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.
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
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.
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.
Monday, October 6, 2014
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.
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.
Sunday, October 5, 2014
Floating On
- And we'll all float on okayAnd we'll all float on okayAnd we'll all float on okayAnd we'll all float on alright
- Already we'll all float onNow don't you worry we'll all float on alrightAlready we'll all float on alrightDon't worry we'll all float on
- Alright, AlreadyAnd we'll all float on alrightAlready we'll all float on alrightDon't worry even if things end up a bitToo heavy we'll all float on alrightModest 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.
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
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.
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.
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