Fall 2014, in a Blog

I'm sitting in bed listening to Silent Night right now. I have four days until finals start, one week until I'll be on the road home, two weeks until Christmas. What little motivation has dragged me through the last three and a half months has dissipated since Thanksgiving break; I'm basically begging the exhaust fumes of my brain to propel me through the paper writing, preparation, and test taking of the next seven days.

That paragraph is essentially a summation of what Fall 2014 has done to me, my roommates, and seemingly every TCU student that I've talked to. It's been a drag, a "long, hard slog," to quote Kiss Me, Kate. The First Noel is playing now, and I feel like I should be uplifted. It's hard to truly enjoy the optimistic power of Christmas music, though, when I know I'll have to be "enjoying" studying for my math final soon.

I don't want to seem like a downer; I've loved this semester. I've developed some new friendships and strengthened old ones. I've changed my major and infused new life into my future. I have found a place to live for the next two years with three wonderful people. I've had the blessing of following TCU football every step of the way to an 11-1 record (we should have made the playoff, but that's a completely different story). I got to see one of my favorite bands in concert for the fourth time and realized that I will never get enough of them live. I was able to visit Disney World with my parents and my sister, something that I know will not be happening too much more as my sister and I both continue to grow up. I've had relaxing and rejuvenating trips home at Fall and Thanksgiving breaks. I have so much to be thankful for.

The actual school part of school seems to be what's brought me, and everyone else, down. Again, don't get me wrong: I've enjoyed class. I've liked going to my classes and learning about a wide variety of topics, from British Literature to 1800 to Intro to Programming, from Intro to Literary Theory to Differential Equations, and, of course, Literature and Civilizations II. I'm just looking forward to classes being done and getting a break and a fresh start in the spring. Something about this semester has been, for lack of a better word, difficult. More than once have I felt bogged down by work. More than once have I considered skipping class, not because I just didn't want to go, but in order to get work done for some other class. More than once have I considered dropping out (okay, not really, but how many times do college students utter the phrase, "That's it, I'm dropping out" in a semester? 10? 20? I'll get back to my point now).

My grades aren't where I want them to be, but I know I'm not the only one that feels that way. My mind is fried, but I know I'm not the only one that feels that way, too. I guess that's one of the best parts of college: no matter how unmotivated, drained, and stressed you're feeling, you know at least 50% of the people around you feel exactly the same way.

Ave Maria is playing now. I could probably use a prayer at the moment. I can't quite tell if the Christmas music is helping me or making me think too much of next weekend. I'm going to say both.

This will be my last blog for Literature and Civilizations II. It's been a great and wonderfully unique class that I will certainly never forget. I've had fun in the classroom, out of the classroom (on the river, in the Water Gardens, at the Amon Carter Museum, working on group projects), and on my blog. I hope everyone else in class, and everyone who will take the class at some point, enjoys it as much as I did.

I feel like this blog is a little disjointed, but that's just indicative of my current mental state. Have I mentioned that it's almost Christmas? Merry Christmas everybody, and Happy New Year. God bless. Thank you for a tumultuously awesome semester.

(We Need A Little Christmas started playing just before I clicked the "publish" button. Spotify understands me.)

Conversations that could have been

A prominent assignment of Literature and Civilizations II is meeting with a "conversation partner," an Intensive English student from a foreign country, in order to help them with their English and to help us learn about a culture that differs from our own. I was skeptical when this assignment was first introduced, but the more I thought about it, the more interesting it sounded. Talking with someone you probably never would meet otherwise, from a place you've likely never been to and culture you've likely never encountered, could be a great and unique learning experience.

I was paired with someone from Saudi Arabia for this "Community Engagement" project. This excited me. I had basically never even thought about what Saudi Arabia and its culture might be like. I looked forward to asking what daily life was like in the country. I looked forward to finding out what their school system was like, what they liked to do for fun, what their favorite foods were. I looked forward to engaging with someone from a country that, I'm assuming, I will never get the opportunity to visit and learning what his life was like.

I also was excited to share my own thoughts about American culture with him. I wanted to help him learn anything that he wanted to know about the United States and its culture. Being immersed in the culture for several months, I'm not sure how many or what kind of questions he might have about the society that surrounded him, but I wanted to do anything I could to shed some light on the place we call home.

