A photo from this evening
Tonight marks the celebration of Corpus Cristi, the night in Italy when half of the city shuts down while the other half flocks to the windows and rooftops to watch the bishop process down the corso with the Holy Eucharist held high. The bells from one church peal and fade until the bells from the next church call you along to the final destination. The military orders come out in their very best regalia; banners stream, children bless themselves, and religious file through the streets in packs.
Last year my parents and I had the wonderful surprise of stumbling into Assisi in time for the feast. Nothing, I thought, could compare to that journey through the the narrow rock streets with the bells echoing from one side of the town to the other.
As I made my way to Maria Maggiore this evening, going down the same Via Merulana that the Pope would take from San Giovanni Laterno to Our Lady's Basilica, the sky was a smear of twilight blue and grey clouds behind the column and bell tower of Maria Maggiore. Waiting in my two-person deep spot in front of the main piazza, there were lovely surreal sights that seemed to have been borrowed from a different age.
A lone friar dressed in gray stood in the balcony of the facade, looking down at the crowds murmuringly waiting below. Scattered purple bishops and red cardinals bustled and assembled in the seats flanking the stupendous altar, set up to await the Eucharist's arrival. A monk on a ladder lit the lean candlesticks on one side, then moved the ladder on to light the next. Speakers scattered across the piazza gave Eucharistic reflections and led the attentive in every traditional Eucharist hymn known to the Latin and Italian world. The Czech non-Catholic couple who had asked me what was going on there tonight stayed there next to me, waiting for over an hour before the Pope even arrived, looking about in interest, amusement, and quite absorption.
The first sign of the procession's arrival were the first banners unfurling in the wind and the lay orders beneath them, the banners all embroidered with emblems of Our Lady or Our Lord, the followers all dressed in the particular order's cape or special vestment. There were medieval vests and thick heavy gold lanterns with red glass, swaying above the heads of their carriers. These people flowed into the area around the piazza's column, turned and waited.
Then came the nuns; hundreds of them, all carrying lit candles with colored paper bibs to protect from the dripping wax. They filed off to the right of the circular area. The priests followed; thousands of them, from every order and nation, dressed in their vestments, all moving to the left.
Then a pause; and then the murmur of clapping starting to rise, the flashes of light blinking around the corner I stood at; the first glimpse of the upraised gold cross and candlesticks above the heads of the crowd, and slowly emerging mere feet away, the magnificent sight of the upraised platform upon which the Eucharist rested. And there kneeling before Him, our beloved Pope gazing in perfect peace and happiness upon Our Lord, his upturned expression completely enraptured, seemingly unaware of the noise and business that he was passing.
I had my arms upraised filming the sight, but my eyes were locked the moment they rested upon the Pope's indescribably beautiful attention. I have seen that look of peace and light freedom before, but never had I saw it in such a religious context.
Love is the only word to summarize it.
Almost exactly four years and a month ago, my eyes locked for a moment with those of Pope John Paul II during the last Papal event I saw him alive. The profound impact of that moment will be with me my entire existence. Now in my memory there stands by its side the image of a Pope whose eyes were not turned towards me, but to an illuminated monstrance containing the Saviour of the world.
The love of the gaze, that permeates each, is the same.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
In Love
In all my Maltese (i.e. Greek, Sicilian, Italian, and Hebrew) roots, there has got to be something Middle Eastern. Because I am absolutely in love with this woman's blog:
http://moroccanmaryam.typepad.com/
An American family building a guest house in Marrakesh. What could be more fascinating? The patterns . . . the colors . . . the mystery of it all - go add it to your bookmarks and drink it all in. Thanks goes to Mollie (who else?) for the referral.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Padre Pio, Obi Wan Kanobee, and St. Michael
Ha - I tried some new picture formatting which didn't turn out quite as planned . . . I'm too lazy to fix it tonight, so please ignore the skewedness of it all . . .
Let's compare the two.
They both have white beards. They both have brown robes with hoods. They both look old in their official pictures.
When I was little, I was hopelessly confused. It's a good thing I figured out the difference before I came to Italy, otherwise I would think that I'm living in a country full of Star War freaks.
