... and VAMPY, being very good, is one of those things. It's difficult for me to even express how much I've enjoyed teaching you ... And talking with you, and discussing art and life and literature with you, and giving you vintage Power Ranger stickers, and yelling "COOPUN!" at you, and just generally being around you. It's a rare gift to have such intelligent and curious and talented students, and it's even more rare to have intelligent and curious and talented students who are also kind and courteous and funny and sweet. I, too, wish VAMPY could go on forever.
And I hope that it will, in some sense: this is your blog. Use it! I hope to see more of your writing, and your thoughts about writing, and about the wonder that is Chuck Norris.
I was reminded today of a poem by one of my favorite teachers, Robert Creeley. Though he passed on shortly after our class had ended, he left me with so much, as he taught me so much about life and teaching and art. As I've gotten the same gift from you, I thought I'd share this:
This walking on and on, this going and coming— this morning
Everyone is different here. But their days are exactly the same, And they're all showing their teeth, all the time. Smiling? Forced to put unknown thing of every size and color into their bodies, but still smiling. Forced to pin their name into their skin, but still smiling. Forced to climb a mountain at least twice a day, but still smiling. Forced to sit in a restraint for more than six hours everyday, but still smiling. Forced to listen to a higher authority all the time, but still smiling. Forced to run until you find a flag, but still smiling. Forced to stand on a platform with newspaper all over them in front of everyone, but still smiling. Forced to stay up until two in the morning, but still smiling. Forced to be around the same people all day; everyday; for two weeks, but still smiling. What makes them like this? What is so amazing about a place called VAMPY?9
After I finish writing in my diary I take a shower and brush my teeth. Toothpaste is instantly washed off the smooth, white tub floor. The floor is also washed clean of shampoo and soap as a constant stream of scalding water pounds my back and head. I adjust the water and continue washing.
I reach around to wash my back. My arm stops, having discovered a block. I drop the sponge and reach back again. My fingers brush something scaly and I jerk back, my mind clouding over with the haze of panic that occasionally plagued me.
I clear my head, relaxing, barely managing either. I slowly pull the curtain back, not even hearing the many clinks coming from the metal rings attaching the screen to a metal rack. I creep over to the fog covered mirror and wipe it clean with my towel, I glimpse something green and gold behind me, I whip around... but I can't see anything.
I reach back and to feel for the scaly thing again. It isn't there. I look back at the mirror and there is nothing there. I wonder what's with all the strange things happening lately. Something tells me the best is yet to come.
DUC is no longer a yellow bird That rests on liquid glass It is now an open room Drowning in harsh light, Where they sit at frozen horses And transport shapely mush From stiff bigger circles To small, maleable circles. 8:45 means they stop transporting mush And begin to pump their pistons, which fuss and hiss and let off steam As they struggle over The raised lump of land, A blanket rumpled up in the middle, Reaching for that brilliant blue sheet Draped over this "Earth." "Class" means resting upright And claiming to be in a circle-- But this circle isn't round like DUC circles, It's shaped more like an egg yolk After escaping from its smooth white prison. During "class", they bend their furry skulls and little soul-windows Over blank sheets, Grasping narrow twigs That flutter across blue lines And whisper sweet nothings To their pale, lined lovers.
