Rage Thursday: Tropes Fantasy And Sci-Fi Are Known For (and not in a good way)

Okay, so it’s not just fantasy and sci-fi that are responsible for recycling these over-used tropes; they pop up everywhere in TV shows, books, movies, in a large variation of genres.

I’m watching Blacklist on Netflix (My recent love; I can’t get enough of it, but I’m still in the 1st season, so spoilers are FORBIDDEN), and in the episode The Alchemist, they claim that the titular bad guy can infuse his victims with alternate DNA or even “fabricated” DNA. And no one notices the false DNA at first. I mean, Come on. Really? It happens time and again, with Peter Quill and his mixed DNA from his father keeping the infinity stone from shriveling him up, and explaining why X-men can shoot quills out of their faces and make ice sculptures. If used sparingly, it can be moderately believable, but it would be nice if the respective entertainment industry would put this trope on the shelf for a while.

That being said… I’m totally using genetic manipulation as an aspect of plot in a sci-fi story I’m writing right now. But. It’s used with plants. And degeneration of genomes, so that makes it okay, right? Right?

Another tendency that I see over and over in plots is that there must be a death in the plot to make the story sad and all emotional-like. But the writers can’t stand to kill off one of the main characters so they create a fun, bubbly minor character that has two to three scenes that build rapport with the main character so we’ll like them, and then the audience will feel sad when they die a few minutes later. It’s lazy writing, whether it be in TV, books, or movies, so I tip my hat to those who will actually bite the bullet and have important characters die (Imagine the glare I am giving to Marvel and DC right now; if I begin talking about character resurrections, I might implode on the spot.)

3 Reasons I Majored in Creative Non-fiction (when I wanted to write fiction)

Three years ago I transferred from a community college to the U of Arizona to major in Creative Writing (and Linguistics; that’s a whole ‘nother blog series). I began with the idea that I would specialize in fiction (at the UofA, there are 3 specialized tracks: Fiction, NF, and Poetry). However, I decided to take an entry-level non-fiction class, and I was hooked. Despite my heart never losing the desire to write fiction (I prefer surrealist, fantasy, dystopian stuff steeped in philosophical consequences), I decided to specialize in non-fiction, and I am not sorry. Here are some of the reasons why:

1. I wanted to learn something I wasn’t good at

When I started my first non-fiction course, I had no idea how to even construct a creative non-fiction (CNF) piece. I thought it either had to be something akin to a journalistic writing (which it sometimes can be), or a tell-all diary (which it also can be). More often than not, one takes a slant that is somewhere between the two.

Through learning to write CNF I discovered that there really is less difference between (good) CNF and good fiction. The writer still must go through the process of drawing out a storyline/plot, developing characters, and deciding what story one wants to tell.

2. I thought CNF would make me a better writer (it has).

Land sakes, it has! Though I’m sure that specializing in fiction would have honed my writing skills as well, in the CNF program I was in, I learned how to make Each Word Carry Its Own Weight. That is, if a word does not contribute to a sentence, to the paragraph, to the piece, in a unique way, then chances are it isn’t necessary. This emphasis on efficacy has been very important for me in improving my writing, because I am a writer who loves to write simply to feel the words spilling off of her fingers (as my blogs can often bear witness to).

I often don’t sense the same utilitarian attitude in fiction writers. This is probably because I mostly read science fiction/fantasy/surrealist fiction rather than literary fiction, and there are too many authors to number that don’t take each word they put on the page seriously; losing the trees for all the forest, so to speak.

3. I had excellent teachers.

I can’t stress this enough. I enjoyed my CNF teachers far more than my Fiction teachers, and this was the final factor that went into my choice. My entry-level fiction teacher was meh, and I didn’t learn much in the course, whereas my first CNF class was a blast. What also contributed to my choice of CNF was that since I was more or less a stranger to it, I learned so much more from each teacher. However, the encouragement, feedback, and verve my creative non-fiction teachers displayed played a large part.

