Shout Out.

"I am now satisfied that the future music of this country must be founded upon what are called the negro melodies. This must be the real foundation of any serious and original school of composition to be developed in the United States."-Antonin Dvorak

I liked this quote. I like the idea of finding a "Native" form of music and making oneself focus upon it. I like that jazz was seen as popular, and thus vulgar. I liked the rest of the quote which goes "... These beautiful and varied themes are the product of the soil. They are the folk songs of America and your composers must turn to them."
Even though it's a focus on "American Originality" with songs that didn't have their origins in the US, I think that works. I'm not a melting pot advocate, but I do like the idea of merging cultures and creating a shared heritage. I think that's where we gain our sense of American pride, or maybe it's me (admittedly, not too great at this whole patriot thing), through the emergence of a new and shared culture that blends the old world and the new.

Not much to say on this this, other than, sometimes, distant, distant, distant relatives can be pretty cool, right? And that you should all check out the "New World Symphony" at some point, because it's pretty rad. (Also, it kind of explores this issue of merging a new idea with the old, all with a visitor/outside observer to the US. Seems to be a common theme).

Oh Sigrid (Mostly getting my thoughts on Blog)

My final paper has proven to be far more vexing than I previously anticipated.  Writing about the early 1900s, whilst fulfilling my love of that era, has presented its own set of difficulties.  Perhaps the most irritating would be my annoying tendency to interpret the past through my decidedly fish-eyed lens, attempting to make my "interesting historical figure" into nothing more than a Beth surrogate, with ideas and ideals that are far too atypical for her time period.

To counteract this, I've been focusing a lot on Sigrid's Christian faith, which comes to her far more easily than it has ever/will ever come to me.  But is there a point where it becomes too cloying?  Her father was a pastor for a small farming community (decidedly Norwegian, to balance my decidedly Czech heritage) which would account for her strong faith.  She's far too nice, far too blonde, and just a tad boring.

But I wonder if I'm focusing far too much on who she is and then deciding what she symbolizes? It's probably my creative side dominating my academic one (not that they're unable to coexist in this setting, mind you), but has anyone run into this problem?  Do you find it better to plan out your person's purpose first and then tailor their day around it, or is the inverse true?

 

A Day in the Life of an Ole

I decided to do my paper on Sigrid Halvorson, a fictional female student (very, very, very Norwegian), on December 10th, 1906. She double majors in home economics and Vocal Music. Having recently heard about Congress having passed the Safe Food and Drug Act, and having read a shortened version of The Jungle she's bothered by what's apparently been happening in the meat industry.  She plans to sneak out later and smoke with a boy named Jurgis, but she'll have to steal the key to the lady's house first.

Oh Yes, oh Yes, oh Yes, oh Yes, They both reached for the Gun, the Gun, for the Gun!

Can we just get this out of the way?  I'm a huge showtunes nerd.  Also, my great grandmother baby sat for Judy Garland  (back when she was Frances Ethel Gumm) and her mother was trying to make it in vaudeville.    I just want you all to know that I've got some major ties with fame.  Major.

Talking about vaudeville, as Enich has said, makes me think of Chicago.  Although I'll use any flimsy excuse to talk about showtunes, I think this one has some validity.  I linked to "The Press Conference Rag" from the 2002 film.  Although not my favorite song in the movie, you have to admire Richard Gere's rather charming performance.

Thinking about  how Gary mentioned that vaudeville kind of created fame as we know it (the press!  the celebrity!  the crushed dreams!), it made me think about the role of the press in Vaudeville, and the role of the press in the idea of fame.  Most of the reason that these things were so famous is because we're paying attention to them (it's fairly obvious).  With that, it made me think about how that kind of fame can become warped.

Tying it back to Am Con, look at the press Evelyn Nesbit got from a murder trial as compared to Coalhouse Walker's press.  Both thrive because the press, and the American public, made them into something bigger than what they were. Evelyn was a harlot and Coalhouse was an angry guy who set fires to things.  Yes, they stand for something greater, but at what point do we say enough is enough, and stop crediting someone as beyond what they are?  Is Coalhouse a victim?  Absolutely.  Is he a martyr?  I find that hard to swallow.

Part of the reason I think vaudeville was so popular was the publicity, and the warping of what's importance.  We thrive on this idea of a collective sensationalism, that we make things important because we get people to believe in them.  Does something become more or less valid as more people believe in it?  On the one hand, you have validation beyond yourself, and although we deny it, everyone kind of seeks validation from other people.  On the other, with more people, its more easily warped into something you never meant for your cause to be about.

