I'm going to be ambitious and drag out my day into a few posts, probably one scene today and one tomorrow and maybe a third sometime. It depends on if I still find it interesting after a few thousand words. It'll be short to read, but long to write. It won't be polished, but I hope it'll be worth reading. Maybe I'll publish it someday, but I'm getting ahead of myself
Even now, chilled from the night's wind and finding it difficult to steady my snotty hand, I feel I should recount this. I'm not sure how we got out here, miles past town, past the first cornfield and past a dozen churches to the only spot in town that you couldn't see a church from. The warm day had melted into a cloudy night with thunder in the distance and no more street lights.
"I wish there were stars."
"Yeah," I said. "There's one."
She gave me a look, but I couldn't see any detail because there was no light. She might've raised an eyebrow or yawned. "Those are birds."
"Past them. Right there."
"Ooooh," she said dragging the syllable out then giggled.
We didn't know where we were. We had taken enough turns and gone out past the limits of our knowledge to somewhere where no one was around to help us. We'd have to trace our steps back or just hope to stumble upon the campus.
How did we get out here? Now that I think about it, today had started weird. I went outside.
I'd left the window open all night and it creaked when the wind rocked it against the brick. It was still warm enough for a fan. After dressing, I opened the door and let a draft cool me off and knock my papers to the crumb-top floor. I showered, watched TV, fiddled with my phone, played Solitaire then Spider Solitaire and it was nearly three.
I lay on the bed with my feet wrapped in a blanket, opened Franny and Zooey and continued from where I'd left off, after Buddy's letter. I got about twenty pages in.
"Knock, knock!" she said and thrust a drawing in my room. "You probably slept through Sunday brunch, so I brought you some bacon!" The drawing was of bacon. It had been flapping to wildly with a breeze for me to see that at first. She poked her head in next, sideways so her long brown hair fell onto my dresser. "I figured real bacon would be cold and mushy by now. So this is even better."
"It's great," I kept my finger on the page, hoping this would be a momentary interruption.
"Oh my," she said and looked around my 8" x 10" room. "My bathroom at home is bigger than this." I had a walkway between my bed and the dresser and desk and ended at the mini-fridge. Any parties in here would instantly turn into a mosh pit, which was why no parties were ever thrown here. Yeah, that was why. "How do you function in here? I mean, I figured since you practically live here, it'd at least be nice or spacious."
"It's a lot less messy than it looks. I just don't have the room to spread out the filth."
She walked all the way in and the wind shut my door behind her and she gave me a terrified look. "Do people just randomly shut your door?"
"Maybe they thought I was being too loud," I said, joking. But then it seemed she was serious. "It was just the wind. Or a ghost."
"I've never heard of Hoffman being haunted. Graham is." That was where she lived.
"I thought it was Jordan. Something about an old patient from the mental hospital."
"No, see, the rumor is that Graham used to be a mental hospital. Jordan isn't big enough. Graham is. And there's the penguin lady. Some say she was a nun, others say she had pictures of penguins all over her walls. But if you go up to her room at midnight, and put a piece of paper by the door, it'll get yanked under. It really does."
"Oh good." I shut my book and sat up. I laid it on the covers that my feet had been under.
She leaned her butt against my dress and slung her purse around to the front. "Lovely view," she said after glancing out my window to Pietenpol. The blinds were in the panes and they were all closed, blocking out the daylight, but the windows were up. Some half naked guy with a towel around his waist walked past a window.
"How much time did you spend on this drawing?" I said and examined the border around the bacon, the alternating shaded and blank strips, the bubble letters spelling out "BACON!" It was underlined too.
"I don't know. I was up on the fourth floor, just felt like working on it."
"It's good to see I'm more important than whomever you were with."
"Well, you know." She looked cute when she smiled. She squinted and I could see her discolored but straight teeth.
We spent the next two hours getting to know each other. That's not a euphemism. It was question after question from her. I'd answer, then she'd answer it too.
"People aren't all jerks!"
"They are," I said. I was sweating and it made me more nervous to think she smelled it in my tiny room. My deodorant was on the desk. She could hand it to me. It wouldn't be weird to put it on in front of her.
"No. I like to think that everyone has something interesting about them."
"They do. But we're talking about whether they're bastards or not."
She was still leaning against my dresser. I crossed my legs for the hundredth time, hiding my bare feet and toenails that needed clipping.
"Yes, but most of them try to--"
"No they don't."
"Oh c'mon!" She dipped her head when she said it.
"They don't care. They just do what they want. Take Ethics, you'll see."
"I'm taking it next semester."
"There's this guy, Peter Singer I think, that has an example of a kid drowning in a pond and you're wearing an expensive suit. Most people would jump in to save the kid, ruining their clothes."
"See! They're good."
"Yes, but then you go out to a fancy dinner and spend fifty bucks when you don't need to. You could send that money to a charity where it'll feed five kids for a week instead of you for one meal."
"No, but, no, just no!" She was smiling and squinting.
"He thinks you should give until that dollar you're donating hurts you more than it helps them. He's a utilitarian."
"But, I mean they're not trying to be mean people."
"That's true. But they are."
"They're not jerks though."
"Yes they are." I hugged my knees and wiggled my sweaty toes.
"Well, how do you define a jerk?"
"There's two jerks. The mean people that are obnoxious and malicious, then there are people that don't do the right thing."
"No, I mean, there are good people. A lot of people. Maybe not the majority."
"Maybe five percent."
"No!"
"That's still 350 million good people."
I crossed my legs again and stared out the window at Pietenpol. I could see a dead tree at the end of the building, the branches swaying with every gust.
"You think I could buy your book off you?"
"Maybe borrow it."
"But you're going to Wales next semester and I'm going the one after that. We'll never see each other after you graduate."
"Well," I said and thought about suggesting she could mail it to me. "I guess. Yeah, you can have it. I'll get it the next time I'm home."
"What time is it?"
I leaned over to the desk, across the crumb-top carpet for my phone.
"I keep looking at your microwave, but it doesn't tell me anything." It was unplugged.
"Five."
"That explains why I'm getting hungry. Are you?"
"Not really. I don't get food until about 8 most nights."
"Hmm. So you don't want to go to CUIFS?" (pronounced "kwifs" in the IPA).
"I never go there. It's been two years since my last visit."
"Oh come on!"
"Fine," I said, "But let me put on deodorant."