Reblog: Lecrae’s Even-headed, Honest Interpretation of Charleston

Technically this isn’t a reblogging, but this is too good to not spread around. You can’t alienate someone from their past. You can’t pretend that slavery and racism still don’t affect our culture, our lives, and ourselves. Yes, we’ve made progress, but, I know for sure that we are nowhere near finished with this problem

Lecrae Op-Ed: Charleston Shooting Comes From Deeply Rooted Racism & Injustice

An Inside Out World

My previous post was on why Inside Out made me cry; this post is about what happened when I cried.

I tried to pretend I wasn’t crying.

I mentally berated myself for taking so seriously the death of a furry, pink imaginary friend who chatters like a dolphin and cries candy.

After the movie, my sister, niece and I were walking out of the theater when I heard my sister say, “Man, I can’t believe I cried!” I was quick to assent that “I cried too!” and my niece softly chimed in “Me too…”

I was so relieved to find out that my niece had cried at the same time as I had in the movie. But I had tried to avoid and hide the fact that I’d cried; so did my family. But what was the big deal? Why did I feel such a pressing need to hide my emotions? And perhaps more disturbingly, why did my 11-year-old niece already have a similar compulsion in place?

There is a huge societal stricture in place that tells us we must not show our (true) emotions in public (or even at all). There is this obsession with appearing happy, even when we may not be. This may seem an extreme statement to link with shedding a few tears over a kid’s movie, but if I don’t feel comfortable showing my emotions in such an environment, why would I be at ease showing emotions in more “adultish” situations? I think we in the western culture are consumed with the idea that everything must look at least alright, good, or preferably, perfect.  If someone peels away the false nacre of superficial happiness, we immediately scatter. We call it depression. We avoid “those poor people.” We call it a “phase.”

We are scared to admit that our lives are not perfect when our lives are comically, Michael-Bay-is-helming-the-next-Oscar-winning-drama- far from perfection. We refuse to abandon the hallucination that the world is okay, that things are fine. Things are not fine. This world is f—ed up. There are more mass murderings, more slavery than ever before in history, more human trafficking, more wars, diseases spreading every day, and it doesn’t stop. It has never stopped. This world has always been messed up. And only when we abandon our false idea that the world is ‘okay,’ and only when we acknowledge the sheer, quivering morass of depravity of our world can we maybe turn from our delusions of ‘rightness’ to the real solution.

The solution isn’t more government; there have been good governments and bad governments, but they all fail. The solution isn’t a redistributed social or economic structure. It isn’t religion; religion has been used and tried and found as empty as ever.

There is only one thing that I have ever found to still my trembling heart, to take the weight off my soul of a million sins. And that thing is a relationship with Jesus, the Christ, God’s son. I don’t mean Jesus as some paint him—the harbinger of hatred and doom. I don’t mean Jesus as some milquetoast man who preached a vague sermon on acceptance and love that accepts everything, even things that will kill the soul. I’m talking about the Jesus who loved fiercely, extravagantly, and who hated sin and death, those things that would dare steal away his beloved, messed up humans who he died for.

It says in Corinthians that the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are dying, but to those who are being saved it is the power of God. So maybe it is foolishness (or seems like foolishness to some) to place my trust in Christ, but when compared to the choice of trusting in a world that has always let us down, is always broken and decaying… Well. I don’t think I’m the foolish one.

Why Inside Out Made Me (and Everyone Else) Cry

Hey Guys! Sorry for the brief hiatus from blogging. I went on a mini-vacation with my family. In fact,  I went to see the new Pixar movie, Inside Out with my sister and niece yesterday.

The gives us a vision of what life might be like if all our emotions were summed up in five eponymous characters: Anger, Disgust, Fear, Sadness, and Joy. Yes, the first thing I thought was there is no way my emotional scope could be described with only five emotions too.

There are definitely spoilers ahead, so be ware!

