On Being Old and Reading all the Time.

Sometimes I want to fast forward to this stage of life.

Sonograms and Love Jones

So recently I've been thinking about the different personal filters that people employ when deciding which aspects of their life they deem appropriate for posting on social networking sites like facebook and twitter. I don't believe that there are any hard and fast rules about this, and more often than not I can jive with pretty much anything, but there are times when I read things that make it through the filter and can't help but to marvel.
The example that most recently brought up this question: "Just got back from my first sonogram. No baby yet." I just want to go up to this girl who had a love jones for my freshman year roommate and ask her why she thought sharing that information was a good idea. Does she realize the many implications of what she is saying? The undesired insights into her life to which we are now privy?
...I could go to greater lengths about the different ways in which this phrase could be understood, and I had originally intended to discuss the subject of the need of stricter filters at greater length, but something else has caught my attention. I just decided that this post would do better to be dedicated to talking about the phrase "love jones." Rather than explaining this phenomenon myself, I'll let "The Brighter Side of Darkness" do it for me. Take it away gentlemen.

Can we please bring back Soul Train?

Belated Father's Day Musings

So I haven't blogged for a while. I decided today that I would, so I sat down to my computer and pulled up my blog. Now while I haven't actually posted anything, there have been several times when I've jotted down a few thoughts. I decided that I'd look over old unpublished blog entries for a creative spark. There I found this post that was completely finished, but which for some reason I'd never posted. It seems all the more appropriate that I post it now since my parents recently celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary. So here it is, my thoughts about my parents written about 3 1/2 months ago.

Yesterday was Father's Day. Maybe it's the curse of being an English Major but I feel like I am much more capable at expressing myself through the written word as opposed to the spoken. Such being the case I feel like today, as was the case with Mother's Day a few weeks ago, I didn't adequately express the love and gratitude that I have for my parents. I am therefore going to do my best to do so right now.
I have the best parents in the world. I know that that kind of thing gets said a lot, and I know that it all comes down to how you define the word best. I'm not trying to discount the greatness of anyone else's parents, but I guess what I'm saying is I have the best parents in the world, for me. They have taught and continue to teach me some of life's greatest lessons, and they usually do it with seemingly innocuous actions and words rather than well-rehearsed sermons or carefully crafted set-ups. Their their daily walk and talk is all it takes.
I'll give an example from the recent past. A little under a month ago Mom and Dad and Maurianne and I were making the annual Memorial Day trek up to Bear Lake, Idaho to decorate the graves of our Dunn family members. While on the way back we stopped in Montpelier to fill up on gas. Mom filled up the car's tank while Dad, Maurie and myself emptied our own. We all piled back into the car and headed on out of town, past Ovid and up Emigration Canyon. As we got to about the summit of the canyon, a good 45 minutes to an hour outside of Montpelier, Mom exclaimed that she hadn't paid for the gas and that we had left without paying for it. My immediate reaction was first to think, "well, we made it this far without anyone realizing, might as well continue on." Then, realizing that such a course of action would be dishonest I thought, "maybe we could stop at the next Chevron down the road and pay for it there." Dad, however, had a different idea. Without saying a word he pulled the car over and began to turn around. There wasn't a second's hesitation. A debt was owed and it would was to be paid, as soon as humanly possible, to the wronged party. I could tell that he wasn't thinking things over like I was. He didn't have to. The reaction was immediate. Personal integrity was being called into question, and I could see that, for Dad, integrity wasn't in fact a question, it was a way of life. Whereas I was personally hemming and hawing, Mom and Dad acted immediately to right the wrong. The course of action was clear and unanimous; we were headed back to Montpelier. Upon turning around Mom remembered that she had in fact paid for the gas and that all was indeed well. So we pulled back onto the road and continued onward. While everyone acted as though nothing significant had happened, I learned a great lesson that day. I came to a better understanding of the fact that my parents do indeed live by Shakespeare's words, delivered via Julius Caesar, which say, "I love the name of honour more than I fear death." They do. I, apparently, would do well to make improvements in that area.
This is just one example of the many that might be given of times when Mom and Dad, unbeknownst to them, have taught, through the way they live their lives, the characteristics of a life well lived. I'm positive that anyone who has interacted with either of them to any extent has stories to share about a lesson learned from them.
Mom and Dad have always been supportive of me and the things that I decide to do in my life, even if such decisions include choosing to be a major which, as we all know, at very best leads to life under a freeway overpass with naught but limp and somewhat damp refrigerator box as shelter. When I make stupid mistakes they're there to help me figure out ways to right the ship. When I dress or act in ways that would embarrass a large majority of the human population, they might shake their heads with a bit of disapproval, but I always know that their love is undiminished.

