems that I have produced because of recent experiences (Just so you know, this post wasn't at all supposed to be as long as it has turned out to be. I was just going to write a paragraph, give you the poems, and call it good...but the writer in me had other plans).

Uncertainty

The evening light peeks out

From behind the leaves,

Bidding the world a safe night.

Like slowly fading embers

The light ceases to be,

Leaving behind uncertainty. 

Hope

Blue eyes peer at the world

Through a cloud of uncertainty,

Weary ears hear the groans

Of a struggling society,

Soft lips whisper a prayer

For a world lost to conformity,

While small hands wiled a pen

Hoping to remind of unity.  

Interview With A Writer

Note: Before we get started with this 'interview' you should know that I didn't write the questions. I actually found this interview on Deviantart.com. It was a survey that was going through artists' journals. The answers to the questions, however, are mine and are true.

1.   What’s your favorite genre of writing?

I don’t really have a favorite. Most of my stories have either a fantasy, science-fiction, or reality edge to them, but I like to blend genres. Reality, sci-fi, and fantasy are the three main genre’s I write and they crossover a lot. 

2. How often do you get writer’s block?

Too often. I have the tendency to start a story with passion, think through all the possibilities for it, and then sit down and completely forget what it was I was going to write.

3. How do you fix it?

I go on a writing fast or force myself to write. I’ve learned that sometimes it helps if I just don’t write for awhile. Forgetting about the story, going on with life, and then coming back to it a few days later can allows me to see the story from a new perspective and I'm then able to create new ideas.

There are times, though, when the only way to brake the dreaded curse of writer’s block is to simply write. Someone, I’m not sure who but I’ve read it online before, said that writing is like a faucet and water won’t come out until the faucet is turned on. Meaning, sometimes we need to just grab a pen and notebook and start writing. We don’t need a plot, or a goal, we just need to let the ink flow from our pen and see where the words take us.

4. Do you type or write by hand?

Both. I think handwriting is an art, in and of itself. Often times, I’ll write something in a notebook and then transfer it to my computer at a later date. Notebooks are more convent to carry around than a laptop anyway. I can literally take a note book anywhere without causing a disturbance, but a laptop can be distracting.
5. Do you save everything you write?

No. I save most of what I write, but there have been things that I completely hated and tossed out.
6. Do you ever go back to an old idea long after you abandoned it?

Yes. Like I said for number 3, it sometimes helps a story if the author stays away from it for a while. Right now I have a story on hiatus. I intend on eventually finishing it, but I’m taking an extended break from working on it, due to some glitches I noticed in it and myself needing to restructure a few things within its words.

7. Do you have a constructive critic?

Yes. I don’t have an official beta or anything, but I have a couple honest friends. My sister and a couple friends aren’t afraid of telling me what they think of my writings and I will often run ideas by them. There’s even been times when I’ve had writer’s block, passed them my laptop/notebook, and asked them to read it and tell me what they thought about the story itself.

8. Did you ever write a novel?

…maybe…yes…but it’s my baby and it won’t be seen unless it is ever published. It’s a genre blending story. I mixed historical, science-fiction, and fantasy in it. The characters are some of my favorite and the plot line is…well…I can’t tell you about the plot line. Sorry. Like I said, the story’s my baby. It took me three years to write and only two people have read it…neither of them have read the official finished version. They’ve only read the first drafts.

9. What genre would you love to write but haven’t?

Tragic Realism.
10. What’s one genre you have never written, and probably never will?

Humor. I like angst, hurt/comfort, and the darker emotions. Humor isn’t really my thing. I don’t really like reading humor stories either. There is one type of humor I like, it’s satire. I applaud those who write satire, and have quite a few satire books on my shelves, but I myself will never be attempting that genre...unless the satire comes through in the tragic realism story I end up writing.
11. How many writing projects are you working on right now?

Um…let’s see…. three. Two long works and one that's a spin-off of one of the others. The spin-off's quite a bit shorter than the other two...It's actually a collection of one-shots (single chapter stories) based on the relationship between two of the characters in one of my other projects. All three of them are being posted on my Deviant Art account. 

If you really want to check them out, here are the links: 

What Comes Around: http://writingangel2010.deviantart.com/art/What-Comes-Around-1-Business-and-Feedings-379608959

Not A Word: http://writingangel2010.deviantart.com/gallery/42538903

The one-shot project (still unnamed): http://writingangel2010.deviantart.com/art/The-First-Meeting-382908077 and http://writingangel2010.deviantart.com/art/December-Kiss-391514545  (These are the two one-shots that I have posted so far) 

12. Do you write for a living? Do you want to?

I wish. I’m not being paid for it currently, but hopefully one day I will be.

13. Have you ever written something for a magazine or newspaper?

Yes. There was a writing contest in my hometown and the story I entered in it was published in the newspaper. That counts, right?

14. Have you ever won an award for your writing?

See the above answer.

15. What are your five favorite words?

Psychotic- Suffering from psychosis

Annihilate- To destroy.  To obliterate.

Gypsy- A traveling people.

Fission- The act of splitting something into two or more parts.  

Anthem- A rousing or uplifting song that is identified with a group of people.

16. Do you ever write based on your dreams?

I use to, but lately my dreams have been either nonsensical or about nothing I wish to write about.

17. Do you favor happy endings, sad endings, or cliff-hangers?

Most of the time my stories have happy endings, but I like sad endings and a lot of my one-shots don’t end happily. Also, cliff-hangers are good...especially when only giving readers a chapter or two of a story at a time. It keeps them in suspense.  

18. Have you ever written based on an artwork you’ve seen?

Yes. It was a technique my high school English teacher used to get us interested in writing.