Mis-Identifying Wildflowers

Over-looking.

A reflection on today’s humanities class.

It seems to this student that today’s lecture lumped all of sub-cultural movements and phenomena as marketing tactics, that nothing organic comes from sub-culture and that it is all something that has been sold. Which is interesting, considering that Douglass Rushkoff’s special, The Merchants of Cool , was referenced. Rushkoff makes a clear point about a feedback loop between the kids and the marketers, that it begins with an original idea from a group and then marketed.

It bothers me, only a little, to have a lecture that there is nothing original about the young-adult movements to find significance and truth in a broken world—even if they can be mis-lead.

Maybe I just am reluctant to say that modernity is an evil thing because I come from the secular world.

The American Tradition

The Thomas More Humanities cycle this year is the cycle of the American Tradition. Looking at the politics, philosophies and literature of America to get a better understanding at what is means to be an American.

Today’s lecture from Dr. Connell went into discovering what the American Myth is through poetry (meaning verse or prose: anything that is poetic) because it takes the ideals and ideas and gives them a form. Reflecting on the current reading, All The Kings Men by Robert Penn Warren , I have been musing on our other novels as to what really is the American tradition. In every novel, American or otherwise, there is an ever-present theme of man’s inward conflict with himself—there is always a desire for something more. I want to start with the novels we have most recently read (for they are the sharpest in my memory) on a few main characters desire for something more and the meaning of tradition and ritual for them. 

Beloved by Toni Morrison
-Sethe: Strongest desire is in the love for her children-a love that goes too far and becomes incredibly possessive. Deeply desires tradition of the white community around her: Wants a wedding dress and feast for her wedding, the act she commits for her daughter’s tombstone.
-Denver: Is a child even at the age of 18 due to her mothers spoiling. Wants her mothers love for herself and her alone. Very secluded from everyone. Finally grows up to leave the house, to find her own self.
-Paul D: Stays on the road to satisfy his restlessness. Sethe is the only woman who manages to tie him down, but even then there is no ritual-they sleep together and both feel like something is missing, and he eventually leaves her as well. Stems from his ability to be a man taken from him when Schoolmaster takes over Sweet Home.

Go Down, Moses by William Faulkner
-Ryder: In the lack of ritual in burying his wife, he trys to find a way around thinking about his wife. He works harder than he ever had in his life, but his own strength continues to remind him of his wife’s frailty. He drinks. Ending in his own demise. There is no closure, he goes insane.
-I have to check back on my notes. This is the most prominate of the figures I can think of at the moment.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scotts Fitzgerald
-Gatsby: Looking for something in his life, puts it all into loving Daisy. No respect for tradition in her marriage (even though it is poor, it is still a marriage)
-Nick: Moves East to find something, finds it in coming home.
-Daisy: Gatsby himself says that what is so distinctive about her voice is money. She is back and forth in her feelings for the two men, and retreats to commercialism and carelessness—Main theme in novel (Wilson looking at the advirtisment as being the eyes of God, people’s disrespect for Gatsby in not coming to his funeral but taking advantage of his money and parties)

All the Kings Men by Robert Penn Warren
-Willie: Seeking to find a challenge. Grows throughout novel—more to this, as we aren’t finished with the novel
-Jack: embodiment of idealism, cynicism-finds something in Willie
-Sandie: Sees something in Willie.

This entry has to come to a quick halt, as I have Latin homework, but here are my points that I mainly want to cover and will go into more detail later.

-America is a blending of cultural tradition and ritual, thus finding a set tradition seems impossible
-The Great Gatsby and All The Kings Men lead to a finding of cultural identity in politics and commercialism (we find today these overlap)

It is my belief that we established a wonderful constitution in our country’s founding, however, with no universal cultural tradition, it is the people themselves who in their lack of identity, tradition and ritual that will lead to their despair and hardships. (not to say that with these things, life will be pie in the sky, but that is another argument)

I apologize if this does not convey exactly what I am desperately trying to get at in the little time I have. I will come back to this hopefully over Thanksgiving break—and perhaps have more to show.

-Many of the ideas here are a synthesis of the notes I have taken in Dr. Mary Mumbach, Dr. Paul Connell, and Dr. Peter Sampo.

Simple things.

It wasn’t until today that I realized what was actually making me so homesick. Topher sent me a text message with an advertisement that looked just like Mark Ryan. It’s things like that. The sound of Megan’s excited voice, that look on Nate’s face as he figures out something insane and rubs his ear, Mark Ryan’s infectious smile, Zack’s drawl, Elder’s voice when he says “let’s ride.” There is something about the simple, little things in those people that makes me miss that more than the place or even mopeds (afterall, I have mine here, and it is well on it’s way to being fixed.) There is something about that group that stands out amoungst the list of amazing people I have met in my life.

Well, not enough time to say more. I have play practice, a Latin exam, and fifty more pages to read. Guess who’s playing Ophelia?

Memory.

Whenever I come to The Daily Grind downtown, all of my thoughts jumble together as I remember “the good old days” of Thursday nights my sophmore year.

Thursdays were the days that everyone looked forward to. It was the day you picked your best outfit at the beginning of the week, Wednesday became like Friday, and Friday you were still buzzing and talking about everything that happened the night before. Karaoke at Fletchers, where the owner would “close shop” at nine, let us all stay and make pizza for us until three in the morning. Where we would scale massive ladders to get to the rooftops of the Elco and the jewelery store, watch the sun go down, then get down as quickly as possible, because the cops had come and we had to run away. Sitting at the Grind, the police would come by and ask us if we knew anything about kids trespassing on the roof. We would calmly shake our heads and say “The only time we left was to go on a walk along the Riverwalk.” They would leave, we would decide a walk along the Riverwalk sounded good, and take off in groups.

We would either cross the bridge, or go off tumbling down the hills towards the river, bracing whatever we could find so we wouldn’t end up in the filth that is the Elkhart river. Sometimes I would sit on a park bench with Stefan, next to the bridge, talking for hours about being a chemistry teacher, or my aspirations at the time of being a band director.

It’s very odd, coming back and being bombarded with so many memories. Sitting outside the Grind and smoking, I see all of us sitting on the pavement as Stefan and Corey, or the Joshes, or the really awesome lesbian chicks that I don’t remember the names of, would play guitar and we would all sing along.

I feel like Gatsby, in the way that I idolize those times and forever yearn for those memories to repeat themselves. However, sitting outside the Grind today, I realize that Thursday nights were a mindset—we had a good time because that’ what we were expecting. I always say “I was so nice, sophomore year” and in truth, I am the same person, have been the same person. Back then, I didn’t have to find myself, because I was myself. It’s easy to be who you are when you are surrounded by wonderful people.

When the seniors graduated, I lost myself. I am still recovering from losing them, but I feel for the first time, perfectly fine on my own.

I don’t really look forward to days of the week anymore. I used to look forward to Wednesdays. Now, I look forward to whatever trips I will be making (this weekend is Cinci) and whenever I have a day off work.

I am a sophomore in college now. It’s so strange to think it’s been FOUR years since Thursdays, YAC, the seniors…

And now, I’m shipping off to Merrimack, New Hampshire. Louisville after that.

But when I come here, it’s like coming home. It’s like seeing a green light across the river. I am sure it is nostalgia that makes that year so vivid in my mind, but I really don’t care. I will forever hold to the statement that it was my most pivotal year.

And now, it’s time to relive the term “wise fool”