Instant Classic

When my professor, helping me with graduate school application prep, asked me why I wanted to study 18th century British literature, I talked about how I felt that period of thought and social development had many parallels with our own time. I felt legitimate in my opinion, but not confident enough to have expected her response. "Exactly!" she exclaimed, continuing into a familiar conversation to me that draws a line from the printing press to the internet. Suddenly, people popped up all over the place writing short publications like "The Spectator" where they wrote their little musings and said things were often pointless, but occasionally brilliant. Blogging and its various media brethren are affecting our culture in ways we don't understand.

How often have you heard someone say, "I was reading online the other day..." It's a good phrase because it's honest in its own way. It creates a foundation for any comment to be taken on its own merit. You can take any comment that comes after "I was reading online that..." and trust it or throw it away and no one will care.

The obscure writer's of our age will rarely make it to a noticeably powerful place in society and maybe that's a good thing, but it makes me wonder who will appear in 50 years as the genius of the early 2000s. Who have we already forgotten from the 20th century. If we go back to 19th century America, we'll find that Walt Whitman was one of the most influential and his contemporaries were Hawthorne, Emerson, Sigourney, Longfellow. Who remembers Longfellow? How much more famous is Emily Dickinson since she was discovered... what? 40 years ago?

Today's writers might disappear into forgotten corners of literary history, but someone always seems to show up and take the spotlight.

Feeeear, and other scaryness

Nothing about Halloween in scary. I even tried to watch the season's "scariest movie" that already made it onto scariest movies of all time lists and whatnot, Paranormal Activity. Anyway, it was weak. It makes you jump once or twice, there's a cool part where a table catches on fire, and the ending is disturbing... but those are distinctly separate experiences in an otherwise dull movie.

Back in real life, I dressed up as a miscellaneous character from Mad Men:

Yes, that is, in fact, me... almost smoking. Thrilling, isn't it? But even though that glass has coke in it, I think I looked like I work in the 1960s, especially since I put about a quart of gel in my hair (if only I could have found a matching hat). Also, I got to go to work like that...

Yep, it was pretty sweet. A good costume... a little hard to guess (only a couple people knew straight away). One person said I looked like a Young Republican, except that my tie was green and someone else said I was... some American celebrity from my pence days... or possibly my centimes days...

Best of costume of the night, though?

Legoman. Yes.

Corn... currency of the Midwest?

Apparently, there's a big difference between the things in my life that are worth taking pictures of and the pictures I actually take, which is why I haven't been posting much recently. But, for the Halloweeny-Fallness that just happened, there was a brief intersection. So, I went to Richardson Farm, which you can look up online as one of the biggest corn mazes in the world (woo.), with Ellen, Derrick, and Erica (Derrick's girlfriend).

Off we go...

...as Ellen stares at the Sun. I sort of assume there was something else to look at other than the Sun. You could pay $35 a head to go on a helicopter ride, which would have been cool because it's pretty hard to see the shapes of the maze while you're in it. This year it was Abraham Lincoln related because we're in Illinois and something important happened... 200 years ago? My American history is pretty sketchy in the 19th century.

So, this gesture intrigues me. To me it represents the spreading of peace and pure aggression. One of the things that's nice about being in the US is that I get to enjoy the positive side of it instead of wondering why everyone is so mad all the time. I remember waving from a bridge to drivers who were about to go under the bridge and receiving this as my response. Unfortunately, that was years ago, in England, before I could have pretended the driver was a hippy, or just a genuinely nice fellow.

You know, it occurs to me that I didn't ask for permission to put these pictures up, oh well.

Anyway, we had a good time and it was all very wholesome. Also, everyone else cheated, but we stuck to the path, which seems important somehow.

Now, let me find the Halloween pictures.

Heads: Angry

I decided to copy R and A and P...







I'm pretty sure I don't win this one...

