Music Is My Life

The Temptations: My Girl
Hidden in the back of my makeup drawer, safe from the everyday spills of my quick morning makeup sessions, is a broken jewelry box. This box is broken,two halves that are separated adding the character that all heirlooms should have . Its smooth wood reflects your face in its tag teamed light and dark wooden floral setting. Inside this box along the green velvets setting and just past the curving landscape of its ring holding section is an array of my “nice” jewelry. Not all of it is nice. But it is protected. From my great grandmas earring, to a bracelet my little sister made for me. Each has a special meaning or person behind it.There is one piece that particularly special. At the bottom of the larger pieces is a tiny green velvet pouch that blends perfectly into the velvet of the box itself. In this pouch is my secret treasure. It is my perfectly concealed memory. This is a bracelet that is far too tiny to wear now, for it was made for me when I was only one year old. Its tiny silver beads wrap the emerald center like a giant bear hug. I can almost smell my daddies bear hugs. Like the beads, he could swoop and surround my body as he picked me up. At my request my father would lift me to his shoulder and smile. Calling me little princess he would tickle my face with his beard and let me pull the pens from his pep boys pocket protector. My father died when I was 2 and ½. These memories are things, and yet I am not sure if they are memories of my own, or memories of stories I have heard. But I remember two things about my father I remember that bracelet, and his voice as he sang to his girl. Lyrics said "I've got sunshine on cloudy day.With my girl.I've even got the month of May With my girl".dancing with me, even though my feet were no where near the ground.

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Billy Joel: Uptown Girl
There is a tightly wound string that wraps around the hardcover of the book. Inside the pages are a yellow-white aging with the acid of the years.A tiny inscription reads "to my babies" in my mothers swirly mixture of cursive and print. There are tiny rips and tears where pictures or items have been removed. This is the book that tells the story of an uptown girl(my mother) and a downtown man(my father). At least that is what my mother tells me every time we look at it. I flip my hands through each section laughing at my parents near identical perms, and peering in awe at my mothers near bursting tummy in several of the pictures. On several of the pages are quotes from Billy Joel songs, most of them from Uptown girl.My mother said that my dad Barry would always sing that song to her, saying "She'll see Im not so tough.Just because Im in love with an uptown girl". He was so sure that she was too good for him. This scrapbook is a love story that was lost, a romance novel cut short. The last few pages are bittersweet showing our whole family, my mom, my dad, my brother, and I with my sister in my mothers stomach. It is one of the only family photos we have of all of us before he died. I know that scrapbook the same way I know my own memories. It is something that ties my mother and I together. In those aged pages are thumb prints of me at every age. That book and this song have followed me through ever major event of my life when I am with my mother. The chorus of "You know Im in love with an uptown girl"is like a reminder that no matter where I go I have that ground to go back to. No matter what age I am, my mother and I will always have those pages of memory, and those moments together remembering how she was an "uptown girl," who looked for "a downtown man."


The Used: Blue and Yellow
I have a mixed tape. It has just one song on it. The first beats of this song are slow and steady. The lyrics calm me and make me smile even while my eyes swell with tears. This song is his favorite, and for our five month anniversary he gave it to me. In the age of mp3’s and ipods, a tape is ancient history. The tape is older, it has been used and reused, and the tape inside has the look of something that has been stretched and rewoud. It has been flipped and renamed and restarted too many times to count. This tape is not a family heirloom or an artifact with information that will save people. It is a silly piece to some, in fact many of my friends mock me for it. They see its blue smiley face sticker with blushing cheeks peeling at the corner and ask what it is for. But it’s a secret. I keep this tape for memory only. On it is the voice of my first love. His fiteen year old teen angst voice is telling me a story. He tells me the way he loves the song, "its all in how you mix the two" he points out. . For certain lyrics he interjects a comments to remind me that this is a love song,because he loves me. It plays and his laughter echoes as he talks about the times we have had together, unknowingly giving me a solid memory of who we were. On this tape is so much of my life with friends and family and thoughts. Wound and rewound the way I have thought as rethought the things I went through. This song and tape are from a weird time, like that transition from tape to CD , switching to high school was like feeling around in the dark for a light switch. There is so much growing up done. A giant leap was made, and I lost him in the process. Like the song says "you never would have thought in the end how amazing it feels just to live again". There are some days when I want to go back to being so easily loving, and so truthfully loved. And holding that little piece of plastic is like feeling my memory flood back. I like that tape.


Mercy Me:I can only imagine
Many people are shocked to see the things that line the walls of my room. I guess I don't give off the same vibe that my possessions do. The most shocking of my objects seems to be a crown from a pageant I was in. This crown is not of great strength, it is sterling silver with rhinestones on it. Through its crisscross of diamonds and triangles the light plays tricks with your eyes. I can go back in a moments notice to that pageant, but it is not the competition I remember. I remember my dad. My dad was my escort on that stage, I remember because it is one of the only times I have seen him in a suit. He put on that thick grey three piece suit, and shined his black shoes. He tucked in a small pocket square that matched my dress perfectly, and he walked with me to the backstage area. There was the set of crowns, taunting the participants. The light played off of the tiara bouncing a kaleidoscope of light back to me. My dad was looking at me as the lights for the stage darkened. We reached the crest of stage, and those lights hit us like the reflection of the tiara ( multiplied by ten). I couldn't see the audience, and the girls were all turned away from me. The chorus of this song hit, "I can only imagine.What my eyes will see.When your face.Is before me" and my dad leaned over to me and told me he thought I was beautiful, and that no matter what,he was proud of me."I can only imagine" how jealous the other girls must have been, because I was the luckiest girl in the room.