Mom and Dad, I may not say it enough, but I love you. Thank you for all that you do and are.

3:35 a.m.

In David's words, as written upon my facebook wall, it is the Devil's own hour. I'm not exactly sure what that means but it fills me with a feeling of hopeless abandon and dread. I don't plan to sleep tonight. I didn't sleep much last night. I don't know when sleep became an option rather than a requirement, but I'm rather put-off by its demotion to such a status. I love to sleep. I do so every chance I get irregardless of location. (yes I intentionally used that word widely regarded as a heinous abomination to the English language. It is after 3 am after all)
My objective tonight is to finish a paper on the Nuyorican Poets Cafe and Nuyorican Poetry in general as well as write a 4 page personal statement intended for a graduate school admissions board. These are interesting subjects to be sure, but I'll be glad when this is all over and I can sleep. Which sleep will allow me to dream the sweet dreams of a man unburdened of scholastic care. Were it not for Powerade and Cheetos I'd be a lost cause right now.
Sometimes I try to envision myself in the future looking back on these sleepless nights. I can't help but to think I'll look back on them fondly as a formative part of my past. Perhaps I'll look back at them and laugh at my folly for being such a prodigious procrastinator.
My late-night counterpart Jordan just gave up and went to bed, intent on awakening early to finish up the last of his paper. I'm just going to power on through and finish up as best I can.
Woot.

Contents of my backpack. April 5, 2010; 11:24 a.m.

What I have:
1 toothbrush
1 pair of binoculars
1 handful of pecans
1 Spanish Hymnbook
2 books of Nuyorican poetry
1 USB Drive
4 trapper keeper folders
1 legal pad
1 Daily Uni-farce
1 Indesign install cd
1 pamphlet entitled "Foreign Policy Challenges Facing the Obama Administration"
3 peanut M&Ms
1 Brochure for Aspen Therapy
2 pairs of dirty clothes

What I need:
1 pen OR
1 highlighter

I feel like I belong in an Alanis Morissette song or something.

Things I've learned through the first month of the semester

1. Grammar is cool and interesting. I subscribe to the e e cummings school of thought when it comes to grammar; it can be used however you darn well please. However, the study of grammar in a rhetorical setting is fascinating. Grammar is an integral part to making your argument clearly and effectively.
2. There is little that is as relaxing and thought-clearing as going to a beat-up basketball court by the train tracks and shooting around for an hour or so. This is best achieved after 9:00 PM but can be beneficial during daylight hours as well.
3. Chicano is derogatory, Latino is better, but hyphen-American is best. (I dislike this one. I think we should all consider ourselves as one cohesive unit of Americans without any title or distinction based on race. Lamentably such is the status quo.)
4. The illegal immigration debate isn't as black and white as I'd once thought.
5. Eva Cassidy has joined Ella Fitzgerald, Norah Jones, Diana Krall and Enya (yes Enya) in the ranks of women with dreamy voices.
6. Audrey Hepburn is the American dream woman. (I already knew this one, but it has hit home with greater force of late.)
7. The Law of Consecration is difficult and we often don't live up to its standards as well as we're capable.
8. The planting of tulip and hyacinth bulbs, while best to be taken care of in the fall, is an extremely enjoyable task when undertaken surreptitiously in the dead of night in snow covered dirt.
9. Banana chairs rock my world.
10. Despite having hundreds of pages of homework reading to do, one can always find time to read for personal enjoyment. Even if it's just flipping through seed catalogs whilst on the commode.
11. People like my hair long. I do sometimes, but I'm getting the urge to cut it super short, like a dog shedding its winter coat.
12. Being the activities committee co-chair isn't actually so bad.
13. It is not actually possible to suck your own eyes out of your head using only your hands and your mouth. (No this was not learned by experience)
14. Fresh foods taste better than canned and packaged ones.
14a. There is such a thing as too much macaroni and cheese, which thing I never had supposed.
15. I still dream in Spanish.
16. Seeing tulips and daffodils poking their little heads out of the ground brings hope and joy difficult to equal.

The Witch Is Not To Be Blamed

So for my Rhetoric of Grammar class read a piece by the Ancient Greek sophist Gorgias in which he defended Helen (of Troy) and claimed that she wasn't at all to blame for the bad things that she is usually associated with. Well my Professor assigned us to try and copy his style, in all of its florid grandeur, to do the same with a persona of our choosing. The person we were to defend was supposed to be someone who is traditionally looked down upon for some seemingly unforgivable crime or flaw. My classmates all chose actual figures from history or pop culture such as Britney Spears, Napoleon, and Michael Jackson. I took a somewhat different route, I chose to defend the witch from Grimm's Hansel and Gretel. Here follows a copy of that defense. (Bear in mind this was written late at night/early in the morning and, at some points, lacks clarity. I apologize for this.)...(Also I realize some of the rhetorical tropes such as alliteration are very over top. Such was Gorgias' style.)

