Week of Sept. 28-Oct. 4: Memoir Prompt

It may be an odd coincidence that I was born only eight days before the Berlin Wall, what was seen by many as the very  epitome of the Cold War, came tumbling down. Though it didn’t necessarily mark the end of Communism, the Soviet Union, East Germany or even frost in relations with Russia, it did mark the beginning of the end of probably one of the greatest stand-offs the world has ever seen: East versus West, the Soviets versus the Americans, Good versus Evil, Reds versus Yankess and so on. And why would I find it so ironic that I was born so close? Because as soon as my sister was born, and ever since, we have taken up where these formidable foes left off (of course on a smaller and issue appropriate scale).

The quarrel has been ongoing since our young days. I can’t put an exact age on when our random spats began, but I can tell you it could be brutal at times. From exchanged “promises” of death, without the least bit of grasp on the concept of death, to insulting each other based upon musical choice. It has even continued through high school when on certain issues, despite my willingness to produce solid evidence contradicting whatever statement she’s made, she will deny that I am right and will not allow me to show her said evidence. As for a resolution, things are quite at the moment as they were in the Cold War, but with the least bit of warning a flare up could occur. Though I won’t lie, I don’t like to fight!

Week of Sept. 28-Oct. 4: In-Class Activity

(Secret: I regret you.)

Dear XXXX,

After months of worry, sleepless night and bending over backwards, I am through. I’ve done everything I could to be a friend and haven’t seen it returned these past few months. I’ve done everything I could to see you through some of your worst days, and yet I feel ignored on mine. Friendships are about give and take, and I’ve given every last effort I could. I wish you luck with your life, I can’t be that bitter, but I do it with regret. I leave you with the lines of an old REO Speedwagon song to emphasize my feelings exactly.

“I make you laugh, baby you make me cry. I believe it’s time for me to fly,”

XXXX

Week of Sept. 21-27: Memoir Prompt

As I may have indicated, especially in my first poem of the year, music plays an important role in my life and writing inspiration. And I have by far drawn the most inspiration from The Boss himself; Bruce Springsteen.  The man can take epic stories, life situations, be they humorous or otherwise, and boil them down to a four and a half minute piece of music. Of all musicians, he does it best. And I know this because I have been able to apply one of those musical poems to a time in my own life.

March 14th of 2008 would prove to be the date I’d hear that song for the first time.  It was my first concert featuring Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. The ticket said “Showtime: 7:30 PM,” but that was in print only. After an hour of waiting past the posted time the arena was darkened. I could see the shadowy figures of the band taking their places, and then came the drum opening with Max Weinberg continuously pounding away on his set. And then came the voice of the 58 year old kid from New Jersey himself, yelling to the gathered audience “Is there anybody alive out there?” The uproarious responses from the audience then launched the band into a song I’d never heard before but will never forget.

That song would turn out to be “No Surrender.” It was a cut off his 1984 Born in the U.S.A. album. The song is a fast paced, four minute power ballad about two friends written about the time Steve Van Zant left the E Street band. It opens with a drum beat set-up and explodes into a loud synthesizer rift, all the while keeping up the fast beat. I bought it the very next morning off iTunes and couldn’t stop listening to it. We went on a cruise a few days later and I listened to that song over and over again for nearly the full plane ride there, and back a week later.

By this time I was taking in the lyrics and their meaning, and I couldn’t stop thinking of a trip to Germany I’d gone on with school the year before. That opening would remind me of watching the wide open scenery racing along outside the bus. Then the lyrics took over, I’d think of all those that went on the trip and how I missed those nights talking with them, enjoying the trip together. This song has especially kept me company over the last year when I felt it applied to another set of situations I’ve been through with one of those friends from that trip. It’s cliche, but I told that friend I’d always be there for them, and then comes to mind but one lyric from that song: “We made a promise we swore we’d always remember; no retreat, baby, no surrender.”

Week of Sept. 21-27: Process Post

It was a very interesting request to me when the class was asked to do a poem on a relative meeting a celebrity, be it fiction or otherwise. “Leaf” the poem didn’t come without some sort of precedent. This isn’t to say that my dad actually met Ryan Leaf. Though it would be humorous if he had and actually somewhat possible, as far as I know, my dad has yet to see the ex college football star and NFL Draft bust.

However, the poem drew it’s influence from a couple of key factors. On one hand my parents do travel to Las Vegas often. They’ve tried to make it out there about once a year to spend time with family, friends or just have a vacation. My dad has spotted a few celebrities during some of those trips, even once playing blackjack with a member of the Los Angeles Lakers (whose name has since escaped my mind).  Another influence on this poem was my dad’s seemingly extensive knowledge of Ryan Leaf and his situation. He can’t tell me who his favorite team’s (Minnesota Vikings) first quarterback was, but he does know how Mr. Leaf celebrated his drafting: party in Vegas My Dad’s gone into almost every detail of the draft battle between him and Peyton Manning. About how Leaf skipped a meeting with the Indianapolis Colts to enjoy a celebrity golf tournament. About his infamous departure from football only a few short years later, and about his current downfalls. My Dad knew so much of the situation, I sometimes thought they’d met before.

Week of Sept. 21-27: In-Class Exercise

Leaf

(By: Rob Nielsen)

They give him many names;

bust,

quitter,

words that not even I repeat!

He is Ryan Leaf, formerly of fame, fortune and football

and now an acquaintance of my Father’s.