Blink 182: Adams Song
Some people may wonder why I have a clown nose and a funeral announcement in the same box. I guess it is pretty strange. A clown nose is fluffy, its red material looks as though it holds the air around it in a gymnasium of fun. But in one squeeze you can extract all the fun from within it. The nose is seemingly whole at first glance. Cut almost perfectly as though sculpted by the prophet of clown noses. Yet somewhere in that perfection there is a cut, a small place where something should be, that is not. I guess that is where the funeral announcement comes in. No sixteen or seventeen year old should receive a funeral announcement. This one is beautiful, it is bright and cheerful. The top corner is hole punched carefully by hand. This hole is just large enough to place a short pink ribbon lovingly tied to a beautiful picture of a beautiful girl. I chose this song to remember my friends and the impact they had on my life. Though they were roughly a year apart, the death of my friend Katie and the suicide of my friend Brian seem simaltaniously engraved in my mind. This song is about people who feel lost, and the people who are trying to help them. Like the pictures on the wall behind the band,their funerals were filled with pictures of them, smiling and happy, they "laughed the loudest, who would have known".
These objects are beautiful, but they are both missing something. That something are the people who are missing from my life. These friends are tucked away gently into the corner of a wall of my memories. Like the video I zoom onto them often. For them I place that clown nose on my face, filling that small hole now, like I could not before. And I live my life the strongest I can for them, I laugh and I remember. Much like the songs lyrics, I am so sorry that they are gone.


Snow Patrol: Chasing Cars
Falling in love is hard. But it is also worth it. You just have to remind yourself of why you fell in love with them in the first place. Sometimes, I forget the meaning of the ring on my left hand, meant to remind me of the wonderful boy who is mine. It is a small ring, dainty, but tough at the same time. It has a sheen a metallic that embraces and reflects simultaneously. It is the circle of things that we have gone through; he an I. There are scratches where there have been some rough spots. Sometimes it slides off my finger a bit, and I have to make sure I hold onto it a little tighter. It curves a bit at the center, where the two ends have different paths. But always they come back. Always those two sides find that peace in the center. That place where we can lay and forget the world that surrounds us. Three diamonds. Discret and minuet to some, mean the world. They are the past, present, and future. Rings are tricky objects. They are strong and withstand many days and nights, but only if you care for them. Like memories you have to take them out every once in a while and polish them off. In this same way you have to be able to look at your love and remember why it is that it means so much to you. The lyrics "those three words are said to much, they are not enough" explain our love perfectly. My ring reminds me of all the things I sense that cannot be vocalized between us. The minuet he gave me that ring and promised me your love, I knew that I would always have a safe place. A center of peace where "We don't need Anything Or anyone" . So "If I lay here. If I just lay here." I know he would "lie with me and just forget the world".


John Lennon: Imagine
Sometimes it just seems so bizarre to me to see what people can do. In the hands of man things can be created or destroyed. Those hands have the capability to pull open a ripped and torn worn box. This box is full,from side to side, are pencils. They are my drawing pencils, that have the ability to work with or against my pure paper.These pencils have taken the liberty to climb upon each other to reach out to those hands. They want to help. There are a million different types of these pencils, in this box there are at least seven different types. These pencils have the same things inside of them,its just that something on their outside has given them a different name. With these pencils I can raise up visions of politics and action. With these hands and the help of these pencils, I could make anything. My art can speak volumes. I could create and add to my world something of the greatest value. I could ,like Lennon did,imagine all the people, and show them to you. With these same hands I could crush the creations around me. I could snap the pencils that do not follow my direction and command. Imagine for a moment. Imagine that people were pencils. How quickly we throw them away. How easily we destroy them in the name of our creation. I have never heard of anyone who took this idea to heart as much as Lennon and the Beatles. He asked us to imagine all the people, living for today. Throughout my time at college, I have learned alot, and it is all about people. It frustrates me to see people hurting eachother, when we could live in peace. Like Lennon, "you may say Im a dreamer, but I am not the only one". Dreamers are the people who take the pencils in their hands and create action for peace and understanding. And there is nothing wrong with a little dreaming, and a little art. I hope some day " the world will live as one".