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Saturday, April 2, 2011
A prelude to a Goodbye
This blog was meant to sharpen my writing. I can't tell if it's working, but stories are connected scenes, not essays. This is just a series of essays. So I've rethought my goal for this, but I'm not sure I'll be able to change this. Instead of ranting and reviewing and praising and expressing my thoughts, I need to only report on five minutes of each day or five minutes of a day past. Five minutes is my limit because I won't be writing more than 2000 words and a typical scene of that length shouldn't be more than 20 minutes but for practice, I've limited it even more. When I go to my real writing, I should be able to ease up and have clear, vivid scenes. I can't just concern myself with style, economy and tone. I'm not saying I've mastered those, though I do a pretty good irritated narrator, but my focus should've been on the scene all along.
Last night, before I finished my "volunteer" work at Hilltop, playing Pitch with some eighty year old ladies, my stomach grumbled loud enough that one of the ladies asked if I was getting enough to eat. I explained that with my schedule, classes and work, I hadn't eaten yet, but would fix myself a big meal after I left.
That was a lie. I wouldn't fix myself any meal, but I did get some food. At GCS, the fast food service on campus, there were three guys standing near the counter. I fumbled with my wallet, pulled out my ID card and shoved it back in my pocket. I didn't want to waste a second ordering. I waited behind them until they said they weren't in line and were just waiting for their food. Then why the hell don't you stand elsewhere? Plenty of room! And there are chairs for you.
The place had plenty of empty seats, but it was busy. Or had been. Everyone except the three idiots that were in my way had their food in their bellies already. But they stayed at the tables and talked. And no one was yelling or anything, but the dozen different conversations mixed together and filled the place. It had wonderful acoustics, which is why they had local bands and theater groups play here some nights. But it meant that I couldn't hear too well. And being next to the kitchen, where the dish washer rattled and the deep fryer hissed and everything just seemed louder, I couldn't hear too well.
A dark blonde girl with plenty of curves and a soft belly that showed beneath her tight shirt was at the register. She leaned on the counter with her body parallel to the floor and her tits hanging down. Her head were on her folded arms, like they were a pillow. She saw me and smiled and sighed and I got the impression she wished I hadn't come in.
I glanced around the kitchen for TRC, but didn't see her. So I scribbled my name and order on the slip of paper and X-ed the "Takeout" box. As I wrote it, TRC leaned over the counter and cocked her head, trying to read my order upside down. "Cheeseburger and fries," and then she left for the stove. I slid it towards the curvy girl and fumbled in my pockets for my card. She lifted her head and straightened up and rolled her shoulders back. I handed her my card and glanced at the TV, highlights from the latest college game were on.
Uninterested, I turned back and there was TRC with a smile, leaning against the counter. She had a Coca-Cola sponsored cup in hand that she beat against the other hand. I assumed it was meant for me.
"Hey."
"Hey"
She's such a thin girl, and attractive but not terribly so. The soft girl next to her had more sex appeal because TRC's bones stuck out at the joints and whatever butt she had was hidden by baggy jeans and a long sweatshirt. And when she smiled, her round cheeks rose up and she squinted, though I was sure she wasn't oriental. She plopped the cup on the counter with the opening down.
"Thank god it's Friday," she said, holding my cup hostage. The ransom was one decent conversation, something I could never afford in public.
"Friday, Friday," the curvy girl sang.
"Oh god." She turned to me, who was confused about the singing and reaction. "Someone printed these papers with her on it and all the lyrics and they wallpapered our door."
I chuckled a little. "Oh?"
"We deserved it. Last week, while we were in class we had some Bieber songs blasting through the walls."
"Glad you're not my neighbors," said the curvy girl.
"We get into these wars all the time," TRC explained to me. "They had this picture of Bieber on the door across the hall from ours, and you can't just take things off of people's doors, right? So every time we left the room, we'd have to see it."
"I think he's cute."
"This is why we don't hang out more."
She scooted the cup towards me. Another customer came behind me and I shifted down so I was in front of the curvy girl and not TRC. I gave her a nod and she gave me the chipmunk smile, showing the gaps between her teeth.
I filled my cup at the soda fountain and sat, glancing from the TV to the counter. Every time she was staring at me. When my order was up, a stout black boy, who I had never had contact with outside of GCS but who knew my name, walked it to the counter and handed it off to her.
"It's been a pleasure serving you," she said before letting me have it. "It's nice to see you're as verbose as always."
I tried to make some joke about how I'll keep it down next time, but it was so loud in the place, she didn't hear me. Or maybe it was so trite that she didn't care to respond.
-Cantwhistle
P.S. This is what I'm going to try to do. It won't be a story, but it'll be a recap of an event from my day that might be a part of a story. Just one scene, five minutes.
Last night, before I finished my "volunteer" work at Hilltop, playing Pitch with some eighty year old ladies, my stomach grumbled loud enough that one of the ladies asked if I was getting enough to eat. I explained that with my schedule, classes and work, I hadn't eaten yet, but would fix myself a big meal after I left.
That was a lie. I wouldn't fix myself any meal, but I did get some food. At GCS, the fast food service on campus, there were three guys standing near the counter. I fumbled with my wallet, pulled out my ID card and shoved it back in my pocket. I didn't want to waste a second ordering. I waited behind them until they said they weren't in line and were just waiting for their food. Then why the hell don't you stand elsewhere? Plenty of room! And there are chairs for you.
The place had plenty of empty seats, but it was busy. Or had been. Everyone except the three idiots that were in my way had their food in their bellies already. But they stayed at the tables and talked. And no one was yelling or anything, but the dozen different conversations mixed together and filled the place. It had wonderful acoustics, which is why they had local bands and theater groups play here some nights. But it meant that I couldn't hear too well. And being next to the kitchen, where the dish washer rattled and the deep fryer hissed and everything just seemed louder, I couldn't hear too well.
A dark blonde girl with plenty of curves and a soft belly that showed beneath her tight shirt was at the register. She leaned on the counter with her body parallel to the floor and her tits hanging down. Her head were on her folded arms, like they were a pillow. She saw me and smiled and sighed and I got the impression she wished I hadn't come in.
I glanced around the kitchen for TRC, but didn't see her. So I scribbled my name and order on the slip of paper and X-ed the "Takeout" box. As I wrote it, TRC leaned over the counter and cocked her head, trying to read my order upside down. "Cheeseburger and fries," and then she left for the stove. I slid it towards the curvy girl and fumbled in my pockets for my card. She lifted her head and straightened up and rolled her shoulders back. I handed her my card and glanced at the TV, highlights from the latest college game were on.
Uninterested, I turned back and there was TRC with a smile, leaning against the counter. She had a Coca-Cola sponsored cup in hand that she beat against the other hand. I assumed it was meant for me.
"Hey."
"Hey"
She's such a thin girl, and attractive but not terribly so. The soft girl next to her had more sex appeal because TRC's bones stuck out at the joints and whatever butt she had was hidden by baggy jeans and a long sweatshirt. And when she smiled, her round cheeks rose up and she squinted, though I was sure she wasn't oriental. She plopped the cup on the counter with the opening down.
