Saturday, July 05, 2003
query
This one has been bugging me for a while, and rather than do the practical approach of researching the topic, I'd satisfied to ponder at the question itself for a time before morning reveals its boring self:
Why is The Bronx the only borough in NYC that receives the definite article? I don't hear "The Manhattan" or "The Queens" or especially "The Brooklyn" (which is good, since then Spike Lee's well-titled joint Crooklyn would have to have been called The Crooklyn, which might as well be a second-rate horror flick about zombies who have been reanimated through evil frying medium). So why "The" Bronx? I'm waiting for the perfectly good explanation that lives somewhere.
This one has been bugging me for a while, and rather than do the practical approach of researching the topic, I'd satisfied to ponder at the question itself for a time before morning reveals its boring self:
Why is The Bronx the only borough in NYC that receives the definite article? I don't hear "The Manhattan" or "The Queens" or especially "The Brooklyn" (which is good, since then Spike Lee's well-titled joint Crooklyn would have to have been called The Crooklyn, which might as well be a second-rate horror flick about zombies who have been reanimated through evil frying medium). So why "The" Bronx? I'm waiting for the perfectly good explanation that lives somewhere.
where it's sitting
Desperate early-summer travelling season has come to a muggy dimunendo (spelling, Erin?). The silver Hyundai stayed behind — as did all the new music I've been exploring — and put my trust in the transportation abilities of friends and strangers: train engineers, gary, em. Thanks!
The fireworks display launched from Colgate's "old golf course" was thrilling and refreshing after a day of humid attempts at whiffle derby in PhiLL's luscious but buggy Earlville spread. He and Yaeka were excellent hosts, so I can't really gripe about the lack of lawn darts with a clean sense of guilt. Apart from a short visit from Matt H. and a shorter from John S., phiLL and I were the only males about the party, which also included seven other '02ers, a precious toddler named Josephine, and a kitty kitty cat. THere were also devilled (sp?) eggs, spicy Cheesits, and various alcoholic mixtures.
The day's highlight (aside from the fireworks, HAH HAH HAH heh heh ahem) had to be we guys' spontaneous WRCU show, the likes of which hasn't been flung into broadcast since the early-early Wednesday mornings of Spring semester '00. Back in those sophmore days, after 3 am the 'real experimentations' began, and daring listeners were subjected to the already unhinged soundtrack to Ghosts of the Civil Dead punctuated by "cracked, dissonant" vinyl-molesting, layered under chattered poetry ushered into the mics past the connecticut throat rattle. Just trying to write about it somehow invokes the rare feeling of crazy bliss a succesful manic session like this can create as we create it.
Well, Friday night, Phill, Matt, and I somehow snuck back into that frenzy, and it was a good memory to conjure again. These fleeting explosions always go untaped, because no one ever has the foresight or the cockiness to assume it will ever happen, but somehow the following combination blew Matt, and perhaps tuners-in, away: selections from Eno's Songs for Films and this long track titled something like "The North Will Rise Again" by a group I don't remember, an a capella Kid n Play vinyl track, and a Snoop instrumental jam on vinyl. Oh, and then I made Matt quote "Sometimes I doubt your commitment to SparkleMotion." PhiLL's genius came when he latched onto the Play lick "Boom, Smack; Sex-Machine!" and stretched it slower and across pitch controls. It at least made us laugh and tremble.
All the gals and guys were swell enough after the fireworks to stumble up to the dear old Hour Glass, which was both fun and disappointing.
A drive and two train rides later, I'm back at The School, cleaning the room in an attempt to rattle my organization into line for the first (frantic) week of camp.
I also have new inspiration for pursuing MFA from an article Carlo Teehop lent me from Poets and Writers Magazine (aren't poets writers too?). More details later...
I'm also reading all the Dickinson poems I've skipped over because I knew they'd freak me like they are in their Good Perfect way.
for example
For each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
To the ecstasy.
Not only does Emily get away with any and all syntax inversion she attempts, she also has those stunning white-hot moments: "keen and quivering ratio" is more gold alone than I've read in a while.
Desperate early-summer travelling season has come to a muggy dimunendo (spelling, Erin?). The silver Hyundai stayed behind — as did all the new music I've been exploring — and put my trust in the transportation abilities of friends and strangers: train engineers, gary, em. Thanks!
The fireworks display launched from Colgate's "old golf course" was thrilling and refreshing after a day of humid attempts at whiffle derby in PhiLL's luscious but buggy Earlville spread. He and Yaeka were excellent hosts, so I can't really gripe about the lack of lawn darts with a clean sense of guilt. Apart from a short visit from Matt H. and a shorter from John S., phiLL and I were the only males about the party, which also included seven other '02ers, a precious toddler named Josephine, and a kitty kitty cat. THere were also devilled (sp?) eggs, spicy Cheesits, and various alcoholic mixtures.
The day's highlight (aside from the fireworks, HAH HAH HAH heh heh ahem) had to be we guys' spontaneous WRCU show, the likes of which hasn't been flung into broadcast since the early-early Wednesday mornings of Spring semester '00. Back in those sophmore days, after 3 am the 'real experimentations' began, and daring listeners were subjected to the already unhinged soundtrack to Ghosts of the Civil Dead punctuated by "cracked, dissonant" vinyl-molesting, layered under chattered poetry ushered into the mics past the connecticut throat rattle. Just trying to write about it somehow invokes the rare feeling of crazy bliss a succesful manic session like this can create as we create it.
