My car:
Bundles:
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
On My First Daughter vs. On My First Son
Ben Jonson wrote two poems, or epitaphs, mourning the death of two of his children. On My First Daughter was written after the death of Jonson’s six-month-old daughter Mary, and On My First Son was written after the death of his seven-year-old son who is referred to as the child of his right hand; the translation of Benjamin in Hebrew. These two twelve line poems are similar in style and subject matter but their tone and portrayal of the loss of his two children is very different. Although Jonson’s word usage and imagery can be contrasted so that it appears as if he favors one child over the other, it is instead Mary and Benjamin’s ages and sexes that distort Jonson’s state of fatherhood by turning it into a matter that is heavenly in one respect and earthly in the other.
On My First Daughter begins with a sense of grief only to be juxtaposed to the sense of calmness as Jonson realizes he should rid himself from his regrets because his daughter is in heaven. Jonson states,
Here lies, to each her parents’ ruth,
Mary, the daughter of their youth;
Yet all heaven’s gifts being heaven’s due,
It makes the father less to rue.
(ll. 1-4)
An immediate sense of fatherly detachment is apparent because Jonson is not addressing his daughter directly. Here Lies is a broad statement usually written on a gravestone, not said by someone mourning. Still, this speaker acknowledges in the first two lines that the parents are feeling grief, or ruth, and also that with the loss of Mary they are losing a little of themselves. Since Mary was the daughter of their youth, what they are losing is a part of what made them who they are now, their youth, or their most innocent and special years. Transitioning from the grief and loss of the first two lines, Jonson feels this regret replaced by reassurance that his daughter, a gift from heaven, is returning right to where she came from. Jonson loved his daughter and grieves for her but at the same time his relationship with her allows him to know and be content with the simple fact that she is in heaven.
In contrast to the beginning of On My First Daughter, On My First Son begins with a defined sense of grief and loss for Jonson’s son Benjamin. He says, “Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy;/ My sin was too much hope of thee, loved boy:” (ll. 1-2) Jonson begins the poem with the direct address farewell, thou child that shows his closeness and outward relationship with his son. This address also shows that the poem is serving as a personal goodbye or farewell from Jonson to his son. Rather than immediately stating the child’s name like that of Mary in On My First Daughter, he first names his son the child of my right hand, and joy, which is the translation of Benjamin in Hebrew. This unique naming allows Jonson to explain his strong connection to his son rather than simply using his name. His right hand is his dominant and is used for his passion that is writing; therefore with the loss of his son he is losing a part of himself, his creative and powerful right hand he uses to write poetry. And then he simply loses his joy and happiness. Jonson feels as if he had all of his hope invested in the idea of his son living a great life and now that he is gone he now feels like this was a sin. Although both poems begin with grief and loss, a strong juxtaposition arises between the loss of youth he feels with the death of his daughter Mary and the loss of his right hand that comes with the loss of his son Benjamin.
In On My First Daughter, Jonson uses his daughter’s young age of six months along with her name Mary as a symbol of innocence, virginity, and purity, which makes Jonson become even more distant from the poem and the death. He says,
At six months’ end she parted hence
With safety of her innocence;
Whose soul heaven’s queen, whose name she bears,
In comfort of her mother’s tears,
Hath placed amongst her virgin-train
(ll. 5-9)
Mary’s death at an extremely young age allows Jonson to become comfortable with the fact that she will remain protected and kept safe and innocent enough to make a quick return to heaven. Her mere name, Mary, or heaven’s queen seems to create an even stronger link between her and heaven rather than her and Jonson, but it seems as these reasons are why he feels connected to her. Although her mother’s tears are comforting her in heaven, her father is also grieving her death but just in another way. He may not have held such pride and hope for her as he did for his son because he did not have a chance in the six months to do so. It is instead a connection through the understanding of her young innocence and virgin-train to heaven that Jonson grieves for his daughter.
Jonson intensifies his loss by claiming that his fate is to never again be a father. He claims that the seven years of his son’s life were merely lent to him for a short period of time and then taken away against his will. He says,
Seven years thou wert lent to me, and I thee pay,
Exacted by thy fate, on the just day.
O could I lose all father now! For why
Will man lament the state he should envy,
(ll. 3-6)
For lending the seven years of his son’s life, Jonson now must pay with the pain and grief he is feeling, but also with the loss of the title father. He says that it is his fate to never again be a father because he would be cheating his next child out of the vast love he had for Benjamin. The state of fatherhood Jonson held in regards to his son Benjamin grew throughout the seven years of his life and did not have time to grow this same way between he and the six months of his daughter Mary’s life. Because of this vast difference in Jonson’s role as a father he now is lamenting holding this title.
