Childhood

Babies. The other other white meat.

Yes, babies are cute.

But babies don't really do anything besides just be cute, so I'm here to talk about your childhood. Oooh! Does it give you that magical tingle and make you think about fiery dragons and flying cars and soup made out of acorns and grass?

For a lot of people, childhood was a great era. It was a time when they could be free of tedious responsibility, free to explore the still large and mysterious world, free to let your imagination take you to new and exciting places. Childhood is a time for growing, but also for not growing. It almost seems that the more you know about the world the less wonderful it is. Or, that ever since Santa became extinct Christmas lost much of its wonder.

When you think about it, kids can get away with a lot of stuff. They can act silly, they can pretend to be this or that, and does anyone judge them? Of course not. They’re just “being kids.” Is there an expression like that for adults, though? I ask you: if a glowering, sully-eyed adult with a business suit and a five o’clock shadow drags themselves home after a perturbing work day, is he just “being an adult”?

I happen to miss my childhood. I’m sure a lot of you do as well. A lot of days I remember not feeling embarrassed to pretend to be pioneer and gather wheat for the long winter ahead; or trudge through desert terrain armed with special tools for fighting the loose dinosaurs; or sneak through the forest with a compass to try and find the rogue spy in the hidden tree house.

I feel like kids these days (yes, I said “kids these days”) are growing up too fast. Especially with all the new media and technological advances. With iPhones and iPods and iThis and iThat, kids can get access to all sorts of content not suitable to their underdeveloped ears and brains. For instance, my friends and I were at a state park and wandering along a river bank singing “Just Around the River Bend” when we came upon a group of prepubescent boys playing rowdily in the sand. As we passed we kept singing, and one of them began shouting profanities at us: e.g. “Boobs!”

What has the world of youngsters come to?

But it’s not even THAT that annoys me so much about childhood. No, it’s the fact that after you’ve turned thirteen, you’re expected by almost everyone around you to be done with childhood. Enough playing pretend. Enough thinking about magical creatures. Stop being creative. Do your homework. Get a boyfriend. Buy clothes that hug you way too tightly. Poor brooding teenagers.

All my teenage years I mourned my childhood. I’d sit down in the living room by myself and watch our home videos, watch me as a baby push around a squishy soccer ball and slobber all over my pygmy hands. I spent hours reading children’s books, watching children’s movies . . . I was sad that I didn’t have a real reason to keep enjoying that kind of stuff.

Then, college happened. College? Wait—isn’t that where all the stuck-up brains go to write thesis papers and wear tweed jackets? Sometimes, yes. Luckily I ended up at a liberal arts college, meaning the students are as immature as they were in high school, and sometimes even less mature than that. At college I found people who love childhood as much as I do. The difference is, we haven’t lost it yet.

We play on the elementary school playground; we sing Disney songs along the river bank; we read all the latest YA fantasy novels; we set up secret trees around campus to hide notes to each other in; we dress up in costumes and have tea parties. But the one thing we have that a lot of adults lack is childlike enthusiasm for life and learning. If there’s something we’re interested in, we learn everything we can about it and get EXCITED.

Why can’t adults still hold on to that one aspect of childhood, that most important aspect? If you still saw the world from behind eyes that were always full of wonder or curiosity, wouldn’t everything seem magical again? Or at least somewhat tolerable?

You know, maybe I’m just thinking about all of this because I’m scared to graduate next year and start “real life.” But to me, life is never boring. It’s never monotonous. It’s never routine. Because there are so many new things to learn every day—so many new things to see. How could anyone be apathetic? How could anyone be so serious?

Oscar Wilde said something like, “Life is too important to ever talk seriously about it.” And he was right. Why do adults take life so seriously? And why are we rubbing that off on today’s youth? Why are sex and violence “cool”? (Although I must admit, I do enjoy a movie or book with sex and violence once in a while.)

Lastly, I must urge you to think about how you were different as a child. And if you feel your life is lacking something as an adult, why not try and see through the eyes you had when you were, say, seven?

Maybe I’ve just been reading too many Lewis Carroll biographies…

Dante Freaking Alighieri

What do you think of when you hear the name "Dante"?

FLAMES?

DEMONS?