Riley, the 11-year-old protagonist, is home to these five young, spritely emotions who help shape all her memory-making in what they call Headquarters. Riley, after living in Minnesota for her whole life and loving it (perhaps the most tenuous assertion of the movie), must move to San Francisco with her parents. Losing her friends, hockey team, and sense of belonging leads to a literal mental breakdown. We find out by looking into her mind, that Sadness has dislodged Riley’s Core Memories (she derives core aspects of her personality from these memories), and the consequential misplacement of them brings about the emotional turmoil that Riley feels. Joy and Sadness, who become lost along with the Core memories, have to bring them to back to Headquarters.

At the start of the movie, Joy is the captain of Headquarters. She mans the control board at almost all times in order to ensure that Riley’s memories are primarily, overwhelmingly happy. Sadness, in particular, is shunted aside from the controls constantly, because she is able to turn happy memories (glowing, golden orbs) into sad ones (dull blue ones). Joy (naturally) wants to keep Sadness from contaminating any other memories, which Sadness can’t help but do so even on their journey through Long-term-memory, Imaginationland, the Subconscious, etc. They meet a castaway on their journey: Bing Bong, who was an imaginary friend of Riley’s when she was a young girl.

Joy and Bing Bong fall into an abyss—the chasm of forgetfulness. Down there, old memory orbs are lying in piles and piles, lighting up one last time before they disintegrate into vapor. Everything eventually dies down in the abyss, and Bing Bong, a creature of imagination, begins to fade the moment he lands. Joy, an emotion and a far more frequent presence at Headquarters, takes much longer to fade; She thinks they both have a chance of getting out. Bing Bong, realizing that the only way she can escape is if he is left behind, helps Joy get out of the abyss, leaving him behind to dissipate.

The reason why I am giving all this painful exposition is because this little brat of a movie made me cry. I can’t remember the last time I cried at one (and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you).

I cried because of this ridiculous, furry pink, half-elephant-half-cat creature called Bing Bong. Bing Bong reminds me of the times that I played with my own slew of toys and imaginary friends (my favorite, as I recall, was a massive black horse who had fangs, claws that came out over her hooves and sent the earth flying as she galloped alongside the car on family road-trips).  There’s a time in one’s growing up years when one shunts aside all the toys and imaginings. What were exciting and highly important totems of life become boring and vaguely embarrassing closet-stuffers. Inside Out reminds me of those toys and imaginary friends, and (much like Toy Story 3), makes me feel like a chump for forgetting them.

But when Bing Bong fades into darkness, a little smile peeking out from his pink furry trunk, giving Joy the chance she needs to return Riley to happiness, you realize that the things of childhood are gone, for sure; but their evidence still stays. Bing Bong may be forgotten by Riley herself, but he is very pointedly the reason why Joy—Riley’s joy, survives. There’s a great deal that is said without saying in that. Our own ‘Bing Bongs’ may be gone from our present day memory, but childhood imagination gives us the chance to dream of something bigger, something that may shape us to the end of our days. And maybe I’ll dream up something that doesn’t yank so many tears out of my eyes.

P.S. I had too many thoughts on Inside Out, so I’m splitting it up. Also, I was starting to tear up again, and I really can’t have that (Sadness really is my Spirit Animal… or emotion… or whatever. Anyway. She’s awesome).

6 Sanity-Saving Things about Arizona Summers

Take heart, Tucsonans! And Yumans! And Phonecians! Though let’s be honest—any measure of encouragement I give Phonecians will be mitigated by the fact that their University (ASU) proudly claims a pitchfork as a mascot. Yes, a pitchfork. Not only that, but they proudly protect the pitchfork from improper use—see their General Pitchfork Use page for that. (Sadly, their page does not include any videos of how to properly fork hay, alfalfa or any other fodder, much less any other more violent uses of pitchforks.)

But still, hope remains in the long summer months. Even though getting heat stroke is an inevitability, there are several things that really do rock about Tucson, despite (and even because of) the hot summer months.