I guess I'm just debating whether Vaudeville was important because we wanted it to be, or we needed it to be?  I'm not saying it's a binary system, but does anyone know where to stand on this?

Also, I've got a lot of blogs to catch up on...eek.

Manly men?

"The Glorification of the prizefighter and the workingman bespoke the ambivalence of middle-class men about their own gender status, for it suggested that they too, regarded such men as more manly than themselves-more physical, less civilized, less effeminate.  It also suggest that when middle-class gay men celebrated such working as paragons of masculinity, they only followed the lead of other men in their class."-pg 114

This passage struck me for two reasons because the idea of gender status and not being sure in one's own being a two way relationship.  It's very similar to the idea of "inversion" in my mind, but the main difference being that one is sure of their gender, but they're perceived as the wrong one or they were assigned the wrong one (transgendered?) as opposed to being unsure of their status within the gender. The other reason is for the idea of class status in relation to gender-middle class men seeing themselves as less manly than their working class counterparts, despite the fact that many working class men were the most likely to engage in more traditionally homosexual behavior.
It's such a huge contrast to how we now think, with the idea of adopting mannerisms that are true to one gender more than the other.  Women are told to "man up" and sometimes, we tell men that it's okay to cry. However, there are still many people that like to keep "manly" and "womanly" traits upon a binary scale.  Of course, people fall on different places between these two extremes.
Is there something to be said for this continued perception of what's masculine and what's feminine and our slow mixture of the two?  Is this a positive change for a better relationship between people of different races, genders and classes?  Personally, I feel like it's adding division where there is already a copious amount.  Maybe we should stop looking at the class binary and the sexuality binary and realize we're all on a sliding scale?

Ragtiiiiiime (Ragtime!) and the Patron Saint of Mediocrity

Okay, let's be honest.  I'm awful at watching movies. I talk.  I think about how I want to eat more popcorn.  I wonder how mad people will be if I filter out the movie with reading (answer: very).  When watching movies, I tend to be hyper critical. It is so difficult.
With that out of the way, Ragtime.  The movie.  Oh good lord, as soon as I saw the first scene, I went "This reminds me of Amadeus!"  Sure enough, it was the same director, Milos Forman.  I am good.
But, I'm not surprised.  The two stories are pretty similar.  They both look at the unreliability of memory, the glossing over of certain points of history.
Ragtime exemplifies the theory that I've had all along:

We look at history through a fisheye lens.  As we focus in on a new point, we distort the periphery.  What was clear a second go now blurs, until we don't know what it used to look like.

 The movie feels a bit like a memory.  The book even more so.  We're being told what happened-but do we ever know the truth?  Is history important because of what happened, or how we perceive what happened?  Which is more important?  Which is less?  Why do I always have more questions, and very really find a satisfactory answer?  Can you find one?
Either way, I absolve you.  :)

Post-Colonialism/Gender/Sex (I use books as metaphors a lot, have you noticed?)

Whilst we were having our discussion this week about sex, sexuality, gender and the roles that those things designate within a culture, I kept thinking of Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe and The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros. More specifically, I kept thinking about the discussions we had about them in my 11th grade English class.  (Isn't it irritating that almost everything I do now can be related to a different phase in my life?)
When my English teacher introduced the ideas of a post colonial lens to the class, he brought up the idea that reading books from previously "colonialized" places helped  you to understand their point of view.

 But then he brought up the converse of that point-how can you be "free" when you're using the tools of your oppressors to express yourself?

This same idea was one that I had broached upon when discussing gender roles in The House on Mango Street.  The protagonist starts acting more like a boy in order to gain control in her extremely patriarchal household.  This idea frustrated me-if she had to act less like her gender, was she escaping the patriarchal system or enforcing it?

Which then creates a nice segway into Ragtime.  If Evelyn Nesbit has to use her sexual appeal to gain power, is she really doing that, or is she just helping her own victimization?  (I firmly believe that Evelyn is a victim-a silly, beautiful fool in the style of Daisy Buchannan).  How do you beat the system by working from within it?  Is it not better to work outside the system, a la Emma Goldman or Coalhouse?  Are revolutions not fought in order to foster the creation of a new system?  I.e. The American Revolution overthrowing a monarchy and creating a democracy? In the latter cases, their subversion of the system ultimately spells out their own undoing, but I feel like they're the more transcendent of the characters.

This is part of the reason that I think the end of chapter eight with "THAT SCENE" is so important. Yeah, it's probably one of the most awkward things I've ever read in the history of my life as a reader (about sixteen years)-and hopefully one of the last...Every person I've brought the book up to says "Isn't that the book with the guy in the closet who..." and then they trail off, embarrassed. Despite the unpleasantness, the scene demonstrates perhaps the one time that Evelyn is in control of something, her sexuality, without a male gaze (that she knows of).  Even then though, she only gains that control through Emma, so is it really her control again?  