"Thank god it's Friday," she said, holding my cup hostage. The ransom was one decent conversation, something I could never afford in public.
"Friday, Friday," the curvy girl sang.
"Oh god." She turned to me, who was confused about the singing and reaction. "Someone printed these papers with her on it and all the lyrics and they wallpapered our door."
I chuckled a little. "Oh?"
"We deserved it. Last week, while we were in class we had some Bieber songs blasting through the walls."
"Glad you're not my neighbors," said the curvy girl.
"We get into these wars all the time," TRC explained to me. "They had this picture of Bieber on the door across the hall from ours, and you can't just take things off of people's doors, right? So every time we left the room, we'd have to see it."
"I think he's cute."
"This is why we don't hang out more."
She scooted the cup towards me. Another customer came behind me and I shifted down so I was in front of the curvy girl and not TRC. I gave her a nod and she gave me the chipmunk smile, showing the gaps between her teeth.
I filled my cup at the soda fountain and sat, glancing from the TV to the counter. Every time she was staring at me. When my order was up, a stout black boy, who I had never had contact with outside of GCS but who knew my name, walked it to the counter and handed it off to her.
"It's been a pleasure serving you," she said before letting me have it. "It's nice to see you're as verbose as always."
I tried to make some joke about how I'll keep it down next time, but it was so loud in the place, she didn't hear me. Or maybe it was so trite that she didn't care to respond.
-Cantwhistle
P.S. This is what I'm going to try to do. It won't be a story, but it'll be a recap of an event from my day that might be a part of a story. Just one scene, five minutes.
Monday, March 21, 2011
My Own Sunrise
Yeah, I missed the sunrise this morning. I was up at about 5:40, because my internal clock and neurotic state of mind always gets me up early. But I looked at the weather and it said cloudy and foggy. And if you just think for a second about watching a heavily obscured sunrise, it doesn't sound like a good idea. That's what I thought in my tired state of mind and turned off the alarm and went back to bed. But I know better than that. A sunrise has nothing to do with the sun. That's just pretty landscape. I'll share this with you since it's no good and I don't feel like anyone'll copy it. But if you do without giving me credit, I'll find you.
"It was our last night on the mountain. From the latrine nearest our campsite, we could look down through the trees and across the desert and see speckled lights from the home base and farther past that a great twinkling from the houses and car lots in Cimarron. It was kind of like a Monet painting in a video our Lit teacher had showed the class to culture us. A thousand separate lights coming together for something.
The sun had set, dark was near and we decided to get up at four tomorrow morning to watch the sunrise before the final trek. Mr. O’Neal set his watch and all of us Scouts set the alarms on the phones we weren’t supposed to have. No one wanted to miss it. But when we woke up, it was too dark to see any stars or the moon.
We climbed up the ridge we could see the town from and waited for the clouds to clear off the quiet mountain. We all sat for a while with our camera in our laps. No one said much. A few yawns. Tyler sneezed because he was still sick. Zach slapped the bugs off his legs. And the whole damned place was silent otherwise. No crickets or big-eared deer rustling in the forest. There was no wind either. Just the sound of disappointment as Tony and Andrew headed back to their sleeping bags for a few extra hours of sleep.
It was half past five. The sun would be up soon. We could identify the trees around us without our flashlights. Poplars of some sort. I wasn’t a greenery expert. I sat on my rock and prayed the clouds away. Aled and David headed farther up the ridge to the peak. It was another half mile trek and I didn’t feel like going. Zach and Tyler did and so the adults did too.
I stayed on that ridge until they came down, cursing the early morning and lack of light and that the trip was almost over and Zach‘s stupid giggle that echoed down the mountain. I grabbed some pebbles and chucked them at a tree, hitting a branch instead of the trunk. When I was out of pebbles, I scooped more until the dirt around me had only softball-sized rocks. I wasn’t about to hurl those at anything.
I guess I was pouting that I hadn’t seen the sunrise. It would’ve been great. You always hear how it’s a daily miracle and real pretty and relaxing and all that. Back in Springfield, it’s all ruined by the ambient light from Super Wal-Mart and car dealerships. So even if I got up in time to watch it over the cornfield, it wouldn’t be anything special. I’d never get a chance to see it from the mountains now. This was my last trip with Scouts and I hadn’t seen a good sunrise. I was either up working on breakfast or packing and didn’t enjoy it or I was sleeping.
Alone, silently sulking, too tired to direct my thinking. A bird chirped. Just one short note. I couldn’t pick out where it had come from until another came. There were a few more from all around then some bugs joined in. It echoed along the ridge. The birds jammed to their own tunes, and the insects hummed along trying to keep a constant rhythm and there were a lot of breaks to breathe or turn the page of their sheet music or write down whatever brilliant melodies they had just belted out, and another would begin and the others would join in and the whole place got louder until it sounded like day time.
Everything was still shadows and outlines, but I guess I got my sunrise.
David and Zach came down in the middle of the concert, yakking and running the last slope so rocks slid over my ridge. David said I needed to see this. I tried to refuse politely so they’d leave me alone, but they insisted I come and I tried to explain why I wanted to sit there. They told me I was acting depressed and only by joining in would I get my therapy. So I just sat there and didn’t say anything until David said “You’re missing out” and climbed back up."
So that's my made up experience at Philmont, the last trip before I was officially done with scouts. And I could've had something similar today but I didn't think about it. I even wrote that last night.
The real experience was that I saw the sunset and we all took pictures and thought it was so pretty and I said it looked like a nuke went off. Then everyone went to the top to take pictures and have the adults take pictures of the scouts with the sun in the background and all the sons and dads went except me because I was angry with my dad. But I got to sit there and listen to the forest wake up and that was special for me. Not some nuke-ish light on the horizon.
-Cantwhistle
P.S. I might put up another post later today since this wasn't one of my ideas and if I don't double-time it I'm sure I'll forget about that list in lieu of current events.
"It was our last night on the mountain. From the latrine nearest our campsite, we could look down through the trees and across the desert and see speckled lights from the home base and farther past that a great twinkling from the houses and car lots in Cimarron. It was kind of like a Monet painting in a video our Lit teacher had showed the class to culture us. A thousand separate lights coming together for something.
The sun had set, dark was near and we decided to get up at four tomorrow morning to watch the sunrise before the final trek. Mr. O’Neal set his watch and all of us Scouts set the alarms on the phones we weren’t supposed to have. No one wanted to miss it. But when we woke up, it was too dark to see any stars or the moon.
