Hail to Old KU

It's the end of my first day in the hallowed halls of KU. It's been pretty eventful. My roomie and I signed up to feed 130 + hungry vegetarians next week. Excitement abounds, but mostly it's anxiousness.

My classes so far have been pretty fun. The professors really seem to be into the material. The only one I'm not sure about is my Eastern Asia history class, but that's because I fell asleep a quarter of the way in, and so I don't remember anything.

There was a crazy street preacher out at Wescoe today. People were giving him crap, which I'm pretty sure he had coming to him anyway.

Tonight, I went accross campus to eat at Mrs. E's in Lewis Hall because the dining hall here is tres crappy. It makes me not a happy camper. Anyway, it rained on the way back, so now I'm slightly wet. However, the Sezchuan (sp?) chicken, egg roll and strawberry soft serve was totally worth it. Oh yeah. My belly is happy.

My Harry Potter Evening

So, last night was the official release of the final installment in the pop culture explosion that is the Harry Potter series. Being a fan of the books, and having no shame whatsoever (as I'm sure those witnesses to March's "Borat Look-a-like Contest" can attest) I spent the night in the traditional midnight release fashion: I attended a party in costume. Oh yeah. I donned my best hippie duds and went as professor Trelawney. I looked to Emma Thompson for inspriation.

While I didn't stay for the costume contest portion of the evening, I did get a $15 Barnes and Noble gift card for winning the Harry Potter spelling bee. Never let it be said that knowing how to spell arcane and totally fake magical terms will never have a practical application. I high tailed it with a couple of friends to Wal-Mart around midnight so they could get the book for the low low price of $18, as well as pick up some essentials like strawberry milkshake oreos. I know, they don't sound kosher, but they sure are tasty when you're driving down Broadway in the wee hours grasping at your last scraps of consciousness before falling into a sleep-deprived coma.

After recieving the anticipated volume in question early this afternoon, I spent most of the rest of the day holed up in my cave/fortress of solitude/bedroom poring over the pages. I am proud to say that I am now 1/3 of my way through the book. At this rate, I give myself another day and a half before I finish the thing, and I can emerge, malnourished and raccoon-eyed from my room with all the answers to those questions that have been burning in my mind for the last two years. I don't need to repeat them, because they're the same for me as for everyone else.

My egg timer just went off. Time to get off the blog and back to reading. I would be tired, but I've lost all concept of time. Harry beckons, and I must answer.

Thoughts and Feelings on Times Square

I just got back from a three-day trip to New York with my parents. During this trip we made most of the usual rounds. A game at Yankee Stadium, walking across the Brooklyn Bridge, a couple of trips through Central Park, visits to Greenwich Village, the MoMa and the Frick. It was all pretty neat, but I didn't truly understand what made New York so great until I visited Times Square.

Now, let me preface by saying that, at least from a tourist's point of view, New York is a city full of districts that are really almost like cities unto themselves. If you get off near Greenwich Village, you're in a completely different looking place than if you get off at Grand Central Station near 42nd street, which looks like a long, open-air shopping mall, much like State Street or Michigan Avenue in Chicago. When we went to Times Square, we'd just gotten out of Central Park, which was green, peaceful and relaxed. After we got off in Times Square, it was, as you might expect, totally different from anywhere else we'd visited.

The moment I laid eyes on all the video billboards and jammed streets and sidwalks and posters and marquis, something in my head went "Ah ha." Because once you step out of the Times Square subway station, you really do get the sense that you are standing in the center of the universe and, even though you know your are just a tiny microcosm in this big machine of a place, you get the feeling that just by being there, you are important. Suddenly, you are part of something really big. You matter.

My mother has often said, and I usually agree, that New Yorkers seem to have a big sense of importance, an air of superiority, as though New York is the only part of the United States that really amounts to much. It is a pretty isolationist attitude, but it's one you'd probably find in most places of the country. It's just that since New York is the biggest city in the United States, that attitude simply seems more prevalent. For the longest time, I just didn't get it. But once I got a look at Times Square, I realized that if I lived here, I'd probably feel the same way. It would be impossible not to. In Times Square, everything is big. Everything moves. Everything glitters. Hell, even the subway station looked fabulous, with a big flashy lit-up sign announcing its presence to anyone and everyone around. At night, the shops stay open late to catch crowds coming back from the Broadway shows. You can find all kinds of people here, mostly people who are selling something, but interesting characters nonetheless. It's just a huge explosion of commercialism and culture. Times Square is America at its boldest. It is America on steroids.

