you sound eclectic.

So I was making a (failed) attempt to work on my ISP when 7:00 came along and Sounds Eclectic beckoned me. I loaded the KCRW Live Radio window, when what do I see? Zooey Deschanel was scheduled to be on Open Road! I got really excited, thinking maybe she was going to release that debut album once and for all and she was doing some promos behind it. But nope, the reason was even better. I am sort of pissed I didn’t know about Concrete Frequency: Songs of the City earlier. It sounds absolutely stellar-there are tons of acts singing about the city life, including Stevie Jackson of Belle and Sebastian, Sondre Lerche, Bob Mould, Sean Lennon, Zach Rogue of Rogue Wave, and of course, Zooey Deschanel. Even though tickets are still on sale, I know I can’t go considering it’s two days from now, on a school night. But, wow. Just imagining watching amazing artists at the Walt Disney Concert Hall makes me excited.

Listening to Sounds Eclectic makes me relieved. First of all, I know way more artists than I had when I discovered the little darling (and Morning Becomes Eclectic) back in July. But so far, they’ve played Emily Haines, M.I.A., A Fine Frenzy, The Magic Numbers...all on my iPod! Ha! And it’s also a nice feeling, hearing decent artists on the radio instead of the five songs they rotate on KIIS. Really, it’s just five songs. “Hate That I Love You”, “Shawty Is A Ten”, “Low”, “Kiss Kiss”, and some other one that I know I’m forgetting.

Anyway. Doing my ISP makes me realize how corrupt the media has become. Bias I don’t mind as much, because we just have to get smart about that, but corporate control of the media is really starting to make me sad. The fact that only five major corporations (Viacom, Time Warner, NewsCorp, Disney, and GE) control most of the United States press is terrifying. And that major advertisers can change the news I read, and change the content that I’m about to see. I give a shit (and you should too), because media affects us a whole lot. It can start a trend just by calling it a trend; it can make us actually care about Paris Hilton going to jail; it can persuade us to go from Hilary to Obama just by giving the “right” facts. (On a side note: Go Obama at the Iowa caucus!)

So I’ve been thinking even more about the college front. It doesn’t help that 2008 feels like a ticking clock, counting down the days until I actually have to start applying. I’m seriously considering a major in English if I have to major in something writing-related (but really, who knows? I might fall in love with philosophy or something totally irrelevant). There are problems though, namely-what kind of idiot wants to be an English major when she got a B in English last year? I can’t picture months and months of reading all these classics and analyzing them. I can’t picture myself being an English major, period. That’s probably really wrong-if I want to be a writer, shouldn’t I absolutely adore English and be ecstatic at receiving another essay assignment? But, high school and college English is probably way different. Also, if I love journalism I can just find a college with a strong newspaper, or magazine, or anywhere where I can get hands-on experience. Okay, so I admit I haven’t exactly resolved anything since the last entry, but give me a break-I still have time, probably until 2010 or 2011.

I’ve been thinking about what it means to be a good writer, and if I’m meant to be one. I don’t exactly know if I’ve always wanted to pursue writing, but I have been writing my entire life. A couple of weeks ago I stumbled upon diary entries from when I was 5 or 6. Something about me eating pistachios and playing school with my mom and dad, accompanied by stick figures of us playing school, me with a big peanut in my hand (apparently, I couldn’t differentiate pistachios and peanuts back then). I’ve filled up (and wasted) countless spiral notebooks, proposing to write novels about a girl reuniting with her dog or the life of a rock band or something equally preposterous (and probably really shitty, considering I didn’t know about dogs or rock bands back then). In fifth grade, Devon and I were thinking and decided to start a literary magazine called Blue Planet News (our teacher Ms. Simon was all for it). I’m totally rambling now, but I clearly remember defining maudlin for a “word of the month” segment-no wonder I have no trouble memorizing that word for the SAT. After elementary school, I continued to write (of course), continuing to fill up spiral notebooks with free verse poetry or more unfinished novels. And now, my preferred form of writing is more essays or rants than teen romances or visceral poetry, but I’m writing nonetheless. But just because I’ve been writing all my life doesn’t make me destined to be a writer. I remember asking Mr. Kim, our big philosopher vocab teacher at Elite (SAT prep class), how you know if you should pursue a career. He went on a fascinating spiel about how it isn’t if you are destined for your career or not, but it was more like you should believe in being able to do that career (more specifically, be a writer) and then you can pursue it and will be successful at it. My next big reference was, surely, Google (“how to know if you’re a writer” search query), which told me that reactions to your work or that “gut feeling” was the telltale sign. Well, then, I guess the conclusion to my search is that I’m sometimes a good writer. Sometimes I get that feeling that what I’m penning is amazing, although I repress it to try to be more modest. When I show my work to others (excluding lit analysis essays and other such school assignments, because I don’t feel good about those, ever), they usually react really well to it (or don’t criticize it).

So there we go. I was going to spend another paragraph about how I never participate in class even though I really should, but I’ll let that slide.