We climbed up the ridge we could see the town from and waited for the clouds to clear off the quiet mountain. We all sat for a while with our camera in our laps. No one said much. A few yawns. Tyler sneezed because he was still sick. Zach slapped the bugs off his legs. And the whole damned place was silent otherwise. No crickets or big-eared deer rustling in the forest. There was no wind either. Just the sound of disappointment as Tony and Andrew headed back to their sleeping bags for a few extra hours of sleep.
It was half past five. The sun would be up soon. We could identify the trees around us without our flashlights. Poplars of some sort. I wasn’t a greenery expert. I sat on my rock and prayed the clouds away. Aled and David headed farther up the ridge to the peak. It was another half mile trek and I didn’t feel like going. Zach and Tyler did and so the adults did too.
I stayed on that ridge until they came down, cursing the early morning and lack of light and that the trip was almost over and Zach‘s stupid giggle that echoed down the mountain. I grabbed some pebbles and chucked them at a tree, hitting a branch instead of the trunk. When I was out of pebbles, I scooped more until the dirt around me had only softball-sized rocks. I wasn’t about to hurl those at anything.
I guess I was pouting that I hadn’t seen the sunrise. It would’ve been great. You always hear how it’s a daily miracle and real pretty and relaxing and all that. Back in Springfield, it’s all ruined by the ambient light from Super Wal-Mart and car dealerships. So even if I got up in time to watch it over the cornfield, it wouldn’t be anything special. I’d never get a chance to see it from the mountains now. This was my last trip with Scouts and I hadn’t seen a good sunrise. I was either up working on breakfast or packing and didn’t enjoy it or I was sleeping.
Alone, silently sulking, too tired to direct my thinking. A bird chirped. Just one short note. I couldn’t pick out where it had come from until another came. There were a few more from all around then some bugs joined in. It echoed along the ridge. The birds jammed to their own tunes, and the insects hummed along trying to keep a constant rhythm and there were a lot of breaks to breathe or turn the page of their sheet music or write down whatever brilliant melodies they had just belted out, and another would begin and the others would join in and the whole place got louder until it sounded like day time.
Everything was still shadows and outlines, but I guess I got my sunrise.
David and Zach came down in the middle of the concert, yakking and running the last slope so rocks slid over my ridge. David said I needed to see this. I tried to refuse politely so they’d leave me alone, but they insisted I come and I tried to explain why I wanted to sit there. They told me I was acting depressed and only by joining in would I get my therapy. So I just sat there and didn’t say anything until David said “You’re missing out” and climbed back up."
So that's my made up experience at Philmont, the last trip before I was officially done with scouts. And I could've had something similar today but I didn't think about it. I even wrote that last night.
The real experience was that I saw the sunset and we all took pictures and thought it was so pretty and I said it looked like a nuke went off. Then everyone went to the top to take pictures and have the adults take pictures of the scouts with the sun in the background and all the sons and dads went except me because I was angry with my dad. But I got to sit there and listen to the forest wake up and that was special for me. Not some nuke-ish light on the horizon.
-Cantwhistle
P.S. I might put up another post later today since this wasn't one of my ideas and if I don't double-time it I'm sure I'll forget about that list in lieu of current events.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Spring Break
Over spring break, I didn't have a working laptop and I wasn't about to pack up my desktop (which is what I'm usually on). My laptop worked for the first day (Saturday) but the screen went black when I was checking my email and no amount of ctrl alt deleting, restarting or swearing would fix it. It was still on and humming and I could see something on the screen but it might've just been burned into or something. I don't understand computer screens a whole lot, but I know our work computer has the icons burned into the screen so they always appear even over the current program but they're faded. And that's sort of what this looked like. I have a lot of stories (all started but few finished) that I want to get somehow so I think I'll try some trickery with hooking the RGB cable from my desktop to the laptop. The computer might be completely broken though. I really only need it to work for two days (I think that'll be enough time to transfer everything) but if it doesn't, it's no great loss. Most of the better stories I have in my vault (my memory) and only two or three were ever written to any great detail that I'd like to have them back. Those weren't good, but they took a lot of time. And I have one short story that I finished that I could enter in the school contest. It's not great, it's not even good. It's cute, it's amateur, a nice try, entertaining but it doesn't do a whole lot of characterization and the plot's a bit thin. I need to caricaturize the antagonist more and add some cuteness to the pup and some personality trait to the vet. It was about this woman coming to drop off her dog at a vet for euthanasia because he got big and barked too much. And I, as the narrator, am schlepping for the vet in the backroom declawing a cat and dealing with this bitchy woman. I think it's kind of like when people write about the death of a family member. Readers are so sympathetic that they can't tell you that technically the writing isn't that special.
But that's all of the blog entry I'm going to do. I want to get up early tomorrow before the sunrise to try and relax a little. My nerves are getting to me. I slept in 7 of the 10 days of break (the three being today, yesterday and Friday when my sister, her dogs and her boyfriend/new fiance were in town) but getting to bed at night was awful. I probably got seven hours of sleep each night I slept in. I'd go to bed early, like midnight or one but I wouldn't be able to sleep until 3 or 4. The only reason I stay up late is nerves like that.
Shit, I guess I added a bit more to the entry. But the rest will just be my next few blog ideas that I wanted to do over break. They're not in any order. If they were, I'd've numbered them.
-Running story (I need a team and a whiteboard like Dr. House to see if I actually like the idea)
-"Scholarly" writing
-Moby Dick
-Dragon Age 2 review
-Shaving
-Memory and recent problems with it
-Charlie Brown humor vs Will Ferrel Humor
-Losing weight
-My crush on my German professors and certain fantasies that I've had because of it (They're about as adult as fantasizing about giving her a high five)
-Cantwhistle
P.S. Anyone unfortunate enough to read this should use double contractions. (I'd've is my most common one. I think it's why people mistake "I would have" contracted as "I would've" as "I would of" when writing.)
But that's all of the blog entry I'm going to do. I want to get up early tomorrow before the sunrise to try and relax a little. My nerves are getting to me. I slept in 7 of the 10 days of break (the three being today, yesterday and Friday when my sister, her dogs and her boyfriend/new fiance were in town) but getting to bed at night was awful. I probably got seven hours of sleep each night I slept in. I'd go to bed early, like midnight or one but I wouldn't be able to sleep until 3 or 4. The only reason I stay up late is nerves like that.
Shit, I guess I added a bit more to the entry. But the rest will just be my next few blog ideas that I wanted to do over break. They're not in any order. If they were, I'd've numbered them.