Unfortunately, I never got those opportunities. Though we both tried, my conversation partner and I were never able to meet up. Plans fell through, miscommunications occurred, the general busyness of life got in the way. Before I knew it, it was the last week of the semester, the Intensive English Program was having finals, and the program's students were preparing to return home. Any chance I had of meeting my partner had blown by in the whirlwind of the semester.

I am sad about this. I truly was anticipating our meetings, a chance to learn and to perhaps make a new friend. Even if we had been able to meet just once, there's so much that could have been discovered. I've consistently heard how much my classmates have enjoyed their conversation partner experiences, and I wish that I could share in their elation.

I do not know if I will ever get an opportunity like this again. If I do, though, I hope to put forth an even greater effort to engage with a partner and expand my horizons.

Fall on the River

It's amazing what you can find when you settle down in nature for awhile. Sometimes, you'll find the sun at the perfect angle, the air at the perfect temperature, and the perfect amount of solitude in order to truly appreciate the nature around you.

I found this spot in a park next to the Trinity River late Sunday afternoon. I watched as the sun set behind the interstate. reflecting off the water and setting the park under a muted orange glow. I watched cars periodically scroll by on the overpass, and I heard more whizzing by on University behind me. People walked, jogged, ran, and biked on the trail in front of me, sometimes alone, sometimes in pairs, sometimes in groups.

I sat in a pile of freshly fallen leaves. They crackled every time I shifted. The ground was littered in light green, yellow, orange, and brown. I smelled fall and a whiff of impending rain. This aspect of the scene was strange to me. Being from Kentucky, I'm used to fall in October, not in December. Still, it was nice to be in the presence of the seasonal change, regardless of when it was happening.

The small train track in front of me confounded me. Why was it there? Where was it leading to? What tiny vehicle rode along it? I had so many questions, yet I was so content with it, as well. Amidst everything that was changing around it, from the leaves to the people to the cars, this train track remained, unmoved, seemingly unused. There was something quaint and calming about it.

And then, of course, there was the river. I watched it from afar for some time, seeing how the sun and the signs from the restaurants reflected off it in different patterns. I watched its gentle flow; sometimes, it seemed that the river was completely still. As I prepared to leave, I stood up and walked down to the river. There was a place where the river dropped off, with water cascading in small waterfalls down a slanted wall of rock. I walked down that spot and watched the ripples for a moment. When I turned away, I saw two creatures gliding about. At first, I thought these creatures were ducks; once I moved closer, I found that they were actually otters. I thought this was strange, two otters dancing about in, basically, urban water. But then, there was something uplifting about it. These two creatures were oblivious to everything around them. They swam around each other for a spell, then drifted in separate directions. I left them as they parted, but somehow I knew they would come back together again.

I was still thinking about the sun, the cars, the leaves, the train track, the river, and the otters as I parked my car and walked back to my dorm. It's amazing what you can find when you settle down in nature for awhile, and how much what you find can impact you.

"The River What?"

These are the words I heard from a classmate after watching the movie The River Why in class. I found this statement interesting and interpreted it to mean something like "What just happened?" or "What did I just watch?" or even "What was the point of that?" Personally, I most relate to this last question, but I would have stuck with the movie title to ask my question about the film: "Why was this movie made?"

I understood the message of the movie (the importance of family, friends, having an open mind, etc.), but it was rather cliché. In fact, the entire film was pretty cliché, from the way the main character, Gus (who I could never see as anyone other than Matt Saracen from Friday Night Lights), encountered his dream girl, to his dream girl's name (Eddy, indicative of the raging and changing currents of a river and of Gus' life), to the tumultuous relationship of Gus' parents, to Gus' dad's name (which conveniently abbreviates to H2O), to basically every aspect of the movie. It was hard to look passed how blatantly cliché it was and actually enjoy it.

Fishing used as a metaphor for some aspect of life is also overused. Hemingway used it in The Old Man and the Sea. The other movie we watched in class,  A River Runs Through It, used it. It's a common metaphor and is losing its effect.

There are plenty of water-themed movies. What about Finding Nemo? Yes, the Pixar movie is about fish, but it is not about fishing. It has plenty of life lessons to deliver and plenty to analyze even though it is a children's movie. In fact, I once led a retreat that was based entirely around Finding Nemo, and it was one of the most fulfilling days I have ever had.

What about Jaws? Okay, this one is just for fun.

