Archive for March, 2003

Filed Under (General) by Sarah on March-27-2003

I picked up my little sister from school today and then drove to the library as a book I reserved on mendicant orders had arrived. I finally remembered to look for German textbooks so I can relearn the language and pass out of a couple of semesters. Found German: The Easy Way and German Verbs and Essentials of Grammar. While in the language section I spotted a really old copy of McGuffey’s Sixth Eclectic Reader and decided that I might as well relearn English—this time, the right way.

Got home and sat on the armchair in the livingroom and worked on German for awhile—is really started to come back; guess it’s like riding a bike. I read McGuffey’s for awhile and decided that I am absolutely going to use it to one day teach my children—the quality is astounding. I am going to raise model citizens. Check out this section: the tone is so antiquated, so priceless.

ELOCUTION AND READING.

The business of training youth in elocution, must be commenced in childhood. The first school is the nursery. There, at least, may be formed a distinct articulation, which is the first requisite for good speaking. How rarely is it found in perfection among our orators.

“Words,” says one, referring to articulation, should “be delivered out from the lips, as beautiful coins, newly issued from the mint; deeply and accurately impressed, perfectly finished; neatly struck by the proper organs, distinct, in due succession, and of due weight.” How rarely do we hear a speaker whose tongue, teeth, and lips do their office so perfectly as to answer to this beautiful description! And the common faults in articulation, it should be remembered, take their rise from the very nursery.

Grace in eloquence, in the pulpit, at the bar, can not be separated from grace in ordinary manners, in private life, in the social circle, in the family. It can not well be superinduced upon all the other acquisitions of youth, any more than that nameless, but invaluable, quality called good breeding. Begin, therefore, the work of forming the orator with the child; not merely by teaching him to declaim, but what is of more consequence, by observing and correcting his daily manners, motions, and attitudes. You can say, when he comes into your apartment, or presents you with something, a book or letter, in an awkward and blundering manner, “Return, and enter this room again,” or, “Present me that book in a different manner,” or, “Put yourself in a different attitude.” You can explain to him the difference between thrusting or pushing out his hand and arm, in straight lines and at acute angles, and moving them in flowing circular lines, and easy graceful action. He will readily understand you. Nothing is more true than that the motions of children are originally graceful; it is by suffering them to be perverted, that we lay the foundation of invincible awkwardness in later life.

In schools for children, it ought to be a leading object to teach the art of reading. It ought to occupy threefold more time than it does. The teachers of these schools should labor to improve themselves. They should feel that to them, for a time, are committed the future orators of the land.

It is better that a girl should return from school a first-rate reader, than a first-rate performer on the pianoforte. The accomplishment, in its perfection, would give more pleasure. The voice of song is not sweeter than the voice of eloquence; and there may be eloquent readers, as well as eloquent speakers. We speak of perfection in this art: and it is something, we must say in defense of our preference, which we have never yet seen. Let the same pains be devoted to reading, as are required to form an accomplished performer on an instrument; let us have, as the ancients had, the formers of the voice, the music masters of reading voice; let us see years devoted to this accomplishment, and then we should be prepared to stand the comparison.

Reading is, indeed, a most intellectual accomplishment. So is music, too, in its perfection. We do by no means undervalue this noble and most delightful art, to which Socrates applied himself even in his old age. But one recommendation of the art of reading is, that is required a constant exercise of mind. It involves, in its perfection, the whole art of criticism on language. A man may possess a fine genius without being a perfect reader; but he can not be a perfect reader without genius.

My mum had me take “pianoforte” lessons back when I was a child. I never had the patience for practising, though. She would force me and it would bring me to tears and I’d sit at the piano for an hour, not touching a key until she relented—I just want to play outside with the neighbourhood kids, mum! I took lessons for about four years. I distinctly remember playing “Ode to Joy”, “La Bamba”, “The Marine Hymn”, “On the Good Ship Lollipop”, “Hey Jude”, and the Star Wars theme at recitals. Finally, when I was twelve, mum let it alone and I was free to abandon my lessons. (Which, looking back, of course, I wish I never had.) I took up the alto saxophone for three years before growing extremely weary and withdrawing from the pasttime. I was secondchair in my juniorhigh band and played Mozart adaptations at recitals. I didn’t practise alto sax much, either. I finally sold the saxophone to a used instrument shoppe two years ago, a couple of days before I took off for Southern Illinois—I needed money, and fast. My old saxophone was converted into gasoline and became smog on I-90/94. I have no idea who plays it these days, maybe a junkyard hobo.

Oh, and the piano? It’s currently in the basement, wallowing in over a decade of disuse. Kels was over at the house the other night before we went Downtown to Brit’s pub. She attempted to play a cord, her heart almost stopped and she came inches away from falling over as the piano bellowed and clanged sharply. She’s probably still shaken over the incident. It was obscene and brash. I can hardly blame her.



Filed Under (General) by Nathanael on March-26-2003
They Said, I Said

Act 1. On a riverboat in Nashville

Confused Fraternity Brother’s Date: Is your fiancee European?
Me: Which fiancee would that be?

