Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Last Day of Class
It's Wednesday, it's seven o'clock, and in one hour, I will begin my last class...ever. I'm not even sure what I'm supposed to feel right now; sadness? joy? All I feel is tired. In a few days I might feel something, but then again I might not. Life is strange like that sometimes. Big events, like finishing school can often seem much more momentous when thought about, and then a huge let down when it actually happens. Likewise, a simple act of kindness, or finding an odd object that reminds you of someone can become a pivotal, life-changing moment. So, will today be mundane or pivotal? I suppose, for the most part, it's up to me.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Miracle on S. Main St.
A few weeks ago, my friend Daniela and I started work on a short film about Goshen College's ducks. Every year a mother duck has flown into the courtyard of the Newcomer building, laid her eggs, and when she and her ducklings are ready to leave, professors, staff and students help her out of the building, across a busy highway, and down toward the Mill Race. Daniela and I had planned to record this year's crossing, and make a nice YouTube video, but unfortunately, this year was a bit more dramatic. The mother duck didn't wait by the side of the road for us to stop traffic, and instead walked out in front of a semi. Somehow, she and all of her ducklings survived. Our film tells this story. We didn't have any footage of the actual accident, so it gave us an opportunity to add a bit of humor with a simple, badly produced Flash animation.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Poetry Podcast: The Jelly Sandwich
"It was the purple blob
of our discontent," I said
with the jelly jar up in the air
lost in my dramatic aside
when my brother interrupted yelling, "Stop!
I'm kinda hungry here, so feed me instead
of acting like a fool and being weird.
You know how to make a jelly sandwich, right?"
"I sure do!" said I, getting out the white porous
sponges that once resembled real bread
in a former life before the baby boom
and taking a knife, began to smear
With both sides a nice color of luminous
loyalty, I handed it off, "there it's dead."
I said. He didn't listen, but zoomed
away like a drunk with his beer.
of our discontent," I said
with the jelly jar up in the air
lost in my dramatic aside
when my brother interrupted yelling, "Stop!
I'm kinda hungry here, so feed me instead
of acting like a fool and being weird.
You know how to make a jelly sandwich, right?"
"I sure do!" said I, getting out the white porous
sponges that once resembled real bread
in a former life before the baby boom
and taking a knife, began to smear
With both sides a nice color of luminous
loyalty, I handed it off, "there it's dead."
I said. He didn't listen, but zoomed
away like a drunk with his beer.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Ahh...Future
If you know someone that is graduating from college let me give you one piece of advice: never ask them what their plans are. Not only is that question inherently mean, but you'll be about the 50th person who has asked it.
Yes, asking a graduate what they want to do is mean. It's torture, and everyone that asks knows it is...that's why they ask. When I was at my open house, people would start the question off with an apology, like it was supposed to make what they were going to say next sound better.
I graduated on April 29, and I believe that I have finally received my last graduation card. Right now I've got about sixty thank you notes to write. I decided that I should actually write out each thank you note partly because I've heard it's more polite, but also because I'm a writer and I feel it would be a bit wrong to let Hallmark say something I'm supposed to be able to say myself.
During the whole graduation, post-graduation, and open-house exhaustion I've only had about three meltdowns: two of which happened the day I graduated. The third, which I feel to be the most significant, happened about two days after my open house. That was the day I decided I needed to hide all the graduation cards, and live like the whole event didn't happen. The checks and money, however, I have had no problem allocating properly.
I feel now I'm mostly over the shock of graduation, and have dug out my cards and started to look through them again. Most are the normal, "Congratulations, good luck in whatever you do" cards from people that don't really know me, but there were a few from people who understood what I was going through. Those never were hidden away. Instead I read these cards at least once a day last week, and in many ways they helped me cope. One of these very important cards was from my dad's best friend, JR. Right before I graduated he sent me a card and wrote so much inside that he filed up the inside and back. The only thing he talked about was my "future", and when he believed it started. It was completely ridiculous, and I loved every word of it.
"I think it's best," he wrote, "if someone asks about your future just try and change the subject, or look off in the distance and with a meaningful sigh say, 'future' and shake your head. If they give you a smile and a nod, they understand what you are going through. If they say, 'No, really, what will you do?' just talk about cats: everyone has had one, or knows someone who has." I didn't actually do those things during my open house when my family and friends were asking about my future, but I remembered his humor every time I had to answer that question.
Most people ask college graduates about their future, because they want to see if the graduate's childhood dreams of being a doctor, singer, or in my case, a writer have finally dried up and turned into the dull, depressing, underachievement of the person asking. They hope that in some small way the disappointment of the graduate will lessen the disappointment they feel. Maybe, in reality, I do know my future...but it's not the world's business, and the people I'd like to know about it don't feel the need to ask. That's the way it should be when someone you love graduates. A friend or family member that truly loves a graduate doesn't need to ask about their future; because they already know whatever it is will be spectacular.
Yes, asking a graduate what they want to do is mean. It's torture, and everyone that asks knows it is...that's why they ask. When I was at my open house, people would start the question off with an apology, like it was supposed to make what they were going to say next sound better.
I graduated on April 29, and I believe that I have finally received my last graduation card. Right now I've got about sixty thank you notes to write. I decided that I should actually write out each thank you note partly because I've heard it's more polite, but also because I'm a writer and I feel it would be a bit wrong to let Hallmark say something I'm supposed to be able to say myself.
During the whole graduation, post-graduation, and open-house exhaustion I've only had about three meltdowns: two of which happened the day I graduated. The third, which I feel to be the most significant, happened about two days after my open house. That was the day I decided I needed to hide all the graduation cards, and live like the whole event didn't happen. The checks and money, however, I have had no problem allocating properly.
I feel now I'm mostly over the shock of graduation, and have dug out my cards and started to look through them again. Most are the normal, "Congratulations, good luck in whatever you do" cards from people that don't really know me, but there were a few from people who understood what I was going through. Those never were hidden away. Instead I read these cards at least once a day last week, and in many ways they helped me cope. One of these very important cards was from my dad's best friend, JR. Right before I graduated he sent me a card and wrote so much inside that he filed up the inside and back. The only thing he talked about was my "future", and when he believed it started. It was completely ridiculous, and I loved every word of it.
"I think it's best," he wrote, "if someone asks about your future just try and change the subject, or look off in the distance and with a meaningful sigh say, 'future' and shake your head. If they give you a smile and a nod, they understand what you are going through. If they say, 'No, really, what will you do?' just talk about cats: everyone has had one, or knows someone who has." I didn't actually do those things during my open house when my family and friends were asking about my future, but I remembered his humor every time I had to answer that question.
Most people ask college graduates about their future, because they want to see if the graduate's childhood dreams of being a doctor, singer, or in my case, a writer have finally dried up and turned into the dull, depressing, underachievement of the person asking. They hope that in some small way the disappointment of the graduate will lessen the disappointment they feel. Maybe, in reality, I do know my future...but it's not the world's business, and the people I'd like to know about it don't feel the need to ask. That's the way it should be when someone you love graduates. A friend or family member that truly loves a graduate doesn't need to ask about their future; because they already know whatever it is will be spectacular.
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