Saturday, October 30, 2010

A Walk in the Woods

I'm sitting in the basement of the library beside the wall of windows that is so distracting but so wonderfully sunlit and warm.
For an American Literature paper, I have to imagine that Edgar Allen Poe and Ralph Waldo Emerson go for a walk in the woods. I have to imagine what they would talk about.
I think, being in the woods, they would talk about nature.
Ralph would look at the beauty and the perfection and the light drifting among the tops of the trees. He would say something along the lines of: "I went into the woods and I felt, you know, sort of religious."
Edgar would see the trees as ominous and looming. He would comment on the mystery of the forest, a darkness that he couldn't quite explain.

And I, a mere observer on this extraordinary hike, would wonder how the woods came to be. I would wonder who had meandered through them for the first time, and why. I would check over my shoulder for bears, and occasionally trip over protruding roots. I would see the beauty in the branches outlined in navy blue. Finally, I would grow nervous as the sun set and the night gently dropped herself down over everything.

And then, leaving Edgar and Ralph to their discussion, I would hurry back home, pour myself a glass of orange juice, and blog about the woods I'm imagining in the library.

Zombie Prom

For some reason I feel like Morris is the only place on Earth where you can watch Zombieland in your dorm with some friends, and then emerge to a real zombie-infested campus.

The graveyard, which was gazed at with apprehension by every incoming UMMer, has suddenly become deliciously appropriate.

Briggs Library has been turned into a large makeup room, where theater kids charge money for the plastering on of white goop and black smears of kohl.

Fake blood simmers in pots in the dorms, and tubes of it litter tables in the lounges.

That's right. It's Zombie Prom here at UMM, and a peek into the Student Center after 9 p.m. reveals the horde at its finest.

Some female zombies, taking the name of the event literally, are dressed up, wearing old prom dresses and hideous bridesmaid dresses and wedding dresses found at Salvo. All are torn to show a considerable amount of skin, because even the undead want to sex it up.

Some zombies are wearing scrubs, the bright bunny patterns distorted with holes and smears of dirt and blood.

Some zombies, probably the most realistic (or least ambitious) ones, are wearing jeans and t-shirts, shredded to reveal ghastly wounds.

Some zombies, who apparently haven't come into their own yet, wear halloween masks and cloaks. To make up for their off costumes, a few of them walk with a stunted shuffle, holding their arms out awkwardly and moaning. They leave early.

A group of begowned girls who have drifted out into the hallway now sprint by, lured back into the throng by the opening notes of "Bad Romance." Following them is a wave of hairspray that floats up toward the ceiling, not bothering the fire alarm system at all; it has already been disengaged in order to accomodate the fog machines.

Freshman zombies, clearly recognizable, stumble a little bit, laughing too loudly and clustering in chattering gaggles. They have carried with them, perhaps from middle school, the infamous circle dance. Heads down arms up they shriek and giggle and nudge each other for no apparent reason, grinning in delight at the joy of being young and in college and zombified. They arrived at the dance only fifteen minutes after it began, and will not leave until the last song has been played and the techies start coiling up the cords beneath their tired feet.

When the hypnotic lights, loud bass and thick makeup become too much, zombies trickle out to the mall where they can talk without shouting. It's a cold night, but no one seems to feel it for several minutes. In that time, they grip their friends' hands and in shocked voices tell about who was grinding on who. They gallop down the sidewalk against the fresh air.

They look up at the Morris stars and in their zombie hearts they are happy. They are covered in blood, their ears are ringing, and the threat of tomorrow's studying looms on the horizon. Still, the cute boy from Intro. to Psych smiled at them over the bobbing crowd. They have no curfew. They're young and in college and zombified. Undead life is good.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Perceptions of Morris, an Email Story

Email No. 1:


Hey everybody!!!
I just want to write to everyone and say.....