Spring Awakening Original Broadway Cast: The Song of Purple Summer
When the mp3 players first came out, I didn't understand what was so great about them, I mean yeah they held a lot of music,but so did mixed CDs. I saw I pod commercials, with silhouettes rocking out to their music, but quite honestly I don't think that properly explains the amazing qualities of an I pod.When I received my metal personal jukebox before college I realized. This is not just a musical device. This is an object that in a moments notice can change your mood. You unravel the white earphones, ergonomically created to stay in your ears. In my case, my I pod has a cover that matches my mood in black white or blue plastic to protect it from the harms of the daily grind. Mine has been along side me this semester, through charcoal and paint, sun and rain and snow. The thing about this silver piece of magic has nothing to do with its 2 GB music holding potential, or its smooth scrolling buttons. It is about that freedom. Like the agony of adolescence, and I pod is yours and yours alone. Other people can attempt to understand, but they cannot truly see how the perfect combination of a inspiring soundtrack with the heart pounding screams of " Totally Fucked" can make you want to scream and jump.Its easy for you to forget them and feel that music and that movement, that love pump through you. Only in the world of your I pod are you in control. You can make or break your mood. Those people who piss you off or hurt you can dissapeare because you can play your Spring Awakening as loud as you want, knowing that you are mocking them with every note that is sung. And if that doesn't work you can repeat the sound until they are gone, or untill your anarchy is properly displayed by the smug look on your face. So jam and and spin that white dial until the mood of your Ipod reads, free.

Although Jackson has fallen into some less than favorable light in recent times, he was a hero when I was younger. My brother loved him first, and being the little sister that I was, I wanted to like everything he did. My mom has beautiful pictures of our Michael Jackson days.

The one particular time that I am reminded of is one Christmas. We were at my grandmas house as we often are. My cousins were all there and as per usual, we were putting together a show to enterain the adults. My brother and I had been practicing our moon walks, our quick turns, and our one armed " Owh"'s. We were ready. We had preciously packed our VHS recording of the video into my sisters diaper bag and ran to retirive it.

We grabbed the skirts of one of the many adults and asked them to place our plastic source of glory into the angry looking VCR. We ran around the corner to prepare for our grand entrance.With a whizz and a buzz the music and video sprang to life. We leaped from around the corner to the center of the living room, pausing only a moment to let the audience recognize us. We were ready for this. We had practiced and practiced. I broke it down as much as my five year old body could in a velvet dress. But for some reason my hearing was a little off You see, in order to be more "Jackson-esque" I had put a large black fedora over my head. Because of its size, I decided to put some earmuffs over the hat, just to be safe. Despite this minor convience, the show went on to be one of the best chronicled events of that Christmas. In fact, almost everyone in my family have at least one picture of me at five, clad in dainty red velvet with bows and frill, topped with my fedora, earmuffs, some sunglasses and one glove.

I still think it would have been a great career choice.

Worst ever

This is the worst music video ever. I know this for a fact because when I went to you tube and typed in worst music video ever,and this is what came up with.The reason that I think this video is my least favorite ever is because it doesn't make any sense to me.

These silly swedish singers are dancing around in like the 70s with cardboard cut-out disco balls. Also there are like 15 back up dancers all in red flares and white sweaters. None of whom can dance to save their lives, all of which dance to their own tempo. In the background are some sweet "stars". For what reason, no one knows. What we do know is that he wants to love her tender.

This brings me to my next point. The delicious, or as I like to say ridiculous lyrics of this video. Not only does the english not make any sense as far as sentence structure goes, but they also just repeat the same thing like seventeen different times. I appreciate so much the somewhat entertaining music videos of today bring thanks to technology. Unfortunatly I also believe that without technology, most of the videos would be just as bad as this Danish suprise.

Possibly the most ridiculous moment of this three minuet indent of my life was the ending where they drive off in a car, a Grease like fashion, except instead of driving into the sunset they drive off into outer space as the weird clone like dancers wave goodbye and twirl about the screen for a few more moments.

Rhetoric Appeals

Entering Nebraska has a feeling to it all its own. From Iowa you can see the endless river stretch below your car on either side. And childhood memories for many include clenching white knuckled hands while attempting to hold your breath from one edge of the aqua marine giant of a bridge that connects the two states. Ever since I can remember that green bridge and the weather worn “Nebraska…. the good life” sign have welcomed me back to this state.