A THREE-HEADED SATAN WITH A GIANT--WINGSPAN?

If you answered "yes" to these three questions, then you have read Dante's Inferno. Good for you. I am proud you were forced to read it in high school. It is a classic.

Dante was from Tuscany, back in the middle ages. A man of the state. Who liked to make people think he was the next Jesus Christ (on a strictly subconscious level, of course).

Now, what else do you think of when you hear the name "Dante"?

TERRACES?

FOG?

VERY HEAVY ROCKS?

If you answered "yes" to these three questions, you have read Dante's Purgatorio and I feel extremely sorry for you. You see, Dante didn't just want to show his fellow Italians how to meet Satan and conquer him, but also how to climb the mountain of Purgatory and meet all the old saps who were somewhat sorry for their sins but still had to undergo torture for X amount of years in order to go up to Heaven.

Dante's epic poems almost read like bible scripture, so be careful--you could fall into the Dante-is-kind-of-Jesus trap.

And now for a few fun facts:

Did you know: In Inferno and Purgatorio, Dante liked to express his superiority by placing friends he knew in real life into terrible situations? For instance, one person he half-drowned in a river of blood. Dante was so great to his sinner friends. So much mercy.

Did you know: Dante was so in love with Virgil (the poet) that he made the character of Virgil lead the character of Dante around Hell and Purgatory as his wise, old guide? Dante wanted to show that he was the heir to Virgil's poetic legacy, and that Virgil's writings had taught him everything he knew.

Did you know: Dante had a wife and also a secret lover on the side? Who's the sinner now, dude?!

For even more fun, I bring you two Purgatorio comics of my own making.

My Sonnet Affliction

After reading sonnets composed by John Donne (most noteably "The Flea") back in English Survey I, I couldn't help but get in on the action.

When most people hear the word "sonnet," they immediately picture something like this:


And though the Earl of Dorset is rather comely, his portrait does not denounce the meaning or concept of a sonnet.

A sonnet is usually 14 lines of poetry, going along the following pattern: ABAB/CDCD/EFEF/GG, and if you forget that rhyming couplet at the end, GOD STRIKE YOU DOWN IMMEDIATELY.

Now, in my first attempts at writing sonnets, I didn't always follow the pattern because I was what the Deutsch would call a "dummkopf." And so, I forewarn you all, that though they may seem deepy entrenched with the Renaissance ideals of poetry, they are not, in fact, all that good.

I will now reproduce for you a few of my sonnets. Plagarism is welcomed, but only if you wish to find a severed horsehead in you bed and your mother at the bottom of the ocean swimming with the fishes. (Side note: I am in no way affiliated with the Mafia. Much.)

Sonnet #1

A milk-white shadow in the street
Hallowed, foamy, an inhale of smoke
To breathe this danger comforts me
Without putrid air my lungs will choke.
They blanket me, and stow away
The trinkets: heart, brain, soul;
Peeling maddness so sour a delay
That I broke the bell yet hear it toll.
Milk-white face in my dream behold
A ghostly prayer of vivid decay
Stopped, like a cork in my soul
Another toll will tell me who can stay.
Face from hell you liven me,
As deadened fruit that's fallen from the tree.

Sonnet #2

Love, Love, Love is an odd fuck,
It spoils and dries then peels
Like melons sitting out in the sun
First it rots then draws the fleas.
Love, Love, Love is an itchy foot
That scabs and burns and browns
Trembling with the want to cut,
Take it out and bury it beneath the ground.
Love, Love, Love is a pregant rat;
It drags and bites and smells
Once it births the offspring shall attack
Killing beauty where'er it dwells.
Love takes the shape of a blooming rose,
But like a storm it injures when it blows.


The following poem does not rhyme, and it is not a sonnet. I wrote it last night.

My Box

No one knows just what I keep
inside my special box
perhaps a coin, perhaps a cross
Neither will you find in there.
And never will you know.
My special box is just for me
Its contents keep me alive
If you can guess just what it is,
I may pay you with a key.
Or else I'll just take my box
And leave it to draw the flies
Somewhere in a shrubbery,
A barn or circus tent
A place where no one will see
That box of mine at rest.
It's not my heart, no that's a joke
It's rather something more,
Akin to whisps and fairy wings,
perhaps a bit like odds and ends.
But never pausing is my box
It plays a little tune
With whistles loud and voices low,
You may wonder who could write it,
The book that's kept inside my box
A story of a life and time.