“This is unnecessary. I don’t need therapy. A cat clawed me and I don’t cut myself, but while I’m here I might as well listen and do what you say. I'm a very happy 16 year old girl with no psychological problems whatsoever. I'm perfectly happy with my life and nothing bad has happened recently aside from the death of my mother. I got these cuts on my wrists when I fell down and scraped my arms at my mother’s funeral. My dad later found me crying about her death in a corner with cuts on my wrist and wrongly assumed I was cutting myself. The knife I was holding was one I had just found laying on the ground where someone could step on it and get hurt. Being the concerned citizen I am, I picked it up and moved it. I don’t know where the blood on it came from but because no one was around I figured it wasn’t important and didn’t tell anyone. I'm not emo or anything!! Even though I have plenty of reasons to be I’m not because I’m a stronger person then that. Just because my mom just died, my boyfriend broke up with me, my car was repossessed, my iPod stolen, my TV broke, I lost my job, I have no money, my father’s depressed, my grades are failing, and I feel like suicide doesn’t mean I’ll actually kill myself! It hurt way too much for me to try that again. When- I mean if I was going to kill myself I would find an easier way, like gas or something. I heard about this guy plugging his exhaust except for a small tube that led to the inside of the car and killing himself that way. It seems like a painless way to die, asphyxiation, much better then slitting my wrists. It would be simple I just wait until my dad’s asleep… sneak into the garage… start the car… and die. Not that I would of course! I’m a perfectly rational, levelheaded girl that wouldn’t even consider suicide! Let alone ways to do it! I love life way too much for that and besides, what would dad do without me?”
“Shut up!” “Leave me alone!” “Hello, kinda busy here!” “I’m trying to watch the screen!” “What are you even doing here?” The voices of the nicest kids around enveloped me like a safety blanket…if it was made of thorns, that is. Who would have guessed that a game of Super Smash Brothers would make the audience watching the epic battle become so aggressive? Where does the madness end? Honestly in my opinion I found it absolutely silly. Really, all I was trying to do was figure out what in the heck was going on and I was getting yelled at for asking simple questions. I struggled out of the mass of kids who had their eyes glued to the TV like anxious five year olds waiting for SpongeBob to appear on the screen. When I finally managed to make my way to the back of the crowd, amazingly not angering somebody a single time, I let out a huff of angry breath. Exactly who did they think they were? Truth be told their evident addiction to this game I had no idea about was sort of creepy. Instead of braving the crowd again and risk losing my head over a small, “Who is playing with which character,” I decided to stand at the back and observe their behavior. It was like watching a herd of animals interacting with one another. They were pushing and shoving trying to get the best spot that was closest to the screen. It reminded me of wild African animals fighting over the best drinking spot at the watering hole. They were pressed so tight together that I’d be surprised if a stick figure could squeeze through the cracks if they didn’t want him to. In that sense they reminded me of a herd gathering tightly in order to protect one another from any potential predators that might try to harm them. Though I might consider these people slightly more civilized of course. “You had him!” “Come on that was easy!” “Finish him off!” And of course my personal favorite, “Failure!” were the main conversational phrases that they managed to spit out hurriedly before returning to their trance like state. No one bothered to speak to one another, no matter if they were friends or not. Psshh, who would want to talk to someone when you could be rotting your eyes out? It almost felt like there was some unspoken rule about you couldn’t interrupt the quiet except in cases such as those, and even then you only had 10 seconds to yell out whatever expression you chose. It was a new country ruled by a dictatorship and the person in charge was Silence himself. Once you got past the eeriness of not having any noise you could look closer upon the throng. There were so many different types of people. Boys, girls, short, tall, skinny, chubby, tan, pale, long hair, short hair, nerds that looked like nerds, nerds that didn’t look like nerds at all. It was amazing. In fact it was almost enough to give you a sensory overload. All of these different people come together in one group because they had one similarity: their love for Super Smash Brothers. My eyes roamed over their physical differences; I was used to seeing cliques that had the same physical features. This was new to me and I kind of liked it. It opened a whole new world of possibilities. Normally cliques concentrate around having the same appearance on the outside, and having the same personality on the inside. Somehow though, it seemed these kids had learned a way around that. They didn’t all dress the same, have the same hairstyles, or any of that. They just dressed how they wanted and it seemed that as long as they were bound by their love of the game being played that was enough to hold them together. Could it be possible that any number of