Throughout the past few years, Nebraska has been working on bringing more tourism to the state. The Nebraska council in charge of this matter brought together the ideals of Nebraska (family, nature, and fun) in the newest set of Nebraska Tourism Commercials, released in 2007. Through the use of pathos they show an emotionally charged Nebraska not in the weathered worn look of that earlier mentioned green bridge, but rather in the easily relatable white picket Home and Gardens picturesque context of the golden best of Nebraska. Asking the inevitable “Who Knew” of Nebraska families and giving their testimony with the appeal of logos.
The first “Who Knew” opens the montage is the ever popular illustration of a family at the well recognized Henry Doorley Zoo. Although it is not an in-your-face-obvious shot of the zoo the argument is clearly backed up by the social knowledge that this particular zoo is ranked top two in the nation. Along with this is the imagery of a blonde family as the little tykes play amongst the statues, father safety watching an arms width away as the announcer asks if you would’ve thought “ your little monkeys would feel so at home”. This simple analogy is once again reaffirming the comfortable quality of the atmosphere they are portraying through the ideal situation.
Next is the nature section of today’s program. Flash forward to a bike rider (helmet on to promote proper Nebraskan safety) riding through the rolling hills of the Great Plains. There are friends nearby racing in multicolored tee shirts toward the viewer and “spinning their wheels” and finding it “exhilarating”. This scene helps move along into more adult of individual characteristics of Nebraska’s tourism. It also helps us begin to view the process of which our trip might take. Also we are shown the cause and effect of the time. Not only is there the pathos emotional feeling of family that is recognized in the primary image, but also the laid back feeling of freedom and open-ness that is unique to the Midwest in contrast to the bustling constricted momentum of the big cities. This of course is the very thing that makes the Midwest what it is.
Next in the series are a few shots reinforcing the family values, a burly farm father lifting his “ extra 35 lbs” aka his son onto his shoulders glancing back at his smiling wife. This is followed by two adults, wedding rings on hand, pouring, cheering, tasting and “mixing” the red and the white wines in the wine tasting vineyards of the great state. To keep your thoughts calm and earthy, the next vision is that of a three-generation family. There is the white haired grandfather, the chipper dad and the young boy campfire illuminating their laughing faces, camping on the grassy rolling hills, crackling stream nearby and the tangerine and mango sun going down in the background.

These main images that take up the beginning of the commercial are the primary events of the structure. This ad campaign is set up as a compare and contrast of audio and visual context. There is the irony between the visions that are commonly associated with the narrator’s comments and what is shown in the actual images. For example, the “lugging extra 35lbs” evokes the image of manual labor, something that is not seen as fun, but tedious instead. However coupled with the above-mentioned child friendly image, a humor is produced that creates a newfound pathos.

The last image is a few canoes floating down the gentle Niobrara waters sun glistening off the still glass and reflecting the overgrown trees. Suddenly out of the water comes the Nebraska visitors guide clad with the crisp lines and burnt colors of the states Chimney rock.

Here is this image to match the web address and phone number that have been plaguing the bottom portion of the screen all along. This commercial invites you, tiptoeing around your bias to explore the unknown. And with the help of these nature visions we begin classifying each scene into a section or grouping that applies to what each individual wants. There is something for the children, something for the couple, something for the athlete and the nature freak, something for the family and something to do alone. All of that is united by the catchphrase “ Who Knew” always easily announced, in a deep cliché narraratrs voice.
The last images are extremely important for tying together the piece. Shortly before the concluding image of the canoes, we are given testimonies that shoot down the narrarator and combine the before separated visual and audio tracks. This is through the phrase “We knew/ I knew” spoken by the previously seen characters in each Who Knew series. This ties back into the pathos positive feelings of unity, fun, enjoyment, and family.
No matter cliché, it is still apparent that only in the Midwest is it possible to do all of the beautiful things that are shown. However glimmered for the camera, all of these things are born of truth and portray actual places, events, and actions that are available to a face paced over worked tourist. You will not go there and find the place destroyed or the nature built over. It is a resilience built into the fabrication of the state. That within itself is quite that argument of persuasion. Because lets face it, truth has been known to set you free. Who Knew?

DLS

This video is one of my favorite music videos of all time. Not only because of the song and the band, but also because of the way they chose to portray the story they are telling. Alot of bands choose to put a nice focus on the lead singer for the audience to stare and oogle and admire. But the All American Rejects chose to switch it up and bring normal everyday people to the other side of the screen . They dont just give us the audio examples of the " Dirty Little Secrets" with their lyrics, they reenforce that with the handwritten and artistically drafted personal secrets that the public hides. This amazes me because they also introduced the humor and irony of life as they show some secrets that we are trained to think of as ridiculous in contrast with the heart wrenching truths that we can all related to, or even the unthinkable ones that are secrets for a reason. It brings up the question of humanity. How are we able to put on that mask of " normality" while holding these secrets within us. We dont hold them in the lightweight form of a decorated notecard, but hold them heavily on our shoulders. And although we are sometimes ashamed, dirty little secrets have a power all their own, like a secret identity you can always return to, a secret power that someone may one day understand.

To bring this human condition back into the video, all of the notcards are hung together behind the musicians, side by side like a tapestry of failures and hopes and dreams and fears, a vinyl personalized collection of dirty little secrets combined in a way that only musicians can. Oh, AAR how do you know?

Compare and Contrast

"Writing about Lincoln again huh?" my room mate asked me, " isnt this like the fifth time, youve got to be running out of things". Indeed I was. Staring at my blank screen I was attempting to consider some type of subject matter that would be interesting (despite the fact that no-one reads these blogs anyways) and also would tie in these concepts of our class. That is what these blogs are for I assume. Ah, education how incredibly difficult you are.

So, here we are, faced with a 300 work blank to fill with comparing and contrasting, with Lincoln and education.

