Today I Appreciate Hearing My Own Words Spoken Back to Me

Inevitably, there is something you wish you never said.

"Neato burrito," for example. Never a phrase I should have uttered. But I've used it. Ow.

Also, why did I think that "chillax" was ever an OK verb? To relax and to chill must remain two separate entities as smushing them together simply feels redundant and stupid.

The same goes for "tight." I find most tight-fitting things rather uncomfortable, which is as far away from "cool" or "great" as possible.

But! Just for the record, despite my Northern Californian roots, I have never seriously used the adjective "hella" (as in, "This blog I'm reading is HELLA tight. You dig? Time to get all hyphy on some literature!") If I have used "hella," it was solely for the purpose of irony.

Anyway, I'm taking a class right now (English 180: "The Art of the Interview," for those of you curious enough to explore it in the future) about - well - interviewing. Currently, I'm transcribing an interview I recently had with a classmate and everyone who has ever transcribed anything knows that it must be the dullest, most tedious, most painfully mind-numbing work one can engage one's self in. Fortunately, I'm a fast typist; an intensive summer of Mavis Beacon typing program (please, someone, tell me you remember Mavis Beacon) led me to believe that anyone who types at less than 100 words per minute is a total typing slacker. So, fortunately, transcribing for me is much less tedious than it would be for a slower typist, but it's still boring work as it's a lot of starting and stopping the recorder (in my case, my new, beautiful, clear-sounding digital recorder. What an improvement from microcassettes!) to make sure everything's been transcribed correctly.

Typically I avoid transcribing anything until the very last minute. It's not the sound of my voice I mind so much (working in radio one summer really beat that out of me), but rather the sound of my laughter, my assurances that something (almost anything) is OK, my apologies for... something (almost anything, it seems) that irk me. I'm annoyed at myself (why do I laugh so much?) or confused (what was I apologizing for?) and I become self-conscious of the way I interact with other people.

However, with this interview, I hear myself sound comfortable. I still laugh too much and I still probably respond with too many supportive "uh-huhs" and "awwws!", but I'm not embarassed by it anymore. In fact, I think I sound natural and cool and (dare I say it?) collected. I felt prepared for this interview and I can hear it in the way that I speak, in my responses, and in my follow-up questions. I felt good when I walked away from the interview, but hearing it back resurges some confidence in my ability, rather than depresses me or makes me feel incompetent or self-conscious. It helped that I was talking with someone with whom I felt fairly comfortable as well and we had a good conversation (which always puts one in a better mood), but... it was comforting to hear myself comfortable. My awkwardness and social consciousness always inhibits me to a certain extent, but it was certainly a relief to know that I can be OK in a conversation. Really.

There is something soothing about knowing how one sounds to others having the opportunity to listen back and see what a particular interaction was like, think about the statements more carefully, and reflect upon the conversation. It's an odd practice, really. In "real life," we don't have moments to just reflect and record what other people say and think, but doing so has taught me something further about what makes simple conversation one of life's greatest joys: curiosity, engagement, and comfort.

Today I Appreciate Vincent of French Class

Call me "nerd," but the first day of class must be one of the best days of the year. Only syllabi (that is the plural of "syllabus," yes?) are distributed, professors remain energetic about course material, and even the students are not yet burnt out. An exciting world of opportunities are soon to begin! We're anticipating a journey with a group of other engaged minds through literature and life (at least in my case)!

The only major problem with the first day of classes is the ten minutes prior to when class begins when students sit completely in silence. A full classroom with no one talking must be on one of the eeriest places on the entire campus. Inevitably, someone will whisper into a cell phone or tap a pencil against the desk, if only out of habit of - you know - actually communicating, but otherwise nothing. The thing is everyone glances around the room seeking out the incoming professor and waiting for something - anything - as long as it's not him or her, of course to break the quiet.

I typically pride myself in remaining mildly friendly on the first day of class (e.g. "Have you had this professor before?" to the person sitting next to me) because I find the silence especially uncomfortable. This is not to say that I can't stand being alone (I can), but I can't stand a group of people all unable to at least ask a few question and engage in some kind of small talk. Coming from someone like me who loathes large parties with people I don't know and the necessity to comb through niceties for the sake of politeness, this is saying something.

Fortunately, today, there was Vincent of French 1. The amazing thing about the students in French class is they're exactly who you'd expect: slim, well-dressed girls draped in scarves and - well - slim, well-dressed gay men in scarves. This may seem like an intimidating population of artistic souls, but then, amazingly, there's someone like Vincent with dirty sneakers, a zip-up hoodie, and a battered-up backpack. I have a habit of staring at whoever walks into a room and as I gave Vincent a smile as he walked in (so as not to simply stare; that's even worse than not acknowledging someone's presence), he actually said "hello" and smiled back. At a big school like UCLA, a smile is an increasingly rare greeting as if you smile at someone you do not know, the average student will either anticipate you trying to sell him or her something or try to convince him or her to join some sort of student-run nonprofit organization to benefit African children. Social justice on UCLA's campus has, unfortunately, become more of an advertising campaign than an actual attention to social justice, but that's a different story.

Anyway, Vincent and I engaged in a conversation, discovered his brother had a family in my hometown of Folsom ("It's very nice," he said. "Spread-out. Clean enough. Kind of pretty" I told him that was a decent way of describing Folsom were one to omit the stretches of strip mall and suburban sprawl. He didn't disagree, but rather remained silent. Smart move, perhaps). I wouldn't say Vincent (who came from a high school filled with metal detectors) is exactly someone I would typically befriend, but his effort to engage, to actively enjoy conversation with someone he doesn't know, that takes the sort of confidence I always appreciate and that can always improve someone's day.