?

Log in

And · in · me · too · the · wave · rises

Recent Entries · Archive · Friends · Profile

* * *
Hello everyone...

I am writing a story for The Michigan Review in light of a Wall Street Journal article (see bottom for link), which suggests that, over time, freshman seem to be changing less and less from the way they were before entering college. In order to explore the theory, I'd like to hear from anyone and everyone who would like to contribute. You can either respond to the questions I've provided, answer only one or a couple of them, or you can elaborate however you like and completely disregard my questions.

Thanks so much for your help. My further request is, if you have any friends interested in responding on the topic, you might direct them here.

--Cherri

Questions:

1. If you could name one aspect of yourself or your life that has changed the most since high school, what would it be? Did this change by the time you were a freshman in college? A sophomore? Etc.?

2. What or who was responsible for causing or inspiring this change, i.e., a class, a friend, a larger state of things, etc.?

3. Now you can just ramble. Tell me as much as you like about things that have changed for you, whether socially, intellectually, politically, spiritually, or anything else.

4. Do you agree with the Wall Street Journal's opinion? Why or why not?

Link to original story: http://blogs.wsj.com/informedreader/2008/01/29/college-freshmens-minds-rarely-expand/
Current Location:
Sweetwater's
* * *
There were once nights. I remember the tingle in my palms, at my fingertips, the quiver in my stomach. It was sickening to walk into public places. Those times at The Bean when girls with body piercings and cackling laughs kicked their feet out in the air, those times when boys hunched in their hoodies and smirked. Those were nights. My limbs were lit, skin set on edge and burning with friction from that world. They played guitars. They slung guitars across their back with the head pointing to the ground. They sat outside in the dirt, and the music would sound from someplace there in the dark half-lit by street lights. In and out; people moved there. Slumped here on a couch, there straddling a chair just yanked away from the chess table. They would know someone; they would pull up a chair. How I would stare... how I would drink, drink so deep 'til incoherent like sex just passed. Was I there? Was I seen? It is hard to think of any one of those remembering, calling to mind what form I might have taken there, a pile in a chair by the window. Did they catch my mouth moving? It was hard to hold it back. Those nights... they pushed outward from my veins, up and out and through the lips as mumble, babble, ideas that could start a revolution. What did I say? Maybe I scribbled a few notes. Shoddy caricatures, silly amusements. They fill up a few little books on the shelf by my feet. But the pounding of shoes on the dull wood floor, my hands, those ratty couches from the Salvation Army: that has lasted. That has energy. That will follow me through every room peopled in stiff necked men, stiff legged women bringing themselves tight into a pinch and nodding curtly, swinging their legs just an inch away and back in unconscious rhythm. For a time they sit by a lamp that lights a hundred pages 'til the coffee is finished. “So how's your sex life?” The other hears and half-enjoys a provocation tempered by its immobility. Those words are going nowhere. They are a clutter of adjectives. Shoddy caricatures. They toss them like the ghosts of hands clapping out a “Patty cake, patty cake, baker's man...” But there's little time. Time again? “Bake me a cake as fast as you can...” One must get home. One must prioritize. Off into the dark, a door shut, an engine started. What does she hear but her own breathing, the ceaseless sweat of her hands on the wheel? She is agitated. She is cold in the silence of her own sweat.“Roll it, and pat it...” She turns a corner sharply and remembers: there is a button to be pushed. Music fills the pores. She remembers a face. Yes. There is always a destination. The destination. “And mark it with a B...” Happily, the night was. “And put it in the oven for baby and me.” Oh, yes. Yes. That was the night.
* * *




Current Mood:
amused amused
* * *
Question, open to any who care to respond:

I'm wondering if anyone feels like it is really not possible for some people to change. And why one might feel that way. I guess what I'm really asking is, do you think that it is possible that one might be completely incapable of comprehending the meaning/implication of their actions, or if one can, completely powerless to change it.

I feel like asking the question probably won't get me anywhere because the people who are articulate enough to respond are generally going to have more power over themselves e.g. are most able of changing. So the theory goes. I'd like to be proven wrong.

Thank you in advance.

* * *
Tell Me a Secret

1. be anonymous
2. make it about whatever you'd like.
3. i'll respond to everything. remember, it's anonymous

Current Location:
Sweetwater's
Current Music:
jazz
* * *
* * *
I am so very humbled, so very honored, and so very content to have surrounding me the folk I do.

What a beautiful season is this.

Current Mood:
happy happy
* * *
Fuck yeah camping in Appalachia (aka Southwest Virginia).

I shall be leaving for a good time of mountain music festivals and riverside tent-pitching on Monday. Don't know when I'll be back, something like a week-ish.

Something tells me I should [try even harder to] pass for a guy during my stay. After a series of more-aggressive-than-usual hostilities in my own Downtown Plymouth (twice in response to my holding hands with a female, and once for merely existing, and all within about two hour's time) I've acquired a small bit of paranoia.

But whatev.

Yes mountains! Yes fiddlers on rickety porches! Yes fishing in the river with machete!

p.s. Just to update/clarify my lesbian stereotype, I am [apparently] a "pretty boi". Not a bull-dyke. Not a stone butch. Not k.d. lang. This be all.

Current Mood:
jubilant jolly
Current Music:
Jethro Tull -- Songs From The Wood
* * *
HUP HOLLAND HUP!

Group C

Serbia & Montenegro - 0 Netherlands - 1

What a game--Netherlands kept possession 66% of the first half. Great technical skill on their part.

Yeah for being in Europe for World Cup. Anyone else watching the games?

Hey, we graduate today. Hm.

* * *
Because you all want to see me in a dress...Collapse )

So what does one do upon having completed one's secondary education? Why, go to the grand opening of Ikea, of course. Me, Ian, and Jenny went to explore the culture of the chic mass-produced and I've got to say I have never felt so acutely the sense of White Noise until that instant. Semi-war-zone-esque as well, as Ian pointed out. However all was intoxicating in its clean and well-displayed consumerism, and thus I felt right at home. The Swedish thing makes me nostalgic for Holland, in addition.

Pending entry on things contemporary when I've time (YES, I AM STILL WORKING).

Yay for waking up at 11:30.
Current Music:
Phillip Glass, Koyannisqatsi
* * *
"'And in me too the wave rises.'"

DONE.

Current Mood:
jubilant jubilant
* * *
* * *

Previous