What about Castaway? I have never felt more emotionally connected to a volleyball in my life than I did while watching this movie. The movie is a great examination of humanity and is based around the concept of being shipwrecked. Water literally sets up the framework of the film, one that could spark some interesting class discussion.

These are just three options (okay, two, I was kidding about Jaws) out of many that could serve a water-themed class well. One fishing-based movie is good, two is overkill (forgive the term, fish). I appreciate the thought behind these movies, but they can only vary so much. Water is so versatile, so unique, that it gives you a plentiful supply of options for movie plots and themes.

As I've already written, I appreciated A River Runs Through It. I related to it, especially at the time, and thought it was a complex and nuanced film. I did not feel the same way about The River Why. Whether you want to ask what, why, how, or when, my reaction will be the same: not good.

Walking with Water-the Fort Worth Water Gardens

Walking alongside bodies of water is almost always a relaxing experience. A stroll on the beach, through the sand and next to the rolling waves, or on the shores of a serene lake or rolling river helps you to forget about the stresses of life. There's something about the natural occurrence of water that soothes the soul. However, harnessed water can have a similar effect in the right setting. The Fort Worth Water Gardens is that kind of setting.

Located in the corner of downtown, the Fort Worth Water Gardens is close enough to the bustle of the city to be convenient and far enough removed to be quiet and solitary. The Water Gardens contains beautiful foliage and rock sculpting that is easy to get lost in (metaphorically speaking, of course). There is a peace to the area, something not commonly found in an urban setting.

The main attraction, though, is obviously the water. The Water Gardens holds three different sections of water: the meditation pool, the aerating pool, and the active pool. Each collection of water offers a different scene and mood, but all utilize water in a tantalizing way.

The meditation pool, as the name would suggest, is the calmest of the three water spectacles. The Fort Worth Water Gardens Wikipedia article describes this pool as such: "The quiet, blue meditation pool is encircled with cypress trees and towering walls that are covered in thin plane of water that cascades almost 90 degrees down to the sunken blue water feature. The sound of the water on the walls evokes thoughts of a gentle rain shower." Though this description is accurate, it cannot begin to describe the serenity of the meditation pool. The pool is located on a lower level than the other two pools, secluding it from the already secluded area. Leaning your hands on the walls and feeling the water running through your fingers to your wrists is majestic and surprisingly cooling during a hot Texas day. Each tree twists and towers in a unique fashion, giving you the feeling that you have found an oasis in the middle of a forest.

The aerating pool would be a pretty normal pool if not for the multitude of spray fountains jetting water into the air. At night, the fountains are lit, and the light reflects off the leaping drops of water to create a hypnotizing spectacle.

The main attraction of the water gardens, though, is the active pool. This pool has waterfalls flowing almost 40 feet to a collection of water below. The architecture allows for visitors to trek to the bottom of the basin and be surrounded by the cascading water, almost as if they are standing next to a natural waterfall. It is shockingly warm in this basin, but the trip to the bottom is a worthwhile journey.

In addition to the three pools, the Water Gardens features a constructed "mountain" that can be climbed in order to view all 4.3 acres of the area. It is a wonderful view, one that can mesmerize you for several minutes.

I have visited the Fort Worth Water Gardens three times now, and each time I walk away calmer and, somehow, more content than I was when I walked in. Walking with water, natural or otherwise, has a way of doing that to you.

Navigating the Museum

I have once again done what I told myself I would stop doing: I've procrastinated on my blogs. That does not mean, however, that I do not have anything to blog about. The semester has rolled on at its typically rapid pace and, just as typically, there have been a multitude of experiences that have impacted me. At least for now, I will focus on one.

Art has always been interesting to me. In fact, I gave my mom a print of my favorite painting, "Paris Street Rainy Day" for Christmas. I took Art History my sophomore year of high school and thoroughly enjoyed going through over 2000 years worth of different styles, modes, and influences of art. I visited the Museum of Modern Art in New York with my sister just a few months later and (though some modern art can be rather questionable in terms of the word "art") I liked perusing the museum and discovering and analyzing the different pieces.

All of this to say, when I found out our class was going to see an art exhibit, I became abnormally excited. I looked forward to the trip for several weeks as not only a break from normal, classroom class, but also as a way to get reacquainted with "Oil on Canvas" and "Stencil" and "Sculpture" and other mediums of art.