Money can't buy

I found a list of banned or challenged books that I think you should look at. The first fifty represent the vast majority of books taught in high school. "Books taught in high school" is a difficult category to throw around, but if you look at the books you'll know what I mean.
In the class that influenced me more than any other, "History of the book, history of the reader," I got a chance to look at old lists of banned books and an article by a book banner/burner and I wonder why we want to ban books at all. I'm not going to go on a free speech rant and talk about American values. I just have difficulty stomaching the idea that someone would read (or not read) a book and respond by taking measures to make sure no one reads it.
However, deep down inside, I don't hate the way things have gone. It's difficult to know if book-banning is successful very often because the tendency of the reading public is to seek those books out and, after a few years, declare them masterpieces. Often, the book doesn't even have to be all that good to get lifted up. Instead, it is deemed important because it made such a significant impact on the culture of its time. For an example of terrible literature that has been lifted up to some literary level of greatness, check out The Wide Sargasso Sea. While I recognize why its important, I want to use the phrases "manipulative trash," "sentimental drivel," and "just plain bad writing" as many as times as possible in reference to it. The problem is, you might go and find out what this poorly-written trashy drivel is all about, and you might even ask me why it's "important."
So, if I feel any guilt in hating this book and wanting no one to read it, it's probably because, by writing this, I've probably encouraged someone to read it. Three cheers for banning books.
Lesson learned: If I want to be remembered forever, I should probably write something that's important and not worry about if it's good or not.
Wait! There is another route... Emily Dickinson wanted all of her poems destroyed. Nikolai Gogol actually destroyed the second half of Dead Souls and the remaining half is lifted up as incompletely genius. I could be on to something here.

Stonecrop

This is a sedum, or stonecrop, plant. On it there are 3 insects. On the bottom left there is a normal sized bumble bee. Bumble bees are pretty big already and this one is a good sized one. On the bottom right is an abnormally large bumble bee. I don't know how it got as big as it is, but if you know anything about the size of stonecrop, you might be able to tell that it's about an inch long. Which brings us to the wasp at the top. That wasp is about an inch and a half long. After these bees and wasps have drank of the sweet nectar, they go into a drunken rage and everyone steers clear.

I just thought you all might like to know about the danger that I live with every day as I slave away among the foliage of a retail rooftop.

Iron Coin

So, here's another picture I took.

Apparently, there was a fire in the top floor and the door is boarded up. Since I took this picture, the wonderful sign, reading "Bombshell Salon," was taken down, leaving a sad looking house with a burnt upper room and the metal frame for a missing awning, but I will never forget the temporary life of this dark humor on Halsted St.

No Currency Exchanged

In response to the fact that I haven't written anything on here since April, I thought I'd share a couple arbitrary things that have happened in my life. These things may seem less important than the degree I earned, the girl I've been dating, the unpaid internship with bookslut.com that I just started, or the time I spent in North Carolina, Ohio, and Kansas, but that's just the way it goes.

Michican Avenue has never been a scary place, but I did fear for my bike after seeing the remains of this bike-locking station. There's a little metal plaque on it that informs the user that it was provided by Bank1, which no longer exists as a distinct establishment, much like this bike-locking location.

Shortly before graduation, I also engaged in the fine art of oversized origami. The reason why you aren't looking at a fully constructed paper crane is because 5 foot tall paper cranes do not support themselves particularly well. The crane is currently under the care of its co-creator (featured in the above image).

I also took part in a competitive game of Scrabble that started out a little rough for me. You may notice that the blank tile allows me to spell "coax" for 10 points. Alas, the first turn was not mine and I don't recall what I put down. I could also have spelled Xiao, which is Chinese, but I think it's a person's name and proper names aren't allowed, not to mention other languages.

In other Scrabble-related news, the word Lei was the only word that me and my close group of friends could spell at a much larger Scrabble party. Also, the "E" in the picture is from Hawaii. So, the whole thing was like a funny joke, except not that funny.

Siblings, I enjoy your blogs, but I feel that mine lacks focus. I need a theme... suggestions?

Concert

I've always felt a little skeptical about going to big concerts. The volume gets to the point where I hear too much buzzing. The harmony is overpowered by the sound of an apocalyptic refrigerator.
On Friday, I went to the Aragon ballroom and was pleasantly surprised by the acoustics. The speakers arched upward from 10 feet off the ground up to 40, stretching to a strange shadowy mural on the ceiling that can't have been a part of the original design.
Anyway, I had a good time... went home, slept for a few hours and went to work from 5am to 9am, which would have been the worst thing ever if I wasn't on the rooftop, from which I could take a series of pictures of the sunrise and generally spend my time watering flowers. Anyway, this post is mostly because I wanted to share the photo.