On My First Daughter ends with the lowering of Mary’s body into the ground. He says, “Where, while that severed doth remain,/ This grave partakes the fleshy birth;/ Which cover lightly, gentle earth!” (ll. 9-12) Jonson again uses his daughters name Mary and its connection to purity, innocence and fragility to show his love for her. He wishes that the earth cover her gently so her body remains in its same innocent and virgin state within this grave so that her soul is free to make its journey to heaven where it came from. The grave is but for the flesh, her body and whatever else is connected to her materialistically through earth, whereas heaven will be home to her pure, innocent soul. Jonson is content with this at such an early point in mourning because of Mary’s young death. Rather than feeling emotionally and physically invested as he felt with the raising of his son Benjamin, he knows that in Mary’s young death he can be certain that she is safe.
Jonson concludes On My First Son by grieving the loss of his son at such a young age and reiterating the fact that his son was his best creation. He then makes the shocking vow to never love anything too much because of the pain and suffering it will cause once it is gone. He says,
To have so soon ‘scaped world’s and flesh’s rage,
And, if no other misery, yet age?
Rest in soft peace, and asked, say, “Here doth lie
Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry,”
For whose sake henceforth all his vows be such
As what he loves may never like too much.
(ll. 7-12)
Even with the world being filled with rage and misery, Jonson wishes his son could have lived long enough to fully experience it. Jonson’s hope and love for his son molded him into being his best piece of poetry that quickly escaped out of this world. Since he has lost this best piece, he no longer has any motivation to create anything else. Lastly, Jonson’s vow is to never enjoy loving another as much as he loved his son because it now is too much of a loss because he is gone. He may have still held the hope of being a father after the death of Mary because he never got to fully take on the title within the short six months. Granted another chance with Benjamin he cherishes the title and puts his heart and soul into fatherhood just to have it taken a way just has he gave it a chance.
Throughout these two poems it is easy to see the paradoxes in tone, symbolism and word usage that may support the claim that Jonson favors his son Banjamin over his daughter Mary. Although Jonson addresses Benjamin directly and with personal connections between his loss of Benjamin and the loss of his right hand, his address to Mary also portrays a sense of loss. Jonson mourns Mary’s young death but in a different way. With her mere six months of life, he was never intrigued with the sense of fatherhood that built throughout the seven years of his son’s life. Rather than the personal growth of a father/child connection that builds over the years, Jonson held more of a spiritual or heavenly connection with his daughter. In his eyes she had just made her arrival on earth from heaven just to return again whereas Benjamin lived not long enough to experience the wrath of the earth but long enough to become a person and develop the father/child relationship. Through On My First Son and On My First Daughter, Jonson loses both his youth and his right hand resulting in a vow to take what he loves and never like too much.
♪An iffy paper for Renaissance Lit.
On My First Daughter begins with a sense of grief only to be juxtaposed to the sense of calmness as Jonson realizes he should rid himself from his regrets because his daughter is in heaven. Jonson states,
Here lies, to each her parents’ ruth,
Mary, the daughter of their youth;
Yet all heaven’s gifts being heaven’s due,
It makes the father less to rue.
(ll. 1-4)
An immediate sense of fatherly detachment is apparent because Jonson is not addressing his daughter directly. Here Lies is a broad statement usually written on a gravestone, not said by someone mourning. Still, this speaker acknowledges in the first two lines that the parents are feeling grief, or ruth, and also that with the loss of Mary they are losing a little of themselves. Since Mary was the daughter of their youth, what they are losing is a part of what made them who they are now, their youth, or their most innocent and special years. Transitioning from the grief and loss of the first two lines, Jonson feels this regret replaced by reassurance that his daughter, a gift from heaven, is returning right to where she came from. Jonson loved his daughter and grieves for her but at the same time his relationship with her allows him to know and be content with the simple fact that she is in heaven.
In contrast to the beginning of On My First Daughter, On My First Son begins with a defined sense of grief and loss for Jonson’s son Benjamin. He says, “Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy;/ My sin was too much hope of thee, loved boy:” (ll. 1-2) Jonson begins the poem with the direct address farewell, thou child that shows his closeness and outward relationship with his son. This address also shows that the poem is serving as a personal goodbye or farewell from Jonson to his son. Rather than immediately stating the child’s name like that of Mary in On My First Daughter, he first names his son the child of my right hand, and joy, which is the translation of Benjamin in Hebrew. This unique naming allows Jonson to explain his strong connection to his son rather than simply using his name. His right hand is his dominant and is used for his passion that is writing; therefore with the loss of his son he is losing a part of himself, his creative and powerful right hand he uses to write poetry. And then he simply loses his joy and happiness. Jonson feels as if he had all of his hope invested in the idea of his son living a great life and now that he is gone he now feels like this was a sin. Although both poems begin with grief and loss, a strong juxtaposition arises between the loss of youth he feels with the death of his daughter Mary and the loss of his right hand that comes with the loss of his son Benjamin.