When I walked into the "Navigating the West: George Caleb Bingham and the River," I didn't really know what to expect, other than a collection of paintings heavily featuring natural running water. What I discovered, then, fascinated me. I found detailed, lifelike paintings of everyday people. I found subtle and overt usage of rivers. I found an intriguing and unique style of duplicating characters so that the same person could appear in many paintings, almost like different photographs taken at different times, in different locales. I found joviality, somberness, and everything in between. I found card playing, talking, dancing, drinking, rowing, working, thinking, sitting, standing, kneeling, laying.

Yet, most importantly, I found a renewed excitement about art. I would catch myself analyzing how Bingham painted the folds in a shirt, or how he utilized chairscuro ("the treatment of light and shade in drawing and painting"; I've been waiting to use that term since I was 16), or merely staring in awe at how talented one can be with a pencil, a brush, and a canvas.

I exited the Bingham section of the museum and wandered briefly among the other, permanent works.  There was a wide variance in topic, from angelic statues to Prairie Native American paintings. There was also a sort of modern reverence for art permeating from every corner and canvas. The workers of the museum were eager to engage about the art that they likely stare at for hours per day, yet somehow never tire of. The museum was spotless, well-organized, vibrant but subtle, and a wonderful refresher for me as to how liberating art can be.

We were greeted with a beautiful view of the Fort Worth skyline as we walked out of the museum and down its front steps. It was then that I had one of those cheesy "art is like nature, but nature itself is also art" moments. I'll admit it's cheesy, but it is also true, and it especially was in that moment. After observing representations of reality for about an hour, it was perfect to see reality representing itself in such a serene way. Again, cheesy? yes. True? absolutely.

I hope to visit another museum soon. I have never been to the Kimbell, but I have frequently been informed that it is a must-see. After being reinstated into the world of loving art, I have a craving for more. Who knows, maybe I'll find another favorite painting to gift to my mom next Christmas.

Blogception

I'm about to blog about blogging. Original, I know.

I feel like this is a topic worth blogging about, though: the concept of a blog. When we were first assigned to blog for Literature and Civilizations II here at good ole TCU (Go Frogs, beat Baylor!), I was skeptical. I'd thought about starting my own blog before, but never for academic purposes. How was this strange, informal, internet-based writing form going to translate into a grade? How was it going to be graded? Content, style, creativity? Was the dreaded plus/minus scale going to be used? I was deeply concerned...

... until I realized that I had no reason to be; that was the whole point of a blog: not to be overly concerned about how and what you're writing. Sure, you can't just write whatever you want, particularly in an academic setting for a class based on the theme of water; obviously, in this scenario, most of one's blogs will be about something relating to water. Yet, within those incredibly broad boundaries (water does span the whole world, after all), blogs give one the freedom to explore one's writing content, style, and creativity without simultaneously having to adhere to MLA format. Those things I was so worried about being graded on turn out to be the things I have to worry about the least.

My biggest problem so far with blogging has just been getting myself to do it. To be honest, I almost forgot about this blog until last week, and now I'm scrambling to fill a quota that has a deadline less than 4 hours away. Any fault I can find with blogging is my own, not the blog's.

While blogging, I don't have to worry about being academic, even when discussing academic concepts. I can blog about The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn without analyzing quotes or theme. I can blog about an assignment, like blogging, without treating it like a teaching evaluation. The blog gives me the freedom to talk about school more like I'm talking about it to my friends, not writing about it to my teacher.

When writing papers, in-class essays, answers to application questions, and other forms of formal thought regurgitation, we can easily forget how fun, relaxing, and relieving writing can be. Yes, I'm still writing for school, but informally. I may be in the library writing this, but I'm not researching anything for it. Blogs may simply be short essays, but I'm not on a time crunch to write them (other than the aforementioned deadline that I'm dangerously nearing). And, blogs don't require one to answer the same question ("Why do you think you would be a good fit for [insert position title here]?") over and over, or to brag on one's self and seem impressive like applications (if any future potential employers are reading this, hello. I promise I take life seriously).

I feel like I can deploy my clearly wide and witty range of humor when blogging. Whether you take that sentence as a joke or seriousness is entirely your decision.

Basically, blogging is pretty wonderful. It has been a nice break from normal homework assignments, and I think it would be a useful assignment for more English classes to undertake. You write enough formal papers in your school days, why not write some informal ones?

Over the summer, my sister told me I should start a blog about the happenings of the world of professional sports. I was hesitant when she suggested this. "Oh goodness," I thought, "People will be able to read my ridiculous opinions and ramblings? I don't know if I want that." I'm second-guessing my hesitancy. Maybe I do want people to read it. It's something different, it's a creative outlet, it's a blog. What harm could it do?