Penny Market

A small street is a lively place for a penny. It moves around so quickly between the hands of the people who need it. They need it to come so they can see it go.
Now, to these penny-people, dollars are frightening. Dollars are not comfortable in homes that touch neighboring homes. Dollars require green spacing between their home and the neighbors.
So, while dollars become stale in poorly ventilated boxes, pennies float like breath through crowded streets and homes, inhaled and exhaled by children who do not wait for the next penny but for the next full breath of air that fills their lungs.

Trimming Ivy

An old man steps out his front door
Only one day in each year.
Every day outside he calls his day of labor
And the sun rises in expectation.

The wall of the man’s house is lush
Ivy that creeps up sheer
Red brick heights. Annual ambush
Comes and the ivy hovers in anticipation.

On the step, the man and morning sun stand,
Encouraging the ivy’s fear,
Saw, snips and stair in hand,
Ready to insult the variegation.

The leaves desperately cling to the wall
As hands sweat, cut, and shear.
Half done, the man’s feet slip and fall.
Ivy and old man rest in amputation.

Rial

I guess I'm going to tell you how I've been thinking that voting decisions in the US seem to be made for two basic reasons (that are not unconnected). The first reason is "What's best for me" and the second is "what's best for everyone." There is an argument to be made for either side and they're certainly not mutually exclusive. The person who gives the first reason may be thinking "what's best for me and my family, which I consider to be indicative of what is best for America at large." On the other hand, I might give the second reason and my expression of that is "my vote should be used for everyone, and especially those who don't have the option of voting and therefore don't have the option of choosing themselves or everyone."

It bothered me when I was getting dinner at a restaurant near me because the owner assumed we (my roommate and I) were voting for Obama... we're young, not the worst assumption ever, but he was criticizing us saying "you'll understand when you own your own business."

I have so many problems with that statement.

He assumed that everyone makes their decision based on the first option and that somehow his representation of his own interests is more valid than my representation of my interests, which bothered me even though I did not mainly have personal interests at heart when I voted. He also assumed that Obama would be worse for small businesses and he assumed that someday I would have my own small business, which I really don't want to (unless it's a bookshop or something).

That experience aside, the saddest thing about being a college student who wants to vote "for the greater good" is that the people who should most be voting for themselves are college students. Finally given the opportunity to vote, we almost never vote based on our own interests, which makes us the least represented citizens during policy-making including younger kids because parents often vote based on the interests of their children.

7am at the Depot

I overhear Kyle and Devin talking as they walk in my direction.
"Baklava," Devin says.
"You wear pastry on your face?" Kyle asks.
"No, ba-kla-va..."
"Yeah, pastry," Kyle repeats.
"No, you wear it when you go snowmobiling."
Back and forth a couple more times and then I butt in.

"Balaclava," I say.
"What?" says Devin.
"The hood thing," I say, "it's a balaclava. Baklava is a pastry."
"But it goes all over your face," Devin says.
"Yeah, like a ski-mask..." I say.
"Yeah..."
"Balaclava," I repeat. "Baklava is pastry. Turkish, I think."

"Yes," says Kyle, pointing emphatically.
"I'm gonna look this up," Devin says.

Five minutes later, I walk up to the desk where they both work.
"What did you call it, again? Baklavalavala?"
"Balaklava."

"I've always just known it as Baklava. I swear, everyone in Wisconsin calls it a Baklava."
He looks it up.
"See?" says Kyle.
"Damn," Devin says. He picks up the phone on his desk and dials a number in an area code I don't recognize.
"Who you calling?" I ask.
"My mom..." He stares straight ahead. "Hey mom, you just made me look like an idiot at work. Yeah, you call the thing you wear when you're snowmobiling a baklava, right? Yeah, turns out that's a pastry. Balaclava, that's what it's called. Yeah, because of you I told everyone at work I wear a pastry on my face. Yeah, thanks." Hangs up. "Damn woman."
"What did she say?" Kyle asks.
"She just laughed at me...thinks it's hilarious..."

END

Mysterious Currency

I studied Emily Dickinson a while ago and I just came across Sappho for the first time. I usually write fiction, but I decided to take a stab at combining their styles. The subject of the poem could be Dickinson, Sappho, or the object of the speaker's love. I sort of intended all three.

sacred—terrific—she moves
with lines and across—
alighting and departing
gentle ripples
weight of seven hearts and seven minds—
wind fumbles
but she is grace and terror