‘Twas on a vacation to Vegas where this chance meeting occurred,

my father was on yet another vacation there, sitting at the blackjack tables

while Mr. Leaf was there to party it up once more.

They met and talked about football,

talked about life,

the infamy and the downfall they came with his former fame.

And from there they parted, my father never to talk about it again.

Week of Sept. 14-20: Process Post

I found this week’s in class poetry discussion extremely insightful. For one, I found out I have a long way to go when it comes to interpretation of symbolism. As our group read our assigned poem, Green Inside The Doorby Andrew Hudgins, we all took some form of notes on what we thought the poem was about. The poem at its base described the effects that indoor flooding can have on a home. Of course, my notes included “a flood?” as one of the options as to what it was detailing. That was on my first read through. The second time through I started to become puzzled as to what the underlying symbolism was. It was clear that it wasn’t a happy poem as it dealt with imagery associated with darkness, pain, anger, chaos, separation, jealousy and even a sense of death.  One of the group members suggested it, as a whole, may have something to do with jealousy in a relationship or the end of  a relationship as a result. After hearing that observation and looking back through the poem, it made sense to me and I jotted that down. In the subsequent discussion with the class, we judged that the poem was detailing a flood that also symbolized a rocky relationship and the couple’s attempt to purge that jealousy and damage from their lives. Only after the discussion did I realize all this, and it is something I am hoping I can work on over the course of this semester.

Week of Sept. 14-20: Memoir Prompt

In my nearly twenty years of life, I have yet to win an Oscar or anything related to that. I haven’t struck it big in any games of chance or made it to the top in a sport. Even in all my years of journalism, I’ve only won a few sporadic awards in small contests. I was grateful to win, don’t get me wrong, but it wasn’t quite like being nominated for State. And even if the previous statements I’ve made were reversed, I don’t think they would compare to, what I felt, was my best achievement; I wrote.

Now, of course I have written various items over the years for both school and pleasure, that’s almost a given. But as for news writing, I never got the chance, or took the opportunity until my Senior year of high school. But my interests at the time weren’t just on any type of news writing. After spending three years in debate class (which I would also take senior year) I’d become quite an opinionated person and I wanted the world to hear it too. However, despite my interest in politics, they wouldn’t be purely political. I wanted them to deal with life situations as well as squeezing in one or two political topics. Though we could all be staff writers, to gain a column in every issue of the paper, we had to apply for it. I was turned down for a column first semester, and, despite my best efforts, fell short once again second semester. However, by then we’d finally perfected our new journalism website on which we were required to periodically write an article for and had the option for extra credit as well. I finally asked our advisor if I could write columns on there from time to time, and she agreed. And that seemingly simple win has helped me gain an idea as to  what I would like to spend my life doing: writing.

SEPTEMBER 7-13: Process Post

Earlier this week I was challenged once again on a subject I had to contemplate long ago. When I was in Eighth Grade, just after the second semester began we were asked to write a paper describing a place from our life that we vividly remembered. Descriptions were to include sensory details such as sight, smell, taste (I believe we had to choose three senses because I don’t recall doing anything for taste). I picked the living room at my Grandparents’ home. I described the smell of the wood burning fireplace, the sound of the fire inside it, the ugly colors of the furniture. Ironically, about a week later, before the final draft was even due, I found out my Grandparents would be moving to a new house across town. I would never get to spend another winter, or summer for that matter, day in the living room that I had so thoroughly described. Not until a few weeks ago while I was helping move a fridge and a stove out of the old house. That living room is nearly inaccessible due to all the boxes of various items my family is storing there.

Fast forward to this past week and I was once again asked to complete the exact same task, just a little more narrowed down in terms of subject. My Grandparents’ living room was the first idea to pop in my mind. I felt it was only fitting. It’s something that I truly have missed over the past five years (it is five, there was a slight mistake in my “In-Class” post”).

SEPTEMBER 7-13, 2009: Memoir Post

The event in my life that stands out to me in which I had a heightened sense of touch would have to be last year when I got sick. The exact ailment (of which I promise not to go into the worst of details), I couldn’t tell you. It may have been stomach flu, but in any case, it was highly unpleasent and most of all, badly timed.

It was the morning of January 15th, 2009, a day of double digit windchills comparable to those that cemented old football games such as “The Ice Bowl” and “The Freezer Bowl” in history. It also happened to be the first day of classes after the winter break, but most importantly of all; I was going to see AC/DC in Omaha that night. However I awoke with the slightest twinge of pain in my stomach. At first I thought nothing of it and went about getting ready for the day. That lasted all but ten minutes before I was reduced to running across the hall to the bathroom. Upon returning to my room, chills throughout my body and the unavoidable pain in my stomach, I started contemplating my plans for the day and whether they’d truly work out. I decided to push on, going to class all the while drifting between states of relief and pure agony. Finally came decision time. By then my stomach problems had ceased however there was still a pounding in my head. I made the drive to Omaha successfully, with breaks of my body’s misery returning throughout, but the concert went off without a hitch.

Week of Sept. 7-Sept 13: In-class Exercise 1

I would have to say that I have always associated the smell of a wood burning fireplace back to my grandparents’ old house. For years I my family and I would visit their house, especially in the winter. Though they had installed a heating system in the house long before I was born, they still liked to use their old wood fireplace in the living room to save on the heating bill (even before the prices skyrocketed).

However, about six years ago they moved out of that house and it sits abandoned to this day, but whenever I smell a campfire or the rare wood burning fireplace, I think back to that house.