With Fall Break and the second half of the semester approaching, I know I have yet to be confronted by numerous homework assignments, projects, papers, and tests before the onset of winter. Though more blogging will constitute one of those assignments, I won't be concerned about it. I have no reason to be.

Before Their Prime; Just the Right Time

Brad Pitt and Joseph Gordon-Levitt have both become modern stars in their own right. Both have starred in numerous films and have developed into Hollywood icons (especially for the female population), and they made a name for themselves under the bright neon lights of California's celebrity hotbed.

However, both were featured in a film 22 years ago (yes, 1992 was 22 years ago; soak that in for a second, then continue) that placed them in rural Montana, early 20th century, under the natural light of a country sky when neither was much of anything, in terms of stardom, yet. Joseph Gordon-Levitt was 11 years old, Brad Pitt was 29. The Mall of America and Georgia Superdome had both just opened. Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit" was one of the top songs on the charts, and Tom Hanks was exclaiming, "There's No Crying in Baseball!" A River Runs Through It brought two future stars onto the same screen (though never at the same time), and was brought to my attention at a strangely wonderful time.

The film juxtaposes the lives of the Maclean brothers, Norman and Paul, beginning from a young age. Young Norman (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) was tough but level-headed. Young Paul was strong-willed and free-spirited. Interestingly enough, the pair's personalities do not really change with age. Norman becomes an [slightly socially awkward] academic, Paul (Brad Pitt) becomes a [carefree, alcoholic, gambling-addicted] journalist. They have their differences and seeming disagreements (for instance, about the very notion of love), but they are brothers and act as such. They talk together, laugh together, smile together, fight (once), adventure together, and are always there in the other's times of need (like if Norman needs a fishing partner or if Paul needs to get out of jail). I'll leave it there, so as to avoid spoilers.

The plot and characters were not what left the strongest impact on me, though; it was the setting. The picturesque shots of the Blackfoot River and its surrounding landscape, as well as the rolling countryside and jutting mountains of Montana, took my breath away and made me stare in wonder. The perfect light of new day and new night gave the nature a surreal quality. Between watching the brotherly relationship of Norman and Paul and the striking scenes of nature, my mind traveled to an all too familiar place: home.

The movie had me thinking of Kentucky lakes, of pleasant summer night drives alongside the Ohio River. It had me thinking of the Forecastle Music Festival, a scenic weekend of "Music, Art, Activism" on the banks of the Ohio that has become an annual tradition for me and my friends. It had me thinking of these friends, of my family, and the importance of their presence in my roots and actively in my life. When I needed a medium that allowed me to reminisce on the amazing place that I call home, A River Runs Through It delivered.

An attention to nature, I've found, will do that to someone; better, an engagement with nature will do that to someone: take him to the place where a sense of contentment and ease never eludes him. For some, nature is that place: a spot on a lake, a trail in a forest, the peak of a mountain. For others, nature simply reminds them of that light, warm feeling they get from being content and at ease. For others still, like myself, it is a combination of both.

So thank you, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, for your performance in The Dark Knight Rises and for reminding me of what it is like to be an 11 year old boy again. Thank you, Brad Pitt, for being you and for reminding me of the importance of some risk-taking, but the even greater importance of family. And thank you, A River Runs Through It, for being just the right burst of sentiment at just the right time: as I prepare to return to a Kentucky on the brink of an autumn blast of color, crispness, and power that I know and love.

Coming of Age with Huck Finn

In his Lectures on Literature, Vladimir Nabokov states: "Curiously enough, one cannot read a book; one can only reread it. A good reader, a major reader, and active and creative reader is a rereader."

Essentially, this quote boils down to: "You don't get the full picture the first time you read something. Read it again. You'll pick up on some things you may have missed the first time around."

In theory, this is an awesome idea, especially for books that you liked the first time; chances are you'll like them even more the second time. But, what about books that you did not like the first time? Why would you go back and read those again? Unless you enjoy misery and frustration, you probably wouldn't. Thankfully, that's what school is for: making you do things you think you will not like in the hopes that 1) you will like it, and 2) that you will get something useful out of it.