Act 2. Scene 1. In front of the campaign table for Nathanael Watson, Candidate for S.G.A. President

The Riddler: If you could have a million dollars on the sole condition that you had to leave the United States forever, would you take it?
Me: No… If you could have a lifetime supply of Icee Pops on the sole condition that you had to leave the United States forever, would you take it?
The Riddler: I’d do it for just one. Let me have one!

Scene 2. Some time later…

Me:(sings) If you’re tired and you know it, vote for Nate! If you’re grades are really hurting, vote for Nate! If you’re a typical Tech student, then the thing that would be prudent is for you to go online and vote for Nate!

Act 3. On the first base line of Mercer at Ga Tech

Friendly Batgirl: So, the bus driver from Auburn would not leave me alone! He kept rubbing my back (demonstrates) and asking if I could get him one of the shirts I was wearing.
Me: Well, you’d crave female interaction too, if you had to drive twenty-five ballplayers around all the time. I know, I traveled with a ballteam for five years.
Batgirl: Were you the equipment manager?
Me: (offended laugh) No, I played!
Batgirl: For Tech??!
Me: No, in high school.
Batgirl: (Leans back and takes stock of Me) Yeah, you’d look good in baseball pants.



Filed Under (General) by Sarah on March-26-2003

When I returned from walking around Grass Lakei this afternoon and feeding the ducks and the seagulls, I saw that Meggan’s car as in the driveway. I walked in the house and she caught me as soon as I entered the backdoor.

–Look!, she said, I bought a really cool cuttingboard for my hope chest!

My dad built us both oak hope chests a few years ago. I’ve been meaning to ask him to put a mahogany finish on mine for a lone time: I definitely prefer mahogany coloured furniture.

–What!, I said. You just go out and purchase items you want for your hope chest and they pay for it, just like that?

–Yeah! I’ve done it for years, she explained. I buy stuff on their credit card, bring it home and tell them what a steal&nbsp I got, and they smile and say that’s nice, Meggan.

–And you never let me on to your little secret! That’s horrible of you! I’m going to have to start looking for things forthwith. Perhaps I’ll find some nice china that’s on sale, buy it, and see what they do. I’ll have to experiment and figure out the rules of this little game.

Notes:

i. Grass Lake is, I think, a man-made lake. It is about a block from our house and borders the Crosstown. I’ve often wondered if any fish live in the lake — but they must, as today I saw a dead baby Sunny embedded in the ice. I also saw a muskrat. Boy, did he dive into the water when he saw me. Swishsplashswoosh!



Filed Under (General) by Sarah on March-26-2003


Nature must die many a death. By many a wild and desert way does God lead the soul as He teaches it to die. But, O children, what a noble life is born of this death — noble and joyous and fruitful!

–Johannes Tauler



Filed Under (General) by Sarah on March-26-2003

Van Morrison seemed to be following me around today.

Walking along the boulevard after my Shakespeare class had let out this afternoon, I saw a transvestive I had not seen for many, many months. I have no idea what his name is. I never bothered to find out even though he and I had were both in the same creative writing lecture at the U of M back in the fall of 2000. I christened him Madame George in my head and knew that I’d probably write about him one day; I’m sure a lot of on-looking students have written about him over the years.

Old. Tall and gaunt; bright red lipstick, shoulder-length bleached blond hair, glasses with thick rims, typically wears faded polyester trousers and a threadbare v-neck sweater, and always always always wears little, white leather sandals that reveal his painted toenails and masculine feet. I have seem him wear his white sandals as late as November. Very solitary and lanky. He has always made me feel deeply sorry for…I’m not sure what, but deeply sorry nonetheless. For everything.

I have no idea how long he’s gone to the University of Minnesota. Perhaps Dylan once knew him back in the day during his short stint at the U of M. It really wouldn’t surprise me.

Driving to work I heard “Brown Eyed Girl” on two different stations. Do you remember / Tuesdays and so slow / Going down the old mine with a / transistor radio…

Moondance was played in the music section at work this evening.

It was a beautiful spring evening when I left work after closing up shoppe at 10:30 The interstate rushed by at the back of the parkinglot, cars rushing past on late evening drives, street lights lit in the windy Shoulders of the Road. A perfect spring night — of the conflicted stripe that cannot figure out whether it desires to be February or whether it wants to be May — full of the naked ghosts of Winter Past and Summer Yet to Come. I hit the unlock button on my remote and my little emerald car beep! beeped! in serene repose.

I drove back home with the moonroof open and the radio off—past the section of the freeway where I’d spun out, jumped an embankment, rolled down a hill, and got run over by a semi four and a half years ago—and hummed the tune to “Moondance”. Well, it’s a marvelous night for a Moondance / with the stars up above in your eyes / A fantabulous night to make romance / ‘neath the cover of October skies / And all the leaves on the trees are falling / to the sound of the breezes that blow…

I pulled up onto the driveway, turned out the headlights, and got out of my car, and unconsciously stood still and looked up at the roof of the sky.

A voice quietly whispered something from the window in the front bedroom.

–What was that?, I said to the dark window.

–If you build it he will come, eerily whispered The Darkened Bedroom Window.

The Voice Behind the Window that Resembled Meggan and I both laughed.