Padre Pio is everywhere here. So last month, I decided to put myself down there in San Giovanni Rotondo, the burial place of San P. He's been in the news lately because the Franciscans who take care of his tomb started the process to put his body on display (covered by a thin layer of wax, under glass), and his family protested. Apparently there's an Italian law which prohibits the display of corpses, which is pretty funny, considering that this is The Land of Relics and Dead People and Dead People Bones and Dead People Tongues and Dead People In Every Church for you to see. But, to Italy's happiness, the Franciscans won. Visitors to SGinR are expected to surpass Lourdes this year because of it.
To get to SanG, I got up at 5.30 AM and took a series of trains that got me to Foggia by noon. Then I took a bus across plain and field . . .
And promptly got on a bus with Jen to go to Monte San Michele, a beautiful seaside town on a hill with white buildings and the customary narrow streets. There's a famous grotto there that Saint Michael the Archangel appeared 4 times in during the middle ages. Unfortunately they don't allow pictures, so I took pictures of the town instead.
The parts of the town close to the sea - especially the embankments - reminded me so much of Malta. Jen and I had some fantastic conversations as we walked through the streets, checking into novelty shops and looking at all the great local food specialties. One huge negozio had everything you could imagine . . . homemade limoncello, jarred apricots, dried pepperoncino, every type of bread you could imagine - all with homemade tags telling you the prices and what things were. It was fantastic.
I was especially fascinated by the way this region of Italy displays its bread outside the store. All of the shops had round wheels with their pane and dolce arranged for you to see. The region is famous for a curiousity called "Ostie Piene" (probably misspelled that), which translates into "filled hosts." They take two unleavened host-like breads and put almonds and drizzle a sticky honey-lemon concoction in between the two.
Jen and I plopped ourselves down on a wall above a lower embankment and talked about hypothetical children falling off such high unfenced walls. Funny how you only think about such things when you get older. Italy isn't exactly the most safety- conscious place in the universe.
The statue above, my friend, made me giggle for about 3 days. Jen and I found the kitschiest store you could imagine, and after looking at bubble toys, fake Barbie heads, and Marys floating in lava lamps, I thought I'd seen it all. Until I saw the 1970 version of disco-hair Michael who looks like he happened to step on something nasty on the way to meet his prom date. The outstretched hands are what did me in.
I still wish I'd bought it.
The way back to San G had some gorgeous scenery . . . like this mountain, which looks like it got knuckled by a giant . . .
But what I really loved was going to Sunday Mass at the beautiful modern shrine in San Giovanni the next morning. Blogger stopped responding to picture uploads, so more images will have to wait. I loved how the shrine's curving sections converging at the main altar broke up the space and eliminated the "airplane hangar" large-church feel. The massive semi-circular window covered with medieval illuminations brings a rich, traditional, prayerful atmosphere that most modern churches usually lack. I was absorbed with their beauty and theology during the entire Mass (which was in Italian, so I have an excuse for the distraction).
After Mass, I spent three hours waiting to view PP's tomb/body, only to have to leave 10 minutes before I would have got in because I *had* to catch my bus to catch the train. C'est la vie. More photos coming soon!
Let's compare the two.
They both have white beards. They both have brown robes with hoods. They both look old in their official pictures.
When I was little, I was hopelessly confused. It's a good thing I figured out the difference before I came to Italy, otherwise I would think that I'm living in a country full of Star War freaks.
Padre Pio is everywhere here. So last month, I decided to put myself down there in San Giovanni Rotondo, the burial place of San P. He's been in the news lately because the Franciscans who take care of his tomb started the process to put his body on display (covered by a thin layer of wax, under glass), and his family protested. Apparently there's an Italian law which prohibits the display of corpses, which is pretty funny, considering that this is The Land of Relics and Dead People and Dead People Bones and Dead People Tongues and Dead People In Every Church for you to see. But, to Italy's happiness, the Franciscans won. Visitors to SGinR are expected to surpass Lourdes this year because of it.