In On My First Daughter, Jonson uses his daughter’s young age of six months along with her name Mary as a symbol of innocence, virginity, and purity, which makes Jonson become even more distant from the poem and the death. He says,
At six months’ end she parted hence
With safety of her innocence;
Whose soul heaven’s queen, whose name she bears,
In comfort of her mother’s tears,
Hath placed amongst her virgin-train
(ll. 5-9)
Mary’s death at an extremely young age allows Jonson to become comfortable with the fact that she will remain protected and kept safe and innocent enough to make a quick return to heaven. Her mere name, Mary, or heaven’s queen seems to create an even stronger link between her and heaven rather than her and Jonson, but it seems as these reasons are why he feels connected to her. Although her mother’s tears are comforting her in heaven, her father is also grieving her death but just in another way. He may not have held such pride and hope for her as he did for his son because he did not have a chance in the six months to do so. It is instead a connection through the understanding of her young innocence and virgin-train to heaven that Jonson grieves for his daughter.
Jonson intensifies his loss by claiming that his fate is to never again be a father. He claims that the seven years of his son’s life were merely lent to him for a short period of time and then taken away against his will. He says,
Seven years thou wert lent to me, and I thee pay,
Exacted by thy fate, on the just day.
O could I lose all father now! For why
Will man lament the state he should envy,
(ll. 3-6)
For lending the seven years of his son’s life, Jonson now must pay with the pain and grief he is feeling, but also with the loss of the title father. He says that it is his fate to never again be a father because he would be cheating his next child out of the vast love he had for Benjamin. The state of fatherhood Jonson held in regards to his son Benjamin grew throughout the seven years of his life and did not have time to grow this same way between he and the six months of his daughter Mary’s life. Because of this vast difference in Jonson’s role as a father he now is lamenting holding this title.
On My First Daughter ends with the lowering of Mary’s body into the ground. He says, “Where, while that severed doth remain,/ This grave partakes the fleshy birth;/ Which cover lightly, gentle earth!” (ll. 9-12) Jonson again uses his daughters name Mary and its connection to purity, innocence and fragility to show his love for her. He wishes that the earth cover her gently so her body remains in its same innocent and virgin state within this grave so that her soul is free to make its journey to heaven where it came from. The grave is but for the flesh, her body and whatever else is connected to her materialistically through earth, whereas heaven will be home to her pure, innocent soul. Jonson is content with this at such an early point in mourning because of Mary’s young death. Rather than feeling emotionally and physically invested as he felt with the raising of his son Benjamin, he knows that in Mary’s young death he can be certain that she is safe.
Jonson concludes On My First Son by grieving the loss of his son at such a young age and reiterating the fact that his son was his best creation. He then makes the shocking vow to never love anything too much because of the pain and suffering it will cause once it is gone. He says,
To have so soon ‘scaped world’s and flesh’s rage,
And, if no other misery, yet age?
Rest in soft peace, and asked, say, “Here doth lie
Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry,”
For whose sake henceforth all his vows be such
As what he loves may never like too much.
(ll. 7-12)
Even with the world being filled with rage and misery, Jonson wishes his son could have lived long enough to fully experience it. Jonson’s hope and love for his son molded him into being his best piece of poetry that quickly escaped out of this world. Since he has lost this best piece, he no longer has any motivation to create anything else. Lastly, Jonson’s vow is to never enjoy loving another as much as he loved his son because it now is too much of a loss because he is gone. He may have still held the hope of being a father after the death of Mary because he never got to fully take on the title within the short six months. Granted another chance with Benjamin he cherishes the title and puts his heart and soul into fatherhood just to have it taken a way just has he gave it a chance.
Throughout these two poems it is easy to see the paradoxes in tone, symbolism and word usage that may support the claim that Jonson favors his son Banjamin over his daughter Mary. Although Jonson addresses Benjamin directly and with personal connections between his loss of Benjamin and the loss of his right hand, his address to Mary also portrays a sense of loss. Jonson mourns Mary’s young death but in a different way. With her mere six months of life, he was never intrigued with the sense of fatherhood that built throughout the seven years of his son’s life. Rather than the personal growth of a father/child connection that builds over the years, Jonson held more of a spiritual or heavenly connection with his daughter. In his eyes she had just made her arrival on earth from heaven just to return again whereas Benjamin lived not long enough to experience the wrath of the earth but long enough to become a person and develop the father/child relationship. Through On My First Son and On My First Daughter, Jonson loses both his youth and his right hand resulting in a vow to take what he loves and never like too much.
♪An iffy paper for Renaissance Lit.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
春ブレク？
On spring break I went bowling, spent hours in bookstores and bought nothing, saw a French film and another that was good but a little mediocre, ate a brat, read an extremely little amount of a big book, slept and snuggled, licked cannoli filling off my hands, and pushed my boyfriend into the snow. And now it's almost over just in time for me to work three days and have a paper to write for Monday. What a joke this is John Carroll! Reschedule this for next year, please.