Air-drying clothes

            Finding ways of reducing your electricity bill during the summer is a must. Most households see a massive spike in their bills during the winter, when the heater is on all the time—Tucsonans’ high bill season is the summer, because you have to run the AC (or, shudder swamp cooling) 24-7. Air-drying clothes is not only eco-friendly and economically friendly, your clothes will actually dry faster than they would if put in a dryer. Don’t have a clothesline? That’s okay. Just drag a couple chairs out in the sun and lay out clothes on them. Added bonuses include attracting cicadas, flies, and other delightful accent creatures to your clothing—let’s face it, you are one stylish rube, and the insects of Arizona know it!

Air-drying hair

It doesn’t matter if you have a head that rivals Beyoncé’s in volume or thickness, walking outside will ensure your hair will dry like you put your head over an erupting volcano. It helps that the air is not only hot, it is throat-raspingly dry, as well. Note: I am unsure as to how healthy air-drying your hair is, but it can’t be any worse than blow-drying it, can it? I am no hair specialist, so please don’t blame me if your hair doesn’t take kindly to that method.

The road to my house. Just kidding, folks, this is in the middle of Wadi Rum desert in Jordan… But still, I can dream, can’t I?

Epic road mirage

I live on the outskirts of Tucson, so driving rural roads is a normal occurrence for me. I can’t help but feel like a character out of Mad Max when I see cars driving towards me flicker in the mirages (listening to metal music while doing this lends credence to my imagination). If you’re not feeling like Mad Max, you can always imagine that you are driving on a sweltering road with lava welling up right below the surface, ready to explode into fiery geysers in front of you at any moment.

The road to my house. Just kidding, folks, this is in the middle of Wadi Rum desert in Jordan… But still, I can dream, can’t I?
The road to my house. Just kidding, folks, this is in the middle of Wadi Rum desert in Jordan… But still, I can dream, can’t I?

Running in the summer becomes a testament to your steely determination…

…Because getting up and running at 6:30 in the morning does not guarantee cool weather—it guarantees cooler weather. It makes you feel that much more accomplished to run in eighty-to-ninety-degree weather in the mornings, knowing that you conquered yet another barrier between yourself and physical fitness. When you don’t feel like exercising, it also becomes the perfect excuse to avoid running, too… Because really, is it fair to run on a day that hits 100 degrees Fahrenheit at nine in the morning?

Monsoon weather is beastly

Perhaps there’s a bit of masochism in most Arizonans, but there is something primal and thrilling in the monsoon storms that roll in mid-June—At least, if you have good draining systems for your house. Getting lacerated by sub-hurricane-force winds and lancing rain for an hour or two is pretty exciting, but the cooler temperatures that come with a storm rolling over is the real boon. Besides, such storms often result in amazing sunsets.

 

This is an oldie, but a goodie. Seriously, Tucson has some of the best sunsets in the world.
This is an oldie, but a goodie. Seriously, Tucson has some of the best sunsets in the world.

Ice cream becomes a necessity, not a luxury

I remember as a kid growing up in Tucson how we would visit Dairy Queen as a family in the evenings. As the sun finally dips below the horizon at 7:30, families come out in droves to wait in absurd lines at the nearest Dairy Queen. We used to go to the DQ on Sarnoff, and we’d wait for our turn to sit at one of the cement tables, looking for a place on the bench to sit down your patootie that wasn’t sticky with someone else’s melted ice cream.

In the end, Tucson summers still kind of suck. But if these didn’t help you to think positively about the summers here in Arizona, hopefully this thought will:

Tucson Blizzards come in cups, not in winter, and are served year-round.

Blizzard

The 31st-Century Archaeologist, diggin’ up your bones, diggin’ up your house

Consider this scenario:

It is the year 3015. You just graduated from Princeton University, a school that hasn’t turned out very many notable figures in the last 200 years, but still holds prestige as one of the oldest universities in the world, so you feel pretty proud of that. You graduated with a “Masterful” degree in Archaeology with a specialization in the Early Technological Age; that is, the 20th-23rd centuries.