Don't You Smile, Lewis Carroll

So there's this guy. He goes by "Lewis Carroll" but that's not his real name. I think it's Charles Lutwidgedsdouehfso or something. Anyway, he wrote these books, and apparently they're really famous. "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland"--have you heard of that one? Some people have. I guess you could say there's an "Alice" cult running around out there somewhere, thanks be to Disney's Alice in Wonderland and then recently Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland With Johnny Depp.

So this guy likes kids, right? Especially little girls. I know what you want to say: "Little girls? Was he like a child molester or something?" And to you I say, "No idea. But let's not ruin the magic, ok?"

The thing is, I've become kind of very much interested in this "Lewis Carroll" fellow. You know, I tend to go for those tall, dark, handsome, stammering Englishmen.

So I Googled images of Mr. Carroll and found dozens upon dozens. Did you know he was a photographer? I know--how much cooler can this dude get? Anyway, I found photographs he took of himself.

AND GUESS WHAT?

Mr. Carroll isn't smiling. Not in a single photograph. And it made me wonder--if he was such a fun guy, playing with children all the time, hopscotch, hide-and-seek, Wonderland and what have you, why on earth wouldn't he show it on his face? Did he want the world to remember him as a pre-Emo Victorian artist who was a supressed homosexual? (He never married...hmm...)

Now I'm just jumping to conclusions.

I will now present to you some photographs of Mr. Carroll, to prove my point.



I am a sad young man and nobody understands my imagination.



Still very sad.



So sad that I'm bored to death.



So sad those little girls grew up. Now they're just bitches.



In fact, I'm just going to pretend I am important. Maybe that'll help.



Who knew, even surrounded by little children I cannot form a smile. Can someone teach me? No one?

OH WAIT--we're all Victorians! No wonder we're not smiling!!!

*****

And that is Mr. Carroll.

Now I will present to you a comic of my own making, a comic which negatively represents Mr. Carroll not because I don't like him but because he never smiles and so I am poking fun at him. He really was rather brilliant, and probably very funny and kind, but by golly his photographs could fool anyone, eh?

Hier ist das comic:

Two Thousand Eleven

In honor of the New Year and its budding infancy, I bring you a few pictures of my homeland, Prague, Czech Republic.



Ah yes . . . the beauty of Prague revealed . . .



What a magical place.



Oh, sorry, that is not Prague--that is Ace, my dog.



I'm fairly sure the words are referring to the whale on the wall, not to me...



Puppets are loved as much as pets are.



And the pigeons eat better than the people.


Happy New Year.

Don't blow it.

Can Lucifer Have an Evil Twin? Yes. It's Called Money.

Back when I was seven, a dollar bill looked like a block of gold to me. If I did all of my chores, I would get a dollar, and what did I buy with it? Why, gum, of course.
But my addiction to bubble gum is a different story. No, what I want to discuss here is something much more sinister--something that ancient folk would never have predicted (because they were unaware Satan had an evil twin).

CAPITALISM.



Yes, that is the evil consuming human society. It hurts more people than it helps, simply because we need money to live happy, regular lives. And if you don't have enough money to go on vacation, or even go see a movie, then you are doomed to live a very stressful, tense, mediocre life.

"Hold the phone," you say. "If the world ain't got no dough, then what the heck are we gonna use to buy things?"

Chickens.

That's right, I said chickens. Chickens, canned foods, cars, televisions, phones, computers, furniture, cows, artwork, music, lampshades, tweezers, microphones, clothes hangers . . . the list could go on and on until the end of time.
You see, people had it made when they used the barter system. Literally, THEY HAD IT MADE. Whatever they needed, they made it, and if they couldn't make what they needed, they'd make something else and trade that something for the thing they needed that they couldn't make in the first place.

"But wait," you say. "I can't MAKE myself a toaster oven. We have factories to make toaster ovens. You can't pay the factory workers with chickens--no one would work there!"

