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    Dan Hoffstrom

Writing For Film

Rob Nelson

November 4th, 2008

"Boney King of Nowhere."

     Seated in a row full of eager young art students, I eavesdrop on people's conversations. It feels like I am a part of some large political pizza party hosted for 13-year-olds waiting for their coveted vote go to use (To go to use? The end of this sentence gets a little jumbled. MA). The structure of live blogging is new and so casual to me I can't help but plug in my headphones and tune out the recycled media coverage as told by fat cat powdered wig zealots (Good phrase. MA). My distrust for everyone has reached its all time high like this ironic autumn weather we're having (I am a little confused as to how weather could be construed as ironic. MA) With such political upheaval locally and nationally, I can't help but question the person behind me snickering about blogging. 

     Posts on popular message boards meme the race, relating it to a race between John McClane and Deputy Police Chief Dwayne T. Robinson. The election has been abstracted into a slew of songs on the radio like "Ruby Tuesday" paired with Twisted Sister's "We're Not Gonna Take It", I believe that this music selection is a proper assembly of my thought process these past few weeks. My mind has been abstracted into absurdist polar opposites, teetering on hope of Obama pulling through, and the gurgling gut feeling of McCain taking the house. As of right now, the screen has the least of my attention. I watch as people indulge in a slice of pizza and occasionally glance at the pre-ballot closing tug-o-war. With this giant screen staring down my down at me, I feel as tall as I was in 7th grade, in the math class with future drug dealers watching as these buildings I've never heard of held some significance all of a sudden (This is a good analogy, but I think you may want to consider reworking this sentence so it reads a bit clearer. MA).

     I do feel the significance now however, perhaps it had to take the desensitization of seeing that (You should reiterate what you mean by 'that.' MA) unfold in a 13-year-old's mind followed with this campaign run by Hell's Angels. To me, it was the equivalent of witnessing the scene in Terminator 2: Judgement Day where the bomb is detonated, and we see Los Angeles being wiped by nature's immune system (I think this reference somewhat compromises what is an otherwise sincere sentiment. MA). In this group of such an ironic combination of diversity and blandness, I feel as if I am reporting to someone outside of the confines of MCAD. We sit slumped down now with twenty minutes until the polls close. Some sit crouched over their external hard drives, illuminated only by the LCD screens of their standard issue Apple computers. Patiently waiting to be tapped on the shoulder to know what happens at the end of the Tony Scott movie.

     Straights, gays, blacks, whites, gays (x2 KA), lesbians and gutter punks (I saw that kid who thinks he's a vampire, but I didn't see any gutter punks. Tooooo bad. MA) all hanging around seated in blue chairs to what it seems to be either our greatest night of our generation or the night where we dawn character archetypes from Lord of The Flies. I sit sixteen minutes before the polls close, studying the projections of Obama winning Pennsylvania and thinking to myself, "I hope this shit works..." (I corrected some grammar and spelling, too. I think you're successfully providing an honest account, but the pop culture references mess it up a little. MA)