In other news, voting is next week and I still have no idea what I'm going to do. I figure the decision will be made at the very moment I go to pull the lever or whatever you do nowadays. I have absolutely nothing interesting to say anymore. I blame it on this snow and it's ability to wrap a cardigan around me and force girl scout cookies in my mouth which in turn weigh me down to this bed.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
ヌズ
It's Radiothon, and yes, that is Sean Penn and Dennis Kucinich. They just happened to stop by the WJCU metal benefit concert last Friday night at the Beachland Ballroom. What? Yes, metal. Why? I have absolutely no idea, but there's the picture to prove it!
In other WJCU news, I returned from my week hiatus and now have both a backpack and a mail crate full of CD's. I hung fresh posters in the studio on Monday covering up old things like Linkin Park with new things like Polysics. And last but not least, tomorrow is the Radiothon show where me and my co-host Mark will be begging for money after every song. 8-10pm.
So I'm alive. Sore and flushing with saltwater. Five pounds lighter. Crazy in love. Next week: Spring Break in beautiful 20 degree Cleveland. I will return with a tan.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
食べ物を食べたい！
When I was younger I had stomach problems like crazy. I'd lay in a fetal position for hours in pain. Anyways, some Doctor put a camera down my throat one time to see what was happening in there and it really wasn't a bad experience. I passed out for the whole thing, don't remember leaving the place, and slept all afternoon in a wonderful deep sleep.
That brings us to yesterday and these wisdom teeth. First the doctor tells me that the pain killers he's giving me aren't the heavy duty suckers. I was bummed. Just give me my Percs! I was planning on sleeping this whole weekend off on the pain killers. Dang. Second, the weirdo is trying to put the IV into the most random places on my arm. I have cuts that are quarters of an inch long because of it. He finally got it into my hand. Third, I wake up mid-surgery sobbing my eyes out for them to give me more of the damn anesthesia. It was a mix of the worst pain and the loudest noises ever. Terrible!
So now that I'm semi-better today I used Google to see if this was a common occurrence and IT IS! Basically, the anesthesia only lasts about thirty minutes but the surgery easily lasts fourty to fourty five. I feel like that just shouldn't be a problem? Maybe I'm wrong.
So there's my story. I guess I can look at this in positive ways: 1. I'm going to lose a lot of the weight I have gained over winter just in this weekend due to my juice/water diet 2. I get off work!! Laaazy! 3. I can't think of anything else, really. This is actually quite boring for a girl who usually isn't such a couch potato.
Hopefully the next blog post will be titled "Today I closed my mouth for the first time in 3 days!" I can only hope.
That brings us to yesterday and these wisdom teeth. First the doctor tells me that the pain killers he's giving me aren't the heavy duty suckers. I was bummed. Just give me my Percs! I was planning on sleeping this whole weekend off on the pain killers. Dang. Second, the weirdo is trying to put the IV into the most random places on my arm. I have cuts that are quarters of an inch long because of it. He finally got it into my hand. Third, I wake up mid-surgery sobbing my eyes out for them to give me more of the damn anesthesia. It was a mix of the worst pain and the loudest noises ever. Terrible!
So now that I'm semi-better today I used Google to see if this was a common occurrence and IT IS! Basically, the anesthesia only lasts about thirty minutes but the surgery easily lasts fourty to fourty five. I feel like that just shouldn't be a problem? Maybe I'm wrong.
So there's my story. I guess I can look at this in positive ways: 1. I'm going to lose a lot of the weight I have gained over winter just in this weekend due to my juice/water diet 2. I get off work!! Laaazy! 3. I can't think of anything else, really. This is actually quite boring for a girl who usually isn't such a couch potato.
Hopefully the next blog post will be titled "Today I closed my mouth for the first time in 3 days!" I can only hope.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Thursday, February 7, 2008
ブログ祭り
RydeBi started another blog month, FeBloMo, just a few days ago. Well, I supposed I would join in on the festivities. Or actually, here at ichigomirukuburogu it will probably just end up being FeBloWe (February Blog Week), or FeBloDa (February Blog Day), or just simply BloMe. Whatever the case, I've found that this occasion is coming at just the right time as tomorrow is that day I am getting all of my wisdom (teeth) removed. I imagine it will be a wonderfully drug induced experience and the pain of the teeth not being in my mouth will be much better than what they are creating in there. Ouchies.
In other news, I just finished reading John Barleycorn, Jack London's Alcoholic Memoir. What a wonderful little novel that is worth reading, and also skipping more than half of the chapters really has no effect. Tonight I'm starting The Sun Also Rises by Hemingway* and reading a few articles for my "How to be a Bitch" course. On I go, and ever more onward into FeBloMo.
*I'm currently taking a course called Alcohol & American Literature, or, Red White and Booze, or, Books 'n Beer.
In other news, I just finished reading John Barleycorn, Jack London's Alcoholic Memoir. What a wonderful little novel that is worth reading, and also skipping more than half of the chapters really has no effect. Tonight I'm starting The Sun Also Rises by Hemingway* and reading a few articles for my "How to be a Bitch" course. On I go, and ever more onward into FeBloMo.