Okay, I see your point. But how about this: instead of big business factories that monopolize the market for their product and raise the prices so much that we can't afford them simply because they have no competition, I suggest that Mom & Pop shops come back into play. Small business should be the norm in this country, and around the world. Yes, it would be a pain in the ass, especially when you just want to galumph into the nearest Walmart where you can buy your food and your garden supplies and your hunting gear all at once.

Just imagine this scenario for a moment. You grow green beans in your back yard. You harvest those green beans, stick 'em in a basket, and ride your bike into town to the local drugstore. You go to the clerk and show them your green beans.
"Hey," you say to the clerk. "I've got some damn fine home made green beans here, freshly harvested. Can I get a bottle of Tylenol, a bottle of Aspirin, and a tube of Preparation H, please?"

The clerk nods, gets your items, takes your green beans, and off you go with your medicine. Now, what does the clerk do with those green beans? Well, he goes to the move theatre with his wife and trades them for tickets. The theatre owner will take those green beans to her house and cook 'em for dinner and have a lovely meal.

Trading is fun, right? Remember Pokemon cards? C'mon, kids--you can't deny that as soon as you opened your little pack of cards that cost your mama $3.59 you shuffled through them to see if you got a special card that you could trade for your next door neighbor's Chancey because let's just face it Chancey is way cute.

Did you pay your neighbor 50 cents for their cards? (If you did, boy, you were a born capitalist.) No, you traded.

Obviously the fact that I'm talking about the barter system means that I have not studied economics or politics enough to understand that trading could not work in today's society. Yeah, I get that. The barter system had its run, and now it's done.

The point of this shabang is that I want people to take a look at what money has done to them. And when I mean "done," I mean, how has money affected you personally? How has it affected your health, your outlook on life? Would you be happier with more money? If you've struggled with money at some time or another, did you feel like you couldn't live the way you wanted because you didn't have enough money?

My parents lived in California in the 90s and had to file bankruptcy. It's not a good thing for your credit score. In fact, it basically ruins you as far as getting loans and stuff from the bank--they don't trust you to handle your money anymore. So my parents moved me and my brother across the country to Pennsylvania. We rented house after house, never buying because we just couldn't afford it.

Growing up I never thought my parents were having financial troubles. I was carefree, and my parents did a great job hiding their stress and anxiety from us kids. They took us to parks to play instead of buying us video games. They read us books at the library instead of taking us to movie theatres. They got a lot of hand-me-down clothes and toys from their friends whose kids were older than us. They tried to save money.

The thing is, life might have been just great for us kids, but for my parents it was a nightmare. They both worked. My mom became ill and had to quit working, so we only had one income. See, it was when my brother and I got older that we started wanted money. All our friends were getting money, they were getting cell phones and cars and computers--and finally my parents sat us down and told us that we just couldn't afford those things.

It confused me, knowing that all these other kids had soooo many things and I couldn't have them because of money. Without money, you're constantly worrying about putting food on the table, or paying the next bill, or even wondering if you can afford to have a house.

Right now my family is homeless. I mean, we have a house down in Tennessee, but we're renting it out--we can't even afford to move back into our house if we wanted, because the renters are paying the monthly payments for us. We can't afford to make the payments on the house ourselves.

Basically, both my parents are older now and yet they do not have security in life. It's not fair. It's not fair to them, because I see now how hard they've worked their whole lives trying to live a comfortable life, and right now nothing is comfortable for them. My dad lives in a cabin without running water or heating with our four animals; not only does he have to take care of the animals, heat the wood stove, and fetch water from the pump, but he's having to job hunt at the same time. Meanwhile my mom lives with her parents in Illinois because she has no place else to go.

I feel lucky being in college where at least I have hot showers and three meals a day and don't have to think about paying the next rent bill or even wondering where I will live this year.

Money is too important, and it makes me sad.

Things are only going to get more expensive. We have to live our lives working our butts off to make enough money just to buy groceries. If you're lucky, you'll get a great job or get promoted and buy yourself a nice mansion in the woods somewhere--but for the rest of us who can't catch a break, it feels like if only we had some money, life would be so much nicer. Life would really be worth living.

And it sucks that human existence has been reduced to something so superficial, something as insignificant as a piece of paper with green print. How we live depends so much on our money. There is no equality in the world--that's a concept that exists in the minds of optimistic people.

