It'd be nice if there was toilet paper around here, I really think. I guess I know what my first errand shall be to-day.
I've just been looking over a story I submitted to the Acorn Review that was rejected. Being in the class, on the editorial staff, is supposed to give you a sort of advantage as no one in the class is supposed to know who wrote the pieces they're reviewing. So you're supposed to benefit from unabashed comments. Well, in my case, unfortunately, the reverse seems to be true--for my stories, people tend to unabashedly reserve their comments. I still have no idea why this story was rejected. The only real complaint it got was that there were some spelling errors--which is funny because me and Microsoft Word have as yet to find any spelling errors. Although that part of the mystery could be that no one in the class likes the UK dictionary, which I prefer to use for aesthetic reasons. I bet they probably don't know that "realise" can be spelt with an "s".
I suppose the only explanation I can think of is that the story is just plain bad. Not for any isolatable reason . . . It's just not good. It's a bad idea. Or maybe it's that most of the people in the class have vastly different tastes than I do. I was the only one, after all, who voted "no" on the very revolting story about the mother wanting to fuck her dead son (I doubt the author would agree with me on that synopsis. If he or she did, I might like the story).
I met my sister's new boyfriend yester-day. He wants to be a movie director--apparently he's already done his own little film complete with a stunt man and a stand-in hand. But really, this guy--Nathan--seemed more like a producer than a director to me. I'm not sure why.
I met him at my parent's house when he came to pick my sister up for a date. So I listened to him talk to my parents. The ever-chuckling Nathan talked about his car--After saying he wasn't any kind of car-mechanic, he went into discussing how he had just changed the something-gasket and the valve-something. He and my dad then talked car-Greek.
My mother approvingly noted that he and my sister looked like a Gap advertisement standing next to eachother . . . and I listened to my dad speak with pride about buying Matchbox 20 and Nickelback CDs.
And if there's one thing this post is starting to make abundantly clear to me, it's that I think most of the people I interact with regularly have bad taste.
I'm an elf amongst orcs.