random kids could do that at any point in time? I began to believe so and if that was true then the entire social order could be reconstructed! When you looked even closer you also could notice a similarity that they all shared with facial expressions. As I watched their faces would fall into a grimace together, raise into a smile together, their fists would clench and unclench almost as if they were one living breathing organism. When I looked at the small TV screen all I saw was two characters fighting back and forth. I had no idea who was winning, who was losing, or even how you went about winning in losing. Evidently I was the only one with that problem. Even though I had no idea how to digest the graphics on the screen, I always knew when something good or bad happened to one of the players by studying their facial expressions. I eventually gave up on my crowd watching from close up and I returned to my normal group of friends that were sitting nearby. Thinking that maybe they might answer my questions I proceeding to ask my friend Zack exactly what the heck was going on. I was shocked by his reply. “Would you just be quiet? Some people are trying to watch the game here. “ I stared at him in awe. The two of us had a very odd relationship with one another, saying mean things perhaps, but always meaning it in a joking way, but this time he was being absolutely serious. What in the world was this game doing to people? I scowled in his direction, “Umm, you want to tell me exactly what made you so cranky today? Because last time I checked simple questions weren’t exactly illegal.” He just shook his head in my direction not even bothering to look away from the game as his did so. It was incredibly nice to know that watching that TV screen was much more important than talking to me. Shaking my head and deciding that starting a fight wasn’t worth it I turned to my roommate, Caitie, and Zack’s roommate, my other friend, Derek. I was hoping that maybe from them I would finally get some answers that didn’t involve telling me to shut up. My hopes were quickly shattered by the fact that they were to absorbed in a card game called Speed. Who knew that in my quest for knowledge I would be left so alone? Deciding that maybe I would try one more time to immerse myself in the group of zombie kids crowded around the television screen I learned that my earlier failure had been nothing. I made the mistake of walking up to the biggest guy in the group. He was very skinny, but he was also very tall compared to me. Before I had time to back out I spit the words from my mouth. “Who’s winning?” He gave me the worst look in the history of bad looks. He stood a good 6 inches over me and when he looked down at me his eyes were filled with what could be pure rage. I took a quick gulp. “Ummm, never mind, thanks anyways.” Within seconds I was back in my seat cowering behind the backs of my friends. I had just learned the epitome of the phrase “epic failure”. Suddenly there were excited woops of laughter. Fists began punching the air and a steady chant of, “You’ve got him! Finish him off! Yeah!” filled the room. I could only assume that someone was fixing to win the challenge. Suddenly Zack jumps up and begins to join in the frenzy. His sudden actions scare me enough to almost make me fall out of my chair and flat on my face. Even Caitie and Derek look up to see what’s going on, an amazing feat in itself since they had been in their own little card world just minutes before. I learned later that the game had been won…FINALLY. The cheers and random fist pumping seizures had been in honor of the winner. Amazing that I could guess that isn’t it? Maybe I’m physic or something; yeah let’s go with that one. Yet finding out who the winner had been wasn’t exactly my biggest priority. I still wanted someone in the darn group to tell me exactly what had been going on. I mean seriously I had gone through heck to figure out what in the world Super Smash Brothers was, how you played it, what the objective of it was, and all I got were mean comments, evil looks, and the ability to know that no matter how loud my voice may be I can be ignored if people really want to. Finding my courage one last time, I walked up to a previously un-talked to groupie that I had seen watching the game with an intense look about him. If anyone would know what was going on I figured it just might be him. I walked over to him, “Hey ummm, I was just wondering if you could explain what the big deal is about this game. You guys seemed pretty into it and all and I have absolutely no idea about it.” He stared at me momentarily then with a big smile on his face gave me a reply that I had defiantly not been expecting. “Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s not that great at all.” Then he walked away to leave me there with my jaw hanging open. After all that I had been through for this one game, this was how the story was going to end.
Original by Robert Frost Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same.
And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
Chuck Norris:
There were two roads, I took both; at the same time.
“Blech…that’s nasty…” I said. I said it a lot. Pictures of slimy tapeworms were on my computer screen. Smelly clams and octopi lay in a dissecting tray. All of this alongside three other girls…even worse or even better? Sometimes I couldn’t tell.Fourth period was a trip, but outside of class became even more of an unknown environment.