-Running story (I need a team and a whiteboard like Dr. House to see if I actually like the idea)
-"Scholarly" writing
-Moby Dick
-Dragon Age 2 review
-Shaving
-Memory and recent problems with it
-Charlie Brown humor vs Will Ferrel Humor
-Losing weight
-My crush on my German professors and certain fantasies that I've had because of it (They're about as adult as fantasizing about giving her a high five)
-Cantwhistle
P.S. Anyone unfortunate enough to read this should use double contractions. (I'd've is my most common one. I think it's why people mistake "I would have" contracted as "I would've" as "I would of" when writing.)
Friday, February 25, 2011
Translating American Poems
Today I have a German test and before it, our professor collects our work books where we do a lot of the homework for practice. But I've never seen grades on them, or her looking through, and she hands them back the moment we finish the test. There's probably 20 pages per chapter and with about 15 of us, that's 300 pages! So I've been toying with this idea of how to confirm if she does. I thought about writing a love poem or saying something flirty in it, because that would both admit to her my very real crush on her and get some sort of reaction, but then I thought it might be creepy or just inappropriate. I mean, we have a good student-professor relationship as is, and I'm not really in love with her so I'd rather keep that for now. But then I thought I'd do something to pique her literary interest, like writing a poem. But I'm not a poet, so that would be option Z. I could copy some famous poem into it and that might get her attention, but maybe she'd only silently smile without any sort of comment and that wouldn't help my goal. Then my friend suggested I write a poem in German. It was a good thought, one I wish I had, but my German isn't good enough to confidently ask if they speak English so I can't really express anything with poetic diction.
UPDATE: Nothing. I figured I'd be able to tell even if she didn't write something, but I just got her usual smile which could win awards, but it didn't tell me that she'd read it or anything. I'll assume she didn't.
-Cantwhistle
So what I did was translate a few short parts of famous poems into German.
Emily Dickenson has a poem:
I'm Nobody
Who are you?
Are you--Nobody--too?
There's a bit more to it but I like that part.
Auf Deutsch:
Ich bin Niemand.
Wer bist du?
Bist du--Niemand--auch?
It doesn't have the same charm in German, but it's alright.
The second was by Robert Frost:
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.
That's the end of the poem (I did these from memory so forgive that they're incomplete) Auf Deutsch:
Die Walder sind schon, dunkel und tief,
Aber ich muss Versprechen halten
Und Meilen fahren vor ich schlafe.
Und Meilen fahren vor ich schlafe.
So that one didn't turn out real well, but I actually like the first line of it. It sounds very similar (an extra syllable, but I think the rhythm is kept. I'm not very good about rhythm though so maybe not) and retains the same meaning. But I scrawled them in big blue sharpie across sections we didn't do, so she should see them and hopefully because it's in German, she'll scribble "Sehr Gut!" on it or correct it or something. I'm sure others have translated it better than I have and she's certain to have heard at least one of them.
UPDATE: Nothing. I figured I'd be able to tell even if she didn't write something, but I just got her usual smile which could win awards, but it didn't tell me that she'd read it or anything. I'll assume she didn't.
-Cantwhistle
So what I did was translate a few short parts of famous poems into German.
Emily Dickenson has a poem:
I'm Nobody
Who are you?
Are you--Nobody--too?
There's a bit more to it but I like that part.
Auf Deutsch:
Ich bin Niemand.
Wer bist du?
Bist du--Niemand--auch?
It doesn't have the same charm in German, but it's alright.
The second was by Robert Frost:
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.
That's the end of the poem (I did these from memory so forgive that they're incomplete) Auf Deutsch:
Die Walder sind schon, dunkel und tief,
Aber ich muss Versprechen halten
Und Meilen fahren vor ich schlafe.
Und Meilen fahren vor ich schlafe.
So that one didn't turn out real well, but I actually like the first line of it. It sounds very similar (an extra syllable, but I think the rhythm is kept. I'm not very good about rhythm though so maybe not) and retains the same meaning. But I scrawled them in big blue sharpie across sections we didn't do, so she should see them and hopefully because it's in German, she'll scribble "Sehr Gut!" on it or correct it or something. I'm sure others have translated it better than I have and she's certain to have heard at least one of them.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Arguments
If you don't know what an argument is, or think you know but have never taken a logic or philosophy class, watch this Monty Python video. Maybe it'll just be a review that you can laugh at, maybe you'll only take from it that these folks are weird or that they have some funny things outside of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, but whatever. Watch it:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9WVuXQLNpjo&feature=related
To summarize, an argument is a collected set of premises aimed at proving or supporting a conclusion. For example, this guy is stupid (conclusion). Today I had someone confuse an argument with a debate and either way he would've lost because he had only a rudimentary understand of the subject.
It's not a very strong argument, but it's a quick example. I'll explain it more here.
In German we were learning the difference between wissen and kennen. Both mean "to know" but kennen is used with direct objects and wissen with clauses or pronouns, adverbs or negation. The sentence was ,,Das weiB ich nicht" (fun trivia, in German punctuation, quotes are done with two comma looking things and then backwards quotes usually used to start a quote in English). And we had to circle weiB and underline what it was modifying. Negation, adverb, pronoun were our choices since there is no other clause. He wanted to underline just nicht for the negation. Then I explained to him that it should also be das because that was a pronoun (meaning that). So what does he do? He underlines ich nicht. I said, "No, no, no. Ich is the subject. Otherwise it would say 'That doesn't know me,' which wouldn't make sense in the context."
"Yeah, but, it's like negation, look, see? Nicht" then he did a stupid laugh to disarm me.
I wasn't even in my "You're an idiot, just listen to me" mood. I was legitimately trying to help him understand. I pointed to other sentences and said, "Yes, it's negation but it also has a pronoun. WeiB is modifying both," which might've been wrong but it was DEFINITELY modifying das. So he gives in and is like "Whatever, let's just move on."
Then we're writing a trivia questions for Illinois (in German), and I suggested "Did you know that Lincoln wasn't born there?" which in German vaguely looks like this ,,WeiBt du, Lincoln ist nicht in Illinois geboren?" But he wanted to say ,,WeiBt du, Lincoln war nicht in Illinois geboren?" I don't think anyone cares enough to go into the grammar of this, but war is used for things like "I was tired," or "I was there." Ist...ge- is used to say "I have run a mile," but more commonly would be translated to "I ran a mile." Both are past tense, but ist (more often haben) is required to say "I have..." so that people know you're talking about something you did in the past and is used in conversation. Ist is used for condition changes like birth or death, location changes, or some other things I forget. I only explain this because that was how I explained it to him. I gave him a refresher course on past tense and how war wasn't used with a ge-verb because it'd be like in English saying, "I was drove to the mall." It sounds ridiculous.
But here's his response. "Sure, let's go with it," fine, at least he's submitting to my superior knowledge. Then he adds "I don't wanna argue."