As much as I think of the market as a false God, an idol at which we have been praying for far too long, the consumer part of me (not to mention my "ooh shiny" synapses) were totally stimulated by Times Square. This was the biggest place I had ever been, and the smallest I had ever felt. For the first time, it felt truly exhilerating to know that I was nothing more or less than a cog in the machine. I wouldn't have had it any other way.

Reporting the "Happy News"

I was at my cousin's graduation party in Kansas City today, at which were several relatives, friends, all that kind of stuff. It was a good time, mostly, despite the fact that I knew few people there, and the people I did know, I wasn't all that interested in talking to, and they weren't all that interested in me.

Two of the people I did end up talking to were a cousin of my mother's and her husband. Now, I love most of the people on my mother's side of the family. They are a jovial group, friendly, religious and generally good-hearted. But some of them, bless their little hearts, are some of the most head-in-the-sand conservative goofballs I've yet met. My mother's cousin was a case in point.
"So I hear you're headed up to KU in the fall?" she asked.
"That's right," I replied.
"What will you be majoring in?"
"Journalism. I've been working on the paper at PSU for the last year, and I really like it. In fact, they made me entertainment editor in January."
"Oh, that's just great!" she said (now here comes the kicker). "You should work for a paper where you could report good news, you know? Not just that negative stuff."
As you might imagine, I was at a loss for words. I responded as politely as I could, trying not to sound dumbfounded.
"Oh...uh huh. I'd like to do mostly entertainment reporting anyway, or features. Lighter stuff." I promptly excused myself to grab some punch so I could laugh off her comments to myself.

Why can't I just report the good news? I know some people like to think of news as just reporting the bad news, the double homicides, the natural disasters, the automobile accidents. After all, one of the first things you learn in Journalism 101 is the phrase "if it bleeds it leads." But for every double-homicide reported, you can bet there's usually one oddball feature tucked in on page two or three. The reason we have to report the "bad news" is because, let's face it, bad stuff happens. There are tornadoes. There are car accidents. Houses burn down. All kinds of bad junk happens. And when that happens, it's our job to report it. After all, what you rather informed about: a CEO being caught with his hand in the cookie jar, or some retiree whose daily hobby is walking around the neighborhood rescuing kittens from trees? Now, while both stories have an audience, I'd much rather know about corporate embezzlement than old Mr. Fitzhugh rescuing Fluffy from an oak tree.

And furthermore: it seems to me that there's an awful lot of blaming the messenger when it comes to news reporting. Just because we write about bad things that happen doesn't mean we cause them, after all. Even if the latest killing in Wichita, or tornado in Greensburg or, say, roadside bomb in Iraq weren't reported, that doesn't mean it wouldn't have happened. Sometimes it's hard for people to realize that the news media are just the middle man, and THAT IS ALL THEY SHOULD BE (shoots a vicious glare in the direction of Fox News and the Wall Street Journal).

Anyway, if you happen to be reading this, and don't agree with my opinions, that's completely your own decision. Just, if you should run into me in some way, shape or form, don't mention that reporters should focus more on reporting the "good news." If you do (and if you catch me on a bad day), you will, in short order, recieve something rather uncomfortable being forced down your throat. If you catch me on a good day, who knows. I may just have to excuse myself and go laugh into a cup of punch.

Concertgoer's Manifesto

Okay, after attending yet ANOTHER concert where certain irksome events occured, I have decided: it is time that somebody wrote down the rules of concertgoing. Obviously, people who go to a lot of live shows tend to build up a set of unwritten rules, that is, what you do and do not do. However, it seems to me that these unwritten rules tend to vary as far as boundaries. While these are only my opinions, I do think that they have some kind of validity. So here, in their entirety, are Abby's Rules of Concertgoing.

On Wedging:

1. Parties of three or less are allowed to wedge. If you are hanging out with four or more people, split up or stay back. There are few things more irritating than large groups of people snaking their way through a crowd to get to the front.

2. Wedging is only allowed before the opening act. When it comes to live shows, you pays your money and you takes your chances. Unless the crowd starts shifting (and it will) where you are at the beginning of the concert's opening act is WHERE YOU STAY.

3. If you leave, you have more or less officially vacated your spot. If there is someone there to hold your spot for you, that's fine, but if you leave, chances are someone else is going to move in. That's just kind of the way it works.