Science is a good subject, at least for me. My teacher, realizing some others and myself were ahead of the class, set us aside for an independent study. She said we could make it our “dream classroom”, doing projects none of the others could. The elite group was all girls, including me. The other three had always hung out before, but I didn’t hang with them that much. During our studies, we started off slow, barely getting any work done because no one was there to see. We’d sit and talk and make fun of each other until we got bored. Then we’d do a miniscule amount of research.
At first, the group was a partnership. Things ran pretty smoothly. My partner, Lauren, didn’t talk much. What little things she did say were usually insults, jokes, orders, or facts for projects.The insults and insulting jokes never really got to me: they were pretty funny, and I laughed at them too. Every science class, we’d head to the library. We’d sit at the same two computers. Every day.
Our first project was about worms. Both of us gagged continuously. The pictures, the life cycle, etc. were not the prettiest thing in the world. Thinking it was acceptable, I goofed off a lot, making jokes and giving Lauren looks that told her she could, and should, join in. She rarely complied, but she laughed a little before telling me to shut up and forcing me back to research. Our project media was to be a power point. In Lauren’s eyes, I’m guessing, it was to be informative (boring). In my eyes, it was to be both informative and entertaining (awesome). I struggled to make it funny, and she let me at least try, thank God. We had a picture of Dr. Oz and Oprah holding a tapeworm, against Lauren’s wishes.
When the assignment was finished, I went over well. We got a good grade and were ready for a new challenge. One of those challenges was new people. Two more girls were added: Ashley and Kylie. According to our teacher , they got in because “Ashley kept whining”. Our group was as full as it would get, any fuller and we’d be in trouble.
Our next topic for an assignment was mollusks and echinoderms (at first I was thinking the exact same thing you’re probably thinking now, “What…?”). We wanted to go deeper into the freedom of independent study, so we ventured into dissection and models. Ms. Houston, our teacher ,got us some clams and octopi to cut apart. The smell of fish was killing us all slowly. Out in an open part of the hallway, the stench wouldn’t go away. We occasionally had to go to the window and stick our heads out just to breathe. Being the vegetarian of the group, I was actually the one doing the most slicing and dicing (ironic much??).
Constant “ew”s and disgusted shivers came from Ashley. From Kylie, Nasty looks and “this is gross”s. From Lauren, the occasional grossed out “ugh” and weird looks. Some of these expressions were also uttered on my part, though I did tell the others to quit freaking out. The clam’s little foot stuck out of the shell, and I reached for the scalpel. I wiggled the knife in between the two sides and began to pull the clam apart, little by little, onlookers disgusted. We took pictures and moved on to the octopi the next day. Similar grossness accompanied these little things. Turns out, since they were purchased from a grocery store, they had nothing really in them. Waste of time. But Ashley still shivered, especially when I accidentally got the octopus on her hand. It was funny, but she freaked out. After we were done with the “dissection” we tried not to touch anything (the octopi were very slimy. Yuck.)
From the escapades with the clams and octopi, we learned…barely anything. To make up for that waste of time, we researched the anatomies. We continued to joke around all the time, but we knew we had to work. Our deadline wasn’t far ahead. Then came the Play Doh. Making the models was fun, especially when not actually making them. When Lauren and I tried to mix colors, automatic freak outs came from Ashley and Kylie. Not angry ones, they were still smiling, just concerned. They thought we would run out of Doh. I could care less. I needed a color, so I reassured them we would not run out of their precious clay.
Myself and Lauren then proceeded to get into an all out Play Doh war, right there in the back of the library. It had stated when we were playing Play Doh basketball, shooting a rolled up blob of the stuff into the container, held by the other person. All was fine until Lauren thought I was looking and threw it back to me. Guess what? I wasn’t looking. It hit me in the face. I was angry, really angry, but it was funny, and I knew it. From then on, science was work and war. Throw Play Doh here, make it look like the interior of an octopus there. I like to say I won, but I’m not sure. Often, I would throw over a bunch of the clay and would run to the other end of the library before Lauren could drill me again. I got both laughs and disapproving glances from Ashley and Kylie. I had fun though, no matter what they all thought.
