"Talking pigs at the slaughterhouse." - Dr. Hipchen in reference to the fast-talking debaters.
"ketchuping eggs" - said last night in class, and I think I have to use it somewhere because it grossed me out so much.
"It is what it is because it is what it is." - Sandra Bullock in 28 Days explaining what a tautology is.
"We're going to remember this night." - Dr. Davidson last night, though I want to use it in reference to the marching sorority girls in the hallway, not necessarily just by itself.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Strategy Response, Week 8
In Natasha Trethewey's poem "Miscegenation," she not only reflects the mixing of races that is prominent in her book Native Guard but also mixes several different subjects into one poem, exemplifying the title itself and very skillfully tying several seemingly unrelated subjects together. Throughout the short fourteen-line poem, Trethewey mentions race relations, state laws, several states and countries, religion, language, and holidays. This poem is a perfect example of Hugo's concept of getting off subject, as it has a feel that seems almost like stream-of-consciousness in that she relates all of these subjects to one another by simply writing and letting the words take her where they will, and they eventually take her through all of those subjects and back to where she began. It is interesting that she makes it look effortless to write such an easy stream-of-consciousness that flows from one seemingly-unrelated idea to the next and is a technique that I know that I and many of my classmates strive for.
Improv/Imitation 2, Week 8
"Before the war, they were happy," he said while looking
up the word for happy in the dictionary that he always kept
on the bedside table. "The jazz war, that is." Clarification
was necessary, so that we as the munchkins of his Oz wouldn't
confuse the fake war with the real one. That war we saw on TV,
he would tell us, wasn't real, just a big play being put on
by the government who would try to keep us down. No, the real
war was fought on the streets of New Orleans when he was a boy,
just older than we were as he told us this story.
Trumpets and drums would litter the streets like the fliers
that shouted COME TO JAZZ-FEST 1924! SIDNEY BECHET ONE NIGHT ONLY!
But men in their long white coats, carrying their Bibles called
it music meant to summon Satan from Hell to take the city down
for his demons to play with, and so the war began.
"Wasn't no blood," he reminded us. "Just ink, and lotsa' it,
thrown on sheet music by the master hisself against the faces
a' the unforgiving church."
We sat on our knees and listened, holding our hands up to our ears
in an attempt to imitate his hearing device, and because I so closely
watched his lips as they made the motions for playing a saxophone,
I never did find out how that war ended.
up the word for happy in the dictionary that he always kept
on the bedside table. "The jazz war, that is." Clarification
was necessary, so that we as the munchkins of his Oz wouldn't
confuse the fake war with the real one. That war we saw on TV,
he would tell us, wasn't real, just a big play being put on
by the government who would try to keep us down. No, the real
war was fought on the streets of New Orleans when he was a boy,
just older than we were as he told us this story.
Trumpets and drums would litter the streets like the fliers
that shouted COME TO JAZZ-FEST 1924! SIDNEY BECHET ONE NIGHT ONLY!
But men in their long white coats, carrying their Bibles called
it music meant to summon Satan from Hell to take the city down
for his demons to play with, and so the war began.
"Wasn't no blood," he reminded us. "Just ink, and lotsa' it,
thrown on sheet music by the master hisself against the faces
a' the unforgiving church."
We sat on our knees and listened, holding our hands up to our ears
in an attempt to imitate his hearing device, and because I so closely
watched his lips as they made the motions for playing a saxophone,
I never did find out how that war ended.
Improv/Imitation 1, Week 8
"I was asleep while you were dying"
and dreamed that we took a vacation to Hawaii,
lying supine on the grainy beach while eternally-
tanned surfers glided in to greet us with leis
and "He Mele No Haole," even though we looked
much darker than they did.
I wasn't sitting on ice in the fridge anymore,
holding the compress against your side while
the inconstant heat sputtered and coughed
as though dying right along with you.
When I heard the siren, I imagined it was a chief
or priestess calling us to the festival with a shell
in hand and children just like the ones we always
meant to have, but never really did.
While you died, I slept, and picked us up to place
us in the place we should have been all along.
and dreamed that we took a vacation to Hawaii,
lying supine on the grainy beach while eternally-
tanned surfers glided in to greet us with leis
and "He Mele No Haole," even though we looked
much darker than they did.
I wasn't sitting on ice in the fridge anymore,
holding the compress against your side while
the inconstant heat sputtered and coughed
as though dying right along with you.
When I heard the siren, I imagined it was a chief
or priestess calling us to the festival with a shell
in hand and children just like the ones we always
meant to have, but never really did.
While you died, I slept, and picked us up to place
us in the place we should have been all along.
Free Entry 2, Week 8
I know that Psych comes on at 10:00
and that Caprica premiered on a Wednesday,
but mark their words, they'll never show
another CSI again. We'll believe that
when we see it.
Belk's had a 2-day sale just after Christmas,
but Toys-R-Us's "Big Blowout Sale" lasted all
week; children need more time to shop than
adults, or so the constant commericals
tell us.