*I'm currently taking a course called Alcohol & American Literature, or, Red White and Booze, or, Books 'n Beer.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
ラジオですか？ はい！
I'm back on air this semester at WJCU, this time with my fellow friend in music Mark. Angsty, unprofessional and nostalgic banter, ticket giveaways, and mostly music of the Indie genre, or so we're told (and the occasional pop/punk slip up). If you were uninformed, here's the info:
Something to Write Home About
Wednesday nights
8-10pm (with possible interruptions by John Carroll basketball, but I won't go into that now)
88.7fm Cleveland/Streaming @ WJCU.org
Also, our playlists are available here at radioactivity.fm.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Sunday, January 27, 2008
♪
♪I figured I should start making use of my camera and not just quit using it when the batteries die. This is the result; a smattering of images dating all the way back to last August. Ah, innocence.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
小のイタリア
I've always had sort of a love/hate relationship with Cleveland. Throughout my younger years I lived miles and miles away in the secluded Fairport Harbor where it was painful just to venture across the dirty river into Painesville. (I don't think I ever came into direct contact with the water, and how disgusting to think that it flows into the lake.) Going back to these places now is like some strange time warp. Everything looks strange, skewed, and just plain filthy. I've always been frolicking about the Heights for as long as I can remember, especially after I triumphantly escaped Fairport in mere hours back in the summer of '02 (throwing every personal belonging into garbage bags and out of a second story window into a truck bed.*). Around the age of fourteen I was damning the renovation of Coventry along with the abolishment of the Green Tomato and blaming it on the Bush administration. Out of it all though, the biggest part of this love/hate relationship was showcased in my tour of Little Italy.
When I entered college I found myself spending nearly all of my time in an apartment above Corbo's bakery. This place was infested with anime wall hangings, dirty dishes (so dirty they were moldy), and ferrets of all things. The place more or less reminded me of the song "I love living in the city" by Fear (watch SLC Punk). I think that's what did it for me at first. Somewhat of a dream was fulfilled by that place that had always been in my mind even in my Fairport-locked youth. After a short time the euphoria suddenly vanished after it too began to look filthy and strange.
I can remember a specific night when I lay awake at around two in the morning singing along to the Dean Martin songs playing outside. I had memorized all of the words subconsciously and probably in my sleep. I'm sure no one would believe that the music at Patrizia's plays full blast throughout the night. It was demented, and after this night it was all down hill. I got sick of the same men sitting across the street at the unnamed bar obviously not letting any outsiders in. They stopped selling Orangina at Presti's. I made a movie called "The Real World Cleveland Season 173 'The Last Resort'" and submitted it to one of my Freshman English classes. Although my character is nothing like myself ("If prayers were pudding, would you eat well?"), I now see that I also had somewhat of a struggle and eventually "left the house" just as she did.
*I took a test on poverty in one of my Education classes last semester (constructed by Ruby Payne, I believe) and one of the point boosters was knowing how to move out of a house in an hour, as well as other things I learned back then and wouldn't have attributed to being impoverished if not for this test.
♪I reflected on all of this when I ventured to the Heights City Hall last Monday to pay off my pile of parking tickets. I guess that was my New Years Resolution. No more parking tickets! Hint to anyone paying parking tickets in the Heights: they hand out so many they don't even record some of them so go to city hall, give them your license plate number and be as surprised as I was. $65 poorer, I cursed Severance for well, being Severance, and cursed my car for being yet another medium for this love/hate relationship.
Friday, January 4, 2008
休暇の夢
I went back to Cold Stone Creamery to work. A job I had throughout my Junior and Senior years in high school*. Making waffle cones was once my specialty. Burning the tips of my fingers and ignoring incoming customers all to get the perfect fold (and to make sure there was no hole in the bottom of the cone. I don't think my coworkers were as considerate). This day, though, things were different. The wife of my old boss stood on guard training the new employees how to master the stone and her glare constantly flashed my way. My waffle cones looked like waffle bowls instead; lopsided and sad.
Somehow, as the day progressed I began making cheese and bean quesadillas on the machine. They, too turned out less than perfect as they were soggy and downright inedible, but I was told that this is what the people wanted and that they were fine. Taco sauce splashed everywhere and the day was foggy. "For only thirty cents more you can get almost twice the ice cream with the Love it Size," I heard my new coworkers repeat constantly. My schedule showed three and four hour shifts scattered throughout the weeks to come, but I already had blisters on my fingers.
*Not counting the one night I got fired and rehired via telephone, but that's another story.
♪One of the wonderfully ridiculous dreams I had on my vacation last week as the weather got colder and colder and I slept more and more.
Somehow, as the day progressed I began making cheese and bean quesadillas on the machine. They, too turned out less than perfect as they were soggy and downright inedible, but I was told that this is what the people wanted and that they were fine. Taco sauce splashed everywhere and the day was foggy. "For only thirty cents more you can get almost twice the ice cream with the Love it Size," I heard my new coworkers repeat constantly. My schedule showed three and four hour shifts scattered throughout the weeks to come, but I already had blisters on my fingers.