You find this era in history one of the most exciting, because so many landmarks were achieved: the first development of relativity and quantum theories, the first extra-atmospheric travel (you took a field trip to Jupiter for your senior class in high school), some leaps in civil rights—some of them forward, and some backwards. The 21st century saw the rise of the concept and valuing of “diversity—“ but it’s easy to see looking back that only certain voices were allowed to define what types of diversity were acceptable. The 22nd century saw a surge of Christianity in the eastern hemisphere, as well as a tidal wave of philanthropic work that saw the whole world connected through the infantile versions of the Intercube—it was called the internet back then. *sigh* It makes you nostalgic just to think of it.

Sometimes you open access to the archaic web, just for kicks, and start scrolling through 1000-year-old websites, data, song-bits, videos. They are a bit boring compared to the immersive videos you play today—ones that you load into the media room and can walk through, interact with. But these grainy, tiny videos have their charm as well.

Okay. Back to the 21st century.

What do you think a 31st-century archaeologist would study? A large part of me hopes that somehow things like Twilight and Micki Ninaj… Er… Nicki Minaj, are lost forever, wiped away from the interwebs and never to be recovered in the future.

One can dream, can’t one?

I was wondering yesterday, listening to a song that borrowed a phrase and a score of melody from another song, whether historians would pick up on song influences throughout our contemporary history. I wonder if future historians will write journal articles like “The significance of Amazing Grace and Its Cultural Percolation,” or, “How Early 21st Century Dance Forms Motivated Production of the Artificial Sacrum and Posterior Vertebrae in Later Years.”

One can hope that they won’t pick up on certain things—things like YOLO, the cringe-worthy 21 Jump-Street movie series; or the fact that the 276 girls kidnapped by the Boko Haram have dropped off the internet, national coverage, and off anyone’s agenda—without them being returned to their homes. It is so sad that their reclamation, their return, their social campaign that stretched worldwide was no less of a fad than planking or Harlem Shake.

What do you want to be remembered for?

Why We Shouldn’t Be Too Harsh with Rachel Dolezal, or Caitlyn Jenner

Caitlyn (formerly known as Bruce) Jenner has been in the news a lot lately. The Olympian has struggled with sexual identity for years—in fact, his whole life—and now that he has transitioned to Caitlyn, Jenner feels at rest with herself.

Transitions like Jenner’s have always puzzled me, based on the utter lack of physical/biological support for transition. Jenner’s Vanity photo shoot does not show a woman’s life as it often is nowadays—knee-deep in your toddler’s toys, trying to juggle work’s demands with your child’s soccer practice and your significant other’s work schedule. In true Vanity fashion, it shows a glamorous, sexualized, idealized definition of “womanhood,” which has little basis in reality.

Jenner’s photos show an enviable profile—sleek, slender, and undeniably powerful and fluid. What they also show is a man, who, through modern medicine, makeup, and a carefully-chosen wardrobe, resembles greatly (if not exactly) the stereotypical female Hollywood beauty. Jenner may choose to identify as Caitlyn, and with women, but there are several qualifications that (s)he is deficient in. Jenner was not born a woman, and has not lived most her (his) life as a woman. Jenner has had to deal with society expecting a specific set of (male-identified) behaviors which, from his transition, we can clearly see Jenner does not identify with. However, just because Jenner has identified with iconic, popularly espoused female gender behaviors does not mean that (s)he has gone through the societal, familial, and biological rigors that come with being born biologically a woman and being expected to adhere to a set of female-identified behaviors.

One thing I empathize strongly with Jenner in is the enormous pressure from feeling out of place, out of sorts, and external to the group one is “supposed” to belong to. To feel like one doesn’t belong, and especially to have those sorts of feelings so cataclysmically at play within one’s own mind and body is a horrible, horrible battle to have to fight.

Now to Rachel Dolezal. She has arrested the public’s eye, opinions, rants, deep gasps, and (justifiably) an opening of the discussion of appropriating colored culture (and whether, indeed, this is an example of it). It was announced today that she has also resigned from her position with the Spokane NAACP chapter. Let me state right away that I think the evisceration that she has received has been, whatever her sins, inhumane. Clearly she has a troubled past, and while this doesn’t excuse any immoral or illegal behavior, I think this is a topic that should be treated with far less vitriol and far more introspectiveness than has been shown.