I love you. I love morris. Here are my reasons for loving morris:

(btw taco i had you in mind when i wrote this)

i love that winter lasts 9 months out of the year here
i love the smell of manure in the morning.
i love how people never hold open the door when im right behind you
i love how the members of mpirg say they want to "help the earth" and "save
humanity" yet only one member shows up for the highway cleanup and not one
member participated in the food drive last semester
i love how you all think you are going to change the world
i love how you pretend to look at your phone as i walk by when you very
well know im walking toward you
i love how everyone here is so friendly towards me at face value only
i love the passive aggressive use of facebook
i love how you all think this school is better than harvard
i love the professors sunny attitudes and friendly dispositions :) while
they are telling me i am an idiot
i love how people insist on their love for morris then leave every weekend
for somewhere else
i love how no one boos anyone off stage at open mic even though our ears
are crying blood
i love that the city doesn't snow plow unless they feel like it even though
there is a foot of snow on the streets and even walking is difficult
i love that everyone judges
i love that all the science majors think each class is like some kind of
"competition" and refuse to help eachother out

i love that you make me feel like May 14th is so many years away
i love that i will never ever come back



PEACE



Email No. 2:


In response to an e-mail sent out to the listserv a bit ago, I would like to
share my personal feelings about Morris and the people here. There's enough
hate in this world, we don't need to feel miserable about ourselves.

Oh, Morris, how I love thee. Let me count the ways...

I love how tuition is so low that people like me actually get paid to study
here.
I love the small class sizes.
I love the theatre discipline, that's small enough to give me plenty of
opportunities to develop my skills without being constantly shot down my
competition.
I love the sense of pride this school has, so, even when we know we aren't
the best, we at least feel like we are.
I love how, out of all the places I've lived in my 20 years on this earth,
Morris is the only place that has ever made me feel at home.
I love when we always complain that it's too hot or too cold, but, in our
hearts, we wouldn't want it any other way.
I love that, even if we don't actually *do* all the things we say we want to
do to help the world, we at least have the brains and the balls to admit
that something's wrong and we need to do something about it.
I love when people you barely know can tell something's troubling you, and
will make sure you get a hug or an anonymous letter in your PO box.
I love how the campus is so small that you know a majority of the people you
cross paths with.
I love that you can go a day with three of your professors saying an offhand
remark that significantly boosts your self-esteem.
I love that when a friend says they love you, they really do love you.
I love how, even if it isn't expected that you'll make something of
yourself, you are still given the fuel to keep on dreaming.
I love how students are given the opportunity to be an active member of a
discipline that is not their own.
I love that you can be friends with your neighbor.
I love how Morris is big enough that you can always find something to do,
but small enough that you can live on one side of town and walk to campus on
the other.
I love how classmates and professors will constantly push you to step out of
your comfort zone and try something new.
I love that these new things you're pressured to try usually end up being
tons of fun.
I love how everyone I know here is now part of my extended "Morris family."
I love how, when something like a laptop gets stolen, the entire community
comes together to defend and protect the victim.
I love that you don't have to lock your bike up for fear of it being stolen.
I love how we're sophisticated, but not pretentious.
I love American Indian tuition waivers.
I love our one grocery store, even if its name is a double-entendre.
I love how I can come up with more good things about this town than bad.
I love that the LGBT community on this campus actually has strength.
I love that, as a gay person, I don't have to feel ashamed or embarrassed
while I'm here.
I love how I can still be great friends with my biggest competition.
I love you.

So turn those frowns upside-down, my fellow UMM-ers! I've only been here for
three semesters, but it has, and I'm being completely sincere when I say
this, the best year-and--half of my life. I'm sorry that some people have
had an awful experience during their stay here, but I just wanted to
reassure anyone questioning the quality of life in this gorgeous town that
there are people who love it here.

Thanks for reading.
Ian Bloomquist

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Referablog

I haven't blogged for a week. I'm sorry, but I just haven't had anything I've wanted to write about.
It's a lull, I guess. I go through them every once in a while, and they're painful for me, but what can I do?