*Not counting the one night I got fired and rehired via telephone, but that's another story.
♪One of the wonderfully ridiculous dreams I had on my vacation last week as the weather got colder and colder and I slept more and more.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
クリスマスの古英語
þa wæron hyrdas on ðam earde waciende ofer heora eowde; and efne, þa Godes engel stod on-emn hi, and Godes heordt-nys hi bescean; and hi wurdon micclum afyrhte. Ða cwæþ se Godes engel to ðam hyrdum: "Ne ondrædað eow; efne, ic eow bodige micelne gefean, þe becymð eallum folce; for-ðan-þe nu todæg is eow acenned Hælend Crist on Dauides ceastre. Ge seoð þis tacen: ge ge-metað þæt cild mid cild-claðum bewunden, and on binne ge-led."
♪Translating this was half of my final exam in OE today. Slightly ridiculous, but watching Charlie Brown Christmas every year since I was born finally paid off as I remembered the majority of it. Firum foldan, frea almihtig!
Thursday, December 6, 2007
古英語のクラス
OE Wiki Project. My little abode on the Internet that nobody will ever touch. ♪♪♪ The rest are yonder.
Monday, December 3, 2007
夢
I was in a little town in the South. I entered a house and saw my boyfriend and his friends laugh at my presence (I was holding something too ridiculous to speak of) and I joined them as they laid out lots of coke. The lines were poetry. I snorted while reading, then walked outside and got on the biggest bridge ever (!!) heading North. This bridge was so wide I had to run from side to side to see what was surrounding it and beneath it. I ran to the left and saw China and Korea and Japan. I ran forward until I reached the end of the bridge. Africa was there but I couldn't go. Actually, I'm not quite sure if I could go anywhere but this stinking bridge. Trees and things blocked the way into Africa, and how could I have gone to Asia when it was miles upon miles below me? Someone had just come along and made this awesome bridge to the world but you couldn't actually go anywhere on it. What a bummer. I was really turned on for some reason too. Maybe the world does that to me. Then I woke up.
♪NaBloWriMo is over, so why should I not start blogging again? Also, after posting this I received an Instant Message from my friend asking me about snorting coke, so to clarify: it was a dream.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
ベーシェヅ
Two girls, sick and passed out in the back seat, were unable to go on. Earlier they had smoked something out of a plastic bottle and so they decided to end the night there. They made the escape the rest should have. The escape they should have all made months before when this Sunday tradition started. A couple girls and a boy were the few that remained, and at this point there was no turning back. They snorted a Vicodin in one of the stalls of the girls bathroom. Boys in the girls bathroom were the norm, as they often borrowed eye liner from girls who wore far too much of it. While fixing their hair with one hand in front of the large filthy mirror, they struggled to keep their cigarette stable in the other. Girls in the boys bathroom was the norm too, of course. They were pushed up against the wall by boys in torn up jeans and whatever else would follow they would quickly regret the next morning, even though they could barely remember anything. Maybe they would say it was rape and stick to their story after even they realized it was a lie.
One of the girls had a hand stamp that was still wet from the door where she got through as 21 with her fake ID regardless of her french braid pigtails and lack of makeup. She pressed it up against the others after they washed the thick black X's off. They all went to the bar and started double fisting PBR and Sparks tallboy's, sharing drinks, kissing each other, and big red hickeys that wouldn't fully blacken until they had to attend class early the next morning... early being 10am, of course. The rest of the night would be a blur as it always was. A few girls would scream "mozoltov" and break light bulbs in the middle of the dance floor. Glass shards would embed themselves into soles of Chuck Taylors where they would stay for years; a reminder of the mess they were once in. Lights, dancing, music, tongues, hearts, fists pumping, some chick trying to sell everyone cocaine, all right there, all so routine by then. Every week, every single sunday, all night long. Yelling "I wish i could buy back the woman you stole," they would all fall into each other's arms, completely oblivious to anything else. The music stopped at 2am and yet they wouldn't leave.
None of them knew who they were.
One of the girls had a hand stamp that was still wet from the door where she got through as 21 with her fake ID regardless of her french braid pigtails and lack of makeup. She pressed it up against the others after they washed the thick black X's off. They all went to the bar and started double fisting PBR and Sparks tallboy's, sharing drinks, kissing each other, and big red hickeys that wouldn't fully blacken until they had to attend class early the next morning... early being 10am, of course. The rest of the night would be a blur as it always was. A few girls would scream "mozoltov" and break light bulbs in the middle of the dance floor. Glass shards would embed themselves into soles of Chuck Taylors where they would stay for years; a reminder of the mess they were once in. Lights, dancing, music, tongues, hearts, fists pumping, some chick trying to sell everyone cocaine, all right there, all so routine by then. Every week, every single sunday, all night long. Yelling "I wish i could buy back the woman you stole," they would all fall into each other's arms, completely oblivious to anything else. The music stopped at 2am and yet they wouldn't leave.