Now however it is starting to come to me. Throughout this month a slew of high school seniors have been working their way through the dorms and across the campus. They have next to them, worried parents with notebooks in toll. Nervously they jot down note after note with their tour guide leading them. Silently they begin to compare and contrast the new information with any other school visits they have made. I cant believe it was only a year ago that I was following tour guides footsteps across campuses across the nation. Quick hurried ones in Chicago, long snowy ones in Evansville Indiana, and strides all their own here in Lincoln. How is it possible that you can tell so much just from the feel of a school. It seems that at this point in my life I should be able to turn back and tell the high school seniors exactly how I knew that Wesleyan was the right school for me. But to tell you the truth I am not sure. I feel just as unsure about where I stand now as I did a year ago. Possibly more.

I wonder if the ones who come and visit Wesleyan can feel the differences as much as I can see them. Even visiting between UNL and Wesleyan is like traveling between two time zones. Wesleyan a gentle hub-bub of people who know eachother, smileing and exchanging hellos. A five minuet walk from any part of campus to the next. You can stop at any of the dark wooden benches around campus to view the beautiful scenery around you. Throughout the first few weeks you might've even caught yourself in the keen eye of student artist sketching their view.

Now of course I dont stay on UNLs campus quite as much as I stay on Wesleyans. But there are some pros and cons for each type of college. The large state school type works for some. Lots of people, lots of activity, and a thousand different ways to reinvent yourself.

It sometimes feels like each time I make a decision I am setting another bucket of sand upon myself. Eventually I will be covered in sand, with only my face free, viewing all the options I shouldve/couldve taken and didnt all around me. If only there were a tour guide for all walks of life.

Bombing for Peace, is like Fucking for Virginity

IRAQ:

VIETNAM:

"So you say you want a revolution? Well we all want to change the world".

Hell, isnt that right. I think its about time for a revolution. After seeing Across the Universe this weekend, due to Julie Taymor's visual brilliance. My mind has been connecting the things Ive been learning, much as she connected Beatles music to our current time period.

Walking to my car there was a dreary London mist around me, or at least what I imagine it would be like. My friend and I sat in our non-eco friendly vehicular transportation, eating our organic chocolate and thinking, and discussing for over an hour. What is the state of our world today? Like a repeat of our past we as a country are making the same mistakes again and again. People are fighting the same type of war we fought before. I support our troops, the men and women who give their lives to defend the heavy price of Liberty. I dont support the people who sit behind their desks and send them away to be killed. And instead of showing the truth our news gives us the newest update of Brittney Spears(30,600,000 google hits in 2007 alone)or Paris Hilton(18,400,000 google hits 2007) .Much less infomation is available on the parallels of two wars. Are we aware of our own history even? Of the fights we have fought already?I know I am not. But I want to be. I am trying and learning and opening my eyes a little wider.

People look at college students and laugh at us. They joke of our liberal identities, but how would they exist without us?We are the people who need to stand up and make it stop. Our world has become a society of individuals. Our leaders keep saying " Nothings gonna change my world" with their defiance and repetitive mistakes. But we need to change it. While we are all sitting here not using our voices. It is time for a social revolution becuase without one we will surely fall down. We cannot work our 9 to 5 job and forget about our global position. For being a global leader we are pretty slacking. How political I must sound right now, and not eloquently at that. But it is frightening to look and see the monster of our actions approaching dead ahead and to turn around screaming for change only to see everyone else with their backs turned to us. We have one world and the only thing we can think of is how we will destroy each other. We need to break out of our daily box and live in the circle of PEACE. I think the hippies had it right all along.Even though it took a mired of drugs to get it.

The Beatles were right, " All you need is love",

we need to turn around and reach out to take care of each other.

Growing up...it has its disadvantages

High pitched laughter and screams are muffled only slightly by my dorm window. If I stand next to my brown wooden desk I can see through the screen swarms of children buzzing like bees, so carefree in the greenspace of our campus. They have no self conciousness while running in the wind, their arms spread wide like a butterfly fighting courageously against the breeze. They have no fear of failure when they step up to bat during an improptu baseball game, swinging each time with renewed strength and vigor. They are not afraid of who they are.
When exactly is it that we become so questioning. When is it that curiosity and fun turn to fear and mechanical prodding? I sit at my computer here, thumping away on my quest for intellect and I see that somehow I have metamorphosed from the girl who was SO SURE of what I wanted to do into someone who is sure of nothing. I listen to the lyrical melodies of Beatles music and my mind and the voices split into chords and I close my eyes and I soak up the melody like a daily used kitchen sponge, and with the rhythm I exhale and ring out my present. I pretend just for a moment that I am a little girl. When I was little, I wanted to be a crayon. A crayon, that was my aspiration, and I was beyond fine with that. Plans and Goals were unthinkable. I just was. I was who I was. No questions asked.

I guess everyone has that day though. Mine was when I was swimming in the pool and I wondered, "How is it that I came to be the person I am?". And it amazes me that I remember that now, but like in our essay, it was a question that plagued me. For each answer I developed I had a million new questions. Why this social class? Why a girl? Why so many siblings? How are these things supposed to affect me? What is the plan for me, what is my purpose? Who and what am I supposed to be.