Well, Friday night, Phill, Matt, and I somehow snuck back into that frenzy, and it was a good memory to conjure again. These fleeting explosions always go untaped, because no one ever has the foresight or the cockiness to assume it will ever happen, but somehow the following combination blew Matt, and perhaps tuners-in, away: selections from Eno's Songs for Films and this long track titled something like "The North Will Rise Again" by a group I don't remember, an a capella Kid n Play vinyl track, and a Snoop instrumental jam on vinyl. Oh, and then I made Matt quote "Sometimes I doubt your commitment to SparkleMotion." PhiLL's genius came when he latched onto the Play lick "Boom, Smack; Sex-Machine!" and stretched it slower and across pitch controls. It at least made us laugh and tremble.
All the gals and guys were swell enough after the fireworks to stumble up to the dear old Hour Glass, which was both fun and disappointing.
A drive and two train rides later, I'm back at The School, cleaning the room in an attempt to rattle my organization into line for the first (frantic) week of camp.
I also have new inspiration for pursuing MFA from an article Carlo Teehop lent me from Poets and Writers Magazine (aren't poets writers too?). More details later...
I'm also reading all the Dickinson poems I've skipped over because I knew they'd freak me like they are in their Good Perfect way.
for example
For each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
To the ecstasy.
Not only does Emily get away with any and all syntax inversion she attempts, she also has those stunning white-hot moments: "keen and quivering ratio" is more gold alone than I've read in a while.
Tuesday, July 01, 2003
where it sat
Orientation fun continues as we guards and counselors begin to bond. The percentage of 21+ people is small, but they are all interesting people, mostly chill. In general, everyone seems steady and ready to work hard and have fun with the campers.
Walkie Talkies are fun. Not only do they trasmit a sense of authority, their appeal also lies with their ability to transport information across open space WITHOUT WIRES! There is something tremendous in that last basic fact. They also have bright yellow replaceable faces.
For the Fourth, my plans have never really been set. PhiLL & Yaeka's BBQ Bash was always a prime option, but with all the travel (and spending) I've been doing, there were doubts. Between Em and Gary, I may have found new and exciting means of transportation, so it may be an adventure to Earlville that I cannot pass up.
Then, the madness of Camp's 1st week ensues. I've put my name down to be among the lucky few who get to do the "Belmore Run." It sounds like a thrilling water park tube ride, but it's actually all about getting up at 5am to pick up a couple campers who live 40 minutes away. I'll do this a couple days a week in some rotating schedule, with coffee and donuts.
THe only reflection I can make currently is that there is an energy about this project, buzzing between all these young people and slightly older people here to make the camp function. And it's on a completely different frequency than the regular school year, when the students are here. I guess it's The School's "Summer Ale," lighter and with hints of honey, lemon, and capture the flag.
Carlo Teehop decided that music should be playing during arrival time, while a constant train of cars makes a lap around one of the main dorms at the front of campus to unload the kiddies who will then be funneled like plinko chips to their correct age category. A few of us have been put in charge of "DJing." I'm thinking, along with staples like Raffi, that a lot of They Might Be Giants and peppy ska instrumentals ("Bankshot" "Good Dog Ska") will be key, as well as my current retro-addiction, REM's "Stand."
In personal consumer news, I went to the JC Penny homestore in search of a beach towel, and walked away with this incredible 72" x 60" mulit-blue and white striped mastertowel, on sale. Its three shades of blue each make me happy in a unique way, and the white cleanses the visual palate well. I'm ecstatic with this product, and I'm unashamed of taking part in capitalism in this case. It will serve me on the beach, after teaching a swimming lesson, or as shelter during severe windstorms. Currently, it's acting as a sexxy extra cover on my futon, itself an even deeper blue not found anywhere on the towel, elevating the number of bluish hues present to a confident 4.
Orientation fun continues as we guards and counselors begin to bond. The percentage of 21+ people is small, but they are all interesting people, mostly chill. In general, everyone seems steady and ready to work hard and have fun with the campers.
Walkie Talkies are fun. Not only do they trasmit a sense of authority, their appeal also lies with their ability to transport information across open space WITHOUT WIRES! There is something tremendous in that last basic fact. They also have bright yellow replaceable faces.
For the Fourth, my plans have never really been set. PhiLL & Yaeka's BBQ Bash was always a prime option, but with all the travel (and spending) I've been doing, there were doubts. Between Em and Gary, I may have found new and exciting means of transportation, so it may be an adventure to Earlville that I cannot pass up.
Then, the madness of Camp's 1st week ensues. I've put my name down to be among the lucky few who get to do the "Belmore Run." It sounds like a thrilling water park tube ride, but it's actually all about getting up at 5am to pick up a couple campers who live 40 minutes away. I'll do this a couple days a week in some rotating schedule, with coffee and donuts.
THe only reflection I can make currently is that there is an energy about this project, buzzing between all these young people and slightly older people here to make the camp function. And it's on a completely different frequency than the regular school year, when the students are here. I guess it's The School's "Summer Ale," lighter and with hints of honey, lemon, and capture the flag.
Carlo Teehop decided that music should be playing during arrival time, while a constant train of cars makes a lap around one of the main dorms at the front of campus to unload the kiddies who will then be funneled like plinko chips to their correct age category. A few of us have been put in charge of "DJing." I'm thinking, along with staples like Raffi, that a lot of They Might Be Giants and peppy ska instrumentals ("Bankshot" "Good Dog Ska") will be key, as well as my current retro-addiction, REM's "Stand."
In personal consumer news, I went to the JC Penny homestore in search of a beach towel, and walked away with this incredible 72" x 60" mulit-blue and white striped mastertowel, on sale. Its three shades of blue each make me happy in a unique way, and the white cleanses the visual palate well. I'm ecstatic with this product, and I'm unashamed of taking part in capitalism in this case. It will serve me on the beach, after teaching a swimming lesson, or as shelter during severe windstorms. Currently, it's acting as a sexxy extra cover on my futon, itself an even deeper blue not found anywhere on the towel, elevating the number of bluish hues present to a confident 4.