To get to SanG, I got up at 5.30 AM and took a series of trains that got me to Foggia by noon. Then I took a bus across plain and field . . .
And promptly got on a bus with Jen to go to Monte San Michele, a beautiful seaside town on a hill with white buildings and the customary narrow streets. There's a famous grotto there that Saint Michael the Archangel appeared 4 times in during the middle ages. Unfortunately they don't allow pictures, so I took pictures of the town instead.
The parts of the town close to the sea - especially the embankments - reminded me so much of Malta. Jen and I had some fantastic conversations as we walked through the streets, checking into novelty shops and looking at all the great local food specialties. One huge negozio had everything you could imagine . . . homemade limoncello, jarred apricots, dried pepperoncino, every type of bread you could imagine - all with homemade tags telling you the prices and what things were. It was fantastic.
I was especially fascinated by the way this region of Italy displays its bread outside the store. All of the shops had round wheels with their pane and dolce arranged for you to see. The region is famous for a curiousity called "Ostie Piene" (probably misspelled that), which translates into "filled hosts." They take two unleavened host-like breads and put almonds and drizzle a sticky honey-lemon concoction in between the two.
Jen and I plopped ourselves down on a wall above a lower embankment and talked about hypothetical children falling off such high unfenced walls. Funny how you only think about such things when you get older. Italy isn't exactly the most safety- conscious place in the universe.
The statue above, my friend, made me giggle for about 3 days. Jen and I found the kitschiest store you could imagine, and after looking at bubble toys, fake Barbie heads, and Marys floating in lava lamps, I thought I'd seen it all. Until I saw the 1970 version of disco-hair Michael who looks like he happened to step on something nasty on the way to meet his prom date. The outstretched hands are what did me in.
I still wish I'd bought it.
The way back to San G had some gorgeous scenery . . . like this mountain, which looks like it got knuckled by a giant . . .
But what I really loved was going to Sunday Mass at the beautiful modern shrine in San Giovanni the next morning. Blogger stopped responding to picture uploads, so more images will have to wait. I loved how the shrine's curving sections converging at the main altar broke up the space and eliminated the "airplane hangar" large-church feel. The massive semi-circular window covered with medieval illuminations brings a rich, traditional, prayerful atmosphere that most modern churches usually lack. I was absorbed with their beauty and theology during the entire Mass (which was in Italian, so I have an excuse for the distraction).
After Mass, I spent three hours waiting to view PP's tomb/body, only to have to leave 10 minutes before I would have got in because I *had* to catch my bus to catch the train. C'est la vie. More photos coming soon!
Our Lady and the Tree
Continuing to traipse down memory lane:
FATIMA.
Fatima has Salvador Dali trees. Sort of like that line from Under the Tuscan Sun: "Italy has creepy trees. It's like they know. And they know that we know that they know."
Moi braving the wind in the grand piazza surrounding the apparition site. I have to admit, I was disappointed that it wasn't still a pasture with scrubby Portugeuse trees. After the organic grotto at Lourdes, I had prepped myself for a better visual prop to imagine the apparitions. Ach, a childhood image was shattered that day. But it was still beautiful. And windy. And bright.
The Lourdes cathedral had a mosiac of Our Lady that I thought was weird at first, but it slowly grew on me. The Fatima image struck me right away. Our Lady softly reaches down to humanity, a shimming light to those suffering in darkness. It's surreal and lovely.
Joseph, Monika and I sporting our matchey-matchey blue, which turned into the running joke of the schoolyear.
The part of Fatima that gave me chills: a section of the Berlin Wall, displayed to draw the connection between Our Lady's warnings in 1917 and the emergence of Communism. A great reminder of how prayer led to its ultimate defeat.
Francisco's tomb within the Cathedral. He's on one side of the Church close to the altar, the girls are on the other.
Jacinta and Lucia's tombs. And, in the bottom left corner, the baskets for the wax prayer offerings. I kid you not. If you prayed to God for Him to cure your foot or liver and your prayer was answered, you can obtain a wax representation of the particular cured body part at the religious goods store and place the wax representation on a grill with flames shooting up (located near the candles). They have representations for everything - sick children, hands, breast cancer, heads . . . use your imagination. A little too earthy for me, but it made for alot of reverent humor.