Sometime into the beginning of this independent study, I thought it would be okay to sit with Lauren, Ashley, Kylie, and their friends at lunch. So I switched tables. It was kind of awkward at first: people don’t usually just hang out with another clique. I did need to ask them questions about the project though, and that was my excuse. There wasn’t much to say about the assignments, so the table usually fell back to talking about T.V. shows, shopping, and classes. These subject were common in every girl’s world, but no craziness was preferred. I was used to being my old wild self with my friends at lunch, but I held back a little here. I thought it was better that way, but I still didn’t like the feeling. They were nice people, and I wanted to hang out with them, so I kept sitting there. During recess, however, I was with my other friends.
In the library, still working with Play Doh, I learned something new. You will get slapped across the face if you cuss, or attempt to cuss, in front of Kylie. I decided to push the limits one day and said “F…..” with abit of an “uh“ to throw her off. I was hit and hurt before I could finish saying “fire truck”. Oopsie. I wasn’t going to try that again. I laughed it off, but still had it against her, though she never will believe that I was going to say fire truck and not otherwise.
At lunch, I would still sit with them. They were good friends, even though I had a little trouble being myself around them. I could contribute to most of the conversation topics, although sometimes I didn’t. I was comfortable being uncomfortable, in this case. After a while of me being their lunch guest, they had the nerve to ask me why I was sitting with them. They had noted “no offense” but some was taken. Shouldn’t they know why I was sitting there? I was their fiend right? Of course I was. I said, “Because I want to.” I didn’t really keep their question in mind, and continued to try to blend in with their clique so I could be accepted within my independent study group.
Nearing the end of the year, Our project was close to finished. We worked on the labels and got them into the Doh with toothpicks, still throwing it at each other, joking, and laughing. On the last day of school we presented it to Ms. Houston. I had done less work on them than the others, since I had been gone a few days, but we were all proud. The models looked great. Our teacher had questions about what we had learned (some of which we couldn’t very well answer), but she liked the models. We were all happy. We had approval and the last day of school. The rest of the day, I attempted to follow them around to different science classrooms. We got out of staying to minutes later than everyone else by leaving Ms. Houston’s room. Nice judgment on their part.
After school was over, we barely talked. Lauren, Ashley, and Kylie rarely texted back. I only saw Ashley once, because our dads know each other. I hadn’t seen Lauren that summer, but that was okay. She didn’t talk much anyway. As for Kylie, she was moving. I was invited to her going away party at a friend of ours, Caroline, but I couldn’t make it. Now, I was back to my regular friends. I could be myself more freely and I saw them more often. I have to ask now hwy I sat there that school year, but why I sat there so long.
Original by Robert Frost: Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.
Chuck Norris:
I'm here in the woods, maybe trespassing I don't care, he won't see me. Superman in his pajamas with me on them would be cold, I'm not. It's just 0 degrees out here. Nothing special. My horse says to me "why are you stopping?" (Yeah my horse can talk) I tell it to shut up. These are some nice woods. I have a 1,000 miles to run in a few seconds before what some call sleep, but Chuck Norris calls waiting
You see my beautiful ex-wife there? She was too "nice" to other men. So I roundhouse kicked her in anger. You see that statue? Good, because I don't have one. Chuck Norris doesn't need a statue.