To make up for my lack of blogging sparkle, I'm giving you the link to a great blog I follow. It belongs to Libba Bray, the author of the Great and Terrible Beauty series, and of Going Bovine (she's written more, but those are the titles I've read). While she doesn't post too often, when she does Libba is always incredible witty and insightful.
I think I've learned the most about what it's really really like to be an author from her blog. That's certainly not all she talks about though...well, you'll see:

http://libba-bray.livejournal.com/

Thursday, October 14, 2010

A B- Day

I am sitting
under the stairs
in the library
typing a paper
that should have been done
last night.
dead flies rest
upside down
near my feet
and I know if I
move
I'll hear a crunch
of dried wings
under shoe.

It's a B- day
and I don't have time
to wonder if I can do it
I simply have to.

At dinner I looked around
Forks meeting faces
Food disappearing
despite complaints.
I needed, right then,
for someone to make my day
somehow.

Then I realized
that tonight
I have to make my day
for myself.

Under the stairs,
in the library,
dead flies looking on
keys clicking clicking
echoing off
the underside of the stairs.

Tonight
I'll make my own day.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

The Poem Stuck in my Head

Whilst studying for a German test this fine evening, I had a poem stuck in my head.
Do you ever have that?
It's very similar to having a song stuck in your head, only even more annoying because you can't hum or whistle the refrain.
You can only say it.

Ironically enough, I first heard about this particular poem in a movie.
Also ironically, the movie was Must Love Dogs, which I didn't really like because I felt the plot was all over the place, and because I was actually getting annoyed with Diane Lane, lovely actor as she is.

Christopher Plummer was the one who recited the poem in the movie, though, so that makes everything all right. Captain Von Trapp can do no wrong in my book.

Anyway, here's the poem. Enjoy:

"Brown Penny," by William Butler Yeats

I whispered, 'I am too young,'
And then, 'I am old enough';
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I might love.
'Go and love, go and love, young man,
If the lady be young and fair.'
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped in the loops of her hair.

O love is the crooked thing,
There is nobody wise enough
To find out all that is in it,
For he would be thinking of love
Till the stars had run away
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
One cannot begin it too soon.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Stress Levels High

Here's what I have to do:
1. Study for a German test on Friday
2. Begin researching/writing my 10+ page Understanding Writing research paper
3. Write a paper for Icelandic Sagas (4 pages, due next Friday)
4. Write a paper for Honors: Traditions in Human Thought (5 pages, due next Friday)
5. Figure out topics for the above 3 papers
6. Give blood tomorrow
7. Work tonight, tomorrow, Thursday, and Friday
8. Do laundry
9. Get my Mac fixed once and for all
10. Study for American Literature Midterm next Friday
11. Finish reading Atonement (pleasure)
12. Sign up for Intramural badminton
13. Sign up for Big Friend/Little Friend?
14. Become a superhero so that all the above tasks can be successfully completed.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Washington Irving Week

"However wide awake they may have been before they entered that sleepy region, they are sure, in a little time, to imbibe the witching influence of the air, and begin to grow imaginative-to dream dreams, and see apparitions."

That's from Washington Irving's The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. It's Washington Irving week in old American Literature, and the weather seems to be cooperating; it's cool and windy outside, with just enough sunshine to flit against the leaves and make them explode into yellow and orange.

No students lie out on the mall and read anymore.
Instead, they sit on benches in sweaters
and look out over the browning grass
with inexplicable wistfulness.
The air doesn't hang suspended as it did in the summer.
Now it rushes around lamp posts,
tugs at hair
and scarves,
whips five page essays across the sidewalks and into
the dusty road where cars slow but don't pause.
A feeling of frenzied excitement has settled on campus,
and we all dress for a homecoming game that we won't win,
continuing to grin at those we dimly recognize from a long-ago meeting.
We read Washington Irving,
wishing all the time that we could somehow have
the lazy knoll of Rip Van Winkle back,
while still clinging to the blowing trees
as the Headless Horseman gallops by
on the dusky road.