None of them knew who they were.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
英文学！！
Most of my days at school are spent hiding somewhere amongst the top floor of the O'Malley Center. We call it "The OC."
The big, comfy, low chairs are surrounded by little tables covered with old Carroll Reviews, Carroll News, or anything else that may end up there, literary or not, throughout the course of the day. I scroll through old Reviews from 2002 and look at my pictures that made it on the cover and within Spring 2007 edition. I join in on conversations such as how ridiculous the editorials are in the new Carroll News that week.
The writing center is filled with the vast contrast between grad students and naive freshman, or upperclassmen who are required by their Professors to submit to the embarrassment of having their papers ripped apart. Some are just stopping by to check their Facebook between classes or talk to people who care about things like how Langston Hughes exactly felt about Walt Whitman.
In the hallway of offices, there are numerous bicycles propped up against walls and papers strewn about boxes on the floor. Posters are up on doors with millions of quotes. Everyone is there all the time, I swear. Babies are sometimes heard crying and Professor's children spend the day at the college rather than at school sometimes. The Decemberists plays from a corner office and NPR from another.
So today there was hail (or snow or something) pounding down on the skylights and I was in the iMac classroom up there quickly typing up a feature story for Journalism. Listening to others talk, I decided to finally send the e-mail to my academic advisor that I've been meaning to send for a while now. "I'm changing my major!" Not much else to say and no need to give reasons, because i could give a million.* It's just all exciting and I'm now anxious for what is to come. Relieved, rejuventated, hopeful, determined... well, as determined as I will ever be.
*Here's some... my Education classes suck majorly and I've realized that there is no way I want to go through this for nothing and no personal gain, I want to study Japanese again, I want to study more than this stupid shtuff again and graduate on time without the fuss of student teaching the fall after I graduate, and it's just the right thing. I just propped a Banana Yoshimoto novel under my door to keep it closed, okay?
The big, comfy, low chairs are surrounded by little tables covered with old Carroll Reviews, Carroll News, or anything else that may end up there, literary or not, throughout the course of the day. I scroll through old Reviews from 2002 and look at my pictures that made it on the cover and within Spring 2007 edition. I join in on conversations such as how ridiculous the editorials are in the new Carroll News that week.
The writing center is filled with the vast contrast between grad students and naive freshman, or upperclassmen who are required by their Professors to submit to the embarrassment of having their papers ripped apart. Some are just stopping by to check their Facebook between classes or talk to people who care about things like how Langston Hughes exactly felt about Walt Whitman.
In the hallway of offices, there are numerous bicycles propped up against walls and papers strewn about boxes on the floor. Posters are up on doors with millions of quotes. Everyone is there all the time, I swear. Babies are sometimes heard crying and Professor's children spend the day at the college rather than at school sometimes. The Decemberists plays from a corner office and NPR from another.
So today there was hail (or snow or something) pounding down on the skylights and I was in the iMac classroom up there quickly typing up a feature story for Journalism. Listening to others talk, I decided to finally send the e-mail to my academic advisor that I've been meaning to send for a while now. "I'm changing my major!" Not much else to say and no need to give reasons, because i could give a million.* It's just all exciting and I'm now anxious for what is to come. Relieved, rejuventated, hopeful, determined... well, as determined as I will ever be.
*Here's some... my Education classes suck majorly and I've realized that there is no way I want to go through this for nothing and no personal gain, I want to study Japanese again, I want to study more than this stupid shtuff again and graduate on time without the fuss of student teaching the fall after I graduate, and it's just the right thing. I just propped a Banana Yoshimoto novel under my door to keep it closed, okay?
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
六月十五日、二千七
June 15, 2007.
I woke up early by the sound of an alarm, equipped with puffy eyes from crying silently the night before as you were sleeping. I was purposely trying to wake you up actually, but even if you had, you didn't say anything. At this point we were separated by pillows. I gave in to what had become more of a chore than anything. I can't remember one detail from it, just that you were behind me. A mumble of a "bye" got no reply and I tried to go back to sleep.
I don't know what went through my head at this point, but there was some kind of revelation. I got up and started rummaging through piles of clothes and things to find everything that was mine. For the month or so before this I had slowly been collecting things around that were mine in hopes of this very moment, so I was probably a little ahead of my game. I began stuffing things into my huge tote bag. Miscellaneous socks, underwear, shirts, and even a sake set and a stuffed animal. I left the stuffed animal behind with a drawing and a note. "Take care of me," it said. Is that symbolic? I happen to think so.