Me lighting a candle. Just a candle. Not lighting up a head, finger, or spleen.
My classmates offering Mass at the apparition site. The little house marks where Mary appeared; nothing is left of the tree. The statue which Pope John Paul II crowned in gratitude to Mary for interceding for his life is encased in glass in front of the chapel/sanctuary/mini-house. Have to say, the site was a little anti-climatic. But it fit with the poverty and simplicity of the region.
A statue of Pope John Paul II kneeling in supplication, faced towards the main plaza. He's located in front of the massive concrete vat of a building which apparently serves as the major church for large events. San Giovanni beats that structure in the Massive Church Department hands down . . .those pictures coming as soon as I'm bored during class (very soon).
FATIMA.
Fatima has Salvador Dali trees. Sort of like that line from Under the Tuscan Sun: "Italy has creepy trees. It's like they know. And they know that we know that they know."
Moi braving the wind in the grand piazza surrounding the apparition site. I have to admit, I was disappointed that it wasn't still a pasture with scrubby Portugeuse trees. After the organic grotto at Lourdes, I had prepped myself for a better visual prop to imagine the apparitions. Ach, a childhood image was shattered that day. But it was still beautiful. And windy. And bright.
The Lourdes cathedral had a mosiac of Our Lady that I thought was weird at first, but it slowly grew on me. The Fatima image struck me right away. Our Lady softly reaches down to humanity, a shimming light to those suffering in darkness. It's surreal and lovely.
Joseph, Monika and I sporting our matchey-matchey blue, which turned into the running joke of the schoolyear.
The part of Fatima that gave me chills: a section of the Berlin Wall, displayed to draw the connection between Our Lady's warnings in 1917 and the emergence of Communism. A great reminder of how prayer led to its ultimate defeat.
Francisco's tomb within the Cathedral. He's on one side of the Church close to the altar, the girls are on the other.
Jacinta and Lucia's tombs. And, in the bottom left corner, the baskets for the wax prayer offerings. I kid you not. If you prayed to God for Him to cure your foot or liver and your prayer was answered, you can obtain a wax representation of the particular cured body part at the religious goods store and place the wax representation on a grill with flames shooting up (located near the candles). They have representations for everything - sick children, hands, breast cancer, heads . . . use your imagination. A little too earthy for me, but it made for alot of reverent humor.
Me lighting a candle. Just a candle. Not lighting up a head, finger, or spleen.
My classmates offering Mass at the apparition site. The little house marks where Mary appeared; nothing is left of the tree. The statue which Pope John Paul II crowned in gratitude to Mary for interceding for his life is encased in glass in front of the chapel/sanctuary/mini-house. Have to say, the site was a little anti-climatic. But it fit with the poverty and simplicity of the region.
A statue of Pope John Paul II kneeling in supplication, faced towards the main plaza. He's located in front of the massive concrete vat of a building which apparently serves as the major church for large events. San Giovanni beats that structure in the Massive Church Department hands down . . .those pictures coming as soon as I'm bored during class (very soon).
Monday, May 19, 2008
Trust
From Pope Benedict's Angelus address in Genoa yesterday:
Tradition tells of how the Madonna, in her first appearance to Benedetto Pareto -- who was worried about how he would go about building a church in that place so far from the city -- said: “Trust in me! You will not lack the means. With my help everything will be easy. Only be firm in your will.” “Trust in me!” Mary repeats this again to us today. An ancient prayer, very dear to popular tradition, has us address these words to her, that today we make our own: “Remember, O, most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help or sought thy intercession was left unaided.”
Compliments of Zenit.org
Tradition tells of how the Madonna, in her first appearance to Benedetto Pareto -- who was worried about how he would go about building a church in that place so far from the city -- said: “Trust in me! You will not lack the means. With my help everything will be easy. Only be firm in your will.” “Trust in me!” Mary repeats this again to us today. An ancient prayer, very dear to popular tradition, has us address these words to her, that today we make our own: “Remember, O, most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help or sought thy intercession was left unaided.”