Yes, ever since the early humans began roaming the earth, we've had to fight to make our way. We've had to compete, we've had to have an edge to survive. But why, in this day and age, does survival come with such a high price? Why does happiness have to be packaged with a stack of Benjamins?

There's no cure, there's no way to lock up this "evil twin" called money. Our world is centered around it. People are greedy because of it and will do terrible things in order to have more of it.

And you know what? Money only buys us THINGS.

What good are things, when you're lying on your deathbed, staring into the eyes of your loved ones, knowing that it's the end? Does your LCD TV give you a longer life? Will your Egyptian cotton sheets come to your rescue? No. Things don't mean anything in the big picture--we just get so addicted to things that we tend to forget that one day none of it will matter, and in the end, what we contributed to the world will matter much, much more.

Okay. Yeah. I'm done trying to assert my Utopian ideals.

Just keep in mind, when you're gazing into the sunset from the deck of a huge cruise ship sailing to Bermuda, that money means everything. Having it means you don't have to be a 60 year old woman with no place to live, sacrificing everything you have in order to support your two grown children. Having money means you don't go to sleep at night in tears because all you want is a house to call your own; a roof that belongs to you, not anyone else.

I promise my next post will be more comical.

Mozart: Cooler Than Jesus?

First, God created cheesecake, and then He created Mozart.



Here are some little known facts:
The child prodigy grew up to be a towering 8 feet 4 inches.
He could lift seven pianos and three harps at the same time.
His middle name was Amade, the French for "a man with a giant p_n_s".
He could read minds and talk to smallish, brown rabbits (and only the rabbits of that description; black, tan, white, or speckled rabbits he could not see due to an eye disease).
Mozart was a man of many notes, and many words, he wrote brilliant poetry, including the famed elegy for his pet bird, whom Mozart mourned for exactly twenty-six months, two days, and one and three-quarters hours, when he decided to quit weeping, drink some wine, and screw his wife and two hundred six opera-singing girlfriends.
And now for a few TRUE facts, brought to you by the good people running the following website: http://home.comcast.net/~the.idea.orchard/Mozart_Interesting_Facts.htm

WHAT A LONG NAME!
Mozart's full name was really long. It was: Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophillus Amadeus Gottlieb Sigismundus Mozart. Theophillus, Amadeus, Gottlieb, and Sigismundus all meant the same thing, just in different languages. They mean "Beloved of God." His family called him Wolferl.



MUSIC BEFORE EDUCATION
Mozart could write music notes before he could write words.

WHAT A SMART GUY!
Mozart was very good at mathematics. he liked to scribble mathematical figures all over walls and table cloths. Also, Mozart was very good at languages, especially Italian.

BOY KNIGHT DISCOVERED
Mozart was a knight! He became a knight when he was presented with the Papal Order of the Golden spur as a boy. He was given the Papal Order of the Golden Spur by the pope of Rome, Clement XIV. Mozart was given this honor because he wrote a complicated piece down on paper after hearing it only once! This piece was called Miserere by Gregorio Allegri.



GAMES THEN MUSIC... GAMES THEN MUSIC...
Mozart played many games, but he was still able to write the music that was assigned to him. How did he do it? While waiting for his turn in the game, Mozart would scribble down a few music notes then take his turn. Lucky for him, music came very easily.

A COMPOSITION BORN EVERY DAY!
Mozart composed over 600 musical works. Most composers write a far smaller number of music than 600 works.
Mozart composed:
50 symphonies
25 piano concertos
12 violin concertos
27 concert arias
26 string quartets
103 minuets
15 masses
21 opera works
WOW!!!


SO COOL, HE'S IN A BAND.

"THAT BOY CAN NOT COMPOSE MUSIC!"
Many people did not believe that a little boy such as Mozart could compose such beautiful music. He was locked into a tower with only a pen, paper, and a bed. In a week someone checked up on him and was amazed at the piles and piles of music. There was no more doubt that Mozart had written the music everyone loved.

AND ONE MORE THING!
DON'T FORGET TO TREAT YOURSELF TO SOME MOZART BALLS, ALWAYS DELICIOUS AND CHOCOLATEY!





Conclusion: Mozart is WAY cooler than Jesus.


So sad. :-(