The whole scene just reeks of tragedy (and awkward euphemisms). The one time Evelyn comes into an iota of control, Mother's Younger Brother suddenly...um...appears... um...and covers her in capitalism.

There's no real escape from the oppression when you're using it to your advantage.  You're still enforcing that system.  Even if Evelyn has taken controtl for that moment, she's lost it for all the others.  That may not necessarily be Doctorow's point, but I'm reminded of how Authorial intent is so often overshadowed by the reader's interpretation.  I feel like Evelyn is a victim of circumstance, like Daisy, like Okonkwo, like Esperanza.  They may recognize the system, but their attempted subversion just turns into a reinforcement.

Shameless Showtunes Post, Part 1

The video that I posted is called "Wheels of a Dream".  It's with the characters of Sarah and Coalhouse, talking about Coalhouse's car, their dreams of the future and with that, their dreams for their son.  If  you weren't too distracted by how gorgeously this song is rendered (completely live, and to date this, on the Rosie O'Donnell show in 1997), you can notice how the lyrics, once again, discuss our ideas of class and social structure.

"Any man can get where he wants to
If he's got some fire in his soul.
We'll see justice, Sarah,
And plenty of men
Who will stand up
And give us our due.
Oh, Sarah, it's more that promises.
Sarah, it must be true.
A country that let's a man like me
Own a car, raise a child, build a life with you..."

I think the most hearbreaking part is when he says "It  must be true."  Not will, but must.  H(w)e can't live without the idea of  having this possibility.  And then factoring this into the idea that Coalhouse, even though he fights the most for his due, is also the greatest victim of his class, until he's forced to act out (I'm of course, referencing the trashing of his car, his wife's death and his subsequent arson).  This idea is emphasized near the end, where he says

 "Then they will see me come out with my hands raised, and no further harm will come to any man from Coalhouse Walker, Jr."

and then, to confirm it, he makes a sudden movement, ensuring his death and proving that sometimes, you can do anything, but nothing happens until you convince others as well.

 The other video is called "Make Them Hear You" and it's Coalhouse's big dramatic death number.  (And also, everyone needs to listen to the entire soundtrack, I'm making my free post about that).  The title really says it all.  We'll see justice one day, but only if we all work for it, as equals.

Coalhouse, Class, Dreams, and Listening to my Mother's Advice (Also, I quoted CULLEN)

A Brief Anecdote: On my first day of college, Mama Dvorak took me aside and said "Beth.  We're not successful.  We all work hard, but no one in our family is successful." She laughed as my mouth hung open, trying to sound out her words for myself.  "B-b-but, mom..."

"Oh Bethie," she said, laughing at the fact that I am easily stupefied by her advice "I'm reassuring you." 

We talked a lot in class the other day about class and how people perceive different classes.  Higher class people can be seen as braggarts and lower class people can be seen as lazy.  To quote Paige "Everyone can pull themselves up by their bootstraps!" (Note that we both laughed at the absurdity of this statement). We all want to reach that middle point, or so it seems.  The extremely wealthy people I've encountered at St. Olaf don't use the word "rich".  They say that they're "well off" or "my parents work really hard." And I'll admit, I've later mocked them behind their backs, asking "how can you determine your self-worth by what your parents make?"

But the reverse is also true.  I pride myself on being able to afford to go here; I pulled myself up by my proverbial bootstraps and I have the scholarships and grants to prove it.  Does that fact make someone seem more noble in the eyes of their peers, or less so?  We all know that there shouldn't be a stereotype surrounding who has what amount of disposable income; but since we live in an imperfect world, I'm more inclined to ask which stereotype is more palatable.  Would we rather have someone like Tateh and Coalhouse succeed, or someone like the boy?  We can argue that we're past all that, but I think that would be a lie based on the noblest of intentions-good and idealistic, but a lie nonetheless.
But to get back to my anecdote, I think the dreams of class and transcending those bonds, a dream shared by Morgan, Tateh, Ford and Coalhouse, is probably one of the primary motivators of my mother's little speech.  It took me a long time to figure out, but I think that she was trying to say, in her vague/roundabout way was this: "Beth, none of us are successful.  Your family is made up of teachers and librarians and landscapers.  You don't have to do any of those things.  You can be whatever you want.  You may not be successful to some, but you'll be happy. You're smart and beautiful and you were always my favorite."  (At least, I hope that's what she's saying).  And sometimes, people like (SPOILER IF YOU HAVEN'T FINISHED) Tateh transcend their class. The great thing about America is that we're nourished by that dream, it seems so much more attainable because it's embedded into our psyches.