Compliments of Zenit.org
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Spain Flashback!
You might say that my blogging muse has been on vacation for the past month. Fortunately, there's nothing like writing cover letters ad nauseum and having three papers due in one week to get you into the writin' groove. The class I'm sitting in right now is super boring, so behold:
SPAIN. As seen in February.
First: AVILA. Home of St. Teresa and St. John of the Cross, we had the chance to tour the convent that St. T entered, have Mass at her first reformed convent (Convent of St. Joseph), and check out the awesome museums scattered about the medieval city.
We saw St. J's famous sketch of the cross, which I'm thinking was the inspiration for Salvador Dali down the road.
As well as a crucifix which moved St. Teresa.
Monika and I outside of the convent, with Avila in the background.
The garden where St. Teresa had a vision which inspired part of the Interior Castle . . .I think . . .
Next: GRANADA. And the amazing Muslim fortress/palace the Alahambra, covered with carvings and tiles with intricate designs.
The incredible stucco ceilings in Alahambra.
The wall next to the Granada Cathedral offers a most difficult decision.
Some choices are much easier. I think we managed to find the one Italian-themed caffe in Granada.
My classmate Elizabeth sampling some beautiful Spanish acoustics.
Eventually, I chose Spiritual Enlightenment. The interior of the Granada Cathedral. Absolutely loved the light blue with the gold, especially when combined with the white walls. We also got to see the tombs of Ferdinand and Isabel, but they wouldn't let you take pictures there.
The interior of a church dedicated to St. John of God. I'm sorry, but all that gold was just gross. I thought I was going to have a seizure from all that shininess by the time we got to the Gospel.
SPAIN. As seen in February.
First: AVILA. Home of St. Teresa and St. John of the Cross, we had the chance to tour the convent that St. T entered, have Mass at her first reformed convent (Convent of St. Joseph), and check out the awesome museums scattered about the medieval city.
We saw St. J's famous sketch of the cross, which I'm thinking was the inspiration for Salvador Dali down the road.
As well as a crucifix which moved St. Teresa.
Monika and I outside of the convent, with Avila in the background.
The garden where St. Teresa had a vision which inspired part of the Interior Castle . . .I think . . .
Next: GRANADA. And the amazing Muslim fortress/palace the Alahambra, covered with carvings and tiles with intricate designs.
The incredible stucco ceilings in Alahambra.
The wall next to the Granada Cathedral offers a most difficult decision.
Some choices are much easier. I think we managed to find the one Italian-themed caffe in Granada.
My classmate Elizabeth sampling some beautiful Spanish acoustics.
Eventually, I chose Spiritual Enlightenment. The interior of the Granada Cathedral. Absolutely loved the light blue with the gold, especially when combined with the white walls. We also got to see the tombs of Ferdinand and Isabel, but they wouldn't let you take pictures there.
The interior of a church dedicated to St. John of God. I'm sorry, but all that gold was just gross. I thought I was going to have a seizure from all that shininess by the time we got to the Gospel.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Getting Back to Work
Alora. It's that time again. The time when I have to start thinking about making money and where to live and what to do this summer. Tonight was revising the resume (does a "Masters Plus" - what I've been told is the equivalent of the "Licentiate" I'm doing here - even exist in the States, or is it just something that the Italians came up with?!?!?). Two weeks ago was the great research project (during boring classes) of what's out there. And now's the time to start sending the resume out.
So, dear friends, if you know of any places with a positive working environment that offer internships or might have short-term employment available, let me know. I'll be in the States from July 7th until the end of September. I'm primarily searching for something that will offer experience in communications, but I'm flexible. I'm open to anything in Northern VA or the DC area . . . and if you happen to know of any sweet deals on short-term housing, I'd love to hear about them too! :)
Just got back late last night from San Giovanni in Rotondo, the beautiful hillside town of Padre Pio. Pictures and a description to follow soon!