Some new video game hit the shelves just in time
for the New Year, but Best Buy could not live up
to their advertisements for the best buys for your
significant other: they didn't have Harry Potter
and the Half-Blood Prince before Christmas.
We're supposed to watch the shows and mark their
DLSV, guarding the public against what they should
never have to know or see. But all we remember
from our hours of watching sitcoms and dramas
is who had a sale and what time it came on.
and that Caprica premiered on a Wednesday,
but mark their words, they'll never show
another CSI again. We'll believe that
when we see it.
Belk's had a 2-day sale just after Christmas,
but Toys-R-Us's "Big Blowout Sale" lasted all
week; children need more time to shop than
adults, or so the constant commericals
tell us.
Some new video game hit the shelves just in time
for the New Year, but Best Buy could not live up
to their advertisements for the best buys for your
significant other: they didn't have Harry Potter
and the Half-Blood Prince before Christmas.
We're supposed to watch the shows and mark their
DLSV, guarding the public against what they should
never have to know or see. But all we remember
from our hours of watching sitcoms and dramas
is who had a sale and what time it came on.
Free Entry 1, Week 8
A knife punched the side of his stomach where normally
only pushpins do their work against the softer lining
of a used-to-be-strong digestive system. Nothing too unusual,
not exceptionally out of the ordinary for a man on disability
with only a wife at home to press her cold hands against
the quiet, softening pain: like tenderizing meat, his stomach.
The sun went down to white covering everything outside his
window, frosted like his favorite cereal, which in this case
was not so "Grrrrrreat." No food or shelter in such cold;
perhaps his own case would turn cold like his favorite TV show
and his name would appear among the cast, their hands on
their hearts as they salute the man he used to be, but can't
be anymore, due only in part to that knife that won't leave.
My husband is dying! he hears her shout to no one; the line
of the phone was cut centuries ago, just like the broken heat.
Baby, she whispers, hoping he'll open his eyes. The amb-a-lance
is outside, but we gotta walk to it. You gotta get up now.
He shakes his head, swatting the vultures already flying above him
and praying that they'll wait to start feasting on
his already twisted, knotted flesh that lays against bone.
He watched light turn ribbons over the snow, like he saw his daughter
do that one time when she was five, dancing in the front yard with her
purple ribbon-dance-kit, smiling as she flipped it into shapes
that she thought would catch the eye of a potential suitor, a mating
dance. He blew the ribbon southward and leaned his head back, gripping
the knife still sitting in his side and tearing it from its perch.
They killed my husband, was the last thing he heard.
only pushpins do their work against the softer lining
of a used-to-be-strong digestive system. Nothing too unusual,
not exceptionally out of the ordinary for a man on disability
with only a wife at home to press her cold hands against
the quiet, softening pain: like tenderizing meat, his stomach.
The sun went down to white covering everything outside his
window, frosted like his favorite cereal, which in this case
was not so "Grrrrrreat." No food or shelter in such cold;
perhaps his own case would turn cold like his favorite TV show
and his name would appear among the cast, their hands on
their hearts as they salute the man he used to be, but can't
be anymore, due only in part to that knife that won't leave.
My husband is dying! he hears her shout to no one; the line
of the phone was cut centuries ago, just like the broken heat.
Baby, she whispers, hoping he'll open his eyes. The amb-a-lance
is outside, but we gotta walk to it. You gotta get up now.
He shakes his head, swatting the vultures already flying above him
and praying that they'll wait to start feasting on
his already twisted, knotted flesh that lays against bone.
He watched light turn ribbons over the snow, like he saw his daughter
do that one time when she was five, dancing in the front yard with her
purple ribbon-dance-kit, smiling as she flipped it into shapes
that she thought would catch the eye of a potential suitor, a mating
dance. He blew the ribbon southward and leaned his head back, gripping
the knife still sitting in his side and tearing it from its perch.
They killed my husband, was the last thing he heard.
Junkyard Quotes 1-5, Week 8
"The thought of drinking anything white disgusts me." - Mike when asked why he doesn't like milk.
"Walking into the debate tournament is like walking into Dante's inferno." - Dr. Hipchen before the Write-A-Thon last weekend.
"I know that Psych comes on at 10:00, and that Caprica premiered on a Wednesday." - Susan, another intern in my department, talking about what she remembers from commericals that she screens.
"I can't be associated with anything that could potentially be a disaster." - guest speaker at intern seminar.
"1-Minute Weight Loss Tricks!" - the title of a Yahoo!News article that I saw on their front page. (A little too difficult to believe)
"Walking into the debate tournament is like walking into Dante's inferno." - Dr. Hipchen before the Write-A-Thon last weekend.
"I know that Psych comes on at 10:00, and that Caprica premiered on a Wednesday." - Susan, another intern in my department, talking about what she remembers from commericals that she screens.
"I can't be associated with anything that could potentially be a disaster." - guest speaker at intern seminar.
"1-Minute Weight Loss Tricks!" - the title of a Yahoo!News article that I saw on their front page. (A little too difficult to believe)
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