  To quote Cullen: "And like other American Dreams, the power of this one lay in a sense of collective ownership: anyone can get ahead."

Maybe my mom doesn't phrase it correctly, but if her optimism doesn't reflect this, I don't know what does.

Lady Liberty

This is the statue of Liberty in France. I think that influence my poem, the foreign perceptions of Lady Liberty.

(For the record, I don't find this creepy.  I kinda find it beautiful).

A person sits idle
Upon the bench
Alone, but for
the trees.
And, lo, behind him
stands Lady Liberty
Although her eyes see naught
there they are, to stare
her pensive gaze says nothing
but one sees truth and beauty there.
So much hope on a new horizon
to those her gazes does speak
inspiring, some, few to great acts
and others, still, to weep.

I wanted to make this poem more cynical, but I really feel like adding in cynicism taints whatever message you're trying to send.

Welcome Home

http://newyork.cbslocal.com/2011/08/13/report-911-first-responders-not-invited-to-10th-anniversary-ceremony-at-ground-zero/


Reading this article made me sick to my stomach.  To quote the friend that showed it to me:

"oh sorry, fight our wars, save our people at home every day, but don't like come to the place that has scarred this nation permanently where you performed astounding acts of heroism for which you weren't repaid which left many of you crippled or deathly ill"

To me, this is a travesty of what Americans claim to stand for.  There is no justification for how our nation treats our heroes. These are people who risked their lives, who had friends and family die trying to save others. Sometimes they don't even get so much as a thank you.
I am horribly and painfully reminded of when I volunteered in a Vietnam veteran's hospital/assisted living facility. After playing with my school band for a few hours, my director asked us to talk with the veterans.  Scanning the crowd, I watched as some of the veterans were taken away. Some smiled, but their eyes were blank.  Others sat with the same expression, the only way you knew they were alive is from their occasional blinking.  My gut clenched. Nervously, stammering out my name, I sat down next to a man named Peter. He squinted out from behind his coke bottle glasses, a grin filling half of his face, the other side doing a stiff mimic.  My stomach dropped and I scuffed my feet along the grey-brown carpet, hoping that my stammer would go away. I couldn't do this-what could I say? How could I comfort someone when I had never had a similar experience?
Peter, sensing my discomfort, which made my shame seem all the more real, tying my tongue in knots yet again and setting my hands to shaking, began to talk. As he began, I saw his eyes light up-he was so happy to have someone listen-it was almost pitiable.  He told me stories about combat, about watching innocent children be used as bombs against American soldiers.  Whilst I listened, I tried to scan my mind for a similar experience, hoping against hope that, once he stopped talking, I would have something to say.
Peter talked for about half an hour.  He told me about his experiences before and after the war, about how he had been homeless for awhile, but he was able to come to the hospital.  He told me about how he had found Jesus, and what church meant to him.
At the end, he turned to me, a wry smile on his face, and said "You know what I regret most?"  I opened my mouth, my mind still horribly blank-but he interrupted with "When I got home, people would spit on me. They called me 'baby killer' and told me I never should have gone-even though I was drafted.  All I wanted, was for someone to turn to me and say 'thank you and welcome home.'"
The words spilled out of my mouth, my stammer barely noticeable, besides to me. I raised my eyes to meet his for the first time.  "Welcome home."  Peter took my hand, whispered "God Bless You" and left the room.  Tapping my fingers on the too cold plastic chair, I turned and left the room, biting my lip, my hands finally still.
Time and time again," the things we stand for" turn into an idiotic facsimile of an idealistic fight for justice, often justified by "well, it wasn't something that I agreed with in the first place" or "it's impractical." So many times, our fight is simply one person's fight.  We sacrifice the greater good for the lesser, petty evils.  When it comes down to it, what are we fighting for?  Who pays the cost?  Did Peter deserve any of the derision that he received? No.  Do the veterans of the 9/11 tragedy deserve our highest respect and gratitude?  Are these two things really so different? What do we stand for when we do things like this? What are we teaching? Is it that hard for us to say "Thank you, and welcome home?"

And this is what I Love about Reading

"But there is something about life that all of us, in the back of our minds, know is true: The best and most unforgettable moments have a way of blindsiding us, of appearing as if by magic when we aren't even looking for them. So it is with books. They're out there, on library shelves in the town where you are reading these words. Some haven't had their covers opened in years, or been carried out the front door of the library. Maybe you and one of them were meant for each other. It's summer. What have you got to lose?"