When asked to give a name to a small social group of friends, one of the members responded, “the soup can. The only types of social labels should be on soup cans.” This quote at the beginning of my social journey epitomized the immersion process. The social group had seemingly simple customs that were in fact quite complex. One common factor was a yearning for a more just and “fair” world. Out of the group of six, three were vegetarians. All three said they abstained from meat because of the ethical treatment of animals. Hayden Flanery, the person with the longest duration of being a vegetarian, became a vegetarian almost two years ago after reading Fast Food Nation’s slaughterhouse depiction. All five had supported Barack Obama and had liberal political leanings. They were debating feminism versus sexual workers’ role in society at first but switched to international treatment of animals. They all seemed to value equality as the best of all ethical values after not questions, but experiences I witnessed. This ethic was shown in their end of meal customs. Claire, the oldest and perhaps most dedicated to ideals, was wearing an Amnesty International “Citizen of the World” shirt and was speaking moderately amidst a roaring cafeteria. The group seemed to be the candle of social responsibility, eating no meat, treating all as equally as possible and conserving resources amid the darkness of apathy. She offered to carry everybody’s items on her tray. “Why should I not carry everyone’s food items when I could do it in one trip?” This is not the only egalitarian custom they shared. I asked a stranger to the group to test their reaction. “May I join?” he asked. With no hesitation, they accepted the first year. They didn’t try to convert me or the other carnivore, but preached by example. They believed they played a role for the causes they believed, instead of being hypocritical, like what they believe many celebrities are. They also criticized hippies indirectly. “How can you spread a message when you’re considered fringe?” The games they played when they were all gathered and assembled were interesting as well. They were all committed to finding a game to play for all who wanted to join. There was no exclusion during my experiences. It was interesting to find a commune of people truly dedicated to the living of ideals in a world which to them seemed to be a façade of the values they embraced. The lonely Sarah playing Solitaire grew to Sarah and Claire playing War to Mao to ERS (Egyptian Rat Screw). The formation of this group was two years ago, when most of the members were first-year first-years or second-second years. They had known each other previously but not as well as they did after VAMPY 2007. They became a regular group with a (nearly) identical ethic and a core group of five girls and one guy: Claire (the eldest and seemingly most caring about feminism), Hayden (most caring about animal rights), Emily (nonvegetarian), (Mari)Etta (vegetarian and sexual rights) and Carmen (also nonvegetarian); and Dane. They were all (except for Carmen) from Louisville, Kentucky and that gave them some initial starting ground for the bonding over the years.
The interactions at a social event were also of interest. “Don’t become the alligator, don’t become the alligator, don’t become the alligator, don’t become the alligator,” said Hayden to me when I told her I was playing PNA for the first time. There was no dancing (in VAMPY, jumping and fist bumping) during the dance for the soup can. They mostly played cards (not Magic, which they detested, but respected). They played community games during the (literally) flashiest event of the year. V-Con 2009 was a different matter. They were very active in participating at the ‘con. The soup can was basically one and travelled together to various activities. It seemed that they took opportunities of weekend events. The group first did Astronaut training and was the champions of the teamwork contest, which involved directing a blindfolded person to shoot at various targets. The team of Hayden and Emily received a perfect score on the test of collaboration. The other partners did well too. Travelling with them was an experience that would have seemed random with being in the group but was well-explained once the group was infiltrated. The amorphous continually expanding blob of people jostled from activity to activity, from Astronaut training to the RPG wars. People flew as they hit each other with truncated pool noodles, as people clashed as those older did, but they did not die as their elders would. I got very into it as I ferociously attacked others, causing phony death and faux destruction, clashing with others just because they had a different color face paint than I did. They sat and walked away. Not even in pretend would they sacrifice their ethics. The somber look on their faces was enough to get me to see their point of view. No words were necessary to convey that thought. It was then that I realized the magnificence of their activism. They, without words, could convince me to stop pretending to be a warrior in a fake battle. They could hold to their convictions for years and have the power to persuade people to change their lifestyle. People on the outside ignored them because they weren’t popular, so they became advocates of equality and friendliness. The ethics they have shown to be livable pervaded me after my time with them. Grabbing bacon or other meat items in food lines inspired me to think about consequences. These weren’t typical teenagers, these were peer role models, rational and knights for ideals they themselves embodied. They were also solid. With the passing fads at VAMPY from the Rubik’s Cube to the Monocle Game to Duct Tape items, they were always there, ready to inspire and live by what they preach, refreshing in a world driven by trends. I was walking with members of the Soup Can from breakfast at Downing University Center (DUC) to Cherry Hall, where some of them, in their quest for social fairness, are taking Nazi Germany and the Holocaust. Etta was joyful for another day of depressing class. She and Carmen were both fascinated with the mob psychology of the Holocaust. “How could people in Germany allow this to happen?” I asked. “Desperation, looking for an excuse.” I had never seen anything like it before. Passing through noisy, tumultuous DUC’s Fresh Food Company cafeteria I would see them prima facie and would dismiss them as young semi hippies. They seemed like “posers” who would talk the talk of human rights and animal rights and but wouldn’t care to follow through with their beliefs. What I never would believe though is that they actually could change people by simply being present. Their very existence, without persuading words, could change lifestyles and people’s minds, as a beacon for justice and equality in the dark sea they believe is humanity.
