Notes on an ADD scandal

When I emailed my mom about seeing the psychologist to get tested for ADD, she responded: "I am beginning to think we all have ADD." She then cited having too much to do as the problem. I don't know exactly what she really thinks about this issue, but I do know that she refused to put my ADD brother on medication even though he almost failed out of high school. Needless to say, I simply can't wait to spend time with my mother during the holidays.

I saw the psychologist on Thursday, and he said that based on the test I took, it is "highly probable" that I have ADD. Since it's not as though you can draw blood and test it to find your answer, that appears to be as official as it gets. I'm sure my mom will love hearing that.

To get to the psychologist's office, a mile from the train station, I waded through two feet of snow on a busy highway with no sidewalk while a sheet of icy sleet slapped against my flimsy umbrella. The psychologist called me intrepid when I got to his office, which I guess is appropriate, although I was thinking more along the lines of "poor" or "dumbass" or "don't know the number for the local cab service." As I was leaving I silently pleaded for him to drive me to the train. No such luck. I started back, and just as I began to think "It's not THAT bad walking in the dark during a snowstorm with no gloves, kiddo!", an SUV pulled up beside me.

"Do you need a ride?" I heard.

I turned to face the car and quickly scanned the interior: a woman driving two little girls seated in the back. Since it didn't resemble the opening scene of a horror movie, I gratefully accepted the offer.

I've never accepted a ride from a stranger before, and wasn't quite sure about the etiquette. Obviously I thanked them, but then what? Do you let the driver run the conversation? Do you attempt to provide entertainment as payment for their kindness?

"Headed home?" I asked, when nobody spoke up.

"No, we're just going for a drive," Replied the mother.

Who the fuck just drives around for fun in the middle of an ice storm? I thought. This seemed a little bit more like that horror movie.

"How fun!" I said, also thinking about how environmentally irresponsible pleasure-driving is. Here was a woman wasting gas by driving for FUN in an SUV. Basically, my enemy.

Funny how I'll bite my tongue as long as someone's helping me out... I guess I understand Republicans now.

Lost in thoughts.... about thoughts... wait. What?

I'm getting tested for ADD.

My dad was diagnosed a few years ago. He researched it, talked to professionals about it, and started taking Adderall. In high school, he took my brother to get tested. My brother was also diagnosed, and after taking Adderall his grades went from D's to B's.

I've always done well at school, but mostly because I know how to bullshit. I never actually read most of the books that are assigned to me, even though I am taking classes that interest me. I have other symptoms as well: I tune people out in conversation (even when I am interested), I start projects but don't finish them, I can't read more than two sentences to a page at a time without getting distracted.

It's gotten to the point where I feel like I have no idea what the hell I am doing, every day. And I hate it. No matter how many lists I write, I can neither complete things on the list nor find it. The more this happens, the worse I feel about myself. Why can't I read a book?

The thing that really scares me, though, is having to figure out what the problem is if I don't have ADD.

A Loudmouth moment

There's this girl in my film class (let's go with the name Loudmouth) who is so horrendously irritating that I actually cringe every time I am near her. She's one of the people who tell you the most mind numbing stories you're likely to hear in your entire lifetime. Clipping my toenails is more entertaining than listening to her speak.

She loves to point out things that are better left alone. In class today, she giggled and announced: "You're blushing!" to someone who had just shown their film and was waiting for our critique. How kind.

Last week, she started an argument with our professor in front of the entire class. Maybe it seemed like a good idea to her, but the prof certainly didn't seem to think so.

Tonight I went out to dinner with two of my friends from class (if greasy fast-food really counts as dinner). I put my hands on each of their shoulders and said: "Raise your hands if you think Loudmouth has Tourette's!"

Neither of them rose their hands.

Needless to say, I felt pretty stupid. Still, me being a bitch does not change the fact that I daydream about duct taping Loudmouth's lips together.

No more entertainment

For some reason, I always thought that I had to entertain people with my blog posts. I wasn't allowed to be boring. Something that's boring isn't post-able.