And this is why I read so much.  :) Simple serendipity.
(The rest of the article is linked below)

http://www.cnn.com/2011/OPINION/08/21/greene.books/index.html?hpt=hp_c2

Drugs

Also, I've now read the first thirty-three chapters of Ragtime, but I feel as though I'd be hindering myself if I started posting in depth about it now.  Suffice it to say-this will inspire much discussion, I'm positive of that.  I'm excited to hear everyone's interpretations.
Also, Harry Kendall Thaw was very real and is credited with creating the "speedball" which is a mixture of cocaine with either heroin or morphine, but sometimes all three. History is fun, isn't it?

Vining

Vining, Minnesota is the proud home of Karen Nyberg, astronaut;  the Charles Nyberg Sculpture Park and the annual "watermelon days" festival. Vining, Minnesota, the place where I have spent portions of my last seventeen summers, has a population of sixty-eight people.  The ramshackle post office, soon to be closed, greets you as you drive through, the whitewashed walls peeling away to reveal a dull brown, the American Flag flapping proudly above the weatherbeaten green shingles. There are two bars along the remarkably smooth tar of the main street, two old pickups on either side of the road.  I learned to drive along these streets (parallel parking was impossible because there were never enough cars to park among).  I have been to the Bigfoot Gas Station at least thirty-four times, always smiling at the five old men who occupy the same table, pivoting to stare; their eyes scanning along my frame, as though looking for a reason to yell at me.
The idea of Vining terrified me.  And it still does.  How can you live in a world 3+ hours outside of the Twin Cities, isolated but for a statue of a cockroach betwixt a set of pliers?  No one wanders the streets, everyone knows your name and privacy is a distant dream. Am I too cynical to find the appeal, or am I simply missing something?  
We like to romanticize the idea of small town life.  The idea of waking up every morning and not needing to lock your door to feel safe.  Wandering the streets after dark, being on a first name basis with everyone around you. establishing yourself as a pillar in this microcosm of human life.  Is there any greater appeal than to be somewhere that needs you to function?  Is there anything that can inspire as much fear? 
But with every romaticization (I enjoy making up words), there comes the inevitable deconstruction.  Human beings enjoy tearing apart the things we love. Is that an example of a destructive tendency?  Is it just a simple balancing act that rarely succeeds? Either way, each archetype has its parody.  For every Mayberry, there comes Our Town, with Thornton Wilder's famous quote:

 "We all know that something is eternal. And it ain’t houses and it ain’t names, and it ain’t earth, and it ain’t even the stars . . . everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that for five thousand years and yet you’d be surprised how people are always losing hold of it. There’s something way down deep that’s eternal about every human being. "

Maybe when we look at these small towns, whether to love them or to fear them, and we're really just grasping at that bit of eternity.  People come and go, but "there's something way down deep that's eternal about every human being." Eternity can inspire fear, but it also can inspire admiration.  We remember the people of the small towns, whether it be Karen Nyberg, astronaut or the old man that I nicknamed "Gus." The stories about them go on, long after the pliers squashing cockroaches have eroded away.

Textbooks, Talking, Tasks of a Sisyphean nature

Greetings from what feels like half a world away from the Hill (read: 45 minutes).  Today, I began ordering my textbooks for the fall semester and I've already forgotten what it's like to have disposable income.
I was unable to find a job this summer, so I've been doing odd jobs for relatives and other people around the neighborhood. Some good has come of this.  If you ever need someone to do light woodwork (such as staining and weatherproofing) I'm capable of doing so.  Also, if you need landscaping, painting, cleaning, paint stripping or (as I discovered one afternoon) someone to scrape all of the grime off your cupboards using a butter knife, please, let me know.

Also, I've been reading far too many of these. English Major
Armadillo (and the other "major memes") are hilarious and ofttimes
very insightful as to why we need a balance betwixt liberal arts and
the sciences. 

Unfortunately, despite this, I have an inordinate amount of leisure time and this has led to a great many hours of ennui. Most of my friends work as nannies, leaving me to entertain myself.  (I've been reading some great books!)
With that in mind, I figured that I'd begin some preliminary work with my textbooks and start  blogging about them now, so as to have fresh material when I get to class.  This will, hopefully, help to assuage my procrastinator like tendencies and will aid me in TALKING MORE this year.  (Brief anecdote: I had a French teacher in high school who would repeatedly tell my mother that I didn't talk enough.  Unfortunately, I refuse to analyze the situation further.  Consider that a brief foray into self discovery, but without insight).
It doesn't look like many people have been posting over the summer, but I thought that I'd just let someone know that I'm alive.
Regards,
Beth

Note to Self: Publish Your Drafts!