When your younger you are allowed to try on different styles, you get a new pair of shoes every year, because you grow. Why are we expected to stop this at some point, why after we stop our physical growth do we have to settle on intellectual and psychological growth as well? How are we supposed to decide who we will be forever if we dont know who we are right now?

The children are shuffled and rotated into their specific placement in line as a sports management student smiles and calls out their new formation. I can see the curious child in the young man , and questioning, searching young man in the child. Which one is better? Which of them knows who they really are? Who will be happy? Oh to be a child again.

How does it feel to Remember

It is roughly five or six o clock on a breezy warm Tuesday that is caught between September and October. On 13th street, on the edge of campus ,directly across from the University of Lincolns two-story bookstore, is the Ross theatre. The ruby and red speckled brick theatre is small in comparison to the giant building diagonal from it, yet it snuggles in nicely with a library to its right and the Haymarket area not far away. The only way you would be able to distinguish the theatre from its Siamese companion, the visitors center, is from the flashing marquee that quickly displays the current main showings.

This theatre however is not typical. It does not boast the swirling active stars of Oak view 24’s Galaxy star ceiling or the wide expanse of Douglas theatre downtown. Instead it is compact, tiny in space. This theatre shows classic films, foreign films, and film student’s final projects. It also is home to events such as Husker games and sneak previews. This theatre is historic in comparison to the futuristic theatres of our time. The Ross is unlike other theatres in the area because it is able to create a connection, a bridge even between people and time. The people that come here are not looking for action thrillers or the newest hit. They come searching for art, substance and memory. The theatre is able to filter their screenings (because of their size) and focus on what exactly people want to see.

Walking in you see Kevin, a UNL student who properly portrays the blonde-hair-horn-rimmed-glasses-type , and is staffing the small front desk nestled in the east-wrapping corner. The evening light sneaks in as he asks which of the two sets of movies I would like to see; smiling sweetly at the older couple behind me as he pulls out the three ply paper. The sound of metal sliding over paper escapes and I receive the yellow paper form my carbon copy ticket. As I follow his direction into the great hallway that divides the two theatres I pass by the pillars that seem to swirl with their rotating and size-changing pattern, to the centered candy stand. A short girl with brown hair, and a nametag that says Katie, puts her math book aside and flashes a quick all-knowing smile as she offers me drive-in style treats of popcorn and hot dogs as well as classic coca-cola. The delectable drinks range from chi-tea to sodas and coffee. After glancing through the small glass tray with the eyes of a small child in the candy store, I grab a few mysterious tin-wrapped chewy candy chocolates from the giant glass jar. Blue means milk chocolate and gold is caramel, I am told. I compliment this with water and ask for small popcorn to chase it down.



The scent of freshly buttered popcorn follows me as I feel my way through the dimly lit curving hallway. As it opens into the valley of space, I blink myself accustomed to the lighting and glance around at the different students spread throughout this theatre. And I ask how many students are here for classes and how many, like me, have traveled here out of sheer interest? Some students have made themselves comfortable, their socked feet gently tapping the seat in front of them in a slight impatience. Some pop their bubble gum and flicker on their cell phones. As I make my way up the stairs their heads fade slightly into the darkness blending with the withering lights. I settle my self into the rust colored seats with a rock and a creak, and feel my hand along cold wooden handle searching for the common placement of the cup holder (only to find it backwards on the seat in front of me). The older couple ambles into their seats inching along in the darkness. The movie starts and the buzz of the machine reaches my ears from above and those dust particles whirl to meet light in the air.
In this moment my mind begins to play a movie unto itself. It is a fuzzy movie, not complete in its parts. It jumps a bit as my mind flips from memory to memory. Flying through the air on my father’s shoulders, and my friend’s funeral. Parts of my movies are still slides, reminding me of a single moment, some include scents, or tastes of chocolate cookies, and my family’s laughter. However some of these I have only heard stories of. Others are Kodak moments of landmark experiences, cliché moments that are so unique to my mind. My first kiss, saying, “ I love you”, graduation day.

What is it about these stories that entice us so? How is it possible that is they so common and somehow unique at the same time? Why is it that theatres such as the Ross are able to stand in the age of pop culture, action movies and love comedies where these private moments are exploited? Maybe it has something to do with our individual movies, the memories that we relate to allowing us to connect into each of those movies we see. This plays in my head as the classic voices of 1940’s actors tease my mind. They coax me from my red rigid seats and over stimulated culture into the black and white simplicity of their era. This era does not boast an eight-dollar cover charge for entertainment, or a month’s rent for a bag of popcorn. Here in this theatre I am nostalgic for that time when everyone had a place, for all the past times, for the people who seemed to know all of the answers. And for all things that have passed in the memories of people, without being captured.


In this theatre, developed most likely for the purpose of education, a dozen or so students have all taken this trip back in time alongside me. In our rows of angular seating we are viewing a moving living time capsule that in a way is much like a home movie of our own. This time capsule contains the memories of another time. It holds the language, the expressions, and the mannerisms of the time. In our society at this time, we have an uncanny need for nostalgia. We need to creep into these time capsules to associate and lather ourselves with the simplicities and styles of another time. Like a daughter trying on her mothers clothing, we slide in and out of these periods of time. But our feet never quite fit the shoes of those that came before us. We find it easier to connect in such a way with active memories and art than with dates and readings. Particularly for the soul-searching college student, it is easier to see yourself reflected in relation to someone onstage, on the screen, and in our own memories. In this way new generations are able to develop a pair of shoes all their own instead of fitting others footprints.