So, dear friends, if you know of any places with a positive working environment that offer internships or might have short-term employment available, let me know. I'll be in the States from July 7th until the end of September. I'm primarily searching for something that will offer experience in communications, but I'm flexible. I'm open to anything in Northern VA or the DC area . . . and if you happen to know of any sweet deals on short-term housing, I'd love to hear about them too! :)
Just got back late last night from San Giovanni in Rotondo, the beautiful hillside town of Padre Pio. Pictures and a description to follow soon!
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Recipe for a Paper
Have you heard about this Live Blogging fad? You basically do a minute-by-minute rundown on your blog of what's going on in something.
The novelty is SO overrated. Old news to me. I was already doing it Sophomore year, when Lizzie and I used to sit in the back of a particular professor's class and literally write half-minute-by-second accounts of what was going on in his class (complete with notes) to stay awake.
In the same spirit.
Recipe for a Paper
Pages of book started during Holy Week lines (a time of great preparedness)
Pages of book sorta ended 1 ½ month later (a time of great procrastination)
Middle pages unremembered and loosely underlined on trains (a time of great tiredness and boredom)
Deadline that I thought was Friday
New deadline that the teacher apparently set for Wednesday (yesterday)
Friends coming to the beach today (Thursday)
NEW New deadline personally set for Friday (hey, I was working at the school conference on Wednesday – how could I email it in while I was working?)
The consoling thought that I only work under pressure anyways
The realization (forgotten after every paper) that I have to mull something over for awhile before I can spit out coherent thoughts (time to start new blog post, this'll take awhile)
A desire to be edgy and original (rejecting all opening sentences for two hours)
Reoccurring curses that I simply cannot start writing until I have a good opening line (repeated and yet forgotten with every paper)
Doubts at why I ever thought I could write
Doubts at why I thought studying would be better than working (quickly discarded)
Spurt of confidence as I remember previous reputation as Queen English Major (i.e. Master BSer)
Inspirational food (8 crackers with spreadable cheese and salami . . . to help with all the calories the sun burned off today while changing my skin from white to florescent pink with beforementioned friends . . . maybe stretching the skin will make it less pink, blah)
Inspirational idea that maybe I should look at the book for ideas on what to write about the book (clearly from God, thoughts like that don’t just come to people)
Skimming last 50 never-read pages of book (huh. So that’s what it was all about?)
Deciding to write about Truth and Public Opinion (because things with easy answers are so boring when you’re two days past deadline)
Deciding that blog posts really do help the creative juices flow
Thinking that maybe I should actually write the second page of the paper since it’s 12.36 AM now (sleep would be nice)
Happiness pressing “Courier New” and having less than a page turn into a page and a half
Remembering old quirk that creativity doesn’t flow while using Courier New
Five minute break to ponder about writers being neurotic and having quirks and wondering if it’s a bad thing
Deciding that no one can call me an Edgar Allen Poe
Wondering who WOULD want to be like Edgar Allen Poe? (druggie on poppies)
Returning to paper, Times New Roman again
Double spacing doesn’t impede creative juices
Decide the best way to deal with the paper is to set up a scenario of “what a person with minimal intelligence would inevitably conclude if he read this book” and work through that with the hope that my own minimal intelligence can accurately guess what the reader might think . . .because somehow role-playing is going to make this a lot easier, and if the paper stinks maybe the professor will give the hypothetical near-idiot a bad grade instead of me
Finally step away from hypothetical confused person and start writing authoritatively as the voice of fact and truth (God-like omniscience and confidence)
Keane is great writing music
If I flunk out of school, I could make money heating Siberia with the body warmth emanating from my back and thighs (ouch ouch ouch why don’t I have aloe vera and why don’t I own any sacks to wear to school tomorrow?)
Adding my name, professor’s name, class, date, and maybe birthdays of all my nephews and nieces for good measure makes the paper longer
Dang, I love block quotes
Wow, having to add transitions between ideas makes the paper longer too. Things are going great.
Hmm, Facebook rejuvenation breaks take a long time . . . why is it past 3.00 AM now?