My wise beyond his years brother (self described as a person with a sixty year old man and seven year old boy fighting for dominance within him) said of Osama Bin Laden's Death:

"Perhaps we should stop celebrating a man's death and mourn the fact that there was a human being that led a life that inspired people to feel good when that life ended."

This was my original reasoning. I don’t claim to be a philosopher or even an aphorism giver; but can I celebrate death when I find life to be kind of a big deal? I was so saddened at a world in celebration for the death of anyone. All I could think about was other people in my life that hadn’t lived the best life either. Don’t they deserve my compassion and pity? Granted, Osama was an extreme case, but it didn’t feel right to celebrate his passing.

But what about my duty to my country? Here was a great enemy of this nation and I just feel sad over such a despicable life? Does that render me unpatriotic?

My brother further went on to say:

"Just watching the celebration in front of the White House makes me feel ashamed. We are celebrating death. If this is what patriotism is, I want absolutely nothing to do with it."

I don’t know if I would go that far. Patriotism as a concept is something that I value greatly. I don’t think patriotism revels in death and succumbs to a mob mentality. I think that patriotism is something that unifies without destroying. It’s an ideal that we strive for. But here’s the catch: I haven’t said the Pledge of Allegiance in over three years. I have not uttered this idealistic affirmation. Does my version of patriotism fit into yours? Am I hypocrite and an ungrateful citizen? Is my fear of blind patriotism so great that it’s limiting my civic duty?

Then, his friend retaliated with:

"Why would we not celebrate the death of a man who was directly and indirectly responsible for the death of untold hundreds if not thousands?
If you're worried that the American populace's priorities are out of whack there are millions or things more worrisome than a celebration over what many would call an evil man's death.
MTV, a high fat diet, conspiracy theorists, American selfishness, the failure of public education and the general ignorance of the average American and you wait until now to feel ashamed?
Be ashamed, but don't point to this and this alone to declare a lack of American morals when there are so many other legitimate points to make."

With that in mind, I cannot say that I will actively rail against other opinions which celebrate this death. I will not be proud, I will not cheer, but I will not be a hypocrite. One evil is gone, but others still remain. Some lesser, some arguably greater. I will practice my patriotism with my eyes open but I will not go with the flow simply to fit into an ideal. I may start saying the Pledge of Allegiance again, but only if I can fully understand it and reconcile it within my beliefs. I pledge allegiance, but as an individual with a choice and a voice.

Novels and such.

This is my Novel. I wrote it in the month of November. Opal's novel is probably loads better than mine, but my word count is 51,394 words. That was 175 pages double spaced, about 78 single spaced. It was an average of 1,667 words per day, but I usually averaged 3000 on Saturdays.
It is not art. It is not going to change the world. It is not going to be the next bestseller. But I wrote a novel. I persevered, and that's good enough for me.

Follow up on my Book Problem.

Yeah, I really need to stop buying books. Eventually. But for now, this is my proudest achievement in the last two months or so.

Black Elk Speaks, but in what Genre?

I really don't have much to say on this book, because, to be quite honest, it confuses me as to what genre it fits into.
Part of me wants to label it as an autobiography, biography, or a memoir but that feels far too simplistic.
I think Neihardt did his own interpretation a great deal on what Black Elk was saying and that sort of idea speaks more of the author than the subject. It's well worth noting that this book is by John Neihardt as opposed to being by Black Elk. So that eliminates autobiography from the genres.
However, that still leaves biography and memoir.
Biography, again, doesn't work because it's far too focused on other factors outside of Black Elk's life, Black Elk even goes so far as to say something like "I am going to tell you the story of my life...and if it were only the story of my life I think I would not tell it." (pg 1). And it's narrated by other people too much to be a simple biography because oftentimes, the other speakers don't reference Black Elk but things within his life.
This is also the reasoning I use to eliminate memoir from the list-plus, it's far too overarching to be a memoir, this is a large span of time.
What then, if there is a label to be imposed, should Black Elk Speaks be called? I could take the English major route and say that "the genre encompasses many bases and you can't define something into one clean and neat label. The world doesn't work that way, art and literature means something different to everyone." (The English major in me believes this wholeheartedly, but also realizes this is something other majors may call... a cop-out...)
So, if I were to give a broad sweeping label to this, I'd go with religious/prophetic work. It's filled with iconography, Black Elk sees the future of his tribe within these gorgeous (and surprisingly universal) symbols. He continues to be haunted by his visions until he chooses to do something about it.
In a close second, I'd call this an ethnography. It's a character study of a tribe of people. Unfortunately, it's during a time of transition, so you're watching a culture, if not in decline, then in adaptation, and to my mind, this isn't the same thing as a purely ethnographic piece.
Neither of these fits are perfect, which makes me reluctant to label, but if forced, I'll respond with religious work or ethnography. (If there were a way to merge both into a nice little name, I would...religiography? Ethelgious? I'll work on it).
Regardless of the problems with genre, the relevance of Black Elk Speaks within the realm of the American Conversation program remains unaffected because it crosses those boundaries. On the one hand, Black Elk Speaks focuses upon these same apocalyptic themes that created the North American culture which I was raised in (Midwestern Suburbanite of European descent) and it deals with the loss of democracy within a tribe and how a change in culture and the definitions of the "average American" and with that, who gets the right to a say within a democracy.
I realize this post followed a stream of consciousness randomosity without any of the ultimate insight, so let me cut myself by saying, that although I don't have a lot to say about Black Elk Speaks, he definitely has a lot to say on the subject.