Encomium of the Witch from Grimm’s Hansel and Gretel

Prooemion

[1] Perhaps the clearest of all evils that we have been taught to avoid is the old woman living alone in the woods. These old women have, western cultural and artistic expression, been treated with a harshness that is hardly deserved. From Aesop to Anderson, Mother Goose to Grimm, Disney to Dreamworks these poor women, who merely strive to live their lives as best they know, are vilified and demonized, denigrated and victimized time and again. Ultimately they are denounced, denunciated and damned to the life (if they are lucky) or death (if they are luckier) of those unlucky enough to be labeled with that most hideous title, witch. While many share this sad fate, the kindly old grandmotherly “witch” from Grimm’s Hansel and Gretel stands out for the unfair denouncement she receives at the hands of society in being labeled a witch and being forced to suffer the consequences thereof, namely death by fire. My wish with this piece, though I have but little time to bring this wish to full fruition, is to set forth the innocence of Grimm’s witch with respect to the charge of maliciously cooking and eating children and show her to be as free from guilt as the innocents she purports to have born ill will.

Narration

[2] We know not anything about this witch. Her hopes, her fears, that which she enjoys and that which brings her tears all remain a mystery to us. We but know the overly biased and propagandistic viewpoint perpetuated unashamedly by the fairy tale teller. We know only that she lives in a home constructed of all the good foods that could possibly be imagined, she has, in the past, been known to consume children, and that she has threatened to do the same with Hansel and Gretel. But as for her character, the woman inside, she could have been anyone. We can’t know with certainty who she is. However, in Grimm’s writing there is still evidence enough to exonerate the witch, and show that she deserved not the fiery end to which she was condemned. While her actions are known well the world around, it is the motives driving her actions that tell the true story. While motives can only be inferred, there is evidence of those motives, which I will present, that prove conclusively that she is worthy of vindication.

Proposition

[3] The eating of children is a heinous offense which is not easily overlooked, but the witch of the tale cannot be held responsible without first accounting for her circumstances and motives. Whether it was result of the economic hard time, that she was aged far past her prime, or that she had a fantastic recipe featuring children and a hint of thyme, clearly, she was not guilty of any crime.

Proof

[4] Hard times bring out the savage inner beast in all of mankind. When food is scarce and the little that there is doesn’t come close to making it all the way around the table, the world, as with one common consent, divides up into two parties, the strong and the weak. The strong make a show of looking out for the weak, but in the end, the weak fall victim to the strong. It’s survival of the fittest. Lamentable though the fact may be, children are not the fittest and often do not survive. Hansel and Gretel had been abandoned to the mercy of the barbarian beasts of the forest by their parents. The children, having little chance of survival, were actually shown mercy by the old witch, for she adopted these young abandoned and gave them all they could eat. It matters not that she was just taking care that that fresh "meat" not go to waste. In such hungry times, she could hardly be blamed. In the end, the witch was merely doing that which was necessary for her to ensure her place among the fittest. She is far from the first to take to this course of action. The Jews during the Roman’s siege of Jerusalem resorted to a resembling course of action. The Irish were instigated to the same by Swift. If, then, the witch was but ensuring prolongation of her life, and in doing so following a previously established pattern for life in hard times, she must surely be acquitted of these supposed crimes.

[5] But if it was age that had driven the witch to be a bit touched in the head, she surely should not be shamed by facing the fate of a fiend blessed with all Earthly faculties. We dedicate great buildings and give much monetary support to institutions that immure the elderly so as to prevent them from being a danger to themselves and the community. If the witch was such a hazard to children, why was she left on her own? Clearly, then, the fault for the near death by baking of Hansel and Gretel lies directly with the witch’s own children. They faulted in allowing her to live alone and on her own at such an advanced age. Therefore, if unaware of what she’d done due to an aged lack of rational thought, the witch’s guilt ought clearly be set at naught.

[6] But the blame may reside in the fact that the witch owned a particularly tasty recipe for baked children. If this be true, then fault for her homicidally cannibalistic tendencies is surely not her own, but nature’s, for making her subject to her own appetites. While the capable cook is a tender young child’s best friend, a tender young child is a capable cook’s main course. A good dish is, in the best of times, hard to pass up. Passing up a great one, at times such as these, would be nigh unto impossible, especially if the main ingredient happened to wander to your house and take up residence with little to no persuasion.

Epilogue

[7] Clearly the Grimm’s witch of Hansel and Gretel fame has been undeservedly on the receiving end of much bad press. I have shown unequivocally that she was not at fault for her misdeeds. I have achieved what I set out to do and derive much pleasure in having done so.