She has championed minorities in our culture, and (while enjoying a great deal of prestige and success from it, of course) has helped raise awareness of injustices that permeate the racial strata of our country.

She has also lied continuously while doing it. She is no more African American than I am Arab (regrettably; I am mildly upset that I wasn’t born an American Arab).

What does it say if one is willing to lie about belonging to an ethnic, genetically identified group in order to help said ethnic group? Doesn’t that seem a bit condescending? Doesn’t that seem a bit like prolonging the issue (lack of respect of differences, a lack of respect for your own background)?

What does it say about diversity of said groups if Dolezal felt that in order to make a difference she had to completely alter her physical appearance in order to “fit in” to her chosen set of beliefs and behaviors of the culture [one of activism on behalf of ethnic minorities] she identified with? Doesn’t that seem a bit suppressive?

A culture, group, society or organization that compels someone to radically alter their appearance from their natural, biological state (barring the correction of disorders and medical sicknesses of course) is not one that is perpetuating diversity. If one feels overwhelming pressure to conform one’s behavior and appearance in order to join the group that one desires to (in Rachel’s case, the rights movement for minorities), that is the antithesis of the “diversity” movement; that is streamlining and minimizing diversity.

What does it say about our society that since Bruce Jenner identified with societally assigned “feminine” behaviors and ideals, he felt the need to forsake his biologically male body in order to achieve equilibrium with her (his) own set of preferred behaviors and ideals? Is that really a society of diversity? Because I don’t think so. A society that assigns a binary value to behavior—and doesn’t allow for free transfer of behaviors that are “female”, or “male”, is not a society of diversity—it is an atmosphere of suppression.

And so a man is compelled to be surgically altered in order to be accepted in identifying with female-identified ideas and behaviors, and a woman is compelled to cosmetically (and possibly surgically) alter her appearance in order to be accepted in identifying with colored-identified ideas and behaviors. One was lauded as revolutionary and the other was cast out as a violator of morals. One must ask— why are we using different scales to measure incredibly similar cases? And, perhaps more importantly, why aren’t we examining the culture that has brought both of these stories to our attention, and putting it, rather than these two people, under the microscope?

American Ninja Warrior and Job Hunts: A Venn Comparison

American Ninja Warrior (ANW) has become a recent obsession. It’s thrilling (and hilarious) to see these well-muscled, fit-beyond-belief contestants take to the course, and fail miserably– or– thrillingly– traverse the course and climb the Wall at the end, to press that red button. It occurred to me that those who travel through the course experience much the same things that a job seeker does. Don’t see the similarities? Well.  Look no further. Below is a Venn Diagram of the similarities in job searching and ANW. It is, a bit crude, but I think it gets the general idea across.

As you can see in my highly-detailed Paint drawing, a stick figure  (presumably me) is plummeting from the obstacle hanging over the tank of water and is about to receive a swift soaking in the swirling waters of failure.
As you can see in my highly-detailed Paint drawing, a stick figure is plummeting from the obstacle hanging over the tank of water and is about to receive a swift soaking in the waters of failure.

While the above diagram shows a general intersection of ANW and Job hunting, I’ve drawn a few specific data points from the shared characteristics pool and display them below for your perusal.

Data Point 1: One takes many months, and even years training in Special Places [Gym, College] for the Special Event [The ANW Course, Interview for a Desirable Job]. There is an extensive vetting and thinning out process that occurs before the event takes place.

Data Point 2: You tell yourself, if you do even get to the Event, you should feel a certain degree of success, simply because you beat out so many other candidates. When/if you fail the Special Event, this previouspep talk does nothing to stem the raging tide of disappointment that floods in.