Well, there are four pages when you hit Courier New . . . here's to the language barrier and big English words impressing my professor, I'm imminently succumbing to the deep forces of compulsory symphonious adulations of a sensory perception which Hamlet referred to as the potential solution to his persistent question which has captivated the creative imaginations of English literature critics (BSers) for millennia. (I'm sleeping).
The novelty is SO overrated. Old news to me. I was already doing it Sophomore year, when Lizzie and I used to sit in the back of a particular professor's class and literally write half-minute-by-second accounts of what was going on in his class (complete with notes) to stay awake.
In the same spirit.
Recipe for a Paper
Pages of book started during Holy Week lines (a time of great preparedness)
Pages of book sorta ended 1 ½ month later (a time of great procrastination)
Middle pages unremembered and loosely underlined on trains (a time of great tiredness and boredom)
Deadline that I thought was Friday
New deadline that the teacher apparently set for Wednesday (yesterday)
Friends coming to the beach today (Thursday)
NEW New deadline personally set for Friday (hey, I was working at the school conference on Wednesday – how could I email it in while I was working?)
The consoling thought that I only work under pressure anyways
The realization (forgotten after every paper) that I have to mull something over for awhile before I can spit out coherent thoughts (time to start new blog post, this'll take awhile)
A desire to be edgy and original (rejecting all opening sentences for two hours)
Reoccurring curses that I simply cannot start writing until I have a good opening line (repeated and yet forgotten with every paper)
Doubts at why I ever thought I could write
Doubts at why I thought studying would be better than working (quickly discarded)
Spurt of confidence as I remember previous reputation as Queen English Major (i.e. Master BSer)
Inspirational food (8 crackers with spreadable cheese and salami . . . to help with all the calories the sun burned off today while changing my skin from white to florescent pink with beforementioned friends . . . maybe stretching the skin will make it less pink, blah)
Inspirational idea that maybe I should look at the book for ideas on what to write about the book (clearly from God, thoughts like that don’t just come to people)
Skimming last 50 never-read pages of book (huh. So that’s what it was all about?)
Deciding to write about Truth and Public Opinion (because things with easy answers are so boring when you’re two days past deadline)
Deciding that blog posts really do help the creative juices flow
Thinking that maybe I should actually write the second page of the paper since it’s 12.36 AM now (sleep would be nice)
Happiness pressing “Courier New” and having less than a page turn into a page and a half
Remembering old quirk that creativity doesn’t flow while using Courier New
Five minute break to ponder about writers being neurotic and having quirks and wondering if it’s a bad thing
Deciding that no one can call me an Edgar Allen Poe
Wondering who WOULD want to be like Edgar Allen Poe? (druggie on poppies)
Returning to paper, Times New Roman again
Double spacing doesn’t impede creative juices
Decide the best way to deal with the paper is to set up a scenario of “what a person with minimal intelligence would inevitably conclude if he read this book” and work through that with the hope that my own minimal intelligence can accurately guess what the reader might think . . .because somehow role-playing is going to make this a lot easier, and if the paper stinks maybe the professor will give the hypothetical near-idiot a bad grade instead of me
Finally step away from hypothetical confused person and start writing authoritatively as the voice of fact and truth (God-like omniscience and confidence)
Keane is great writing music
If I flunk out of school, I could make money heating Siberia with the body warmth emanating from my back and thighs (ouch ouch ouch why don’t I have aloe vera and why don’t I own any sacks to wear to school tomorrow?)
Adding my name, professor’s name, class, date, and maybe birthdays of all my nephews and nieces for good measure makes the paper longer
Dang, I love block quotes
Wow, having to add transitions between ideas makes the paper longer too. Things are going great.
Hmm, Facebook rejuvenation breaks take a long time . . . why is it past 3.00 AM now?
Well, there are four pages when you hit Courier New . . . here's to the language barrier and big English words impressing my professor, I'm imminently succumbing to the deep forces of compulsory symphonious adulations of a sensory perception which Hamlet referred to as the potential solution to his persistent question which has captivated the creative imaginations of English literature critics (BSers) for millennia. (I'm sleeping).
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