Really? You have to add that so I know that you don't agree but you're too stupid to explain your point which isn't a point at all? Everyone in that class is an A-student unless they don't do the daily work or are just god awful at tests and oral exams or don't show up. It's not a difficult class, but let's differentiate between my A and his. I get A's because I get 99/100 on tests and I only lose a point because I mixed up my bin and habe for past tense, or I forgot an obscure word in German like Abschluss. He gets A's because he's a suck-up and always shows up to class and always drops by the professor's office with little questions like "What's this word?" and it looks like he's trying hard, but he doesn't remember the answer for more than a class period.
But he's not the only one who "doesn't wanna argue." People like to argue politics, and religion, and love and court cases. They like the big topics, giant overarching truths, or something controversial that makes them feel important even if they have shitty arguments. And when you corner them with an intelligent argument, they'll either spout off the rhetoric they heard someone else say, or they'll say "That's your opinion." GOD I FUCKING HATE THAT! Caps can not properly express my disdain for it. I nearly threw a shoe at the window just thinking about how people say it.
We live in a world where opinions "matter." Not to anyone else, not to reality, but to ourselves. They make us feel good inside. They raise our self-esteem. Forget that we're completely incompetent and ignorant. We have good self-esteem, so, yeah, hooray. No one likes to think that maybe they're wrong and maybe there is a right answer or a few good answers, and a shitton of bad ones. If you read The Gorgias by Plato, you'll understand. Rhetoric, as he uses it, means tricking people into believing you over the experts because you speak well. It doesn't matter that you don't know better than the experts.
Here's another example of people not wanting to argue because they have no intelligence. I was talking to a friend and I asked her if she'd ever get the bridge of her nose pierced or maybe the webbing between her thumb and forefinger. She, being a good Christian and very conservative except when it comes to sex, said "Ew! Gross!" as expected. I then asked, why that was gross when ear piercings aren't. I was legitimately interested in the subject and hoped she could provide some insight like "Earrings draw people's eyes to your face whereas a nose piercing draws it to just the nose," but instead she just kind of waved off the subject and said "Certainly people can overdo it, but I think one earring in each ear is pretty."
"No, it's not. Men that I know don't really likes earrings and you're not a lesbian so who are earrings supposed to attract?"
"I didn't say they were for attracting people. They're just pretty."
"But pretty implies attractive. The point of pretty is to attract someone. Women look pretty to attract men. Cars are painted pretty to attract buyers."
"Whatever. I just like them."
"But why?"
She doesn't have an answer for any of this and tries to derail me from the conversation. Then she started saying "Okkkkk!" or "Alright," "Mhmm," "Sure," etc. So I called her out on it, I told her she was an obstinate child with no mind of her own, hoping to invoke a little passion so maybe she'd continue the discussion. It definitely aroused her anger, but instead of providing some premise, she said "It's a dumb topic and I don't really care."
A lot of you might agree. This is a dumb topic. It's certainly small, but how else do you argue something like having a mind of your own than through examples and generally examples are small. You think it proves that you have original or fresh thoughts by spouting off something about love and God and all this other stuff that you've been fed since you were two weeks old? I don't even disagree about God or love. I think there's love, but I try to have a fresh take on it other than just the bullshit quotes you get from sappy chick flicks that are about as realistic as fake boobs. But it's a lot easier to point to these habits people develop as a result of environmental conditioning than it is to sift through their grand theories on things they know nothing about. So yes, unless you get your ears pierced for a legitimate reason that you can explain to me that you have thought about and considered, I'm going to think you are just a product of your environment and another drone.
That's a bit harsh since most girls get their ears pierced as a child when they can't understand the effects of environment, and men seem to have better reasons for piercing their ears (e.g. they're gay and some gay men like ear piercings, women that the man is attracted to are easily distracted by shiny things), but women and girls, and I don't mean this as a sexist men are better than women thing, I mean this as an honest observation, women get their ears pierced for no reason and it's stupid and they should stop.
I didn't have anywhere to stick this, but I like saying it "Opinions are what the uneducated call their shitty arguments."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9WVuXQLNpjo&feature=related
To summarize, an argument is a collected set of premises aimed at proving or supporting a conclusion. For example, this guy is stupid (conclusion). Today I had someone confuse an argument with a debate and either way he would've lost because he had only a rudimentary understand of the subject.
It's not a very strong argument, but it's a quick example. I'll explain it more here.
In German we were learning the difference between wissen and kennen. Both mean "to know" but kennen is used with direct objects and wissen with clauses or pronouns, adverbs or negation. The sentence was ,,Das weiB ich nicht" (fun trivia, in German punctuation, quotes are done with two comma looking things and then backwards quotes usually used to start a quote in English). And we had to circle weiB and underline what it was modifying. Negation, adverb, pronoun were our choices since there is no other clause. He wanted to underline just nicht for the negation. Then I explained to him that it should also be das because that was a pronoun (meaning that). So what does he do? He underlines ich nicht. I said, "No, no, no. Ich is the subject. Otherwise it would say 'That doesn't know me,' which wouldn't make sense in the context."
"Yeah, but, it's like negation, look, see? Nicht" then he did a stupid laugh to disarm me.
I wasn't even in my "You're an idiot, just listen to me" mood. I was legitimately trying to help him understand. I pointed to other sentences and said, "Yes, it's negation but it also has a pronoun. WeiB is modifying both," which might've been wrong but it was DEFINITELY modifying das. So he gives in and is like "Whatever, let's just move on."
Then we're writing a trivia questions for Illinois (in German), and I suggested "Did you know that Lincoln wasn't born there?" which in German vaguely looks like this ,,WeiBt du, Lincoln ist nicht in Illinois geboren?" But he wanted to say ,,WeiBt du, Lincoln war nicht in Illinois geboren?" I don't think anyone cares enough to go into the grammar of this, but war is used for things like "I was tired," or "I was there." Ist...ge- is used to say "I have run a mile," but more commonly would be translated to "I ran a mile." Both are past tense, but ist (more often haben) is required to say "I have..." so that people know you're talking about something you did in the past and is used in conversation. Ist is used for condition changes like birth or death, location changes, or some other things I forget. I only explain this because that was how I explained it to him. I gave him a refresher course on past tense and how war wasn't used with a ge-verb because it'd be like in English saying, "I was drove to the mall." It sounds ridiculous.
But here's his response. "Sure, let's go with it," fine, at least he's submitting to my superior knowledge. Then he adds "I don't wanna argue."