My life may be good but darned if isn't boring. It is the same thing everyday, I get up, eat, do shores, eat, hang out/work, eat, sleep. Everyday that is what I do.
Now don't get me wrong. I have a great life. I just don't think that I would choose it for myself.
Today though, something strange did happen. My parents and I were looking around the Flea Market and I was approached by a boy of about 15. He was a little odd looking because he had pure white hair, and the lightest shade imaginable of green/blue. Even stranger was the fact I seemed to be the only one who noticed his appearance.
Anyways, he approached me and asked, "You wouldn't have happened to see a dragon recently have you?"
"No," I replied a little nervous.
"Well have you seen my sister then? We are twins."
Again I said no and he bit his lip, suddenly looking much younger. Then the 15 year old was back. He smiled sadly, "Thank you anyway." Then he walked away.
Jacob Walshen is 19 years old. He is Very oprganized.
When Jacob wakes up he ususally forgets to brush his teeth so he has to chew some gum on the way to work/school. He is a photographer ao he always carries his camera with him.
His girlfriend Cindy broke up with him not long ago but she left an earring with Jacob. He also wants to break a world record to make the worlds largest rubber band ball.
He tends to stay on his own alot but he does like the occasional night out with his friends. He lives in Chicago, Illinois in a small appartment.
Jacob is a neat freak. His father's name was Jonathan and his mother was Marie. They are divorced. Jacob lived with his father.
Jacob went on a mission trip to Japan with his father and can speak Japanese. He is an Episcopalian. He loves to travel. He also enjoys reading classics and his favorites are The Grapes of Wrath and Uncle Tom's Cabin.
... that is, at least, no water bottles in the computer lab, where we've spent much of this glorious Monday writing and re-writing and writing again. We began this morning with an exercise that came to The Boulder as she was feeding her cat(s) this morning. After the class failed to recognize the daily quote ("We cannot allow a mine shaft gap!"), The Boulder led the class in a discussion of the difference between written language and spoken language -- the vernacular. We entered into a healthy discussion of language sub-groups, from the Southern idiom to 1337 H4X0R speak to sports speak. Perhaps the most interesting part was our discussion of these things -- -- which the class referred to variously as soda, soda pop, pop, a soft drink, and a Coke (incidentally, The Boulder votes for the term "Coke." Even if it's a Sprite, it's a Coke). This led to a discussion of OuLiPo, a French poetry school/movement/lifestyle/thing of general wonder and amazement. We discussed one of my personal favorite OuLiPo constraints: the transliteration, in which the writer takes a text from one language system -- for instance, Shakespearean English -- and translates it to another language system -- for instance, the language of British street punks, as in the famed and amazing OuLiPian transliteration of Hamlet by Richard Curtis. The class chose a language system and then worked to translate the aforementioned Robert Browning's "My Last Duchess" into that language system. The class discovered that the poem is, well, pretty darn dark in any language system.
Once we'd worked to immerse ourselves in another language system, we began our discussion of Tom Wolfe's work and of immersion journalism. I revealed the reason why the students were to join another social group over the weekend: they are to write a New Journalism-style, Tom Wolfe-esque essay, in the language of that social group, about that social group -- which is, in fact, what they're doing now, typing steadily away at their computers in the Cherry Hall lab,
Post-Script
Schmoeku
Hilltop spirit, why the angered eyebrows? Jell-O wriggling in noon sun.