Enter: The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain. Nabokov's quote fluttered in my mind as soon as I saw Twain's classic on my class syllabus (thank you, Dr. Neil Easterbrook, for instilling this quote in my brain for life). I did not like Huck Finn the first time I read it at the oh-so-mature-and-wise age of 15. I was turned off to the main character, for I found Huck to be generally naive, foolish, and difficult (probably hit too close to home for me). The story was long, meandering, involved too many shenanigans and too much water, and ended so abruptly and mildly annoyingly that I could not enjoy it. I thought Tom Sawyer was the most aggravating character ever to appear on a page. Also, the multitude of dialects that required deciphering was almost too much for my developing brain to handle.

So, when I found out I had to read this "classic" again, I groaned audibly. Just like any other school assignment, though, I would tackle it, and hope that I would like it even a fraction more than I did the first time. And I did.

Now, some of my opinions on Huck Finn have not changed. I still find Tom Sawyer to be irritating beyond compare, the ending is still a letdown to some degree, and sometimes I would have rather read straight English than whatever was coming out of the mouths of some of the characters. The second time reading Twain's masterpiece, however, I found an authenticity to it that I did not previously. Yes, the dialects can be frustrating, but they are also real, unique, and captivating. The shenanigans are not just silly pranks but are symbolic of boyhood wonder and adventurousness. The story may meander, but does life not do the same, both doing so in ways that are almost impossible to predict?

The water, specifically, took on a new meaning for me upon my second reading, as did Huck Finn himself. I had driven across the Mississippi River once before I read Huck Finn the first time; after crossing it half a dozen more times since then, I have come to appreciate the "mighty" in the river's nickname. The Mississippi is truly a masterpiece of nature, a spectacle of water and its power. In the novel, the river represents freedom, the freedom we all seek, and a journey, life's journey. It twists and turns, rushes and slows, becomes foggy and can be crystal clear. There is debris, and there are straight paths. Most importantly, it is a pathway for all, not a few.

I also finally admitted that Huck Finn is me. Huck Finn changes as much between the covers of the book as I have in the four years since last reading the book. He grows up. He matures. He learns. He faces challenges; he rejoices in victories. He makes friends and he makes enemies. He is me, he is many, if not all, of us, just set in a time, place, and situation we hardly understand.

Re-reading, then, was a blessing in disguise for me as I absorbed The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn a second time. I did catch some things I missed the first time, and I did come to like Huck Finn as a whole. It is curious enough, how one cannot truly read a book, but only re-read it.

Floating On

• And we'll all float on okay

  And we'll all float on okay

  And we'll all float on okay

  And we'll all float on alright
• Already we'll all float on

  Now don't you worry we'll all float on alright

  Already we'll all float on alright

  Don't worry we'll all float on
• Alright, Already

  And we'll all float on alright

  Already we'll all float on alright

  Don't worry even if things end up a bit

  Too heavy we'll all float on alright

  
  

  
  

  Modest Mouse had it right in their song "Float On." No matter what happens, "we'll all float on alright."

  
  

  At least, that's how it felt to be on the Trinity River the night of September 18th. Every worry seemed to disappear while out on the water that overcast night (kind of negating the idea of a "Full Moon Paddle," but beautiful nonetheless). From the experiences I have had being out on water, this has revealed itself as a common theme: when out on the water, life beyond the water fades away.
  
  This trip, however, was my first attempt at canoeing, and thus there was a significant learning curve. The first half an hour or so of the trip involved far too dramatic turns, frequent collisions, and general dysfunctional movement. Once I achieved a basic grasp of steering, though, it was mostly smooth floating from there.
  
  I noticed that I was much more aware of my surroundings while on the water than I normally am on land. Birds and crickets chirping, the power of the wind, the descending of darkness, the different shades of blue of the water; everything became more crisp and clear. I truly appreciated everything I saw, heard, and experienced, including, of course, what came into view in the picture above.
  
  When we rounded the final bend of the nearly five mile canoe journey, with about half a mile remaining, a picturesque view of downtown Fort Worth showed itself. One of the most breathtaking views I have come across recently, I found myself mesmerized by the skyline outlined in lights. It was a surreal moment and surreal glide to shore, something I will not forget for some time to come.
  
  As I truly observed the Trinity River for the first time, I noticed a river with amazing qualities, but also some issues. Clearly pollution has hit the river, a concern that will only grow if held unchecked. Yet, the river still holds a majestic quality that only water can produce. The flowing of water, the natural glide, is a wonder of nature. As the Trinity continues to flow on, so life continues to float on, and both will float on all right. 