I have a problem.

(From left to right, The Five books from the Belgariad, East, She's Come Undone, The Supernaturalist, Something Corporate: North, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, The Things They Carried and Possession)

This is my proudest accomplishment (in the last three months or so). Despite that fact that I have now gained countless hours of enjoyment, I've now made myself into another broke college student. Alas and Lackaday! Such is the price that one must pay (around $19).

The Sad Beautiful Fact that We're Going to Miss Almost Everything

This article really made me think about the liberal arts education and what it means to be well rounded.  As hard as we try, we're never going to read every great book or see every great movie.  The thought is sometimes very depressing.  I've been working my way through the BBC's top one hundred books for about two and a half years now, with frequent breaks for other books, but even if I do finish reading those then there's AFI's top one hundred movies and Rolling Stone's top albums to listen to before you die, and the ten places you must see before you die...the list sprawls on and on and it's daunting.  However, as this article says, to surrender to the fact that you'll never know much of anything and shouldn't try, is as pointless as trying to know everything at once.
So be content, my fellow college students (and maybe some of my professors) that you're always going to be ignorant of something, but it doesn't make you ignorant.  Try your best to do what you can and you'll have some beautiful experiences. Remember, sometimes the greatest beauty is found in the unknown that's all around us. 


http://www.npr.org/blogs/monkeysee/2011/04/19/135508305/the-sad-beautiful-fact-that-were-all-going-to-miss-almost-everything?sc=tw&cc=share

Odds and Ends

I talked in class today guys!  And I was relevant!  I'm doing this new thing where instead of listening quietly, I'm going to tell you my opinions!  Since no one reads my blog-not a guilt trip, just a fact- I figured that I could try expressing my opinions verbally.  Oh man, oh man, gush.
Talking in class has always been a struggle for me.  I'm one for listening to everyone's opinion before expressing my own, in fear of repeating myself or saying something trite. My heart flutters before I speak; it is truly nerve wracking.  But, ironically enough, on the Day of Silence, I opened my mouth.  Let's keep this up!

And I'm back

After two excruciatingly long weeks of being sick in one form or another, (as a few of my friends like to put it "You look like you're dying!"),thoroughly learning my lesson about the importance of sleep and just, in general, realizing that when we try to power through, we inevitably make things much worse; I return to this blog with a sheepish grin and a feeble apology.   I'll try my best to stay current, but I'll beg your indulgence if some of my posts seem outdated.
Without further ado, Emerson's Nature struck a chord with me both as a writer (his prose is sometimes achingly beautiful) and as a spiritual being.  This may sound rather hackneyed and superficial, but part of what drew me to Emerson's argument was how it made me feel. In my English 185 class, we went through a long period of discussing how good works of literature made us feel.  This concept did not frighten me, but rather, seemed repugnant.  Why should I care how a book made me feel?  Aren't the ideas more important for what they stand for, rather than the emotions that they evoke?
That being said, Emerson's Nature reaches that perfect balance betwixt artist and analyst.  His arguments are concise but filled with breathtaking imagery.  For example, he says at one point

"Crossing a bare common, in snow puddles, at twilight, under a clouded sky, without having in my thoughts any occurrence of special good fortune, I have enjoyed a perfect exhilaration. I am glad to the brink of fear. In the woods too, a man casts off his years, as the snake his slough, and at what period soever of life, is always a child. In the woods, is perpetual youth. "-Nature, Chapter 1 (70 words)