Really? You have to add that so I know that you don't agree but you're too stupid to explain your point which isn't a point at all? Everyone in that class is an A-student unless they don't do the daily work or are just god awful at tests and oral exams or don't show up. It's not a difficult class, but let's differentiate between my A and his. I get A's because I get 99/100 on tests and I only lose a point because I mixed up my bin and habe for past tense, or I forgot an obscure word in German like Abschluss. He gets A's because he's a suck-up and always shows up to class and always drops by the professor's office with little questions like "What's this word?" and it looks like he's trying hard, but he doesn't remember the answer for more than a class period.
But he's not the only one who "doesn't wanna argue." People like to argue politics, and religion, and love and court cases. They like the big topics, giant overarching truths, or something controversial that makes them feel important even if they have shitty arguments. And when you corner them with an intelligent argument, they'll either spout off the rhetoric they heard someone else say, or they'll say "That's your opinion." GOD I FUCKING HATE THAT! Caps can not properly express my disdain for it. I nearly threw a shoe at the window just thinking about how people say it.
We live in a world where opinions "matter." Not to anyone else, not to reality, but to ourselves. They make us feel good inside. They raise our self-esteem. Forget that we're completely incompetent and ignorant. We have good self-esteem, so, yeah, hooray. No one likes to think that maybe they're wrong and maybe there is a right answer or a few good answers, and a shitton of bad ones. If you read The Gorgias by Plato, you'll understand. Rhetoric, as he uses it, means tricking people into believing you over the experts because you speak well. It doesn't matter that you don't know better than the experts.
Here's another example of people not wanting to argue because they have no intelligence. I was talking to a friend and I asked her if she'd ever get the bridge of her nose pierced or maybe the webbing between her thumb and forefinger. She, being a good Christian and very conservative except when it comes to sex, said "Ew! Gross!" as expected. I then asked, why that was gross when ear piercings aren't. I was legitimately interested in the subject and hoped she could provide some insight like "Earrings draw people's eyes to your face whereas a nose piercing draws it to just the nose," but instead she just kind of waved off the subject and said "Certainly people can overdo it, but I think one earring in each ear is pretty."
"No, it's not. Men that I know don't really likes earrings and you're not a lesbian so who are earrings supposed to attract?"
"I didn't say they were for attracting people. They're just pretty."
"But pretty implies attractive. The point of pretty is to attract someone. Women look pretty to attract men. Cars are painted pretty to attract buyers."
"Whatever. I just like them."
"But why?"
She doesn't have an answer for any of this and tries to derail me from the conversation. Then she started saying "Okkkkk!" or "Alright," "Mhmm," "Sure," etc. So I called her out on it, I told her she was an obstinate child with no mind of her own, hoping to invoke a little passion so maybe she'd continue the discussion. It definitely aroused her anger, but instead of providing some premise, she said "It's a dumb topic and I don't really care."
A lot of you might agree. This is a dumb topic. It's certainly small, but how else do you argue something like having a mind of your own than through examples and generally examples are small. You think it proves that you have original or fresh thoughts by spouting off something about love and God and all this other stuff that you've been fed since you were two weeks old? I don't even disagree about God or love. I think there's love, but I try to have a fresh take on it other than just the bullshit quotes you get from sappy chick flicks that are about as realistic as fake boobs. But it's a lot easier to point to these habits people develop as a result of environmental conditioning than it is to sift through their grand theories on things they know nothing about. So yes, unless you get your ears pierced for a legitimate reason that you can explain to me that you have thought about and considered, I'm going to think you are just a product of your environment and another drone.
That's a bit harsh since most girls get their ears pierced as a child when they can't understand the effects of environment, and men seem to have better reasons for piercing their ears (e.g. they're gay and some gay men like ear piercings, women that the man is attracted to are easily distracted by shiny things), but women and girls, and I don't mean this as a sexist men are better than women thing, I mean this as an honest observation, women get their ears pierced for no reason and it's stupid and they should stop.
I didn't have anywhere to stick this, but I like saying it "Opinions are what the uneducated call their shitty arguments."
Friday, February 4, 2011
Thomas Wolfe is why we're not any worse than you
Vast majority of this post was deleted for the sake of coherency. It's okay to regret your midnight or later mistakes.
Literature, more so present day, uses very little melodrama. Hollywood loves this crap. Many of you love this crap. I'm sorry, but it's crap. Sometimes it's so well done that it's believable when you're watching for entertainment, but upon examining it, putting yourself in that position, you'll probably realize "Uh...why the fuck are you crying, (wo)man?!" There are exceptions to this. There are times when crying and other heart-jerking scenes are appropriate. I'll list the ones I know, but there are probably a few more. Death of someone close to the narrator, rape or some other traumatic event, and failure to achieve something the character worked really hard for, and children.
Children (I'd go with pre-puberty as a general rule) tug on our heart strings for some psychological reason. Probably because we've all been there and children cry a lot easier than we do and when we see children cry, we want to cry. We've had similar experiences as these children, some difficult or possibly trivial event that shattered our happy world.
The best example in Literature that I've found is Thomas Wolfe's "The Lost Boy." Content-wise, it might be the greatest story. Simple, relateable but still sort of novel, and vivid characters. It's about Thomas Wolfe (he uses another name for his character in the story but I can't remember the name) and how he lost his brother, Grover, when he was three or four years old. He doesn't remember his brother, so he asks his dad for a story about him (which is told through first-person through Grover's eyes), then his mom for a story about him, then his sister. Dad tells a story where he stood up for his 12 year-old son who was always acting like an adult but came to tears because of some mean shopkeepers. Then his mom brags about how mature he was and how he could talk to adults like an adult. Thomas Wolfe was the most successful of the family, but if 12 year old Grover hadn't died, he would've been twice the man of Thomas Wolfe. His sister tells him about how her little brother always acted like the older one and he would treat her to a meal and ice cream every now and then and it was so special, but then at the end of one, he threw it all up and a few days later died. And none of this is too hard to handle for a cynic like me. It's touching and it's well-done and realistic, but it's not enough to make me cry. Then it goes to present day, in the mid 1930's, where Thomas Wolfe is going back to the home Grover died in and he's asking the lady who lives there now to see it and he reminisces about it and it's implied that he's sort of lost himself. Again, it's not too much. But the tears are definitely coming. The final scene, about a page long, is the one memory Thomas Wolfe digs up of Grover. Thomas Wolfe is three or so. Grover is eleven.
The years dropped off like fallen leaves: the face came back again-the soft dark oval, the dark eyes, the soft brown berry on the neck, the raven hair, all bending down, approaching-the whole appearing to him ghost-wise, intent and instant.
"Now say it-- Grover!"
"Gova."
"No-- not Gova-- Grover! ... Say it!"
"Gova."
"Ah-h-- you didn't say it. You said Gova. Grover-now say it!"
"Gova."