While wiping the movie star dust from your eyes, the lights gradually wake themselves up, reminding you of the time you are in. Stepping down those narrow steps, the other students join you and they smile unconsciously, connected through this humbling experience. I walk by posters of classic Disney films, originals such as Peter Pan and Alice in Wonderland with lightened color and pre-computer illustration. These posters are somewhat weathered, much like an old memory. They too have creases down the middle from being carried around and opened up again. Now they are being displayed, collecting outward dust until they are woken up again. Flip flops slap the hallway tiles as a large group of exchange students and art student exit from the foreign films theatre. There is a buzzing and humming as the group passes by. We are blessed once more by the desk clerks smile as he hands us art flyers and posters to remind us, that no matter what home movies we carry within ourselves, we are part of a new history a new era, and a new section of time capsule movies. Years from now, we will be nothing but a classic film for others to remember.

Topic: What are we Fighting for?

In rural Nebraska the stereotype is to be a white, republic nay-Sayer who supports the catholic church and all the implied law of such. That is why videos like this are so important to people who are not that way. Not that there is anything terribly wrong with those points of view ( everyone is entitled to their own of course) but it is nice to be able to look upon a city or event from your town that breaks down those barriers.

I have always been one to generalize the state of Nebraska, because I wished to define myself outside of the constraints of those same generalities. I do not see myself as any of those contextual references associated with Nebraska. I was not raised by wolves, with a cornfield nearby. I do not ride a horse to school,in fact I don't even like the Huskers.

So what does one do when the social normality's of a situation or place do not fit with those inside you? Well there are two options, you can leave. Or you can do what these people did. They did not whine their differences or protest their insecurities. They shouted their opinions so anyone could hear. And they were ready for anyone who disagreed to come out and say it. Isn't that what our country is all about anyways. The ability, and the right to disagree with the government. And as a government build by the people, for the people, shouldn't it be their right to know their audience. Particularly if their audience happens to be and entire town in Nebraska that defies the traditional Red State guidelines? Tell me Senators when you run for office, What and Whom are you fighting for?

Post: Response to an event, My first step.

"Big Face, Little Face" the stage-manager says to the circle of cast members. It is 6:30 on Thursday night and twenty seven college students are shaking out the stress of their day to focus in at the task at hand. "Twenty minuets till house opens." Joel ( house manager and sound technician ) shouts. At this moment, the women scrabble back to their dressing rooms in various stages of dress, because although their hair is up in 1900's style, their printed tees and skinny jeans aren't quite period.
The show is called Our Town, and it is my first theater production since high school. It amazes me to no end to feel my senses ignite as they create new memories. The lights, the bustle of skirts, the movement of the black curtain as the first entrance is made. All of this is new for me, yet enticingly familiar. It is exciting to be alive in this new environment. The cast is full of a different energy, different backgrounds,age groups and ideas. There is an air of positivity and passion within the greenroom as the last straggling audience members shuffle into the theatre. Take a breath. "Places" Joel whispers from the doorway, and there is an intense swift movement towards the hall, the movement sounding like a heard of cattle on tiptoes. As a group we huddle next to our respective doorways peeking through a crack in the door in a manner that remindes me of Scooby Doo. There it is. With a click of the ghost light and one last quick breath, we are on. It is time for the show. My first step.

Post 4: Hidden Secrets

In downtown Lincoln somewhere between the Haymarket area and the slew of thrift stores is a hidden treasure named Panache (known commonly as The Coffee House). Slipping through the strange entrance between a bar and a bank, you begin to get the feel of the place. Gentle chatter greets you along with the whiff of god’s most glorious coffee creations. To the right of the doors, a checker box floor is faded from hours of sunlight; an antique bike in the window itself casts a shadow. To your left is the order station. Walking up the counter you see the choices of a million different tantalizing treats. Everything from hot coffee and soup to fruit juice and salads are available. A friendly blonde boy peeps his eyes around the corner and asks us for our order. With so many choices I feel like a kid in a candy store, until he suggests their newest treat for summer (a combination of mocha, caramel, and chocolate). They hand us our mugs, full of flavor and topped with whipped cream and find that the price tag is quite reasonable (only $2.75 each for a 20oz).

At only two in the afternoon, it seems that people have started filtering in. There are professors, discussing future class plans, musicians writing in new musical pieces, artists sketching, and of course a brew of college students spread across the room. Built to accommodate, The Coffee House is installed with free wi-fi and is quite spacious with three separate rooms total and several different size tables. So wheatear you’re catching up on your favorite coffee or spreading out your four different English books, you’re sure to fit in here. The small town feel of the service is countered by the eclectic style of the place. It’s mismatched chairs, local artwork, and design it yourself chalkboard walls give ownership to the city of Lincoln allowing everyone and anyone to feel as if The Coffee House is their coffee house. This helps to explain the wide variety of customers and their undying loyalty. Not to mention, the coffee is good.