On tall people:

1. Look down. Remember, you may be able to see, but if you're taller than 5 foot 7, chances are that the people directly behind you can't. Be kind to us little people! We paid just as much money as you did for the show. Move somewhere further up, where you're less of a direct obstacle, or slightly further back, where you'll still have a good view.

2. Spread out. If you and your concertgoing buddies are all of a somewhat higher stature (as was my experience at my last concert), spread yourselves out. Wedging is annoying, but nothing, and I do mean NOTHING is worse than a "wall of tall." Since it's pretty much impossible to move after a set starts, there's no way of seeing around a bunch of tall guys standing directly in front of you.

Finally, on couples:

1. Try really hard not to dance together if you're in a tight area. The sweatier the crowd is, the nastier it will be when you bump into them.

2. If you must dance, dance when the crowd dances. Slight swaying is okay during the slow songs, but try to keep it within your personal square of space.

And there you have it. Music fans, take note. It's not hard to have fun at a concert, but it's a little less easy when the "rules" are breached. And remember: your unwritten concert code may not be the same as someone else's, so please, at least go by common courtesy.

A Day of Intense Emotions

Well, it's been a big day for me, after a week of big days, with one or two more big days to follow. No rest for the weary, I suppose. Today, I guess I just feel like I've been put through an emotional wringer, and I'm not sure what's upset me more: that Kurt Vonnegut, one of my favorite authors and personal heroes, died last night, or that I just spent 45 minutes listening to people talk about being raped.

I'll explain the latter first: I spent my evening covering our University's "Take Back the Night" event for the newspaper, which is a yearly rally against violence and sexual assault. It started off with a march around campus, which was all empowering and kind of fun. Then we came back, and had a candlelight vigil, which was more serious, and then people got up and started speaking out about their experiences (don't worry, I'm not going to name names. That would be totally inappropriate). Anyway, what I heard was shocking, sad and really angered me. It really pisses me off that stuff like this happens. That people even think it's okay to abuse anyone is something I will never understand. I left stunned, and not really sure how I felt, or how I should react.

Later, I was watching the Daily Show at home, and they did a short rememberance for Kurt Vonnegut at the end of the show. I'd heard it announced that morning on NPR that he'd died, and I just felt weird the whole day. It was like part of the flesh had been cut out of American culture. I feel sort of lost now.

After I turned off the T.V., I started crying, and for some reason I just couldn't stop. I still can't. Like I said, I'm not sure what's bothering me more. This has been a very strange day.

Why I'm one-quarter goth

I was listening to some underground goth band on myspace the other day, and as I was thinking about all their obvious influences, I came to a realization: I am part goth. As much as I rail against the poser-ness of the gothic genre in general (could there be any more "g's" in that sentence?) there are quite a few aspects (at least aesthetic) of gothic art and music that I really do like. I listen to the Cure and Tori Amos. I love art by Edward Gorey and Gris Grimly. I love Tim Burton and Henry Selick and Danny Elfman, particularly when they're all working together. I think Voltaire (the goth philosopher, not the French one) somehow has it together. I like wearing black and reading "The Sandman" and "Coraline" or anything ever written by Neil Gaiman. I own a copy of "Mirrormask." I think Dave McKean is a fudding genius. And, against all my better judgement, I do have something of a soft spot in my heart for "The Crow." I did like Jhonen Vasquez for a while, but the more I think about it, the more juvenile he seems.

Anyway, my point is, I really do have Goth tendencies. I have moments in between looking at Dave McKean drawings and listening to The Cure when I think how much fun it would be to walk around wearing a black leather motorcycle jacket and fishnet gloves with my hair all short and spiky. If I had the means, I would hang out in towers.

I'm not really sure why it is that I don't give in more to my gothic impulses. It may be that they're rather fleeting. All the basic elements appear to be there, but I lack the impulse to follow through. Perhaps I like sunshine too much. After all, I think my gothic bits only make up a quarter of my influences and likings. I've got a bit of punk, a bit of hippie and quite a bit of hipster. The funny thing is, the 100% pure hippies, hipsters, punks and goths I can barely stand. The hipsters are alright most of the time, but they can be really snooty. You try and try to be as cool as they are, but always fall short. The hippies can be downright annoying. The punks are destructive and scary, and the goths just seem like they haven't grown up all the way. Somewhere in between all of these lies the happy medium, a person who can enjoy everything, have phases of everything and still lead a fulfilling life. I hope maybe I can be like that one day.