"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.
"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.
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.
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.
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.