Post 3: An Event

This week we were asked to reflect on a local event that was in the newspapers, and I can see none more emotionally revealing than the memories of September 11th. The Omaha World Herald featured an article of remembrance in which they spoke of the different events across Omaha ( and the metro area) that were used to show memoriam to the tragic events of that day.

The article is relevant to all Americans and even includes a quote from one of our own prairewolves here at Wesleyan. She states one of the most relevant facts when she notices the need for remembrance and uniting. The concept of "Family of Man" has fallen from our repertoire as a country except in times of turmoil. It was most drastically seen by the actions of people after September 11th but can also be seen in the events following Hurricane Katrina. The American people are like all humans; we are drawn to each other. We want to help. And in such times we bind together as one. It amazes me to see the dedication that people even here in the metro area have to the memory of those lost in the event. People all across the state gave one of their most valuable resource (time) willingly away for a moment. Some stopped in crowded workspaces for a moment of silence. Some placed flags in local parks where red, white and blue shown through the fallen foliage. Some wrote letters to our current heroes across seas. And still others gave their hands to a permanent memorial statue located downtown. The statue, named "On the Wings of Angels" by Littleton Alston is meant to symbolize the ascension to heaven.

It causes you to sit down and think of the people in this world. The fact that these people are not numbers, not just a race, not just a orientation, a disease, a stereotype. People are people no matter where you go. And it is up to you to make it know that you understand that. It is up to us to make our place with and in relation to others. Be it through our actions or reactions, a certain understanding stems from tragedy. Let something be learned.

Post II: Event Review

For all of those who believe Lincoln Nebraska to be a small town void of culture, dare to take a walk across campus to the junction of 48th and Huntington. There you will find a hidden Art Center known commonly as The Lux Center for the Arts . A bright children’s mural shadows the back entrance, and a love of art can be felt from the moment of entrance.

Exquisitely hidden in University Plaza it can barely be found, marked only by a side sign stating simply “Art”. Walking throughout the building there is evidence of the different interests. This includes clay pots that fund their children’s classes ( on sale for 10 dollars a piece), a bicycle designed for the Tour of Lincoln, and a pottery seminar. This shows some of the different opportunities available for artists; ranging from tots and elementary students to college preparation and college credit courses. They also offer adult classes and opportunities for up-and-coming artist including the First Friday’s program. During the first Friday of every month there is the opening of a new exhibit, including snacks and a reception. During these events onlookers are given the chance to not only view the art, but also to ask questions and interact with the artists themselves.

During the current First Friday exhibit the focus was glass art titled Exploring the Human Form. The pieces included works of Martin Blank, Robert Carlson, Dino Rosin, and Leah Wingfield, all focused on the beauty of the human form. The pieces ranged from detailed Buddhist pieces, to more abstract creations such as those of Martin Blank . All pieces were available for purchase throughout the evening. The artist featured in First Friday range from local to national artist in all mediums. The Glass Invitational will be open through the 29th of September, so take a chance and cross the street to the world of new art and explore the human form.

Post I: Discourse Surrounding the Essay

In reading Atwan’s quotations from many different writers and essayist, I began to question the methods of teachers in our high schools.

I found myself agreeing with the thought process of Kathleen Norris(p. 32-3), as she explained the importance of an essay as a dialogue between the writer and the audience. This was a subject repeated throughout the reading by several different writers. In fact, it was the main point of my journal entry in Thursday’s discussion. It seemed imperative to the “new age essay” that this form of writing would and should change from a repetitive regurgitation of facts into a blend of such fact and human nature. Perhaps this is what resonated so strongly with Norris’ piece. She claims that a reader should feel, after reading a excellent essay, that the thoughts and direction of the author had “ told me something about the world, that I didn’t know before. Something I sensed but could not articulate”. As a reader I felt that the word sense is central to the idea. There is no passion or drive for knowledge without the sense of need. There is no connection without feeling or emotion, and without connection there is no exchange of information, which in most cases is the entire point of the essay.

This left me wondering why in the world our educators would push informative yet dry pieces on students. I seemed to be a minority in the fact that I was often pushed to write thought and feeling along with fact. While most of my other classmates seemed to only have seen the homework, repetitive forms. Is it that high school administration doesn’t believe we can handle such emotional and cognitive thought processes or is it that they consider it a training experience in which college is the real competition? On one hand I understand the process that school systems often go through. The basic grammar, the sentence structure; so on and so forth through the educational cookie cutter. But at the same time they should encourage thought from within of the subject. Not only in AP classes or honor systems but in all levels. Students have been taught to hate essays for their bland quality but that is what they are taught to write. And is that not what the point of this article is, that we should, as a population learn to communicate more effectively? That our writing should, as Norris states, “resonate” and “ give back to the reader a thought, a memory, an emotion made richer by the experience of another”(32). Why then is this the last point of focus for students?