"Look, I tell you what I'll do if you say it right. Would you like to go down to King's Highway? Would you like Grover to set you up? All right, then. If you say Grover and say it right, I'll take you to King's Highway and set you up to ice cream. Now say it right! Grover!"
"Gova."
"Ah-h, you-u. You're the craziest little old boy I ever did see. Can't you even say Grover?"
"Gova."
"Ah-h, you-u. Old Tongue-Tie, that's what you are.... Well, come on, then, I'll set you up anyway."
And this might not mean much to you, since it's only an excerpt, but this is what gets me. Even now. It's not what's sad that makes me cry. It's a sad set-up and a happy memory that does it, in that order. It's the bittersweet effect. The scene of him dying and Thomas Wolf's own issues have hardened you and suddenly you're hit with this happy end (there's a little more but it's not important right now) that comes from the past. You're not ready for it and you cry. Or at least I do.
Disclaimer: I by no means think English, Literature and writing are harder majors than other fields. Simply that it requires more care when reading because secondary sources aren't going to tell you anything more than what you could find out from the book. The only secondary sources that are worthwhile are the ones referenced in the book like, Northanger Abbey referencing The Mysteries of Udolfo. You need to read both to get the full effect. And other fields, it's different. And for those of you thinking "I've taken literature courses and skimmed the first half of the book and still got an A! Don't give me that shit!" those are introductory-style (maybe not level) courses with professors who have eased up on their demands for folks like yourself. That would be like me taking a Calc course and getting an A after not trying or a Chem course and immediately declaring that they're easy so all of those courses are. That is called a hasty generalization and is a fallacy.
Sidenote: I don't praise too many living people for their skill. Allie Brosh of Hyperbole and a Half would be one of the exceptions, but the second is Tiffyiffyiffy. She's the girl from the youtube video I linked in the last post. She just put up a new video and it's amazing. It's an original track and I want you to listen.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vX2Jqs6vPLc&feature=feedu
Edited, but all of this is still meh. I apologize. Still listen to that girl.
-Cantwhistle
Literature, more so present day, uses very little melodrama. Hollywood loves this crap. Many of you love this crap. I'm sorry, but it's crap. Sometimes it's so well done that it's believable when you're watching for entertainment, but upon examining it, putting yourself in that position, you'll probably realize "Uh...why the fuck are you crying, (wo)man?!" There are exceptions to this. There are times when crying and other heart-jerking scenes are appropriate. I'll list the ones I know, but there are probably a few more. Death of someone close to the narrator, rape or some other traumatic event, and failure to achieve something the character worked really hard for, and children.
Children (I'd go with pre-puberty as a general rule) tug on our heart strings for some psychological reason. Probably because we've all been there and children cry a lot easier than we do and when we see children cry, we want to cry. We've had similar experiences as these children, some difficult or possibly trivial event that shattered our happy world.
The best example in Literature that I've found is Thomas Wolfe's "The Lost Boy." Content-wise, it might be the greatest story. Simple, relateable but still sort of novel, and vivid characters. It's about Thomas Wolfe (he uses another name for his character in the story but I can't remember the name) and how he lost his brother, Grover, when he was three or four years old. He doesn't remember his brother, so he asks his dad for a story about him (which is told through first-person through Grover's eyes), then his mom for a story about him, then his sister. Dad tells a story where he stood up for his 12 year-old son who was always acting like an adult but came to tears because of some mean shopkeepers. Then his mom brags about how mature he was and how he could talk to adults like an adult. Thomas Wolfe was the most successful of the family, but if 12 year old Grover hadn't died, he would've been twice the man of Thomas Wolfe. His sister tells him about how her little brother always acted like the older one and he would treat her to a meal and ice cream every now and then and it was so special, but then at the end of one, he threw it all up and a few days later died. And none of this is too hard to handle for a cynic like me. It's touching and it's well-done and realistic, but it's not enough to make me cry. Then it goes to present day, in the mid 1930's, where Thomas Wolfe is going back to the home Grover died in and he's asking the lady who lives there now to see it and he reminisces about it and it's implied that he's sort of lost himself. Again, it's not too much. But the tears are definitely coming. The final scene, about a page long, is the one memory Thomas Wolfe digs up of Grover. Thomas Wolfe is three or so. Grover is eleven.
The years dropped off like fallen leaves: the face came back again-the soft dark oval, the dark eyes, the soft brown berry on the neck, the raven hair, all bending down, approaching-the whole appearing to him ghost-wise, intent and instant.
"Now say it-- Grover!"
"Gova."
"No-- not Gova-- Grover! ... Say it!"
"Gova."
"Ah-h-- you didn't say it. You said Gova. Grover-now say it!"
"Gova."
"Look, I tell you what I'll do if you say it right. Would you like to go down to King's Highway? Would you like Grover to set you up? All right, then. If you say Grover and say it right, I'll take you to King's Highway and set you up to ice cream. Now say it right! Grover!"
"Gova."
"Ah-h, you-u. You're the craziest little old boy I ever did see. Can't you even say Grover?"
"Gova."
"Ah-h, you-u. Old Tongue-Tie, that's what you are.... Well, come on, then, I'll set you up anyway."
And this might not mean much to you, since it's only an excerpt, but this is what gets me. Even now. It's not what's sad that makes me cry. It's a sad set-up and a happy memory that does it, in that order. It's the bittersweet effect. The scene of him dying and Thomas Wolf's own issues have hardened you and suddenly you're hit with this happy end (there's a little more but it's not important right now) that comes from the past. You're not ready for it and you cry. Or at least I do.
Disclaimer: I by no means think English, Literature and writing are harder majors than other fields. Simply that it requires more care when reading because secondary sources aren't going to tell you anything more than what you could find out from the book. The only secondary sources that are worthwhile are the ones referenced in the book like, Northanger Abbey referencing The Mysteries of Udolfo. You need to read both to get the full effect. And other fields, it's different. And for those of you thinking "I've taken literature courses and skimmed the first half of the book and still got an A! Don't give me that shit!" those are introductory-style (maybe not level) courses with professors who have eased up on their demands for folks like yourself. That would be like me taking a Calc course and getting an A after not trying or a Chem course and immediately declaring that they're easy so all of those courses are. That is called a hasty generalization and is a fallacy.
Sidenote: I don't praise too many living people for their skill. Allie Brosh of Hyperbole and a Half would be one of the exceptions, but the second is Tiffyiffyiffy. She's the girl from the youtube video I linked in the last post. She just put up a new video and it's amazing. It's an original track and I want you to listen.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vX2Jqs6vPLc&feature=feedu
Edited, but all of this is still meh. I apologize. Still listen to that girl.
-Cantwhistle
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