Obviously, this is the wordsmith within Emerson having a little fun; but it really speaks to the American Public's growing affection with nature and progress as well.  He urges a return, of sorts, to the bounty of nature and an appreciation for what she can provide spiritually.  This argument is good, but it's a very pathos filled plea.  Emerson likes nature, it's really pretty.  The cynic in me is rolling her eyes and trampling flowers.
However, he strengthens his argument with the next section, Commodity, and talks about how

"Nature, in its ministry to man, is not only the material, but is also the process and the result. All the parts incessantly work into each other's hands for the profit of man..."-Nature, Chapter 2 (33 words)

With these two sections as meager examples, Emerson's argument demonstrates why it is so effective.  Nature isn't something that's pretty to look at, but rather something that we can make work for us.  That's where its power lies.  It appeals to both the material, everyday existence, and the spiritual inner-workings of the natural world.  Thus, with a two rather short passages, Emerson speaks to the mind and the soul.

In summary, Emerson's argument, made me feel. So often, I've been almost ashamed of being an English major because it operates on how one feels and not how one thinks. With an injection of logic (which may be shakier than I'll care to admit) Emerson's argument remains relevant and romantic; and as something that I can fully agree with 175 years later.  (Take that De Tocqueville!)

Bowling Alone? Think Again

Catalysts for social change often come from the unlikeliest of places.  This adage is once again proven by “Still Bowling Alone?  The Post 9/11 Split” by Robert Sander.  With the attack upon the World Trade Center, there was a new motivation for social engagement by what he calls the “9-11 Generation.” Within this generation (as in those under twenty or so) there has been an upsurge in social engagement which was simply not seen within the previous generation. 

                This is not to say that the terrorist attack upon The World Trade Centers itself encouraged social engagement per se, but rather, that people who saw this in their formative years (i.e. in elementary school, middle school, high school or college) had their perceptions of civic duty shaped by it.  It was not the end, but rather the means of encouraging interaction within the civic realm.  It again demonstrates a trend; when times of patriotic feeling are high- that is to say, times when there is an threat that permeates the existence of the U.S. (The Great Depression, World War I or II) - there is a greater emphasis to fight for American values and the “American Way of Life.”

                At the time of Putnam’s article, there was no great threat that loomed over American life. It was a generation which was raised by the common perception that the U.S. was doing okay, and that civic engagement simply was not important.  However, with the attack,  the standards of the U.S. have once again become in flux, and the fear of the threat has united many people to better engage the world. 

                This article really emphasized the new forms of communication that go along with new standards of engagement.  With a rise in using Facebook or Twitter, engagements take different forms which are influenced by a new age of globalization.

Eating Alone, Eating Lonely

As of writing this, I have never eaten a meal alone on campus.  I’m not sure if many people can make that claim, or if practically no one can; but, every meal I have partaken in has included at least one other person.  These meals were mostly a social gathering as opposed to a time for sustenance.

                This is in stark contrast to my meals at home, which were usually eaten by alone.  Maybe once a week, my family would gather around our dining room table and eat the “family dinner” together.  These, however, were of a marked contrast to being at school, because not talking, and to that extent, avoiding eye contact, was the main theme.  We nourished our bodies, and then we left.  That is not to say that my family was antisocial, but rather, because dinner had a propensity to turn into a “lively” debate that we figured it was better not to talk, rather than creating a large argument.

                Another factor in why we often didn’t eat together was due to the fact that we were all busy.  If my brother wasn’t home, he was at football practice.  If my sister wasn’t there, it was due to a basketball game or confirmation meetings.  My younger sister was at soccer, and I honestly can’t keep track of all the times I ate dinner at eleven p.m. because I had been at school from seven that morning, and was not in the mood for talking.

                Putnam’s article seemed to be rather dated, in the sense that it does not factor in different forms of communication or what constitutes something as hanging out.  Sometimes, people communicate in different ways.  While at St. Olaf, I have received more texts in a given month than I did for the entirety of my high school career.  These texts are sometimes a casual “hey, what’s up?” but oftentimes they’re something along the lines of “Do you want to grab dinner tonight?”

                It feels as though Putnam’s focus upon people not being in regulated organizations (weekly poker nights, bowling leagues) does not mesh with his argument that we’re less engaged as a whole. Perhaps people are less organized nowadays, but I don’t think we’re looking actively to go “bowling alone” as if it were.  There is a definite push for being social and joining things, but on people’s own terms.  There are still weekly movie nights for people, just as Wednesdays in Minnesota seem to be inevitably reserved for religion.  His focus upon a lack of communication amongst the American public seems flawed in the age of Twitter, Facebook and unlimited texting.  As the younger demographic in the American public, I must say that I feel incredibly in touch with every one whether within an organization or within a group of friends.