The Most Magical Water on Earth

Water connects our entire planet, our entire world. Rivers flow to other rivers and out into massive oceans, covering about 70% of Earth. We can use this water to travel, to help our lives function, and to simply connect to one another.

There's another world that uses water for essentially the same reason, though this world is much smaller than our planet. Walt Disney World is like a little planet all to itself, and, like our Spaceship Earth, is shaped around water.

The shores of the Seven Seas Lagoon house probably the most recognizable part of Walt Disney World: the Magic Kingdom and its surrounding resorts. The picturesque castle hovers on the northern horizon of the lagoon like a beacon. To the east, the Contemporary Resort stands as a reminder of the progress of humanity, of how far we've come and how far we can still take ourselves. Buried in the trees off the lagoon is the Wilderness Lodge Resort and Fort Wilderness Campgrounds, both ways of connecting to nature and getting oneself closer to the central Florida landscape. To the south of the lagoon is the Polynesian Resort, a Pacific Island-themed resort that shows exactly what can be created in a community that thrives around water. Finally, to the west is that Grand Floridian resort, a tribute to Victorian style and culture.

The Magic Kingdom and each resort interacts with the Seven Seas Lagoon in different ways. Ferries carry passengers methodically across the lagoon from parking lots to the southeast, as well as from the Wilderness Lodge and Fort Wilderness Campgrounds, to the docks of the Magic Kingdom. Boats can be rented from the Polynesian and the Grand Floridian for guests to drive along the water, soaking in an afternoon of majestic tranquility. The monorail system runs in a circle above and around the lagoon, allowing for amazing views as guests travel throughout the area. At night, a parade of electric water features glides along the lagoon, allowing guests to sit on the sandy shores, observe, and relax after a day of fun and Florida sun.

Other bodies of water help to connect the various areas of Walt Disney World. One body of water allows for boats to travel from Disney's Hollywood Studios to Epcot, with stops at five different resorts along the way, as well as for scenic walks along pathways skirting the water's shores. Within Epcot itself, the World Showcase Lagoon unites the countries of the World Showcase around one body of water, much like our own globe does. Another body of water shapes the formation of Downtown Disney (soon to be Disney Springs) while also connecting the shopping district to the Port Orleans French Quarter and Riverside resorts.

Water is also used for entertainment in the most magical place on earth. Each Walt Disney World resort features its own unique pools, each equipped with some sort of fascinating feature. For instance, the main pool at the new resort, Disney's Art of Animation, is based off of the hit animated movie Finding Nemo and has music blaring under the water. Walt Disney World also contains two top-notch water parks, Blizzard Beach and Typhoon Lagoon, both well-themed and full of various water attractions. There are water-based rides also located inside the main theme parks, such as Splash Mountain in the Magic Kingdom, Kali River Rapids in the Animal Kingdom, and the Maelstrom in Epcot (Rest in Peace, as it will soon become a Frozen-themed ride).

Water completely shapes the Walt Disney World experience, something I had never really given much thought to until I visited this past weekend. Now, Walt Disney World is easily my favorite vacation destination, a place I have frequented in excess of twenty times. This most recent time, though, I found myself looking at it in a different light. I thought about the water I was traveling on. I thought about the water I was walking next to. I thought about the water that I was swimming in. I even found myself looking at the gallon counts in the various restrooms I found within the parks, restaurants, and hotel.

Charles Fishman stressed water consciousness, water awareness in The Big Thirst. Well, I don't know if water consciousness starts with staring at public restroom toilet gallon counts, but I believe I'm becoming more water aware. What I do know is that if Walt Disney World can effectively and efficiently connect its [a] Small World with water, then our bigger world can, too. Maybe we can steal a little magic from the most magical water on earth.

What is Literature? What is Civilization?

Upon interviewing my three roommates, I received the following responses about what "Literature" and "Civilization" mean:

Literature
Person 1. Written works, especially those of superior or lasting artistic merit (not-so-subtly taken from googling the definition)
Person 2. Books and stuff (a definition that gets right to the point)
Person 3. All forms of writing, both creative and professional (somewhere in between the other two)

Civilization
Person 1. A group of people cooperating to create a better future (interesting, and at least it wasn't googled)
Person 2. Cities and stuff (at least he's consistent in style)
Person 3. Establishment and progression of society (my personal favorite)