And so we talked and called it quits after nearly 4 years, or at least I did. Sooner or later you would agree. Of course, we couldn't talk face to face or even with spoken words so it was nothing but little fragments of text messages we sent back and forth. I filled my car with things and ran into Mike on the way out. "Hey, do you know where my DVD is?," I asked and he just said "Uhoh." But we laughed and I was so excited. I cried after I left, turning onto Clark, looking at the graffiti that wasn't so fresh anymore. I cried up until dead man's curve, then that was it. I put on Dude Ranch and turned over a new leaf. I wrote down in words that filled an entire page, "Constants aren't so constant anymore."
Work started at 5pm and I told everyone what had happened and they all congratulated me. For the past few months Holly, Anthony, and just about everyone else I worked with had listened to my fairly hidden complaints and had given me advice that I finally followed. The puffiness went down, I got invited to a party after work*, I drank my first official single beer ever, and it was all scary and new and even though I had lost the majority of my "friends" in a single day, I had made new ones just then. I drove home at 2 or 3am and listened to the play list "home."
*...by Ryan, whom I've been dating now for a while.
♪ I just felt like getting this all down as my life has completely flipped around since this day and is now completely wonderful and pretty much amazing, to tell you the truth. Also, this is a very old picture of my feet. Looks like a corpse.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
ミュジクのヅレクター
In my first week of being Music Director at 88.7fm WJCU, I've been confronted by promoters asking "Have you listened to this CD yet? What did you think?". As I dig through the pile, I hope it is a CD with a description of the front that blatantly says, "Sounds like Sufjan Stevens!," or "RIYL: Belle & Sebastian or The Beach Boys!". Sadly, it's the one with a snake on the front, by a band on no label. I lie and they tell me to put it for adds.
Then they ask me what my favorite bands are. (Just a few minutes ago I was screaming Brand New lyrics into my steering wheel with my left foot pounding on the floor and my right fist in the air.) I politely say, The Shins, Belle & Sebastian, The Decemberists, Mates of State, and Death Cab for Cutie.
The thing is, I have this problem with being ridiculously obsessed with music that is nostalgic to me. It's somewhat embarrassing and I'm sure if it was music just coming out now, I would absolutely hate it. Still, lyrics like, "A freight train to the right, feeling that sting of pride, it's fucking with me, it's fucking with you" and "I've seen more spine in jellyfish, I've seen more guts in eleven year old kids," could never be replaced by anything I've listened to in recent years. I could sing every Saves the Day song in my sleep. I can't count the number of times Brand New and Taking Back Sunday lyrics have shown up in texts/IMs sent and received over the past 5 years of my life. Me and Erik used to constantly send them back and forth. Cheshire Cat is the only CD I listened to for like, a year, and the song m+m's still makes me super happy. And of course, "Well I guess it all depends, undergarments."
So, even though I may tell you these are my favorite bands, just know that I can't break away from ridiculous pop/punk/emo/whatever you call it, and that on any given day you can find me in The Heights driving around screaming along to The Get Up Kids. I absolutely love it and I can't stop!
♪ My new job is extremely amazing. I get to talk to people about music all day, get all the new CD's I want along with buttons and posters and shtuff, learn about new, amazing bands, and the list goes on.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
海遊館
The sky shone blacker than it ever had before, and so in turn the lake did too. Not one thing sat around for it to try to reflect, so it just decided to give in to the nothingness. The rain fell so hard that the tops of the waves blended into the whole mess of the night making it impossible to make sense of much. Feeling safe in a car equipped with fake grapes hanging from the mirror and birds velcroed to the ceiling, I shivered with a chill, and yet the armpits of my sweater seeped with sweat. Treble, muffled tones from The Forbidden Love EP remained somewhere hidden beneath the pounding of the rain. Staring into the nothingness of the night, we waited for a fish, a log, or something to come along with one of the waves, as that dent would have told the story forever. But alas, no picture would turn out, nor a dent, but the waves quickly began to overtake the break wall, and then the car. We were but fish in a tank, and the waves nothing more than the kid at the aquarium who bangs on the glass.
We are always taught that tapping on the glass is not friendly, but in reality maybe it is all the buzz in the tank. You know, it starts a bit of gossip and excitement. Shakes things up a little. Without a little smack, tap, and shake or two of the tank every once and a while, maybe the creatures inside would get so bored, and then so depressed, that something bad would happen. I don't know what, but maybe they would just give up on life or something. Anyways, everyone complains about Ohio weather, but in all reality, what would we do without a tap of the tank every now and then? Maybe I'm a crazy fish, but I think I need it to stay sane in this town.
♪ I just came across all of these ridiculous pictures I used to take when I was in high school. About 100 were of sunsets and about another 100 were of nothing more than average trees or the view out of my apartment window. All very mediocre. I thought how strange it was that I had taken all of these pictures. Maybe they were just to validate my emoness? Whatever the case, the one above made me laugh and think back to the hours (upon hours upon hours) spent at the CEI break wall in Eastlake. In rain storms, ice storms, or just plain fishing season, I constantly found myself there staring into the lake.
*Japanese can only have a word like 海遊館, or かいゆかん, or kaiyukan. "Playing in the sea pavilion"
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