Data Point 3:When the Special Event arrives, you wear a Special Outfit [Business Suit, Sporting Clothes]. This Special Outfit  displays your fierce skillfulness that you put on display during said Special Event. It also does some minor thing to assert your personality in some (superficial) way: accessories and clothing labels. You might even be wearing a Special Pair of Shoes [Stuart Weitzman stilettos, Nike Fly-word Shoes]:

Note that each contestant wears similar attire on their faces-- A smile-- in order to appear inviting and totally bad a-s at the same time.
Note that each contestant wears similar attire on their faces– A smile– in order to appear inviting and totally bad a-s at the same time.

4: At some point, you realize that it is your turn at the Special Event. You prepare yourself, quelling the panicked voice that is starting to shriek in your head, taking a few deep breaths, and taking survey of the challenges ahead. You anticipate Special Challenges [Swiveling Monkey Bars, Explaining Why You Left Your Old Job] within the Special Event, and  try to develop a game plan for dealing with it. Of course, chances are that when the Special Event [The Course, The Dream Job] Interview actually begins, adrenaline and panic will set in completely, keeping your mind from coherence.

5: There will be Moderators [Commentators, Interviewee] who will be watching your every move, and providing feedback to a Third Party [The Crowd, Management]. Chances are that unless you are a Star, and probably too good for this job anyway, the feedback will be either ambivalent or negative in some way– not necessarily because of your individual importance, but because the Moderator has seen variations on your performance hundreds of times before and really just wants to go home.

6: Chances are you will biff it– and maybe not even on the Special Challenges. You infinitely analyze and wrack your brain afterwards to discern what went wrong. Was it that your foot slipped? Or maybe that it slipped out that you don’t have positive things to say about your previous management? Let’s be honest; chances are you won’t even know what happened to make you fail the Special Event. It could even be something that passed under your radar, like the fact you don’t have enough experience to handle the Final Event [Final ANW Course, Actual Dream Job]. Either way, you walk away feeling embarrassed and certain that you could have done better.

7:Afterwards, you give yourself a pep talk, and like a dodo bird that survives falling off one cliff, gets up, dusts yourself off, shaves a few words off your cover letter, and you begin the search anew, with a bizarre hope based on the bold fact that if one keeps trying, one’s probabilistic chances of finding a job in finding a job [it’s just “a job” now;  dreaminess are no longer a necessary trait] must increase until the likelihood of not getting a job are slim.

10 Things You Do When You’re An Adult in your early 20’s

From Personal Experiences; may not apply to the General Public:

1. Instead of staying up late watching Netflix, you get up early and look forward to (an unapproved) naptime.
2. You sniff the milk and instead of saying, “EW! I think this is spoiled, I am NOT going to drink it!” You think “Hmm, well if it were totally spoiled I don’t think I could even stand sniffing it.”
3. Starbucks morphs from your coffee stop of choice to last resort.
4. You start giving benefits and 401(k)’s equal weight with the potential “adventure” factor of any job you apply to.
5. You stop telling yourself, “I can do anything!” and start asking yourself “Can I do something?
6. You start a blog that discusses said experiences as a twenty-year-old just out of college.
7. You start appreciating that friend or coworker who, instead of being the loud life of the party, is the quieter, subdued, and (as you gradually discover) far more thoughtful person who is far less prone to doing crazy, concerning, or hurtful things.
8. You realize that the literature label “Young Adult” isn’t meant to apply to you at your current age anymore—but you read books from this category anyway.
9. You use and re-use dishes and utensils in ways that are not optimal to save the trouble of washing them later (Example: Last night I used a huge soup ladle to scoop ice cream, and proceeded to use said huge soup ladle to scoop the ice cream from my bowl into my mouth).
10. Coffee still doesn’t keep you awake at night like “old fogies”, but if you drink it in the morning without eating first it makes you all jittery.

And an eleventh as a bonus:
11. You realize that you’re an adult but you have no idea what you’re doing—and, by extension, conclude that most adults are in the same boat and don’t know what they’re doing either. You also realize that this realization does nothing for relieving your own stress about having no idea what you’re doing in life.