Well fuck that.

Caring so much about entertaining everybody who reads what I write is exhausting. I think instead I will write whatever I want.

I'll start with a few things I never would have shared before.

- Yesterday I danced topless with my friends. It was fun.
- I really like pot. I started smoking it by myself this year.
- I hate the US. I don't know what country I like better, but I plan to look into that.
- Pop culture makes me angry. A lot of it is degrading to women, which I can't stand, which brings me to my next point:
- I am a feminist.

That's all the honesty I think I can squeeze out of myself for now.

Embarrassing aspirations

I want to be a filmmaker.

You know how we make fun of the waiters who tell you they're aspiring actors? "They're never going to make it," "If they need to wait tables, they must not be very good." All those things we say about people we don't even know. I feel like that actor. I'm not a waitress, but I'm definitely not paying any bills with my student films. And, knowing that people say these cruel things about people who haven't "made it," I feel like I have to hide behind something more respectable than "aspiring filmmaker."

When I read "The Tools of Screenwriting" on the train, I make sure the cover is facing down. When I tell people that I want to be a filmmaker, I feel like adding on "but I know that's probably not realistic."

I don't know why it matters to me that other people think I am reasonable, that I understand that filmmaking will not be a walk in the park. I don't know why I should feel embarrassed. It's not embarrassing. I want to be a filmmaker.

Mmm Mmm Good

You know what's become a good drunk food for me? Soup.

I thought it was because it's really, really easy to make. You open the can, pour it into a bowl, microwave.

While I was making my soup tonight, though, I realized it's not just due to the ease. While I was eating, I looked down into my bowl, then quickly averted my gaze and thought: it's better if I don't know what it looks like.

And it's easier to not look if I'm drunk.


Anyone else? Would you rather know, or not know?

On music

In fifth grade, my school system finally introduced us to a music program. You could choose a stringed instrument in fifth grade, or a band instrument in sixth. I wanted to be in the band because my older brother played trumpet, but I started violin anyway. In the middle of fifth grade, my family moved to Belgium.

I went to a private international school while I was there, since I couldn't speak the language and would likely be held back at least two years in the Belgian school system. Also, the government was paying for the school. Nice.

On my first day, I had no idea what was going on. People dragged me around everywhere, and at one point it was "music period."

"What do you play?" They asked.

"Violin," I told them. Before I could qualify that with my desire to be a flutist, they took me to the orchestra room.

For the next three years, I was a violinist. At first, I was like many a player: I didn't practice at home, and didn't really care much about class. One day, though, something seemed to lock into place. I started practicing at home, I played to get my emotions out, and I joined the after school ensemble.

Our orchestra group went to The Netherlands to play in a student competition with a bunch of other schools. At the end of the day, the judges' top choices for each instrument played. I remember watching the violinist play her amazing solo. My friends were whispering to each other about where to eat lunch, but I was transfixed. The violin she was holding was almost immaterial; it seemed as though it was just being used as a tool to express what she was trying to say. I was stunned.

One day back at school, the orchestra teacher brought in a jazz piece. I had never encountered jazz music before, and I was new to the concept of solos. The teacher had me go first, and I got a little lost in the experiment. I started really getting into it, and eventually the teacher had to stop everyone to remind me that the solo only goes on for a certain number of measures. I was jolted, as if out of a trance, and immediately embarrassed. But we didn't get right back to playing.

"TAB," said the teacher, with a look of bewilderment. "What did you just do?"

Everyone was looking at me.

"What? Did I do it wrong?" I asked, my cheeks getting hot.

"No. That was amazing."

That year, I became first violinist and won the prize for Most Valuable Player.

When we moved back to the US, I was put in the back of the second violinist section, in an orchestra group four times bigger than I had previously played. After long enough, I became convinced that the conductor didn't know my name. I remember being shocked when she mentioned my name in class in reference to a composition assignment. My mom stopped paying for a private tutor. Two years later, I quit orchestra to take theatre. I have barely touched my violin in the five years since then.

I think I am going to start playing again.

Covered walkways: Some guidelines

Where I'm from (the suburbs), people get pretty excited when there is construction. "What's going on here?" They ask. Or, "Is it going to be a GAP?" In New York City, construction is not a novelty. I discovered this when I started going to my new internship in The Village. When I left the building for lunch or a bitch errand, I noticed that every block or two there was scaffolding and makeshift sidewalks, made out of plank wood and about two people wide. "I guess this area is doing a lot of renovations," I thought.

My bitch errands soon took me to various other Manhattan locations, where I noticed there was also plenty of scaffolding and ogling construction men. These walkways were everywhere, and I really liked them. Every time I walked into one, I imagined it was leading me somewhere other than the next block. You can't see where each tunnel is going to take you, with its walls and sharp turns. And the best part was the temptation to slip into the often open doors, the construction site. I could hide out and eavesdrop on the contractors arguing over salary and deadlines.

So it really bothers me when other pedestrians ruin my walkway experience. In response, and in keeping with my rabidly passive aggressive tradition, I have come up with some rules of etiquette that I think ought to be posted at each of these walkways.

• New York is a busy city. When coming around a corner, it is often the case that someone else will be travelling in the opposite direction (!). Do not glare at them just because they happened to be in what you thought was your way. Remember: your presence is just as unwelcome to them as theirs is to you.


• If you are walking next to somebody (and thus taking up the entirety of the walkway) on your merry stroll, remember that other people actually do exist and might also need room. Again, try not to glare at them: their walking in the opposite direction is not meant as a personal attack.*


• When it is raining, I understand that there is a dilemma: do you close your umbrella for a single block or do you keep it open? This, I cannot help you with. But if you decide to close it, remember that most people generally do not enjoy being showered with your umbrella water while you are doing so. If you opt to leave it open, do not be so surprised when you see that someone walking the opposite direction has also left their umbrella open. Do not be so entitled as to think that you needn't make an effort to avoid hitting them in the face.**

Remember, people don't like you as much as you think they do. Also, your mom lied: you can't really be anything you want when you grow up. I, for example, wanted to be Native American.*** Now do you see why I'm so bitter?


*Except when it's me. I knew you were coming, and I hate you.
** I did a poll. People don't like this.
*** This is actually true. Pre colonialism, of course. Eventually I moved on to some thing more realistic. Japanese.

Like freelancing, only you probably won't get paid

My school's art program administrative assistant sent an email to all the visual arts students. In it, a student film competition is described.

http://www.heroeshappenhere.com/competition.aspx

As with most student film competitions that are widely marketed, there is not only a winner but a cash prize. This particular competition, though it is sponsored by Microsoft (headquartered in Redmond, WA), will hold its awards ceremony in Los Angeles (headquarters of Hollywood and a majority of the American film industry).

Beyond this fact, there is absolutely nothing "cinematic" about this competition. The task is essentially to create a short film (under 4 minutes) depicting the potential of new Microsoft programs to improve our environmental crisis. Instead of hiring a quality production company and assigning some of the program's creative directors to consult with the company on the project (no doubt resulting in a higher-quality film), Microsoft would like to use the resources of struggling artists or technologically savvy individuals who have never slapped a film together before. In return, all they have to do is host an awards ceremony and pay small sums to only the most favored participants - a fraction of the amount they most likely would have spent on an actual advertising concept bought from a marketing company.


The modern version of slave labor, or a magnanimous act drawing attention to environmentalism, future filmmakers of the country, and... the TV show Heroes?

I'm going to do it if I have time. After all, the grand prize is $25 grand.

Patriotism

So, I feel like this could mean a few different things. And if this is how we're going to continue to portray patriotism, then I am probably going to be upset about it.

Or, if the photographer/people who selected this photograph were making a joke, I doubt many people who saw this got it.